#tog ficlet

[zairaalbereo]

Hi 😊 For the fanfic trope mash-up - perhaps Soulmates and Forgotten First Meeting 👀 ?

Thank you for your ask, and for picking such a great combo! Here is a little something inspired by it… 💗

There is a legend told among the Northern tribes, of a strange and foreign people who can change their form and whose hearts are as cold as the sea. Only when they meet their one true love, will their heart awaken, and they will shed their skin and walk among us humans undetected. 

(There is another legend. Nicky knows it well. It’s a cautious tale for his people. A warning, that if you fall in love with a human, your heart becomes breakable. That if you lose your skin, you can never go home.) 

Joe never heard of either legend. His home is far from those stormy shores, and his family has only visited them once when he was still a young boy. So young, he can hardly recall any of it. He sometimes thinks he remembers a beach with dark blue water and steep cliffs. The wind in his hair and the spray of the sea in his face. But that is probably just something his mind made up from the stories his mother and sister told him. 

There is one especially which they love to recount every so often.

“You were a little shit,” his sister will say with a wry twist of her lips. “Always sneaking off to climb up on the rocks.”

“We were so worried.” His mother, her eyes filled with helpless love, will reach up and cup his bearded cheek in her palm. “We had been looking for you for hours. We thought you had drowned.” 

“I think someone from the village must have pulled you out of the water.” His sister, only a few years older, was twelve back then, and Joe isn’t sure how much she has embellished the tale over time. “They brought you back, soaked to the bone and wrapped up to your nose in furs.”

(Nicky knows that his skin is his most valuable possession. It is the price of his freedom. It makes him who he is. But when he finds the boy among the waves, he is so cold. His lips are turning blue, and his golden skin looks ashen. And so Nicky slips out of his own skin, wraps it around the boy and holds him close until his heartbeat becomes strong again, beating in time with Nicky’s own.) 

When Joe went to therapy because he sometimes feels so restless and empty—and also because his love life is a never ending sequence of disasters—he told that story.

“Suppressing memories of a traumatic nature is not uncommon,” his therapist tells him, but that doesn’t seem right. Because while Joe can’t remember what happened back then, it never felt like something he’s supposed to be afraid of. If anything, it feels like something he is missing.

Sitting by the window of his kitchen and looking out towards the harbour and the sea as if it holds all the answers, Joe smiles wistfully and runs his fingers over the silver grey pelt in his lap. It’s maybe a strange memento to keep for all these years, but even though it has been so long, the pelt is still pristine. All shiny and smooth and perfect.

His sister keeps telling him to have a nice pair of boots made out of it, but the thought alone fills Joe with dread. He can’t imagine handing the pelt over to anyone else, or worse, allowing it to be cut up for such a mundane purpose.

For whatever reason, it feels precious, almost sacred to him, as if it doesn’t truly belong to him, and Joe is only its keeper. And he wonderes, sometimes, what it might have been that he left in its place all those years ago.

(Nicky grew up as an orphan. He was found as a boy on a windy beach, all naked, and has never been able to tell how he came to be there. He can’t tell, because no one would believe him. He walks among humans undetected, his warm heart fragile and full of longing. For the sea, he tells himself, for his home. But he knows it’s also for the one he belongs to. The other half of his soul.)

#the old guard #joe/nicky #joe x nicky #kaysanova #prompt game #tog ficlet #soulmates #selkie au

[sheafrotherdon]

There are moments when Nicky cannot bear to be touched, when his skin feels like it can barely stretch to cover all he feels or must process. There are times when the things that he’s seen, that he’s done, how he’s helped, what he’s mended jostle within him, and a look or kind word would cause him to shatter. He feels like he must scream to let loose his frustration, his anger; to express that he has reached his limit. But he doesn’t. He rarely has a choice. Disassembling rarely threatens at convenient times.

The others have learned, year by year by decade by century, to read the signs and respect the brittle keep-away message he telegraphs. They’re careful and reckless in equal part, giving him the wide berth he needs while maintaining something like normalcy otherwise—a usuality carved out of withholding touch. And when the maelstrom ebbs inside him, when the battering winds of caring so much ease, Joe will sit beside him without fanfare, his own right hand turned palm up on his thigh. And Nicky will reach out with his left, tangle their fingers, and list to rest his shoulder against Joe’s, let Joe bear his weight, and in silence they weave a beginning, an ending, a prelude to Joe turning his head and grazing Nicky’s temple with a kiss.

#joe x nicky #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #tog #ficlet

[lovelikedestiny]

It all begins with Nile looking out of pure boredom at Nicky’s ID - or at least one of his innumerable ones -  lying on the kitchen counter. 

“Aren’t Nicky’s eyes green?” She asks and regrets her question the exact moment the words leave the tip of her tongue because Joe gasps and puts a hand dramatically on his chest as if she had offended him personally somehow.

Which is ridiculous since it’s Nicky’s eyes she asked about and said person isn’t even in the living room with them but off in the kitchen, cooking while softly humming to himself.

In the only armchair Booker places a hand on his face as if Nile had just made the biggest mistake of her life. Andy doesn’t hesitate, groans barely audible and mumbles something like having to check that her ax didn’t disappear before disappearing herself like morning fog on a field.

“Green?” Joe repeats bewildered and Nile plays with the thought of quickly changing the subject but she can’t think of anything useful.

Great.

“You’re asking if Nicky’s eyes are green?”

With a suffering, long-drawn sigh Booker fishes for the remote control, increasing the volume of his soccer (football, Nile corrects inwardly due to several former and appalled protests of the boys) game which doesn’t seem to bother Joe in the slightest.

“Mon dieu, here we go again…”

“Uh…yeah? His ID states that his eyes are blue and I just wondered because they appear to be green,” Nile tries to explain her question.

“Blue?” Joe raises his eyebrows and Nile almost expects to get into her first real argument with one of her new team members but to her relief - apparently having dodged a bullet there - he only smiles fondly. “My dear Nile, you will notice it’s impossible to pin Nicky’s eye color down to a single shade. On paper the mirrors of his kind soul are always forced into dullness unworthy of their true beauty.”

Whatever Nile had assumed to get as an answer to her question, it is absolutely not this indirect declaration of love from Joe to Nicky who - again - is not even in the same room to hear that.

While her curiosity is piqued and she is strangely moved by the crystal clear affection for the love of his life, illuminating Joe’s face, Booker turns off the TV, obviously having given up on his attempt to ignore the situation.

“Andy, do you need help checking on your ax?” He calls as he rises. 

“Get your own excuse!” Andy yells back and Booker looks at Nile and Joe.

“Andy needs help with her ax, so I’m going to…help her with her…uhm…ax,” he ends awkwardly. Entering the hallway, Nile can hear him mutter: “You can do better than that, Sebastien. You imbécile.”

“Impossible?” Her attention returns to Joe who invites her to sit down next to him with a light tilt of his head. She willingly follows his request, unceremoniously plopping down on the sofa. “Even after all these years?”

“Especially after all these years,” is Joe’s mysterious reply. Thankfully he elaborates on his statement without Nile having to require more information. “I know it’s hard to believe but even after more than 900 years Nicky and I still discover new habits of each other: certain preferences, a change in particular movements, new interests or the urge to try out a different hobby. But most and for all we are still able to see beauty in mundane things like waking up in the same bed, sharing a cup of coffee or taking a stroll through parks. Nearly a millennium ago I wouldn’t have believed it if someone had told me that I’d love someone with every fiber of my being, so much that it would hurt to breathe sometimes, although I would’ve spent centuries with them. It is difficult to verbalize this feeling of deep connection ingrained in the bond I have with Nicky.”

The devotion to Nicky - unquestioningly Joe’s soulmate - Nile can hear in his warm voice takes her breath away and she only remembers how to suck air into her lungs when they start to burn. Despite the sheer wonder of a relationship having lasted that long without losing any of its mutual love it means a lot to Nile that Joe is speaking to her so openly and devoid of any doubts regarding Nile’s acceptance.

“And it fills me with the utmost joy that I am still incapable of capturing every single color of Nicky’s eyes because it means that there are so many things about him waiting for me to detect them.” Nile admires Joe’s honesty and the unashamed way with which he tells others about his connection to Nicky. 

Infinite and profound tenderness.

“Wow, when you phrase it like that I can totally see where you’re coming from and I’d love to hear more,” Nile says, forgetting the actual reason she started this chat. Her brain is catching on a little too slowly. “I mean if that’s alright with you,” she backpedals hastily although Nicky joining them interrupts their conversation for the moment.

“Andy said you were holding ‘exaggerated and dramatic love speeches about me’.” He greets the both of them with a smile hidden in the corners of his mouth and presses a kiss into Joe’s curls as he walks behind the sofa.

“I would never dare to do that,” Joe protests, winking and leans back his head to get another kiss directly on the lips.

“Is that so, habibi?” Amusement sparkles in Nicky’s eyes which originally had been the drive behind Nile’s curiosity. “Nile, is Joe holding an exaggerated and dramatic love speech?”

Grinning, she admits, “Yeah, he kind of does but honestly I’m here for it.”

Joe throws a small pillow at her but he is laughing, showing off the crinkles making him look even more likable. “Liar!”

 “So you’re not ‘being so disgustingly sweet that one has nausea’ as Booker put it?” Nicky digs deeper. The two immortal warriors evidently have a lot of fun playing this little game and Nile enjoys the relaxed atmosphere.

“Booker has bad taste,” Joe says loudly, clearly addressing the French man somewhere in the safe house.

“Shut up, jackass!” Booker shouts back.

Nicky tsks chidingly and acknowledges Joe’s shit-eating grin with a lopsided smile of his own. “Now that we’ve settled the matter I wanted to inform you that dinner is ready in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you, vita mia.” Joe threads their fingers together, caressing each knuckle with a peck. “I appreciate your cooking wholeheartedly.”

“Not just you,” Nile adds and mentally takes note to look out for the color of Nicky’s eyes.

Her plan is astonishingly easy to carry out once she knows what to keep her own eyes on. 

More often than not Nicky’s eye color consists of various shades of blue mixed with splinters of green, turning his eyes in the right light into shards of seafoam, deep, mysterious teal lagoons on hot summer days, lucious, vast forests or the wide expenses of the sky.

She notices that they seem to get colder whenever something arouses his irritation: an insult spit at Joe on a mission, impoliteness in everyday life, injustice, an attempt to hurt Andy or when someone shoots Booker or Nile herself is in danger. Then the tempting, gentle mountain lakes freeze to merciless, piercing shards of arctic ice and blazing silvery steel, so frosty you can nearly feel the cold as thousand pinpricks in your skin.

If he is sad or in a bad mood there is a depressing gray outweighing the other colors in his gaze like clouds on a rainy day or a raging storm in fall, making them more washed out and muted.

On a mission as they’re in the crossfire Nicky pushes her out of the way, shielding her with his body and an “Uff” escapes her as the air leaves her lungs all at once. Carefully he braces himself with his arms above her and for a second she only stares into his eyes, intensively looking down at her in return, examining her body for wounds. 

“Are you alright, Nile?”

“Oh shit!”

Alarmed by her curse he starts searching for an injury. “What is it? Did you get hit?”

“There is fucking gold in them!” Nile exclaims, unaware that she is completely ignoring his concerned questions.

Confused, he pauses. “Prego? I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

But Nile’s focus is on something else. “There are golden freckles in your eyes! Are you kidding?”

“I told you so!” Joe calls somewhere on their right, involved in a fight. “Nicky’s eyes don’t have one color!”

Despite the fact that they’re in the middle of a battle, bullets flying over them, Nile laughs and has to chuckle even more when Nicky shakes his head. “Unbelievable…”

The next time Copley makes them fake ID’s he asks Nicky: “What eye color do you have?”

And Nile goes: “You can’t answer that so easily.”

#the old guard #tog fanfic #tog fic #ficlet #nile freeman #yusuf al-kaysani #nicolo di genova #sebastien le livre #andromache the scythian #nile #joe #nicky #joe x nicky #yusuf x nicolo #eternal love #immortal husbands #booker #andy #the beauty of nicky's eyes #team as family #found family #light crack #joe has strong opinions and feelings about his husband's eyes #and so do I

[nevermindirah]

back in 2017 I wrote a cute lil thing entitled Shout out to science nerd Bucky Barnes on eclipse day, in which the titular nerd and his boyfriends take a road trip to the path of totality.

Nile would've been 22 or 23, maybe getting ready to enlist or freshly back from boot camp. Chicago got 86% of the eclipse then, about what I just saw today, and it was so cool but nothing like totality must be.

Chicago got a 93% view today but Nile's not ready to go back there yet. not ready to go back to the US at all. eclipses happen in other parts of the world too, and she'll be alive to see thousands of them, but this might be the last one her mom sees. so Nile's gotta see this one.

Booker quietly made arrangements even before Nile brought it up. he visits Mazatlán every so often — it reminds him of Marseille but with enough distance for him to enjoy it — and when he finds out it's in the path of totality the decision's easy.

on the trip there Nile talks about how she could watch the whole thing with her naked eyes, not just totality, because her eyes would heal. Booker laughs — he did the same thing about a hundred years ago. when the day comes though, Nile doesn't do it. there are too many other people around and she doesn't want to set a bad example. instead she delights in how the kids shout as they see the moon biting into the sun through the shadows cast by the trees.

the next time a total solar eclipse will cover much of North America is 2045. maybe Nile will be ready to go back to the US by then, but most of what's in that path of totality is small towns that'll struggle to handle all the tourists, so maybe she and Booker will watch that one from Recife.

#nile freeman #sebastien le livre #science! #tog #my tumblr ficlets #mine

[non-un-topo]

re: queer quartet prompts -- idk if you're wanting things to draw or to write, but what about horse stealing? Or horse riding in general? I know you've mentioned the idea of queer quartet accidental baby acquisition recently, and a drawing of that would NEVER go amiss!

Hello, friend, and thank you for the excellent prompt! <33 I definitely cannot draw horses, so have this silly ficlet! 😂

The garden gates flew open, and Andromache barrelled through like a storm. As she stomped over the diligently-laid stone path and into the night, it became clear that there was a rather lewd squelching sound following each of her footsteps.

Oh. No, not following. It was her footsteps. Her felt boots were soaked through. Great.

Behind, still in the candle-lit garden, it sounded like Yusuf was sweet-talking the party guests because how could he not? Nevermind that every rose-adorned prick in there wanted to chase him out the moment he entered.

“That was very heroic of you,” commended (teased) Quỳnh, in step with her as she always was. “Coming to the aid of our dear, defenseless Yusuf. Indeed, I did not think artists liked to get their hands dirty.”

The playful jest was aimed at Yusuf, who must have followed the rest of them out the gates judging by the sound of his affronted gasp.

“Right, they just wanted to hurl disgusting words at him,” said Andromache, steeped in rage and fountain water. How was she supposed to have noticed the one floor tile slightly out of place, just waiting to trip someone? Oh well, a little shallow water never hurt anyone. Well, except for the man she continued to beat on after she pulled him into the fountain with her. Pure, heart-stopping terror on that poor fool’s face.

“They are not artists,” said Yusuf, and Andromache thought he was going to join them in the fun of insulting the rosy buffoons, but instead he explained simply, “They are commissioners, specifically because they do not paint.”

“Well anyway, they didn’t even look at your paintings, Yusuf.”

“Certainly, you’d already punched my client in the jaw before he got the chance.”

Andromache smirked.

“High society and us do not blend, I fear,” sighed Quỳnh with false woe. Andromache turned around in time to see her press the back of her hand to her forehead and swoon.

“No great loss,” said Nicolò, who had been rather forcefully silent since Andromache pulled herself out of the fountain and Yusuf pulled the sopping wet sod out too.

They marched past the stables, housing show horses who belonged to Yusuf’s wealthy client but who remained enclosed during this party. Andromache could never have missed the timeless scent of their coats, the sound of the little huff for attention.

Seeing her family’s sour faces, hidden beneath a thin layer of amusement though they were, Andromache felt that flutter of mischief return.

She crossed over to the stables and reached into the window above the closed door where a lean, well-groomed head peaked out at her. She hushed it, running her hand down its velvety nose, admiring its shiny golden coat.

“My heart,” said Quỳnh, as one speaks to a child who has just spotted a toy they want.

“Shh,” Andromache hushed the horse, who huffed and shook its head left to right, a mop of golden-thread hair falling into its eyes. “I’m making a friend. Isn’t that right, you beauty? Was it you who called to me?”

“Oh,” muttered Yusuf, behind, “she’s doing it again.”

“Andromache, that horse is not yours,” whispered Nicolò.

“You are not anybody’s,” Andromache cooed at the horse, gentling it, brushing down its nose. “Isn’t that right? Would you like to be free?”

“Oh, dear,” returned Yusuf’s voice.

There was a good long moment of silence where all Andromache could hear was crickets and the whistling breath of the horse, before Quỳnh piped up and joined her at the stables.

“Alright,” Quỳnh said, and opened the doors. “Quickly.”

Andromache could have swooned, herself.

She took the golden mare, of course. They were friends now, were they not? Quỳnh fetched a lovely brown and white gelding from farther inside the stables, and into Yusuf’s hands she placed the reins of a moon-silver mare. When she dipped back inside the pitch darkness of the stables, Nicolò leaned his back to the door, eyes on the garden party they’d left behind.

Then from the shadows Quỳnh appeared with a fourth set of reins in her hand. But behind her came the shape of a horse’s head no more than four feet off the ground.

Andromache held in a howl with all the restraint in the world.

“Here you are, brother,” Quỳnh chirped, as she guided the pony to Nicolò. He turned away from the garden to look, and did what could only be called a double-take before looking up at Quỳnh’s retreating back with wide eyes.

“Mount,” ordered Quỳnh, and Andromache did as she was told, yes ma’am.

Voices were beginning to raise from the direction of the garden. Easy as slipping into a pair of pants, Andromache mounted the mare and they took off, Quỳnh and Yusuf not far behind.

“Hey!” barked Nicolò, the poor thing. “Hey!”

Andromache looked back to see him trying to straddle the pony, practically standing up normally with his legs on either side of its stout belly. With a little tug on its reins he tried to get it to move forward, and just when Andromache thought the sight could not get any more ridiculous, the pony began to prance with the daintiest, shortest steps Andromache had ever seen. Nicolò looked behind himself at the angry mob coming their way, and screamed as he hunched forward on his belly over the pony’s back. It barely picked up the pace.

Andromache had tears in her eyes when she looked forward again. Floods of tears.

“Why must you be so cruel!” Yusuf wailed, though she heard the cheeky bastard laughing too. “My love, I’m coming for you!”

As Yusuf clicked his tongue and turned his horse around, Quỳnh pulled the gelding up to Andromache’s side.

“Such mischief, my Quỳnh.”

“Hey…” Quỳnh was the picture of innocence with the way she batted her eyelashes. “The pony was all that was left.”

Andromache threw her head back with a laugh, and she absolutely did not nearly fall off the horse.

#sage writes #tog #the old guard #the old gays #love them love this prompt love you #i may yet draw something for the accidental baby acquisition prompt! #ficlet

[cinnamonplums]

some nile, andy, and quynh doodles as kids

#that's quynh with her big brother btw i hc her as a middle child idk vibes #also nile with her dad a little before he died and andy with her mother figure (yes the one that betrays her) #anyway i did give up at some point bc my hand was cramping so here. have these sketches that took me way too long #i also wrote some tiny ficlets that go with these but they turned out too angsty and idk im very :/ abt my writing #the old guard #tog #nile freeman #andromache the scythian #quynh #quynh tog #my art #userhayls

[shippingfangirl013]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Will Byers/Mike Wheeler, Maxine "Max" Mayfield/Lucas Sinclair, Eleven | Jane Hopper/Dustin Henderson, Joyce Byers/Jim "Chief" Hopper Characters: Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Shadow Monster | Mind Flayer, Henry Creel | One | Vecna, Jonathan Byers, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Steve Harrington, Lucas Sinclair, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Dustin Henderson, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Murray Bauman, Lonnie Byers, Martin Brenner, Sam Owens (Stranger Things) Additional Tags: D&D AU, Byler Week 2023 (Stranger Things), Byler D&D AU, byler, Fluff and Angst, Mike & Will are going through the wringer in this, Internalized Homophobia, Enemies to Lovers, Court Politics, If you liked Reign, Willel twins, some twelvegate thrown in there bc why not, If I keep adding tags I'll spoil my own fic at this point, Multi-POV fic, POV Third Person

Traitors of Gold is finally published! Wow, it only took me 15 years to update something! Anyways, if you like D&D/Royalty AU Byler with a side of angst, you should check it out!

#byler ao3 #byler #byler au #byler d&d au #byler royalty au #ToG #Traitors of gold #twelvegate (if you squint) #will byers has powers #willel twins #byler ficlet #byler fic #chapter fic #stranger things

[bookersebastien]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The perfect shade of green.

#spacewitchqueen #ask #usrbkr writes #the old guard #tog fic #kaysanova #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #usertriz #demonicneonfishy #userhegel #userkayla #idk who else to tag #but enjoy this supremely late ficlet

[lilolilyr]

can what they feel be called love at first sight, when they learned to love each other before they ever met?

a drabble for @flufftober 2023 day 9: '... at first sight'.

100 words, rated G, no warnings, pre-canon

Read on Ao3

Still taking flufftober prompts, and hopefully I’ll manage a couple longer ficlets again soon! I’m also just 2 fics short of having 100 TOG fics on Ao3 - so prompt me some Andromaquynh or Andronilynh, and maybe I can reach that 100 before the end of the month? :D

#andromaquynh #the old guard #lilo writes #flufftober 2023 #lilo writes fanfic #drabble #my drabble #my Andromaquynh #lilo creates #fic header #my tog #andromache x quynh #andromache the scythian #Quynh #tog #tog fic #Andromaquynh fanfic #immortal wives #horse girl andromache #the old guard fanfiction

[dominimoonbeam]

The Fanfic Writer Questionnaire!

I was tagged by @ejunkiet to do this Fanfic Writer Questionnaire and now that I'm FINALLY getting back to my "normal" life and writing and talking to people again after the move, this seemed like a really fun way to start! I think I got waaaaaaaaaay to in-depth and confessional.

Tagging some people who I'd love to see play but also just anyone feeling like it! @glassbearclock @taelonsamada @romirola @zozo-01 @colloquialcolival

1 - How many works do you have on AO3?

130. I had to look up my stats and I had no idea! 92 of those are Redacted…

2 - What's your total AO3 word count?

Holy shit… 907,249

3 - What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly Redacted, TOG, and 19 Days but I’ve dabbled in a handful of others over the years.

4 - What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Finally Alive (TOG), Waiting (TOG), Pieces of the Moon (TOG), Open (19 Days), and Kicking and Screaming (TOG). Look at The Old Guard dominating that particular stat!

5 - Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do! There have been times where I miss one or too much time has gone, but otherwise yes. I love comments. For a long time I got in my own head about comments or even liking things because I thought I was bothering people, and that sometimes carries over to replying to comments when I’ve been busy and a week or two has passed, but then I just do it because nice things are always okay to toss out into the world!

6 - What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don’t think I do ansty endings… I do a shit ton of trauma and hurt, but there’s always comfort payoff. Lemme see… OH! Oh fuck, it’s Stop it. I love that tiny ficlet. Warden blows themself up to take Vega with them out of Elegy.

7 -What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Almost all of my fics have a happy ending… or at least the promise of happiness to come. I need a happy ending. I absolutely run from anything (fics, books, movies, shows) if I see any hint that they’re aiming to hurt/no comfort me.

Lemme see… who had the happiest ending… I’m going to say Come Home. It’s a Nightwing/Cassandra Cain fic I did ages back and something about that ending and them is just particularly satisfying to me. And Scars That Remind. I think the hard road and possibility of not getting that happy ending makes it happier... if that makes sense to anyone else?

8 - Do you get hate on fics?

Not usually but it has happened. Both the stuff that’s just someone taking a topic or character personally, or trying to make a statement, and actual vomit emojis.... hehe it was a particularly lewd fic and I think they were inspired to hate because I actually said I was proud of the work and I don't usually share those feelings/thoughts.

9 - Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh my, yes. Where's the stat for that? I'm a sucker for deep emotional connections and trust. Even when I set out to write porn, it ends up being emotional.

10 - Do you write crossovers?

Nope.

11 - Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12 - Have you ever had a fic translated?

Maybe? I had someone ask if they could translate one of my 19 Days fics for another site and I said they could as long as they weren't pretending they wrote it.

13 - Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No. I'm not really comfortable co-writing like that. But I used to write on rp sites long ago (it's where I met my person) and even before that I used to write stories with a friend. We would actually trade notebooks back and forth between classes to read what the other had done and add to it.

14 - What's your all time favorite ship?

Oh shit... It's been a lot of ships.

15 - What's a WIP that you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

I really hate the pressure to finish long fics. I used to only do long fics because I want to keep the world and keep adding but then there's the pressure where people ask if you've abandoned it. And I always feel like "no? it's not a couch I left by the street. it's a fic. i wrote it. it's mine even if it's unended forever." And I just really want the option to go back into that world and keep going even if it's years later (which I have definitely done). ...This is absolutely my way of not answering this question.

16 - What are your writing strengths?

I'm usually pretty fast when I'm in it? And dialogue? I think I'm okay at dialogue

17 - What are your writing weaknesses?

Remembering my own descriptive choices? Weather, dates, settings, side-character names... Fluff. I'm not good at writing wholesome everyday things. Some people are so incredible at that and I'm just not. I just straight to the meat of everything every time. I worry it harms the flow and build of a lot of things.

18 - Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I will usually dance around it if it's not a language I know, like just saying in narrative that the character said it in another language, assuming both parties understand or making a point of them not. I looooved this with Nicky and Joe in TOG and the idea of them using each others languages in the early decades to try to communicate better when what they were saying became important OR going back to their own when they're too upset to use a second language.

19 - First fandom you wrote for?

Technically... The Black Jewels Trilogy when I was a baby. Like I said, I was so shy and just, afraid of being in the way in the world. I had been reading fics for years but didn't even have an account. I start writing some for Black Jewels and made and account and posted... Someone rolled into the comments and picked it apart. I'm sure it wasn't as bad as I remember. I guess I'd used a lot of the terms in the books wrong? I was so horrified I deleted the fic and the account and didn't fic for a few more years. I even deleted the fic from my computer. I've dug around looking for it again since but it's absolutely gone. SO, the actual answer, is The Covenant over on ffnet. I couldn't find much of what I wanted so I started writing it.

20 - Favorite fic you've written?

Favorite of my own!!? I am surprised how uncomfortable I am answering that... Okay, the thing is, I love my fics. I am so scared to admit that because it feels conceded as fuck but I honestly write what I want to read for the most part. I do go back and reread my own shit. Soooo I'm going to say Pieces of the Moon. It short and sweet and feels like a fairy tale. But the answer would change week to week.

#fanfic writer questionnaire #i'm starting to see how i got to 900k i'm wordy as hell #<3 #dominimoonbeam #wallflower trying to do people things #fanfic

[kaydeefalls]

WIP Ask Game

tagged by @what-alchemy - thanks!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it. Tag as many people as wips.

I am once again restricting this to WIPs that have been touched within the past year, or I'd be listing a whole bunch of ghosts of fandoms past in here. This list...has not changed much since the last time I played this game, to my chagrin, but now featuring more than just TOG fandom! And I should note that one (1) of these currently consists solely of notes to myself and no actual fic written yet but uh have at it anyway.

heartstopper canon divergence

inception au

J/N Firefly

Quynh/Nile ficlet?

cadfael 2 electric bugaloo

who dares wins

Tagging anyone who wants to play, seriously, consider this your excuse!

#writing is hard #ask me anything

[lovelikedestiny]

Just some humor and romance with our immortal idiots as a little treat before the weekend💕

“Your eyes look like stones.”

This phrase on itself isn’t something Nicolo would consider as an intelligent observation and certainly isn’t proud of, and the way he says it aggravates the embarrassing situation tremendously: blurting it out like the words could burn his mouth if they stayed in a second longer, so sudden that he startles Yusuf who was drawing peacefully in front of the fireplace until now.

Until Nicolo ruined the relaxed ambience.

Instantly, Nicolo wants to take back every word he has ever said but although he cannot die, the power of turning back time isn’t part of his gift. Unfortunately.

Yusuf blinks perplexed, restless fingers stopping in motion. “I beg your pardon?” He says confused and Nicolo wants God to strike him down with a lightning or the earth to swallow him whole as his face starts to burn suspiciously.

And because his brain shortcuts, leaving him helpless on his own, and Nicolo has the ability to get himself into a right mess, he repeats his remark in a voice not sounding tender or gentle but direct and weirdly loud. “Your eyes look like stones.”

“Oh…” Something closely resembling disillusionment erases a spark in Yusuf’s endless night skies and Nicolo thinks he can detect a hint of disappointment in his tone which is more than he can bear. “Uh…I suppose I should thank you for…that?”

Before Nicolo can work up the courage to explain his hugely failed attempt, he turns back to his drawing, brushstrokes somehow more sloppy than before. Any trace of boldness Nicolo had left dies in his throat.

Because his effort to compliment Yusuf’s magnificent eyes has gone badly wrong.

Clenching his fists at his stupidity and incapability to do something right for once and weave colorful metaphors like Yusuf, Nicolo leaves their cabin. Seeking comfort in the presence of their goats, he vents his annoyance while petting their he-goat. “Why is it so hard for me to do one thing right? Just one thing?”

He waits in vain for advice from his furry companions.

Truth is, Yusuf is always the one forming breathtaking pictures not only with paint but with his captivating words too. With his voice, his facial expressions, his eyes, with his whole being, Yusuf is the definition of passion and creation.

He compares Nicolo’s eyes to a reflection of the moon on a motionless lake or shards of sea glass, having trapped the stunning forces of nature inside their fragile heart.

He shows Nicolo eagerly the sketches he made of him every time he has captured him in simple charcoal when he was cooking, goat milking or only daydreaming, in such a way that Nicolo dares to think of himself as…average looking. Because Yusuf manages to turn his flaws - the too big eyes or his huge nose or his large mouth, not able to smile even - into some kind of charm. 

He compliments Nicolo nearly every day, so often in fact that Nicolo has no idea how to behave whenever Yusuf tells him how his laugh lights up his face or his facial structure is a perfect replica of an ancient marble statue. Or “He is the moon when I’m lost in darkness and warmth when I shiver in cold. He is the kindness that treats the wound the world has caused me when it has shown its worst again.”

The delicate thing that has evolved between them out of their hardly won truce transformed into a cautious friendship is still fresh and Nicolo finds himself wondering at night, as they lie tightly embraced in bed after a weirdly chaste kiss or another new gesture of an affection that has just started to grow, how he has deserved such a man after all he had done. 

After all he had done during the Crusades…after all he had done to his former enemy.

In his first life, Nicolo had always been called verbally clumsy and straightforward; missing elegance in his pattern of speech. He had trouble learning to read, each day staying behind to finish his studies, being the last one of his monastery all the time.

This - the impulse to tell Yusuf how gorgeous he is in Nicolo’s eyes - is new terrain to him, tingling with excitement and worrying by extreme nervousness. Having blown his chance at the first try feels like a heavy stone in his stomach.

No-good, they had named him because he sometimes took longer to comprehend things. Failure, disaster, fool.

He feels like an utter fool now too.

With a groan of embarrassment he buries his head in his hands, tearing at his hair, surrounded by the goats’ pitiful bleating.

Yusuf and he don’t talk much after the…incident, spending their days and nights in the ordinary routine they had acquired themselves but the existing silence between them isn’t comfortable anymore.

It is Nicolo’s fault and he doesn’t know how to fix things, fearing to destroy them further.

On the sixth day he finally takes heart because he cannot endure another night in awkward tension.

“Thank you for the delicious meal,” Yusuf says smiling after dinner, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and stands to gather the used dishes.

Nicolo stops him by placing a hand on his strong forearm, enjoying the body heat seeping into his own skin as if he had been cold before. “Wait!” A swallow, a withdrawal of his hand when Yusuf freezes in motion. “Please,” he adds pleadingly.

But the crucial factor that leads Yusuf to settle back down on his chair appears to be Nicolo’s anxiously trembling hand on the table he hides a second too late in his lap. 

“Is everything alright?” Yusuf wants to know and Nicolo is almost close to crying because Yusuf suddenly seems highly concerned for Nicolo himself. When he isn’t answering Yusuf reaches over the wooden table top, unusually self-conscious in the way he presents the palm of his hand, offering the support of a simple touch. “Nicolo? Did something happen on the market today? Or is it something I s…”

“I’m sorry,” Nicolo bursts out, interrupting Yusuf mid sentence, and bites his tongue inwardly cursing right after due to his lack of finesse in conversing. “Oh my…why am I doing that?” He coughs flustered, suppressing the flight instinct constantly growing inside him. “I’m incredibly sorry, Yusuf. You did nothing wrong, believe me. You’ve been perfect and caring and kind and I want to deeply apologize to you because I screwed up.”

“Apologize for what?” Yusuf inquires, knitting his eyebrows so they form one dark line. “Nicolo, your behavior unsettles me. What is the matter?”

When he leans forward, Nicolo holds his breath, releasing the air only after Yusuf’s slim artist fingers stroke his cheek, calming yet still asking for an explanation of Nicolo’s edginess. 

Faced with Yusuf’s obvious concern and the wish to relieve Nicolo of whatever burden he is carrying on his shoulders, he decides to be honest - simple solutions often prove to be the most effective ones. 

“For offending you with my blunt remark.” Putting all of his eggs into one basket, he takes hold of Yusuf’s hand, slowly interlacing their fingers until their palms are slotted together like two pieces of a puzzle. “I didn’t mean to compare your eyes with stones and it pains me to know I hurt you with my inept words, even though you didn’t let it show.”

“No, you didn’t hurt me,” Yusuf astonishingly assures him after a moment of consideration, and squeezes his hand as Nicolo grimaces skeptically. “I guarantee you, you didn’t offend me. Was it unexpected what you said? Yes. Did it surprise me? Absolutely. But you didn’t upset me.”

Puzzled, Nicolo scrunches up his nose. “Then why were you so quiet? I couldn’t think of anything else than that I wounded you with my words and induced your disappointment.”

Yusuf smiles slightly at that, finally igniting the familiar spark in the two endless depths. “The only reason why I wasn’t myself the last few days was because I was incapable of figuring out what you wanted to tell me. I’ve heard and used a lot of stylistic devices but your phrase was a riddle I couldn’t solve. What did you allude to?” 

To Nicolo’s amazement Yusuf really just seems to be curious about it and he is crushed by a wave of relief. “Your eyes look like stones. I wonder what you were referring t…?”

“I love your eyes,” Nicolo cuts him off for the second time this evening and Yusuf suddenly makes a wheezing sound, hand getting limp in Nicolo’s own.

“What?” It’s almost funny how stunned Yusuf stares at him, lips slightly parted, except it’s not because Nicolo’s heart is beating so fast it hurts and he is sweating and maybe he is getting nauseous. 

“I love your eyes.” It is a dry rasp and his throat clicks loudly when he gulps. “I love your eyes, Yusuf.” He reiterates quieter, whispers it like a prayer in the hope of voicing the amount of devotion he feels for Yusuf, filling every single inch of his body. “Your eyes are so much more than stones and undoubtedly not so dull.”

Yusuf continues to speechlessly gaze at him, so Nicolo proceeds getting it all out of his system. “I love your eyes, is what I wanted to express with my pathetic phrase.” Following a sharp impulse he gets up to kneel beside Yusuf, not letting go of their interlocked hands for one second. “Your eyes are warmth: like sun-kissed wood and the glimmer of a safety promising hearth fire. Your eyes brim with raw, pure life and whenever you spot something you like they begin to glow with joy, so vivid I can taste your delight as if it were my own.”

At that, Yusuf tries to say something but all that leaves his mouth is a choked gasp and Nicolo has to laugh, more hysterically than anything else. “I can see infinite night skies in your eyes, beholding every opportunity you’ve gifted me with thanks to your benevolence of reaching out a hand to me after I had killed your people and raided your home. Your eyes are obsidian containing stars and I love them…” Nicolo’s lips curve into a barely visible smile, a bit unsteady in the corners due to the emotions overwhelming him. “...because I love you.”

He hasn’t even time to process that he eventually had the guts to tell Yusuf what went through his head days ago when his attempt on poetry didn’t work out as planned as Yusuf grabs the front of his shirt and nothing but reels him in.

Their mouths collide, clashing, but considering that Nicolo is being kissed by the man he loves and hangs on for dear life, doing his best to kiss him back just as feral, he couldn’t care less.

Yusuf cups his face as they part, both breathing heavily. “”Next time you’re going to be poetic, give me a little warning, okay?”

Nicolo giggles wetly. “I only did what you do to me every day.”

“How else am I supposed to show you how much I love you?” Yusuf says affectionately and Nicolo thinks he might die then and there.

“You love me?”

“Every day a little more, ya amar.” His beloved places another kiss on Nicolo’s lips, and another on his cheek, on his nose, on his forehead, covering his entire face with his lips. “Every second a little more.”

Almost a millennium later, Joe - dozing on their blanket amidst thousands of flowers, shining colorful in the afternoon sun - cracks an eye open and Nicky doesn’t even have to see his face to know about the mischievous grin having appeared in his beard. “What was the poetic declaration you used centuries ago in order to woo me? I’m afraid I cannot recall it. Was it something with stones by chance?”

Nicky merely shifts his weight and turns a page of his book, not making the effort of sparing him a glance. “You are the love of my life, Joe, but shut up.”

#it's been a hot minute since I've posted some newly written stuff so I'm nervous af #the old guard #fanfiction #fanfic #ficlet #tog #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #joe #nicky #joe x nicky #yusuf x nicolo #immortal husbands #immortal idiots in love #kaysanova #some humor #attempt at poetry #love speeches #Nicky probably centuries ago: Yusuf is so romantic I have to compliment him and his beauty #YoUR EyES LoOk LIke StONES #Joe probably centuries ago too: I wonder what Nicolo wants to tell me with that #*insert image of Nicolo hiding in their flock of goats trying to overcome this humiliating attempt of impressing Yusuf with #his weird-ass compliment #face burning bright red #replaying his words every night in his head dying a little more inside every time #while Yusuf is just like #What an intriguing metaphor #a riddle waiting to be solved #a word puzzle meant to sharpen my mind

[sheafrotherdon]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

It's been a rough few weeks here at chez Cate, so I'm late getting to this. But thank you, Sarah!! It will probably shock absolutely no one that Broken Bird's Wing has a special place in my heart. It was my first big TOG fic, and I spent a long time crafting it to be exactly what I wanted. I love the idea of Nicky as a carpenter so much - competence ahoy. And then there's Joe with that sword . . . I'm also really fond of this tiny tumblr fic I wrote recently. They're so in love! And every time I think I'm overdoing it, I remember the van scene and realize, nope, this is canon. What joy.

In other fandoms I've written in, there's Coming Home in Teen Wolf fandom, which is genuinely one of the funniest fics I've ever written. And in Stargate Atlantis, there's A New History of Captain John Sheppard, which is a Temeraire crossover, and which was such a delight to write. And in the MCU, I wrote a crossover with Field of Dreams which totally works in ways it shouldn't, but god, that was fun.

Oh, and a secret fave - this post-movie ficlet about Thelma and Louise, in which they survive and thrive. Because they should.

#sheafrotherdon #favorite fics #this was so fun #thank you Sarah! #joe x nicky #sterek #marvel mcu #thelma and louise

[non-un-topo]

queer quartet prompt: arm wrestling in ye olde pub 👀

fghfdsfg thank you Rae, this one was so much fun!!

“What’s happening over here?”

Having sensed Andromache’s presence far across the stuffy, dimly lit pub, Quỳnh only had to open her hand for a wooden tankard to then be placed there. She smiled in thanks, and linked her arm with Andromache’s the moment her lover exchanged hands to lift her own ale to her lips. Because if she did not lock her in, Quỳnh knew she would go running across the floor towards the growing crowd in a heartbeat.

“Oh, Athena’s tits,” Andromache sighed, as expected. Quỳnh chortled into her ale, sending foam spraying into her eye.

“I leave for a moment,” continued Andromache, “and they’ve caught the attention of the entire pub!”

Quỳnh politely did not comment on her ancient lover’s resemblance to a grouchy crone.

“You know how they get when inhibitions are lowered,” she said. She felt rather comfortable from where she stood and watched, to be honest. There was never a dull moment with their little undying troupe.

Ahead, a crowd of sweaty patrons were challenging the sticky summer heat to cram in together around a small table. As voices raised and cheered, ale splashed to the warped wooden floor around them. It was an awfully intense scene for what was going on. That was, of course, the boys — Yusuf and Nicolò — engaged in an arm wrestling match that definitely did not require that much eye contact.

Their hands were steady — they rarely ever shook — but with their left hands they each gripped the sides of the little table with such force Quỳnh honestly expected it to fly off its wobbly legs. If that be the case, she knew, they’d just continue to wrestle until one of them lost or they got… distracted.

Judging by the subtle break of eye contact as Nicolò dropped his gaze down to the wide open collar of Yusuf’s shirt and Yusuf’s eyes focused on Nicolò’s bicep under his rolled-up sleeve, Quỳnh did not expect it would take long from there.

“They’ve been holding on a while,” she praised, in any case. Naturally, given the number of years they’d both spent swinging swords around. There was really only one way to end this game quickly, hence the reason she still had Andromache’s arm trapped in her own.

“Release me,” Andromache commanded, of course.

Quỳnh snorted and tugged her closer. “Why should I? Perhaps we can ask these friendly patrons to place bets, and then we can purchase all the ale we want tonight!”

“You make a fair argument…”

“Of course I do, I carry the brains of this entire family.”

Andromache attempted to playfully stamp on her foot but Quỳnh dodged her boot with ease, taking a measured sip of her ale and exclaiming a pleased, “Aah,” at the taste.

“Tired?” Nicolò asked then, in his low voice. Oh, that tone. Perhaps this game would end sooner than Quỳnh thought. “You could always let go and end this now.”

“Never,” hissed Yusuf. Sweat poured down his temple like liquid gold in the candlelight. Quỳnh watched as he flexed his fingers, gripping Nicolò’s hand somehow tighter.

“I think they are playing the stranger game,” muttered Quỳnh, in Andromache’s ear. Andromache startled herself with a laugh, then turned it into a frustrated groan.

A man in the crowd shouted something, rooting for Yusuf it sounded like, and others joined, mugs raising over their heads. The very air about them smelled of sweat and tension.

Yusuf grinned then, showing teeth. “Sounds like you’re losing, handsome thing.” Then he winked.

With a resigned Alright, Andromache downed the last of her ale and tossed the tankard to the floor — for which Quỳnh would later scold her. After all, people did not live like barbarians anymore, Andromache. But in the moment, Quỳnh hid her shocked laugh in her mug and watched with wide eyes as Andromache stalked up to the table, sleeves rolled up to her armpits.

The crowd quieted as she loomed over the table and, after a swift glance over each of their faces, Andromache looked down at the boys and declared, “Allow me to show you what real strength looks like.”

They let go, ending the match just like that, and they both looked up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

Yusuf raised his hands. “Now wait, Androma—”

But it was too late for him. Quỳnh sipped on as Andromache seized his hand and tensed every muscle in her body. Yusuf cried out, more of a squawk really, as Andromache slammed his hand to the table in a matter of seconds. The crowd exclaimed in shock.

As poor Yusuf rubbed his bicep and shouted very dramatically for Nicolò to flee, Nicolò stood from his chair with a wooden screech. Andromache did not spare him the same honour — instead, she simply took him by the arm and with a great, steady huff she flipped him over the table.

The silence that followed was so stark, Quỳnh could hear the delicate little tinkle of a man pissing himself across the room.

The boys scooted towards each other on the floor, a little shaken and rosy-cheeked. Quỳnh simply finished the last of her ale and nodded to herself, accepting the craziness of her little family.

Affectionately, and certainly out of place to the patrons watching but perfectly in place to Quỳnh’s eyes, Andromache ruffled the boys’ hair. She raised her hands then, speaking to the crowd,

“Drinks are on me!”

#sage writes #tog #the old guard #ficlet #the old gays #don't! draw! attention to yourselves boys!! #i hope i didn't make andy too mean sdfgfd sometimes she has to lay the rules down but she loves them #anyway idk why i'm in a goofy silly mood but i guess i'm in a goofy silly mood #you KNOW how to access that part of my brain with the queer quartet and old pubs/taverns #absolute tomfoolery the lot of them

[barbex]

Wow i just read ❝ why do you stick around? what is it you think you see in me? ❞ ;) Its cute, haha they play a ghost prank tog, is it on A03? I read the amnesia one too

That prompt became the second chapter of the amnesia ficlet, number 62.

[phatburd]

(AO3 wrapped asks) 18, 19, 20!

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

I already answered this on another ask, so I’ll answer with another character instead, this time from The Old Guard.

I think I’m more of a “terminally depressed Frenchman enjoyer” than an “emotionally healthy Italian enjoyer.” Getting into Nicolo Di Genova’s head, even for a 2.2K word short story, was a major pain in the ass. So much so that my plans to expand on that story were permanently put on hold.

(That short story is buried in my ficlet collection, it’s not a standalone fic for reasons.)

And I like that Nicky is emotionally healthy, but it apparently doesn’t give me much to work with. This is just one of the many reasons I don’t write Kasynova fic for TOG. But that would just turn into a rant, and that doesn’t do anyone good.

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

I have at least one – possibly two – Bessimu fics in me at the moment (once I get done with the one I’m currently working on). However, they’re way down on my to-do list. I got a bunch of gen non-shippy things in the pipeline first.

I think being in other fandoms has taught me what I don’t enjoy seeing in ship fics and, oddly, Bessimu gives me the opening to explore the things I do like. I think those two will be on my mind for a while! 🥰

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

The Well. Especially after S2 and S3 of Star Trek Picard. While I love Counting Up, Counting Down for the sheer amount of audacity and ambition I poured into it, The Well is what gave me the confidence to tackle that in the first place. It’s much more low stakes, plot wise, but I still love how I managed to seamlessly integrate The Old Guard with Star Trek.

It’s good for the Trek canon as it stood at the time, but with the introduction of Pelia since I published it, I’m tempted to go explore TOG/Star Trek again.

Thanks for asking! 👍

#asks