your list of wips sounds like a dragon treasure trove of amazing ideas and stories. I would love to ask about all of them, but The Meat Market especially caught my eye 💕💕💖💕💖
See the thing is, what Sid will never admit out loud to Tanger and Flower is that hookups are great but it’s not what he wants. So when they drag him there, under false pretenses, lying to him about where they’re going, he thinks he might kill them.
He’d turn around and walk right back out if it wouldn’t make him look like such a stick in the mud. He’s not, okay? But his face is so hot, watching this tall, well-built man with dark, teasing eyes and the lower lip that’s just perfectly plump and now he wants to kill them each twice because he cannot pop a boner in public.
Also, they are both married! He should definitely tell their wives about the twenties they tuck into the dancer’s—well, Sid’s not sure what he’d call something like that but it’s certainly not underwear. If they tell him to relax one more time...
Eventually, Sid has to escape to the bar, for his own sanity. And that’s where he spends the next half an hour, steadfastly refusing to look at the stage.
And that’s probably why he didn’t realize that the gorgeous man’s set had ended, that there was someone else dancing now. It’s why, when a tall body, dressed in a snug tee and dark jeans slides onto the seat next to him, he’s not expecting to be looking into those same dark, teasing eyes.
Choking on his drink the second he makes eye contact isn’t his finest moment.
Favorite character: Gerard Way - his band saved my life
Least Favorite character: Mmm they all seem like good people. I’m not a fan of Travis Walker’s music but like...he seems a good dude? So if we go by music alone, Travie. If we include McSkippy? Then Joe Jonas.
5 Favorite ships (canon or non-canon): Oh JFC. Summer of Like, Peterick, Bob/Ryan because fuck my life,
Character I find most attractive: would you believe Brendon Urie? Me either but here we are.
Character I would marry: ...god, none of them? Can I say none of them? But Gerard seems like a good spouse and you get access to awesome D&D campaigns and UA spoilers so, GWay I guess?
Character I would be best friends with: Pete Wentz or Frank Iero - those two are so fucking ride or die its amazing
A random thought: Pete Wentz is both a poet and a talent dowsing rod - he puts together some of the most impossible sentences I’ve ever seen and has this amazing knack for looking at people and going “You. You will be famous.” Panic at the Disco. All Time Low. Bebe Rexha. Travis McCoy. Fucking 2Chainz. Remember when 2Chainz was just....a featured rapper on a FOB single? Cuz I do. Patrick “I just want to play the drums, I don’t sing” Stump. One day, YOU CAN MARK MY FUCKING WORDS we’re gonna look back at Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III and go “he was the second coming of Phil Spector (hopefully without any murder)” - I’m calling it now.
An unpopular opinion: Um...I could do without twitter? I dont want to know more about these people than what they offer in interviews. Seriously, I know yall are real people but, um, they’re also not? They’re performers. They perform, they interview, and everything after that is none of my business. Fanfiction is just that - fiction. Keep the curtain drawn. We shouldnt have this much access to people’s real lives.
My canon OTP: Gerard and Lyn-Z are GOALS. Run away with me, any time you want. Followed closely by Brendon and Sarah - Sarah Smiles and Death of a Bachelor are just. Ugh. Fucking ruin me.
Non-canon OTP: ...Mikey/Pete - summer of like baby
Most badass character: Brian Schecter what the fuck kind of human being is he??
Pairing I am not a fan of: Ryan/Brendon - I get it. I’m just not into it.
Character I feel the writers screwed up (in one way or another): Mikey Way fucked himself up. I have never been able to look at that man the same way since, ya know, the thing with that fan. What the fuck, sir?
Favourite friendship: Pete Wentz/literally everyone in music
Nicke & Sid. Introverted international jewel thieves!au.
They’re like ghosts, is the problem.
“I don’t get it,” Ovechkin, the Interpol agent, says. “They’re stealing millions of dollars worth of jewels. Why aren’t they doing anything with it?”
“Maybe they’re just boring,” his partner, Malkin, proposes, looking at the one camera shot they have of the thieves--it’s from behind, and all that they can really make out is the two heads, one light and one dark, tilted together as they walk away from the building. it’s so perfectly framed that he can’t help but think it was left on purpose.
An email dings on the computer--a message from an unknown recipient. Come now. you can do better than that.
Malkin and Ovechkin squawk, and start searching their office for bugs.
(Not so far away--”Sidney. That was stupid.” "But think of how much better it’ll to be to win this time!”)
I'm a little late, but if you're still accepting asks about Into That Bad Night, I'd love to know what Flower's first impressions of Sidney were - and how Flower got involved with Evgeni's operations. (Into That Bad Night is one of my all time fav fics).
This is a great question. I’ll need to put some thought into this. I can’t promise a timestamp about it-that’s a maybe. But I may be able to tap out a couple of snippets about this.
1) It becomes clear early that Sid is gods-chosen. It’s not just his skill on the ice, it’s the way it encompasses him. The way he can see things no one else can. It doesn’t mean he can’t play; it’s like the throw of the dice of genetics–an advantage no one chose, and no one controls for. He’s not the only one, anyway. There are always gods-chosen, in every walk of life. They are always great.
2) There are things Sid doesn’t tell anyone. The way he sometimes he sets foot on the ice and knows how it will go. The things he can see no one else can. The way he dreams, of ice and iron and a presence that is infinitely large and too other to be kind but that likes him, in its way. Of blood, and war, and other lives where the battles he fights for his god are real, where he stands alone against the dark.
He does tell people, because they ask, about how he can know when someone’s important. When the hand of his god, or fate, or something, has landed on him. He knows when he picks up a stick. He knows when he’s drafted. And he knows, when Mario tells him about Evgeni Malkin’s situation, that this matters. “He’ll get here,” Sid tells Mario, calm and sure. Mario doesn’t ask. Like he doesn’t ask when Evgeni makes it to Pittsburgh at last, and Sid greets him with a smile and without surprise. This is important, Sid knows. This boy, standing there exhausted, gone through his trials.
The hand of his god is on him, and Sid smiles at Evgeni, holds out his hand. “Welcome,” he says, and feels fate close around them.
3) Geno is not gods-chosen, and he has spent much of his life bitter about it. Or, not bitter–envious. Geno is always good, always great, and never noticed as the best; he can fight all he wants, work all he wants, and he will never get the notice of the gods. They know all, after all; if Geno wasn’t chosen in the womb, he won’t be now, and so he’ll never be great.
It makes him wary, at first, of Sid. Everyone knows that the hand of the gods is heavy on Sid, heavier than anyone else in their generation; his hockey is gorgeous, the best Geno’s ever seen. What would it be, part of him can’t help but ask though, if the gods had never chosen? Would he still be as good? Or is this all the favor of the gods, which Geno was never given?
But then–then, slowly, it’s just Sid. Sid who is awkward and earnest and works so hard, despite being gods-chosen. Who carries the weight of the hand of his god with him wherever he goes, and makes it look easy. Who fits next to Geno on the ice, and when they score, Geno doesn’t think of gods or their gifts, just joy and the two of them.
4) “What it like?” Geno asks once, on a plane high above the middle of the continent, everyone else asleep. Geno had been too, until he woke from turbulence to find Sid awake, staring unseeing at the seat in front of him. Geno put his hand on Sid’s knee, to draw him out of it; Sid started, and looked at him like he was coming back from somewhere very far away.
“What?”
“The gods,” Geno clarifies. No one talks about it. They all know, and they’re all fiercely proud of their captain, but no one asks.
Sid shakes his head. “I can’t…there aren’t words, to explain.” It sounds lonely.
The plane is very quiet. “I’m always want. To be chosen,” Geno confesses. “Think…it make me special.”
Sid blinks, and looks at Geno in confusion. “You are special,” he says, like it’s obvious.
Geno has to smile at that, and feels something turn over in his stomach, in his heart–something he’s been trying to ignore for years. “Not the same.”
“No,” Sid agrees. “It’s better. You earned everything you have. I…” he shakes his head, and that faraway look is back. “It’s been chosen for me.”
“You earn too,” Geno retorts, as sure as Sid. “Not because of gods. Because of you.”
Sid smiles, slow and bright, and there’s that thing in Geno’s heart again. “Thanks,” he says, and then his hand is resting on Geno’s hand on Sid’s knee.
5) There are stories about the gods-chosen. It’s not a blessing. The gods-chosen have great gifts, but no gift comes without a price.
And for those they love…sometimes their price can be higher.
6) Sid dreams, of ice and steel and blood, and the glinting silver of the Cup, and he’s raising it and so is Geno and they’re grinning at each other and then Geno’s melting away, dissolving into nothingness, and Sid grabs at him but there’s nothing there, no one left to hold, and Sid’s alone except for the presence of his god. What can you do alone? he’s asked, and Sid wants to scream, because that’s never mattered.
He wakes, tears on his cheeks, and scrambles for his phone. Geno doesn’t pick up; he calls again. “What?” Geno snaps, when he finally answers. “Is three in the morning, Sid.”
“Be careful,” Sid pants. Orders. Fate is building around him, and it hurts to touch. “Don’t–you’re okay?”
“Yes, am fine. Less now I’m awake. What’s wrong?” Geno asks, softer now that it’s clear Sid’s really worked up.
Sid forces himself to breathe. “I’m sorry,” he says, and hangs up before Geno can ask what for. It’s not Geno’s fault Sid fell in love.
7) Sid goes down, and stay down. Geno doesn’t understand. What use is Sid’s god–what use is any god–if this can happen? If Sid’s head betrays him like this? All of Sid’s dire warnings, the way he’s been watching Geno–what use is any of it?
It doesn’t matter. The gods don’t listen to Geno. Geno can just watch Sid’s pale face and the way he curls into himself in his dark, empty house, all alone, unable to handle anything for long. Can only try to be there, as the months stretch on, as the rumblings start about Sid losing the favor of his god, of them replacing him, until–
“You’ll be a great captain,” Sid says, one day when Geno’s over, trying to cheer him up, “It should be you.” He’s serious, and when he looks at Geno he seems to mean it, and it’s so wrong, so not Sid, that Geno breaks.
“No,” he says, once, and gets up. The gods have never listened to him. Not like they listen to Sid. But Geno has fought his way to everything he got, and he can fight for this too. Fight for Sid.
8) Geno dreams. He’s on the ice, not a rink just–the ice, in his pads. Sid is there, at the other end of it. He’s in the gym short and t-shirt that Geno last saw him in, looking small and alone. Geno tries to skate towards him, but he can’t move.
Then there’s something–Geno can’t quite understand. Sid has a stick or maybe a sword, and there’s someone or maybe a ghost or maybe nothing, and they’re fighting, and Geno doesn’t know what’s happening but he can see that Sid’s bleeding. He pushes harder, but he can’t get towards Sid.
And then there’s something there, infinitely large and unfathomable, watching Sid fight. Amused, Geno thinks. Invested, but amused. Like a fan watching a game. Sid is bleeding, Sid’s drained, and it’s amused.
Geno tries, and tries again. Let me help, he rages. Let me go. You’re killing him. I can help. No, he thinks, like he did at Sid’s. This isn’t right. Sid doesn’t stand alone.
And then–impossibly heavy, the presence of a god. Geno’s knees almost buckle. Is this what Sid feels, every day of his life? The weight of the hand of his god?
What would you give? is asked, and Geno refuses to fall. He straightens. Glares back. Who are you, to give?
And Geno–he thinks of the rink in Russia and the bathroom in Finland and his skates on the ice and the smug satisfaction of a puck hitting twine and the Calder and the Conn Smythe and everything he’s done without the gods and he thinks of Sid’s sure eyes the first time they met and Sid next to him on the rink and in the locker room and on the plane and at team parties and lifting the cup together and Sid’s laugh and the quiet joy of him at a bar with the team and how he smiles at Geno sometimes, like there’s nowhere he’d rather be, and he thinks of Sid bleeding right now and the only thing he knows is that he needs to help. That Sid shouldn’t be alone. That he loves Sid, and he won’t let him be alone.
More amusement, then–then Geno is there, and Sid blinks at him, confused, the fight frozen. Geno? he asks, reaching out, and Geno touches the blood on his skin, wipes it away.
You’re not alone, Geno tells him, the weight still on him. You’re never alone.
You’ll get hurt. This hurts. It’ll hurt you.
Then it hurts. Geno’s thumb runs over Sid’s lips. Worth it.
Sid looks unconvinced, even in this nothing-place, and here it’s as easy as leaning down to kiss him before taking his place beside him in the fight.
9) Sid drives to Geno’s. He doesn’t think about it, about what it might do to his head. His head is better. It will be better. He needs to be there.
Geno lets him in. He’s pale, and Sid’s hands are on him before the door is closed, trying to make sure he’s whole. “What’s that?” Geno asks. “That–real?”
“It’s what I couldn’t explain,” Sid tells him, “Or part of it, but Geno, you aren’t–”
He’s not. He’s still not, Sid knows, because he can tell the gods-chosen, and that doesn’t change. Geno’s not gods-chosen, and he was there, in Sid’s dreams, fighting against the monsters. That’s never happened. Sid doesn’t know how.
“That what it like, all the time?” Geno catches Sid’s hand, pulls it to his chest. “You alone there, always?”
“Yeah. But–you’re okay? Really?” There’s always a price, and Sid won’t let Geno pay it.
“Feel fine, Sid.” Geno grabs at Sid’s other hand. The way he’s looking at Sid is as heavy in its way as the presence of the god, but totally different too. Like he’d looked at Sid in the other world, when he’d melted out of nothing. “Sid…”
“It’ll hurt,” Sid warns. He can feel fate building. He’ll fight it, though. For Geno. “You know what happens, to those close to people like me.”
Geno tugs. Sid does’t move. Geno sighs, and steps closer. “Then it hurts. Already hurting you.”
“You shouldn’t have been able to be there.” Sid looks at Geno, mostly in awe. “How did you–”
“I’m special,” Geno tells him, smug, and leans down to kiss him, and there’s no fate, no hand of the gods. Just Geno, and Sid, and their very human hearts.
oh, I love Hazy Shade of Winter; if I could ask for a timestamp, I'd love to see a scene set in summer?
Oooh. Interesting-I hadn’t really thought of this but now that you’ve introduced the concept, I may have an idea or two. I think I may try to work on this tomorrow.
