swanjolras: (pic#9109657)
[personal profile] swanjolras
before we met, i was so afraid of dying. but if the end comes today, this will have been enough
A Softer World is ending, and what better way to celebrate it than with a ficathon?


1. Comment with a fandom, character, or pairing, and an A Softer World comic!
That's all that's required - feel free to elaborate (explanation of what you'd like to see) or to just leave it up to the author. Please include a link to the comic if you can! just so no one has to hunt around for "that one about photos and souls?"
If you like, you can link two comics, but please only do it if those comics are a sort of joint prompt - "I want to see X combined with Y for Sansa Stark" - and not as two separate prompts.

2. While you're waiting for your prompt to be filled, go fill someone else's!


1. Reply to the prompter's comment with a subject line stating title, characters or pairing, and rating! If there is potentially triggering content, please slap a "tw: [x]" in the subject line as well.

2. Reply to the fill thread with the same subject line and a link to your fic!

Feel free to prompt or write any fandom, any character, any pairing. Art is very welcome, as are fanmixes, poetry, or anything else you can think of.

1. Be nice! Have fun! Feel sad that this comic is ending D:
2. Feel free to be anonymous if you want to be, but it's not a requirement by any means!
Page 2 of 2 << [1] [2] >>

Hockey RPF, Sid/Geno

Date: 2015-05-07 08:36 pm (UTC)
toewses: (Default)
From: [personal profile] toewses
"if you want the impossible / you have to make it want you back"

(don't have the link to hand, sorry!)

six impossible things before, Sid/Geno

Date: 2015-05-07 09:20 pm (UTC)
bropunzeling: (Default)
From: [personal profile] bropunzeling
Sidney Crosby skates out on the ice, laughs. Geno, newly christened, can hear it carrying in the rafters of the barn. He watches Sidney skate, puck on the stick, a tap here, a hit there. Perfect, perfect, a mistake that skids off to the boards. Flower yells something in English, and Sidney laughs again, bright and carrying.

It’s a good noise, a good laugh. Even more than Sidney Crosby’s incredible hockey, Geno wants to hear that again.


Geno waits in the tunnel, bumps fists, yells. Sid is right beside him, C newly emblazoned on his chest. Tonight they will go out, and Sidney Crosby will show them what hockey looks like, what hockey’s meant to be, and Geno will follow as he always does.

“Again?” Geno asks once the last guy’s out, poking out his tongue.

Sid laughs. “It’s routine,” he says, wrinkling his nose, and Geno laughs too.

He reaches out, taps their fists, their chests. His hand lands below the C, right below its weight. Their helmets bump together, faces close.


Everyone says the Cup is the lightest 34 pounds you will ever carry. In Sidney’s hands it looks even lighter, like it weighs nothing at all.

“We did it!” Sid yells, screaming in Geno’s ear in the locker room, “Geno, G, we –“

“Yes, yes,” Geno interrupts, yelling right back. His heart is pounding in his chest like a drum, like a bird, like – he doesn’t know. Sid’s breath is on his neck and their hands hold the Cup together and Geno doesn’t know how to breathe anymore.

He would happy, being right here, just like this. Their success in front of them, their pinkies brushing, Sid’s voice hoarse in his ear. He would be happy, just like this.


Sidney Crosby is alone in his house with the curtains drawn, and Geno doesn’t know how to reach him.

Soon enough it doesn’t matter anyways, because Geno’s knee goes and so does his hockey. He putters around his house for the first few weeks, catching up on old television shows and cooking burned peas, until he finally gives up or gives in and goes to visit Sid.

Sid, when he opens the door, looks like shit. Even so, Geno feels something in his ribcage light up.

“Geno,” Sid says, like he’s surprised.

“Think I leave you alone?” Geno asks. “Still like you even when not on ice, Sid.”

“I –“ Sid starts, stops. He steps out of the doorway so Geno can limp inside.

“Thank you,” Sid says, hours later, after they’ve watched too many shitty History Channel specials and eaten the blandest soup Geno’s ever had in his life. Geno’s leg is braced on the coffee table, and Sid’s head is on Geno’s thigh.

“Of course,” Geno says. “Always do.”

“Oh,” Sid says. He doesn't say anything else.


The problem is that Geno’s always been good at loving Sid on the ice – at loving the way he skates, the way he passes, the way he scores. It is easy to love Sid there. It is understandable.

It is harder to love Sid when he is being stubborn and picky and restless, when he fusses over his routines and refuses to talk to anyone and complains yet again about having to eat his dinner through a straw. It is harder, then, to love this impossible man, secure in the knowledge that it is equally impossible to think that he’ll be loved in return.

Harder, but not impossible. Geno is good at it anyways.


Another disappointing playoffs, another offseason, another start to the year. Geno’s older. His bones ache more. He’s starting to wonder how many seasons he has left – five, ten. One.

Sid spent his summer in Pittsburgh after Worlds, texted Geno throughout the season. He is sympathetic about breakups, invested in team gossip, excited for the coming season. He asks when Geno will come home.

“Hey,” he says when he calls three hours after Geno’s flight gets in. “You home?”

“Yes,” Geno says.


They are standing in Geno’s kitchen. There is dinner on the counter in takeout boxes, evenly distributed between them. Chicken for Sid, beef for Geno, brown rice to share. Routine.

“I – over the summer,” Sid says, twisting his hands together. “I.” He stops, looks at Geno’s neck, eyes trailing up to look at Geno’s face. Geno feels like he is being examined, scrutinized. He wonders what Sid finds.

“Geno,” Sid says, stepping closer. “I – I want to – I want you –“ He stops again, flushes. It spreads across the bridge of his nose.

“Sid,” Geno says. His heart pounds in his ears, unstoppable like the tide. “You –“ He reaches out. His fingers brush Sid’s cheek.

Sid sighs, nods. Steps closer. “Yes,” he says.

Some things are impossible, Geno has found, but kissing Sidney Crosby, feeling his heart beating under his hands, the heat of his chest as he steps further into Geno’s space – kissing Sid isn’t one of them.

Re: six impossible things before, Sid/Geno

Date: 2015-05-07 09:25 pm (UTC)
toewses: (Default)
From: [personal profile] toewses

Hockey RPF, Any/Any

Date: 2015-05-07 08:37 pm (UTC)
toewses: (Default)
From: [personal profile] toewses
"there are two types of love / true love / and the love we actually get"

Hockey RPF, Any/Any

Date: 2015-05-07 08:38 pm (UTC)
toewses: (Default)
From: [personal profile] toewses
'it's better to have loved and lost / than to wake up next to you every day"

Hockey RPF, Saad/Leddy

Date: 2015-05-07 08:39 pm (UTC)
toewses: (Default)
From: [personal profile] toewses
"if loved lasted forever / we'd only ever get one"

Hockey RPF, Selanne/Kariya

Date: 2015-05-07 08:41 pm (UTC)
toewses: (Default)
From: [personal profile] toewses
"you were the best mistake i ever made / or anyway, you weren't the worst"

Hockey RPF, Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn, 1210

Date: 2015-05-07 10:31 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)

"I want to carve our initials/In the bark/Of everyone who ever hurt you"

Hockey RPF, Any/Any, 1217

Date: 2015-05-07 10:41 pm (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
I used to say I missed you after just a weekend. Like a child learning to talk, who calls every cat a tiger."
(And now what words do I have?)

One stop prompt for any and all pairings that have been traded away/never played together/only played together in international tournaments. (I'm looking at you Carts/Richie, Paulie/Nealer, Beau/Borts, Gagner/Tavares)


Re: Hockey RPF, Any/Any, 1217

Date: 2015-05-08 04:53 pm (UTC)
astriferrus: (Default)
From: [personal profile] astriferrus
Hey anon, would you accept Geno/Ovi as a fill for this?

Re: Hockey RPF, Any/Any, 1217

Date: 2015-05-09 01:38 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
sure! I'm not as familiar with that pairing, but I know enough to be open to reading it!


Date: 2015-05-08 12:13 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] tu-es-mi-amour.livejournal.com

Au's or cannon-compliant, all is welcome!

i will not tire of you

Date: 2015-05-08 11:30 pm (UTC)
bropunzeling: (Default)
From: [personal profile] bropunzeling
when you kiss me, i feel like i will live forever / but a better version of forever / that never gets boring


“It’s Sidney Crosby’s last game here at the Consol Energy Center,” the announcer says, “and it’s sure to be a good one!”

Sid stands in the tunnel and chews on his mouth guard. He feels all the normal twinges, amplified by the soreness of his muscles and the slowness in his bones. It’s a strange feeling, knowing this is the last time he’ll walk out like this, skates on his feet and C on his chest.

“Let’s get one for the captain,” someone shouts, and Sid closes his eyes, breathes.

It isn’t until halfway through the second that the announcer says, “Ladies and gentlemen, we’ve heard there’s an old friend in the press box tonight. Does the name Geno ring any bells?”

Sid, sitting on the bench, can’t help craning his neck to look up at the press box. There’s someone tall watching through the glass, a light blue suit. It shouldn’t surprise Sid like it does – he was the one to ask Geno to come, after all. “It’s my last game,” he’d said, and Geno had laughed, low and warm and curling around Sid’s spine just as it had ever since Sid met him.

“Of course I come,” Geno had said. “Not miss for the world,” and here he is, leaning in the press box, watching the ice like a hawk.

Sid wishes, not for the first time this season, that Geno had been there to tap his chest and knock their helmets together. Going out last doesn’t feel the same as it did back when he was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen. Sid’s grown used to the feeling of someone having his back.

Then there’s a line change, and Sid’s back out on the ice again, gritting his teeth and pushing for the corners.


They end on a win, a good note for the last game of the season. Sid doesn’t know what he’s saying to the team, even as he hugs and offers handshakes and says all the right things – it’s like he’s not even present, hardly able to process the fact that this is it, that after this he’s hanging up the Pittsburgh gold.

“Tomorrow,” Tanger shouts above the din of the bar, “tomorrow we have a party. No skipping, no excuses, yes?”

“Tonight is short though,” Sid says firmly. “One drink.”

“Just one drink?” one of the forwards shouts.

“Old guys need more sleep,” Olli says, grinning at Sid over the crowd.

“Speaking of old guys,” Tanger yells, and there’s Geno.

It’s been weeks since they last saw each other, in between Sid’s games and Geno’s flights between Russia and here. Still, Sid thinks that it might not even matter how many times they see each other, because Geno, grinning and waving and smug and charming, still manages to make Sid’s breath catch, just a little.

“Not let party without me,” Geno says, laughing. He wades through the team to reach Sid, grabs Sid’s arm. “Was good game,” he says, low enough that only Sid can hear.

“I wish you had played,” Sid says, before he can stop himself.

Geno looks wistful, grip tightening. His fingers around Sid’s bicep, warm and solid. “I wish too,” he says.


They split a taxi to Sid’s house, Geno following Sid up the steps and through the front door. Sid leaves his shoes by the front door, leaning against the wall. Geno slips off his own shoes, pulls Sid to upright with a hand on the small of his back.

“I’m glad you came,” Sid says, looking at Geno in the dim light of the hall. The light from outside casts shadows over Geno’s face; Geno’s eyes are bright in the dark. “I’m glad you – I’m glad.”

“Of course I come,” Geno says, voice soft. It settles under Sid’s skin, warm and solid. His hand on Sid’s back is hot like a brand. “You think I miss?”

“No, no – I just,” Sid says, blinking. He can’t seem to look away from Geno’s face, his lips. “You came. For me.”

“For you,” Geno agrees. They are very close, Sid thinks wildly. He can hear Geno breathe. Could hear Geno’s heart beat, if he wanted, if he stepped closer.

He steps closer, tilts his face up. His heart beats in his ribs like it’s the first shift, like he’s just scored the game winning goal, like he’s lifting up the Cup. Geno inhales sharply and bends down that last inch.

Geno’s lips on his feel like inevitability.


Sid’s staring at the coffeemaker when Geno comes downstairs, yawning and pulling open Sid’s cabinets like he’s lived here all his life. In some ways, he has.

“Sid?” Geno asks, even as he wraps an arm around Sid’s waist, spreads his fingers across Sid’s hips. They map out the curve of Sid’s hipbone and the dip of his waist.

“I just –“ Sid pauses, pressing his lips together as he thinks. “I don’t know what to do next. You know?”

Geno bends down and brushes a cheek against the length of Sid’s neck. His breath ghosts along Sid’s jaw, his hair tickling the sensitive skin. “I know. We figure out together.”

Sid turns in Geno’s hold and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Together,” he agrees.

Re: i will not tire of you

Date: 2015-05-08 11:47 pm (UTC)
toewses: (Default)
From: [personal profile] toewses

Hockey RPF, AGally/BGally

Date: 2015-05-08 12:23 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)
If loud weird public sex is wrong/ then being wrong/ is wicked hot


Hockey RPF, Teemu/Paul

Date: 2015-05-08 04:11 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)

we carry our own/ loneliness/ with us

Hockey RPF, Gallys

Date: 2015-05-08 05:55 am (UTC)
From: (Anonymous)

Such trivialities do not even register to me./ I am a being of pure reason./ Love would only slow me down.

(I am going to suggest post-breakup and then makeup but GO WHERE UR HEART TAKES U, etc., etc.)

Hockey RPF, Any/Any, 991

Date: 2015-05-09 12:05 am (UTC)
bropunzeling: (Default)
From: [personal profile] bropunzeling
i wish i'd never met you, / so i could meet you again.

(sid/geno, pk/carey, alex/nicky, or paul/teemu preferred but really go for whatever)

Hockey RPF Selanne/Kariya

Date: 2015-05-09 12:20 am (UTC)
toewses: (Default)
From: [personal profile] toewses
"i have loved since you / but when the new paint gets scratched, / there you are underneath"
Page 2 of 2 << [1] [2] >>
Page generated Sep. 23rd, 2017 02:03 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios