ThatBlueViolinKid
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if only I wasn’t scared to meet your gaze by celestarr
Fandoms: Alien Stage (Web Series)
28 Feb 2026
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Sometimes he yearned for Till to become aware of his affections, for no purpose but to ensure Till realized that he was not only beloved, but love itself.
Someone like Till, an explosion of what it meant to be human, could not love someone like Ivan. The most human thing about him was this rot that continued to fester inside of his heart and now throat. His love was sickly, but it was real, as these petals proved, and maybe that was all Ivan could dream of.
Therefore, Ivan did not need Till’s love– he just needed Till.Bookmarked by ThatBlueViolinKid
03 Mar 2026
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“Till?” Ivan groans, groggy. He feels bony fingers dig into the flesh of his ass and under his upper back as he’s lifted off the ground.
“A-are you okay?” Till stutters under Ivan’s weight, a crowd begins to surround them. Ivan’s brain slows as it begins to process the fact that Till was lifting him. Bridal-carrying him, if you will.
“Uh,” Ivan manages intelligibly.
Ivan gets knocked over mid-game. The only logical thing to do would be for Till to lift him up. Obviously.
Bookmarked by ThatBlueViolinKid
27 Dec 2025
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Till throws his hands upwards, “Seriously? Ivan, what did the last few months of us screwing around mean to you?”
“It was a mutually beneficial arrangement,” Ivan finds himself saying, nodding slightly at his own words as if to affirm himself.
Till’s eyes widen incredulously, “Did you think we were fucking friends with benefits?!”
“The benefits tend to include fucking, yes,”
Ivan thinks he knows exactly what he and Till are. Till thinks Ivan's an idiot.
Bookmarked by ThatBlueViolinKid
27 Dec 2025
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These days, Till finds solace in the fact that he was right in his suspicions. The violin may have disciplined Ivan, but the guitar pushes his throat past the limits their old world had imposed on him.
On the stage, the heat makes Ivan's hair curl, allowing him to look as ragged as he did during all their childhood tussles. His leather jacket, which now lies discarded somewhere near the entryway, still smells like the hotteok Till burned in their kitchen a couple of nights ago. There’s a tiny brown smear near the zipper of his pants where he spilled a little bit of sauce from the kimchi okonomiyaki he had been eating before rehearsals, because Ivan is the kind to spill things on himself without consequence now.
(Or: When it comes down to it, there's not that much difference between making music and making love.)
Bookmarked by ThatBlueViolinKid
26 Dec 2025
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In the locker room after practice, the boys jostle each other, slinging their sweaty jerseys over their bare backs.
They laugh, discussing the obscene ways the body can twist and turn. How to suck a hickey along the column on another’s throat. How to cup a breast with the right amount of pressure. How to kiss between the thighs. But no one, no one talks about how to best pluck an eyelash from underneath the bruised eye of a boy one has revolved around their whole life. How to catch and bear the heaviness of a wish never made.
(Or: After a rough encounter with Urak, Till calls Ivan over. They sit together in the water and let it carry them through.)
Bookmarked by ThatBlueViolinKid
24 Dec 2025