eeek_what
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Ivan was supposed to be normal.
Scents, cycles, secondary genders; Ivan was meant to have that too, but years past puberty granted him nothing. According to the doctors, Ivan suffered from a gland disorder. Unable to produce a scent or identify them left him to navigate a society that depended on something Ivan lacked. Without any clear indication of his dynamic, Ivan worried he would fail to meet anyone’s expectations.
Especially Till’s.Or, Ivan's trials and tribulations of being a faulty omega.
Bookmarked by eeek_what
12 Jun 2026
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"Not thinking of marriage yet? We're pushing 30, man."
Ivan's eyes skidder to the side, to the bundles of clouds above, like splotches of ink. The city is alive all around them, the noise of traffic and faraway voices insulated, muted within that private moment.
"I told you, Till. There was only one girl I've ever loved."
The cigarette is flickered to the snowy ground below. Till's face curled in incredulity, something Ivan can tell even without looking.
"Still? It's been nearly ten years. You said you only saw her once."
Wild, choppy gray hair, his button nose is pink, cheeks flushed in the cold, made warm by alcohol. Crackled, thin lips, barely parted. Teal, sharp eyes. Naive. Earnest. Stunningly oblivious.
"I'd still wait a lifetime, just to see her again."
*
Ivan was never allowed to be anything other than perfect, even if he, himself, knew he was beyond salvation from the start.
An exploration on repression, guilt, self loathing, and a love that refuses to die, refuses to even be called love.
Ivan could only ever adore a woman that didn't exist.
Bookmarked by eeek_what
17 May 2026
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carousel soul by unseriouscucumber (AngieWritesStuff) for santatin
Fandoms: Alien Stage (Web Series)
03 Nov 2024
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Oils and creams aren’t affordable this far from the aliens, so they make do with thin, transparent gel that smells faintly like rice and drips slippery in small bright lines. When it pricks over his skin and he reacts, Till murmurs a harsh apology. His palm cuts the exclamation mark-shaped puddle at the top of Ivan’s spine, spreads it across the cords of his shoulders and up his neck, thumbs pressing hesitantly with a force that can’t be effective.
Bookmarked by eeek_what
16 Jan 2025