anumone_7
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laments shaped like persimmons by anumone_7 for IBANNY
Fandoms: Alien Stage (Web Series)
20 Feb 2026
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“I’m merely ensuring that you’re paying attention,” Ivan says, brushing away an eyelash from underneath his own eyelid. “Many great rulers lose their minds out of boredom, you know. It is a general’s duty to make sure that his king stays on his toes.”
“Is that why you marked down the rice by at least three percent?” Till asks, pinching Ivan’s calf. “I don’t think you need to worry so much about my mind. It sure can’t find a moment’s rest when you’re around.”
Ivan snorts, mouth crumpling. Till thinks of persimmons left to dry out under the sun, pruned with time. Such is the state of Ivan’s smile. “You flatter me, Your Highness. Indeed, it was merely from a place of duty.” A tinge of pink floods his cheeks. “However will you punish me for this overstep? Will it be the ropes or the chains? Or will it be straight to the dungeons this time?”
(Or: King Till looks after his slightly annoying, slightly endearing general.)
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Ivan likes to believe he knows what the segyein want from him. He likes to believe he has watched them long enough to understand, in ways he might never be able to understand his fellow humans. A flash of skin underneath the shirt collar, right where they fantasize a metal collar to be. A ragged hand dragging down the column of his throat, clasping over his pulse, which could be stopped in a second. Another hand patting his ruffled pockets, stuffed with collected business cards, easier to exchange than flower crowns.
Unlike other humans, the segyein do not believe Ivan to be capable of providing deeper substance. This works fine for him. There are no empty circles of flowers for him to pour his feelings into, only to leave them hollower than usual. Instead, there is only the empty husk of his own body. The segyein can fill it to the brim with their wants.
An ideal son. A top student. An impeccable model. Anything but a friend.
(Or: Ivan's side of the story of what happened in the karaoke rooms before Round 6.)
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Ivan lets out a few pitiful grunts, somehow unable to let out any semblance of a purr. As a kid, Ivan would grit his teeth on purpose, his chin thrumming with the force. You don't have to do all that, Till would say, pausing his own purring. Isn't it only polite? Ivan would ask, jaw clenched. How else will you know that your only friend is enjoying your company? Today, Till reels in his punches. Instead, his tail loops around Ivan's arm at the broken bursts of breath.
"Be good," he says, and Ivan lets out a cough. His head bumps into Till's, ears brushing along Till's. An ache spreads along the point of contact. Till bends his head so Ivan will know to press his fingers there.
"I'm nothing but a gentleman," Ivan replies, voice raspy. His tail flicks behind him, as if he's ready to play.
(Or: The 5 peculiar habits of Cat Hybrid Till's Cat Hybrid Boyfriend.)
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"I didn't say you disappointed me," Till says, poking Ivan's ribs with his blunt fingernails. Once, Ivan tried drawing guitar strings on their chipped surfaces to get Till to stop biting their edges. Maybe if they resembled what you loved the most in the world, you would stop chewing on them so, Ivan had reasoned, after Till had gotten angry. To this day, Till hasn't told him that he was off in his guess, if only by a little. Till does love the guitar. Loving it the most, however, is impossible, given the existence of other, much more frustrating entities. "I'm not your teachers or your classmates or your father, remember? Use a different word, maybe."
"Disillusion? Disenchant? Dissatisfy?" Ivan suggests, raising a finger with each new term. Till tries to keep staring at him unblinkingly. "Has anyone ever told you that you resemble one of those little dogs that try to bark up a storm every time they encounter a dog twice or even thrice their size? I must say, you do share their disposition."
(Or: Ivan misses a few movie nights. Till decides to corner him with quite a failed kabedon.)
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#LISTING 3. White, closed-toe, polyester, KR Kid’s Size 260: Knew father would not be pleased with the mudprints in the house. But soccer at my acquaintance’s was still interesting. Never realized the game could be played between just two. Never realized there was a special move. Never realized losing could be quite like winning, too.
#LISTING 4. Yellow, open-toe, rubber, KR Kid’s Size 270: One of my childhood acquaintance's shoes. Bigger than expected. Wore this while he wore the other. Appeared to be some kind of an apology for the other day. Felt funny hobbling between second-grade classes on a single foot all day. Felt funnier to see said acquaintance do the same.
(Or: Ivan makes a few listings for secondhand shoes. Especially those that no longer fit anyone close to him.)
Series
- Part 9 of etymology
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Caesura 𝄓 a brief, silent pause, during which metrical time is not counted.
In a river of harmonious lines, you are the sole counterpoint. You are not part of the melody or the harmony; you are something else entirely.You are the silence that swallows up the music altogether.
or; an ivan character study in music terms.
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Subtle Planes of the Anatomical Heart by pinecow for anumone_7
Fandoms: Alien Stage (Web Series)
14 Jan 2026
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Till seems to be repeating all the same steps from when he was a child in the entirely wrong order.
Does it hurt, he would like to imagine Ivan asking when he speaks next. Till would like to roll his eyes and scoff and say, Has it ever not? What’s new? His eyes trace the curve of Ivan’s back which straightens and bends repeatedly. His hand rubs at it incessantly. There is a minute wince on his face that Till barely catches before it’s forced into the corners of a tight smile. What about you? Till wants to say back. Does it hurt?
- Language:
- English
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- 1,699
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- 1/1
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- 6
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- 41
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- 3
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Bookmarked by anumone_7
15 Jan 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
one of the most visceral and gorgeous depictions of canon ivantill i have seen. i am so. in awe and warmth.
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Do Gamers Dream of Electric Boyfriends? by goldenhouse
Fandoms: Alien Stage (Web Series)
29 Oct 2025
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When Till decided to try getting closer to Mizi through a shared interest in Valorant, he didn't expect to be the one playing the healer. He's not great at it, but that's fine. Give him a few months and a partner to practice with, and he'll be the best pocket Sage anyone could ask for. Enter bʌnny, local instalock Jett main.
Alternatively: Tillivan on their journey to becoming the most obnoxious jettsage edater duo in the lobby.
- Language:
- English
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- 5,335
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- 4/7
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- 193
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Bookmarked by anumone_7
15 Oct 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
absolutely amazing. i will become a gamer to experience this fic. beautiful.
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walk my days on a wire (burning till the very last night) by sanguinemoon for yuri_islife
Fandoms: Alien Stage (Web Series)
06 Apr 2025
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“You’ll break me,” Mizi says. “I’ll break you. We break each other and kiss away the tears that form because the ache is all we know.”
“But why?” Sua looks to her. The world around them creeps towards dawn and the flowers sway gently, beautiful for all eternity. “Why must we?”
Mizi circles MALACHITE SUNBIRD with her finger and murmurs, “You’ll leave me, Sua. You always will. That’s just how we are.”
The protest in her throat dies like the faint embers of used-up coal and Sua reels in her bed, head throbbing. Her phone blares and lights up when she smacks it. 37 HOURS LEFT.
Or, Mizi and Sua only have 48 hours and 32 minutes left to live.
(The ethos? Eating is hard, dreams are so cruel when they dangle what you don’t have in front of you via Tantalus’ grove, and never trust another goddamn faggot.)