Thinking about it that way puts all the "how can you dress sexy if you're asexual?" discourse in a different light: I'm not dressing sexy, I'm just wearing the jersey for sex.
wound tending is everything. unparalleled intimacy. let me care for you. let me touch the skin around your open flesh. let me stain my hands with your blood. let me get close and breathe in the same air as you and stare into your eyes for a few seconds too long. let me make you think of me every time you see the bandage, or scar
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Alien Stage (Web Series)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Ivan/Till (Alien Stage)
Characters: Ivan (Alien Stage), Till (Alien Stage)
Additional Tags: Body Worship, Obsessive Behavior, Established Relationship
Summary:
"They journeyed across every inch of his chest like Ivan was a cartographer mapping unknown territory, tracing gently over the landmarks and ridges he came across, the scars and sharp bones that made up Till. His eyes follow closely behind his fingers, committing the map to memory with a dedication that makes Till feel like the air had been punched out of him."
Till is faced with the full force of Ivan's devotion. It is, unsurprisingly, a lot. But he can handle it.
Y’know, that makes me think of something, actually.
So if you’re one of those “I can only write when I feel Inspired™” type of writers but you never seem to feel very inspired, and all of the usual “You have to make a schedule and stick to it and sit down and write XYZ words per day” writing tips have never worked for you and only make you feel guilty but you have no idea why,
have you perhaps considered that you might be neurodivergent / mentally ill / have a chronic health condition, and that what you call “inspiration” is what the rest of us call “spoons”?
I haven’t been able to find it since, but I read an article ages and ages ago that said: There is no such thing as writer’s block. What we call “writer’s block” is what the medical community refers to as “depression.”
It took me almost 30 years and a worldwide pandemic to realize the thing with the spoons. Just a few days ago it hit me.
Spring of 2020 came around and so did short-time work. I didn’t work at all. It took me weeks to fully relax, but suddenly I had time to sleep and calm down! And all of a sudden I wanted to learn an instrument, I cleaned my flat, spent hours in nature daily, I took on art comissions again, watched shows and movies again and got so inspired that I started WRITING and KEPT WRITING daily, after 10 (TEN!) years of being stuck in what I thought was a friggin’ writer’s block.
Guess, what I stopped as soon as I was ordered back to work? Yep. Didn’t write a single fucking word since then. Or did any of the other things that felt so fulfilling. Now I just feeel lazy and useless again cos I can’t get my ass up to do anything.
Same goes for the fact that I spent half my life thinking I was on the asexual spectrum until the lockdown and short-time work happened and I realized— oh God… I might not be graysexual at all. I’m usually just too stressed out all the time and that fucks with my libido big time. Ahahaha… What. The. Fuck. I am literally the definition of stress. It makes mammals stop reproducing.
My whole fucking identity, my entire working life is a lie, just because I’ve been constantly out of spoons for the past decade.
And I didn’t even notice. I just thought that’s how adulthood feels like.
Imagine who I could be, what I could create – if only life wasn’t so harsh on my poor ADHD brain.
Bringing this back 3 years later because I had 3 weeks off work and you will never guess who all of a sudden was horny, creative and very productive again.
Why do we keep running despite all of this? It's so trying, and so agonising. So why can't we stop doing it? For the team? A goal? Yourself? Determination and pride? I don't know. Probably no one does. That's why... nobody can look away. That's why it hits you right in the heart.
[grabs your shoulders and shakes you] something being widely accepted fanon does not actually make it "basically canon" and it doesn't mean people who don't incorporate it into their fics or acknowledge it are doing something wrong
ahhhhh kakehai for 15 (things you said with too many miles between us) please!!
craaaaaaaaaaaaaab hi!!! everyday i appreciate you for encouraging my kakehai writing!! here are some words about haiji and kakeru and shoelaces, ten years after canon.
(from the things you said prompts)
Haiji nearly drops the plate he's washing when he hears it.
Even the interviewer, it seems, is surprised enough to cough onscreen and say with open curiosity, "Really, Kurahara-san? Shoelaces?"
But Kakeru turns to look seriously at the camera and says, "It's true. The way I lace my shoes is the same way my college track captain used to. I made him sit down with me, the afternoon of his graduation ceremony, just to show me.” He laughs, and to Haiji’s ears he sounds wistful. “I wonder what he thought of that.”
Haiji had forgotten, but he remembers it now — the cherry blossoms in Kakeru’s hair, the unbearably blue sky. The way his hands had trembled when he’d leant over to tie the knot with Kakeru’s laces. How absolutely certain Haiji had been, in that moment, that there was nothing between them to start.
Onscreen, Kakeru is smiling at the camera, an unexpected curl to his mouth. "I wouldn't be anywhere near here if I hadn't met him. I truly believe that joining the Kansei ekiden team changed the course of my life.” He ducks his chin. The tips of his ears are pink, even in the studio lighting. "Anyway. I owe him a lot. I suppose the lacing was, selfishly, a way to keep him in my life after he left running."
"There you have it," the interviewer says. "Kurahara Kakeru, Japanese national team marathon runner, on the greatest influences of his running life.”
“Thank you very much,” Kakeru says, bobbing politely. Haiji can’t tear his eyes from the screen. A way to keep him in my life after he left running.
The interviewer continues, “Kurahara-san’s college running career culminated in running Section 10 of the Hakone ekiden three years in a row, breaking his previous record each time. Kurahara-san will be one of our guest broadcasters for this year’s ekiden, please be sure to tune in next week to catch his segment!”
The show cuts to commercial and Haiji lunges for his phone. Even as he's dialing he has no idea what he'll say, and no idea how long ago this segment was filmed, only that he can't just — leave that said without a response.
There's a thirteen hour drive between them, but he can close it with a call.
The line clicks over to voicemail. Kakeru's voice — Haiji's heart thuds — says, dry and rote, "It's Kurahara Kakeru. Please leave a message."
"Kakeru," Haiji says. It's been years since he addressed Kakeru by name. He’s always Kurahara-san when he comes up in the newsroom at work.
Haiji doesn’t know what to say next. His university self would have found a way to just — start talking, shrouding the truth in layers of misdirection, discovering what he meant to say midway through and talking in circles until it was hidden again. But now, a decade later, he just wants to get to the point.
“I saw your interview,” Haiji says. He chews at the inside of his cheek, and adds, “I remembered you asking me to teach you how I tie my racing shoes. Only after you said it, though.” He paces a slow circle in his kitchen. It’s easier to say this, knowing that Kakeru will only hear it later. “I don’t know your racing schedule, but … if your season brings you here to Fukuoka, I would like to meet up, or — dinner, perhaps, if you would like. I’ve mi—”
The line clicks again and for a moment Haiji thinks he's run out of time. But then, a breath over the line and Kakeru's voice, worried, says, "Is this ... Haiji-san? Is something wrong?"
Of course he’d think that. They’ve barely texted in the decade since Haiji’s graduation. Calling like this…
“Nothing’s wrong,” Haiji says. “I’m sorry to call you so suddenly. I — I watched your interview. The teaser for the ekiden broadcast.”
“Oh,” Kakeru says. A surprised little laugh. “Really?”
“I watch most of your interviews,” Haiji admits. “This time, I just wanted to—” This had been so much easier without Kakeru on the other line. “I remembered, after you said it. When you asked me to show you how I laced my racing shoes.”
“Ah,” Kakeru says. He sounds embarrassed.
Haiji almost says: I didn’t think there was something between us, then. I thought it was just me. “I was happy to do it,” Haiji says instead, as firmly as he knows how. “It made me happy that you asked.” It’s been years. The circumstances have changed. They’ll be different people, when they meet again.
“Come to the team reunion this year, Haiji-san,” Kakeru says. Haiji can hear the tentative smile in his voice. He presses his phone closer to his ear to hear Kakeru add, “It hasn’t been the same without you there.”
The rush of wind outside Haiji’s apartment window. The feeling of a new beginning rising in his chest.
“I’ll be there, Kakeru,” Haiji says. “I’ve missed you.”
i understand why people like the queue and i do respect you guys for using it but that is just not how i roll. if i think these 37 posts are funny you’re seeing them right fucking now
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