daily conscience

use my request button if you want me to elaborate on an old idea or write a certain piece about certain things, or if you just want to ask about some random opinion of mine. feel free to dm me as well for a friendly chat, i'm chill, and if you want to discuss any of my fandom thoughts, i am a gold mine of untapped yapping analyses.

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personality type: INTJ, 4w5 current favourite song: in another life by son lux favourite colour: yellow favourite book: the little prince favourite movie: everything everywhere all at once favourite cartoon: over the garden wall favourite food/drink: any type of tea age: sixteen years old artists that inspire me: tatsuki fujimoto, sumiko arai, ocean vuong, sylvia plath, boygenius, mitski, conan gray, sarah kinsley, akugetsu, will stetson, vivimeng, ai yazawa, gege akutami

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fandoms (in order of most written for): alien stage, hollow knight/silksong, arcane, link click, genshin impact, trigun stampede, evangelion, mp100, honkai star rail, jjk

fandoms (that i will eventually write for): death note, sk8 the infinity, fmab, look back, free, windbreaker, haikyuu, orv, stm, tgswiiwagaa, cowboy bebop, attack on titan, nezha, spiderverse trilogy, cookie run kingdom, so not my type, the great pretender, to be hero x, assassination classroom, the summer hikaru died, saiki k, cherry magic, samurai champloo, bna, bsd, nana, reverse 1999

characters i relate to: ivan, lu guang, hornet, homura akemi, wanderer, oikawa tooru, wirt, reki kyan, dipper pines, ritsu kageyama, simon gwon, yoshiki tsujinaka, kim dokja, karma akabane, geto suguru, shinji ikari, asuka langley soryuu, dazai osamu

characters i love: till, cheng xiaoshi, s1 viktor, s2 mel, ekko, aventurine, kaveh, yoimiya, vash saverem, akaashi keiji, radical edward, sayaka miki, ghostblade, fushiguro megumi, kaworu nagisa, ranpo edogawa

light, who was previously engaged in the furious task of typing up reports that no one except the two of them were going to read for future reference, pauses to stare at L all wide eyed like a deer caught in the headlights.

"hah, what an odd thing to ask." responds light, almost entirely to himself as he swivels the chair back so that he's facing the screen, only half attempting to conceal a frown. pretending not to care, L deduces, though it's more an instinctual assumption at this point when it comes to light. "why are you asking me this, ryuuzaki?"

"well," begins L, licking some of the pudding residue off his fingers, speaking with the air of a man definitely not bluffing in the slightest, "since you are exceedingly adamant that you are not in love with misa amane, this would suggest an existing and informed confidence based on the absolute knowledge of what it feels like to be in love."

there's no confusion anymore, but the silence they exchange matches in its palpable mockery. misunderstanding generates animosity and total understanding generates even worse results.

"unfortunately, you're not that stupid, ryuuzaki." hisses light, practically scolding in tone. "we both know that whether being in love or not, it can still be classified and applied with surety if the person knows themself absolutely."

"if the person truly believes they do and claims to, then yes, perhaps in their opinion it is true." nods L, the condescension spilling as sharply as if he had just started laughing at light right then and there.

"why are you debating this with me?" light asks, tone clipped as he attempts to curb the seemingly meaningless direction of exchange.

"because, from your unwillingness to answer this simple question, i can already gage that you know with absolute confidence that misa amane is not someone you harbor romantic affection towards. however, this doesn't answer my original inquiry, so i'll have to ask again. light yagami, have you ever been in love before?"

"i..." he falters, then picks up with an overcompensating cadence of distaste, "what's the point of this, ryuuzaki? i thought misa's stake in the case was the reason you were making such a strange inquiry out of the blue. if you weren't you, i'd think you were trying to waste my time on purpose."

"will you be satisfied if i use it as reference for the kira case? it's good evidence, all things considered, since you don't even understand the reason behind why i'm gathering such information."

"something makes me think you don't even know the reason yourself."

"don't be difficult, light. now answer the question."

"you're ridiculous."

"and we're handcuffed together because there's currently a one to five percent chance of you being a lethal mass murdering killer that hasn't been caught for over a year. this world is ridiculous. now answer the question."

light pouts, conceding.

"fine. i guess... well, i've been on dates before. i've had girlfriends, so to speak, but that's only in the manner that teenage boys are supposed to have them. they're not to last and i wouldn't describe any feelings i harbored towards any of them as 'love'. it's more like a mutual exchange for the typical childish benefits that kids in such youth would seek. in some businesses, it could just be called premature networking."

"careful there light," chides L, bordering on comically deadpan, "it almost sounds like you'd be a masterful manipulator in terms of using infatuation to your advantage."

"you'll find that it's perfectly reasonable not to be romantically attached, nor interested, when you're only eighteen. although, judging from your lack of going anywhere, i suppose you wouldn't have been able find out any of that from your own personal experience."

"correct. you really do talk too much. you're not even halfway to the answer you believe in, nor the one that i want, are you?"

"what's the point of this if you're only fishing for an answer?"

with his usual unemotive gaze, L lifts his wrist and jangles the chainlink between them. point of everything, he means to say and thus implicitly communicates. light groans.

"don't you think it'd be far too convenient for the answer to just be staring you in the face twenty four seven? everyday, every hour, kira is just walking beside you and sleeping directly next to you. what's the actual likelihood of it being that easy? he might be halfway across the world by now and we-"

"you really do talk too much, and you're getting quite unreasonable about this, which means that what i'm asking is having effect. that's good progress, but can we get back to the primary topic at least?"

sensing he's not going to win this particular argument, light begrudgingly returns to the subject.

"i suppose the answer you're looking for is no. no, i haven't been romantically involved on the basis of feeling love for the other person. however, it doesn't really matter, does it? it's only relevant to your curiosity, and yet, your curiosity is always telling in its own way. therefore, it does matter, i'm just not sure in which way how."

as, in an unlikely turn of events, this complete stranger had not just parked right in front of shinji, but had also said his full name with a slightly wistful tone of voice whilst staring into the auburn orange of the sunset. he had greeted him kindly, a hint of something foreign to shinji buried in the sound of it, offering a ride to the next town over.

"it is your bike," the boy affirms with an amused smile tugging at his lips, "and how could i not know you, shinji ikari? i love you, after all. i'm sorry if i'm late to arrive. were you waiting for me long?"

"no, i- uhm... i'm not sure. but why- how..." what shinji means to ask is how or why this boy loves him. "i guess i was." he settles on the most honest answer, since he needed to hitchhike elsewhere anyways, and his bike is as good transport as any. "what's your name?"

"kaworu nagisa;" he cricks his neck at a somewhat unsettling angle, like a snake twisting its head before it strikes, "but just call me kaworu, shinji ikari." contrary to kaworu's jarring appearance, his expression and gaze are soft, his words spoken with a tender accent that reminds shinji of petals and moonlight carried deftly upon the breeze.

"okay," inexplicably, shinji finds it easy to look this boy in the eyes, unlike how it is with his own father, "kaworu, then you can just call me shinji." there's a tinge of familiarity in this- this stringent courtesy.

"shinji it is." kaworu's face is lax, and he has a way of letting the light fall right through him, like he's ethereal, transcendent, beyond this plane of existence. "now, join me. you must be hungry. there's a motel about thirty minutes from here. it has a bathhouse and food and everything you will need. if not, i will simply make it so."

======

shinji left home a week ago and met kaworu only a day ago. his fondest memories, however, are sparsely few and far when it comes to home. meanwhile, every moment he spends with kaworu somehow exceeds the last. it's something to do with the unbridled affection dripping in kaworu's every smile, contrasted by the cold and harsh recollection of what was once shinji's home.

"you never explained how you got my bike." shinji begins, interrupting kaworu's prolonged session of zoning out, staring a hole into the ceiling fan spinning above them. his hair, silver and wild, bristles at the brush of wind being whipped over their bodies. they laid their bedspreads near each other in the early evening, knuckles almost brushing, and haven't mentioned it directly despite shinji's buzzing nerves.

"your father was disposing of your belongings." kaworu says, plainly brash, for the first time sounding disdainful in his tone. though, not towards shinji, who is curled on his side to stare at kaworu's distinctly pained frown. "i was not sure if there was anything you'd want to keep, but i could assume what you needed."

"it's fine." lately, shinji has gotten acquainted with an unusual amount of attention, as kaworu's silken glare always falls on him when he speaks, regardless of the inconsequentiality of what he's uttering. it's unfamiliar, yet invitingly welcome and warm. "i brought the only thing that really matters with me."

"and what is that?" kaworu's voice is perpetually coloured in genuine intrigue, seemingly enamored by the nature of their shared existence itself. shinji sits up to rustle through his bag filled with the last of his belongings and the exclusive items he selected as homages to sentiment when he finally packed up and left.

"here." shinji offers an earbud to kaworu, the wire forcing them to shift closer than before, the space between them narrowing without acknowledgement. "this is my favourite track."

this time, shinji is the one on his back whilst kaworu turns to watch him, pupils focused and full. the motel room is dark, blinds drawn and the morning birds trilling their songs unheard by the two, with the music loud and vivid in their minds. when the melody comes to a last, lingering note, the silence it tapers into becomes a world of its own. only when shinji locks eyes with kaworu, does the quiet shatter.

"i have been under the impression that humans are always inconsolable, to some degree or another. no matter the extremeness of love or the depth of understanding or the lengths of life they receive, they are still unable to be at peace. but i believe that there are moments of peace even then, between all of it, and that this is why... i was born to meet you, shinji ikari, for you are yet to know such peace, but are still deserving of it anyways, whenever you reach it."

"kaworu?" shinji pauses, letting the name linger in the air, a boy of red and silver bearing his brittle soul to him. a wisp of affection is there in the darkness, for all the cold desolateness of night that tries to dispel it. "what if i'm not deserving of it? what if i can't reach it? what if i'm not made to?"

"you will, shinji." kaworu lets the authority linger in the air cryptically, a curtain not yet drawn. "it is a human trait to desire that which seems impossible, and therefore, it is my trait that i can make the impossible true." he smiles, assuring, though aimed at the ceiling like he's asking something high above instead of shinji; something not quite present in the room. "why else would i be fated to meet you?"

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"if you leave me," proposes shinji, arms wound tight around kaworu's bony waist as he leisurely pedals them down a secluded lane, the pavement smooth and sun perfectly beaming with quiet approval, "it will be worse than all the times i've run away."

he says it without a tremor, though his chest gives away the stutter in his heart, where it both begs for comfort and yet also shames itself at the very mention of such a visceral desire.

"is that, perhaps, because you have run away countless times but have never experienced being on the receiving end of it yourself?" kaworu does not turn around as he slows the bike to a crawl on even ground, speaking unflinchingly, near crude in his callousness. "i do not blame you for it, shinji, but i still think you should be aware that it does cause others pain when you run away- although, i know you already know that. being informed of your own awareness is just slightly different; slightly more real."

"does that mean you'll stick around? i mean..." shinji's mind flits through their operation run away, unlike any other, prolonged and ethereal in its occurrences, "you're the first person to tell me that you love me." he knows that even if kaworu leaves, he'll stick around in dreams dripping with the memory, pooling heavy in his subconscious. red eyes and fluffy, silver hair, like an ode to living.

suddenly, shinji's head softly bumps into kaworu's shoulder as their momentum on the road comes to a halt. the summer dryness racks the bones, scorches the earth, and imbues the contact of their bare skin with warmth. it glows like dusk, still and carnal in a sweeping fervidness.

"yes, that is true." kaworu acquiesces with a modest bow of his neck. "however, it does not mean i am the only one who loves you, shinji ikari." he hops off the bike, dragging shinji with him as the handlebars dip to the side, their hitchhike getaway plot dissolved into a mere rusted old thing. "humans have this habit, curious deficit of nature it is, in which they never say what they mean even when it matters the most."

kaworu steps close, facing shinji, tucking his arms over to envelope him in a crooked cradle akin to a hug.

"i love you, shinji ikari." kaworu whispers it into the shell of his ear. his lips don't etch a mean smile, a teasing grin, or anything of the malicious sort. kaworu is simply being straightforward, truthful, to tell it as directly as it matters- and matters it does, perhaps the most of all.

so, yes, in some way, nobara is correct in clarifying that they aren't quite friends and aren't quite dating, mutually agreeing to be lost in an indefinable grey area painted between the thick black lines.

except, megumi and yuji (unlike any normal pair dancing on the edge of something more and something less) are both far too aware of how they don't have the time for that, not the life or the breath or the mercy for it. they survive on the ticking burdens of their promises, their shared daringness, and their inability to acknowledge that the end of an imminent something is much closer than not- whether that be the death of a friendship, a life, or a mere fleeting possibility.

the chances of love are too slim to take off, but not quite small enough to destroy. yet, itadori yuji tends to tighten the sting of it anyways, like the strain is an inevitability rather than an option. yuji stares at megumi as if the magnitude of saving one person could matter as much to him as it does to the subject of his focus; simply because megumi fushiguro is that subject of focus.

it hurts so much. it hurts, and affection is a blight on the lifespan of a jujutsu sorcerer, as most grounding afflictions are. it is suffering to love outright, but it is suffering to love quietly too.

except, megumi and yuji are neither loud nor silent. they exist on a driving force louder than their heartbeats combined, but they also know each other in a way that cuts above the thrum of curses brewing eternal and loathsome. they are short on hours, minutes, words, dinners, but never love- they are not lacking in love, despite never giving it in full, to its prime extent of aching totality.

however, evident in asuka's disgruntled face as she continued reading, it was not as satisfying a grasp which rei thought she had.

"you can't write about people you don't understand." started asuka, emphatically shoving the paper back into rei's open palms. in response, rei only blinked back blankly. "you can't write about a dying man if you're not a dying man. why would a girl with a mother looking over her shoulder write about mourning a dead mother?"

this was, of course, highly theoretical. yet, rei felt possessed to defend all the books she'd read on motherhood by people with and without mothers, and those many other motherly types in between, whether they had legitimate children or not.

"maybe she's mourning something else, but it was like a mother to her. isn't it nice just to play pretend, anyways? i just want to feel... well, i want to try and understand, even if it's not directly about me."

rei simply thought that everyone had the right to be a person they desired, so they had the right to write whatever they wanted, to know and to learn. though, maybe with asuka, the reason for this dislike was more personal.

"yeah. that's real nice. so what about all the girls with mothers who are actually dead? so what about the mothers who lost their children? so what about the dying man you romanticize when his corpse is left out on the road like a feast for the birds? how do you think they feel?"

asuka's outbursts were often of this nature, spontaneous, yet undeniably triggered somehow due to rei's insufficient countenance.

"i guess i'm sorry then." spoke rei, soft as ever, but in a telling tone that gave away how little the weight of her apology was.

"yeah, you should be."

asuka leaned back on the bench, gaze squinting up at the bright blue sky of day, clean and unblemished. the page of writing in almost robotically penned ink crumpled in her lap. rei glared slightly at the work which seemingly betrayed her so, and yet, she tore away to follow whatever unknown thing had entranced asuka so suddenly.

"when did your mother die?" rei asked, out of a surprisingly foreign impulse, that she'd only felt the urge of with the likes of certain others. precisely, the girl with red hair, pigtails dangling over the back of the bench they shared and grazing the tallest of weeds.

"she didn't. she chose it. she left-" pausing, asuka huffed, like she was scorning her own petulant tone, "left me. it's not death if she abandoned me to the end on purpose."

"hm." glancing to the side, rei met the hardened stare of asuka, unflinchingly geared at her face. "i'm sorry. really. i write when it strikes me as meaningful, and sometimes, that revolves things that haven't actually happened to me." she felt the unorthodox need to clarify herself under asuka's watchful eyes. "can you forgive me?"

"do i have to?" replied asuka, almost exaggeratedly honest, but blunt in a way that wasn't too far off from rei.

"no, of course not." rei said, plainly, because it was the truth.

"well... whatever. it's not like i hate you, or anything. you talk so little. you say things so vacantly. i wish you would smile more. if they ever diagnosed you, it just wouldn't feel right, would it? i mean, i know you'd hate that, at the very least."

the swerve to another topic was a familiar tactic of asuka's, one that rei would never call out, even if a more sensible person might. rei had learned to understand asuka's character either way, despite the lack of purity or transparency that an advice column in the papers would state as highly regarded within relationships.

"you're right. i would not like that. i would not despise it as much as shinji would though." said rei, going along with her companion, for want of a desire she had not previously entertained.

as dr ratio explores, he gets a few bits of interaction with his communications officer and nothing more. since the basis for those conversations are reserved to mild check ins only, one could say that dr ratio's social life is suffering greatly.

still, he's not lonely, and in all honestly, his network has not changed that much from before. friends were hard to maintain, and harder now, what with dr ratio's ambition and always latent curiosity. at least, here in the world between worlds, he's free to pursue those vices as he'd like under the guise of serving the ipc. especially in light of the unprecedented, in which his original expedition partner had been conveniently delayed from attending, leaving dr ratio to embark on a solitary mission.

he finds a lot of the ipc to be a repugnant lot anyways, and anyone who agreed with the misfortune that a silly number had the power to impose was probably not of foolproof intellectual merits, immediately exhausting their possible intrigue for dr ratio's interest. therefore, he sees no value lost and only further opportunity gained.

but alas, where superstition can be tracked to a starting point of origins, there was no concrete explanation for the volatile nature of luck and all the manners it would prove to spite him.

======

"ah, you must be the infamous doctor!"

aventurine from the strategic investment department of the ipc arrives in a flurry of gems and extravagantly unnecessary attire for their expedition. theirs, because apparently the lateness was sincere, and entirely unintended on aventurine's part.

dr ratio forgives him for the oversight, but not for the next statement of his introduction which is;

"no need for formalities, i already know all about you, veritas ratio."

from that moment, in which aventurine brandishes his name like its liquid gold on his tongue, dr ratio is always half inclined to politely sneer or to begrudgingly implore the man with words. however, some things don't stick, such as the moniker of a fool, since it falls out of style when aventurine proves that for all his flamboyance in appearance, he's bestowed with a head of lacquered smarts.

on account of the strangely abundant sense which aventurine possesses, dr ratio takes to calling him gambler instead, because even if he is scolding a chronic risk taker, aventurine is far from a total fool. though, dr ratio would confidently state that every gambler is inherently a fool due to an adequate degree of unchecked insanity.

they get along as swimmingly as a rock in water would, under the pretense of this steadily sinking feeling to their every interaction, like there's only a downward spiral in place of a path forward. they both use the informality of two people who wear it for a rigid facade, like second nature, but certainly not as a source of pleasure.

to some degree, it's as sickening sweet as anything veritas ratio could ever hope to achieve with optimism.

"that's because the aliens aren't able to do it. their fingers compared to ours, if they have them, are a lot less nimble and slender. it makes it difficult for them to do things like this. it's too... intricate a task for them to perform."

"but why don't most other humans know how to do it then, and how do you know? i bet that most other kids around here don't know how to braid my hair for me, sua, but then, even if they did know, i'd still want you to do it for me. you're the best, after all."

"am i really? well, perhaps, but only to you mizi, so it can't be the truth. plus, i didn't even learn how to braid hair on my own. one of my- one of the older models taught me how."

"huh. that makes sense."

"it does?"

"yeah. she probably liked you more than all the other sisters that looked like you. i like you more than all of them too. in fact, sua, i like you more than all the other kids in anakt garden, and more than all the other humans in the universe, whether they know how to braid my hair or not."

"..."

"sua?"

"i really like braiding your hair mizi. yours only. so... i hope you keep your hair long enough for me to braid it, okay? because, even if i can't braid my own, i'll always be able to braid yours, right?"

======

"i wish we were still there. as kids, in the past, i mean." says mizi.

it's the most that ivan has ever gotten through her barriers, through the surface level cheer of her unwavering sweetness. this is the truth, and only the worst of it. desire, as children of anakt garden were never supposed to retain, only to suppress until it imploded on them.

"well, i certainly don't." replies ivan, measured and honest as swirls his food. it's not sweet how either of them like it, just like every human's plagued dreams. "some things are best left behind in the past," he tells mizi, explaining from far away, lingering on a distant memory of a falling sky set on fire, "and on the other hand, if you're not careful, that sort of wishful thinking will devour you."

mizi pauses, spoon clinking to lean on the edge of her bowl. she hasn't taken a bite, and ivan lifts his first to his mouth.

"what if there's a circumstance where it's better to be devoured by the past than to exist in the present?" asks mizi, contemplative in a way she scarcely ever reveals to anyone, even to sua. they could braid each other's hair day and night without ever knowing how time has woven into their doubts and hopes of a future.

"hm," ivan shrugs for lack of a different answer and swallows the bland mix of nutritive poison, "i guess i couldn't tell you. i wouldn't care to know anyways, because i'm pretty sure i wouldn't be around in that circumstance to have to deal with it. know what i mean?"

"no, i... i don't think i do." mizi admits haltingly. ivan only smiles.

======

"did you forget your promise to me, mizi? we would always be together. you would always like me more than anyone else in the world. i could always braid your hair even when i couldn't braid mine."

fire isn't good for the eyes. strains them.

smoke isn't good for the lungs. stains them.

heat isn't good for the body. breaks her, marks her, muddles the senses and rearranges the brain. scars the flesh. weakens the bone.

"oh dear, it looks like i'll never braid hair again. and who's going to braid your hair again, mizi? no one. so clever, yet, your fingers don't work enough to tie a knot. all those digits are good for is pressing bad buttons and pulling the wrong triggers, isn't that right?"

flame summons ghosts, or maybe it makes them burn just bright enough to see. maybe it relinquishes them from cold, deep sleep.

light invades the scorch of pain. renders it bearable.

ashes litter the soft tissues, years of old aches renewed.

"you wanted the past, didn't you? so here it is. everyone you've ever hurt by being smart. everything you've ever deserved and some more. every person that loved you, destroyed in the aftermath. what a sacred process indeed. anakt garden would be proud of you."

white gloves that will never weave strands of pink hair.

black hair that will never be twisted or brushed by loving hands.

fingers covered in blood and the palms that carry them.

still, one is quick to learn that being left and being alone are commonalities in the life of many, not excluding themself as an individual.

there will be no exception to the rules, but in punishment, some could easily become the singularly segregated sacrificial lamb. the one to be picked on, to be scrutinized and made example of, the only peculiarity among model students.

then again, one doubts that the great anakt would accept anything lesser than the grand stage and all the spotlights and the senseless crowds existing to cheer upon a graceful demise by gunfire.

it's an impersonal conclusion to draw that death will be no sweeter than living under the thumb of the gods.

so, one is quick to learn that survival is a mere farce and the misleading bare minimum of allowance, as it turns out humans are made up of emotions and faucets and complicated gazes strung into the intricacies of flesh.

there will be others to divulge in, to understand and comprehend, songs to write and present if only to dispel a deeply incoherent feeling.

what is the great anakt rendered in the face of relentless passion scribbled across pages? what can the great anakt sever between a boy and a mother? what can the great anakt gain from death when a life was lived without compromise or conformity?

when shou finally gets in front and turns around to look at ritsu holding the ridiculously lavish bouquet gifted from a girl in his class, the look he receives is blankly incredulous, as is usual in their conversations. ritsu has his consistently refined way of unreactive snark and shou is the exact opposite, always the unsubtle and loud presence in any discussion. it makes shou beam a little brighter just to remember the fact.

"metaphorically, you know, because i definitely have swept you off your feet at some point in a fight." clarifies shou, assuming that that's what ritsu is wondering about, stepping near to inspect the flowers closely and thumb over some of the petals as method of judgement.

"why do you want to know?" ritsu says, continuing to walk despite shou's protests. in his haste, a few stray leaves get rustled from the meticulously arranged bouquet. truly, shou feels for whatever girl had the guts to deliver such a clearly heartfelt gift to the stone cold face of an ever polite ritsu. he would hope that ritsu let her down gently, but it's much more likely that he simply shattered her every dream.

as the back of ritsu's head gets far enough to almost disappear around the corner, shou teleports himself to the bin across the street to dispose of the popsicle stick before teleporting back to ritsu's side.

"that was unnecessary." comments ritsu, as soon as shou swerves to block his path. "anyways, i seriously don't see why metaphorically getting swept off my feet is such a point of interest. explain it to me, would you?"

"hm," shou gracefully jumps into a momentarily prolonged hover, nose to nose with ritsu, the only way to switch their dynamics in height, "i don't think i will." he lands back onto the balls of his feet, heels still raised off the ground, seemingly satisfied by whatever he inspected in his glaring down of ritsu's bland expression up close.

"shou, do you know what the date is today?" asks ritsu, briskly continuing his strides, probably unbothered by shou's predictably childish uncooperativeness in answering the question. shou glances at ritsu's side profile with a scrutiny that serves to pierce his companion ineffectively.

"no idea, ritsu. why? is today important?" he frowns, but shou ultimately finds no merit in rewinding the earlier events of the day.

they got popsicles from a convenience store in the local area near ritsu's house, and before that, they were in his bedroom doing study. or more accurately, ritsu was sternly polishing off homework whilst shou levitated a cycle of stationary in the air to voice his opinion on each object. prior to that, they had walked from the school where ritsu just finished getting ambushed by a bunch of girls after his extended school council meeting. shou doesn't recall much before when he went to pick up ritsu, though he recalls the inordinate amount of heart shaped chocolates stuffed in a heavy backpack that he offered in a very gentlemanly manner to float while on their way.

"i've really got no clue. can i have a hint about the date?" since it's not ritsu's style to go uninformed about these little things, shou concludes that this is a reasonable assumption to make. unfortunately, the request is met with a puzzling nod of ritsu's head as he gestures imperceptibly to the bouquet in hand. shou snorts, unimpressed. "this is the hint?"

"if it hurts your brain too much we can just resume the program as scheduled." snarks ritsu, all dry wit and nonchalant delivery. shou snorts again, this time with amusement.

"who even says 'program'?" bouncing to peer over ritsu's shoulder, shou inhales a strong whiff of the dozens of red and pink and white roses. it clicks for an instant before the meaning of the soft colours and the flowers and the chocolates vanish entirely in a sneeze. "we should probably detour to drop that off at home though."

"a crush? what's that?" sua asked, because she was always wary when it came to new things mizi had learned from ivan who had gotten it from some bizarre book.

"it's a good feeling, like," mizi paused, contemplating how to phrase it, "when you really really like someone."

"oh." sua's shoulders relaxed a tad, tensity replaced by relief. "well in that case, i've never had a crush on anyone."

======

according to ivan, there's no such thing as providers in books. instead, there's parents. a mother and a father. the kind that pat your head and tell you what a good job you're doing. besides him, everyone else believes that providers are just providers and the aliens are just that, the aliens, nothing more and nothing less.

mizi doesn't really get it, but she doesn't ask. it might bother sua. lately, a lot of things seem to bother sua. talking about providers and alien guardians probably wouldn't help when sua seems annoyed by the nature of care and all that stuff.

when mizi tries to imagine visiting shine every few cycles, she doesn't like the idea much. so she understands, only a little, why sua might be so down recently. similarly, ivan's always off somewhere else too and till's always having to be locked away. currently, it's just mizi laying on the grass, light in and light out.

======

they used to play with mizi. it never worked when mizi tried to cooperate back. there was some sort of barrier there, in all the foreignism and difference of their appearance. the pink was the closest alignment mizi shared with shine.

expression was lost a little too, but mizi thought she managed to pick up some things. wonder, curiosity, fascination, affection, confusion, bewilderment, remorse. maybe she imagined the last one.

they played with her like she was their doll. but then mizi met a girl in a glass box dressed like a real doll. the perfect doll.

after drawing blood, it was never really the same. it wasn't anyone's fault though. how could you cross a bridge between human and alien, big and small, crushing and crushable? mizi always wondered if it was worth the distance that came after.

======

mizi's curious and fascinated herself. so, perhaps it's no coincidence that sua fulfills a lot of her ideas.

when they play together, there's no blood, at the very least. sua prefers to steer them away from that kind of conflict anyways, says ivan is rude, or wrong. sua doesn't like till either. she cares, maybe, but their presence never fails to irk her.

mizi has an urge to push when they play, sometimes, on the off occasion of fleeting unforgiveness. it never comes to fruition though.

usually, it's gentle. there's nothing there but blue skies and green and white and them, black and pink, purple and yellow. mizi thinks she could fall in love with this. sua is going to hate her for it.

======

"how do you do that to him?" mizi asked, wringing her hands in her white anakt garden gown. ivan glanced up from a crushed flower, and she held her tongue from asking about that as well.

"do what?" ivan responded, curt, because he was always plain about everything. or at least, it appeared that way.

"punch him. hurt him. fight. crush." mizi was trying to be confident, but she faltered, unsure of whether ivan would understand the feeling. "how can you do that to someone you like?"

"it's not a choice." ivan said. he gave her an aborted shrug, looking more and more troubled by the second.

======

hate is a strong word. mizi decides that everything can be solved by replacing the word hate with crush. it's more direct, more intuitive, easier to comprehend in meaning.

ivan crushes flowers because he hates anakt garden. sua crushes the fabric of her dresses because she hates the stage and the aliens and maybe everyone else too. mizi has run out of things to crush. she dreams of blood red and infinite pink and the disapproval of complete pitch black. she crushes her heart, if anything at all.

======

till and ivan were civil, sitting up against a tree, letting mizi gradually drift into sleep. they were arguing, sure, but it was without real heat. she was phasing in and out of consciousness, their idle chatter growing dim to her ears.

"why do you like mizi?" ivan asked, unprompted as far as mizi was concerned. however, she was wide awake now. she wanted to know if it was still the same answer as before.

"why do we do anything?" till bit back. mizi was unsure whether this question was sincere or not, but ivan seemed to understand, humming along like he agreed.

"but it's not like you to take the easy option." ivan said. mizi thought she was starting to understand the meaning of not having a choice.

======

the isolation is lonely, long, and lamentable. but maybe it's not even real, just a prolonged sensation. sua visits, sometimes. mizi never sees ivan or till. mizi tries on outfits that are too big and too small in every colour except the one that comes from crushing.

it's frequent now, sua's face of disdain, directed at mizi as if to wish for anyone else. it makes sense, mizi agrees, since it's not fair that there was no other choice. it's probably all her fault.

till keeps writing because the act of hoping lacks hope in itself, even if he cannot completely squander the longing, and the aliens give him the freedom of a pen to the page in place of food on the days where there are no dreams to be had. he learns to draw, because words don't suffice for an eager mind, and images are much better to chase the loneliness away. now till owns two cures in the form of his endlessly scrawling hand, one to remedy restlessness and the other to treat the pain of pure unbridled futility. till can write of emotions (which some lack), of light (which mizi has), and of guilt (near silence).

till stops writing because hope is swept into the grave, even if it glimmers faintly in the eyes of the person he least expects, and the world is a painful, painful consciousness. there is no time for faith in change, as the former dreams of before were mulched and processed for the stage. under the lights, they are waking. in the dark, that jarring heaviness only becomes starker. till does not wish to write about anything when there are exclusively unwanted witnesses (clouded gazes set upon weighted voids), unwitting choices (agency set upon obsoleteness), and the dead or dying or gone (a list unsaid).

so, we did get the official mbti personality types of the main link click characters, but because i am a nerd, i'm also going to match them to enneagram types as accurately as possible (with evidence)!

btw, when i do the test for them, i'm mostly thinking of their present day demeanor; so, think around the end of season two. anyways, on with the analysis assignment we go (the first part at least). there is potential slight spoilers for both seasons and the bridon arc.

lu guang- when i took the test on his behalf, this is the result i got. i mostly agree that he is probably a 6w5, but in terms of 1 (the perfectionist) and 9 (the peacekeeper), i think you could reduce those in favor of 2 (the caretaker) and 3 (the achiever). i should also note that he's an INTJ, which i am too, but my enneagram type is 4w5 and in that way i was able to separate his answers from myself.

6w5 types are typically known as cynical characters or those with more pragmatic temperaments and perspectives on life. it's fitting for lu guang that in some interpretations, type 6s can be called the loyalist or skeptic, both of which are pretty representative of his motivations and actions at the moment. type 5s are known as the investigators or thinkers, often those who are trying to understand and solve problems, which aligns well with what lu guang is trying to do.

type 6w5 is highly head oriented, relying on intellect and logic in order to make their decisions. since lu guang is shown to be the rational person of the original three and INTJ's are inherently driven to think, i agree with this type as a good match for him.

it's also very interesting in relation to his desires and fears, as 6s are documented to have a strong belief system that adheres to either personal opinion or attachment, which in this case, can easily be argued as lu guang's life with cheng xiaoshi and qiao ling. his greatest fear is losing the two of them, especially in watching cheng xiaoshi die, and he defies the rules of time itself to stop that from happening.

with this particular goal, i'd say he leans more into the state of a type 3, since he is so set on salvaging the future.

unfortunately, this is not a good thing for lu guang, and it's narratively clear as well as apparent in his enneagram type. note that the more obsessed he becomes with the timeline, the deeper he'll fall into the attitude of season two, where he expresses guilt and probably undergoes the constant grief of betraying and repeatedly having to lose cheng xiaoshi (along with his stability).

his desire is deep seated in getting rid of his anxieties to attain security and comfort, in knowing or ensuring that the future is safe and uncompromised. for this, lu guang requires extensive planning, but in doing so, has spiraled into something of an overly cynical person due to always worrying about the timeline. he is incredibly on edge about not seeing the possible dangers of every butterfly effect. it is true that he's usually viewed as reliable and responsible from others, particularly cheng xiaoshi, but we know from the rules that lu guang has broken, he's realistically not so put together as people may perceive.

like most 6w5 types, i'd say that lu guang is trustworthy and devoted to the people he supports, but conversely, this makes him a lot more volatile to the rules and the opposition when it threatens his established relationships. a large part of his inner conflict is his inability to trust others that stems from not wanting to lose independence seeing as his biggest decision (diving back and staying there repeatedly) is something he chose entirely on his own.

the other test i did as lu guang also got the same result of type 6.

this feels quite accurate, and though i don't believe lu guang is inherently annoyed at mild everyday spontaneity, i do believe that he hates the timeline getting thrown off in ways he doesn't expect. i think his loyalty, although definitely an expression of his self, is also a way of trying to control something in his life. lu guang probably has the capacity to be manipulative and possessive if he wanted, which is why the type 6w5 makes so much sense for his character.

additionally, as further proof, i must relate the enneagram personality system to the sleeping at last songs. in this case, i think the lyrics from six by sleeping at last is very reflective on lu guang's inner turmoil. i'll highlight what appears the most relevant.

sounds very much like him, the baggage being numerous failed timelines and dead cxs' along with the light being cheng xiaoshi's optimism and unfailingly altruistic outlook. the lyrics for five by sleeping at last also match him fairly well.

my most poignantly compelling argument for why lu guang is a type 6 is in his reason for liking cheng xiaoshi, which is that he's genuine above all else. this is really important because i do believe that lu guang was probably always a type 6 before bridon arc, or at least a 5w6 instead of 6w5. this also leads me to believe, kind of presumptuously, that lu guang's experience in terms of being cared for is probably lacking. i wouldn't be surprised if we find out his home life was rough in the love and support factors since childhood. due to this, it makes sense that he would develop an attraction to what is easy to trust and transparent in nature.

also, the reveal that lu guang's a hypocrite by the end of the season solidifies to me his status as a walking contradiction. it's pretty telling that his own values are unaligned with what he says they are, and even his projection of being withdrawn or rigidly logical is entirely a farce when you look at what he's done for cheng xiaoshi, despite cheng xiaoshi. i think it's this that really emphasizes the essence of a type 6w5 in lu guang.

anyways, here's some extra stuff about type 6s, 5s and 6w5s that i couldn't really incorporate, but still apply to lu guang. they're all from the sources i listed at the start, but these are stand outs just in case you don't want to read through all of it.

in conclusion, lu guang is a little bit doomed by the narrative, or maybe a lot doomed. and if not any of that, he may just be damned by his own personality type. i feel that i have good authority of his character even if this took me a while because i can relate the most to him out of everyone in link click. which basically means that it'll take me a while to get around to the other characters, because taking the tests and writing my mini essays takes me a long time to finish.

i cannot estimate when the next part will be out, but it'll be for cheng xiaoshi. i plan to go over the compatibility of their types or what they represent in comparison to one another once i've established what their best fitting types are, so there's that to do much later on. also, would this be interesting to do for the alien stage cast as well?

and then, there is lace.

"one day, i'll strike you in the heart and you'll be gone. it'll be merciful, at that point, for i'll have first got your legs and your arms and maybe your affections too; i know you would hate that."

lace talks a lot. hornet, needlessly, listens a lot in return.

"if i had known you as any other person, i don't think i would like you as much. is that weird? or perhaps that just means this lifetime is special. even if we've done it before, this is probably the best version."

in fact, hornet can hear lace in her head now, redundantly so.

"today has been pretty boring. but, at least my favourite spider is here to entertain me. but, you know, it'll be sad when this is over. that'll be soon, i suppose, but it doesn't have to be much sooner."

and lace is correct, because hornet leaves without a word.

she meets the knight, a little ghost of void and bones, wholly silent and unspoken. they don't lurk in the shadows since they are already made of them. hornet intercepts as she pleases, which is more often than she thinks she should. it is nice that they don't talk, but sometimes, she weirdly misses the sound of lace's voice.

and then, there is radiant darkness.

"it is my pin that should end your life, you know? how pitiful would it be if we spent all this time together only for you to die in someone else's amateur web? the process is more important than the end."

hornet would like to listen in another life, despite what lace thinks.

"the way you are is fundamentally good, i think. however, this universe doesn't like that nature. i can't say i like it myself, but alas, you've grown on me. lured and caught me like a real spider would."

in fact, hornet has lace archived. so there is nothing lost. not truly.

"my folks are in the graveyard of sinners too. they used to weave tales of kinder worlds, stories of valiantly heartful characters, and cloaks that blew in the refreshing wind. there's no breeze down here, though."

and hornet dreams of fine silk in dresses under sunlit skies.

don't tell me of beauty in the constellations as if that's any consolation of the untimely end we are to meet. i'll give no chance for you to wash your hands of this and i will always expect of myself the same.

you know i'd say the words you want, so why abandon the script and all our marks?

of every person that appeared and got cropped out, you were the one immutable staple, without which there is no solid ground. if a thousand stars rain upon us, i'll catch you as you fall, and you can coax the shining heart from my unforgiving chest.

you know i'd guarantee a spot is open for when you come back into focus, so why deny the want of being wanted?

there is safety in numbers, and the numbers i will count, for hell is a place that cannot be traced. when you arrive in heaven, don't look for me, because then you'll know i was just a sordid liar.

you know i'd take whatever you've despaired from the stairs, so why stare from the golden gates of far up there?

ivan's heart clenches, but not unexpectedly, maybe just in some customary relinquishment of hope; resigned, like the sentence has been a long time coming either way the cards decided to fall.

he knew they were never really in his hands anyways. till holds every winning play and will receive the pay off of any gamble in relation to ivan, as is the nature of their friendship, of their subtly predestined magnitude marked in the stars.

"alright. why should i care about that?" responds ivan, in a way that sounds practiced in its indifference, not a hint of sullen defeat to it. the shaky sincerity of till's statement (confession?) dissipates in an instant, a wisp in the wind of their many bittersweet memories.

for a second, ivan thinks that this'll be one of those stained days, wherein his emotions become a little too intense to keep the events unclouded in his mind. then, he looks at till's indignant face as his cheeks flush an embarrassed red, and the possibility of such a fog is vanquished by his overwhelmingly pitiful fondness.

"what's wrong? did you think i didn't know that?" ivan inquires teasingly, though almost genuinely wondering over till's answer.

"no, asshole, you just don't get it." when till barely splutters out his bold summation, ivan feels a bit like he's missing something, but nothing clicks into place immediately.

in lieu of what to do, ivan idly hooks his ankle around till's leg. their sides press together and the concentrated scowl in till's eyes lightens. the magnetic frequency that always draws ivan to till seems to preen at this course of action, heightening at some invisible wavelength correspondence this proves.

"yeah," says ivan, suddenly slipping into a state of enough confidence to lean his head on till's shoulder, "i don't get it at all." it's warm.

======

there's no obsessive nature in ivan besides the one exception of till. if it weren't for ivan anchoring himself at the other's side, drifting through life and school and work and into death would be as simple as just that, drifting.

yet, ivan does get a bit caught up in the semantics and debatable dichotomy of the admission found in 'i'm not in love with you'.

when someone says that, especially pertaining to till, it seems direct and clear cut and like setting a boundary. or it should (but ivan might be severely overthinking it). still, the way till voiced it so abruptly, offered like a branch extending to the root of something deeper; ivan is nearly delusional enough to trick himself into thinking that till might've been coaxing him into confessing a feeling of his own.

too bad that it would only be plausible if it were any pair besides them.

so, decidedly, ivan reaches the end of the week by walking till to the bus stop and telling himself that he is not obsessed because he never has been and never will be.

======

"he said that? really!?" squeaks mizi, her eyes welling up with tears under her lashes, looking more disconcerted than ivan felt when he first heard it himself. "i don't understand... it's just wrong! how is it even fair? why would he say it randomly like that? how could he!?"

sensing the imminent breakdown of distress, sua glares from behind mizi, pointedly indicating that ivan fix this at the threat of a beating if otherwise. sua doesn't pull her punches, so ivan tries his best, beginning with placing a placating hand on top of mizi's head which is an attempt that fails spectacularly as soon as it starts.

when mizi full on wails, ivan realizes his mistake and quickly mutters about having to pick up till from band practice (an excuse that sua glares at because she's the only one that recalls them all being in the same band).

however, regardless of sua's skepticism, ivan truly does have a scheduled meeting time with till. it makes him feel a little better to have told that much of the truth after inadvertently making mizi cry.

======

it's been two weeks since the 'i'm not in love with you' incident, as hyuna has taken to referring to it. somehow, the whole band has caught wind of it despite till being none the wiser, if not a bit confused by mizi's sorrowful looks between him and ivan whenever they're standing next to each other (which is more often than not).

at first, ivan took to the technique of waking up every morning and going to see till with the mentality of 'i'm over it already' as a halfhearted mantra for manifestation. unfortunately, it fell through pretty quickly after a couple of days where ivan came to remember that 'i'm never getting over you' is a phrase that exists primarily in his vocabulary and readily within his skillset.

luka, the smug bastard, uses the opportunity of ivan's momentary lapse in normalcy to get under till's skin constantly. in turn, this gets on mizi's nerves, who tells luka not to let the not-so-secret secret be revealed to till who already knows but doesn't know that everyone else also knows. it's quite confusing, but not really that confusing when sua hops in to defend mizi (as typical). then, followed by hyuna using herself as a human scale to balance the forces of the band's intermittent chaos (as is also typical).

all the while, ivan moves on to stage two of what might be grief or consolation. he adjusts, because technically, he's been doing this since forever. meaning, he repeats 'i'm used to this' whenever he gets the urge to say he actually loves till or express it in various other horrifyingly excruciating displays.

ivan only falters once in this process of acclimation, when till deftly wipes a smear of dirt off his face in a second that has the world stopping and gawking and ivan's poor body weak to a violent bout of close to collapsing syndrome. the casual manner of till's frown and adorably wrinkled nose in confusion at ivan's dramatics just serving to make his pulse thrum that much more irregular through his veins.

somewhere, seated behind the drumkit (at hyuna's benevolence), luka stifles an obnoxious laugh at ivan's simultaneously paling and colouring skin as he feels an inch away from an early demise of affection overload induced heart attack.

======

"sounds like you got a predicament, loverboy." announces hyuna from the rim of her drink at the bar, her snarkiness showing how much luka has unwarrantedly made an influence. "i mean, it's weird, because he still doesn't look at you far off from how sua looks at mizi."

"what's that supposed to mean?" ivan asks, ineloquently, since he's slightly drunk and will probably puke if he thinks too long about the way sua stares at mizi. "it's not the same."

"yeah, it totally is." hyuna nods after taking a generous swig from her overflowing cup. it won't be long before she has to go find luka in the bar's crowd to cut him off. they drink at the same rate, but luka gets smashed significantly faster than anyone else.

"is it?" parrots ivan, totally unconvinced by her drunken state of conviction. his inkling of hope flickers.

"mhm. possessive, i'd say. sure, sua loves mizi, but she's also a possessive girlfriend if i ever saw one!" the aforementioned 'possessive girlfriend' whips her attention around to hyuna who suddenly seems very sober. ivan sighs as hyuna dashes to fetch luka, slumping forward over the wooden counter, resolving that the issue needs to be confronted as soon as possible given a few more lenient business days to breathe.

======

"are you not even a little bit in love with me?" ivan dares to bring up out of the blue when they're sitting on the same steps in front of their school's old gym. it's cold today.

it goes so silent that ivan almost thinks till didn't hear him, but that would be too nice a fate for the universe to afford him, so they're forced to seep in a terse quiet for an uneasy moment too long.

though eventually, ivan relents, turning his head to till who's surprisingly already glaring at him with a cutting focus. he resembles somewhere between a disgruntled stray cat and a snake about to kill ivan in one bite. part of ivan wishes it's the latter.

"well," till says, parsed out through gritted teeth, "are you in love with me?" he finishes the question sounding more like a demand, intently staring at the ground where their shoes are mismatched but aligned.

ivan blinks. he thinks about the current chill in the air and the ghost of sunlight on their skin about a month ago. he thinks about till pursing his lips as he spoke the dreaded sentence, dropping the statement like a prompt. he thinks of his own gaze, wilting a tad, reflected by till's own. apparently, ivan has one card.

"is that what you wanted to hear?" the politeness might as well strangle the both of them, but ivan is being honest about this, achingly direct. he wants to hear the truth and only the truth in return.

"that's what i thought you would say." responds till, like clockwork, before his expression screws up as if it was just a slip of the tongue to comment such a sentiment. "if you meant it, anyways." he amends, trying to brush it off. "i guess it doesn't matter now."

the accusation is pretty clear, 'you didn't say it then, so you won't mean it if you say it now; you're too late'. ivan thinks of gambling and the stars shining bright across world, listening in, as if he ever had something worth betting. it feels divined, anticipated, when it finally falls. his heart clenches and it hurts in the right way.

"i am in love with you." ivan whispers, softly, like it's a phrase the world will remember for him and reinvigorate if given enough time to flourish. "you don't have to say it back."

"okay. okay." murmurs till with equal softness in his tone. his head leans against ivan's shoulder, conceding or admitting to a gap in the lines. "i'm sorry." uncharacteristically, till sounds sincerely remorseful. for once, ivan doesn't need to steel himself against looking and allows himself to linger on a single glance. "you get it, don't you?"

ivan nearly asks 'how did you know', but they had both always known. maybe that was always the point. if it was anyone else, ivan isn't sure they would've stayed all this time. and till is right here, close enough to touch, perhaps even to keep.

no one needs to know its origins once they see him in the flesh, backed by a crew of those he rescued and a flourishing haven that he carved out of scarce advantages. though, this doesn't particularly matter when jinx knows, had known, and likely always will know.

because in some muffled up and oppressed corner of her psyche, she still dreads the laughter and joy of two children roaming the undercity in youthful vigor. she cannot remember the turning point, but she knows the destination at the start and in the after; from powder and ekko to jinx and the boy savior.

"something bad happened. something really bad happened. i didn't mean it. i didn't want to hurt you. would you hear me out? you know you're all i've got left." in childish naivety and ignorance, jinx sometimes hears the wandering thoughts of a child reverberating through her mind. she can't place whether they sting worse than the hallucinations or haunt in an entirely different way. "please don't leave me."

of course, it's not the voice, but the words being tampered and relayed and echoed without real reason. without merit, even, as jinx never got the chance to plead half of it aloud. she had never told the boy savior her story and her broken wishes and the things he learnt second hand through ash of soiled mouths.

instead, when jinx was just a forlorn image wavering within powder's chest, there was ekko slinking away at the announcement of silco's new leadership. after that, the last drop lacked a certain presence and the undercity's streets grew lonely as powder morphed into jinx.

"the boy savior." mocks jinx, tramping down the small part of her that asks if he would've stayed, that asks if it will really end this way; what states that everything in her life will only ever amount to uselessness.

======

"this won't fix me." she says, as ekko busies his hands with the scarce resources they have left at their disposal. he doesn't bristle, hardly shifts to look up, only letting his lips crease downwards minutely. jinx doesn't continue for a long while, idly twirling a wrench in her hand, content to stare at ekko from her seat on a cluttered workbench. "this won't fix us."

she blows out a long puff that almost bleeds into a shrill warbling whistle. jinx uses the larger end of the wrench to motion between them before jabbing the other side right above ekko's ear. he scoffs lightly, reaching his free arm up to bar her from poking him.

"i didn't claim it would." he responds curtly, since they've already made it far enough as is, far enough to plague the rest of his waking dreams and numerous nightmares. a shared workbench, a slew of resources and tasks divided between them. ekko came this close to it in another reality once, and now again, and then probably never.

"what are you planning with all of this? make like a boy savior? fight a war and win, check. save everyone, check. reform the world's most successful walking curse into an innocent childhood friend," jinx clicks her tongue in a condescending flippancy, "currently in progress. am i right? i'm pretty sure i'm right."

"yeah. you've got it. i'm the boy savior, and i'll save you, even if you don't want me to." dryly mutters ekko, inspecting a rusted nail to evaluate if he can repurpose it for something else.

jinx plucks it right out of his hands and gives it a critical once over before flinging it into an empty oil cannister nearby. it clangs on the metal, rust on rust, abandoned object against abandoned object. ekko is sure that the sound of this memory will haunt him forever.

"you shouldn't try to restore things when they can't be fixed."