namelessprayers

[namelessprayers]

i grieve the consequences of my actions in having loved, in having known love, in having been loved. for all the stars in heaven, there will never be anything as bright as the fingertips of two people reaching for god in one another. no one speak. the song is as much a desperate plea as the words we trade. in this universe, and the next, let us fall into the delusion of humanity's hope. do not say what you will, because there is an ending, and it will embrace you with this beating heart pumping blood that has tasted love. it is hungry, i am starving still; forever praying, forever craving, what a tainted falsification we create in the palms of each other's palms. no one talk to me. there is nothing to satiate the love born between ghosts. pallid and empty, i grieve and grieve, so you will know and be and understand just as i have loved and loved and loved you.

[namelessprayers]

once a person goes through pages of pencil and blank space, they are left with their heart and their head, alone and isolated. though, it's never a choice, and it's never a truly welcome occurrence.

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?

beyond that, the guiding hands of the universe will decide whether it is over or if one survives against all odds.

[namelessprayers]

"hey, ritsu," shou addresses, as he finishes off the last chunk of his popsicle in a single bite in his hastiness to catch up with ritsu's pace, "how could someone metaphorically sweep you off your feet?"

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."

ritsu wrinkles his nose at the bouquet taking up all his arm space as if it personally offended him with the mere injustice of existing, which shou thinks to be a bit overdramatic for simply being an unwarranted gift of one too many flowers, even if he laughs in delight anyways.

[namelessprayers]

"i have a crush on you." mizi said. sua turned her head, slowly, tired maybe. she always looked a bit tired if mizi stared long enough. then again, maybe everyone else did too. the effects of growing, probably.

"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.

they have so little options left, so they simply lay there and stare. maybe they talk, but play is pointless, and the songs are already stolen. in every moment, mizi can feel them crush each other more.

[namelessprayers]

till starts writing because it is not poignant to hope for hope, even if it is necessary to have hope, and only words can seem to reiterate the pain of pointless dreaming. then again, perhaps it has always been a apart of him, or just everyone in their blind hoping for hope when there is nothing to truly seek. till writes about the things he wants to see (shallow and hollow), to do (improbable and stilted), and the things that he won't dare to wish aloud (a person he lost but can't remember how to pronounce).

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).

till almost falls into the trap of hoping, false belief, that perhaps ivan is convinced he can summon new words. but it's just that, conviction, which till does not share as he is surer that he will not write. then again, till thought he could understand ivan, but in the end, all decisions diverge at the edge of individual obscurity. till never writes that the unknown stays as it is, that even the final nail in the coffin, sealing without a further clarification. he does not write. he does not admit that there is no hope to be found in hoping. till wishes he could bear to hope for hope, yet the sound of it is an aimless, broken thing.

[namelessprayers]

enneagram types of link click characters analysis (part 1): research sources- enneagram institute, enneagram universe, truity

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?

please leave your own thoughts here regardless, and maybe guess at what some of the other cast might be. it could even help me out here... either way, i'm interested to hear your opinions and i will definitely respond if you want clarification or have any questions!

[namelessprayers]

hiya, here i primarily write little fandom things; my main account @llanekee has my poetry and other relevant socials listed.

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.

======

personality type: INTJ, 4w5 current favourite song: imitation by will stetson 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: fifteen years old artists that inspire me: tatsuki fujimoto, sumiko arai, ocean vuong, sylvia plath, lucy dacus, mitski, taylor swift, conan gray, sarah kinsley, akugetsu, will stetson, vivimeng

======

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

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

characters i relate to: ivan, lu guang, hornet, wanderer, oikawa tooru, wirt, reki kyan, dipper pines, ritsu kageyama, simon gwon

characters i love: till, cheng xiaoshi, s1 viktor, s2 mel, ekko, aventurine, kaveh, yoimiya, vash saverem, akaashi keiji, radical edward

ships i like: haikaveh, shiguang, timebomb, mizisua, ivantill, lacenet, iwaoi, bokuaka, ritshou, kubokai, renga, vashwood, yumihisu, lawlight, ratiorine, reigisa, veinfei, edling, sasamiya, mitsuaya, xingyun, yoshikaru

[namelessprayers]

in hornet's backyard, there is a grave of sinners and the deathbed of her parents, separate, buried distinctly to make sure they don't touch. hornet will never fall in love. hornet will never devote herself to eternal tasks. hornet will visit them but never with sentiment in her mind.

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.

and lace, she also recalls, in both memory and truth.

[namelessprayers]

you know i'd wait for you in heaven with my head split open, so why leave me all alone on this downtrodden planet?

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?

(a star deserves freedom, however you've fallen, and the sky is unrestricted as long as i've ceased breathing)

[namelessprayers]

"i'm not in love with you." till says unprompted, a clarification out of the blue on the steps outside their school's decrepit gym. it's warm.

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.

"i get it." says ivan, because he does. "i know." he smiles into till's hair. it's not that cold anymore.

[namelessprayers]

the boy savior is a title that sticks, a moniker that echoes, a declaration that cannot be silenced nor overlooked.

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."

leaning back on the heel of her palms, gaze unfocused up at the dimly lit sky visible through a hole in the ceiling, ekko considers jinx with the same eyes that he saw the nail. the saddest truth is that she has no rust, that she does not need restoring or fixing, that powder only became devoid of creative use when she tried to be useful at all. in relation to that, ekko wishes they could be nothing, together perhaps, but nothing in the grand scheme of all destruction and formation.

[namelessprayers]

hornet holds no belief in ardent and insistent apologies. she holds no value in reverence and restoration. she was raised in the belly of a beast and now they all live in the corpse of a perpetually dying god.

they have survived together, revived together, and it seems they are sinking one final time into an uncompromisingly long lasting demise.

what price must be paid for the dues that history demands? what sordid thing did they do to trample and be trampled on in response? what were the gods and their most trusted of bugs thinking?

a fool on the throne. a heart that pumped nothing to the bones. a plethora of actions that led to defeat where there was no battle to begin with.

hornet sees no light when the door closes. the entrance shutting must be the nail in the coffin or the bell of a new day tolling. she will not be alive to know whichever result comes to fruition.

there is no merit to acts. there is no merit to thought. there is nothing to believe in. but perhaps, success in death can be realized after all.

[namelessprayers]

it starts with a donut. everything, everywhere, and then the donut.

so, it happens to be that vash is pretty sure he could just about swallow the donut whole if it weren't for the horrific consequences that might come about as a speculative result.

speculative, intact and delicious looking donut. translated, vash's self control vs the unparalleled laws of physics. further diluted, the barrel of the gun that clicks against his forehead and the very enticing donut that waits for vash on the countertop.

if he reaches for it, there's an approximately fifty percent chance that the man will not shoot, leading to the donut in vash's digestive tract for a total of five blissfully unvaried seconds.

then again, a man of wit would consider the opportune likeliness of grievances along the way. see, vash notes the angle of the table being at a bad spot. he'd have to move in a direction that almost guarantees he'll get shot if the guy with the gun decides to fire. which he might and might not.

vash pats himself on the back for impulse control and an echoed kind of accomplishment as he eyes the donut remaining inactive.

wolfwood would say he's a sure idiot. wolfwood would label the circumstance a matter of human nature vs vash's stubbornly masochistic resolve. wolfwood would call him a needle-noggin and either clear out the men through some persuasively violent methods or smash the donut to bits beforehand.

either option not currently being in the cards makes vash feel relieved on behalf of the man pointing a gun to his head. vash is also pretty glad that he'll probably at least manage a bite of the donut.

let wolfwood call him a moron for waiting this sort of situation out. especially, definitely, because of the donut.

in vash's gaze, it's just another coin toss in a world of coin tosses.

wolfwood would probably snatch the coin midair and call vash a dumbass for wasting a perfectly good resource in a world where there is too little of everything, everywhere.

and so, vash would pointedly respond, shouldn't you get me that donut? to which wolfwood, vash's very accurate and highly realistic mind palace version wolfwood, would do exactly that at the expense of everyone or no one depending on his mood.

it ends with a donut. maybe on the floor, maybe in vash's hands.

======

"i got ya your damn donut, didn't i, blondie? ain't that all that matters?" he says, to the trembling grasp of otherworldly fingers which can't decide on cradling or clenching the donut, unable to discern whether it's a nightmare or a dream. "it was your choice, wasn't it? you can't change it now, so stop losing your pretty little head over it." he continues, smoke blowing in the face of something, something not entirely human but still not inhuman enough. "forget it, vash. the donut never mattered this much." he laughs, to a humorless face in a humorless voice. "forget it, would you? forget me."

[namelessprayers]

"your body must betray you, for you are human after all.

it is in the nature of all things living to decay by the elements that make them matter so. but the skin on your flesh and the flesh on your bones do not make you significant, they merely make you a whole.

a doll, a puppet, a human.

they are each the same with a consciousness; the same way that even gods can walk among humans and be united if they so desire."

"and you desire?"

"i do desire, for how else could i talk to you and glean what precious knowledge of you there is to gain?"

"a look into my dreams, maybe, a mind reading. like gods are supposed to, like gods are able to. it is in your right, isn't it? i know for a fact that you can. why have such power and waste it?"

"do you not enjoy the idle semantics of mundane discussion?

human connection, in banter and such; though i have witnessed this ritualistic behavior relayed through thousands of memories and dreams, i have never gotten bored of its plaintive mirth.

there may be no way to sway your opinion on the matter, but knowledge changes and grows just as living things rise and fall.

rot conceals worth whilst wealth often conceals filth. the world is made up of dichotomy after dichotomy, each one spliced into numerous dichotomies spun from even smaller dichotomies.

i am a god. i am living. i am also nahida.

so what are you?"

"don't ask questions you already know the answer to. you acquire no further knowledge doing that, and isn't that the point?"

"perhaps. but perhaps the bare act of engagement is enough to suffice. a god has no right to be hungry, just as a human has no true right to be bored; an endless life needs no sustenance, just as a fleeting life shall be full of meaning in its shortness.

you were once a doll, a puppet, then another being. i'd say, a scorched god- ("a pitiful creature.")

-but in my perspective, you were more of a falling star.

shooting stars, you know, people wish on them. dead stars, people offer to the gods, either in retribution or hope. to have been them all, to be the star itself, prayed to and never the prayer. well, that's rather wonderful, isn't it?"

"lesser lord kusanali certainly loves her knowledge."

"yet, here, i am nahida and the knowledge that i treasure most pertains in specialty to you. what do you think that means?"

"that i truly have stooped to that level of a lowly human, resigned to the gaze of a god that never learned to make good use of her godhood. i guess i really have fallen."

"and is it so bad?"

"i think not. but i am human after all, it is just my mind betraying me."

[namelessprayers]

"i know how your mind works, ei.

you had long deduced that the threat humans posed to eternity was too high a cost for you to pay; for her to have paid, as she did with what should've been an endless reign of shared godhood.

humanity, a spirit unpredictable and untamed, could not possibly be coexistent with the eternity of immortal truths and their beings.

when you razed their ambitions to the ground and struck their skies with eternal thunder, it was still but a laughable warning of the most fleeting lightning to come.

i know that you had an unwavering belief in this course of action, in eternity bred of pure elevation and separation from the unwieldly; they too, believed fully in you to assume the throne of a goddess untouchable with ambitions raised to readily greet the heavens.

disappointed, weren't they? and even, you, of your very own self.

you believed the enemy of eternity to be so definitely human, sourced from their endings and untimely demises, just as you'd seen her fall prey to all those centuries ago.

i know you wouldn't use the word but, wholeheartedly or perhaps naively, you latched onto this truth that was more belief than fact; for when a god truly conceptualizes in an idea, doesn't it naturally become reality as a product of their latent divinity?

but there are even brutalities that us immortal beings may not escape unscathed, for all our might and transcendent power.

she had experienced this first hand without ever getting the chance to tell you, ei; the human nature of death, their single most fatal shortcoming in the face of eternity, an irreversible and final flaw.

that's where you got it wrong though.

like a goddess so high above the soil would believe, wearing the clouds of thunderous lightning as a halo upon her head, you decided that to be human was to die; to contradict and ultimately fail the law of what eternal truth seeked.

i know, dear ei, you wished for that balance; enough to commit yourself completely to mistaken belief and insatiable desire.

here, alone, you wait and wait in an eternity you claim to have created in sanctuary and protection of what is precious; despite the matter that this place is empty and desolate of any sentimental meaning.

you are wrong, but only in the gaze of visions between us. so, here's the secret and the absolute honest epiphany. consider it a gift of old friends reborn under the blessing of a new eternity;

death does not make humans- living does.

i have known you longer than i'll ever be able to pretend otherwise and i am sure that i do not misunderstand when i say; there is time for us yet to fathom those brief eclipses.

one can be human in eternity; and as a goddess, i believe you are entitled to that much of humanity just as they are entitled to you.

let your mind live, ei, let yourself live with me."

[namelessprayers]

do you believe in the great anakt?

mizi: believe? how can anyone have faith when god has already left us? if there is no god, there is no universe. without those, how could the great anakt have any merit?

luka: the great anakt? who would really buy into that? it's what the worst of performers tell themselves as a comfort, but the truth is, everywhere we exist is the stage. the great anakt is just that, a lie to deceive the weak from the harsh reality of things.

till: does it matter? praying and believing... why have faith in something beyond what we actually have control over? ourselves (our most human love and passion).

hyuna: i'll admit, i think i did once. people change, though. we experience so much, and when the great anakt doesn't change with us... well, that proves it, doesn't it? there's nothing to believe in.

ivan: why believe in things that cannot be confirmed? there are much more reliable sources of hope. there are other places where the light shines through. i'd prefer a tangible thing to believe in, over a namesake and an altar. perhaps, something permanent even, like death after living. like finding the end to the meaning.

sua: mizi used to say that believing in god was to reclaim humanity. is the great anakt god? it doesn't feel like it. not in comparison to other things... to other people. who cares of belief in the great anakt when there are far greater promises to believe in?

[namelessprayers]

sometimes wolfwood wonders if vash feels most at home with a gun pressed to his head. it would make a lot of sense, and it would hurt in a detached way, but just as a lot of other things in this world would too.

vash is not a special case. vash is supposed to be no different in wolfwood's mind. so if only wolfwood could convince himself of that, and if only the world would help him achieve that much. but if only if only would often come true.

the fact is, wolfwood has never met someone like vash. no one has ever made such a defined impression on wolfwood, at least, no one besides vash. but that's par for the course at this unfortunate point among many other unfortunate points.

he's also pretty sure that the world itself has never been graced by someone like vash too. but as all excruciating complications go, the notability of vash's obvious otherworldliness ranks low on the list.

anyone, wolfwood likes to say to himself whilst observing vash in between stolen moments, anyone could fall in love with you; it could've been anyone, and it shouldn't have been me, but i guess it is.

it really is. and wolfwood can barely admit that amount, at most, to add to his deepest regret and utter despair.

it really is awful.

but there's simply a manner which vash carries that makes it seem not so horrible a plight to be infatuated with him. wolfwood would wager on the otherworldly thing, an angelic sort of touch to vash's every decision. but there's a distinct, achingly rooted humanity about vash.

the source of that tree, the seed of whatever withering hold this world's people has on vash, it's plentiful and incomprehensible. at least, to someone of wolfwood's grounded and incomplete nature.

a lot of the time, it's impossible for anyone to describe vash, and for good reason. wolfwood would claim to spend an unhealthy stretch of time studying the man, and yet, it's still impossible to decipher whether vash is an angel because he's remarkably human or a human because he's remarkably inhuman.

who could actually glean any information about vash when he poses that much of a walking dilemma already? well, certainly not wolfwood, but not for lack of trying. everything about vash is a bother.

truly.

in the uncrossing and disconnecting lines of their moral abandonment and the ashes of one too many cigarettes, wolfwood finds a contract and then he finds an angel. it should be a done and dusted deal. it should be over. it should.

wolfwood may be unpolished, but the success of his jobs never are. but there stands vash, wrapped in a shiny layer of varnish, so polished that all wolfwood can do is scratch the surface pointlessly.

how is it, wolfwood wonders, that you could have wings and i would still think they were made of wax? the answer, wolfwood has always known since he first saw vash's face, is irony. inescapable, that irony.

it tastes like the blood in his mouth and sunlight in his final breath.