#hello I exist on this mortal plane and sometimes I hate it

[writinanon]

The Rook II

  Rook grumbled faintly as she came to, tied to a chair. John was across from her and so was Joseph. This was not watch she was expecting when a rather large group of Peggies had taken her down. She was expecting Faith’s weird drug trip, given that she had headed out to see about liberating the Sheriff, not an Atonement session with a frustrated and pissed off John. He didn’t seem to understand that she was mute.

 “Hello Maria. I believe that we should talk.” Joseph said, she wanted to smack her forehead and noticed that her hands were free. “We’ll have to wait until Jacob is here, his sign language is better than my own.” Warily she narrowed her eyes at the pair of men and flexed her fingers, her restrains snapped with a brush of magic.

 ‘I would prefer Rook.’ She informed and leaned back. ‘Where are we?’

 “We’re at my Farm house. Do you not like your given name?”

 ‘Wait for Jacob.’ Stood and stretched, popping the vertebra in her back, unable to stop the pleased sound that escaped at the loose feeling. She wondered around the room she was in and looked at the walls. ‘Relax.’ She glanced at the pair of somewhat tense men and smiled as gently as she could.

  Jacob arrived not too long after her initial wake up however he was trailed by a familiar woman.

 “Well here’s where they’re hiding you!” She cheered and gathered Rook into a hug. “Oh I just love what you’ve done with the hair I’ve told you shorter is better, less for people to grab hold of.”

 ‘Liked it long. My mother had long hair.’

 “Sometimes I forget you’re human until you get sentimental about a woman you’ve never even met.” She sighed and glanced over at the others. “Well hell I know where you get the looks and desire for tattoos from huh?” Rook frowned very harshly at Amon.

 ‘Why are you here Amon? I’ve only just returned to Earth and you had many chances to talk to me Below.’

 “Oh well I heard you finally found your birth family and I wanted to meet them.” Her smile was sharp, that same smile that always made her regret asking questions.

 ‘No.’

 “Oh come –” Rook growled and felt the shift in her throat as she prepared to speak.

 “No.”

 “Okay. But you know that Berith and Asmodeus won’t be as easily swayed right?” Amon was one of the few Demons that understood how important speaking was for her. “I’ll be back to check on you later.” She poked Rook’s nose and was gone. Rook took a deep breath and sighed before looking at her male relatives. They had a range of horror written across their faces. Jacob was the least and John the most. She almost laughed but knew that it would come out as a hiss like cackle, so she didn’t and instead swallowed her voice once more.

 ‘Before you ask, I don’t speak Human.’

 “There is no such thing as ‘Human’ in language terms. Everything’s is its own unique language.” Joseph managed to find his voice first.

 ‘That seems highly inefficient.’

 “It is.” Jacob replied. “What was that?”

 ‘Lower Level Demonic.’ Rook shrugged and then rubbed her throat, feeling her Voice recede back into her chest. ‘My vocal cords weren’t fully developed yet when I was born they would have worked but I would have probably had speech problems. They were damaged when I was smothered because I was instinctively trying to scream and they couldn’t handle that.’

 “Is that why you uh sounded like that?” John managed still looking pale as a sheet. Rook chuckled and shook her head.

 ‘Lower Demonic sounds like the noise of Animals to those that can’t Understand it. Something to do with the lack of Power or the inability to wield the Power I don’t really know the semantics of it.’

 “Humans can learn it?” Jacob hummed in interest.

 ‘Yes, many of the Great Kings used Demons for knowledge or power or just to keep an eye on their enemies. Demons aren’t actually all evil most of them just don’t like to listen to Angels because Angels are mostly douche bags. Like Amon, she’s pretty cool and commands 40 legions in Hell. But she’s pretty much the second Patron of scholars and those that seek wisdom as she can answer any question about the past or present. She probably came to tell Berith and Asmodeus your locations and names. Or my location. Since I’m an Undying I’m very difficult to track, it doesn’t help that I’m currently in the presence of a Mystic.’ She pointed to Joseph. ‘So what did you wanna talk about?’

  Berith shows up a few days later, the usual pack of Hounds at her heels and a swagger in her step. She’s utterly unafraid of the Judges or the Hunters that are staring at her.

 “Yo Pup!” She called as Rook was in one of the ‘training’ sessions. “Snap out of it.” She flicked Rook’s nose and brought her out of her blood haze.

 “What?” Rook muttered and blinked. She looked at the dead bodies on the pathway behind her. “Did I do that?”

 “They’re mannequins little Rook. No need to be worried.” She shrugged and flicked her long gold hair over her shoulder.

 ‘Oh. Well how are you doing?’ Jacob was stomping into the room within moments but the Pack turned and growled viciously at him and had him freezing in place. ‘Did you make them visible?’

 “No.” Berith grinned faintly. “Guess the Sight just runs in those pretty blue eyes.” Rook looked from the Demon that trained her to her oldest human relative and back frowning.

 ‘I thought Joseph was the only Mystic?’

 “Oh you don’t have to be a Mystic to have the Sight, Pup. Maybe we should have let Amon give you those Human lessons like she suggested when you were a kid?”

 “What are those?” Jacob didn’t sound horrified like most people and Rook noticed he seemed to be edging ever closer.

 “They’re Hellhounds. Oh yeah here.” Berith held out a pup to Rook and she took it gently, getting licked. “That one’s too nice. I figured if you were gonna live up here permanently once all this End of the World business is finished you can have the Failures.”

 ‘There are a lot of Lost Souls to feed it.’ Rook hummed thoughtfully, wondering if she should keep the Hound. It might try to eat Boomer. Or merge with Boomer. She frowned as she noticed familiar brown eyes staring at her. “DID YOU TURN BOOMER INTO A HELLHOUND?!”

 “You were pretty attached to him already and he was an older boy.” Rook handed Boomer over to Jacob to tackle Berith.

  Jacob watched and cringed as he heard owl screeching and the cackle of a hyena. The pup in his arms licked his scars and then barked. The Hounds didn’t move until Rook reared back then one took her arm in its mouth and another jumped on her back and pinned her to the ground. The strange woman smirked, eyes no longer a light grey but a glowing like the coals of a fire.

 “Mistake.” She hissed but Jacob didn’t think it was in English. She stood and brushed herself off, smiling victoriously. “Training…” Her mouth continued to move and then she turned on her heel and looked at him. She took the pup from him and set it on the ground. It went over and licked Rook’s face while she sulked on the ground.

 “Well I suppose I should be glad she’ll have a little toughening up but must you use such archaic and basic methods?” The woman rolled her eyes and brushed none existent lint from herself. “I’ll be checking in periodically to make sure she’s healthy and up to snuff. So be a good boy and keep her sharp for me.”

 “Who the fuck do you think you are?”

 “I’m Berith, General of Mephistopheles and commander of the Legions of Cavalry. Master of Hellhounds and the Lord that Squired the Rook, Maria Seed.” She grinned and chuckled. “You might be tough, you might be handsome and strong in all the right places. But sweetheart you’re just a Soldier and me? I’m the General. Now if you wanna continue this discussion away from young eyes and ears please, do call. I go by Hilda on the Mortal Plane, rolls off the tongue better.” She winked and then snapped and waltzed out of the room with her Hounds in toe.

 ‘I fucking hate my life.’

 “Well Pup I can take that away for a while.” He smirked, taking out the music box; she opened her mouth releasing a screech. He could almost make out the ‘No’ in it.

  Containing one of Sharky’s fires that got out of hand after he begged her to learn pyromancy was easy enough. It made Rook very glad that she had the kind of training she did when things like this happened. She wondered if she who she should rescue, Amon or Sharky. They seemed sort of enamored with each other.

 “What have you unleashed upon this world Child?” Mephistopheles muttered.

 ‘I don’t know. I really just don’t know how this happened. Or what this even is.’

 “Darlin’ I love you, I do. But if they burn down my thrown room I’m going to skin you.” He rubbed his chin into the crown of her head a little rougher than he normally would, but she didn’t really mind. It was a hollow threat and she knew it.

 ‘Is Asmodeus around? Is he trolling me?’

 “Bunny I don’t think even Asmodeus could concoct something as weird as this.”

[h-i-raeth]

ALL THE #AESTHETICS

Well, you asked for it. (Full monster answer under the cut.)

flower crown: when did you last sing to yourself?

I’m… Not sure exactly. Me and my siblings do a lot of singing in general. The last time I sang was an attempt to get two of the babies to calm down  by repeatedly singing an approximation of “Teddy Bear Picnic” earlier today.

But to myself?

Definitely within the last week, either in the shower or during/following a session of negativity.

Edit: Since starting to fill this out, I have taken a shower, and sung Satisfied, How Far I’ll Go, and Love Like You.

fairy lights: if a crystal ball could tell you the truth about anything, what would you want to know?

Many things. Things that maybe it would be better not to know, but then again could anything be worse than the constant back and forth of uncertainty?

daisies: what is the greatest accomplishment of your life?

I like to think it hasn’t happened yet.

1975: what is the first happy memory that comes to mind, recent or otherwise?

Playing naked or nearly naked in warm mud in a large puddle of our driveway in West Virginia, with a plastic slide I’m fairly certain we still know the whereabouts of being used as a mud slide, and mud completely covering myself and the three siblings who where alive at the time.

matte: if you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living?

Probably. I see myself being even less concerned than I currently am about… Well, anything and everything. Doing a lot of writing, particularly messages for people to find following my death, and quite possibly planning my own funeral.

I’d just spend a lot more time doing things I enjoy and refusing to do things I don’t. And finding some way to gradually prepare anyone I care about for my imminent departure.

But also. Just. I guess I’d probably be more carefree? Secure in the fact that I’m going to die soon and not have to deal with anything here on this mortal plane and that it is inevitable and hopefully by a means which those I leave behind who I not only care about and love, but like, will not blame themselves for.

black nail polish: do you have a bucket list? if so, what are the top three things?

I have a vague idea of things I’d like to do before I die, assuming I live long enough to do them, though I haven’t taken the time to rank them.

The first three that come to mind are;

1) Take a road trip to visit everywhere I used to live and maybe say hi to the people I used to know.

2) Visit/participate in a Renaissance Festival, and/or other such immersive role-playing festivals/faires/activities

3) Become more comfortable with [my] life and living

pantone: describe a person close to your life in detail.

Well, since he’s in the room at the time of typing this…

My third-youngest brother and fifth-youngest sibling, who, if you didn’t count me, would have exactly the same number of older brothers and younger brothers and older sisters and younger sisters, is hyperactive and plays lots of video games and loves watching gaming videos on youtube, but he’ll beg you to play with him actively inside or outside if he thinks about it. He has blonde hair, and blue eyes, and is six years old. He looks cute, but as a big sister I’m obligated to think that.

He’s hyperactive. Intensely so.

He has trouble keeping his temper, and is simultaneously spoiled and lacking attention. He makes me anxious, with some of the sentiments he parrots and how he acts. Many of my siblings do.

He seems to think violence solves problems. He likes to violently declare he hates something, though if you’re patient with him about it he usually comes to like it. He likes to root for the villain, to seem cool.

He worries me.

Every once in a while he hugs you so tight and tells you he loves you and it makes you ache and I want to protect him and teach him and make sure he doesn’t end up like us in the end.

moodboard: do you feel you had a happy childhood?

I’m still trying to figure that out.

I mean, I like it, I guess. I certainly wouldn’t change anything large about it, as far as I’ve been able to determine. But I don’t know exactly that it was happy, though I think I was happy. 

And I’m certain that it’s affected me deeply in conceivably negative ways.

And

Well

Other things

So…

Still trying to figure it out.

stars: when did you last cry in front of another person?

Yesterday.

plants: pick a person to stargaze with you and explain why you picked them.

@clichenuance, definitely. He appreciates the stars and space, and I’m comfortable with him, and my sibling are all either hyperactive or grumpy, and I like hanging out with him, he’s dear to my heart, and he’s most likely to be able to actually identify/be able to point out asterisms and constellations, and… Well, et cetera. 

converse: would you ever have a deep conversation with a stranger and open up to them?

If they were the right sort of stranger, or I was feeling the right sort of reckless.

lace: when was your last 3am conversation with someone, and who were they to you?

I’m not sure. Probably not too long ago, within the last few months, and probably a sibling or @clichenuance, depending on exact definitions.

My siblings are my world. @clichenuance is my best friend.

That doesn’t quite accurately describe what either of them are to me, but it’s the best I can do without getting disgustingly sappy.

handwriting: if you were about to die, and you could only say one more sentence to one person, what would you say and to whom?

“I’m more at peace this way, honest, please don’t be sad, the one thing about dying that would upset me would be if you suffered from it…”

You can’t honestly expect me to pick just one.

cactus: what is your opinion on brown eyes?

It tends to depend on the specific shade[s]. 

In general, I find them interesting less often than I find lighter eyes interesting, though that could be at least partly because the majority of the people I interact with positively have lighter eyes.

sunrise: pick a quote and describe what it means to you personally.

After much agonizing and asking a friend for random numbers to narrow it down…

“Stories are the most important thing in the world. Without stories, we wouldn’t be human.” - Phillip Pullman

I can’t begin to stress exactly how much I believe in the power of stories.

How much I always have, since before I could read, even, and only growing as I learned how to read and write. Stories are the shape of the world, the lenses through which we interpret our experiences, how we share our thoughts and lives and precious moments.

I believe in stories as all-encompassing. As windows between worlds. As as real and true as anything we can consider “reality”, and in some ways more powerful.

Without stories, we wouldn’t be people. I believe that absolutely. What is consciousness, after all, but our minds telling us a story about the world and how we exist within it?

In every form, in so many ways, stories are important. At my very core, stories are important to me. They shape what I value.

I cannot live without my siblings because our stories are so intricately entwined that I could not imagine my story without theirs.

I value my friends, past and present and future, because of the stories we share and are sharing and will create together.

I look fondly on the places I have lived because of the stories that they are the setting for.

I participate in fandom because it allows me to interact with stories on another level.

I love theater because I love to be physically a part of telling a story, of a story itself.

I consume media for the stories it feeds me.

I write to share stories, to create them, to free them, to become them.

That is the significance of this quote to me. It’s what it means to me, what it has meant to me since I first read it, and what it will continue to mean to me if there is any justice in the world.

oil paints: what would you title the autobiography of your life so far?

Contradictory Girl Stumbles Through Life In A Series Of Snapshots; Thinking Too Much But Never Coming To Any Definitive Conclusions

overalls: what would you do with one billion dollars?

Whatever my whims decided. I have little to no self control. 

Realistically I’d buy a house or several and fill it with interesting things and travel and give in to my whims and generally not worry until I burn out all the money, though I wouldn’t actively look to spend it, and definitely pay my favorite creators for their work.

I’d also provide basic and sometimes indulgent things to whatever family or friends I like, probably.

combat boots: are you a very forgiving person? do you like being this way?

I don’t know.

winged eyeliner: write a hundred word letter to your twelve year old self.

Dear Twelve Year Old Mess, Hello again.Things aren’t much different. We’re still definitely a mess. But we’re not as apathetic, and we’ve put in the effort to make friendships, though we aren’t maintaining all of them.In general, though, it’s better.Periods of bliss are shorter, but with improved self-awareness, and, so, sweeter, and less dangerous.Periods of negativity are more intense now, but an improvement over the extended periods of apathy, which come less frequently.We’re still trying to figure out how our life fits together. But in general we’re doing better. We’re actually working on it.Promise.

pastel: would you describe yourself as more punk or pastel?

Punk appeals to me more, but in practice I guess I’d be considered more pastel? Maybe? I’m not really either though, I don’t put enough effort into my “style” for that. By which I mean most often except with rare exceptions I only put vague effort into my looks or others perceptions of me as me, if any effort at all.

tattoos: how do you feel about tattoos and piercings? explain.

I love them, in theory and generally in practice.

I just. The idea of modifying ones own body, as one pleases, for ones own pleasure. Yes. And they can be really cool.

Personally, I’m hoping to cover my skin in decorations that both are both aesthetically pleasing enough and mean something important enough to me that I not only want but need to permanently transcribe it to my body, but that’s just me.

In a wider sense, your body is your temple, please decorate it as you please.

1001/10, all the approval provided it isn’t monumentally bigoted or otherwise unacceptable.

piercings: do you wear a lot of makeup? why/why not?

No, definitely not. Like, practically never. When one of my moms wants me to and they or one of their friends do it for me. Formal or extremely special occasions. When prompted/when somebody else does my make-up. When I’m performing in a play.

As for why…

Well, I don’t often care to. And when I’d like to on a whim my whim’s are sometimes dampened by the fact that I am not known as a person who wears make up, so if I did there might be assumptions or queries, and at the very least personal remarks, which makes me uncomfortable.

Still, if I actually knew how to do make-up, I’d like to think I might anyway.

Which brings me to…

I don’t know how to, and I haven’t much means to. And I don’t care consistently enough to put in the effort to learn to. And it’s my personal belief that, if I were to go to the effort to put on make-up, I might as well go bold with it or not at all. It seems a silly thing for me, personally, to go to effort for a look that is subtle or simply light. And I can not achieve any look I would want to put effort into on my own, and I’m not really comfortable asking anybody to help me.

bands: talk about a song/band/lyric that has affected your life in some way.

Er… “Sound the Bugle” from Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron has become one of my go-to calm down/get out of a negative spell songs. Amongst others, several of which are from Steven Universe. That counts, right?

messy bun: the world is listening. pick one sentence you would tell them.

“Please get your act together.”

cry baby: list the concerts you have been to and talk about how they make you feel.

A country concert with my grandfather

At least one concert I can’t rightly remember, with my father or grandfather

A concert with an aunt and some cousins that was Rachel Platten, Christina Perri, and Colbie Caillat.

I liked them all well enough, but mostly they made me wish I’d gone with people I was more comfortable and casual with.

grunge: who in the world would you most like to receive a letter from and what would you want it to say?

I’d most like to receive a letter from one or more of three particular people I used to know, and I’d like it to tell me what they’re like now, how they used to think of me, if they still think of me, and, if they wanted to regain contact, how I might contact them. 

space: do you have a desk/workspace and how is it organised/not organised?

Technically, I do have a desk. I never hardly ever use it.

My “workspace” is my bedroom, generally.

Neither are neat. Technically, both are semi organized.

By which I mean papers are one place books are another and so on so that general categories each have their rather messy places.

white bed sheets: what is your night time routine?

Nestle into a nest of covers, with something to drink nearby ideally, do some idle task until I grow bored, or undeniably or pleasantly exhausted, turn on my side, put a pillow between my arm and my head, and contemplate pleasant situations until imagining turns to dreaming.

old books: what’s one thing you don’t want your parents to know?

Everything and nothing. It’s complicated.

beaches: if you had to dye your hair how would you dye/style it and why?

I’d dye it one or more fantastic colors because if I’m going to make an effort to alter how I look I may as well go bold, and I suppose I’d style it similarly boldly for the same reason, or else make it short enough to be convenient, or else keep it as is since it’s long enough to put up.

eyes: pick five people to go on an excursion with you. who would you pick and where would you go/what would you do?

I don’t think I currently know five people I’d want to go on an excursion with all together.

I suppose if I had to…

two of the people I used to know in Maine, one particular person I used to know in Chickasha, Oklahoma, and two of the people I know now.

As for where to go…

Well, I haven’t the foggiest, beyond something exciting so that we’d have something to talk about. Perhaps a large Fair? I don’t know.

11:11: name three wishes and why you wish for them.

1: I wish for none of my wishes to ever backfire on me and part of that must be for them to follow what I mean rather than what I say.

(To cover my bases)

2: I wish for the power to manipulate reality when I specifically actively and consciously want to, how I specifically actively and consciously want to, going by what I mean and not what I think, and with foresight that is even better than hindsight and the ability to reverse any changes I make.

(This is a cheat wish and I am now a god with much more responsibility than by rights I should ever be allowed. And I can materialize candy whenever I want to and don’t have to worry about my teeth.)

3: I wish for common sense and some level of impulse control to keep myself in check.

(Take a guess.)

painting: what is the best halloween costume you have ever put together? if none, make one up.

Uh… None of the costumes I’ve ever put together have been spectacular, but I’m least embarrassed by the Headless Horseman “costume” I put together when I lived in Oklahoma.

lightning: what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done while drunk or high?

I have never to my knowledge been drunk or high, though I’ve been tempted.

It would be an extraordinarily bad idea and monumentally stupid thing for me to do to give in to that temptation, knowing what I do about myself and my family history.

thunder: what’s one thing you would never do for one million dollars?

Allow my siblings or my pets or anyone else I love to come to harm.

storms: you can only listen to one song for the rest of your life, or only see one person for the rest of your life. which and why?

Only one song. As much as I dislike people in the general, the few I do like I cannot live without, and they number more than one. And I have the remarkable gift of being able to consume a piece of media I love an infinite number of times without tiring of it. So I shall suffer through only listening to one song, though please don’t ask me to pick which.

love: have you ever fallen in love? describe what it feels like to realize you’re in love.

I don’t know. I think about it sometimes, but I don’t really trust my own perceptions [about myself] / [about anything] and I prefer to err on the side of caution.

I like to think it’d be a moment of certainty following a glance at someone, but it seems like maybe it’s more split-seconds of certainty followed by hours of convincing myself I’ve only convinced myself I feel that way, with periods of being able to deny a feeling and of being unable to deny a feeling and wondering whether to half hope that that feeling means what it might or to hope it doesn’t mean what it might at all.

clouds: if you’re a boy, would you ever rock black nail polish? if you’re a girl, would you ever rock really really short hair?

I don’t know. Would I be willing to chop off all of my hair off in whatever style? Absolutely. Could I “rock” really short hair? No idea. Probably not, though I’d love to.

If someone wants to tell me if I think I could or not that’d be great Almost none of you know what I look like and it’s definitely probably going to stay that way.

coffee: what’s your starbucks order, and who would you trust to order for you, if anyone?

Hot Chocolate, because I don’t like coffee and it’s simplest and go-to, though I don’t really go to starbucks at all, so.

I would trust… uh… Well, not my siblings, at least not all the time. Especially not on April Fools day, because I have a sister who currently owes me a foul drink sometime in my future.

In general, though, I suppose I’d trust anyone who took me to a place to order for me if I trust them enough to willingly go to somewhere where there’d be ordering and I didn’t suspect them of pranking desire/chance of intentionally messing it up.

Just. If you pass inspection, and you know something of my dislikes and the place we’re at, I’ll let you order for me and we’ll avoid the hour and a half of me agonizing over the options.

In specifics, @clichenuance is free to order anything for me any time he likes/if it ever becomes necessary.

marble: what is the most important thing to you in your life right now?

Ask again later, maybe?

Woo, it’s done! Took me all day, but.

Thanks for that. Though it was a bit of a pain, it was also a pleasure.

Not that that’s particularly surprising for me.

[just-a-re-blog]

Save Me

Hello, everyone! So for those of you who are following on @seokjinaf’s recommendation, you all know me as Admin H. Ironically after celebrating my one year anniversary of being a co-admin, it appears that I am now surrendering my title and starting a new blogging adventure of my own! I’ve stopped loafing on Admin G’s virtual couch, packed up my things, moved out, and found myself a new address I can call home to work out of! (But nobody worry--Admin G and I parted mutually on the very best of terms (We are still super close homies.).) So now begins my journey anew.

I am so grateful you all are interested in joining me.

~HMR

They called Kim Seokjin the overseer, the one who watched, the one who advised. Never did they call him the one who interfered. He did as he was told by The Threads themselves, simultaneously their slave and their manipulator, but never their master.

Today, Seokjin wandered the glass palace with bare feet caught somewhere between gliding and stepping across the transparent floors. He watched the wispy forms of all the released souls frolic through the shimmering gardens. He watched the way they took the shapes of every life they had ever lived and watched the way they sometimes took the shape of nothing at all.

In a recess of his mind, Seokjin envied them.

He wanted to be free.

He could almost remember a haze of a time when one of the souls had been recognizable to him, distinguishable among the other halos of smoke. Occasionally, centuries ago, he would blink as one of them passed and picture a girl—long legs and short torso, billowing sundress and bare feet. For a moment she would feel real enough to be a memory, but in the next instant, she was an illusion of a mirage. A hallucination.

He couldn’t remember why the form had ever stood out to him. Was she a mother, a sister, a friend, or a lover? The answer had long left the fragments of consciousness that Seokjin had managed to retain.

Slowly, he wound his way back to The Room. The whispers of his Loom became audible when he was steps from the door. The white strings lay stationary, yet he could sense the ways they vibrated and hummed with the living energy of all Those Below. The Threads called to him, and he had no choice but to heed their summons, as much as he would have liked to turn his back on The Tapestry.

He weaved in the restless peace of the silence, his world of white and glass closing in on him in a way it hadn’t when he had first arrived to replace one of The Elders. Seokjin knew the time was approaching for another young recruit to take a seat beside him to orchestrate the lives of all Those Below, but he didn’t know how the replacement process worked. He knew the candidate needed to be well-balanced—well-versed in life, loss, and everything in between. But choosing a soul to endure the relentless monotony of an afterlife as a Fate seemed more like a punishment than a promotion.

He shoved the thought from his mind and refocused on the task at hand. Some days it was easy for Seokjin to forget that every twist of a Thread changed life as The Humans knew it. If he thought about it too long, he was overwhelmed by the responsibility; a mess of string laid before him, lives hanging balanced in total chaos, and only he and his coworkers knew where each one went. When Taehyung would restock the machine with the ivory twine of newly created souls, products of love, and sometimes hate, Seokjin was required to snip each one to its appropriate length. Some were long enough to last for decades, and others never stretched far enough to actually be strung between The Loom’s mechanisms. On days like today, days when Seokjin couldn’t forget as much as he wanted to, the whole job was a burden.

Seokjin’s morose musings were interrupted by the chirp of Taehyung’s voice.

“Jin! The Tapestry is looking quite lovely today.”

Seokjin laughed wearily. “Taehyung, my friend, I do believe you say that every day.” Taehyung swung his silver pail, and it glinted harmoniously alongside Jin’s silver scissors as it caught the light The Room emitted.

“Well, it looks lovely every day you work on it,” he teased.

Seokjin smiled at the being before him. Taehyung and Jungkook had been the first of The Elders that he had managed to befriend, although he enjoyed Elder Hoseok and Elder Jimin’s company, too. Seokjin was almost certain that at the age of Taehyung and Jungkook’s deaths they had been younger than he—not that he truly remembered his own age anymore—but they had worked alongside The Fates, supplying The Threads and sorting released souls eons before Seokjin had even been conceived on the mortal plane.

“Taehyung…” Jin started quietly. “It’s nearly time for one of The Elders to pass on, isn’t it?”

Taehyung nodded, setting his bucket down. “Yes, the time is about right.” He grinned. “Are you ready to pick the next to join you among The Fates?”

Jin was taken aback. “You don’t mean I get to pick?”

“Of course you do! The outgoing regime doesn’t pick their own replacements. The youngest always gets to choose who joins their ranks. It allows the structure of The Fates to evolve with the times instead of being remade age after age in the same image with different names.”

Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, trying to understand the weight of the decision that suddenly rested on his shoulders. Taehyung clapped him on the back. “You mean you really didn’t know, my friend?” Jin shook his head. “Well! You’re in for an experience to say the least, dear Seokjin.” Taehyung stretched his arms above his head. “I’d best be on my way. There’s other errands to run, other souls to greet and deliver. Jungkook is undoubtedly wondering where I am.” He winked. Seokjin wanted to beg him to stay, wanted more answers from the only person who seemed willing to tell him what he was about to undertake, but he knew Those Below needed Taehyung to continue with his duties. “I’ll see you later, Jin.”

Jin waved as Taehyung hoisted his pail and turned on his heel to deliver The Threads to Elder Hoseok’s Loom. He had always assumed he had never met the soul that picked him to become a Fate. But according to this new system, Elder Jimin had picked Elder Hoseok, and Elder Hoseok had picked Seokjin. He felt a sick anticipation settle in his stomach. He turned back to his own Loom and snipped for another short eternity. Generations passed for Those Below, but Jin had spent only a moment lost in his work. An Elder whose birth name had long since been forgotten by those who surrounded him halted Seokjin’s work laying a hand on his shoulder. Jin immediately bowed his head.

“Elder.”

The old man smiled kindly, and Jin briefly wondered why the Elder had chosen to reside in this realm in such a form. “Seokjin, I’ve come to talk to you about a very important matter concerning my tenure among you Fates.”

“Yes, sir.” He laid his scissors down beside his Loom and followed the Elder into the courtyard. The two took long strides down the eggshell walkways.

“Seokjin, my time as one of you has nearly concluded. I am to pass on to my final reward within the next few generations.” The dread boiled up in Jin’s throat, and he couldn’t quite figure out why he suddenly felt like a scrawny tree, limbs rooted to the spot. Each step forward seemed to take far more energy than he possessed, a deficit of confidence building inside him only to be replaced by a surplus of anxiety.

“The next few generations? Elder, why so soon?” he managed to choke out.

“That’s simply the nature of my path.” They stopped walking. The Elder examined the rich, rough bark of a branch that spiraled just beyond the snow colored trail. Seokjin vaguely remembered that there used to be more trees, ones that blossomed pink and green buds at will, ones that the souls would dart through as they shifted between the forms they most enjoyed. But that had been ages ago. He didn’t know why those trees had vanished since. It seemed there were a lot of things Seokjin didn’t know.

“How will we find someone to take your empty place, Elder?”

The Elder turned from the branch, smiling again with white teeth peeking between weathered lips. “You will make the choice, Seokjin. You know The Threads grant you the power to watch the lives of Those Below.” Jin nodded. “Use it. Watch the souls living their final incarnations and select one that you feel has lived lifetimes of every variety—lives filled only with pain, lives that were pure bliss, lives that were loveless, lives filled with the purest of earthly loves that could ever exist. For you, there will only be one. The choice will be clear in only your eyes.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Choosing my successor is something only you can do, Seokjin. Every Fate has a different vision of what the next regime will look like. Every Fate is destined to choose someone different.” Seokjin was taken aback—how could The Fates be destined to do anything? Didn’t they themselves pull the strings? “It will be an enlightening experience for you, I’m sure, Jin. As soon as the soul is picked, I will pass on.” The Elder laid a hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “I see the fear in your eyes, Seokjin.” The Elder’s voice dropped to a whisper and there was a strange, youthful fire in his prismatic irises. “Don’t let it win.” He winked and nodded at Jin, dismissing him.

As Jin walked back to his Loom, his head spun with the idea of Destiny. If he was still slated for a chosen path…how much of his life—how much of the lives of Those Below—did he really even control?

Seokjin skimmed his fingers along the white Threads, shying away from the visions that passed before his eyes—a raven-haired woman laughing in a grocery store, a bald man in a gray sweatshirt jogging through rain-misted streets, a brunette boy playfully kicking at a laughing child beside him—

He paused, hand lingering on one bleached string. He watched the two kids stage a rambunctious fight on the playground, fists swinging and jovial screams echoing through the air. They chased each other across the blacktop’s tar, and Seokjin felt something in him stir. He plucked the Thread briefly and watched the vision shimmer and shift into a picture of the two boys as teenagers. One still had a round face that made him look far too young for his age, but the other was aging nicely, black bowl cut hanging in his eyes. Seokjin peered carefully at the black-haired boy.

He knew his name: Kim Namjoon. Jin felt the storm of emotions that rumbled in the boy’s soul. Seokjin knew them all by heart: happiness, sorrow, lust, jealousy, peace, rage, love. And evidently, Namjoon had come to know them all by heart as well.

He’s the one, Jin understood instantly. A part of him marveled how quick and painless the process had been, and the weight of his anxiety uncurled itself from his shoulders. He shed it like a second skin, like the Human form he had long since abandoned. But all too quickly, the manifestation of his terror swallowed him whole again as he watched the boy age into a young man and his capacity to love deepened. The soul had never known a true love like the one before him. It would have been fitting and a perfect ending for two souls in their last incarnation, had it not been for Jin’s duty.

Seokjin now understood the blow he would be dealing by choosing to follow Destiny’s path.

Namjoon would be taken in as a Fate, and his memories would fade. His ability to look back on the lives he led would be erased slowly, the way the tide ebbed onto salt-washed sands to scrub away the letters carved by lovers’ toes. His soulmate, released to roam her reward of the afterlife, would become just another passing spirit, unrecognizable to Namjoon. Namjoon would never be the wiser. He would barely comprehend what he was missing.

But Seokjin would know. He would see the question in Namjoon’s eyes every time the nagging sensation of longing tickled the younger’s mind. And he would hold the answer somewhere behind layers of dammed explanations of Destiny and necessity. And he would hold that guilt in the palms of his hands.

He rubbed his arms nervously, unsure of whether or not he could bear the knowledge.

Is Fate itself worth the cost?

Seokjin closed his eyes, fingers still on Namjoon’s Thread when the vertigo hit him. He was suspended in a weightless limbo, unable to pinpoint exactly where his body was, unable to feel all the pieces of himself. Fear kept his eyelids squeezed together and flipped his coherent thoughts into an abyss of confusion. He briefly wondered if he had failed, if he was being punished for his indecision.

The static motion disappeared in a single instant, but the tendrils of panic curled around Seokjin’s awareness faded much more slowly, like a curtain of fog gently rolling in retreat along the verdant peaks of forested hills.

Namjoon seemed to be an arms-length away when Seokjin opened his eyes, but he was still separated by something like water that blurred the edges of everything in his vision. He turned where he stood, looking up. His heart dropped as he saw his Loom an infinity away. He spun back to face Namjoon, still confused, but with a strange yearning conviction in his chest.

He pushed his hand against the shimmering barrier, and his fingers broke through with surprising ease. The light of his Loom started to fade above him as he pressed the rest of his body forward.

And then he was tumbling, smacking his left cheek onto something hot and incredibly hard.

“Whoa, man, you okay?” a deep voice asked in front of him.

Seokjin blinked slowly and lifted his head, eyes squinted against the sun as he took in Kim Namjoon’s outstretched hand. The boy he had grown up with appeared beside him.

“I’m sure he’s fine, Nam. Just tripped while he was out for a jog,” Min Yoongi reasoned.

Namjoon waved him off and grabbed Seokjin’s hand, pulling him to his feet on the suburban sidewalk. “You looked like you hit your head kind of hard. Do you feel alright?”

Seokjin looked around with wide eyes, trying to comprehend the sudden rush of stimuli bombarding his every sense. He could feel the heat of the sun again. He could smell the freshness of the outdoor air again. But most importantly, he could really see again. He could see cerulean, lilac, dandelion and umber. Gone was his prison of glass and white. The world—he himself—was vibrant again.

His focus shifted back to Namjoon as excitement burned electric streaks through his newly living veins and branded a radiant white smile to his face.

“I feel great.”

Days cultivating friendships with Namjoon and Yoongi snowballed into nights of reckless parties, hours of conversations with Namjoon’s girlfriend, and weeks of obnoxiously loud laughter. He couldn’t get drunk, and he perceived everything differently as an already departed spirit, but nonetheless, Seokjin lost track of his purpose, The Loom and The Threads seeming like distant memories of dreams.

“Hey, Jin,” Yoongi yelled, jogging towards Seokjin that last day months after his new life had begun. The day was technicolor, but there was a foreboding darkness gathering in a cloudy haze in Jin’s eyes. “Want to go run down to the river? Yina wants to go skinny dipping tonight.” Yoongi waggled his eyebrows and elbowed Jin’s ribs.

Jin chuckled. “Remind me why you want to swim naked with your best friend and his girlfriend? You know they’re going to end up having loud sex on the bank.”

Yoongi’s voice dropped as he smiled deviously. “Because you never know when Yina’s going to be down for an extra participant.”

Seokjin scoffed. “Yeah, okay. You’re going to be in a threesome in front of Ahyin? She’s going, too, right?”

“Would I go if she wasn’t?”

“I don’t know how you got so lucky and snagged that girl, Yoongi.”

Yoongi genuinely smiled. “I don’t know either. Anyway, are you coming or not?”

Seokjin shrugged and grinned. “I could use a swim. But I don’t want to run.” He felt oddly exhausted, like he had sprinted a marathon and never taken the time to recover. “Can we drive instead?

“You got it, boss man.” Yoongi slapped Jin’s chest playfully and turned on his heel.

The ominous suspicion that settled like lead in the back of Seokjin’s mind came to fruition a few progressions of the hour hand later as the car ambled through buzzing streets against the blood orange sunset.

They didn’t even see it happen, his mortal friends. They didn’t see the way the metal coating on the side of Namjoon’s beater crumpled more easily than paper as it met the grill of the completely inflexible semi. They didn’t see the way the fractured glass pattered against their skin like deadly rain leaving bloody wounds in its wake. They didn’t see the way Yoongi’s body bent and broke when the door beside him deformed or the way Yina’s head bounced repeatedly against the window when the car tumbled.

But Seokjin saw it all.

He screamed when the car finally rocked to a stop, resting wheels-up in the median, wrapped ironically around a yield sign. He scrambled to unbuckle his seatbelt and slammed onto the car’s ceiling. But he felt no pain. No blood flowed from where the shards scratched over his flesh. Instead, he felt like a mirage, sense of touch, sense of reality fading as though he was a hologram.

Still, he crawled to Yoongi’s limp form, positioning himself carefully under the boy and releasing him from his restraints. Yoongi fell awkwardly into his arms, unmoving and unresponsive to the searing pain that should have radiated from his gaping cuts and mangled limbs. Seokjin put two shaky fingers to the sticky skin of Yoongi’s neck, praying he would be able to sense some trace of life moving through him. But he felt nothing. Jin slammed his palm to Yoongi’s chest in panic, searching for the warmth of the Human soul that only he would be able to feel. But he felt nothing. Yoongi’s spirit had already departed.

Seokjin choked on the cry that scraped at his throat, tears he didn’t know he could produce splashing onto Yoongi’s pale face as he slowly rocked the deceased boy in his arms. Confusion overwhelmed him as his time as a Fate rushed back to smother his memories of the last few months; Yoongi’s Thread wasn’t this short. He was supposed to live to 83. How could he be gone so soon?

He looked through the dented window frame, no longer filled with glass, and wondered why no one on the outside was reacting. He wondered why no concerned voices were asking if they were okay, why no desperate hands were trying to pull them from the wreckage. But the world around them seemed frozen, cars in the exact same spots they had been when the semi rammed into the car.

Is the sky always this light?

A strangled cough interrupted his disoriented grief.

Yina.

Seokjin laid Yoongi down and made his way to the front of the car, untangling Yina from seatbelt straps and the airbag. She groaned weakly when he touched her, when he closed his fingers around her wrist. Her thready pulse betrayed just how barely she clung to life. His hand rested carefully over her heart, her ribs worse for the wear from the airbag’s impact. The warmth of her soul was faint, but Seokjin rejoiced that it was there at all.

Momentarily satisfied by the relief that Yina was still alive, Seokjin turned to Namjoon and found his friend fighting to keep his eyes open as he dangled from his upside-down seat. The airbag hadn’t gone off on the driver’s side, and Jin couldn’t decide if that was a blessing or a curse. He eased Namjoon’s body into his arms, and his fingertips searched for a pulse.

Has Namjoon always been this white?

“Namjoon, come on. Stay with me,” he begged as the younger’s eyes started to slip shut. Namjoon struggled to keep his gaze fixed on Seokjin’s face. He opened his mouth, lips trying to form silent words and hands reaching for Jin’s arms as his chest heaved noiselessly. Namjoon’s fingers gripped the fabric of Seokjin’s shirt with surprising strength.

“J-Jin,” he gasped. “Y-Y-You…have to…s-save…save her.”

“I’m going to do what I can,” Seokjin assured him. “Save your strength.”

“Jin,” Namjoon said again with determination. “You…h-have…to s—” He inhaled sharply, the muscles in his neck straining as his heartbeat slowed drastically.

“Namjoon!” His hold on Jin faltered, hands sliding down Jin’s arms.

The skin around Namjoon’s eyes was a blue-violet as he labored to suck in oxygen, but his eyes themselves were calm with resolve as they met Seokjin’s.

“S-Save her.”

And then the expression was falling from Namjoon’s face, irises boring blankly into Jin’s for a split second as his heart stuttered. His head lolled. The warmth curled in Namjoon’s chest vanished. And Seokjin screamed again.

“I don’t understand!” he sobbed. “It was supposed to be him! He was supposed to live!”

The last of the color drained from Seokjin’s vision and suddenly he was standing behind that shimmering curtain again, barricaded from reaching the Human world. Taehyung stood in front of him.

“Taehyung!” Seokjin cried. “Taehyung, something’s wrong. These people—” He pointed to his friends. “—they’re not supposed to die yet. Their Threads were cut short—”

“I know,” Taehyung said softly.

“Why is it happening?” he asked with desperation. The pity in Taehyung’s eyes gave him his answer. “This is my fault, isn’t it?”

“Fault is a strong word, my friend. I prefer ‘reason.’” Taehyung put his hand on Seokjin’s shoulder. “It’s because you are still connected to your Loom, Seokjin. Still connected to the Threads. They never left you.” Seokjin looked down and was horrified to see the pulsating strings hanging from his flesh, running underneath his skin like veins containing life-blood that could only sustain others. “The longer you remained here Below, the more the Threads became entangled. The Fates needed to make some adjustments—restringing, replacing, snipping. These three were in too deep to be salvaged. The knot tying them to you was just too tight.”

Seokjin fell to his knees with his head in his hands, weeping quietly.

“I didn’t mean to!” he cried. “I just…I just wanted to be sure I could live with forcing Namjoon to be a Fate. And I didn’t even mean to come here. It was an accident! But then I got caught up, and I didn’t want to go back, and I—”

Taehyung crouched in front of the broken boy. “Seokjin, you don’t have explain yourself to anyone. No one here is blaming you for anything.”

“But I killed them!” His voice shook as he spoke. “I left The Threads behind, and this disaster, this guilt…it’s my punishment to bear.”

“Dear friend, I do wish you wouldn’t be so hard on yourself. There is a way to reverse the damage.”

Seokjin looked up with his eyebrows furrowed. “What? That doesn’t make any sense. Their souls departed. Jungkook has probably already marked them on his Register.”

Taehyung shook his head with a small smile. “Seokjin, did you know you have the power to mend severed Threads?” Taehyung chuckled lightly at the confused expression on the young Fate’s face. “It’s a safeguard for just this kind of accidental trimming. Even tapped into Destiny itself, Fates still make mistakes. After all, at some point, all of us were only Human.” Taehyung grinned and winked.

Seokjin sat up, rubbing his face. “Tell me how. I’ll do anything. Just let me save my friends.”

Taehyung bit his lip hesitantly. “You know you would have sacrifice the life you’re building here and return to your Loom?”

Seokjin nodded without a second thought. “I’ll do it.”

“Okay,” Taehyung said, taking Seokjin’s hand.

Jin blinked and they were back among The Looms, The Tapestry appearing a ragged mess of poorly crossed strings. Taehyung talked Seokjin through the restoration process, and Jin worked fervently to mend his friend’s lives. One by one, they were revived—Yoongi’s ruptured spinal cord sparking with life-giving signals again, Yina’s heart revving back to life moments before the end of her final breath, Namjoon coughing up spurts of dark blood until his airway was clear.

He watched as Namjoon and Yina reached out bruised and battered hands towards each other and overlaid their fingers.

“I knew—” Namjoon panted. “—the heavens would save you.”

The bystanders jolted back into real-time, finally taking notice of the mutilated vehicle and swarming with cell phones and attempts to help.

Seokjin withered, collapsing to his hands and knees in overwhelming gratitude. Taehyung put his arm around the boy’s shoulders.

“Well done, Seokjin. Well done.”

The generations passed in an instant for Seokjin. He watched souls grow from infants to old age, and he loved every second of it.

The older Fates retired, but no one ever seemed to take their places anymore. Even Taehyung and Jungkook were eventually released to their final rewards. But Seokjin never felt lonely.

The Looms merged into one, and Seokjin’s fingers alone knew how to fly across it. The Tapestry changed, too, every piece more interconnected, every Thread taking on a new color until The Tapestry was a rainbow of falling rain, drifting flower petals and every language the world spoke. It breathed with the lives of all Those Below. It breathed with the lives of The Humans. And it breathed with the reawakened Humanity within Seokjin himself.

Seokjin’s world was no longer made of pure white and glass. No, now Seokjin lived in breathtaking technicolor.

The day did come, eons down the road, when a young soul not so different from himself arrived to relieve Jin of his duties. And on the day when Seokjin found himself released to his final reward, he felt a vibrant anticipation dye his spirit.

They were waiting for him with open arms and bright smiles that day, those ones he most wanted to see. Declarations of love and gratitude hung in the space between their bodies. After all, they had all been each other’s salvation.

Jimin, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jungkook. Yoongi, Ahyin, Yina.

Namjoon.

Jeehyun.

He reached out to touch Jeehyun’s face, memories of a billowing ivory sundress enveloping her long sun-kissed legs, hugging her short torso, and accenting the tan of her bare feet washing over him like a baptism.

“Hello again, Seokjin,” she whispered in that warm golden voice he knew so well.

“Hello, my beautiful Jeehyun,” he whispered back, taking her into his arms far too many centuries later.

She slipped her mocha-hued hand into his, smiling gleefully as they all turned to face the forested emerald courtyard. Seokjin plucked a blush pink blossom from an ornately twisted sand-colored branch and smelled it before placing it in his soulmate’s mahogany locks.

Seokjin pulled her tightly against himself. “Aren’t the trees gorgeous this time of year?”