GO ON – b a r e your TEETH at me.
I’ll PULL them o u t one by one.
Mike Driver
Xuebing Du
Not today Justin

No title available
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
sheepfilms

Origami Around
occasionally subtle

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
ojovivo
DEAR READER
Claire Keane
taylor price
TVSTRANGERTHINGS

Love Begins

izzy's playlists!
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
Stranger Things
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

blake kathryn

seen from United States

seen from France

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from China
seen from United States

seen from Singapore
seen from Canada

seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Türkiye
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from United States
@dxplicty
GO ON – b a r e your TEETH at me.
I’ll PULL them o u t one by one.
“I don’t want to die, I just don’t want to exist any more” sounds mild if you’ve never experienced it, but it is in fact a horrible, violent way to feel.
as i am another year older, i’d like to thank everyone for the past 9 months! to be honest i didn’t think i’d even make it this far, starting as merely a nephilim jimin and eventually becoming a multimuse, but! i’m here! and as are you! i’ve made quite a few friends here on this blog, and sincerely, i appreciate each and every one of you, so much. thank you for being here and following me, even if we’d hadn’t interacted much ( if at all ). ( we should fix that fyi ) i love you all!
special shout out to @scxpegoxt ♡ @flwrxjin ♡ @jungxnara ♡ @vxlpiine ♡ @bxrnedwords ♡ @taenara ♡ @dxplicty ♡ @lxtent ♡ @arrakiiis ♡ @songavixin being tru homies ily all sends u the most kisses ; u;
and to @ephmvral ♡ @txehyvngpxrker ♡ @clxmxnt ♡ @yoxzakura ♡ @sjjbstio ♡ @strngnoir ♡ @gcholdtrops ♡ @gyldndhl ♡ @kimvjonghyun ♡ @lumxnescencx ♡ @bldmvn ♡ @newblccd ♡ @ncceur ♡ @qiangun ♡ @cocacolx ♡ @minnight for being delightful mutuals and i hope we can do more together!!
tagged by: @laidure
name: nakamura shinji [ GOD ] nickname: / age: 26 species: human
p e r s o n a l .
morality: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / grey / evil sins: lust / greed / gluttony / sloth / pride / envy / wrath virtues: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice primary goals in life: live, then die—what else is there languages known: korean, japanese, english, some chinese secrets: too many to share, and certainly not with a commoner like you quirks: tapping his fingers against anything and everything at hand; grinning ( baring his teeth ); staring off into space for hours on end; zoning out of conversations; communing with the shadows at night; picking at his scars to get at the rot hidden beneath savvies: coding, getting into your head, digging under your skin
p h y s i c a l .
build: slender / scrawny / bony / fit / athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / obese height: 185cm weight: 60kg birthmarks: a half moon of moles lining his jaw and curving down to his throat abilities/powers: coding, hacking, playing god restrictions: the voices can get loud and start drowning out reality; depressive means he doesn’t want to live, manic means he doesn’t want to listen, only very rarely can you find him in a stable in between; what he makes only he understands; his mind is a festering disease and he’s a hazard to himself
f a v o r i t e s .
favorite food: anything sweet favorite drink: coffee, absinthe favorite pizza topping: pineapple favorite color: white favorite music genre: ost’s favorite book genre: / favorite movie genre: comedy favorite season: autumn favorite curse word: / favorite scent: warm sugar
his hunger fueled memories of when he was just human, hitting him like a freight train all at once. they’d trained together, the three of them and were practically inseparable. so few were the memories where they were apart ( except the bad nights where his mother would scream and cry, where taehyung had to take care of his sisters instead, but remembering that hurt more than the fact he’d died ). he worried at his lip, careful of his sharper canines. don’t let gou see, he reminded himself, pretending to chew at his thumb.
and of course gou would recognize his voice – they’d spent so many years together, how could there be any mistake. after all taehyung had just disappeared, no warning to anyone. he was sure they’d have thought him dead. “most people get more scared at seeing ghosts, not blame them on strobe lights,” he half-teased even though he shouldn’t have heard that. it hurt to see that gou still seemed pretty okay, he was still almost exactly the same as he’d been two – almost three years ago. how much more different did taehyung look, the vampire wondered. no, he’d be the same too, eternally eighteen. “it’s… been a while, yeah? i’m surprised you remembered me.” what an infallible sense of humor. he should get a gold star for trying.
he took a couple steps closer, hands tucked into his jacket pockets to hide the fists he’d created. the blonde was freezing, but that was just natural vampire temperature. glancing around them, down the street, then back to gou, taehyung tilted his head. “where’s kei? i thought you two…” would be together, was what he wanted to say, but instead he just shrugged meekly. the disappointment was clear in his eyes, dark and definitely not changing with his hunger. no, he had to be himself, he had to talk to gou.
it was too late when he realized he hadn’t answered the man’s question. “i mean, uh, i’m… i’ve got a couple of friends in the club, i’m just taking a breather. you know, it’s hot in there, and loud, and bright. hard to think straight.” taehyung’s laughter was clipped and awkward, and that he’d managed to pull a lie straight out of his ass to gou made him wince. he always did hate lying.
He scoffs, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, well, I’m not most people am I?” After all, most people don’t pull off their mask of civility at the end of the day to go hunting for monsters in the dark. Most people don’t know folks like him exist, and it’s better left that way.
“I’m surprised that you’d be surprised.” The grin leaves his face, replaced with a frown, a silent question he won’t voice, because why, why would you think that? Does Taehyung expect the rest of them to have simply moved on, leaving their youngest behind in the dust of the past?
Memories flash before his eyes—memories of days spent digging for clues, and nights spent chasing shadows down dark alleys. And if Gou could have seen in color, every image would be developed in red. They’d devoted hours, days, weeks, to finding their missing link, only to turn up empty handed at dawn every time. Yes, they’d spent less and less effort with the months that passed, for the sake of staying alive. But they never stopped.
Even now, after he and Kei have gone their separate ways, neither stopped searching. So how can you think—? He doesn’t notice Taehyung’s shifted a few steps closer until the younger man’s voice breaks through his thoughts. “Hm? Kei?” Reflexively, Gou turns as well, to check for her familiar figure. Oh, that’s right, Taehyung still doesn’t know. “I quit, a while back. She stayed on, so we split. She still drops in occasionally, if she’s in the area.”
But this isn’t what he wants to talk about. Yes, it’s a pity their reunion couldn’t have happened with all three of them present, but there’s nothing any of them can do about the hands they are dealt. Gou’s amazed he even found Taehyung again, and under such chance circumstances. He refocuses his attention on Taehyung, wondering briefly to himself why his friend looks so...distant, and awkward.
A twinge of something like pain tugs at his chest. Has too much time passed then? Are they too late to try and salvage what they’d lost? No, it’s still early to say that for sure; he brushes the nagging aside and pastes a smile back on. “Well, I can definitely sympathize with you on that point. How are you these days, really?”
we are all sinners here.
survivors know it best:
when you’re the last woman standing in a field of slain bodies (some wearing the faces of your comrades; others the faces of your mortal enemies), you will never have the luxury of forgetting. those who survive wear invisible streaks of blood on their cheeks, bits of torn and rotting flesh under their fingernails. it is like living in perpetual distortion, a bastardized reality. and routine is branded into their souls like ownership on cattle.
but for people like jisoo, routine is nothing more than a process – something mechanical and automatic: dream, die, wake, report, wipe, forget, eat, bathe, dream. die again. and again. and again. there are days when she feels like routine would be her undoing, days when her dreams turn into prophecies, visions of the End of the World.
it’s as if merely witnessing the beginning of Ragnarok by her own hands has scorched her soul from the inside out, carved a niche inside the very crevices of her brain – bits and pieces of the future past entwining and intersecting memories of Before, of Now, of Later.
it makes her greedy. it makes her vengeful.
it makes her rebellious.
it is always after those nights (when the murmurs of the dead tell her it is time) that she finds herself wandering, her feet carrying her down the fluorescent halls, corridors winding around and around, dead end upon dead end, until she finds her way out of the building They liked to believe is a sanctuary (the place of Hope and Innovation – the origin of World Peace) with nothing more than her bare feet tucked into a thin pair of nondescript slippers, a blanket wrapped around her naked body. head faced down, she begins to walk, aimless and utterly lost–
but that’s not right. no, she never remembers how she gets Here. never quite remembers if she really had arrived to His Place (Temple, the tiny voice inside her head chastises, as though aghast at such a mundane a word) wrapped in a blanket and all alone (she was never alone, she was sure. never. there were always eyes watching, always voices following. she was never alone. they would never leave her alone–). or if she’d been brought there (by Whom? by What? would she ever know?) by some kind of impulsive urge to seek Him, to confide in Him. to Confess.
ah…her head thunks hard against the wood of His door and she draws her knees up, tucking one foot beneath the other and smiles. yes, that’s right. she thinks she remembers why she’s here, remembers being told that the car would be waiting across the street – remembers that she’s on a time limit (you have three hours. make it count.) remembers that she’s in the middle of her story, of her Confession.
“God,” her voice is small, weak, barely audible above the hum of the ceiling fan whirring above her. she watches it whirl and whirl until it makes her dizzy, her eyes almost crossing in exhaustion. she closes them, sighs, and taps a finger against the door serving as the Barrier between them – the mockery of anonymity makes her want to laugh. she doesn’t, thought. there’s nothing funny about the way she’s been spilling prophecy after prophecy, words uttered in languages that have been obsolete, about people long dead, of people who will be dead (because of her, always because of her.)
she thinks she’s been telling God how afraid she was, how guilt is eating her alive, how the pain of Knowing (and later Forgetting, always Forgetting) is torture, pure madness. of how powerless she feels in the wake of responsibility and dutiful obligation.
she thinks, instead, all she’s been telling God is how powerful she feels, how vicious she will become.
“God,” she calls again (and some child-like part of her is appalled at how blase she is, calling Him so intimately; the other – the more cruel thinks she deserves the right to address him by His Name, all things considering. after all, no prophet can be killed outside jerusalem), fingers tap tap tap-ing against the closed door. “am i a sinner?”
Maki isn’t here tonight to keep him grounded. Dae isn’t here to hold his head above the water. So he hovers, somewhere between drowning 20 leagues under, and floating out of the stratosphere. He hovers, and listens to the voices crying out in the dark, clamoring for his attention ( he ignores them all; they will have to wait their turn ). And he waits.
God.
Someone speaks his name. He doesn’t react immediately; maybe it’s not her. The others are too loud for him to be sure. “Be silent!” he wants to command them, for he has a guest tonight, and he will not tolerate interference. But he says nothing, for fear he may accidentally miss her a second time.
When had this dishonest game of theirs begun? He can no longer remember. She comes to his door with confessions and unclean hands for trade; he offers his forgiveness, and a mouthful of lies. It is not a fair exchange, he knows this—she knows this—yet they continue to pretend that this is alright. Everything will be alright, as long as they can have these brief moments between the hours of the night.
God.
Yes, there is somebody calling for him, from the other side. He sinks down, down to her level, down to where he can hear her better through the clamor of the rabble. She begins—forgive me, Father, for I have sinned—and he relaxes into her tales. Sometimes her words soar over his head, sometimes they bore into his bones and stick.
Her tone changes from time to time ( or perhaps that is part of his own delusions, conjuring rhythms and lilts imagined in his mind ) but there is a hollow truth to every syllable that rolls off her tongue. He cannot tell if she is more afraid of her past, her present, or her future. Perhaps none of them, perhaps all three. Or perhaps, she simply fears herself.
There comes a break in her monologue, suddenly, as though someone has turned on a Mute button. He does not volunteer to fill in the void. This too, is a part of the story; it would be terribly rude of him to interrupt.
God. Again—tap-tap-tap. His fingers answer for him against the wood. Yes, I am still here. I am listening.
Am I a sinner?
His lips pull back, hard, stretching the skin around his mouth taut with tension. The grin he shows is more bared teeth and silent screams than mirth. Am I a sinner she asks. Ah, my child, if only you knew—if only you could see how your ‘God’ is no better than the most common scum of the earth beneath your feet.
“Yes. Yes, you are—” but so am I, so really, we’re not all that different beneath our ugly skins “ —do you seek forgiveness?”
If I were a month, I’d be September. If I were a day of the week, I’d be Sunday. If I were a planet, I’d be Jupiter. If I were a sea animal, I’d be a mimic octopus. If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be a cracked mirror. If I were a gemstone, I’d be a peridot. If I were a flower, I’d be an anemone. If I were a kind of weather, I’d be a sun-shower. If I were a color, I’d be white. If I were an emotion, I’d be apathy. If I were a fruit, I’d be a pineapple. If I were an element, I’d be fire. If I were a place, I’d be an isolated room. If I were a taste, I’d be sweet and sour. If I were a scent, I’d be incense. If I were an object, I’d be an empty glass. If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be canvas shoes.
last scene;
it frustrated jimin that he could not see whomever it was, although there was a feeling of them being nearby. he could not be angry, but it was like he was never going to meet the satisfying ending he so craved ( and even death was only temporary – he’d been told there was a spot just for him in hell, by the very demon that made jimin promise he would not take his own life. that has gone well, hasn’t it? he was not very good at keeping promises ). so he sat there on the sidewalk, listening. waiting.
the illusion sounded closer, his head tilting as he tried to catch the lilting voice with a deepening frown. “why is it that i have to see you to die?” he asked quietly, making no move to get up despite the voice’s demand. “do you think then, if i tried enough times you would give up?” being vindictive wasn’t in jimin’s nature, but the fallen was not impressed with the idea that there was an almost physical being between he and almost freedom. “does it matter if i die before my time or not? surely it can’t be that big of a deal,” the brunet grumbled, turning his head away to look down the sidewalk where a cyclist seemed to head their way.
in the corner of his eye jimin saw what he thought was a crouched, scowling individual, but if he focused the person just disappeared. with a frown he stood, dusting the seat of his pants off before shuffling to put his shoes back on. “and who says you have to babysit? no one is asking you to, right?” what rule could he sneak around, how could he win? the stranger knew something, and for once he wanted to know what.
Questions, questions. So many questions. Humans seem to be just full of them, always ready to spring their endless stream of inane inquiries upon anyone who gives them an opening to worm through. Viktor sighs audibly and wonders how much trouble he would be in if his hand slipped and ripped the boy’s vocal chords out. Probably a lot.
While he can’t act out on his urge to silence Jimin, he is not obligated to actually answer any of Jimin’s questions. Most of them he can’t answer anyway, given the nature of his role in the angel-human-death relationship. Plus, he’s fairly certain there’s a written rule somewhere that says “thou shall not divulge the answers to the cosmos to thine mortal charges”. Or something along those lines.
However, Jimin’s grumbling persistence finally wears away what little of Viktor’s patience remains, and the memitim gives a little. “Look, kid, I don’t make the rules, I just abide by them like the rest of you wretched lot. There’s a whole lot of technicalities and shit behind the ‘can’ and ‘can’t’s of how, when, and why you die. Now if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take that curiosity of yours and shove it someplace where it won’t get you into trouble.”
Seeing the brunette finally getting up, Viktor straightens as well. He knows he said he doesn’t have time to babysit—which he really doesn’t, that’s not a lie—but at the same time, Viktor’s not sure he can trust the boy to actually make it home without trying to off himself along the way. Again. Another sigh; suppose he’s going to be stuck overseeing Jimin for a while longer.
it was funny how being a vampire meant all of his senses were amplified – how he could recognize people by their scents, even when so many had traveled through that same place. what wasn’t funny was the fact that this had been one of two that ash had so very carefully tried to hide himself from the past few years. that was why he dyed his hair, changed his name and – well, being so far from home was more a lucky accident than intentional, but all the same. he was trying to save himself from the guilt of the fact he had nearly deliberately disobeyed his friends and mentors for one night of fun.
even though he himself had been missing his best friends like crazy and wanted to fun over and give the man a crushing hug ( but not at all hurt him, no, just to say i fucking missed you i’m sorry i disappeared please just tell me you thought about me as much as i thought about you ).
perhaps that was why he stayed rooted in place just outside the night club, watching gou leave. he wanted, desperately, to talk to him, just to see how the man has been, but instead he trailed behind, fighting with himself. he was hungry, but gou – his best friend, the reasonable, mature gou that he’d always looked up to, was right there, right in front of him. maybe it was just someone that looked like him, the vampire decided, even though he’d recognize that scent anywhere.
and in that moment of doubt, his voice rang out, but it sounded every bit of the teenager he had been, just on the cusp of adulthood when his humanity had been taken away.
“hyung?”
“What do you mean you ‘lost him’?” Gou wants to know, rightfully bemused, and exasperated, when Amit suddenly calls to inform the younger hunter that he’s misplaced his twin. This is a feat in and of itself since Anise is not the type of person to simply get lost, in a crowd or otherwise. And Gou especially had not expected Amit of all people to admit to losing track of his brother. “How do you manage to ‘lose’ a full-grown adult? One who is over six feet tall too, may I add, and covered in tattoos. He’s not exactly going to blend in anywhere.”
Still, Gou finds himself locking up the apartment behind him as he prepares to venture into the nightlife district to help Amit look for the missing hunter. He’s not looking forward to the task, since it involves weaving through an area that is not only brightly lit, but brightly lit with lights that flash and pulse without rhythm so as to guarantee no one with normal vision can see properly, let alone someone with eyes like Gou’s. The things he does for his friends; he really needs to reconsider the kinds of people he associates with.
By the time they manage to locate Anise, Gou’s head is pounding to the beat echoing from the club behind him, and he can barely see straight. He makes a mental note to redirect all future calls of this nature to Adonis from now on, save himself some pain.
He hasn’t gotten far down the street when a voice calls out from behind. Hyung. The word brings a frown to his face. Surely the addressee is not meant to be him, but there is something achingly familiar about that voice and he finds himself stopping anyway. He turns, slowly, squinting to make out the speaker’s face. No, it can’t be. “...the strobes must have messed up my vision more than I’d thought,” he mutters to himself, but he knows he’s not seeing things, only denying the obvious. “Taehyung? What—what are you doing here?”
Personality Disorder Test
Used this test here.
Paranoid: Low Schizoid: Very High Schizotypal: Moderate Antisocial: Moderate Borderline: Low Histrionic: Low Narcissistic: Low Avoidant: Low Dependent: Low Obsessive-Compulsive: Moderate
TAGGED BY: @aphosene
NAME: KAI BIRTHDAY: – RELATIONSHIP STATUS: with Her ZODIAC SIGN: – SIBLINGS: – PETS: None TIME: 09:17 PM PHONE: Samsung Galaxy S5 LOVE OR LUST: Either LEMONADE OR ICED TEA: Iced Tea CATS OR DOGS: Dogs COKE OR PEPSI: Coke DAY OR NIGHT: Night MEET A CELEBRITY: Nah CHAPSTICK OR LIPSTICK: Neither CITY OR COUNTRY: Country LAST SONG PLAYED: –
I’m a very private person. You don’t ask, I don’t tell.
Unknown
Bloodied knuckles, bloodied fists; cold metal flashing beneath dim lights; bone on bone; the ripping of skin and tearing of flesh; purple and yellow bruises; pain pain pain; screaming, crying, begging on their knees; ‘more time, we need more time’; never enough; adrenaline rush high; black mark branded into his arm; flat eyes; the calm before the storm; sirens wailing in the night; cages too small to contain him—you are a monster in the making.
Antipathy; apathy; selfish delight; breaking bodies, breaking minds; 喜新厌旧; split lips; bleeding gums; the grass isn’t always greener on the other side, but he’ll still strip you of everything you have; ‘amuse me, peasant’; don’t live by the rules; a child with a toy, let’s play a game; cards and chips and tiles beneath his hands; a sickness breeding behind a pretty face; dirty money, crisp bills; alcohol laced madness—the world exists for me.
Liquid anger in his veins; a black-hole swallowing all in its path; irritation, condescension, aggravation, like an itch that won’t go away; scowls and dark looks; ‘the more i hear, the less i care’; violence is always the answer; hate you, love you; authority must be overthrown; catch him if you can; liar liar; say what you mean, mean what you say; fists cracking against teeth and bone; visceral fears and animal instincts—a walking disaster.
Skin like burnt toast, left to crisp for too long; red network leading to his veins; guilty hands, guilty heart; roasting meat; burning hair; ‘what have you done’; watch the future go up in flames; don’t look back; run, run, as fast as you can; patchwork of scars; cauterized nerves; no such thing as accidents; silent stories in smiling eyes; skeletons in the closet, on his back; someone has to pay; shallow graves; dirt caked black beneath his nails—guilty until proven innocent.
Teenage Crimes [ 3 / 500 ]
There are the ones who were never mortal, for they were created rather than ‘born’, fully grown, with ichor in their veins, and crowns like halos weighing heavy upon their skulls.
There are the ones who were once mortal, born into an era where youth was too fleeting, and time crippled the body too soon, so they sought a relief that turned into a cancer.
There are the ones who are mortal still, but who are cursed by an unknown power to evade the grim reaper’s embrace, and are forced to wear the scars of their human souls on their skin.
Immortality [ 2 / 500 ]
There is something deeply masochistic about being in love with a person like Byungho. Becoming attached to any one member of their rag-tag group of misfits is generally agreed upon to be a bad idea, but it is especially so with this one.
Twenty-plus years of being self-motivated, self-interested, selfish, and a whole lot of other detrimental habits with the word ‘self’ attached, have rendered him nigh incapable of empathy or sympathy. It is not healthy, by any means, but it is how he’s always lived, and it has long since become the norm for him to freely trample others underfoot to benefit himself.
So for you to suddenly come waltzing into his life, uninvited, unannounced, and yes, even, unwanted, and begin applying changes to him without consent—who do you think you are? Why is it I cannot cast you aside as I have with countless before you? What have you done to me.
Now, watch me break my heart breaking yours, because I don’t mean to hurt you, but these hands no longer remember how to not burn everything they touch.
Vile Romance [ 1 / 500 ]
last scene;
the rush of feeling, that jimin’s heart raced and he felt as if he could fly ( something that until now was just a fleeting memory, something that happened in his nightmares because he was always falling with no hope of ever rising again ), appeased him. it was almost like coming home, back to the salty sea breeze, where busan waited for him. the cold embrace, images of a cliff-side by the sea flashing in his mind, it was so close he could taste it. he was free, it was glorious and wonderful and everything he’d been looking for –
then there was a sudden jerk before he fell flat on his ass. it hurt, more than the fact his tailbone connected with concrete, but that he was so close to salvation, what the fuck, and…
rocks dug into his palms, cars whizzed by behind him with no regard to what had just happened. jimin was back on solid ground.
he looked around. the fallen was not alone, he knew that, there was someone there, but it was like trying to focus on an illusion for too long where his head hurt. the brunet’s brows furrowed, focusing instead on where he’d once stood. the voice was… unfamiliar and from no source. but it had to have come from somewhere, right? how could this have happened again?
“your job?” he grumbled out; he’d been around his lovers too long, something like a petulant, childish frown pulling at his lips. “it’s your job to stop me from getting the fuck out of here?” crossing his legs ( carefully, as moving shot tingles of pain up his spine ), jimin tried to find the owner of the voice through where it came from, since it could have been his own imagination for all he knew. “what are you? and why am i not allowed to die? god, it’s always something, isn’t it?” the last part was murmured more to himself, subconsciously cursing the very being that had probably found his whole dilemma one huge joke.
He watches the brunette struggle with disorientation for the seconds that it lasts before realization and understanding settle in. Yes, you have been thwarted yet again. Yes, you are still alive. Cars speed past them without so much as slowing for a closer look at the boy sitting alone on the bridge. Hate me then, your unwanted savior, if you want; if you even can.
There’s the familiar frown of disappointment? Discontent? Hurt? painting Jimin’s face, and seeing it makes Viktor want to sneer in mockery. What, you think this is painful? Only this much and look at the pathetic expression you’re making. His hands itch to close around the boy’s neck and squeeze, tear him apart one ounce of flesh at a time, or maybe peel back the flimsy layers of skin and flesh and ligaments that hold his body together until his guts spill out on the pavement like roadkill. Because no, child, this is not pain. You have not felt true pain yet, in your short, measly years of mortal existence.
He doesn’t act on any of those violent inclinations though. After all, that would just give Jimin what he wants, albeit in a slower fashion than what the brunette had in mind for meeting death. And again, Viktor has his own promises to keep.
So the memitim settles for a simple: “Unfortunately, yes.” in answer to the questions being directed, presumably, his way. The fact that Jimin can’t seem to focus on his physical form is just further proof that it’s not the boy’s time to leave yet, no matter how eager he may be to escape this life. Viktor moves to crouch in front of Jimin, a disembodied voice of derision floating mere inches away from the boy’s nose. “Try again when you can actually see me. Now go home, I don’t have time to babysit you for the rest of the day.”
What is it? What do you hear?
Screaming. Shouting. Someone’s crying. Cursing at the heavens, cursing at each other, cursing at themselves. Can’t you hear them? The world has gone mad.
Shh, don’t listen to them, go to sleep. There is silence in sleep. I promise.