#nemurui

               ➝    @nemurui​  .

❛     don’t  .     ❜

the  sun  sets  high  ,              bathing  everything  in  the  kind  of  bright  ,    blinding  ,    light  capable  of  shutting  all  eyes  if  one  would  dare  to  even  glimpse  higher  than  halfway  into  parts  of  the  sky  .    an  enjoyable  weather  ,    if  time  will  allow  for  it  later  .    close  to  lips  do  they  hold  a  finger  ,      timbre  low  ,    exhausted  .    borders  with  earlier  irate  and  distracted  focus  .    they  had  hopes  to  crawl  away  quickly  enough  to  the  privacy  afforded  by  their  room  before  any  thoughts  could  be  spared  or  looks  given  .    sleeves  are  seared  ,    charred  and  still  carrying  the  unmistakeable  scent  of  fire  and  paper    (    torn  in  one  and  just  left  to  be  put  out  on  it’s  own  on  the  other    )  .    while  smaller  tears  litter  just  about  everywhere  else  on  the  garment  .    propped  against  pole  arm  is  their  body  weight  —  mana  still  has  to  go  back  out  for  other  interests:    but  a  change  of  clothes  at  least  ,    could  be  in  order  .    a  check  of  bruises  or  wounds  .    features  twitch  and  they  frown  just  a  little  deeper  and  eyes  glance  out  nearby  window  .

✧ ━ twitter memes ( accepting )

❝ hate to break it to you, but the moon has gravity too. ❞

kuroo let’s out a cackle at oikawa’s words, amused with his stupidity. he could see where the other was coming from, despite the fact the whole basis of his logic was flawed. and this guy was the captain of the volleyball team ? the more kuroo thought about the situation, the funnier it became, and the longer and harder his laughs became until he was practically doubled over trying to catch his breath.

rielle’s insatiably curious to a fault. it’s gotten him into a lot of trouble over the years & it very well could get him into trouble now. however that doesn’t stop him from appearing behind the other, peering over his shoulder as he says, ❛    what’s that you’re writing?    ❜

The pen spins easily within Piper’s hand, magic blooming and then wilting in quick succession — a thoughtless habit.  Blot accumulates, Piper watches it, imagines tasting ink and remembers it.  Her smile is sharp and rueful, but when is it ever anything else.  Eyes don’t raise from the pen or the gem that marks how far she is from being a monster.

“You’re right,” she replies easily.  He is, for once.  She thinks of Riddle and his relaxed visage, of Azul and the temporary sacrifice of contracts.  Almost abandoned for their sins, and so adjusting, in little, desperate ways.  Adjusting, growing, or trying to, even if they won’t admit it to themselves.  They’re trying.  That’s how Piper knows she’s worse than both of them.

The gem’s almost completely black.  The pen stills in her hand, her magic ceasing.  She is the monster but she doesn’t want to break.  Unlike Riddle and Azul, there would be no one who cares enough to save her, after all.  “That must be why I never learn anything.”