#slyleia

[ravenbyul-blog]

you’re beautiful.

starter for @slyleia

it was getting chilly, astrid noted. not that it was surprising as it was already early december. it should be more of a surprise for her and for everyone that she’s actually outside in such a chilly weather, not to mention that exams were just around the corner. she should be in the library studying but astrid being the book worm that she is, had already studied in advance. one deserves a break after days of burying yourself in piles of books after all. so here she was sitting on a bench with an easel, a canvas, some acrylic paints and a plate filled with variety of smudged colors.

it’s been almost an hour if she remember it correctly. an hour since she arrived, an hour since she had her eyes settled on a certain slytherin not too far away. a girl with a black hair and dark brown eyes. astrid knew her by face but she never got the chance to talk to her, nor catch her name. astrid wasn’t so sure what she saw in the girl’s face but for some reason, she couldn’t take her eyes off from her ever since she had her feet planted against the pavement. maybe it was her hair today? or was it the scarf? maybe the former.

she took the time to admire her piece after she was done. one and half hour of smudging and stroking. not bad if you were to ask her. it turned out better than she expected. astrid ended up staring a bit longer at her piece. maybe she should paint her more often after all, she’d make such a great subject, astrid thought.

[garnetdesolation-archive]

@slyleia

       “50 points to Slytherin for the sass.”           He’s so proud of his former house~

[ravseungjun-blog]

sentimental value.

@slyleia

every stride was hastened, faltered whenever he clutched at the emptiness of his pocket and fumbled around through the ones he knew he never put it in. the muggle photograph of his mother, one taken a couple years after he was born. despite not truly remembering the day, he pretended like he did whenever she asked. the cute hanbok that she had dressed him in, his hair combed neatly and sitting in the chair while the man took his photo. a couple of each of them alone and others of them together. it was a birthday present for his father, to show how big he had grown since the last time they saw one another. but this one, this specific one, was of her. her smiling as she sat in her hanbok, fingers clasped in her lap. 

seungjun’s heart was throbbing in his throat, stifling every breath as he checked his pockets for the third time and tried to track down where he had been that day. it was the only photograph he had of her, the only one he’d managed to sneak out of the house with and kept safely away from his grandparents knowledge. in their eyes, she was a black mark on their bloodline and it was best not to remind anyone of her existence too often. he couldn’t lose it now. he needed it. there was a frustrated noise elicited when he pulled out an empty chocolate frog packet, dropping it on the hall ground and then continued to stride forward. 

he hadn’t seen his mother since he was nine. he didn’t want to forget what she looked like, not after holding onto her for so long. “where is it?” muttered under his breath, eyes burned with the rise of the panic.

[wonslytherin-blog]

♣ [ go hard or go home, as they say ]

DISCOVERING THEM CRYING 💨

The quidditch tournament seems to be the headline nowadays, no one barely pays attention in class anymore, yet alone weekends give no tribute to isolation and productive studying. Instead, the Slytherin house bears no students today. 

It’s rowdy outside the Hogwarts castle, mainly consisting of cheers and rumbles witches and wizards have contributed. 

With bed hair sporting muffled locks, Jaewon goes to the common room, finding something to do now that he guesses there’d be nobody there. It’s the afternoon now, he guesses as no stream of sunlight pears through the windows. 

Feet press against each stair, but the second he’s on the last stair down the common room, he hears heavy breathing, something that sounds synonymous to muffled cries that seem to be forced silent enough so nobody can hear it. But he does, finding the voice familiar. He takes caution as he walks towards the couch, idly taking a sit next to her. 

“Ah–” he stretches his arms, leaning his back against the couch as he marks himself. 

“What’s up, boy problems?” 

He starts, but what he means– tell me, I’ve got all the time in the world to hear.