#slyzico

[amemoire-blog1]

❖ ami!aesthetics: zicalie ; BAD HABITS         ❝  —- their lines were blurred. horribly distorted. barely legible. ❞

[amemoire-blog1]

Well, I caught the snitch 'Captain.' What's my reward?

Her tongue flexed against teeth, an exercise once performed daily. Such warm-ups were required for their game as she prepared her mouth muscles to fire the witty retorts to his teasing, especially since it had been quite some time (almost a year) since their last instance of banter. 

Their back and forth would usually begin like this. Sometimes, it would end in a various array of situations. But it would always start the same. He would mock something she was particularly proud of, and she’d take the bait in attempts to one-up him. Knowing exactly what made her blood bubble was a particular skill Zico possessed, and her’s was to play right into the palms of his hands– only to sink her nails into his skin until red crescents bloomed. He'd bite, she'd bite harder. Such was the game. 

Surely, with so much having transpired between them and all the wickedness and wretched lies they had fed each other, things would go down a little differently this time. Yet it was still dangerous for him to try and provoke her, especially when their lines were so blurred. What was he really asking for? Was he masquerading behind a lighthearted quip to test the waters? The later seemed far more likely.

“A reward for doing your job?” She said, neatly-kept brows raising. The only indicator that she was amused was the flash of mischief in her eyes. Truthfully, it did feel nice to be referred to as captain by him, even with that patronising tone. And the longer she looked at him and his sly, borderline shit-eating grin, the easier it was to forget it had been a year and allow it all to melt away under the Grecian sun. They had suddenly gone back in time. 

He had even drawn a smile from her stubborn, peony lips.

“I must admit, I’m impressed…” She slowly got up from the bench and sat on the one opposite, right next to him. She was grateful that their teammates had already drifted from the room as favouritism from the captain would surely be frowned upon. 

“You somehow managed to turn it all around.”

She cocked her head back as a sour laugh fell from her mouth. She was reluctant to admit that their victory was all thanks to him, their slacker Seeker whom she had previously punished with chores. Maybe a reward wasn’t so out of the question. Nevertheless, she swayed recklessly close to him as her laughter drowned out, almost closing the proximity between their shoulders. If she wanted to, she could lean on him. The prospect was horrifyingly tempting.

She then turned to him with an endearing smile toying at her features. A hand had come to rest on his upper thigh as she slowly, teasingly, leaned into him.

“I guess, in some regard, you are worthy of praise,” she murmured quietly into his ear as her lips pressed themselves softly, yet longingly, into the hollow of his cheek. 

Yes, their lines were blurred. 

Horribly distorted. 

Barely legible.

[amemoire-blog1]

"I can’t do it anymore!"

shout at my muse to see how they respond: closed!

Something shattered in his cat-like eyes and she flinched as his voice reverberated off every wall in the manor, returning to her ears just in case she hadn't heard it (she had). 

He couldn’t do this anymore.

They had never said aloud what they were to one another and there was never any indication to seriousness– to steady, but there were occassional affirmations of love. During the later hours of the evening, when the moonlight dripped in through the tall windows, they discarded their facades and stripped away their veneered guises, revealing all manner of ugly truths and bottled up pain. No-one else had seen her soul so bare; it was both a privilege and a burden she had given to him. In return, she offered to carry all his darkness on her shoulders and shift the weight of his suffering, so he could have an opportunity to rise above the adversary that pulled him under. 

Sometimes she found him in the process of escape, intoxicated in an attempt to run away from the thoughts that haunted him while he was sober.

Fine, she would say, i’ll run with you. 

Then, on the rare occasion she found herself crumbling under her own pressure, she sought shelter in his arms and allowed herself to be comforted. 

Fine, I’ll let you in.

Watching her parent's marriage decay as a child left her with a perception of love that was rather bleak. But what other feeling so perfectly encapsulated the sensation that warmed every crevice of her chest when she curled herself against him? 

He couldn’t do this anymore-- he couldn’t love her anymore.

The breaking of her heart was more akin to a sharp snap than a shattering; a clean break, cracking ice. The sound followed the echoes of his voice. 

Her head finally raised and with a watery sheen over her brown hues, she left him in that lonely manor with only his darkness to keep him company. 

She couldn’t carry it anymore. 

[slyamelie-blog]

[ owl ] don't think you Can bOss me arouNd now, Girlie. making you ouR captAin doesn'T mean Shit.

( owl ) : 

If I recall correcty, I distinctly remember you enjoying me being in charge, Boyie. 

xx

[amemoire-blog1]

❖ ami!aesthetics: zicalie ; A GOOD OMEN

          ❝  —- many people offered their condolences                       to Amélie when she returned to school,                          but Zico was not among them. ❞

[slyjoon-blog1]

slyzico:

A flutter of wings and cat-like eyes were scanning the parchment that had been abandoned on his empty dinner plate. As he read the message and the written laughter following, it was like he could actually hear the bizarre sound specific to its author.

No.

He could actually hear it. Zico slowly looked up from the parchment, judgment clear on his face as he stared at the student that was quite literally sitting right across the table from him. Zico blinked as Joonyoung’s…’special’ laughter flooded the surrounding area.

Instantly, memories of the first tattoo he’d given Joonyoung filled his mind. He cringed as he relived the secondhand embarrassment. Still, no matter how questionable Joonyoung’s taste was, he needed the practice. Knowing his cousin as he did, he was sure the design was going to be…unique.

“I’m not doing anything tonight,” Zico answered, rolling his eyes and sighing at how easily he’d caved to Joonyoung’s will after his initial reluctance.

“You owe me a drink first,” he pointed out. Or a few drinks, probably.

Joonyoung's eyes lit up mischievously when Zico agreed to his request. To be fair though, Zico hardly ever refused any suggestion Joonyoung came up with, no matter how crazy it seemed. That was one of the things Joonyoung loved about his cousin. He could rely on him to support him no matter what, even if that meant that Joonyoung often got him into trouble as well.

"This time you're not talking me into doing something different," he insisted, glancing down at his left forearm that bore a tattoo far different from the one he'd originally imagined. It wasn't that he didn't like it, quite the opposite actually, but it was nothing like what he'd originally described to him. "It's going to be huge...like across my whole back," he elaborated with a laugh before leaning across the table a little more toward Zico.

"We can do drinks first...but don't think you're going to get drunk and get outta this," he warned.

[slyamelie-blog]

@slyzico:

It seemed the sky could not decide whether to rain or snow. Snowflakes fluttered from gray clouds, gripping and clinging to each other when they came close enough, much like the people who had come together to mourn in this inclement weather. The air was cold but too humid for the precipitation, making those clinging flakes heavy and wet and escalating their fall from grace. 

There was a rift that a coffin separated. On one side stood colleagues, dutifully attending the hero’s burial. The other side was family; family that likely blamed the others in attendance for their loss, or at least, one of them in particular. Regardless of whose fault the tragedy had been, all of those in attendance were there for the same purpose; all, except one. Many darkly clothed mourners stood beneath black umbrellas that shielded them from the weather, but a lone spectator sat back from the others, perching on the outstretched palms of a weeping marble angel.

The cat’s coat was dark; sleek and exotically spotted; far too flashy a coat for a beast that wished it could go unnoticed. It stared back defiantly at everyone who looked its way or pointed out its presence to others as if it felt it had every right to be there. The wet snow fell and stuck to the cat’s fur and by the time the ceremony was over, a small peak had accumulated on its head and on a ridge down its back. It was odd that the cat did seem to be attending the service, especially in such appalling weather. It’s long been said that cats are guardians of the underworld, so maybe the beast had appeared to usher Isaac’s soul safely to the other side. 

Maybe its presence was an omen, a good omen.

The attendees threw flowers onto the grave and gradually drifted away until there were just two souls left. A beauty who had lost her elder brother and the beast that couldn’t tear pale celadon eyes away from her. It silently dropped into the snow shaking the snow from its coat before precariously hobbling through the wet mess until it was close enough to wrap itself around her calves, weaving several times in and out between slender legs.

The enormous cat allowed itself to be picked up when slender arms reached down for it. And it patiently allowed itself to be held despite the fact that her hold was slightly precarious due to its size. But thundering purrs vibrated from the beast’s chest and into Amélie’s, droning, soothing purrs that were not because the cat was particularly happy, but because it wanted to give something to its possessor and, as a cat, it was quite limited in ways to comfort.

Amélie’s family called for her to join them after trying to give her the extra time she needed and the cat wriggled its way out of her arms in case she was inclined to try and take it away with her. It didn’t linger or tempt her to chase after it. The cat ran off so that she could return to her family without worrying what would become of the creature if she left it in the snow, disappearing as abruptly as it had appeared.

Many people offered their condolences to Amélie when she returned to school, but Zico was not among them. They were still on quite bad terms, bad enough that speaking wasn’t an option, and in all honesty, he’d spent the whole day and the next in the infirmary, sniffling and coughing from the cold he’d caught, which was purely a fluke and he’d never admit otherwise.

[fortunamajors]

❃ ▄ ❤ +☾

@slyzico

❃ - dancing with them:

Apparently Eunji’s grace in the air didn’t quite extend to the field of dancing.

But her usually restless hands - one on Zico’s shoulder, white-knuckled grip tight and wrinkling the material of his suit, and the other linked together with his in a rushed, clumsy move - were still and while they’d never quite gotten on the way most friends would, his presence was solid, steady, warm. As far as dance partners went, she’d admit (even out loud) that he wasn’t a bad one. Curiosity had her peering up at him, eyes searching, and it was almost like Eunji was seeing a different person entirely. It was- She couldn’t say she wasn’t surprised, and she voiced so in a murmur.

“I didn’t know you could dance.”

▄ - telling them a joke:

Eunji was hard pressed to hide her snort.

“Those are awful - where’d you learn that one?” For once, a study session had gone well. The library was mostly empty but still warm, warding off the winter chill that had started creeping into the castle at this point in the year. Legs crossed and up on the chair, she was relaxed and content to listen to him speak, slipping in the occasional response to keep the conversation going. As it stood, however, when it came to jokes this bad she had to interfere.

“Here, I’ll tell you some muggle ones instead.”

❤ - kissing them:

Eunji froze in what was partially alarm, partially panic, partially horror, and partially (to her own surprise) fondness. She was sure, however, that none of the fondness showed on her face as she lifted a hand to her cheek, eyes wide.

Embarrassed and awkward as she was, it was no surprise that her cheeks flushed.

“I- What was that for?!” she hissed, turning away hurriedly. “Since when do you do th- I- What?” Zico had managed to do something she’d thought entirely impossible - get her flustered. And with the simplest of actions too, she thought mournfully. This wasn’t acceptable, no, not at all.

She’d have to get back at him for it.

+☽ - wandering alone at night:

“You’re out late.”

Her voice was quiet even as it broke through the stillness of the night, but Eunji was curious and had no qualms interrupting, well- whatever he was doing. As far as she could ascertain, he was alone, and while she had her reasons for being out at night she certainly wouldn’t mind knowing his as well. With a brisk walk, she matched his pace, sleeves coming down around her hands as she rubbed her palms together. “I wouldn’t have thought I’d see you out here in this weather - no one really should be - but since you’re here-“

She pulled a small jar out of her pocket and enlarged it slightly - it was convenient to have and it was cold, dammit - and soon there were blue flames crackling away inside it.

“Here.”

Send me a symbol for my muse’s reactions~