#dustess

[glyphtress2-blog]

❛  you’ve been practicing your summoning, i see.  ❜  the spectral knight stands tall before them, silent in its vigil, and there’s something like pride in winter’s eyes. posture refined but the warmth of a smile peaks through.  ❛  i’m proud of you, weiss.  ❜   she thinks she doesn’t say it enough.      @dustess

[straythunder]

❛ you are a hedgehog’s ass. ❜ (for sun)

DEATHLESS.

“only one of us is prickly enough for that title and it ain’t me, schnee.”

[solarstrvck-blog]

she carefully brushes her fingers against the other’s freshly washed hair, stopping at a certain point so she can curl some of the locks around her fingers. they haven’t really had any alone time since their arrival at haven, and yang is silently thankful that their friends seem to have something of a sleep schedule here, if only so privacy’s granted. ❝  hey. we’re all alone now.  ❞  it’s said quietly, punctuated with the thoughts of maybe we can take advantage of that. then she leans in, presses a quick kiss to weiss’ lips before pulling back with a grin.  ❝  can i try to braid your hair?  ❞     /     @dustess

[thunderroared]

“What costume are you wearing?”

halloween prompts!

He smiled smugly in reply, as if the answer should be OBVIOUS. “Can’t you tell?” Sun spread his arms out and did a little spin for her, coat tails fanning out dramatically. “I’m Ozpin! See, I’ve got the cane, the glasses, the– well.” He smiled a little. “The COAT isn’t right, but! It’s all I could find on short notice.”

The closer you look at his costume, the less Sun looks like Beacon’s extremely recognizable headmaster. The coat is too long, his pants too light, his “cane” is just a branch painted black, and he doesn’t even have his SHIRT buttoned up all the way. It’s a sad attempt, but for whatever reason he looks... maybe a little TOO PROUD of himself.

[puntress-aa]

♦: Slow dancing

(  intimacy.  )  it’s quiet, save for the soft music coming from yang’s scroll. the others are asleep in the room over, leaving just the two of them alone in the living area. they’ve been catching up, mostly  ———  what happened after you left beacon? did you manage to contact anyone? how have you been? how are you doing now?  ———  idle chatter filling the space in-between songs. it’s so familiar it makes her chest ache, and for a moment she can forget that they’re different people than they were when they parted ways  (  the more things change, the more they stay the same: she heard that somewhere before, and she thinks that it might apply now  ).

weiss’ fingers trace the area where steel meets flesh, and it elicits a shiver from yang. the wounds have since mended, the scars beginning to fade into soft pink lines against tanned skin  (  it’s intimate in a way she’s unfamiliar with, to let someone in so close and see something she thinks of as her greatest weakness  )  and she’s thankful that the prosthetic covers the worst of the damage, just so weiss doesn’t have to see it. she almost pulls away, tries to direct the touch elsewhere  ———  she manages to remain still, however, and lets the former heiress do as she pleases. fingers touch steel, and weiss rambles questions: how does it fit? is the grip satisfactory? can it withstand your punches? she’s thankful when the cool touch is slowly moved up, fingers tracing along the curve of her jaw, and she turns her head, hand coming up to capture weiss’ own. a kiss is placed to each fingertip, feather-light, fleeting as a fire’s last dying embers. 

there’s a shift in the air, a shift between them, and yang feels her mouth run dry. she thinks about speaking, breaking the heaviness in the air, when the song changes. ❝  dance with me, ❞  she manages to grind out, loud in the silence of the room. weiss blinks, but nods, a soft smile touching the corners of her mouth and yang’s overwhelmed with the urge to kiss her. she doesn’t, but only because she’s too busy hauling them both to their feet, and leading them a few steps away from the sofa.

she settles her steel hand in the curve of weiss’ waist, lifts her free hand so weiss can lace their fingers together as her other falls against yang’s shoulder. it’s second nature to fall into step to the rhythm, to let weiss take the lead despite their positioning  (  she thinks of the school dance, of the closeness of their bodies and the scent of weiss’ perfume and she wonders how a year can feel like a lifetime  ). she lets her hand wander, slide around to rest against the small of weiss’ back and press, bringing her in closer, and ignores the fluttering in her chest when weiss willingly steps in. 

they’re doing little more than just swaying to the music now, having dropped any formalities that come along with dancing  (  as if it’s a formal occasion anyway  ———  pajamas and slightly distorted music and a house that’s too far away from home  ). it’s fine by yang, though; she’s content with the closeness, with having someone she loves nearby. weiss’ head is tucked under her chin, arms wrapped around yang’s waist: yang’s own arm has settled around weiss’ shoulders, hand still placed firmly at the small of her back. if she’s being honest with herself, this is the most at peace she’s felt in months.

the song ends, another less suitable for their position begins. neither make the effort to pull away, although yang does turn them, lowering weiss into a dip, a grand finale for the dance they never completed. weiss laughs at the dramatic flare of it, and this time, yang does kiss her.