eglantinex

[eglantinex]

“Together, we form Team RWBY! … And yes, before you ask, that DOES cause a lot of confusion.”

[eglantinex]

fumusdamnatorum:

Silas continues to chew through, the gold eyes looking at the girl in front of him before swallowing the whole bone of that one wing he was chewing at. Blinking twice, he opens his mouth, not to bark, but to actually speak. 

“My actual form has fingers, and I am capable of understanding the language of humans, as it becomes one in the same.” The smoke continues to emulate from his body. “I also have paws as well, and as you can tell, human, I leave ashes in my wake.” 

Nothing in Gen’s expression changes; instead, the surprise causes her to rock back on her heels so that she is now sitting on her butt.

“Huh,” she says, avidly watching the way that the dog ‘talks’. “I—did notice. If your true form has fingers, then I assume it’s a humanoid shape. You can use that instead.” If this thing is staying, she’ll have to get used to everything about it. And probably repaint the whole place in black, if he’s going to leave ashes everywhere.

where there’s ashes

[eglantinex]

fumusdamnatorum:

argentaeglantine:

One whole wall of Gen’s room has mirrors in it, floor to ceiling, which tends to unnerve the few visitors she’s welcomed in here. (People don’t like looking at their own reflections sometimes. She made herself get used to it.) The other walls mostly have posters, either of ballet productions Gen has performed in or wants to perform in, though she wouldn’t admit that out loud. Gisele, Swan Lake, The Nutcracker, The Sleeping Beauty. Unsurprising to anyone who knows her.

The new addition to her room, however, surprises her more than anyone else.

To the right of her bed, just beside the poster of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, are words in an unfamiliar hand. Whoever–whatever–wrote them did so with their finger, in what looked like soot.

Hi, I’ll be rooming with you for a while. Please don’t freak out, I’ve seen that a lot already. Just want some food. Thanks.

It wouldn’t be so alarming if it wasn’t for the fact that Gen isn’t looking for any roommates. From what she’s been taught she knows she should call someone–the landlord maybe, or the police; but from what she knows–her instincts, which she’s always trusted most–she’s aware that it won’t do anything. She’d just be the crazy ballerina who lives down the hall.

Not like she wants her hunch to be right. Of all the things to happen, she thinks, half in frustration and half in embarrassment.

Still, that evening, there’s a second plate at the table. Turkey wings from the little restaurant across the street. If Gen is wrong, she has a bit more to eat. If she’s right…well. She’ll have some praying to do.

Upon receiving his tribute, the demon spawned from the underside of the dancer’s bed. His lanky form forces his posture to bend due to the height of the room. Bright yellow orbs that are his eyes look in the mirror, blinking slowly before turning his attention towards the plate of food on the counter. Picking it with his long arm, setting it on the floor as he shapeshifts into canine form. Ah, now this is better, less strain on the back and neck. 

He sniffs the wings once more, confirming the scent of the food before hounding away at them, biting through the bone and devouring the whole wing instead of leaving remnants behind. A paw holds plate in place as Silas continues to clean the plate, bits of soot making prints on the floor.

“What? No, it won’t be awkward.” Gen is on her phone as she makes her way up the stairs. “I’m a professional and so is Basile. If we’re picked to be the leads--and again, I don’t think that’s likely--then we just have to work together.” She fumbles in her purse with her free hand, finding the keys to her apartment.

The lock is tricky, and Gen continues to talk as she wriggles the key around. “Candide, honestly. We’ve been talking normally for months now! And don’t even think of stirring the pot. We need the normal.” She laughs, finally getting the door open. “Alright. Yes. I just got home, I’ll call you later okay? Take care.” Shaking her head with a smile, the dancer makes a beeline for her room, bag forgotten in the hallway.

“Whoa.”

At first she thinks a neighbor’s dog somehow got in, but none of her neighbors have dogs. Then she notices the soot smudging the rug--and she just washed that one--and the dots connect. Her fatigue forgotten, Gen crouches in front of the hound carefully. He must really like those wings.

“Now, how did you write on my wall?” she muses, tilting her head.

where there’s ashes

[eglantinex]

Silas Tenebrae: *exists*

Argenta Eglantine: 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌there👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my self 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠOOOOOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit

[eglantinex]

where there’s ashes

One whole wall of Gen’s room has mirrors in it, floor to ceiling, which tends to unnerve the few visitors she’s welcomed in here. (People don’t like looking at their own reflections sometimes. She made herself get used to it.) The other walls mostly have posters, either of ballet productions Gen has performed in or wants to perform in, though she wouldn’t admit that out loud. Gisele, Swan Lake, The Nutcracker, The Sleeping Beauty. Unsurprising to anyone who knows her.

The new addition to her room, however, surprises her more than anyone else.

To the right of her bed, just beside the poster of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, are words in an unfamiliar hand. Whoever–whatever–wrote them did so with their finger, in what looked like soot.

Hi, I’ll be rooming with you for a while. Please don’t freak out, I’ve seen that a lot already. Just want some food. Thanks.

It wouldn’t be so alarming if it wasn’t for the fact that Gen isn’t looking for any roommates. From what she’s been taught she knows she should call someone–the landlord maybe, or the police; but from what she knows–her instincts, which she’s always trusted most–she’s aware that it won’t do anything. She’d just be the crazy ballerina who lives down the hall.

Not like she wants her hunch to be right. Of all the things to happen, she thinks, half in frustration and half in embarrassment.

Still, that evening, there’s a second plate at the table. Turkey wings from the little restaurant across the street. If Gen is wrong, she has a bit more to eat. If she’s right…well. She’ll have some praying to do.

[eglantinex]

> makes exhaustive rules list to cover all the bases > sees other rper’s rules list which are chill, short, and to the point

> mfw

[eglantinex]

MISC. RWBY CONCEPT ART

[eglantinex]

Lunafreya Nox Fleuret

[eglantinex]

fumusdamnatorum:

This is most certainly something he did not expect: a dinner with the royals, and the two men he will be fighting tomorrow. His senses are off the chain, and frankly, he is more or less surprised that they decided against setting a bowl for him on the floor to eat out of. 

Silas keeps his eyes low, being dressed up unfortunately by the Aunt Claire. Well she knew how to take care of him and present him well; it’s just he doesn’t have any desire to take the time to be…..well kept. Instead of his armor or his normal hunter’s garb, the mercenary wears a neatly pressed brown tunic with black trim with a complimenting black leather belt. Instead of his normal gauntlets, forearm length leather gloves fit over the tunic’s sleeves. The pants and boots are something from his normal attire. At least the clothes were clean, but his choice of colors remain much more dark in the radiance of the rest of the room. If anything, it only forces him to refrain from eye contact, not even returning glances towards Gen. 

If there is a time and place where he would be uncomfortable, it would be now. With only the knife on the table and one more dagger tucked under his left glove, it is not enough to get him out of a place like this. Part of him is praying to the gods he’d make it out alive, and it doesn’t stop at the food, where he uses his sense of smell to inspect for any sort of foul play, as odd as a mannerism it seems to be.

If she could, Argenta would have told him that this is all part of the song and dance. The court loves nothing more than excuses to dress up and feast till dawn, and the tournament has given them plenty of chances. The king and the council wouldn’t mind having their least favorite champion eat off the floor, but it would reflect poorly on them, and so there he is at the table.

A poisoning would be so obvious that only the most reckless would try it; still, Argenta checked the kitchens before the feast, appraising the food, the cooks, and the servers with a critical eye. Margrethe helped her in this, her normally soft and kindly expression replaced by a stern, worried look.

For the most part the feast goes on without incident. Argenta is dressed to fit the occasion in yards of silver brocade, with ropes of jewels around her neck and waist; still, she seems almost underdressed next to the ostentatious fashion of the king and the court. Sniffing one’s food is considered rude, but Argenta makes no move to chastise Silas. It isn’t rude if it’s justified.

Kingmaker || Closed AU with smokingsilas

[eglantinex]

“What doesn’t kill me 

                                  is going to give me time to recover,

                                                                                       and then you’re fucked ”

promo credit goes to @sometimesshattered 

[eglantinex]

smoke and briars

there can be no peace for us; only misery, and the greatest happiness.

[eglantinex]

fumusdamnatorum:

The sudden surprise of his dear leader’s blunt honesty came in the expression of widened grey and gold orbs, blinking slowly as to comprehend what she just said. It brought upon a smirk, then a smile, before he moves in to look deep into Argenta’s emerald green. 

With fevor and without hesitation, Silas goes for the kill, pressing his lips against her’s to envelop satisfaction. She was right. This does feel nice, and it does feel really good. Hopefully, tonight, he’d be able to make her feel that again, and much more. “It is,” he whispers inches from her. “nice when it’s only with you.”

The kiss loosens her up, makes her feel less shy. “Has it ever been with others?” she asks, raising an eyebrow before smiling and kissing him back. Gen brings her arms around Silas, pulling him closer.

It’s something she’s learned, these past few weeks since they’ve gotten together. After months of holding back and imagining at night, just kissing Silas is heaven. Everything beyond that--everything he did to her in the closet--is beyond words. Gen pulls him down with her to the bed without realizing, settling onto the pillows. One hand slips down to lift her skirt, and she moans when she feels how slick she is inside.

[eglantinex]

To accuse others for one’s own misfortunes is a sign of want of education. To accuse oneself shows that one’s education has begun. To accuse neither oneself nor others shows that one’s education is complete.

Epictetu (~50 CE - 135 CE) a stoic philosopher.

He taught that philosophy is a way of life and not just a theoretical discipline.  To Epictetus, all external events are beyond our control; we should accept calmly and dispassionately whatever happens. However, individuals are responsible for their own actions, which they can examine and control through rigorous self-discipline.

(via likeuntolightnings)

[eglantinex]

Introducing: Vernal

[eglantinex]

weiss and her pint-sized knight

[eglantinex]

We have approximately one month before classes resume at Haven.

+Bonus