becomestorm

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indefinite hiatus.

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i’m only on here to borrow some code from ren’s but. empathy. so called it.

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                                  send me a ▲  & i will put our                                   character's  names  into  this                                   generator and  write a starter                                   based  on  the  scenario  that                                   comes up!

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character flaws meme;;

Flaws. We all have them. Even our muses. In fact, they often make for better, more engaging characters. Send a symbol to learn about one of my muse’s weaknesses!

🙊what would my muse say their biggest flaw is

⧱ what really is my muse’s biggest flaw

🤳name three physical imperfections my muse has (birthmarks, gray hairs, muscular definition, etc)

🙈what’s my muse’s biggest blind spot?

🍰what’s my muse’s guilty pleasure?

😰when my muse is stressed, how do they act out?

💚what does my muse get envious over?

🚫what is one thing my muse wouldn’t want someone else to know about them?

🛌my muse’s biggest nightmare

✍️does my muse have a learning disability?

🎒what was my muse’s worst subject in school?

🙅‍♂️what does my muse feel insecure about?

👾what was my muse’s childhood bogeyman?

🙉what are two things that make my muse uncomfortable in conversation

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hey, so — new volume season always has my muses plummeting to an all time low. it’s weird, huh ? most people tend to reinvigorate their muses during this time, but mine go right to sleep. new episodes make me anxious, the energy is just too much, etc. etc. anyway, i’m going to put most of my rw/by muses on extremely low activity, basically a hiatus.

it’s not that i don’t want to write them, i most definitely do, but i learned after last season not to let any narrative decisions i don’t like affect me too much. so while i will be popping on to check what’s happening or to do a reply or two ( most likely on jaune or fox, maybe ) i will be spending more time on blogs in different fandoms.

if you’d like to know the urls, then feel free to let me know, but as a word of caution i most likely won’t be following rw/by blogs back until the volume is done.

i hope you guys enjoy this season ! i’ll be catching up once it’s over. and if you’d like to keep in touch feel free to ask for my discord, or connect over @tetherds on twitter.

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singing. people in the surrounding buildings had heard the occasional voice sailing out of the windows of an old abandoned theatre. ren thought they were creepy things, theatres, especially with no one inside them, and to be haunted by ghosts with a love for the dramatics, that was something else. letting their camera fall around their neck, ren explored the walls of the old venue, paying little mind to beer bottles and graffiti that showed clear signs of bored youth messing about closer to the entrances, focusing more on other things that suggested a more supernatural presence, like cold spots or mould, the behaviour of the insects. absently and without much thought to it, they started humming to the sound of an old jazz song they couldn’t quite name, the kind their mother sung when speaking of old vintage theatres like this one.

she sat in her usual spot- on top of the glowing sign outside the venue that displayed the week’s performers. usually, she would just watch the people go by and sometimes poke at them to mess around. occasionally she would sing, not that anyone could hear her without her mic on.  mallory continued watching people until she saw one person walk up with a camera and who looked very interested in the building. this piqued her interest, especially when they looked around before ducking down the ally and finding the door to the backstage of the venue.  “ oh this is gonna be interesting. “ she mumbles to herself before standing from the sign and stepping through a wall, taking her to the nosebleed seats of the theatre. 

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i. You fight because it is the most intimate act you can think of, the way blood flows from one body and spills onto the other, the way your bones collapse on impact, a meteorite fist landing in your concave crater cheek. ii. There are no skeletons in your closet–they’re stuffed into the confession booth beside the altar to which you have chained yourself, and they rattle and they shake like a warning when you feel yourself drifting too far. (You are unsure whether this is because you are pious or because god is something you can see without a working pair of eyes.) iii.  Your memories are flame-licked and stained with blood, you’ve learned to read the wind and it whispers secrets into your ears. You know there is a pair of lips waiting to swallow you whole, heart and all; the shifts in the air tell you that you are gravitating in the wrong direction. iv. There is a compass tattooed to your insides and still you are hopelessly lost. Heaven and Hell are warring inside you, always brutal, always merciless. If you fall, does it mean that you, too, were once an angel?

manifesto for the unsung martyr // j.d.k. (via stanzae)

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R U N

awolnation // ya tender

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Goody Grace - Can’t Help Falling In Love

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“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” ― Haruki Murakami ☆

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“Tactical Advantage” 

November 1 - Training/Hunting

@martialarcsweek

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@wovenpetal​​ asked     /     ‘ren! hold on a second!’ ruby taps the other on the shoulder. fidgeting a small bit with her gaze. ‘ uh— so i was just telling you guys to stay safe. take—‘ she clears her throat, rolling her eyes dreading the next words to leave her mouth. ‘ keep— oscar.. keep him safe, alright? ’     /     inbox call.   

you know i can’t do that.

pink. ren had nightmares about the colour. the memory of the never ending pink corridor and the assailant with nora’s face. ren had been able to hear oscar’s ragged breath behind them and couldn’t focus on anything but the fact that they weren’t ready, they weren’t really a huntsman, it was all too much and ren was too weak and other people had paid for it. in a moment of weakness, ren’s true feelings had lashed out at the worst opportunity, and oscar had taken on that burden as his own. he’d run. he’d gone off on his own and they’d just barely been able to find him once more.

that had been ren’s fault.

because they couldn’t follow orders. for the entirety of their time in atlas, whenever ren had voiced their opinions, they’d been shut down and told to be quiet. by their teammates no less ... they weren’t ... they weren’t cut out for this protecting business. how ruby could still have any faith in them after they’d failed so many times, ren didn’t understand, but it made them hurt. it made them look up from their crossed arms with eyes that had once been downcast, visions that had been drenched in the wretched colour dying down upon the comforting sight of ruby’s steady silver.

eyes cast briefly to oscar, positioned between the protective stances of both jaune and yang with a quiet, resigned sigh. it was nice to believe in something. maybe if they kept trying they could come to believe in ruby’s hope in the same way someday. maybe they could be the protector they’d always wanted to be.

‘   i’ll try.   ’

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the first encounter with qrow had been an accident, so had the metaphorical flaying open of ren’s chest to reveal such insecurities. their questions had been pressing, insistent, curiosity never quite satisfied, holding fast to to their pulse like a blade to their throat and still they’d not received what they’d wanted. curiosity was such a vile, fickle thing and ren had always been left wanting for answers just out of their reach. this helplessness had guided them down some of the most treacherous pasts, and still, they’d only lived two decades. that qrow hadn’t found the answer yet was both reassuring, and not. that the dragon wasn’t supposed to understand this pain yet, that they still had more time, was a relief as much as it became dread. maybe they could never live in harmony with this ability that was supposed to protect them.

barely even registering the branwen at first, ren had been ducking along most of the balconies attempting to follow their leader. jaune had a habit of sneaking off to train in the middle of the night, developed months ago after the fall, and ren ... ren couldn’t sleep. making sure he was fine seemed more productive than lying restless in their bed, seeing as the medical personnel had recommended ren stop pushing themselves beyond their limits when it came to missions as of late. roseate hue glanced briefly over qrow, tilting their head curiously at the novel in his lap before eyes moved silently over the edge of the balcony. there. practicing swordsmanship in one of the outside couryards. jaune was fine. ren released an audible sigh of relief, tension leaving their body as they settled with their back to the other side of the railing.

no friends ? elder huntsman asked, and ren didn’t quite know how to respond to that. a raised eyebrow and a passive shrug. that choking hold their semblance had on their emotions had lessened around qrow, the slight quirk of a smile at the corner of their lips as they regarded him. ready to let it end there, ren’s eyes returned to their teammate all those levels below, no idea ren was watching from this high up.

don’t tell me you’re in love.

‘   don’t ...   ‘

ren’s eyes tended to be the solemn sort, unreadable in most cases and hard to understand, but the fear and shock in them when caught in a moment of vulnerability was unmistakable. their eyes darted away from jaune, attempting to glare menacingly at qrow for all their futile efforts, before eyes fell to the floor. arms crossed over their chest defensively. a scoff, on which dragon smoke born of infatuation left them on staggered breath. florets of colour bloomed atop cheekbones.

‘   don’t be ridiculous.   ’

@becomestorm stumbled upon misfortune

Ruby and Yang are of the age of friends and out of them all Qrow finds that he spoke most and least to Ren. Similarities in their aesthetic that didn’t sit quite well with the Branwen. Someone so young shouldn’t make him think of himself at forty years of age. 

Worrisome when he thinks about how little he’s changed.

And yet, here they were, back on this balcony with little information between them to exchange. Nothing new since the last time they spoke. No answer to a pressing question that hanged between them. Like a living, breathing entity that followed persistently. A presence only serving to remind them of the little freedom they had. 

Qrow sat with his back to the bars of the balcony. Tucked into a corner where vermilion eyes can keep sight of his surroundings. No one of whom could leave or enter without his knowledge. Semblance at a stall as a steady heart kept it at bay. Passive nature on a roll. A quiet entity that filled the room no matter what. 

Just something else that followed him about. 

A book rested on his lap. Something old, something worn. Spine riddled with creases and the pages partially torn and wrinkled. Fresh pack of cigarettes to his side and something sliver glints, tucked underneath him. Round two in the making with a safety net at his side. Reassured in knowing what it was and that any moment he could have. 

An excuse. 

Not a glance as he remarked, noting the other’s presence in his space, “No friends?”

Rhetorical question in nature. 

“Don’t tell me you’re in love,” Qrow joked, page turned as he poked at the other verbally, “You’re not my type.”

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nicknames:   nine, but i also respond to things like bastard, menace, hooligan, etc. zodiac:   leo sun   /   aries moon   /   capricorn rising. height:   ≈ 170cm last thing i googled:   bog mummies   ... song stuck in my head:   the arknights title song. number of followers:   ≈ 200 amount of sleep:   six hours average maybe. lucky number:   eight. favourite song:   eden — wake up   /   and this is my favourite album !!   crywolf — cataclasm. favourite instrument:   the violin or the harmonica. dream job:   wip. aesthetic:   cramming three cryptids into a trenchcoat. favourite author:   rupi kaur. favourite animal noises:   the little prmpt sound when cats hop down from things, like if you agree. random fact:   before this pandemic shit went down, i used to geocache with my friends a lot. we’ve found bullets, $40, a stash of someone’s teeth, an arrow head, and a furby that someone had clearly tried to torch.

tagged:   @ledastrcy​   (   thank you !   💕   ) tagging:   @etoilae​   /   @ophidial​   /   @godspiel​   /   @florifelt​   /   @dustpiled​   /   @07-kh​

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"hey ren — do you wanna help me add a button to this microwave to make it shut the fuck up after, say, 9pm? i think i could make money off of that."

unscripted ask     /     always acc.

‘   ... mercury i don’t know how to use the microwave.   ’   truthfully, whenever ren had been caught cooking at three am then it had either been on the stove top at very low heats, in the oven, or in the fire pit outside. how they’d made a habit out of midnight snacks was beyond them, only that they’d perfected the method of night time cooking using as little sound as possible so as to not wake mercury, although it was a little embarrassing explaining why they were toasting sandwiches over the fire right before dawn. but this is what mercury had signed up for, gourmet cooking at atypical hours. cooking was just another method to keep the night terrors away, and they got to share what they’d made sometimes. it had always tasted better coming out of the oven than in a microwave, but maybe that was just ren’s upbringing speaking.   ‘   good luck. customising a microwave sounds very ambitious.   ’

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Wowowowoowowow this looks sooooo amazing!!!

Modern!NeZha is so badass aaaaaaah