raconteur.

man i just. really love this idiot

          so in short, this blog is on hiatus for the time being or until i feel like coming back. love u guys, stay gay and do crime

i’m  tired  of  having  hands   ,   she  said   ,   i  want  wings.  but  what  will  you  do  without  your  hands  to  be  human   ?   i  am  tired  of  human   ,   she  said   ,   I  WANT  TO  LIVE  ON  THE  SUN.   (  non - rp blogs DO NOT reblog. )

he’s been trying to tolerate being around qrow. the secondhand account of how wronged he felt by ozpin too incited some empathy within arc but at the same time made him restless around the branwen. nevertheless, he was still a sort of guide, a person they needed more than jaune was willing to admit.   ‘   … does the general seem any different to you   ?   ’   he asked, running a hand through messy platinum locks nervously.   ‘   do you think we can trust him   ?   ’   @crviis​   /   lucky dip.

          the question takes branwen off guard for the most part, vision jerking toward arc’s frame where he stands, frown immediate over his features as corvid watches - for once trying to choose his words carefully. he’s not oblivious enough that he can’t tell the kid isn’t too fond of him - but then, who is fond of him, right? qrow hasn’t exactly been the most reliable figure of reason or what is right and wrong recently - has he? “uh--” visage tilts away from jaune, trying to hide his expression absently. “suppose he’s more confident? seems a whole lot more open ‘bout, well.... everythin’  - can’t say i knew him all tha’ well beforehand tho, kid.” a pause, frown deepening. “honest answer? i dunno. trust ain’t really somethin’ atlas deals with. an’ the tin can is mr atlas.”