ARCHIVE !!

gone ! find me on @frenzie

[hauntics]

hey gamers !! i'll be revamping / remaking my multi until my birthday in a week. i don't like the way this looks and feels and want it to be way more lowkey. my main blog will remain g.wyndolin's over on @wanegod

[hauntics]

and with that this blog is officially archived !! find the new multimuse over at frenzie !!

[hauntics]

hey gamers !! i'll be revamping / remaking my multi until my birthday in a week. i don't like the way this looks and feels and want it to be way more lowkey. my main blog will remain g.wyndolin's over on @wanegod

[hauntics]

for a moment he just watches, from the top of the stairs. a few chirps and coos pass, then his voice follows. ❛ careful. he bites. ❜ a lie. weak and thin. assan bites, yes, but never anyone residing in or around the lighthouse. at least not without the command to do so.

@vulpevere

[hauntics]

[vulpevere]

𝑽𝑼𝑳𝑷𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑬.   an   independent,   slow   activity,   highly   selective   vere   from   redspring's   upcoming   game   𝑻𝑶𝑼𝑪𝑯𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑽𝑬𝑫.   Largely   unaffiliated   with   any   of   the   fandoms   seen   on   this   blog.   I   am   100%   OC   friendly,   Multiverse   &   Multiship.  please   be   sure   to   read   my   rules   page   on   my   carrd   before   following,   or   interacting   with   me.   thank   you   <3 blog is 21+ & will contain sexual content, as well as violence and death.

[cattoonxd]

founds your family

[hauntics]

if i had a nickel for every time ray and i wrote a duo to which the hope/despair convo between david and riyo applied i'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

convo in question btw

[hauntics]

funny to me that some people do revere kip as an oracle eventhough they have absolutely no more knowledge of the future than any other person. but given that they have knowledge of every written word past, present & ongoing, they can make ( mostly accurate ) predictions when asked

[tamaygou]

The trio ever...

[relmsterr]

hey uh so I'm not very familiar with tumblr. at all. it's my first post here :3c Have this old fanart of my beautiful wife...

[zachrp]

ᝰ🚬 𝚉𝙰𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙿 .ᐟ SYMBOL HEADCANON QUESTIONS. CHANGE ANY PRONOUNS IF NECESSARY. SOME MATURE THEMES MAY BE PRESENT.

EVERYDAY LIFE / DOMESTIC

📋 : how organized is your muse?

✅ : what do they pretend to have together that they don't?

🕰️ : what time do they naturally wake up when no one needs them?

☕ : what's their morning ritual, and what happens when it's disrupted?

🧺 : how often do they do laundry?

🪞 : do they look at themselves in mirrors, or avoid them? why?

🍽️ : do they eat to survive, for pleasure, or as comfort?

🏠 : what part of their living space reflects them the most?

🌱 : do they keep plants, and are those plants alive?

🧼 : what's something they're weirdly particular about being clean?

📺 : what do they put on when they don't want to think?

SOCIALIZATION / CONNECTION

🗣️ : are they better one-on-one, or in groups?

📱 : do they text back immediately, or let messages rot?

🫥 : how often do they pretend to be fine to keep the peace?

🎭 : how different are they with strangers versus people they trust?

🤝 : do they make friends easily, or accidentally?

🧠 : what do they assume people think about them?

🌘 : how hard is it to really know them?

🎉 : do they enjoy social events, or endure them?

🪑 : are they the type to leave early without saying goodbye?

INTROSPECT / INTERNAL LANDSCAPE

🕵️‍♀️ : how often does your muse think about death?

🧩 : what part of themselves do they not understand yet?

🫀 : what emotion scares them the most?

👣 : do they believe they deserve good things?

🧱 : what walls are they aware of building? which ones are they not aware of?

🕳️ : what do they spiral about at night?

📉 : what's their most common self-criticism?

💀 : do they trust their own memories?

🌊 : what emotion do they drown in when they're alone?

PERSONAL / DEEP / TRAUMA-ADJACENT

🩸 : what wound shaped them the most, even if they won't admit it?

🔥 : what moment do they replay when they're ashamed?

🧷 : who failed them first?

🕯️ : what do they grieve that no one else sees as a loss?

🪤 : what pattern do they keep falling back into?

🧨 : what pushes them past the point of restraint?

🧬 : what did they inherit emotionally from their caregivers?

🕶 : what lie do they tell themselves to survive?

🩹 : what actually helps them heal, even if it's unhealthy?

HABITS / VICES / COPING

🚬 : what vice do they justify the most?

🍺 : do they drink to socialize, numb, or celebrate?

💊 : what's their relationship with substances, past or present?

🏃 : do they move their body to feel alive or to punish it?

🛏️ : how do they sleep when things are bad?

🎧 : what kind of music gets them through the worst days?

🖊️ : do they write things down or let thoughts rot in their head?

☔️ : do they intellectualize pain instead of feeling it?

🕳️ : what habit would unravel them if taken away?

SEXUALITY / INTIMACY

🫠 : is it easy for them to get turned on, or do they need emotional safety first?

💞 : do they separate sex and feelings, or blur them dangerously?

🛑 : what's an immediate turn-off for them?

🔥 : do they crave intensity or stability?

🤲 : do they like being in control, or giving it up?

🪶 : are they gentle with people they desire?

🍒 : how do they feel about their own body during intimacy?

🎱 : what do they need to feel wanted?

🔒 : do they guard intimacy, or give it too freely?

💔 : have they ever used sex to avoid something?

MORALITY / CHOICES

⚖️ : what line will they never cross?

🩶 : what line have they already crossed and justified? or regret?

🧭 : do they believe they're a good person?

🔪 : what would they do if survival demanded cruelty?

🪙 : what do they value more, loyalty or truth?

🚪 : who would they abandon if forced to choose?

🕊️ : do they believe in forgiveness? for themselves? in others?

🧨 : what would make them snap permanently?

📜 : what promise do they regret making?

🪦 : what hill would they die on?

[hauntics]

continued with @zoeticbled ( zephira )

her comment, at first, was off - handed so she doesn't expect any digging from the other. safe to say, the question for details leaves her speechless for a moment. sarmenti spends a good moment to think on a possible reply. ❛ right. specifics . . . ❜   a hum. a tap of her foot. then she decides to mimick what she felt. her bow is deep and regal. elegant in execution. hopefully this will help the confusion she has created. ❛ bow as in alive ? not cursed, not inhabited. outside of the stray critter here and there. ❜   hands gesture vageuly. ❛ but not the treant kind of alive. alive in the sense of the trees being sentient but not truly alive . . . does that make sense ? ❜   she is of the occult and not all too familiar with other natures of magicks. it's easy to stumble over words when you're not quite sure what you're looking at or treading among.

❛ either way. not hostile. they were greeting me, i think. ❜   the closest thing she can think of is the bleeding forest back in slonyv. that, however, has a very real reason to be alive. with the undying staked to trunks and the first hunters' blood soaking the forest floor, it's only natural for the forest to come alive. this one, however, felt less gloomy in nature. ❛ almost like coming home. we have a forest that's somewhat alive back home. it's like that. the forest knows you're there but it can't do anything for or against you. ❜  

[vernades]

Sypha regarded Castevania as wistfully as Hector did, staring at the edifice that had become their friend's tomb. Perhaps tomb was a melodramatic name for Alucard's chosen place of rest, but what else were they supposed to call the place where he had succumbed to a deep, grief-induced stasis that would likely lead to them never seeing their comrade again? It stung to think about, but none of them had any aspirations to shake Alucard from his sleep after what had been done. He would hibernate, and the days would pass by while his former home would remain as a reminder to the evil that had been defeated. Of the father they had slain together. It filled Sypha with a sense of guilt, because their own parents had been butchered, but not killed by them. The gaping hole of grief was stoking Sypha's own obsession with vengeance, but it was a quiet flame that was only apparent to themselves and no one else.

"I'm not your judge, Hector. Or your executioner. You deserve peace, but some of us... Rest just isn't an option. Hellfire is." They had no intention of stopping until all signs of evil were gone. It was unrealistic, but darkness in the hearts of men would never truly fade. "Do you have a plan? What you wish to do now this is over?" Maybe he would disappear into a beautiful corner of the world, and he would be worthy of it. Or, maybe he contained as much anger in his heart as Sypha bore. Anger... or rage. Pure rage wielded like a weapon and allowed to fly wherever it was directed. If Alucard wasn't asleep in Castlevania, Sypha would've torn it down personally. "We can live peacefully... At least, if you want to."

[hauntics]

the pause before hector speaks again is long. he mulls over their words for a good moment. you deserve rest. it's a spoken kindness, an admittance of the fact that he's burned out. ❛ is it ? ❜ a hum follows. thoughtful in nature, perchance condescending in tone. he doesn't mean to be dismissive. however, the thought of choosing is alien to him to be so easy. ❛ i don't think it's our call to make who burns and who doesn't. my soul is spoken for, yours too, i'm sure. ❜ hellfire seems like the only path for either of them. of course he is unaware of the full scope of the warlock's deeds and misdeeds, but it makes sense for anyone in connection to the castle and its inhabitants. if death is even an option at all. not every situation is fully hopeless, though. ❛ however, i'll welcome you proving me wrong, even if i'm far by then. ❜

another pause as he thinks on his reply. where would he go ? widowed, cast - out. there's not many places that will take him. finally, hector speaks again. ❛ i think . . . i will return home. i haven't seen andorra in decades. do some gardening, maybe offer my knowledge to a monastery. ❜ nostalgia sneaks into his voice. he remembers a childhood home that cast him out . . . no, it can't be called a home. the castle was home. it was the place that raised him, even if the lord of the castle didn't. it's not the people he feels drawn to, it's the land itself. home, hector's learned, can be anything. people, a place, a feeling. ❛ without rosaly i've nowhere else to call home. maybe they're forgotten about me, maybe i can start anew. ❜ he doesn't dare hope for anything more than indifference. few people call him an ally and even less a friend. ❛ what about you ? i assume you're going to stay . . . ? ❜

[dwnstone]

@hauntics sent [ DOGWOOD ] sender gifts receiver a token of good luck / protection. from aster !

It's been good to have friends who know him, and not his deeds.

Just a few years ago, half of Thedas looked towards him for answers: just a hunter from Clan Lavellan thrust into a difficult position of power — their saviour, their hero, their Inquisitor. It was a situation that suited him well in some ways, and yet it cast a light upon something rather ugly in himself, something he's grown to hate: a need to be liked, for his deeds to impress and to prove his worth, a conflation of  love and success. He had been impressive, and he had been accepted, but he had not been happy. Not like he is now. 

None of the Nevarrans know him as "the Inquisitor." Not by face, anyway. It would be hard to imagine this particular young man as anyone who'd held considerable power in the south: not with his wildly tousled hair, broken nose and prominent vallaslin. He doesn't dress in the sort of way you'd imagine any Dalish elves would dress — white leathers and brightly-coloured shirts made of rich fabrics, left arm always rolled up to allow for his crossbow, or else draw attention to his transradial amputation. Around here, they just know the roguish ‘friend of Red Jenny,’ put together from pieces that hardly make sense as a whole, and he’d prefer to keep it that way. 

It’s almost a shame when he has to leave for Minrathous. Almost. But he’s never going to pass up the chance to see the man he loves, and the Shadow Dragons probably need him for… Inquisitory things. Important in an entirely different way. 

But still, he’s sorry to say goodbye. If it even is goodbye. 

When Aster hands him something, he takes it in his hand like it's something fragile and sacred – context suggests it probably is. Something that’s supposed to mean something, to remember all of this by. 

“Thanks,” he says, grey eyes fixed on the gift with an odd look in them. It’s fond, somewhat sad, too. Hopefully in the mysterious way he’s been trying to cultivate for himself as of late. “It’s a bit… morbid, but I’ll keep it close and alw- oh, shit. I should’ve gotten you something too. I didn’t think about that,”

[hauntics]

these past few weeks were a constant up and down. luckily, she has come to make a friend all the while. a good one at that. someone she can rely on, someone who doesn't peg her as odd or off - putting, unlike some people do. though she cannot fault people. by all means she is an odd person. aster carries herself as she is, a warrior of the necropolis, painfully attuned to the whims of the spirits inlaid in everything around and below them. that in of itself isn't odd anywhere around nevarra. what is odd, however, is the nature of her roaming the capital. a runaway, a moody teen breaking out of her own home, in all but age.

so when the news reach her that cathal will depart for minrathous soon, she misses him immediately. the hours she spends alone are filled with aster recounting the little tasks and trips they finished together. everything for some so - called "friends". she never asked and never quite understood who his friends were from the context clues. the one conclusion she has come to is that he might now know all these friends personally. an odd bunch, even to her.

without the ressources of the necropolis, she has to make due. be respectful and understanding of the nature of her gift. the aquisition of her gift does indeed prove to be a hassle but it's a small effort for a friend so dear. the road is long and treacherous, from what she's heared, a little protection goes a long way.

glee spreads across her face when she hands off the trinkets. they're not exactly fancy but the braid of thread they're connected to does convey an element of care. ❛ don't sweat it, they're just bones. ❜ a lie. they're not just bones. there's a whole rite tied to it but he doesn't need to know this. there's no expectation to recieve anything in return. never with her, never towards him. it's a gentle ache, the knowledge that they must part ways soon. maybe she will return to the necropolis, maybe they will take her back a second time. nevarra city is nice and all but the halls are home to her. maybe she will find another of the friends to help out around the city, though there are none who could fill the hole cathal's departure will fill. he's not just a friend of red jenny but also a friend of herself.

the feeling of downplaying the gift as just some daubles finds her and aster decides to specify. ❛ oracle bones to be precise ! to keep you safe. i can't leave nevarra with you - i'm not supposed to anyway - so these go with you. ❜ there's pride deep in her tone and expression. she memorized the spirituality of trinkets to give out just for this.

[faesomnia]

The  lifelines  of  humans  may  be  short  yet  their  culture  remains,  including  their  forms  of  magic.  Resilience  is  something  both  of  their  people  share.  She  holds  some  modicum  of  respect  in  that  sense.  ❝ Can't  argue  with  you  there.  It's  definitely  creative. ❞  The  hues  can  be  so  vivid  it  reminds  her  of  a  certain  someone's  bright  feathers.  He's  around  somewhere.

Despite  his  tone  being  far  from  mocking  —  he's  much  more  understanding  than  most  —  it  still  takes  some  restraint  to  not  scoff.  Instead,  she  lets  out  a  frustrated  sigh.  ❝ Forgotten  by  humans,  but  not  the  Vastaya.  We  do  what  we  can  to  preserve  what's  left,  to  break  the  binds  that  have  been  force  on  something  that  is  meant  to  run  freely. ❞  A  feather  materializes  between  her  fingers,  the  thrum  of  magic  within  her  comforting.  It  almost  feels  like  a  beacon  compared  to  the  stifled  energy  surrounding  them  both.  That's  why  she's  here,  after  all.

[hauntics]

for but a moment, hwei feels like he's getting the hang of tip-toeing around the topic of magic. he's a master in his own right but even his knowledge pales in comparison to hers. then, all at once, he feels five years old, reprimanded for a mistake. ❛ forgive me. ❜  she's right. his people forget. stories change through decades and generations and eventually the children of fathers and mothers stop sharing them. his thought repeats, this time out loud : ❛ you're right. we forget and die quickly. ❜  he means not to exclude himself because he, too, has stopped sharing stories told by his mother and her mother before. myths and legends, stories to make children behave themselves - though, there's always some truth at the bottom of them, he's sure.

❛ still, i want to spend the time i have honing and understanding my craft. ❜  gift. curse. hwei's atramancy has been called both, even in the same sentence. with his chin still on his knee, he watches her feather. it's beautiful. unlike most of what he's seen in his thirty - two years. of course, even hwei knows that magic can manifest physical objects. even his does, although in a more abstract sense. what he hasn't seen, however, is something so precise, so honed in shape and purpose, being willed into existence. orange curiosity washes through his ever changing eyes and the ink, framing him. ❛ if i may be so bold, would you impart some of your knowledge to me ? ❜  bold indeed. his hand gestures vaguely into the direction of her feather, citrus peels folded up into his other.

[ayesopod]

some older seb doodles im not that crazy about but art just isnt arting right now so

[reclaimeth]

@hauntics / the wylder asks :

❛ sorceress, i've a question. ❜ he waits not for her reply or beckon to have him speak. there's too little precious time in the twilight before the day, before he departs from the hold once more. ❛ i am to understand, as the menial tells it, you know your way around the nightsky. ❜ at least the wylder assumes he understood correctly. it was just a secondary comment of a longer conversation. ❛ does it truly speak, like in the stories, or is all of it guesswork ? because if it truly does speak, i've a request for it. ❜

if sorceress sellen has to name one thing she loves most in the lands between , it's answering questions . she , too , has been collecting curiosities ever since she stumbled into this endless night , especially in what to make of the personalities sharing her misfortune in being unable to escape it . this particular fellow is quite the puzzle , sellen finds , and she's never been more delighted⸺questioned by a living question .

❛ my , i'd think you a scholar if i had been none the wiser . such are the very same lines of inquiry pursued within the halls of the academy from which i hailed . ❜ she sighs , admittedly amiss to reminisce her scholarly days when such a time has been punctuated by a sentence to an eternity of torture . while the wylder knows nothing of her experiences , it is a welcome change to be highly regarded by the nightfarers . ❛ it was the belief of ancient astrologers that the skies communed with us earthen dwellers in its own special way , and it is of our own undertaking to decipher its messages . ❜

❛ this knowledge that they impart ... i admire your advocacy in seeking it . ❜ with a passing glance at her new companion , her feet no later carry her to the sparring grounds before the invitation leaves her lips . ❛ divulge to me your concerns awhile , dear wylder , and i'll see what the stars can make of it ... if you'll sacrifice your precious time in walking with me toward the open air ? ❜

[hauntics]

he is unsure if she mocks or praises sincerely, it does not matter to him either way. not now. ❛ there is only one scholar between the two of us, hence my seeking you. ❜ there is an eagerness with which he follows both, the invitation and her, into daylight. it's not that she's his last option or this is a ditch request. the truth lies in the fact that the sorceress is his only option to get any grasp of this knowledge. the other farers clad themselves in mystery and personal affairs to carry into the night ( as does he. none of them are above the other ) , whereas the menial speaks indirectly if asked. neither of which he has nerves nor time for.

❛ the matter . . . is quite personal. ❜ even obscured by a helmet, and turned away by - what he assumes to be - alabaster, his eyes find a corner away from sellen's projection. it is not an act of shame. ❛ as you've said, our time is precious and scarce. i've none to spare for secrecy. ❜

the wylder mulls over the phrasing for but a moment. it's not sophistication he searches for but rather sense. phrasing that will make his question sound coherent enough to be considered of sound mind. ❛ does the sky impart any wisdom upon you about the night's end ? what will happen once dawn breaks for good ? ❜ running the danger of sounding like a simple man, he asks anyway. surely she must be aware that he knows the sunlight hides the stars' shine. his query is moreso targeted at the state of the world spread out beneath the night's sky. if it truly is as ancient and knowledgable as he's heared, surely the sorceress must have heared its whispers.