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[mythsarchive]

Private writing blog featuring original muses as well as canon muses with canon divergent / original takes on their backstories. This blog is low activity always. It is HIGHLY NSFW. Mainly a friends centered writing blog. Plot heavy. Be 21+ or leave. Muses are featured from high fantasy original lore. This blog focuses heavily on world building and connecting muses to one another and intricate plots /story lines. muses conducted by: lake / l.

doc (wip) / prompts / music / see below the read more for muses and info

Basic rules apply. If you don't know the basics then, dont be rude, be respectful, don't steal, don't god mod, be chill and not disgusting ( ie racist, phobic of any kind, MAGA, and more). All edits are made by me unless otherwise tagged, muses and lore on this blog are mine. The muses listed as request are just that, they are request and friends only. Those muses are heavily canon divergent; you may as well call them ocs.

temp list of muses on this blog:

iskra stonebrand ; vampire hunter - warrior; born on the mainland and is a part of The Eighth Sun (a vampire / undead hunting faction). age range: 30-40s. is currently seeking a way to find a cure or eliminate the vampiric disease. facial reference: nikola selezinko

2. caaldic whitemane ; pack leader of the Seti (a lycanthrope clan stationed in the sands). warrior and former sellsword, he is an elf halfing. age range: late 30s - 40s. is currently venturing to the mainland to seek alliance with the northern lycanthrope clan there. facial reference: leo suter

3. vicktor barsar ; escaped necromancer on the lamb (is bound by cursed magic to remain as the gate between magic and man as punishment). age range: eternally in his mid 30s. currently seeking a way to break his bindings by following ancient prophecies. faceial reference: sean teale

4. tulle ; stolen elven prince sold off into poverty ( is unaware he is the rightful heir to Idarin.) is a former ranger of Elam and now works as the lead in a circuit of thieves providing to the lower class. age range: early 30s. currently robbing the rich and being sought out by his sister to take the throne. facial reference: josha stradowski

5. niall the cold ; once a recognized bastard in the eyes of his lord father, he has since rejected the claim. adopted into the fold of the elite guard in Hiria, he broke off and is now a mercenary for hire. age range: mid 40s-50s. currently searching for his son who was shipped off to the isles after his lady's estate was claimed. facial reference: matthew mcnulty

6. colt of westmae ; former soldier in the high king's army, now the lord over his late father's estate. hiding their elven lineage - he must now try to secure and protect the estate and its lands from the scouring scurge that is The Seventh (an organization directed by the citadel to persecure elves and magicks (ie necromancers, lycans, etc)). age range: early 40s-50s. currently fighting for his title and home. facial reference: charlie hunnam

7. tyle of westmae ; his elder brother's right hand and hidden weapon. stumbling upon the hidden artifact buried deep within their home, magic has suddenly awoken at the tips of his fingers (as well as the voices that now plague him). age range: mids 30s-40s. currently fighting the dark urges the voices push upon him while trying to aid his brother in protecting their home and people. facial reference: boyd hollbrook

8. aryn of westmae ; former warrior and solider to the high king, following in his eldest brother footsteps. now sent home after a raid gone wrong (attacked by the undead legion out of the barrenlands ), he worries and fights with the threat of losing his very arm and with his brothers aid he is able to keep the infection at bay. age range: early 30s. currently fighting back the undead disease with magic and seeking a cure, and has reached out to The Eighth Sun. facial reference: garrett hedlund

9. dorian of tithe ; former paladin for The Seventh. grandson to one of the elders on council, he is raised as a weapon unknowing that he is a halfing. the love child between the elder's daughter and a fae, he was taken and trained to hunt down vicktor in his lifetime. age range: mid 30s. currently revoking his oath to his god and cursing their very name and turning on the faction that birthed him. aiming for their deaths. facial reference: staz nair

10. dallesi of shaal ; the runaway son of lord longarrow, a rightfully known twisted demon of a man. faked his death and fled after the murder of his sister and lady mother. boarded a ship in the port of elam and never once looked back as he journeyed to The Sands. age range: early 30s. currently working as a fisherman in the port of Shaal, silently and secretly sabotaging the high king of hiria's war ships with bad stock. facial reference: tom welling

11. bryken of house marquell ; sworn sword to the princess of idarin, former ward of the king's brother now making a name for himself. having been raised in the elven kingdom he has known few hardships and has proven himself worthy to be princess ciona's sword and shield. age range: mid 30s. currently being dragged by the princess on her venture to find her rumored lost brother, tulle. facial reference: luke pasqualino

12. lark ; an anomaly and deeply feared being, but still just a lass. one of the few remaining necromancers in hiding, and the very one that so many (including vicktor) die to protect. with a genetic mutation in her magic, she is able to restore life. not raise a corpse but fully restore life to the body no matter how long it's been dead. scary right? age range: late 20s. currently residing on the isles in the village of tarren, attempting to find out why the dragons woke up when she came here. facial reference: halle bailey

13. jon of wist ; a solider left for dead between the barrenlands and lanercourt woods, with chunks torn from his flesh he should be bones. he lives, somewhere torn between death and life the disease didnt steal him away completely and now he must roam. hidden in armor none can see his black gaze. age range: late 30s. currently wandering and evading The Eighth Sun and those who would seek to destroy him, he has taken to hiding in the drasteer swamp. facial reference: josh hartnett

14. myles son of hiram ; a farmer's son, simple and easy going as they come (a lie he has been raised to portray per his father's guidance). now with his father dead myles is beginning to learn many of his father's old histories he was never told, like the war crimes he committed against his own men and how they are now out to seek vengeance on myles. age range: late 30s. currently mourning the destruction of his farm while he wanders the flat lands, happening upon the half dead jon of wist. facial reference: shawn hatosy

15. ser arryn of the isles; retired solider for the queen's guard, he'd taken to farming on the narrow land bridge near cragskeep. a quiet and silent life is what he was after, leaving his slaying and strategies behind -- but when approached by the queen's nephew asking for his blade once more; how can he say no? age range: mid 40s. currently planning a way for the queen's guard to safely infiltrate the mainland and find the prophecy chosen -- iskra. facial reference: james norton

16. lady hope serril; former lady of the keep tucked along the outskirts of wraeryn, the estate falls to ruin in her absence. exiled and persecuted by her late husband's nephew, she is forced to abandon her remaining children after her nephew slays her eldest and heir to the title. age range: mid 30s. currently weaving her way through the lands seeking alliance with those who once opposed her husband's estate and power, aiming to save her daughters and praying niall may find their son. facial reference: teresa palmer

17. queen erieth of the isles; current ruler of the isles of isval and holder of the realm's prophecy. aiding in the protection of lark before she took her mother's throne, she has taken the necromancer and hidden her in plain sight as her daughter before she ascended. age range: late 40s-50s. currently keeping a watchful eye out on the undead forces making their way across the sea to the isles and studying the prophecy on why the dragons woke once more and how it relates to lark. facial reference. lucy liu

18. lord vale of fallen house arryn, now lord of wolford village. surviving member of the arryn blood line and last line of the seer elves from the isles. former dragon rider, now hiding in plain sight from the ever-present patrols and onslaughts of the citadel and the isles guards. age range: physically appearing in his 40s, actually is in his 60-70s. currently protecting his village that hosts various races of elves from the ever-growing attacks, as well as realizing the dragons have finally woken up. facial reference: bradley james

19. borghal ; eldest child to goddess mother isval, eldest dragon and first of the clutch to hatch. voice of war and peace, he reigned and fathered but two children. age: 10000+. currently awakening and flattening the eastern portion of the capital on the isles, as the people has slowly built around his stone frozen form believing him to be a statue. visual reference: here

20. me'sovhal ; third child to the goddess mother isval, third in the clutch to hatch. voice of strife and misery, me'sovhal aided in sowing despair among the first order of men long before the war of the gate took place and magicks and men alike went to war once more. he fathered four children. age: 10000+. currently awakening in the flatlands and disturbing a nearby farming village, as the hillside had grown over atop him and made him look like a natural rock formation. visual reference: here

21. prince leander of idarin; second born son of the former king emmyth. hand to his brother folen, the current king of idarin. the spare son turned to the golden child, and his mother's favorite. he is currently one of the few aware of his niece's pursuit to seek out her long-lost brother, tulle. age range: physically appearing in his 40s, is actually in his 90s. currently keeping his brother placated by aiding in his efforts to push back the threatening forces beyond their city's walls. praying to the fates that they watch over his niece. facial reference: nikolaj coster waldau

[vcrily]

𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐒𝐅𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐘 ; private fairy tale multi focusing on original characters and original tale's tragedies. blog is USFW, mun is 25+. be over 21 if you wish to follow. tortured by lake.

[mythsarchive]

me to me: you said you were on hiatus me vaguely gesturing to the fairy tale-based aesthetic muses ( grimm / horror / bleak dreadful versions ) my brain has birthed: where do i put them then?

[mythsarchive]

*Blog is on Hiatus*

[radiumradio]

' Whoa kids, don't touch that dial! We're coming at you with Radiumradio your one station that you can count on for the best tunes and commonwealth updates! hey! anyone heard about some vault suit running around cleaning up the place? where do you think they'll stop next? '

indie fallout universe multi. usft. 21+. multi / verse. penned by l or lake

[radiumradio]

' Whoa kids, don't touch that dial! We're coming at you with Radiumradio your one station that you can count on for the best tunes and commonwealth updates! hey! anyone heard about some vault suit running around cleaning up the place? where do you think they'll stop next? '

indie fallout universe multi. usft. 21+. multi / verse. penned by l or lake

[blackcatrph]

send  “  who  did  this  to  you  ?  ”  for  the  sender  to  find  the  receiver  injured  and  demand  to  know  who  did  it.

[lihiominaa]

King Arthur: Legend of the Sword, 2017 dir. Guy Ritchie

[mythsarchive]

Diary entry’s for Jon and Myles

Dear diary

Tagged by: stole it from pookie ( @sunmad )

Tagging: anyone tbh. It’s cute!

[mythsarchive]

Continued from X @vaultfreed

The cigarette burning between his lips dwindles down without being touched, the steady glow only flaring with each inhale. In all his years alive in this living hellscape he’d witnessed cruelty in abundance. Watched its twisted face and gnarled limbs stalk and lurk in every life that wandered through this desolate plain. An ugly bastard indeed. He can see it in his periphery waiting in the shadows and its beady gaze presses into Nate’s back as the general rises from his seat. “ nothin’ in this life is easy – nothin’ was easy in your lifetime either. ‘Least nothing I read was. “ His voice is soft and smoke billows out of his nostrils, as he looks at the empty table around him. 

It’s a twitch of disappointment that burrows a knot in his chest. Cowards. Chicken Shits. His mind tumbles forth the insults without hesitation, but he is not without understanding. Nate had become – well Nate had become their leader, their reason for family and pride. Their success was only headed off due to his intervention and skill, and while Ty understood Preston’s admirable attempts at leadership he wasn't cut for the cloth. Narrowing his gaze at the tattered flag mounted on the wall, the questions begin to form in his own mind. How talented was Shaun? Capable and terrifying sure, building a foundation like the institute was no laughing matter. Now everyone knew where he inherited the skill from, his very father who rebuilt the Minutemen from scraps. 

His name draws him out of his head, weaving through and around his several developing plans and possible outcomes. He never could live or operate without trying to prepare for any and every chance. Tears. The well and swell on the edges of Nate’s eyes and Ty can feel his own heart cinch. Desperation painted in many forms was just grief dipped in ambition, and the look he gives Ty makes his gut churn with sorrow. Taking his burned down cigarette he snuffs the butt on top of the table, shifting in his seat to draw his chair back out. “ nothin’ you did. “ his throat is heavy and coated with a wave of sympathy for the man he’d come to consider his friend, brother in arms, and leader above all else. “ there ain't no right or wrong in a war, and yous as well as others were long since tangled into one before you even realized. “ 

He can see the arch the bottle takes before it slaps into the stone wall, shattering in every direction and spilling over without pause. A flinch is given in response, subtle and small but still there nonetheless. “ nate – it's not fair. This world aint built on fair, and the day you lost your wife … “ his voice fades off knowing how tender this territory is to navigate, sighing heavily he rises to stand. “ shaun isn’t the son you would have raised. You didn't get a chance to do it right, that was stolen from you. Never forget that. “ Fingers point to the dirty flag before them, “ never forget they stole from you – and they’ll keep stealing long after we’re gone…” a silent ‘ unless something is done. ‘ hangs between them. He’d follow orders, fall in line behind the one man he’d been able to keep faith in besides his brothers. 

Watching the pain seep into Nate’s face haunted him, but he held his gaze. He wouldn't walk out on him. There was no place for that. “ On your orders, tomorrow we begin. “ 

[mythsarchive]

Mmmm hot take but, if you’re tired of all the sm.ut dominated spaces, book-tok aligned plots and threads, spice heavily decorated blogs — complaining isn’t the key. Write what you are demanding there should be more of. Complaining and snapping at authors who write smut because they aren’t wiring fluff or angst, is foolish. You want more of these genres? Angst, fluff, sci fi? Well guess what most consumers ( aka readers ) turn into authors, so get busy and write what you wanna see 🤷‍♀️ get out of the spaces and make your own find your people. Stop hanging around these genres and demanding folks change, they don’t have too.

[mythsarchive]

Iskra and her refusal to be lured or seduced by vampires is my fav thing. Like how badly do you hate them that you can’t even be tricked by them?

[sunmad]

Miriam stands by. Her fingers, gnawed and flushed, worry endlessly at each other, picking at the skin. She feels it like a rush of feathers on fire, all under her skin, stinging her until she can't sense the ground beneath her feet. It is only her lady's voice that draws the young servant out of the recesses of her raw, twitching mind.

Down in the courtyard, she can hear the flash of steel. It displeases Lady Hope, as well it should. A strange pageantry. Miriam exchanges a quick glance with Annette. Then she inches closer to speak softly to her mistress.

"Will it be bad, if others see that he has no experience?"

[mythsarchive]

A mmm sound curls in the depth of Hope’s throat, the expression of disdain on her face melting into one of resigned disappointment. “ Only in the matter that they will claim that he is old and has forgotten himself. “ Lips curve downward, her green eyes shutting before she sighs heavily. Her lord husband was getting old – older in fact, deteriorating by the second and unraveling at his edges. Once upon a young girl's hopeful wishes she’d prayed that he would age quickly, turning to dust before he could return to their bed – but her wishes had been delayed.

Now she too had aged, but she made no attempts in humiliating herself or her house for the sake of entertaining younger and higher ranking lords. “ They remind me of dogs, eager and yapping for a treat or a crumb of affection. Dirty and flea bitten all while staining floors and gowns with their muck and filth. “ Turning away from the glass she scoops up her cup and takes a sip of wine.

“ Did either of you notice if Lady Anne is with child? Her letters state she is and how abundantly happy this will make her lord husband. “

[mythsarchive]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖔𝖋 𝕸𝖆𝖓

It was the baying of the hounds that started him awake. Ripped from an ignorant slumber and forced from his bed he clamored to the window frightened. He’d heard the beasts howl and bark, but none so ever as this desperate sound of their own fear. His heart would run away from him. Keen and terrified it would shatter between his ribs and leap into the flames of the hearth. Beyond the glass the world was orange. Hateful and orange. Terror sunk even further into his bones as he witnessed trees collapse and embers drift from their deceased forms, winged creatures that bore features like cherubs yowled into the night air. Men not quite correct in their gait and anatomy crawled and scurried among the fire touched ground, their palms stained and end trails dragging behind them in gleeful merriment. He’d awoken into hell. This is the very pit they preached against, the ones that scared him so deeply as a child he’d sworn to be vigilant in his destiny to be a good man. Watching with horror the sudden chill swept across him – even good men die painful deaths. Was he a good man? 

𝔗𝔥𝔢 𝔘𝔫𝔡𝔬𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔣 𝔍𝔬𝔫 -- 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔣 𝔐𝔬𝔫𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯...

The fall of Brovall. The rise of the Dead. The creation of Monster. 

[mythsarchive]

may have done a lil thing, over at @abcmin4tion

[lavenz4-deactivated20260130]

❛ you are late. the midnight hour has passed. ❜ ( from miles! ) @brazenmyths

late.

words  pass  through  the  storm  as  the  whisper  of  leaves.  late  implies  a  delay,  a  missed  carriage,  a  forgotten  appointment.  her  feet  had  carried  her  with  the  recollection  of  a  fleeting  kindness.  now  this  feels  like  a  trespass,  as  though  she  has  crossed  into  an  hour  that  should  not  hold  her.  each  drop  of  rain  feels  heavier ,  drumming  against  her  as  if  the  world  itself  resists  her  presence.  she  is  drenched  to  bone  and  wayward  soul,  fine  threads  soiled  by  remains  of  blood  and  damp  soil.  she  can  smell  the  earth,  smell  the  grave  that  could  not  keep  her. 

she  can  remember  it.  the  stillness,  the  softness,  the  blessed  silence  of  ending.  the  peace  of  not  existing.  now  everything  aches,  the  air  is  too  loud,  the  light  too  pale.  his  face  was   the  dapple  of  sunlight  cutting  through  the  endless  night.  too  familiar  and  too  gentle.  ❛  what  is  --❜  confusion  trembles  in  the  spiral  of  dawning  horror.  her  voice,  one  held  in  melodic  spring  turned  raw  from  screaming  into  an  endless  abyss.  the  golden  light  within  her  eyes  had  died  with  her,  unfocused,  searching  the  night  for  a  sense  that  would  not  come.  ❛  what  is  the  hour?  ❜  no  answer  would  be  enough.  she  knows  that,  somehow.  whatever  the  hour  is,  it  isn’t  hers  anymore.  elizabeth  should  find  comfort  in  his  approach;  when  last  they  spoke,  it  had  been  in  joy and now  comes  a  ravaging  fear,  the  soles  of  her  feet  torn  by  gravel,  shuffle  back.  she  presses  a  shaking  hand  to  her  chest,  as  if  to  find  the  heart  that  will  not  answer,  its  beat  erratic  and  unholy.  she  is  a  stranger  to  her  own  existence. 

❛  i  was  gone.  ❜  a  caustic  little  shudder,  a  plea  in  how  her  palms  raise  to  guard  the  frame  of  the  deathless  haunting  she  has  become.  ❛  i  remember…  it  was  over.  why  does  it  still  hurt?  ❜

[mythsarchive]

to mourn what has been lost is human in nature. time takes no mercy on those who endure its splendors and horrors, and it has no expectations of its guests. she had parted. an uproar of grief had spilled over from so many mouths. his alone had painted the very home he resides in with stark colors, the once bright warmth now a scorned and scorched earth. his anguish could not compare to others, but whatever brief glimpse of joy he'd sustained from knowing her -- the loss had left the world bleak once she vacated it. there had been an understanding, one silently spoken between brothers bound beyond blood; and thus, john had disappeared a fortnight ago. her demise had not reached them by then. he had mourned her all on his own withdrawn from good society, tucked away to find some resolve. the world had lost a light, and with how very few occupied its plain the loss felt greater than miles could explain.

thunder cracks overhead. lighting illuminates the dreary sky and the hearth flickers with each sharp gust of wind that slips through his home. no answers had been given as to what had stolen elizabeth, and promptly after word of her silent withdrawal of this realm he'd taken to sending a letter after john. hastily written and thrust into the palms of a messenger; miles could only silently pray that the letter found him whilst he was settled. in his reverie another shuddering shout of thunder calls overhead, but the dull thud continues afterward drawing him from his seat by the fire. green eyes warily eye the door before another knock comes and quickly, he is upon the door, drawing its warped shape from its frame against the howling winds outside.

trepidation steals him at the sight of her. fingertips curl desperately into the old wood, nails biting into the grain as he gapes. his voice is but a harsh whisper, denial tracing each syllable with a feverish touch. ' you're late. the midnight hour has passed. ' disbelief colors his paling features, brows drawn in confusion amidst glee and horror. she appeared as an apparition he was sure of it, transparent at her edges he could convince himself his grief weighed heavier than he'd originally wagered. that voice -- it strains against her tongue and miles feels himself flinch at the way it drags. ' i was gone. ' words tremor on his lips as he dares not move, " elizabeth...you are gone. grief breeds madness in solitude -- there is no perceivable way you are here. " his voice whispers more to himself, but as the rain settles upon her, he cannot deny that no apparition he had ever encountered could endure rain.

peeling himself from the door the first splatter of water dances across the top of his head, an unsteady hand rising carefully toward her. " you're not truly here -- it's impossible. "

[lavenz4-deactivated20260130]

❛ this creature is a force more powerful than evil. it is death itself. ❜ ( from Iskra ) @brazenmyths

death  itself.  such  a  phrase  felt  too  large  for  mortal  mouths,  something  of  poetry  she  might  uncover  in  the  margins  of  madness.  elizabeth  has  studied  death,  preserved  its  beauty  in  mourning  cloak  wings,  and  scarabs.  studied  the  cycle  of  flora  and  buried  little  bones  to  rest.  she  regards  iskra,  the  pale  fire  in  her  eyes,  the  weariness  that  lives  as  a  scar  beneath  her  composure.  there  is  something  in  her  that  reminds  elizabeth  of  the  old  saints  painted  in  chapel  corners.  of  those  who  had  seen  the  abyss  and  carried  its  silence  ever  after.

❛  the  horrors  live  on  battlefields;  that  is  where  the  evil  lives.  ❜  her  gaze  drifts  toward  the  window,  where  the  night  presses  its  cold  hand  against  the  glass.  eyes  too  wide,  too  honeyed,  too  much  for  this  world  she  walks  within.  ❛  torn  open  to  crows  and  vultures  to  feast  while  the  true  perpetrators  sip  brandy  and  indulge  in  gluttony.  ❜  sharp  words  softened  by  her  tone.  ❛  what  makes  a  creature  evil?  what  could  be  worse  than  the  violence  of  this  world  crafted  by  man?  a  wolf  kills,  but  it  does  not  make  it  evil.❜

[mythsarchive]

gentle soul. a tender vein left exposed to the bared fangs of life, craving to watch her bleed like a lecherous beast. though she be gentle she evaded naivety with the grace of a veteran, her kindness and understandings only found from her sheer will to look deeper. it unnerves iskra at times, to watch such revelations turn over in elizabeth's eyes. to firsthand witness the dawning horrors be turned over so quickly and from it birthed a sincere kindness and desire to usher in tranquility; but never once lose her sense of justice in the process. it explained why she loved her dearly. why she clutched the very woman to her tightly in fear for her own undoing. kindness was such a rarity and even more so sought to be destroyed, the notion only sent her already worn heart to beat faster.

" aye, they do. where are they to spend their days if not in the very arms of the mother who birthed them? bloody, screaming, and soon dying in the loveless comfort of final peace. " her words are sharper, barbed as she recalls the sights she's seen. the scent of death clinging to the back of her throat and making her stomach turn over. " there is no greater evil than that of man, wolves do not see themselves as god's and aim to surpass such titles. " teeth capture her thumb nail, biting upon it feverishly before she releases it once more and sighs heavily. love is burdensome, to love is to wear such bondages and be willing to sink. her words are tilted and she feels mad stating them, as far too many a doctor have confirmed for her that she is -- simply unraveling in her threads. " elizabeth -- i fear that death has grown bored. grown restless and has seated himself at the head of this table, only he isn't a martyr or heralding hero. "

" he is parading as man among mortals and delighting in our sorrows. "