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shining-gem34 · 9 months

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6. What is your favorite thing about writing your current muse? (Any of them!)

Munday Questions || Accepted @etherealguard

Dan Heng/ Imbibitor Lunae

I personally like writing their monologues (actually I like writing all of my muses monologues). I do imagine during their downtime, they tend to think a lot, and they tend to overthink it when it comes to their emotions.

Dan Heng, when not focused on his archive duties, tries to process his emotions as rationally as he can. This is very noticeable whenever he's overwhelmed and needs time to sort out what he's feeling. Though, whatever conclusion he came up with tends to be logical and in the correct path that is best for everyone including himself.

Others might say he is running away.

In the case of Imbibitor Lunae...

It's a bit more complicated, because he was reborn every few centuries to lead his people and strive to uphold the Xianzhou ideology by eliminating the Plague Author remnants. He has to put the needs of others before his own; raised to become the perfect High Elder just like his predecessors were.

Yes, IL has his rebellious moments of spurning the Preceptors away and does as he wishes out of spite.

So what does IL think about?

He thinks about the world outside of the four walls of his office, of his room, and of his garden fences. A world so vast that IL longs to see it once instead of reading stories about it.

But he is an High Elder, his duty is to the Luofu and not some wild adventurer.

Yet it all changes when he meets his friends and later they became known as the High Cloud Quintet.

A constant conflict between his own needs and the needs of his people. Whatever his own desire is, even by the inquiry of his friends (and lovers), he tends to answer what is best for everyone and not himself.

But the one time he was selfish, not as the High Elder, but as an individual, it nearly destroyed his homeworld.

IL has no regrets though.

Scaramouche/Wanderer

Ah yes, the brat.

My favorite part of writing Scaramouche/Wanderer in general is that they are a menace to everyone he knows. Next after that, I just like writing scenarios wherever he's traveling, he's completely chill with it. But whenever he meets someone, or is running an errand, he will be the bitchest person in the room. Like absolutely moody af, but he still does the job.

Next after that, I do love writing the complications of Wanderer character where he's struggling to come to terms with his past. The truth he discovered will never erase his crimes, he accepted that after attempting to erase himself from history. He's not sure if he wants to face Ei, Yae Miko, or any other of the Inazumans especially the descendants that are closely entwined with his past.

But, Wanderer is aware and accepted the fact that eventually he'll have to face them even if they don't know the true history. After all, he is not looking to redeem himself, but he wants to accept retribution when it comes to him.

After he kills Dottore of course.

For Scaramouche specifically, not currently writing but hopefully in the future, I want to explore his role as the Sixth Fatui Harbinger (seen as the least favorite commander amongst the Fatui Harbingers) but also!!! I am interested in exploring how Scaramouche explores the Abyss for the Tsaritsa and his daily visits to Dottore just to be experimented on.

And that leaves him in a bad mood later on that he does take it out on his subordinates if they test his patience. Huhuhu.

Rook/Mallory (My OCs')

They are not my first OC's, but they are my favorite up to now!

Rook (who has a multiverse)- I just love writing how he doesn't give a damn about anything, but he definitely cares ALOT and he's willing to go so far for his friends! Also his horrible fashion sense like ew who wears that bright ass green jacket or that a magenta sweater that is blinding someone eye just by looking at it.

Mallory- Angst where the God of Misfortune can never be with anyone and he brings nothing but disasters to everyone and everything around him. But also I like writing myths/superstitions that came to be cause of Mallory intervention or people started making shit up. :DDD He does have some funny moments but he's usually doom and gloom and wants to be alone despite longing for company. Yet he knows it cannot happen no matter what (if he does fall in love with you, you're kind of screwed. You got a 50/50 chance that he learns not to be possessive/jealous/suffocating, or he does all three.)

#jadecoocoo (mun rambles)#jade answers (a ask)#etheralguard #||I realize I like writing muses having monologues about their internal conflict and pain they keep inflicting upon themselves.#||Or past issues they have yet to completely move on.#||Then there's fucking Rook vibing #||You can tell what my bias is but I love every one of them.#||Honorable mentions to Starry and Willow for the God/Goddess AU stuff...and Rookie too. Don't we love a Rookie who gets into trouble? :D

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beophota · 3 years

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The Harbinger kids being happy w their dad got me crying in the club rn

#mallory harbinger #mia jo harbinger #Thomas Harbinger #my hero academia #my art #my ocs #boku no hero academia

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00-lingling · 4 years

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🤙 🤙 🤙 i scribbled the girls in summer wear 🤙 🤙 🤙 dont ask me where noah is i just wanted to draw tits and also cuz he doesnt wear a shirt so theres no point

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #viola rosales #mallory harbinger #rkgk

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justyurireee2 · 2 years

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Ya know what? It's Fankid Friday and I wanna share some of my fankids from different fandoms! Any questions about them will be much appreciated!

Fandoms Used- Danganronpa, Miraculous Ladybug

Also, sidenotes, I ship some rarepairs/cross game ships that I will talk about, if you don’t like rarepairs/cross game shipping, I don’t think I’m the person for you. And there are ships I ship who don’t have kids/haven’t been given any yet so don’t be mad if there’s not a certain ship on here!

Also I gravite to mlw and wlw ships more than I do mlm ships, don’t ask me why, I don’t know either, so that’s way there really isn’t many mlm ships on here!

EDIT-- Added Izanami Momota, Camilla/Marcel Lahiffe and a Genshin category featuring Winona Mallory

Anyways, here are the kiddos!

Danganronpa Trigger Happy Havoc-

Nori Kirigiri-- Naegiri son, age 16

Izumi Maizono-- Togazono daughter, age 16

Hotaru Oowada-- Ishimondo daughter, age 17

Isui Asahina-- Sakuraoi son, age 18

Kenji Asahina-- Sakuraoi son, age 15

Eiko Asahina-- Sakuraoi daughter, age 13

Akako Naegi-Fukawa-- Tokomaru daughter, age 14

Ryuichi Naegi-Fukawa-- Tokomaru son, age 12

Super Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair-

Haru Komaeda-- Nagito daughter, age 18

Akari Hinata-- Hajime daughter, age 16

Mei Kamukura-- Izuru daughter, age 12

Miyako Tsumiki-- Mikan daughter, age 16

Genkai Owari-- Akanidai/Owanami son, age 19

Keisuki Owari-- Akanidai/Owanami son, age 19

Hinako ‘HNK-001′ Nanami-- Komahinanami/Owanami daughter, age 11

Aia Kuzuryuu-- Kuzupeko daughter, age 17

Hanzo Tanaka-Nevermind-- Sondam son, age 18

New Danganronpa V3: Killing Harmony-

Emiko Saihara-- Saimatsu daughter, age 17

Kishi Saihara-- Saimatsu son, age 15

Momoko Saihara-- Saimatsu daughter, age 13

Polaris Momota-- Kaimaki son, age 16

Izanami Momota-- adopted Kaimaki daughter, age 16

Aimee Momota-- Kaimaki daughter, age 13

Satoshi Shinguji-- Shinaga son, age 5

Dangan Cross Game:

Amaterasu ‘Ame’ Amami-- Ranbuki daughter, age 20

Jin ‘Jinny’ Amami-- Ranbuki son, age 16

Mikio Ouma-- Celesouma son, age 20

Morie ‘Mary’ Ouma ( †)-- Celesouma daughter, chronologically age 5

Miyuki Ouma-- Celesouma daughter, age 5

Miraculous Ladybug:

Lucas Elliot Couffaine-- Lukanette son, age 16

Dior Couffaine-- Lukanette daughter, age 15

Hugo Couffaine-- Lukanette son, age 13

Eli Couffaine-- Lukanette son, age 13

Emilie Couffaine-- Lukanette daughter, age 11

Nicolas Lavillant-- Julerose son, age 18

Ciel Lavillant-- Julerose child, age 14

Violetta “Violet” Lavillant-- Julerose daughter, age 12

Camilla Lahiffe-- Alyno daughter, age 17

Marcel Lahiffe-- Alyno son, age 15

Genshin Impact:

Winona Mallory-- General Fatui Harbinger/Tsaritsa (NOT A SHIP) adoptive daughter (they all take care of her), age ? (Klee’s age or younger)

And there’s the write up! There will be more added at a later date but I’m getting tired. Again, character asks/questions are very welcome!

#im not tagging all of them #mlb #danganronpa #ndrv3 #sdr2 #thh #trigger happy havoc #goodbye despair #killing harmony #miraculous ladybug #genshin impact #god i ship a lot of stuff #please behave yourselves guys

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peacebeuponu · 3 years

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Creating a monolith out of Blackness is also an act of Anti-Blackness that liberals notoriously love to do.

To say for example, Obama is the harbinger of goodness during and after his presidency solely because you’re using his Blackness as a cudgel for your desperation to seem ‘open minded’.

Another example? The recent trend of grifting in the Black activist community. People like Shaun King are well known. But people like DeRay McKinnson and Tamika Mallory are notoriously aggressive grifters.

But they’re not called out because White America and the media have made it normalized that by saying the right things you can be accepted as ‘righteous’ without the bonafide actions. It’s a created monolith and grifters are booming because they see the monolith so they make money off Black pain. Because again..we created a monolith that says Black folks can’t do that to Black folks..even as we see Candace Owens and Kanye etc.

Black monolithism is Anti-Black too. The humanization of Black folks involves calling out Black folks and understanding they can be just as severely wrong…because Blackness isn’t a super power. The act of making Blackness have to be elastic and durable let’s u feel it can be mistreated or prodded and abused because hey! black folks can take a lot!

No, Black folks can’t take more years of this. Not even days or hours. There has to be a deeper understanding of the convoluted dynamics and mechanisms at work in America that has got us here.

#venting

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kenny-is-slytherpuff15 · 4 years

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I made portraits of @beophota ‘s lovely beans!

ADMIRE THEM AS I DO!!!

The flowers in Bo’s portrait are carnations. Because I thought she could use some self-love, it’s what she deserves!

Dark Red means love, affection. Light Red means admiration. White means purity, luck. Pink means gratitude.

Bo Parry

Mallory Harbinger

Thomas Harbinger

Mia-Jo Harbinger

Lysander Fairchild

Vance D. Lewis

Mike Maddox

Jomei Fukui

#art #digital drawing #fanart #portrait

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queen-scribbles · 4 years

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2019 in Fic

Another tag from @starsandskies, just gonna open tag bc this one’s been sitting a while

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Favorite fic you wrote this year: Oh no, don’t make me choose. This was a really good year for me, writing-wise, and I have a lot I’m proud of and love... HELP. nnnnnn. Here, top three, bc I really can’t pick:

Tension(KotOR II; f!Exile/Atton sparring fic)

Certain as the Sun(Pillars of Eternity; Edér/Charity(OC) ultra fluffy wedding fic)

Drifting Roads(Dragon Age: Inquisition; Inquisitor!Jowan Fade adventure/self-worth wrestling)

Least favorite fic you wrote this year: A Little Excitement(PoE; Hirvaias & OC). Nothing wrong with it, I just really struggle with Hiravias’ voice, so I feel like it could be better but Idk how? That sort of thing

Favorite line/scene you wrote this year: UM. Dear God. I can’t pick a favorite fic and I’m supposed to pick just one line or scene? HOW. There’s the Ederity wedding, (also their flirting banter in the modern AU), Tavi and Khellin’s reunion. Mallory giving Felix a bloody nose for all of five seconds. Jonas and Bry making use of the Kissing as Cover trope. Levyn(Jowan)’s conversation with Trinne in the Fade--

OH. OH I KNOW. Jaaide’s breaking point in Cracks.

“And if I had? If I’d opted for directness over subtlety and still failed to sway her, would my hands be clean enough for you?!”

Total number of words you wrote this year: I didn’t keep track, but estimating between my AO3 stats page and short stuff I didn’t cross post to there... around 300k? HOLY MOTHERFORKING COW. THAT’S A NOVEL. I WROTE A LONG ASS NOVEL WORTH OF FANFIC LAST YEAR WTF

Most popular fic this year: A Good Story(DA:I, Varric PoV on writing Sebastian re: Hawke’s death during HLtA.) It somehow broke 100 notes and I’m still mildly stunned by that fact. :P

Least popular fic this year: Late Night Honesty(The Wayhaven Chronicles) only has three notes.

Longest completed fic you wrote this year: Drifting Roads is just over 20k

Shortest completed fic you wrote this year: If prompt fills count, this one. Otherwise it’s A Good Story(418).

Longest WIP of the year: Of Wardens & Pariahs(Dragon Age:Origins; Joined Canon AU for my Amell and a friend’s Cousland) is up to 150k now.

Shortest WIP of the year: If you mean started this year, I don’t have any; all my WIPs are holdovers from 2018.

Favorite character to write about this year: Okay, much as I love writing Jowan and Jonas and Edér and Sagani etc etc, this HANDS DOWN goes to Felix Hauville from The Wayhaven Chronicles.He’s a sheer joy and I love him.

Favorite writing song/artist/album of this year: Lindsey Stirling + The Witcher 3 OST

A fic you didn’t expect to write: Aside from all the Wayhaven stuff(I didn’t even play it until November), A Good Story. My feelings on Varric are /cough complicated and less positive than 99% of the DA fandom, so I never expected to write anything from his PoV.

Fic(s) you completed this year: Um. A lot. Look, it takes 9 1/2 pages of my tag.

Fics you’ll continue next year: Of Wardens and Pariahs

Current number of WIPs: four or five? A couple of those I started in January, though, so they’re technically 2020.

Any new fics to start next year: Mass Effect Holiday Harbinger fic, MORE WAYHAVEN FIC(esp. my f!Detectives being buddies with Felix bc that’s apparently so rare there isn’t even a tag for it on AO3 which is a TRAVESTY), Keme/Jorgan stuff.

Most memorable comment/review: While I love and cherish all comments, fave is either the person who commented “Oh darn, I’ve caught up” on OWaP or the person who asked if Tavi knew they’d die for her. :D

Events you participated in this year: Mass Effect Holiday Harbinger(Trust Exercise; MEA, f!Ryder/Suvi) and the DA Prompt Exchange summer fill-a-thin(Drifting Roads)

Fics you wanted to write but didn’t: That damn Brykar longfic(SWtOR) which I really, really hope I can get to this year. /fingers crossed

Favorite fic you read this year: JUST ONE?! HA. No can do :P

the past is a foreign country(Critical Role, by @teammompike)

Epiphany(Pillars of Eternity; The Watcher/Rekke, by @haledamage)

After, and After That(also Critical Role; Grogleth, post-campaign 1, by @aban-ataashi)

I’m sure there’s more that were on tumblr(those are all ao3) and I just can’t remember them. >.>

A fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read:

See Fire and Go Towards Light by @dalish-ish(Dragon Age: Inquisition, minor NPC-view of the game events) I really love her writing style, and she further explores some themes/issues that are only mentioned/hinted at in the game.

Number of favorites/bookmarks you made this year: A lot? I know three bookmarks off the top of my head, and I faved pretty much everything from The Usual Suspects(Knitter, Rhi, Grey, etc etc) by I didn’t really keep count.

Favorite fanfic author of the year: If I can’t pick a favorite line/fic of my own, do you really think I can pick a favorite author? :P I love all my writer friends. (I know it sounds like a cop-out, but it’s TRUE)

#tagged #i wrote SO MUCH pillars fic #just holy cow #choosing between my fics is like picking a favorite child xD

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mentalmimosa · 5 years

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come at once

Prompt: It was Daniel Craig's birthday yesterday and I've been obsessed with British historicals lately. Eh voila.

As employers went, Mr. Bond was an odd one.

The agency had warned Q as much before sending him to Waverly Grange. Indeed, it was information they’d offered even before sharing the rather startling amount of pay.

“He is,” Mr. Mallory had said, tipping back officious in his chair, “a rather solitary creature.”

So am I, Q thought, but he did not share it. Instead, he said: “Hmmm.”

Mallory nodded. He took nearly everything most people said to him as assent for nearly always, it was. Private secretarial work was hard to come by at the moment, the market being what it was. Fortunes were down all across the capital, much less the country, and the sort of work that Q did, that he was damned good at, was luxury in the best of times. These, he knew well, were not those. So he had been taken aback when his landlady had pounded on his door at half-past seven, a scrawled note from Mr. Mallory’s office in hand: I have become aware of a situation for which you are most suitable. Speed is of the essence. Come at once.

He’d stood beside the fire bleary-eyed, his tattered robe falling from his shoulders as he blinked rather stupidly at the words.

Most suitable, he read again. Come at once.

In the two years he had subscribed with Mallory’s agency, Q had never wanted for work. Part of that he put up towards Mallory’s interminable drive to make money; he took a fair-and-not-middling cut of any wages earned by those whom he hired out. But part of Q’s success, too, he knew came from his own abilities: his skill as a transcriber, his discretion, the speed and accuracy of his work. None of the half-dozen men for whom he had worked had ever had cause to complain--aside from those who’d foolishly asked him for things that lay far outside his prescribed duties. His declinations, though, however firm, were always delivered polite.

This last month, then, of small to piddling jobs--a day or two in length, or at best, a week--had been the exception. And a poor one, too. Q could only hope that Mallory’s missive was a harbinger of a much longer term affair.

But of course, the man had provided no details. Why should? Just a summons: come at once.

And so he had, anticipation prickling behind his ears, and yet for some reason, the first thing Mallory wanted to discussed was his potential employer’s penchant for solitude. Odd, that. Indeed.

“This Mr. Bond,” Mallory had gone on, “is a very private man. Lives out near the coast, in Kent, a good many miles from town. And rarely, by his own admission, takes in any visitors.”

“Sir,” Q said as politely as he could manage, “I understand. What sort of work does he require?”

Mallory frowned. He didn’t like to be interrupted, even when he wasn’t actually speaking. “Letters, I’m told. Some rather involved correspondence. And assistance sorting through the intricacies of his late wife’s estate.” He picked up a letter from his desk, squinted at it. “There’s quite a lot of money involved, so I’m told. It seems he’s rather let the task languish for years.”

“Why?”

“He’s been abroad, he says. Representing Her Majesty’s government in some capacity.”

“I see,” Q said, though he very much did not. But he was undeniably intrigued; there was a dash of mystery about the whole thing that appealed to him, to his stultified mind, rather greatly. “And how long is the assignment?”

The letter crashed back onto Mallory’s blotter. “At least three months, with the possibility of more. Mr. Bond himself seems uncertain.”

“And the salary?”

Mallory raised an eyebrow. “Twenty-five pounds a month.”

Q blinked. He wasn’t sure that he’d heard right. “Twenty-five pounds? Each month?”

“Plus room and plus board. I explained that was not to be deducted from your wages. He was quite clear on that point.”

“Twenty-five?” Q said again. “For duties no more complicated than that?”

“So he says.” Mallory reached across the snowfall of paper and plucked a cigar from its box, lit it. “Well?" he said. "Will you take it?”

There was more to this matter, this Mr. Bond; Q was sure of it. And he was just as sure that Mallory, for all his billowing smoke, was aware of at the very least some. But Q was, he knew, a valuable asset to the man, and there was no earthly way he’d ken to send Q anywhere dangerous, any big, isolated estate from which he might not return. And the money was...well, extraordinary, enough to live on for years, if he stretched it, even after Mallory took his cut. How on earth could he say no?

It was only later, when his baggage was stowed above his head and he was settled back into the unexpected warmth of a first-class carriage--ticket paid for by his new employers, of course--that Q thought to wonder why Mallory had thought him, among all the men on his books, as the most suitable for this Mr. Bond’s employ.

Ah well, he’d thought with a sigh, allowing his eyes to drift as the train groaned its way out of the city, for twenty-five pounds a month, perhaps the reason, as it were, was irrelevant.

part ii here: [https://mentalmimosa.tumblr.com/post/183212457065/come-at-once-part-ii]

#00q #19th century au #boss/employee

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madlovenovelist · 5 years

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Book Review – ‘Twilight Heart’ (#7 Harbinger P.I.) by Adam Wright

Sorceresses, witch portals, Excalibur… things are getting interesting.

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal, Detective

No. of pages: 214

From Goodreads:

How do you mend a broken heart?…

Put it back into the sorceress it came out of.

There’s only one way to lift Mallory’s death curse and Alec will do anything to save his friend.

I’m starting to sit on the fence with this series. While it falls under…

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codyfernaesthetic · 5 years

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Dichotomy

Part 4:

The Sanctuary holds a massive celebration in honor of Michael Langdon’s return from Outpost 3. Mallory attempts to adjust to her new life with the help of new friends.

Author’s note: Hello! Shorter chapter this time, but I didn’t want to put it off any longer. I have big plans for Dinah and other minor characters so I wanna draft that out and get all of it together. Until then, here’s the ballroom scene! I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

Warnings: Language, mild sexual themes, mentions of anxiety

Mallory didn’t have long to settle into her new home when a knock came from the door. Rhoda quickly rushed forward past Mallory who was already making her way and opened it. Outside the threshold was an older African American woman, short and stout; brown freckles were dotted across her round cheeks and nose, framed by dark curly q’s with stripes of gray splashed throughout. She wore a black, purple brocaded vest over a flowy white shirt, a violet skirt decorated with black silk trimmings stopped below her knees in the front and fell past her ankles in the back. Her shoes were royal purple, large black stones sparkling in their center. In her right hand she carried a large, worn leather bag.

“Hello, dear.”

She entered without Mallory having the chance to grant permission. As Rhoda shut the door, the woman held out her hand, “You must be Mallory. My name is Lydia Porfirio, perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

Mallory took her hand with a small twinge of uncertainty, until taking another moment to think and realizing where she recognized her.

“Yes!” She exclaimed with a smile, “Coco sent me to pick up your summer collection that she got for her birthday.”

“Coco?”

“My...” her face fell, a wave of further realization crashing over her, “former employer.”

Lydia patted her hand sympathetically, “She didn’t survive, I’m assuming?”

She shook her head and muttered, “No.”

She released her hand and set down her bag, saying, “You look devastated over it. I’ve known too many assistants who would’ve loved to murder their employers. Hell, I know I did when I was working for some no talent hacks before selling my soul to ol’ Beelzebub,” she removed a pair of black gloves and set them on the bed, “So, I suppose you two must’ve been good friends.”

She began opening the bag, pulling out measures and sewing kits and patterns; all the while Mallory watched, dumbfounded, unsure how to voice the forming ideas in her mind.

“So, this is all a Satanist thing.”

She stopped. She turned her face to her with a wry smile, “What was your first hint?”

Mallory hesitated, then asked in a low voice, “What does that make Mr. Langdon?”

Lydia cocked her head to the side, as if registering her question. She slowly stood straight, sudden realization in her eyes that Mallory truly didn’t know, “Michael Langdon is the Antichrist.”

Her head spinned as she grappled for the edge of the love seat, “I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Now, hold on,” Lydia grabbed her by the arms and gently helped her sit down, “just take a deep breath, honey.”

She threw her head back and commanded Rhoda, “Go get her some water.”

She rushed to complete her task and knelt down in front of Mallory, presenting the glass before her. She waved it away, rubbing her temples, her breathing shallow.

“Why am I here? Why didn’t he just kill me?”

She wished she’d stayed dead the first time. She wished she never had to learn about Coco. Everything she knew was twisting and morphing before her eyes and she didn’t understand why.

“You must be something very special,” Lydia consoled, “Only the richest people got a chance to come to The Sanctuary. I know it’s a lot to take in, but you really are a lucky girl.”

She tried to chuckle, but it only came out as a mirthless, throaty grunt. She rubbed her eyes, a sharp pinprick headache forming at the base of her skull.

“I hate to do this to you,” Lydia stood, twirling a tuft of hair, “but I do need to start working if we want you in something presentable for the celebration.”

She looked up at her, “What?”

“I was sent here to make you a dress. I’m assuming you just came here with the clothes on your back.”

Mallory shook her head, disgusted and tired, “I can’t.”

Lydia answered sympathetically, but with a warning undertone, “It’s not optional, dear.”

She wrung her hands and closed her eyes, she never remembered praying to anyone or anything before, but now found herself calling out into the universe. Like an ant screaming to the top of a mountain, begging for anyone at all to hear her and help.

“Ok.”

*.*.*

The grand ballroom of The Sanctuary sprawled the length of a football field, its floor pure black marble, shined to reflect the domed ceiling towering above. Chandeliers of silver hung from the rafters, red rubies spilling down them like drops of blood. Murals were scrawled across the entire circumference of the ceiling, resembling the art of the Sistine Chapel, but with a much darker overtone. The people of Babel stood in pride, beholding their beautiful tower that touched the stars, defying the will of God; another, the grizzly scene of the murder of Abel, his brother Cain violently crushing his head with a stone. But in the center of the dome was the most vivid of them all. The scene was a perfect cloudscape, hues of gold and violet and orange dazzled and danced between puffs of white, the sky above radiant with white light, with the exception of one lone aberration. A figure with his arms outstretched, encrusted head to toe in clothes of fine silk and jewels, wings sprinkled with starlight, golden hair swirling around his angelic face, branches of lightening cracked around him to form a terrifying halo. Below him, his reverent epithet, the words, “Lucifer, The Morning Star, Conqueror of Earth, Harbinger of the Apocalypse”

The denizens filled the room, clad in gothic balllgowns and crimson waistcoats. The women’s hair was pinned and braided with jewels, and the men wore ostentatious rings of black diamond and silver, every outfit attempting to outdo the other. Long tables of rich food and decadent wine were placed all around. However, all eyes were focused on one man who stayed off to the side, surveying the crowd of his loyal subjects. Michael Langdon hung back from the crowd, arms behind his back in typical fashion. He was every inch an imposing, demonic king. Upon his head he wore a crown of silver thorns, entwining into three spirals at the top, tipped with rubies. His flowing, golden hair framed piercing eyes rimmed in black; black eyeshadow sexily smoked out on their corners. He wore a long, velvet coat, decorated with silver buttons and accents of leather over a black shirt with a thin mesh V sliding down his broad chest; a silver pentagram pendant around his neck, and leather boots, laced in silver.

Men and women eyed him, some with reverence, others with lust, but all watched him with hungry and desirous eyes. A particular rumor was buzzing around about the Devil’s son and the Cooperative’s plans for him, and all wanted to know how their King and Savior would go about fulfilling the plan.

But their heads turned with his as he stared awestruck at the ballroom’s threshold. Mallory stood there, escorted by Rhoda, panic seizing her as all eyes latched onto her at once. Lydia was a fast worker, though she had worked from a previously created pattern. Mallory’s gown transformed from a black satin bodice at the top to red strips swirling around the bottom like flames, her dark hair curled and done up with red jewels. She might’ve been the most simplest dressed there, but she might as well have been the only one in the room with the way Langdon’s eyes were locked on her. They tried to ignore him and continue conversation as he strolled towards her. Langdon, sensing their gaze, turned and waved them off, signaling that they best continue their revelry, and mind their own business; but some still gave Mallory dirty looks.

He appraised her; clinically, or so she thought. She balled her hands into fists, trying to hide how badly she was shaking.

“Your dress is lovely. Lydia works well under pressure.”

He tilted his head like a curious owl spying on his prey from up in his hideout; icy blue eyes drilling into her with such scrutiny that a pleasant heat pooled into her core, mixing with frozen shards of fear.

His lips pulled into a genuine smile, “May I have this dance?”

She tore her eyes away from his gaze and took his hand with trembling fingers, panic and rage swirling in her gut. Violins began their sweet, hypnotic tune. With one flowing movement, his left hand gripped her waist with a firm, but gentle touch, while gracefully whirling them onto the ballroom floor. She felt his eyes burning into the top of her head, her gaze fixed on the steps of their feet on the black marble floor.

“It’s very rude to not look your partner in the eyes.”

When she said nothing in response, he stopped abruptly. She braced for the worst, terrified that she had angered him, and would be severely punished for her insolence. Instead, his hand snaked further around her waist and up her back, drawing her closer til there was no space between them. His fingers pressed into the bare nape of her neck, a strong pressure, yet teasing. His warm, full lips made contact with the curve of her neck, pressing a tender, innocent kiss. Without her consent, a gasp of surprised pleasure escaped her throat. Within an instant he moved back to his original posture, a devious smirk adorned his face now that her eyes were well-fixed on him. His hand slipped back to her waist, but no effort was made to separate their bodies. They returned to their dancing without a word, the ghost of his lips haunting the dip of her neck.

“Did you ever dream of this when you were a child, Mallory?” He asked, his eyes lingering on her neck, brushing his tongue over his bottom lip, “Being in a beautiful gown, at a ball, in the arms of a king.”

Suddenly, a vision came upon her. Black, bat-like wings stretched out from behind Langdon’s form, spanning across the entire room. Serpentine black horns climbed from his head. His eyes became as red as blood. The same grasping darkness she’d encountered in the tunnel sprung up from the ground and entwined itself around her legs.

“And the fact that the same king holding you close,” he continued with a heady voice, “Could twitch his finger and end your existence, does that scare you?” His mouth twisted into a grin, “Excite you? You know who I am, what I am capable of,” he leaned in closer and whispered, “Are you frightened, Mallory?”

She gulped back tears, the terror threatening to overtake her. The darkness tightened its grip.

“You will speak to me,” he commanded with a dangerously gruff voice.

She grit her teeth and looked him in the eye, power coursing through her, pushing back the darkness.

“I am not afraid of you.”

When the words left her mouth, the vision vanished. The normal sights, sounds, and smells wafted all around her, bringing her back to reality. Langdon took a step back, still holding her right hand. He tilted his head in a slight bow, as if agreeing to a challenge.

“Good.”

#michael langdon #ahs michael #ahs mallory #millory #ahs season 8 #ahs apocalypse #satan #antichrist #fanfic #cody fern #billie lourd

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beophota · 3 years

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I’m on the verge of shutting down my tiktok Beo indefinitely bc I really can’t find the motivation to keep it going- Doesn’t mean I’m abandoning my kids tho so I’ll just be posting abt them here.

Have some tall siblings

#mallory harbinger #Thomas Harbinger #Mia-Jo Harbinger #my hero academia #my art #my OC

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00-lingling · 4 years

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@conquer-the-raven no context, just polana and mallory fluff

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #mallory harbinger #rkgk

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bluraaven · 6 years

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Smoke and Mirrors

El Abuelo is the most notorious of crime bosses, and it falls to Special Agent Reynauld Maurouard to take him down. His only lead: Dismas, an ex-bandit whose outfit was in the mobster's hire. Things go downhill from there.

Chapter 1

Special Agent Reynauld Maurouard couldn't say that filling out forms was his favourite occupation, but paperwork was a necessary evil when you worked in law enforcement. When a shadow fell over him, blocking out the light, he put down his pen and straightened. Reynauld could have sworn that he could hear as well as feel some disks in his back pop into place. Or out of it. Something to worry about later.

"How's it going?" the man leaning on his desk asked, a faint smile playing around his mouth as he surveyed the battlefield that was Reynauld's workspace.

"How'd you think?" Reynauld grunted, rubbing his hands over his face until he saw stars. For the past hour the letters had been running together, but he needed to finish this before tomorrow or he'd have his superiors breathing down his neck. "I'm elbows deep in reports."

"Ain't we all?" Guyot asked. In the clinically cold light of the neon lamps the dark circles around his eyes were all the more prominent, and his freckles were a stark contrast to his pale skin. He looked just as exhausted as Reynauld felt.

As if he had read his thoughts, Guyot lifted a silver can, giving it an inviting swirl, and instantly the rich aroma of roasted beans permeated the stale office air. "Coffee?"

When he saw Reynauld hesitating, he was quick to add, "It's good, I tested it. On Marci." Guyot looked around, guilt written all over his face, but in the end he just shrugged and grinned sheepishly.

Reynauld chuckled. When some higher ups had thought it a great idea to put the PD and forensics in the same building – talk about corruption – and some of the doctors were evidently as mentally unstable as the criminals they pursued, caution saved you from getting yourself into a lot of trouble. "Is she still among the living?"

"Aye, the living and the conscious," Guyot replied easily.

"Then yes, please." Reynauld had to shift some folders to find his mug buried underneath them and held it out for Guyot to fill.

Which he did, right up to the brim, eying some of the papers strewn all over the desk in the process. "What'cha got here? Montgomery case?"

"M-hmm," Reynauld hummed and took a sip of scalding hot fermented–bean–juice. He closed his eyes for a moment to savour it.

"What a shitshow," Guyot observed. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we got him. Just because the man was in politics and old money, don't mean he's above justice." He stopped; they'd talked more than their fair share about it. The case had been all over the news for weeks, and by now everybody who had worked on it was fed up with it. It was time to wrap it up and to move on.

"Anyway, the guys wanna know if you're coming to the track run. We're up against the boys from Eastside distinct."

Track run. That rang a bell. Reynauld frowned; he had quite forgotten about the charity event. "When's it?"

"Next weekend."

"I can't," Reynauld replied and didn't have to fake the regret. Those competition between departments were usually a lot of fun and a good way to get to know new people, make some contacts. "Thio's over, and I promised him we'll go camping."

"Aw, damn. We're losing our best man." But Guyot said it with a smile. He knew how much those weekends meant to Reynauld. "How is the big man?"

"Growing bigger every day." The thought of his son never failed to put a smile on Reynauld's face. "I can't believe he's about to turn eight. Eve wanted to have a party. You're invited of course, provided you can stand a horde of children high on sugar.

"You know I'd never miss out, and Lucy's been wanting to visit anyway. We'll pop in, say hi, and evac if it gets too bad." Guyot laughed and Reynauld had to join in. Fair was fair. They had served in the army together, and when they had quit the force it had been his friend's contacts that had given Reynauld a job here in the city.

"Chin up, soldier. One more week and it's over," Guyot said. "Maybe the chief's even gonna give you a promotion!"

Reynauld snorted at the thought, which should be answer enough. If you couldn't find pride in the police work but wanted praise, you had to join the K-9 units. As a dog. On most days, Reynauld did enjoy it; doing something good, something useful. He thanked Guyot for the offering of artificial energy that would get him through the evening and waved when the other man took his leave.

Just a few more hours, and he'd be able to go home. Put a lid on the whole thing and give himself a pat on the shoulder. From a framed picture, one of the few private possessions he kept at work, Reynauld's family was smiling at him.

He sighed and picked up his pen again.

Reynauld wished a person could refuel on good mood like a vehicle could on gasoline, because Monday came cloaked in chaos, like a true harbinger of a bad week.

Over the weekend, he had taken Thio out of the city and to a natural preserve that had a nice lake and easy trails. Maybe when his son was older, Reynauld would be able to take him hiking in the Hinterlands, but that would be in a couple of years at the earliest.

Now, he was running late for work since his alarm had given up on life sometime in the middle of the night. Thanks to years of military service and an affinity for the early morning hours, he still managed to wake almost on time. Maintenance works on the train rails forced him to take his car however, and he promptly found himself stuck in an unmoving column of other unfortunate souls braving the morning traffic.

When he had finally made it to the intersection, he almost had an accident when some idiot on a motorbike ran a red light and cut him off, disappearing between a delivery van and a taxi before Reynauld had a chance to catch his plate number.

The rest of the drive passed without incident, thankfully. The RPD, the Riverside Police Department, was located some two miles outside of the city center, and just about ten walking minutes from the Riverside train station. The building had a long history, beginning with it originally being built as a summer residence for Emperor Harauld. Since then it had served as university, a hospital, and finally the casern it was to this day.

There was nothing inherently inviting about the grey and cheerless stonework, but it was far from the worst place to work. In the large courtyard, Barristan had some sweaty-looking recruits in training clothes lined up. Reynauld returned the wave the one-eyed drill sergeant greeted him with, and hurried on.

As soon as he pulled open the door, he was struck by the lack of usual activity. The quiet of the waiting room was disturbed only by the hum of the ceiling fan, its blades rotating lazily. The air was thick with the smells of stale coffee and smoke, even though smoking inside had been prohibited by law several years ago. Underlying those was a faint odour of office: a less-than enticing mix of sweat, paper, and cleaning agents.

There was nobody seated behind the two front desks, and that was unusual enough to make Reynauld double-check his mobile and pager, nervous about maybe having overlooked a message. Special Weapons And Tactics carried those to call them to operations too dangerous for regular police officers to handle. Riot control wasn't much of an issue these days anymore, so they mostly handled search warrants and cases that involved organized crime, which in turn were usually linked to weapon or narcotics dealership, or illegal betting. They had special training; and were authorized to carry military equipment, but the rest of the time, they were law enforcement agents like any other. Reynauld did his fair share of patrols, reports and other sorts of office work.

Both the pager and his phone's screens were blank, so he had not missed some emergency. He decided to go to his office first; maybe Guyot would be able to tell him what was going on. He never got that far though, because Reynauld almost collided with Marci when he jogged up the stairs.

"Where is everyone?"

"Mallory's office," the young police officer replied, sounding out of breath. "Linesi's taken out two teams – there has been another robbery."

Another one. Reynauld's heart sank. "Where?"

"Central," Maci replied, biting her lip.

Reynauld nodded, and hurried past her. Mallory saw him and waved from the door to her office. She was a tall, no-nonsense kind of person who wore her black hair short and whom he had never seen out of a suit. She had worked her way up to deputy director and it was generally assumed she would one day replace the Chief when he retired.

She was holding a meeting, and a grapevine of people was clustered in the room which seemed too small all of a sudden. Gatherings like this didn't usually happen unless it was someone's birthday or something bad had occurred. Reynauld didn't need Marci to tell him which one this was, he could have guessed by the absence of cake and smiles upon the faces of those around him.

Reynauld took up position in the back of the group. He had to stand on his toes to be able to look over all their heads and see what held their attention. The flatscreen was a video playing footage from what could only be a security camera. Reynauld had missed most of it, but he arrived just in time to see a black-masked burglar breathe steam on the camera's lens. The quality of the recording was not good enough to tell whether it was a man or a woman before fog was all they could see. And then a heart appeared where the condensation was wiped away with the tip of one finger. Seconds later, the tv flickered to black, and that was it.

In the silence that followed one would have been able to hear a pin drop. And that was saying something since the office was carpeted.

"When did this happen?" Reynauld finally asked when he realized nobody else was going to.

"We received the tape this morning," Mallory answered, and turned off the television with an annoyed flick of her wrist. "This was recorded on Sunday evening."

"I thought the cemetery had a security firm doing surveillance, and we'll get notified as soon as something happens?" someone to Reynauld's right called out.

A muscle in Mallory's jaw twitched, but her tone did not betray her frustration. "They disabled the security system," she informed them.

"Shit!" somebody else cursed, which earned them a glower from Mallory, but by then the room had burst into chaos; everybody was calling out ideas and talking one over the other.

"Rey." Mallory's hand landed on his shoulder a moment later, and her voice lowered, despite the chance of being overheard being close to zero. "The Chief wants a word."

Reynauld nodded at her and left the room, leaving her to bring back order to the meeting. His boss was not the most patient of men, and there was no reason to antagonize him, especially since he very much did not want to draw attention to his tardiness.

The Chief's office was at the end of the second story corridor. A golden plate was screwed to the door, but Reynauld did not even glance at it. His knuckles had barely made contact with the wood when he was told to enter, and he stepped into Chief Vvulf's domain.

The room was just like he remembered it. Most of it was taken up by a large desk, and the walls were lined with shelves that were slowly beginning to bend under their load. At some point an effort had been made to make the office look more homely, but the plants had not lasted long. The Chief had kept but one, and the fact that it was a cactus really spoke for itself.

He was in his middle years, with short grey hair and the figure of a powerful man who was slowly getting out of shape. "What did she tell you?" the Chief began without so much as a word of greeting. He was seated in a big leather armchair behind his desk.

Guessing that he must have meant Mallory, Reynauld answered, "The central cemetery was hit by a masked felon nicknamed the Graverobber."

The Chief nodded, then made a hand gesture for Reynauld to close the door and take a seat. "This ain't for anybody's ears," he grunted.

"Sir?"

Vvulf laced his fingers together on his stomach, fixing his unblinking gaze on Reynauld. "There's no point tiptoeing around it. I don't shout it from the rooftops, but my family's history goes back a long way. The mausoleum that was hit yesterday wasn't just anyone. These attacks are have become a personal matter now. We, the police, are being targeted, and the situation has gotten out of control."

Reynauld had not known that the Chief was related to any of the old nobility, but then perhaps the knowledge should not surprise him; one did not rise to the rank of Chief without some good connections. There was very little Reynauld actually knew about the man who was his boss, despite having worked for him for years. Vvulf was someone who valued his privacy and didn't get too friendly with his subordinates.

"So we take down the ones responsible," Reynauld deducted, still unsure why he was here. Certainly it was not so that his boss could make that little confession?

"You're a smart man, Maurouard," Vvulf pointed out, a hint of irritation in his voice.

"You don't think they're acting out of their own agenda," Reynauld deduced, remembering the video Mallory had shown them. The Graverobber's actions had struck him as being... provocative, almost. They certainly had wanted to be seen, maybe to send some kind of message.

"No. I do not," the Chief confirmed with a pleased nod. "Whether we like it or not, the old families are the foundation which this city is built upon."

Reynauld noticed he spoke as if he did not belong to one of them, despite his earlier admission.

"And there are those who would benefit from weakening it, from sowing discord, uncertainty and fear. From making us look weak and incompetent. If the people do not feel safe," the Chief said and leaned forward on his elbows as if he was to share a great secret, "Whom will they turn to for protection?"

"So these attacks are not a coincidence," Reynauld summed up. Everybody had presumed as much, but they still lacked solid proof. "And you suspect one of the northern cartels?"

Vvulf was shaking his head before Reynauld had even finished speaking. "Not just any one of them." Reynauld wanted to ask if he really thought he could be behind all this, but the Chief continued. "El Abuelo has plenty of reason to target us," Vvulf pointed out. "We may not know what his final goal is, but men like him feed off chaos. They always look for weaknesses, for a way to expand their power. We need to stop him – ," the Chief broke off abruptly, and Reynauld imagined he could hear the ghost of an at all costs.

He did not comment. El Abuelo was one of the, if not the most notorious of crime bosses. Reynauld was still trying to come to terms with everything he had learned, when Vvulf said,

"I want you to be the Special Agent in Charge on this case."

"Me?"

"Do you see anyone else in this room?" Vvulf demanded to know. "Yes, you."

"Why?" Reynauld blurted out, which, in hindsight, probably wasn't the smartest thing to say. He was still reeling from all the information – a moment ago he had not even known there was a case; now he had been told he was to lead a major investigation that involved one of the most dangerous men in the North. And was not the most experienced man the Chief had, and huge cases like this were usually given to the senior officers.

Vvulf's lips pursed in thought. "You did some good work," he finally said, but even guff praise from the Chief was quite something. "I like that you are efficient and discreet and I trust you to handle delicate matters without causing a scandal. This is your chance, Maurouard. Prove me I'm right, and who knows, this seat might one day belong to you," he added and laughed at his own joke, a rare sign he had a sense of humour, buried somewhere deep inside.

The corner of Reynauld's mouth tugged upwards. "Thinking about retiring, Sir?" It would be hard to imagine the PD without Vvulf there to lead them, he was such a huge personality. A tough boss with high expectations, but a fair one.

"There's one of them Southern beaches that has my name on it," Vvulf said, but his eyes were already narrowing. "You look like there's something on your mind. Spit it out, what is it?"

"I was actually hoping to take some time off," Reynauld confessed. He was tired from merely thinking about the upcoming work load. He deserved a vacation, and he still had three weeks good from last year that he was going to lose soon – as his boss knew very well.

Vvulf leaned back, making his leather armchair creak. "Tell you what," he decided. "If time wasn't of the essence, I'd let you go right now. I will let you keep your three weeks, and if we get El Abuelo, I'll top it off with a month of paid leave extra, so you can spend some time with your boy – family's everything, after all. How does that sound?"

"Sounds like a deal, Sir." Reynauld could barely believe the offer he'd been made; it was quite unheard of. But he trusted his boss not to pull him over. And if they got El Abuelo, Vvulf would be basking in the attention of the media. He might even be hailed a city hero.

"Excellent," the Chief said, sounding pleased. "You'll be happy to know we already have a lead."

That certainly was news. "We do?" Reynauld asked, cocking his brow.

"The Graverobber is not operating on his or her own," Vvulf replied. "There is no way they could disable the security system and rob the mausoleum in time before we were alerted of the shutdown. They have an accomplice." The Chief turned and got up, reaching to take a folder off the shelf behind him. He dropped it on the table and flipped it towards Reynauld who opened it.

The first page was taken up by a close-up of a man's face. For reasons unknown the photograph was black and white, but Reynauld did not need colour to recognize him.

"Dismas," he said, remembering the name because it was actually that of the penitent thief from the Verse of Light. An alias then.

Reynauld wasn't sure if the rogue was ballsy, or merely an arsehole.

"Aye," Vvulf confirmed, his greying brows drawing together. "One right bloody fucker. He's guilty of more than some harmless misconduct too. The man's an ex-bandit, and former member of the Wolves."

Reynauld flipped the first page. There was a list of information they had managed to collect on the man. The first line read:

Real name: Valance Paixdecouer.

"Paixdecouer," Reynauld said slowly, thinking. "Is the name given to orphans raised by the Order."

Vvulf nodded. "I see I chose the right man for the job. Pick your team, Maurouard, and get started straight away. This has top priority from now on until I tell you otherwise. "

Reynauld closed the folder with a snap and picked it up, resting it against the crook of his elbow. "What about the Montgomery case, Sir?"

"Just hand it over to someone else," Vvulf said. "Mallory will handle it, if no one else will. You can report to her, if I'm not here."

Reynauld nodded, "You said Dismas ran with the Wolves?" He had heard a lot about the gang, but it had fallen apart and its members had scattered when their leader had disappeared. Apparently there had been some sort of falling out between who they only knew as the Wolf, and El Abuelo.

"The Wolf was El Abuelo's hireling," the Chief said after a brief pause. "Therefore, if we find him," Vvulf said, tapping one fat finger against picture-Dismas' temple, "Maybe we can retrace his connection right back to the source."

"Do we know his whereabouts then?" Reynauld wanted to know. Despite himself, he couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement. The Wolf had disappeared a little bit over a decade ago – either laying low, or killed by El Abuelo himself. Even if he was alive, he had had enough time to cover his tracks. It was unlikely they would find him – unlikely, but not impossible.

"Unfortunately, we do not," Vvulf confirmed Reynauld's suspicion. "Every time we were tipped off and the team's gotten close, he has slipped through our nets. Man doesn't hang out in one place for very long. The good thing is: We got somebody who was close to him."

"How do you know-"

Vvulf waved his hand in a dismissing gesture and Reynauld dropped that thread to ask a far more important question.

"Has he told us anything?"

"Not yet," the Chief said in a tone that made it crystal clear he would, sooner rather than later – even if he had to wring the answers out of the prisoner himself. "But he will. And when he does, I want you and your team to be ready. This could be the biggest strike against organized crime in fifty years!"

"Yes, Sir!" Reynauld saluted the Chief with the folder and turned on his heel. Guyot was the first one on his team. They had an uncatchable criminal to capture. Reynauld had always liked a challenge.

AN: You can also find the story here, on AO3!

#blu's corner #writing #fanfiction #darkest dungeon #dismas #reynauld #Reymas #alternative universe #Modern Setting #Grave Robber

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