#saf severance au

[missholloween]

Okay I'm reblogging with coments because I am in love with this idea

Imagine Owen C. waking up with new wounds every day, some still hurting when he gets out of the elevator. Every day his body aches in a different way, but for all of his live he's only known pain. He thinks an aching body is the norm, and so is exhaustion. The Chimera higher ups have to take Owen C. to the nursery often to help him with the pain, often because his outtie tells them to do so. It's easier for Owen if his innie goes through physical therapy for him.

But also imagine Curt M. always having redden eyes when he looks at himself at the beginning of the day, always having to spend some tokens when the day starts because his throat is too dry, his head hurts. Curt M. would often feel sick and do his best to not throw up, but he would not always achieve it. Owen C. would worry about him, and maybe tell the Chimera employees about it when he goes to the nursery.

I'm also wondering how would Curt M. and Owen C. would feel about being severed. Tbh they give me Mark S. and Helly R. vibes respectively

the worst au is the one based on a show nobody else in your fandom has seen. Mr. Smy and I just finished Severance and let me tell you the idea of a severed curtwen working together and not knowing that their "outies" knew each other and loved each other and lost each other is gonna be running laps in my mind for a minute

The basic premise is that if you get severed your consciousness is split between work (the "innie") and your personal life (the "outie") and they are completely separate and distinct. The innie only knows their first name and last initial, has no memory of the outside world whatsoever. Neither part of your consciousness remembers what the other part knows or does.

So imagine post-fall they both take jobs as severed workers (substitute Chimera for Severance's Lumon). In the outside world Curt is mourning Owen so badly that he needs to take a job where his consciousness shuts off for half the day just to survive it. On the outside Owen is spiraling into rage and grief and violence. But on the inside Curt M. and Owen C. are slowly becoming friends again, becoming more than friends, blissfully unaware of their baggage from the outside world but still trapped in a hellish existence they have no hope of escaping from

[kiame-sama]

in the part 14 of the monsters au when y/n & Hades met all i could think of in the

"I'll fight you to stay here."

"... What?"

"This is my home now."

convo speech was just

Hades's perspective of this:

ok so the human is probably naturally wary of me but that's alright, I'll prove I'm saf-

"I will fight you." (he didn't even fully process the last couple words)

.. how did I fuck up this badly already :(

"[Speech about this place being home]"

oh. ohhh that makes sense. okay I'm not hated by the one and only precious human, probably :]

Hades probably felt a bit hurt when y/n's first reaction to Ruggie's fear was telling Hades not to hurt him </3

Papa Hades knows he is dangerous and can easily harm others, but he typically won't act in violence unless it is needed. It did hurt his heart to hear such a concerned plea from the Human in defense of the Gnoll, but Hades knows better than to be offended by genuine concern. He is doing everything he can to befriend the Human and stay in the good graces of this last Human.

Hades has spent the most time around Humans out of any other living creature, meaning he is ultimately the most addicted to Humans and suffered severe withdrawal from Humanity when they died out. He is permanently stained by his grief over losing his Humans and is willing to go to war with other nations to protect the last Human. Though he is still genuinely addicted and still dealing with withdrawal, the physical response he has to being around the Human may cause deeper addiction as the presence of the last Human soothes the rather immense pain he has been in for half a century. It will hurt him to leave the Human at Night Raven College and not take them with him back to the Isle of Woe, but he holds their opinions in high regard.

As the Human wants to stay, he won't make them go with him even if he knows it will be better for the both of them. He knows he can keep the Human mostly protected and safe, and it would help his immense pain from his own withdrawal issues. He is still experiencing lasting withdrawal effects as is anyone who was close with Humans in the past. Being around a 1/10th or 1/12th human would help those symptoms, but only a 1/2 or full Human alleviates them entirely.

[renegadeofficial]

owen carvour is a comet. 

a realization i came to several months ago:

this post is the result of my friends getting me to watch Gundam with them. I know who char is and now i’m seeing themes and motifs everywhere. 

What is a comet?

A comet is a term i’m borrowing from my friend cori as a title for a character who is a “Char clone” - that is, a character who is based on, inspired by, or follows the same archetype(s) as Char Aznable from Gundam (1979). Comet in this context comes from Char’s title, “The Red Comet��.

Char was inspired by Darth Vader, the real life Red Baron, super robot anime of the era and more to give some brief background on where he comes from. (Funnily enough, some of his traits end up wrapping back around to apply to Anakin Skywalker once the prequels were made.)

Sometimes comets are simple as “blonde masked rival” and sometimes they are much more complex and play off of the different roles Char takes in his various appearances. 

There is a significant number of boxes that Owen checks as far as comet traits go.

Owen Carvour “dies” and re-emerges with a new identity as the Deadliest Man Alive. He wears a mask to conceal his old identity. His new identity itself is the Cool Title that comets often have, one that speaks to the fact he is very skilled in his field. He is color coded red- all of that red lighting in the opening that juxtaposes him with Curt's blue- is a huge (literal) red flag bonus for him being a comet, color motifs-especially red-are a very common trait. He has a secret connection to the hero(es) of the story, in the case of spies, being the ex-lover of our protagonist. He has a Dramatic Reveal of this identity, which leads to the the classic comet trope of Betrayal of a close friend (in this case former romantic partner) to fulfill his secret agenda - launching Chimera.

bonus screenshot of when i Realized ⬇ no one else was awake lol

also shoutout to the saf princess bride au fic that reminded me i had this sitting in my drafts. westley princessbride i know what you are (comet). 

ps. if this post interests you consider taking a look at comet factory, a solo ttrpg game by my friend about creating/analyzing char clones.  :)

[yellowcry]

Tell me something I'll forget (and you might have to tell me again)

Mirabel's ceremony! Such a big day!

Isabela looked up, staring as her sister slowly reached her doorknob

Pedro and Alma swap au

Okay.... It definitely went wrong. Isabela backed away in shock, leaning on her Tía. Mirabel's door vanished right in front of their eyes. Leaving a shining unsertanity in the air. Can the door even disappear? How? In Isabela's long eleven years long life she hadn't seen anything quite like that. The Madrigals stared in confusion, the world was frozen. Mirabel stared at Abuelo with such sad eyes. Several petals fell off the flower crown that Isabela had made for her. Mama and Papa held each other tightly, with wide open mouths. The wind blew in the patio, a right sign of how worried Tía Pepa was.

"Shh..." Felíx patted her spine, trying to make her calm down. "Mi vida, it's okay." Of course, he was the one to stay optimistic despite the situation. Always looking on the bright side.

"Dolly, do you know what's going on?" Isabela leaned closer to her twin-cousin. She was smart, maybe she had already figured out what happened (on simply heard it)

Dolores slowly tilted her head. "No idea. I didn't hear anyone talking about that ever before." Yeah, everyone before got their gifts? Why wouldn't Mirabel have one too? Isabela's grip on her cousin's palm tightened.

Camilo's eyes looked between his parents, sister, and cousins, trying to understand what was going on. He shapeshifted from nerves, gripping Tía's hand.

Pedro shook his head, turning to the guests, mainly Agústin's relatives and family friends. "Today's celebration's dismissed. Please, everyone, go home." The Madrigal Candle in his hands flickered, fading for just a bare second. Flashes of yellow light fell on the floor

With it, the small amount of people who were invited went out of the dark patio, grumbling.

Things spun around really fast. Isabela found herself bored in her room. Don't get her wrong, she was worried. And upset too. But sitting in her room wouldn't do anything.

She suspected that her parents were with Mirabel. Of course, Isabela couldn't imagine how she felt. So young, helpless. Even more than Isabela herself. Tía Pepa and Tío Felix probably were comforting their kids. And heavens knew what was Luisa doing. This left her alone in this predicament. When everyone was busy and she didn't have anyone to ask all the hard questions in her mind.

Isabela walked out on her toes. She knew she had to be quiet if she didn't want to get caught by Abuelo. She hated it, she wasn't Dolores who could move like a ghost. But Isabela would prefer to suffer for a bit than to be found.

Casita creaked its tile, asking Isabela to stay away. The young girl just shook her head, patting one of the pillars. "C'mon, I want to help," She demanded, pushing herself to a weak light, coming from one of the rooms.

Abuelo paced around the kitchen nervously, as Luisa (of course, it's always her) followed him like a duckling. In a candlelight, Isabela could see how pale her sister was. Not like she could blame her. Tío Bruno knocked on the table in this heavy predicament. It was quiet. Isabela peaked through the doorway, but the trio was a bit distracted. It was dark, candles glimmered, dripping with wax. The table was filled with food that wasn't going to be used in the way they planned.

Finally, Abuelo turned to Tío Bruno. "Okay, here's what we'll do. You go take a vision." His fists clenched from bursting nerves. "If there's anything wrong, if it means any danger we must know."

Danger? For what? Pfff... Isabela bet she could help with it herself! And she doesn't even need that stupid shimmering fashionable sword. (tho she had to admit, it looks extremely cool) She can help with plants!

Bruno winced. "Papa, are you sure? I mean..."

"Bruno." Pedro had cut him off. "It's for the family. You have to ensure Mirabel's safe."

It was something they heard every day. They needed to be in safety. No matter how boring it was. It was strange, Dolores had said that other girls didn't live like them. They were going to school, and playing outdoors. Isabela really couldn't understand why they were locked in.

The younger man nodded, nervous. Isabela could see him shrink under Abuelo's gaze. Again, it wasn't something unexpected. Abuelo didn't like it when anyone disobeyed him.

Lost in her thoughts, Isabela didn't notice how Tío Bruno almost bumped into her. She jumped back, startled. Damn, she didn't plan to be caught.

Bruno winced looking down at her. "Kid? What are you doing in here?"

"Don't tell Abuelo I was here!" Isabela begged. She feared to think what Abuelo would do. (He probably won't actually do anything bad, just scold her and close her in her room. She wasn't sure why she was so worried about his reaction)

Bruno's eyes widened, he gestured stop. ", Okay, okay..."

She bit her lip, looking up. With how dark it was, she barely could make out her Tío's outlines. "Do you know anything?"

Bruno shrugged his shoulders. "Gotta see the future for that?" He patted her spine, nervous as always. "Are you worried for your sister?"

Isabela didn't reply. Her mind still was too wild to proceed with everything that had happened. Maybe she was? Or maybe she was upset or mad? Or confused? She didn't quite realize her own feelings yet. "Have a good vision."

It would be better not only for Bruno but for Mirabel too. And, well, Isabela wouldn't leave him alone tomorrow until he confessed of what he saw.

—

Bruno froze, staring at the tablet in front of his eyes. An older Mirabel stood in front of Casita. A series of deep cracks ran all over the building. But, when Bruno tilted the vision plate, it would be changed differently.

For the cheese's sake, what does it mean? His visions were never like this. It was supposed to be one certain future that was set in stone. Not.... Whatever it was.

Papa would be so disappointed. Probably say that Bruno wasn't strong enough and failed to protect her. Part of him was afraid. Of the disappointment. Of facing his dad. Bruno didn't want to get in trouble for this vision.

And what would happen to Mirabel if Pedro knows? Knowing his papa, Bruno couldn't imagine a good reaction. In the best case she would probably be protected so much she wouldn't be able to breathe. But, honestly, Bruno could imagine Pedro just sending Mirabel out of Casita from fear that the building would fall on her.

He didn't want this to happen. It would break Mirabel's heart. It would break everyone. Bruno knew he couldn't tell about it to anyone. Was he a coward? Maybe. But he wasn't ready to show it. He didn't think he ever would.

The green plate shattered against the rock in his vision cave. Shrads of the green glass were scattered around the sand, slowly falling under it.

The hard metallic door creaked behind Bruno.

[sapphire-writes]

Saf's sappy post time!! 🥹

Down in Flames has concluded!! I seriously cannot believe we made it, I got so nervous several times that I would lose motivation, have to take a break, but this fic really just poured out of me!!

I remember posting the first part and thinking "wow this is kinda out there, I wonder if anyone will even like this AU" and the response was just...incredible. I cannot say how much I have enjoyed writing this fic, how incredible it has been to stretch my writing skills, to chat with you all about different plot elements, and more. Truly, YOU ALL have made sharing this so so so incredible and I am so thankful for your engagement and kind words!

I truly hope you'll stick around, as I plan to write more series (and have a couple currently!) and would love to have you and hear your thoughts!

I cannot believe my little google doc drabble of the Dance of Dragons as a band has cultivated this audience and I just...am so thankful again, seriously can't say it enough. This fandom has brought back my love of creative writing and I truly love every single one of you!! 🥹

ALSO some current WIPs to keep you interested:

An Ego Thing part 7 ~ modern!Aemond x Reader

Thin Ice Ch. 2 ~ modern!Aegon x Reader

A Song of Flames & Fury Ch. 19 ~ Aemond x OC

Aemond x Stark!Reader request

Playing with Fire Epilogue

& more to come!!

[no6secretsanta]

Dangerous Thoughts

To: @secretagentfan

From: @glorifiedscapegoat

Hi, SAF! Happy Holidays and a New Year! I’m so sorry for the delay on this! I hope you like it! You mentioned that you liked AUs, so I went for a Shadowhunters AU because I felt like it suited Shion and Nezumi a lot. Especially since there’s some mutual pining here and some humor. I really hope that you like it!

- - -

“Poseidon?” Safu said into her cell phone, her brow crinkling. “As in the Greek god? That’s what you’re calling this thing? Why don’t you just call it a kraken?”

Shion was only half listening to Safu’s voice. He looked around. The sun had just gone down. He’d always loved to go to the pier, ever since he was a little boy and his mother had taken him there to play arcade games and ride the Ferris wheel. He loved the fair food—burgers and fries, cotton candy and popcorn—and the sparkler parties the college students held on the beach.

The mundanes had poured thousands of dollars into renovating the pier into a tourist attraction. The miniature amusement park was filled with new rides, street vendors, and ticket stands where sleepy-eyed girls passed out bright pink strands to children.

The boards beneath Shion’s feet were still warped and weathered from years of sun and sea salt. The air smelled of ocean water and the sticky scents of candy apples. The merry-go-round in the distance poured carnival music over the assembled crowd. There were ring-toss games where players could win giant stuffed animals, and beneath the railings were dark places where sinister creatures liked to gather.

That was the thing Shion wished he could change about being a Shadowhunter. Shion could see the beauty of the LED lights and mundane-made structures, but he also noticed the things the mundanes didn’t. There were dark sprites gathered underneath one of the abandoned picnic tables, gnawing on scraps of garbage and dropped fries. Over the railing, a mermaid twisted and danced beneath the white-capped waves. She had what appeared to be a glow-stick clutched in her fist.

“Are you all right?” Safu asked. She slipped her phone into the pocket of her jacket. The wind tossed her dark hair, gathered into a high ponytail and spilling to her shoulders. Safu, Nezumi, and Inukashi had dressed in gear, but Shion was wearing street clothes. Safu hadn’t intended for him to tag along.

“I’m fine,” Shion replied. “Where are Nezumi and Inukashi?”

“Over there,” Safu said, pointing.

Shion followed her gaze to the brightly lit stand where mundanes had gathered to compete against each other and win prizes. The goal was to toss a plastic ring and have it land around the neck of one of the red glass bottles lined in the center of a plastic pool. Shion didn’t understand what was so difficult about it—he was uncoordinated by Shadowhunter standards, and even he could throw rings and have them land perfectly.

Nezumi held three plastic rings in his hand. Inukashi, dressed in all black with their hair pulled back, stood beside him, eating blue cotton candy out of a plastic bag. There was a teenager standing next to them—a mundane from the look of the pristine white skin up his bare arms, which were currently folded across his chest.

Nezumi threw the rings, all three into the air at once. Each of them—red and green and blue—spiraled into the air and came down around the neck of the same bottle.

“Shit!” shouted the mundane teenager.

“Told you,” replied Inukashi, their mouth full of bright blue cotton candy.

Safu sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

A mixture of cheers erupted from the crowd of mundanes at the ring toss. Nezumi snatched his prize, something in a plastic bag, from the game master and said to the teenager, “Better luck next time.”

He headed towards Safu and Shion with Inukashi padding along beside him. His hair was pulled back, too, several strands hanging loose over his ears and falling to his collarbone. Nezumi had faerie blood in his family, like Shion, and it showed in his features: his vibrant silver eyes, his angular cheekbones, and the porcelain color of his skin.

Dangerous thoughts, Shion told himself. There were things he thought about his parabatai that he could never give voice to—no matter how much it was killing him inside.

“So,” said Shion, attempting to distract himself, “Rikiga said the demon is a kraken?”

“Supposedly,” Safu replied. Nezumi and Inukashi had come into earshot. Inukashi was muttering something about a pretty girl with pink hair who kept squealing whenever her boyfriend told her a joke. “It snatches children from the side of the pier. Someone spotted it lurking next to the boardwalk and thought it was algae–all right, why does Nezumi have a goldfish?”

Nezumi held the plastic bag up into the air. Inside it, a small orange fish swam around in a lazy circle. “I put a teenager in his place and won a fish for my troubles.”

Shion shook his head. Nezumi had spent most of his life training with his parents—two brutal Shadowhunters who had, ultimately, been torn apart by demons. Nezumi’s misfortunes had made him bitter and sarcastic to most, and downright snarky to those he liked spending time with.

Nezumi had adjusted well to mingling among mundanes (partially because of his part-time job at the theater, where most of the cast were Downworlders who had once been normal mundanes) but there were still times when he seemed to forget (or simply not care) that he wasn’t supposed to pick fights in public.

Nezumi stepped around Safu and placed the plastic bag in Shion’s hands. “My bright one,” Nezumi announced in a rather theatrical voice. “I have won a goldfish and offer it to you as tribute.”

He bent forward and kissed Shion on the cheek. Nezumi smelled the same as he always did: jasmine and snowfall, compressed together into something so unique to Nezumi that Shion had never found it anywhere else.

Nezumi had called him “my bright one” long before they became parabatai. Shion looked like he belonged to the Fair Folk, Nezumi had said—with his winter-white hair, pale skin, and bright red eyes. Shion wasn’t surprised. He had a bit of Fae blood in his veins, on his father’s side. “My bright one” was supposedly a sign of high respect for a faerie prince or princess, and so that, on top of “Your Highness” and “Your Majesty”, was a nickname Nezumi assigned to him.

It was a sweet kiss, gentle and soft against his cheek. Though he knew Nezumi was merely joking, Shion blushed. He glanced over at Inukashi, who was watching with wide eyes. Safu looked pale and shocked. It was only a brief glance before she schooled her expression back into impassivity.

Shion took the goldfish. “Thank you, Nezumi. She’s beautiful. Have you named her yet?”

“I thought His Majesty would be upset if I were to impose like that,” replied Nezumi with an indifferent shrug. He took one look at the unimpressed expression on Shion’s face and snorted. “Don’t give me that look. No, I didn’t name her. Do you even name fish?”

“I named mine Bubbles,” answered Inukashi. They were leaning against the pole of a booth selling hot dogs and Coca Cola in massive red and white cups. “A kid in the Academy told me it was cruel to keep fish hostage and dumped it into the ocean. Didn’t have the heart to tell the brat that goldfish can’t survive in saltwater.”

“That’s horrible,” Safu said. Her cheeks were flushed from the mid-evening chill.

Nezumi put a hand over his heart—where his parabatai rune was located, peeking out of the hem of his shirt—and bowed his head solemnly. “A moment of silence, then, for our fallen comrade.”

Shion shook his head with a laugh. He eyed the goldfish in the bag and tried to think of a suitable name.

The goldfish had beautiful orange scales; upon further inspection, Shion saw that there were flecks of pale yellow and white along her sides and around her fins. She seemed to glow from within. Shion thought there might be a drop or two of fae blood in her veins and wondered if that would affect her ability to go into the Institute.

“I like Lady Macbeth,” Shion decided.

“Lady Macbeth dies, you know,” said Nezumi. “That does not bode well for that fish.”

“I can take care of a fish. I’m not forgetful like you.” Shion patted the side of the plastic bag and gave Lady Macbeth a small grin. “Don’t worry, Lady. You’re safe with me.”

“The hell do you mean I’m forgetful?” Nezumi demanded.

Shion opened his mouth to answer—and then he felt a shiver of cold pass over his skin. He knew. Demons gave off a distinctive aura, and though Shion had never been in combat with one, he’d been around them enough. Shadowhunters were instinctively capable of knowing when a demon was present.

All humor had gone from Nezumi’s face. Within seconds, each Shadowhunter had a weapon in hand: Nezumi had his knife, Safu had a seraph blade, and Inukashi clutched a needle-thin dagger. Shion clutched his stele in his fist, the crystal tip pointed outward.

“Where’s it heading?” asked Inukashi.

“Toward the end of the pier,” replied Safu. She jerked her head toward the assemblage of mundanes gathered near the railing overlooking the dark ocean water. “That’s where the most potential victims are located.”

“I’ll cut it off,” said Nezumi. He’d only brought his knife—but Shion knew how quick he was. Nezumi could move as fast as an elf, and though Rikiga required him to bring seraph blades and a sword, Nezumi could often make do with just his dagger and his speed. “Head to the beach and cut it off if it changes course and goes to the water.”

Inukashi and Safu were gone as soon as the command left Nezumi’s lips. Shion took off running toward the end of the pier, his sneakers thumping against the wooden boards. The wind threatened to knock Lady Macbeth from his hands, but he clutched her close and kept her from bouncing.

The stele felt warm and sturdy in his hand. Shion had no weapons, but he felt invincible. The dangerous thoughts from before had been cast aside. Everything in his mind focused on the task at hand: stopping the demon.

Shion heard the footsteps behind him. He didn’t have to look to know it was Nezumi. He’d been given no order, but Shion and Nezumi were parabatai—they battled together, traveled together. Nezumi’s footsteps had been at his side from the moment Shion had begun training.

“Over there,” Nezumi said, but Shion could already see it. A dark shape scurried along the railing, massive and thick, invisible to the eyes of unknowing mundanes. The Ferris wheel was coming back around for another stop. It had begun to slow.

Shion dove toward the Ferris wheel line and began to shove his way through it. He and Nezumi had not applied any glamour runes, so several people swore at them and shouted as Nezumi and Shion stomped on toes and elbowed ribs and knocked people to the ground without an apology. Shion had felt bad about it the first time he’d tagged along for patrol—and maybe he would after the demon was dead.

The carriage was coming to a halt. A young couple—a tall girl in a green school uniform and her petite girlfriend with her hair done up in blond pigtails—was about to climb in. Shion saw the demon beginning to head for the Ferris wheel, going for the metal rails.

“Sorry,” Shion shouted, shoving past the couple and nearly knocking them to the ground. The carriage was small, a colorful square with a pole in the center and two benches. There wasn’t much room to stand.

Over his shoulder, Shion heard the tall girl ask her girlfriend if she was alright. People in the line were shouting at the ticket master, but Shion had already collapsed against the side of the carriage as it had begun to lift back into the air.

The carriage rocked beneath his feet as Nezumi clambered in after him. He slammed the safety gate shut just as the thing hefted into the air. Nezumi leaned out over the railing, clutching his knife in his hand. “Where did it go?” he demanded, craning his head up.

Shion squinted through the lights. He’d seen it. He was positive of that. From this height, the Ferris wheel was a brilliant pillar of light and iron painted bars. The two carriages beneath Shion and Nezumi still had their previous passengers in them. The line below must have still been in a frenzy from Shion and Nezumi’s sudden arrival.

Nezumi set his boot on the bench, and Shion reached out to grab his arm. “Wait.” He set Lady Macbeth’s plastic bag on the ground of the carriage, safely tucked beneath the bench. “Runes,” Shion said, holding out his stele.

The carriage was still rising into the air. Shion could see the beach below, the dark water spilling across the sand. He saw the lights of Kronos in the distance. The mountains and the cliff edges were pinpricks of white towards the direction of the Institute.

The stars were dim and barely visible in the brilliant light of the amusement park. Nezumi glanced over at Shion, his expression blank. He stepped down from the bench and shrugged off his jacket. It slid down his back and landed in a heap, revealing his bare arms and collarbone.

Shion’s mouth went dry. This was the closest he and Nezumi had been to each other without any of the others near for almost a week, and Shion’s heart hammered a mile a minute. Nezumi picked up his jacket and held it out to Shion without a word. Shion took it, knowing the ritual well by now. Nezumi gave him his jacket to wear to keep him safe, Shion marked him with runes, and then Nezumi went off and slaughtered the demon.

The lights of the wheel had turned blue and yellow as Shion slipped Nezumi’s jacket on. The lights cast shadows across Nezumi’s face and arms. His hair hung down around his shoulders, most of it pulled back. Shion could tell by looking at him that he was a warrior: the bones beneath his skin and muscles were hard as iron.

Nezumi was beautiful. He had always been beautiful, even when he was bleeding in the foyer of the Institute. It was a memory Shion didn’t like to relive because it reminded him that there had been a time when he and Nezumi had not been parabatai. Nezumi’s silver eyes flashed in the changing lights of the Ferris wheel. He was beautiful, and Shion stood with his hand trembling around the hilt of his stele and his body aching.

He wanted to touch Nezumi. He knew he couldn’t. He and Nezumi had taken the parabatai oath—had stood in front of the Silent Brothers and pledged to fight together, to live together, to be together, but never to fall in love.

Nezumi stepped forward as the Ferris wheel brought the carriage around to the top. The collar of Nezumi’s gear was low, displaying the pale flesh of his collarbone. The top of his parabatai rune peeked out above his heart. The skin along his throat and shoulders was scored over and over with faded silvery lines that were only visible in brief flashes, the remnants of old runes.

Shion had to step closer to Mark him. He pressed the stele to Nezumi’s forearm. The runes bloomed beneath the tip of the stele: agility, stealth, night vision, glamour so the humans wouldn’t see him. Shion placed a Sure-Strike in between Nezumi’s collarbone, close to his heart where it would be the most effective. Nezumi was slightly taller than him, but enough to make a difference; Shion’s head reached to his chin, and he stared directly at Nezumi’s throat.

“Give me your stele,” Nezumi said abruptly.

Shion jerked his head up. He had just finished the runes. Nezumi reached out to take the stele from his hand, and Shion surrendered it without resistance. Nezumi stared at him, and Shion couldn’t read the expression on his face. Nezumi’s eyes had turned the color of storm clouds in the darkness of the carriage. The lights from the Ferris wheel had turned red and yellow, spreading out around them and spilling down to the pitch-black waters below.

Nezumi took Shion’s arm, the one with the parabatai rune on his wrist. He shoved the sleeve of his jacket and Shion’s button-down up. There was tenderness behind his touch, a gentleness that Shion had never associated with Nezumi before.

Nezumi pressed the tip of the stele to Shion’s wrist and pulled it in swift spirals around his skin. Bolts of warmth shot through Shion’s stomach and down to his toes. He shifted his weight to his other leg.

A single Mark appeared on the pale skin above his parabatai rune. Shion recognized it as the looping patterns of a protection charm. Nezumi’s head was bent forward, his gaze fixed on the task of finishing the rune. Shion fought to keep from shivering. His body felt warm.

Once the rune was finished, Nezumi handed the stele back to Shion. Nezumi’s pale arms were painted in runes of stealth and power, crafted in Shion’s elegant penmanship. Shion gazed down at the scratching on his arm. Nezumi had harsh handwriting, spiked at the corners as if he had carved it with the tip of his knife.

Nezumi gripped the hilt of his knife and stepped forward. He took Shion’s chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced their eyes to lock.

Shion’s heart clenched. “Nezumi?” he whispered. The lights of the Ferris wheel had turned to a deep, rich blue that almost threw Nezumi completely into darkness.

Something rose up on the other side of the carriage—a wriggling mass of frigid tentacles the color of blood. Not the fresh blood that came from a cut from a blade. The blood that welled beneath an infected wound that killed in slow, feverish tendrils. One tentacle had clung to the spoke of the Ferris wheel. Its mouth was open wide, its teeth sharp as needles.

“Nezumi!” Shion shouted, and Nezumi flung himself from the carriage. He caught himself on one of the many bars interlocking the spokes and carriages together.

Shion scrambled to the side and leaned over. Nezumi was holding onto the spoke with one hand. With the other, he hacked at the tentacle keeping the creature locked to the wheel.

The edge of the knife caught the creature’s tentacle as it reeled back. It screeched. Nezumi turned his face away as a spray of black ichor splashed against his neck and bare arms.

Shion clutched the stele in his fist as Nezumi pulled himself up on the spoke. For half a second, Shion considered throwing the stele like a projectile—but the creature, shockingly fast, was already scrambling down along the tangle of iron bars. And a Shadowhunter without their stele is as good as dead.

Shion ran to the other side of the carriage as the wheel began to descend. LED lights exploded around him in a sea of blues and reds and yellows. Nezumi clambered down the wheel spokes after it. Shion could see ichor spilled on the iron. He knew the creature was hurt.

The view from the Ferris wheel was beautiful. The pitch-black sea and the silver sand spread out beneath him in all directions. Shion felt like he was dangling off the edge of the world.

He could taste blood and salt in his mouth, and he knew it had come from Nezumi. Shion’s parabatai was jumping down the length of the wheel, using the spokes and wires and iron bars to steady himself. The creature had gone to the center of the wheel. Its crimson tentacles wrapped around the bolts and jerked. Shion leaned over to see what it was doing—and then he went cold.

The demon was attempting to wrench the bolt out from the Ferris wheel. If it succeeded, the whole thing would roll off the pier. Shion couldn’t pretend that any of the passengers on the wheel would survive, or that any of the groups of mundanes lingering below would, either.

The Ferris wheel rocked. Shion stumbled and caught the edge of the carriage against his stomach. He winced in pain. The creature had its tentacles around the wheel’s heart and was twisting it. Nezumi, spotting the demon and realizing what it intended to do, redoubled his speed and sprinted down the iron bars. He was too far above the wheel’s middle.

The carriage had begun to swing back down and around. Shion ducked when he passed the ticket booth. He couldn’t see the tall girl and her blond girlfriend, but the chaos in the line seemed to have died down. Once he was out of the loading dock, Shion raced to the edge and craned his head upward.

Nezumi stretched his body out along the iron bar. He wrapped his left arm around one of them, and then he looked down at Shion and nodded.

Shion knew, instinctively, without having to wonder, what Nezumi intended for him to do. He pushed the sleeve of his borrowed jacket up—pretending not to notice that it smelled like his parabatai—and etched a quick glamour spell on the inside of his wrist. Once the glamour rune had finished, once Shion knew he would be hidden from the eyes and ears of normal mundanes, he leaned over the edge of the carriage and screamed.

It was different from the squeals of delight from the Ferris wheel passengers. It was different from the laughter on the pier and the squeals of children up way past their bedtime. Shion poured all of his fear and concern for his parabatai into the sound. He released all the frustration he’d been feeling, all the late nights lying awake in his bed, all the dangerous thoughts he couldn’t seem to quell.

The demon stopped yanking on the wheel and raised its head towards the sound. Shion saw its three eyes, oval and glossed as pearls. Nezumi released his grip on the spoke and plummeted down toward the demon. As he fell, he angled his knife, his hair whipping back from around his face. He was a falling star, and the demon’s white eyes seemed to widen as it pieced together that Shion’s scream had been a distraction.

It was too late. Nezumi whipped the knife forward, driving it down into the top of the demon’s skull. The blade punctured its flesh with a slick, wet sound. The creature’s tentacles flailed in a dying spasm.

Nezumi wrenched his knife free and stepped off onto one of the spokes. The demon’s body jerked back and rolled along one of the downward spokes of the wheel. It reached the end and tumbled off. Shion thought he heard a splash in the ocean, but there was no time to wonder. He looked at Nezumi, who was scrambling down the side of the wheel and heading for the ground.

The carriage was coming back around towards the loading dock. Shion grabbed Lady Macbeth from her spot under the bench and hopped out of the carriage as it approached the ground. He was invisible from the glamour rune, so an empty carriage earned a few strange looks, but Shion was making his way through the crowd towards Nezumi long before anyone could wonder what it could mean. Mundanes had an interesting way of dismissing things they perceived as strange simply because it was easier to handle than the truth.

Nezumi was standing a few feet away under one of the pier LED lamps. He was breathing hard. He spotted Shion, and the tension in his body seemed to dissipate. Behind them, the Ferris wheel spun, lowering passengers towards the beach and picking up new ones for the ride. Shion could see the crowd of mundanes, the shimmer of water along the shoreline, and two dark figures standing on the beach that could have been Safu and Inukashi.

“Nice work, Your Majesty,” said Nezumi. He wiped ichor off his bare arms. It left black streaks on his pale skin, as if he’d been messing around with an inkwell and the whole thing had spilled on him.

“You, too,” Shion murmured, lowering his head so Nezumi couldn’t see him blushing. He clenched the plastic bag in his fist. Inside, Lady Macbeth swallowed bubbles and swam without a care in the world.

⁂

Safu and Inukashi were waiting for them beneath the pier. Inukashi had taken off their boots and waded partway into the waves. Safu was wiping ichor off her Hightower hunting knife. At her feet was a patch of drying sand the color of charcoal.

“Was the demon dead when it hit the water?” Shion called. The glamour rune on his right wrist burned in the crisp mid-evening air. “Please tell me it was. Even if it isn’t true.”

“Close enough,” replied Safu. “It rolled into the shallows. Inukashi caught it trying to crawl away, but they cut its tentacle off and it went down.” She nudged at the patch of ichor smeared into the sand. “The tentacle dove into the ocean, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about.”

Nezumi had wandered away from Shion and down to the edge of the water. Inukashi splashed out of the shallows and jammed their wet feet into their boots. Both he and Safu were fully glamoured, and Shion saw a group of mundane teenagers completely overlook them as they walked across the beach. He wondered what the mundanes would think if they could see them now—a ragtag bunch of Shadowhunters splattered in black blood, with knives and steles rather than wallets and iPhones.

Inukashi made some snide comment in response to something Nezumi had said. Nezumi responded with a sound like a sardonic laugh and brushed some of the black ichor from his arms. All four of them were shivering. The night air smelled like dirt and seawater and popcorn. Shion could hear the carnival at his back. The city in the distance glistened like the carapaces of a thousand beetles, all silver and gold and blinking red. The ocean waves lapped against the sand in the distance. The moon had crept behind a small patch of clouds.

“We’d better get back,” Safu said, pulling her soaking wet jacket around her shoulders. “Before Rikiga sends a search party.”

“Where’d you park the Jeep?” asked Nezumi. He scrubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Some of the ichor had splattered across his face, leaving a trail of black tar over his lips. “I’ll drive.”

“Doesn’t that burn?” asked Inukashi. They were soaked to the bone, their dark hair clinging to their neck. It had come loose from its ponytail sometime during the battle, and they looked every bit as wild as Shion thought they had the day they arrived at the Institute.

“Not really,” replied Nezumi with an indifferent shrug. “Doesn’t taste that great, though.” He spat a glob of black onto the beach.

“It’s parked back there,” said Safu, gesturing to the carnival parking lot. At Nezumi’s disgusted look, she answered, “Well, what was I supposed to do? I can’t put a glamour rune on it, and I don’t want it to get towed. Rikiga still hasn’t forgiven you for the last time that happened, by the way.”

Nezumi examined the edge of his blade, as if he were looking for nicks. “He’ll get over it. Come on. Let’s get the Jeep and go back to the Institute. I need a shower.”

Shion examined the surface of the water. The silver waves lapped against the sand, a gentle shushing sound drowning out the cheerful wails of the mundanes in the carnival.

“Are we sure there aren’t any others out in the shallows?” he asked. “We should check.”

Nezumi, who had been wringing ichor and saltwater out of his hair, shot Shion an incredulous look. “Can you breathe underwater? ‘Cause I sure as hell can’t. Besides, those things are solitary hunters. Extremely territorial. That was the only one. Trust me.”

Shion didn’t even think to argue. His parabatai was better versed in dealing with demons in the field. And if Nezumi assured him that the creature they’d fought was the only one, then Shion would believe him.

Inukashi shot Nezumi a disgusted look as he spat another glob of ichor onto the sand. “Could you stop doing that?” They shuddered. “Disgusting.”

Nezumi flashed them a wide grin, his teeth stained black. Shion smiled over at him, as much as he could. He felt unnaturally calm around Nezumi, but he assumed it was due to the fact that they were parabatai. He was unbearably grateful that Nezumi had asked him to participate in the Trial of Fire. Five years ago, Shion never could have dreamed that the thin, rain-soaked boy in the foyer of the Institute would want anything to do with him.

Nezumi’s silver eyes flickered over in Shion’s direction, and Shion felt a surge of warmth shiver through his body. There was something about Nezumi, something indefinitely strange, a hint of wildness that reminded Shion of a typhoon. He could see it in the glorious silver coloration of Nezumi’s irises, the beautiful color he had never seen on any other creature.

Shion watched as Nezumi wandered over toward him. Reaching Shion’s side, Nezumi lifted his hand and brushed a lock of Shion’s white hair out of his face. Shion leaned into the touch, without thinking, and then forced himself to draw away.

Dangerous thoughts, he reminded himself, gazing into his parabatai’s sharp eyes and hearing the sound of Safu and Inukashi’s voices fading out. Completely dangerous.

[safrona-shadowsun]

How many roleplay blogs do you have?

I have several roleplay or at least character blogs, both active and inactive! Which are: 

@safrona-shadowsun, @roselyn-ravenblade, @gravekeeper-anna all who are based in Warcraft. Saf usually gets the attention, as she’s my main blog :p But all three are the characters that get the most writing out of me.

I have a new FFXIV blog that combines a daughter and mother Au Ra in @the-ladies-asmai - I am still new to the game and lore but it’s such a welcoming and immersive experience and there is such a large Tumblr presence for ffxiv and I wanted to be a part. And I also have a former WoW character turned to Ffxiv @echoesofthelight that was always a character/rp blog, but I am not currently sure what I am doing with her.

@danseindeath​ is an old character blog for an undead concept in WoW I had that never took off mostly because she was a bit demented and she was a bit nsfw because of the violent tendencies and body horror. I loved the idea of roleplaying a creepy ass character, but I really needed to find someone to bounce her off of to solidify her conceptualization and portrayal...but I found I more chased away Rpers I threw her at instead. I’m considering making her my WoD vampire character, as she was inspired by the Tzimisce anyway.

Thank you, @asharinhun. 

[tenaciousarcadeexpert]

JJ’s Nightmare

A very angst JJ centric oneshot

tagging: @marvelfanlife, @princesswagger15, @dontshootmespence, @literallyprentissstwin, @cynbx, @stunudo, @veroinnumera, @sunflowerpsalms, @ultrarebelheart, @illegalcerebral, @itsmeedee

  The team scatter to find Reid and Garcia. Despite lacking the technical and brains needed to locate them, they refused to back down. JJ was the most determined of the group, being the closest to them. Eventually, they found their location at an old warehouse just a few miles away and decided to head to the warehouse and stop the cult.

  The team then drove to the warehouse, where they scatter around to find their friends, only to be lured into a trap, causing a shootout between the BAU and the cult members. Amidst the chaos, JJ ran off to the nearest stairs and several stairways, shooting several armed guards along the way. After a brief struggle involving a cult member and a knife, she twist the arm of said member and interrogates him.

“Spencer Reid and Penelope Garcia. Where are they?” She asked while twisting his arm.

“Down the hall too your left.” He groaned. JJ then let’s him go, knocking him out old before reaching her destination. She then opened the door to see two men grabbing Garcia as they strap her down to a chair.

“Let her go!” JJ cried, shooting the two men before they could reach their guns. Seeing that no one else was there, JJ puts her gun back on her holster and runs up to Garcia. 

“Garcia, thank god you’re okay.” She soothed while removing her restraints. “Don’t worry, the team and I are here. You’re saf-” Suddenly, JJ’s eyes widen as she saw Garcia stare at her. She looked pretty much the same, except she had a rather blank expression in her eyes.  “G-Garcia? Are you oka-” “You’re too late JJ, you’re too late. We’re one of them now.” She replies in a rather emotionless tone, something that does not sound like the Garcia she knows. She stuttered. “W-we’re?” Suddenly, she heard the sound of the gun click as she turns to see Reid, with the same emotionless look as Garcia aim his gun at her.

“S-Spence?” She croaked. He did respond as he continues to point his gun at her. Suddenly, fellow cult member Mary Meadows and Messiah Benjamin David Merva arrive at the scene.

“What the hell did you do to them?”  She bellowed.

“Nothing. They have simply become one with the Believers.” Merva calmly replied.

“No, no!” You shouldn’t have done this, you shouldn’t have turned them into one of you.” “Actually, we did.” Meadows smirked. “And might I say that we’re really proud to have them with us.” “No, no! This can’t be, they were my friends. My friends!” JJ stammered. She struggled to compose herself, but it was too late. With her friends taken by the cult, she collapsed onto the floor and cried.  “They were my friends, and you ruined them.” She tried to convince Garcia, but to no avail, her glance remained cold to the heartbroken JJ, same goes for Reid when she turns to her. Both Meadows and Merva looked on as Meadows smiled in satisfaction, taking away the heart of the BAU and corrupting them as JJ helplessly watched.

 Moments later, she woke up to find herself in the hospital, finding out that it was just another nightmare. Whether it was real is the question.

“I don’t know how to do this without them.”

Note: I apologize if any of this was ooc for some of the characters. this is just an au fic, okay?

[frethorentden-blog]

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[madamedeher]

When You Hear the Sirens Coming

I did it. Another DA fic. This time Dorian with my inky Julian! This fic is modern au where Julian is a detective and Dorian is a lawyer. Enjoy chapter 1! Also for those who prefer, link to ao3 here

+++

From the other side of the shop, Bull turns to Julian and throws a look approaching annoyance.

“Do you like them?”

Cole’s voice rings soft and clear as it always does. In his spindly hands is a large box of donuts, two of which are long gone from the box and stuffed unceremoniously into Julian’s eager mouth. They’re maple bacon flavoured which is his all time favorite, of course. Finding the young man’s bakery was the detective’s best and worst decision according to the ever expanding waistbands.

“Obf courth I lige mem—”

Julian reaches for another before Bull finally steps in, pulling Julian’s arm out the shop and into Bull’s giant truck.

The truck, of which Julian has to wipe his fingers on his slacks so he doesn’t make the leather greasy, is almost comically large to account for his partner’s size. Julian stands at 193 centimeters yet the truck made him feel like he’s in a Barbie car.

“You know, man, the whole ‘cops love donuts’ thing isn’t helped when you pig out like that.”

Julian shoots him a glare before pointedly licking his fingers.

“Yet, here I am, loving Cole’s donuts. Besides, we’re detectives, not cops.”

Bull snorts something about a hole euphemism and drives to their next scene. Julian read about it briefly before they set out for the morning. A seemingly random man disappeared out of thin air, leaving a heavily pregnant wife behind him. Usually a case like this just means some scumbag guy couldn’t handle the pressure of settling down and skipped town, but the house had been trashed and looked like a bad robbery.

The house is deep into the suburbs, where all the houses look printed out and the lawns are all fake bright green grass. Personally, Julian hates going out here. The inner city of Denerim is real, hard, and fast. In the suburbs you saw the true dredges of society and Julian always left feeling more depressed than curious.

It took about 20 minutes to get to the home. It’s a sick yellow and has the same fake patch of grass front yard like every other house. If it wasn’t for the broken window and clear trail of blood leading from the door to the driveway, it would look like just another cog.

The inside of the house on the other hand is a trainwreck. Furniture is flipped, it smells so heavily of bleach it makes Julian’s eyes water, and pretty much every fragile object in sight is shattered to pieces. It looks damn more than a robbery, that’s for sure.

Bull ducks behind him to enter the house and sighs softly.

“That ain’t good.”

Julian shakes his head. No, it isn’t.

Snapping on gloves, Julian steps carefully around the home. Voices came from another room, presumably the dining room, and as Julian got closer he hears faint sobbing and the fake sweet voices of cops trying to console someone who is clearly hysterical.

Turning a corner, Julian is greeted by shattered dishes and several broken appliances. Sitting at the dining room table is a blonde woman with short hair sobbing into her arms. Cassandra and Blackwall stand on both sides of the woman, gently patting her and looking very awkward.

“We are very, very sorry for your loss Mrs. Cousland.”

“Fergus wouldn’t just leave! Someone to-o-ook him!” The woman, Mrs. Cousland? Punctuates most of her syllables with hearty sobs.

Blackwall is the first to see Julian and pleads with his eyes for the man to walk over and turn on the charm so they could walk away from the situation. Julian relents and puts on his most buttery voice. He needs information, and a sobbing victim made no use.

“Miss? My name is Julian Trevelyan,” he flashes a badge at her when she looks up with puffy eyes. It’s pretty obvious he is another worker bee around here, but flashing his badge always comforted scared civilians.

She sniffs loudly and nods curtly. “M-my name is Oriana, Oriana Cousland. Are you one of the, um, detectives they were talking about?”

Mrs. Cousland motions towards to the two officers behind her who are slowly drifting away from her and out the room.

“Yes, my partner, Bull, is looking around the house.”

Speak of the devil, Bull saunters in, ducking under undoubtedly one of many doorframes. Julian sits down while Bull stays standing. Chairs too small.

“Ma’am.” He tilts his head towards her and does his best to look as least-threatening as possible.

“We’d like to ask you a few questions, if that’s alright with you.” Julian pointedly ignores his partner’s arrival to keep her attention on him.

Mrs. Cousland sniffles and thinks, nodding after a moment.

“Yes, that’s fine.” she croaks, wiping her red nose on the sleeve of her dress.

Julian hears Bull pull out a notebook and click a pen.

“First of all, I’d like to know how you’re holding up, Mrs. Cousland.”

Mrs. Cousland waves her hand, “Please, call me Oriana. And terribly. Thank you for asking. It feels like everyone here doesn’t even see me. I’m just another person to interrogate, my husband, the father of my child is missing for Maker’s sake!”

Julian sighs. Knowing Cassandra and Blackwall, Oriana no doubt got the reaming of a lifetime.

“Okay, Oriana. I have no plans to interrogate you. I simply want to ask a few simple questions.”

The woman visibly relaxes. With a heavy sigh, she nods. Julian continues,

“So, to start off, I’d like to know about your morning. Tell me about your routine.”

“Well, Fergus wakes up before I do. He was gone before I woke, but, but that’s normal.” Her eyes gloss over and stare out a window as she speaks, “I get out of bed, take a shower, and have breakfast. An omelette. Then, hm, I watched television for a couple hours, then went to have brunch with my mother-in-law.”

Oriana’s nose begins to scrunch with unshed tears as she recalls the day’s events. Julian puts a sympathetic hand against her shoulder which seems to comfort her just slightly.

“And when you got home, you saw the house as it is?”

She nods, hot tears rolling down her blotchy cheeks.

“Yes, I came home to— to— to this.” she motions her hands wildly around them before she begins sobbing again.

“Right, I’m sorry. When you came home, what exactly did you see?”

“My home a mess! Everything absolutely disarray. I called Fergus, but he didn’t answer. I called his work, and they said he never showed.”

Bull can be heard scribbling on his tattered notebook. Julian simply raises his eyebrows.

“Hm. He left before you woke, but seemed to have stopped home while you were away and then..?”

“He disappeared! Fergus wouldn’t just up and leave, he wouldn’t.”

The edge of her voice causes Julian to backtrack. He honestly wasn’t trying to imply anything. Taking a breath, Julian collects his wandering thoughts and zones into Oriana.

“I believe you.” He lies, “I just want to get all the facts straight.”

“Right, right, I apologize.” Oriana dabs daintily at her nose, suddenly remembering she’s in front of people. “Yesterday, did everything seem normal? Fergus didn’t act out of the ordinary?”

“Oh, well…”

Julian looks back at Bull who’s giving him a hard look that says, ‘oh, here we go.’

Oriana frowns and looks down between her shoes. “We had a fight.” she says very quietly, as if she was a child caught in the candy.

“A fight? What kind of fight?” Unless this woman is a makeup wizard, there doesn’t seem to be any obvious signs of a physical fight.

“Over the baby. He… he wants us to move into his family’s estate. So he’ll have more room to learn and play.” She lovingly pats her swollen belly, continuing, “I didn’t want to. I like this area. It’s quiet, and saf-” she stops on the word safe. Obviously, it isn’t as safe as she thought. Julian is still having a hard time at the thought of a grown man getting kidnapped. Probably killed and dragged off to be dumped somewhere.

“Is there anything stolen from your home?”

“That’s the thing!” Oriana jumps at the subject switch. “Nothing was taken! Not one thing. I checked, the police checked, everything is here.”

Bull grunts behind him and the scribbling stops at the sound of the pen clicking.

“Interesting.” is all Julian can say without furthering the woman’s worry. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to take a look around.”

Oriana nods softly and turns away from them, lost in thought.

Once out of the room Julian finds himself back in the living room. Large smears of blood stain an off-white wall leading into the house’s hallway. Fingernails seem to have dragged across the floor in an effort to hold onto something as to not get dragged away. Huh. Julian figures it must be more than one person who dragged away Fergus Cousland. The force’s photographer, Dagna, bounded into the room with her large, expensive camera. She stops at the fingernail marks, steadies the camera, and Julian hears a stream of shutters.

“Hey, Jules.” Dagna doesn’t look away from her camera, adjusting and fidgeting with whatever is going on in there.

“Hey, D. Anything particularly gruesome you want me to take a special look at?”

Dagna chortles to herself but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Yeah, did you check the bedroom?”

Julian walks past her and pushes open the creaky door. He certainly wasn’t expecting what he saw.

The bed is absolutely covered in blood and gore. It’s clearly a king size and every inch is drenched in some sort of human. Oddly enough, the rest of the room is spotless. Julian takes a sample of whatever… parts were on the bed and goes to patrol the rest of the house.

The bathroom, second bedroom, and backyard are all clean. In fact, the they’re the only spots on the land that weren’t tainted in some way. It didn’t take long for Bull to finish up his business and Julian is back in the truck on their way to their headquarters.

Another thirty minutes and Julian manages to submit the evidence he collected and sits down at his desk. Bull skulks off to the break room of the office before Julian can discuss what they found. Bull was never a quiet man, but after every introduction to a case he goes to compartmentalize whatever it is he just absorbed. Julian, on the other hand, hates that, and is buzzing to bounce ideas off the first person who will listen to him.

He’s about to go search for the new temp, Krem, that Commander De Fer hired when a bustling at the front of the station draws Julian’s attention.

Loud voices and a haughty laugh follow. If Julian strains, he hears Cullen’s sputtering at some joke and Sera’s shrill laugh.

Suddenly, the group appears into the main office.

A finely dressed man swaggers into the room absolutely glowing. He has a nicely trimmed mustache that matched the perfectly swooped hair atop his head. He wore an immaculately fitted black suit and is followed by an equally perfectly groomed tall blonde woman. The pair didn’t fit into the office’s environment at all.

Sera, permanently stained by mystery substances is absolutely enraptured by whatever the blonde woman is telling her, while Cullen, stubbly and tired looking still seems to try to keep up with the beautiful strangers.

Cullen and Julian catch eyes and before he can stop himself, Julian is standing in front of the group.

“Julsie!” Sera bounds over to him and pulls his tie so he slouches closer to her level. He feels slightly guilty for being over a foot taller than her. “You’re gonna love these guys! They’re from Tevinter. And dirty.” She giggles that evil laugh she does and Julian’s drawn back to the strangers.

The first stranger holds out his hand to shake and smiles— well, no, smile would be the wrong word. It’s more of a shit-eating grin, even though Julian can’t tell what the man has done to earn that smile.

“Dorian Pavus, charmed, I’m sure.”

Julian isn’t charmed, but the man, Dorian, has a fantastically confident attitude that Julian loves to feed off in a group setting. He takes his hand and shakes once. Firm grip. Nice.

“Julian Trevelyan. But my friends call me Jules.”

Dorian grins genuinely this time, quirking his brow and snorting.

“Your name is Jules?”

“Yeah, something wrong?”

“Oh, no, it’s just such a frilly name and,” Dorian stops himself before he puts his foot in his mouth further. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that, you’re just rather striking to have such a name, is all.”

Julian can’t help but bark a laugh. He already likes this guy.

“Is that a roundabout way of calling me handsome?”

“I don’t know, is it?”

“I don’t know, am I?”

They share a look before Cullen coughs and rolls his eyes.

“Oh, Maker. Don’t tell me you’re like Julian.”

Julian feigns a hurt expression and clutches his imaginary pearls.

“Whatever do you mean, dear Cullen?”

Cullen turns to leave muttering something about serial flirting under breath.

“What a chipper young man.” Dorian comments.

“What!? He can be a right twat!” Sera bounces around them and it takes Julian all he can to keep from snickering. He loved Cullen, he did, but he needed a break. Badly.

Behind them, the blonde woman makes herself known by clearing her throat.

“If you two are quite finished, my name is Maevaris Tilani.”

“Julian Trevelyan. Pleasure to meet you both.”

Julian shook her hand, too. He noted how dainty and pale her hands were. They reminded him very much of Cole.

“These two are lawyer leeches.” Sera made sure to really punch out the word leeches, causing Maevaris to roll her eyes and Dorian to act offended.

“I’d think you were nicer to fellow crime fighters?”

“Ha! Since when were lawyers righteous? Shove that up your arse.”

Dorian looked at Julian for some defense which Julian has a hard time coming up with.

“Well… I guess it depends on what kind of lawyer.”

“Maevaris is the defense attorney, not me.”

Maevaris glares at Dorian and pinches his earlobe. He yelps and clutches it tenderly.

“Still, I’m happy you two are around. Was wondering when we’d get some new blood around here.”

“Vaguely suspicious. What happened to the last ‘new blood’ that wandered around here?”

Julian smiled mischievously before looking out to the backlot of the office.

“Ran far, far away. Only the real ones stick around.”

Dorian immediately bristles at the challenge.

“Ha, I suppose I now have to stay for as long as I can out of spite.”

“Meh, probably wouldn’t be a bad thing. We need eye candy that isn’t Vivienne around here.”

“My my, you’re brave.”

Sera makes a gagging sound. “Can you two stop being gross n’ shite? You met 2 minutes ago. Don’t starting rutting, nasties.”

Maevaris tugs at Dorian’s arm to pull away at the conversation that apparently she’s also done with.

Julian loves new people.

[smytherines]

Oh my god, one of my favorite mutuals knows what I'm talking about, hell yes!!! Thank you Hyl!!

There's some really interesting options too, because we could have their innies working at Chimera headquarters, doing the same office stuff they do on Severance, going down the elevator, etc, which already has a ton of interesting implications.

OR, perhaps their innies are spies, or Chimera's equivalent? [Insert cryptic comment about what the OTC makes possible]

So pre-fall we have Curt working for A.S.S. and Owen working for MI6. Owen falls, is captured by the Russians, tortured, gets bought by Chimera, recovery time, goes through the same dark spiral as canon Owen. Let's say all that takes about a year.

Meanwhile, Curt has retired from A.S.S., and he takes what he believes is a severed job as a security consultant. Not because he really wants to work, he's just desperate to turn his mind off to escape the constant crushing grief and guilt

outie!Curt would have no idea what sort of work his innie was actually doing (and wouldn't want to ask questions because he feels like the severance is helping him), but Curt M. is still fundamentally Curt, so he ends up having to spend a lot of time in the break room before he starts ~behaving~

After Owen is healed up (as much as he can be), his superiors at Chimera suggest that he undergo Severance because they claim it will help him remain detached in the field, prevent panic attacks and spiraling and whatnot. And of course Owen would be desperate for any relief from the part of his mind that is constantly fixated on how Curt lied to him and left him for dead. Even if he never gets to experience it, I think the idea of a perfectly emotionally detached version of himself who can focus solely on doing the job without all of Owen's human frailties would be deeply appealing to him (y'know, kinda like he wants to be as DMA in the show)

Just thought of this-- what if it's safehouses that activate the switch? Like Chimera has safehouses all over the world, and they're basically just shacks divided into two totally separate spaces. So one agent shows up, gets locked into one side, presses a button, and once the other agent shows up and is locked in and presses their button, the switch activates and a pathway opens up between the two areas. Gives us our weird unsettling trigger mechanism while still doing spy shit. It would somewhat break the isolation element of severance, but they would be focused on maintaining cover and staying secretive because spies, so I think the tradeoff could work.

Anyways, so Curt M. is finally more or less compliant after so much time in the breakroom. He desperately wants to do good, so he buys into the Chimera Kier-like cult propaganda that tells him he is saving the world, etc. He's on the job about a year when he starts being put on missions with a newly severed spy-- Owen C.

I think this could be really interesting, because they would kinda switch positions as innies vs outies. Outie!Owen is climbing the ranks of Chimera's corporate structure, amassing power, scheming, and so on. He considers Owen C. a thing, not a person. Just another tool to be used to get what he wants. But Owen C. is still fundamentally Owen. He can't help but question things. Outie!Owen is totally ideologically committed to Chimera because of everything he has survived, but Owen C. has no such loyalty. He wants to know who they are, what they're doing, what Chimera is. He is the new worker who cannot stop pushing the limits.

And maybe Curt takes a shift or two in the breakroom to cover for the new guy, because he doesn't know the rules yet. Outie!Curt would be horrified if he knew the work they were doing, but between the breakroom and the propaganda, Curt M. has bought into the bullshit

Oh shit! Originally I was gonna suggest Tatiana and Barb as an Irving and Burt type of situation (which I still think could work), but what if Tatiana is the Petey?? What if she [redacted] and starts trying to make contact?

Oughh I have like a million more ideas but I'll leave it there for now. I do think it would be super interesting from either side though!

I love this au so much though!! It has elements of Mark S. and Hilly R., Mark S. and [redacted], and Irving and Burt

the worst au is the one based on a show nobody else in your fandom has seen. Mr. Smy and I just finished Severance and let me tell you the idea of a severed curtwen working together and not knowing that their "outies" knew each other and loved each other and lost each other is gonna be running laps in my mind for a minute

The basic premise is that if you get severed your consciousness is split between work (the "innie") and your personal life (the "outie") and they are completely separate and distinct. The innie only knows their first name and last initial, has no memory of the outside world whatsoever. Neither part of your consciousness remembers what the other part knows or does.

So imagine post-fall they both take jobs as severed workers (substitute Chimera for Severance's Lumon). In the outside world Curt is mourning Owen so badly that he needs to take a job where his consciousness shuts off for half the day just to survive it. On the outside Owen is spiraling into rage and grief and violence. But on the inside Curt M. and Owen C. are slowly becoming friends again, becoming more than friends, blissfully unaware of their baggage from the outside world but still trapped in a hellish existence they have no hope of escaping from