#arc 1 unmarked

[lena-thinks-too-much]

Some post death Jason things that fanon gets wrong

1. Talia kidnaps a catatonic Jason from the hospital (or in some versions his dead body)

While generally speaking this isn't that big of a difference, I recently read Red Hood: Lost Days and the way Jason ends up with Talia is actually really interesting.

Jason claws his way out of his grave, which is public and unmarked and wanders out of the grave yard. He's catatonic due to the brain damage from what joker did and kinda just wanders along the highway trying to make it back home. Meanwhile whoever's security at the cemetery find Jason's grave, assume it was caused by grave robbers and decide that they'd rather cover it up instead of get in trouble for letting it happen. While this is happening Jason get's hit by a car on the road and police are called. Because he's legally dead he they fail to id him and he's admitted to a hospital as a John Doe. He's in a coma for some time and once he wakes up, he promptly runs away and begins living on the streets in crime alley. At some point some big guy tries to pick a fight with Jason and his training kicks in. Jason does a flip and someone recognizes the move as Robin. This leads to Talia finding out that Jason is alive and that's how she ends up taking him to the league of assassins.

2. Ra's was involved with Jason's training

Ra's wasn't really for doing anything with Jason. Even less so when they realized he was catatonic. He kinda let Talia do whatever she felt like but after a few months of no improvement from Jason, he insisted she called the whole thing off because it was a waste of league resources. This is what spurs Talia into shoving Jason into a lazarus pit. Which just pisses off Ra's.

3. Jason's revenge plan was due to Talia's manipulation

While Talia did tell jason that he "remains unavenged" she also told him to "not seek him out". I've always assumed the antecedent to "him" was Bruce.

In fact Jason's little revenge arc is something Talia was super against. He does the whole bomb under the batmobile thing soon after getting out of the pit but he fails to actually go through with it. Because Talia doesn't actually want Bruce dead she decides to distract Jason by sending him to specialists around the world.

I'm not 100% sure why she later shows him the pictures of Tim. Because that's the point where she sleeps with Jason (which is already a weird choice), leaves him the helmet, and seems to know Jason's going to go back to Gotham with this information.

But generally Talia was trying to keep Jason away from Bruce until he calmed down - which, considering dude kept killing his teachers was definitely going to be a bit.

4. Jason and Damian met in the league

Okay I'll start this one off by saying I love the fics that do this, but there seem to be a lot of people who genuinely believe this happened. Sorry to burst your bubble guys, but outside of the young justice universe, it's quite literally impossible.

Jason was being sent to instructors around the world after coming out of the pit. In fact he was technically being hunted by Ra's for daring to use the pit. Talia herself barely interacted with Jason. Damian certainly didn't.

The argument could be made that Damian and Jason met before the pit but Jason clearly has memories from when he was catatonic and from what I know, he doesn't recognize damian when he meets him later on.

5. Pit madness

Look, there's nothing quite as tasty as a Titan's Tower AU where Jason's stalking through the tower hopped up on pit rage with glowing green eyes only to fully lose his anger at seeing Tim Drake being a disaster of a human. Literally my favorite trope of all time. I highly doubt there's a fic under this tag that I haven't read yet.

That being said pit rage or pit madness quite literally doesn't exist. The closest thing we get in the comics is a temporary burst of madness immediately following exposure to the lazarus pit. But it doesn't last. Definitely not as long as some people seem to believe.

Jason isn't the only person to use the pits in the comics. The Al Ghul's obviously but also bruce takes his own swim later on. But Jason's the only one people think have pit madness (and also Ra's Al Ghul but he doesn't count because there's no way you survive 7 centuries without going insane). The closest thing we see to pit madness in the comics is when Nyssa tortures Talia with her personal lazarus pit (that she experimented on) by repeatedly kiled and revived her until she quite literally breaks Talia's mind.

The pit madness that people attribute to Jason, however, most closely resembles the kind of bloodlust and animalistic behavior we see from people who use the lazarus pits in the Arrowverse, and no one is ever going to accuse that of being canon. So yeah these are just some things that while I actually quite enjoy reading in fanfics, they aren't actually true and it genuinely astounds me, how many people think it's canon and not fanon.

let me know if I missed any or got something wrong because I'm mostly working off my memorie for the red hood lost days references.

disclaimer: I'm fully aware that fanon ≠ canon. However these are things that I see a lot of fans treating as fact and that just generally irks me. Like I'm all for cherry picking the timelines and details that you like and adding your headcanons into the mix. It's the best part of fandom. But also I think it's important to at least be aware of what's canonical (although with DC that does generally turns into a mess)

[whereismywarden]

Useful tips for new Veilguard players

Under a cut for people who want to go in 100% blind (and because there are some very mild spoilers).

Return to the Lighthouse regularly to check on your companions. There will be a symbol on the map next to their picture if there's an interaction available.

If two characters are in the same room but there is no symbol on the map, going to meet them will trigger a banter (the same type you'd get while travelling).

Companion arcs are divided into three types of interactions: conversations, outings, quests. While quests probably don't have a time limit (emphasis on probably), the others might disappear as you progress further into the main story.

(spoiler) At some point during the flirting stage of your relationship with a companion, you're given the chance to express romantic interest towards them without committing to the relationship. Your next interaction with that character is very likely going to be when you'll get the option to actually commit.

I strongly suggest doing every side quest before starting the following main quests: A Warden's Best Friend, The Siege of Weisshaupt (can confirm you'll fail some quests if you don't do them first), Blood of Arlathan (haven't tested it myself, but it seems to be that kind of quest).

Exception being the Crossroads' quests, which can be done whenever (most of them require you to be at a higher level anyway).

The final act starts with a warning. Be sure you've done all the quests you wanted to do (Crossroads included) before you go any further.

There are some unmarked quests in the game that grant unique rewards. Some of them won't trigger until later in the story, so don't hesitate to return to areas you've already visited before.

Companion level-ups are tied to their approval. You can raise their approval by doing their personal quests or by completing quests with them in your party. Some of them will also approve of killing specific types of enemies (for example, Davrin with darkspawn). You can also buy a gift from each of their respective faction's vendors.

Merchants may sell valuables that can increase your stats, so don't overlook that tab! Hovering over the items tells you which ones will give you a boost (mostly drinks).

You can sell your valuables to faction vendors in order to raise said faction's strength.

Items may have a different value depending on which faction you're selling them to. For example, Blight-related items will be worth more points if you sell them to the Grey Wardens.

(spoiler) You will lose access to a faction midway through Act 1, but you can still raise their strength by selling your valuables to a vendor in the Crossroads (marked on the map).

Selling your items isn't necessary to get a faction to 3 stars. In most cases (not always, some may depend on choices you've made), doing all their quests (including companion quests) is enough.

You don't need to max out a faction's strength to get them to 3 stars. However, maxing out unlocks the faction's final vendor rank, which then gives you access to unique items.

Having all factions to 3 stars isn't required to get the best ending. (One of my factions was still at 2 stars when I played the final act during my first playthrough, and I saw no difference. Though I would still recommend raising most factions' approval as much as possible.)

Completing companion quests and making the right choices during the final act is important, however.

If you want to unlock all possible endings, you'll need to complete quests in the Crossroads.

The Caretaker can upgrade your abilities in addition to your equipment. It's the second tab in the enchantment menu.

While you don't need to have a balanced mage-warrior-rogue party, you'll fare better in combat if you can make combos. Try to have at least one duo that can apply and detonate the same effect.

[dozedoffeugene]

death & romance⚕️⋆⭒˚.⋆

Chapter 1/10 : 4.3k words

Cross-posted on AO3

Warnings: needles/injections

Context: post-fall of Overwatch

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When you left Overwatch, you thought you were done.

You had nothing: no orders, no purpose, just some credits to your name and what was left of your pride.

That is, until you received an unmarked letter in your mailbox.

Talon, requesting your presence. No details. Just a location.

You should’ve ignored it. But you didn’t.

What you found there wasn’t just a job—it was her. Moira. Cold hands, sharp eyes, and promises too precise to be lies. She said she could make you stronger. Said there was potential in you, if you let her bring it out.

Eventually, the line between choice and control starts to blur. You keep returning to her lab. Letting her study you. Change you. The injections burn, but the way she touches you afterward: the way she watches you like you’re hers, burns hotter.

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You don’t ask where they’re taking you.

The Talon escort is silent. Helmeted, with no insignia. Just a pulse rifle slung low and footsteps that echo like a countdown.

You’ve been walking for seven minutes—down clean, windowless corridors, past red-lit doors that stay closed and most definitely hold secrets. The place smells like metal and antiseptic.

It’s all too quiet.

You’ve walked through facilities like this before. Years ago. Though with a different symbol on the walls. Different handlers, too. Back when your orders came from elected officials, men and women you once trusted.

Back when people still called you by a name.

You don’t use that name anymore.

Now, you just walk.

You’ve stopped asking where you’re being taken. If they wanted you dead, you’d already be in a body bag.

You knew what Talon was before you ever walked through their doors—whispers of blacksite labs, discarded test subjects, science that didn’t ask permission.

You told yourself you’d never crawl to them, not after what Overwatch cost you. But survival chips away at pride fast, and you were tired of bleeding for people who spoke about justice like it was clean. At least Talon doesn’t lie about what it is.

Still, your gut twists with each new turn.

Eventually, the escort stops in front of a smooth, unmarked door and types in a code without a word. The lock hisses open.

“Inside,” he says. Then he leaves.

The lab is colder than you expected. Not just in temperature, though the air has that sterile chill that clings to your skin, but in atmosphere. The lighting is low, with a soft violet cast from the wall monitors and status bars flickering quietly across machines you don’t recognize.

Tables are lined with instruments: precision tools, surgical arms, vials of iridescent liquid in subtle, pulsing hues. There’s a scanner in the corner shaped like a medical cradle, its frame dark and braced with restraints. The air smells sterile, but it doesn’t exactly feel like a place built for healing.

The room is quiet—save for the woman waiting at the far end.

She stands at the far console, back turned, her silhouette unmistakable even in the dim light. She’s tall, sharper in profile than you expected, all angles and intent. Her lab coat drapes like a shroud, cinched neatly at the waist, not a wrinkle in sight.

One gloved hand taps out something on a data pad, the other resting against her hip with unconscious control. Her hair glows faintly under the light—rusted red swept back into a signature arc, its color almost unnatural in this place.

You know who she is before she says anything.

Moira O’Deorain.

The name alone carries weight, even in whispered rumors. Ex-Overwatch. Disavowed. Visionary or villain, depending on who’s telling the story. Her reputation precedes her—but it doesn’t prepare you for seeing her in person.

“Sit,” she says, voice crisp and low, like something engineered to cut through static.

You do, watching her still.

She’s not wearing armor or a mask or any of the usual Talon regalia—just a high-collared black coat with plum accents and sleeves rolled to the elbow, exposing surgical gloves and veins traced with faint bioluminescence.

She taps a few times on the datapad, then looks you over momentarily. When she does, her eyes catch the light unevenly. One is a sharp, clinical blue, the other a deep, warm brown. You can’t decide which one feels more invasive.

“I’ve reviewed your file,” she says flatly. “Overwatch discard: Field capable. High trauma tolerance. Excellent improvisation under duress. Behavioral markers suggest a need for structure.”

You blink slowly. “How flattering.”

She finally meets your eyes.

“It’s not a compliment,” she says. “It’s an observation.”

You say nothing.

She picks up a small glass vial.

It glows a violet-gold, shimmering like it’s alive.

“This compound interfaces directly with the nervous system. Enhancing response time and increasing sensory clarity. It’s temporary—at first.”

You study it, trying to understand what she’s implying.

“You’ve been trained to survive,” she says. “But survival isn’t evolution.”

You narrow your eyes. “So what is this? A shortcut?”

Her mouth lifts, just barely. “It’s a correction.”

That lingers. Long enough that you shift where you stand, gaze trailing across the room’s cold steel edges.

Moira watches you from across the console, head slightly tilted, her expression unreadable.

“You’re treating this like I’ve already agreed,” you say.

“Hesitation is still a form of consent,” she replies. “If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be here.”

You told yourself you were done taking orders that led nowhere. Done bleeding for people who forgot your name the moment the mission ended. Maybe that’s why you walked in here. For once, you wanted to be changed on purpose.

You swallow, pulse kicking a little harder.

“You want me to be a lab rat.”

Moira doesn’t blink. “I want to see what happens when something already dangerous stops limiting itself.”

Her tone doesn’t change—flat, composed, like she’s narrating a thought experiment.

She steps closer.

The vial turns in her fingers.

“This is the offer,” she says. “Power without doubt. Function without weakness. You’ll become what they failed to make you.”

Your mouth is dry.

You want to laugh. You don’t.

You want to tell her she’s wrong.

But she isn’t.

You’ve lived too long on the edge of usefulness. Too long pretending your silence is control.

You watch the vial in her hand for longer than you should.

It hums faintly. The light inside shifts colors—gold, violet, something in between. Not like any compound you’ve seen before, and you’ve seen more than most.

Moira watches you the way a sculptor watches raw stone, already imagining what she’ll carve away. And what will be left when she’s finished. She gestures to an exam table, clearly already prepped for you.

You approach and stand at the edge of it, fingers twitching against your side.

“This… is official, right?” you ask. “There’s a contract? Something binding?”

Moira doesn’t look up from the tray she’s prepping—syringes aligned like surgical instruments. “There’s no paper, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You wait.

She turns, finally, her tone smooth as ever. “Your consent is the contract.”

The words feel thinner than they should. Too easy to swallow, too hard to spit out.

Risky…

You glance once over your shoulder, toward the door. Then back at her.

“I could just walk out.”

“You could,” she says, then: “You won’t.”

She gestures once more to the table.

It’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You’ve bled on worse. Laid down in tighter spaces. Still, something about the clean sheet, the smooth leather straps resting neatly on either side.

It gets to you. Your stomach coils.

You climb up anyway.

You lie back, the surface colder than expected. Moira steps to your side with measured grace and takes your left wrist in her gloved hand.

“This is just for safety,” she says.

The strap clicks gently into place.

Then the other.

Then ankles.

Not tight. Not yet. But firm enough to remind you this isn’t casual.

“You’ll feel resistance,” she says, standing above you now, her gaze unreadable. “Physiological. Psychological. Let it happen.”

Your throat feels dry.

"I'm still not sure about this."

She cocks her head.

"And yet you came."

You close your eyes. Exhale once, slow and tight. You try to remember what was waiting for you outside this room. No job, no orders. The long, dull silence of a life with no purpose. And then you stop trying.

Beside you, you hear the faint, clinical hiss as she draws the dose.

“You’ll be permitted access to the facility after this,” she says. “You may come and go. No handlers. No surveillance.”

You glance up. “That’s rare.”

“You’re no prisoner,” she says. “You’re an investment.”

Moira places her gloved hand at the side of your neck, pushing your head slightly to the side. The injector is cold against your neck. She doesn’t wait, pressing it with clinical precision.

The hiss is subtle. The effect isn’t.

Your body tenses immediately, a cold rush running through your veins.

The injection surges through you like fire laced with ice—your muscles convulse, your vision blurs, and something deep inside begins to split. It feels like your body is being stripped molecule by molecule, peeled down to bone and then rebuilt in fast, clumsy layers.

You gasp, but the air won’t come right; every breath feels like it’s catching on a new set of lungs that haven’t learned how to work yet.

Moira watches your vitals spike, then level. She walks to you—measured, composed—and places two fingers to your neck, just below your jaw. You flinch slightly at her touch.

“Pulse elevated. Oxygen efficiency increasing.”

She doesn’t remove her hand.

“You’re responding beautifully,” she murmurs.

You look up at her, closer now. She doesn’t move away. Her face is unreadable. That heterochromatic gaze lingers on you just a moment too long.

For a second, you think she might say something else.

She doesn’t, instead stepping away and finding her spot at the console, adding her data.

The worst of it passes like a storm—fast, blinding, and impossible to track. Your limbs still shake, but the seizing has stopped. You blink against the overhead light, breath coming in slow, uneven pulls as sensation returns to your fingers.

It feels like you’ve been scraped out from the inside.

You don’t realize how hard you’re gripping the edges of the table until you hear the soft click of the restraints releasing.

Moira steps back, folding the data pad under one arm. “Sit up when you can.”

You do, slowly. Your muscles don’t hurt—they feel new. Unfamiliar. Like they don’t quite belong to you yet. You glance down at your hands, flex them once, twice. There’s a tremor you can’t control. Your skin is damp, flushed. Not quite feverish, but close.

“How would you describe the sensation?” Moira asks.

You swallow, tasting metal at the back of your throat. “Like… like something was trying to tear its way out of me. And build something else on the way out.”

She nods, typing. “Respiratory constriction?”

You nod. “Like drowning and overheating at the same time.”

“Good.” Her voice doesn’t praise or soften—it just records. “Can you feel any difference in your vision?”

You blink a few times, squinting toward the light. Colors seem sharper around the edges, like they’ve been turned up just slightly too high. “Clearer,” you say. “Too clear.”

Moira tilts her head. “Fascinating.”

You breathe again, slower this time, grounding yourself with one hand on the table’s edge.

Everything still feels wrong. But not in the way you expected.

“Monitor yourself for the next twelve hours,” she says. “Return if there are any hallucinations, blackouts, or signs of violent compulsion.”

You nod in response. Moira reaches into the drawer beside her console, eyes still watching you.

From the tray, she lifts a slim, dark device. It’s smooth, featureless, no bigger than a coin. She holds it out to you between gloved fingers.

“In case of failure,” she says, voice even. “Or compromise.”

You take it carefully, feeling the weight of it settle in your palm. There’s no button visible, but you know it doesn’t need one.

“It’s a tracker?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

She nods her head, just slightly. “It’s a tether.”

Her hand brushes yours as she releases it. “Press it once,” she murmurs. “And I’ll come find you.”

You take it, sliding off the table on unsteady legs and tuck it into your pocket. Every step is unfamiliar—like your body is a suit you haven’t fully grown into.

”If nothing arises, return in a week for your next dose.”

You nod again, and say nothing as you leave.

The lab’s door slides closed with a gentle click. Outside the room, you catch your reflection in the polished steel: flushed, trembling, eyes wide with something between awe and regret.

When you finally step through your own door, legs still unsteady from the dose, the silence hits harder than the comedown.

Your apartment is small: barely more than a room with a sink and a bed jammed into opposite corners. The walls are stained from old coolant leaks, and the overhead light flickers every few seconds, humming faintly with low-grade energy draw.

A cracked holo-screen flickers above the desk, half the interface permanently glitched, stuck on an outdated Talon newsfeed loop. It’s the best you could afford after going off-grid—no pension, no backup, just your name and whatever credits you hadn’t burned through staying alive.

Later that night, you don’t sleep.

You try.

The lights are off. The window’s open. Your gun’s within reach. But nothing feels right.

Your heart is still racing, but you’re not anxious. You’re... alive.

Every sound in your apartment feels amplified—the creak of the floorboards, the hum of the air vent, the tiny throb of your blood in your ears. The serum’s still in you. Still humming.

You stare at the ceiling and think about her hand settled on your throat—fingers steady, gloved, but not without sensation. You’d felt the faint press of her nails just beneath the material.

Measured. Possessive.

You think about the way she looked at you—not with attraction, but certainty.**

Somehow, that felt more intimate than anything else.

The days after the injection are strange too, but not unpleasant.

You feel sharper, like your blood’s running cleaner—muscles taut, reflexes tight, your thoughts moving just ahead of themselves. Whatever was done to you, didn’t break anything.

On the third morning, you find an envelope in your mailbox, unmarked except for a symbol you haven’t seen since your Overwatch days. Talon, unmistakably. Inside: a small stack of credits. A sum you haven’t seen in one place since you left the field.

There’s no note. No instructions. Just payment—for your body, for your silence, for your return.

It’s not a hard decision, you know you’ll go back.

Not because you were told to.

Because you want to.

You return to the lab after a week.

In the days since the injection, your body has felt like it’s finally catching up to the person you were always meant to be. Strength has become a constant hum beneath your skin. Your thoughts are clearer too, probably since you haven’t craved a drink since the day you got back.

For the first time in years, you feel like you have a future. You’ve had doubts, of course—Talon’s reputation isn’t lost on you—but you told yourself you’d know if something felt wrong.

That you’d recognize the line before it was crossed. And nothing’s felt wrong—not really.

So you come back.

The halls of Talon stretch out in cold, quiet symmetry as you follow the guard—each step clicking steady against the polished floor.

When the final door slides open, she’s already there.

Moira.

Exactly as you remember her.

Posture straight, back turned, reading something across a pane of blue-white light. Gloves on. Sleeves rolled. Hair pinned back with sharp precision.

She doesn’t acknowledge you at first. Just keeps working, tapping something on the display with long, pale fingers.

Then, without looking up—

“You came back.”

Her voice is soft. Even. Not surprised. Not pleased.

You stand near the door a beat too long.

“You told me to.”

Moira turns.

Her eyes land on you like a spotlight—blue and bronze, unnerving. She studies your stance, your breathing, your delay.

“You metabolized the first dose efficiently,” she says. “No adverse reactions?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Good.”

She reached for a new vial—slimmer than the last. Darker, it’s yellow glow almost overpowered by the purple.

She steps toward you.

You don’t back away.

But you don’t move forward either.

“Here is your second dose,” she says, lifting the injector slightly. “Necessary for stabilization.”

You eye the vial, then her.

“What exactly am I stabilizing for?”

Moira doesn’t answer right away. She steps closer, gaze sharp with interest.

“Does it matter?” she asks, voice low, almost soothing. “You’re to reach a final form. Stability is the foundation of evolution.” She tilts her head slightly, lips just barely curved. “Unless, of course, you’d rather go back to being ordinary?”

She waits.

The thought settles fast, heavy in your chest: you don’t want to go back. Not to the dull ache of survival, to the half-life you clawed through before this. Ordinary was killing you slowly. At least this feels like becoming something.

“Lie back.”

The command is quiet. Unassuming. But it doesn’t leave room for negotiation.

You settle onto the table, the cold pressing through your spine as your body adjusts to the sterile, unwelcoming surface.

Moira’s fingers move with methodical ease, guiding the restraints over your wrists and ankles, locking them into place with a soft metallic click.

She steps to your side, her gloved hand brushing your hair back from your neck with a sterile kind of care. Then, she places her hand at the base of your throat—not rough, but steady.

The injector touches skin. A sharp press. Then the hiss.

This dose is different.

The serum tears through your veins with violent precision, flooding every nerve ending with heat so sharp it feels like you’re being stripped down and reassembled all at once. Your back arches slightly against the table—every muscle tight, spasming, then locking into new form. Your vision fractures, sharpens, breaks again. You bite down until your jaw aches just to keep from screaming, though you can help but groan in pain.

Moira observes silently. She notes your vitals without shifting her stance, her eyes flicking between the monitor and your face—studying.

When the worst of it finally ebbs, you’re left shivering, breath coming in broken pulls, your limbs molten and useless. Sweat clings to every inch of you like a second skin.

Moira tilts her head slightly. “How do you feel?”

You let out a shaky laugh, more breath than sound. “Like I just fucking died.”

Her lips twitch, just barely. “Good,” she murmurs. “Then it’s working.”

After you’ve caught your breath, she undoes the cuffs holding you down.

Moira slips a hand beneath your shoulders with practiced ease, guiding you upright like she’s repositioning a specimen.

“And your cognitive clarity?” she asks. “Any visual distortion? Maybe auditory?”

You shake your head, still catching your breath. “No distortion. Just… intense.”

She steps closer, holding a small scanner close to your temple. “How was your muscle control?”

“Bad,” you answer, rubbing your sore arms.

She doesn’t flinch. “Residual pain is expected.”

Then, quietly—she speaks to herself.

“Good retention. Stable neural response. Adrenal system… adapting.”

Her gaze flicks back to you, searching. “You’ll be operational within the hour.” She returns to the console and begins typing away.

After a moment, she speaks.

“I knew you’d return.”

There’s no smugness in her tone. Just certainty.

“I didn’t,” you admit.

You don’t mean to say it.

But the serum makes you honest.

“Yet here you are,” she says quietly, turning to look at you, “Still seeking what only I can give you.”

She approaches where you’re sat on the table.

You start to answer, but nothing comes.

Moira peels off her glove with practiced ease as she comes closer, the material slipping free to reveal skin that’s unnaturally pale underneath. Along her forearm, faint veins pulse with lilac bioluminescence, glowing subtly beneath the surface, the lines raised just enough to catch the light. It looks engineered, not healed—something evolved past human.

You don’t mean to stare, but the moment her glove comes off, your eyes lock onto the exposed skin.

Moira notices.

She doesn’t hide it. Doesn’t pull the glove back on. Instead, she lifts her arm between you, palm down, offering it like a demonstration.

“Curious?” she asks, voice unreadable.

You glance up, but she’s already watching you, observing you.

“I started with myself,” she says, letting the bioluminescent patterns catch the lab light. “Every breakthrough I’ve made since—every risk I ask of others—I earned by testing my own limits first.”

Her hand lingers in the air between you, impossibly still.

“I wouldn’t ask anything of you I’m not already willing to survive.”

When Moira reaches you, she raises her unaffected hand and lets her warm fingers trace the edge of your jaw. You hold still, refusing to flinch, though your eyes flick downward the moment her skin brushes yours.

She scans your face like she’s watching something unfold beneath the skin. A map of circuits lighting up in real time.

“What reason have you to fear me?” she asks, lips twitching in a near-smile.

She tilts her head slightly.

Curious.

Already calculating your next threshold.

Her gloved hand slips from your jaw to the back of your neck, firm but not forceful. And she kisses you.

Her lips are poised. Precise. You tilt forward instinctively, breath hitching, deepening the kiss with a hunger that surprises even you.

The warmth rushes up your neck, prickling down your spine. Her hand is firm on your neck, her fingers anchoring you in place. She tastes faintly of pine, and maybe citrus—heady, electric.

Your body reacts faster than your thoughts, heat surging low in your gut as your hands find her hips, pulling her closer.

Her other hand comes up to rest lightly against your chest, not pressing you closer, just marking the distance. Controlling it.

It lasts longer than it should.

Then it’s over.

She breaks the kiss slowly, deliberately, like drawing the final line of an equation.

For a moment, her face stays close. Her breath brushes your skin, cool and steady. You half expect her to whisper something—stay, good, again.

But she doesn’t.

She steps back like a pulse just ended.

You’re still leaning forward, breath caught, blinking like you missed a step on solid ground.

Moira turns without a word and retrieves her data pad from the counter. Her fingers move quickly, efficiently—already documenting.

“Increased cardiovascular irregularity,” she says aloud, tone devoid of judgment. “Cortical spike aligns with prior instability markers. Emotional volatility appears more responsive to close proximity stimuli.”

She doesn’t say I kissed her, it’s close proximity stimuli.

Like it was inevitable.

You don’t speak. Can’t. The shame floods you too fast, thick and hot, dragging every rational thought under. You’re not even sure what you were hoping for. Recognition? Softness?

All you’ve given her is a reaction. A hunch confirmed. Something she can name.

You sit in silence, the lab colder than before, your hands clenched tight in your lap.

Moira finishes typing.

She turns toward you, perfectly composed. “Your first mission will be in three days. You’re to report here the morning of. I’ll prepare the next dose.”

You nod once—mechanical. You don’t trust your voice.

She turns back to her console, already moving on.

You don’t know what you expected.

But it wasn’t this.

You slide off the table without a word.

Your body moves on autopilot, but your mind won’t settle. The door hisses shut behind you, and the silence of the corridor wraps around you like a vacuum.

You keep your pace steady. You don’t look back.

But every step away from that lab feels like you’re shrinking back into something smaller than what she saw.

Your apartment is, as usual, quiet when you return. Still. Clean.

You pace once from wall to wall, strip off your jacket, and sit heavily on the edge of the bed—barely able to breathe through the weight pressing into your chest.

What the hell were you thinking?

You kissed her like you meant something.

You kissed her like she wasn’t already watching every reaction you had.

You bury your face in your hands.

It wasn’t calculated. It was raw. Messy. Human.

Weak.

She didn’t even have to reject you. She just observed it. Wrote it down. And moved on.

You lie back. Try to sleep. Try to clear your head.

But you don’t.

Because every time you close your eyes, you feel it again. Her hand gripping your neck, guiding you closer, steady and possessive.

You remember the exact pressure of her mouth, the way she held you there—not resisting, just allowing, and how badly you wanted more.

You imagine her stepping in closer, slipping a thigh between yours, grinding down until your breath hitched. You see yourself yanking that lab coat off her shoulders, baring her piece by piece, worshiping every inch like she deserves.

When you wake, these thoughts make shame settle deep, low and hot.

One kiss shouldn’t make you feel so completely undone.

You roll onto your side and curse under your breath.

The next morning, you train.

You wake before dawn and work until your limbs shake. You go for a run, set up your old punching bag, and do everything you can to drown out the humming in your ears. The dose left you with more energy than you know what to do with.

At night, you try to rest.

But you don’t.

Sleep never comes clean. It’s hot, fragmented. Every time you drift off, her voice catches you in the dark. Her eyes. Her breath just barely brushing your skin.

You dream of her lips—her body pressed against yours, imagining the feel of her skin against yours. The memory is twisted now, need tangled up with shame.

When you wake, you’re sweating. Thighs pressed tight together, breath hitching from the edge of a dream you can’t speak aloud.

You don’t touch yourself. The idea of looking Moira in the eye afterward, knowing one kiss left you that desperate, that wrecked, makes your stomach twist with humiliation.

Instead, you stare at the ceiling, jaw locked, waiting in agony for the night to end.

You do this every night.

And when the third night breaks into morning, and your alarm clock ticks toward your arrival—

You’re itching to go back.

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 1/5

Book Blurb:

What would you do if you thought your coworker was getting away with murder—literally?

Dolores dela Cruz has been dying to spot one in the wild, and he fits the mold perfectly: strangler gloves, calculated charm, dashing good looks that give a leg up in any field . . . including fields of unmarked graves.

The new office temp is definitely a serial killer.

Jake Ripper finds a welcome distraction in his combative and enigmatic new coworker. He hasn’t come across anyone as interesting as Dolores in a long time. But when mere curiosity evolves into a darkly romantic flirtation, Jake can’t help but wonder if, finally, he’s found someone who really sees him, skeletons in the closet and all.

Until Dolores asks Jake’s help to dispose of a body . . .

A morbidly funny and emotionally resonant novel about the ways life—and love—can sneak up on us (no matter how much pepper spray we carry).

Review:

Two coworkers, possible serial killers... and even more impossible: possibly falling in love with each other. Dolores dela Cruz and Jake Ripper meet on the day a coworker dies... and when they talk to one another... they see something familiar in the other.... that they both might be serial killers. So begins a game between the two coworkers... a game to see who will succumb first and who will take the other one out... whether that be permanently... or on a date because for some reason what started out as a game soon becomes something more... yet when the truths. behind both of them are revealed... will they still want one another? Heres the thing, I came into this book expecting one thing and this is nothing at all like what I expected or wanted. I thought I was getting a Mr and Mrs Smith kind of cat and mouse, I thought I was getting a Killing Eve vibe kind of dynamic... but what this turned out to be was not that. In fact the way this book kind of advertises itself kind of sets itself up for disappointment. I wish it committed to what it was presenting rather than what we got because in the end I was left disappointed and yearning for what I wish I was going to read. It's not for me unfortunately and I do think if you prefer very emotional stories and more of the "we act edgy to cover up our own real pains" kind of vibe then this is for you.

*They are not killers, Jake just gets rid of his roommates blow up dolls but makes a game out of it like he's a killer. He thinks he has a genetic disease that is killing him and he knows that Dolores helped her previous husband die ( like assisted suicide) and he's hoping she'll help him. The entire time Dolores thinks Jake is a killer but also she's mourning her husband and sort of taking care of her daughter. In the end its revealed Jake never had a disease, and they begin dating one another.*

Release Date: April 29, 2025

Publication/Blog: Ash and Books (ash-and-books.tumblr.com)

*Thanks Netgalley and Berkley Publishing Group | Berkley for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[katgametable]

TAZ Balance Episode 19: Petals to the Metal Chapter 2

Written 16 Apr 2025, shortly after relistening, having listened to the entire Balance arc some time ago.

The fight with the Treant continues. Magnus and it exchange blows (because Magnus has two attacks now), then Taako Blinks back, fires off some Scorching Rays, and Blinks out again (confession, when Taako cast it, I thought it was a single blink in, blink out, but it turns out it’s every round for up to a minute). Then a bunch of vines, animated by Treant sap, rise up and restrain Merle. Merle tries talking to the Treant, and the conversation is…not productive, but very upsetting. He does learn that woman came through, created the Treant, and charged it with stopping anyone from going upstairs. Magnus and Taako launch attacks again, and kill the Treant, which saddens Merle.

Taako and Magnus have a look around the booths, and find a lockbox. Magnus smashes it open, and they find 900 gold, but Taako has an attack on conscience and insists they shouldn’t steal it, which is…kinda weird, given he stole all the valuables on the Rockport Limited. They argued for quite a while, I could not work out if they took the money or not. But they did also find a sort of square key.

Magnus then points out the way the footsteps went. They find two doors, one marked “Stairs”, the other unmarked but requiring the key. They open is, and find a glass elevator. The buttons are labelled 1-19, and V. Magnus presses all the buttons, and Taako decides to take the stairs.

There’s a comment here about Taako getting in shape in case he gets back on TV, which confuses Clint, and the others remind him that there was a prequel bonus episode that established Taako used to have a cooking show. I haven’t listened to that bonus episode, because I am not, at this time, a Maximum Fun member. But the cooking show thing is important for Taako.

Anyway, after they reach the second floor, they decide to go straight to floor V at the top, and Taako gets in the elevator. And Merle gets out. He takes one of the Stones of Far Speech and suggests leaving Scuttle Buddy with Magnus and Taako, but Griffin points out that he left Scuttle Buddy on the train that was then obliterated, and he needs to keep better track of his stuff. Which is fair. I think I might’ve forgotten some of the magic items they have, and I’ve been relistening relatively quickly and making notes.

As they continue up, the elevator reaches the point between floors 11 and 12, when vines start breaking in and halt the elevator. Looking out the glass, Magnus and Taako can see the vines starting to infiltrate the lower floors. Magnus uses the Phantom Fist to smash open the hatch in the ceiling – yay for remembering he has that! Taako tosses his rope up and casts Rope Trick, which makes an extra dimensional hole and dangles the rope out. They then call Merle on the Stones and ask him to open the door on floor 12 for them. Magnus climbs onto the rope and grabs Taako just as the vines pull the elevator away, leaving them hanging from the rope. Merle reaches floor 12, finds there are already vines starting to infiltrate it, and gets his crowbar out. He opens the elevator door, but vines shove him into the shaft and close the door behind him. He grabs on to the rope, and all three are left dangling.

This was a solid episode. I liked the combination of tactics in the combat. The moral quandary over the gold was rather baffling, because I can’t work out why Taako suddenly got upset about it. The elevator shenanigans were rather amusing – the rope trick seemed unnecessary, but when the elevator fell away…

It’s a great moment to leave it on.

[majestydeerakuma]

I found some old asks involving my MGRP opinions, I might as well say that things have changed a lot, lol

(Spoilers for Unmarked and Restart below)

First, my top 3 favorites for Unmarked are

3): Cranberry

2): Swim Swim

1): Tama

And my Top 3 favorites for Restart are

3) Pechka

2): Cherna Mouse

1): Detec Bell

And in terms of reviving characters…

I still stand by reviving Tama in Unmarked but for Restart? I’m not entirely sure. Maybe Lazuline but that’s about it? Every death to me made sense in Restart to me somehow

I would revive Tama because I think it would be interesting if she had changed over the course of each arc. Perhaps she becomes a heroic magical girl, finally overcoming her fears and anxieties

Also, I don’t think people consider how deadly Tama’s ability is? Like? Thank God Tama was a sweetheart and not like Swim Swim or Cranberry

[tigger8900]

New Who Rewatch: S1E1 - Rose

So, I originally intended to do this back before the 13th Doctor, but I couldn't get my shit together. Such is life. Then I thought I'd do it before the 60th Anniversary Specials, but again, did not have my shit together. But then I thought, it's never going to happen if I don't just do it, regardless of where my shit is or what it's doing. So this is happening.

I'm gonna be starting from 2005, y'all. Some of these episodes I've seen several times. Some I've only seen a couple times. And a few(more in later seasons) I've only seen once before. It'll be interesting to revisit those in particular, thinking about why I avoided them when picking out episodes to watch. I'll be ranking things as I go. Who knows, life might even allow me to get all the way through to the present! Assume that there are unmarked spoilers through the episode being discussed.

S1E1: Rose

Overall Ranking: 1/1

Series 1 Ranking: 1/1

I've never been mad at Rose. Is it my favorite? No. Do I dislike it? Again no, not even when thinking about the CGI effects. I think it's a great premiere for the reboot, but taking the episode on its own merits it's pretty solidly middle of the pack for me. I expect it to shake out somewhere in the upper middle of the rankings. Though the Ninth Doctor is incredible, Rose is not my favorite companion, so that probably factors into it as well.

Thoughts on the episode:

I really like the framing of the Doctor as being someone dangerous. I'd forgotten about that. He comes in when a big disaster happens, and we know that usually he stops it from being even worse, but from the human perspective he's the harbinger!

The Mickey vs bin CGI is not good. Oi.

Christopher Eccleston is so good in this role. As much as I tend to like the episode content that Russell T. Davies puts out, the fact that Eccleston has spoken out about his negative experiences working with RTD(among others) gives me complicated feelings about RTD being back as a showrunner.

Jackie Tyler is so unlikable at the start, even viewed through the context of her being a single mom doing her best. What she has going for her is the fact that she loves Rose very much and wants what's best for her daughter. What she has going against her is pretty much everything else. She's a great character, especially later in her arc, but I'd hate to have to be around her as she appears in this episode.

RIP Clive.

I love that, after literally five minutes of living plastic-induced mayhem, the street is full of fire. It's so ridiculous and over the top.

The chain swing is a really good character moment for Rose. She might not be set up for success by the metrics society typically uses(no A-levels, no job), but she's brave and capable. That's the part of her character that I like.

...but she treats Mickey like shit! He's not a bad boyfriend, from what we see. They're being sweet together and having fun in the opening, and he shows up to help her out repeatedly. He's also right about a lot of things, including the fact that it's kinda sus to go meet some internet stranger at his house. But she's so inattentive that she doesn't even notice when he's been replaced by an Auton. Admittedly she also doesn't notice the Doctor trying to get her attention in the same scene, so this is more of a Rose issue than a Rose & Mickey issue, but that's messed up. And then at the end, when he's having a perfectly normal reaction to what he's just gone through, she just up and lol bye!~ Mickey deserved better.

[iviarellereads]

Lord of Chaos, Chapter 28 - Letters

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Dagger icon) In which I give another eternal sigh.

PERSPECTIVE: Rand is worried that Lews Therin has been very silent in his head lately. He's been taking it out on everyone around him. He decides to stop running from his problems and his feelings, and also to be "harder" against them.(1)

He goes back to Caemlyn, and as soon as he does, he realizes that Alanna is crying, and she stops just moments after he returns, even as distant as the inn in the outer city. He receives two letters from the Sea Folk, one in Cairhien just as he's stepping out, and another in his chambers at Caemlyn.

Another letter is delivered, and Rand realizes that the servant doing the delivering is Sulin, cringing and kneeling like he's some angry king. This is her punishment for treating a gai'shain like a Maiden on the day they went to Shadar Logoth. He says it was his fault, but the Maidens and Aviendha are scandalized at his lack of understanding of ji'e'toh.

The letter Sulin had delivered was unmarked, sealed in purple wax with a flower imprint. The Queen of Ghealdan, writing Rand as "Cousin", writing to "assure [him] of [her] goodwill, and to express [her] hopes of [his] in return." The first time a nation has approached him without his action against them first.

Avi says she must talk to him, and something that had been itching in his head solidifies. He knocks her out of the way as a Gray Man attacks. Rand wraps him in Air, but Taim appears in the doorway and kills him. Rand asks why he killed him when the Gray Man might have been interrogated, but Taim says he didn't want the man to kill Rand, and it was too late to stop his weave by the time he noticed Rand's Air binding.(2)

He adds that he's found a man with the spark (who would channel even without training) and there have been many changes, Rand should come check out the school. All the while, Lews Therin yells that he wants to kill Taim, as he always does. Rand bids Taim get back to training this Jahar Narishma, as his talents may be needed sooner than later.

After he goes, Rand asks the two Maiden guards not to tell anyone Taim was here and there's some more ji'e'toh nonsense,(3) and then Avi gives him a lecture about how he shamed her today, but cuts off as he shuts down his feelings for her visibly.

PERSPECTIVE: Padan Fain is studying the ruby hilted dagger. His concentration gets broken and he kinda pulls an Emperor Kuzco. He's somewhere near Rand, can feel his presence, could still point at him if asked. There's a difference to that pull lately, as if someone took partial possession of Rand and lessened Fain's bond.(4) Fain has also influenced the Whitecloaks and the White Tower with his taint, so that neither will ever fully support or trust Rand.

The Darkfriend family he's staying with bring news that someone tried to murder the Dragon Reborn, and Fain gets angry because Rand is HIS to kill, no one else's! He evils real hard at the Darkfriends, with a passing angry mention that very few of his Whitecloaks remain.(5)

=====

(1) That's… more than a small contradiction in terms. Unfortunately he has a looooong way to go before his arc completes, as we're only on book 6 of 14. (Eternally scrubbing my face with my hands and reminding myself "he thought the story was nearly done.") (2) Do you believe him? (3) Yes, yes, I'm getting tired, and some of it might be slightly arc relevant but so much of this stuff is repeating itself already. (4) What in the world could have bonded Fain to Rand like that, to feel that Alanna also bonded him? Could that connection to Fain go both ways, and Rand doesn't even notice? Is that why Alanna's so overwhelmed? (5) Tell me you have a better way to describe it than “evils real hard”. Also, he convinced or converted or corrupted some of the Whitecloaks from book 4 in Emond’s Field. So, perhaps those Whitecloaks who attacked Rand weren’t from Niall after all.

[dawnettsemporium]

2 OF MAIKO GIRLS IN KYOTO, EACH ONE DIFFERENT.  1, IMPERIAL PALACE.  1, THE FIVE STORIED PAGODA  AT YASAKA, KYOTO (THE REMAINS OF HOKANJI TEMPLE).

Architecture, Buildings, Cities & Towns, Flowers & Plants, Landscapes, Travel, Views & VISTAS.

POST CARDS MEASURE 4" X 6".  THERE ARE 4.  2 ARE MADE BY SEIKYOKUDO, THE OTHER 2 UNMARKED.  

TWO ARE OF MAIKO GIRLS AND 2 ARE OF HISTORICALLY IMPORTANT BUILDINGS.

THERE IS WEAR ON THE CORNERS AND FLAT EDGES.  COUPLE OF TINY SMUDGES ON THE BACKS.  SOME GENERAL MILD SCUFFING, NOTHING MAJOR OR MARRING OF THE POSTCARD LITHOGRAPH PHOTOGRAPH PICTURES. SEE PICTURES, THEY ARE OF THE ACTUAL ITEMS YOU WILL RECEIVE.  MY PARENTS GOT THESE ON A TRIP TO JAPAN ABOUT 30 YEARS AGO.  NEVER BEEN SENT, CLEAN CARDS.  NO POSTAGE MARKS OR WRITING ON THEM.

#DAWNETTSEMPORIUM, #BEAUTIFULMERMAIDQUEEN, #SHAUNALYNNSFOOD.

FREE SHIPPING.  VOLUME PRICING.  THANK YOU!

[mydcimos]

As before, something jarring sweeps over them. Resetting, and it’s hard to deal with in real-time. A hiss blows through clenched teeth as every bit of his own blood is washed away. Every rip and tear in fabric and flesh is no more. For several seconds, his body burns as a visceral reaction – a skin deep rejection of the bare, unmarked skin.

He twists; golden eyes muddled with confusion as he opens his mouth to say-

What? He doesn’t know. As soon as he does, the mountain-like creatures have fully materialized in front of them – the slightest movement acting like a taunt that urges them into action. Mydei moves in response, repetitively working through the same motions as before. This time, he lets the creatures circle him, bright-eyed with warbling tones…as if they have the intelligence to assess him, vocal like their other enemies were not.

Wave two, start. Mydei rolls 5 energy.

If it is a language, it’s not one he’s heard. He ignores it, summoning a spear to his hand. Before, proximity had done too much, too fast. Now, he adjusts, twirling the weapon until they rotate together, clipping the red one before finding a home in what would be the other’s shoulder.

In a distinctly human way, it lifts a hand and dislodges it, the “blood” that pours out too dark to be anything human. Still, alarm races through Mydei’s head in the way it turns to him with more terrible, inhuman noises to accompany it. What it sends is water in two perfect arcs, too wide for him to do more than cover his arms to defend.

Mydei uses Deaths are Legion, Regrets are none. -6 hp Mydei. -4 hp Hydro, -2 Pyro. Hydro counter 1 hit, counter 2 hit. -3hp Mydei…..imprison…fail…)

Pain erupts, a shower of his own blood spraying where the water takes it. The Kremnoan is dazed. Since when had water been able to act like a blade? He groans, shaking his head to clear it. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time an enemy’s strategy caught him so unguarded, nor the last. Without looking for his companions, he sheds the pretense of caution and leaps again.

Up close, the water-wielding terror is less human that its form suggests. Bright blue eyes don’t seem to find need to blink, unflinching even under the force of Strife connecting with it’s chest, sharp crystal spreading as far from Mydei’s fist as it can to search for a weakness. For a moment, the blonde thinks he’s found one, but more water pulses, only a second of warning before the blade-like cold tears through his chest and blows him back.

A death so quick he hardly registers it. Except that when his eyes snap open again, he’s several feet from where he was before, one hand pressed to the killing blow that has healed just enough to allow him consciousness.

mydei (3/14 hp) uses Kingslayer, be King, -4hp mydei (1/14hp).  -5hp Hydro, -2.5hp pyro. Imprison fail! Hydro counter 1 hit, counter 2 hit. -3hp Mydei 0/14hp. Exit vendetta +6hp.

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐭𝐬.

GHAbyssApril2025 |⠀team four⠀|⠀floor two.

[lamortified]

Magical Girl Thought of the Day

[unumchuchi]

More mahoiku draws

[zakivore-blog]

[lapis-lazuline]

Color illustrations from Magical Girl Raising Project: Episodes Φ

[cardcaptor-madoka]

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