#two degrees of separation

[perenlop]

as someone who enjoys both hobbies it is the most bizarre thing when people try to insinuate that reading books and playing video games are mutually exclusive hobbies that one person cant have at the same time and theyre an indication of your intelligence somehow?

[eyes-blazing]

Jör opened his mouth to respond but froze as the screen cracked. "Who's Darren?" It was clear from their sisters reaction that hadn't killed this Darren person, but Emrys was acting like a wounded animal.

"His son died, and no one ever answered for it. Can't really fault him. I just blocked the new number every year." He looked at Jörmungandr and took a deep breath. "Darren was my first love, and due to my mistakes, he...he died."

"You have a healer literally right here." Jör smiled slightly, looking over Hels shoulder to her phone. "Is there a rainbow snake? It'd be more accurate."

Emrys flinched and shook his head. "Just... getting close to the anniversary of Darren's death. His father still thinks I killed him..." He took a breath.

[tealeavesandtrash]

Wolfstar Micro Fic - @wolfstarmicrofic prompt: Ancient Greece - 363 words

“Are you just going to sit here reading?”

Remus glances up, face scrunching against the sun in a way that’s so endearing Sirius wants to smoosh his face in his hands.

“Yes?” Remus blinks like it’s obvious and - to be fair - it's a silly question because of course Remus would be content to spend his holiday with his nose in a book.

Sirius flops down next to him, sprawling out on the soft sand. The sea is calling Sirius’ name, crystal-clear waves lapping invitingly at the shore. And as much as he wants to jump into the warm Ionian waters, he is also not about to pass up an opportunity to appreciate Remus in this element - long limbs stretching out, sun-kissed skin contrasting beautifully against the white sands and the blue of the sky and sea.

“What are you reading?”

“The Iliad,” Remus says simply, attention flickering back to the book.

Sirius sits up, shuffles closer to peer over Remus’ shoulder. “Didn’t you read that in Uni?”

“Yes but this is a new translation,” Remus explains with an air of excitement. “And it’s fitting, we’re going to the Palace of Nestor tomorrow.”

Sirius nips at Remus’ bare shoulder, just as quickly presses a light kiss in the same spot. “You’re such a nerd.”

“It’s the best preserved Mycenaean Greek palace, of course I’m going to brush up a bit.”

“Nerd,” Sirius mutters again, not hiding the playful tone in his voice because as much as he teases, there is nothing Sirius loves more than listening to Remus’ passionate rambling about history (even if he can’t always follow them.)

Like he reads Sirius as well as the book in front of him, Remus says “Once I finish this chapter I’ll come swimming with you.”

Sirius hums with content, wraps his arms loosely around Remus’ waist and murmurs into his skin, “Thank you for letting me drag you to the beach when you’d rather be poking old ruins.”

Remus rests his head against Sirius’. He can hear his soft smile in his voice, “And thank you in advance for letting me drag you to all my old ruins when you’d rather be at the beach.”

[give-grian-rights]

i feel like i need to be put into a retirement home as someone who shipped Scarian before third life existed

[gaytobymeres]

I like that Benoit Blanc is in many ways a homage to previous fictional detectives, but he himself is not the central character. I think that’s what makes it fresh - the films focus on Marta and Helen, not his ability to detect and deduce which is something you can get in pretty much any detective story.

[lovesickeros]

☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

[moderndaypandora]

jenny moves to london* and gets to find out how fucking expensive it is, even with the insurance from her butcher shop blowing up. she lands a job as a bartender in a pub because she does have customer service experience, and her willingness to intimidate belligerent drunks with a meat cleaver makes up for her generally abrasive personality.

"i thought americans are supposed to be smiley?" you thought wrong, motherfuckers, now order or leave.

she gets away with it because the pub owner seems to find her funny and said he has a soft spot for socially inept goths, they remind him of his boyfriend. pub owner's only his side gig, anyway. he's a professor or something at a local university. he's nice enough to drink with sometimes, and he's the most average guy she's ever met, outside of his name. what the fuck kind of nickname is hob, anyway? whatever. all that matters to jenny is he has zero contact with the paranormal at all, he's not interested in her romantically, and she can pay for her life in london**.

*with what visa? doesn't matter. that's a problem for show writers to actually solve or conveniently ignore in season 2. for the sake of excusing it in my own brain, she qualifies for a uk ancestry visa due to a single grandparent coming from the uk (gi bride in wwii?) and birthing one of her parents in a commonwealth country (canada) before the entire family emigrated to port townsend. **mostly. crystal's parents are unknowingly funding a 2-bedroom flat in north london only a 10 minute bus ride from the finsbury park station on the picadilly line. jenny would love to pretend she's too proud to let an infant pay her rent, but she doesn't lie to herself and london is almost unaffordable.

[unmerrymagdalene]

I cannot for the life of me find the post, but it was a screenshot of the Sex Tape scene in Science class. And Sirris says something like “I want you (guys) to know what sex really looks like. Humans are animals, after all.”

And I think it made something very obvious click for me?

Of course Sirris is like that when it comes to sex/sex education. They’re either taking it from a scientific perspective, where showing live examples of animals mating is understandable for educational purposes. Or even just from a “You’ll only really learn by experiencing/seeing it for yourself” way. It’s very blunt and “realistic.”

But it also made me realize that Sirris definitely does not talk about the emotional aspects of sex? I know that sounds fucking bonkers to mention considering the game, but they focus more on the act than like…the possible mindset/thoughts surrounding it? I feel like that’d be an equally important thing to explore, if they were discussing sex from a human being perspective.

But I guess humans are just animals after all

[handfuloftime]

It's Duroc's birthday! Here's a translation of a letter of his that I've always liked, as quoted in Jean de la Tour's 1913 biography (and, I believe, somewhere in Laure Junot's memoirs, but I can't remember which volume). He's writing from Warsaw in late December 1806 or early January 1807, to Jean-Andoche Junot, who had been left behind in France due to his post as governor of Paris and was deeply unhappy about it, to the point that Laure called that period his "widowhood".

His Majesty the Emperor arrived at Posen on November 27, in perfect health. We stayed there twenty-seven days. It's a sorry city, despite its fine resistance to the Hero of the North [Charles XII]. As for us, apparently either we're more formidable or the inhabitants have changed their character, for instead of defending themselves, they flocked to the Emperor, their magistrates at the head, and received him with an enthusiasm difficult to understand, at least until you recollect that they're not Prussians.  His Majesty published a proclamation on December 2nd, to remind the soldiers that it was the anniversary of the coronation, and above all of Austerlitz. I've never seen the troops so moved. If the Emperor wanted to lead them to China, I guarantee that he could. It's a delirium, and when the proclamation of the same day announced that the Russians had arrived on the banks of the Vistula, a cry arose from all sides: We'll fight them again! We're here [in Warsaw], in winter quarters, and we're well. For a while I've known that Polish women are the most pleasant in Europe; but it was necessary to go to Poland to understand the charm that surrounds them. Warsaw is very agreeable. The society is charming. The Polish men love us even more, I think, than the Polish women. The country wants to take a leader from us: a king. Murat pleases them very much, with his plumes and his sparkling uniforms, but above all with his courage, because you know it's of genuine worth. We receive deputations every day. I've never seen the Emperor in a better mood. He had, however, a fit of temper over the incident of Marshal Lannes and Bennigsen [the battle of Pułtusk]. The Emperor scolded him sharply: Lannes responded that everything was won when the enemy left the battlefield, but it's true that we lost a lot of people. Lannes also complained of a division of Davout's which should have helped him and which didn't back him up well. I don't know, in truth, what happened. Lannes is our friend and he never lies. That's all I can say about it. No doubt you've heard about poor Rapp's wound? He's an unlucky man. He only has to enter the fighting and he's hit. Vandamme conducted himself very well during the campaign. This doesn't surprise me, because he's brave, but he showed real talent during this military tour of Silesia. The Emperor is very content with him. I promised, my dear Junot, to tell you what has been happening to me and you see that I've kept my word. In truth, I can't write to you as often as I'd like; my work, as you know, is very busy and still increasing: but it never prevents me from keeping the fondest and most constant friendship for you. Goodbye, my dear Junot, tell me in return of your carnival and your entertainments. I've heard that you're amusing yourselves greatly. Tell me all about it.  My regards to Madame Junot.

[abyranss]

I read a Hound Ruby fic recently called I can almost hear the Hounds that I really enjoyed and it got me thinking about these two again.

Something that's been on my mind since I last drew them was that I wanted to find ways to distinguish Penny's look more from her usual appearance; she has the red lights and the twisted ahoge and she was scraped up a bit but I wanted to go further.

So I'm leaning more into the cyberpunk nightmare that is Penny's existence. While with Salem she probably looks as I drew her previously but once they leave they lack the resources to keep her in top shape in the absence of Watts' or military funding.

So wear and tear take its toll and they end up needing to use less than optimal parts as replacements; maybe they can scavenge parts from the Atlesian Knights on occasion too. The result is: she ends up looking more obviously mechanical.

[hyenabeanz]

Lol so I made a comment on a FB post in a fan group about Emma Greco signing with Boston that was basically "NOOOOO Minnesota's hockey wives now will be rivals! Minnesota's loss," and someone who appears to be Emma Greco's mom liked it.

[vasito-de-leche]

transwoman Druvis and gay Forget Me Not ruins my life and makes my head bang the walls (lovingly)

RIGHT???? RIGHTTTTTTTT??????? I love that ship so much when there's always something irreconcilable between them and when they're extremely divorced

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

was meaning to write a serious and thoughtful meta on this shot as the show's first use of metatextual framing (a story within a story) linking its premise to the war movie as a genre (the show as a fascist gothic work) but yknow what. scratch all of that lmao. the only thought that matters is: the moment you really start thinking about the show as a reactionary post 9/11 power fantasy, you can't stop.

[deegrees-of-dol]

some casual outfits from the farm route

[deus-ex-mona]

something something guys who think of the backs of the girls they love

and girls who pinch the cheeks of the guys they love

[void-speaks]

What I find interesting about our protagonist (who I am going to address as 'Joey' to indicate that the protagonist is a younger version of Joseph Randolph) is the way he says some things, more specifically, the way he translates words from German to English. Almost always whenever he translates something, he adds something like "'Cafeteria,' I think," "That's like the patients who are celebrating their birthday today I think," "I think that means 'maintenance'" and probably more. He seems to almost always add some indication of doubt in his words. Which, by the way, the fact that he even needs to translate it is already kinda telling, and he is translating those not just for us but for himself too, because he first says the word in German and then translates it into English. I also find it interesting how instead of using the german word for liver Joseph uses iucer, which is the Latin word for that. And I know that names of medicine usually come from latin words or are latin words, but not the name of organs. Which makes me think that maybe this confirms that both Joey and Joseph kinda suck at German. That would be strange though, being a doctor in Germany and not knowing German well... and at the same time, both their speech seems perfect. Joey understands what everyone says to him without problem, and Joseph speaks German well too. It's specifically written German that they both have trouble with.

Of course, it would be way easier to just chuck it as the staff and patients speaking English, but I find that less likely. Also, Joseph is not a common first name in Germany, and neither is Randolph, but Randolph at least has a German origin. So I'm thinking that Joey is actually from the UK/US/somewhere in that part of the world. He probabaly finished high school there and went to university in Germany (which actually requires you to know German and/or English well from the google search that I did). So that makes me assume that his mother was probabaly a woman from the UK/US and his father was a man from Germany (not the other way around because typically the woman takes the man's surname when they get married). They fell in love and then maybe moved to Germany where Joey applied to med school. Also, by the way, if Joey is from Germany but his parents just decided to name him something uncommon, he would've finished med school by 25, making him maybe in his 30s in the game. If not, than he'd be just a year younger or nothing would change.

But also what I find interesting about the theory that the player is a younger version of Joseph is how Joseph says that he doesn't recognize us. I think if I would've seen my younger version I would've probably recognized him? And that kinda ruins the theory? But maybe Joseph and Joey are so different, that Joseph doesn't recognize his younger self, so full of hope and ambition as opposed to him now, filled with wrath and whatnot.

It would also explain what we're doing there in the first place. Assuming that our arrival at the hospital is not a part of the timeloop (like in Little Nightmares 2 where [spoilers] once you defeat the Thin Man he travels back in time and becomes Mono while Mono from the first timeline is in the process of becoming the Thin Man), Joey was probably a trainee at the Heilwald Klinikum. Which would mean that he stumbled into the loophole and everything went to shit from there. It would also make a little bit more sense as to why Helene tells us that we're "not qualified" to bring her the medicine. Not that we're a patient and therefore just can't do that, but that we're not qualified to do so yet. Idk, I just think that wording was a deliberate choice. Plus, she didn't tell us the name of the medicine, she just said that it's special and that it would help her, but we somehow knew that those two specific bottles were the medicine we needed. Of course, it could've been simple stuff like painkillers and even a patient would be able to get that, but Helene said the medicine was 'special.' Again, deliberate wording in my opinion.

Oh and by the way, if Joseph is in his 30s, then Joey is somewhere between being 20-24 (depending on if he's from Germany he'd be in the age of 21-24 and if not 20-23), but just based on the way that Trash Collector calls him son but still talks to him with relative ease makes me think that Trash Collector is also in his 30s but Joey is like, 21-22, somewhere in the beginning or just past his first year as a trainee.

This is like... all over the fucking place but yk. Ya gotta do whatcha gotta do when the fancy chemicals hit yer brain.

Oh and btw Joseph's way of speaking does differ from everybody else, or maybe I'm just imagining it. But the way he talks sounds a little weird.

Maybe it's because Joey is still so shocked about the loophole thing that he mistranslates some of the stuff Joseph is saying and/or misplaces some words, or maybe Joseph just still didn't learn how to speak German properly.