#hi james! thanks for the tag!

[nuclear-cowboy]

Tagged by @callcenterkilljoy to do 15 questions, 15 mutuals

Were you named after anyone? My first name? No. But my middle name I stole from an actor cause I thought it was cool

When was the last time cried? Like. Earlier today. I will cry tomorrow as well. That's how it goes.

Do you have kids? Absolutely not. Please god no. I am barely a functioning person. Also I'm not old enough for this to be considered

Do you use sarcasm alot? Sometimes? I dunno a normal about? You ask me to hand you something and I will say no while handing it to you. I guess this is sarcasm

What's the first thing you notice about people? I don't know if there is anything in particular I notice? Usually it depends on the person I suppose. I'm also just a pretty unobservent when it comes to people honestly ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

What's your eye colour? Brown. I do have sectoral heterochromia in one of my eyes but it's just a darker brown so it's not really noticeable. It's kinda cool though

Any special talents? I can make bubble sound effects. I can solve a rubix cube. I can bend just the top joint of my pinkie finger. My thumbs bend backwards. Actually useful special talents? no not really lol

Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings usually. But this is mainly just cause I barely watched anything ever so most movies I have watched I watched when I was a kid. But I do love horror as a genre and I have a whole lot of horror movies I want to watch so my answer might change

Where were you born? Aoteroa

What are your hobbies? A lot of drawing, in theory dnd (but I hardly ever play so mostly its just worldbuilding for fun), playing music, I go through phases of various handcrafts

Do you have any pets? I say i have 3 1/2 cats, They're of varying levels of feralness. Gonzo who was a kitten when we found him is basically just a house cat. Spud will occasionally cuddle but is pretty skittish. Lion you can pat sometimes but he's really scared of people, and Nala is basically a complete wild.

What sports do you play/have played? I did ballet for like 7 years growing up. I played one season of football (soccer if you're american). And then on and off muay thai, mma, and wrestling

How tall are you? 5'3

Favourite subject in school? Drama or history probably. I was a chemistry nerd but I dropped it as a subject. It got to much about the maths for me

Dream job? For the most part I don't have one, I do not dream of labor etc etc. But for the sake of the question I'd like to be a tattoo artist. I dunno I just want a job that I can be a functional person and make art and have hobbies and live my silly little life. And I need to be able to make art in some form or else I will simply die so. whatever I can manage

Tagging the mutuals i hope yall dont mind, obviously you don't have to do this, it's chill either way. You all are really cool and tagging this many people makes my anxious. Hope yall are having a good day (｡•̀ᴗ-)♡

@probablyahazard @horsecursed-cowboy @myc0l0gy @cowboycunt @alittleannihilation @draculagerard @bugfag @transaurus @mtmblid @faithdeans @kentuckycaverats @styxnbones @wormtiddies @shadowgast4t @deadmervsociety

[killjoy-prince]

House M.D. but it's when House says Wilson's name

[boltlightning]

[longelk]

SIR JAMES

[giovannadeltoro]

stills from the tv anime adaptation of from eroica with love, produced by toei, which began airing in 1988, after the end of the emperor waltz arc.

commissions / ig

[ecstarry]

monty fic???? tell me more….

okay monty is like my bestie i swear no one understands him like me!!! i just see him so HUMAN on the inside, i have wanted to write a fic about jeggy falling in love but from someone else's POV and i want it to be from Monty's but showing james since a baby and just overall how he had to deal with fatherhood and all the doubts he had.

james is always like "omfg my parents are the best i want to be like them and have a love like them" and yada yada and Monty NOTICES that, how james just puts so much pressure on him to try to be like that and it breaks his heart because Monty is not perfect ofc not and doesnt ever want James to feel like he needs to do ANYTHING to be worthy or loved.

also monty to me has always is very much a queer man. i think a lot about call me by your name, and that last very touching touching monologue of the dad like just how much he wants elio to feel everything and love and be himself like THATS MONTY except he does live happily with effie

i just want him to be human and flawed but his lovely supportive self and aaaah i want him having a great love before effie and enjoy with those eyes as james falls in love with reg

[belonareyna]

Being a victim of abuse doesn't excuse you for being an abuser

[kaidanalenkosprmanager]

THE BEST OF PRIORITY: SUR'KESH

Featuring: Cmdr. Sophie Shepard, Lt. James Vega, EDI, and Urdnot Wrex With: Lt. Steve Cortez, Dr. Mordin Solus, Major Kirrahe, and Urdnot Bakara And a Special Guest Appearance by: Adm. Steven Hackett Alliance R&D has officially begun construction on the Prothean device. The team has dubbed it: "Project Crucible". We're throwing everybody who knows how to throw a hammer at it. This is gonna be the most ambitious undertaking in human history. I'm not saying it won't be a challenge- but we can do this, Shepard. You can do this. Never doubt that. Mass Effect 3: Legendary Edition (2021)

+BONUS (the smirk™️)

[suckmyarschkarte]

"i'll probably miss him the most out of everyone"

[papa-evershed]

[killjoy-prince]

House M.D. but it's when Wilson says House's name

[toytulini]

Okay i have yet to see a post about this that isnt filled with ppl being Annoying as Fuck on it, but,

theyve found wreckage of the submersible, it imploded (thank god, thats better than a drawn out suffocation over the course of several days, implosion means it was pretty much instantaneous) and the us navy have revealed they heard a weird sound on sunday from about where communication with the sub was lost, that was probably the sound of the implosion, [implied that they didnt say anything cos they didnt want to jump to conclusions without evidence of a wreckage, if there was a chance they were still alive.] no idea what the banging sounds were.

I do hope rescue efforts are extended to the migrants off the coast of greece, and am angry and horrified at their mistreatment, and that the media clearly cares less for their fates than that of the billionaires on the sub.

also, while i have you here,

The difference between a submersible and a submarine is not that one is safer. The titan was a submersible that was unsafe, but that is not because it was a submersible.

A submarine (or sub) is a watercraft capable of independent operation underwater.

A submersible is a watercraft designed to operate underwater, usually supported by a nearby surface vessel, platform, shore team or sometimes a larger submarine.

submarines generally dont go as deep as our deepest submersibles, but some can be down there for months at a time bc it is like. a self sufficient Ship. not all submersibles can go crazy deep, but to my knowledge, the only crewed vessels that can go that deep, are submersibles. (Alvin, deepsea challenger, limiting factor, trieste, fendouzhe or "striver").

[jamesrodayrodriguezpresents]

Scott Fish Bowl Live Draft LA

(x,x,x,x,x,x,x,x)

[fellpyrean]

Claps hands alright we’re doing this! So I started listening to magnus archives a few months ago and it really did things to my writing ideas, so now I’m gonna round some up and post ‘em. 

I forget where/when I first saw a moth!jon but u know. He’s cute. So here is some moth!jon AU! Corruption Jon :Dc and archivist Sasha! ~1800 words. 

Since he is a corruption avatar in this, there is (as expected) some possibly gross bug imagery, but not a lot of holes. And no worms! :D

______________

The flat is quiet. 

Quieter than Sasha expected, and much neater too than she expected when they connected this one to "Filth." The lights are off and there's a faint dusty, sweet scent in the air as she cracks open the door, torch slicing through the dark. 

It catches on motes of dust. She thinks she hears movement, a susurrus of rustling like fabric faint in the depths of the place but little else. She pushes the door further, feels it catch on the ragged old rug on the floor and watches moths flutter up, batter against her torch in little puffs of dust before they flutter away. 

Part of her worries as she steps inside, as she closes the door behind herself - leaving just a crack in case she needs to get out fast. 

This is too quiet for something of the powers. The flat should be more of a wreck, more… more miserably bloodstained, more disgusting and unnerving, but it looks, honestly, just a bit messy, a bit moth-eaten. The couch sags a bit wrong, but hell, she can't pretend she's never had one like it. There are shelves of books, their edges chewed and pages no doubt holey, there's even a mug left forgotten on the kitchen counter. It's all dim; lit only by what spills around heavy curtain edges and her own torch as she steps further in and - and hears that rustling again from the end of the hallway and heads straight for it. 

More moths flutter up at her steps, and she is wary, she is. But the things just… flutter uselessly at her hands, their wings shedding dust and their fat abdomens plump and full, but hardly a threat before they fly - further inside. 

Towards that faint rustling noise, towards the door at the end of the dim-lit hall that is just open enough to allow the frantic moths to flit inside. Writhing and wriggling at the crack between door and jamb just a moment before they vanish inside, but the movement… it makes Sasha swallow. 

Something about the way the bulbous little things squirm before they pop through sets her stomach on edge. Too many of them; more than she thought, all struggling to squeeze into that door. 

The crack writhes by the time she reaches it. 

She can swear she hears them whine and click and screech in tiny voices above the din of their frantically fluttering wings.

She uses her torch to push the door open. Fast, loosing a cloud of moths from the stuffed crack that fall and flutter and scatter into the dim room before her. 

The rustling has not gone quiet. Neither has the soft, whining song of flapping wings and voices she cannot place as she raises her torch high, fumbling for her pepper spray in her other hand. More of a comfort to herself than any real belief it would accomplish anything against something abnormal, but the room doesn’t… change. Nothing leaps out of the dim shadows, nothing comes ravening towards her with a horrid, dripping maw. 

It’s a bedroom. The bed is really as far as the light peeking around the curtains lights, in thin, dusty stripes across worn rugs and a small pile of abandoned clothes. 

“A-Ah.” 

Sasha whips her torch towards the voice, and stills. 

There is… there is something like a man there. Tucked in the corner, with all the moths frantically fluttering, scuttling towards it. She watches, stomach queasy, as the moths drill between the heavy folds of the blanket? The wrap? It has folded around itself. It reaches a hand out to a particularly fat straggler and cradles it in its palms like a treasure, bringing it up slowly, carefully, and opens thin, paled lips and lets the thing crawl straight into its mouth as Sasha gags. 

It is almost worse then when it looks up. 

Long, straggling hair that was probably rather nice once. Now it is loose and lank, black shot with grey and dust that hangs over… over his shoulders, over the thing he has cocooned himself within. His eyes are dark. Too dark. 

There are no whites, she realizes, and cannot help but feel her fingers twinge around the pepper spray. 

But he isn’t attacking. He is just looking at her, head cocked like a curious animal as the moths burrow back into the shelter he offers. 

She can work with this. She sucks in a breath, wills her stomach to settle as she tells it it could really be so, so much worse, and points the torch further towards the floor. Good manners. Going out on a limb that he’s probably not too fond of bright light. 

“Hello,” she says. The strange man stares at her. Hard enough she swears she can feel the tracks his eyes leave on her skin, but she only makes herself stand taller. He seems to like that. He laughs. Not maliciously. 

It’s soft. Like cotton, like it’s been a long while since he’s used his voice, and the rasp sticks to it as he speaks and Sasha tries not to linger on where exactly that moth went. 

“Hello, Archivist. Doing house calls?” 

He’s smiling. And that’s what gets her. 

His voice is soft and smooth like old silk and his smile stiff like he’s unused to using it, but something about him feels familiar. It’s there, just at the corner of her mind, and she knows she’s frowning deeply as she casts a line and tries to hook just why she feels like she knows this strange man, but then he laughs again and stands. 

He rustles as he does. That… that thing wrapped around him doesn’t move the way it should, not like cloth, but she can’t immediately place that, either. Not until he walks a little closer and her torch light catches on it and it… shimmers. 

Like moth wings. And Sasha sucks in a breath. 

She can see it now. The patterns in the dusty brown, the oranges that circle white to make massive, partly hidden eyespots. The thick, dark veins supporting the overall structure, and she can’t help herself from blurting out, “Can you fly with those?” 

The man shudders, that smile hung unmoving on his face as he brings a hand to his mouth and coughs against the static. 

“Not well,” he answers into his hand, his too-dark eyes sparkling. He lets his hand drop back into the too-layered folds of his wings and shuffles a little closer; his wingtips drag across the floor, like a blanket wrapped around a child too small for it, and she can see now where his long, untied hair turns into something shorter. A ruff of fur at the back of his neck, across the back of his shoulders.

(Can see the moths wriggling down into the fur, settling there, an army of tiny, coal-black eyes staring out at her, glinting green when her torch light catches them.) 

And then he stands still, that faint smile on his face, his dark eyes half-lidded in an expression she cannot place, and waits as that soft, soft distant song hums in the room. 

Sasha exhales. This is more than she dared hope for. He’s talking. He’s non-aggressive.

“I,” she begins, wetting her tongue before plunging back into her words. “I was wondering if I could ask you some questions. About the ‘Filth.’ About you.”

He watches, and she feels emboldened. 

(Her phone begins to ring as she steps closer to him, and she ignores it. It’s Elias. She knows.)

“We don’t have answers. And if you could tell me, tell us what you know? About… about what’s happening.” 

Her phone stops ringing. It starts again. The man smiles wider and reaches out. Sasha can see that his hands are… strange. Plated like chitin, and the desire to grab his hand and investigate each delicately plated joint wars deeply with the uneasy reminder that there are probably moths crawling beneath, of statements that were far, far more explicit about what ‘Filth’ did to a person than this man showed. 

His hand waves in front of her face for a moment and she starts, coming back to herself, as her phone angrily rings again. 

“Your phone?” the man asks, and Sasha doesn’t hesitate for a moment to shut the thing off. 

(Elias. All three calls. If he doesn’t want her here, then she’s not leaving.) 

“Well Archivist,” and she knows she is not missing the strange bitterness that clings to that word this time, knows there is something she is missing about him, “If you have that many questions, we should probably get a little more comfortable. I have a feeling that once I let you start, you’ll keep me well after dusk.” 

And isn’t it bizarre? As he brushes past Sasha - both carefully and clearly telegraphing his movements so she only feels the barest touch of his wings as he heads back out into the hallway - she realizes she doesn’t feel afraid of this one. A little disgusted if she thinks about him too hard, yes, but there’s been no threat. No… no menace, no winding, evasive non-answers, just. Incredibly human remarks. It almost circles right back around from comforting to even worse than something as alien as the thing with the door. Michael. 

But as the rustling moves away from her down the hallway, she can’t help but flash her torch around the bedroom. One last bit of nosiness. 

An old, worn bed, rather like the couch. Shelves with books so moth-eaten they’ve gone to pieces. An open closet, filled with over-large sweaters and… She blinks. And oddly proper button ups, slacks. 

And then… and then she turns her torch in one last semi-circle and catches upon a strange shine beneath the lumpy pillows. 

Like polaroids. 

The itch that there’s something she should know only grows when she spots them; growing from a thing at the edge of her thoughts to an all consuming need that drives her in fast steps across the dusty rug before she even catches herself. She fishes the pictures out with deft fingers and - and she thinks her heart stops in her chest. 

She knows the people in the picture. 

That long, dark hair shot with grey is distinctive - even set on a much more vibrant, lively face, and above a painfully crisp button up. He’s wearing glasses in the picture, and. A name tag. 

She can’t read the name, but she’d recognize that emblem anywhere. Not that she needs to. 

Because beside the stuffy librarian like man, his eyes green instead of black, stands… Tim. Tim, his shirt as loud as ever, his smile boisterous, and an arm slung affectionately around the man who couldn’t possibly be any more his opposite. And the same horrible name tag pinned to a pineapple-strewn lapel. 

The man worked at the Magnus Institute. 

He worked with Tim. 

She knows his name now. 

Jonathan Sims. 

[earth2pearl]

Birthdays

Regulus never really cared for his birthday, always stuck spending it at number 12 Grimmauld Place. The first time June 25th arrived after he ran away, he was surrounded by people who genuinely cared about him, his lovely boyfriend smiling brightly at him, encouraging him to blow out his birthday candles. The cake they sat upon was baked by Euphemia, who assured him it was no fuss. Sirius was there, passing him a terribly wrapped gift and tearing up, finally able to give him something without fear lingering in the distance. Barty and Evan showed, wreaking havoc, popping balloons, and making a mess. Regulus gave Sirius and James nervous glances, but they assured him Fleamont and Euphemia didn’t mind the commotion. Remus got him a new journal, to replace the one he lost when he left. Marlene and Dorcas picked out a new set of pens for him, saying he should really give up on quills, Marlene giggling behind her girlfriend who knowingly looked at him. Pandora got him new crystals, giving her condolences to the ones he had to leave behind. Lily and Mary got him a book set, claiming he needed to learn the ways of muggle literature. He glared at them but was unable to hide his excitement for very long.

During the small party, the only thing Regulus could do was helplessly smile, occasionally excusing himself to the washroom to cry. He had never felt so cherished, so loved in his entire life. He finally understood why people got so excited about birthdays- it was supposed to be filled with love. When the night winded down, and people began to disperse, leaving through a chorus of ‘Happy Birthdays’ and ‘see you soon,’ James found Regulus sitting on a sofa, looking quite exhausted. A faint smile adorned his tired features, his face brightening at the sight of the other man. James beamed back, pulling a gift from behind his back.

Regulus quietly accepted the small box, gently unwrapping it. He flipped open the lid, finding a slim chain with a sun attached to it. He looked up to James, the other man now holding a similar necklace, a star taking the place of his sun.

“You always call me your ray of sunshine, so I thought you should be able to have a little piece of me with you everywhere.”

“I love it, James,” Regulus replied, tears welling in his eyes.

James sat on the couch beside him, gently taking the necklace and putting it on the other boy. He watched as Regulus wrapped his fingers around it, holding the cold metal tightly in his palm. He moved his arm to wrap his shoulder, bringing his lover in close.

They stayed there a while, Regulus soaking up the love James would supply endlessly. Regulus learned to love his birthday, not because he received things, but because it meant he got to be surrounded by those who truly loved him.

—

My friends were wonderful today. Birthdays can be rough but they make them better. Thank you for reading lovelies. And thank you to my wonderful friends.

[whumpflash]

an approximation of Peter