#I love reg photos

[fallenstarhwa]

c. 🫠

[dearestdo3]

going absolutely insane thinking of how much of a loser reg really is just by the way he decorate his room

[wearethekingdom]

Everything is so grey all the time

I am back in my hashtag happy era and I am listening to midwest emo and folk punk again after finding I would throw my vape in a cornfield for you after many months while I was with converse legs friend up there

Despite the weather beig chronically grey (I haven't seen a blue sky in a week.) I am feeling better which is nice. I'm also playing night in the woods for the 5th time and taking photos again. Even if they're shite ones.

N e ways I've been out and about as always because I am incapable of sitting still for longer than an hour which is why even though I have started yellowstone a week ago I've only just reached episode 3 today live laugh love ok bye

[likeofthesame]

Honestly? Kinda torn how I feel about my most popular post on Reddit being the one with the packer. Just like. That people like me most with a body part I don’t have

[alexsays-no]

Day of the Dead (Dia De Los Muertos) is a two day holiday that reunites the living and dead. Families create ofrendas (Offerings) to honor their departed family members that have passed. These altars are decorated with bright yellow marigold flowers, photos of the departed, and the favorite foods and drinks of the one being honored. The offerings are believed to encourage visits from the land of the dead as the departed souls hear their prayers, smell their foods and join in the celebrations!

Day of the Dead is a rare holiday for celebrating death and life. It is unlike any holiday where mourning is exchanged for celebration.

Hi, it’s Alex now, so with this one I have to admit I did get really sad doing it, not just for the characters but for the meaning behind it, día de muertos is like my favorite tradition, at times when I was ashamed of being Mexican, día de muertos stood proud in my mind because it was something that was just here, something that Mexicans had, and it beautiful, and colorful and has so much love behind everything. But also I wanted to portrait how (at least me) we are willing to share with the world, I’ve seen a lot of TikTok’s of people of other countries saying that they love the altars and that they want to do one for their loved ones, but that they don’t know if it’s okay, and below there are so many messages of Mexicans inviting them to do the research and to put one. Is that sense of that’s the point of these days, to remember in a loving way the life of those who are gone, and share the sentiment with the world. Here is portrait with Sirius not knowing if he can put Reg’s photo, and James just smiles at him (he already had a place ready for him, he was just waiting to see if Sirius was okay with it). And with this, I invite any of you that want to try and make an altar, or research more about this, to do it, and to try. I think this day connects with all places in the world because we all have someone dear to us that passed away, even if it’s a lil pet.

[my-castles-crumbling]

novel - april 4 - black brothers - background jegulus - slightly NSFW - @black-brothers-microfic - word count: 527

“Who’re you writing that novel to?” Sirius quipped, looking over to his brother, who was tapping away on his phone, composing the longest text that must have even been written.

Gray eyes flicked up from the screen, sending a death glare that could have rivaled Walburga’s. “None of your business,” Regulus muttered, his cheeks turning slightly pink.

But before Regulus could disappear in the other room or under a blanket, Sirius decided to intervene. “Little brother, you need to be taught how to flirt. It’s obvious you’re awful at it,” he said decisively, frowning toward him. Sure, Regulus had had a few relationships in his life, but they were both in their twenties now–freshly graduated and in their own flat. It was time for Regulus to figure out how to get a man.

This time, the younger man’s expression was slightly amused. “Yeah? What should I say then, oh wise one? I mean, you have so much experience. How many men have you dated? One?”

It was true. Sirius had plenty of experience with women, but Remus was the only man Sirius had so much as kissed. Once he’d realized he wanted Remus, there was no going back.

“It doesn’t matter,” he scoffed, hiding his blush. “I still have a boyfriend. The trick is to send pictures, Reg. Men like visuals.”

“Pictures?” Regulus replied with a smirk.

“Not–no!” Sirius shot back. He wasn’t about to tell his brother how to do that. “Not naked pictures! Just something attractive! Enough to make him interested!”

Regulus’s expression was thoughtful, but there was a hint of mischief there. “Okay. Say I was going to send a picture. How might I go about it?” he asked hesitantly.

Sirius sighed. He had to do everything. “Here, let me,” he sighed, pulling out his own phone.

He then began to guide Regulus through a makeshift photo shoot, directing him to turn this way and that, make this face and that one, all while, in his opinion, being very supportive and helpful. God, he was such a good brother.

“Okay,” he said after a while, sending the pictures to a slightly annoyed-looking Regulus. “Now, send him that one where you’re leaning back a bit, and your shirt's riding up. It’s suggestive, but not slaggish. There’s no way any self-respecting man wouldn’t love it.”

The younger man gave him a long, disbelieving look before tapping at his screen for a few moments and making eye contact again. “Done,” he announced.

“Good! Trust me, Reg, he’ll love it. A whole lot more than a ridiculously long text, that’s for sure,” Sirius chuckled, pleased with himself and his generosity. “Now, tell me. What’s his name? Do I know him?”

Regulus shrugged, a hint of an amused smile on his lips. “James.”

He balked. “I–what?”

“It’s James,” Regulus repeated, looking like he was about to burst into a fit of laughter.

“Not–not James Potter,” Sirius asked, voice rough and hollow. His ears were ringing. This had to be a joke.

“That’s the one! And…judging by his reply,” Regulus said casually, glancing at his screen and standing up, “I’ve got myself a date. Don’t wait up!”

Sirius could only mumble incoherent syllables as he watched Regulus walk away smugly.

[rcmclachlan]

wind finding

buck/tommy

8x14/8x15 spec fic

I wrote this right before my first morning meeting, so if it's rushed and makes no sense, I'm well aware. Enjoy!

+

The very second Tommy went with helicopters, people came crawling out of the woodwork to offer their two cents on everything from industry politics (all dangled carrots and empty promises) to what constitutes a good operator (whoever's actually signing your paycheck at the time) to which jobs would bring in the most money (ditching helicopters entirely in favor of planes) to the best ways to manage stress (avoiding utility altogether).

But the one piece of advice Tommy has never forgotten came from one of his first operators in Afghanistan, who had a face like a mountain crag and every word that came out of his mouth had to first find its way around the wad of dip permanently attached to his bottom gums.

"Being able to find the wind is the only skill you need to nail down, or else you're gonna frag out faster'n you can say 'high as bat pussy'. The odds of being able to see the leaves on a fuckin' tree are less'n nothin' out here, never mind spottin' a fuckin' windsock, Kinard. The second you get in the air, you just listen to your bird; she'll tell you point blank where the wind is, so long as you've got your ears on."

Then Warrant Officer Harold hocked a loogie the size of a crow at the ground and stormed away, shouting, "PRIVATE KEATON, IF YOU DON'T STOP FONDLIN' THAT REFUEL PROBE I'M GONNA SHOVE IT IN YOUR DICK HOLE!"

Twenty years later, Tommy's in the cockpit of his favorite AW139 with the mouth of a glock pressed right above his brain stem, and the second he achieves optimal altitude, he finds the wind.

"You make it look so effortless, like it's just something your body does. Like breathing," Evan had said during their one and only legal flight together, like he wasn't furious that Tommy had woken him up at 3:30 in the morning on his day off to go for a joyride. Even as the sun peeked over the horizon to see if the coast was clear, it couldn't hope to match the sheer brightness of Evan's smile.

If being able to find the wind wasn't practically part of his autonomic nervous system at this point in his career, Tommy'd have no business being in the air at all.

"Remember," the guy with the gun, Remo, murmurs into the headset he'd forced Tommy to give him. "Top of the Aon. We're making the switch there."

"Nakatomi Tower would be better for this sort of thing," Tommy mutters.

Instead of being whipped with the gun, the speaker in his ear crackles with Remo's laughter. "I was more partial to the second film."

Tommy grips the cyclic a little tighter. "That's the worst thing you've admitted to so far."

It's not. Bombing multiple police stations was bad enough, but one of them was right next to a school. The last thing that came through the comms before Remo's buddies hacked it was the 118 being called to 309 Lucas Ave in Westlake North for fire containment and emergency medical assistance.

He glances at the dashboard. Tucked right above the radar is a little photo he'd printed out at his local CVS on a whim while he was getting a 'Happy 80th birthday, grandma!" card for Sal. It's barely anything: a portrait forced to inhabit a 4x4 square, so the quality is extra shitty. But the man in it is smiling brighter than a sunrise over the ocean, and Tommy's heart gives a pitiful thud just looking at it.

Melton would've shit a brick if he'd known about it. Despite what Hollywood would have the general populace believe, having pictures of loved ones on a pilot's dashboard can be a hell of a distraction. It goes against LAFD regs.

But having spent the last month reacquainting himself with Evan's smile and the wild hope that they could have a future together, it felt right to tack the photo up. He was professional enough that he wouldn't let it get in the way of the job.

He thinks of Evan watching him from the bed this morning, tangled up in sheets that smelled like the both of them. He thinks of the blurred, sleep-damp smile on Evan's face as Tommy hid the evidence of what they got up to the previous night.

"You're covering up a masterpiece," Evan had said, voice a little blurred with sleep. "That's some of my best work."

"Let me guess: if I connect all the hickeys, it's gonna turn into a dolphin or something?"

Evan had thrown back his head on the pillow and cackled, and Tommy had thought, We could build a life on this.

Except Evan is pulling tiny bodies out of the ruins of Gratts Elementary, Tommy's got a gun to his head, and Remo's little cell of opportunistic assholes are using the bombings across the city to distract from the 51% blockchain hack they pulled off two hours ago. Tommy doesn't understand crypto for the life of him, but what he got from Harbor's newest probie was something something a blockchain’s distributed ledger was changed and double spending was enabled. At the time, it seemed like a lot of bullshit that boiled down to "they now control the invisible internet money conveyor belt," but at least 200 people are dead, and according to Remo, there are still 70 bombs wired and ready to explode on his say-so.

Unless Tommy flies him and his weird, silent friend to the Aon, where someone's going to be waiting to whisk them away to all points nowhere. Tommy knows exactly how this is going to shake out: the second he lands the bird, Remo's going to bury a bullet in Tommy's brain before disappearing into the wind, leaving the world in shambles. But it won't be enough. Remo will get bored before long—the smart, psychotic ones always do—and then pop back up at some point to do even worse if he has the opportunity.

Ten years from now, they'll make a documentary series about all this. Evan will watch it, because he's contractually obligated to seek out things that will hurt him for some reason, and it'll probably be like cutting open a just-healed wound. He'll spiral until Maddie or one of the others forces him to stop. The series will be called something stupid, like Finding Remo.

That is, of course, if Remo has the opportunity.

Swallowing, throat clicking, Tommy glances at the photo on the dashboard. Evan beams at him from where he's posing like the dorkiest Greek god in the pantheon on top of a boulder somewhere on the Temescal Canyon Trail. That had been a good day. It seemed like the start of a lifetime of them.

He looks away and out the windshield where, up ahead, the Aon stands tall against the sky. But standing taller, and closer, is Library Tower.

Exhaling, Tommy keeps his eyes straight. "Listen, you can put the gun away. It's not the threat you think it is."

"No?" Remo presses the glock harder against the back of Tommy's head, and Tommy stifles a wince. "You think I won't shoot you?"

"Oh, I know you're gonna shoot me," Tommy says, almost cheerfully. He refuses to look any closer at that. "I just don't think you're gonna do it while we're hanging 900 feet above the city."

The pause that follows is probably only a second or two, but it feels like a decade. Finally, the press of metal disappears, and Tommy hears the safety clicking back on.

"You seem pretty calm about all this," Remo says, curiosity making his already light voice positively airy.

Tommy shrugs. "Last year I stole one of these to fly some friends into a category 5 hurricane, then landed it on a capsized cruise ship. This? Doesn't even break a 6.5 on my Crazy Shit-o-meter."

Remo laughs, and Tommy hears the tell tale rustling of the gun being holstered. Thankfully the rotors completely drown out the sound of his heart pounding, which would otherwise be audible from space.

"Let me just say that of all the pilots I could've kidnapped, you're by far the most entertaining."

"Thank you," Tommy says seriously.

Below them, the Walt Disney Concert Hall is lit up for the night's show. They'll be passing the BoA Financial Center, and from there it's only a couple of minutes until their destination.

"Hey, uh, since this does end with me getting shot," Tommy ventures, trying to keep a lid on the massive amounts of adrenaline that are being dumped into his bloodstream. He must be visibly vibrating. "Could I... could I make a call?"

Remo snorts. "Let me guess: 9-1-1?"

Okay, that's kind of funny. Tommy cracks a grin. "Not quite. I have someone... I have someone, and there's something important I need to say."

One of the drawbacks of a helicopter's cockpit is there's no rearview mirror, which would really come in handy right now. He has no idea what Remo's face is doing. He has no idea if he's looking at his silent companion and having some kind of wordless conversation, if Remo is the kind of guy who would grant the last wish of someone he's using.

Finally, after what feels like years, Remo says, "You get ten seconds. You'd better make them count."

He's done more with less. "That's fair. But I'm either going to need you to call it for me or let me hook into an open line."

The air inside the helicopter seems to squeeze inward. "An open line?"

"My... my boyfriend's LAFD." He bites down on the inside of his cheek as they pass the BoA Center on the left, and hopes against all hope that Remo isn't too much of a homophobe to deny the request.

But surprise, surprise. Remo only laughs and says, "How romantic. Urs, get him on an open line to his firefighter boyfriend. It's the least we can do after everything he's done to help us."

Tommy can't see what Urs is doing, but his headset crackles with the familiar static of a live comms line.

"Ten seconds," Remo reminds him. Below them, the roof of Library Tower seems both miles away and impossibly close.

It's all he needs.

"This is LAFD pilot Tom Kinard. Evan Buckley, if you're listening, look in the drawer to the right of the microwave. There's something in there for you." He quietly undoes his harness and kills the engine. "It's yours. It's always been yours."

Just as the AW139 is about to clear the roof of the tower, Tommy shoulders open the door and kicks off into the sky.

The wind is blowing southeast.

+

"N-No, no, no, hey, it's okay, don't fight it, you're okay—hey, I need some help in here! He's waking up! Tommy, they're going to take it out, just wait."

There's a tree trunk growing out of his throat, but trying to move it is impossible, and the effort takes everything out of him. So he gives up, gagging and drifting in and out, then decides to just climb the entire length of the tree to get a look at the view. From there, it's just a matter of finding the wind and floating away with it.

The next time he surfaces, there's something hard over his face, warm and humid, and when the clouds clear from his vision he's able to see two things: Evan's wide-eyed expression of relief, and a giant orange poster board in Lucy's familiar, blocky handwriting that says 2 DAYS SINCE KINARD LAST TAUNTED GOD.

There's a 1 in front of the 2, but it's crossed out.

"Hey!" Evan breathes, and the mattress at Tommy's hip dips a little under his weight. "H-Hey, there you are. Morning! Well, not, uh, morning exactly—it's like 8 o'clock at night—but you're awake!"

"I am." It's muffled by the oxygen mask.

"How are you feeling? Are you in any pain?" Evan leans in, blocking Tommy's view of anything else. He hasn't shaved in a bit, and the hair at his temples looks a little greasy. He's the most gorgeous thing Tommy's ever laid eyes on.

"No pain," Tommy rasps. "M'body's full'f cotton."

Evan smiles a little. "Yeah, they've got you on the good stuff. I can't tell you how many bones you've broken, because it seems like they're still finding them. The doctor did say he'd never seen a pneumothorax quite like yours before, though. He keeps bringing other doctors in to look at your scans. I think a couple of them cancelled their surgeries so they could watch yours yesterday. You're like a celebrity. You've got, like, four tubes in you sucking the excess air out."

For a second, Tommy has no idea what he's talking about. Pneumothorax? How'd he manage that? Lucy's gonna give him shit for the next year.

Then, like a breeze kicking up from the west, it all comes sweeping in. Something starts beeping a little erratically. "Did—did he... he didn't... did... R-Remo...?"

The words are slow and thick, like they have to climb over the broken branches the tree had left behind, but understanding lights up Evan's face almost immediately. He thinks Evan must be holding his hand, because there's pressure on his fingers that feels like it's coming from another room.

"He didn't," Evan says softly, but there's a sparkle of brutal satisfaction in his eyes that Tommy can't look away from. "The helicopter went down like a sack of bricks after you ditched it. It took out the coffee shop in the library. Before you ask: they close at 2:30, so no one had been in there for hours. No one was hurt. Except, well, what's his name."

Tommy closes his eyes and breathes in the canned, almost metallic stuff they're feeding him through the mask. It's so pure, it makes him a little dizzy.

"Good." His sinuses prickle hotly. "Good. That's..."

"Hey, hey, shhh," Evan coos, and Tommy opens his eyes just in time to see Evan press his mouth lushly to the curve of the oxygen mask. Despite whatever they're giving him, Tommy's lips ache with the need to feel that kiss.

"Evan," he whispers.

When he pulls back, Evan's got a wide, almost gleeful grin tugging the corners of his mouth to his ears. He looks like he's about to blow up a Gotham City school bus to try and draw out Batman. Instead, he lifts his left hand.

The lights in the room are low, so the ring on Evan's finger doesn't really glint as brightly as it should, but the light in Evan's eyes is almost blinding.

"Drawer to the right of the microwave, huh?" He laughs a little, like it's bubbling out of him, like he can't stop it. "How long had that been in there?"

It takes a moment for Tommy to pick through the cobwebs in his brain. "Mm... got it... after we did that flight over... hm... Channel Islands."

Evan stares at him, then his bubbly laughter morphs into maniacal cackling.

Tommy glances down at his hands to see if they gave him a button for the pain meds he's on. He's going to dilaudid himself into oblivion.

"That was four months into..." Evan uses their joined hands to wipe away the tears beading on his lashes. "When I asked you to move in, you ran away so fast you left a trail of dust behind you. But you bought an engagement ring four months into dating me?"

"In my defense," Tommy says, suddenly very jealous of Remo for dying a fiery death in the LA Library coffee shop. "I knew... you were it for me. You, on the other hand, had no idea... hm... what you wanted. Asking me... to move in wasn't—it wasn't about me."

Pursing his lips, Evan ducks his head and doesn't deny it, but when he tilts his chin up, the only thing on his face is bare, earnest truth. "I knew I wanted you, Tommy, any way I could have you. I didn't know what that looked like, and not knowing made me... I don't know if you've noticed, but I tend to cling when I panic."

Tommy thinks back over the last month—how every time he showed up on Eddie's doorstep, Evan practically threw himself at Tommy, clutching at him like he was afraid Tommy might go back down the walkway and leave; how getting up to take a piss or grab a Gatorade meant leaving the bed, and the look on Evan's face every time was like watching a car crash—and squeezes Evan's hand. He thinks he does, at least.

"Do you... know what it looks like now?" It takes almost all his strength to get the words out. A wave of exhaustion rolls over him, and he pinwheels a little with it. Kicking his way back to the surface takes concentration.

Evan lifts his hand again. The ring fits his finger perfectly. "It looks like you, about to fall asleep."

Another wave bowls him over, and he fights to keep his eyes open. Lucy's stupid poster blurs like someone's upturned a can of Sprite over it.

"I'll be here when you wake up, and so will half the LAPD and a bunch of people from the FBI. You're the hero of the day," Evan murmurs, and Tommy grumbles a little. "But, hey, Tommy. Before you—how did you know? How'd you know I was it for you?"

Even as he's being pulled down into the dark, he looks up, and he sees the surface roiling, dancing with the light of an old sunrise that couldn't hold a candle to the phenomenon of Evan Buckley's smile.

"Found th' wind," Tommy mumbles, drifting down, down, down. "'s easy. Like breathing."

[ticifics]

Drive-In Heartbeats

Dave Lizewski x f!reader

Summary: In which Dave discovers that being just a friend was never enough.

Warnings: fluffy, pre relationship, first kiss, no use of y/n, a few fun facts, provocative!reader, suggestive

A/N: I could hardly believe my luck in finding a photo in a drive-in with Back to the Future

and thanks to @lilyypotter1234, I've been feeling a bit unmotivated to write and your message helped me, thank you very much <333

The huge screen of the drive-in displayed scenes from Back to the Future. The familiar soundtrack filled the air with nostalgia, but Dave’s focus wasn’t on the movie. He was sitting in the car, that old model he loved, with a front seat that seemed made for moments like this. You were so close that your shoulders and thighs touched, and that was all he could perceive. The sweet smell of chocolate mixed with the aged scent of the upholstery, and every time you rustled the candy bag or let out a soft laugh, his heart raced.

The movie was halfway through, but your conversation hadn’t slowed down. It was easy to be next to him — comfortable, yet with that tension hanging in the air, like something more was always about to happen.

“Did you know the original ending was completely different?” you asked, nibbling on the last piece of chocolate in your hand. Your voice was soft, but carried the excitement typical of someone who loved those little tidbits.

“Different how?” Dave adjusted his glasses and turned his head toward you, his blue eyes sparkling with interest. He always seemed more alive when the topic was something nerdy.

“In the first draft of the script, the 80’s George McFly would grab an old 1955 newspaper with a photo of Marty at the dance. He’d look at his son and be shocked, saying something like ‘This can’t be… this is the...’” You paused dramatically, smiling when you saw Dave completely focused on you. “And then the movie would end right there, without him managing to say the name.”

Dave blinked, the expression torn between fascination and slight indignation. “You’re kidding? That would be so frustrating! Who ends a movie like that? I’d want to blow up the cinema.”

“And you don’t think you’d blow up the cinema with that ending where Doc shows up out of nowhere saying they have to save Marty’s kids?” you teased, leaning a little closer to him.

Dave opened his mouth to respond, but ended up laughing and shaking his head, surrendering. “Okay, you’ve got a point.” He smiled that shy smile that made the air feel lighter — but at the same time, his proximity made the atmosphere warmer, more intense.

You reached out for the candy bag, only to realize it was in Dave’s lap. Before you could say anything, he grabbed a piece of chocolate and held it out for you.

“Thanks,” you murmured, but instead of taking it with your hand, you leaned in and opened your mouth, hoping he’d understand. Dave froze immediately, as if his brain was trying to process the gesture.

“Wait, you... want me to—?” He didn’t finish the sentence, his voice coming out quieter than usual.

“Uh-huh,” you responded, tilting your head slightly and keeping your gaze fixed on him, amused by the way his ears turned red.

He hesitated for a moment before leaning in slowly and placing the chocolate on your lips. But before he could pull his hand back, you lightly closed your lips around his finger, biting it gently and deliberately.

Dave made an indistinct sound, somewhere between a nervous laugh and a surprised sigh. “Did you... just bite my finger?” He blinked, clearly unsure what to do with the moment.

“It was an accident,” you lied shamelessly, the corner of your lips pulling into a mischievous smile.

He kept staring at you, his eyebrows slightly raised behind his glasses. His eyes were locked on yours, as if trying to decipher your intentions, but the heat building between you both said everything.

“You do that on purpose,” he whispered finally, his voice barely audible. He looked away for a second, as if trying to regain control of the situation, but the parted lips and the nervous movement of his fingers gave him away.

“Do what?” you asked, leaning in just enough for your knees to touch his.

Dave looked down, at the almost nonexistent space between you, then back up to your eyes. He was so close you could count his eyelashes, and there was something in his expression that felt more intense than ever. The slight tremor in his breath was impossible to ignore.

“You have... chocolate here,” he said finally, his voice hoarse and low, as if the words were struggling to come out. He pointed to the corner of your lips, but his hand lingered in the air for a moment, unsure if he should move.

You tilted your head slightly, the smile on your face barely hiding the provocation. “Here, where?”

Dave seemed to be fighting with himself internally, but then, as if summoning sudden courage, he leaned in even closer. His hand moved slowly, hesitantly, and his fingers touched the corner of your mouth gently, wiping away the chocolate residue.

The gesture lasted only a second, but it was enough to ignite the air between you. The touch was soft, but the intensity in his gaze while doing it was almost overwhelming. He tried to pull his hand away quickly, but you held his wrist, stopping him from going too far.

“Thanks,” you murmured, your voice low and heavy with something you knew he understood perfectly. His thumb still brushed your skin, almost involuntarily, and his fingers remained where they were, creating an undeniable connection.

Dave opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. His eyes were locked on yours, as if searching for something — or perhaps waiting for a sign. The silence was as thick as the tension between you, and the movie continued in the background, completely ignored.

You let go of his wrist, but didn’t move your hand. Dave hesitated for another moment before moving again. His thumb slid slowly, almost reluctantly, across the corner of your lips, as if he wanted to be sure there was no more chocolate left. But his gaze said the gesture meant much more.

“All set,” he said, but the word sounded strangled, almost as if he had to force it out.

“Are you sure?” you asked, leaning in just a bit more, your voice soft but carrying that challenging tone.

“I... think so,” he answered, almost in a whisper, his eyes dropping quickly to your mouth before returning to yours.

The space between you was so small now that just one move would bring you together. Dave seemed to be holding his breath, and the way he pressed his hands against his lap showed just how hard he was fighting something. But the way he looked at you — like it was impossible to look away — betrayed that he was holding on by a thread.

You tilted your head slightly to the side, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. “It’s okay, Dave. No need to be nervous.”

“I’m not nervous,” he immediately retorted, but the blush creeping up his cheeks and ears told a different story.

“Oh, really?” you teased, your fingers moving to lightly touch his arm, sliding along the sleeve of his sweatshirt almost absentmindedly.

Dave chuckled softly, but didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, as if trying to gather the courage to do or say something. When you stopped touching his arm, his fingers moved almost reflexively, gently resting on yours, as if he wanted to keep the contact.

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he murmured, his eyes still locked on yours. There was a desperate tone in his voice, but at the same time, he seemed completely fascinated.

“Maybe,” you replied, leaning in just enough for your faces to be inches apart. “And you?”

Dave blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. All he could do was stare at you, his blue eyes shining with something between desire and doubt. It was as if he were frozen, his thoughts racing at high speed as he struggled to find something to say.

You could feel his breath, short and almost shaky, mingling with yours. Dave’s eyes didn’t stray for even a second, and the way he was so focused on you made it feel like the rest of the world didn’t exist. His chest rose and fell, the nervousness evident in every little movement.

You broke the silence. Your voice came out softly, almost as if the words had slipped out before you could stop them.

“I know we’re just friends...” you started, the phrase hanging in the air for a moment, as if you wanted to make sure he was listening. “But I would kiss you if you asked.”

His reaction was immediate. Dave blinked quickly, as if shocked, and his parted lips froze. He seemed like he wanted to respond, but the words were stuck in his throat. You saw his hands move slightly, as if he were about to do something, but he froze, his gaze becoming even more intense.

“Are you... serious?” he finally managed to ask, his voice hoarse and hesitant. He tilted his head slightly, as if needing to confirm that he had heard right.

You shrugged, a soft, teasing smile playing on your lips. “Looks like you’ll have to find out.”

Dave’s eyes briefly dropped to your mouth before returning to yours, and the way he bit his lower lip made your heart race. He seemed torn, as if fighting against the barrier that had existed between you — the barrier that until now was the certainty that you were just friends.

“I…” he began, but stopped, his fingers absently tracing the steering wheel as if he needed something to hold onto. “Do you know what you’re saying?”

“I do.” Your voice was firm, but there was a sweetness in the way you spoke, an attempt to reassure him. You leaned in a little closer, enough for your knees to press against his again, and gently placed your hand over his.

Dave held his breath at the touch, and his eyes fixed on your hand for a moment before looking back at you. “I... I don’t want to ruin anything,” he murmured, but the hesitation in his voice revealed that he was on the verge of giving in.

You smiled, a small, confident smile, but there was something vulnerable in it too. “What if it doesn’t ruin anything? What if it’s exactly what needed to happen?”

Dave seemed incapable of processing what you were saying. He was so close now that it would take just a move from you to close the distance between you. And as he stared at you, as if trying to decide what to do, you saw determination slowly rising on his face.

“You don’t know how much I’ve wanted this,” he said, almost in a whisper, the words laden with sincerity and something deeper.

The silence between you was louder than any sound around you. It felt as if the entire world had stopped at that moment, waiting to see what the next step would be. You could feel the tension growing with each passing second, and the proximity was so electrifying that it made your skin tingle.

“Then kiss me, Dave,” you murmured, your eyes locked with his, not looking away. “Unless you prefer me to take the lead.”

He laughed softly, nervously, but there was something more in the laugh. Something that showed he was finally giving in. “You’re impossible,” he said, his voice low, but full of affection.

And then he leaned in, hesitant at first, as if checking if it was really allowed, but the hesitation lasted only a moment. When his lips finally met yours, the touch was gentle, almost shy, but quickly became something more intense, more sincere, as if he were pouring everything he had kept inside for so long into the kiss.

The world around you disappeared completely. All that existed was the warmth of his touch, the way his fingers found their way to the back of your neck, holding you as if afraid you might disappear. And when you leaned in even closer, deepening the kiss, it was as if something had finally clicked into place.

When you separated, breathless, Dave’s eyes still shone with that mixture of nervousness and euphoria. He laughed softly, but it was an uncertain sound, as if he were still trying to process what had just happened. Resting his forehead against yours for a moment, he whispered, almost out of breath:

“So... friends?”

The hesitation in his voice was evident. It was as if he were trying to gauge the situation, figure out how far he could go without crossing an invisible line he didn’t even know existed. His fingers, still resting on your neck, traced a small, nervous circle, as if even without realizing it, he was seeking something to hold on to.

You tilted your head slightly, your eyes fixed on his, and raised an eyebrow with a small smile on your lips. The kind of smile that could either reassure him or make him even more anxious.

“Is that what you want?” you asked, your voice low and carrying something that made his breath hitch for a second.

Dave blinked, surprised by your direct question. His blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, he seemed unsure of what to say. But then you saw something change. Doubt gave way to quiet determination, as if he were finally willing to be honest with himself and with you.

“No.” The word slipped out before he could hold it back, but he didn’t retreat. On the contrary, he moved closer, his eyes never leaving yours. “No, that’s not what I want.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you let his words hang between you, feeling the weight of them. The silence that followed was almost palpable, but not uncomfortable. It was full of possibilities, full of what you both knew was coming.

“Then what do you want, Dave?” you murmured, leaning in a little more, enough for your lips to almost touch his again.

He swallowed hard, his gaze briefly dropping to your mouth before returning to your eyes. “I want you,” he finally said, his voice coming out as a whisper, but filled with so much sincerity that it seemed to echo in the small space of the car.

His confession made your heart race, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your lips. He seemed so vulnerable, but at the same time so sure, as if he had just laid all his cards on the table.

“And you’ve got me,” you replied, the softness in your voice contrasting with the intensity of the moment.

His eyes softened, but the desire still shone in them. As if to test the waters, he moved the hand that had been on your neck, tracing a slow path to your cheek. His touch was so careful it almost seemed reverent, but there was something in his fingers — a slight tremble, perhaps? — that showed just how much he was feeling.

“I think I’ve always wanted this,” he murmured, more to himself than to you.

“And why didn’t you say anything?” you asked, your voice coming out softer than you meant.

He laughed, a short, nervous sound. “Because I thought you’d never see me like this. I mean, look at you...” He stopped, the sentence unfinished, but the look in his eyes said it all.

“And look at you,” you shot back, a smile forming as you leaned even closer. “I think you underestimated how much I see you, Dave.”

He seemed stunned, but before he could say anything, you took the initiative this time. Your lips met his again, and the kiss was anything but hesitant. It was as if all the nervousness, all the doubt, had disappeared. The intensity was palpable, and the way he responded to the kiss, his hands firmly on your waist, showed that he too was determined not to hold anything back anymore.

When you finally pulled apart again, breathless and even closer, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed for a moment. “I don’t want to be just your friend anymore,” he admitted, almost like a confession, but with the firmness of someone who knew exactly what they wanted.

“Good,” you replied, a soft but teasing smile on your lips, “because I don’t want to be just your friend anymore either.”

Dave laughed, the tension easing a little, but there was still an electricity in the air. He gently ran his thumb along the line of your jaw, the touch so soft it almost felt like a whisper.

“Does this mean I can kiss you whenever I want now?” he asked, his voice filled with a mix of playfulness and genuine hope.

“It means you should,” you replied, leaning in again, leaving no room for doubt.

The kiss that followed was even slower, deeper, as if each movement was a silent promise. Dave seemed to lose any trace of hesitation, his hands finding their way to your waist, holding you firmly but still with that care that seemed to be so characteristic of him. The car, small and cramped, became a space where you needed nothing else but each other.

The sound of the movie continued in the background, but you both no longer paid attention. It was almost comical that Back to the Future was playing in front of you while you were creating a new moment, one that no one but the two of you could witness.

“I can’t believe we paid for this just to ignore the movie,” you murmured against his lips, your voice full of provocation.

He laughed, his forehead still resting against yours, as his fingers slid along your back in distracted touches, but ones that sent shocks through your skin. “I think I’ve never been more grateful for not paying attention to something,” he replied, with a smile that lit up his blue eyes.

You smiled, running your hands along his shoulders, your fingers tracing the outline of the collar of the t-shirt he was wearing. “And you don’t want to watch it after all?”

“Not even a little,” he answered immediately, leaning in to kiss you again, more briefly this time, but still enough to leave no doubt. “I prefer this.”

The heat building between you made the space even tighter, more intimate. He shifted a little, adjusting so you could be even closer, his arm slipping behind you, while your head rested on his shoulder. It was almost ridiculous how natural it felt to be this way, as if you belonged to each other and hadn’t realized it until now.

You looked at him, your faces so close that it was impossible not to notice the rosy tint on his cheeks, the shine in his eyes that said more than any words could. And when he spoke again, his voice was so soft it seemed like a secret.

“I don’t know how it took me so long to figure this out. You... are everything.”

The intensity of the sentence made your chest tighten in a good way, as if something had finally clicked into place. You didn’t need to respond immediately, because his hands were holding yours now, fingers intertwined as if he wanted to make sure you were there, that this was real.

“Dave,” you whispered, the word heavy with emotion, “if this means we’ll have more nights like this... then please, keep taking so long to figure things out.”

He laughed, a soft, carefree sound, before leaning in to kiss you again.

[maraudering-times]

25 days of Jegumas - Day 19: Christmas Cards - 359 words - @noblehouseofgay

“I’m not doing it.” Regulus crosses his arm definitely and glares at James’s ever growing pout. 

“Come on, love. I do it every year with my parents!”

“Then go get Effie and Monty and leave me out of it.” Regulus stands firm.

“Reggie…”

“No.”

“Reg–”

“No, James.”

James throws his hands up in the air, “You’re already wearing the damn sweater.”

“And I’m prepared to take it off if you try dragging me in front of that camera.”

“It’s just one photo.”

“I’m not doing it.”

James groans and buries his face in his hands. They’re causing quite the scene at the family photo booth in their local mall. Regulus didn’t have these reservations when James and presented the Christmas sweater to him earlier that afternoon. Sure, he laughed, calling it garish and ugly but he still put it on and left the house wearing it. One measly little photo wearing the top for their Christmas cards wouldn’t kill him. At least according to James.

To Regulus though…

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

James sighs and kicks his foot dejectedly. “Fine. Let’s go then.” He turns around and makes to leave the shop but Regulus huffs and grabs his arm, stopping him.

“Don’t act like that.”

James shrugs. “You won’t take the photo, Reg. There’s other people in line so let’s just go.”

Regulus makes a string of odd noises but turns back to the photographer and their assistant, both of whom were watching their argument like a tennis match. He holds up a single finger. “One photo,” he tells them and James indirectly.

James beams and drags his boyfriend over to the backdrop. He places a quick kiss to his lips, speaking against them, “Thank you, baby.”

Regulus pulls away and faces the lens, “I’m breaking up with you after this.”

James laughs and wraps his arms around the shorter man, hugging him from behind. The photographer clears their throat and directs them into a pose, one that shows off their matching Christmas sweaters and begins the countdown. James whispers to Regulus, “You love me too much.”

“Loving you less right now.”

They smile just in time for the flash.

[chaoticallykinkygrem]

Have u ever thought about cam boy Regulus??? James starting as a subscriber, then buying private shows from Reg, the possibilities🫦

-🕊️

You understand me dove. We have officially connected neurons.

NSFW (but not the most nsfw I’ve written)

James would have his shirtless chest as his pfp and regulus would assume he was using a random photo he found online.

James would start off doing smaller donations on stream with messages like “you’re so beautiful” “gods I want you so bad rn” “please cum for me” etc. He then starts ordering customs from regulus. He starts with photos, just asking to see regulus after he cums or in a skirt or something, but eventually moves on to full videos.

Mind you him and regulus are dming this entire time. Regulus originally treats him like any other client but he slowly starts letting his guard down around the goofy flirty man in his dms.

Regulus is feeling hot and bothered one night and desperately wants to know what prongs (James online name) sounds and looks like so he slides into his DMs with a photo of him wearing lingerie James bought him with the caption “Care to help me tonight prongs?” James immediately goes fucking feral and responds with an absolute “gods yes baby”. They start texting and regulus eventually asks “wanna see how much I affect you~”

James replies with a pretty basic (but still art like) photo of his rock hard dick. Regulus wasn’t expecting him to be so big and girthy so he finds himself squeezing his thighs and getting wetter just looking at the picture. He sends James a photo of how wet he is for him and asks for James to tell him what to do. Regulus begs for James to send him a video of him cumming, needing to know what this Adonis sounds like.

“Fuck yes baby. So fucking good and all for me. Is that right love?” James sends as a voice note to help regulus along. Regulus finds himself responding out loud, as if James was actually there and could hear him. The voice note works its magic though and regulus sends James a video of him cumming while moaning out prongs. James sends his own video in response before they both get offline to clean up.

They keep talking and James keeps sending regulus money for customs. One day he asks how much it would be for a private video call and regulus just responds with “For you baby, it’s completely free. Call me at *phone number*”. Regulus knows he’s in love with this man and so he impulsively sends his phone number, hoping he’ll be able to finally see prongs’ face.

One thing leads to another and regulus finds out James is best friends with his long lost brother and lives like 15 minutes away.

[wordsofwilderness]

Pleasure to meet you

Day 7: Masked Sex - Stranger Sex - Jegulus Kinktober - @jeguluskinktoberr - 654 words - Mature

From the moment James had stepped into the sparkling ballroom, he’d been intrigued by the man with a slender frame and a midnight blue mask speckled with silvery gems as if he wore the stars themselves. The annual masked balls were one of the few traditional pure-blood events the Potters still bothered attending. The anonymity of the enchanted masks gave the usually so uptight pure-bloods a much-needed opportunity to let loose without consequences. The dancing was wilder and the expensive wines flowed freely. There were even a few couples that had gone as far as to kiss in public—their identities sure to be the topic of the rumour mill for several weeks.

But where James usually entertained himself by watching the boundaries of formality slowly fall apart into an astonishing display of hypocritical behaviour, he was otherwise occupied tonight. They had spent the better part of the evening staring at each other across the dance floor, even as they both danced with other people. Inevitable, it had led to here, locked away safely in a small study far from the other partygoers.

Legs were hooked around James’ waist and locked behind his back as he sat the mysterious man down on the expensive-looking office desk. James grinned into his shoulder at the moans already escaping between them at the administration his tongue was doing there.

They pulled at each other clothes in a frenzy. “What can I call you, love?” James murmured as he rid himself of his shirt, “I need something to moan.”

His lover seemed to chew on it for a minute, shrugging out his trousers before providing, “Reg.” Something in the back of James’ mind tugged at him, but the magic of the mask smoothed it over.

“Perfect,” James groaned, catching Reg’s lips with his.

It wasn’t long before James was deep within him, moans ringing out too loudly, considering they really didn’t want to get caught. James’ hands griped the milky skin of Reg’s thighs, holding them up as he slammed into him again and again. The silvery eyes behind that mask swirled with sin, so close now, and James was all the more lost in them. Even as Reg came, and he followed, he couldn’t look away. It was truly cruel that the mask robbed him of the complete expression on Reg’s face as he reached his peak.

Skin sticky with sweat, James held them close together as they each came down from their high, catching their breath. “Can I see you? Please?” James asked, his fingers tracing the edge of Reg’s mask, “I’ll take mine off too.”

“You first,” Reg countered. The apprehension was fair enough, it wasn’t exactly acceptable to be queer within pure-blood circles.

James shrugged, before taking his mask off, a maroon thing with antler-like protrusions framing his eyes.

The man before him titled his head, lips pulled together in an annoyed line, probably at the lack of recognition. He kept his side of the deal, though, pulling his mask off too. The resemblance hit James like a brick wall, because he’d seen that face before in photos Sirius had shown him, off his brother. Older now, he’d grown into those sharp cheekbones, his eyes piercing instead of soft.

His voice coming out thinner than he’d have liked, James asked, “‘Reg’ doesn't happen to be short for ‘Regulus’, does it?”

“Why,” he bit with narrowed eyes. Oh, and still, James was attracted to him, he couldn’t deny it.

Deciding to make light of the situation, James stepped back. “James Potter,” he said, with a little mock bow, “Pleasure to finally meet you, Regulus.”

Regulus’ eyes went wide in realisation before a smirk grew on his lips. Eyes roaming over James’ still naked body, Regulus hummed, “I believe the pleasure is all mine.” By the wicket grin spread across Regulus’ face, James knew this would be far from the last time they saw each other.

[cressthebest]

so many people liked my last jegulily headcanons post, so i’m gonna continue doing the lord’s work 😌

• there's a big bookshelf in the living room with a mixture of regulus' books and lily's books. you can easily tell the difference between them. reg has hardback copies that are annotated with thin black fountain pen. lily has cheap paperback copies often bought secondhand, and she only allows the typical wear and tear. she refuses to write in her books, and instead will sticky note the pages.

• lily is demiromantic and it took a hot minute to realize she liked not only james but also regulus. (she lost her absolute shit. i'm picturing this video)

• james is an early riser and will get up to go workout before returning home to his sweethearts that are finally stirring, so after showering he'll often fix them breakfast in bed.

• on that note, autistic regulus refuses to eat anywhere but the table. his reasons list as: 1. good posture and digestion from sitting at the table 2. crumbs in bed are BAD 3. bed is for sleep, table is for eating. 4. idk it's just wrong to eat in bed. like, it's against the rules

• so reg has a little nightstand/side table in the room with a chair for him to eat at so he can eat at the table and lily can stay in bed (and james can join her)

• they are 100% the couple (throuple??) to have matching pajamas. by matching, i mean all the same fabric and pattern, not cut

• they send out obnoxious christmas cards together. james always sets the camera to take the perfect photos and chooses the poses. lily always chooses their outfits, the setting, and designs the cards. regulus is in charge of making sure it's sent out to every last person that they love (and hate)

• lily's parents were confused about her relationship and don't really understand it, but they hesitantly accept it and love her anyways even though they don't get it. and they absolutely adore james and regulus, happy to have some boys in the house

• james' parents took a minute to be cool with the relationship because they were worried that regulus and lily weren't quite happy with the polyamory before realizing that reg and lily were equally in love with each other and james

• both james and regulus gave sirius a key to the house, not realizing the other did that. lily, thinking that james and regulus wouldn't have thought to give sirius a key for emergencies gives him one as well. sirius now has three keys and doesn't tell this to jegulily

[vinylfoxbooks]

June 2 - Night | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 691 Warning: drinking, talks of alcohol, James is in a state of inebriation 

It’s always joked about that when people get drunk, they call up their ex and it’s always a bad idea. James never assumed that it would be his problem -- he only has one ex and, as much as he loves Lily, his love for her has turned completely platonic and even if he did text her a random ‘I love you, please take me back’ text, Lily would be immediately concerned and ask him how many drinks he’s had. However, with Sirius and Remus having wandered off to, probably, shag in the bathroom and Pete left early because he has work in the morning -- on a Saturday, the poor bloke -- James is left alone, scrolling through Instagram with the hand not nursing his Sex on the Beach, which Sirius did in fact make fun of him for upon order because ‘only the single man would order something like that.’

And then there’s a post from Pandora. It’s a simple one, just a photo dump of her life for the past couple weeks, a couple pictures of her, Lily, and Mary, some with Barty and Evan, a picture of all of the girls together, and finally a picture of her and Regulus at some fancy event. Pandora is wearing a beautiful green sparkly dress that reaches the floor and hugs her body in the most flattering way possible and has her arm thrown around Regulus, who is- 

James takes a deep breath.

And before he knows it, he’s stepping outside with a lit cigarette between his lips and his phone pressed to his ears, calling up Regulus in the middle of the fucking night on a random Friday in June. 

To his surprise, Regulus answers. It’s with a tired, groggy voice that indicates he just woke up that he says into the phone, “James?” James doesn’t answer at first, he doesn’t know what he’s doing, he doesn’t know what he’s going to say, he doesn’t- “Hello? James, are you there?”

“Regulus.” Is the only word that manages to escape James’ lips, quiet and almost desperate, “Regulus.”

“Jamie?” Regulus asks, and James hears some rustling as though Regulus is sitting up in bed, “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

It takes James a minute to respond, not having much to say, “I’m not very… sober, I’m sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry, Jamie.” Regulus says, his voice light and comforting, “Where are you right now, let me get you home.”

“At the…” James starts, “I went out drinking with Remus and Sirius.”

“Are you at the pub near their place?” James just hums in response. He’s not that drunk. He’s only had a couple drinks, why is he acting like this? He’s always been the type of person to grow quieter the more drinks he’s had, usually because he gets even more emotional when he’s drinking and those emotions overwhelm him, leaving him quiet. But not like this… “Alright James, I’m on my way, give me a couple minutes. Are you outside?”

“Mhm, ‘m smoking.”

“Good, just stay outside for me, it’ll be easier for me to find you.” 

“Mkay.” James hums, “‘m tired.”

“I’m sure you are, it’s late.” Regulus hums, “I’m getting into my car now, do you mind hanging up so I can focus on driving?”

“Yeah.” With that, James pulls his phone away from his face and moves to press the hang up button, muttering, “I love you, Reg.” Then the call disconnects. James is just stubbing out his cigarette when Regulus comes driving around the corner and parking just in front of James, stepping out of his car. He helps James into the car silently before hopping in himself and starting to drive them to his flat. 

James doesn’t remember much of the rest of the night other than Regulus helping him inside and James bursting into tears for no apparent reason, but the next morning he wakes up laying in Regulus’ bed with the younger watching him rouse and he definitely remembers Regulus’ first words upon them making eye contact, “I love you too, James.”

James grins, “Let me take you out on a date?”

“Of course.”

[darkfiguresstuff]

Harry finds an old photo album in the attic. The main page says:

“Thanks for this beautiful summer, I will never forget you James Potter. From: Reg.”

And then we fallow two timelines, where is Harry looking through this album asking questions, going through his teenage years.

The second timeline being summer the photos from album are from, there is Jegulus, Wolfstar and others. It’s about when they were 16-17 and Sirius and Regulus were at their grans house and it’s the village James is from.

From photos we get deferent characters povs and Harry just slowly finds out that his dad was in love with a boy called Regulus and his mum was in love with girl called Mary.

It’s all angst and summer vibes but of course it has to end with the summer…

Was something like this written before? I need to know before I start and if there was something similar but not exactly I will write it just tell me I need to know!

Anyways thank you.

[seer-smiles]

Hi hiizzz :D

Hiii!!!!! I'm Sybil Trawelany! :D

she/they/he and I'm 16

gender doesn't matter to me! 🩷🩷 if I love u I do!

I'm a Ravenclaw!

I love divination and potions, plz plz plz ask me about them!!

You can usually find me in the library or the divination classroom ✨✨

my hair color switches from blonde to brown a lot so don't pay it much mind!!! I have it change based off my emotions :)))

I won't tell which is which thooooooo

these r my friends!!

@pandora-opens-the-box PANDA!! my bff

@brightestrockstar Sirius!! he's friends w Lily!!

@jamie-pr0ngs-p0tter He seems cool!! friends w Sirius!!

@reg-theblack Regulus!! Super Coolio and smart

@cemetriiez BARTY! Fellow ravenclaw (totally doesn't scare me a bit)

@marls-the-mother-fucker she seems so amazing I wanna be friends 😔😔

@lily-with-one-l LILY!!! amazing and sweet person!!

@evan-therose1 EVAN, PANDAS TWIN

@d-d-dor-cas Dorcas! so so cool

@sev-darling Severus! idk him well

ooc: if you don't like my interpretation of her you can leave— I don't own any of these photos all creds to original owners

[regregregulusblack]

My official intro post . ⋆✮ ˚ . ✩°｡⋆｡

𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚘. My name is Regulus Black, and no, you are NOT allowed to call me Reg or Reggie.

A photo my friend Evan took of me without my permission. I will never forgive you, @barbie-wants-to-be-me-fr !!!

I am intersex and I go by he/they pronouns. I don’t like to label myself, but at least I am not straight. I am single and not looking for anyone at all at the moment. I am also autistic and have ADHD. NOT the wild sort. The fucking-tired-bitch-stfu-sort.

My interests:

• Art

• Quidditch (I’m a seeker)

• Poetry (both reading and writing)

• Reading books

• Defence of the Dark Arts

• Analysing every single lyric in every single Taylor Swift song and crying about it

• Makeup

On this blog I will be posting quotes, poetry, art, photographs and selfies and just silly little things that I feel like sharing. If I see any posts about me, I will read them and BEWARE, I will be critical. So you might see me around :) You have been warned.

You will also probably see me having chats with my friends, @remus-lupin-offical is one of them but I’m still waiting for my other idiot friends to finish making their bloody accounts. I will add them here as soon as I can! Update: Took as them long enough, but now they’re also on Tumblr! People you will see me interacting with:

• @sirius-thesstar (Ew)

• @remus-lupin-offical (Why’d you choose my idiot brother as your boyfriend? You’re better than this.)

• @the-real-marls-mckinnon

• @xxcassiexx Dorcas Meadows, a Slytherin I have deep respect for. Say hi to Dorcas!

• @barty-not-barry (My batshit crazy friend)

• @pandora-notyetalovegood (Fellow Slytherin, say hi!)

• @lily-evans-for-ya (In a world of annoying people you are a nice person. Take it as a compliment or don’t. It’s up to you.)

• @captainjamespotter (Annoying Gryffindor)

• @stolemyheelsfromlegolas (DO NOT CALL ME REGIANO FFS) (MARY YOU HEAR ME?!)

• @barbie-wants-to-be-me-fr (Another lovely Slytherin asshole, he and Barty should just shut up and kiss by the way)

• @ur-local-peter-pettigrew (Gryffindor)

• @itty-bitty-bella (Cousin)

• @therealcissyblack (Cousin who loves me :))

• @andro-black (Cousin AS WELL)

• @the-best-slytherin (Luna, a fellow Slytherin)

• @yourfavouritehufflepuffgirl (Ew Hufflepuffs) (Ooc: I love Hufflepuffs)

You will see me arguing with my brother, @sirius-thesstar. Like, a lot. Don’t mind Sirius, he’s an idiot. If we’re arguing in French, do NOT translate if you’re a scaredy cat…

Do not interact if:

• You’re Sirius and you’re mad at me

• You’re a Gryffindor (yeah that goes for you too Sirius) (Slytherin is the best Hogwarts house)

• You’re transphobic

• You’re homophobic

• You don’t like me for some other reason

• You’re a Taylor Swift hater

I love Taylor. Don’t you ever disrespect her. Her new album only further proves that she’s a true poet. Even @sirius-thesstar agrees with me on that.

Other things I love are:

• Cats (I dream of having two black cats and naming them Phoebe and Ruby)

• The sea (It’s so calming to watch, but I HATE swimming. It’s too cold. And wet. Yuck.)

• The rain

• Conan Gray (No one can take his album “Superache” from me. Don’t ever try or I’ll bite u.)

Hope I’ll see you around! (Or not. Depending on my mood)

My tags: #regregregulusreg, #thetorturedpoetofthecave, #regulussy

Random edit: Ooc: Eh so I’m a minor and I’m a victim of actual physical and mental abuse and I’m still going through stuff, so eh, “Reggie” might be talking jokingly about abusive parents and a tough upbringing on here and stuff like that… just know that that is my fucked up coping mechanism okay, and I don’t mean any harm, and please if you’re joking around with me about abuse don’t take it too far since it might be triggering for me. Thank you.