Fellas Is It Gay To Lie Low At Lupins

Proud to say that I have always been able to figure out out who the culprit is in every crime story, from Agatha Christie to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. I absorb all the facts and clues like a sponge and sort them out accordingly. I am the person who always wonders "who would fall for this obvious false lead". They should make it harder for me, honeslty, because all the clues are too obvious. My head is full of what I consume and I remember every story I've "solved".

proud to say that I have never once in my life figured out the whodunit in any crime story I've read or watched. I just let the facts and clues wash over me, absorbing absolutely none of it. I am the audience they think of when they throw in red herrings, in case you've ever wondered "who would fall for this obvious false lead". it's me. I am the idiot viewer/reader. not once has an obviously framed clue revealed anything to me. my head is completely empty when I consume these stories.

black cat eating a whole rotisserie chicken while Mamma Mia by ABBA plays in the background

ravenclaw barty crouch jr who refuses to go all the way down to the dungeons so regulus has to answer some batshit crazy riddle at 3am to see his stupid boyfriend

The Black brothers

Told too late

No body to bury. No final words. Just a name spoken with pity and a date etched in records. I sat there, staring at the wall, as they said, Regulus Arcturus Black is presumed dead.

Presumed.

As if there was still a chance. As if he might walk through the door and roll his eyes at the fuss. As if my little brother wasn’t already bones at the bottom of the sea.

I used to think I hated him. The way he looked at me with that cold, disappointed stare. The way he clung to the name I tried to burn. But that was never hate. It was heartbreak. It was watching the person I used to share a room with, a life with, slip away into a world I couldn’t follow.

But he turned back.

He turned back.

When no one was looking, when no one would have blamed him for staying safe, he chose to die fighting the very thing he once stood for. Chose to stand in front of the darkness and say no more.

He was seventeen.

A child.

My baby brother.

And I never got to tell him I was sorry. That I never stopped loving him. That even when we were shouting, I remembered the nights we used to hide from storms under the same blanket, his fingers curled in my shirt.

I think—he died thinking I hated him.

I think—he died alone.

And I will carry that for the rest of my life—the love I didn’t give him in time, the hand I didn’t hold when he reached for it in silence.

He should have grown old. He should have had a second chance.

But instead, he became a secret hero. A ghost of a boy who died with no one there to sing of his courage.

So I will sing.

For Regulus.

My brother.

My brave, brilliant, broken hearted baby brother.

I will love you until the sea gives you back to me.

And longer still.

Sometimes you gotta wake up and remember who the fuck you are.

- You are fine as fuck

- You have an amazing personality

-You’ve achieved so much to make it to this point

- Don’t let anybody play you

- Don’t let anybody make you feel worthless

-Nobody is indispensable; cut them off if they are making you feel bad!

my heart