𝐴𝑠𝑘𝑠 & 𝐷𝑀s 𝒶𝓇𝑒..!! » open !!
>> 𝒜𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑀𝑒! transman (he/him), pansexual, stem student, filipino, hellenic polytheist, 15, oldest child out of three (sigh..!) november scorpio>:3
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remus lupin
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𝐴𝑠𝑘𝑠 & 𝐷𝑀s 𝒶𝓇𝑒..!! » open !!
>> 𝒜𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝑀𝑒! transman (he/him), pansexual, stem student, filipino, hellenic polytheist, 15, oldest child out of three (sigh..!) november scorpio>:3
my works>>
remus lupin
(i'll come back to fix this later, trust me guys)

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petition to take away all of regulus’ pain and give it to donald trump
what if i said people close to regulus knew he loved them with much more certainty than people close to sirius did
Remus who cups Sirius’s jaw to make him look up from whatever he’s sulking about, and Sirius who immediately stops being upset because his brain has been fully replaced with static.
Where the Wild Things Fancy
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━༺♱༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━
It began, like all bad things at Hogwarts, with a fight.
A stupid one. Loud. Public. Unholy.
Right outside Charms.
Sirius Black had launched a jelly-legs jinx at Evan Rosier “by accident” (no one believed him), Evan had retaliated with a stinging hex, James leapt in, Barty Crouch Jr. threw his entire textbook at James’ face like a discus, Remus tried to de-escalate and got punched by Frank Longbottom somehow, Lily was screaming at everyone, Marlene was egging them on, Dorcas was in a headlock with Fabian, Pandora bit Gideon like a wild animal, and Peter—Peter had climbed halfway up a tapestry like a wet cat to avoid the chaos.
So, naturally, they were all punished together. The whole lot of them.
Filch was gleeful about it.
“Out into the Forest,” he rasped, yellow teeth catching the light of the torches he passed out. “Professor Kettleburn’s got a job what needs doing, and I can’t bloody wait to see one of you get eaten. Maybe it'll teach yeh respect.”
“It’s not detention if we die,” Remus muttered under his breath.
“It’s natural selection,” Barty offered cheerfully.
“Shut your face,” Lily snapped.
The forest swallowed them in a thick, damp hush. Trees reached up like bones clawing at the moon, and the shadows crawled low and strange.
Kettleburn limped ahead with his staff, waving them forward. “Now, listen here! We’re collecting shed scales from a colony of Mooncalves—harmless, skittish creatures, but very specific habitat needs. Don’t spook them, don’t wander, and don’t touch anything that breathes heavily. That goes especially for you, Rosiers!”
Pandora raised her middle finger.
Evan bowed mockingly. “Your wisdom is eternal, Professor.”
“Can we just get this over with?” Mary groaned, shivering into her coat. “I can hear things breathing already.”
“You hear that too?” Fabian muttered.
“I swear to Godric,” Sirius grumbled, clutching his wand tighter. “If anything jumps out at me, I’m hexing it first and asking questions never.”
“Maybe don’t provoke the local cryptids tonight,” Remus sighed.
They trudged deeper. It was dark. Damp. Unpleasant. Tempers were tight.
Regulus Black—fifth year, unsmiling, torch in hand—was at the very back of the group, silent and alert, the beam of his Muggle flashlight darting between trees. The light glared against the mist like a ghost’s breath.
They didn’t realise he was gone until his light vanished.
“Wait,” Evan said, stopping short. “Where’s Reg?”
“What?” Dorcas spun. “He was right behind me.”
“Yeah, and then he wasn’t,” Barty said flatly. “Fuck.”
Lily spun around. “Regulus?!”
No answer.
“REGULUS BLACK!”
Pandora screamed, “REG YOU DRAMATIC BITCH THIS ISN’T FUNNY!”
Still nothing.

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Rip Barty Crouch Jr you would have loved selling dead vapes to younger students
thoughts on
please for the love of god turn them back off
hot take, regulus was interesting until everyone started acting like he had no choice. he has so much more depth if there's an actual conflict instead of "he was forced". like he's not a baby, if sirius was old enough to make a choice against death eaters so was he. think about what that says about reg and sirius' relationship!! also idgaf that sirius left, reg was a golden child and fully bought into sirius being a traitor. he probably didn't care one bit.
I think it's so much more interesting when he did have a choice and he chose the wrong one!! I love that so much, it makes him more complex than ever and yes I totally agree
remus lupin quote of the day
day 28
the grass isn’t even grass. it’s plastic!
remus lupin quote of the day
day 28
the grass isn’t even grass. it’s plastic!

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Regulus had moved into one of James’ spare rooms the same afternoon Sirius and Remus returned from the French Alps, glowing and insufferably engaged.
It had been presented as temporary.
Practical.
Roommates.
Just until Regulus “sorted a few things.”
James hadn’t asked what those things were.
He’d simply handed over a key.
At first, the flat didn’t change much. A suitcase by the stairs. A pair of polished boots left too precisely by the door. A dark coat draped over the back of a dining chair.
But then, slowly, Regulus began to exist there.
A mug left half-full of tea on the bistro table outside the glass doors. A thin stack of art books on the coffee table. A canvas propped against the sunroom window to catch the morning light.
A second toothbrush.
James’ flat once tidy, quiet, faintly echoing, began to feel… inhabited.
Alive.
Even if some small, cynical part of him whispered that Regulus Black had never been known to stay anywhere for long.
It didn’t matter.
What mattered was waking up to music drifting down the hall.
That morning it was ABBA.
Yesterday had been Fleetwood Mac.
James had expected something classical. Something moody and dramatic. Not Chiquitita echoing through the sunroom while sunlight poured across the floorboards.
He paused in the doorway, unnoticed.
Regulus stood in front of a canvas nearly as tall as he was, sleeves shoved up, old charcoal streaked trousers hanging low on his hips. His shirt, one James had never seen him wear, was splattered in color.
He swayed gently to the music, brush gliding in smooth strokes as he sang under his breath.
“Chiquitita, tell me what’s wrong…”
It wasn’t a performance. He wasn’t aware of an audience.
It was just him.
James leaned against the frame, watching.
The painting itself was abstract—bold slashes of deep blue and forest green tangled with sudden bursts of white. James didn’t understand it, not really. But he knew it meant something. Regulus painted like he was pulling something out of his chest and pinning it to canvas.
That alone made it priceless.
Regulus reached up absently to scratch his cheek.
James suppressed a smile.
A streak of green smeared across pale skin.
The sight of him like this—rumpled, barefoot, distracted—felt oddly intimate. This wasn’t the polished heir to the Black legacy. Not the composed, sharp tongued strategist.
This was just Regulus.
And James got to see it.
Every odd habit. Every muttered lyric. Every forgotten mug of tea.
He loved it.
“Oh—” Regulus startled slightly when he finally noticed him. He turned, brush still in hand. “Hey.”
James straightened. “Morning.”
Regulus glanced past him toward the kitchen. “Did you make tea?”
James nodded. “And those Chelsea buns you like.”
Regulus went still.
There was a brief, unguarded flicker across his face.
“I mentioned that once,” he said carefully. “Years ago.”
“Six,” James replied easily. “You complained that most bakeries overbake them.”
Regulus blinked.
“You… remembered.”
“Of course I did.”
James said it simply. Like it wasn’t extraordinary.
Regulus looked down for a second, clearing his throat, pushing something unreadable away before it could settle. “Well. That’s… unnecessarily attentive of you.”
James stepped into the sunroom, closing the distance between them.
Up close, the paint smudges were more obvious. Blue near his wrist. Green on his cheek. A faint streak of white along his jaw.
James reached out and tilted Regulus’ chin gently upward.
Regulus froze.
His mouth parted slightly, breath catching. His grey eyes—bright, flecked with slate-blue—lifted to meet James’ hazel. The music continued behind them, cheerful and entirely at odds with the tension thickening the air.
Regulus leaned forward just a fraction.
Hope flickered there.
Instead... James swiped his thumb lightly across Regulus’ cheek, wiping away the streak of green.
“There,” he murmured.
Regulus exhaled, something between relief and disappointment, before schooling his expression back into neutrality.
“Tragic,” he said lightly. “I rather liked the war paint.”
“I’m sure you did.”
James dropped his hand but didn’t step away immediately. His thumb still held a faint smudge of green.
“Come,” he said after a beat. “Before they’re cold.”
He turned toward the kitchen.
Regulus remained standing in the sunroom for a second longer, heart doing something deeply inconvenient in his chest.
He glanced at the half-finished painting, at the wild blue strokes tangled through darker shades, and followed James.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 4
Professor:How about you open your book Crouch.
Barty: Oh, we need those? I ate it for breakfast.
James: Is he high?
Regulus: Unfortunately, no.
Professor:You as well, Lupin.
Remus: Book? Book! I have a book! This is the best day!
Regulus: Is he high?
James: Yep.
Sirius likes to cover up his eye bags with glitter.
how i see remus and hope's dynamic (she bullies the fuck out of him) (lovingly of course)
im obsessed with unhinged crazy smart regulus black, some of my faves are only the brave and whatever happened to the young young lovers, and he kills greyback in both of them.

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bowie has been dead for 10 years as of today... so i will mourn on behalf of sirius black and remus lupin
me reading the crimson rivers interview chapter
HE SAID THE THING HE SAID THE THING HE SAID THE THING!!!!
"I won't have anyone to confess to" IM GOING TO PASS AWAY