Regulus thought about death atleast once a day.

Not that he wanted to die, he just thought of it.
What it would be like, what would come after it. But mostly he thought about different kinds of dying.

When he was eight he had thought about dying by a sword.

He had seen his father kill a man in their throne room and had nightmares almost every night. How a sword would pierce him right through his chest and blood would bubble out of his mouth and onto the stone floor infront of his father's throne. How he would fall backwards with his legs angled in an uncofortable position, having chocked to death, with dead eyes staring at the high ceiling of the throne room, which was decorated with ornaments showing scenes not different from the one he was experiencing himself.

A few years later his thoughts had been filled with images of eleven year old him burning alive. His cousin Bellatrix had lighted his favorite plush toy on fire after she had seen them in his bedroom when all of their family had come around for christmas. She had said that he was a big boy now and big boys didn't have plush toys anymore and then she had grabbed one of them off the bed — a bunny with big ears to pull, his favorite — and threw it in the fire place in his room. She had laughed at him when he burst out crying, wailing as the flames had eaten away at the big ears of the bunny, leaving only its big glass eyes covered in ash behind.

Dying by a dagger, poison, a guillotine, the posibilities seemed endless to Regulus.
Most of the time his father was there aswell, doing the killing. Choking him, cutting his arm off, carving him open. Regulus thought it just came naturally. His father had hated him since the day be was born. Well, Regulus couldn't really blame him, Regulus being the reason his mother was dead and all.

Sometimes his brother was there too, not killing him, definitely not killing him. No, he would whisper soft words into his ear to soothe him, try to press a clothe against a stab wound or cradle his head as he died in his arms. Sirius would be there and try to help him, but it didn't matter, Regulus always died in the end.

Regulus had not once thought about drowning.

Which felt kind of like a cruel joke, since he was being dragged under water at that exact moment.

Hands ripped at every part of his body, scratched across his stomach, grabbed his ankles, pulled at his hair. His lungs burned as he struggled against them, desperately kicking his feet and trying to get to the surface.

When suddenly everything around him halted and he saw a shadow as big as atleast two farm houses in the distant water of the river, he thought about two things:

That dying by a giant basilisk also didn't come to his mind when he was a child and that he would kill James Potter if he made it out of this alive.

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I have drifted into the Marauders Fandom these last few months and well, Jegulus is me, I am Jegulus (yes I'm both of them, that's possible). Please give me feedback, I need this to sound interesting 🙏😭