Crimson Rivers Zeppazariel Quotes

If I cannot climb, I will grow.

Death does not erase the point of life. A dead flower does not mean it never bloomed. It did, and it was beautiful.

No one ever thinks to look up.

I love you more than the tides love the moon. I'm as temperamental as the ocean, and just the same, I'm at your mercy. Give me a ship, and I will wreck it at your command.

I'd die for them, but I'd live for you.

That's what people don't tell you about grief, about loss; you do get farther away from it with time, and as much as you might wish not to, you forget the very things you want to cling to.

His little brother. Always his little brother.

You're crazy," Rodolphus states. "I like crazy." "I like women," Dorcas replies. "Only.

How do you kill what's already dead? You revive it just to watch it rot.

Putting off your own issues to be there for everyone else doesn't mean you're fine. If anything, that means you're less fine than everyone else, because you're not even letting yourself deal with your problems.

They got him. The Hallows got him. His big brother. Always his big brother.

Me and you," Regulus says. "Me and you," Sirius agrees.

But, when you love someone, it can feel like you'll never survive the loss of them, and then, somehow, you do.

Think about it, love. A slap across the face is just a hand cradling a cheek with too much force," James says, his mouth dry. "I can take it. I swear I can take it. I might even like the way it stings, so long as it's your hand that leaves the mark.

You're my favorite hello

Reflexively, he glances up to scan the trees. He always thinks to look up now. Evan is never there.

Maybe the storm that coats his skin should tarnish his return, but Regulus finds that it doesn't, that maybe nothing in this world can. There is just his brother, too excited to see them to dry off first.

Five letters. A name. The word that starts the war. Poppy.

If there's one thing I've learned, though, impermanence only solidifies importance. You can learn through loss to better cherish what you have, and be thankful for what you got. It's awful, mostly, but you look back and there are glimpses that you can't bring yourself to regret. The inevitability of endings can't remove all that came before it. That still exists, and we get that, and we keep that. And that's—that's special. That's precious.

I've never had a friend before you," Evan croaks. "So, you know, thanks for that, I suppose. It—it was nice while it lasted." "You—" Regulus fumbles for Evan's hand, and their fingers clasp around each other, slipping from the blood. "I'm—Evan—" Evan hums, and he's slurring when he says, "Your turn, lover boy." "I miss my brother," Regulus confesses in a whisper

They're okay, because they have each other. Here they are, holding onto this moment: two comforted, two comforting, two brothers. Always brothers.

Either way, sometimes there are people that just—recognize each other. Like whatever you're made of, you might be lucky enough to find someone holding a little bit of you in them, and without even knowing it, you've been carrying around a little bit of them before you ever even met. So, when you do meet, it's like something inside of you starts wriggling around that says hey, that's me, that's ours, that's us. Recognition. Connection. Something really, truly special. Regulus has just watched that die.

I hope you trip on your way down the aisle," Narcissa tells Regulus. "I hope you have a baby, and I hope it's the ugliest, snottiest, brattiest little shit that ever graced this earth," Regulus snips. "Impossible," Narcissa retorts, hand to her chest. "I will be their mother, so they will be, at the very least, quite beautiful." "And the rest?" "Well, no one's perfect.

You'll stay, right?" James mumbles. "I'll stay," promises the angel, and James believes the promise, because James looks into the angel's eyes and knows the angel means the promise and isn't being a sneaky little liar. James smiles, pleased. "I'm going to keep you." The angel finally, finally, finally laughs, and it has special angel powers to make James' chest go warm. It sounds like a gentle jingle, a tinkling bell, and it's the last thing James hears before he happily falls off into dreams of a knitted hat with the angel's laughter trapped inside.

Some people see it this way, and some people do not. Some are angry, and some are scared, and some are so hurt that they can't see the point of anything, let alone fighting. Some people give up. Some people try harder. They all grieve, though, all of them—and, for all the differences in the people who remain behind, one thing is the same about those who are gone. The world is a little more hollow without them in it.

And then— "We have a bookshelf. Sirius built us a bookshelf, and you have the top shelves because you're taller, and I have the lower shelves because I keep all my journals on the very bottom." James feels a lump form in his throat. He can't help it, the rush of emotion that crashes through him. You know that other life? The one where we could have been happy together? Where we're not a great, big tragedy? James had said. Tell me something about it, James had said. Regulus did, Regulus told him about this, and so much more. All these things—all of them left to another life, not this one, because they didn't get it in this one. They were wrong. They were so fucking wrong. Regulus has drifted forward, eyes wide with child-like wonder, something so painfully innocent there in his expression. His fingers run across the wood tenderly, with care, and his voice is so soft when he whispers, "This is beautiful, Sirius. How long have you been working on this?

I have to tell you a joke," James says, and the angel blinks at him, then arches an eyebrow. "I need you to laugh." "James—" "What did the big flower say to the little flower?" The angel glances over at the best friend, and the best friend is stifling laughter, and then the angel focuses on James again. The angel indulges him. "I don't know. What did the big flower say to the little flower?" "Hey there, bud," James tells him, and the mother laughs, and the father laughs, and the best friend laughs, but the angel does not laugh. No, the angel only reaches up to grab his hand, gently pressing a smile to his knuckles. It's a small smile. Lips of an angel. Sweet. James wants to put his mouth on it, and stick his fingers in it, but he's also sad because the angel didn't laugh. "You were supposed to laugh. I told a flower joke. It was funny, and you like flowers." "Mm." The angel's eyes drift shut. The angel is still smiling and cradling his hand. "Better luck next time." "I'll keep trying." "I know.

They all knew this was coming. They all knew war would reach into the pools of kinship between countless people and gut the innards of it like emptying out a pumpkin. So many seeds torn away and crushed into nothing; seeds of friendship, seeds of romance, seeds of family. All of them planted and ruined in various stages, left with nothing but growing pains and, worse than that, the pain of absent growth altogether. War is cruel. It's cancerous. The end of the world is always tied to war, isn't it? Maybe this is why; because war is so much more than just war. It goes beyond bullets and blood and bodies. War comes in like a flood, like a disease, and it claims anyone who comes in contact with it. Even the living can't get free from it; they're as claimed as the dead are. Once war touches them, they're branded to their last breath. In this world, most people have been branded for a lot longer than they stepped on their first battlefield.

I believe you, man," Rabastan assures him, jerking his thumb at Rodolphus. "All he does is lie, so yeah, I believe you." "When do I lie?" Rodolphus sputters. "Name one time—" "You told me you didn't steal my pillow months ago, and I know it was you. I know it was." "It wasn't! I'm telling you, Bas, it was someone else!" "Who, then?" "Um. Well, okay, I don't know, but—" Rabastan gestures to Rodolphus, raising his eyebrows pointedly. "See? Liar." "I do see," Regulus replies with a straight face, looking completely neutral as he nods in agreement. Sirius stares at the side of Regulus' face until, finally, Regulus' gaze darts towards him very briefly before he quickly looks away, because he's a lying, sneaky little shit of a pillow thief and has no shame in it. Sirius shakes his head and looks away, reaching up to swipe a hand over his mouth to hide his grin. Rabastan and Rodolphus continue to argue about who the pillow thief is, and Sirius doesn't interrupt to inform them of the real culprit, because he knows it's his brother.

It's a long trek, and James is admittedly lost in his own little world, so he's not really paying attention when heading to his porch. That's why a yelp tumbles out of his mouth as he reaches for the door and, instead, feels a cold clump of snow collide directly into the back of his head. Immediately, from behind him, there's a roar of laughter James would know in his sleep, all belonging to his children. He swivels on the spot, swiping the snow out of his hair, and Regulus stands there with a smug little smile as he wipes his snow-dusted gloves together, surrounded by their kids that, apparently, find this to be absolutely hilarious. "You walked by like we weren't even here," Regulus calls out, eyebrows raised. "Don't ignore us." James just stares at him for a long moment, his breath caught in his chest, knowing the same thing he's known since the day Regulus turned fifteen—that he's absolutely, unequivocally beautiful. Helplessly, James breaks out into a grin, and he makes his way back to them, because apparently it's the perfect day to build a snowman. Well, James can't argue that one.