Crimson Rivers Zeppazariel Quotes

If I cannot climb, I will grow.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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

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

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.

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.

Well, for you, I imagine it comes from a place of pettiness, because you're a raging bitch

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

His little brother. Always his little brother.

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

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

You're my favorite hello

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

Remus groans, his eyes sinking shut. He lifts his hands and scrubs them over his face before he drops them heavily, looking weary. "You are one the most unbelievably fucked up people I've ever met, you know that?" "Takes one to know one, I suppose," Regulus replies wryly, arching an eyebrow at him. Remus huffs out a weak laugh. "Yeah, can't argue that.

Thank you," Sirius says abruptly . Remus blinks. "You're welcome. Wait, for what?" "For taking care of me," Sirius murmurs as he washes a plate and passes it to Remus. He's not looking at him and there's a far-away look in his eyes. "You don't have to, and yet you are, and that- means something. That has meaning, like you said. I'd say I'd like to return the favor, but I'd never wish for you to be in a position where you need to be taken care of. But I hope you know that I would. And I hope that has meaning too.

I may be mental, but you're a mess, Sirius Black

Regulus snorts weakly. "Not really. I'm not exactly…the easiest person to get on with." "What? No. You're a fucking delight, what are you on about?" Evan mocks through a shit-eating grin. "No one's ever—" Regulus exhales shakily. "I have a friend at home, just one, but that's…different. I think you two would have gotten on well. But he's—" Regulus stops, because he's not sure how to even begin explaining Barty, who is his friend, yes, but not the way Evan has been. "Well, I'm not the type to have a best friend, but if I were, it would have been you." "Pity we never met before this, eh?" Evan swallows harshly

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.

The man glares up at him, blood streaming down his nose, "No one is scared of you or your bitch of a boyfriend-" "Fiancé," Regulus corrects harshly, then bangs the man's face into the table again. "Yeah, careful with that. He's really touch about that," Barty calls out, sounding like he's having the time of his life. "Regulus, stop," Rabastan says firmly. "No, keep going, this shit is hilarious," Barty announces.

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

Finally, Monty clears his throat and says, "Alright, well, I'm claiming Regulus. We'll take the back." Regulus looks oddly charmed by this. "Hey, be careful," Sirius and James announce at basically the same exact time, and Regulus rolls his eyes as Monty snorts. They're clearly thick as thieves, because Regulus' lips curl up when Monty knocks their shoulders together, and they slink off while whispering to each other, Monty chuckling quietly as they go. James and Sirius exchange an exasperated look.

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.

James is the one who saved eleven extra people, just to lose one friend.

Regulus, who said I miss my brother. Sirius has been crying ever since. Regulus hasn't said that, or anything even close to that, in ten years. Something he doesn't tell anyone else—that's what Evan asked of him, and that's what Regulus went with. I miss you, too, Sirius had thought, and maybe he whispered it, maybe Remus heard him, or maybe not. He's been crying too incoherently to know. But it's true. He's been missing Regulus for the last ten years.

Hallow is Hollow

We are something, but we can't be everything. I-I do wish that we could be. Or I wish that we could at least try. If it's easier to be nothing, because we can't be everything, then I understand." Sirius breathes for a moment, then says, "I don't think I can be nothing with you.

Regulus swallows. "You're a good person, Evan Rosier." "That's the thing, though. I'm really not." Evan blinks at him slowly. "I just—like you. Isn't that mental?" "Certifiably insane," Regulus says, his chest feeling tight. Evan waves his free hand lazily. "I don't mean the way your boyfriend likes you. Just…person to person, I suppose. It's a shame, really. I think—well, I think you're my friend.

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.

What we are is something. We're something Sirius.

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.

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.

Being touched by you is being blessed by divinity. I know I'm not worthy, but I crave it ceaselessly all the same." "I thought I was the devil," James choked out. "You're that, too. You're everything to me, baby.

Can't steal the moon, can't keep the stars, but we're fortunate enough to know them anyways. Isn't that us?" "Yeah," Remus whispers. "Yeah, that's us.

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

A stranger is just someone you haven't met yet. What do you call someone you knew better than yourself, but you no longer recognize? A ghost?

Alright, alright," Aberforth grunts, grimacing at the truly ridiculous amount of warm-and-fuzzies implied with all of that. The boy is usually better about keeping that shit to himself, unlike his over-emotional brother. Makes sense why Aberforth prefers him. "Fine, I'll—stop in to officiate your wedding, but I'm doing that and nothing else. I'm doing it on one condition, you hear me?" "Okay," Regulus says, eyes narrowing again. "I'm old. I'm probably gonna die in the next fifteen years or so, if I'm lucky," Aberforth announces with a grunt, and he appreciates that the boy doesn't protest, or try to deny it, or even seem to care very much. He only blinks and, after a moment of hesitation, nods. "I don't have kids, never cared to have a spouse, and all my family is dead. I don't much care what happens to my property or possessions after I'm gone, but I need someone to carry out my last wishes for my burial." "The tree," Regulus murmurs. Aberforth nods. "I want to be cremated, then buried with Albus and Ariana. Think you can handle that?" "You—me?" Regulus blinks again, this time with mild alarm, visibly startled. "Wait, you're putting me in your will? No, that's too much. I don't want your stuff, or to deal with all that shit. It's stressful. Pick someone else." "How bad do you want me to officiate your wedding?" Aberforth asks, eyebrows raised. Regulus holds his hand out immediately. "I'd be happy to bury you. You have yourself a deal." Aberforth chuckles, helplessly, and reaches out to shake his hand.

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.

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 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.

This is very important to me," Regulus says stiffly. "So, if you would please set aside your pride, along with your many other grievances with me and my brother, I'd appreciate it." "Do you realize how selfish it is to ask this of me?" "I don't care about that either. You know, some would see it as an honor. Do you know how many people would kill to get the chance?" "So, ask them," Aberforth grits out. "I don't want them," Regulus declares simply. "I want you.

I mean, I sort of went insane and treated everyone like shit after my girlfriend died, so…" "You weren't exactly the picture of sane before, and if I lost James, I would have needed to be locked away. I'd either kill everyone else, or kill myself, so if you ask me, you handled yourself quite well, all things considered." "You don't know how I handled myself at all." "I don't need to. You're here now, and you look good. That tells me all I need to know." "You know, I appreciate that," Dorcas muses. Regulus chuckles, and then he's smiling, a full smile that Dorcas has never seen on his face before. As if she didn't walk out of his life, and every life, including her own, for the last year, he says, "James and I recently agreed to get married, like planning the wedding and such. You'll be in my lineup. James can't have you, which he's been pouting about, but he's not the best at multitasking when it comes to fighting. He's throwing his whole lot in with claiming Sirius." "I'm—in the wedding?" Dorcas asks. "Obviously." "Oh, obviously. You couldn't have known I'd be back in time." "No," Regulus agrees with a shrug, "but I hoped." Dorcas' heart clenches. "Thank you, for hoping.

Four hours in, and Regulus is reading in the sitting room with Marcel on one side and Malcolm on the other. It's the only book in the house they have for kids, one that was James' when he was a child. Malcolm is very invested, his fingers twisting Regulus' sleeve as he leans on his arm, inhaling in palpable excitement every time Regulus turns a page. On the other side, meanwhile, Marcel is passed the fuck out, drooling on Regulus' other arm, head resting in the crook of his elbow. When Sirius shows back up, it's with apologies for taking so long, and gratitude for Regulus helping him out. He holds out his hands in offering, ready to go, and Marcel twists up to whisper in Malcolm's ear. Malcolm looks down at Marcel, then looks at Regulus, then looks at Sirius with his brave face on. Malcolm says, bluntly, "We want to stay here.

Lily is in bed, exhausted, and when she notices that he's awake, she takes one look at him and laughs. Remus gets up and finds his way right to her, because he always does, just like he always has.

Is it that bad, if that is what this is?" Evan asks. "If all I am is you, and no part of me is here, think about how long you've had hope for yourself. Think about how long you've believed in yourself. Think about how long you've been urging yourself to climb. Think about how far you've gotten, just as you." "Maybe," Regulus rasps, "but I really wish it was you." Evan sighs. "I'm dead, Regulus." "I know, Evan," Regulus says, and his voice cracks. "I know." "Everyone else, and you let them go," Evan whispers. "You learned to let them go, and learned to keep them even though you had. But not me." "You—you're—" Regulus shakes his head, feeling his face twitch and twist, trying so hard not to cry. You're the first person I learned to trust again, he doesn't say. You're the first person I really, truly lost; the first person I could never get back, he doesn't say. What he says, instead, makes his voice crack. "You're my best friend." And it's true. Even now, it's true, and Regulus knows it, so Evan does, too. "You were mine, too," Evan says, and then he tilts his head a bit. "After the arena, you dreamed of me because you couldn't let me go." "I know." "Why did you stop?" "Because I knew I needed to," Regulus chokes out.

Fucking dammit. This kid. This rude, demanding, unrepentant boy. The mess of it is, Aberforth does like the boy, likes him a hell of a lot more than he likes most people, and hell of a lot more than ever liked his brother. Aberforth just might be one of the few people in this world—maybe the only one—who preferred Regulus to Sirius even when they were just dumb little shits building snow forts that blocked the sidewalks, which Aberforth had to shovel out the way, grunting and grumbling under his breath the whole time. Maybe it was because Regulus reminded him of Ariana, and himself; maybe it was because Sirius reminded him of Albus. He doesn't know what it was, but Aberforth has found himself thankful many times since Albus died that it was Sirius who gave the killing blow, not Regulus. It's easier to hate Sirius. For Aberforth, hating Regulus isn't quite working out. He doesn't particularly care that the boy is getting married, and Aberforth had no urge to even attend the damn wedding, but then the boy showed up to demand he officiate it. The impulse to do so now, just because it matters that much, just because he matters that much to someone, still, to someone alive…it's strong. The impulse is really strong, except Sirius will be there, and Aberforth swore to never go back to district six until he was a pile of ashes. He won't, not even for the boy, arguably the last person in this world Aberforth even cares about on a personal level, and that's a bit of a stretch as it is.

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?

Shit," Sirius says, staring after Teddy, who has run off after flatout stating that they couldn't make him leave to go meet a family that might want him, not when he has a family here. He intends to stay forever, apparently. It's not the first time a child they've taken in has been wary to leave, but every kid they've taken in has known that they would go, so despite trepidation and tears and swearing they'd miss them, they did say goodbye. Teddy is the first who outright refuses to, because he has everything he wants right here. Dorcas clears her throat. "I…didn't see that coming, I won't lie." "Believe me," Remus mutters, "we didn't either." "It was touch-and-go there for a bit," Sirius murmurs, then heaves a sigh. "Right, well, that's that, then." "What's what?" Dorcas asks, blinking. Remus stares at her. "He's staying." "He…can't," Dorcas says slowly. "That's not how the process works, Remus. You're only fostering him." "Yeah, uh, Dorcas, I love you—I do, I really do, but you're not taking our kid," Sirius tells her.

Outside," Regulus replies. "They're making mud-pies, so prepare for the mess." "Mm, nothing we can't handle," James assures him. "We've certainly had worse." "Yes, that's true, but if either of those brats track mud into the kitchen, I'm shipping them off to Sirius and Remus without looking back," Regulus warns, eyes narrowing playfully. James snorts. "You'd miss them and go get them back after three hours, don't even try it." "At least four," Regulus counters, sliding his arms around James' shoulders, eyes sparkling with amusement. "I can entertain myself for four hours, surely." "Oh?" James raises his eyebrows. "Don't you mean I could entertain you for four hours?" Regulus' lips twitch. "No, because I'm shipping you off with them. I've earned the break. I'm done with you Potters." "You're a Potter," James reminds him, amused. "Baby, I'll always be a Black," Regulus tells him, reaching up to card his fingers through James' hair. He leans in and starts mouthing along James' jaw, which James is very pleased about, actually. "No matter my name, that doesn't change." "Dad! Dad, look, we found a frog!" comes the abrupt shriek from outside, along with more delighted screams. "Oh, for fuck's sake," Regulus groans, letting his head thunk down on James' shoulder. "Really, can't we just send them back from whence they came?" "And where is that?" "Hell." James laughs, turning his head to smack a kiss to Regulus' cheek, then down the side of his face, then the scar on the side of his neck. "It's a bit pointless to do that. You'd go through hell just to get them back, and you know it." "Dad, it peed on me!" "Shit, shit, shit," Regulus chants, jolting away from James to rush towards the door. "Put it down, you little demons! Step away from the frog right now!" He's still grumbling as he slips out the door. "Just like your father. Literal spawns of Satan himself. What did I say about staying out of tr…" James sighs softly and leans back against the bar, grabbing his cane again, eyes drifting shut as he listens to the sounds of his family, lips curled up. Then, from his pocket, there's a sudden cry that makes his eyes snap open. Ah, yes, the joys of parenthood. Frogs and squalling infants. James wouldn't change a damn thing.

Don´t cry" Sirius coos, lips curling up as he leans in kisses under one eye. "your tears control the tides, you know." He kisses under the other eye. "Why don´t we have a calm ocean tonight? No shipwrecks. Nothing worse than a sunken ship" "But thats where all the treasures are" Remus teases, smiling along helplessly, and Sirius looks pleased instantly. "You´re a treasure, Remus Lupin" Sirius mumurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "My treasure, the treasure I found in this sunken ship of a city. You glinted in the dark like the moon lights in the sky, and I found you.

And I know that because you made it out, ans it´s one of the worst things I´ve ever felt, but I wish it had been Sirius. I´m sorry, because you´re my friend, and I´m-I am so fucking greatful that you´re here and you´re okay, but something in me wishes it was him. "Right, so that´s-that´s out of the way. We´re awful and we´re sorry. Good enough for me. Good enough for you?

I care about myself so much that I´m asking for you, because I need you, alright? I-I need you to be here. I need you to hold me. I need-I-Sirius-