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Crimson Rivers

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Regulus Black was fifteen the first time his name was called at a reaping. He's twenty-five when it happens to him again. A lot has changed in that time, and one of them is that he's ready to do whatever it takes to make it home. Nothing or no one will stop him, not even James Potter.
James Potter has no plans to stop Regulus Black from making it home. In fact, his plans revolve around the opposite. He has his reasons, but he's made his choice to get Regulus out of the arena, even knowing it'll be the last thing he ever does.
Sirius Black was sixteen when he volunteered to take his little brother's place in the arena. At twenty-six, without the option to do it again, he has no choice but to be a mentor to his brother and best friend, knowing that only one of them can make it back out.
Two names called, a mentor on the verge of falling apart, and more secrets and grief between all of them than they know how to handle. None of them are prepared for what comes next, or how far they'll go to make it through.
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Impressões

  • mcompartilhou uma impressãohá 5 meses
    👍Vale a leitura
    💀Assustador
    💞Amoroso
    💧Sentimental

Citações

  • b6612347405fez uma citaçãohá 3 meses
    It's practically a routine, at this point. Regulus uses one of the flowers to replace a dying one in his previous journals that he's already filled, and the second flower goes in between the page he's writing on today. The flower—it's pink—sits on the desk as he picks up his pen again.

    Another flower in bloom

    It speaks for you — soft

    Softer than you've ever spoken

    There is strength in your voice

    Loud and shameless — bright

    So bright, like the sun, even now

    The flowers grow towards you

    I hear you — and I

    Listen, listening, I am listening

    I cannot drown you out

    I no longer wish to try

    Like the flowers in bloom

    I grow towards you

    I grow — if I cannot climb
  • b6612347405fez uma citaçãohá 3 meses
    Regulus leans forward slightly, braced on his elbows beside his journal, holding his breath as he catches sight of James' messy head down below, where he stands on Regulus' stoop. He lingers, just as he always does, every single day, and then he comes back into view as he starts walking away. Regulus hastily sits back in his chair, picking up his pen and pretending to write, though he isn't. He's learned his lesson by now; James always looks back, unable to resist stealing one glimpse through the window. Today is not a day that Regulus feels strong enough to meet his gaze
  • b6612347405fez uma citaçãohá 3 meses
    Regulus turns back to his journal and picks up his pen.

    There is a rabid beast in me

    I am a bruise — the soft rot of a peach

    Small and split open

    The seam of me screams

    I was once a star — but never bright

    The velvet night swallowed me

    It always has

    I let it still

    Better to be swallowed

    Than to swallow

    Blood

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