Who Am I Kidding - Tumblr Posts

Just committed “arts and crafts” on my laptop’s casing because part of it chipped 🥲

Reeeeeally wish my $800 laptop wasn’t made of 50¢ materials

drew a dick today, hope you enjoy

Is this allowed? Maybe, but either way, prebby angel boy

Just caught a fly witha plastic bag and threw it out of my room, never been prouder of myself

tumblr is crazy cus you see someone say "my hand slipped" and suddenly a 50k+ word, 100 chapter, smut fanfic is gracing your screen

I- I literally started on this like a day before the episode aired

Was like oh wouldn’t it be fun if-

No it wasnt

I'm sorry to anyone that saw this and thought this child is a adorable, this is the only one I have drawn right now, (That and I scarred the crap out of older them) but at least this version is actually the easiest to draw.

Here have the baby cadet version of the clone OC I accidentally made. (that I'm still working on but eh)

He’s so fucking dramatic.

(Post CoT)

Matthew: I love this picture of our group. We were so happy.

James: Where’s Alastair?

Matthew: He wasn’t a part of the group yet. That’s why we were so happy.

Fanfiction Time! Salems Legacy Final Chapter

Okay, okay. It’s my birthday today, and I wanted to make you a present, too! So this is weird but I have finally managed to write the chapter, that I want my fanfiction to end with. If you don’t want it to spoiler you, you probably shouldn’t read it. Read it, becouse it’s good though! And who knows if I ever manage to finish that FF...

There are so many more things I wanted to say, but I forgot all of them. So just read the goddamn chapter and ask in case I left anything unclear.

oooooooooooooo

“Mom, why are you so sad?”, the little boy asked, eyeing his mother with big eyes.

“I don’t know, honey. Sometimes people are just sad. I just have a bad feeling today.”, she said, smiling genuinely at her three year old son.

The boy stood up from his chair and climbed onto his mothers lap.

“You don’t have to be sad. You are beautiful and you have so much power! And you have me!”, he claimed.

Cleo laughed: “Yes, you’re right. I have you, and there is nothing in this world that is more wonderful.”, she quickly kissed him on his forehead, “But you know, there is more to happiness than beauty and power. There is love and friends and family, choosing the right path and helping others. Being honest, loyal and courageous. There are so many things that can make you happy, that you can’t even list all of them.”

The boy inclined his head and with his dark, curly hair and the shape of his face - if you’d look past the baby fat - he reminded her so much of his father. Although he had her mossy green eyes.

The boy wanted to respond, but then stopped, listened to something in the distance and looked at his mother in confusion.

“Mommy, listen, do you hear that?”, he asked finally.

Cleo did as her son asked her to. There was a muffled voice, but it came from upstairs? How was that possible, they were alone in the house and there was no way that anyone could have entered without her knowing.

The voice repeated something over and over again.

It was a name.

It was her name.

“Is that?”, she breathed and listened even more careful, “Sirius?”

She lifted her son off of her lap and jumped off her chair.

“Leonis, eat your breakfast, I have to look for something!”, she told him and ran upstairs.

Hastily she pulled out the upper drawer of her bedside table. She dug through all the stuff she had collected in the past years until she found what she was looking for. The sharp of a mirror. Through the mirror she saw Sirius’ face. Sirius had broken off an edge of his mirror, when she had told her friends that she would move back to America after Hogwarts. She had had to deal with some serious family business back then, and they promised her only to use the mirror in emergencies. Like 4 years ago, when James contacted her to invite her to his wedding with Lily. Of course she had attended this event and it had been the last time that she had seen all of her friends till now. She didn’t even manage to attend her godsons birth last year, since she had had some trouble running her family back then.

So why did Sirius contact her now?

Sirius’ calls had fallen silent since Cleo had grabbed the mirror, and he stared at her without blinking.

“You are as beautiful as the last time we’ve met, Kitty.”, he finally said and smiled.

Cleo blushed slightly but rolled her eyes at her best friend and former boyfriend.

“Sirius I’ve missed you too, but I hope you didn’t just contact me because you’ve wanted to tell me I’m good looking?”, she said, the queasy feelings she had had the entire morning suddenly exploded in her chest.

The smile fell from Sirius’ face and he looked at her pained: “No. I have a bad feeling. A very bad one. I think something is wrong with James, Lily and Harry.”

“What?!”, Cleo shrieked.

“I-I can’t explain. It’s just...I think something is happening and I was at Peter’s and he is not there and maybe something has happened to him, too! I should go and check on James and Lily and”, he started babbling.

“Sirius! Sirius stop!”, Cleo exclaimed and took a deep breath, “I’m coming, ok? I’ll come to you as fast as I can! Do not do anything stupid. Promise me! Wait until I get there, we will think of something okay? DON’T GO ANYWHERE! Promise me! You hear me? SIRIUS!”, but his image in the mirror was already fading, “Dammit!”

She ran a hand through her hair forcing herself to think straight. She knew Sirius, she didn’t know what exactly he was about to do, but she knew there was no chance he would sit back and wait for her. He was probably already gone.

“Leonis!”, she shouted, “Get a backpack! We have to go and help a friend of mine.”

“Sweetheart!”, she sighed as she entered her sons room.

Leonis sat on the floor in front of his backpack packing all his favourite toys inside.

“I should have known. Don’t make a three year old pack his bag for a journey.”, she chided herself.

With a flick of her wand the wardrobe opened and some clothes shoved themselves into the backpack.

“Okay, let’s go. We have to hurry!”, she told her son.

They both put on their travelling cloaks, when Leonis suddenly jumped: ”Wait!”, he called and ran back up the stairs.

“Leo!”, she shouted, “Come back, we really have to hurry!”

It didn’t even take him a minute to reappear, his favourite stuffed toy in his arm.

A black shaggy dog.

Originally a gift from Sirius so she would never forget him. But how could she, if she was constantly reminded of him?

She smiled, ran a hand through his hair and kissed him on his forehead. “I love you, you know that, right? And now we have to go and help some friends of mine.”, she explained briefly.

“Because it makes you happy?”, Leo asked.

“Yes. Hopefully it will make me happy. Both of us.”, she said, grabbing his arm and tucking him out of the house.

Why did she have to get herself a home without a fireplace anyway? Flooing wasn’t as popular in America as it was in the UK, but it was still the fastest way to travel long distances.

Remus Lupin sat on his shabby couch in his dark apartment which was only lit up by the dying fire. He stared into the flames absently, without moving a muscle.

His eyes widened as the flames suddenly turned green and two shadows, one small like a child and the other one taller and feminine, emerged from it.

Remus stared at the figures in disbelief.

“C-Cleo? Is that really you?”, he asked and rose from his seat.

“Oh my god, Remus! I am so glad you’re okay!”, Cleo exclaimed and flung her arms around his neck.

“I-I am, but what are you doing here?”, he stuttered.

“Sirius contacted me, he is about to do something very, very stupid and I have to stop him from whatever he is planning!”, Cleo said.

Remus’ face turned into a pained expression, “Oh Cleo. You’re too late. It’s all over by now.”

“What? What is over, Remus?”, she asked loudly, “Tell me!”

“He has already done it. He betrayed James and Lily. He gave away their hiding place to you-know-who. They...they’re dead Cleo. And afterwards he-he murdered Peter and twelve muggles”, Remus said crying soundless.

“What? What are you talking about, Remus? No! He didn’t! He just contacted me a few hours ago! Sirius didn’t...he would never...”, Cleo refused to accept, what her friend had just told her.

“Stop it, Cleo!”, Remus interrupted her, “He did it. It was officially announced just minutes ago. The aurors have caught him and brought him to Azkaban. He will”

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?!”, Cleo shouted, “They brought him to Azkaban? Without a trial?”

“Cleo!”, Remus said, grabbing her shoulders, “Please accept it! Sirius is a murderer. He murdered three of our best friends and twelve muggles! He does not deserve a trial!”

Cleos hand was faster than her brain when it hit Remus’ face with all her strength.

“Remus John Lupin!”, she hissed, “Don’t you ever say anything like that again! Sirius Black is many things, but he is not a murderer! And there is no way he would’ve ever hurt either James or Lily or Harry or Peter! He is not a traitor and he is for sure not a murderer!”

Remus’ eyes were sad: “You’ve been gone for five years, many things have changed, Cleo. Good people became evil and turned to the dark side. How would you know Sirius didn’t? You haven’t seen him in four years. The war has changed us, Cleo. All of us.”

“Because I know him. I know him better than any of you ever will. He would have died before betraying James and Lily to Voldemort! He would have died before killing innocent people. He would have died before following Voldemort. He would have died before betraying us!”, she said loudly, “And I will prove that he is innocent, no matter the costs!”

“Cleo you can’t-”

“I can. And I will.”, she said, turning her gaze towards Leonis for the first time since they arrived.

Her son looked at her with big eyes. He hated it when his mother was angry - mainly because most of the time it was because of something he had done wrong.

Cleo smiled at him kindly and turned to Remus.

“Remus, this is my son Leonis. Can I leave him here with you? I don’t want him to witness all of that.”, she asked.

Remus looked at the boy and eyed him suspiciously, “Uhm, sure, but”

“Great, thank you!”, she said quickly, and lifted Leo onto her arms, “Sweetheart, this is Uncle Remus. He is a very close friend of mine. I will leave you here with him, while I go and tie up a few loose ends, all right?”

Leonis eyed Remus cautiously and then nodded to his mother.

Cleo lowered her voice and whispered into her son’s ear, although she knew Remus could still hear her: “You remember what I told you about helping other people? Maybe you could help Remus and cheer him a bit up!”

She darted Remus a look over her son’s head and winked.

Leonis looked at her, smiling widely and nodded, before he reached out for Remus who put an arm around the boy.

“I love you, honey. Be nice to Moony, all right?”, she asked, kissing her son good bye.

“If you do your job good, Remus”, Cleo grinned, “I will make you his godfather!”

“Why wouldn’t you choose Sirius as his godfather? Isn’t he your best friend?”, Remus said while shaking his head in amusement.

“He is. You’ll see soon enough why that would be inapropriet. Probably as soon as you switch on your damn lights!”, Cleo laughed and went to the front door.

“You two take care of each other, will you? I’ll come back. And I’ll have Sirius with me. I promise!”, she said while she opened the door.

“Moony, will you play ‘tame the wolf’ with me?”, Leonis’ childish voice asked, as he held out the black stuffed dog to Remus.

Cleo had to swallow hard when she arrived at Godric’s Hollow a few seconds later. The house that had formerly belonged to James and Lily was completely destroyed.

Her friends were dead.

James, who was almost as much of a brother to her as he had been to Sirius.

Lily, who had been the best friend she had ever found in a girl.

She would have wanted them to be her son’s godparents since she and Sirius were theirs.

She would have wanted them to see their son grow up.

She would have wanted them to grow old together.

She would have wanted to see them again.

She would have wanted them to live.

The feelings she had shut away, when she was with her son rolled over her like a wave.

They were dead.

And they would never return.

Leaving their best friend falsely accused with their murder.

Getting him thrown into prison.

Ridding their son of the only attachment figure he would’ve had left.

Leaving their son an orphan.

All on his own.

Cleo rubbed the tears from her face and straightened her back.

She didn’t have the time to drown in her grieve.

She had to get her best friend out of prison.

They would have enough time to mourn their friends then.

She reattached the hood of her cloak and with a quiet Plop she vanished into the night.

When she arrived at the ministry it was crowded with people running busily from one place to another. Obviously, after an attack like tonight’s, affecting both the wizarding community and the muggles, every department of the ministry had more than enough work to do.

No one even realised Cleo had just appeared in the middle of the hall.

“Minister Bagnold!”, she called as soon as she spotted Millicent Bagnold, current Minister of Magic, surrounded by a lot of other wizards and witches.

“What?”, she shouted totally stressed out by the situation, “Can’t you handle your problems on your own? Don’t you see that I have enough to do already?”

“I do see that.”, Cleo said calmly, “However, my matter sadly is nothing that is solely in my powers to decide.”

“And what would that be?”, she snapped.

Cleo briefly knew Millicent from her time in Hogwarts, she had been a Ravenclaw student that was two years above her year. Millicent had always seemed polite and calm, handling any situation she was put through extraordinarily. However, there seemed to be limits to every person’s abilities.

“I ask you to bring Sirius Black’s case before the Wizengamot and to perform a full court trial. He is innocent of the crimes accused and deserves a fair trial to prove his innocence.”, Cleo declared.

Millicent just stared at her in disbelief and also all the people around her stopped her work to look at the hooded stranger that had come with such an idiotic and redundant request.

“What do you think this is? Wonderland? We don’t have the time to waste it on a case that’s as obvious as the one of Sirius Black. We don’t need a trial to prove his guilt!”, Millicent almost laughed, “Who do you think you are?!”

“My name is Cleopatra Victoria Salem”, Cleo said while removing the hood from her head, “I am the head of the Salem Clan and therefore the most influential witch in all of Northern America. Maybe You’d want to reconsider Your answer to my request. I know You’re an intelligent witch, Minister. I consider You know what it would mean to antagonize me and thereby the entire Salem Clan against You and Your Ministry?”

“Of course, Miss Salem!”, Millicent Bagnold hurried to say before implying a bow, “We will set the date for the trial for the-”

“November 4th”, her Secretary, who had looked up the next possible date, said.

“For November 4th. In three days.”, Millicent smiled satisfied with her solution.

“Tonight”, Cleo said.

“What?”, the Minister asked confused.

“It will take place tonight. I don’t want an innocent person suffering in Azkaban!”, she told them.

“But-but there is no...no way that we could make this possible!”, Mrs Bagnold stuttered apologetic.

“Then make it possible. I will cover all accruing costs. I want him transferred here as soon as possible. I bail for Sirius Black with my name. Rest assured that nothing will reflect on the Ministry should anything go wrong, as long as the Ministry does everything in his powers to ensure Sirius Black gets an unbiased and fair trial.”, Cleo promised, “You have my word.”

“And You have mine, Miss Salem!”, replied Millicent Bagnold.

Cleo nodded and shook her hand.

“In case You need me to make a testimony, I will be waiting just outside the Court Rooms.”, she told them and walked off in the direction where the trial would be held.

Several hours had passed since the doors of the court room were being closed when they suddenly opened again and the entirety of the British Wizengamot walked down the corridor and passed Cleo without a single word.

Cleo was confused. Was that a good sign or a bad one? Were they sad because they proved Sirius’ guiltiness or were they annoyed and angry because he was acquited of the chrage? Or were they simply not allowed to give away any information?

Cleo eyed everyone of them, looking for the Minister. Maybe she would tell her what was going on and what the result of the trial was. But she was nowhere to be found. Probably still inside the Court Rooms.

Cleo was about to go looking for the Minister, when someone else left the room.

Sirius.

“Cleo”, he said, his lips rising to form a smile, “even more beautiful in person.”

“Sirius!”, Cleo exclaimed and sped up her steps and flung herself into his arms, “Please tell me, that this means you’re free to go!”

“I am”, he said, pushing her away a little to look at her face, “because of you. You saved me from a life sentence in Azkaban, Cleo.”

“You know I’ll always have your back. I told you I was on my way. Why couldn’t you wait for me?”, she asked, brushing a strand of his dark and shaggy hair out of his face.

“I would have missed him. Cleo, it was Peter. He was their secret keeper and he betrayed them and-”, Sirius started babbling.

“Shhh”, Cleo Said pulling him close. While they were hugging Cleo shut her eyes in disbelief. Peter. Their friend. How could he?

“You don’t have to tell me now. Take your time, Sirius. Let’s go home. Remus is waiting for us.”, she suggested.

“Wait”, Sirius called and pulled her back on her wrist, “Can-can I kiss you?”

Cleo rolled her eyes and asked amused: “You just escaped a life sentence in Azkaban and all you want to do is kiss me?”

“Well, there are more things I’d like to do, but kissing you will do it for now.”, he joked.

Cleo grinned and leaned in to kiss Sirius.

Sirius’ blood stirred when he saw that sparkle in her eyes again. A sparkle he had always seen before they’ve kissed in what seemed like a different life.

“Minister!”, Cleo called, when they walked past her on their way out.

Millicent Bagnold turned around and once more implied a bow, when Cleo approached her.

“I wanted to thank You for reconsidering Mr. Blacks case and enabling him a fair trial. If You shall ever need my assistance by whatever means You shall receive it.”, Cleo promised.

“Thank You, Miss Salem. That is very generous of You.”, the Minister replied, “If You’ll excuse me. We still have a lot of work to do. After all we have a murderer running free now. We have to launch the search for Peter Pettigrew.”

Cleo darted Sirius a glance asking nonverbally: “Did you tell them?”

Sirius shook his head.

“We might have some helpful information with that”, Cleo announced and Millicent who was already about to leave turned back towards them.

“And what would that be?”, she asked.

“Peter Pettigrew is an animagus.”, Cleo said.

“No he is not”, the Minister disagreed, “he would be listed in our records! Unless-”

“Unless he is an unregistered Animagus, which he is.”, Cleo confirmed.

“You should probably include rats to your search. Stinky, mouse brown rats with only four claws on one of his front paws. He is a coward and will probably hide like this until everyone forgets about what he has done.”, Sirius added.

Millicent Bagnold looked at them in surprise, then she sighed: “This will make things way more complicated...Anyway, thank You for Your assistance. Miss Salem”, she bowed her head and nodded towards Sirius, “Mr. Black.”

“Anytime, Minister. If you need anything else, let me know. I’ll be staying in England for now, just owl me.”, Cleo offered.

The Minister nodded and walked away.

“Damn, it has to feel good to be you! All this power and influence that comes with your name! It’s even more impressive now, since you’re head of your Clan!”, Sirius said in awe.

Cleo rolled her eyes: “Don’t pretend, Black! It’s not like your name leaves people cold!”

“Yes, but it’s not nearly the same effect that your name has!”, he explained, “The people are afraid of my family. With yours it’s admiration and respect and...possibly a little fear…”

“There is a lot of fear involved, trust me, Sirius!”, Cleo sighed.

They were walking quietly side by side.

“So you’re going to stay?”, he asked hopefully.

“For now? Yes. We will stay. My family is mostly restored and stable. I think I will be able to take care of the situation from England.”, she explained.

The fireplace lit up as two people stumbled out of it shortly after each other.

Remus looked up from his book.

He smiled at Cleo and then looked at Sirius.

“Pads”, he said, rising from the couch and giving his friend a manly hug.

The two man looked at each other, communicating without words.

“I know why you guys hate it when Sirius and I do it”, Cleo comments, “It’s creepy!”

Remus and Sirius smiled at her.

“By the way!”, Remus exclaimed and looked from Cleo to Sirius, “Congratulations, mate!”

Cleo shook her head wildly, when Sirius turned to face Remus.

“To what?”, he wanted to know.

Remus gave Cleo a questioning look: “To your acquittal, of course!”, he said turned back to Cleo, “Thank you for getting him out of there. I should have never doubted him!”

When they hugged he added quietly: “You should really tell him!”

“I know”, she whispered.

“Where is he, then?”, she asked Remus louder.

“In the bathroom, taking an extra bubbly bubble bath”, Remus told her.

Cleo smirked, the bathroom would probably be flooded afterwards.

“Who are we talking about?”, Sirius chimed in.

Cleo sighed.

“Sirius there is something I want to tell you. Something I should have told you years ago.The thing is, that I have a three year old-”, Cleos explanation was interrupted by a toddler with wild black hair running into her arms.

“Mommy! You’re back! Uncle Moony did play with me all the time and then he let me turn his bathroom into a pool!”, he told her excited.

“He is truly adorable, Cleo. A bit too much like his father, for my taste”, Remus smiled.

Sirius just stood next to them, staring at the back of the child that was still facing his mother.

“You...you have a child?!”, he suddenly shouted.

“Sirius, I-”, Cleo tried to explain.

“Why didn’t you say anything? You should have told us! You should have told ME!”, he demanded.

“Sirius I wanted to tell you, I just didn’t find the right moment and then-”

“You didn’t find the right moment? It doesn’t look like you’ve been in that a situation just lately, does it? How about the last time we saw each other? Or maybe when he was born? Or like half an hour ago before we kissed! You should have told me that you’re with someone else and that you have a child together!”, he talked himself into a rage.

Leo turned around curious at who was shouting at his mother like that, but Sirius didn’t even deign to look at him.

“Please, Sirius. You’re jumping to conclusions! It’s not what you think. I couldn’t tell you last time, because I wasn’t even pregnant back then. He is just three”, again she didn’t get to finish her sentence.

“Three?”, Sirius asked, calculating quickly in his head, “So the two of you were already together, when we split up because you ‘had to stay in America and focus on rebuilding your Clan’?”, he asked bitterly.

“Merlin, Sirius, can you please stop being such a Dramaqueen? Your false assumptions are annoying!”, Cleo sighed.

“False assumptions? I beg to differ! You could have just told me that you didn’t want to be with me instead of telling me lies and start a family with someone else!”

Remus groaned and broke into the conversation: “Dammit, Sirius! Would you just look at Leonis?!”

“LEONIS? Are you kidding me? You gave him the name of a star?”, Sirius asked Cleo, “That is low, very low!”

“Sirius just look at him!”, Remus repeated and forcefully turned his friends face towards the boy.

Sirius froze, eyes locked on his face, looking at him with Cleos green eyes.

“I named him after a star because it’s a tradition in his father’s family.”, Cleo softly said, “Sirius, may I introduce you to Leonis Sirius Black. Your son.”

“My-my what?”, he said, still looking at the boy.

Leo turned to face his mother: “Why does he have my name, mom?”, he asked.

“It’s the other way round, honey. You are named after him, because he is your father.”, she explained smiling.

The boys eyes became even bigger: “I have a dad?”, he asked in awe and looked at Sirius who just stared back.

“You should have told me”, Sirius whispered without moving his eyes.

“Of course I should have told you, and I’m so sorry that I didn’t. But I was afraid that when I come to tell you I wouldn’t have the strength to go back. Or, even worse, you’d come to America and be in constant danger. I couldn’t risk that. So I kept it to myself.”, Cleo confessed tears filling her eyes, “I couldn’t bear the thought of endangering you, or loosing you.”

When her voice broke at her last words Sirius was finally able to remove his eyes from his son, and lay them on what he loved most - or what he thought he loved most until he learned that he had a son.

“Don’t!”, he begged, wiping away a tear that rolled down her face, and cupping her cheek in his hand.

He quickly leaned in to kiss her, he leaned his forehead against hers and whispered: “Don’t cry. Don’t be sorry. Just don’t ever leave me again.”

“I won’t”, she breathed.

They became aware of the boy that was still trapped between them, when Leo started moving.

Sirius stepped back: “Can I-can I-”, he helplessly reached out for the boy and Cleo silently handed him their son.

The two of them stared at each other, until Leonis started to talk.

“You are my dad?”, he asked with big eyes.

Sirius nodded and Leonis shifted closer, he brought his small hand up to his fathers ear.

“Will you play pranks with me on my weird cousins?”, he whispered conspiratorially.

Sirius grinned and replied: “Only if you help me prank mine!”

Leos face lit up: “Do you want to know what prank I played on Zelena last Christmas?”

“I would love to!”, Sirius laughed and settled down in one of the wing chairs in Remus’ living room.

Cleo dropped on the sofa and sighed: “Magical Merlin, what have I done?!”

Remus sat beside her and smiled: “What did you expect Sirius’ child to be like? Shy, well-behaved and studious? Especially when you’re the mother? I’m surprised he’s not more of a hazard to his environment!”

“Hey!”, Cleo protested, “He is very well-behaved. Or he can be.”, a mischievous smile lit up her face, “By the way, did you check on your bathroom?”

Remus rolled his eyes: “Very funny!”

Cleo smiled, as she watched her son slowly but surely falling asleep in his fathers arms. She sat down on the side of his armchair and ran a hand through Leos hair.

“Maybe we should put him to bed”, Cleo suggested.

“No!”, Sirius protested and immeadiately lowered his voice, “I don’t want to let go of him!”

Cleo chuckled: “He will be here tomorrow as well, you know?”

“How can I be sure?”, he asked and looked at her, although his look was sad and pleading, she could also read a little blame in it.

“Sirius...I won’t leave you. We won’t leave you!”, she promised, grabbing his hand, “Besides, we still have a godson to look out for.”

“Harry!”, Sirius called out and looked at Cleo in alarm, “I totally forgot about him! Cleo we have to get him! We have to-!”

Cleo shut him up by placing her hand over his mouth.

“Shh!”, she said, pointing towards their sleeping son, “We will get him tomorrow. I overheard someone in the ministry saying that he was with Hagrid. He will be fine!”

“Bhmhgh dehmnangh”, Sirius muffled until she removed her hand, “But how will we find him? We don’t know where Dumbledore will take him!”

“Well, there is not much of a choice, is there? Dumbledore probably still thinks you’re in Azkaban and I’m in America, Peter is dead and Remus is a werewolf. James’ parents are dead and he has no siblings. Lily’s parents are dead, too, so this leaves him with no choice but to-!”, she listed the possibilities.

“No!”, Sirius exclaimed, “Dumbledore wouldn’t leave Harry with these horrible, wizard-hating muggles! He wouldn’t!”

Cleo shrugged: “What choice does he have?”

“Us! We can take care of him!”, Sirius said.

“We do. And we will show him. We will seek him tomorrow, get Harry and take him with us.”, she promised.

“Why don’t we go now?”, he asked.

“Because I’m tired. And you need rest, too! Tomorrow we will not only have to raise a three year old, but also a one year old! Trust me, you’ll need every minute of sleep you can get!”, she told him.

Sirius didn’t look convinced.

“Sirius, he is probably asleep now, anyway! He won’t notice if we get him today or tomorrow! Hagrid will take good care of him.”, she continued, “Let’s go to bed and get some rest.”

Slowly Sirius nodded: “Will you come with me to my place?”

Cleo smiled: “Sure.”

She walked over to Remus who had fallen asleep on the couch.

“Remus, we’re leaving.”, slowly he blinked and focused on the girl, “We will be back tomorrow. Can you take care of Leo, while we go and get Harry?”

Remus grunted something incomprehensible and turned around to close his eyes again.

Cleo laughed: “You could be a little more eager to see your godson!”

Remus faced her and darted her an annoyed look: “I thought that was a joke earlier. You know the ministry will never let a werewolf be your son’s godfather!”

Cleos eyes went narrow on that: “Well, they can pretty well try to fight me on this one then! I wouldn’t want anyone else to be his godfather but you.”

Remus sighed: “Allright then. If you can convince the ministry of that, I’d be honoured to be your son’s godfather.”

“Mate.”, Sirius said, putting his free hand on Remus’ shoulder, “I think you’re missing the fact that we’re talking about Cleo here. She just managed to get me out of prison, although I was accused for the murder of 15 people! She will make you our son’s legal godfather before you can say ‘Tea’!”

Amber Skies

Summary: Feyre Archeron has watched her sisters find happiness with creatures she once believed dead and has decided she doesn't want it.

Her mate intends to change her mind

Part Four of the Dragons Series | Read on AO3 | Wonderland | A Mythical Thing | A Fragile Little Flame

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Feyre wrapped a blanket around her body, wishing someone would come and light the fireplace. In her mind, she could see her parents moving through the once opulent bedroom, fussing over the flames while a servant slid a warm bottle of water beneath the sheets to ensure she stayed warm at night. Feyre used to kick at the blankets—careful not to let her bare toes touch the heated water—as she insisted she didn’t mind a little cold.

She minded now. Just like she minded the dark and the silence. Elain was gone and Nesta, too, though Nesta came by more often than Elain. Their meetings were fraught and tense, leaving Feyre more determined than ever. It was that determination that had convinced the blue scaled dragon to bring her back.

Just for the night, she’d lied. If he’d known, he hadn’t said. He’d merely nodded, shifting into a massive, scaled creature and bowing so she could clamber awkwardly onto his back. If he’d come back, Feyre didn’t know. The moment her feet had touched the ground she’d gone off running for the house. Everything was locked, the curtains drawn tight, though Feyre knew that wasn’t enough to stop someone.

How long before they found her? Before they found Tamlin’s body and realized who it must have been that killed him? The humans would be in an uproar made worse if they realized it was her sister, emblazoned with red scales, that had done it.

Better she take the fall. Let Nesta live, let her sisters be happy. They’d make an example of her, lock her away for the rest of her life but Feyre could handle it. She would handle it. There had been enough horrors enacted against her family in the last year and Feyre was ready to see it end. 

Curling tighter in her chair, Feyre wished she could sleep. The looming ax over her throat made it impossible for her to relax. Every creaking board, every rattling window betrayed the violent mob that was approaching, determined to see her suffer.

The wind ghosted against the house as the steps outside her bedroom groaned softly. Beneath her blanket, Feyre held a sharp blade so tightly her palms sweat. Feyre might have written off the sounds of the house as just old bones rattling had something—or someone—not crashed loudly against the wall just beyond her bedroom door. A rough, masculine voice swore softly, betraying his presence.

Feyre sighed. “Go away, Rhysand.”

Feyre drew the blanket closer, hoping to hide the arm marked with the scrawling black magic that marked her as thoroughly as any scales might. It was inhuman and therefore other—something Tamlin would have noticed had they ever been married. That wouldn’t matter, now.

Feyre kept waiting for the grief of his death to hit her.

It never did. 

Even as Rhys stepped into the dark, half obscured by shadows, Feyre felt nothing at all. No sadness, no anger—just a cold numbness that threatened to overwhelm her. Feyre did wish Rhys would leave, if only because she knew what he was looking at. As those violet eyes pinned her in place, she knew he wasn’t seeing just his supposed mate, but everything else, too.

And it angered him.

Jamming his hands in his pockets, Rhys murmured, “I was told you were in Windhaven.”

Feyre’s heart picked up, just a little. “I was,” she replied, her voice flat and toneless even to her own ears. 

“Azriel said you didn’t meet him when he came to bring you back,” Rhys continued, his own voice carefully neutral. “He was concerned you were injured.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Rhys replied, daring a step toward her. “You’ve decided to stay in this rotting house? Is that it?”

Was hatred an emotion? Feyre felt it right then, looking up at this supposed king, this man who had a claim to her before she’d ever gotten a chance to get to know him. There was no escaping him—Feyre knew it. 

“Go away.”

“You and I have an arrangement, Feyre darling,” he replied smoothly, coming closer still. 

“Rhys—”

“I’m calling it in.”

“It’s one week a month,” Feyre hissed, scrambling out of her chair just as Rhys lunged for her. She was too tired to truly fight him even with her knife, of which he removed rather easily. The metal clattered to the ground as Rhys hauled her against his chest, his heart pounding hard enough she could feel it against her spine.

“You don’t eat, you don’t sleep,” he growled, sounding less like the composed man she was used to and more like a beast, “you refuse safety and warmth and now you sit in this rotting house waiting for certain death—”

“That’s my right!”

“It’s not,” he replied darkly, lips pressed to her ear. “I won’t allow it. I’m calling our bargain in now.”

“I’ll be back in a week,” she spat, twisting until she managed to elbow him in the stomach. Rhys exhaled roughly but didn’t release her.

“I said one week for the rest of your life, never when those weeks had to happen,” Rhys replied with a savage looking smile. 

“I might die tomorrow—”

“You won’t,” he replied, cracking his neck, “because you’re going back to Windhaven. There is nowhere safer in the world.”

“I’ll run away again—”

“Oh? Will you? Because I think a light breeze could blow you off course. Where are you going, Feyre? The treetops?”

“I hate you.”

“So long as you’re alive, I don’t care what you feel for me.”

“That’s not what you said—”

“I know what I said,” he replied, his words low and lethal. “I meant every one of them. Now. Are you going to come willingly, or are you going to give me the excuse I’ve been looking for to destroy this house.”

“I’ll never go anywhere with you,” Feyre lied. It was a lie the minute she spoke them, one she knew Rhys clocked the moment she said them. His grip shifted, more gentle than before, hauling her up so she was curled against his body. 

“I’d put you on my back but I’m afraid you’d let go,” he whispered, his expression creased with concern. She knew what he wanted her to say—that she’d hold tight, that he could trust her. But the truth was Rhys could not trust Feyre anymore than she trusted herself. Sometimes she thought it would be better for everyone if she did just let go.

Rough fingers found her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “Don’t you ever think that,” he whispered, his anger a blazing inferno. “Not for one second.”

All the fight rushed out of Feyre, leaving her exhausted instead. It was tempting to tell Rhys she wanted to go home—wherever that was—and she was terrified of where he’d take her. Some horrible cell where he locked her up and did whatever he liked with her, most likely. That’s what had happened to Elain and Nesta, wasn’t it? They’d never admit it, of course, but she’d watched Elain hauled away only to return pregnant and preaching the good word of these monsters.

Nesta, too. But Feyre had seen Windhaven—a veritable paradise in comparison to the lives she and her sisters had been living—and she knew the truth. They’d hidden until it was convenient and when it stopped, they’d return to their utopia once again.

Rhys sighed, pulling her from her thoughts. A moment later Feyre was tucked into a large, taloned hand as Rhys threw out dark wings to shield her from the raining debris of stone and wood.

“Rhys—”

He gave her no opportunity to speak the rest of her words. Rhys pushed off the ground, taking the roof with him as they soared into the air. Feyre twisted as the house beneath her began to cave in on itself, reduced to little more than thorny rubble. It had been the jewel of her family estate, the once proud Archeron family now nothing more than dirt and weeds. Feyre had to look away, hiding her face in her shoulder as though that would keep the tears from falling.

Their family was little more than faded ruined memories. Elain was never coming back and neither was Nesta. It had been a fool's hope to think she could keep her mothers memory alive. That she could marry Tamlin, merge their homes, and somehow keep it all going. Feyre knew her parents would be disappointed by what they saw, were they alive to see it. Her father would be wrecked to learn the life Elain was living. No longer the pretty society girl he’d raised her to be, but chasing after chickens and sewing pants for a man who routinely forgot to put them on.

And Nesta, who had been raised to marry a great lord—maybe even a prince—with some warrior creature more at home with weapons than courtly dance. 

No one could say Feyre hadn’t tried, though.

Though she was certain they would.

RHYS:

He could smell the salt in the air, could feel the warmth of Feyre’s tears dripping against his leg. Rhys was desperate to set her down anywhere and wipe her face, to hold her in his hands and demand to know who, exactly, had caused those tears and then rip them apart with his teeth. 

Rhys didn’t stop flying, flapping frantically to put as much distance between himself and the humans as possible. And he didn’t try to console her, either.

After all, he was the reason for those tears and he knew it. He could hardly rip himself apart, as much as she might enjoy it.

As much as he might deserve it. 

Rhys considered taking Feyre to Windhaven before he thought better of it. Nesta would be there, and though Feyre might take comfort in her sister's presence, she might also just find another place to hide. Rhys was far too selfish to pretend her happiness was all that mattered to her.

Nesta had killed a human—that was going to be blamed on them. But Feyre didn’t have to know that. 

Let her think they were looking for her just long enough to heal and rest. Rhys could figure it out later. He needed…he needed to go somewhere else. He’d sworn to bring back that missing princess, why not start there? Rhys knew Eris was likely half way back to his own kingdom by then and catching him was likely to result in a brutal and bloody fight. 

He could lie, though. 

A pang of fear bolted through his stomach. Cassian. Cassian would not forgive another lie and Rhys didn’t have it in him to lie to his only friend in the world. He was close enough he could send a message.

Feyre is safe. I’m taking her with me to find that princess. Keep the palace in order while I’m gone.

There was a beat in which Cassian absorbed the words. Breathlessly, even in his mind, Cassian agreed.

Are you okay? 

Rhys didn’t want to think about why he was breathless so late. Rhys only felt jealousy. All the others had found their mates and made them theirs but he…he couldn’t make it work. Peering through the darkness, he saw how Feyre curled around herself, careful not to touch him except where she had to. She didn’t want him and maybe she never would.

I will be.

That was it. Cassian wished him luck before pushing him out and Rhys was happy to let him go. He didn’t think he would be fine if, at the end of this excursion, Feyre still hated him. If he couldn’t pull her out of the horrible place she’d sunken into—one in which she loudly wished she wasn’t alive.

Rhys’s heart thudded wildly in his head as he turned away from the forest route that Eris had almost certainly taken. He wasn’t going to stop him—that was a war Eris could fight on his own. Rhys had been trying to make peace happen, to do what no other dragon had been able to do before him.

But maybe his soldiers had a point. Maybe Cassian had a point. After all…look at what they’d done to Feyre. Had any human females escaped their violence? Rhys tried to wrack his mind, but none came to mind. 

“Where are you taking us?” Feyre shouted, her voice clear over the wind. Rhys could hear the words echoing in her mind as they sailed over the inky, violet sea. He knew she didn’t want him in her head, and yet he couldn’t stop himself.

Somewhere quiet. Somewhere safe. 

That’s all he’d tell her for the moment. She was already frustrated with him, her thoughts bouncing between abject hatred and not caring at all. Hatred was an emotion, was proof that beneath all her grief, Feyre was still in there somewhere. 

Still fighting. 

His relief loosened the knot that had formed in his stomach, silencing some of his fears. The day Feyre no longer had the energy to hate him was the day he needed to be worried. For now, all he had to do was bring her back to life—just enough that when they returned to Velaris, she wasn’t willing to roll over and show her belly to some flat faced male. 

Feyre writhed in his foot, her thoughts swinging wildly from fear of falling in the water and frustration he was taking her somewhere and wouldn’t tell her where. Rhys merely listened to the bouncing thoughts as he sailed through the chilly air, wishing he’d brought a blanket for her.

He didn’t dare tell her, but Rhys was taking her to the very place his father had once hidden his mother. It was a beautiful, elaborate prison. Meant to hide his female from the rest of the world, to keep her from experiencing the same fate so many others had.

It had, ultimately, failed. His mother had left on the same wings that had brought her to the island, afraid for the young son she’d left behind. Rhys had been fine, paraded about as a human boy that would one day rule humans as their king. 

She’d been slaughtered in front of him—he hadn’t been able to help even if he’d wanted to. He’d been restrained by his fathers magic, forced to watch the spectacle while his father warned him that this might be him should he intervene. 

Coward.

He’d screamed it in his mind then, and he thought it now, too. Rhys knew, if it was him, he’d have risked everything for his mate. He’d never wanted to rule so desperately he’d watch Feyre die. Maybe some of this was their fault—maybe the males of the past hadn’t loved their females as much as they claimed.

He couldn’t prove that. Maybe his father had merely been forced between his son and mate and had made the agonizing choice between the two. Rhys didn’t want to imagine that—what he’d do, who he’d let die. Was he an option? 

Rhys banished those thoughts from his mind, instead sending a trailing of magic ahead to ignite the palace that lay dark in the distance. Feyre’s mind silenced for a moment, her wonder filling his chest as she took it in.

I never knew there was this kind of beauty in the world, she thought. She hadn’t meant to send it to him, but she had. It was a violation of her will and he knew it, and yet Rhys couldn’t help but send some of the music that had once played there back when it was fully staffed. Let her imagine it as it once was. How he wished it still was.

Feyre relaxed against him, pressing her temple to his foot. While she daydreamed, Rhys began to bring them closer, wings sailing against the wind until he could smell the loamy earth beneath. Rhys was gentle, landing one legged so he couldn’t accidentally crush her. He released her, then, into the damp, slightly sandy earth just outside the courtyard. The garden within would be dead—no one had been inside the walls in centuries, and he rarely came anymore.

Too many ghosts wandered the halls. 

He was himself a moment later, tugging at the sleeves of his jacket while Feyre looked around. Her hair was a wild mass of tangles and curls framing her gaunt face, hollow eyes almost bright enough to drown out the stars above. Pale, pink lips parted as she turned, looking into the distance at the tall peaks of the jagged hillside.

There had been life here, once. Dragons who preferred life far away from the bustle of Velaris or Windhaven—who liked how life moved slower out in the Illyrian Islands. They’d lost so much and there were so few left who remembered—even Rhys scarcely did, and he’d spent the first ten summers of his life in this place. 

“This way,” he said, opening a rusting gate that bore two large dragons just on top of its iron arches. If Feyre looked, Rhys didn’t notice—he was trying hard not to pay close attention, to see if she noticed the things he loved. How she viewed them. He’d already shut her out of his mind, pulling the walls up so tight that no one and nothing could get past.

It would break his heart to hear she hated this place. 

The lights offered a little respite from the gloom, though it also made the shadows come alive. Every ruined tree with its spindly fingers and long, twisting arms, seemed to reach for the pair of them. Every shattered window, every creaking hinge was an omen spelling out his doom.

You shouldn’t have returned here.

There was nowhere else to go.

—

Feyre didn’t want to admit she liked the sprawling, dilapidated palace Rhys had brought her to. He clearly didn’t, if the frown gracing his features was any indication. They weren’t permitted to stop and look at any of the features she found so charming. Was this one of his homes? His original home, perhaps? 

Everything smelled old, though not in an unpleasant way. Rather than the scent of death and decay, it merely had the touch of something ancient and forgotten—like a lost library, perhaps. She’d never seen anything like it—from the intricate carvings worn away by time to the stained glass windows half ruined from the weather—and despite how much she disliked Rhysand, this place made the yawning ache in her chest feel less hollow. 

She hadn’t wanted to leave the house she’d been born in. Feyre felt like she deserved to die there, too. She felt closer to her mother there, and the promise she’d made—and ultimately failed to make good on—all those years ago. Elain and Nesta were gone, happy in their new, strange lives.

Tamlin was dead.

She couldn’t go back. Even if there had been anything waiting for her, Feyre couldn’t. Not without submitting herself to the same justice that had begun this civil war—human men, bent on both punishing women and appeasing the old gods, and their warped sense of righteousness. She’d be found responsible for Tamlin’s death as his soon-to-be-wife. 

Maybe that’s what she deserved.

Rhys didn’t bother giving her a tour. He was silent, his boots hitting the stone in a rhythmic pattern, creating a steady beat in which her heart seemed to match. He paused at the end of a long hall—one of the nicer ones they’d walked down since arriving—and pushed open a door that featured a dragon shaped door handle.

“Your room,” he said, revealing a space so lovely and grand that Feyre nearly choked on her own spit. The windows were all intact, the large bed seemingly mostly dust free, and the ornamentation inside still in good condition. Feyre turned to say something to him, but he was gone, vanishing into mist and shadow before a kind word could escape her lips.

That was for the best, she decided as she stepped into the brightly lit room. She knew she wasn’t going to say anything kind to him. Feyre latched the heavy, golden bolt on the door before turning around to really drink it all in. There were little cobwebs in the corners, and the desk set against one the arching windows had such a thick layer of dust covering it that it took three passes with her finger to see the gleaming mahogany beneath. Opening the drawers, Feyre found old ink pots, their contents dried and flaking inside, and feathered pens that were ruined by time.

A chamber beneath the last drawer revealed a false bottom and a little latch that had likely been hidden once upon a time. Feyre pulled it, her curiosity getting the better of her, to find a worn, leather bound book.

She had no right to read it, of course…and yet she took it out, not unwinding the ribbon that kept the two covers together, and slid it beneath one of the ivory covered pillows on the bed. She’d pour through it later and find all Rhysand’s secrets she could leverage against him should she ever need to. 

There were no clothes in the drawers or the empty armoire, which did hold several sets of silk sheets and blankets to change out the bed with. She found clothing in a silver trunk at the end of the bed, carved with more figures of dragons taking flight. Unlatching the ruby clasp, she found beautiful dresses that must have been hand sewn with intricate beading and lace work. They’d been protected from the gathering dust and elements, and when Feyre pulled out the top gown, she nearly wept at the easy beauty.

Who had made them?

Where had everyone gone? 

Was it truly so easy to wipe out an entire species? The dragons seemed so terrifying to her, she couldn’t imagine any of them losing a war to humans. Even knowing there were so few left, Feyre believed they must have just left it all behind and started somewhere a little more hospitable.

She hung the delicate gowns up on satin covered hangers, admiring each gown like it was a priceless piece of art. The colors didn’t exist in the fashion color palette anymore—moody blues and icy grays coupled with buttery yellows and floral pinks and purples mixed with mossy greens and wine red maroons. Every season hung in that armoire, the gowns ranging for those fit for a queen to the everyday garb. 

Feyre took out a lacy night dress and hung it over her shoulder as she made her way to the bathing chamber. The tub overlooked the same sea her bedroom did, and as she waited to see if the water would heat itself, having washed out the tub as best she could with her hand, she opened a window to listen to the waves crash against the shore. 

She sat naked on the lip of the tub, thinking of the last trip her family had ever taken to the beach. She barely remembered it—she couldn’t have been older than four or five. In her mind, the echoes of Elain’s screeching laughter and Nesta’s bossy tone demanding she stop running so far into the surf bounced around her skull. She could remember her toes in the sand. 

Feyre wanted to feel it again. 

The water was lukewarm at best, and still better than the frigid ice water she’d been using back home. There was no soap, so Feyre merely rinsed herself off as best she could before air drying in the cool night. She flung on the dress and then practically ran from the room. Did she remember the way back out? No, Feyre didn’t. She took a wrong turn down one of the dimly lit halls, her bare feet silent against the moonstone below. Pushing open a door she hoped would lead her outside, Feyre, instead, found herself in a strange room. It was nearly dark, though she found a dusty candle that smelled faintly of vanilla, and managed to lift herself up high enough to ignite the wick with one of the sconces in the hall. From there, Feyre went candle to candle until the room was better lit, though the long shadows of the furniture, covered beneath white sheets, seemed to stretch in every direction.

Weaving in and out of the furniture, which seemed to have been shoved in haphazardly at a later date, she found easels. Pulling the white sheets from them, Feyre was delighted to find artwork peering back at her. Most of it were pastoral scenes—rolling hills framed beneath stormy skies or wide beams of light reflecting off the expanse of ocean below.

But others were of him. A little boy with inky hair and golden brown skin. With those unmistakable, violet eyes, peering back at Feyre seriously, not a laugh line to be found. There was no joy on his face, none of the mirth she could find even in her own childhood. Just a boy, often alone with no background to anchor him. It was as if the artist painted him from memory, and every memory they had was of a sad child.

Feyre dug around, her excitement overwhelming her. If there had been an artist, then surely they’d left behind paint? She couldn’t remember the last time she had any—it must have been years. Before Elain had been stolen away and the dragons had come, at least. Everything before that had been about survival. 

Taking her candle, Feyre moved around the piles of boxes and sheets until she found the tins she was looking for. They’d dried out over time, but a little water extracted from her own bathroom brought them back with relative ease.

“Oh,” she whispered softly, dipping her finger into a pot of red paint. It was diluted and not as vibrant as she would have liked. A little chunky, likely expired and still…better than anything she’d seen in a long time. 

Was it wrong to finish the portrait of Rhys? A defilement of the original memory? Wind flooded the room for just a moment, rustling the canvas and her hair as if to say, do it. Perhaps it was wishful thinking. Maybe Rhys would see it and be irate she’d dared. She kept waiting for that flash of temper, for his raised voice, his bruising knuckles kissed over her cheek.

After all, Tamlin had once wanted to take care of her, too. 

She lost track of time, using her dull colors to try and draw some emotion out of the sad boy. The background became as moody as his morose expression, anchoring him in his grief. What had happened to him, she wondered? Was this after he lost his family? When he’d decided to pretend to be a human, reshaping the reality of the people around him to forget what he was and that he’d ever truly existed?

Feyre felt pity in those final strokes. The paint was streaky, with little droplets staining his jacket and face. In a way, it looked as if the whole world mourned with him. Though it wasn’t her best work, it was the first bit of painting she’d been able to do in a long time. She’d get better with more practice.

The joy she’d felt while painting had brought back all the pain she’d been squashing. Feyre rose, the emotions sloshing around her chest. It was too much—the feeling of being a failure, the broken heart of loving a man who’d never loved her back, of losing her sisters when she needed them. All of it came crashing against her, nearly toppling her with its ferocity. 

Feyre stumbled into the hall, trying to catch her breath as panic began to set in. She was still alone, still isolated and now she was trapped with a man who’d stolen her away with ease. There was no escaping, and the thought of spending her time here made her way to scream.

She turned, finding herself face to face with the very man himself. Rhysand halted, eyes round and wide as he took her in. He…he wasn’t wearing clothes, she realized. She’d never seen the purple marks inked along his skin. They swirled along his broad shoulders and down his toned chest before making their way over his biceps. What did they mean, she wondered? 

Feyre had forgotten what she was doing as her eyes dipped down the muscular plane of his stomach, following the inky trail of hair just beneath his navel to what hung between his legs.

That was inked, too. 

Oh.

“Feyre,” Rhys said, his voice strange and hoarse. Her eyes immediately found his face again, embarrassment crawling up her neck. “You’re awake.”

“I…” she didn’t know how to tell him she hadn’t been sneaking out, but merely exploring. He took a step toward her, hand outstretched and Feyre panicked, scrambling backward so quickly she slipped on the slick floors and fell on her ass.

He stopped. “You have paint on your cheek,” he whispered. Her fingers flew upward, likely smearing it over her skin. 

“Oh,” she whispered again. “I…don’t have soap.”

He nodded, running a hand through his thick hair. Did he notice he was naked? In the vague recesses of her mind, Feyre seemed to remember this was part of their culture as explained by a furiously blushing Elain. He held his ground as she stool back up, fingers balled to fists at his sides.

Was he angry? Feyre couldn’t tell. 

“I’ll…I’ll get you what you need,” he said, eyes still lingering on her face. Feyre forced herself not to look at any other part of him, slipping around his body. He didn’t touch her, rigid as she went. She couldn’t explain why, but she’d expected him to—had waited to feel his hands grab her, to pull her against him and force her to look at him.

When she looked over her shoulder at the end of the hall, Rhys was gone. She still locked her door that night, but in the morning when she woke, bleary eyed and exhausted, all she found was a basket of toiletries.

And tin, upon tin, of fresh paint.

—-

Rhys couldn’t get the painting out of his mind. His mother had painted in her final lonely year, her hands arthritic from all the sewing she’d done. He didn’t know if painted helped with that—if it alleviated any of the ache or merely exacerbated it. Once she’d died, his father hadn’t been able to stand looking at them and had it all covered. 

Seeing Feyre with a smudge of blue on her cheek had reminded him of his mother. He hadn’t even known she liked to paint, let alone that she had any skill. She’d taken his mothers grief and anchored it into reality, making him feel real rather than a specter.

He wanted to tell her that, but when he’d reached out his hand toward her the night before, Feyre had gone flying back, eyes wide with fear. Better to just show her what it meant to him. He couldn’t sleep, besides, so he’d flown back and ransacked a local artisan, leaving gold coins behind so the theft wasn’t felt so heavily. 

He’d spent the rest of the night trying to clear the cobwebs from the palace. How had Lucien done it, he wondered? He’d built a whole house with his bare hands, but Rhys could barely work a broom. It irritated him. He wanted to be useful to his mate, but all his skill lay in governing rather than building.

He was going to have to ask for help, and the more people he brought to the palace, the more people and places Feyre would have to hide. For now, he’d simply have to figure it out. There was a library, after all, containing all the knowledge his people had left behind. Their stories, their craftsmanship, their politics—all lay in the still intact library in the east wing of the palace. 

He’d gone looking for help cutting glass and had fallen asleep sprawled out in a chair, basking in a beam of light like he was more lizard than man.

Maybe he was.

“Do you ever wear clothes?” Feyre’s voice pulled him from sleep, her outrage almost pleasant. More emotion, which was better than no emotion at all.

“When I’m forced to,” he replied, not bothering to open his eyes. He liked her eyes on him and wished she’d take her clothes off, too.

Or, that’s what he thought until he finally opened them. Feyre stood, arms crossed over her chest, wearing a mossy colored dress his mother had made. He knew that style of beading, remembered how fashionable a tapered waist and flared sleeves had once been. Feyre was just a little too thin for it, collarbone jutting just above the neckline as the heavy fabric hung from her frame.

She needed to eat. 

The hollows and shadows in her expression made Rhys wonder if Tamlin had done more than hit her. Would Nesta have told him if he had? Rhys didn’t know how to ask, though he did understand how casually cruel human males could be. 

“What are you doing here?” he asked, rising to his feet. He kept his desire leashed close so his body didn’t betray him. Feyre’s eyes drifted just as they had the night before, gaze lingering on his cock just long enough to make him think she lacked experience. Rhys’s relief was palpable, though he wouldn’t totally relax until he heard her speak the words from her own lips.

“I…” pink flooded her cheeks. “I’m lost.”

“Ah. Well…how about a tour?” he suggested before the sound of her stomach reminded him that his mate needed to eat. “After breakfast.”

“I’m not eating with you,” she said sharply. Rhys knew an opponent when he saw one. She wanted a fight, did she? He’d give her a fight.

“Who else would you eat with?”

“Alone.”

“Oh, what fascinating company your thoughts must be,” he practically purred, brushing a magical talon against her mind. Feyre stiffened but didn’t move, eyes pinning him in place. Did she know he’d grovel at her feet if she asked? All to see her smile? Just one time—just once, and he’d leave her alone. 

She didn’t smile, which meant he didn’t need to leave her. “They’re more interesting than you.” He pressed a hand to his chest, letting it slide down to his stomach just so he could watch her gaze trail after it. 

Don’t react, don’t react, don’t react—

“My thoughts don’t irritate me,” Feyre informed him.

“I didn’t bring you here to eat alone,” he said, trying to tamp down the desire he felt. Was this why humans insisted on restrictive clothing? Rhys had never understood their version of civility—he’d merely played along. It occurred to him right then that trousers might hide his excitement, allowing him to feel desire without Feyre being immediately aware of it.

A few deep breaths left him totally flaccid and able to walk her through the palace to an area he’d cleaned out the evening before. The little balcony overlooked the water and was set up with food that a few bees were currently feasting on. Rhys waved his hand, scattering them before pulling out a white chair for Feyre to plop into.

She was going to make the most wonderful queen, he decided. Feyre would be his final compromise with the humans—they could be ruled by one of their females, or they could suffer the same fate his people had. The idea struck him just as the clouds parted, bathing her in warm, golden light from dawn. She looked regal—exquisite, even, and Rhys knew he needed to give her peace, even if it meant his hands were always coated in blood. 

Still, when the nobles saw how little manners they had, Rhys knew there would be multiple conversations about her suitability. Perhaps he’d eat one of them simply for suggesting it, just for fun.

Cassian might finally forgive him if he did. 

Rhys sat gracefully, making a show of putting his dusty cloth napkin over his lap. He swore her mouth twitched just as the corners. He’d get her. 

“Eat,” he urged, not wanting to admit that he’d stolen most of it. She didn’t ask, perhaps assuming he has some magical ability to conjure it. He could do a fair amount with his magic, but he wasn’t a god. Rhys was still forced to procure things just like everyone else.

Feyre took a bite of a waffle, eyes fluttering shut at whatever she tasted. Rhys held his breath, fork speared against a piece of fruit, as he waited. The noise she made was barely audible—the breathiest moan that shot straight to his cock. She liked it.

Thank the stars, he thought with relief. She took another bite before he did, reaching for a piece of cooked ham and scooping fruit onto her plate. She was merely starving out of necessity and not some deeply held principle. Rhys could live with that, though just barely. 

Rhys ate slowly, watching each piece that went into her mouth. She didn’t seem interested in eggs or bread and seemed to truly enjoy the sugary waffles and donuts. What did he care what she ate, so long as she ate something? He’d get more of it, until he knew exactly what she liked. 

“Would you like–”

“No.”

Feyre set her fork down, one hand on her stomach. Rhys raised his brows, trying to swallow his disappointment. “No?”

“I don’t want to do anything with you.”

Ah. 

“The grounds are yours,” he said as if it didn’t hurt his feelings. Feyre shot him one last look before she rose, brushing non-existent crumbs from her lap. He watched her go, long hair swinging down her back. She was beautiful, he thought to himself as he banished his disappointment. She merely needed time to see he wasn’t like the other males. He could give that to her.

Rhys would give her anything she asked for.

Still not over this

fake love x jin focus

leeeetttt;ssss chaaaattt !!! cause i successfully finished my chem exam even tho it wasn't that great

Color asks

amber: favorite poem?

apricot: where would you like to travel?

aquamarine: do you do art? through which medium?

blue: seaside or forest?

carrot: favorite class you’ve ever taken?

cherry: what’s your favorite type of art?

cobalt: dream house?

emerald: what’s your favorite article of clothing that you own?

ginger: black and white or color?

gold: do you wear jewelry?

green: do you like pastels?

jade: what is your favorite movie?

lapis: do you have a favorite stone/gem?

lemon: what do you do for fun?

magenta: favorite memory?

maroon: stripes or plaid?

navy: if you could live anywhere, where would you want to live?

olive: have you ever been thrifting?

orange: do you believe in magic?

pink: what’s your dream job?

pumpkin: what is your favorite aesthetic?

purple: what makes you nostalgic?

red: what’s your favorite song?

ruby: do you have a type?

rust: what is your favorite flower?

turquoise: do you like to sing?

vermilion: what would you do if you got a million dollars?

yellow: what is your favorite season?

leeeetttt;ssss chaaaattt !!! cause i successfully finished my chem exam even tho it wasn't that great

Color asks

amber: favorite poem?

apricot: where would you like to travel?

aquamarine: do you do art? through which medium?

blue: seaside or forest?

carrot: favorite class you’ve ever taken?

cherry: what’s your favorite type of art?

cobalt: dream house?

emerald: what’s your favorite article of clothing that you own?

ginger: black and white or color?

gold: do you wear jewelry?

green: do you like pastels?

jade: what is your favorite movie?

lapis: do you have a favorite stone/gem?

lemon: what do you do for fun?

magenta: favorite memory?

maroon: stripes or plaid?

navy: if you could live anywhere, where would you want to live?

olive: have you ever been thrifting?

orange: do you believe in magic?

pink: what’s your dream job?

pumpkin: what is your favorite aesthetic?

purple: what makes you nostalgic?

red: what’s your favorite song?

ruby: do you have a type?

rust: what is your favorite flower?

turquoise: do you like to sing?

vermilion: what would you do if you got a million dollars?

yellow: what is your favorite season?

I just heard there's going to be a special episode of Dinosaur Love - and it may lead into the spinoffs with the other couples. Is this really happening?

I'm honestly flabbergasted ... yet still intrigued.

@shouldiusemyname @nerdybunnydestiny, how deep are we going down this rabbit hole?

i love how remus and james are those friends with excellent advice but suck at taking it themselves- like these hypocrites i love them so<3

Ted Lasso + winning Roy over

ok i spoke too soon - they sent me a Suga funkopop that was just delivered 🖤

My coworkers made me a virtual birthday card with Jungkook on the front of it and I’m feeling….perceived 😂

your local certified rock star heartthrob [cr. dwellingsouls]