#storytime quilt

[bevanne46]

Fairy Dust - Storytime Quillow https://www.quiltingmayhem.com/shop/Patterns/Free-Patterns/p/Fairy-Dust---Storytime-Quillow---Free-Pattern-x85189737.htm

[valemya]

I SHIFTED FOR THE FIRST TIME AFTER ALMOST 5 YEARS!

This is gonna be a long ass post because as the title says, yes, I did shift for the first time on 31/12/24! I finally got to spend some time in my clone wars DR (if only for less than a minute), and if it were 2020 I’d be calling this a “minishift” but let’s be fr it’s 2025.. shifting is shifting.

My method ✨

For a bit of context- I used a method where I focused on getting super relaxed and basically in the void state. I just spent a bit of time doing some calming breathing and turning my attention to relaxing all my muscles and just being chill. Then I pretty much tried to visualise my dr room in as much detail as possible, picturing what it would feel like to touch certain objects around my room, and picturing where each item would be in relation to my body if I were in my dr bed. Like becoming aware of the fact that my datapad is beside me on my desk etc., and opening my awareness to my surroundings as if I were in my dr. It started to give me some mild symptoms as though I was floating and swaying gently, but I honestly didn’t pay any attention to it, and I think that was integral to me actually shifting.

The shift✨

In hindsight I am honestly shocked at how easy it was for me to shift. The transition from being in my CR to my DR was completely seamless. I didn’t notice a single thing had changed, as it felt so natural and genuinely like nothing at all. One second I was in my cr bedroom, and the next in my dr bedroom, and I didn’t even notice. In fact, I didn’t even realise I had shifted until the next morning.

But I’ll give you a storytime of what happened in the short time I did shift. Basically, I was half asleep laying on my back, and the environment was very bright around me. I had clearly just woken up so I wasn’t ready to open my eyes yet, but I was moving around a little. I felt the softness of my quilt and mattress, it was like laying on a cloud just like I scripted. The room was cool but not cold, and it felt like the sensation of crawling under a blanket when the room is warm but the bed is cold, idk 😭 except it was all a bit cold in a comforting way.

I was thinking about the fact I had to get up to do training that day, and I wasn’t that happy about it. It’s a bit weird to describe, because I didn’t literally think this, but I had the background knowledge that this training was mandatory training for all Jedi knights, regardless of the fact we had already passed our trials. This wasn’t actually a thought I had, it was just something I knew automatically. When people said you have all your previous memories when you shift they weren’t lying.

Anyway I kept laying there for a few seconds, mainly because I obviously didn’t realise anything was different. For some reason I flung my hand out to the side, and the back of my hand hit the wall a bit roughly. I felt the cold sensation of my hand hitting the marble wall, and a bit of pain in my knuckles from smacking my hand against a hard surface 😭 I swiped my hand gently across the marble and I felt how smooth and cold it was, but I didn’t gaf so I let my hand flop back down on the quilt. It was then that I opened my eyes and turned my head to the side a bit, and I got a glimpse of the wall. It was this off-white polished marble, with little specks and swirls of gold/brown speckled through it. I also got a little glimpse at the blanket on top of me, it was plain white with some large squares quilted in. The room was very bright, so I closed my eyes again.

It was at that point that I shifted back to my CR, but I honestly didn’t even realise I had done anything. I opened my eyes again and I was in my cr bedroom, and I literally just rolled over and went to sleep because I didn’t realise what had happened.

Final thoughts✨

I could make another long ass post about everything I have realised or learnt from this experience but that is a whole different story (which I’d be happy to talk about, if anyone wants) but yeah wow! It has honestly made this whole journey feel so worth it. It was for less than a minute, but I feel like all the effort I put in since 2020 has paid off. It doesn’t even matter to me that it wasn’t a “full shift”, I just care that I did it.

And with that, happy new year. And if you haven’t shifted yet, I know 2025 has it in store for you ✨

[aceoflights]

This is it btw

Oh my god! Something I credibly exciting just happened. But I have to give background first (well I don't have to, but it wouldn't have the same impact if I didn't)

So, I've been working in a craft workshop (sorry, weird translation) for disabled people since October. As part of my voluntary social year.

We attend/guide the people in the creation of clay things (mostly spheres and bowls. But also other stuff like little ones or signs) as well as felt bags, mobilees and a bunch of other stuff. And we then sell those things.

We also sometimes sell stuff that we didn't produce. Like socks that an old friend of my coworkers knits.

A few days ago I noticed a quilt, that was being displayed (for 200€. Which is actually fairly cheap). Today I asked my boss about it. He told me that his mom made it (he comes from an Irish family). We talked a bit about it and about quilting. And I was really excited, because quilting is so fucking cool.

He then asked me what I would do with it (I assumed he'd offer it to me at a cheaper price). I told him, that I would probably just use it as one would use a blanket. But that I wouldn't get it because I already have too many blankets at home (which is true).

At some point later he got it down and showed me that the back actually also had a pattern. And I was fucking fawning over this blanket.

And he just... gave it to me. When I said no, he said it should be something to remember them by after my voluntary social year is over.

I am still so overwhelmed by this. This is such a kind act. I'm gonna fucking cry again.

[theogclownboy]

Pov: it's your turn to read to Quilt and they are already ready for storytime

[nostalgiclittlespace]

request: CG!Rosie and Little!Alastor

Plot: Rosie's trying to get Alastor to sleep but Al's being a cranky lil baby (Alastor's little age is newborn)

Hope you enjoy! Sorry if it’s scatter brained, I wrote this late at night 😅

SFW AGE REGRESSION FIC. DNI IF KINK, NSFW, PROSHIP, OR SIMILAR. DO NOT REPOST TO OTHER SITES

Title: A Fussy Fawn

Pairing: CG! Rosie x Little! Alastor

Word count: 940

Description: Despite Alastor’s insistence (and by that I mean his fussing) he definitely needs a nap. Good thing Auntie Rosie is always there for her fawn (fluff, hurt/comfort-ish)

A Fussy Fawn

Alastor was not tired.

He had made that clear on several occasions—first when Rosie suggested they have some quiet storytime, then when she tried cradling him with a bottle, and again when she offered him a pacifier.

Rather than the polite words or violent displays Alastor usually would have used to convey his thoughts, the upper rooms of Rosie’s Emporium were filled with fusses and shrieks at her attempts.  Though his powers had diminished to near nothing when he regressed, the radio sitting on the nightstand randomly switched channels and crackled with static and interrupted songs.  His shadows did not attack him or Rosie; instead, they too tried to soothe him by offering toys and gear at random.  Like Rosie, they had no success.

Yet, despite Alastor’s insistence, he definitely needed a nap.

The Radio Demon sat criss-cross on the red quilted blanket Auntie Rosie had made him many years before.  Cast aside plushies and toppled wooden blocks littered the ground around him, attesting to his displeasure as he whined once again.

“Young man,” Rosie said, soothing yet serious, “you know you will feel much better if you just take your paci.  Look, I even got your favorite one!”

Indeed she had.  The red plastic and its matching silk clip shone softly under the low nursery lights.  A small deer had been painted onto the center.  It even had his name on the handle!  

Nonetheless, Alastor showed no interest in the comfort item.

Rosie attempted to push the pacifier into his mouth, but to no luck.  As soon as the pacifier reached his lips, he popped it out of his mouth with a miserable screech.  He threw it away from himself, as if the silicone soother had somehow offended him.

“Alrighty then, no paci,” Rosie sighed, reaching across the play area for his plush alligator and offering that instead.  “How about this one?  Would you like to play with him?”

Alastor shook his head vehemently before flopping over onto his stomach in silent protest.  Well, actually it wasn’t all that silent.  Grumpy fussing emitted from his frame as he laid there like a slug.

After only a few seconds, his chest only took heavy breaths, his frame shaking slightly, and his ears pinned back against his skull.  As he cried miserably, Rosie sighed softly, feeling a loss for ideas.  Normally, Alastor would accept quiet time without question.  In fact, he preferred it to some of the noisier or messier activities they had tried.  So, what could have possibly interrupted their usual schedule?

Nonetheless, Rosie didn’t question his moodiness, nor scold him for his lack of manners.  Instead, she scooted a little closer and placed a hand on his back.  She found a soothing rhythm, tracing small circles like it was second nature.  To be fair, it most likely was.  

Despite being a cannibal, an Overlord, and having lived a life sinful enough to condemn her for eternal damnation, Rosie never lost her kindness nor her maternal instincts.  She took anyone under her wing, especially the children living in Cannibal Town.  Alastor was no exception.

The Radio Demon finally seemed ready to accept some form of comfort; Auntie Rosie’s comforting presence finally making some difference.  Unsteady as a newborn fawn, Alastor crawled a grand total of two steps before planting his face in Rosie’s skirt.  The dress’s soft fabric provided a gentle pillow, undoubtedly even more comforting than the blanket beneath them.

His fawn ears twitched as Rosie scratched them gently.  Gradually, they relaxed from where they had pinned backward and returned to their usual perked state.  His whines diminished too–instead replaced by soft sighs of contentment when Rosie pet his head just right.  Finally, he seemed ready to settle down.    

My, he certainly is one for dramatics, Rosie thought affectionately.  Even when this young, he must make a fuss about the little things.

  As Rosie’s fingers mused with his tufts of hair, Alastor’s body grew steadily limp.  As his blinks grew slower and his breaths deeper, his Caregiver carefully lifted him into her arms so he was no longer half-draped across the floor.  With motherly precision, she guided him into a strong yet gentle cradle.

With equal heed, she slowly stood up, then carried him over to the rocking chair.  Alastor stirred, blinking blearily as the movement disturbed his half-asleep state.  He whined sharply, threatening to undo all the work in soothing him.  However, Rosie eased away the baby’s complaint with practiced care.  Whispered hushes, a gentle rocking motion as she carried him, which continued as they lowered onto the wooden chair.  It glided back and forth, slow but sure.  

Rosie reached over to the radio sitting on the nightstand beside them, careful not to jostle Alastor’s delicate slip back into dreamland.  A couple dial turns later, the nursery’s smooth jazz resumed drifting through the air.  This time, Alastor’s powers did not disrupt the lulling notes.  He simply blinked slowly up at Rosie, who smiled back down at him.

“I think you’ve fought sleep for long enough, darling,” she chuckled.  “Rest now.  We’ll have plenty of play time later.”

Whatever had disturbed him, she could find out later.  For now, getting him to sleep was a much higher priority.

Thankfully, Alastor seemed to agree as his doe eyes drifted closed again.  He curled up, tucking his body closer to his caregiver’s.  Rosie, smiling fondly, reached for the spare blanket they kept on the rocking chair’s back, and draped it over him.   The peace enveloped the scene, Rosie’s worries melting away with Alastor’s miniature snores. Even if he is a bit cranky, Rosie thought, amused, he still is an adorable fawn.

[shannonpurdyjones]

Appalachian Gothic Storytime!

This is "The Honeysuckle Weave" - a short story featuring spiders, weaving, and what happens when prey turns predator. Originally featured in issue 20 of Grim & Gilded, and posted here for your spooky season reading fix.

Hazel sits at her loom and weaves. Back and forth, back and forth she passes the shuttle between warp strands threaded smooth as the millpond on a windless day. Back and forth, back and forth the spiders in the corners scuttle, weaving their funnel webs in the cracks between rough hewn logs, sealing over pinpricks of light.

In spring Hazel helps Mama plant the vegetable patch. She hoes and tills and runs off groundhogs and deer with a broom, keeps after Edie and Harlan to mind that they don’t trample the neat new rows of green. In summer they put up food for winter—peas, pickles, peaches from the Gleason’s orchard that they trade for when they have eggs to spare, so many tomatoes her hands stain bright red. When the days grow short she strings beans and shucks corn, their papery husks rattling like the gold and red leaves on the trees when the wind kicks up the ridge.

When her other chores are done, Hazel tromps up the hill from their cabin to the loom house. The squat little barn’s barely big enough for the loom itself, with just enough space for one person to walk all the way around threading the warp and getting everything set for a new weave. Slits in the walls let in the afternoon sun as her feet work the treadles up and down—one and three, two and four, one and three again—the wood beam clacking and clattering along. Shuttle passes from left to right, right to left. Up and down, left to right, breathing in and out and in and out air that smells of old wood and the oil that keeps it smooth, and the faint sheep musk remembered in the woolen thread.

Weaving’s slow going at first, but Hazel knows how to wait. With enough clacking and clunking the pattern emerges, fabric smooth and whole spooling out of the chaos.

Hazel sits at her loom and weaves, and so she doesn’t hear his boots creak the porch steps that first cold week of October, though of course the spiders do. She doesn’t hear the wrap of knuckles on the old wood door, or maybe he never knocked at all. Maybe he came upon Daddy and Jeb in the fields as he ambled up the cart path and they had the whole thing settled before she or Mama ever got a say.  All she knows is when she walks down the hill still blinking away the loom house dim there he is, sitting on the porch steps pinching a cob pipe between his teeth, bandy legs crossed long out in front of him in the bright gold afternoon.

They never get visitors up here, except inviting the neighbors around for the occasional quilting or singing of hymns. Their land hunches on the back side of the ridge, a full quarter day’s walk past the Hilliard’s farm. Anyone looking for work stops there. Hazel knows because Millie Hilliard is her best friend, and it’s news worth sharing when anyone on this mountain looks up to see a face they don’t already know staring back at them.

He must’ve seen her coming down the hill, head still full of the complicated pattern she’s working up into a new coverlet for her and Edie’s bed. He doesn’t stand, doesn’t doff his worn out felted hat or introduce himself as would be proper. Hazel’s not quite grown, but she’s old enough for a man to tip his hat brim when he comes to call. Instead he watches her in that long, hateful way men watch a big buck that crosses their path on the way to church when they have no rifle on them to shoot it.

He sits without moving his scuffed up pant legs until Mama calls out the window for her to come help get supper on. He takes his time uncrossing his legs, like he’s doing her a favor even though he’d rather not go to the trouble. Hazel itches to smack his hat clean off his head, but of course she never would do it. She’s to turn the other cheek, as it tells in the good book.

Continue reading here

[fandomregression]

asking again just in case I didn't click anon when I requested the first time. but ashes o’reilly hcs?

(also I think you can ‘do not archive’ tag it if you don't want jonny seeing)

Regressor Ashes O'reilly Headcanons!

ashes regresses usually to older kid ages! usually around 6-10!! they like to think they're a very independent kiddo (but sometimes that just doesn't work out)

they like to at least try doing everything at least once (i wanna cook! i wanna pour the juice!) but there are some things they're not allowed to do (these were set by brian, who got very tired of ashes sneaking into the pilot area and sending them off course towards whatever planet caught ashes' attention)

ashes doesn't have a main cg because they try so hard to be independent, but a lot of times if they do need help they'll run to brian or nastya or maybe - MAYBE - jonny

jonny however is then supposed to find literally anyone else. because the two of them without big-ashes' ever so slight filter will actually lead to them burning down the ship

"jonny i need help!!" "sure kiddo what's up??" "marius says no ice cream i wanna take his kneecaps" "say no more, i've got the perfect idea!"

ashes is generally a picky kid, and they just really love sweets. this of course leads to difficult meals because if allowed, they would just survive off of chocolate cereal and cake. this is not allowed. this leads to tantrums

jonny then comes in and gives them cake. because he would rather be on ashes' good side

they aren't allowed to smoke when they're regressed, because the one time they let ashes smoke when regressed they set fire to a sofa (accidentally (as far as anyone should be concerned))

instead, ashes runs around with a toy cigar that lights up on the end. they go through so many of those things because while you're not supposed to chew on them, ashes 100% does

hide-and-seek with toy soldier. hide-and-seek with toy soldier!!!

if anyone else is regressed on the ship, usually ashes takes on a big sib persona and they help take care of the other small mech, but they still demand their own attention and will often get the other regressor involved in whatever scheme game they've come up with

when they're on the younger end of their regression, ashes does tend to carry around a blankie they have. its a baby quilt, and its very worn out, but they need it around. its their biggest comfort item

storytime with ivy. storytime with ivy!!!

they love playing card games, and at first jonny thought he'd have to let them win, so he went easy on them. turns out, as a kiddo, ashes is a huge cheat and very, very good at card games. jonny doesn't have to let them win, ashes has to let him win. tim makes fun of him for this, which always makes ashes laugh

okie i think thats all ive got in my head aodjfjakzjrjgja ive got thoughts on who in the mechs would regress/be a flip/be a cg and ashes is firmly in the flip category

[vampirephlebotomy]

>:) !!

For every !! I receive, I'll introduce you to one OC

I also think it'd be wrong of me to not show off my FIRST TROLL I EVER MADE. Her name is Dulsee Intara, and she's a retired rockstar who's now opened up a quilting shop not too far from her church. nowadays she really just wants to relax, kick back, and knit things for the clownlings at her church.

Dulsee used to be a lot different, very much a product of her fame and the people she surrounded herself with. She was, for all intents and purposes, a bitch, and really threw her weight and caste around like it was no big deal. These days however she's doing a lot better, as the incident where she lost her hand and eventually caused her to retire really changed her outlook on life and how she treats people. Dulsee struggles to use her chucklevoodoo due to not using it as often as she should, and has pretty intense migraines after using it. Eventually she goes on to be a subjuggulator just to stay with her moirail when the two of them conscript and go off planet.

Fun fact, her face paint is based off of the Mighty Death Pop joker card from ICP :) She's changed a decent bit from 2022 when I first made her but I adore her all the same thing

NAME: Dulsee Intara

PRONOUNS: she/her [Transwoman]

BLOODCASTE: purple§wisteria [#8101DF]

TROLL TAG: starstruckRachadian

SIGN: Caprilo [Prospit/Heart]

ANCESTORS TITLE: The Iconical

OCCUPATION: Retired rock/metal singer, now owns and works a quilting and textiles shop.

STRIFE SPECIBUS: Needlekind [Formerly Hammerkind]

FETCH MODUS: Quilting

HIVE: Penthouse hivecell on the edges of a highblood neighborhood, on one of the top floors. Has an infinity pool for her lusus.

LUSUS: Manatee

DESCENDANTS: N/A

QUADRANTS:

Flush with both Konsol Lomati and Mimett Fessia

Flush crush on Doilie Battix

Pale with Pojaca Gomble

INTERESTS: Quilting, Knitting, Baking, Leading storytime for young purples at the church.

QUIRK: ☆ [ surrounded by STARS and a fake billboard. very succinct and to the point! no capitalization unless talking about a friend. any mention of her OLD JOB is capitalized. ] ☆

(WOULD-BE) CLASSPECT: Witch of Heart

THREE BULLETPOINTS:

• Cold hands, and it's not the fake one.

• Mom friend, if moms were ex-rockstars

• No chucklevoodoo? In MY clown? It's more likely than you'd think!

[cowboystudies]

hiiiii i'm feeling bad. the gf is feeling bad. next week one of my jobs starts again and I need to be ready for that. i will 100% feel worse when it starts up again, not to mention how many hours i need to make up. so, so much to do and so, so little time.

as such. welcome to my top ten for tomorrow:

take out trash. it's gross. there's so much of it. it needs to go. do this before the gf wakes up

order groceries + imperfect order. need to also to use the avocadoes probably.

post tik tok idea from friday. draft post idea for sunday. get it out of my brain.

listen to 30 minutes of audiobooks. do this while the gf is asleep + it gets too hot to do anything. while listening: pick up hangers from office / start laundry / grab dishes from the gf's bedside table / sweep the hallways + living room / mop under chair / throw away trash from my bedside table / put coats in closet

do yoga. also do while the gf is asleep, with headphones + new mat. stop punishing your body.

stop neglecting your hobbies. fix quilt (after the gf wakes up, have them help me place pins) / do writing sprint

look into hysa accounts. maybe interest >15% ?? i have no idea what's typical.

life admin. answer A email / answer S text / charge the gf for bulbs / thaw chicken for sunday dinner (ramen + eggs + chicken) / plan cafe date / deal with that bill (text A) / update LI w/ async program / text AL back

tiktok favs down to 3900. try to get rid of: all storytimes -> all quinn recommendations -> all romance novels -> all deleted ones -> all book recommendations (this is gonna take forever. just write them down physically bc that's faster) -> bookmark shops + products -> choose one recipe to try and emulate -> video essay recommendations

go to event!! have fun!! only buy 2 books!! make the gf buy me a lemonade!

other stuff I wanna do:

make bed

unsubscribe from 5 email lists (cancel detroit news subscription after downloading article)

go through underwear, toss gross ones

get rid of 3 article of clothing

label 1 shelf on fridge?

spend 30 minutes working on med school article

email MT

charge portable charger

charge portable speaker

try and do all daily habits!!

take iron / take lexapro / NO adderall

MAKE SURE TO DROP OFF TAX THING!!!

[adeeegjlllnno]

Quilting Storytime: My "First" Quilt

[vivekkabra]

Read that again. Did you feel that before? . . . #poetry #bestoftheday #truelines #love #inkedlife #inked #inkedworld #instadaily #igreads #igwriters #igquiltfest #quotes #spilledwords #quilting #romance #igwords #instalove #spilledink #uni #storytime #iglife #wordstagram #instapoetry #instaquote #flirt #flirting #lovestagram #tumblrquotes #igpoetry #igquotes https://www.instagram.com/p/B1tXs1PpD61/?igshid=1jyilw2vy6tgd

[mysteriouseggsbenedict]

mr benedict and constance softness <3

this is so fluffy and comforting and healing my inner child <3

Constance slid under the sheets of her bed, her small hands grasping at the quilt and pulling it towards her neck. She grunted as her head sunk into the pillow. She had been sent to bed after telling Number Two she smelled like poo. According to Mr. Benedict, she was “grumpy when she was tired.” Hmmph. He’ll see about that.

Mr. Benedict sat on the edge of her bed and tucked her favorite stuffed animal securely beside her. Constance squeezed it— a stuffed dragon— close to her chest, taking out her anger on its plush scales and soft wings. 

“I’m not tired. And I’m right. Number Two needs to take a shower,” Constance complained. Mr. Benedict’s lips twitched (she knew his weaknesses) but he maintained a stern face with some effort. 

“Mmm. Well, little girls who aren’t tired should have no trouble keeping their eyes open for storytime, should they?” 

Constance scowled.

“I hate storytime,” she muttered. “Do the one with rainforest animals.” 

Mr. Benedict obediently selected the rainforest book from Constance’s bookshelf. 

“After the story, I want to play cards,” Constance said. She had been enjoying card games recently because of her ability to predict everyone’s next moves. Mr. Benedict smiled.

“Of course. But, first— I wonder what the poison dart frogs are up to tonight…” 

Mr. Benedict began the story. His voice carried warmly across the room, repeating the words that Constance heard most nights, soft and inflected and doing voices for each animal. Constance giggled at his jaguar voice. The gorilla, too, made her laugh, although she’d kill anyone who told the secret. Soon Mr. Benedict reached the part of the story where the sun set and the animals went to bed. He described the quiet forest, the lush beds of green leaves where birds and lizards and frogs and mammals went to sleep…

Constance let her head lean back. Mr. Benedict’s voice made her feel safe, and her body was growing sleepier and sleepier with each paragraph. Her eyelids fluttered open and shut as she fought to keep them open. She gave a frustrated whine— she didn’t want to go to sleep! With a burst of determination, she opened her eyes all the way, fighting the fatigue pressing heavier and heavier upon her body. 

Then Mr. Benedict was brushing the hair from her forehead. His hands tread lightly as they tucked a stray blonde strand back behind her ear. She sighed, leaning against the stability his arm provided. She didn’t resist when he guided her to lie down again. 

“Are you warm enough?” he whispered. Constance snuggled under her blankets in reply. 

“Tummy full?” 

She’d snuck an extra brownie after dinner. Her absence of complaints served as an affirmative. 

“I’ll be right here in the morning. I’m so excited to spend another day with you,” Mr. Benedict whispered. Constance was falling asleep. Her eyes were now refusing to open.

“Goodnight, my dearest.”

[iamferal]

The troubles of being feral pt.20

ok so StoRyTiMe- My brother's cat is staying with me for a bit and to say we don't like each other is an.... understatement at best. My cat despises him and I fucking do too. 

He likes long walks on the beach, hissing at me, swiping at me (claws included), to steal my cat's food and... pissing on my bed.

Like he has an obsession with it. I swear to the gods above he’s pissed on my bed over 8 times and today was one of them.

So as per my last post, you all know my alpha is coming over today, and so I decided “HmM lEtS mAkE mY nEsT aLl cOmFoRtAbLe AnD nIcE aNd GoOd, wITH FRESH SHEETS TOO!” and literally today (like 15 mins ago at most) I go up to my nest, smell cat piss, look around my bed and there it is. A huge fucking puddle of my brother's dumbass cat's piss.

It's not JUST the sheets, it’s also the quilt, throw blankets, throw pillows and stuffed animals too. all of them. Covered in cat piss... I hate it here.

[shewhohangsoutincemeteries]

oasis

Peter Quill x Reader

Prompt: “can we share the blanket?”

Summary: quill catches you building a blanket fort to surprise groot with, and surprises you by helping. the two of you decide to test it out before the crew get back, and he shows you a side of him you haven’t really seen before.

Warnings: smut, fluff, hint of angst, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, adult language.

Word Count: 4,486

Got a Request? Prompt List: here

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You were humming quietly along with the dulcet sound of the Fleetwood Mac you’d left playing over the ship’s speakers, enjoying the way it echoed lightly down the metal walls of the corridor towards you. You made your way down to the cargo bay of the Benatar, your arms piled high with the sheets and blankets you’d just pilfered from your bunk. You cursed quietly to yourself as the toe of your slipper caught on a seam in the floor, tripping you up slightly as you went. Still, it did nothing to dull your good mood.

You dumped the blankets on the floor once you reached the quiet corner of the cargo bay you’d selected earlier, joining the stacks of pillows you’d already brought out between two shoulder-high storage crates. You smiled, pleased with yourself, releasing a happy sigh before setting about your self-appointed task. You never got hours like this, peaceful, simple moments without the sounds of crewmates arguing or the clattering of metal on metal. You loved your life with the Guardians, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t sometimes crave the quiet.

You bent over, searching through the stack of blankets for the biggest.

“Not that I mind the view, but you wanna tell me what you’re doing with my bedding?”

You jumped, startled, before arching your neck to look back over your shoulder. Peter Quill was standing behind you, leaning his shoulder against the ladder to the cockpit with his arms folded across his chest. He’d removed his jacket since re-boarding, the short sleeves of his tee shirt showcasing the muscles in his arms. He had an eyebrow raised in wry amusement, a trademark smirk on his lips. You rolled your eyes at him before turning back to what you were doing, unsure if you’d imagined his gaze lingering over your backside.

“Your bedding is safe. This is all from crew quarters,” you assured him. Both you and Mantis struggled with the cold of the ship when you were off world, so you’d made it a mission even before she’d joined the crew to always have more than enough blankets on board. They’d kind of become bulky souvenirs of the planets you visited, and you usually kept them stacked in a locker in the corner of the bunk you shared with her and Gamora. Thankfully now that you’d all upgraded to the Benatar, you had more space – while Quill, as captain, still had his own private quarters, there was now an extra bunk for Drax, Rocket and Groot to use. You glanced down at the pillow in front of you. ���…and a few from the medical supply crate.”

“What, you finally got sick of hearing Drax’s snoring through the wall?”

You turned around to face him properly, sitting cross-legged on the floor. “Are you kidding? It’s like white noise to me now. I don’t think I could ever sleep again without an active sawmill present.” Quill chuckled. “What are you doing back? You guys only left like an hour ago.”

He shrugged. “Xandar gets boring fast.”

It was your turn to raise a brow. “There’s a whole planet out there full of gullible idiots, pretty women with loose morals, and plentiful booze. What more could you want?”

“Wow.” he snickered. “I feel seen.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “So? Why couldn’t all the wonders of Xandar’s seedy underbelly hold your attention, Star Lord?”

He ignored the question, the easy smile still on his lips. “The hell are you doing, Y/N?”

“Why don’t you come join me and find out?”

He gave you a smirk, the glint in his eyes mischievous. “Can we share the blanket?”

“I think there’s more than enough to go around,” you said dryly, and his smile widened. Your impatient answers to his flirty remarks always seemed to entertain him. Which was probably why he kept doing it. “But that would be the idea.”

“Huh?”

You pulled one of the pillows to your chest and wrapped your arms around it. “It’s a surprise. For Groot.”

“Is he sick of Drax’s snoring?”

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly, standing and shaking out one of the largest, heavier quilts. You flung it over the crates, letting it hang over them like a canopy. “I’m building him a pillow fort, jackass.”

“A pillow fort.”

“Yup.”

“A pillow fort.”

You gave him an exasperated look. “Quill.”

“Why exactly?”

“C’mon, dude.” you said, tossing a pillow at him. He caught it, one-handed, with a grin. “Didn’t you ever build a pillow fort as a kid?”

Peter was quiet for a moment before he made a show of rolling his eyes and shrugging. Still, a small smile teased at the corner of his lips. “Want a hand?”

***

You sighed in satisfaction, wiping your hands together as you surveyed your work. The two of you had, on his suggestion, shoved the crates back against the wall, and in the little alcove you’d created together was one hell of a pillow fort. You’d draped sheets and blankets over the entire thing and layered more over the metal floor. Pillows had been thrown into haphazard piles, making the whole thing seem like some kind of gaudy, cozy nest. Quill had surprised you by rigging the string of lights he and Rocket sometimes used to do repairs at night to a much lower brightness and had hung them around the makeshift tent like the fairy lights you’d had as a kid.

“I think it’s safe to say that we nailed it.” you said proudly, holding up a hand. Peter grinned beside you, slapping it with his own in a high-five. “Groot is gonna love it. Storytime was always better in a fort when I was a kid.”

“Wanna try it out?”

You grinned widely at him, and the two of you dropped to your knees at the same time. Peter held the ‘door’ open for you, letting it drop closed behind him as he crawled inside after you. You turned to collapse happily among the cushions, sighing contentment as you stretched out languidly. Peter took a similar position beside you; the two of you barely fit inside, his shoulder bumping against yours. You bent your knees and drew them up towards you to bring them inside the fort, and you hooked one over one of his. He had his bent as well, and your foot dangled a couple of inches off the floor. He tucked his hand behind his head, looking over at you with an amused smile.

“Comfy?”

Peter looked up, considering the fort. “Y’know, I don’t think we made it big enough.”

You furrowed your brow, turning your head to look at him. “What d’you mean? Groot and I will be fine in here.”

He shrugged. “I’m just sayin’, we barely fit in here as it is…”

“Why, Peter Ignatius Quill,” you said teasingly, laughing when he cocked an eyebrow at you. “Are you saying that you want to join us for story time?”

“You know that’s not my middle name, right?”

“I blanked.” you admitted with a shrug. “What is it?”

He laughed loudly, the sound breaking through the peaceful bubble the two of you had created between the blankets. “It’s Jason!”

“My bad,” you giggled, shying away from his as he reached out to poke you in the side. “It was the first thing I thought of!”

“Think of something cooler next time!”

“Alright, alright…” you surrendered, turning your head towards him and reaching over to prod his arm with a fingertip. “But don’t dodge the question. Are you – the big, bad, space pirate leader of the Guardians of the Galaxy—saying you would like to come read children’s stories with me and Groot?”

“It is such a turn on when you start describing me like that.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“Seriously, I get all tingly, all the way down to my—"

“You’re still avoiding the question.” you said pointedly, cutting him off. He breathed a quiet chuckle as you did, his bottom lip catching between his teeth. “Story time?”

“Well, why not?”

“You know we’ve moved past picture books, right?”

He smacked you lazily on the bicep with the back of his hand by way of retort, letting his hand fall back to rest on his stomach. He interlocked his fingers above his belt buckle, the picture of casual relaxation. Your leg was still thrown over his, your calf pressed against his inner thigh. His gaze returned to the canopy above, and you studied the angle of his jaw absentmindedly, your eyes tracing along the dusting of strawberry blonde stubble that seemed darker in the muted light. “I spent a good chunk of my quality time building this stupid thing, I should get some use out of it.”

You raised a cynical brow, amused. The two of you never could help but poke at each other with childish barbs and banter, maybe even more so than the two of you dished it out to the other members of the crew. Maybe it was a reflex at this point, but it was still always entertaining. You affected an offended tone as you spoke again, even with a smile on your face. “Well, if you think it’s so stupid, why’d you spend all this time on it?”

“It’s not…” Peter sighed, shaking his head. “Sorry. It’s not stupid. It’s just…”

Your brow furrowed as you watched him struggle to find the words. You sobered, surprised that he hadn’t caught you in your joke. Instead, he seemed… flustered. “Quill?”

“You know, I forgot about it ‘til now.” he said ruefully, almost disbelievingly. He raised a hand to run his fingers through his hair. “…I used to build these when I was a kid.”

“Yeah…” you said slowly, confused. “I mean, a lot of kids did…”

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, I mean when my Mom got sick.”

“Oh.”

It was all you could think to say.

“It got… it got really hard, once she was hospitalized.” he said, a small, sad smile playing on his lips. His voice was soft and thoughtful, almost as if he’d forgotten you were there. Even so many years later, you could hear the thread of pain in his words. He reached up to touch his fingers to the edge of one of the blankets. “I built one of these one night, and basically never left it. I’d tuck myself away in it for hours with my Walkman and just ignore the rest of the world. Got to the point where I didn’t even come out for meals; Grandpa had to drag me outta there every day for school.”

You hesitated a moment before reaching over slowly and covering his hand with your own. “Peter…”

His eyebrows twitched upward as he looked down at your hand in surprise. You felt his hand turn under yours, his fingers smoothing almost carefully over your skin as he took hold of it. He looked up, turning his head to meet your eye. “You never call me that.”

You could feel the rise and fall of his stomach against your fingers with each breath he took. The edge of his belt buckle brushed against your knuckle; a stark coldness compared to the surprising heat of his body.  You meant your response to be cavalier, dismissive even, at this sudden change in the atmosphere between the two of you. Instead, it came out softly, barely more than a murmur. “Sure, I do.”

He shook his head, a small smile curving at one side of his mouth. Even though neither of you had moved, he seemed so much closer to you now, the two of you shoulder to shoulder. “No, you don’t. Not really. Closest you’ve ever gotten was tacking ‘Ignatius’ on it just now.”

You shook your head in amusement, smiling back at him. “It was a joke.”

His thumb brushed rhythmically over the back of your hand, his head turning to look back up at the blankets above you. “Sure it was.”

“What do you care?” you said teasingly. “I didn’t think you liked your first name so much, Star Lord.”

He shrugged the shoulder pressed against yours, meeting your eye again. His eyes were dark in the dull light, shining with amusement and affection. They were almost magnetic, and you felt warmth rise in your cheeks as your gaze fell to his lips briefly. You felt his hand squeeze yours, and there was a charming, knowing quirk to his lips that made your heartbeat quicken.

You swallowed as he leaned towards you, and when he spoke, his lips were barely an inch from yours, his voice was so soft that you almost didn’t hear it over your own heart.

“I don’t mind it so much when you say it.”

Peter’s lips met yours, brushing against them in a chaste, whisper of a kiss. It was soft and gentle, his nose bumping against yours. His tongue touched your bottom lip as you parted them to breathe, his thumb still smoothing circles over your hand. You felt a shiver tingle its way up your spine, and his other hand came up to slide over the leg still thrown over his as he rolled onto his side to face you. His tongue slid languidly over yours, and you could feel his smile as he kissed you more deeply.

You exhaled shakily against his lips as his hand smoothed up your thigh, and he gave a light snicker as you parted, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Apparently you really like it.” you said after a moment, your voice unsteady. He grinned, his hand still trailing slowly up your leg, and your breath caught as it teased down to your inner thigh. He moved to kiss you again, but you pressed your free hand to his chest. “Peter.”

He smiled softly and reached up to tuck hair behind your ear, his fingers trailing along your jaw. “Yeah?”

“What exactly are we doing?”

He smirked, his face moving towards yours again. “Want me to draw you a diagram?”

Peter kissed you again, his hand on the side of your neck. You let it linger for a moment, your fingers curling in the front of his shirt and tugging him closer. Peter responded eagerly, his hand moving down to take hold of your hip and pulling you towards him. You rolled onto your side, and Peter slung your leg up over his hip, his hand sliding up the back of it. It lingered just below the curve of your ass, gripping your leg almost possessively.

You felt his hips press suggestively into yours, and you couldn’t help but whimper against his lips, your hand tugging at the hair at the back of his head. Peter chuckled as you did, and you pulled away, embarrassed by your reaction.

You moved your hand to his shoulder, avoiding his gaze and looking down at his chest. You took a steadying breath, willing your heart to stop pounding. “Peter.”

You could feel a quiet laugh in his chest, his hand moving up to your waist. You shivered as his fingers ghosted up under your shirt to tease at bare skin. “Y/N.”

Your lips parted, intent on questioning him again… to ask what you were doing, where this sudden change in your friendship had come from… to ask what would happen later, if you didn’t stop. But then you felt the gentle, affectionate brush of his lips against your forehead, and suddenly, you didn’t feel the need to talk anymore. Instead, you met his eyes for a moment before you kissed him again, cupping his cheek in your hand.

Peter smiled into the kiss, the hand on your hip moving to the small of your back, urging you closer to him. The cold metal of his belt buckle was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, and your ran your other hand down his stomach to the hem of his shirt. He groaned lightly into your mouth as your fingers crept under his shirt to caress the smooth skin of his stomach. You traced your nails over the muscles, and they twitched in response.

His hand moved to your ass, squeezing it eagerly and urging you closer. Peter slung his hips into yours, and you whimpered into his kiss at the feeling of him hardening against your thigh. Your hand moved to his side, and he broke the kiss with a light laugh, his face falling to the crook of your neck.

You grinned widely. “Are you ticklish?”

“Pfft, no!” he scoffed obnoxiously, wriggling away from you as you ran your fingertips across his waist again. “You—”

He caught hold of your hands, forcing you onto your back and straddling your waist. He pinned them on either side of your head, a cocksure smirk on his face as he looked down at you. “Now you’re in trouble.”

You snickered, wetting your lips with your tongue. You pushed your hips up into his suggestively. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it, Star Lord?”

His grin widened, interlacing his fingers with yours and moving them above your head as he bent down towards you. His nose brushed lightly against yours, his mouth hovering teasingly above yours. You arched up to kiss him again, and he moved out of reach playfully, instead trailing kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck.

He lingered over your pulse point, and your eyes closed, a light moan escaping you as he sucked a mark into your skin. “Oh, well, that just sounded… cute.” He murmured against your skin, releasing your hands, and tugging your shirt up over your stomach. “But, that’s not what I’m looking for.”

He moved down to press kisses down your stomach, and you ran a hand through his hair. He leaned into it as he undid your jeans with practiced ease, and your hand tightened reflexively as he tugged them roughly down your thighs. Goosebumps erupted over your legs, his nose ghosting over your stomach and his teeth catching the waistband of your underwear and snapping it against your skin teasingly.

“And what exactly are you— Oh!” you jerked under him as he forced your legs apart and bit your inner thigh, his hands gripping tightly at your hips as he lathed his tongue over the mark he left behind.

“Closer…”

“I’m not ticklish, Quill.” you told him, rolling your eyes as you caught on to what he was trying to do. “But I— fuck, Peter!”

You bucked under him as he pushed your underwear to the side and rolled his tongue against your clit, your hand tightening in his hair. He snickered at your reaction, the sound devolving into a groan as your nails scraped against his scalp, his stubble agitating the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he brought you undone with his tongue.

The lights danced behind your eyelids as Peter slid two fingers inside you; tucked away in your little oasis and feeling everything he did to you made your heart flutter and your stomach tighten. You grabbed at the pillow under your head as you rolled your hips up into him, your chest heaving. “Pete—fuck, don’t… God, I’m gonna—”

He sucked on your clit and you came, arching up against him and your thighs clenching around him. You moaned aloud as you did, too loud for your little hideaway, eyes squeezed shut and toes curling. Peter continued to slowly pump his fingers inside you as he moved up to kiss your hip softly before straightening into a kneel between your legs. He watched his hand, his thumb circling lightly over your clit. He broke into a wide smirk as you twitched at the sensation, his eyes travelling up your body to your face. “Yeah, you love it.”

You bumped your knee hard against his side by way of retort and he finally withdrew his hand with a grin, holding your gaze as he licked his fingers clean. “You’re an ass.”

“Yeah?” he ran a hand up your thigh, his other unbuckling his belt. “What are you gonna do about it?”

You pushed yourself up onto your elbow, fisting a hand in his shirt and dragging him down for a kiss. It was long, and languid, his tongue sliding over yours, his hand on your hip and his thumb hooked in the waistband of your underwear. You broke away to tug at his shirt pointedly and he straightened to pull it off. Your eyes followed the muscles of his arms, your hand smoothing over a pectoral as he leaned down to kiss you again. He dropped the shirt to the side, moving to remove yours as well.

You stopped him, urging him back down onto the cushions. You swung a leg over his hips slowly, running your hands down his chest before pulling off your shirt. Peter’s eyes dropped heatedly to your chest as you unclipped your bra, his lips parting. He looked almost awed as he stared up at you, his face cast in shadows by the dull lights above you. Your spine tingled at his expression, and you held his gaze as you ran your hands over your chest and rolled your hips slowly over his.

Peter’s head fall back against the pillows at the sensation, his eyes closing and a soft groan slipping between his lips. The sound was intoxicating, as was the feeling of the hard length of his erection pressing up against you. You bit your lip, brow creased as you slowly continued to grind against him. His hands slid up over your thighs, squeezing them rhythmically with every roll of your hips.

You scratched your nails lightly down his stomach before unfastening his pants and wrapping your fingers around his cock. His breath caught as you did, leaving him in a shaky sigh as you stroked him, moved your underwear to the side and slowly sunk down onto his erection. “Jesus Christ, Y/N…”

“Yeah,” you said breathlessly, offering him a cocky smile of your own. “You love it.”

He laughed quietly, taking hold of your hips as you began to fuck yourself onto him slowly. You leaned forward to take hold of his biceps, enjoying the feel of the bulging muscles under your hands as you rode him. He encouraged you to grind against his pelvic bone and you whimpered; you could feel him stretching you wonderfully, each corkscrew of your hips sending sparks dancing up your lower back.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he muttered, watching you with half-lidded eyes. He ran a hand up your side to your ribs, his thumb resting along the curve of the underside of your breast. “You’re like… fuck, you’re like…”

“Having trouble finding the words there, Star Lord?” you teased quietly, your head lolling back, your eyes closed. You moaned as he pinched your nipple, rolling it between his fingers.

“Can’t help it,” he replied, exhaling slowly as you down to press kisses to his collarbone. His hand moved to your hair, bunching by your ear, and you felt his lips brush the top of your head. “None of my blood is exactly rushing to my brain right now.”

“I’m flattered,” you joked lightly, nipping playfully at his throat.

“But I can say: you call me that again, and this’ll be over a lot quicker than it should be.”

You giggled into his neck, kissing him headily before straightening again. You ran your hands up your sides, bouncing languidly on top of him. Each rise and fall had him sliding against your g-spot, and you bit your lip, your eyes rolling back as his hand returned to your sex. He circled your clit with his thumb and you moaned brokenly.

“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got fucking fantastic tits, sweets?”

You whined, cupping your breasts and squeezing. Your hips jerked as he pinched your clit, and he swore, thrusting up into you. “Somehow, it – oh, fuck, Peter—”

“God, you’ve got the sweetest voice,” he sat up, his free hand ghosting up your side and gliding over your chest. You shivered at the feeling of it, falling against him, your hips never stopping. Peter’s fingers quickened on your clit as you wrapped your arms around his neck, and he murmured in your ear as you tightened around him, an intoxicating mix of sweet nothings and cursing. You ran your fingers through his hair, clinging to him s you felt your orgasm approach.

Peter wrapped his other arm around your waist and bit down on your shoulder, and you came with a cry, hips stuttering against his as each wave of it hit.

Peter hooked his fingers under your chin and raised it gently from where your face was buried against his neck, pressing a kiss to your temple… your cheek… your forehead… the tip of your nose… as you came down, before cupping your face in his hand and capturing you in another breath-stealing kiss.

You rode him unsteadily as your hips shuddered with aftershocks, your thighs squeezing around him. Peter grunted against your lips, his moan muffled as he came, still buried inside you.

“Y/N…”

You kissed him again, your chest heaving against his, eyes fluttering open as you finally caught your breath. “Mmm?”

He grinned at you, pushing hair out of your face with a careful hand. “Yeah. You love it.”

You shoved at his chest, smiling as he laughed in response. You climbed off of his lap shakily, your face warm. “You’re such a—”

Peter let himself fall back against the pillows again, refastening his pants but not bothering with his belt. “Heartthrob? Casanova? Sexual—”

“Deviant?”

Peter smirked, reaching up to ruffle your hair. You ducked away from him, smacking at his arm as you found your bra and clipped it back into place. “Where’re you going?”

“The last thing we need is for the crew to come back and find us like this,” you pointed out, tugging on your pants and the first shirt you grabbed. “Rocket’ll never let us hear the end of it, and Drax’ll be… Drax.”

“That’s a good look on you.” Peter said, his hands tucked behind his head. You looked down at yourself; you’d pulled on his shirt instead of your own. You flushed, but he caught hold of your wrist before you could pull it off again. “Leave it.”

You smiled down at him softly, tucking hair behind your ear. “Isn’t that just as obvious?”

Peter’s hand moved down to your hand, delicately interlacing his fingers with yours. “Would it be so bad?”

“You… you want the others to know about this?”

He pushed himself up onto his elbow, his free hand sliding against the side of your neck and giving you an affectionate smile before pulling you down for a soft, lingering kiss.

.

.

.

.

tags: @peterquillthecutest @lovely-dreamer19 @wittyforachange @wefracturedmotivation @january-echoes @glossyloner @capitalnineteen @youclickedthislink​ @s0ftness​ @bombardia​

if you would like to be tagged in future stories for quill or any other character, please let me know :) don’t forget to like/comment and please reblog :)

[parrishsrubberplant]

Storytime: I’ve been working on a t-shirt quilt off and on since 2015. At some point I’ll document my process; it’s marginally relevant to this story:

I began by making a scale model of the quilt on paper. I planned a full sized quilt, added a six-inch border, and calculated the block size as 17″ x 18.5″. Clearly, I miscalculated somewhere - the planned 74″ x 85″ quilt is now a whopping 81″ x 107.”

...I should probably add an extra 7-6″ border on the left and right to bring it up closer to King sized. (King, according to the internet, is 110″ x 96″.) That’s one solution. The other is to accept a Very Long Quilt with no drop.

Wheeeeeee! I will think more about this.

[nothingeverlost]

The One You’re Born into and the One You Find (Marauder Era HP fic)

Thing I was not planning to do this week: write 10,000 words about Sirius Black.  He’s an insistent muse, though, so a little drabble about him and Andromeda talking as now a full blown fic about the time Sirius ran away from home.

Summery: Sirius runs away and finds out something about home.

Warnings for references to abuse/torture.

II

It’s two days before Christmas when Sirius Black leaves Grimmauld Place for the last time. His first impulse is to go to the Potter home, but he can’t, not with his mother’s voice in his head, the threats and ugly things she’s said.  He can’t risk that she might follow through with her promises.  It’s not safe.  Besides, James would owl Peter and Remus, and he needs to keep them safe too.

Perhaps it would be best to take a room above the Three Broomsticks, but after a week of cold silence from his family he can’t take any more isolation.  There’s only one place he can think of to go.

“Sirius?”  Warm light floods the front stoop when the door opens.  In the doorway stands his cousin, the only person that might understand what it means to be a disinherited Black.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a sofa I could crash on for a day or two, would you ‘Dromeda?”  They’ve barely talked in years; the last time was the summer before Fifth year when they both happened to be at Diagon Alley.  He’d been with his friends, his parents not wanting to be seen with their son who was buying a new Gryffindor uniform, ‘Dromda with her husband.  He’d been eight when she’d been struck off the family tree, but she would always be his favorite cousin.  His only cousin, now.

“Nonsense.  You’ll take the guest room.  I hope your silencing charms are up to par; our Nymphadora is an early riser.”  She holds the door open wide for him, enough so he can levitate his trunk into the house.  He’s not sure about accepting the room, though.

“Mother is going to be angry if she finds out you took me in.  I really only need a day or two so I can figure things out.”  He needs a lot more than a couple of days but he wasn’t about to ask for more.  It isn’t fair to her.

“Auntie has been angry with me for almost a decade now.  I’m a blood traitor, after all.  It doesn’t get much worse than marrying a muggle-born.  You’ll stay as long as you need.”  Andromeda doesn’t roll her eyes, she wouldn’t stoop to something so immature, but Sirius can almost see it anyway.  “Now shut the door behind you and come into the kitchen.  Ted is cleaning up but there’s plenty of leftovers and I’m sure you’re hungry.  Left before dinner, didn’t you?”

“During, but I didn’t eat anything.”  There had been company, people that made Sirius’s skin crawl.  His father had spoken so casually of his son joining The Cause, only debating if he should wait to finish his education or begin during the coming summer.  Perhaps, Orion Balck had speculated, his position in Gryffindor could end up being a blessing in disguise.  No one would expect a Death Eater under the scarlet and gold robes.

“You’re in luck.  Ted made his beef stew and it’s just the thing for a cold evening like this.”  She doesn’t say, but they both understand, that ‘cold’ refers to more than the weather.  “Ted, my love, we’ve company.”

“Cousin Sirius, what a treat.  Welcome.”  Sirius is surprised by the warm welcome and the following hug.  Perhaps he shouldn’t be; Ted Tonks is a muggle and a Hufflepuff, after all, but the only person he knows who is so open is James.

“Do you mind reheating some of your stew, Ted?  Siri hasn’t had dinner.  I’ll put Dora to bed.”

“Her hair is pink.”  Sirius has almost forgotten that there was a kid.  His family doesn’t acknowledge the marriage let alone the child, and kids aren’t really his thing.  He can’t remember the last time he’s seen a kid younger than eleven.  Andromeda’s daughter is a lot smaller than a first year.  Not as shy as they were either, as she climbs up on a chair to get a better look at the stranger in her house.

“Play?’  Sirius is pretty sure the tips of her hair darkened.  

“Nymphadora, this is your cousin Sirius.  You can play with him tomorrow but now it’s time for bed.”

“See-us.”  The little girl wrinkles up her nose as she tests out the name.  “See-e-us.”

“My friends call me Padfoot sometimes.”  It might be easier to say.  No one in his family considered easy names, it seemed.  Not ever his cousin.  Nymphadora, really?

“Padfoot play?”  She spreads her arms and jumps, leaving Sirius with no choice but to catch her.  She is a little thing, with less force than a bludger, but she squirms a lot.  

“Tomorrow,” Andromeda says firmly, helping to free Sirius from arms that seemed to be longer than they should be.  “I’ll be back down after storytime, Sirius.  Don’t worry about your trunk, I’ll take it up to your room.  Ted will show you where the drinks are.  There might even be a bit of firewhiskey to add to the butterbeer.”

His mother would be horrified to see him eating in the kitchen like a common person or a house elf.  The Tonks kitchen is a warm and comfortable room, though, and Sirius is glad to sit with Ted, who is keeping an eye on the cleaning charms.  They share a drink and Sirius empties a bowl of stew and accepts the second helping Ted gives him  It wasn’t like the food was bad at Grimmauld Place; it was the company that robbed him of his appetite.  He is too used to laughter and teasing and camaraderie as he eats with his mates at school, and out of practice choking down food under his mother’s sour expression and his father’s ranting.

“I’m sorry to spring this on you, Ted.”  He is halfway through his second bowl when he finally looks up at his companion.  He doesn’t know much about the man, other than the fact he was muggle-born, a Hufflepuff, and married to his cousin.

“Nonsense, you’re family.  It’s a rare treat for Andi to get to have family around.  You know what it’s like.”  Ted frowns.

“She’s lucky she got out when she did.”  Just this past summer the engagement between Cisssa and Malfoy had been announced.  The only good thing Sirius could say is that he wasn’t quite as disgusting as Bella’s husband.  The talk of pure blood had gotten worse at family dinners and words like ‘cleanse’ and ‘purify’ were tossed around more.  “They don’t bother you, do they?”

“Ignore us completely, which is probably for the best.  It’s not easy on Andi when we run into any of them in public, though.  We saw Narcissa when we were at Gringotts last and she wouldn’t even look at our Dora.  I don’t think Bellatrix has even seen her.”

“Best to keep it that way.  She’s gone mental.  More mental than she used to be.  And her husband…” Sirius bites his tongue to keep from saying more.  He didn’t need to talk about Rabistan LeStrange.  Didn’t need to think about him, or what he was capable of.  One time alone with the man had been one time too many; he still had bruises on his arm from their ‘conversation’ three days ago.  “If you’re lucky they’ll forget about you completely.”

“Your turn, Ted.  Dora’s tucked in and ready for her story.”  Sirius is almost done with his second bowl of stew when Andromeda comes down, turning off the water in the sink as the last of the dishes dry themselves.  She settles into the seat her husband had occupied moments ago.  “Do you want to talk about what happened?”

“What’s the point?  It’s over and I’m never going back.  I’ve probably been blasted off that damn tapestry already.”  It had been his mother’s last threat as he’d left as if the worst thing that could happen was being disowned by the family that hated not only him but everything he cared about.

“Walking away from family isn’t that easy.  I know.”  For a moment she looks lost in memories before shaking her head.

“Family doesn’t…”  Sirius clenches his hands around the edge of the table.  He doesn’t talk about the things that happened in his home, not even to James.  Andromeda would understand more than anyone else, but that doesn’t make it easier to speak.  “They’re not my family.  I have James and Remus and Peter.”

“You have me and Ted too.”  Andromeda reaches across the table and covers one of his hands with her own.  “It’s two more weeks until term starts.  You’ll stay here and we can take you to the train.”

“I wasn’t planning on staying that long.”  He hasn’t planned anything but thought perhaps he might be able to leave for school sooner.  Hogwarts would be safe.

“You’re staying.  It’s Christmas, Sirius.  And if you’re worried about earning your keep you don’t have to worry.  Dora will adore having a new friend and you can pay us back in imaginary tea parties.”

II

Exhausted, Sirius falls asleep almost the moment he turns off the light in the guest bedroom.  It doesn’t last; a few hours later he comes awake abruptly, gasping his way out of a dream.  He fumbles for his wand, casting a ‘Lumos’ as he sits up.  He needs to be sure he doesn’t fall asleep again, not while the dream slithers inside his mind.  

He barely noticed the bedroom when his cousin had escorted him up, beyond noting that his trunk was under the window.  Everything he owned was in his trunk, and he only had that much because he’d never unpacked it when he’d gotten home for winter hols.  He’d gone up, grabbed it and his broom, and had been heading for the front door before anyone could stop him.  There hadn’t been any time to get Freddie, his owl, from the family owlery.  He hoped his mother didn’t take out any of her anger on poor Freddie.

The room, now that he can focus better, is as different as it was possible to be from the bedroom he’d abandon hours ago.  Instead of grey walls and antique furniture that had been passed down for generations, the walls were painted a pale yellow and the bed was new.  The quilt he’d been sleeping under seemed handmade, a patchwork of mismatched colors that would never earn his mother’s approval.  On the wall across from the bed is a painting of the shore, waves gently lapping at the sand.  It reminds him of a trip he’d taken with the Potters the summer between fourth and fifth years; Remus had joined them as well, though Peter hadn’t been allowed to come.  It wasn’t home - the only home he knew being his dorm at Hogwarts - but it was a cheerful and cozy space.  

He hoped his presence didn’t make it an unsafe place.  While his mother had been the loudest with her threats it was harder to guess what recourse his father might take.  Or his father’s friends.  He would run again if he needed to.  Sirius resolved not to unpack his trunk in case any threats were made. If anyone in his family so much as sent an owl he’d be off.

It’s dark outside his bedroom window, enough that he can’t make out anything in the back garden.  The moon wasn’t much more than a sliver, which was good.  It would be two weeks until Remus would need him.   If he was still with Andromeda and Ted by then he could make an excuse for going back to school early.  Until then he would lie low and hope that his family decided he was no longer worth any of their time.

After an hour of trying to go back to sleep, Sirius transforms and curls up at the foot of the bed.  Sometimes it is easier to sleep for a few hours as Padfoot; he would just have to hope his cousin didn’t ask about the black fur.

II

Someone is trying to suffocate him.  His mouth is covered, his lungs straining for want of oxygen.  He can hear Bella’s laughter and see the cold steel of his mother’s eyes.  Behind her, Regulus looked ill.

“Ge-off,”  Sirius struggles to open his mouth, to take in a breath, and almost chokes on a piece of bacon.  He blinks and opens his eyes to find that he isn’t in Grimmauld Place.  He’s in Andromeda’s guest room, and he is chewing on a piece of bacon.

“Breakfast.”  Nymphadora’s hair is blue this morning and she is holding out a piece of bacon between two chubby fingers.  “Welcome.”

“Thank you?”  He can’t think of anything else to say.  Waking up to find a kid staring at him is odd, but it was a million times better than anything that had happened the day before.

“Dora, where are you?”  The door to the hallway is open; apparently the kid was old enough to open doors because Sirius had closed it the night before.  He can’t sleep when a door is open, it felt too vulnerable.  At home he locked the door, even knowing that wouldn’t really stop anyone.  At school he was grateful for the curtains around the bed.  Here the door was now open and Ted was coming in, shaking his head.  “Sorry about that, mate.  Did she wake you?”

“I’d rather be awake.”  Memories weren’t quite as bad as dreams.

“Breakfast is ready if you’d like to join us,  I promise you can eat at your own pace, and not worry about this little scamp trying to feed you more.  You’re lucky it was just bacon.  She might have decided you were thirsty.”  Ted grins, an easy expression that reminds him a little of James.  His best friend’s smile comes easily too.  Sirius wonders if Ted’s parents were also as wonderful as the Potters.

“I’ll be down in a minute.”  He’s only slept in his pants and waits until Ted had scooped up his daughter and taken her out of the room, closing the door behind him, before getting out of bed so he could dress.

Breakfast was as good as any meal he’d had at Hogwarts.  Ted, apparently, did all the cooking in the family.  His cousin had learned as much cooking as he had, which meant nothing at all.  Pureblood snobs were supposed to have house elves to tend to their needs, rather than actually learning anything practical.  Ted cooked the muggle way, and his scones were good enough that Sirius had three.  He eats some bacon too, as well as quiche.

His plan for the day is to hole up in the guest room.  It was Christmas Eve and he didn’t want to interfere with the holiday for his cousin’s family.  Christmas wasn’t a big deal anyway; he loves the traditions he shares with his friends before the holidays but generally spent the day itself being miserable.  Andromeda has other ideas.

Once breakfast is over and the dishes are put away she pulls out flour, butter, sugar, eggs, and a mass of sprinkles.  Sirius somehow finds himself rolling out dough and cutting out cookies, often with the ‘help’ of Dora.  Once the first batch cooled he is in charge of frosting while Dora added three times as many sprinkles as anyone would call normal.  Somehow there was frosting in his hair and he is certain that his fingers would be red and green for longer than they were the last time he’d ‘accidentally’ snuck dye into James’s shampoo, but it is the most fun he’s had on a Christmas Eve in years.  When he makes one of the frosted snowmen dance across the table Dora laughs and then viciously bites his head off.  It was then that Andromeda decides it is time for Dora’s nap.

While Andromeda is putting her daughter down for a nap Sirius takes the opportunity to escape.  No matter what they say Ted and Andromeda deserved to have at least part of the day to themselves, and he can use a walk.  When staying with his parents long walks were about the only thing that kept him sane.  The walls of his childhood home were oppressive on the best of days.  Dangerous on the worst.  His cousin’s house was nowhere near the old neighborhood where his parents live, but the moment he’s gone a few blocks from the house he realizes how exposed he is.  If anyone sees him it wouldn’t be hard to make the connection to the Tonks family.  On his own he doesn’t have anyone to watch his back and it would be easy enough for a couple of people to drag him home.  Would his father have any interest in forcing him home?  Making him bow and scrape, making him swear an oath of fidelity?

“I’m not going back there,” he swears to himself, walking faster.  He looks at each alley he passes, half expecting to see someone he should fear, half looking for a plan of escape.  All he would need was a moment out of sight; no one would know to look for Padfoot once he transformed.

“Sirius?”  At the sound of his name he turns, wand already raised and a disarming spell on his lips.  

“Thought that was you.”  Frank Longbottom looks curiously at his wand but shrugs.  “Don’t usually see you on this side of town, mate.  Enjoying your holiday?”

“It’s alright.  Just stopped by to see a friend,” he lies.  Fortunately, he has a lot of practice at lying.  Frank is a nice enough sort, a year ahead of him in school.  Rumor was he was all set for the Auror program after graduation.  That didn’t mean that Sirius was about to trust him completely.  He didn’t trust anyone completely except the Mauraders.

“Alice lives around the corner.  We had lunch with the family.  Her dad has to warm to me eventually, or at least that’s the hope.  Not so pleased about the half muggle status, that one.”

“Screw him,” Sirius growls with more force than he meant.  He is so tired of the hate against muggle-borns, half muggles, and his most hated word, ‘half breeds.’  His father was of the opinion that the only good werewolf was either a dead one or a vicious pet, and had talked at length during Tuesday night’s dinner about a need for more regulations to protect against monsters.  His father’s definition of a monster is very different from his own.

“It’s important to Alice.”  Frank was so mild-mannered it was sometimes a surprise that he was a Gryffindor.  Then again Pete was pretty affable too.  He’d seen Frank’s reaction, though, when a Slytherin was scaring a first-year Hufflepuff.  Frank hadn’t been mild-mannered then.  “He’s not a bad bloke, just set in his ways.  Not like, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”  Not like his family or the loony bin they kept marrying into.  Still, he had no patience for any of it.  It didn’t matter if he’d never met Mr. Fortesque, he already didn’t like the man.

They walk a bit farther, not talking of anything important until they reached a row of muggle shops and Sirius mentions stopping to pick out some gifts.  

“A bit last minute, aren’t you Sirius?” Frank teases.

“Same way I get my essays done,” he says with a shrug.  The truth is he spent as much time plotting his gifts as he did some of his most elaborate pranks, and he’d gotten gifts for his fellow Marauders before school had even started.  Other than sending something to James’s parents they were the only gifts he had to worry about.  Even in better days his parents had not held with gifts for Christmas.  He’d be a prat if he didn’t at least have something under the tree for his cousins this year, though.  Fortunately he still had some muggle money from a trip to muggle London he and James had gone on during the summer.

He returns to Andromeda’s an hour later with a cookbook for Ted by a muggle named Julia Childs that the shopkeep had assured him anyone who liked cooking would enjoy and a stuffed dog for the sprog.  It was black and not unlike his own secret form, which amused him.  His cousin was harder, but when he’d walked past an antique shop he’d found a little painting of an owl.  It looked like the one Andromeda had when she was a girl; Sirius could remember visiting and seeing his cousin petting the bird, whispering to it softly.  Bella had rolled her eyes.  It was a muggle painting so it didn’t move, but Sirius thought Andromeda might at least appreciate the sentiment.

“Sirius Black what do you mean by vanishing for hours without even saying that you’re leaving?”  Andromeda is every inch a Black when she appears in the hall just moments after he enters the house.  Her jaw is firmly set, chin lifted at just the right angle to make it feel like she looked down her nose at him despite being half a head shorter.  For a moment he is reminded of her mother, and then his own.

Shite.

“I thought you could use some time without an intruder around.  Christmas Eve traditions and all that.”  It had started snowing as he’d walked back from the shops.  Sirius tries to distract himself by brushing the snow off one shoulder.  Regulus had given him the same look that Andromeda was giving him now, just a few days ago when he’d said the only right side of any fight was standing against everything the family stood for.

“Great.  Lovely.  So I guess if my sister’s friends had seen you and decided to hex you into the new year it wouldn’t have mattered to me because at least I had a nice afternoon away from my ungrateful little cousin?” She glares at him in a way he hadn’t seen since he’d been seven and had used the essay she’d left in the study to make paper airplanes that had magically flown themselves.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone you let me stay here.”  He’s had enough experience with Cruciatus to know that he would be able to keep at least that secret.

“You think that’s what concerns me?” she asks incredulously before her crossed arms fall to her side and she deflates.  “Merlin, they did a number on us, didn’t they?  Our family.  Toujours pur but jamais fidèle.  I was worried about you, Siri.  You haven’t told me what happened but I know enough the guess.  I’m not totally unaware of what’s happening with my sisters and their social circle.”

“I know how to take care of myself.”  For a moment he hears the shadow of another argument, weeks earlier with Remus.  They had been fighting about the full moon and returning to school early so they could be there for him.  He tells himself it’s not the same thing.

“Of course you do.  Another lesson we learned well.”  Andromeda takes a step forward and brushes the snow off his other shoulder.  “I know family is a pretty complicated word for both of us but you are my family Sirius.  I care what happens to you.”

“Does it ever get easier?”  He wants to ask if he would always hate them this much.  If he would always carry around the hard ball of anger that sometimes threatened to choke him.  Would he always feel the guilt in leaving Reggie behind, not even trying to stop him from becoming the son his father wanted?  Would he ever stop mourning the family he never had?  He has a hundred questions but doubts there are really any answers.

“I remember when I heard you’d been sorted into Griffindor.  Auntie was so angry.  There was talk of sending you to Durmstrang, but they decided against it because of the way it might look.  The first time I saw you that winter you were in Zonko’s with your mate James, and you were laughing.  I don’t know how you’d gotten permission to be there without your parents but you looked so happy.  I knew then that the sorting hat had changed something that couldn’t be changed back.  I think it’s already better.  It doesn’t go away, we can’t change where we came from, but it’s better than what could have been.”

“I remember that trip.  Mum thought the Potter connection could be useful.”  The Potters were purebloods, and rich, but in every other way as different from the Blacks as it was possible to be.  “You brought us ice creams after the joke shop.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to do that more often.”  

“Mum would have hated knowing we spent any time together.”  He’d missed his cousin, but there had always been an extra thrill knowing his mother would disapprove.  “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have left without saying anything.”

“You’re wanted here, alright?”  They don’t hug, not in their family, but Sirus has learned it from his mates and Andromeda from her husband.  It is a quick hug, but heartfelt.  Afterwards Sirius drops his packages off under the tree and finds that on the mantle there was now a fourth stocking, one with his name on it.

II

Christmas is a quiet day, or as quiet as it can be when a three-year-old has a newly acquired broom that hovers a foot off the floor.  The stuffed dog he’s picked out, who somehow has been dubbed ‘Spot’ despite being solid black, has a place of honor on the broom and only falls off six times.  The snow from the night before has left a fresh powder on the ground, and the afternoon is spent building a snowman that briefly joins them in an animated game of tag thanks to some clever wand work from Andromeda.

To say it is the best Christmas Day he’s ever had isn’t saying a lot, considering what Christmas is like in his family.  It is more than a good Christmas, it is a good day.  When he watches Dora feed her stuffed dog invisible hot chocolate he can’t help wondering what it would have been to grow up in a family that saw children as something other than an obligation to continue the family line.

“Would you care for a cup of chocolate that’s not invisible?”  Andromeda asks once her daughter’s attention is drawn away from their ‘tea’ party.  Ted is giving her hippogriff rides.

“Yeah.”  He follows her into the kitchen, leaning against the counter while she melts a bar of Honeyduke’s finest into simmering milk.  Moony would approve.

“I remember getting my first broom.”  His hadn’t been a toy.  His parents didn’t believe in toys.

“If memory serves you were six, and the first thing you did was try to stand up on it.”  Andromeda laughs as she stirs the chocolate, adding vanilla and a pinch of salt.

“They locked it up for a month after that, until I could promise to be more respectful.”  He’d only learned to be more careful, waiting until he was out of view before practicing loops and dives and quidditch moves.  It had been his first taste of freedom.

“Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t met Ted.  Would I have ever defied the family or would I just have accepted it as my lot?  But I never wondered about you, Sirius.  Worried, but never doubted that you were meant for something else.”

“You never would have stayed.  You’re too good for them.”

II

The letter comes during breakfast on boxing day.  Sirius is so focused on the red envelope that he doesn’t notice the owl at all.  He’s been expecting at least a letter for three days now, and his only thought is to snatch the letter and get up to his room before it explodes in his mother’s amplified and shrill voice.  No one else needs to hear the hate in her voice.

He is too slow, or the letter is faster than usual.  He’s barely taken it from the owl and stood from his chair when it begins to shake.  It grows in size, shaking and looking like a firework about to explode before it bursts open.

SIRIUS ORION BLACK YOU GREAT GIT WHERE THE BLOODY HELL ARE YOU?

It takes Sirius a moment to realize that the shooting that fills the small kitchen is not his mother, but his best friend.

YOU HAVE NOT ANSWERED MY OWLS FOR THREE DAYS.  I EVEN TRIED FLOOING TO YOUR HOUSE BUT THAT CREEPY HOUSE ELF OF YOUR MOTHER’S ONLY SAID THAT HER MISTRESS HAD GOTTEN RID OF YOU.  I’M WORRIED PADFOOT.   MUM AND DAD ARE WORRIED.  RUMUS SENT ME AN OWL BECAUSE HE THOUGHT MAYBE WE SHOULD TRY GOING TO YOUR HOUSE TO SEE YOU.

“No.”  Sirius stares in horror at the envelope as if it can hear him.  Remus can’t go anywhere near Grimmauld Place.  He’s only let James come once and that was bad enough but at least James comes from a wizarding family almost as old as the Blacks.

RUMUS IS STRESSED ABOUT YOU AND YOU KNOW WHAT HE’S LIKE WHEN HE’S STRESSED.  IF WE DON’T HERE FROM YOU IN AN HOUR I AM SENDING HIM AN OWL BACK AND WE ARE GOING TO MAKE A PLAN.

A moment later the howler tears itself to pieces, the confetti burning like ash.  The only thing left was the echo in his ears.

“I can’t let Remus go to Grimmauld Place.”  He looks at Andromeda.  

“Bloody git.”  Dora waves a bit of pancake around on the end of her fork, apparently amused by the howler.  “Great bloody git.”

“Those are not words for little girls, my love.  They’re words for grown-ups who have to deal with problems.”  Ted reaches over and picks Dora up from her seat, balancing her on his knee and distracting her with a floating grape.  Sirius knows he should probably apologize, but all he can think about is Remus showing up at his parents’ door and them somehow seeing in an instant what it took him two years to figure out.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for any of your friends, but at least if they’re looking for you it rules them out as anyone who knows where you are.  It might protect them in the long run.”  Andromeda stirs her tea carefully.  “Remus is the quieter lad, isn’t he?  The one with the nice manners.”

Sirius nods, afraid to open his mouth and say anything about Remus, afraid he might say too much and spill secrets that aren’t his to tell.  It has taken months to recover from the Snape Incident. All he knows is that he has to stop any of his friends, but Remus especially, from confronting his parents.  The things the Black Family would do if they knew they had a werewolf in their home were unspeakable.  “I need to borrow your floo.”

“The floo powder is on the mantle where the stockings were.  You’ll let me know if you’re not home for dinner, won’t you?”  Sirius nods his promise.

“Your friends are welcome to tea. We’re having bangers and mash,” Ted adds supportively as Sirius carries his dishes to the sink.

“Padfoot play?”  Dora asks as he leaves the kitchen.  He hopes she won’t be too upset that he’s ignored her request.

A minute later he is in the Potters’ library, startling Fleamont Potter from his post-breakfast nap.  A newspaper half covers his face but he pushes it away as he sits up.  “Sirius my lad, what a relief.  James will feel so much better when he sees you.  Last I checked he was pacing the front hall.”

“I’ll go find him.”  At least he hadn’t dashed off and done anything stupid; that was Sirius’s job.  He doesn’t have far to go far; after walking through the library door he is tackled and might have fallen if he wasn’t so used to the surprise attacks of James Potter.  This one involved a hug he couldn’t have escaped if he wanted to.  He doesn’t want to.

“If I wasn’t so happy to see you Padfoot I’d punch you and then lock you in a small dark room.  Where have you been?”  James’ hair was messier than usual, standing on end where he tugged on it when he was nervous or frustrated.  The fact that he was wearing shoes was alarming; when he was at home his feet were always bare, so he really was planning on going somewhere.  Sirius hates thinking about where that place might have been.

“I’m alright, Prongs.”  There is no person on the entire earth that he trusts more than James Potter.  His reluctance to mention his cousin was not out of worry.

“Not one peep yesterday from you.  Even first year you popped in to say Merry Christmas and last year you came for almost two hours after you got yourself kicked out of dinner.  I kept my mirror with me all day yesterday and nothing from you.  When I popped into your kitchen the house-elf said…”

“I left.”  He shrugs as if it doesn’t mean anything.

“What do you mean, you left?  Left the house on Christmas?  Can’t imagine that made your mum happy.”

“I left a couple of days ago, actually, and I don’t give a toss what my mother thinks.”  He looks down at his shoes, noticing that there was a scuff mark on the left one.  “I’m not going back there.”

“What did they do?”  His best friend’s voice sounds like fire.  Sirius knows that James would go to war against the whole Black family without a single hesitation if he thought that they had hurt Sirius.  It is the reason he keeps the worst stories to himself, to protect James.  Remus knows more, whispered confidences in the black of night when neither of them can sleep.  After all, Remus has his own monsters and knows something about enemies being bred into your blood.

“I’m not going to be one of them, and hate who they tell me to hate, and fight who they tell me to fight.”  Rudolphus and Bella have matching tattoos on their arm.  At first he’d thought they were a warped couple sort of thing, but then he’d seen the same mark on Narcissa’s finance, and the slithering edge of black ink on his father’s arm when his sleeve hitched up a little.

“Of course you’re not.”  James smiles a little, just for a moment, before the smile fades.  “Hold up, you said days ago.  Where have you been since you left?  Pete would have said if you’d been at his place and I know you haven’t seen Remus.  Please tell me you haven’t done anything naff like sleep on a bench or take a room at Three Broomsticks.”

“I need to lie low for a bit.  I am somewhere safe, I promise.”  His mother’s threats ring in his ear, promising that no one that dared offer him sanctuary would be safe.

“You’re safe here.”  James snakes a hand around his wrist, dragging him towards the back of the house.  “Mum,” he shouts.

“It’s not about my safety.”  When the kitchen proves empty James pulls him to the backdoor, through the snowy yard to the greenhouse that is always warm and humid no matter the weather.  In the center of the space is a pond where lotus float.  Euphemia Potter is kneeling beside her herb bed.

“Mum, Sirius showed up finally and he’s run away from home so he needs a place to stay.  He can have the room next to mine, right?  Dad can figure out how to handle the guardian stuff so you can sign his school papers and..”

“Prongs, stop.  I just came so you didn’t do anything stupid like go to Grimmauld Place.  I’m not staying.”  

“Don’t be stupid, Pads, of course you’re staying.  Right mum?”

“This is always your home, Sirius.”  She stands with a grace that his own mother would never be able to emulate, no matter how many centuries of ‘good breeding’ have gone into molding her.  Deep purple and gold robes flow around her.  Indoors she’s just as apt as her son to have bare feet, but in the garden she wears leather sandals.  “Monty and I have been worried about you, dear.  It’s good to see that you’re safe.”

“I’m sorry for making you worry.”  The last thing he wants to do is worry his friends or the Potters who are always so kind to him.  Without the Potters he wouldn’t know what a real family is supposed to look like, or how lacking his own family really was.

“A mother always worries about her children.”  When she touches his arm Sirius has to fight to remain stoic, torn between the wanting to break down and wanting to make a bitter comment that some mothers want nothing more than to eat their own young.

“See, Pads?  Mum said you’re staying.  Dad will agree and that’s everything sorted.  The family barrister can send papers to your…”

“No.”  If he lets himself listen to any more it will sound too much like a dream and not having it will hurt all the more.  “You’re not listening to me, Jamie.  I will see you in two weeks when we go back for term.  I need you to let Remus know that I’m safe and that he’s not to go to my parents’ house under any circumstances ever.  Let him know that I’ll be at school on Wednesday morning like I promised, okay?”

“Tell him yourself, Pads.  You haven’t forgotten how to write a letter in the last week have you?”  James stands between him and the door to the greenhouse, arms crossed and ready for a fight. “No, but I don’t have a way to send a letter.  I couldn’t bring Freddie with me when I left.”  Damn it, he misses his owl.  It is the least of his problems, and it’sjust a stupid owl that he ignores too often when he is at school, but when he is home visiting the owlery is often the only good part of his day.  No one in his family would deign to sit amoung the birds.

“Shit, I’m sorry.”  James sighs.  “I’ll write Remus, okay?  Or you write to him and use one of our owls.  He’s sent me three letters since yesterday and seeing the scrawl you call penmanship would probably do him good.”

“I’ll write to him before I go, alright?”

“Sure, as long as you mean that you’re going to go get your trunk so you can bring it back here.  I was thinking we could transform the closet between our rooms into a lounge, maybe with a foosball table or something.  Mum’s brill at things like that.”

“Damn it, Prongs, you’re not listening to me.”

“I’m listening, I’m just ignoring you being a dense pratt. This is your home.”

“My mother…”

“Your mother is a miserable bitch and you’re well rid of her.  You can share my mum with me, she always wanted more kids and she and dad both love you.”  James speaks with the confidence of someone who has always been certain of his place.  

“You don’t understand, James.  The things she would do if she found out you’d taken me in.  The things she might set in motion.  My family is full of fucking Death Eaters.  My cousin...”  But he doesn’t want to think about Bella and what she could do.  What she’d hinted that she’d already done, the snake of her tattoo slithering around her wrist.  He knew what she could do to someone she wanted as an ally, the echo of pain still in his bones as she tried to make him agree.  The war was coming so much quicker than he’d realized.  He would protect the people he cared about as long as he could.

“We keep each other safe, just like we’ve always done, Pads.”

“This isn’t trying to get out of detention when a prank goes wrong.  I’m not going to risk any of my family coming after the people I care about.”  He could still see, too clearly, the look in Moony’s eyes when he realized how close he’d come to attacking Snape on a full moon.  If anything had happens Remus would be the one to suffer and it would have been his fault.  He couldn’t let it be his fault again.

“So instead I’m supposed to just stand by and hope you’re okay?  Do you know what it would do to me if anything happened to you?”  James tugs on his hair.

“I’ll see you in two weeks, alright?”

“Padfoot…”

“It’s better if you don’t know where I am.”  He’s been seventeen for almost two months, but won’t take his apparating test until spring like any other student.  That doesn’t stop him from disapparating, but it did mean that he is a block away from Andromeda’s, instead of in her backyard, when he reappeared.  It takes him a moment to get his bearings and to find his way to the house.  By the time he does he’s shaking, and collapses on the back porch, using the last of his energy to change into Padfoot.  

II

“Puppy.”  He wakes to find Dora stroking his fur enthusiastically, Ted and Andromeda watching with varying looks of caution and amusement.  Because it seems like the simplest option he spends an hour fetching sticks and racing through the snow, decimating the snowman they had made the day before and chomping on snowballs.  When a cat crosses the back fence he doesn’t resist the urge to chase it; James has often remarked that if they ever came across McGonagall in her animagi form there would be some serious explaining to do.  Chasing professors was not a good idea even if they were a cat at the time.

When it starts to get dark outside Ted tries to lure him in with the promise of something to eat, but he refuses.  As tempting as it is to see if they would talk about him in his absence, it wasn’t fair and Andromeda would worry if he wasn’t back for tea.  He’d promised, after all.  Sirius slinks around the corner, waiting until he is sure everyone is inside the house before turning back.  His jeans are soaked and his mouth is freezing from the snow he’s eaten, but an hour of running around and a nap have done him some good.  He is able to walk into the house without feeling like the world is completely falling apart.

“Anyone with you?” Ted asks, poking his head out of the kitchen.  Sirius shakes his head.

“Padfoot play?”  Dora asks, her hair the same black color as his own.  She’d changed it when they were playing outside, ironically wanting to match the dog.  

“It’s bathtime, remember?  And I’m sure Sirius is wanting a hot shower, considering the look of him.”  Andromeda gives him the same speculative look she’d given a dog an hour ago until she was convinced that her daughter was safe playing with the mutt.  “Your friend’s alright?”

“I think he’s mad at me.”  James wasn’t mad, not really, but it was easier than saying that he was hurt by the secrets he wouldn’t share.  He and James shared almost everything.  “I’m going to go take that shower now.”

“I’ll let Ted know to start a kettle; you look like you could use some warming up from the inside too.”

II

The next morning he lets himself sleep in, and is still in his pajamas just before noon, making himself a bacon sandwich with leftovers from the breakfast he’d skipped.  He’s just taken his first bite when someone knocks on the front door and Ted calls for him.

“See?  I told you this was the logical place.”  When Ted steps back Sirius can see a grinning James Potter in the doorway, a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around his neck.  Beside him is Remus, not dressed nearly warm enough for the day.  Crowded on the back of the porch is Peter.

“Yes, but ‘Padfoot’ and ‘logical’ aren’t usually things we say together.”  Moony has a crease line between his eyebrows, looking Sirius over.  He tries to smile, but it is a small one, his attempt at a joke falling flat.  Sirius can almost feel the worry vibrating from him.  

“If Sirius is trying to lay low maybe we shouldn’t be standing out here where anyone can see us?”  From the way James steps forward suddenly it was clear that Pete had given him a friendly shove.  Ted is smart enough to take a couple of steps backward, clearing the way for three-fourths of the Marauders to invade his home.

Sirius says the only thing that came to mind.  “What the fuck?”

“I sent an owl to Remus.  He agrees you’re being stupid.”  James aims a drying spell at his feet.

“That’s not what I said, Prong. Don’t put words in my mouth.”  The gloves Remus takes off look new, probably a Christmas gift from his parents.  They were practical souls, and most of Moony’s gifts from them are the sort of things that Sirius takes for granted.  He knows that new quills and gloves are not so easy to come by in the Lupin household, though.  “I said I didn’t like the idea of you without anyone to watch your back.”

“I agreed with James about you being a git.”  Peter grins.  Ted closes the door behind him.

“Gee, thanks Pete.”

“You’re Ted, right?  Nice to meet you.  I’m James and I’m just here to relieve you of this annoying houseguest of yours.  His bedroom is all ready for him.”  James shakes Ted’s hand when it’s offered.

“Sorry about the invasion, Mr. Tonks, only Sirius does seem to need reminding about a promise he made.  We’ll be out of your hair once we knock some sense into him.” Remus looks at him very carefully, and Sirius can almost read his mind.  He can see the bonfire they’d had the first summer they’d been together, could hear the vow they’d made to always have each other’s backs.  Marauders forever.

“Stay as long as you like, boys.  I have some biscuits in the oven that will be ready in a little while, so when you’re ready come down for a snack,” Ted offers as he shakes hands with Remus and then Peter.

“Fresh baked biscuits?  Maybe Padfoot does know what he’s on about, staying here.”  Peter licked his lips.  He’d been the one, second year, to figure out the secret of the ticklish pear that lead into the kitchens.  The house elves loved him.

“I’ll take this lot upstairs so we don’t bother you.”  He gives his friends a pointed look and heads up the stairs, trying not to think about the fact that the bedroom he’d been using suddenly feels so much more like home when all four of them are crowded inside.  Remus is the one to cast a silencing charm, meaning he doesn’t have to keep his voice down when he speaks.  “Damn it, Prongs, what part of our conversation yesterday didn’t you understand?”

“The part where you seemed to suddenly forget the last six years and think you’re a lone wolf like that prat first year who wouldn’t talk to anyone for the first week of school.  No offense meant, Remus.”

“None taken,” Remus shrugs, sitting down on the trunk under the window.  Peter has already sprawled out on the bed.  James was pacing, like he often did when he was plotting a prank or coming up with wild schemes to get Evans to date him.

“It’s not the same.”  He’d been terrified that first week after the hat had sorted him into what he’d considered the wrong house.  His mother had sent him three howlers the first two days, and he knew that Dumbledore had gotten a howler as well.  He’d never asked McGonagall if she’d gotten one; it was too embarrassing to even contemplate.  He hadn’t wanted to get to know the boys he shared a room with, not when he was going to be moved in a matter of days.  Surely someone would realize that he couldn’t be a Griffindor.  Blacks were always in Slytherin.

He’d been scared of his family then, and he was scared of his family now.  Maybe it wasn’t so different, but the threat of his family was worse than it had been six years ago, or maybe he was finally understanding just what the Black name meant.  “It‘s not safe.”

“Neither was spending two years learning to be an animagus so you could spend full moons chasing after a werewolf.”  Remus rubs a scar on his forearm that Sirius swears is fading a little every year.  The fact that he hadn’t gotten a new scar in over a year is a victory that Sirius privately celebrated every morning after a moon.

“That’s different.”

“How?”  Remus stares at him until he has to look away.

“So Wormy, how long do you think we can hang around the Tonks place before they kick us all out?”  James plonks down on the bed.

“Well they’ve already put up with Padfoot for four or five days so their tolerance is pretty high.  Might be able to stretch it a couple of days.  A week at least if we find some chores to help with.  Longer if everyone remembers to shower.”  Peter glances at the door.  “You think those biscuits are ready?”

“We could go check and let the man of the house know we’ll be crashing here for a bit.”  James heads for the door, breaking the silencing charm as he opens it.  Peter is swift to follow.

“Moony.”  Sirius looks at him, hoping that he at least will understand.  Moony, he thinks, understands what’s coming with the war more than the rest of the group.  He knows at least some of what a family like the Blacks can do.

“We’re not leaving you alone, Sirius, no matter the risk.  You’re ours.”  Remus squeezes his hand as they stand in the doorway.  “It’s going to be okay, Pads.  We’ll figure this out the way we always do.  Together.”

Sirius thinks maybe he’d like to stand in the doorway for a while, the warmth of Moony’s hand in his, but everyone else is downstairs and he still has to find a way to convince them all to go home.  

II

“Puppy?”  After she is done with her biscuit Dora slides off her chair and runs to the kitchen door.

“We can look, love.”  Ted follows her, opening the door to reveal an empty back porch.

“No puppy,” Dora sighs, her lower lip sticking out.  “Want puppy.”

“There was a stray dog in the yard yesterday.  Dora quite enjoyed playing with him,” Andromeda explains to the boys at the table.  “It was quite funny, actually.  Sirius got her a stuffed animal for Christmas and the dog that showed up looked almost the same.”

“Black dogs are common enough,” Sirius comments, shooting a look across the table at James.

“Probably just a mutt,” Peter supplies helpfully, wincing when Sirius kicks him under the table.

“He’s probably in the doghouse now,” Remus arches one eyebrow as he looked sideways at Sirius.  “He might not be very good at listening.”

“I hope he has a good home.  He seemed to be such a nice dog.”  Ted lures his daughter back to the table with another biscuit.  She decides that Remus’s lap is where she wants to sit while eating it, and tugs at his sleeve until he picks her up.

“I’m sure he’s found a very nice home.  Most dogs are clever enough to go where they know they’re loved.”  James is smiling, most people might think he is making an idle comment but Sirius knows that look in his eyes.  He was not playing fair.

“Maybe he’s not looking for a home right now, but is wandering for a bit.”  Sirius looks across the table at James pointedly.

“He looked too well fed to be homeless, and despite the lack of collar he certainly wasn’t a matt.  He had good pedigree, you could tell that by looking.”  Andromeda, of course, has no idea of the second conversation that is happening right in front of her.  Her comment is enough to makes James choke on his biscuit, though.

“He had pedigree, Sirius.”

“Sod off, Prongs.”  He was going to give away at least one of their secrets if he wasn’t careful.  Andromeda is clever, and while she’d been out of the family for years she’d been raised on subterfuge and lies.

“Prongs,” Dora repeats.  Sirius is just glad that’s the part she has decided to mimic.

“We call him that because his head is pointed,” Sirius grouces.  “Not much room for a brain up there.

“I got just as many OWLS as you did, you berk,” James fired back.  It had been a matter of great amusement, the year before, that their score on their OWLS had been exactly the same.  Peter had nearly tied them, but was short by one O.  Remus had beat them all, of course, practically acing his exams.  Only his potions score kept him from being perfect.

“I was having an off day.”  He can’t keep from grinning, for a moment forgetting everything else as he slips into the familiar patter of fake insults.  Almost two weeks without his friends has been a lonely experience.

“I swear I can’t take you two anywhere.”  Remus rolls his eyes, breaking off a bit of his biscuit for the little girl on his lap.  She seems enthralled with him, her dark hair lightening into an auburn.  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Tonks, I’d say that they’re not always this bad but my mum taught me not to lie.”

“It’s Andromeda, please, and it’s good to see that Sirius has such support.”

“Whether he wants it or not.”  James leans back in his chair and looks at the back door that leads to the yard.  Sirius doesn’t like the look in his eye; his best mate is plotting something.  “Speaking of, you don’t mind if we borrow a bit of your yard, do you?  My parents have a tent we could borrow, don’t take up much space.  We wouldn’t want to impose, and we can manage all our own food.”

“You’re not staying here.”  For effect Sirius throws half of his biscuit at James’s head.

“Good, then you’ve decided to come home with me.”  James calmly catches the treat and pops it in his mouth.

“James.”

“If you think this is the safest place of you then it’s safe enough for all of us,” Remus points out calmly.  Sirius bites his lip hard enough to draw blood.  He can’t argue the point without making it sound like he’s willing to put his cousin’s family in danger.  He looks over at Andromeda, willing her to say something to derail the current conversation.

“I think a camp out in the backyard sounds like fun.”  Sirius stares at her in shock.  Damn it, that wasn’t what he was expecting.

II

“I’m sure they’re hoping you’ll join them.”  Sirius looks away from the window, pretending he hasn’t been staring at the shadows around the campfire in the backyard.  It’s dark enough that he can’t see much of their faces, but his mates are all sitting outside the tent and drinking bottles of butterbeer.

“They should be at home.”  Remus actually enjoys spending time with his parents, and Peter seems happy enough to go home for the hols.  James has the best parents it’s possible to have.

“They don’t seem to agree with you.”  Andromeda sits on the edge of his trunk, her leg not quite touching his.  “Ted wanted to come with me when I told mum and dad about being engaged.  I wouldn’t let him, couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t lash out at him.”

“So you get it.”  Their family is capable of a great measure of cruelty.

“I understand the fear and the desire to protect.  I also know that the first place I went after I told them was to Ted’s flat and I didn’t leave for three days straight.  I couldn’t bear to have him out of my sight.  The first time I saw my sisters and they walked past me as if I didn’t exist he was the one that was holding my hand.  When the only family member at my wedding was Uncle Alphard Ted promised that he would be my family until the day he died.”

“They’ve been my family since my first year at Hogwarts.”  James was the first person to make him laugh, nine days into first term.  Peter had snuck him food when the idea of going to dinner and facing a whole table of Slytherins whispering about him had been too much to handle.  And Remus, who he’d judged as quiet and odd had hexed his cousin when she’d made a cruel comment in the hall.  Since then they’d proven themselves a thousand times, while his blood family had only been belittling and hateful.  “That’s why I have to protect them.”

“It seems like they have the same idea regarding you.”  Andromeda looks out the window where the fire seems to be dwindling.  The tent flap is open, a light burning inside.  Last summer they’d taken the tent to the Quidditch World Cup.  It had been brilliant.  He and his friends had slept in bunk beds in one room while James’s parents had the second bedroom.  Euphemia had painted mehndi designs on their hands that swirled in gold and green, proud that India had made it to the finals.  Even Fleamont, who was secretly rooting for England, wore mehndi on his hands.  “Something’s coming, Siri, and I know that’s frightening and it’s going to get bad.  But I also know that turning our backs on everything good in our lives is exactly what the Black family would like to see.  Your mother wants you to think you’re alone.  To think that the only option you have is to be one of them.”

“I’ll never be one of them,” he swears fiercely.  

“Of course you won’t.”  Andromeda is full of surprises today; she kisses him on the forehead the same way he’s seen her kiss her daughter at bedtime, then gestures to the door.  “You’re welcome here anytime you want, Sirius, but I think there’s somewhere else you’re supposed to be right now.”

“Yeah.”  He’s not sure if this feeling of worry in his belly will ever leave him, or how long he’ll look over his shoulder for a member of his family.  But maybe he can protect the people that matter better by being with them.

Tomorrow he’ll worry about his trunk.  For now he heads down the stairs and out of the house to find that the fire has been dowsed with snow but the tent flap is still open.  He closes it behind him, following the sound of talking to the same bedroom he’s used before.  

“It’s about time.”  James is on the top of one bunk, the bed beneath him empty but made up with blankets and a pillow.

“We saved you some chocolate.”  Remus has the other bottom bunk; he’s never been fond of heights, not even something as mild as a top bunk.  Flying classes first year had been miserable for him.  He points to the chocolate frog on the pillow next to a bottle of butterbeer.

“My feet are freezing.”  Peter is pointing helplessly at his feet with his wand, but he’s never been very good at warming charms.

“That’s what happens when you have a campout in the snow.”  Sirius finds warming charms easy, probably because he’s used them on Remus often enough.  He’s always cold the morning after a moon.  He helps out his friend, who grins down at him.

“Does this mean you’re done being a stubborn git?” James asks, hanging over the edge of the bed, his hair even more wild then usual thanks to the assist from gravity.

“It means I’ve accepted my doomed future of having to share a bathroom with you for all eternity, knowing you steal my shampoo and shed hair all over the place.”  He catches the chocolate frog before it can hop away, viciously biting off a back leg.  

“Good, because the kidnapping plan had a few snags in it and this is so much easier.  Mum said she’d make a cake to celebrate and anything you want for dinner.  Dad says not to worry about anything, he’s already talked to Dumbledore about the change in address.  This is going to be brill.”  James’ excitement was infectious, and despite his worry Sirius couldn’t help grinning back.  No one had ever been excited to have him come home before.

James falls asleep as quickly as he does everything else, and within minutes there’s a soft snoring coming from above him.  Peter had fallen asleep almost the moment his feet warmed up.  Sirius rarely found sleep easy unless he’d completely physically exhausted himself first.  He’s just about to contemplate turning into Padfoot, which sometimes helps, when there’s a whisper from his left side.

“I’m glad you don’t have to go back there, Pads.  I’ve always dreaded holidays knowing you had a home like that.”  Remus speaks softly but Sirius can hear the concern in his voice.

“It hasn’t been home for a long time. Maybe it never was.”  He’s never been wanted by his parents, not in the way Euphemia and Monty so desperately wanted a son.  He was an asset, like a land holding or the contents of the family vault, only with less value.  “But it’s over now.  I’m never going to see my family again.”

“You see your family every day, Pads.  We’re right here.”

“Yeah, you are.”  It didn’t matter if it was a tent, or a dorm room, or the guest room at the Potters that was secretly being redecorated to welcome him.  It didn’t matter if the blood in their veins wasn’t the same.  He had his family and his home, and hadn’t lost any of it when he’d walked away from Grimmauld Place.  “G’night Moony.”

“Night Padfoot.  Sweet dreams.”

Sirius doesn’t remember his dreams the next day, but he wakes up feeling rested and more relaxed than he’s felt in months.

“Your cousin has invited us all for breakfast before we go home.”  James is already dressed and using a charm to clean his glasses.

“Good, I’m famished.”  He dresses quickly, joining his friends as they dash across the yard, dodging snowballs that they levitate at each other.  The kitchen smells like cinnamon and chocolate, and as they eat breakfast they make plans to come back for Sunday dinner.  His mother can’t forbid him from spending time with his cousin now, and he’d like to get to know Ted better too.

Monty and Euphemia are waiting for them when they get home, welcoming him with hugs and a meal comprised of all his favorite foods.  Remus and Peter stay for the first couple of days, the four of them taking shifts to make sure nothing happens.  Other than a howler from his mother all is silent on the Black front.  He almost doesn’t mind the howler because Freddie’s the one that delivers it and he knows enough to stay.  James is with his mum in the greenhouse and doesn’t hear it.  Monty’s there, though, and it’s the first time Sirius has heard him swear.  

“They’re just words, son,” he says when the howler explodes.  Sirius knows it’s not true, it’s more than that, but the hate is tempered by being called ‘son’ by someone who means it.

“Yeah.”  He takes Freddie to the owlery to get settled and joins James and his mum in the greenhouse where they’re transplanting a bloodspot into a larger pot.  

“Just in time, my dear.  Do you mind holding a few of these leaves out of the way?  They are too tender to use a freezing charm on them.”  James has dug the hole and Euphemia has the roots supported.  Between the three of them they get it settled into the new pot, the dirt anchoring it in place.  Pleased, Euphemia steps back to admire their work.  “Just right.”

“Just where it belongs,” James says, but he’s not looking at the plant.  Sirius rolls his eyes and sticks out his tongue, but he can’t disagree.  He didn't run away from home, he ran towards it.