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unconventional-lawnchair · 1 month ago

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Status Quo

PadVix; Poly!Marauders + Lily x Animagus!Reader feat. Baby Harry!

Summary: Early mornings and the Status Quo of the Marauder's house hold. {THIS FANFICTION IS INSPIRED- no, actually, basically a tribute to @/ellecdc's PadVix fanfiction. I would be amazed you are reading any of my stuff and not having read theirs but the link is here if you need it.

WC: 2.2k

CW: Reader is a fox Animagus, reader is unhinged, {a more serious one: animals in baby cribs} let me know if I missed anything!

The early morning peace of the bedroom was shattered by a loud, sharp yip.

Remus’s eyes fluttered open, his brow furrowing as he tried to shake off the haze of sleep. For a moment, he thought he’d imagined it- some strange remnant of a dream. But then it came again, louder this time, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of tiny paws skittering across the floorboards downstairs.

He groaned softly, his head falling back against the pillow.

“Not again,” he muttered, his voice rough from sleep.

Lily stirred in his arms, her fingers clutching the front of his shirt as she mumbled something incoherent. Her fiery hair was a mess, spread out over his chest and pillow like a halo, and she showed no sign of waking fully.

Behind him, James snorted in his sleep, his leg draped greedily over Remus’s hip as he murmured something about Quidditch plays. His snores were loud and steady, oblivious to the commotion.

But Remus was wide awake now, his keen ears picking up the unmistakable sounds of chaos downstairs. The fox-like yips grew more frantic, followed by a deep bark and what sounded suspiciously like furniture being knocked over.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” he sighed, carefully untangling himself from Lily’s hold. Her hand slipped from his shirt with a soft grumble, and she rolled over, cuddling into the empty warmth he left behind.

James mumbled something unintelligible, his arm tightening briefly around Remus’s waist before letting go as he rolled onto his back, his snoring resuming almost instantly.

Remus sat up, running a hand through his hair as another loud crash echoed from below. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips despite himself.

“Padfoot,” He muttered under his breath, already knowing exactly who was responsible for the chaos. Shuffling out of the room, as quietly as possible as to not wake his abandoned snuggle partners.

By the time Remus reached the living room, he was greeted with a scene of pure bedlam.

Vix, or rather you, were darting around the room like a bolt of lightning, your little paws skidding across the floor as you yipped and squealed in pure unearned engery. Your fur was ruffled and wild, as though you’d already been caught once but managed to escape.

And there was Padfoot, still half-asleep, stumbling after you. He was enormous in the small space, his paws sliding on the floor as he tried to keep up with your frantic zig-zagging.

Padfoot suddenly barked in false triumph as he lunged forward, his teeth snapping just inches away from your tail.

But you were too quick. With a clever twist, you darted under the coffee table, your sharp little bark echoing triumphantly as you narrowly avoided capture.

Padfoot let out a low growl of frustration, his massive frame bumping into the sofa and nearly toppling a stack of books as he tried to maneuver.

Remus crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he watched the spectacle unfold. “Do you two ever stop?” He drawled, his voice laced with amusement.

You skidded to a halt at the sound of his voice, your form turning to look at him with wide, mischievous eyes. For a moment, you looked almost innocent, your head tilting as if to say, Who, me?

Padfoot, however, took the opportunity to strike. With a victorious bark, he lunged forward, his massive jaws gently closing around the scruff of your neck.

You let out an indignant yelp, your little legs kicking as he lifted you off the ground like a wayward pup.

Remus stepped closer, suppressing a grin as Padfoot proudly presented his "catch," holding you aloft like a prize. Your little legs dangled helplessly, and your fur was all ruffled from the commotion.

"Well done, Padfoot," Remus drawled, his tone light and teasing. "You've finally managed to catch the uncatchable Vix. Congratulations on winning this morning.”

Padfoot wagged his tail enthusiastically, his chest puffing out as if to say, Of course I did. He gently deposited you onto the couch, nudging your small fox form with his nose, as if waiting for you to admit defeat.

But instead of surrendering, you went completely limp.

Your head lolled dramatically to the side, your legs flopping over the edge of the cushion as if every bone in your body had vanished. For a moment, neither Padfoot nor Remus moved, both staring at you in stunned silence.

"Vix?" Remus asked cautiously, leaning down to inspect you.

Padfoot nudged you again, this time a little harder, letting out a concerned whine.

Then, suddenly, your head shot back with a sharp, deliberate motion, and the sound that followed was unlike anything Remus had ever heard. A high-pitched, manic fox laugh erupted from your tiny body, the sound ricocheting off the walls and echoing through the room like some kind of unhinged woodland cackle.

Padfoot stumbled back with a startled yelp, his large paws slipping on the floor as he nearly crashed into the coffee table. Remus took a startled step back as well, blinking at you in disbelief.

Your fox form was now rolling on the couch, your small body shaking with uncontrollable laughter. The sheer absurdity of your antics left the room in a state of stunned silence for a moment before Remus finally let out a low chuckle.

"Merlin's beard," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, though he couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. "You’re absolutely mad, you know that?"

Padfoot, meanwhile, recovered quickly from his initial shock. His tail wagged furiously as he let out a loud bark, lunging toward you once more.

You squealed, darting off the couch in a flash of fur, your manic laughter trailing behind you as Padfoot gave chase once again.

Remus sighed, dragging a hand down his face. "I should’ve stayed in bed," he muttered under his breath, though his smile betrayed him.

The sharp clatter of your tiny paws against the wooden floor echoed through the house as you darted toward the staircase, your manic fox laughter still trailing behind you. Padfoot was hot on your tail, his massive paws skidding and sliding as he tried to keep up, his bark reverberating off the walls.

Remus stood frozen for a moment, running a hand down his face and letting out a resigned sigh. “This is going to end badly,” he muttered to no one in particular before following the chaos upstairs.

By the time he reached the bedroom, the scene before him was somehow even more ridiculous than he had anticipated.

You had leapt onto the bed with all the grace of a creature too smug for their own good, skittering across the covers and making a direct beeline for Lily. With practiced ease, you slithered your small, warm body into her arms, curling against her like it was your place. As if you hadn't stolen both Lily and sleep from his grasp moments ago.

Lily stirred slightly, blinking blearily at the sudden weight. Her eyes softened with confusion as she registered your furry form snuggling into her chest, your sharp little nose nudging at her hand until she instinctively began scratching behind your ears.

“This again…” She murmured, her voice thick with sleep.

Before she could fully process the scene, Padfoot barreled into the room, his large, clumsy frame nearly toppling over in his haste. He scrambled onto the bed with far less grace, the mattress creaking in protest under his weight as he pawed at the blankets, trying to reach you.

You let out a delighted squeal, burrowing further into Lily’s embrace and tucking your face against her neck as if to hide from your pursuer.

“Padfoot, for Merlin’s sake,” Remus groaned, his voice heavy with exasperation as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. “You’re going to break the bed.”

James groaned from his place behind Sirius, finally waking at the commotion. “What’s going on?” he grumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow.

Padfoot let out a low, frustrated bark, his nose nudging at the blanket you’d disappeared under.

“Stop it, you overgrown pup,” Lily said softly, her free hand shoving Padfoot’s head away gently. “She’s with me now.”

Remus stifled a laugh as Padfoot huffed indignantly, his dark eyes narrowing at you as if to say, Coward.

You peeked out from the safety of Lily’s arms, your bright eyes locking with Padfoot’s. With a playful yip, you flicked your tail, as if daring him to try again.

Padfoot barked loudly in response, but Lily pulled the blanket up, covering you protectively. “Enough, Pads,” she scolded, though her lips twitched with a fond smile. “Let her be.”

With an exaggerated groan, Padfoot flopped onto the bed, his massive head resting on Lily’s leg as he glared at you sulkily.

James finally lifted his head, squinting at the scene before him. “What… why is there a fox in our bed?”

“It’s them, James,” Remus said, his tone flat but amused.

James blinked, staring at your curled-up form nestled against Lily. Then, with a groggy laugh, he flopped back onto the pillow. “Of course it is.”

Remus shook his head, climbing back into bed and lying beside James, who threw a lazy arm over him. Padfoot remained sprawled at the foot of the bed, his tail wagging softly despite his dramatic display of defeat.

Lily looked down at you with a sleepy smile, her fingers gently stroking your fur. “You’re trouble,” she murmured, her voice warm with affection.

The soft rise and fall of breaths filled the room as the warmth of the bed lulled everyone back into sleep. Lily’s fingers remained tangled in your fur, absentmindedly stroking as she drifted off, her hold on you loosening. James and Remus had already gone still, their steady heartbeats a quiet lullaby against the morning hush. Even Padfoot had settled, his large form sprawled at the foot of the bed, though one of his ears twitched ever so slightly- perhaps in protest, or perhaps in stubbornness.

You soaked in the comfort of it all, letting your small fox body relax into Lily’s hold, your eyes slipping shut.

But then- you heard it.

A soft gurgle.

It was faint, barely there, but your ears twitched at the sound, your body tensing slightly. Across from you, Padfoot stirred as well, his large, dark eyes cracking open. He had heard it too.

Another gurgle. A quiet coo. The unmistakable sound of a baby stirring just before waking.

You and Padfoot locked eyes.

Without a word- or a sound- the two of you moved in perfect sync, slinking out of bed with practiced ease. You carefully wriggled free from Lily’s grasp, ensuring she didn’t stir as you slipped from her arms and onto the floor. Padfoot followed, stepping lightly, his massive paws barely making a sound as he padded behind you.

The house was still quiet as the two of you made your way down the hall, your small form slipping ahead while Padfoot trailed just behind, his nose twitching at the air.

When you reached Harry’s nursery, the faint glow of morning light filtered through the curtains, bathing the crib in a soft golden hue. Inside, Harry wiggled beneath the blankets, his tiny fists waving lazily in the air, his little mouth forming sleepy coos as he blinked up at the enchanted mobile above him.

You leapt up with ease, landing gracefully inside the crib, making sure not to jostle him too much. Harry let out a quiet noise of curiosity, his green eyes shifting to you as his tiny fingers reached for your tail. You swished it slowly, letting it drape gently over him, covering him like an extra layer of warmth. He made a happy little noise, his hands curling into the soft fur, holding onto it like a beloved plush.

Padfoot, meanwhile, pressed his nose between the crib’s bars, his massive head barely fitting. He let out a slow, warm huff, watching as Harry’s tiny fingers tugged lightly at your tail, his chubby legs kicking under the covers.

You flicked an ear at Padfoot, as if to say, All clear. We’ve got him.

Padfoot let out a deep, satisfied exhale, shifting so he could rest his chin between the bars, his dark eyes still fixed on the baby. His tail gave a slow, lazy wag, his entire presence exuding warmth and protection.

Harry let out another small gurgle, his bright eyes blinking sleepily. His tiny fingers unfurled from your tail, his movements growing sluggish as he sank back into his blankets. You curled around him, your small fox body fitting perfectly against his side, your tail still draped over him like a shield. His little chest rose and fell in even breaths, his hands tucked beneath his cheek as he finally drifted back to sleep.

Padfoot let out another quiet breath, something soft and fond settling in his eyes. He adjusted his weight, still watching as if standing guard. The two of you remained like that- silent, steady, unwavering.

The house remained still. No one stirred.

You and Padfoot exchanged a final glance before settling in for your silent, shared duty.

Baby-watching duty had officially begun.

Repenting for earlier sins.

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serpentface · 19 days ago

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WE WERE ONCE GEESE

A story explaining the origins of the far southern Tamitiil people, and how they stay in their lands year-round through the harshness of the polar winter while other feathered creatures fly north.

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Many, many lifetimes ago, our people were geese. We had short little legs and webbed feet to swim in the sea, beaks good only for eating grass, and wings that let us fly whenever and wherever needed.

This was very important to the rhythms of our life. Every winter, we would journey far north to distant lands where the days are warm and the snow never falls. Every summer, we would return to this land to mate and raise our children.

We built our summer homes on the high cliffs of a mountainside, safe from the foxes, cats, and humans who walked beneath. Our cliffs became great cities bustling with life. We carried up sweet grasses to eat and we fermented summer berries into wine to drink. Our men danced in the sky, not on land, and our women chased off hawks and gulls that threatened our children from above. We sang to the sun like we still do today, though our voices have changed.

Among our goose ancestors, there were twin brothers, Chliletiisma and Chlilalok.

Chliletiisma was a gentle and kindly soul, renowned among his people for his generosity and beautiful singing voice. Chlilalok was clever and tricky and generally regarded as a scoundrel. In spite of their differences, they were hatched from the very same egg, of one mind and one flesh. They could not bear to be separated. They shared a mate each season, and raised each other's children as their own.

One year, Chliletiisma and Chlilalok paired off with a woman named Amlitl, and they had a clutch of ten eggs that hatched into ten healthy boys. This was a cause for celebration, but the joy was short lived. The winter came early that year. The first icy winds blew in from the sea when many of the goose children were still in their baby down. And yet all the goose people felt the tugging in their veins. It was almost time to fly north to follow the departing sun.

The children of some families were ready for flight. Their fathers and mothers leapt from the cliffs, and so the goslings followed. They flew down, shakily at first, from the mountain to the sea. There they would gain strength for the great flight north.

The children of many families were not ready for flight. Their fathers and mothers leapt from the cliffs, and so the goslings followed. One by one, they would plummet to the ground, and there be eaten by the fox and the cat who waited beneath. Their parents circled above, but there was nothing more to be done. They left singing songs of mourning on the great flight north.

Eventually, the twins, Amlitl, and their children were the last family left on the cliffs. All ten of their children had hatched late, and they had none of their flight feathers. They would not stand a chance at surviving the departure from the nest, much less the journey north.

Amlitl despaired for her children, but she could not wait any longer.

“It’s over,” she said to her mates. “We need to leave them behind or we'll perish here ourselves. It's no good for us all to die."

There was harsh, brutal wisdom in her words, but few men can bear to hear such wisdom when it comes to their children. The twins refused, and Amlitl left without them.

And so Chliletiisma and Chlilalok stayed behind with their ten children after all the other geese left. The winds changed from a gnawing chill to a biting cold, and the first snows soon blanketed the lands. And still the children were not ready to fly. Even if they were, it would be too late. Not even the twins, with their powerful wings and warm feathers, could hope to survive the winter storms that would block their way.

The children shivered in their baby down, and the body heat of their fathers was scarcely enough to keep their crevice nest warm. Chliletiisma began to pluck feathers from his stomach to line their home and to warm his children against his bare flesh. The days grew ever darker, and their nest grew ever colder, and he plucked more and more of his feathers until he had nothing left to give.

One bitterly cold day, Chliletiisma's spirit was cut from his body and he fell dead. Chlilalok and his ten children sang songs of mourning all day, and they all tore feathers from their faces and tails in their grief.

The eldest moon Talit looked on the gentle twin with kindness, and so he snatched him up in his jaw and placed him into the sky. The star Chliletiisma still stands there today.

Chlilalok realized his children would have no hope of surviving the long winter if he just stayed in his nest. Chliletiisma's feathers were just warm enough to keep them from freezing, but they had little stored food remaining and all forage was buried beneath the snow.

There were other peoples who lived in this land throughout the winter, and those who seemed to thrive were the hunters. Chlilalok decided that he had to seek them out and learn from their ways. He packed a satchel with a little grass and a bladder of wine, said his goodbyes to his children, and flew out into the darkness.

He first came upon a young fox, who was chewing at an old rabbit carcass that was little more than bones. Even a little fox could be a dangerous foe, but would rarely face up against a full grown goose without the advantage of surprise. Chlilalok puffed himself up as big as he could and approached with a strut.

"Hail, cousin!" He said amicably.

"Hail, cousin." The fox said, with a curious tilt of her head. "What are you still doing around these parts?"

"My people have banished me from our winter home, I fear," Chlilalok said. "All a big misunderstanding, but it matters little now. I'm starved half to death, and here you are, healthy and strong. How do you survive the winter?"

The fox sat on her haunches and swished her long tail.

"Quite easily," she said. "Winter might be tough on you grass eaters, but I have the teeth of a hunter. I can eat anything I can kill."

She yawned, showing off her wide jaws full of small, wickedly sharp teeth.

"I hardly need them, though. I'm the best hunter there is. My legs carry me swifter then the wind, and I can sneak up on my prey silently enough that they never even see my teeth."

"…Like so," came a voice behind Chlilalok.

He turned his head, and there was another fox! She had crept up behind him without so much as making a sound. Outnumbered, even by these two young, inexperienced foxes, Chlilalok was not so confident. He had to think fast.

"Wait!" He said. "The two of you could certainly overpower me, but I won't go down without a fight. I could break those swift legs of yours with my wings, and then you won't be able to hunt at all."

"That would be a shame…" the first fox said.

"…But I think it's worth the risk," the second fox said, stepping closer.

"Hold on," Chlilalok said, and he turned his back to the foxes and pretended to rummage around in his satchel. Instead, he picked up a smooth white stone from the ground and presented it to the foxes.

"This is my only child, still in the egg. I will give it to you without a struggle if you let me go," he said.

"That is a mighty big egg…" said the first fox, licking her lips.

"…We'll take it," said the second fox.

Chlilalok, head bowed in a show of sorrow, placed the stone before them. The foxes fell upon it eagerly and shrieked as a few of their teeth broke against it. They fell to the ground, moaning and groaning, and Chlilalok swiftly grabbed up their teeth and flew away.

He next came upon a cat in his prime, prowling at the base of the mountain in search of any leftover gosling carcasses. The cat was the biggest creature around, and Chlilalok wasn't taking any chances. He fluttered up top of a large boulder, out of the mighty beast's reach.

"Hail, cousin!" He said from his safe distance.

"Hail." The cat said grumpily, annoyed at this clear mockery from a potential juicy meal. "What's a goose still doing around here? Why haven't you fled north with the rest of your cowardly people?"

"That's just the thing- my people are horrible cowards. It embarrasses me, frankly. I've stayed behind to learn teachings from far braver peoples such as yours."

"I can give you a few teachings right now if you come down from that rock," the cat said, impatiently twitching his long tail.

"I never said I wasn't a coward," Chlilalok replied. "I just have one question to ask. How do you survive the winter?"

The cat yawned and stretched, exposing his massive teeth and long, hooked claws.

“It’s easy. My fur keeps me warm, and I have plenty of options for food. My claws can kill anything that moves." He yawned and stretched again. "I'd be just fine without them, though. I’m the strongest beast that has ever lived.”

“The strongest ever?” Chlilalok said. “I don’t know about that. The first goose once lifted this very mountain and placed it here so my people would have a safe place to raise our babies. I’ve never heard of a cat accomplishing such a feat.”

The cat shook with laughter. “A goose? Lift this mountain? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“The stories are quite firm in this matter,” Chlilalok lied, “but if you’re truly stronger than even the first goose, pushing the mountain over will be no trouble for you.”

“You’re damn right it won't,” said the cat.

He hoisted himself up on his hind legs, and pushed at the mountainside with all his might.

“I think it’s starting to give,” he huffed, as he scrabbled and scrambled against unyielding stone.

The mountain, annoyed at this minor nuisance, sent a pile of rocks crashing down upon the cat. He yowled in pain from beneath the rocks, and Chlilalok quickly snatched a few of his claws and went on his way.

The cat found his way out eventually, but the rocks had bruised his skin and severed his tail from his body. Even today, his descendants bear the spots of his wounds and the tiny stump of his lost tail.

Finally, Chlilalok came upon an old human, sitting outside of his hut and whittling strange carvings into bone. The human was a large and fearsome creature that wore the cat's skin as his own, but his people mostly hunted and fished the sea and did not often trouble the geese.

Chlilalok approached with caution. "Hail, cousin!" he said.

"Hail, cousin," said the human. "You're certainly a strange sight in the dead of winter. What's keeping you here?"

"I injured my wing and my people had to leave me behind. It's been dreadful, and I've come to you for advice. How do you live through the winter?" he asked.

"Come to my hut and I will show you," the human answered.

Chlilalok nervously followed the human into his hut, and the answer soon became apparent. At the center, an oil lamp wicked with moss burned as warm and bright as sunlight.

"I stole fire from the sun long ago," said the human, shrugging off his catskin. "It burned off most of my fur, but that hardly matters. The fire keeps me warm on even the coldest days."

It was clearly true. The human was as ugly and naked as a baby sparrow without his furs, and yet he stood comfortably in the presence of the flames.

"…I don't truly need it though," the human continued. "My hands can carry weapons that put the cat's claws to shame. I can wear his furs and go out to catch my prey even in a blizzard."

He paused to scratch at his great, whiskery beard. "Though I'll admit, I've been unlucky in my hunts up until now. I think I'm just going to eat you."

Chlilalok thought quickly, and produced the bladder of wine he carried in his satchel.

“Cousin, if you’re going to eat me, at least be civil about it. I am your guest, after all,” Chlilalok said. “Why don’t we share a drink beforehand?”

The human could agree that some level of propriety to his unfortunate guest was warranted. He handed Chlilalok two of his great ivory cups and watched with curiosity as the goose poured the wine. The human had never tasted such a thing before, and took great pleasure in the way it calmed his mind and warmed his belly. He drank and drank until he flopped onto his back and fell asleep. Chlilalok then crept to the fire and carried a lit clump of moss away in his beak.

And so Chlilalok had taken the teeth of the fox, the claws of the cat, and the fire of the human. And he brought back the wisdom of valuing these gifts, for even the fiercest and strongest of peoples struggled in the winter, and their troubles were only deepened by foolishness and vanity.

But by the time he reached his nest, he was exhausted near to the point of death. Chlilalok taught his sons the use and wisdom of his three gifts, and then his spirit was cut from his body and he fell dead.

The eldest moon Talit looked on Chlilalok with admiration, and so he snatched him up in his jaw and placed him into the sky. The star Chlilalok still stands there today, right next to his twin.

The ten brothers took their father's teachings to heart. They donned the teeth of the fox and became like her, able to survive on the flesh of animals in the cold times when all plants die. They wore the claws of the cat and became like him, capable of fighting with great ferocity and bringing down prey and foe alike. They learned to tend the human's fire and became like him, always having a place of safety and warmth to retreat to in the long night. And they used these gifts with wisdom, always thoughtful of how precious they truly were and bearing them with great gratitude.

And so they became the first Tamitiil.

When our cousins, the geese, returned, they were surprised at what they found. The twins' children were still alive, but they were changed. They had the teeth of the fox and the claws of the cat. Their wings were small and they could not fly, but they could climb and run and leap more than well enough to make up for it. The geese greeted these new relatives as friends, and the two peoples mingled for the summer.

The Tamitiil brothers divided themselves into pairs, and each pair took a goose woman as a mate. When winter came yet again, they could not fly away with the geese, but they didn't need to. They built their nests as huts and warmed themselves with fires. Like Chliletiisma, one man in each pair stayed with the children and plucked feathers from his belly to line their bed and warm them against his skin. Like Chlilalok, the other man in each pair left the home to search for food throughout the winter. The people became clever hunters who kept their families well fed with game, and nurturing fathers who tended warm homes and raised healthy children.

They lived this way for many years, until they had their own women and no longer took geese for mates. And we have lived this way in the lifetimes and lifetimes since, greeting our goose cousins when they return for the summer and staying where they cannot through the long, cold dark.

#folklore

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