#black sister microfic

[pangaeaseas]

@black-sisters-microfic

Prompt for February 7: Miss Me?

In the green light of the dark mark, the house looks diseased, as though it might be sick any moment. The Death Eaters are doing their level best to make it happen, casting curses at the foundations. Tonks has managed to put out the fire the Death Eaters tried to start, but if the rest of the Order doesn't come quickly she might have to abandon ship, so to speak.

It's a pretty house. Reminds them of their father's parents house, which is probably why the Death Eaters want to destroy it so badly.

"Stupefy!" someone shouts. Tonks ducks the stunner easily. Beneath the mask, all they can see is light hair. The voice sounds vaguely reminiscent of someone she knew in Hogwarts--decent guess, they're probably young. Not calling your attacks is one of the first things Moody teaches in Auror training.

Tonks is surprised when the young Death Eater lets out a gasp of pain. They haven't cast any hexes--someone on the Death Eater's side must be punishing the troops for incompetence.

She manages to get a stunner of her own to hit. The young Death Eater crumples. But Tonks' own shield breaks immediately after. They duck the curse and swear under their breath.

"Don't be wasting time with swears," comes a cry of contempt. For a heart-stopping moment, Tonks is certain it must be Sirius. The voice sounds so similar.

Then they remember.

She casts a spell to break Disillusionment. By some miracle, it hits.

This resemblance is worse. It takes half a second for her to remember that no, these are the wrong features, this isn't her mother. Andromeda has never smiled quite like this, with blood on her teeth.

Bellatrix takes advantage of that hesitation. Tonks winces in pain as they're struck by--schoolyard hexes? Painful, yes, but nothing like the magic they know Bellatrix is capable.

"So good to see you again, Nymphadora," Bellatrix says, her voice strangely soft, like a caress. It contrasts obscenely with the bright light of her spellcasting. "If your mother had done her duty, you would have called me Auntie."

"Don't call me Nymphadora," Tonks says, and casts another Stunner. Bellatrix ignores it, as though she's brushing off a fly. She must be holding back. Tonks doesn't like the thought of that. They try to suppress it. Fight the fight you're in, not the fight you want, Moody had always said.

"Oh, but that's your name, the name your mother gave you. Haven't I a right to say it? You must never forget your name, dear," says Bellatrix. She follows this up with a blood-boiling curse Tonks is barely able to block--but they do block it. Sirius had thrown around curses of that caliber sometimes, when they were training together. Bellatrix is clearly a very talented fighter. If she weren't so terrifying, this could almost be a training match. Tonks could almost be having fun. They feel like a traitor.

"You're not my family," Tonks says. A waste of breath, but it must be said, so they feel like themself again.

"Shame," Bellatrix says. "Haven't you missed me?"

[equippedtolove]

who'd be interested in a @black-sisters-microfic account? oh wait ive already made it WRITE A BLACK SISTERS MICROFIC AND TAG THIS ACCOUNT IN IT RN.

[outromoony]

"Promise you'll always remember me," Narcissa whispers to Alice, tracing her hand gently with her fingers. They had told her about her engagement to Lucius just a week ago, and she hadn't been able to tell her. Not yet. She couldn't lose her. Not yet.

Alice looks up at her, their faces inches away. "Don't make me promise that."

Narcissa looks down at her, hurt.

"People only ask you to remember them if they're planning to leave," Alice explains, and there's something in the way she's looking at her that screams don't leave. Please, don't leave. But she won't say it out loud. Narcissa knows Alice is tired of begging. "If you're planning to leave, please don't ask me to remember it."

And it was ironic, perhaps. Because the last time Narcissa ever saw Alice, she wasn't Alice at all. In that hospital bed, she wasn't her Alice, and when she looked up at her, there hadn't been even a glitch of recognition in her still-beautiful, beautiful eyes.

She hadn't remembered.

[phesh-n-cheps]

prompt : broken heart - @black-sisters-microfic - word count : 308

Narcissa stared out the window. She felt as if she was not truly there. Like she was watching her life through a screen behind her eyes, separated from it all by the glass. It was raining.

She turned, and was dimly aware that her face was hot and salty. That must be from the tears that were spilling out of her reddened eyes. She had let her control slip, and now she couldn't gain her composure back. Narcissa sat down, slumped, in an armchair.

It was over. She couldn't believe it. The only one she had fallen in love with was gone. The only one for whom she had dared to think "maybe this time, maybe she won't leave me. Maybe she'll stay."

How wrong she had been. Alice had left. Everyone always did. The tears kept coming.

Andromeda stared out the window. On the street below stood her youngest sister, shifting her feet nervously on the pavement. Andromeda was more than a little surprised that she had actually showed up, even though Narcissa had been receiving her letters. After she had…left home, Andromeda had tried to owl Bellatrix, but every letter had been returned. The message was clear, she didn’t want to be in contact with a blood traitor.

So now Andromeda sped down the stairs of her tiny city apartment, and opened the front door. Narcissa was really there. She was crying.

“Andromeda, I-”

“Shh. Sh, it’s okay now. I’ve got you.” She swept her up in a hug, wrapping her arms around her, and smoothing her hair down gently, soothingly. Her heart broke.

“I love you. I’m sorry I never,” Narcissa was choked up. “I’m sorry I never sent any letters, or- or tried to see you.”

“No. You did try. You’re here now, aren't you?” Andromeda just held her tighter, whispering, “and I love you, too.”

[black-sisters-microfic]

welcome. prompts + faq below.

last month's prompts.

faq.

[that-bitch-kat3]

I wrote some stuff about lily and sirius talk about their siblings last night and while I'm not sure that I like it I've decided to post it. Also heres my AO3 which I guess I've never needed to post before. okay here it is:

"I did everything I could-" Lily said, but even as the words came out she knew that they were a lie. She stopped herself and sighed, but then she did something that neither of them had been expecting. She told the truth. "No, I didn't."

"What?" Sirius looked over at her, eyebrows high, but Lily didn't see his expression. She didn't even look at him. She just stared out at the sky. It was an unspoken rule that they didn't look at each other on nights like these. When they sat at the top of the astronomy tower, moping and looking for someone to trade burdens with.

Lily's confession shocked them both, but she just stared straight ahead into the night and kept talking. "I didn't do everything I could. I could've- I should've written more. And when I was back for breaks I should have tried harder, to talk to her, and to keep up with her interests." Sirius looked back out the window, going back to following the unspoken rule, but Lily had hardly noticed his gaze at all too lost in her regret to even really be aware of the boy sitting next to her.

"I shouldn't have let Sev take over my life back home, and I really shouldn't have picked fights with her." Lily sighed. "but she's just been so cold since I left. I felt like fighting with her was the only time when I could even get through to her- or not get through to her, but, talk to her?"

Sirius nodded looking out at the night sky. The moon was a sliver in the sky, but the stars were out and they lit up the sky well enough. Without even meaning to Sirius sought out the Regulus star. "I didn't do enough either," Sirius admitted and they sat in silence for a beat before he continued. "I pushed him away. I knew what they expected from him- from us, but I was so determined to not be what they wanted that in my efforts to be different, to be better, I isolated him."

Lily nodded. "I feel like I abandoned her." She whispered her confession to the darkness, but Sirius heard anyway and this time it was his turn to nod.

There were several moments of quiet before Sirius gave up one more confession, one more secret to the sky.

"I did abandon him."

[vinylfoxbooks]

Black Brothers | wc: 297

The first Christmas that Regulus spent with the Potters after James and Sirius begging him to run away from home, Sirius gifts everyone handmade cards with paragraphs of writing telling each of them how much he loves them. Effie starts crying, Monty tears up, and James practically throws themself onto Sirius, blubbering about how much they love him.

And Regulus? Regulus reads his letter silently from the corner that he's perched himself in, still not fully comfortable with being integrated with the Potter family, and he's teary eyed upon reading the letter. It's a heartfelt thing with Sirius telling Regulus that he's proud of him, that he loves him, and that Sirius is glad they're reconnecting.

When Sirius finally brings his attention from talking to the three Potters and turns to Regulus, he offers him an easy smile, then his eyes land on the stray tear that tracks down Regulus' face, "Reg? Are you okay?"

"Fuck you, I hate you." Regulus says, desperately wiping at the tears building in his eyes. Sirius obviously understands what he's trying to stay and laughs heartily, standing up and walking over to pull Regulus into a hug that the younger reluctantly returns -- but he doesn't hesitate for nearly as long as normal.

While they're hugging, Sirius turns his head and whispers for only Regulus to hear, "I love you too." Regulus nods wordlessly, using Sirius' hold as an excuse to reign in the emotions running through him and stop the tears.

[moutainrusing]

dance

816 words, @regulily-microfic

At first, Lily had been excited for Slughorn’s Christmas party. She’d written to her parents to share her visceral joy somewhere, because there had been so much bubbling inside of her.

Her parents had been elated by almost double the amount, oblivious about the wizarding world so all the more enraptured by it. They’d been proud of her for being a miracle-worker at making potions for horny slugs, a rather interesting career choice in their opinion, but very much supported (Lily had snorted, debated whether she should correct them, then left it).

They’d said that because they couldn’t keep in the overwhelming love for their talented daughter, they would tell all the neighbours she was an expert in chemistry, perhaps. They loved talking about Lily; her mum wrote that her father always got this soft smile on his face thinking about her, her dad wrote that her mother always got this light in her eyes sharing memories of their little girl.

Lily felt her eyes water sentimentally, wanting to hug both of them for how amazing they were.

Their reaction when she told them she was going with her crush, Regulus, that she was nervous yet thrilled for the chance to dance with him, was as approving and protective as she’d hoped it would be.

Then came the letter from Petunia.

Her sister wasn’t happy. According to her, Lily was wasting her life away being useless and unproductive. A wizarding career wouldn’t benefit society at all. A club for freaks? Was Lily bonding with people over how they were problematic urchins with no meaning in their lives? And Regulus? What sort of freak name was that? Of course Lily would fancy a weirdo. How else would they get along?

Petunia was normal. Her boyfriend was Vernon, a much more acceptable, normal boy. Not a freak with strange, unnecessary eccentricities.

Lily felt her eyes well up and spill, saltwater dribbling along the downturned corners of her mouth.

She couldn’t please everyone. She’d always sought her parents’ approval and her older sister’s. She was younger, after all. Eager to learn from the more grown-up figures in her life. But Petunia rejected her. Tossed her away like nothing, even when Lily desperately clung to her.

Lily was sorry. She didn’t mean to be a thief of their parents’ love. But Petunia did get their affection all the time Lily was at boarding school. Their parents did love both daughters equally. Petunia didn’t see it, and that made Lily sob even harder.

“Lily?” Regulus asked quietly, carefully walking up to her as she broke down in the owlery.

She quickly wiped her eyes, using Petunia’s letter because she hated her, but she didn’t, now she was crying again—

“Hey,” Regulus murmured gently, taking out a handkerchief from his dress robes. Shit. Lily was missing the party, so caught up in the letter that she didn’t even remember what had started this.

“Sorry,” she stuttered between shaky breaths, but Regulus shook his head, merely dabbing her face with his handkerchief, R.A.B. embroidered on the corner.

“I’m glad I found you,” was his only response. Lily threw herself into his arms.

Initially, he startled back in shock, before tentatively wrapping his own arms around her.

“I’m sorry,” Lily whispered again. “I should’ve been at the party with you, but Tuney— Petunia. She— She sent me a letter, and— You’re not a freak, Reg.”

Regulus pulled back to look her in the eye. “Oh, I think I am a freak. Everyone’s a freak. We’re all different from each other, after all.”

“I wish I could tell Petunia that,” Lily muttered, gaze drifting to the side.

“I wish I could tell Sirius that,” Regulus agreed, gaze fixed on her face.

“We have a lot of wishes,” Lily noted sadly.

“We’re allowed to make wishes about our family. They’re still a part of us; good, bad, whatever. We can break them off, they can cut us off, but we’ll always wish something about each other. Make all the wishes you want, Lily.”

“They won’t come true,” she sighed.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t make them,” Regulus shrugged. “Hope is something which connects all of us. We’re all freaks wishing for things other people think are stupid, yet those people wish for things we think are stupid. In the end, it’s all down to opinion. And in my opinion, you’re an amazing witch.” He said it so matter-of-factly, indifferently, yet Lily could see that deep down, he cared.

She cleared her throat, and grandly announced, “In my opinion, Regulus Black is the wisest, kindest person in the world. And it’s my wish to dance with him, even if it’s not at the party. Just… anywhere.”

Surprisingly, this wish came true. They danced in the owlery, Regulus in his elegant dress robes, Lily with her face a mess. Regulus smiled at her like she was beautiful.

[adh-james-version]

Who cares about canon?

I just wanted to say something, why do we always have to put so much emphasis on canon. Like I get why but in the grand scheme of things- canon is just another fanfic it’s just the one that started it all.

Who cares that it was published!? Who cares that these characters died in it!? Who cares that these characters weren’t as important!?

Stop saying “oh that wasn’t canon” as a way to burst peoples bubbles and ideas or AUs. the only thing separating the bedrock fics of this fandom like “ATYD” and “Art Heist, Baby” is the fact that they’re not published/monetized.

[pangaeaseas]

@black-sisters-microfic

Prompt for Febraury 6: Romance

Ever since birth she had always been called Bella. She liked the name, even. It was pretty, and everyone in the family had a nickname, so it made Bella feel more like a Black. 'Bella, which dress looks nicer," Andy would say. "Bella, tell me a story," Cissy would demand. Bella, older sister, friend. Bella, daughter.

"Beautiful," her mother had said, the one time Bella had dared ask her about her name. "As soon as I saw you when you were a baby I knew you would be a beautiful girl and a man would love you very much, so I gave him a name to call you." Bella knew this was how her mother meant to tell her she loved her: Druella Rosier had never had any sort of romance in her life, and so that was what she wanted for her daughters.

She first meets the man called Lord Voldemort on a Hogsmeade weekend, incongruous in the middle of the Three Broomsticks. His is a dangerous beauty, not the kind you tell your mother about--his pale skin and snake-like features, the red of his eyes glowing with dark magic. When she meets his gaze, she is careful to keep her chin high with pride. He nods to summon her over and a wash of acceptance runs over her. For the first time she imagines herself actually having that romance.

He asks her name. "Bellatrix Black," she says, professionally, proud of the full length of it. This is not a man for the silly name your sisters call you.

"It means warrior," he says. "A name for my soldier." He smiles with the bite of a curse.

From that day forward, she is Bellatrix.

[galaxostars]

Narcissa/Lily, vampire microfic

870 words, mild description of blood

The first thing that Lily thinks as she runs into Narcissa after two weeks of missing her, is that she looks ethereal. Her ivory skin glistens under the moonlight, her silver eyes pinning Lily in place like a knife to her throat. Her hair is tied into a half bun, falling gracefully over her shoulders.

Out of this world, is what she thinks.

Lily’s fingertips tingle, itching to touch, to burn herself against perfection.

Narcissa’s always been pale, but this is—something else. Like the moon wept into her, and she swallowed her tears, made them hers. Like her body cradled all the dead stars until they slipped under her pores, and now they’re shining again, brighter than ever.

Lily doesn’t even know what she came here for, but suddenly everything makes startling sense. It always does, where Narcissa is concerned.

Lily’s meant to be here.

“Run,” Narcissa whispers. 

“Narcissa—”

“Evans, I said, run.”

But her bottom lip trembles as she says it, her hands twitch at her sides, and her pupils widen, eating away the light until they’re black holes, sucking green ones in. Lily doesn’t move—doesn’t even notice the absence of air puffing out of those faded lips, or the lack of shadow behind Narcissa’s slender silhouette. Because she is the shadow. Darkness and light at once. A beautiful paradox that makes this world, ravaged by war, a little bit more bearable, a little bit more beautiful. 

Something clicks inside Lily’s brain. Instant, like a jigsaw falling into place. And then, just as quickly, a sudden rush of heat blooms within her, spreading from her core to her limbs, melting like lava underneath her derm.

Adrenaline.

Not fear though, no, something like—evidence. Anticipation. She takes a step forward, on instinct, heart caught in her throat. Beating wildly to join the night creature dressed in beauty, called to it. Love, gravity, same thing.

Narcissa opens her mouth, and Lily thinks she’s going to tell her to run again, to fuck off, and leave her alone, like she’s been doing ever since she broke them off a few weeks ago. Severing the inevitable tie pulling them together, as if it didn't defy the laws of physics to do so. As if it was easy. Asking Lily to go, leave, except the more she said it—whispered it, her voice fracturing into scattered ashes onto the cold-marbled floor, the more Lily heard the opposite. 

She heard please, and it was louder than leave. 

But Narcissa doesn’t say anything, then. Instead, her face freezes, going peaceful for a second, her eyelashes flutter, and then—

It happens, before Lily can even blink. There’s a flash. A glimpse of a canine caught in the stars’ orbit.

Pain.

Sharp, and dizzying. The type that travels through your nerves, firing them alight with untamable speed, synapses to synapses, until your entire body is but a trembling cell. Aching. Ready to erupt. 

Lily gasps, her hand reaching out to grip Narcissa. Trying to tame the fire inside of her. 

She’s not pulling away, though. Everything hurts, it hurts so much it blurs into pleasure—this unnamable intensity, untying the knot at her core. It's a high like no other. Narcissa whines against her throat, fangs deeply embedded into Lily, sucking her in.

She’s right where she’s supposed to be, too.

Moaning, satiating her thirst—her love, making Lily a part of her. The heat fuses them together into cosmic bliss, so staggering even Narcissa’s skin—frighteningly cold—feels warm under Lily’s touch.

When she pulls back, it’s something out of a horror show.

There’s no trace left of that flawless, polished woman she always tried so hard to uphold, but every bit of the ugly, rotten yearning that spills out from her lips in crimson droplets. Her hair is a mess, her skin brittle as it twists into all these pent-up feelings. Cracking like porcelain on her face. Horror. Desire. Twin flames. Eyes wide and black, seeking absolution.

“Lily, I…” 

Lily’s got the end of her sentence in her mouth before she gets to finish it.

Their lips crash like the storm they are, lighting a match that annihilates the ground in its wake. Let it burn, Lily thinks. Nothing matters but this. Tasting her own blood tainted with her lover’s greed, swallowing the unleashed tears always brimming in her eyes. The ones Narcissa tried to shed through countless pleas, pressing them into Lily’s skin delicately, or spitting them into her face like glass shards. Making Lily bleed, making sure she could never come out unscathed from her, drawing scars like shooting stars over her heart.

Lily licks along the seams of her lips, capturing her whimpers; that glimpse of vulnerability she swallows down like a blessing. And then she cradles her face with a tenderness that rivals with the burn of their kiss, a silent confession on its own. Words failed them before, their bodies speak better on their own.

Narcissa doesn't fight it, going pliant against her body. Fitting her head in the crook of LIly's bruised neck, bleeding with her love.

It all comes out in this gruesome act. A bursting orgasm of atoms made of grief, love, resentment, need.

Lily cards her fingers through Narcissa' hair gently. Breathing in. Breathing out.

At last, at peace.

[outromoony]

@black-sisters-microfic | Word count: 162

When they were children, Sirius and Bellatrix were inseparable—two forces of nature, wild and reckless, always too much for the quiet halls of Grimmauld Place. They had the same sharp smile, the same fire in their veins, the same hunger for something greater.

People always mistook them for twins. They never corrected them.

Bellatrix always played the queen.

Sirius always played the knight.

“You have to protect me,” she’d say, perched on her throne—an old, dusty armchair in the library.

Sirius would roll his eyes but kneel anyway.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Then I’ll have you executed,” she’d reply with a grin, as if the words meant nothing at all, waving an imaginary scepter, her laughter ringing through the halls.

For years, it was just a game.

Until one day, it wasn’t.

Because Sirius had stopped kneeling, had stopped following orders, and Bellatrix never forgave him for it.

Because queens don’t tolerate betrayal.

And knights who don’t obey?

They die.

[black-sisters-microfic]

faq.

welcome to the black sisters microfic hq! it's just me running this, so be patient!!

in order for me to reblog your fic, you must tag me in it!

rules:

no incest or pedophilia. please refrain from using incest in your stories so black sisters microfic is a safe space for everyone! i understand this rule may be frustrating but it will not, under any circumstances, be changing.

ships are, otherwise, allowed! feel free to write pretty much any ship under any circumstances! i am a minor running this account, however i will reblog nsfw fics if they are written!

not all black sisters have to be included. you can write about one, or two, or all three, but no matter what i will reblog it!

you don't have to stick to the prompts! want to write something freestyle? go ahead! the prompts are there for guidance, so therefore you don't have to use them!

please don't hate on anything written here :( people try very hard to make beautiful fics and any hate blogs will be blocked.

feel free to ask any questions in the ask box! happy writing <3

[emeryhall]

prompts: hot, humid, water & sweat

CW: bordering on explicit

Remus Lupin had ceased to be shocked by words. Bodies comprised of crooks and holes and ridges wrapped in skin that stretched and breathed—that could overwhelm him. But words? At 36 and publisher of the gay poetry zine, Assonance, he thought he had read everything. He had printed poems about blond boys in bathhouses, public masturbation, the slick sound the handle of a heavily vaselined whip makes as you work it into your lover’s ass. What he hadn’t read—that is until this morning over breakfast—was a poem about himself. 

His top floor apartment was silent and still. He could hear his bare footsteps on the kitchen’s hardwood floor. The flick of the button on the coffee maker, the drip of coffee hitting coffee, the pop of ready toast. 

He sat at the table and placed his mug on the most recent submission to Assonance, where it left a damp ring. A perfect circle around the poem’s title and dedication: 

Palm in Neon For R.L.

It was not the “R.L.” that caught his attention. R.L. could be any number of people’s initials. No, it was the title. His reaction to it was visceral. He could feel the press of a hand against his stomach. 

Summer in San Francisco is cool 50s, but thinking about that skin against his and it was the very tip of a New York summer, the slow end of August 1971. 

He took a sip of coffee and read: 

What are you thinking?

I am thinking of August on asphalt. I am thinking of fire hydrants split and spilling. The cigarette butt pulled from your lips, a tiny fire that sizzles in the crook of the curbed river streaming to the ready drain.

You could fry an egg on the sidewalk, you said. And I think of a delicate shell cracking against cast iron. Later a pool of viscid liquid. Your stomach hard asphalt, hot iron.

We clung to subway poles, touching sweat to metal, but not each other. Shuddering with the clatter and the seconds suspended in blackness released to the blank eyes of underground animals. Yours on me though, glassy with trust and alcohol. Remarkable that you would come home with me.

We ascend into New York’s silence. The mumble from stoops, glass shattering the air at 2 a.m. no different than the air at 2 p.m. in its murkiness.

The street lamps wear wet halos.

My palm leaves a damp print on the stairwell wall as I kiss you into graffiti under a dying bulb.

In my room, it is too hot to speak of touching so we drag the bare mattress. You backwards, me burdened. Still wordless. Wordless with laughter, laughter at our clumsiness our need our risk our hope. Our corner of the roof and sky.

Your skin a sunset, gold and glazed in pink and purple. I place my palm in neon against the flat of your abdomen. Hot asphalt, hard iron, sperm smeared and hazy in your sweat. It fits perfectly in pink boundaries. My wrist dispersing light.

We should not be here come morning, but we are. Folded into our corner the way you fold against my chest. Laundry flickers dull colors above us. A shirt sleeve lax in the still air. I feel you stir as I stir. The stiff fabric of starched jeans pinned on the line. I hold you motionless. It is too light for this. And yet if we are silent. Wordless. The slight shift of your leg. The sheet barely rustles. And I need nothing more.

What are you thinking?

You asked. Of our future. Is what I did not say.

— S.B. 

The mug slipped in Remus’s hand. He wiped his palms against his pajamas. He could feel the sheen of sweat on his stomach, at the roots of his hair, like his body wanted to relive the words. 

He’d met Sirius Black at a bar in Greenwich Village. Some kids must have unscrewed the outlet of a fire hydrant because water poured down the street. He’d accepted a cigarette and leaned against the brick wall feeling like it was too hot to have even this small blaze near his face. As they walked to the subway, he flicked the butt into the rush of water flowing between the street and sidewalk. 

Everything was there. The subway ride, the kiss in Sirius’s stairwell. The stifling heat of his Upper East Side apartment, so oppressive that they couldn’t bear to have their bodies next to each other, so they’d drunkenly dragged the mattress up a flight of stairs. When they emerged onto the roof, they weren’t alone. Several other mattresses dotted the tarpapered landscape, each with bodies sleeping restlessly. They’d hesitated, but found a far corner tucked behind an outcropping of chimneys. Someone had strung their drying laundry between one of the chimneys and an antenna pole and they lay beneath it. 

He’d come on his stomach from Sirius’s hand wrapped around him, and as he lay there naked and sticky, they’d realized that the building next-door had a neon sign in its window. A pink palm, purple script above it reading Psychic, Know Your Future. From that angle, the sign’s illumination left a glowing palm on Remus’s belly, and Sirius placed his hand within the outline, fitting it perfectly, the base of his palm resting in the pool of come. 

They were naked under a thin sheet on a shared rooftop when they woke the next morning, and they knew they should dress quickly, hurriedly drag the mattress back to Sirius’s bedroom, but instead they’d had sex. Spooning, barely moving, trying not to make a sound. The very stillness of it a pressure and a release. 

“What are you thinking?” Remus asked. 

Sirius said something about the heat. Neither of them mentioned the future. Remus boarded a flight back to San Francisco, never got a phone number, but he left his card behind: Publisher, Assonance. 

* * *

@wolfstarmicrofic

word count: 1000 (exactly!)

I wanted to write a fic about gay poetry zines post-Stonewall (real thing) and New York before AC was common. Then it turned into a poem.

[theblacksisters-microfics]

Have noticed there wasn’t an account to repost them all in the same place, so I’m making it lol

Nobleflower • Quillkiller • Tedromeda

(But also any other fics with one of the Black Sister as one of the main character works!)

It will always be tagged so if you don’t like one of them you can just mute the tag, as I don’t think there’s enough microfics of them to explain making separate account for each :(

If you make a microfic, please tag this account and your post will be reposted! If it’s not, don’t hesitate to dm!

[lumosatnight]

Saying Goodbye

@microficmay day 10 ‘moon & stars’. The Black Sisters, 50 words. Also on AO3.

“Goodbye, Cissy. Don’t come after me.”

Andromeda shoulders her bag and Disapparates. The stars are impossibly bright, the moon impossibly round. Narcissa stares at the manor’s empty archway where her sister once stood.

“Forget about her,” Bellatrix’s crisp voice cuts through the night.

Narcissa nods and follows Bellatrix back inside.

🫶

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