#moonkillermicrofic

[bradleysass]

sword - @moonkillermicrofic - wc: 582

Barty had been staring at the replica sword for weeks. Months, maybe. He didn't keep track of time unless it involved making someone else's life harder.

It gleamed in the shop window, a perfectly crafted medieval longsword, the kind a warlord might wield. It was beautiful. It was terrible. It was absolutely necessary.

There was just one problem.

"Barty, you are not bringing a sword into this house."

Remus didn’t even look up from his book when he said it. He knew. He always knew. Barty had barely opened his mouth, and Remus had already reached the inevitable conclusion that Barty was about to ruin his own life and possibly theirs.

"Why not?" Barty whined, throwing himself onto the couch like a teenager denied concert tickets.

"Because our child lives here."

Barty scoffed. "Teddy's like, what, one? He's not going to pick up a sword and go on a rampage."

"He's learning to walk. He will fall face-first into it within five seconds of you setting it down."

Barty narrowed his eyes. "You're making him sound uncoordinated. He's very advanced."

"He puts his foot in his own mouth."

"It's a sign of superior flexibility."

Remus closed his book with the deep, weary sigh of a man who had already fought this battle a hundred times in his head and was losing it in reality. "Look, Barty. If you can come up with a logical, reasonable argument for why we should have a giant weapon in our home, I'll consider it."

Barty opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. "Because I want it."

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. "No."

"Remus. Remus, please. Look at me. I have wanted that sword for months. It's calling to me. Do you know what it’s like to have your soul connected to an object and be cruelly denied it?"

"Yes. It's called a full moon, and I don’t get a choice in that either."

Barty flopped back dramatically, groaning. "This is oppression."

"This is parenting."

"This is tyranny."

"This is me reminding you that your father cut off your inheritance. How are you even planning to pay for this thing?"

Barty wiggled his eyebrows. "Don't worry about it."

Remus worried about it.

The next morning, the sword was in their house. Not subtly, either. It was propped up in the kitchen, resting against the counter like a guest at breakfast.

Remus stared at it. Then at Barty, who was very deliberately buttering toast like a man who had done nothing wrong in his life.

"Where did you get that?" Remus asked, voice dangerously calm.

Barty smiled innocently. "Oh, this old thing?"

Remus inhaled sharply. "Barty."

"Funny story! Turns out our dear friend Peter owed me some money. And I may have told him that if he repaid me in the form of an incredibly specific, historically accurate weapon, I would consider his debt forgiven."

Remus sat down. He massaged his temples. He considered his life choices. "I hate you so much right now."

"You don’t." Barty grinned, grabbing the sword and giving it a dramatic swing. "Look how cool it is!"

"Put it down."

"Never."

"Barty."

"Moony."

"If Teddy so much as looks at that thing, I will hex you into next week."

Barty, still grinning, rested the sword against his shoulder like a victorious knight. "Then I guess I'll just have to train him to be a proper little swordsman, won’t I?"

Remus groaned.

This was going to be a long, exhausting battle.

[moonkillermicrofic]

March prompts

Hello! Here are prompts for this month.

You know the rules. Pick a prompt, find inspiration, write a fic and remember, it's microfic, so limit is 1000 words.

Tag me and I will reblog it :)

Have questions or ideas? Send me an ask!

Still need last month prompts? You can find them here!

Greetings ♡

1. Moving

2. Oppose

3. Glance

4. Temperature

5. Desert

6. Jump

7. Mother

8. Neutral

9. Stop

10. Knee

11. Farage

12. More

13. Hogwart Express

14. Approve

15. Traditions

16. Career

17. Location

18. Parking

19. Gate

20. Productive

21. Bait

22. Letter

23. Race

24. Outfit

25. Potions

26. Speech

27. Sword

28. Madame Pomfrey

29. Export

30. Hospital

31. Keep

[swirling-romantics]

Prompt: Campfire | @moonkillermicrofic | Words: 393

There was a gentle feeling in the atmosphere, it was a warm summer night and everything felt right. Remus had been forced persuaded by Evan and Barty to go camping with them and the rest of their group— no magic allowed.

The stars shone brightly overhead as he sat alone by the dwindling campfire. It was a good while after midnight, and despite everyone having gone to bed, Remus was still up. Well, “up” might have been an overstatement; it was more so like he was on the verge of falling asleep on the log he was sitting on. 

A loud snap came from somewhere beside him, jolting him awake. He looked around for the source of the noise— Dorcas and Pandora’s tent was still and quiet, as was the one next to it, belonging to Evan and Remus. Across the site was Regulus and Barty’s, the zipper was pulled halfway shut but was quiet all the same. 

The noises of twigs snapping grew closer and closer, forming a haunting melody in the still night air. Remus looked at where the sounds were coming from— somewhere in between where he was sat and where Regulus and Barty’s tent was.

Remus stayed still as he watched a figure draw closer. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when the figure emerged. What at first appeared to be a stranger coming to murder everyone at the campsite in the night, Remus soon recognized as Barty. 

“Hey, what—uh what’re you doing? I didn't realize you were still up,” Remus smiled shakily.

“I got some firewood,” Barty replied, nodding down to the mixed pile of twigs and sticks in his arms, before continuing with a smirk, “Damn, did I startle you that badly?”

“Yeah I was almost asleep, you scared the shit out of me,” Remus muttered as Barty split the stack into two: one into the campfire and one on the ground next to him as he sat a hair’s breadth away from his boyfriend.

“‘m sorry. Think I could make up for it somehow?” A suggestive grin took over Barty’s face with that comment.

“Mhm, later,” Remus whispered, a faint smile on his lips before he went in for a gentle kiss. Remus let his head fall onto Barty’s shoulder as he went back to absentmindedly watching the campfire crackle itself back to life.

[moonwater-microfic]

Hello! I'm doing May Prompts for moonwater, @moonchaser-microfic and @moonkillermicrofic. I want these prompts to be just name of flowers, but I don't think that it will be good. I have no idea what microfic you can write with only name of flowers.

Do you think that name of flowers will be good prompts?

Yes!!

No, idk what I can write with it

Voting ended onApr 20, 2025

If you have any ideas, please, leave them in the comments :D

And again, sorry for my English

[bradleysass]

keep - @moonkillermicrofic - wc: 395

The morning after a full moon was always the worst. Remus could feel it deep in his bones, a weariness that sleep couldn’t touch. Every breath ached, every shift of his body sent ripples of pain through his muscles. The air in the small flat he shared with Barty was thick with the scent of blood—his own, mostly, dried in streaks on his arms and legs. He hadn’t done too much damage this time, he thought distantly. Nothing broken, at least.

He groaned as he turned onto his side, only to find Barty already there, sitting at the edge of the bed, watching him with sharp eyes. He looked awful too—bruises lining his arms, his lip split from some unknown scuffle in the night. It had been a rough one. Remus knew that without asking.

Barty reached out, hesitant, brushing his fingers over Remus’s wrist. “You with me?”

Remus swallowed, his throat dry and raw. “Yeah.”

Barty exhaled, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. “It was bad.”

It wasn’t a question, and Remus didn’t answer it. They both knew.

“I tried,” Barty muttered, fingers curling into fists. “You know I tried.”

Remus closed his eyes. He did know. He always knew. Even as a bat—small, quick, desperate—Barty tried to keep up with him. Tried to keep him from hurting himself. Tried to keep him safe.

“I can’t keep you safe,” Barty said suddenly, voice tight with frustration. He wasn’t looking at Remus now, his gaze fixed on the floor. “Not like this.”

Remus opened his eyes again, softer this time. He reached out, fingers brushing against Barty’s clenched fists until they slowly uncurled. “It’s not your job to keep me safe,” he said quietly. “You know that.”

Barty let out a short, bitter laugh. “Yeah, well. Someone has to.”

Remus squeezed his hand. “You already do more than enough.”

Barty didn’t respond right away. When he did, his voice was quieter. “It’s not enough.”

Remus didn’t argue. He was too tired, and they’d had this conversation too many times. Instead, he tugged at Barty’s arm, coaxing him closer until Barty finally gave in and lay down beside him. Their bodies fit together in a way that felt natural, even when everything else was a mess.

“You stayed,” Remus murmured against Barty’s shoulder.

Barty huffed. “Where else would I go?”

[bradleysass]

Mother - @moonkillermicrofic - wc: 408

Barty doesn’t talk about his mother much. Not since she passed away.

Remus has never pushed him to share. He learned early on that some things are too fragile to touch, and Barty—loud, reckless, unrelenting Barty—closes off at the mere mention of her. So, Remus never asks. He lets the silence exist between them, heavy but never suffocating, an unspoken understanding.

But around this time of year, something shifts.

Barty’s energy, usually brimming with chaos, simmers down to something restless and raw. His sharp remarks soften, his hands shake more when he lights a cigarette, and his usual smirks never quite reach his eyes. He never says why, but Remus knows.

So, he keeps the whiskey stocked and the flat a little quieter than usual. He makes Barty’s tea how he likes it—strong, a splash of honey, barely any milk—even though Barty never asks for it. He lets Barty come and go as he pleases, disappearing for hours before slipping back in through the window at some ungodly hour, smelling like cold air and cigarettes.

Tonight, Remus finds him sitting on the floor, back against the couch, staring at nothing. A half-empty glass dangles from his fingers, and there’s a tension in his jaw that speaks of words unspoken.

Remus doesn’t say anything. He just sits beside him, close enough to offer warmth, but not so close that it feels like a demand. They sit in silence for a long time before Barty exhales sharply, tilting his head back against the cushion.

“My mother used to sing,” he murmurs, so quietly Remus almost thinks he imagined it.

Remus turns his head slightly, watching him, but Barty doesn’t meet his gaze.

“She had a terrible voice,” he continues, something like a laugh in his throat but never quite making it out. “But she sang anyway. Loud and awful and like she didn’t give a damn who heard.”

Remus swallows, waiting.

“I used to hate it,” Barty admits, voice rough. “Thought it was embarrassing.”

His grip tightens around the glass. “Now I can’t fucking remember what it sounded like.”

Remus presses his lips together, aching for him in a way he knows can’t be soothed with words. Instead, he reaches out, curling a careful hand over Barty’s own, grounding him. Barty exhales shakily but doesn’t pull away. He just squeezes back, and in the quiet of the room, Remus hopes that maybe—just maybe—it’s enough.

[bradleysass]

gate - @moonkillermicrofic - wc: 468

Remus sighed, gripping the instructions with one hand and the screwdriver with the other. The baby gate in front of him was, by all accounts, a simple contraption. But nothing was simple when it involved assembling things with Barty in the vicinity.

Barty lounged on the sofa, one leg slung over the armrest, flipping through a children's book he had stolen from the shelf. “Did you know ducks imprint on the first thing they see?” he mused.

Remus paused mid-screw. “Yes, Barty. Everyone knows that.”

Barty turned the book sideways. “So, theoretically, if I were the first thing Teddy saw when he opened his eyes, he’d follow me everywhere. That’d be funny.”

“I wouldn’t trust you with an imprinted duck, let alone our son.”

Barty grinned, unbothered. “He likes me better than you.”

Remus exhaled sharply and returned to the baby gate. “If you’re not going to help, at least don’t distract me.”

“I am helping. I’m providing emotional support.”

“No, you’re providing obstacles,” Remus muttered as he tried to align the gate’s frame.

Barty tossed the book aside and stretched. “Fine. I’ll help.”

Remus was immediately suspicious, but before he could protest, Barty was behind him, wrapping his arms around Remus’ waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. “So… what are we doing?”

Remus refused to be distracted. “I’m installing a baby gate.”

“For what purpose?”

“So Teddy doesn’t throw himself down the stairs.”

“Mm. Solid parenting.” Barty pressed a lazy kiss to Remus’ jaw. “But have you considered—hear me out—just teaching him not to fall?”

Remus turned his head slightly. “Would you like to be thrown down the stairs?”

Barty grinned. “Kinky.”

Remus shoved him off.

Despite all odds (and Barty), the baby gate was eventually secured. Teddy, who had been happily gnawing on a stuffed wolf in his playpen, finally waddled over, big blue eyes blinking up at them. He grasped the bars of the gate like a tiny prisoner.

Barty crouched down immediately, his entire demeanor shifting. “Oh no, little pup, they locked you up? What kind of injustice is this?”

Teddy giggled, reaching for him. Barty’s face softened in a way it never did with anyone else. “You want out, huh?” He pretended to shake the bars. “We’ll stage a breakout. I’ll get the explosives.”

Remus crossed his arms. “Absolutely not.”

Barty, still cooing at Teddy, waved him off. “Daddy Remus says no, but Uncle Barty says rebellion is good for the soul.”

Remus groaned, but there was no real heat in it.

Teddy, blissfully unaware of how dangerous his self-appointed ‘uncle’ was, babbled nonsense and reached for Barty’s hair. Barty let him grab it without complaint.

Remus watched, exasperated yet fond.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered.

Barty just smirked, bouncing Teddy in his arms. “Yeah, but you married me anyway.”

[bradleysass]

productive - @moonkillermicrofic - wc: 360

Remus huffed, bracing himself against the kitchen counter as he glared at Barty, who was lounging on the couch, flipping a knife between his fingers with practiced ease.

"Why don't you make yourself productive and go over there?" Remus gestured vaguely towards the mess in the living room—Teddy’s toys scattered across the floor like a war zone, remnants of an abandoned snack on the coffee table, and what Remus suspected was a juice stain on the rug.

Barty flicked the knife up, caught it, and finally glanced at him. "Why would I do that when you're already doing such a fine job playing house?"

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. "Because it's your mess too. And Teddy is your—"

"Protégé," Barty cut in with a sharp grin. "A promising young mind who should learn the ways of chaos early."

"Teddy is a toddler," Remus deadpanned. "He does not need lessons in chaos. He is naturally gifted."

Barty shrugged, tossing the knife onto the table before standing up and stretching with a groan. "Fine, fine. I’ll contribute."

Remus didn’t trust him at all. He moved cautiously as Barty strolled into the mess, hands in his pockets, surveying it like it was a battlefield. Then, with sudden enthusiasm, Barty bent down and picked up a stuffed wolf toy, holding it in front of his face. "Oi, Lupin. Look at me, I’m you. I read books and take life seriously."

Remus exhaled slowly, biting back the urge to throw a pillow at him. "Just clean, Barty."

But Barty, being Barty, didn’t listen. Instead, he turned to Teddy, who was sitting in his playpen, watching with wide, fascinated eyes. "Teddy, mate, we are at a crossroads. You can either follow the path of your dear old dad—boring and responsible—or you can embrace the fine art of controlled mayhem."

"Barty," Remus warned.

Teddy clapped his hands, giggling. "Mayhem!"

Barty looked smug. "That’s my boy."

Remus groaned, knowing he had just lost this battle before it even began. "I hate you."

Barty smirked, picking up a toy car and chucking it into the toy bin—his version of cleaning. "You love me."