#prompt 9

[healerstail]

The Shroud is as dangerous as it is beautiful. Especially for Miqittens who wander away from the group.

[madmarsii]

Wolf and Little Goat

June of Doom 2025 | 9. Hammer

---

“You heard the story, right?” Whumper circled around Whumpee, swinging the hammer playfully. “About the baby goats?”

Whumpee sank deeper into the corner. He didn’t dare to breathe. Didn’t dare to look up.”

“Mother told them not to open the door to strangers. But they didn’t listen. Do you know who was waiting outside?”

Whumpee whimpered, curling in on himself, shoulders hunched like he could somehow disappear into his own body. Every beat of his heart slammed against his ribs, frantic, deafening—a terrified drumroll building toward a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. His breath caught in his throat as Whumper strode closer, his heart hammered faster and faster, so much so Whumpee hoped it might stop and spare him of what was about to come

“A wolf.”

Whumper smiled, his mouth full of sharp teeth. He moved closer to Whumpee, grabbed his wrist and yanked him to the middle of the shed.

Then came the blow, sudden and brutal. Whumpee didn’t even register the swing before agony exploded in his ankle. A white-hot burst of anguish shot through him, short-circuiting his senses. His vision blacked out, then flashed blindingly white as he screamed.

Pain.

This much pain will surely kill him.

“I told you not to run.”

Whumper’s words were in haze.

“I told you there would be consequences—but you had to be just like another baby goat, right?”

Whumpee couldn’t breathe. The pain was overwhelming. Monstrous.

“But we can play this game. Look,” Whumper grabbed him by his hair and yanked his head to the side. “Do you see that box? There’s wolf waiting inside.”

“Please,” Whumpee choked. “No.”

Whumper smiled again, his beastly teeth catching what little light there was . “You should run, little goat.”

---

I only took a little part of the prompt, but the story wanted it that way. I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless <3

@juneofdoom

[writersisland]

“Nothing will take you from me. Not even death.”

“Please don't turn into a necrophilic when I die.”

“What? Wait, did you say when? Who said you'd die?”

“Well, l'd rather you were a necromancer, I guess.”

[loopstagirl]

WHUMPTOBER 2025

No. 9: “We’ll make it alright to come undone.” Touch | Flashbacks | Scalding TOS - Virgil

De Ja Vu

For @whumptober prompt no. 9: Flashbacks

Virgil lent forward, hands clasped between his knees, staring at the floor. The back of his neck was burning from being held at such an unnatural position for so long, but he didn’t care. His leg jiggled impatiently, for once unable to sit still. 

Virgil was sitting forward, his legs swinging, not quite able to reach the floor as he sat on a bed that seemed ridiculously high. But it wasn’t the bed that was making him feel small right now. His palms were on the mattress either side of him, supporting his weight as he stared at the floor, unable to keep his legs still. 

“Virg.” John’s voice was tired, but the quiet rebuke was still there. But it didn’t matter: Virgil couldn’t sit still, even if his brother yelled at him. 

Virgil shook his head in response. His eyes were burning as he stared at the same patch of floor, but he would not let any tears fall. Not until they knew. Not until someone told him it was going to be alright.  

A shoulder bumped against his. Finally, after what felt like hours, he glanced up. John looked as hollow and worn as Virgil felt, great black circles shadowing his eyes from his frantic dash across the country – hell, across the atmosphere – to be able to get here in time. John didn’t offer him a reassuring smile, he couldn’t, but the gentle contact helped ground Virgil. He wasn’t here alone. 

“Virgil.” John’s voice was exhausted, lined with pain. He sounded close to breaking, but although Virgil knew what his brother wanted, he couldn’t bring himself to sit still. He needed to do something, needed to move in a way that would outrun this growing panic that no one was going to tell him it was okay. None of his brothers had yet, not even his father or grandmother. Not that he’d seen much of them. He’d only just been allowed to sit in John’s room. 

A hand covered his own, and Virgil finally looked up. John’s face was bruised, fear and exhaustion spiralling in his eyes. From what their dad had said as he’d clasped John in his arms as Virgil’s brother had finally opened his eyes, John had travelled further than mere distance to be back in this room with them. 

But he was here, now, watching Virgil with the same fear that the younger boy felt himself. While there was nothing he could do or say to reassure him, it made Virgil feel he was a little less alone. 

Scott was standing across the hall, leaning against a wall. His arms were folded, his gaze fixed on the door opposite him. Virgil would bet that his brother hadn’t even blinked the entire time he’d been watching that door. His posture was tense, the muscle in his jaw giving away the effort it was taking him not to barge straight in there, demanding answers. Virgil knew how he felt: this couldn’t be happening. Not again. They’d been through this kind of wait before. 

Alan was next to him. It was clear he’d gone to their eldest brother for comfort, but, unlike before, Scott couldn’t look away long enough. There had been a fleeting touch to Alan’s arm at some point, although Virgil had no idea if it was hours or minutes ago. Or was it years ago, memories superimposing themselves on the reality in front of them? 

Scott sat on the other side of the bed. He was ramrod straight, despite the arm strapped in a sling across his chest. Ever since their father had disappeared out of those doors, Scott hadn’t looked away. He was picking at his nails on his good hand, the only sign that it was taking his entire strength not to going dashing after their dad and find out what was going on. Scott always had the answers for them; this was something entirely different. 

Alan was curled up next to him, half on Scott’s lap. Virgil wasn’t sure if his brother had even noticed. He’d ruffled the kid’s hair when Alan had crawled on, but how much time had passed since then? It felt like forever, but it couldn’t be. They hadn’t been in the room all that long, certainly not long enough for their entire lives to change. 

Doctors and nurses came and went. Some gave them sympathetic smiles, some dashed past as if they hadn’t seen the Tracy family standing there. No one told them to move though, for which Virgil was grateful. He wasn’t sure what would happen if someone told Scott he had to step away. His brother’s uniform was helping. It was a sign that he shouldn’t technically be here, but it was also a sign that false platitudes wouldn’t cut it. 

“It’s going to be okay, right?” Alan asked in a small voice. “He’s going to be fine?” 

Scott didn’t move, not even a flicker of an eyelid. It was John who answered. 

“You know as much as us, Al. We just-,” his voice broke and he swallowed hard. “We just don’t know.” 

“But there’s a statistic, right? Some stat that says how many people are fine after something like this? He’s always beaten the odds.” 

“I don’t know.” 

“You always know.” 

“Enough.” Scott’s voice was quiet but carried all the military command he’d been learning for the last year. “We all know as much as each other. Arguing over it won’t help.” 

Alan’s mouth opened, but Virgil caught his eye and shook his head. He knew why the kid was demanding answers, knew it was his way of reassuring himself. But this time, Virgil wasn’t sure if it was John or Scott who would snap first. 

There were several visitors to the room, doctors and nurses popping in to check something on one of the monitors beeping at John’s bedside or see if the boys needed anything, although Scott was the only one who gave terse one-word answers. None of the rest of them said a word. Virgil didn’t want to know what would happen if anyone suggested that he was supposed to be in his own bed and should move away from the room. 

“It’s okay,” Alan said in his small voice, stroking Scott’s sleeve uncertainly. “Mommy and Gordy be ‘kay.” 

Scott didn’t even look at the toddler on his lap, just kept staring at the door. 

“We don’t know, Alan.” It was John who spoke, his voice hoarse from pain and exhaustion. “We just don’t know.” 

“But-,” Alan looked at Scott with wide eyes brimming with tears. Looking to the one person who always had the answers. When Scott didn’t look at him, Alan turned to Virgil. Virgil offered his baby brother a small smile that he didn’t feel but said nothing. Emotions were too fraught for endless questions. 

“Boys.” 

Virgil’s head jolted up. He was on his feet before he knew what he was doing, adrenaline surging through him as he stared at his dad. The man looked as haggard as they felt, dark shadows under his eyes and stubble lining his cheeks. Virgil glanced at Scott involuntarily and saw the same story there. That was his sign that things were wrong: Scott hated not being clean shaven. 

“What news?” Scott demanded. It wasn’t the first time he’d spoken for all of them, but right now, Virgil wouldn’t have trusted his voice to form the right question anyway. 

There was a faint smile on his dad’s face. “He’s alive.” 

Alan gave a whoop and Virgil heard John let out a shaky exhale. Scott sagged, letting his guard down for the first time in hours. Virgil crossed to stand next to him, pressing his shoulder against Scott’s. The answering pressure portrayed Scott’s gratitude but Virgil felt the trembles running through his brother. That was why he’d been rigid for hours; he didn’t want the others to know how badly he was shaking. 

“He’s got a long road ahead of him. They’re saying – he might not -,” their dad broke off, shaking his head. “That doesn’t matter. He’s alive. They’ve reduced the sedation and they’re expecting him to come round in the next three to four hours.” 

John searched blindly behind him until he could sink back into the chair. Virgil couldn’t be sure if he was holding Scott up or the other way around right now. 

“Then we’ve got two and a half hours to come up with a plan.” Scott suddenly straightened up. “Food, rest, shift rotation. Anyone who can’t handle their emotions needs to take time out before seeing him. That’s not what he needs right now.” 

Virgil glanced at him. There was sense in his words: they couldn’t all pile in at once and it wasn’t like Gordon was going to be released tomorrow. But he also knew he wasn’t about to volunteer to wait – and neither were any of the others. 

He looked instead at his dad. The man had sunk into Virgil’s previous seat, running a hand across his face. Scott wasn’t the only one trembling. But there was a familiar glint in his eye when he looked up. 

“What exactly are you doing here?” he asked Scott. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re AWOL, aren’t you?” 

Scott flinched. Virgil knew his dad was dealing with this now because, like the rest of them, he had to do something, and focusing on his other four sons was the only thing he could think of doing. 

“Oh boy,” Alan muttered. 

Suddenly, Virgil realised there was something he wanted to volunteer for. 

“I’m going to find the nearest coffee machine,” he said. “Who’s coming.” 

It was no surprise when John and Alan both agreed, aware of the tension building between their brother and father. Emotions were high and it was better they had this out now, before Gordon was awake, but that didn’t mean Virgil wanted to be around for it. 

“Boys.” 

Virgil jumped off the bed as the door opened. Their father looked grave, haunted, but something flickered in otherwise hollow eyes as he looked around at the four of them, lingering on John as if making sure nothing had changed while he’d been out of the room. 

“Gordon?” Scott asked, shifting Alan off his lap and standing up. 

Their dad nodded. “He’s alive.” 

Relief flooded the room. 

“He’s not well. It’s going to take him time to get better, but he’s going to be okay.” 

But while Virgil’s own heart felt lighter, there was nothing in his dad’s tone that indicated they were coming out of this storm. 

“Mom?” Scott whispered. 

Their dad didn’t so much as sit in Scott’s previous chair as collapsed into it. 

“No,” Scott whispered. Virgil looked at him, not understanding. He watched his brother fall to his knees in front of their dad. “No!” 

There was anguish in that scream. Then Virgil understood. And he wished with every fibre of his being that he didn’t. 

Staring at the coffee machine with unseeing eyes, Virgil tuned out John and Alan talking softly. It was coming out as thick, brown sludge that didn’t promise to taste any better than it looked. 

But as he picked up the cup, reality crashed back in on Virgil. Colours, light, sound, all slammed into him with such force he almost stumbled. He felt he had been muted since they’d first rushed into the hospital and were told it was just a waiting game. 

The coffee was crap. The chairs were uncomfortable. The lights were too bright yet the hospital too quiet. Scott and John were risking their careers. Virgil didn’t care how many classes he was missing. And he had absolutely no idea how Alan had got out of school to be here. 

But he didn’t care. Gordon was alive. And this time, in the here and now, there was no additional news about to break on them that would turn their lives apart even more. 

“He’s alive,” he said quietly. Before he could stop himself, he grinned at his brothers. “He’s alive!” 

John chuckled as Alan hugged Virgil, almost spilling the coffee all over them both. Virgil pushed him away. 

“Let’s go and stop Dad and Scott from saying things they’ll regret.” 

Because, compared to last time, it was going to be okay. No matter what, it was going to be okay. 

[amalthea-felsblood]

Split the skies!

[alphieshplife]

Amortentia - @black-brothers-microfic - wc: 138

“Merlin, why does the whole classroom smell like your idiot mutt boyfriend, Sirius?” Regulus demands, sauntering into the room like he owns the place. “What did he do, come in and spray everywhere?”

Any other time, Sirius would be infuriated by the ‘mutt’ comment. This time, there’s something a touch more important he needs to address. “Reg…I’m brewing Amortentia.”

Regulus stops in his tracks “...Oh.” At least he has the decency to look embarrassed. 

“Reggie, are you in love with my boyfriend?” Sirius teases. A part of him wants to be angry, but he has a hard time feeling anything but amused, and maybe a little sorry for his baby brother. Unrequited love sucks. 

Rather than answer, though, Regulus turns on his hell and leaves quicker than he’d walked in. Sirius can’t seem to stop himself from laughing.

[jjk-kinkmeme]

Concubine Nanami

Prompt #9

[strawberrybasilsorbet]

Jilytober Day 9

Finished this @jilytoberfest story a little late again! This microfic went in a darker/sadder direction than I expected (CW for funeral planning), but I really like it. Hope you enjoy!

October 9th Prompt: "You literally checked your phone 3 seconds ago"

"Sirius Black."

Lily picked at her roast beef. James bounced his leg, looking at the mirror in his palm.

"Sirius Black. Padfoot. Sirius Bl—"

"He said that he'd call you when he got home," said Lily. "James, the food is getting cold."

Lily, her fiancé, and the spectre of Sirius Black sat in the kitchen of her three-room flat, allegedly eating supper. The man himself was off someplace in London, sneaking into his brother's funeral.

After a pause, James turned to face the table, setting the mirror upright against his glass. He spooned some potatoes onto his plate and took a bite. "It's good," he said.

"Thanks." And they fell again into uneasy silence.

There had been no announcement in the Prophet, but — through some pure-blood whisper network that was opaque to Lily — the Prewett brothers had heard. A small service, family only. Closed casket.

Sirius had claimed to be looking for an answer: whether his brother's body had simply been mutilated beyond repair, or whether the rumors were true, and the House of Black hadn't been able to recover a body at all.

James hadn't wanted him to go. He was convinced that Sirius's Death Eater cousins would discover and attack him, and had told him so, repeatedly. When this line of persuasion had failed, James had tried to insist on coming along as backup, but Sirius had refused. He hadn't given a reason.

Out of options, James had insisted that Sirius take the Cloak, at least. An invisible man would be less conspicuous than a giant dog, and in this rain, it was likely that at least part of the ceremony would be indoors.

"Sirius Black."

"James, you literally checked the mirror three seconds ago."

"But what if—"

"Sirius is a grown-up," Lily snapped. "He told you he'd call when he can."

James gave the clock on the wall a pointed look. "Lily, it's been four hours."

"Maybe the funeral's not over yet."

"It's after six."

"Maybe he needs a minute, James!"

James stiffened, snapping his face back toward Lily. At least he'd stopped bouncing his damn leg. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I haven't got a problem. You're being ridiculous."

James gave her a long look. "Fine," he said. Then, deliberately, he turned his back on her. "Sirius Black."

Lily shoved her plate away, stood, and stomped out of the kitchen.

She didn't understand why she was so upset. Lily had never even spoken to Regulus Black. If it weren't for his distinctive resemblance to his brother, Lily might never have noticed him in school at all. He'd been skinnier than Sirius, and he'd had a gaunter face  — but with his dark hair and gray eyes, the resemblance between Regulus and his estranged brother had been as plain as the resemblance of the gibbous moon to the full. (Tuney had always been thin).

Lily dragged her hands over her face and took a deep breath through her nose. She counted to four, held it, then breathed out again, as Alice Longbottom had taught her after that battle when a curse had nearly ripped open her torso.

(Tuney had always been thin. It was the one thing she'd always been able to lord over her talented, popular sister, leaving magazines open to photos of Twiggy and boasting about her dress size.)

Sirius hadn't spoken to his brother since he'd finished school, more than a year ago. Lily hadn't spoken to her sister in at least as long. Petunia's invitation to her wedding had been returned, unopened.

And her fiancé hadn't understood. You don't deserve to be treated like this, James had said firmly, gently, as he'd held her against his chest. Lily had been crying her eyes out, clutching the sealed envelope. Your family is supposed to support you, Lily. They aren't supposed to be cruel.

The worst part hadn't even been his words, but the horrible weight that they had lifted from her heart. The immensity of the comfort — the relief — that she had felt; the warmth, like she had finally found a home.

If James had spoken such poison to Sirius, whose brother was now dead — well. It was no wonder, to Lily, that he did not answer.

A chair scraped in the kitchen, and she heard her fiancé's loud footsteps as he followed her into the sitting room. Lily wasn't surprised. Neither she nor James were the type to let a provocation lie; it was one of the reasons they fit together so well. He had barely entered the room before Lily rounded on him.  

"If the Death Eaters murder me," she spat, "will you invite Petunia to the funeral?"

James stopped dead. He'd entered the room with his mouth open, ready with some argument that Lily had cut off, and his chin bobbed awkwardly as he processed the unexpected question. Like a fish.

"Well?" It was an accusation. "Will you?"

Raindrops tapped against the sitting room window. James stared. Finally, he said, "You aren't going to be murdered."

Lily raised her chin, although it trembled. "I could be."

"You won't."

"But I could be." When they'd buried Edgar Bones and his little children, the service had been in a magical village. Muggle-Repelling Charms had blanketed the entire Wizarding quarter of the town, including the churchyard. "Would she be able to come, even if you did? If I die in this war, James, will my sister even be able to see the grave?"

A bitter hiccough of a laugh escaped her. James tugged on his hair with both hands and closed his eyes. The fight went out of his posture, and he seemed to let out all of his breath at once, like a flag when the wind is gone.

Without a word, James took a few steps toward her, put both of his hands on her waist, and walked her to the sitting room couch. Collapsing into it, he pulled Lily sideways onto his lap, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist. He rested his forehead against her temple, burying his face in her thick red hair.

They listened to the rain.

Lily could not tell how much time had passed before James spoke. "My family are all buried in Godric's Hollow," he said quietly. "It's been half-magical since before the Statute of Secrecy was passed. There are Muggles buried in the graveyard there, too. It wouldn't be like the Boneses."

Lily swallowed. "I didn't think you'd—"

"Noticed?" James took her left hand with his free arm, lacing his fingers through hers. He turned his head to look at the ring there. "I did. But if I'd never known you, I probably wouldn't have."

He squeezed her hand and released it, then turned his face back into her hair. "Anyway," he said, still quiet, "that's probably what we would do. But if you wanted something different—"

"No," Lily cut him off. "No, that's— that's fine."

"Okay," James said. He took a shaky breath, but when he spoke again, his voice was steady. "As far as the rest of it — I don't think Petunia would need an invitation. I imagine she'd be the one writing them."

"She...would?"

"If she were willing," said James. He shrugged. "I think she'd be better at that part than me. Obituaries, flowers."

"You hate Petunia."

"I don't hate her." Lily turned to face him, skepticism in her expression. Behind his glasses, James's hazel eyes were sincere. "I don't. And...and even if I did, I—." He looked down as his voice broke. "I wouldn't do that to you, Lily."

She looked down, too. "Oh."

"I promise. I wouldn't."

"I...I believe you. Thank you." James nodded but did not speak. The rain lulled, and the silence was suddenly unbearable. Lily swallowed. "What...part would you be better at?"

"What?"

"You said my sister would be better at flowers."

James raised his eyebrows. "Tracking down the bastards who'd murdered you."

"Oh. Right."

"Right."

James's left arm was still wrapped tightly around Lily's waist, but with his right, he began to run his hand up and down the side of her body, from her shoulder to her hip and back again. "Lily. It's not the same."

Of course it wasn't the same. It wasn't the same, because Regulus Black had been a pureblood and a bigot and a child of money, and none of it had saved him.

What did Lily and Tuney have?

It was like peering into a cracked mirror. It had been ever since she'd heard. And then, there was Sirius — who was popular and talented, who was different from his family, who'd gone away, who'd been rejected — Sirius, whom she should have been able to connect with, to understand—

And yet.

"The idiot should never have joined in the first place," he'd told Gideon Prewett, tossing his head. "He deserved it." Whether Sirius had been trying to avoid damnation by association, or whether he'd meant every word, Lily could not guess. But the words had been a cold knife in her gut.

She'd really been starting to like Sirius.

"Lily? You're shaking," said James, still running his hand along her side. "What is it?"

She looked away from him. "Tuney wouldn't even come," Lily said in a wobbling voice. "She'd call me a freak and say that I brought it on myself." James said nothing. "You know she would."

He crushed her to his chest. Lily burst into sobs.

James rubbed circles into her shoulders as he rocked her back and forth. Lily took quick, gasping breaths against his chest, soaking the front of his robes with tears and snot. She didn't know if she was wailing for herself or Tuney or James, for Regulus Black or Edgar Bones or Bones's little daughter — didn't know if what she felt was fear or grief, or if it was the childish voice that cried out inside her, had been crying out for years and years, because sisters were supposed to be forever.

"I love you, Lily" James said, his voice choked. "I love you. I love you. I love you."

And they sat, until she'd cried herself out and he'd trailed off and the rain had finally stopped. Still, they did not rise, but held one another in silence.

"James Potter."

They both jumped.

Sirius's voice, emanating from James's pocket, was hoarse. "James Potter." James looked at Lily uncertainly. His eyes were red.

"It's okay," she said, shifting off of his lap and wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Go. Tell him I send my love."

James hesitated for another moment before nodding. He pressed a kiss to Lily's forehead, then stood, taking the mirror from his pocket as he left the room. "What took you so long?" she heard him say, but she could not make out the reply. Both voices grew quiet as James walked further into the kitchen.

Lily looked around the sitting room from her perch on the sofa, not quite lost, not quite found. She grabbed a throw pillow and hugged it tightly to her chest.

On the coffee table, there was a vase of flowers. She reached out to touch them, coaxing their petals to open and close beside one another on the stem.