Breakout

@microficmay alt 3 ‘temptation’. Bellatrix/Narcissa, 50 words. Also on AO3. CW: incest

Heels on hardwood. Raspy whispers. Triumphant cackling.

Lucius enters first, barely sparing Narcissa a glance before reuniting with Draco in a passionate embrace.

Phantom temptations. Lips by her ear. Hands under her corset. Wild black hair falling over her face and blocking her view.

“Hello, pet. Did you miss me?”

🫶

@inmyownlittlecorner5 Blackcest is the best cest, amiright?? Especially that sisterly reunion right after the Azkaban mass breakout 😉

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Petting Zoo - Cissatrix

500 words. Rated T. Incest Pairing. June 8th prompt: "Petting Zoo", from @sapphicmicrofics.

When you’ve done what I have, they chain you to the walls.

It’s not for security. They say it is, but the bars and the ocean and the soul stealing horrors take care of that. The chains are heavy and short, and the shackles are cast rough with no rounded edges. They chain you to the walls so you can’t stand straight up, so you can’t lay down, so your joints ache and your bones rot and your skin shreds and you hurt, everywhere, constantly. The chains are there to hurt you.

The closest I can get to freedom is about three feet, from the tips of my fingers to the gaps between the bars. To do this, I lean against the side wall where one chain is anchored and stretch my arm out along the ground, jam the shackle down my wrist until it bites deep, and shove myself forwards, heels scraping raw against the floor. It puts an ache in my shoulder, and my hips. I do my best to stretch my joints before and after, to wrap rags around my feet and pad the shackle on my arm; anything that will make it possible to reach out this way for as long as humanly possible.

I do this because when she comes to me and she lays on the filthy floor of the hall and thrusts her arm between the bars right up to the shoulder, I can reach her fingers with mine. Only the first and second knuckles, not enough to grab hold of each other, but enough to be touching. Enough to feel the faintest beat of our hearts, enough to be alive and together.

Alive is all I am, and only for those few hours. She comes to me a few times a month, judging by the moon. She tells me about her life; a susurrus I absorb in silence. It sounds pleasant enough, and I like to imagine her life is not a hard one. When I try to speak, I thank her for her love and beg wretchedly for her to stay, crazed and pathetic rambling. I cannot sustain the weight of the things I want to tell her, cannot form the words to carry the reality of what she has become for me.

There are no visitation hours at Azkaban. Each time she lays eyes on me is a felony of the highest degree. She won’t tell me what she does to get here, but I assume the Malfoy name is involved, whether Lucius knows or not. The guards mark no concern or concession for her, never deviating from their ceaseless cycle, never pulling her away from me. Even so, I feel an empty chill sweep over us as they drift past. I watch as their numb grey wake dims the light of her eyes with every breath. I watch her die for me a thousand times.

Maybe that’s why they let her come. The chains are there to hurt you.

Part of a series. Each day, 100 words longer than the last. Link to AO3.

don't you go and tell me that you love me while you're leavin'

read on AO3

219 wc, Harry Potter, Bellatrix Black/Narcissa Black, Femslash / Sisters Incest, Unrequited / One-Sided, T-rating, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black, for @sapphicmicrofics, part 32 of HP Sapphic Microfics 2023 

Summary: Narcissa is leaving Bellatrix behind to marry Lucius but Bella can't let her Cissa go.

opinions on the black sister relationships? i love your character posts sm!

i’m blowing you a kiss!

i love thinking about them…sorry this took so long, i was busy lounging and watching killing eve. i might type up something about the dynamic between the three of them, but i broke them down into pairs here.

bella & cissa ♛

i made a webweave here that basically sums up my thoughts on bellacissa. i do think cissa thinks she’s a fanatic and completely bonkers, but she’d defend her anyway. narcissa appreciates that in their patriarchal fucked up family, bella is carving her own path—she isn’t docile or ladylike at all. so cissa takes some vicious pleasure in how unleashed bella is. conversely, bellatrix has a deep-seeded jealousy FOR narcissa, who is at least able to play the part of the perfect pure blood woman in a way bellatrix never could. my vision is that druella has contempt for bella but pays a lot of attention to narcissa. once druella is dead, bella sees narcissa as both her baby and her mother in a way, and she resents both. but i won’t get into bella here she deserves her own post.

bella & andy ♞

the hardest relationship for me is bella and andy. my belief is that these two are one year apart in age, like irish twins. we know from dh that they’re basically identical. I think they were pitted against each other a lot. they both end up teaching each other how conditional someone caring for you can be. it’s obvious that andy leaving really wounds bella (as evidenced by the ferocity with which she wants to kill ted and tonks), so there is a degree of power andy hold over her emotionally. bella is both the terrorist and the protector in the home. she goes after both her sisters, but it’s with the ultimate goal of making them strong enough to face anything that’s thrown at them…andy doesn’t want to change her or save her—she knows all the dark, evil parts of her and grapples with all the times bella showed her tenderness or turned her rage against someone else for her sake. i think they can read each other’s body language perfectly, but don’t understand each other’s minds at all. once they’re older they fight all the time, verbally if not with magic, and it would start with bella making some pointed jabs to get her attention and andy curating a biting response without looking up from her magazine and just like that they’re dueling. but once it’s over and they’re panting on the floor, bella would kick her leg and they’d smirk at each other a bit. or one of them would storm out. i do think that andy did bella’s hair for every event they attended between the ages of 8 and 16. huh, i guess i have more to say about them than i thought i did.

andy & cissa ♝

narcissa spends years stepping in the footprints andy has left behind. before she figures out who she is, she’s just a ghost of andy. she learns all her best defenses from her. i don’t think andy feels very bad about leaving her behind. i don’t think she’d try to convince narcissa to go with her either. she would miss her so much, but she’d grieve her like she’s dead. i don’t see her as a person who holds on to a lot of regrets. and she’s in love! she wants to run away and forget every bad thing that ever happened to her! is that a crime? narcissa thinks it is. growing up andy was her strongest ally, and she takes it as the ultimate betrayal when she leaves. similarly to regulus, she looks down on andy and maligns her whenever her name comes up, but it’s a cover up for how hurt she is. andy knows all the reasons that narcissa thinks she’s trapped in the life she leads, but she still thinks ‘if you want out, get out.’

daughters 1, 2, 3 ♙

fairy tales often follow a 1 2 3 format because it’s easy to remember a moral lesson tied up with a bow when it comes in a set of three (three billy goats, beauty and the beast, the peverell brothers). it goes bad bad good. so it’s super interesting that the ostensibly “good” one, andy, is the middle child. she is bookended by two death eater sisters. which raises the question: what went wrong (or right) with her? and for the others too—narcissa in canon is primarily draco’s mother, but giving her andromeda AND bellatrix as sisters raises all kinds of questions about her upbringing and interpersonal relationships. bellatrix chases and scolds narcissa at the beginning of half-blood prince, and she’s not particularly scary at all. the terrifying evil bitch who killed sirius calls her sister cissy? three sisters who mean vastly different things to harry, but we never get the three of them in a room, so so much is left to the imagination. lots to play with. good things come in threes!

Well I have almost planned Pentangle's Bakery next chapter and if all goes well, it will be published before January ends.

Anyway, I still want plots suggestions for oneshots or what it gives. Even if they are not for hicsqueak.

Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Mature Warnings: Major Character Death Relationships: Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Narcissa Black Malfoy Additional Tags: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Feels, Protectiveness, Sister-Sister Relationship, Sisters, Final Battle, Battle of Hogwarts, Protective Bellatrix, Injured Narcissa, Alternative Perspective, Guilt, Despair Summary: Like a wild animal protecting her wounded offspring, Bellatrix is on the watch, her wand erect, ready to leap violently at anyone who dares to approach, not leaving her sister's side. Beyond the dust barrier, lightning bolts are intensifying, as do intermingled screams. The danger is imminent.

Is there a universe where Bellatrix could be a sub?

Yes!

I am a multishipper from hell. Everyone is everything and can be paired with everyone.

I once read a Bellatrix/Narcissa fic on livejournal (maybe?) with sub!bellatrix after she escapes azkaban and seeks help with Narcissa which I deeply enjoyed.

I also think she's very much a sub with Voldemort - though that relationship is less about sex and more about the exchange of pain and dominance/control.

Carried Away

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2UUaXrs

by Shinku_Seishin

Bellatrix gets her girl-to-girl privacy, until she's interrupted by the one person she could never kill even when driven mad by lust and drunk on all of her own power.

Words: 623, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: F/F

Characters: Hermione Granger, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Draco Malfoy

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange

Additional Tags: Dark, Sibling Incest, Torture, General bellamione/bellacissa things, Blackcest, Drabble, I never have been good at dialogue, very dark, Bella is rather dissociative, Hint of Dramione at the end

read it on the AO3 at http://bit.ly/2UUaXrs

Don't Marry Them - Cissatrix

Rated T. Incest Pairing June 7th prompt: "Don't Marry Them" from @sapphicmicrofics.

The tailor was excellent, one of the old masters of her craft. Rodolphus could well afford the best for his bride-to-be. Every quibble she solved with a stitch; each iteration more perfect than the last. Cissa sent her away after the seventh adjustment. Even in flawless white elegance, I looked like mourning.

“Why are you doing this.”

I looked into her eyes, and I did not allow myself to look away.

“I have nothing Cissa. I have nothing in this world but you, and that means I have nothing to offer you. The sad joke is, I could lay this whole sorry earth at your feet and it still wouldn’t be worth your heart to me. So I’m going to make a better world for you, and I’m going to take it, piece by piece, and then it’ll all be mine and I can make it yours. Rodolphus is just the first step.”

“Did you come up with that crap just now, or have you been practicing? We had nothing together and we were happy! Do you remember that? How happy we were when there was none of this? When you chased me into the trees and you made those promises to me that you’re about to break? That was the best day of my life, and we didn’t need Rodolphus then.”

“We were playing pretend Cissa! We were children! It’s time to grow up and look around!”

Every word was vile as it tore from my mouth. She shrank from me. There was a silence, and it felt like a precious thing dying.

“I can’t grow up. I was eleven years old Bella. I was eleven years old and I said I want to marry you, I’ll love you forever and ever, and then you fucking turned me around like you couldn’t bear to look me in the face and you whispered the most painfully, achingly beautiful words I’ve ever heard in my life. You wrote those words on my soul, Bella. And I can’t let it go. I’m stuck there, stuck as that stupid little girl in love with her big sister. God I’m so tired of being that stupid little girl. I’ve begged you before and I’ll beg you now, please don’t marry him Bella. I’m right here. I’m right fucking here.”

---

I wore a white dress for my wedding, and I painted my nails jet black.

Part of a series. Each day, 100 words longer than the last. Link to AO3.

anakin’s officially in her blackcest era

going insane with bellacissa / siricissa / nymphi or delphadora (my beloveds!!)

For people who didn't see my post yesterday :)

Rules: tag 9 people you’d like to get to know better

Thanks @longlivethequeen22 for the tag !

Top 3 ships:

-Miranda Priestly + Andrea Sachs - Mirandy - The Devil Wears Prada

-Bernie Wolfe and Serena Campbell - Berena - Holby City

-Bellatrix Black Lestrange + Narcissa Black Malfoy - Bellacissa or Cissatrix - Harry Potter

Lipstick or chapstick:

None, as a vegan I wish not to use any products that contain beaver oil, whale fat, etc. And lips are wonderful natural :)

Last songs

Fires Roar in the Palace of the Moon - Wolves in the Thone Room

Last Movie

Can You Ever Forgive Me ? - Marielle Heller

Reading

Sexual Politics of Meat - Carol J Adams

Tagging

@whispersmummy @farminglesbian @victorianlesbian @lesbianniles

@kayryn @batnbreakfast @blackdistractionart  @hard-broom @bluedragontraveler

Pride - Cissatrix

Rated T. 800 words. June 11th prompt: "Pride", from @sapphicmicrofics.

The Burren is a strange and wild place, and I love it with all my soul. I think in some unconscious part of her she always knew I’d need to be reborn in a place like this, or else by sheer luck she took these cottages for her inheritance. The bones of the earth climb out of their graves here, and the green grasses grow in tufted rows from every shaded crevice. I would not have chosen so well; I would have thrown myself into a dank and shaded corner to lick my wounds, and pieced together all my broken edges in just the same jagged ways they were broken before. That urge still tugs at me in fact, and I am saved only by scarcity, by the lack of time or practical energy to indulge in it, because above all this is a peopled place: a place with so long and thick a living history that it seeps from the stones and sings along with the moaning wind. They come in hundreds and thousands for this, by thronging busloads and eight-seater family minivans and pack-laden bicycles, to see the walls and tombs and churches of those that came before them, to walk the bare stone hills where human hands piled stone on stone and plucked weeds and milked cattle and rose up in supplication to the heavens.

Muggles. When I’m not consciously watching myself, the word still comes out of my mouth with an instinctive twisting sneer. But I’m watching it more often, and I catch myself more often, and I think to use it less often in the first place. People is a better word. I still get a buzz of discomfort around them, a sly and subtle insistence that these are other, these are not of my blood, these are not myself. But something drives me to watch them now, to see, and I’ve learned to see so much. I see the threadbare poor at the grocer’s counting by the half penny to pay for half empty bags. I see the frantic children in light-up sneakers racing their way up packed trails, kicking loose rocks off the road, and the plodding parents carrying them back down a half hour later. I see mindless lovers plucking flowers from the stems of rare grasses that will only bloom once in a decade. I see all these terrible, beautiful creatures and I remember a feeling I lost or never had before, that I am so much the same, one more dying creature amongst all this mortal multitude, all of us searching desperately for a life to fill our dying with.

---

Narcissa lives with Lucius, maintaining by all accounts a very happy marriage. They struggled for a time, without his name and money, but unlike so many of his once peers, the stripping bare of him made for a better man. He’s a landlord of course, but a more vulgar sort, renting out half the cottages to vacationing witches and wizards. He keeps the ledgers and maintains the properties himself, making for quite the picture of a strapping fellow in his landscaping attire. He finds a plain satisfaction in the work and doesn’t feel he has to hide the fact. His tenants make fewer complaints than most.

Draco has his own family now, and doesn’t often remember to write. They visit by floo a few times a year. Less than that, now that they’re drowning in newborns, but they always make it for the holidays.

Narcissa herself is the least changed of us all. Not exactly as she was, but less in the way of having been twisted into a new shape and more like a spring gradually unwound. She got us all here, one of the rare families that made it through the war in one piece, and she doesn’t let any of us forget it. Her rule is a little less regal and a little more maternal; she wears less makeup and spends more time in the sun. I’m learning to live without her, and to do it without the fits of desperate pining. We have lunches together once a week, and every first weekend of the month we take an honest-to-goodness hike, boots and packs and all, out into the rocky hills. Laying on bedrock, looking at the stars, it’s easier to say the things we never did. I make plain the kind of love I had for her, and the horrible pedestal I put her on. We talk about who we were and who we are and who we are yet to be, and finally, after half a lifetime of blind worship, I see her. We lay with our fingers barely touching, just enough to be alive and together, and she tells me she’s proud of me.

End of a series. Link to AO3

Beg - Cissatrix

700 words. Rated T. June 10th prompt: "Beg", from @sapphicmicrofics

Sometimes, the good guys lose. Narcissa’s learned that lesson many times. The lesson today goes differently: sometimes the good guys win, but you aren’t one of them.

---

The news doesn’t catch them for a few days. They’re fully immersed in the muggle world, keeping a low profile until they reach Connacht. A few cottages are tucked away there on enchanted earth between the Burren and the sea, and Narcissa thinks they should be safe there. The old covens of Hag’s Head don’t hold to the Ministry, and maybe that windswept shore will be a good place for Lucius and Draco to heal.

But she finds out before they get there, at a crumbling yellow train station in the south of Ulster. Fold any muggle paper back the wrong way, open it up again backside to front, and you can read the public Ministry alerts.

YOU-KNOW-WHO DEAD.

POTTER LIVES.

DEATH EATERS SCATTERED. LESTRANGE DEAD.

Lestrange dead.

There can be no mistake, Rodolphus wouldn’t rate a headline. In ten minutes she’s got a ticket for the next express into town, and in another ten she’s got a plan. She tells Lucius to keep running, to get Draco to safety, and he doesn’t do a thing to stop her. Draco won’t look at her at all. She makes a promise that she’ll come find them, and waves goodbye without looking back. She’ll see them again, it’s not a lie.

----

The ministry lobby is a shattered, blasted mess. Fractured stones streaked red tell the story of a riotous, convulsive catharsis, an overbearing pressure suddenly uncontained. A great rebuilding is in order, once they decide who should be saddled with the task, but for now Narcissa walks alone amongst the rubble. The elevators aren’t moving, so she takes the long way down, step by step through narrow, black-tiled halls. The clicking pace of her pointed shoes echoes back sharp and steady as she passes splintered offices and strange wide galleries, as she descends wrought iron ladders dripping with rust and traces labyrinthine pathways of self-contradicting spirals, until finally she reaches a dimly lit stone theater, with an ancient crumbling archway covered by a tattered black cloth fluttering in no wind.

There is a rumbling roar coming from beyond the arch, and the urge to approach is an iron hook sunk into her sternum. It claws at her, and she stumbles forwards, breaks into a run, and then a charging sprint up the dais. An inch away from death she twists upward, tears down the tattered black linen, and throws it over herself like a veil.

The fabric is cool to the touch, as if slightly damp, and soft in the well-loved way of a favored garment. It settles slowly over her, falling lightly all the way to the floor. She peers through the loose weave, making out the blurry outline of the archway, the colorless shape of the room, and, sitting patiently on a low stone bench, the gaunt, wasted silhouette of Bellatrix Black.

---

“You want her back.”

Death’s voice is a soft and breathy thing coming from Bellatrix’s throat.

“Yes. She is mine.”

Narcissa answers with all the cold arrogance she can summon. Death is silent, patiently expectant, but she has no more to say. There is no argument to be made for this, no good reason or excuse.

“I want her, and she is mine. I will not beg for this.”

She lunges for Bellatrix’s form and suddenly the cold black fabric drags at her like a smothering sheet of liquid iron, choking and heavy, sapping her of strength. With blind, heaving steps she denies death, fumbling desperately in search of solid flesh, until at last she makes contact and wraps her arms around the body. For one terrible, heart-clenching moment all is still and dead and silent, until in the next breath it grabs her back, and then they’re children again, and they’re hugging each other, and she’s laughing like the break of day because her big sister is the strongest and safest thing in all the world. From her wand she unravels a glittering, searing flame, and the black veil of death burns down to nothing but crumbling ash between them.

Part of a series. 100 words longer each day. Link to AO3.

Rules - Cissatrix

600 Words. Rated T. June 9th prompt: "Rules", from @sapphicmicrofics.

I know myself with more clarity than most. I am strong, I am raw, I am destructive. But I am no mad thing. I know myself, and I am my own master. I live by rules of my own design.

Many of them.

At first, I made them so I could never hurt her. We played hide-and-seek or hopscotch, never mercy or uncle. I refused to show her my knives, or the things I did with them. I would never touch the animals she doted on. I would never watch her cry.

It was easy enough when we were young. She looked up to me, had a streak of big sister worship that kept her blind to my flaws. Growing into our teens she became more aware that I was hiding things. There was talk at school about me, and she was perceptive enough to see the way I treated other girls. It didn’t bother her very much, as long as she didn’t hear about the specifics. I got the sense she wore it with a sort of pride, as if my love was all the more valuable for how cruel I could be.

I still did my best to keep her from the worst of me. When Lucius showed an interest in her, I tried to stay distant from him. I kept myself from getting in his way, and even managed to maintain a flat civility. I doubt we ever would have exchanged more than trite pleasantries if his father hadn’t encouraged him to get along with me. Once that business started, I swore him to secrecy and made sure she wouldn’t be involved. It was worthwhile, to have been able to do that.

The rules changed further, once they were attached. I stopped allowing her to tail me through free periods and told her to make new friends: social connections for the high life she was now promised to have. I dried up the stream of little gifts and keepsakes I used to find for her. I kept my hands to myself when her hair needed fixing and made sure not to look too long at her smile. I’d trained myself too well not to hurt her, and never taught myself not to love her.

---

After that, for a time, there were no rules at all.

---

And then, somehow, the days and nights bring me back to her. Our court of darkness descends upon her home, and I find my rules again. I don’t let her see my knives, or the things I do with them. I don’t touch the boy she dotes on. I never watch her cry.

I still try to keep her uninvolved, but the Dark Lord is sleeping in her halls. She drifts to my side when around the others, and Lucius is grateful that my unspoken attention discourages the worst of the hirelings. Unfortunately, I can do nothing to discourage Him. It is self-evident that He understands her centrality; that she is the key to three doors, myself and Malfoy elder and younger. The mere implications of that understanding are enough to keep us all at heel.

The old rules keep us safe, keep her mostly unmolested, perpetuate a status quo that I can do little to improve upon. I dreamt once of losing them again, a nightmare in which she danced over my paralyzed form and unwrapped me layer by layer, until blinding sunlight streamed in to illuminate the blank void of my hollow form within.

Do not hurt her. Do not love her. These are the rules of my own design.

Part of a series. 100 words longer each day. Link to AO3.

Vampire - Cissatrix

Rated T. Incest pairing. June 5th prompt: "Vampire", from @sapphicmicrofics.

"Why blood, Bella?"

Her tone was probing, but gentle. The question waited as I brushed grit out of her broken skin.

“I’ve noticed, Bella. How you take care of me when I get hurt. And I’ve seen you cut yourself.”

“I take care of you because I love you.”

“Only when I actually bleed though?”

I finished, and she tugged her knee out of my hands.

“What do you want me to say, Cissa?”

Nothing but a quiet gaze. Under any other eyes I would have lied.

“I like it, alright? I just like the sight of it. It makes some people faint, so I guess I’m just different. There’s a rush, like my heart beats faster.”

Like my pulse fucking throbs and jumps for it. Her eyes wouldn’t leave me.

She took my hand and whispered,

“Thank you for being honest. Just please, don’t cut yourself anymore?”

There was a rough pain. She was crushing our hands together, twisting and gouging my nails into her palm. I let out a harsh breath, but she wouldn’t let me pull away. Cold pools of sapphire searched me, ruby red life welling up hot and rich between us.

“I’ll bleed for you.”

Part of a series. Each day, 100 words longer than the last. Hope to hit 500, would be elated to go a week. Link to AO3.