rarepairsmakeawish

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Current open:

Fenrir/Sirius or Fenrir Alphard

Sirius/Draco or Regulus/Draco

Kingsley/Charlie

Fulfilled:

James/Barty (can still be fulfilled again, if you like the prompt) - no one here complains about two cakes

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Racism & Fic Writing

A few thoughts on what I do when someone says that something I wrote was problematic.

Background: I am a nuerospicy, middle class, cis, queer, white, millennial, american woman.

Situation: Friends and readers have in good faith pointed out spots in my writing where I've thoughtlessly used racist and ableist language, tropes, etc.

End Result: I changed the language. I rewrote characters and scenes. I asked the person who pointed it out to tell me more about the context, if they had the bandwidth, so I could understand better and do better next time. I apologized. We had a conversation. I looked up resources to educate myself so the other person didn't have to spend their time doing it for me. All of this is done in the context of sincere friendships where we're both remembering that the being on the other side of the screen is a three dimensional human.

I will be so honest. When this has happened, there's a voice in my head that chimes in with - 'That isn't what I meant, I didn't do that on purpose.' That is true. That doesn't mean what I wrote was okay. If the end result is that I perpetuated harmful stereotypes or language, my intent doesn't matter.

And this feels bad to admit, but I will probably make these kinds of mistakes again. Most of us will - they can be hard to spot unless we're listening to people whose lenses are different from our own.

These harmful ideas are buried very deep in our cultural DNA. I am grateful to friends who help me uproot them.

[rarepairsmakeawish]

I wrote some Regulus/Kingsley (LionKing) micro fics a while back as practice/warm-up and shared them in one of my discords and am still really pleased with them (absolutely shocking). I'll post them here first and then on AO3 in a while :) If you'd like, feel free to send me prompts - you never know!

Prompt: Gold

WC: 100 (they do not stay this short, this was great restraint)

He never understood Sirius’s fascination with the color, before. Couldn’t comprehend the suffocating compulsion that consumes and devours with a wide, open maw, overtaking higher thought, rendering him no better than a beast, a slave to his id. A moth to the flame. He can’t shake it, can’t exhaust his body to ignore it, can’t even close his eyes without gold phosphenes sparkling mockingly. The wide gold band, gleaming, wrapped covetously around the bicep of Auror Shacklebolt, impossibly not snapping with every flex as he cast, destroying everything Regulus thought he cared about and leaving behind rubble, charges, and obsession.

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Just in case anyone is unsure... We don't shipshame in my house.

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Make a wish: James/Barty

@rarepairsmakeawish for @meloms-ao3

I hope it is all you wanted :)

Barty was not one of the confident guys. Even for a Ravenclaw he was quiet, elusive even. Making the first step was so far out of reach, impossible was not even brushing it. Unless...

Unless one counted waiting in a dark corner and... making indecent offers. He was good at politics. Not that his father had taught him, but... just watching all he hated about him made things so easy. More so because he was basically invisible at home.

“I... I could get you Evans.” No hello, no niceties, only that. It was one sure way to give James Potter a startle, if not a good one. But who was judging, when he stayed, close and delicious and breathtaking? “It's easy.”

“What is this?” Barty was used to rejection, he didn't mind. “Do want to sell me an illegal love potion or something?”

“Those things don't really work.” If they did, Barty would be in much less trouble. He could just... It wasn't that hard to get those. “No... I know my way around things.” If only he could use it as much as advice it.

“Like what?”

“No free merch here.” Barty swallowed. This was the breaking point, and if he played it wrong, not only would he blow his one chance, Potter would also get his happily ever after. Only that he wouldn't be happy. James and Evans... that really wasn't a pairing made in heaven. James was delusional if he thought himself straight.

“Then what do you want?”

Barty exhaled carefully, as if to strong a breath could tip the balance. “I have to show you. And you'll have to practise. On me.” And if he couldn't make it work and James still wanted Evan's afterwards – then he deserved all the disappointment his father put upon him. One should at least be able to convince the one one wanted, right? Right?

[rarepairsmakeawish]

@rarepairsmakeawish I would love to see some Kingsley Shacklebolt/Charlie Weasley thoughts. Would accept anything... Maybe the moment one first caught the eye of the other?

[rarepairsmakeawish]

A microfic prompt: Remus/Fenrir, sugar

Thank you for this delicious prompt, I hope it is what you looked for :)

Remus follows the movement of Fenrir's spoon that drops sugar into his tea and then stirs it slowly, as if he was mesmerized. He didn't expect Fenrir to be so... well.... here.

The werewolf leader looks at him over the tiny porcelain cup, the only that Remus has left from his mum, and drinks carefully. It looks ridiculously small in his huge hands, and yet, there is no inkling of it breaking, much to Remus' relief.

"Why are you here?" he asks, angry - well, honestly, more scared than that.

Fenrir's brow twitches, even when his hands are still. He is more prone to violence than words and yet he tries. "I need your help."

"How could you think I would ever help you?!" It's a question, isn't it?

"Help me help you." Fenrir speaks softly, but his words still carry an edge. "The war is over. The peace restored." Cynism drips of every word. "The ministry will remember us soon enough."

"What do you want?"

"Intel." Fenrir doesn't even have the decency to look ashamed.

"What for?"

"I will burn down the werewolf registry. With or without you." His lips are a sharp line. "It's up to you how many die in the process."

Remus scoffs. But really, what choice does he have? He could - of course - rat Fenrir out. But he would disappear like he did a dozen times before. He could simply say no and watch the bloodbath unfold. Or he could save, oh, so many werewolves from prosecution. The unknown ones, the marginalized ones. The ones without friends. It won't help him. He is too well know. Nor Fenrir who is infamous. Yet.

"We have a deal."

[rarepairsmakeawish]

So... to get things going and promote Rare pairs even more, you can also ping us for rarepair-fics you found, wrote or loved :)

We will reblog.

Rare pairs are our world.

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Hello, hope you’ve been well!! I would love more Rodolphus/Voldemort if you’re up for it - The last one you did was amazing :D

Well, I asked for it, so I can hardly complain, right? ;)

He knows it. The moment his Lord takes the first step on the island he knows it. The Dementors huddle, the very ground shakes in fear from the Dark Lord's passage.

Freedom is at reach. Only minutes, until he will walk it, seconds to the first taste, when Voldemort enters the scene. Bellatrix is cackling in joy, Rabastan whoops.

Rodolphus waits in silence - there is nothing joyful to it. What he is, here and now, a ruin of himself, is not worthy of the Dark Lord's attention. His body is thin and dirty, his hair lank.

He let himself go, didn't find a way to free himself, waited stupidly, honourlessly for help he does not deserve. He stays in the shadows because of it, when both his companions surge towards the bars that bow and break before them.

Yet, Voldemort waves them away, to the side, before he steps through the broken cage, reaching out towards Rodolphus in the shadows. "My most faithful."

There is no arguing, when the Dark Lord demands. Roldolphus knows no pride, when it comes to him, no self-defence. He comes out of the darkness, and as he passes, his hair rightens, the dirt falls of him, burns of him like a shadow of the past.

"Rise in my service and be raised." The Dark Lord always knows the right words. Rodolphus bows and is pulled up again by a long-fingered, thin hand with sharp nails. "You won't bow before me, but stand by my side."

Mesmerized Rodolphus takes his place. He lives for that man, dies for that man, and despite all, kneels for that man. At night, where no one can see it. Even Voldemort has his moments of weakness - he deserves only the best then.

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Talking with writers online

Their stories: Amazing grammar, soaring vocabulary, beautiful imagery and prose which flows like a river.

In chats: no capitalisation or punctuation, swears like a sailor, misspellings everywhere, acronyms and abbreviations every five words, idek

[rarepairsmakeawish]

[rarepairsmakeawish]

For the Drabble prompts: #101 with Barty/Sirius?

"We all want to be somebody."

(cw: blood/torture)

Sirius has Moody strung up in the Shrieking Shack.

If he were actually Mad-Eye, that wouldn't have been possible. That man's got a constant vigilance that can't be faked, not entirely. Mimicked, maybe; made a mockery of, for sure, but copied? Precisely? No.

"Fuckin' knew it," Sirius mutters, pacing back and forth in front of Moody. Or not Moody, as it were. "Knew someone was after Harry... Put his name in—it was you, wasn't it? Whoever you are. Fucking idiot, that's who you are."

Not-Moody doesn't make a sound. He's very still against the wall, spread out eagle-wide, wooden leg lying on the floor. Sirius would feel a little bad about that if it were actually Moody.

What if it is? whispers a voice in Sirius' head. What if you've lost it and finally cracked and poor Moody is your victim?

A beat later, Sirius snorts at the mere thought. Moody's no one's victim, ever. Never was. Never would be. If this is really him, he'd consider himself responsible for letting himself get in this mess to begin with. They'd have a chat. They could talk it out. It's fine. Sirius isn't unreasonable.

Sirius is waiting. There was a flask of polyjuice on Moody, or not-Moody, which seems evident enough of foul-play. He also smells wrong. Smells like fear, and Moody never smelled like fear, even when he had every right to.

What tipped Sirius off, though, was a different smell. Caught the scent as Padfoot, fucking about and frolicking in the Forbidden Forest, chasing memories. Came back a little early, because Harry—well, he's a brat. Doesn't listen well. Offends easily, and too independent for his own good. Always in some kind of trouble, so what's a godfather to do besides come rushing back to keep him safe? Even if all he can do is hang about in caves and woods and eat rats. Not like he minds. He always pictures Peter. Enjoys the taste.

The scent—the thing is, the scent. It was something odd. Something a little dark. Something, quite frankly, that Sirius typically associated with his family. Especially Bellatrix. The scent wafting from her even floors down in Azkaban, so distant and faint that only her muffled laughter, so similar to his own, confirmed it was her.

This man has it. That scent. Not-Moody. Not Moody, because he'd never have it. Wouldn't be able to. Only very select people can put off that stench. His family, of course. Voldemort, as much as Sirius hates to admit it, and thanks to him, all his Death Eaters, too, since they wear his brand.

So, either this man is related to Sirius, or he's a Death Eater, or—more likely—both.

A stupid part of Sirius hopes it's Regulus. Knows it's not, but can't help but wish, anyway.

The dead don't come back to life.

Except, apparently, they do. Because when the polyjuice wears off, someone who's dead is what remains behind. Not Regulus. No, that boy. Crouch. A couple years behind Regulus. Died in Azkaban, didn't he?

Well, clearly not.

Sirius crosses his arms. Stares. Secretly a little affronted. He's the only one who's ever broken out of Azkaban. Just him. Takes pride in that, too.

Yet, apparently he isn't the only one. Here's this boy—no, a man now. Years it's been since he was a boy. Still a scrawny thing, though. Thin the way Sirius is. Malnourished. Hasn't been fed well. He's been playing as Moody presumably for the whole year so far, so he's had access to food, but it's no match for going a lot longer without.

"Bartemius, right?" Sirius asks, and the boy doesn't respond outside of the slightest clench in his jaw. "You're impersonating Mad-Eye. Put Harry Potter's name in the Goblet, too, I'll bet." Again, nothing. Sirius nods. "Alright, let's see how you hold up after a few days."

One thing Azkaban taught Sirius was patience. Also a healthy dose of revenge-induced bloodlust. Sirius can't get a hold of Peter, or Voldemort. But here's this boy who might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time when he got caught and sentenced to life in prison, yet there's a brand on his arm that fucking stinks, and Sirius has nothing but time and unlimited patience now to get the answers he wants.

Sirius was never squeamish, but he supposes Azkaban also taught him to be desensitized to misery. To pain. To torture and torment. Got used to it there, and finds himself numb to it now, here. Unbothered. A little bored, even.

Barty prefers to be called Barty, not Bartemius. He's a bit off in the head. Odd, really. Smart, practically a fucking genius, and he'd have to be to pull off everything he has, right under the noses of those like Dumbledore. Yet, he's strange about his own body. Detached from it. Doesn't seem to consider it his own. Talks about it like it's a tool, like Sirius can wield it however he likes, and it won't break Barty's mind. Talks about that, his mind, as if it's the only thing he owns. As if it's the only thing he knows.

"They tortured you," Sirius says, four days into his long, drawn-out investigation. "Voldemort. The Death Eaters. Probably my dear cousin, too, I'm sure."

"No," says Barty. "They never hurt me."

Sirius isn't sure he believes that. Barty is too accustomed to pain. Or no, his response suggests that. He detaches with startling ease. Retreats back into his own head. Hides somewhere. Sirius hasn't hurt him in days. Barely did the first day. Drew a little blood—knows how important blood is, especially to people like him—but hasn't done anything since. Changed tactics as soon as he knew he had to.

Sirius takes a bite out of a rat's tail, chewing thoughtfully. Barty pisses himself without flinching, without shame, as if it's not a filth he's responsible for, as if it doesn't touch him. Sirius cleans him with a flick of his wand, considering.

"So, who then?" Sirius points the half-eaten rat tail at him, eyebrows raised. "Who made you like this?"

"My father," Barty says dully. Retreated again. Distant. Hiding. He's more forthcoming like this. Speaks as if he's forced to. Trapped. Out of control.

It takes two more days for Sirius to get it out of him, anyway. What his dad did to him. Years of Imperio, total control over him, whole-body force. Only his mind to keep, and it remained out of reach until he got it back. He's never letting it go again.

It's a pitiful thing. Cruel. Sad.

Sirius uses it, of course.

"Right, well, I'll just have Dementors summoned for you, then," Sirius informs him. "Since you don't want to give me answers, I'll make sure you get kissed. Leaves you a shell, you know. You won't even have your mind, once it's done."

That does the trick. Everyone's got a breaking point, and Barty's a loyal bastard, perhaps especially to Voldemort most of all, but Voldemort isn't here, and Sirius is the only one who can save him from his fate now.

So, Barty gives in and comes clean. Took a while. Took longer than most, and the right kind of torment, the right kind of threat, but Sirius wasn't above it. Never would be, where his godson's safety is concerned.

Besides, Barty's stunted, like Sirius is. Emotionally. Physically. Got frozen in time, tossed in the deep end of a prison unlike any other, and never had the space to grow. Deep down, he's still that boy. Scared. Angry. Looking for everything his father wouldn't give him. Voldemort saw it, and used it. Bellatrix doted on him, too. Took care of him. He meant it when he said they never hurt him.

"You can't—" Barty shakes his head. "You can't let them do that to me. I'll—I can take you to Peter. I can—"

"Oh, don't worry, you and me—we're a package deal now, Bartemius," Sirius drawls, and doesn't even necessarily mind the thought, honestly. He's a bit lonely. Buckbeak isn't one to snuggle. "If you want to keep your life, and more importantly, your mind, you'll stick with me. If you try to run, I won't kill you. I'll capture you. And I'll drag you all the way back to Azkaban myself. You believe that?"

"Yes," Barty rasps.

"You've got a choice here," Sirius tells him. "I can't make it for you. We all want to be somebody, but I can't tell you who that is for you. So, what'll it be?"

"I just want to be me," Barty whispers.

Yeah, that's what Sirius thought.

Sirius nods and lets him down from the wall. He crumbles in on himself. He's been up there for over a week. Barely seems to conceptualize that his limbs are his own. Too long they spent on strings, perpetually someone else's puppet. It was invasive. Wrong. Repulsive.

Sirius can fix it. Can't do much right, these days, on the run as he is. Already fucked up too badly with those long gone, but this boy—this young man, only four years younger—is someone he can do right by.

Straighten him out. Save him, like he couldn't James. Protect him, like he couldn't Regulus. Give him someone worth being loyal to, like he couldn't the whole world.

Barty's still young. Stunted. Impressionable. Controlled by all those around him, desperate for someone to devote himself to. He'll be easy enough to manipulate. Not in a malicious way, but like a kicked puppy. Feed it well, pet it, teach it to do tricks, give it a home...

Well, if he's going to bite anyway, it doesn't hurt to spare those Sirius loves from the sting.

Besides, they're both on the run now. It's not like they can live freely. It's not like they have anywhere to really go.

So, Sirius sends Dumbledore a letter. Updates him. Tells him where to find the real Moody. Tells him the original plan to bring Voldemort back. Tells him everything he needs to know, and tells him, as always, to watch after Harry. To keep him safe.

Then, Sirius gets Barty up, a broad hand cradling the back of his neck, and says, just a little too warm, "Now, where did you say Peter was again?"

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Sirius/Draco or Regulus/Draco

Current open requests:

Fenrir/Sirius or Fenrir/Alphard and

James/Barty

[rarepairsmakeawish]

rarepair wish

Using the opportunity that @rarepairsmakeawish grants us.

Pairing: Sirius/Draco or Regulus/Draco

Length: any length is perfect

Max rating: E (but I'm happy with any rating)

Prompt:

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Current open requests:

Fenrir/Sirius or Fenrir/Alphard and

James/Barty

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Rarepair Make a Wish

this is such a cool concept let me just *slides in*

@rarepairsmakeawish

So what I have on my mind is truly a rare pair, there's about 1 fic of it on AO3 but the concept and pair are so interesting to me! Pair: James Potter / Barty Crouch Jr. Length: However long you want it to be, anything between 50 - ∞ words is goodddd Rating: From M to E, i love a bit of smut ~ Prompt: "Does it make you nervous when I stare?" If smut, then pls James 🔝 and Barty b0ttom I'm exciteddd 💝

[rarepairsmakeawish]

Make a wish

@rarepairsmakeawish

I would like to ask for a story.

Pairing: Fenrir/Sirius or Fenrir/Alphard

Length: even the shortest bit would make me happy

Max rating: E

Prompt: something smutty, deeply emotional or a moral challenge