#summary do be misleading rn

[alarainai]

early morning, coffee cups | chapter twenty

"It was always my story, my happy ending. It was plotted out and drafted before we even came into your lives, for fuck sake," James is working himself up again, a hand running through his hair. When he meets Regulus' eyes, he looks... Regulus doesn't know. But he doesn't like it. "So, don't you dare come in here and accuse me of using you when I have done nothing but dream of being with you for nearly a decade."

[x] Sirius and Regulus own a failing bakery, Remus is writing a Christmas-themed novel, and James just wants everyone to enjoy the festive season.

[straighttohellbuddy]

worship garbage truths

What You Love You Devour Side Story

Summary: Dream's broken out of prison, and finally understands why the reader is the way they are.

Need to Know: they/them, VILLAIN!reader, established revivebur/Reader but he's not in this fic. c!Dream & Villain!Reader friendship

A/N: 1318 words. oh man literally cannot stress the VILLAIN part of the reader rn, like I don't condone c!Dream's actions but the reader actively supports him and his plan to fuck up Tommy, so if that's not your jam please skip this fic. I know the full fic isn't out but I watched the prison break and this came to me like a vision from an angry God. Unedited and almost definitely incomprehensible.

now with a remix worship garbage truths // devoured

The prison’s siren rings so loud you can feel it deep in your bones; the intervals between the siren’s sounding are getting shorter and shorter. One of these days it’s going to start and not stop, you’re almost sure of it. The last two times had been false, had been misleading, and you wonder if that’s the case again, or if finally, finally, something interesting was happening.

You can’t find Wilbur, it feels like you can’t find anyone, your footsteps the only sound that isn’t the incessant wailing of the sirens. Perhaps you should see what’s happening, go down and stick your nose where it probably doesn’t belong. It’s not as if you have anything better to do; it’s not far. Wilbur had been glad for the house’s proximity to the prison, enamoured with Dream since his revival, so it’s not far to walk before you hear the shouting. Finally something interesting; the world had been growing stale lately. 

Dream’s shouting is the first that you hear, heartbeat thundering in your chest with sudden exhilaration realising that the alarm wasn’t a hoax. You should have brought your axe, you realise, hearing the noise of metal against metal, sparks flying and potion bottles shattering. It only takes a few minutes of your gleeful watching before you feel the strange prickle of cold dread on the back of your neck, and you look over, closer to the actual entrance to the prison, and see a Wither looming overhead.

And then another.

Everyone’s yelling and for the first time in a long time Dream and Technoblade are two sides of the same coin, desperate and demanding in opposite directions, between freedom and loyalty. 

Time freezes in the moment where Ranboo’s black and white halves become quarters, bisected by a red and green slash across his middle, and Techno practically howls with anger. Something irate flares inside of you; Sam has always been a poor warden with little idea about how to properly control his inmates, he kills so needlessly, and in vain. Ranboo’s death would never have helped him; your lip curls in disgust. 

Dream bolts past you as he finally convinces Techno to get away. The moment his eyes meet yours there’s concern, there’s confusion; who’s side would you be on today? But you tell him to run, with a firm nod like a promise of more, we’ll speak soon, and he runs.

Techno and Dream get away, and finally the guards appear to notice you. Really their situational awareness is sometimes laughable. Sure, they yell at you, asking how you could just let them get away, as if they’ve forgotten who exactly they’re speaking to, but you simply shrug, and remind them that there’s a Wither looming ever closer. 

At first you run for cover, to the treeline, thinking about heading to your home, but your curiosity has gotten the better of you. Dream is free, on the run, and you've built your home a stone's throw from the building where he was locked up and tortured. If you wanted to see him again soon, you'd have to pick somewhere much further away, somewhere he'd know to look.

You wait for hours in the room that had been once filled with stolen love, in the middle of a mountain, so far from almost anything else. The plaques are still up, still on the wall, and you know that you have an old bed further down the mountain, a home amongst the sand, this is the room where you wait.

"Will you ever let this go?" To your surprise, Dream's voice was stronger than you'd expected after what you assume is lack of use followed by intense shouting. Perhaps he'd had time to stop for a water break. Good for him.

"Half the time you were on my side, and the other half I had to stop myself from reviving the only thing you actually ever cared about, just so I could lock him up here," his lip curled as he finally took a moment to breath, to sag against the wall.

"You finally caved," you said sweetly, sitting up.

"You're welcome," Dream huffed, vaguely irrate. Silence fills the air, and so slowly it's almost painful, he slides down the wall until he's sitting, knees to his chest, looking exhausted. His mask is cracked. His hair's a mess. His hands are shaking.

"Why here?" He asked; from what you can see of his face it's drawn into something serious.

"Irony," you said without much thought, and he looks to you sharply, as if daring you to elaborate, "you kept everyone's attachments here to have sort of control over them, now it's empty and you, the man who famously claims to have no attachments, are here because I put myself in here."

"You're insufferable sometimes," he huffs, though you can see the hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.

"You didn't have to show up," you pointed out, and there comes another lull in the conversation, filled only by the gentle sounds of the ocean from far outside the mountain.

"How's freedom?" You asked, and Dream stretches out his legs in front of him.

"Tommy runs faster than I remember," he says darkly, stretching him arms out wide and fanning out his fingers and clenching them into a fist. Watching him with interest, you are quiet, "you were right." He says flatly, and finally looks up, meets your gaze, "the only thing worth giving a fuck about is your own enjoyment. People make themselves miserable trying to be good, or trying to bring people together, people who don't give a shit about togetherness," he huffs a long, annoyed sigh, head lolling back against the wall, his gaze on the roof, "fuckin' kid's been a pain in my ass for so long; he gets to be the good guy, he gets to have people who love him, it's selfish -"

"Selfish to have loved ones?" You ask, tone non-judgemental, just curious; Dream's way of seeing the world had always intrigued you, to be sure. You quite liked this new development. Or perhaps you just liked hearing him admit you were right. Dream chuckles humourlessly, tipping his head forward to look at you, his one visible eye gleaming with dark malice.

"He parades his attachments around like he thinks I won't use it against him; I've been the villain, the fuckin' bad guy for the greater good for so long, common enemy, all that shit, and it didn't even go the way I planned," his lips curled, and he looked to his hands, to his chipped nails and bruises and scrapes, "and now nobody would give half a shit if I tried to change; I could turn into a Saint overnight and Sam would be hauling my ass to prison the moment he spots me," he snarled, before adding, "fuck Sam, fuck Quackity, and fuck Tommyinnit. What kind of reform were they hoping for me considering my only enrichment was daily torture?"

"Its fun to be a villain when you're in it for selfish reasons."

"Being selfless is exhausting, I'm going fucking apeshit; I've earned it. That kid got me locked up and tortured; I'm gonna stop making his life and death a nightmare when it stops being cathartic," then, after a beat, he looks at you, gaze hard and analytical, "if you try and stop me I'll kill you too."

"I'm not going to deliver Tommy to you, I have no interest in actively hurting Wilbur like that," you rolled your eyes, "but I won't stop you. You've finally come to understand the pursuit of selfish joy, this is a win for me."

"You're a terrible person," he says with a smile that you almost recognise from his old self, something fond.

"Pick a lane," you roll your eyes, and he huffs a laugh but concedes.

"We're terrible people."

// now with a remix worship garbage truths // devoured //

[plant-flwrs]

hi! i absolutely love your writing!! can i request a pureblood slytherin (kinda mysterious?) reader x george? muggle-borns call her the child of the cheshire cat bc her mischievous smile says it all. so when the twins escape the professor, she answers in riddles to not blow their cover. you can add on to that, thank you!! 🧡🧡

mischief // george weasley

masterlist!

a/n: i love your request so much!! i’m sleep deprived rn so i apologize if none of this is coherent or good, but my tiny brain did it’s best. hope u like it!!

summary: George falls for the mischievous pureblood Slytherin who couldn’t care less about blood status.

(3.1k)

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“You’ve never seen Alice in Wonderland?”

“No,” Ron groaned, annoyed with Hermione’s better-than tone.

“When would he have seen Alice in Wonderland, Hermione?” Harry asked, also annoyed with the two’s constant bickering.

“It is a book too, you know, he could have picked it up and read it any time he liked,” Hermione defended, sticking her little nose into the air with purpose.

“Will you just tell me what it means?” Ron pressed.

“It’s a reference. The Cheshire Cat is a mischievously annoying animal. It would mislead and annoy Alice,” Hermione explained, trying to simplify the characterization for Ron.

“So why do they call her that?”

“Because she gives us the creeps, she’s evil looking,” Harry answered, shuddering his shoulders slightly. 

“She’s actually quite interesting,” Hermione said, “if you gave her a chance.”

Harry rolled his eyes, having little sympathy for any pureblood Slytherin. Ron’s face showed him to be in deep thought, and Hermione returned to her Divination work.

You were perched in a shadowed corner of the library, twisting the ends of your hair in your fingers. Pansy sat across from you, reading her Potions textbook with great concentration. You hummed to yourself, a dull smile on your lips.

“Y/n,” Pansy spoke slowly, tearing her eyes away from the textbook and showing it to you, “do you know what this means?”

You looked intently into the notebook, your head nodding slowly as you read the page.

“Yeah, it’s applying the absorbing properties in lizard scales to the enlarging properties of ogre’s root. All the other stuff is there to make sure you don’t die, probably,” you said, handing Pansy the textbook back.

She made an “oh” noise, finally understanding the potion.

“I don’t think this school could be any more boring if it tried,” you groaned.

Pansy gave you an entertained smile and returned to her book.

Your gaze had drifted to look out of the window when you heard a loud crash.

Your head snapped to where it came from and your legs were moving before you had realized where they were going.

You came to stand right in front of three crashed bookshelves, little Cornish Pixies rolling around in all the books that lay on the floor.

You watched two red-headed boys doubled over trying to catch the Pixies in their outstretched hands.

“What happened here, boys?” you drawled, leaning against a book shelf that still stood upright.

“Shit!” one of them shouted, clutching his chest with this hand, “Scared us.”

“You gonna stand there, or help us?” the other said, not lifting his eyes from the Pixie he just managed to shove in his pocket.

“I think I’ll watch for now,” you quipped, a smirk reaching your mouth.

You watched them attempt to gather all the Pixies, until all three of your heads shot up at the heavy footsteps of McGonagall. 

“What on earth?” she started, and you watched the twins duck behind some standing bookshelves a few feet away.

“Did you see who did this?” she asked you, her suspicious eye trained on you.

“Did what?”

“This!” she shouted, her hands flailing towards the fallen shelves and books littering the ground

“What about this?” you asked, feigning innocence and confusion.

“Why are there shelves knocked down and books everywhere?” 

“Are they not supposed to be like this?” you nearly broke your act, a smile threatening your lips, but managed to keep a straight face. McGonagall looked infuriated.

“Did you see where they went?”

“Where who went?”

“The people who did this! Unless it was you?”

“I didn’t do it.”

“Then who did?”

“Who did what?”

“This!” she repeated, her face turning red.

“Oh! I think they went that way,” you pointed over your shoulder, the opposite way the twins went.

“She’s brilliant,” George whispered to his brother from behind the shelves.

“You can say that again, Georgie,” Fred answered, watching you in awe as you waved off McGonagall.

They crept form behind their hiding places, stepping cautiously around the fallen books. 

“How did you do that?” George asked, looking at you in awe.

“Do what?”

Fred smiled at you, quite entertained. George just stared, his mouth hanging open in amazement. 

You sauntered off, sitting back down with Pansy.

“Jaw up, George, you’re drooling,” Fred taunted his brother, bumping into George’s shoulder.

The two left the library, sneaking past Madam Pince. George watched you smooth down your green tie with your delicate touch, your eyes locking with his. He admired the mischievous grin on your lips, and he gulped when you winked at him. He just met The Child of The Cheshire Cat. And he was in love with her.

The two boys peered around the corner, Fred crouched below George. They watched you carefully taking a bobby pin to Snape’s door, your fingers jutting back and forth against the pressure you applied.

George watched you pull your lips between your teeth. He watched the curve of your body as you stood on the tips of your toes, bent at the knees and leaning close to the door. Your skirt itched dangerously up, exposing more and more of your thighs.

Fred’s eyes were trained on your mischievous actions, but all George could focus on was you. He tried to stop thinking about you, but ever since that day in the library he couldn’t get you out of his head. It became even harder when Fred insisted you join them in their pranks from now on.

You stood suddenly, your skirt falling back into place, much to George’s dismay. You turned towards the boys, smirking at them. Fred sprang from his place behind the wall. George stumbled to follow after his brother.

You bent the bobby pin back into place and George watched you tuck it seamlessly into your hair. 

“All in a day’s work, boys,” you said, breaking the silence that had formed around the three of you while they stared at you in awe.

“You’re brilliant,” Fred mumbled, gripping your shoulders and kissing your cheek briskly.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. George debated if he should copy his brother’s actions, take advantage of the situation to make an excuse to be that close to you. Before he could, he realized he had been staring at you for far too long. He coughed awkwardly and casted his gaze to the ground. You quirked an eyebrow at him in suspicion, and followed Fred into the potions class.

“What are we looking for, exactly?” you whispered into the dark room.

“We need more Ashwinder eggs for our products,” you heard Fred whisper back to you a few feet away, “running low on our supplies.”

“So you thought Snape wouldn’t mind letting you borrow some of his?” you teased, and heard Fred snort from where he was.

“Of course not,” George said from behind you, “as you may know, he’s a very generous man.”

“Always been supportive of us,” Fred joined, the smirk very loud in his voice.

George was close to you in the dark, you could tell. He must have been inches away from you, waiting for Fred to gather what he needed. You could hear his breathing, not that it was labored, and felt his presence.

“Fred, will you hurry it up?” George snapped at Fred.  You turned to where his voice came from, the deepness in his whisper surprising you.

“Scared?” you teased.

You heard George’s low chuckle, and suddenly two hands snaked their way onto your sides. George’s long fingers gripped your sides, making your entire body jolt. You jumped at the sudden touch, and heard George chuckle even more.

“Scared?” he murmured, his hands still on your sides but his fingers considerably looser.

You met his hands with yours, putting them on top of his for some reassurance that you weren’t imagining it. Your touch was featherlight over his rough hands, and you realized how small your hands were next to his. You felt the veins on the top of his hands and traced over them before you knew what you were doing. George’s chuckle stopped at the touch, and the only noise in the room was the occasional clink of two glass bottles bumping into each other as Fred looked for the eggs.

The two of you stood in silence, George’s body inching closer to yours from behind you. Soon, your back was against his chest, and he trapped you in his arms. Your arms leaned against his, hands still atop his hands. You felt safe in George’s arms. You didn’t care if Snape came in at that minute, you just wanted George to hold you.

“Got ‘em!” Fred called out, a few clinking noises heard.

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice closer to you now.

George started to turn, turning you with him. He gave you one last squeeze, moving his hands a little lower on your hips before releasing you completely. You let your hands fall from his, and moved from your spot against his chest.

The moment of intimacy in the dark had caused a blush to spread across your cheeks, and George saw it the second you three reached the dimly lit hallway. You avoided his eyes, looking at Fred and the three glass bottles he was slipping in his pockets.

“What are you going to use those for?” you whispered, following them down the hallway.

“Our luck and love potions,” Fred answered, his hand ghosting over the eggs in his pocket.

You nodded approvingly, taking a glance over your shoulder to make sure you were still in the clear. The three of you stopped at the bottom of the stairs, well you stopped at the bottom of the stairs.

“Aren’t you coming?” Fred asked, looking down at you from a few steps above you.

They both towered over you, but the look in George’s eyes made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

“My common room is down here,” you lifted your hand to point your thumb over your shoulder.

“Oh right,” Fred said, smiling, “sometimes you’re so much fun we forget you’re a Slytherin.”

“Shut up,” you said, laughing. 

The boys watched you walk away. Fred smiled at the memory of the successful night they had, and George smiled at the way your skirt moved across your hips and swayed side to side.

“And where were you?” Draco Malfoy’s sneer was on you immediately after you crept into the common room. He was lounging on the couch, face illuminated by the dwindling fire on front of him.

“Where was who?” you smirked, starting your usual act.

Draco smirked back at you, aware of your reputation.

“Off with the Weasleys? You’ve been spending a lot of time with them recently. If anyone had some sense they might begin to question you aligning yourself with blood traitors,” Draco drawled.

You furrowed your brows, feeling incapable of deflecting that like you usually would. You were never one to focus on your blood status, but you figured you didn’t have to since you were a pureblood. Draco was obsessed with his blood status, you knew that, everyone knew that. Why was he so concerned with yours all of a sudden?

“Why do you care, Draco?”

Draco’s cold laugh echoed off the walls of the dungeon.

“I try to look out for my housemates,” he said, “especially the incredibly attractive ones.”

Your face twisted with disgust before you could help it. You walked past him and up the stairs, hearing his laugh continue from behind you.

Up in your room, you reflected on your night. You couldn’t help but lift your hands to where George’s had been earlier. You closed your eyes, imagining him still there with you, his chest a hard presence behind you. You breathed in deep, feeling the familiar tightness in your chest. A smile was on your lips before you knew it, and you realized you wanted George to hold you more often.

The next day at breakfast, you had filled your plate with food and talked with Pansy.

“So,” she started, glancing at you over her Charms textbook, “where were you off to last night?”

You smiled at her, looking down at your plate. When you looked back up at her, you noticed Draco watching you a few seats down. You gave him a glare, and he smirked at you.

“I was with Fred and George,” you turned your attention back to Pansy.

“The Weasleys? Why were you with the Weasleys?” Pansy tried to hide the repulsion in her voice, and barely managed to.

“They’re my friends,” you defended, furrowing your brow at her.

“Since when?”

You didn’t answer her, feeling that whatever said wouldn’t matter much to her.

Pansy gave you a suspicious look and returned to her textbook and breakfast.

You looked down at your plate, not daring a glance at Pansy or an accidental look at Draco. You felt isolated, the green tie around your neck becoming too suffocating all of a sudden.

You stood from the table, leaving breakfast early. You walked to the empty hallway and felt a little better in the quiet.

“Y/n?” you heard a voice call for you.

When you turned in the direction of the Great Hall, you saw George. He was walking cautiously towards you, concern etched on his face.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound normal.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

George had closed the distance between you, coming to stand right in front of you. You turned from him, leaning against the wall. He did too, and you felt his arm against yours.

“Fred and I were going to talk to you after breakfast,” he said, “but since you’re already here.”

“More late night sneaking around?”

“You could say that,” he smiled down at you.

You turned your head to look at him, and he was already looking at you. You felt your heart stop beating, the air stuck in your throat. Your eyes danced all over his face, focusing on the strength of his cheekbones, the sharpness of his nose, the smile lines marked on his cheeks, the look in his eyes. 

He didn’t know what was happening. You turned towards him, leaning closer. You closed the distance and your hands were in his hair. He barely had time to close his eyes before you pulled away. You leaned back against the wall for a second, shook your head, and started to walk away.

You felt like an idiot. You had no idea why you just kissed George, probably ruining the only genuine friendship you had made at Hogwarts. You walked away from him, hoping that the sooner you left, the easier he would forget it happened.

You were only a few feet away before his hand was wrapped around your wrist.

“George, I’m sorr-”

He cut you off with his lips, his hands cupping your face.

He pulled you back to the wall, pushing you against it. The force nearly made your legs tremble from under you, but you forced them to stay still. 

His hands ran down your body, moving from your face and down to their spot on your hips. He squeezed them like he did last night. You couldn’t help the reaction it caused, lurching your hips into his at the touch. He groaned into your mouth, pushing his face harder against yours. His nose pressed against your cheek, your chins bumping as you passionately moved against each other. 

“Well, this is awfully disappointing.” You barely registered the voice, and George certainly didn’t.

You opened your eyes, still kissing George and glanced to the sound. Draco stood there, an evil smirk on his mouth. You slowly pulled away from George, and he trailed after you, trying to continue the kiss. It wasn’t until you turned your head to look at Draco that George even realized he was there.

“Get out of here Malfoy,” George said, his voice gruff and annoyed.

He moved back towards you, expecting Draco to scurry off. Draco stayed put, and you pulled back from George.

“What do you want, Draco?” you said, still pushed against the wall with George leaning on you.

You didn’t even bother to fix your messy hair, adjust your skirt, or tuck your shirt back in. All of which were messed up by George’s roaming hands.

“Just wanted to make sure my eyes didn’t deceive me,” he snarled, “Saw a Weasel chasing after you, but I didn’t think it would have been this bad.”

“What are you on about?” George said, and you could feel his body tensing with anger.

“Well I have to report this to the Sacred 28,” he explained, casting a fake innocent look over his evil features, “they’ll have to know that the Y/l/n family are now blood traitors.”

“Malfoy, you’re the only one who still cares about that,” you sneered.

You would have felt a bit intimated by Malfoy if it weren’t for George. You knew Malfoy was one of the smartest students in his year and had no doubt he knew some dark spells that you couldn’t have dreamed of. But George made you feel safe. When George was there you didn’t even think about the danger Malfoy threatened.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he started to saunter over to the two of you, “your father still seems to care.”

George moved you from the wall, putting himself between you and Draco. 

Draco was right about your father. He cared a great deal about his status and the power it held. He had grown to accept your disobedience, but you had never strayed this far from his ideals.

“You’re pathetic, Malfoy,” George spat from in front of you. You squeezed his arm warningly, and he glanced down at you. The second he saw your scared expression, his gaze softened.

“Shove off,” you managed, your voice nearly sounding afraid.

“Alright,” Draco said in a sing-song voice, holding his hands up in mock defeat, “fine, be that way.”

He walked back into the hall, and George turned to you with concern on his face.

“Why did you do that?” 

“I don’t care about what my father thinks,” you admitted, furrowing your brow.

“Are you sure?” George asked you.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, looking up at George’s brown eyes, “You mean more to me than any useless blood status.”

George softened. He literally felt himself melt at your words. He took a few large steps, a goofy smile plastered in his face, and backed you against the wall again.

“That was adorable,” he said, sounding giddy.

You laughed, moving closer to his face. Your smiles connected, quickly changing to a heated kiss once again.