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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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breaching sunlight / f. g. weasley

summary: you could always count on fred to be like sunlight in your life. even when hogwarts seemed to be eternally overcast by a certain pink devil. warnings: not proofread. no use of y/n. 2k words. inspired by that one scene where fred and george are being super cute and console a younger student.

“What’s your name?”

Was the first thing you heard once you escaped Umbridge's office.

It was a quiet whisper. Not directed at you, but to someone else entirely down the corridor.

You didn’t dare show your face yet. Not with your cheeks still damp and blotchy, your eyes puffy and your nose red from crying. Tears you’d held back until you were well out of her line of sight.

“Michael,” came a much smaller voice in reply. A boy — younger, no older than a second year by the sound of it.

“It’s going to be alright,” said another voice. Older and steady. George.

“Yeah,” came Fred’s voice next. “It’s not as bad as it seems. See? Ours are already fading.”

You stood hidden behind the wide stone column, one hand clutched tightly over your chest as you tried to regulate your breathing. You couldn’t let them see you like this. You knew they were waiting for you.

You heard Michael sniffle again — a tiny, wet sound. It cut through you like a knife. It made you want to punch that awful toad in the throat. It made you want to hug the little boy, tell him he did nothing wrong.

“The pain stops after a while,” said George.

Michael sniffed again. “Does… does it always hurt that much?”

There was a pause.

You leaned closer to the stone.

Fred answered. Softer this time. “First time’s the worst.”

With a deep breath, you decided to reveal yourself. You inhaled deeply, before exhaling. You wiped your tears off your face and put on a smile before stepping out.

The sound of your shoes against the rock floor, made their heads snap up at you. You just smiled and raised your arm, showing them your newly acquired scars.

Fred stood up, quietly meeting you halfway, whilst George stayed crouched next to Michael.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sneak in a proper bomb in her tea without her noticing?” you asked, trying your best to sound humorous.

“I’ll see what we can do about that,” he said as he ever so gently grabbed your arms to inspect it. You felt his eyes trace over the words carved into your skin.

I must not be a brat.

You felt the way his grip briefly tightened around you before loosening again.

You stared at George and offered him a small smile along with a wave of your left hand — the one left unoccupied by Fred.

He and Michael both waved back.

“You alright love?” George asked.

You just nodded, but a quiet sniffle made it past. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Fred didn’t press you on that — just gave your arm one last careful squeeze before letting go. He tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning your face with that unreadable expression he wore when he was trying to make sense of something he didn’t like.

You just smiled, a tight lipped smile, up at him.

He got the message. Even though he didn’t like it one bit. There was nothing he could do, not without a visit to the toad’s office of his own. Instead, he just placed his hand on your lower back and gently led you to the others.

You settled on the cold stone bench beside the others, the only sound echoing through the corridor being George’s encouraging words to the younger boy.

It made your stomach turn. Just a few months prior, these same corridors would have been buzzing with energy. Even Peeves seemed to not be in the mood for anything anymore.

“What’d she get you in for?” Fred asked, breaking the silence as he stood beside you.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, the smile on your face faltering.

“I snapped,” you murmured, eyes fixed on the floor. “She said the Ministry’s wasting money funding the permanent care ward at St. Mungo’s.”

That seemed to get George’s attention as well.

“She said it right in front of Neville too,” you went on, voice taut and low.”

You paused, knuckles white where your hands were clasped tightly in your lap.

“And when I told her she was wrong,” you added, jaw tightening, “she called me a brat. An attention seeker. Said I was just trying to cause trouble.”

Everyone remained quiet for a moment, and you felt tears spilling over your eyes once again. You stood up sharply, anger flooding through your veins. Your head replayed the scenario, going over every other possible wretched and horrible thing you could’ve said to her.

You faced the opposite wall, your body shaking with anger as you tried blinking the tears away.

“Merlin, that woman… she deserves Azkaban,” you mumbled, your voice breaking slightly as you bit your nails.

Fred was quiet behind you.

You didn’t turn to look at him — couldn’t — not with your eyes glassy and your hands trembling like that. The silence stretched out, thick and heavy, until the only sound was the soft scratch of your nail against your teeth and Michael’s sniffles a few feet away.

You flinched when you felt the faintest brush of fingers against your sleeve. His hand slipped down slowly until it found yours.

Your fingers had been at your mouth again, nails raw where you’d been chewing without thinking. But Fred’s fingers gently curled around yours, coaxing your hand down. He didn’t say a word, just held it quietly.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You didn’t turn.

He didn’t ask you to.

For a long second, you stood there, you facing the wall, him just barely close enough to feel the warmth of his arm against yours. His thumb moved once, brushing over your knuckles, careful not to go over the freshly carved scars. Though they seemed intent on doing so, you could feel his gaze wandering lower —taking them in. Wanting to brush his thumb over them to make sure you were okay.

Then, barely above a whisper, he spoke again.

“How long were you standing back there?”

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat thick and unmoving. You shook your head a little, still not looking at him.

“I’m fine,” you said again, soft and too hollow to sound true.

Fred didn’t challenge it.

He just held your hand a little tighter.

After a moment, you turned your head just slightly, your eyes fixed somewhere far off down the corridor.

“How’d you know?”

His voice was low. Gentle. “I didn’t.”

You knew in true Fred fashion, a smirk was trying to make its way past his lips like it always did when he outsmarted you in some way. Though he held off for your sake and this particular situation. That didn’t stop you from throwing a small glare his way, one that didn’t hold much power, because the simple sight of him looking at you with those pleading eyes disarmed you.

“I didn’t know for sure,” he clarified, voice quiet. “Just though I heard you.”

Crying. He didn't say it, but you knew that's what he meant.

You huffed a breath — half a laugh, half a sigh.

“I waited,” he added, softer still. “Just in case you wanted to come out when you were ready.”

Your grip tightened slightly around his fingers.

Fred nodded, once, just enough to let you know he understood.

Then he leaned back a little, shoulder resting against the stone wall beside you, still holding your hand. His thumb moved again, slow and thoughtful.

Neither of you said anything for a while.

“I’d say she deserves being trampled by Buckbeak,” George said, breaking the silence. “Wouldn’t you?”

A chuckle escaped your throat as you turned around to face him. “Or eaten by Thestrals.”

“Maybe the mermaids in the Black Lake would be interested in taking her for a swim,” Fred added, which made Michael laugh for the first time since you'd met him.

You let yourself breathe. One beat. Then another. The tension started to ease, just slightly, from your shoulders.

Fred glanced at you again, just for a second. And then he bumped your shoulder, gentle and deliberate.

You laughed softly once again and just tilted your head a little closer toward him — not quite leaning, but not quite not — and let that count for something.

George was still keeping Michael distracted with his increasingly ridiculous suggestions for Umbridge’s demise, when a sharp ahem echoed down the corridor.

Everything went still.

You didn’t have to see her to know.

You just knew.

The air felt heavier, colder, and yet somehow cloying, like you’d stepped into a cloud of cheap perfume.

You turned your head slowly — just in time to see Dolores Umbridge standing at the end of the hall. Her eyes scanned over the group like she was surveying insects beneath her shoe.

She cleared her throat again. Louder this time. Demanding attention.

You immediately stood straighter and moved.

Your steps carried you to Michael without thought. You planted yourself in front of him, shielding him from her sight with your body. You didn’t speak, didn’t glare, just stood there.

Fred and George flanked you without needing to be asked.

“Well,” Umbridge finally said, smiling so sweetly it made your stomach churn, “it seems I have stumbled upon a little gathering.”

No one answered.

Her smile never wavered.

“Naughty children,” she said softly, voice feather-light and utterly revolting, “must be disciplined. It's the only way they ever learn, after all.”

Still, you said nothing.

Umbridge's eyes fell on you for a moment longer than the others — almost like she was expecting you to speak up again. To bite back.

But you didn’t.

Finally, with a satisfied little hum, she folded her hands in front of her robes and said, “I believe it's nearly curfew. Best you all run along to your respective dormitories… before any of you make another unfortunate choice.”

She turned with a flounce, disappearing down the hall, the echo of her heels lingering long after she was gone.

“You know George,” Fred spoke up after a second. “I’ve always felt our futures lay outside the world of academic achievement.”

George chuckled, his gaze still pinned on where Umbridge had been standing moments before. “Fred, I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing.”

The days that followed felt like wading through mud — slow, heavy, and utterly exhausting. With Umbridge’s suffocating presence blanketing the school, it was as if every student at Hogwarts carried their own personal dementor, draining the life out of them bit by bit. Even the professors weren’t immune to the gloom. McGonagall, normally rigid and unsparing, had begun turning a blind eye to late assignments and overlooked detentions.

Umbridge was everywhere.

Or at least, it felt that way.

To escape the depressive atmosphere, you buried yourself in your OWL preparations. Every free moment was spent studying, revising, memorizing, anything to keep your mind from wandering. If you filled every hour, every breath, with work, then there would be no room left to think about how miserable everything truly was. The goal was simple: be too exhausted by the end of the day to feel anything else.

And you managed it. So well, in fact, that you barely noticed the twins slipping away more often than usual. You didn’t catch the way they whispered in corners or exchanged glances across the common room.

Then came the exams. And that was when everything finally boiled over.

The Great Hall had been transformed: desks arranged in long, even rows, spaced precisely beneath the enchanted ceiling, which mirrored the leaden skies above. The air was thick with tension. Quills scratched across parchment like hissing whispers. The only other sounds were the rustle of paper and the relentless ticking of the large brass clock at the head of the room.

Umbridge stood at the front like a bad omen, arms crossed tightly beneath her horrid pink cardigan. Her ridiculous bow sat perched on her head like a ribbon slapped on spoiled meat. She paced back and forth, her heels clicking sharply across the stone floor, each step as grating as her presence.

You were halfway through a particularly difficult theoretical question when a loud, thunderous explosion rang from outside the Great Hall’s enormous doors.

Heads shot up.

Then another sound. Another explosion.

The hall was filled with murmurs then. Quills loosely hanging between unsure fingers.

Umbridge stiffened as she crossed the hall towards the great doors. Her heels echoing on her trail.

Another bang. Then a sizzle. Then what sounded unmistakably like cheering from somewhere beyond the doors.

Then, the doors slammed open with a thunderous bang that echoed off the high stone walls.

And in they came.

Fred and George Weasley — streaking through the air on broomsticks, red and gold fireworks trailing behind them like comets.

The hall erupted.

Fireworks shot in every direction — serpentine rockets looping and spiraling across the high enchanted ceiling. You ducked instinctively as a firework zoomed overhead, shaped like a Chinese Fireball. It exploded midair in a flash, releasing a burst of glittering red sparks.

Fred flew low between the rows of desks, scattering parchment and ink bottles in his wake. George followed, pulling a string of enchanted fireworks from his satchel and tossing them high into the air. They exploded in a synchronized display.

Once you looked up, you caught Fred’s gaze —and he winked along with that stupid, crooked smile of his that made your stomach flutter.

You laughed.

It bubbled out of you so suddenly, so violently, that your stomach hurt.

It felt so good. You could not remember the last time you had laughed like that. Was it perhaps last summer? Had Hogwarts even heard your laugh this year? You did not remember, and to be frank, you didn’t care. Not right now at least.

Everyone poured out into the corridor, laughter and shouts reverberating off the stone.

Out into the courtyard they flew.

You pushed your way through the crowd, breathless and smiling as the doors swung wide and the cold spring air rushed in.

Students had flooded the courtyard, some cheering until they lost their voices, others just staring up in open-mouthed wonder. You stood near the front of the crowd, craning your neck to see them — laughing so hard your cheeks ached. It felt like breathing after being held underwater for too long.

Even the professors who had come outside — Flitwick, Sprout, and even McGonagall — wore expressions that ranged from begrudging amusement to thinly veiled satisfaction. She didn’t smile, not really, but there was a certain tightness at the corner of her lips as she watched the twins circle around once more.

Umbridge stood red-faced at the entrance, screaming orders no one could hear over the noise, arms flailing in utter futility.

And just like that, with one final swoop — a blaze of gold behind them and a long ribbon of smoke trailing in the sky — they were gone.

The crowd was still clapping and shouting by the time you were herded back into the castle. Professors were firm but unbothered. There was nothing more Umbridge could do without losing what little control she had left.

Still, even being ushered back into classes couldn’t quite smother the fire they’d lit.

By the end of the day, your voice was hoarse from laughing.

You walked arm in arm with two of your friends, the three of you still giggling over the look on Umbridge’s face. The mood in the common room had been practically electric all day.

After dinner, you finally made your way up to the dormitory, a pleasant ache in your muscles and warmth still lingering in your cheeks.

You weren’t expecting anything when you pulled the curtains back from your bed.

But there it was. Nestled on your pillow.

A letter.

Plain parchment. No name on the outside. Just folded once, neatly. You recognized the handwriting immediately.

Fred’s.

You sat slowly on the edge of the bed, the voices of your friends fading behind you as they chatted near the wardrobe. You turned the letter over once, then opened it.

Inside, written in that unmistakably messy, slanted script:

Thought you might want a bit of quiet tonight.

(Also figured a flying exit would score me some rep points. Did it work?)

You were the first face I looked for. You always are.

Hope you laughed today. Hope you remember how to keep doing it.

It’ll be a bloody shame not to hear that laugh every day. I’m rather fond of it.

See you soon. Can’t wait to show you what we’re working on.

Don’t miss me too much.

— Fred

You read it twice. Then again. You didn’t even realize you were smiling until your friend asked what was on the parchment and you shook your head, folding it carefully and slipping it under your pillow.

For the first time in weeks, sleep came easily.

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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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Top Gun - Incorrect Quote 318

Hangman: I hate you

Rooster: *In his head* Enemies to lovers. slow burn, angst with happy ending, 300k+ words

Rooster: I hate you more

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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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Midnight Snack

Cedric Diggory x Reader

Summary: You woke your boyfriend up to come to the kitchens with you because you're hungry. No other reason. Obviously.

Content: mentions of nightmares, fluff, house elves, hogwarts kitchens

Cross posted to Ao3

Playlist used to write

“Ced!”

You shake his shoulder to no avail. Bloody hell, the man can sleep.

“Ced!” You repeat in a whisper-shout, shaking his shoulder once more, and this time you’re rewarded with a rousing groan.

You grin broadly down at him as he rolls in our direction, light brown hair thoroughly mussed with sleep, rubbing his eyes and squinting at you in the dim light “Sweetheart, what-”

You swiftly place a finger to his lips, hushing him. “Shh! We don’t want to wake your dormmates, now, do we?”

His brow furrows, frowning slightly in a way that tells you he’s actually trying not to mirror your smile. “Let’s start with what you’re doing in my dorm in the first place, hm?”

“I’m hungry.” Your smile never wavers.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope!”

“You woke me up to escort you to the kitchens two meters from the common room entrance for a midnight snack?”

“Mm-hmm!”

Cedric sighs heavily, slinging an arm briefly over his eyes. “You’re very lucky I like you. Alright.”

“Aw, don’t be silly,” you coo teasingly, handing him his jumper from where it’s slung over the bedpost, “you love me.”

“I do, indeed,” He hums, leaning forward to kiss your cheek before pulling the jumper over his head.

It’s a matter of a few moments before you’re quietly padding down the steps to the common room, fingers interlaced, Cedric still yawning. It hadn’t taken much to convince him, because he knew the veiled reason for your sudden fixation with the kitchens.

It was a nightmare. Another one. He can see it in the way your eyes didn’t crinkle the right way, in the dark circles under your eyes. And who is he to deny his girlfriend anything?

When Cedric covers another yawn with his hand, a twinge of guilt for dragging him out of bed flickers through your chest.

“You could have told me no,” you murmur, pushing open the common room door.

“Nonsense, darling,” he mumbles in reply, giving you a sleepy smile, pieces of his unkempt hair falling across his forehead. The sight has you smiling again.

He squeezes your hand, holding open the portrait of fruits for you like the gentleman he is.

Most of the house elves are asleep, but a good number are still up, preparing breakfast for the students the next morning, cleaning, or stoking the fires. Several heads snap up, owlish eyes blinking at the two of you as you step into the kitchen.

As usual, the elves are more than happy to feed us, pulling up stools by one of the roaring fireplaces, but there’s… a slight confusion to their actions. Two in the morning certainly isn’t when they expect to have random visitors.

“I swear, the house elves are judging us,” you murmur, a warm mug of hot chocolate in one hand, a small fruit tart in the other.

“Let them judge,” Cedric replies, biting into his own tart, “My darling wanted a midnight snack, and so a midnight snack she will get.”

You grin at him, giggling softly, and taking a bite of your tart, some crumbs and filling lingering on the corner of your mouth. He leans forward, his arm coming up to the side of your face, his palm against your cheek and the pad of his thumb brushing the mess away.

“Is it something you want to talk about?” He asked, his brows pinched slightly in concern.

He knows he’s guessed right by the way your gaze flickers, then drops. “Not particularly, no. I’d rather try and forget it.”

Cedric nods, brushing your lips with his thumb again in a gesture that no longer has anything to do with the tart crumbs. “That’s alright, sweetheart. As long as you know I’m here if you need me.”

You sigh appreciatively, leaning your head into his hand briefly before allowing him to withdraw it.

“Um, Mister… Miss…” The squeaky voice catches you both off guard, and you look down to see a rather nervous-looking house elf blinking up at you. “If you’re… quite done, we feel it important to remind you that a good night’s rest is imperative for a productive day tomorrow.”

You and Cedric look up, make eye contact and snort, nodding to the little elf at the same time, eyes glimmering with mirth.

“Told you they were judging us.”

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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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You Shouldn't Be Here

Hufflepuff!Reader x Fred Weasley

Summary: After a rough night, you sneak into Gryffindor Tower to bug your sleepy boyfriend.

Content: Fluff, mild angst, mild cursing, and Umbridge hate

Cross-posted on Ao3

"Bloody hell- what in Merlin's name-"

You quickly covered his mouth with your hand, grinning lopsidedly.

"Shhh, Freddie," You hush with a small giggle, "You'll wake the others."

You'd ensured the crimson curtains were drawn tight around Fred's fourposter, but there was only so much privacy fabric could provide.

Fred grabbed hold of your wrist and effortlessly pulled it away from his mouth. He pressed a quick kiss to your knuckles before giving you an incredulous look.

"What time is it, love?" He grumbled.

"Oh, not long after one o'clock," You replied casually.

"And you're in Gryffindor Tower."

You nodded, looking quite pleased with yourself, "Yes."

"...But you're Hufflepuff."

"And?"

"You shouldn't be here."

You raised a single eyebrow which probably couldn't be seen well in the gloom. "Are you, Fred Weasley, complaining about me breaking school rules?"

He huffed and shifted his weight, so he's sitting up just a little on the headboard while you straddled lap. His hands rested casually on your hips, thumbs mindlessly stroking the curve of the bone and your own arms slung across his shoulders.

"No, not at all, love, it's just-" He sighed, "With that foul Umbridge woman running amok, consequences are a lot more... permanent."

Even in the low light of his dorm room, you could see the worry that shone in his eyes. Fred was always one for mischief, but he was hesitant to string you along in it. He had no issue whatsoever with throwing himself headfirst into danger, him and George, because they'd be the only ones to suffer the consequences. With you involved? ...He never wanted you hurt. He had this intense urge to keep you protected at all times. So, while he certainly enjoyed the fact that you were willing to bend the rules to be with him and get yourself in trouble just to cause mischief with him, he always found himself personally responsible whenever you got hurt.

Your expression darkened slightly at the mention of the Professor. Your hands tightened behind his head, and the scars you'd kept hidden there burning like they had when they'd been freshly etched onto your skin.

"Believe me, Freddie, I'm intimately acquainted with Umbridge's definition of consequences," You muttered, turning your face away slightly.

Fred tensed beneath you, sitting up a little straighter. "What haven't you told me?" He demanded quietly but firmly.

You shook your head. "It's nothing important-"

He cut you off and grabbed your chin to force you to look at him. "Bullshit," he said with careful calm. "Don't tell me what I do and don't find important."

The callouses of his hands scraped gently against the skin of your chin, and though his grip was firm, he's always made sure to be gentle. He'd never admit it to your face, but he treated you like the most precious, fragile thing. He'd probably die from the sheer guilt alone if he ever hurt you.

You swallowed and, staring into his warm brown eyes which reflected the moonlight like stars across his pupils, found yourself unable to lie to him further.

"...I had detention with her today..." You admitted quietly, looking down.

Fred let out a stream of colorful, and arguably creative, curses, dropping your chin and returning his hand to your hip. "When?" He asked stiffly, the muscles in his jaw working

"I got off and came straight here."

He cursed again. "She kept you there until one in the morning?!"

You shrugged. "I suppose I have thicker skin than she anticipated," you mumbled with forced casualty.

"I'm going to kill that woman." A shiver passed up your spine at the sheer conviction with which he spoke. "What was the reason for it?"

"She caught me consoling a second-year student about his own detention. I was trying to use magic to take away the pain. And, as you well know, all magic is now banned in the halls."

Fred looked downright outraged. "She threw you in detention for comforting a child?"

Another shrug. "You know Umbridge," You muttered, though it was of little comfort. "I wonder if she's somehow part dementor. She sucks the soul out of everything."

Fred scoffed lightly. Then, he lifted one of his large hands and set it gently on your arm. "Let me see," He asked softly.

You knew exactly what he was referring to, and withdrew your hand from behind his neck, angling it so the fresh, angry scars caught in the moonlight. They read I must not set a bad example.

Fred gently rubbed his thumb across the words, a few locks of his ginger hair falling in front of his eyes. Despite the situation, you smiled, loving the sight. With your spare hand, you gently brushed his hair off his forehead, and he glanced at you, his gaze briefly softening.

"...This is some bloody bullshit," He muttered finally, intertwining your fingers.

You chuckled softly. You knew he was upset and angry on your behalf, but you couldn't help but find his inability to adequately express it endearing.

"It's alright, love," you murmured, running your fingers through his hair, "I'm alright."

He looked at you like he seriously doubted this but chose not to say anything.

There're a few moments of comfortable silence, before you take a breath. "...Can I stay?" You asked hesitantly.

He once again looked as if he was about to say something then decided against it. He sighed, "You want to?"

You nodded.

"Alright. You can stay. But I'm not covering your ass if Professor Sprout gets mad at you for breaking curfew." Despite his words, you knew deep down that he would, in fact, try to cover your ass if it came to it.

You smiled gleefully and quickly shucked off your robe and pulled off your yellow and black tie, tossing them to the ground. You both knew George and Lee wouldn't say anything if they saw your clothes on the ground. They'd probably choose to actively avoid the topic.

Fred reached over to his dresser and grabbed a spare jumper, handing it to you. It was so oversized that, if you stood, it'd reach to your knees. The extra room in the jumper allowed you to unbutton and slide off your school shirt without ever having to be actually shirtless.

After the white fabric joined the pile on the floor, you leaned forward and settled against Fred's chest as he, too, laid back down, one arm behind his head, and the other wrapped securely around your waist. You lifted your face to smile at him and found him already grinning down at you. Propping yourself up slightly by your forearms, you planted a gentle kiss to his lips, one he happily returned.

"Goodnight, Freddie," You whispered as you laid your head back down, closing your eyes and listening to his heartbeat.

"Goodnight, love," He murmured back softly.

He rubbed his thumb back and forth soothingly against the small of your back, just to let you know that he was still there, still with you. You knew the moment he started losing consciousness, because it was the same moment the reassuring motion ceased.

It didn't matter much, however, because it wasn't long after that the sound of his soft breathing, and the quiet, comforting strength of his arm around you sent you into a blissful sleep.

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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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What I like most about Titanic and the relationship between Jack & Rose in general is the fact that as soon as the ship starts to sink after hitting the iceberg, Jack always prioritizes Rose and does everything for her to survive.

Just... the look on his face when Rose walks up to that damn door proves that he knows he's doomed. However, he jokes with her, tries to make her smile (she moves so as not to die of cold in the cut scene), makes her promise him that she will always continue to fight to live.

It breaks my heart like crazy !

And its annoys me when I see people debating whether Jack loved Rose or not, just because he didn't say I love you to her ?! What greater proof of love do you want after a while ?! Actions matter more than words. And Jack, saving Rose in every way a person can be saved to prove that he loved her.

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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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I think I have a type of ship...

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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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Me, being tired of people trying to explain that Rose didn't really love Jack, that she only loved an idea of him, that it was all superficial and hormonal...

Like, I'm the first to not believe in love at first sight in reality, but in fiction it's different.

Rose and Jack are symbolically coded as soulmates by the story, even before they meet.

That's why they fall so quickly in love with each other when they finally meet.

Rose and Jack notably share a love for the art world. Something that Rose is the only one around her and that no one understands. Jack is a literal artist. They even like the same artists !

Rose is someone who is locked away and yearns for freedom. Jack is literally a free spirit.

Rose rejects the inherently misogynist and patriarchal society, just like Jack.

Rose has a fire burning inside her and immense strength, just like Jack, but he is the only one who allows her to finally express all of that.

There is also the simple fact that they are able to understand each other very quickly. For example, Jack understanding that Rose would never jump. Or, the fact that Rose already knew that Jack was innocent for stealing the necklace, as she told him when she went to find him. For what ? Because as Jack told her as he was being taken away, she knows him. The fact that Jack trusts her completely, even when things seem very bad ? (hello the ax ?!) And so does she ?

Or also, the rather funny fact that they talk at the same time when they are annoyed with the guy who is lecturing them about a door when the boat is sinking.

All this to say that I'm tired of people trying to rationalize fictional romances. Especially when they are as well constructed as Rose & Jack.

I'm already tearing my hair out at those who say that we shouldn't see Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights as romances...

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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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when everything’s made to be broken, i just want you to know who i am...

boys of tommen (joeyaoife) headers. like or reblog if you save or use, please. 👼🏻

art by btzart_ commissioned by johnnyshannonn

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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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leoswift23 · 1 month ago

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The First Time I Saw Cassian Andor

Me: Someone give that man a hug.

Me, two hours later: NO NOT LIKE THAT.

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leoswift23 · 2 months ago

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The First Time I Saw Cassian Andor

Me: Someone give that man a hug.

Me, two hours later: NO NOT LIKE THAT.

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leoswift23 · 2 months ago

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omg i really really love your blog<3 you are such a sweet person and so kind to all your followers and others on here and your writing is absolutely amazing!

i saw ur requests were open and i was wondering if you could write something for poe dameron? a hurt comfort because in your rules you said you wouldn't accept full angst which honestly is so real of you and i completely agree :D its just, ive read so many fics where poe's best friend or squadron member is either in love with him or fwb with him and he starts dating someone and they look rlly in love but then he leaves the person for the best friend and i cant help but always wonder how the person he left is feeling! and i was wondering if you could write something along the lines of this but he doesnt leave the reader and hes not really in love with his best friend or anything im so sorry this became really long but you can totally ignore this or say you cant do it its absolutely alright!<33

thank you sm though and i hope you have a good day!

Anon, thank you so much for such lovely and kind words! You are AMAZING! (Seriously, they have absolutely made my day/week/year!)

This ask has killed me (positive), my subconsciousness had a lot to say, it seems.

Tangerine, Tangerine

Poe Dameron x GN!Reader Rating: M Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: angst (but with a happy ending), thoughts that a partner is cheating, blood, x-wing fight, swearing (not star wars swearing, because even though Kriff is great, I need to say fuck), Moonbeam as a nickname, typos, rail road sentences, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!

Word Count: 4494

_______________________________________

It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss.

You’d misunderstood, you’d read the situation wrong, you’d seen incorrectly. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss. It was just a kiss.

Your radio crackled, “Green Leader, checking in. We’re manoeuvring in 5. Call out.”

“Green Two check.”

“Green Three check.”

It was just a kiss.

“Green Four check.”

It was just a-

“Green Five check.”

Just a-

“Green Six check.”

Just-

“Green Seven,” you swallow. “Check.”

It wasn’t just a kiss.

You patted your helmet twice and rolled your neck, breathing deeply as you settled in. On your left, you could see some of Blue Squadron.

This mission was straightforward - on a holopad.

Two teams to escort The Harbringer, the resistance supply ship. It had been damaged by a rogue blast from a tie fighter just as it jumped to hyperspace and had had to make an emergency landing on one of Tre’Ral’s desert moons.

The crew on board had managed to fix all they could. But without proper materials, there was little chance of the ship making it out of the moon’s thick atmosphere and entering hyperspace. So Blue and Green Squadrons had been dispatched. Blue 1-4 had already made contact, jump-starting The Harbringer enough to get it airborne.

Due to Tre’Ral’s sun and planet density, the gravity on the moons was a little stronger than most world’s atmospheric pressure.

Green Leader, Sena, had repeated through briefing at how this would affect flying. How to be ready for it. And she hadn’t been wrong, it was different flying here. Tougher. And you loved it.

You’d grown up on Para, a planet with a high gravity density. You’d learnt to fly there well before you’d flown in space. Being here on this desolate moon almost felt like home. Your movements seemed smoother, precise. No longer needing to overcorrect for your naturally ingrained harsh movements. No longer spinning out and fighting low gravity, finally working with the tide.

The manoeuvre would see the ships escort The Harbringer out of the moon’s atmosphere and then the rest of Blue squadron would form a sort of 3D star formation around the cargo ship. All jumping to hyperspace at the same time to carry it along with them.

Simple.

In theory.

Everyone had spoken about how practically textbook it was, how easy.

But then, of course, why was Green Squadron going?

No one at the briefing had asked, why would they when the answer was so obvious. This part of the quadrant was teething with First Order. With a slow, busted supply ship you were all practically screaming for them to come and play target practice.

You swallow.

You should be focusing on that, on the mission. Instead of the utter nonsense that was ricocheting around your head and piercing your heart.

I hadn’t just been a kiss.

You and Poe had gotten together clumsily, three months ago, your normal awkwardness drowned out by so much Polanis Red that you almost couldn’t see straight. It had been after the battle of Hurthwen, a nasty dogfight that had everyone hyped up on adrenaline.

He had been drunk when he kissed you, you remembered that.

Maybe he had thought… maybe he had believed he was kissing her instead.

It made a lot more sense.

Sena was the Green Leader, she was a great pilot. One to be reckoned with. She was kind, she was fun, she was beautiful. She and Poe had joined the resistance together, risen the ranks together. Basically inseparable. Always laughing and joking. She had been in the same squad as Poe, under his command before she was promoted to leading one of her own.

They had always been close. Always. Best friends.

Sickness bubbled in your throat.

You remembered Frizz and Hank talking offhandedly, well before you and Poe were a thing. Both of them sure that Sana and Poe were dating or ‘knocking boots’ as Frizz had so elegantly put it.

“Two people can just be friends, you know.” You’d said, trying to hide your little crush on the commander.

“Yeah,” Frizz laughed, “But not them. You seen them together?”

Hank chortled.

Nonsense. You’d brushed it off then. Allowed it to creep into your thoughts when it was dark and the base was quiet. When Poe’s breathing was soft and light behind you, his arm around your waist.

Him and Sana just made a lot more sense than him and you.

“Yeah, but not them. You seen them together?”

Yeah. Now you had.

The Harbringer came into view over the horizon. The seemingly endless stretch of desert was cut through in the distance by a fearsome outcrop of crocks, leading up into a field of formidable mountains.

Blue 1-4 were already hooked up to the cargo ship, all five hoovering moving together as they flew towards you to meet.

You wouldn’t have said things were difficult with you and Poe. Well, you wouldn’t have said that before. It was complicated for everyone on the base, most staff were on different call schedules, off-world or on a mission at all times. Having a relationship wasn’t straightforward. There were stretches where you wouldn’t even be on the same planet for days, but…

But you had thought it was…

It didn’t matter.

You’d gone back to the briefing room, just before take off. You’d wanted to tap the main holoscreen twice, for luck. A little ritual you’d adopted early on. Most pilots were a superstitious bunch.

That’s when you’d seen them. Sana and Poe. Locked in a tight embrace, their lips pressed together in a deep kiss.

Your heartbeat had thundered so loud you’d been surprised they hadn’t heard it. But they’d been too preoccupied to notice your presence.

It was cliche but time had almost slowed, calmed and stretched like the moment you take aim, the second before you fired your ship's canons.

A flash of the control panel had flickered into your mind when you saw them, your fingers twitching as if you had the trigger in your hands.

You’d turned and left without a sound. Without a word. Without letting them know you saw. Leaving them to… whatever they did next.

Was it their first kiss? One of many? Had this been going on well before Poe had taken your hand and led you outside so he could clumsily name all the constellations, making up new ones and backstories to make you smile?

“That one here, you see it?”

“Yeah?”

“That one’s the best one, best in the sky. It’s orange and it’s right next to that other orange one, like they’re holding hands.”

You’d laughed.

“That’s me and you Moonbeam.”

Moonbeam. That stupid nickname.

You’d gone to your room quickly, the one that you and Poe shared, and taken off the necklace he’d given you.

“I want you to wear it for luck, Moonbeam.”

That stupid smile he’d given you as he’d slipped it from his own neck and onto yours. That stupid kiss he’d given you after. You’d thought that expression was cute when you’d seen it, pure. Now it just seemed like he’d been laughing at you, playing some sick joke. ‘How long can I string someone along?’, ‘how far can I go before they realise it’s all pretend?’

You’d left the necklace with the ring slipped through on the small set of shelves in the corner, the one Poe normally kept his holopad on.

It was idiotic, but your neck felt… empty without it. Cold. Every now and then you touched at where the chain normally lay.A subconscious action only brought to the forefront of your mind by the sensation of your own skin instead of metal.

Something caught your eye in the distance, a flash of sunlight glinting off the horizon. Dread twisted in your stomach as realisation dawned a second earlier than your scanners. The extra gravitational pressure and high quantity of magnetic metals in the sand affected everyone’s ship computers, causing a brief information delay.

Your alarm sounded out inside your ship, the radar blinking into life as tie fighters approached from the rock outcrop. They’d used the high mineral concentration to hide their energy signatures.

“Fuck.”

The radio screamed into life, orders out pouring over orders. Blue squadron rushed into position while Green scrambled.

“Blue in place now!”

“It’s gonna be rushed, but we haven’t got a choice!”

“No time!” “Incoming!” “Green half split! Evens left, odds right, let’s keep those fighter’s off The Harbringer and Blue squadron! Gamma pattern!”

“How far away is the Delta?”

“Calling in attack pattern!”

You swing to the right, falling in with Hank and Petal and bank hard, it takes less than a second for you to notice that your squad's movements aren’t as precise and well-timed as usual. The stronger gravity throwing everyone, except you, off their game.

That didn’t bode well.

You climb for a second, punching hard on the acceleration to get some height and a clear view of the oncoming and flick on your targeting system. The image glitches, doesn’t hold steady even as you focus. Off by half a fraction.

Shots fire out from both sides, most missing.

“Targeting not working!”

“It’s out!”

“I can’t get a clear shot!” “The read is malfunctioning!”

“Half a click 4/8!” You shout, as you take your shot, hitting two tie fighters head-on.

“Good shot Green 7!” You can hear the joy and relief in Sana’s voice. “Half a click 4/8, you’ll all have to manually adjust!”

You dive, swirling around two fighters before skimming close to the ground, trying to draw their attention away from the cargo ship. You spin, slamming your control harder than you would need to in any other situation as you turn and spike past another fighter, taking out one in the process.

“Wooooo!” Hank yells over the intercom.

You laugh. “Bet you never thought you wished you grew up on Para right?”

“Every day new things surprise me.” He banks left, you right, Petal dives down.

It’s too much of a rush, everything all at once, patterns and shots flying, your ship’s systems screaming as you push the engines a little too hard.

The tie fighters aren’t moving as fast as they normally do, bogged down even more than the x wings by the gravity. They can’t make their normal quick turns and it’s affecting their strike patterns.

Good.

But there’s so, so many of them.

Explosions fly debris out, and you climb higher. Needing a clear view and unable to rely on your targeting systems.

More shots fly out, The Harbringer is taking a battering but so far its shielding is holding the hull together.

The radio keeps screaming, overlapping voices that blur into background noise. You’re trained to only hear your call signal, direct messages. You vear off, narrowingly missing a blast to your wing.

“-On my tail.” Frizz’s voice cuts through the noise, a sharp stab of dread slicing you open as you turn, automatically looking to the reader, it’s still not clear.

You climb, twist, fall, see a Green ship, followed tightly by two fighters. Accelsorate, bank. You fire. You’re aiming in a panic now, not adjusting right, not breathing through.

The shot hits one, before you have to swerve to avoid being struck head-on.

“Thanks 7!” Cril yells over the speaker, managing to shake the other fighter.

There’s a scream, a crackle of sound over the system. A sound you know too well. You see the ship crash into the desert, exploding before it even hits the ground as the a tie fighter’s shots hit home.

Frizz.

“No…”

“Check!” Sana yells, unable to tell who went down with the system glitching. “Green Leader!”

You swerve around another fighter, everything moving so fast, too fast.

“Green Two check!” Cril.

“Green Three check!” Petal.

Nothing.

“Green Four!” Sana yells. No call replies. Balna. Not Frizz.

The momentary rush of relief at Frizz being alive is cut horribly short by the image of Balna’s kind face that bursts behind your eyes.

You bank left, right, swerve, take aim, twist.

There’s a chance, a good chance that you’ll win. All of Blue is in place, The Harbringer is moving up with them. The tie fighters are taking more hits than the resistance, their less aerodynamic design hampering them more than usual with this gravity.

All you need is…

Another alarm.

“Oh… fuck.” You slam on your intercom. “Z-Fighter!”

A chorus of yells answer you.

A Z-fighter, a quick moving ship a fraction bigger than The Harbringer, with two powerful front guns. A few shots would take the cargo ship out completely.

And with how slow the supply ship was moving, that wouldn’t be hard.

The Z-fighter storms in, moving fast but not firing, they were obviously having problems with their targeting too, needing a close clear shot.

“Take out the main cannons!” Sana yells, the panic in her voice cutting through the chaos. You turn, aim, take out a tie fighter but have to veer up at the last second. Twist.

Someone comes in after you, aiming for the cannons, a fighter clips their side and they can’t correct quick enough. They spiral off, their ship crashing into the Z-fighter. Obliterated on impact. The Z-fighter seemingly unaffected.

You loop back, adrenaline blinding you to everything, anything that’s not the goal. Take out the canons. Take out the canons. People are counting on you. Take out the canons.

You fire, a clear shot before you bank to the side to avoid a direct hit to your hull.

It’s not enough.

You need to pass again, and again. Other x wings flying in, taking shots, the gravity making them slow, imprecise. Only one blast hits and it’s not full on.You’re the only one hitting directly and it’s not enough.

It’s not enough. It’s not enough. It’s not enough.

There’s shouting and screaming, the zipping of the fighters as they cut through the sky. Someone yells your name and you don’t hear it.

Another hit lands. One canon out. Only one left. You can do this. The Harbringer is nearly in the upper atmosphere, they can jump from there. Just a few more seconds. You can do this.

“Black Leader!” Poe’s call sign cuts over the dim, followed by the call signs of half of the Red Squadron.

They must have scrambled after first contact.

The canon’s powering up, a quick glance to your panel tells you that The Harbringer’s shield is barely functioning. They won’t survive a direct hit. With how close they are and the Blue Squadron ships that are attached there’s no way they wouldn’t be pulled down too if The Harbringer fell.

The canon needs more than one hit to take it down, more than five. No way you can shoot five times before they fire.

You twist, full force. Pumping the acceleration. Fire. Fire. Fire. Three hit. You don’t slow down. Fire. Fire. Fire. They hit. The canon is still operational.

Sana is screaming orders, so many shots fire at the canon, none of them hit right, hit full on.

Two chances left.

One to fire. If it takes out the canon you just have enough time to serve up, to avoid getting smashed to bits.

Poe shouts for you over the intercom.

You don’t answer.

One to fire. If it doesn’t take out the canon then… then you crashing into it head on will.

Poe yells again, this time cutting over everyone else, sending you a direct call.

You don’t answer.

You fire. Hit.

Poe screams for you, his voice painful and panicked. He’s already worked out your plan before you had even thought of it.

The canon doesn’t go down.

You cut the call to him. Blocking out his signal. You don’t want Poe to think you did this for him.

You don’t want him to think you did this because of him.

“Green Seven!” Sana yells, seemingly knowing what you’re going to do.

Hank screams your name over the radio. It hurts. You think it’s the worst sound you’ve ever heard.

“Moonbeam!” Poe’s voice is ripped raw from yells, Sana has patched him through over her signal. You were wrong. That was the worst sound you’ve ever heard.

You dip at the last second, not hitting the canon straight on but smashing your right wing into it. The force surprises you, even though you braced for it. The impact sending you spiralling. You try to regain control, try to turn into the spin. Training taking over even though you're a wing and half a ship down.

Shouts over the radio, you barely make out-

“-cannon’s down-”

“-Jump!-”

A spark hits, your console explodes into flame, shards hit your side and you yell. Sky and sand tumbling over each other over and over, and you manage to hit the eject button.

The force rips you upwards, free briefly from your burning ship. But you’re too close to the floor, not enough time to slow down your velocity. There’s-

The impact of the ground hurts. Pain explodes along every nerve despite the ejection seat dampening. You scream.

Agony is everywhere, everything. You can’t feel anything else, can’t comprehend anything except floods of pain.

You hit your belt, falling out and to the desert floor. Looking up just enough to gauge where you are, where your ship fell. It’s an exploded, fireball mess far off. At least it’s not an immediate threat. You crawl to the side and sob.

There’s blood falling into the sand from your head, the right side of your face. You can’t see properly out of your eye and your left leg is definitely broken. Shattered. Still, you drag yourself forward, digging your hands in and pulling as something ribs and tears in your side, warm liquid soaking into your fight suit.

The resistance will jump to hyperspace, they’ll get out. They’ll make it.

You just needed to get away from your ejection seat, when the First Order doubles back they’ll see it, they’ll see you. You just needed to get to an outcrop. Hide.

Make it look like you had a weapon.

Make them shoot you first instead of taking you for questioning.

Can’t let them take you alive.

There's the faint sound of a ship somewhere above, landing gear coming down.

For a second you freeze, panic gripping your heart, you dig into the sand hard, pull, pull, pull yourself closer towards the outcrop of rocks. The air seems to be leaving your lungs, your breathing ragged and hot.

You cough, red hitting the dirt, iron hitting your tongue.

You crawl, pull. The pain is making you light-headed. You gasp, trying to get in a full lung full of air. It's not enough. It's not enough. It's not enou…

When you open your eyes your first thoughts are simple. Clear.

I'm dead.

You were either shot in the head in the sand or simply succumbed to your wounds.

But then things begin to feel… fuzzy. Not painful, but not right either.

And that's when you smell the Bacta. And then the light starts to change to distorted shapes, and finally, you recognise Hank sitting next to you.

“You better not be dead too,” you whisper your voice dry from lack of use.

Hank jumps up, goes to grab your hand and then stops himself. There are tears in his eyes. He softly places his fingers on yours and you squeeze back.

“You're a fucking idiot you know that?” He grins and you laugh. Which hurts a little, but feels good.

“One sec,” he moves away just to speak to someone outside before he comes back. “I'm the one that picked you up, you know?”

“Now who's the fucking idiot?” You smile but your chest aches, heavy with the weight of his words. “You shouldn't have done that.” You whisper.

“What?”

“You were under fire, you should have just jumped-”

“I saw you eject. Saw you moving. You think I was just gonna leave you there?” He sits. “Besides, I was closest. The commander would have blown up the whole planet to get to you.”

You swallow, turning away slightly. Going cold at the mention of Poe.

Hank mistakes the look for guilt, and squeezes your hand again. “Hey, look,” he smiles, “you took out the canons, you're a fucking idiot but you know how to fly in heavy gravity.”

You snort.

He smiles.

“Who did we lose?”

Hank sighs, “three…”

You nod, closing your eyes for a moment.

“There-”

There was shouting from outside, a crash and then Poe stormed into the room, med staff close behind him.

You swallow, sickness building in your throat.

He looked awful, drawn out and worn thin like he hadn't slept or eaten in days. His eyes red.

He rushes forward, Hank moves out of the way, so Poe can take your hand in his. He leans forward and kisses you softly, carefully stroking your cheek, being gentle with your bandages.

“Moonbeam…” he mutters and you flinch back from him. He looks at you with sad, confused eyes.

“Look, I can only allow one visitor in here.” The med staff member says.

Hank stands, and speaks when you frown. “I'll see you later, Poe’s the one that hasn't left your side. The only reason he wasn't here when you woke was because I made him go take a shower.” Hank smiled, “you can thank me for that later.”

Both you and Poe are quiet as the others leave. Poe searching your face for something, while you look away.

“Moonbeam,” he says again softly, but there's an edge to his words that you're not used to. “What the fuck happened on that mission? What the fuck is this?” He holds up his hand, his necklace and ring wrapped around his palm. His eyes are shiny as he speaks. “Were you trying to kill yourself? What the fu-”

“Poe,” you breathe. Best to get it over quickly. “I saw.”

He frowns. “Saw? Saw what?”

“You and Sana, in the briefing room… before take off.”

The small frown on his forehead relaxes slightly for a moment as his eyebrows raise. “You… saw?”

You nod.

“You, but, I didn’t see you when I pushed her away?” His voice cracks at the end, a splinter running into the muscle of your heart.

“You pushed her away?”

“You didn’t see that?” He frowns again, blinking hard, “you just, just saw and walked away and what? Took this off?” He holds up the necklace again. A tear falls from his eye and he rubs it away furiously as if it had scorched his skin. “Just, just left it and… and…”

“I didn’t know you didn’t want it…” You say quietly, emotion is making your chest tight and constricted. “I didn’t know you didn’t want her…”

“What?” He breathes, moving closer and squeezing your hand. There’s disbelief in his voice, confusion. Anger, it’s deep down and controlled but it’s there. “No, look, she kissed me. I pushed her away, I, I even logged a report, I’ll pull up the god damned camera feed to show you.”

He’s not lying. His gaze is unwavering and he’s got that painfully earnest look in his eyes.

“You thought…” he shakes his head slightly, his voice pained, “you thought I’d-”

“You both make sense together.” You blurt out. “She’s… and you’re…” you shrug and sigh, on the verge of tears yourself. “You’re both the best of us.”

“No,” he shakes his head fiercely, “Moonbeam, no.” He wipes roughly at his eyes again, glancing down for a moment and you lightly touch his head.

He looks up instantly as you stroke his curls, still lightly damp.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

Poe shakes his head again, grabbing your hand and kissing your wrist. “I’m sorry.” He kicks off his shoes and clambers into bed next to you a little awkwardly. He’s trying to be careful, trying not to hurt you but needing closeness so badly it’s suffocating.

You scooch to the side as quickly as you can in your current state and lean into him as he wraps his body around you softly and kisses you sweetly.

“Love you, love you, love you,” he repeats after every kiss, pressing his lips to every part of your skin that he can reach.

“Why are you sorry?” You mutter as he holds you, “I’m the one that messed up.”

He shakes his head, “I’m sorry that I don’t make you realise how special you are, how perfect.” He kisses your cheek, “you’re the best of us Moonbeam.”

You tut but his grip tightens and he holds you tight.

“And one hell of a pilot.” He grins.

You scoff.

“You are.” He kisses you again.

You nuzzle against him, settling into his touch. Knots have formed in your chest, pain that’s loosening. His warmth is comforting. Home.

“Sana said she didn’t know I was in a relationship,” he says softly, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I don’t know if that’s true, but… I do believe her.”

You nod. “She’s a good person.”

He moves so he can look you in the eyes. “Please, Moonbeam, I… don’t,” he bites his tongue, closing his eyes for a long second. “I want to tell you, I want to say, don’t ever do something like that again… don’t… don’t put yourself at risk.”

You touch his cheek lightly.

“But it’s not fair is it?” He smiles sadly. “We both do that every day… You know you were gonna be in my squadron at first?”

You shake your head in surprise and he nods.

“You were, but… well,” he blushes ever so slightly. “I was so embarrassingly head over heels in love with you,” he laughs lightly. “For months I could hardly talk to you, you know I had to down five Polanis Red’s in a row after Hurthwen just so I could ask you out? I knew I wouldn’t be able to function right if you were in my squad. I knew that I’d put everyone else at risk because if it came down to it… if there was a choice between everyone in the squad dying, everyone on the base, or you… I’d let the resistance burn instead of lose you. Every single time.”

You close your eyes, fighting the emotion that needs to break through and squeeze his hand like a lifeline. “I love you.” You whisper.

Your fingertips brush against the necklace, the ring hooking around the first knuckle of your index finger by chance.

Poe slowly moves his hand from yours and unwinds the necklace from his palm before carefully placing it over your head, giving you plenty of time to move away if you wanted.

“I love you Moonbeam,” he mutters, his voice low, reverent. Then leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back with all your heart.

____________________________________

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