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More than enough

Remus Lupin x Reader

Angst, comfort

summary: After a difficult visit with her parents, a struggling student at Hogwarts finds solace and comfort in Remus Lupin, who reminds her that she is more than enough just as she is.

AN: I’m struggling rn so I wrote this initially picturing Professor Lupin but I realised it didn’t really make sense so this is during the marauders era. But to heck with it, you can imagine whoever you’d like.

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It was one of those nights when everything felt too heavy. You had used the Floo powder to sneak out of Hogwarts to see your parents, hoping for some reassurance or a little warmth to ease the ache in your chest. But instead, you’d been met with harsh words, criticisms that dug deep into your skin. As you stepped out of the fireplace back into your dorm, your heart felt heavier than ever.

The dormitory was empty. Everyone else was still out enjoying the evening, but you had slipped away, too drained to pretend that you were fine. You threw yourself onto your bed, the thick blankets absorbing the weight of your exhaustion as you buried your face into the pillows. The tears came fast, and before long, your sobs were muffled by the comforter as you tried desperately to be quiet, your heart breaking in silence.

You felt so small. So misunderstood. You curled into yourself, whispering to no one in particular, a prayer, a plea, anything to make the hopelessness go away. "Why do they never understand? Why is it so hard to just be good enough?" Your voice cracked, barely audible over the lump in your throat. "I’m trying... I’m trying so hard, but I feel so lost."

A soft creak echoed through the quiet room, the dorm door opening. You quickly pulled the covers tighter over your head, not wanting anyone to see you like this. Not like this.

“Y/N?” A familiar, gentle voice called out, making your heart skip. You stayed still, your breath catching as you realized it was Remus.

“Y/N,” he said again, softer this time, the bed dipping slightly as he sat on the edge. “I know you’re there. I can hear you.”

You wanted to shrink further into the blankets, but his voice was so calm, so understanding, that it was almost impossible to hide. Slowly, you let out a shaky breath but stayed silent, hoping he wouldn’t push.

“I… I heard you come in,” he said, his tone gentle, yet tinged with concern. “You didn’t look okay. I just— I wanted to check on you.”

You were so still, unsure if you could speak without breaking all over again. But then Remus shifted slightly closer, his hand resting lightly on the blanket covering you. He didn’t pull it away or force you to come out from under it, just left it there as a quiet reassurance.

“I don’t know what happened,” he murmured softly, “but you don’t have to go through it alone. You don’t have to hide.”

A fresh wave of tears stung your eyes, but something in the warmth of his voice made it easier to breathe. Slowly, cautiously, you pulled the blanket down just enough to peek at him. His face was soft, filled with worry but also with so much kindness that it almost made you want to cry again.

“I feel like I’m failing,” you whispered, your voice barely there, your words shaky. “My parents— they don’t understand. I’m trying, Remus, I really am, but it feels like no matter what I do, it’s never enough. I just… I just want to be good enough.”

His brow furrowed with a deep empathy, and before you could retreat back into the safety of your covers, Remus shifted closer, his hand reaching out to gently brush a tear from your cheek.

“You are enough,” he said firmly, his voice steady, filled with conviction. “You don’t have to prove that to anyone, not even to yourself. I see you every day— how hard you work, how much you care. It’s not about being perfect or meeting anyone’s expectations. It’s about being you. And that’s more than enough.”

You sniffled, your breath hitching as you tried to steady yourself, his words sinking in but still fighting against the overwhelming doubt swirling inside you.

“I’m just… so tired, Remus,” you admitted, voice cracking. “I feel like I can’t keep up with everything.”

His expression softened even more, and without a word, he slid closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. The warmth of his embrace was immediate, grounding you in a way that made the weight in your chest ease just a little.

“You don’t have to do it all alone,” he murmured, his cheek resting gently against your hair as you leaned into him. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

For the first time that night, you let yourself believe it. Maybe you didn’t have to carry it all on your own. Maybe, just maybe, there was a place in the world where you could be yourself— flaws and all— and it would be enough.

And for now, wrapped in Remus’s arms, you felt like that place was right here.

——————————————————————————————————

AN: to anyone reading this in need of comfort, I hope you find your solace. You’re not alone and you’re more than enough. You’re always free to rant— I always make time to listen. I hope this helps you feel better, so enjoy.

Well, shuck.

Maze Runner Minho x Runner!OC (Lauren)

Angst, fluff

Summary: Minho and Lauren get trapped in the Maze overnight. With no way out and no clear path to safety, they keep their spirits up with jokes and sarcasm, finding comfort in each other.

AN: You’re not alone.

“You really know how to pick the best nights to get us stuck, huh?” Lauren muttered, hands on her hips as she stared at the towering walls of the Maze that had just sealed them in.

Minho grinned, crouching to catch his breath, the night air cool against his sweat-soaked skin. "Well, if you weren’t so slow, we’d be sipping Gally’s special brew by now."

Lauren shot him a glare, swatting his shoulder. “Me? Slow? I saved your slinthead back there when you almost got Griever-pie’d.”

He shrugged, smirking. “Almost.”

They leaned against the cold stone walls, their banter not doing much to change the fact that they were well and truly stuck. Night had fallen, the Maze silent but menacing, the darkness thick and unnerving. The Grievers hadn’t shown up yet, but both of them knew they’d be out soon enough. It was only a matter of time.

“Think we’ll survive this one?” Lauren asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with a nervous edge.

Minho looked over at her, and despite his bravado, he softened. “We always do, don’t we?”

She chuckled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, but it feels different this time. Like we really might not make it back.”

Minho didn’t respond right away, instead pulling off his jacket and laying it down on the cold ground. “Well, if we’re going out, might as well be comfortable, right?”

Lauren followed his lead, sitting beside him, their backs pressed against the unforgiving stone. “I’m gonna miss this, you know? Running through this giant death trap with you.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “No better runner I’d rather be stuck with.” He looked at her then, something serious in his eyes, but before the moment could turn too deep, he added, “Even if you smell worse than a Griever sometimes.”

She shoved him with a grin. “Yeah, well, you snore like a herd of ‘em.”

They both laughed, the sound hollow and almost strange in the empty Maze. The laughter faded, though, and they sat in silence for a while, the tension hanging in the air.

“I’m serious though,” Lauren said softly. “If this is it… I’m glad it’s with you.”

Minho shifted uncomfortably, unused to moments like this. “Hey, we’re not dying tonight,” he said, trying to keep it light. “We’ve got too much running left to do.”

Lauren smiled, her eyes heavy now as exhaustion from the day’s run finally caught up to her. “I’ll hold you to that, Minho.”

They didn’t say much after that, their backs still pressed against the stone, the Maze shifting occasionally in the distance, the sound of moving walls echoing in the night. Lauren's head eventually lolled to the side, resting on Minho’s shoulder as they both drifted off into an uneasy sleep, lulled by the idea that if the end came, at least they wouldn’t face it alone.

Morning came with an odd stillness. The sounds of the Maze were different—quieter somehow, the usual mechanical groaning replaced by silence. Minho stirred first, blinking groggily at the sunlight streaming down through the Maze’s walls. He nudged Lauren.

“Hey, wake up.”

She groaned, rubbing her eyes. “We’re still alive?”

Minho frowned, standing up to look around. “I think… I think the Maze shifted.”

Lauren scrambled to her feet beside him, and they both stared in shock. The walls, which had sealed them in last night, had shifted perfectly. Not just enough to give them a way forward—but a straight path back to the Glade.

“Holy shuck,” Lauren breathed, her eyes wide.

Minho just shook his head, grinning. “Guess the Maze likes us after all.”

They didn’t wait for a second invitation, taking off down the path, their legs still aching from the previous day’s run but fueled by the adrenaline of survival. The towering walls soon gave way to the familiar clearing of the Glade, and as they stumbled out into the open space, they were met with gasps and cheers.

“Minho! Lauren!” Thomas shouted, sprinting over, followed by the rest of the Gladers, engulfing them in a whirlwind of hugs and claps on the back.

“You guys made it!” Newt grinned, ruffling Lauren’s hair.

“Like there was any doubt,” Minho said, though his cocky grin was tired, his eyes betraying the relief he felt.

As the Gladers pulled back, giving them space, Lauren turned to Minho. She gave him a sly smile before suddenly wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. “I told you we’d make it.”

Minho stiffened, glancing around at the gawking Gladers. “Okay, okay, don’t get all mushy on me now.” He awkwardly patted her back, but there was a warmth in his voice that made it clear he didn’t really mind.

Lauren pulled back, smirking. “Tough guy act still going strong, huh?”

Minho just shrugged. “Can’t ruin my rep.”

But as they stood there, alive and surrounded by their friends, there was no denying the truth: whatever else the Maze threw at them, they'd face it together.

Dance with me

Draco Malfoy X reader Comfort, angst

Summary: Two broken souls find solace in a quiet dance, their shared pain speaking louder than words ever could.

Inspired by:

AN: Really wanted to match the vibe of this song. Sinking, but having a lifeline that’s barely there. I wrote this so you can imagine it both as a sibling-like (platonic) relationship and also maybe a romantic relationship. Either way, there’s comfort.

Story under the cut

The Slytherin common room pulsed with the kind of chaos that came after a hard-won victory. Cups clinked together in celebration, laughter echoed off the stone walls, and the sound of music hummed low and steady under it all. But neither of you cared for any of it. Not really.

Draco stood off to the side, leaning against the wall, his tie half-untied and his gaze fixed on the middle distance. His jaw was tight, and even from across the room, you could see the faint shadows under his eyes. He looked like he always did in moments like these: exhausted. Frayed. Like a rope pulled so tight it was about to snap.

You knew that feeling. You lived it, too.

Your steps carried you through the crowd, ignoring the drunken shouts of your housemates and the occasional hands reaching out to pull you into the revelry. A few people called Draco’s name, too, but he didn’t respond. He was waiting for you.

When you reached him, his shoulders relaxed just slightly, and the tension in his posture shifted. Without a word, he grabbed your wrist—not too tightly, just enough to pull you away from the noise. He led you out of the common room and into the quiet of one of the unused corridors.

The silence was almost deafening after the chaos of the party. The dim torches cast flickering shadows on the stone walls, and for a moment, neither of you said anything.

“You alright?” you asked softly, leaning against the wall beside him.

He exhaled a shaky breath, his head dropping forward for a moment before he looked at you. His gray eyes, usually so sharp and guarded, were softer now. Tired. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “I think so. Maybe.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d said something like that, and you knew better than to push. Instead, you nodded, your shoulder brushing against his. “Rough day?”

He let out a dry laugh, humorless and bitter. “Something like that. Winning isn’t everything, you know. Doesn’t fix…” His words trailed off, but you didn’t need him to finish.

“I know.”

And you did. You understood the way the weight of expectations crushed you, the way it felt to carry burdens that weren’t really yours to bear. That was why he always sought you out, and why you always found your way back to him.

After a moment, he tilted his head toward the faint sound of music drifting through the stone walls from the party. “Dance with me.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his tone. Just weariness. “It’s quieter here. Less… them.”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding. “Alright.”

He stepped closer, one hand hovering awkwardly near your shoulder before settling on it. His other hand reached for yours, and you let him take it, the warmth of his palm grounding you. The song was slow, haunting, and it filled the empty corridor like a whisper of something lost.

You moved together, not quite in time with the music but in time with each other. It wasn’t graceful or practiced; it was clumsy and raw and human. The kind of thing you could only share with someone who knew all the broken pieces of you because they carried their own.

For a while, neither of you spoke. There was no need to. His grip on your hand tightened slightly, and you leaned into it, letting the silence wrap around you both like a shield.

“They don’t get it,” he said finally, his voice quiet.

“No,” you agreed, resting your head against his shoulder. “They don’t.”

But you did.

And that was enough.

Tough Love

Rocket Raccoon x GOTG!Reader

Fluff, teeny bit of angst

Summary: You pass out from overworking and it shows how much Rocket actually cares.

AN: your little reminder to stop and take breaks. We are human, we need time to ourselves. Give yourself five minutes to slack and chill and be as lazy as you want, but then pick it back up again. Love yall 🥰

The ship was quiet, aside from the gentle hum of the engines and the occasional metallic clink from Rocket’s tools. You’d been at it for hours—running diagnostics, fixing systems, checking every detail twice because that’s just how you were. But exhaustion was beginning to creep in, wrapping around your body like a heavy, invisible weight.

You hadn’t noticed when you finally slumped over your station, arms folded beneath your head. The blur of wires and machinery slowly faded away as your eyes fluttered shut.

Rocket noticed, though. His usual gruff demeanor didn’t falter as he glanced your way, muttering something under his breath about "dumb humans overworking themselves." But instead of waking you up with his usual sarcastic quip, he sighed.

With a quick look around to make sure no one else was paying attention, Rocket shuffled over to your side. His steps were lighter, quieter than usual. The sight of you curled up and dead asleep softened his hardened expression for just a moment. He rubbed the back of his neck, frowning at himself as if wondering why he was even bothering. Then, before he could overthink it, he grabbed a spare blanket from one of the supply crates and carefully draped it over you.

"Stupid," he muttered, shaking his head as he stood there for a second longer than necessary, watching the slow rise and fall of your breathing. "Gonna work yourself to death one day, y’know that?"

Satisfied that you were comfortable enough, Rocket retreated to his workstation, ears twitching at every small sound. Despite the fact that no one was watching, he continued with his usual snarky remarks under his breath, but there was something different in the air—an unspoken care that lingered in the silence.

When you woke up, it took a moment to remember where you were. The ship’s cold metal floor wasn’t exactly conducive to sleep, but there was something else—soft warmth enveloping you. You blinked blearily, sitting up slowly, only to find yourself wrapped in a blanket.

A blanket that definitely hadn’t been there when you passed out.

Rocket was still tinkering away across the room, grumbling at a stubborn panel. You watched him for a moment, something swelling in your chest as realization washed over you. He hadn’t said anything, of course—Rocket never did. But you knew. He cared. More than he let on.

With a soft smile, you stood up, the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders like a cape. You padded quietly over to him, heart full, and without a second thought, you wrapped your arms around him from behind in a warm, grateful hug.

Rocket stiffened instantly. "What the—hey! What’re you doin’?!" His voice was sharp, but the way he didn’t immediately shove you off said more than he ever could.

"Thank you," you murmured softly, your face still pressed against his shoulder. You could feel the way his fur bristled under your touch, but you also noticed how he didn’t push you away. He hesitated, as if struggling to keep up his usual gruff exterior.

"Yeah, well… don’t go getting all soft on me," he muttered, glancing over his shoulder quickly. "You’re the one who passed out in the middle of a job. Not my problem if you can't handle it."

You smiled, knowing full well he was trying to save face. But before you could respond, there was a soft cough from behind.

The rest of the Guardians had gathered near the doorway, each of them wearing expressions ranging from amused to knowing. Drax, predictably, was the first to speak.

"It is obvious Rocket cares for you deeply," he announced, as blunt as ever. "This hug confirms it."

Rocket bristled instantly, his ears flattening against his head. "Shut up, Drax!" He shoved your arms off, finally turning around to face the others with a scowl. "I don’t care about anybody. She’s just—ugh, whatever! Y’all are delusional."

Peter smirked, arms crossed over his chest. "Sure, Rocket. Totally believable."

Gamora gave a small, almost imperceptible smile, while Groot swayed gently in the background, seemingly pleased with the scene unfolding. The whole team knew better, and you could see it in the way they exchanged glances and held back their laughter.

Rocket, clearly flustered, shot you a look. "Don’t ever do that again," he growled, though his voice had lost some of its edge. "I ain’t some teddy bear for you to cuddle whenever you feel like it."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. "Okay, Rocket. Whatever you say."

But you knew. And so did everyone else. Beneath all the sarcasm and tough-guy attitude, Rocket cared. He just didn’t know how to say it.

And maybe that was enough.

The Ghosts

Sirius Black

Angst, a whole lot of it

Summary: Sirius gets haunted by the memories of his childhood

AN: cried while drafting this, hope you enjoy

Inspired by:

Story under the cut

Grimmauld Place loomed like a mausoleum, heavy with silence and shadows that seemed to cling to Sirius Black like a second skin. The house had always been oppressive, but post-Azkaban, it felt suffocating. Every corner whispered memories he couldn’t suppress, no matter how much firewhisky he drank or how hard he tried to forget.

Tonight, he found himself in the drawing room, his eyes drawn to the cursed tapestry like a moth to flame.

There it was, the family tree. Black and gold thread wove generations together, its branches curling in endless, snarling pride. His gaze landed on the burned spot where his name had once been—a violent black hole scorched into the fabric, as if even the memory of him had to be eradicated.

A bitter smile tugged at his lips.

“Might share a face and share a last name, but we are not the same.”

The words echoed in his mind, lyrics that felt plucked from his soul. He thought of his mother, her cold, sharp voice still cutting through years of silence. “You are no son of mine, Sirius. Do you hear me? No son of mine!”

He stepped closer to the tapestry, his fingers hovering over the charred fabric. The edges of the burn were jagged, almost alive, like the fury that had once consumed her as she’d banished him from the family. His shoulders tensed, the weight of those years pressing down harder than any Dementor ever had.

“How could you hurt a little kid?”

The memories came unbidden.

He saw himself at six years old, clutching a wooden toy broomstick with trembling hands. His father loomed over him, eyes blazing with the kind of fury Sirius had never understood. “You’re a disgrace to this family, Sirius,” Orion hissed. “No Black would ever stoop to such… rebellion.”

And rebellion had meant what, exactly? Laughing at something Regulus said? Mispronouncing an ancestor’s name? It didn’t matter. The punishment had been swift. A hex, a slap, a night locked in his room with only the portraits on the wall to keep him company—ancestors who sneered and hissed, calling him a traitor even then.

He clenched his fists, shaking his head to dispel the memory. He wasn’t that boy anymore.

“I can run, but I can’t hide from my family line.”

Except he could never outrun it, could he? His reflection in the mirror showed the same sharp cheekbones, the same stormy grey eyes that his mother had once wielded like weapons. The blood coursing through his veins might as well have been chains. Even in Azkaban, he hadn’t been free of them.

His lips twitched into a sardonic smile. “Free,” he muttered, the word tasting bitter on his tongue.

He laughed then—a hollow, rasping sound that bounced off the cold walls of the room. He was 36 years old, and it still bloody bothered him. All of it. The tapestry, the memories, the scars no one could see. He felt like a child again, stuck in the same damned house, walking the same damned halls, haunted by the same damned ghosts.

“Pathetic,” he said to himself, his voice laced with derision. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, shaking his head. “You survived Azkaban, and this—this—is what keeps you up at night? Some bloody thread and scorch marks?”

But the laughter didn’t stop. It bubbled out of him, bitter and raw, until his chest ached and his throat burned.

Because the truth was, it wasn’t just the tapestry. It wasn’t just his mother’s voice or the ghosts in the walls. It was the inescapable reality that no matter how far he ran, he would always carry them with him.

Sirius sank into a nearby chair, his laughter finally subsiding into a strained silence. The house creaked around him, indifferent to his misery.

He tilted his head back, staring at the cracked ceiling above him. “Cheers to you, Mum,” he muttered, raising an imaginary glass. “You win. Even from the grave, you win.”

And yet…

The corners of his mouth twitched again, not with bitterness this time but something quieter. A tired acceptance, perhaps. Because while he might never be free of the Blacks, he could choose to make sure no one else suffered what he had.

The thought gave him no comfort, but it gave him purpose. And that was enough to get him through another night in Grimmauld Place.

Writing Tips Master Post

Character writing/development:

Character Arcs

Making Character Profiles

Character Development

Comic Relief Arc

Internal Conflict

Character Voices

Creating Distinct Characters

Suicidal Urges/Martyr Complex

Creating Likeable Characters

Writing Strong Female Characters

Writing POC Characters

Building Tension

Plot devices/development:

Intrigue in Storytelling

Enemies to Lovers

Alternatives to Killing Characters

Worldbuilding

Misdirection

Consider Before Killing Characters

Foreshadowing

Narrative:

Emphasising the Stakes

Avoid Info-Dumping

Writing Without Dialogue

1st vs. 2nd vs. 3rd Perspective

Fight Scenes (+ More)

Transitions

Pacing

Writing Prologues

Dialogue Tips

Writing War

Writing Cheating

Worldbuilding:

Worldbuilding: Questions to Consider

Creating Laws/Rules in Fantasy Worlds

Book writing:

Connected vs. Stand-Alone Series

A & B Stories

Writer resources:

Writing YouTube Channels, Podcasts, & Blogs

Online Writing Resources

Outlining/Writing/Editing Software

Writer help:

Losing Passion/Burnout

Overcoming Writer's Block

Fantasy terms:

How To Name Fantasy Races (Step-by-Step)

Naming Elemental Races

Naming Fire-Related Races

How To Name Fantasy Places

Ask games:

Character Ask Game #1

Character Ask Game #2

Character Ask Game #3

Miscellaneous:

1000 Follower Post

2000 Follower Poll

Writing Fantasy

Live and Let die

Obi Wan Kenobi x Padawan!Reader

Angst and comfort

Summary: Finding solace in him through suffering.

Inspired by: Live and Let Die by Wings. (Yes, from Shrek)

Story under the cut:

The bruises from the mission hadn’t even begun to fade, yet the sting of failure burned far deeper than any wound. You replayed the scene in your head—the split-second hesitation, the wrong move that cost lives. It didn’t matter that your mistakes weren’t intentional. The weight of them crushed you all the same.

You were supposed to be better. Stronger. Wiser. But instead, you were here, curled up in the shadows of the Jedi Temple’s gardens, your hands trembling as you wiped furiously at the tears tracking down your face.

“I thought I might find you here,” Obi-Wan’s voice cut through the quiet like a gentle blade.

You stiffened, dragging your sleeve across your face as if you could erase the evidence of your breakdown. “I’m fine, Master,” you muttered, refusing to meet his gaze.

Obi-Wan didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he moved closer, lowering himself onto the stone bench beside you. The silence stretched, his presence steady but unyielding.

“You’re not fine,” he said at last, his tone soft but resolute.

That broke something in you. “Of course I’m not fine!” you snapped, your voice trembling with the force of your emotions. “I keep screwing up, Master. Over and over again. No matter how hard I try, I always let someone down.”

Your fists clenched on your knees, your nails digging into your palms as you stared at the ground. “Do you know what they said?” you whispered, voice cracking. “They said I hesitated. That if I hadn’t—if I’d just been faster, stronger—people wouldn’t have died. And they’re right. I keep failing, and I don’t even know how to stop.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed, his expression shadowed with concern. He reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your shoulder. “Padawan,” he began carefully, “you’re carrying the weight of this entire mission on your shoulders. That’s a burden no one should bear alone.”

“I have to bear it,” you shot back, your voice rising. “If I don’t, who will? I’m supposed to be a Jedi, aren’t I? We’re supposed to protect people—keep them safe. But I keep failing. How can I call myself a Jedi when I can’t even do that?”

Your words hung in the air, raw and bitter. For a long moment, Obi-Wan said nothing. Then he spoke, his voice low and heavy with memory.

“There was a time,” he said slowly, “when I stood where you are now. When I thought every failure was a sign of my inadequacy, a mark of my weakness. I believed I had to be perfect. That anything less meant I wasn’t worthy of being a Jedi.”

You looked up at him then, startled by the vulnerability in his voice. His gaze was distant, as if he were seeing ghosts.

“But perfection,” he continued, “is an illusion. One that will destroy you if you let it. The galaxy is cruel, Padawan. You can do everything right, and still, it won’t be enough. You can’t save everyone. And that… is not your fault.”

Your chest tightened, his words both a comfort and a knife. “It feels like my fault,” you whispered.

Obi-Wan’s hand tightened gently on your shoulder, grounding you. “That is the burden of compassion,” he said. “We carry the weight of others’ pain because we care. But if you let it consume you, it will drown you. You must learn to let go—not of your care, but of the guilt that comes with it. We live. We let go. And we learn.”

Tears burned in your eyes, and you let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” Obi-Wan said firmly. “Because I believe in you. Even when you doubt yourself, I will never doubt the strength I see in you. But that strength doesn’t mean never failing. It means standing back up, no matter how many times you fall.”

His words cracked something open in you, the floodgates breaking as the tears spilled freely. Obi-Wan didn’t move away. He stayed beside you, his presence a steady anchor as you let yourself feel the weight of your grief and frustration.

When the tears finally slowed, you turned to him, your voice hoarse. “What if I mess up again?”

“You will,” he said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “We all do. But you’ll rise again. And when you do, you’ll be stronger for it.”

You nodded slowly, his words a lifeline you clung to. The weight on your chest wasn’t gone, but it was lighter now. Manageable.

“Thank you, Master,” you murmured.

Obi-Wan rose, offering you a hand. “Come now, Padawan. There’s much to do, and tomorrow is another chance to grow.”

You took his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. And for the first time, you felt like you could keep going.

Is it weird I want to request a scene that involves Janson? I've been seeing a lot of posts about him and ngl he's kinda hot...is this just me...???

GO FOR IT. I wholeheartedly agree. I don’t know what it is but well… let’s just say I wouldn’t protest because he could slam a clipboard on the table and I’d fold like a lawn chair 😫

PLEASE PLEASE SEND IN REQUESTS 🙏🙏

Hello, 🌹♥️

I apologize for reaching out unexpectedly, but I am forced to contact you due to an urgent situation.

🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺🌺

My name is Hani, and I want to assure you that I wouldn’t want to bother you under normal circumstances. However, I am in desperate need right now. I have a beautiful family , and I am doing everything I can to save them from the horrors of the war in Gaza. I reached out to you because I believe you are a kind and compassionate person 🫶, and I hope that if you can share our story, you won’t hesitate to do so.

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

I’m not experienced with Tumblr, and I only came here to try to reach good people like you who can help amplify my family’s voice , hoping we might find someone who can help save them.  If you could reblog the pinned post on my account, I would be incredibly grateful.

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If you are willing to contribute even more, you could also share our story on any other platforms where you have access.  With your help, we might be able to save them.

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If you have friends or know of large blogs on Tumblr, please don’t hesitate to ask them to reblog my post as well.

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Please, can you reblog my pinned post 📌 on my account📍? 😔😞🌹

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Again, I apologize for the inconvenience, and I sincerely hope that reaching out to you will lead to a positive outcome in my desperate attempt to save my family from the war. 🕊️

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Thank you from the bottom of my heart ♥️

Ayo, help out if you can, there are people in need of help. I know some people just skim through some of these like it's no big deal but heck if it were us, we'd have to resort to doing the same thing (or something similar). It honestly doesn't matter who you support in this, people are dying by the hundreds and losing their sense of security. A reblog, share or comment goes a long way. Thanks

Resistant

Kylo Ren x ResistanceSpy!Reader

uhm.... slightly angsty, being forced against your will

Summary: After finding a Resistance spy on his ship, there is nothing more he'd want than to break her.

AN: My exams are over (I'm back!)

story under the cut

Her breath was a silent tremor as she crouched in the shadows of the First Order ship, watching the patrol pass. She’d been running for what felt like hours, slipping through every gap and doorway she could find. The metallic scent of the corridors filled her nose, cold and sterile, a contrast to the heat of fear thrumming in her veins. This ship was her way out, her chance to vanish. She just had to get to an escape pod, and she’d be gone.

A solitary stormtrooper rounded the corner, moving in her direction, his helmet gleaming under the dim lights. She didn’t hesitate. A swift blow to the back of his neck, and he crumpled, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. She had the armor on in seconds, adjusting the mask, letting its cold weight smother her expression. She fell in line with the rest of the squad, silent, unassuming.

But her calm was short-lived.

The corridor hushed, and she sensed a presence before she even saw him. He was at the far end, tall, his figure a shifting shadow beneath the black robe that rippled as he moved. Kylo Ren. His helmet turned, the empty void of his visor pointed right at her.

“Trooper,” he said, his voice a deep, corrosive rumble, heavy with command. “Step forward.”

She swallowed, controlling her breaths, her mind racing. To hesitate would be a death sentence. She stepped out of line, the weight of his gaze pressing on her, solid and inescapable, as if he were already carving into her mind.

“Remove your helmet,” he ordered, the authority in his tone brooking no defiance.

Her fingers tightened on the edges of the helmet. This was it—her mask removed, her cover shattered. She slipped it off, feeling the cold air hit her face as her eyes met his. She forced herself to stay still, blank, giving nothing.

The silence between them thickened, stretching as his stare bore into her. His helmet tilted slightly, a silent calculation, as though appraising a dangerous specimen. There was something eerie about the stillness that filled the space between them, like the calm before a storm.

He took a step closer, and the dim lights cast deep shadows over his mask, giving his presence an even darker, sharper edge. “You’re not one of mine,” he said, each word edged in steel.

She didn’t respond, her expression remaining impassive, like a soldier who knew exactly what her end looked like. Silence was her only armor now, her one fragile defense against the darkness he wielded so easily.

Another step. The gap between them was closing, and she could feel his anger like a heat radiating from him, an aura that threatened to crush her. “Nothing to say?” His tone was mocking, laced with a quiet fury. “It’s rare for a spy to be so... compliant.”

She met his words with the faintest arch of her brow. It was subtle, but enough to show him that fear wasn’t her game. She’d faced worse odds, held her own in situations with no escape. If this was how she would go, she would go quietly, and she would go with dignity.

“You think silence will protect you,” he continued, the low cadence of his voice crawling under her skin. “But I don’t need words to uncover what you’re hiding.”

The air between them pulsed, his power reaching out like tendrils, slithering into her mind. She felt him push, testing her, looking for cracks, for any hint of weakness. Her jaw tightened as she held her ground, her mind steeling itself against the invasive pressure.

“Interesting,” he murmured, though there was no warmth in his tone. “You’ve been trained.”

The smallest twitch of her mouth was her only response. She was prepared to withstand pain, to endure the tearing of her thoughts and memories. If he thought he could break her that easily, he was mistaken.

“Not even a name?” His helmet leaned closer, and she could feel his voice resonate through her. “Then allow me to remind you who I am.”

The Force clamped around her throat, an invisible vise that tightened slowly, inexorably. She could feel her airway constrict, her vision darkening at the edges, but she forced herself to remain still, even as her lungs burned, fighting for air.

But her expression didn’t change. She looked at him, a defiance woven into the quiet depths of her gaze. She might not be able to speak, but her eyes told him everything. She would die before giving him what he wanted.

A flicker of something almost like irritation crossed his stance, and with a flick of his fingers, he released her. She stumbled back, catching herself against the wall, her breaths shallow and quick. His stare remained unbroken, as if assessing how far he could push before she shattered.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” His tone held a hint of amusement now, but it was cold, twisted, like the edge of a knife. “The Resistance has sent me a spy who thinks she can survive simply by keeping quiet.”

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, but laced with an unyielding calm. “If you think intimidation works on me,” she murmured, “then you don’t know the Resistance.”

Kylo tilted his head, a silent, menacing appraisal that sent a chill down her spine. “Intimidation?” His voice was barely above a whisper, deadly and soft, like the edge of a razor. “I don’t waste time with intimidation.”

Without warning, he raised his hand, and she felt the world tilt as her feet left the ground. An invisible force pinned her against the wall, her shoulders pressing hard into the metal, the cold seeping into her skin. She could feel the weight of his anger, his frustration, pressing into her mind with a relentless pressure that threatened to rip her apart from the inside.

He stepped closer, each step deliberate, slow, until he was mere inches away. She could see her own reflection in the glossy surface of his mask, her own narrowed eyes staring back at her.

“Tell me your name,” he said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that reverberated through the cold metal at her back. The Force held her in place, unyielding, and she could feel the ice in his command, a thinly veiled promise of pain.

She held his gaze, her expression betraying nothing, even as her pulse thundered in her ears. Silence was her only weapon, her only shield, and she wielded it with a stubborn, quiet resilience.

Another beat of silence, stretching, twisting, as his patience waned.

His hand raised slightly, and she felt a sharp, crushing force against her ribs, like invisible fingers digging in, pressing down with a cruel, unyielding pressure. Her breath hitched, but she bit down on the pain, refusing to make a sound, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

“Defiant until the end,” he murmured, almost to himself, as though he’d expected something different from her. As though her silence was somehow more intriguing than he anticipated. “But even the strongest minds break.”

He dropped her suddenly, and she stumbled forward, catching herself before she fell to her knees. Her breaths came in short, shallow gasps, her vision swimming, but she steadied herself, her gaze lifting to meet his once more.

Kylo watched her, silent, his stance unreadable, his posture cloaked in shadow. Then, after a long, tense moment, he leaned in close, his voice a low, dark murmur. “You may have nothing to say now. But I will uncover every secret, every lie, until you have nothing left.”

With that, he turned sharply, leaving her alone in the silence of the dark, cold room.