#Inner conflict

[luvrgreyy]

FRUITS OF THE FLESH.

widow!reader x priest!leon

word count: 3.4k summary: a man reaps what he sows. masterlist | taglist | ko-fi

18+ MDNI. catholicism, religious connotations, no specific time frame but i’d like to say victorian era-ish, alot of allusions to the lord or god, reader’s dead husband idk, inner conflict, denial, guilt, leon asking for forgiveness like a hundred times, kissing, oral(r!receiving), fingering, unprotected sex.

a/n: started this like two months ago, just had the motivation to finally finish. i don’t really know how i feel about my writing on this one… i feel like i’ve lost all my skills after not writing for a few weeks

grief is truly a horrible thing. an all-consuming force that threatens to eat you from the inside out.

it’s a shadow that lingers, a specter that moves silently but persistently, weaving itself into the fabric of every moment. it does not announce its presence with fanfare, nor does it depart when you will it to. instead, it creeps, slow and steady, like the cold wind before a storm, pressing against your chest until breathing feels like a sin.

grief is not a feeling; it is a presence. it is a weight, heavy and suffocating, as if drowning in a dark, endless sea. the surface is so far above, unreachable, and the water presses in from all sides, choking the breath from your lungs. there’s simply no escaping it. eve when you close your eyes, hoping for a moment of peace, it finds you there too.

grief is a thief that takes more than just what you’ve lost—it takes time, peace, and clarity. it takes pieces of you.

and ever since your husband’s death, you’ve been trying to pick those pieces back up. but they slip through your fingers like sand, scattering in the wind, impossible to gather in their entirety. every attempt to rebuild feels futile, as though you’re trying to piece together a puzzle with missing parts, the picture never quite forming the way it once did.

the room is relatively empty, save for a few devout attenders who are spread out in their pews. the priest stands on the altar, the candlelight casting a soft glow on his features as he continues the mass. it’s a somewhat traditional ceremony, filled with prayers and rituals that you’d grown accustomed to.

the priest stands before the small congregation, the words of the mass flowing effortlessly from his lips.

you sit near the back, hands folded tightly in your lap. the rhythmic cadence of the priest’s voice, the latin prayers echoing in the cavernous space, should bring you some semblance of peace, but it doesn’t. it feels distant, as though you’re watching the service through a veil, separated from the others.

the priest's voice drones on, a familiar melody that fails to soothe the ragged edges of your heart. you feel like an outsider, a stranger among the devoted faithful. even the rituals that once brought comfort now seem hollow, the prayers falling flat against the weight of your sorrow.

as the mass draws to a close, the priest's eyes meet yours, his gaze piercing and knowing. for a moment, you feel like an animal trapped in his sights, vulnerable and exposed.

the priest's gaze lingers on you a moment longer than necessary as he processes the end of the mass. the small congregation begins to file out of the pew, murmuring gentle blessings and well-wishes to one another. he watches them go, his eyes lingering on each face, before turning to face you once more.

the nave slowly empties, leaving only a handful of devotees behind, including yourself. he remains at the altar, hands folded in quiet contemplation. the soft rustle of the evening breeze carries the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, a melancholy reminder of the passing seasons.

"you stayed behind," leon observes, his voice a gentle whisper.

"is there something on your mind, my child?" he approaches you slowly, his large frame casting a long shadow across the stone floor.

“no, father, everything’s fine," you lie through your teeth, your voice barely a whisper.

"is all well?" there's a pause, and in it, you sense an invitation to share your burdens, to unburden yourself to this man of the cloth. but the words stick in your throat, tangled around the aching void your husband left.

what could you possibly say? what good would it do? the priest's eyes search yours, his face etched with compassion. then, he nods, as if he understands the futility of words.

he accepts your silence, his gaze softening with understanding. in this sacred space, he knows better than to pry, to force confessions or unburdenings. instead, he allows you the solitude you crave, the quiet contemplation you so desperately need.

the silence between you stretches on, a fragile truce that exists solely in this sacred space. it's a comfort, of sorts, to have this shared quiet, a reminder that even in the depths of your grief, there are still moments of solace to be found.

"i'll leave you be for now," leon says eventually, his voice a gentle murmur that breaks the spell.

"thank you, father." he nods, a small, reassuring smile playing on his lips as he takes his leave, the soft rustle of his robes the only sound in the hallowed space.

eventually, you rise, stretching your stiff limbs. the cool stone beneath your feet is a jarring contrast to the warmth of the pew. making your way to the front of the church, you light a candle, your fingers brushing against the smooth glass as you set it upon the altar. the flame flickers to life, casting a warm, golden glow over the surrounding statues.

you linger a moment longer, savoring the peaceful atmosphere, before making your way out.

the church is bathed in an eerie, moonlit glow when you return late that night. the candle you lit earlier still burns, its flame a slowly dying down.

you move with a quiet reverence, your footsteps muffled by the soft carpeting as you make your way to the front row of pews. you've come seeking answers, but none present themselves as you approach the altar. the statue of the crucified christ looms above, his suffering face a poignant reminder of the pain that accompanies loss.

the shadows cast by the statues seem to deepen and twist, taking on a life of their own in the dim light. a shiver runs down your spine, the fine hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. something feels off, a discordant note that you can't quite place.

you pray, hoping it’ll all go away, but unease persists.

it's subtle at first, a whispered thought on the edge of your consciousness. but the longer you have your back turned, the more you feel as if someone is behind you. but you don’t dare look.

not until it speaks.

“what are you doing here, my child?," you hear him say softly, his voice carrying a note of gentle warning. "you shouldn't be here this late."

his words send a chill down your spine, the softness of his tone at odds with the tension emanating from him. you slowly turn around, your heart pounding in your chest. leon stands just behind your seat, his silhouette large and imposing against the blackness outside. his eyes glint in the candlelight, a predatory keenness that makes your blood run cold.

"father," you stammer, trying to keep your voice steady. "i... i just felt the need to pray," he takes a step closer, his footsteps deliberate and heavy.

"at this hour? prayers can wait till morning. you shouldn't be here, not alone, not now.”

“but, why?” you ask, a hint of fear creeping into your voice. “does the church not allow visitors at any time?”

guilt pricks at his heart, a sharp pang of conscience that he's not entirely sure he wants to acknowledge. “no, of course not. the church doors are always open. but this is late, and you're alone... it's just not safe,” his tone is gentle, but there's an undercurrent of something else - a hunger he's trying his damnedest to suppress.

“is that really the reason, father?”

guilt gnaws at him, a growing sense of unease that he can't quite shake. "of course, that's the only reason," he lies, his voice wavering slightly. but the truth lingers in the air, a palpable tension that he can't seem to dissipate.

he takes a step closer, drawn to you like a moth to flame despite his better judgment. "perhaps... perhaps i misjudged. the church's doors are always open, for the faithful and the lost alike," his eyes roam over your face, drinking in the curves of your features, the softness of your skin in the candlelight. “especially to you.”

a low groan escapes him, half-desire, half-anguish. "forgive me, child. i should not be saying these things,”

“no, wait—“ you softly reach for his arm.

he freezes at the touch, his breath catching in his throat as your fingers make contact with his arm. the sensation sends a jolt of electricity through him, his resolve crumbling like sand beneath the tide.

"don't," he whispers, his voice rough with strain. "please, don't." but even as the words leave his lips, he can't bring himself to pull away, to sever the connection between you.

“but i haven’t done anything, father,”

"you've done plenty, my child," he murmurs, his voice thick with a mix of longing and self-loathing. "just by being here, by existing... you've awakened desires i thought long buried." leon's breathing grows ragged, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

he steps closer still, the heat of his body radiating towards you like a physical manifestation of his turmoil. "i am a man, not a saint," his confession hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of his forbidden attraction.

“and…” he shakes his head, a bitter struggle that leaves him weak-kneed and aching. "i should send you home," he murmurs, his hand coming up to cover yours, to hold it in place. "before we both regret this.”

“no, please don’t push me away, father,” you plead.

his eyes flicker closed, as if in supplication to some higher power, as the admission spills from his lips: "i'm sorry, child. so very sorry for what i am about to do.”

his body crowds yours, crushing the air from your lungs with the sheer force of his need. his mouth descends, claiming yours in a bruising kiss that sets your very soul ablaze. the world narrows to the taste of him — smoke, spice, and something uniquely his own.

it's overwhelming, consuming, and yet, somehow, it's the most natural thing in the world.

and when you end up pushed up against his office desk, the wood cold and unforgiving against your back, you know things have gone irrevocably awry. his hands, so recently devoted to guiding prayer, now roam the curves of your body with a reverence bordering on the religious.

your lips part on a gasp, allowing him greater access, and he seizes the invitation with a fervor that leaves you breathless. large hands roam your body, mapping the contours of your frame with a desperation that belies his years of discipline. he breaks the kiss only to trail open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, your neck, the rapid beating of your pulse point a siren's call he's powerless to resist.

he's shaking, the tremors starting deep within, spreading outward through his muscles like ripples on a pond's surface.

"forgive me, lord," he whispers to himself, as if seeking divine absolution from the sin that he’s about to commit. but even as the plea leaves his lips, he doesn't let go. instead, he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your knuckles.

then he's on his knees in front of you, hands grasping at the hem of your dress. the fabric rustles as he pushes it upward, baring your thighs to his hungry gaze. his breath is heavy, face mere inches from your center.

"tell me to stop," he pleads, his voice a ragged whisper. "command me to sin no more, and i will obey.”

for a moment, he teeters on the brink, the line between devotion and lust blurring until it's nearly indistinguishable. "please," leon's eyes lock onto yours, searching for the strength to resist, to obey his vows. but what he finds there is surrender, a silent plea that sends his resolve crumbling like the weakest brick.

"father," you breathe, his name a prayer on your lips.

he closes his eyes, a silent, anguished prayer issuing forth from his lips. his hands tremble as they part your legs wider, stealing a breath from your chest. slowly, reverently, he leans in, finally dragging you underwear down, exposing you to his gaze.

"you are so beautiful,"

his voice cracks on the words, a mixture of awe, reverence, and raw, animal desire. he can't tear his eyes away from your unveiled flesh, drinking in the sight like a man dying of thirst.

"pray with me," he murmurs, his breath hot against your slick folds. "ask for forgiveness, for the sins we are about to commit." even as he speaks, he's dragging his tongue along your inner thigh, the sensation making you gasp and shudder.

"our father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name,”

his hands roam your hips, gripping the soft flesh as if to steady himself against the waves of his own depravity.

“thy kingdom come, thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven,"

each curve of your body yields to his touch as his fingertips traced a path of fire across your skin. desperation and control tangled within his gestures, gripping onto the softness beneath his hands as he strives to anchor himself against the tumultuous waves of desire and decadence that threaten to crash over him.

“glory be to the father, and to the son, and to the holy spirit…”

the words are a broken whisper, a plea for mercy that's drowned out by the urgent throb of his own need.

“amen.”

he brings his mouth to you at last, and with a groan of surrender, he begins to eat you out with a hunger that knows no bounds.

he laves at your clit with a fervor that leaves you panting and weak-kneed. you're a mess of whimpers and moans, your hands fisting in his hair as he works you over. leon's grip on your hips tightens, his fingers digging into the flesh as he eats you out with a single-minded determination.

"yes, yes, just like that," you babble, your voice a desperate chant, even as your vision starts to blur at the edges.

one of his hands drifts lower, his fingers seeking out the entrance to your womb. he teases the delicate skin, tracing the outline of your slit before slipping a finger inside. a low groan rumbles in his chest at the slick heat that envelops him, urging him on.he works two fingers in and out of you in a steady rhythm, the lewd squelch of your juices only further fueling his own desire.

"please, father, i need—" the words die on your lips as a particularly intense thrust of his fingers sends you plummeting over the brink.

his eyes blaze with an unholy light as he takes in your ravished expression, his own need reaching a fever pitch. he surges to his feet, shedding his robe and shoving his pants down with a desperate haste. he reaches for you, pulling you forward effortlessly, as if you weigh nothing at all.

he wraps a hand around himself, stroking himself in time with the frantic beat of his heart. "i'm sorry," he whispers, his voice raw with anguish and guilt. "so very sorry."

he hovers over you, his thick length prodding, seeking entrance to the very core of your being. you help guide him in, a hand slowly pushing back on the back if his neck as the thick head of his cock breaching your entrance with a slight burning sensation. he groans, his hips bucking forward as he sheathes himself fully within you.

for a moment, you're both still, letting the intensity of it all wash over you.

and he starts to move forward, inch by inch, the wooden desk creaks in protest beneath you. his eyes squeeze shut as he buries himself to the hilt, your slick walls clenching around him like a vice.

"oh, my lord, forgive me," he breathes, his forehead coming to rest against yours as he struggles to still the tremors that rack his frame. "i am a man undone.”

he starts to move, slowly at first, each thrust a testament to the effort it takes him to resist the primal urge to rut into you like an animal in heat. his hips rise and fall in a deliberate rhythm, each stroke drawing a gasp from your lips.

"you feel so good," he rasps, his breath hot against your skin. he pulls nearly all the way out before plunging back in, the slick glide of his thick length a pleasure unlike anything you've ever known.

sweat drips from his brow as he pounds into you with a fervor that borders on religious ecstasy. each thrust is a prayer, a confession, a plea for absolution. his eyes never leave yours, searching for some glimmer of forgiveness in their depths.

"i'm— i’m close," he warns, his voice strained with the effort of holding back.

your head rolls back, a silent moan escaping your lips as the pleasure mounts. his hands fly to your face, cradling your cheeks as he forces your gaze to meet his.

"please, please, don't look away." he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a chaste kiss. "i need to see you," he murmurs, his hips stuttering in their relentless rhythm as he fights for control.

he can feel the pressure building, coiling tighter and tighter within him until he's teetering on the precipice. his hands roam your body, kneading and squeezing as if trying to imprint every curve and valley onto his very being.

he's a hairsbreadth from the edge, the tension coiled so tightly within him that he's not sure he can contain it much longer. but for you, he'll try.

he'll endure the sweet agony of restraint. he leans in, his breath mingling with yours as he whispers a final plea.

"dear god, i'm so very sorry." the words are a prayer, a plea for forgiveness not just from the divine, but from you. he knows that what he's doing is wrong, that he's violating the sacred trust that he's been entrusted with as a man of the cloth. but in this moment, caught up in the maelstrom of his own desire, he can't bring himself to care.

he hooks an arm beneath your knees, pulling you higher up on the desk. the new angle allows him to drive even deeper, the head of his cock brushing against that spongy spot that has you seeing stars.

your body responds, arching up to meet him as a keening wail tears from your throat. he watches, entranced, as ecstasy washes over you in waves, your face a mask of rapturous bliss.

you finally feel his heat as it floods your innermost depths just moments later.

he collapses onto you, his weight crushing in its intimacy as he buries his face in the crook of your neck. his heart pounds against your ribcage, a frantic with regret and release.

he stays there, draped over you, his breathing ragged and uneven as he tries to regain some semblance of control. his body is slick with sweat, his muscles trembling with the aftershocks. slowly, he pulls back, his hands still cradling your face as he looks deep into your eyes.

his breath comes in ragged gasps as he struggles to regain some semblance of control, to quiet the chaos that rages within him.

"forgive me," he whispers, the plea hanging heavy in the air between you.

he knows it's not enough. he's broken the trust, violated the sacred vows he's taken. there's no going back from this, no easy path to redemption. the knowledge that he's failed, that he's fallen so very far from the path of righteousness, fills him with a deep, abiding shame. but for now, in this moment, he can only cling to the thin thread of your forgiveness and hope that it's enough.

tags: @crowleyco @withonly-sweetheart @fanilkychae

[aventurineswife]

helloo, may I req platonic blade,jing yuan,dan heng and moze with a teen!reader who is like sirin from honkai impact 3rd?

“You can destroy everything in your path, but you can never destroy what lives inside you”

Tags: Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Moze x Reader, Teen!Sirin!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Mentorship, Emotional Struggles, Inner Conflict, Vulnerability, Angst, Personal Growth.

Warnings: Mentions of pain and emotional turmoil, Inner conflict and rage, Destructive thoughts (brief), Themes of vengeance and loss, Mild language.

Blade stood motionless, the broken sword in his hand reflecting the dim light of the underground hideout. His eyes narrowed as he watched you, a figure consumed by inner turmoil and rage. Your expression flickered between innocence and something far darker, a complex mix of vulnerability and an undeniable thirst for vengeance. Blade recognized it instantly—the hunger for destruction, the same fire that burned within him.

“You have a choice,” Blade said softly, his voice devoid of emotion. “The path you’re walking leads to nothing but despair. I know this better than anyone.”

You glared at him, eyes flickering with frustration, before your voice cracked, “I don’t care. The world deserves to burn.”

Blade tilted his head slightly, observing your inner conflict. “Burning it all down won’t make the pain go away. Trust me, I’ve walked that path.” he muttered, glancing down at his fractured sword, a symbol of his own lost humanity. He could see the darkness in your eyes, but also a hint of something more—something worth saving.

“You’re not alone in this,” Blade said, a rare softness in his tone. “But don’t let your anger consume you. You’ll end up like me. A weapon without a soul.”

Jing Yuan leaned against a pillar, the soft glow of his golden eyes observing you as you paced restlessly. The weight of the world seemed to sit heavy on your shoulders, and the way you clutched your hands, as if holding back a storm, was telling. Jing Yuan's reputation for his foresight and calm demeanor preceded him, but he could still sense the conflict beneath your hardened exterior.

“You seem troubled,” Jing Yuan remarked, his voice slow, measured, as always. “I know what it’s like to carry the burdens of the world, but you need to understand one thing: you’re not alone.”

You stopped and turned sharply, eyes blazing with unspoken words. “I don’t need anyone. I’m stronger alone.”

Jing Yuan’s expression softened, but there was no pity in his gaze—only understanding. “Strength is not always about being alone, my young friend. Sometimes, it’s about learning to rely on others. Even the greatest warriors rely on those who walk beside them.”

You looked away, clearly struggling with the idea. Jing Yuan could sense the unresolved anger in you, a mirror of the feelings he had fought to keep in check for centuries. “I know it’s hard to trust,” Jing Yuan continued, his voice a little quieter. “But don’t let your pain isolate you. It can only make you weaker in the end.”

Dan Heng sat silently on the edge of the Astral Express, staring at the vast, starry expanse. Your footsteps were soft, almost hesitant, as you approached him. He didn’t look up immediately, but he could sense your presence—tension hanging thick in the air.

“You’re avoiding them,” your voice broke the silence, a directness that took Dan Heng by surprise. He finally looked up, his expression guarded, though his dark eyes betrayed a certain wariness.

“Not avoiding,” Dan Heng replied coolly. “Just staying out of trouble.”

You smirked bitterly, stepping closer. “Seems like you’ve been doing that your whole life.”

Dan Heng’s gaze hardened. “You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough,” you retorted. “You hide behind your responsibilities, your stoic face. You think running will make things go away. But it doesn’t.”

Dan Heng stiffened, and for a moment, his calm mask cracked. He had seen too much of himself in your rebellious defiance—too much of the pain he had buried deep within. “Running won’t solve everything, no,” he admitted quietly. “But it can keep me from destroying the things I care about.”

Your eyes softened for a brief moment before you turned away. “Yeah, I get that. But maybe you don’t have to run forever.”

Dan Heng’s gaze lingered on you. “Maybe.”

The room was quiet, save for the faint sounds of your breathing as you sat, your back pressed against the cold stone wall. Moze stood in the shadows, watching you with a cold, calculating gaze. He had been sent to observe, not to interact, but there was something about you that drew him in.

“You’re restless,” Moze said, his voice low and devoid of emotion. You flinched, not expecting the intrusion into your thoughts.

“Yeah, so?” you shot back, sharp and defensive. “What’s it to you?”

Moze stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “Restlessness doesn’t serve you. It’s a sign of a broken mind. You seek control, but you can’t control what’s inside of you.”

You clenched your fists, your shoulders tense. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Moze raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps not. But I know what it’s like to feel trapped by your past. To be consumed by the things you’ve done and the things you’ve lost.”

Your anger flickered in your eyes, but there was something else—something vulnerable, buried deep. Moze could see it, and it troubled him more than he cared to admit.

“Pain is a part of life,” Moze said, his voice steady. “But it doesn’t have to control you. You can choose to let it define you or let it go.”

You didn’t respond, but the silence between you felt different—less tense, perhaps, more thoughtful. Moze didn’t expect you to understand right away, but sometimes, it was enough to plant a seed.

[storytellerslense]

JJ Maybank character analysis

The meaning of the gun

"I got this thing, you know, to protect us" (JJ Maybank, Season 1, Episode 3)

At the start of the Pilot we see JJ Maybank as a funny, imaginative, rebellious guy who, although doesn't really think through the consequences of his actions, seems quite harmless.

However, his personality becomes a bit darker and erratic after he steals a loaded gun. He gets literally obsessed with always carrying it around and, to the dismay of the Pogues, does not hesitate to show it off for intimidation.

The possession of the gun holds a deep symbolic meaning for JJ Maybank, which goes far beyond the simple necessity of self-defense. Psychologically it can be described as "compensation" and a "defense mechanism." These terms describe how individuals use symbolic objects or behaviors to cope with inner conflicts or to make up for a lack of control in their lives.

The gun as a symbol for power and control

For JJ, who grows up in an environment where he has little control over his own life and safety, the gun symbolizes the opportunity to regain control. The gun gives him the feeling that he can protect himself and his friends.

Also, JJ is the one who faces the most oppression from many sides—whether it's from his abusive father, societal stigmas, or conflicts with the Kooks. Owning a gun represents a form of power that he otherwise lacks. It serves as a means for him to defend himself against those who oppress him.

In a powerful scene in Season 1, JJ points the gun at his abusive father and later breaks down crying to his friends: "I can't take it anymore... I was gonna kill him!"

The gun as an expression of JJ's inner conflicts

JJ's decision to possess a gun is an expression of his inner anger and desperation. The weapon represents his deep-seated frustration and his drive to combat the feelings of helplessness that overwhelm him due to his familial and social circumstances. It also expresses JJ's self-destructive tendencies. His willingness to take extreme measures highlights the depth of his emotional pain and despair.

The gun as a proof of coming of age

For JJ, forced to grow up early due to parentification, the gun also symbolizes his claim to independence and maturity. It is a means through which he can prove himself as capable and adult, someone who can protect himself and others.

Because he is often not taking seriously, JJ believes that possessing a gun will earn him more respect. It is an attempt to strengthen his position in the social hierarchy and assert his autonomy.

"(...) Remind you that I am the only one who can properly defend us." (JJ Maybank, Season 1)

The key moment of JJ losing his weapon

In "Outer Banks" Season 2, Episode 4 JJ Maybank finally gives up his weapon. It happens when the Pogues are about to get cornered by the police. JJ brandishes his gun in order to assert control over the situation. Recognizing this, John B steps in by assertively taking the gun out of JJ's hand, letting it fall to the ground, gently reassuring him, that he is going to be ok.

This message was extremely important for JJ, lifting the heavy weight of responsibility finally off his shoulders. JJ, being usually prepared to constantly put his own life on the line for the well-being of his father or his friends in order to "earn" their love and respect, was now protected and guided himself by his best friend.

"It's gonna be alright." (John B., Season 2, Episode 4)

After a short moment of indecisiveness and shock, JJ gives in and completes the act by quickly kicking dirt over the gun, so it stays hidden before the police can find it.

This is one of the most powerful, though underrated scenes in Outer Banks, because it really marks a key moment of JJ's personal development. It signifies his willingness to confront his inner demons: giving up control- for once not relying on himself but really trusting someone else's judgement. He is also accepted and cared for without having to proof himself or fulfill someone else's needs beforehand.

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

The Dark is generous, and it is patient.

Its first talent is hiding. Our true face lies in the darkness beneath our skin. Our true heart drowns in even deeper shadows. But what it hides from us the most is not our secret truths, what it is hiding is the truth of others.

The Dark protects us from what we are afraid to know.

It protects us from the horrors we are capabe of.

Its second talent is the ilusion of comfort, the peace of sweet dreams in the night's embrace, the beauty imagination gifts to that which would disgusts us in the light of day.

Its third talent is Light itself. Just as the days are counted by the night that divides them, and the stars by the endless blackness they move around in, the Dark embraces the Light and makes it stand out from its very core.

With every victory of the Light, the winner is the Dark.

All lights vanish, leaving nothing but darkness behind. All things die, all things end. With time, even stars burn out. Everything you have, everything you will achieve, every thriumph, every love. All that's yours, everyone you love, will die one die. You can't stop their deaths any more than you can stop the sun from setting. You will lose them, or perhaps you will be fortunate where they won't be, and they will lose you instead.

The people you love don't, and will not ever, belong to you. They belong to the universe, and the universe will take them.

It's that simple. It's that complex. And it's written in the very nature of the universe. In a universe where even stars burn out, no matter how good you are, all stories end the same way.

The Dark is generous, and it is patient.

The darkness is what sows the seeds of cruelty in justice, what leaks disdain into compassion, what poisons love with grains of doubt.

It takes your attachments and poisons them with the fear of the unstoppable, with the fear of losing everything you hold dear. It sows the seeds of anger, the shadows of greed.

The Dark can be patient because the smallest raindrop will make those seeds sprout.

And the rain will come, and the seeds will sprout, because the Dark is the ground they grow in and the clouds in the skies, and it awaits behind the stars that give them light.

With time, even stars burn out.

The Dark is the predator in the middle of a hunt, stalking you with eerie patience. You may run, you may hide, but it won't run after you or search for you; it doesn't have to, it doesn't need to.

It will catch you eventually. It knows this, and it knows you know this. If you flee, you will only delay the inevitable. If you embrace it, you will be consumed by the worst in yourself.

The Dark is generous and it is patient, and it always wins.

It always wins because it's in everything. It's in the wood that burns in the hearth of your home, it's under your chair and under your table and under the sheets of your bed, it's beneath your feet when you walk during midday.

The brightest of lights projects the darkest of shadows.

You can't flee from them, for they will catch you. You can't outrun them, you can't outsmart them. They will always find you, they will always catch you, they will always destroy you.

You can't join them. If you do, you will lose everything you are, and everything you hold dear will be crushed by your own hand. You will become nothing but a shadow of yourself, the incarnation of your worst tendencies, of your anger and hate and greed. You, like the darkness, will take and steal and plunder every little thing in the universe, but you will never be satiated.

You will try to hunt down every light, every little source of heat and comfort, to recover the warmth you lost. But it's not enough, it will never be. You will always be cold. Like the snows of Hoth, like the caves of Ilum.

You will remember power, but your power will never be more than a memory. You will lose it, surrender it to the darkness, and you will have nothing but a shadowy mockery of what you once possessed. Like an artist gone blind, like a composer gone deaf.

And in the void where your soul used to be, you will freeze in the everlasting cold.

This is how it feels to fall into the Dark Side, to give yourself to the Sith. Now. Right now. Forever.

The Dark is generous and it is patient. You cannot defeat it, you cannot escape from it, you cannot destroy it.

But in its strength lies weakness. For all its power for destruction, for all the things it has killed, kills and will kill, there is one thing the Dark will never take from you, no matter how much it tries.

The Dark will never kill your hope.

The Dark will never kill your faith.

The Dark will never kill your love.

Only you can take it from yourself.

Every time a door closes, a window opens, full of thrilling possibilities. Just as the storm brings safety for those who are prepared and the mist protects which doesn't want to be found, in the darkest of moments someone will dream of the break of dawn.

Just as the Dark has won its decisive victory over the Light, a new star will be born from the cold dusty remains of another, and bring new hope for another day.

Just as you lose yourself in the worst of yourself, you will always find the best in you, if you know where to look.

The people you love aren't yours. They belong only to the universe and to themselves. You will lose them, because they go away or because the universe has taken them. But when you love them truly, you will find the purest form of joy, whether they are with you, by your side, or not.

The Dark will always be present, stalking you, hunting you. But as long as you carry your love within your heart, it will never hurt you.

The people you love may be gone, but they were here. They existed, they were by your side and have you their love. Nothing can take that love away from you, not all the power in the universe, and certainly not the Dark. What is grief, if not love persevering?

Hold on, come what may, and you will find a light in the darkness.

Never let your fear overpower your love, your anger nor your hate overpower your compassion, and even when it catches you, the Dark will be unable to destroy you. Always keep kindness at the core of your anger, for it is the hilt that protects you from the cold blade you wield.

The Dark is generous and it is patient, but in its strength lies weakness: one lone candle can hold it back.

Love is more than just a candle. Love can ignite the stars.

Don't lose sight of your love in your fear. Don't let your inner turmoil steal your kindness. Never forget who you are. Find the Light within your heart, and never lose sight of it.

Stop holding on, let go of what you're afraid to lose. Don't hold it tightly, do it kindly and gently and let it move away if it desires. Know yourself, know your pain, know your rage, and let it go. Free yourself from hate, from anger, from fear, and love people regardless of the pain it might bring you when those people are lost.

Love with everything you have, and you will make new stars shine brightly.

Only then will you be able to defeat…

the phantom menace.

[ethaninthewilde]

[to myself] you are allowed to use mobility aids. you are allowed to use sensory aids. you are allowed to use mobility aids. you are allowed to use aids to make your life easier. there is not a "level" of disabled you have to be be to use aids. you are allowed, you are allowed, you are allowed.

[to myself] you are not weak for using aids. it does not mean you are not trying. there is no pride in suffering. there is no shame in using help. you are allowed to make your life easier. you are allowed, you are allowed, you are allowed.

[lovejunkie97]

[echoesoftheinfinite]

Theres a urgence on me that wants to be anywhere and far from anyone.

[nemfrog]

"Love defeated." Physiological mysteries and revelations in love, courtship and marriage. 1845. A man wield's cupid's bow at cupid, which symbolizes his overcoming his sexual urges.

Internet Archive

[pwhl-mybeloved]

scotiabank do u really get to call urself a founding partner when u showed up to the party in may 😒

[star-wars-writing]

A tale of Love and War

Hey Star Wars fans and fellow fanfiction enthusiasts! 🌟

I'm thrilled to share with you my latest work for the @codywanbingo with he prompt nuzzling. a deep dive into the untold emotions and hidden dynamics between General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody amidst the Clone Wars.

A quick shoutout to the character 'Bones,' our beloved medical droid who has made appearances in numerous fan works. Though I can't recall the original creator (kudos to them!), Bones has become a fanfic staple, and I'm excited to include him in this tale.

Dive in and join me on this journey of love, conflict, and resilience. Feedback, comments, and reblogs are immensely appreciated. Let's get the conversation going!

Onboard the Negotiator, tucked away in the labyrinth of corridors and chambers that made up the Jedi cruiser, lay a room that belonged to General Obi-Wan Kenobi. Unlike the austere, utilitarian spaces that characterized much of the ship, Obi-Wan's quarters breathed a quiet, personal charm. The walls were adorned with artifacts from distant worlds and holobooks lined the shelves, each item whispering tales of a life rich with adventure and contemplation. In this sanctuary, far from the watchful eyes of the galaxy, Obi-Wan and Commander Cody found a rare reprieve.

The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of the starlight filtering through the viewport casting gentle shadows. Obi-Wan stood by the window, his gaze lost in the tapestry of stars that stretched into infinity. His Jedi robes, usually worn with an air of dignified command, now hung loosely around him, the fabric soft and yielding.

Cody, his armor left behind in favor of simple garb, approached Obi-Wan from behind. His footsteps were hushed, reverent in the sanctity of the space they shared. He paused just behind Obi-Wan, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, yet giving him the space to breathe in the vastness of the cosmos.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Obi-Wan's voice was a soft murmur, tinged with a wistfulness that went beyond the stars.

"Indeed, General," Cody replied, the formality of the title spoken with an affectionate undertone. He moved closer, his hands finding Obi-Wan's shoulders, fingers gently kneading the tension that war had woven into them.

Obi-Wan leaned back slightly, a silent invitation. Cody accepted, wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan's waist, their bodies aligning in a seamless embrace. They stood together, two figures enshrouded in the tranquility of the room, finding solace in each other's presence.

The gentle rhythm of their breathing harmonized, a quiet symphony in the stillness. Obi-Wan turned within Cody's embrace, facing him. Their eyes met, a galaxy of unspoken words and shared experiences reflected in their depths. Cody's hand rose to cup Obi-Wan's face, his thumb caressing the beard that had become as much a part of him as his lightsaber.

"You know," Obi-Wan said, his voice barely above a whisper, "in moments like these, you make me believe that peace is possible. Not just out there," he gestured towards the stars, "but in here," he placed a hand over Cody's heart.

Cody's response was a tender smile, one that rarely graced his features but reserved for moments like this. He leaned in, their foreheads touching, a gentle nuzzle that spoke volumes. It was a dance they had mastered over time, movements born of trust and a deep, abiding affection.

In the safety of Obi-Wan's quarters, they allowed themselves to be more than just General and Commander. They were kindred spirits, drawn together in the midst of turmoil, finding in each other a strength that no war could diminish.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the world outside faded into insignificance.

In the hushed tranquility of Obi-Wan Kenobi's quarters aboard the Negotiator, time seemed to pause, creating a bubble of serenity amidst the relentless tides of war. The room, a reflection of Obi-Wan's life and journey, was bathed in the soft glow of ambient light, casting long, gentle shadows across the walls adorned with relics and holobooks. In this space, Obi-Wan and Commander Cody shared a moment of profound intimacy, a rare respite from their roles as General and Commander.

They sat side by side on Obi-Wan's modest bed, not as symbols of war, but as individuals bound by a connection that transcended rank and duty. The bed, usually a place of solitary rest for Obi-Wan, now became a sanctuary for shared dreams and whispered confidences.

Obi-Wan, his posture relaxed yet still exuding the grace of a Jedi, turned towards Cody, his blue eyes reflecting a depth of emotion rarely seen by others. Cody, his usual stoic demeanor softened in Obi-Wan's presence, faced him, their knees touching in a comfortable familiarity.

"It's moments like this," Obi-Wan began, his voice a soft cadence, "when the war seems a distant echo, that I dare to dream of a different life. A life where you and I could stand side by side, not just as soldiers, but as partners, free from the shadows of conflict."

Cody, his gaze unwavering, listened intently. In his eyes, there was a flicker of hope, a testament to the trust and affection he held for Obi-Wan. "General, I've seen war define many men, but with you, it's different. You've not let it consume you. You dream of peace, and that's what makes following you into battle worth every risk."

Obi-Wan's expression softened, a tender smile playing on his lips. "I know the Jedi Code speaks against attachments," he continued, his voice tinged with a bittersweet acknowledgment of their reality. "But in a war like this, attachments seem to be an unspoken truth. Plo Koon with his Wolfpack, Mace Windu with Ponds... we're all tethered to those we fight alongside."

Cody nodded, his hand finding Obi-Wan's in a gesture that was both comforting and affirming. "And yet, here we are, General. In defiance of rules, yet somehow, it feels like the most right thing in this war-torn galaxy."

The words hung in the air, a fragile truth that both of them had come to accept. Obi-Wan's thumb gently stroked Cody's hand, a small, intimate gesture that spoke volumes.

"Maybe, when the war is over," Cody ventured, his voice a mixture of hope and uncertainty, "we could find a way to continue our journey together. Not as General and Commander, but simply as Obi-Wan and Cody."

The thought hung between them, a shared dream of a future unburdened by war. Obi-Wan's gaze drifted to the viewport, where the stars shone with an ancient light, witnesses to countless stories of love and loss.

"Yes, Cody," he whispered, his heart heavy with the weight of their secret and the uncertainty of the future. "In a galaxy at peace, I'd like nothing more than to explore it with you, side by side. To see worlds without the cloud of war hanging over them."

They sat there in silence, each lost in their thoughts, yet together in their dreams. It was a delicate balance, this secret they shared, a sliver of light in the vast darkness of the galaxy. In that moment, in the quiet of Obi-Wan's quarters, their affection for each other was a silent rebellion against a universe torn apart by conflict, a testament to the enduring power of connection and hope.

*** 

Amidst the steel corridors of the Negotiator, far from the officers' quarters and the nerve center of the ship, the heart of the clone troopers' world beat in a rhythm all its own. Here, in a mess hall shared by the 212th Attack Battalion and the 501st Legion, the air buzzed with the low hum of conversation and the clatter of utensils against trays. This was a place where rank and protocol could be momentarily forgotten, where the clones could be just men, brothers in arms, sharing stories and experiences.

The troopers of the 501st, led by Captain Rex, sat interspersed with members of the 212th. Their blue-marked armor, a stark contrast to the orange of the 212th, was a visual reminder of their different allegiances, yet among these men, such distinctions mattered little. They were united by something deeper than the colors they wore - a bond forged in the fires of countless battles, a camaraderie that transcended the divisions of units.

As they ate, the conversation naturally veered towards the day's events, the usual banter about missions and close calls. However, there was an undercurrent of something more, a topic that was approached with a mixture of respect and a hint of playfulness.

"So, has anyone seen Cody today?" one of the 501st troopers, Echo, asked with a knowing look. His question was met with chuckles and sly grins from those around the table.

"He's probably busy with General Kenobi, planning the next move," Rex replied, his tone casual but his eyes crinkling with amusement. There was a shared understanding in his words, a recognition of something more between Cody and the Jedi General.

"Yeah, those 'strategy meetings' sure seem to be doing him good," another trooper, Kix, added, air-quoting with his fingers. "Haven't seen the Commander this... relaxed, in ages."

The group erupted into soft laughter, the sound echoing warmly off the metal walls. It was true - Cody, their respected Commander, had always carried the weight of responsibility like a second skin. But lately, there had been a change in him, a lightness that was rare in the life of a clone commander. And they all knew, without needing it spelled out, that General Kenobi was at the heart of that change.

"Good for him," Fives chimed in, his voice earnest. "If anyone deserves a bit of happiness, it's Cody. He's always looking out for us, like a big brother."

There was a chorus of agreement, a sentiment deeply felt among the clones. Cody had been more than just a commander to them; he was a mentor, a protector, the one who always had their backs.

"And Rex, you must be especially happy for him, huh?" Jesse teased, elbowing Rex playfully. "Seeing your favorite brother getting some well-deserved peace."

Rex rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed his true feelings. "Hey, I don't play favorites," he protested, but the warmth in his voice belied his words. Everyone at the table knew of the close bond between Rex and Cody, a relationship that went beyond rank and duty.

As the conversation continued, with the clones sharing stories and laughter, there was a palpable sense of happiness for their Commander. They might not speak openly about the nature of Cody's relationship with General Kenobi, but their subtle glances and smiles spoke volumes. They were happy for Cody, happy that in the midst of a war that demanded so much from them, he had found a source of joy, a connection that brought him peace.

Unbeknownst to Anakin Skywalker and Ahsoka Tano, who remained oblivious to the undercurrents among their troops, the clones had become the silent guardians of a secret. It was a secret they held not out of duty, but out of love and respect for two men who had become much more than just their commanders. In the camaraderie of the mess hall, among brothers who shared everything from battle scars to dreams, this was one more bond they carried - a silent vow to protect the happiness of one of their own.

**** 

On the desolate plains of Zereth, where the winds howled like ancient spirits and the ground was etched with the scars of previous conflicts, the forces of the Galactic Republic prepared to engage once more. The sky, a brooding canvas of gunmetal gray, loomed ominously over the battlefield, mirroring the gravity of the impending clash. Here, on this forsaken world, General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody stood at the forefront, leading the 212th Attack Battalion and the 501st Legion into the fray.

As the two armies converged, the air was filled with the deafening roar of blaster fire and the guttural cries of combat. Obi-Wan, his lightsaber a blazing arc of azure, moved with a grace that belied the ferocity of his attacks. Each movement was fluid, a dance of light and shadow, as he parried and struck with lethal precision. His presence on the battlefield was like a beacon, rallying the troops around him, instilling them with a courage that went beyond mere duty.

Beside him, Commander Cody orchestrated the movements of the clones with the skill of a master tactician. His orders were crisp, clear, delivered with an authority that commanded respect. Yet, there was an undercurrent of protectiveness in his voice, a subtle indication of his deep concern for the men under his command. His blaster rifle was an extension of his will, each shot a testament to his unwavering focus and commitment.

The synergy between Obi-Wan and Cody was palpable, a seamless interplay of strengths and strategies that turned the tide of battle time and again. They moved in concert, anticipating each other's actions with an ease that spoke of a bond forged in the heat of countless battles. To the casual observer, they were a General and his Commander, united in their goal to secure victory for the Republic. But to those who knew them, who had seen the looks exchanged in quiet moments, their connection ran much deeper.

In the midst of the chaos, a moment of near calamity struck. A separatist tank, its cannons roaring, took aim at Obi-Wan. Time seemed to slow as the realization dawned on Cody. With a shout that was both a warning and a vow, he leaped into action, firing at the tank with a ferocity that was born of something more than just duty. His actions diverted the tank's attention, but not before a blast grazed Obi-Wan, sending him tumbling to the ground.

The reaction among the clones was immediate, a collective surge of concern for their General. But it was Cody who reached Obi-Wan first, his expression a mix of relief and reprimand. "General, you need to be more careful," he said, his voice betraying the depth of his worry.

Obi-Wan, wincing slightly from the impact, met Cody's gaze with a rueful smile. "Thank you, Cody. I'll endeavor to remember that," he replied, his words light but his eyes conveying a wealth of gratitude.

As they returned to the fight, their movements became even more synchronized, a dance of survival and defiance against the overwhelming odds. The clones, witnessing this, fought with renewed vigor, inspired by the unspoken bond between their leaders.

As the battle on Zereth raged with unrelenting fury, the air was thick with the acrid smell of blaster fire and the scorched earth. The sky, once a sullen gray, was now ablaze with the crisscross of laser bolts and the fiery trails of starfighters dueling overhead. Amidst this chaos, General Obi-Wan Kenobi and Commander Cody stood as pillars of strength, their leadership an anchor in the tumultuous storm of war.

Obi-Wan, his Jedi robes billowing in the wind stirred up by the battle, moved with a sense of purpose that was both awe-inspiring and daunting. His lightsaber danced in his hands, a whirlwind of blue light that deflected blaster bolts and parried enemy attacks with a precision that spoke of years of training and experience. Yet, there was more to his movements than mere martial skill; each step, each swing of his blade, was underscored by a deep understanding of the Force, a connection that guided him through the melee.

Cody, his armor marked with the scars of battle, was a commanding presence on the battlefield. His voice, amplified by his helmet's comms system, cut through the din of combat, issuing orders with a clarity that left no room for doubt. He was the embodiment of discipline and strategy, his mind constantly assessing the ebb and flow of the battle, adapting tactics to meet the ever-changing tide.

The bond between Obi-Wan and Cody was a silent force unto itself, an unspoken understanding that permeated their every action. They moved through the battlefield with a synchronicity that was almost preternatural, a testament to the countless hours spent training and fighting side by side. When Obi-Wan advanced, Cody covered him, his blaster rifle a steady presence that kept enemy fire at bay. When Cody maneuvered the troops, Obi-Wan was there, his lightsaber a beacon amidst the darkness, guiding and protecting.

In a particularly fierce skirmish, a group of droids flanked the Republic forces, their blasters trained on the unsuspecting troops. Sensing the danger, Obi-Wan reached out with the Force, his awareness extending beyond the physical realm. At the same moment, Cody, perceiving the threat through the bond they shared, shouted a warning and directed the clones to form a defensive line.

Obi-Wan, with a swift motion of his hand, used the Force to push the droids back, buying precious time for Cody and the troops to regroup and retaliate. The synergy of their actions, the seamless integration of Force and military strategy, turned the tide of the skirmish, driving the droids back with a ferocity that spoke of their unwavering resolve.

As the battle wore on, the toll it took on the soldiers was evident. Exhaustion set in, the relentless pace of combat a grueling test of endurance and will. Yet, through it all, the bond between Obi-Wan and Cody never wavered. They were a constant for each other, a source of strength and reassurance in the heart of the storm.

In the quieter moments, when the blaster fire ebbed and the cries of combat faded into a tense silence, they would exchange glances. These brief interludes, laden with unspoken words and shared understanding, were a reminder of the depth of their connection. It was a bond forged not just in the heat of battle but in the moments of quiet reflection, in the shared burdens of leadership, and in the unwavering commitment to their duty.

As the battle drew to a close, with the Republic forces emerging victorious but weary, Obi-Wan and Cody stood side by side, surveying the aftermath. Their expressions were somber, a reflection of the cost of war, but there was also a sense of accomplishment, a knowledge that they had once again overcome the odds.

In the quiet that followed, as the troops began the somber task of tending to the wounded and honoring the fallen, Obi-Wan turned to Cody. "We did well today, Commander," he said, his voice low but imbued with pride and gratitude.

Cody nodded, his gaze meeting Obi-Wan's. "We did, General. And we'll continue to do so, as long as the galaxy needs us." His words were a vow, a promise that extended beyond the battlefield, a pledge of unwavering support and loyalty.

As they walked back to their command post, their steps in unison, there was a sense of completeness, a feeling that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, with the unbreakable bond they shared—a bond of trust, respect, and an unspoken love that was their greatest strength in a galaxy torn apart by war.

**** 

The dawn on Zereth broke with a crimson hue, painting the skies with the foreboding colors of war. As the first rays of light pierced the horizon, they cast long shadows over the battered landscape, a stark reminder of the battle that had raged the day before. The air was heavy with the scent of ionized blaster residue and charred earth, a tangible echo of the conflict that had unfolded.

The Republic forces, weary yet resolute, prepared to face the enemy once again. General Obi-Wan Kenobi, standing amidst his troops, exuded a calm determination. His presence was a stabilizing force, his confidence in the face of adversity an inspiration to the men who looked up to him. Commander Cody, ever at his side, reviewed the tactical displays, his mind a whirlwind of strategies and contingencies.

As the battle commenced, the air was filled with the cacophony of war – the relentless staccato of blaster fire, the deep rumble of artillery, and the piercing screams of starfighters overhead. Obi-Wan, lightsaber in hand, moved with a fluid grace, a specter of blue light weaving through the chaos. His every action was precise, calculated to protect and strike with maximum efficiency.

Cody, his blaster rifle at the ready, coordinated the movements of the clones with unwavering focus. His voice, amplified by his helmet's comms, was a constant in the tumult, guiding and directing, a beacon of clarity in the fog of war.

The synergy between Obi-Wan and Cody was more than just a product of their shared experiences; it was a connection that ran deep, a mutual understanding that transcended the chaos that surrounded them. They moved in tandem, a seamless interplay of Force and military acumen that bolstered the morale of the troops and turned the tide in several critical moments.

But war is an unpredictable beast, and in a fleeting, heart-stopping instant, the unimaginable happened. A separatist tank, hidden amongst the rubble, unleashed a barrage of fire that caught Obi-Wan off-guard. The blast sent him sprawling to the ground, his lightsaber skittering away into the debris.

Cody, witnessing the scene, felt a surge of panic grip his heart. Time seemed to slow as he saw Obi-Wan fall, the General's body limp and vulnerable amidst the battlefield's fury. Military protocol and strategic planning vanished from his mind, replaced by a single, overriding imperative – to reach Obi-Wan, to protect him at all costs.

Breaking formation, Cody charged across the battlefield, his blaster laying down a covering fire, his every step driven by a desperate need to get to Obi-Wan. The clones, sensing the urgency in their Commander's actions, rallied to provide support, their blasters joining in a symphony of defiance against the enemy.

Reaching Obi-Wan's side, Cody fell to his knees, his hands frantically searching for signs of life. "General, can you hear me?" he called out, his voice strained with fear and concern.

Obi-Wan, groaning in pain, stirred slightly, his eyes fluttering open. "Cody..." he whispered, his voice weak but filled with an unspoken gratitude.

Cody's relief was palpable, a weight lifted from his shoulders. But there was no time to rest; they were still in the heart of the battlefield, exposed and vulnerable. With a strength born of desperation, Cody hoisted Obi-Wan into his arms, his resolve a solid anchor in the midst of chaos.

As he carried Obi-Wan to safety, the clones formed a protective ring around them, their blasters warding off the enemy. The bond between General and Commander, a bond that had always been more than just duty, was now a visible force, a testament to the depth of their connection.

Through the blur of battle and the haze of pain, Obi-Wan held onto Cody, his trust in the Commander unwavering. In Cody's arms, amidst the harrowing storm of war, Obi-Wan found a haven, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, they would always have each other's backs.

And as they retreated to the safety of their lines, the clones watched with a mix of awe and respect. In the actions of their Commander, in his fearless rush to save the General, they saw not just the duties of rank, but the actions of a man driven by a profound loyalty and care. In that moment, Cody and Obi-Wan were more than leaders; they were symbols of the enduring strength of the human spirit, a beacon of hope in a galaxy torn asunder by conflict.

The Negotiator, a bastion amidst the stars, loomed like a sentinel over the ravaged landscape of Zereth. Within its reinforced hull, the atmosphere was charged with a tension that mirrored the ongoing conflict on the planet below. In the medical bay, a haven of sterile lights and the quiet hum of medical droids, a new urgency took hold as General Obi-Wan Kenobi was rushed in, his body bearing the grim testament of battle.

Commander Cody, his armor stained with the dust and smoke of the battlefield, accompanied Obi-Wan, his demeanor a mix of steadfast resolve and concealed turmoil. As they entered the medical bay, the medical droid known as Bones moved with mechanical efficiency, its sensors and appendages immediately attending to the injured Jedi.

Cody stood by Obi-Wan's side, his gaze locked on the General's pale face, etched with lines of pain and fatigue. The sight stirred a tumult of emotions within him – concern, fear, and an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. He wanted to stay, to be there when Obi-Wan awoke, to reassure him with his presence. Yet, he knew what Obi-Wan would expect of him – to return to the battle, to lead their men, to fulfill the duty that they both held sacred.

As Bones worked, its mechanical voice delivering clinical assessments, Obi-Wan's eyelids fluttered, a sign of the struggle raging within his battered body. "Cody," he murmured, his voice a mere whisper, "the battle..."

Cody leaned in, his hand finding Obi-Wan's. "I'm here, General," he said softly, his voice a blend of reassurance and regret. "Bones will take care of you. I'll... I'll return to the front."

Obi-Wan's eyes opened, a glint of determination shining through the pain. "You must lead them, Cody," he rasped, his words laced with the weight of command and a deeper, unspoken bond. "Our men... they need you."

Cody's jaw tightened, a visible struggle between his personal desire to stay and his duty as a commander. "I'll come back as soon as I can," he promised, the words heavy with unspoken emotions.

With a final, lingering look, Cody turned and strode out of the medical bay, his posture that of a commander, but his pace betraying a reluctance to leave. The doors hissed shut behind him, leaving Obi-Wan in the capable hands of Bones.

Outside, the members of the 212th and 501st watched in silence, their expressions a mix of concern and admiration. They had witnessed the unbreakable bond between their General and Commander, a bond that went beyond the chain of command, rooted in mutual respect and a shared history of battles fought and hardships endured.

As Cody approached his troops, his helmet concealing the storm of emotions within, he was met with salutes of respect and loyalty. The clones knew the weight of what their Commander carried, the burden of leadership and the personal cost of war.

With a nod, Cody addressed his men, his voice strong and clear, masking the turmoil within. "The General is in good hands. Our duty is not yet done. We have a battle to win, for the Republic, for our brothers, and for General Kenobi."

The clones responded with a unified shout, their resolve hardened by the words of their Commander. They were more than just soldiers; they were a brotherhood, united in their mission and in their silent support for the leaders who had guided them through the darkest of times.

As they returned to the battlefield, the resolve in their hearts was a testament to the lessons learned from Obi-Wan and Cody - that duty and honor were the cornerstones of their existence, but it was the bonds of brotherhood and loyalty that gave them strength. In the midst of war, these bonds were their unspoken vow, a promise to stand together against all odds, for the Republic, for each other, and for the leaders who had shown them the true meaning of courage and sacrifice.

As Commander Cody re-emerged onto the battlefield of Zereth, the landscape was a tumultuous sea of blaster fire and echoing war cries. The horizon, smeared with the smoke of burning wreckage, served as a grim backdrop to the ongoing conflict. Cody, his armor now a testament to the harsh realities of war, moved with a renewed sense of urgency, driven by a dual purpose – to lead his men to victory and to return to Obi-Wan's side.

Each step he took was heavy with the weight of responsibility and a deep-seated longing for an end to the strife. The clatter of his boots against the scorched earth was drowned out by the cacophony of battle, yet in his mind, it resonated with the echoes of his unspoken desires – for peace, for a life beyond the endless cycle of war.

As he advanced, his blaster rifle in hand, Cody became a whirlwind of lethal precision. His movements were not just those of a seasoned soldier; they were the actions of a man fueled by a potent mix of duty and personal resolve. He issued commands with a clear, authoritative voice, guiding his troops through the maelstrom with a tactical acumen honed by years of combat.

The clones of the 212th and 501st followed him, their blasters a steady rhythm in the chaotic symphony of the battlefield. They fought not just as soldiers, but as brothers, their loyalty to Cody and Obi-Wan a driving force that propelled them forward against overwhelming odds.

In the heat of battle, Cody's thoughts were a swirling tempest of strategy and emotion. Each time he felled an enemy, each time he directed his troops, a part of him yearned for the conclusion of this endless war. He envisioned a life where the clatter of blasters was replaced by the tranquility of peace, where he and Obi-Wan could explore the galaxy, not as warriors, but as companions free from the shadows of conflict.

But such thoughts were fleeting, quickly eclipsed by the immediacy of the battle. The reality of the moment was harsh and unyielding, a constant reminder of the duties that bound him. Yet, even amidst the chaos, there was a glimmer of hope that spurred him on – the hope of being by Obi-Wan's side once the fight was over.

As the battle raged on, Cody tore through the enemy ranks with a fierce determination. Each droid he dismantled, each position he secured, brought him a step closer to ending the conflict, to returning to the Negotiator, to Obi-Wan.

The fight seemed to stretch on interminably, a relentless tide of adversaries that tested the limits of Cody's endurance and resolve. But through it all, his mind held onto a singular image – Obi-Wan, injured but alive, waiting for him. This vision, this promise of a reunion, however brief, was a beacon that guided him through the darkest moments of the battle.

Finally, as the last of the enemy forces were vanquished, and the dust of war began to settle, Cody allowed himself a moment to breathe. The landscape around him was a stark reminder of the cost of victory – a once vibrant world now scarred and broken. Yet, amidst the devastation, there was a sense of accomplishment, a hard-won triumph that brought them one step closer to the end of the war.

Cody's gaze turned skyward, towards the Negotiator orbiting above. A mix of exhaustion and anticipation coursed through him. The battle was over, for now, but his mission was not yet complete. With a final, resolute nod to his troops, he began the journey back to the ship, back to Obi-Wan. In the depths of his heart, he held onto the hope that soon, perhaps sooner than they dared to dream, they would find the peace they both longed for, and the life they wished to build together.

**** 

The journey back to the Negotiator was a blur for Commander Cody. The roar of the transport’s engines was a distant rumble, lost amidst the whirlwind of his own thoughts and emotions. As the ship docked with the Negotiator, the familiar sound of the airlock engaging brought a measure of reality back to Cody. He was back, but his heart was already racing ahead, yearning to be at Obi-Wan’s side.

Beside him, Captain Rex stood silently, his presence a solid, comforting constant. Rex, who had become more than just a fellow soldier over the years, was the only one to whom Cody had ever revealed the depth of his feelings for Obi-Wan. He was his confidant, his most trusted ally, his 'favorite little brother' in a sea of brothers – though Cody would never openly admit it.

As they disembarked, Cody’s steps were brisk, his focus singular. Rex matched his pace, a silent guardian keeping stride with the storm of worry and anticipation brewing within Cody. The corridors of the Negotiator, usually a hive of activity, seemed unusually quiet, as if the ship itself was holding its breath, sharing in Cody’s anxiety.

Rex broke the silence, his voice low and steady. "He's strong, Cody. You know that better than anyone. He'll pull through this."

Cody nodded, his helmet tucked under his arm, revealing the taut lines of concern etched on his face. "I know, Rex. I just need to see him, to be there with him." His voice was a mix of determination and vulnerability, a rare glimpse into the depth of his emotions.

They continued in silence, passing crew members who offered salutes and respectful nods. Cody acknowledged them absently, his mind consumed with thoughts of Obi-Wan. Memories of their shared moments – quiet conversations, shared glances, the warmth of Obi-Wan’s smile – flooded his mind, each a poignant reminder of what he stood to lose.

Upon reaching the medical bay, Cody paused outside the door, collecting himself. This was where he left the Commander outside and stepped in as the man who loved Obi-Wan Kenobi. Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside, with Rex following a step behind, a silent pillar of support.

The medical bay was a stark contrast to the chaos of the battlefield, its white walls and the soft hum of medical equipment creating an atmosphere of clinical calm. Bones, the medical droid, was attending to Obi-Wan, who lay on a bed, his features drawn in pain but stable.

Cody’s eyes softened as he approached, the sight of Obi-Wan stirring a tumult of relief and concern within him. He reached out, gently taking Obi-Wan’s hand, the touch a silent testament to the bond they shared.

"Hey, you," Cody murmured, a tender smile touching his lips. "You had us worried there for a moment."

Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered open, meeting Cody’s gaze. "Had to keep you on your toes, Commander," he replied, his voice weak but imbued with warmth.

Rex, standing a respectful distance away, watched the exchange with a sense of brotherly pride. He understood the magnitude of what Cody and Obi-Wan shared, a bond that transcended rank and the chaos of war. It was a love that had flourished against all odds, a testament to the strength of their characters.

Cody’s gaze lingered on Obi-Wan, his thumb gently stroking the back of Obi-Wan’s hand. "You need to rest, General. We'll handle things out here."

Obi-Wan gave a faint nod, his eyes conveying his trust and gratitude. "I know you will, Cody. I have always known."

As Cody sat beside Obi-Wan, watching over him, Rex quietly excused himself, leaving the two in their private sanctuary. He stepped out of the medical bay, a sense of peace settling over him. Cody and Obi-Wan had each other, and that was enough. In a galaxy torn apart by war, their love was a rare beacon of hope, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, the human spirit could find connection and solace in another’s heart.

And as Rex walked back through the corridors of the Negotiator, he carried with him the knowledge that he had played a part in protecting that beacon, by being there for his brother, for Cody, when he needed it the most.

**** 

In the quietude of the medical bay, time seemed to slow, its passage marked only by the soft beeping of the monitors and the gentle whir of medical equipment. The room, bathed in a soft, ambient light, was a stark contrast to the chaotic tapestry of war outside its walls. Here, amidst the sterility and precision of medical technology, a different kind of battle was being fought - a battle for recovery, for healing.

Commander Cody sat beside Obi-Wan Kenobi's bed, his posture rigid, a silent sentinel keeping watch. His armor had been removed, leaving him in his basic fatigues, a rare sight that underscored the gravity of the situation. His eyes, usually so sharp and alert, now held a softness, a depth of emotion seldom seen by anyone but Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan, lying on the bed, appeared smaller somehow, the lines of pain and exhaustion etched into his features softening in sleep. The usual air of calm command that he carried like a mantle was replaced by a vulnerability that was heartbreakingly human. His breathing was steady, a reassuring rhythm in the stillness of the room.

Cody watched him, his gaze lingering on the rise and fall of Obi-Wan's chest, each breath a silent reassurance. In these quiet moments, away from the prying eyes of the galaxy, he allowed the façade of the unflappable commander to fall away, revealing the man beneath – a man deeply in love, fiercely protective, and achingly worried.

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering over Obi-Wan's before gently settling atop it. The contact was a lifeline, a tangible connection that bridged the silence of the room. "You always have to be the hero, don't you?" Cody whispered, a faint smile touching his lips, a mix of fond exasperation and deep affection coloring his words.

Obi-Wan stirred at the sound of Cody's voice, a faint smile mirroring Cody's own. His eyes fluttered open, meeting Cody's gaze with a clarity that spoke of his resilience. "Comes with the job, I suppose," he replied, his voice soft but steady.

Cody's smile widened, a genuine expression that reached his eyes. "Well, this time, let someone else be the hero. You need to rest, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan's hand shifted, fingers curling slightly to grip Cody's. "You're doing a fine job at it," he murmured, the gentle tease a testament to the ease and comfort they found in each other's presence.

As they sat in silence, the room around them felt like a bubble, a sanctuary amidst the turmoil of the galaxy. In the medical bay, they were not General and Commander; they were simply Obi-Wan and Cody, two souls intertwined by a bond that had weathered countless storms.

The tenderness of their interaction, the soft exchange of smiles and quiet words, was a stark contrast to their battlefield personas. Here, there were no blasters, no lightsabers, no commands to issue or strategies to devise. There was only the shared understanding, the mutual care that had grown and deepened over time, becoming something profound and unshakeable.

As Cody continued his vigil, watching over Obi-Wan as he drifted back into sleep, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. In the med bay, with the soft hum of machines and the gentle rhythm of Obi-Wan's breathing, the war seemed a distant echo. Here, in this moment, they had found an oasis of calm, a reminder that amidst the chaos of the galaxy, they had each other, a connection that was their anchor, their solace, their home.

As the steady rhythm of the Negotiator’s heartbeats echoed through its corridors, the medical bay remained a cocoon of tranquility, insulated from the turmoil of the outside world. Inside this sanctuary, the passage of time seemed to take on a different quality, each moment stretching out, filled with a quiet intensity.

Commander Cody, sitting vigilantly by Obi-Wan Kenobi's bedside, was lost in a reverie, his thoughts a tangle of memories and hopes. The soft hum of medical equipment provided a continuous backdrop to his reflections, a reminder of the fragility of the moment. He watched Obi-Wan, his eyes tracing the familiar lines of the Jedi's face, each one a testament to the battles fought and burdens carried.

In the dim light of the bay, Obi-Wan's features were softened, the usual sharpness tempered by sleep and vulnerability. His chest rose and fell with a rhythmic slowness, a visual lullaby that held Cody in a gentle thrall. The sight stirred a deep well of emotions within him – a mix of fear, admiration, and an overwhelming sense of affection.

It was in this quiet tableau that Obi-Wan stirred, the subtle shift breaking the stillness. His hand, resting beside him, moved with an unconscious intent, reaching out. It was a small gesture, but in the silence of the room, it was as significant as a shout.

Cody's attention snapped to the movement, his body instinctively leaning forward. He watched, breath held, as Obi-Wan's hand hovered in the air, an unspoken plea. In his semi-conscious state, it was as if Obi-Wan was seeking something, or someone, to anchor him to the present.

Cody, understanding the unvoiced need, reached out and gently clasped Obi-Wan's hand, offering both physical support and an emotional connection. He watched as a faint smile touched Obi-Wan's lips, a sign that even in his weakened state, he recognized Cody's presence.

Moved by the moment, Cody leaned in closer, his movements deliberate yet filled with a tenderness that was at odds with his usual composure. He brought his face close to Obi-Wan's, their foreheads nearly touching. Then, in a gesture that was as natural as it was profound, he gently nuzzled against Obi-Wan, a tactile expression of love and reassurance.

The nuzzle, a simple act in itself, carried the weight of their shared history, of battles fought side by side, of quiet moments stolen amidst chaos. It was a testament to their bond, a connection that had grown and deepened in the crucible of war, transcending the roles they played in the galaxy.

Obi-Wan, responding even in his semi-conscious state, leaned into the touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips. It was a sound of contentment, of trust, a subtle acknowledgment of the comfort Cody's presence brought him.

Cody held the position for a moment longer, savoring the closeness, the rare opportunity to express his feelings without the constraints of duty and rank. In the med bay, with its sterile walls and life-saving machines, they were not General and Commander; they were just two souls, bound by an unspoken love that had become their refuge, their strength.

As he straightened, Cody's gaze lingered on Obi-Wan, a mix of worry and affection etched on his face. He squeezed Obi-Wan's hand gently before settling back into his chair, his vigil resumed. The room fell back into silence, a sacred space where the lines between protector and protected blurred, where the heart spoke louder than words, and where love, in its purest form, was the greatest healer of all.

I'd love to hear your thoughts, theories, and feelings about the story. Don't forget to like, reblog, and share your comments. Your engagement means the world to me!

May the Force be with you, always. 💫

[elitadream]

Hey idol does Mario having a panic attack when the others need to calm him down

The way I imagine Mario, he wouldn't quite experience panic attacks in the literal/clinical sense of the term (though Luigi would 😥), but his distress would nonetheless sometimes reach very alarming levels depending on what triggers it.

Restlessness. Migraines. Loss of sleep and appetite. Nausea and vertigo. It would be more visually subdued, in a sense?... But still very impactful and concerning for his health. ><

His anxiety would be both harder to spot and more difficult to defuse than his brother's, because it would usually be deep-rooted in severe ongoing issues and fiercely concealed under layers upon layers of forced optimism and taut composure for others' sake.

Merely trying to help reduce his stress would be a riddle for most, and one that very few ever managed to crack; Luigi and Peach being among them. 🤲❤️‍🩹

[bernnotice]

There's a beehive in my brain; it's buzzing with bad memories & rich in pain. There's an ocean in my soul; salt in my veins, the tempest of trauma swallows me whole. There's a mountain on my back; burdens the size of boulders, the tough exterior starts to crack.

AND YET

There's a fire in my heart; using kindness as kindling, every end is a new start. There is lightening in my smile; charging positively forward, conducting change all the while. There's a rainbow in my mind; bending overhead my journey, with treasures still to find.

[itslimbo]

Bound by loyalty’s gentle chain, A captive heart, enduring pain. In shadows deep, the soul held tight, Forgets its wings, forsakes the light. Too faithful, blind to what is lost, A heart that loves, but pays the cost

[yugiohcardsdaily]

Inner Conflict [Skill Card]

"Once per Duel, during your Main Phase, you can pay 2000 LP and take control of 1 monster your opponent controls that can be Normal Summoned/Set, until the End Phase, but it cannot attack directly, or be Tributed, this turn."

[lovejunkie97]

I know I’m not everything that you had hoped and imagined that I would be,

But I did my best [...]

We need to find some common ground

In the ruins that still stand

Between you and me;

Both of us want peace.

Ceasefire. [...]

You’ll find yourself stuck in the ruins with maps that you cannot read.

So come now let’s make peace

Between you and me.

I can’t leave you behind,

You’re always on my mind.

Frank Turner - Ceasefire

[echoesoftheinfinite]

- Introspect1998