#i swear i’ll go back to illustrating sometime but my head is just buzzing with glass thoughts

[esotericrabbitify]

dreaming large and elaborate stained glass dreams. 314 pieces seems like insanity. If i had my way she’d be 3 feet long and the smallest pieces would be about thumbnail sized. i need to ask some long time stained glass artists if this is doable or the structural integrity would be too low? still fun to dream anyway!

[charlieliqueur]

Bigby Wolf X Reader

Thanks

▪️▪️▪️

He'd spent so long alone, so long wrapped up in cigarettes, work, and exhaustion that love or the idea of it stopped crossing his mind. Until he saw you. In actuality, he smelled you. A scent so unfamiliar and sudden, his eyes instinctually looked around for it. Your natural scent was so alluring and comforting he felt such a sorrow when it vanished, because you'd gone. Bigby had it plague his head for the rest of the day. He clouded his senses with cigarette smoke to drown it out, but the memory stayed.

Then, one day, once more unexpectedly, he smelled it again. And he was determined to follow it to the source this time. All the way to a small bookshop, tall shelves, a single older gentleman at a counter, the shop empty. But the scent of you was so strong, it was fucking with his head.

Then you were there, all of the sudden, racing out of the shelves, and it slowed for him. Watching your hair caught in the wind you made as you rushed, your gentle arms clutching a few books in them closely, eyes lit up with such a vibrant joy they almost shined. You went straight to the counter, and his breath was lost as he couldn't help but stare.

"Here's the books you asked for, sir," you said happily. "Or, well, most of them. I'm having issues finding the last one, at least getting to it," you say, shrugging. "Its alright, y/n-- Oh, Sheriff, what a pleasant surprise! Any specific reason for your visit?" Asked the man, and you turned around to see him.

He had to think of a lie. He couldn't say he'd been intoxicated by the aroma of the girl standing just a few feet away, waiting for his answer with a curious eagerness that set his heart into a thumping frenzy. "Well, from the looks of things, no. Prank call came in I guess, probably just some jackasses trying to cause trouble, sorry to bother you," he says, relieved it was believable.

But you didn't seem impressed. A doubtful scent cascaded over you, but your mouth stayed closed in a gentle smile, before opening to speak. "No problem, mister. Glad to see you take protecting all Fabletown with such care and commitment," she said, and what surprised him more than the statement was the fact that she was telling the truth.

Which only set in further pining.

He didn't want to leave, but in order for his lie to stick as truth, he had to. Now alone in his office, he stared at his paperwork, but couldn't manage to lift a pen. All that was on his mind was you. Your name, face, scent, smile. It fogged up everything. His while body was reacting to it. His heart, his head. He clutched his hands together and set his stumbled chin on them.

It wasn't long before he reacted to this like he did with all his emotions. Uneasy aggression. "Just get out of my fucking head," he grumbled, setting his palms on his forehead, sneering and breathing heavily. But the memory persisted. He wanted to see you again. He didn't know what lie to tell, what reason to give. All he knew is he couldn't sit still with you on hid mind like this.

The frustration began to seep out to others who knew him and spoke to him. Often times he'd zone out, smelling you miles away, it pushing past the cigarettes. Snow would notice his distant behaviour, asking what was wrong. He'd shake his head, adjust his tie, light a cigarette and always reply with 'nothing'.

Nothing was wrong.

Nothing on his mind.

Nothing bothering him.

Nothing going on.

Nothing to worry about.

Nothing.

But there was something.

There was somebody. A somebody with an atmosphere of acceptance and beauty he had never witnessed before, even though he thought he had.

Colin would see him sitting at home, smoking nonstop, drowning himself in Bourbon to try and buzz his mind enough to scrape you off it. But it didn't work. Then he'd ask if Bigby was alright. Same answers as before.

When patrolling, he'd purposely walk by that little shop, maybe hoping to catch a glance through the windows. Sometimes he did. He'd see you writing at desks, standing on ladders putting books back, reading at tables, or just chatting to customers, a warm smile almost always present. He started looking for you in stories. Started trying to find illustrations, so he had something to look at when he couldn't look at you.

It was Bufkin who first noticed a strange pattern. As Bigby had to ask the monkey for the books, the Oz creature would sometimes sit nearby and watch, curious. It was days after Bigby began the habit of sneaking into the Business Office to look through your stories that Bufkin asked "Who is she?"

A question that caught Bigby so off guard he embarrassingly slammed the book shut quickly saying, "W-Who, what do you mean?" He cursed at himself in his head for making such an obvious scene of it. It was only Bufkin, right? He would never piece it all together, right?

"Is it perhaps that the Sheriff is experiencing rather romantical feelings?" The monkey teased.

"No, and watch what you say," he warns, feeling his face heating up. He tried to get it to stop, but that only made it worse. "Oh dear, it is true isn't it?" The monkey asked, surprised. He pulled the book away from Bigby, opening it quickly to the page. "Hey!" He tries to stop the monkey, but it was too late.

Bufkin read through, and grinned slyly. "I swear to god you tell anyone and I'll-"

"You'll what? What is this about, Bigby?" Asked a female voice, belonging to Snow. He stopped, and hesitantly turned to see her, arms crossed over her chest and an eyebrow raised. "Bigby seems to be pining over a girl!" Bufkin blurted out. The Sheriff shot him a glare, which he flinched at.

"Really?? So that's what has been going on! The distance, the zoning out, Bigby why didn't you say anything?" She asks, and he groans. "I've only spoken to her once, its nothing," he says, rubbing his face.

"You do realize we're Fables? Suddenly falling for someone is more common than you realize."

"Not for me," he states, stubborn.

"Yes, even you. Now I don't expect you to talk about it, but you should," Snow says, leaning against the desk the book had been on, glancing at the open Fables book.

On its pages were pictures of you, illustrations that would never do your true beauty justice. But they were close enough to put his heart at ease a moment.

"Her names y/n, pretty sure she works at the bookshop. The one down Wiltshire Ave..." he says, but he wasn't sure he could say much else. The rest of the reasoning for his feelings were rather... emotional. How your smile made him feel, how your scent calmed him.

It was the sort of sappy stuff he wanted no part in... or did he?

More days spent wishing for you, to hold you close, to even fucking talk to you. It was on a rainy evening that his wish came true.

He was walking back to The Woodlands after breaking up a rather rough bar fight. That's when he saw you, coat half on and umbrella hooked on your arm, locking the bookshop door. Or trying to. You dropped the keys the second time when he had made it to you. Your scent mixed with the rain and it sent shocks through his body.

"Need a little help?" He asked, noticing your wet hair and skin, the light from nearby streetlamps dancing on your face and neck. You looked up at him, and smiled embarrassed. "Maybe a little," you admit, holding the keys up in your hands. He carefully locked the doors, handing the key back to you. Yoj smiled and nodded, saying "Thank you so much, glad you could come to my rescue." You carefully tugged your coat on the rest of the way, and he noticed you shiver a second. You pulled the umbrella off your arm and pushed it open.

"No problem, what I'm here for," he says. Of course you heard a simple joke. But he meant it as a lasting promise to be there for you, no matter what. "I usually love the rain, just don't like walking home in it," you admitted, laughing.

"Walking?"

"Oh, yes. But don't worry! It's only a couple blocks," you assured, gesturing in the direction. "Well, I'm headed that way anyways, might as well make sure you get home alright," he says, and you grinned. "Well, if you insist... thank you, again."

"No problem, again," he says, and you both walked, you clutching the umbrella handle close to you. You looked up at him, noticing him glancing at you. But the fact that he was getting rained on concerned you more. You stepped closer to him, and he looked quickly at you. You lifted the umbrella carefully, letting it hover above the both of you two.

"There you are, not fair for me to cover just myself," you say, smiling again. That smile... he had to forcefully keep himself from just putting his lips on yours right then and there. He craved it. Same way he craved being around you, because you never smelled like fear or hate or disgust. Always pleasant surprise, joy, and contentment. You weren't scared of him. He felt maybe you were the only one who wasn't.

"This is me," you said as the both of you stepped under an overhang in front of the dingy apartment building. "Pretty creepy," he says, trying to be light. But in all honesty it upset him to see that you lived in such an unpleasant place. You deserved better in his eyes.

"Yeah, pretty sure the place is haunted. Gets spooky at night, ghosts and stuff, I stay up late sometimes 'cause of it. Thanks again, you know," you say once more. You always were thanking him. Always so grateful. That's when it hit him. The instincts that made him a great Sheriff told him something. Your shifting of body, tone of voice, direction of eyes. You didn't want to be left alone here, you didn't want him to go.

Before you could step too far away, he says, "I don't think I've ever seen an actual ghost."

You turned back towards him and smiled slightly. "I can't promise anything, but if you don't have anything super important... might be able to coax one out," you say.

That's how he ended up in your apartment, listening to cassette tapes and talking. He hadn't even realized how long you'd both been up until he could see the sky lightening. "You ought to sleep, it's basically dawn," he says, and you shrugged. "Probably. You should sleep too though..." you say, and he nodded, getting up and heading to the door.

"Um, Bigby?" You started hesitantly, and he immediately turned back towards you. "Thanks for hanging around with me. It was really fun," you say, and once more a smile arose.

"No problem, anytime," he says, and he meant it. He'd spend the rest of whatever freetime he got with you. "Well, if you're serious, the bookshop is pretty boring most days..."

"I'll have to change that," he said, a small smile crossing his lips, and your eyes lit up. "See you later then," you say, and he agrees, leaving.

He would be there. Again and again. Pining or not, love or not, he would be there for you, and one day with you. With with you. If he played the card right, if he took his time and chose his words carefully, he'd get that smile for himself everyday...

[yeojaa]

didn’t know me.

pairing.  jhs x reader.  rating.  general!  we are family friendly.  tags.  this is just... cute.  there’s a bit of swearing, teasing, mentions of beer, etc. but nothing bad.  wc.  2k.  beta reader.  my beloved @hobi-gif​ and my wofe @periminkle​!  💖

You’ve always been one to take the things you want, pursuing them with a ferocity your mother calls intense.  You have no qualms about decorum or bashfulness.  To you, if you’re not the first - you’re the last. 

You’d done it all your life.  First, in kindergarten, when you’d taken the orange blocks because they were your favourite colour.  Then, in high school when you’d tried out for three varsity teams and made it onto all of them.  More recently, at work, where you’d demanded (read:  gently requested) a raise after you’d consistently been covering for your less-than-reliable manager. 

If you wanted something, you went for it.  There was seldom anything that could stop you - including your soft-spoken best friend. 

“I’m gonna do it.” 

It being asking the cute guy waiting in line for his number.  It being embarrassing your poor best friend who’s got her face hidden behind your shoulder, soft blonde bangs brushing your cheek as she shakes her head in a poor attempt to deter you. 

“Don’t make it weird,”  she whispers into the collar of your coat, denim rough against your neck. 

“You’re the one making it weird!”  The hiss is quiet, gentle.  More coaxing than reprimand or displeasure.  This is a usual occurrence for the two of you. 

Whereas you were relentless, unrepentant - rays of sunlight on the hottest day of summer - she was the softest breeze, barely a ruffle of leaves.  You complemented and completed each other and had for the better part of your lives.  Exactly why you’d opted to take this trip with her and only her;  she was the one person who didn’t drive you absolutely insane after a certain number of days together.  She filled all the empty spaces of your puzzle, rather than smothered you with her own shape. 

Still, you sometimes had disagreements.  Now was one of those times. 

“What if he doesn’t speak English?”  

She’s being far too realistic, of course, in her patented Ivy way.  You have to admit - she has a point.  The likelihood of this random stranger even understanding you is slim but you figure it doesn’t hurt to ask.  When in Rome Okinawa, right? 

“Then I’ll use Google translate,”  you retort around a mouthful of laughter, the sound buzzing around your teeth.  You’d think they’d stung her by how Ivy recoils, grimacing at you in the same instance you advance a step.  “Wish me luck!”

She doesn’t.  You don’t care.  

A hand reaches out, two fingers poised. 

And then he - the cute fellow customer with jet black hair and expensive sneakers on - faces you, but not because you’ve spoken.  He turns because his companion has caught his attention, jerking his platinum blond head toward you.  At least, you think it’s blond.  You really can’t tell with how his bucket hat is pulled so low over his ears, the bottom half of his face obscured by a plain black mask. 

The words die on your tongue, suddenly stolen by the sheer beauty of cute guy’s face.  He’s disarmingly handsome, with high cheekbones and a perfectly upturned nose.  His mouth splits - heart-shaped around bright white teeth - and you can’t help the little tumble your heart takes when he smiles.  It brushes itself off before falling all over again, nearly launching itself out of your chest and at his feet. 

“Hi?”  There’s something lyrical about his voice, like summertime and riding in the car with the windows down.  It’s also accented - peculiar in a way that’s strangely familiar.  You can’t quite place it. 

“Hi!”  You all but chirp, probably with the dumbest look on your face.  You hope your smile offsets it.  “Could I have your number?” 

Sunshine - because that’s his nickname for now and it feels terribly fitting - blinks at you, head tilting in a way you can only describe as adorable. 

“My number?”  It’s an echo, in less of a what the fuck way and more of a did-I-hear-you-right way. 

You nod once, twice, a hopeful laugh rolling off your tongue.  It slots into the spaces between you and settles, strangely nervous.  You’re not used to the anxiety that’s thrumming through your veins and causing a ruckus in your ears. 

There’s just something about him. 

“Yeah, your number?”  As if to illustrate your point better, you raise your phone and wave it about, tapping against the back of your fluorescent pink case.  “To text you?”

Realisation dawns, passing in pretty rays over his face.  “Oh!”  For a moment, he seems ready to give it, every inch of his expression wide open. 

Then, all at once, it falls - blinds dropping across a window.  He seems deep in thought, his gaze jumping to the blond that’s now made himself comfortable at a table a few feet away, back hunched and attention focused solely on the screen of his Samsung.  Your stare follows, traipsing the narrow ridge of the other’s shoulders before swivelling back to the ball of light before you.  

God, you can’t get over how good looking he is.  It’s almost hard to look at him, yet somehow harder to look away. 

“You want… my number?”  

“If that’s okay,”  you murmur, with your most disarming smile.  You know it’s a solid effort - you’ve won parents and bosses over with it.  Three years of braces had done you good.

He’s seemingly stuck, torn between giving into the strange girl in front of him and something else you have no idea about.  You can practically feel Ivy burning a hole into the back of your skull with each moment that passes.  She’s definitely going to hold this against you for at least an hour. 

“I can have yours?”  A sleek iPhone - no case, to your horror - is fished out of his pocket and offered to you.  You can’t help but admire his hands, the way his knuckles wrap around the slim device.  “I’ll take your, um, number?” 

It’s not what you’d expected.  Truthfully, a part of you wonders whether this means he’ll take it and never use it.  You hope not.  

“Sure,” you agree readily, nodding with a delight that feels a little much for a chance meeting in a random mochi donut shop.  You try not to dwell on it as you enter your contact details, passing the phone back over with two hands. “Don’t forget to use it!”  It’s meant to be flirtatious, friendly without being too forward.  You’re unsure if it’s lost on him.  You think it might be by how he beams at you, offering nothing in return. 

“Gaja.”  

The interruption breaks the stillness between you, spoken so quietly you almost miss it.  It comes low and swift from the blond that’s joined Sunshine’s side, stealing his attention from you.  You try to hide your disappointment, though it’s quickly replaced by wide-eyed wonder. 

You don’t mean to stare - you probably look like a fish out of water - but realisation brings with it unflattering expressions.  It’s a simple fact of life.  

“Kamsahamnida.”  Your Korean is rusty - clearly without practice and uncomfortable on your tongue. For not the first time, you wish you’d been more receptive to your parents’ insistence that you learn.  

Surprise flips across Sunshine’s face, thrusting his eyebrows to disappear behind his fringe.  Then he grins, so big and unreserved that it really is blinding - like staring directly into the sky on a day without clouds.  He looks on the edge of speaking - as if all the words are balanced right behind his teeth, ready to spill out with the same abandon as his joy - before Blondie repeats himself, this time with more urgency.

You’re holding them up.  Oh god. 

With a swiftness usually reserved for the volleyball court, you sidestep, nearly knocking a lurking best friend over in your haste.  Your head is bowed - a decidedly strange gesture for you - and you glance up through a curtain of swept bangs and thick lashes.  “Mianhaeyo.”  You want to say more but you’re fumbling, trying to find the words you’ve never taken the time to properly study.  “I… um...”  

There’s a hand in yours, squeezing in reassurance. Or maybe frustration.  It isn’t always easy to tell with Ivy.

“It was nice to meet you” is what you settle on. 

“You too,”  Sunshine returns, far too kindly, with that same brilliant smile that has your jaw aching with the intensity of your own.  He’s all but ushered out the door, though he turns at the last minute to wave - a sweet thing that makes you laugh.  “I will call!”

Waiting isn’t something you do well.  As evidenced by your go-getter attitude, your patience tends to run thin.  You want things and you want them now - but it seems that isn’t in your cards.  Shit hand, you think.

So you sit and you wait and well, you’re not really sitting and waiting.  You’re still living your life and enjoying your vacation.  You’ve been to the beach - there’s a neat underground tower Ivy had dragged you to that had you gaping at the fish swimming by at eye level - and you’ve had probably too much taco rice than is strictly speaking necessary.

But you haven’t been able to get him out of your head and it’s driving you more than a little crazy on the third day that you haven’t heard from him.

“Are you listening to me?”  It’s Ivy, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with two intricately woven bracelets held aloft.  They’re both pretty and hardly discernible in their differences.  One’s blue and the other is… a slightly darker shade of blue?

“Huh?”  Your thoughts are a million miles away, focused solely on the memory of a certain Sunshine boy.  

“Which one!”  She’s exasperated, flailing her wrists just enough that one trinket whacks you right between the eyes.  Okay, so you deserved that.

You’re rubbing at the red mark, turning away in the same instant you speak.  “That one.”  

“That one?” 

“The one on the right!”

She grumbles something that sounds awfully like I hate you but you’re too busy checking your phone to really call her on it.  No new messages, save for the three group chats you’re in that absolutely refuse to shut up.  You don’t count those.

“A watched pot never boils,”  she hums from somewhere behind you, before lapsing into stilted Japanese with the kindly old woman behind the counter. 

You know she’s right but that doesn’t change a thing.  You check your phone twelve more times between exiting the small jewellery shop and stepping into the karaoke bar.  It’s not really that often, you tell yourself.  Most millennials sit on their phones for hours!  You’re a step above, truly.

Until Airi’s husband is grilling you, poking fun at the fact that you can’t seem to tear yourself away from the device in your hands.

“Don’t forget you’re out,”  he teases around the rim of his beer, arm slung comfortably across his wife’s shoulders.  “Live in the moment, y’know?”  

If you weren’t so close - if they weren’t hosting you at their apartment for this leg of your trip - you’d probably ignore him.  As it stands, he’s like an annoying older brother and receives a swift kick to his shin.  You grin just as he grimaces, nearly spilling his glass of Sapporo all over his front.

“Hey— you brat!”

“Takes one to know one,”  you retort, tongue out and mischief wrapped into every syllable.  “Don’t know how you’re married.  Didn’t think kids were allowed to.”  

Across from you, Airi stifles a snicker and the rest of your group breaks into laughter.  You’re in the middle of throwing middle fingers at Sunny when a hand clasps your forearm with an aggression you can’t ignore. 

Ivy’s staring at you with eyes the size of saucers, mouth curled into a perfectly shaped ‘O’.  A part of you wants to shove a limp fry into it - until you follow the line of her arm, the length of her finger. 

Because on the screen - serenading your ragtag group of friends in the terrible voice of Airi’s little brother - is cute-guy-from-donuts.  Sunshine. 

What the hell?

tag list.  @neverthefirstchoice​​​​ @youwannabelostandnotbefound​​​​

[thought-42]

Clone Wars Fic Day Three

Today in the pointless modern au: Obi-Wan goes skating! And then he goes to a hospital! A fun Friday night for everyone. (also listen sometimes Easter falls in March) Part One 

Part Two

Obi-Wan goes to the Starbucks team building mandatory fun skating night with full intentions of being present just long enough to cement his willing and enthusiastic participation. He can think of minimally six better things to be doing with his time on a Friday night, and he's only going because their manager had overheard Quinlan mocking the whole production and Obi-Wan had been caught in the fallout.

"Don't worry," Quin says, yanking the laces on his rented skates tight with a grunt, "I'll catch you if you fall."

"I'm perfectly capable of skating, thank you," Obi-Wan says primly. He's brought a pair of skates that he'd found in Qui-Gon's storage room, and wishing fervently that he had just spent the money to rent. The skates are stiff and rusted and slightly too small.

"Hey, I have actually been skating in the past six years and I'm not confident in my ability to stay on my feet," Quin says. "I'm just saying, there's no shame in falling."

Obi-Wan stares at him. Quin sighs. "Ok, there's a little shame. This is what I get for trying to be a supportive friend."

Obi-Wan gets out on the ice with only a slight wobble, and he and Quin take to one of the trails leading away from the main rink to attempt to distance themselves from the rest of their coworkers, all of whom have clearly pregamed with no thought to the consequences.

There are fairy lights strung up in the trees, and aggressively upbeat pop music being piped in from somewhere. Obi-Wan focuses on keeping himself poised and steady, only swerving to avoid the occasional small child. He hasn't skated since he was a teenager, and it doesn't so much come back to him as he watches the people around him, emulates what they do, and doesn't fall down.

"Probably," Quin puffs out from ahead of him, "this is supposed to be romantic or charming or peaceful."

Obi-Wan, who can already feel his feet aching and is currently passing through a swarm of yelling children and their equally loud parents, says "You simply have no appreciation for the subtler, more sophisticated pleasures in life."

They make it down the trail, back up, across the rink, through smalltalk with the other staff, and to the edge of the rink before Obi-Wan's luck and/or skill fail him. An elderly man steps out onto the ice and teeters alarmingly, one arm flailing out to keep his balance. Obi-Wan's hands go forward to help and his head jerks back to avoid the waving limbs and suddenly he's staring up at the night sky and gasping for breath and his ankle is twisted up under his body in a way that shouldn't be physically possible. He uses the snowbank along the edge of the rink to haul himself first to kneeling, then, cautiously, to standing. Nothing feels particularly stabbed, so he thinks it's safe to say that he managed not to land directly on his blade. His ankle, on the other hand, stabs a bolt of pain up through his whole leg so sharp that he feels his stomach lurch. He stumbles onto the snow, and then over to a bench, swearing mentally because there are really just an unnecessary number of children about.

"Shit," Quin says, clearly less concerned with strangers' disapproval. "Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan says. "But I think that's quite enough skating for one night."

"Yeah," Quin says. "I'll get our boots. I needed to head out anyway."

"Thank you," Obi-Wan says, uncharacteristically willing to accept the unnecessary kindness. He undoes his skates and pokes gingerly at his ankle. The pain when he touches it is white hot and sharp, but nothing looks blatantly out of place, which is better than he was expecting.

Quin drops his boots and guards in front of him, already wearing his own, skates obviously returned. "Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes," Obi-Wan says, waving him off.

Quin looks unconvinced, but at Obi-Wan's reassuring smile he relaxes. "Ok. Well, I'm off to get fucked up with some old ladies for Easter Bingo, wish me luck."

Obi-Wan stares. "I'm really not sure *what* to wish you for this occasion."

Quin winces. "Yeah, I honestly have no idea what I'm walking in to, but I've been assured there'll be sherry and at least one other person under seventy. And how could I possibly refuse an offer like that?"

Obi-Wan chuckles. "Please do feel free to send updates as your evening progresses."

He waits until Quin is gone to stand up, just in case, and is glad he did when he has to catch himself on the back of the bench, shifting all his weight onto his uninjured ankle quickly.

"Well," he says under his breath. "This is inconvenient." He forces himself away from the rink, glad as he gets further away from the lights and crowd as he staggers along, swearing no longer kept inside his head. The footpath to the parking lot is slippery, and he almost falls again. Once he's gotten across the parking lot it's only a block to the bus stop. Practically nothing. Walking it off is probably the best thing he can do, anyway.

He's almost through the parking lot when he slips and has to catch himself on the back of someone's truck. Headlights flare in the dark behind him, and he hears a group of people coming up from the path, jovial and loud. He braces himself for his next step, sucking in air between his teeth.

"Obi-Wan?"

He freezes. It's not anyone he works with, but the voice is still definitely familiar.

"Obi-Wan! I wasn't sure if it was you, sorry. Were you skating?"

It's Rex's brother Cody standing behind him, all bundled up in a sensible parka and gloves, bright green hat tucked down over his ears and skates slung over his shoulder. He looks unforgivably happy.

"Yes, hello, I was," Obi-Wan says. His own skates are jammed awkwardly into his backpack along with his tablet and travel mug and three books and a bag of clementines he keeps forgetting to take out, and the weight is doing his balance no favours. He attempts to straighten up and has to bite down hard on his lip to stifle a gasp of pain. Even the brief moment of stillness has somehow made moving newly painful.

"Are you alright?" Cody asks, sharply.

"Fine, yes, just had a bit of a fall on the ice," Obi-Wan says, projecting gentle self-effacing amusement as hard as he can. "A bit of a sore ankle I've been walking off."

Cody frowns. "That seems like the exact opposite of what you should be doing with a hurt ankle. Can I help you to your car, at least?"

Obi-Wan waves him off, and forces himself to stand up straight. "I'm just going to the bus stop down the way," he says. "It's very close, I'm quite alright."

"I can drive you to whatever clinic you're going to," Cody says.

"That's very kind, but I'm quite alright. A good night's sleep and I'm sure it won't even hurt." He means to illustrate this by walking calmly away, but instead he stumbles over a chunk of ice that's fallen off the nearby truck and in catching his balance puts all his weight down hard on the offending ankle. The edges of his vision go hazy for a moment, and suddenly Cody is there, arm going around him to support his weight and steady him.

"Yeah, you definitely seem fine," he says. "If you don't want me to drive you, is there someone I can call? Qui-Gon?"

"Good God, absolutely not," Obi-Wan says, aghast. "I really am fine, just a bit of a stumble--"

"Oy! Codes, what're you doing over there? It's bloody cold out here!" a young voice shouts from across the parking lot.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm sure you're suffering," Cody calls back. "Listen, Boba, can you get a ride with dad? I've just met up with a friend and I'm going to give him a lift."

"That's fine," another voice joins in. "I'd be happy to drive forty-five minutes out of my way, thanks for volunteering me, son, you were always my favourite. Don't mind me, just a tired old man..."

"Cheers," Cody says, sunnily, and begins hustling obi-wan down the row of cars to a tiny Prius.

"Truly, there's no need for a clinic," Obi-Wan says, half falling into the car.

"mmhm," says Cody, texting intently with one finger. It's possibly more painful than the ankle having to watch his slow progress.

The phone vibrates a few seconds later, and Cody nods. "Kix says you should get a doctor to take a look."

"Fucking pardon me?"

Cody shrugs, tosses his phone in the cup holder, and starts the car.

*

They get stuck waiting a good two hours before anyone will see Obi-Wan, but he takes a few Tylenol and pulls out his tablet when it becomes clear Cody doesn't plan on forcing smalltalk.

About an hour in to their wait, his phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, hoping for ridiculous photos from Quin, but it's Anakin's name that graces his lock screen.

'did you seriously break your ankle'

"Really?!" Obi-Wan hisses, then types back

'It's not broken, Anakin. Sprained, at the most. How did you find out?'

'Rex told me', Anakin says, and then, 'don't worry I texted qui-gon'.

'You absolutely did not.', obi-Wan responds, a pit opening up in his stomach. Before Anakin responds, a different thread pops up on his screen. It's Tahl, this time.

'Obi-Wan! Which clinic are you at? Have you been seen yet?'

Furious, Obi-Wan types back. 'I AM FINE, DO NOT BLOODY COME TO THE Clinic I ASSURE YOU I AM AN ADULT.' He sends it in capslock because he knows she's at a library fundraiser dinner and will be using her braille display to text under the table instead of the screenreader on her phone, so the full effect of his rage will be appropriately communicated.

beside him, Cody says "You're not secretly on the run from your family, right?"

"Excuse me?"

"Rex may have... gotten ahead of himself in sharing information."

"I'm already aware," Obi-Wan sighs. "If Qui-Gon's wife skips out on work to come sit in a chair beside me in a waiting room I'll never hear the end of it, but no, I have no serious problem with them knowing. And calling them my family may be a bit of a stretch."

"I'm just going to let that one pass," Cody says, briskly. Obi-Wan's name gets called, finally, and Cody stands to offer support before Obi-Wan can stop him. Deciding his dignity will take a harder hit if he has to stumble his way across the room, he accepts Cody's assistance. The nurse doesn't seem interested in offering her own help, nor does she seem concerned that Cody is accompanying Obi-Wan into the exam room.

Obi-Wan scrambles, undignified, onto the bed, paper crinkling under him. Cody glances around uncertainly, shifts towards the door, then shakes his head, straightens his back, and sits down in one of the two extra chairs in the corner. Obi-Wan thinks perhaps it would be rude to ask him to leave, and there's no particular reason to do so. Perhaps it will even be helpful if Cody hears from a medical professional that he hasn't fucking broken his ankle.

*

"It's a hairline fracture," the doctor says. Cody arches an eyebrow. Obi-Wan glares. "Keep weight off of it for a few days, then slowly start increasing use. Nothing intense for the next two months, and if you even suspect the pain is getting worse or something doesn't feel right, come back right away. This isn't serious, but it could be if you don't take care of it right."

Cody's eyebrow, unencumbered by the laws of physics, gets higher. Obi-Wan is going to break his face and nobody will believe him when he explains that it was justified.

Humiliatingly, the doctor gives the proscription and care instructions to Cody.

Back in Cody's car, Cody says "We can drop this off at the pharmacy and pick up a few ice packs while we're there."

"Oh, no, no, you don't need to worry about-- what makes you think I don't have icepacks? Or at least ice. Frozen vegetables. I am an adult, contrary to what everyone this evening seems to think."

Cody pulls out of the parking stall and clicks the dial to connect his phone to the car's bluetooth. "Well, do you?"

Obi-Wan glares. "There's plenty of snow and ice built up on my balcony, and I have a plastic bag full of plastic bags like any respectable human."

"what's your address?" Cody says.

Obi-Wan says, "I'm fine, honestly--"

Cody coasts to a stop at a red light and types out a text so quickly Obi-Wan wonders for a moment if he'd imagined it. "Never mind, I'm asking Anakin," Cody says. Obi-Wan slumps in his seat.

[amasawaseiji]

share your self care tag

Thank you Nico for tagging me!! @transking

favourite comfort food: I’m not picky with food so this is kinda hard ‘cause eating in general comforts me :’) but some that have the golden spot are raw carrots and chocolate. he carrots are betraying me though ‘cause lately I’ve been getting nausea when I eat them raw and it’s killing me.

favourite alcohol (or hot drink): I’m not a big alcohol drinker, my favourite beer is Ichnusa beer as for cocktail it’s a good ol’ fashioned bloody mary, but honestly I’m a big hot tea drinker, I’ll drink any and all black tea, flavoured or not, and I also have a place in my heart for red fruits teas and flavoured or unflavoured chamomile (especially peppermint chamomile)!

favourite relaxing activity: It definitely has to be listening to music, just,,, laying somewhere with headphones on, or with the stereo on blast when I can is even better. I also love doing clay sculpture a lot, I started because of school but I have taken a liking to it and it’s one of my favouritve activities, I have a block of 15kg of clay at home and whenever I want I can create something new, which in this case also goes towards my grades in school.

favourite fluffy/feel-good fic: Ooh this is easy, I don’t read too many fanfics but I have this one that I reread regularly ‘cause it’s just so well written and it’s the right lenght and I just like it so much. It’s called Blends, I’m slightly cringing ‘cause it’s a wolfstar fic but I swear it’s good, even though I’m not very involved in Harry Potter stuff for... all the reasons there are, this is still such a good fic.

favourite calming scent: I think there’s a lot, like seas and rain and jasmine flowers, baby powder, steamed vegetables, but maybe my top #1 scent is my brother’s shampoo’s scent that’s all over the house after he showers, it’s such a mundane thing that I’ve been experiencing for so many years it has become a reminder of the fact I’m home.

favourite relaxing or uplifting song: for uplifting songs I have a whole ass playlist on youtube and it’s not even remotely complete, and honestly yea it’s 98% kpop ‘cause that’s the music I listen to more often.

For relaxing I have an opposite playlist and this one isn’t finished either but I often forget to add songs because in this case I usually just put the song on repeat for hours on end so it rarely gets updated tbh.

But there’s so many songs that relax me, like Adam’s song and Bored to death by Blink-182, Saturday sun by Vance Joy, Caelum by Oskar Schuster (this one especially puts me in a trance, sometimes it gives me a headache lmao), Au dessus du volcan by Yann Tiersen, Cloud Atlas’ Sextet, The Handmaiden’s What’s with her, Dancing with eyes closed by Brian Crain and many others tbh, it’d be such a long list, but I’m always happy of talking about music of any kind!

favourite white noise: Ocean for sure! do wind chimes count as white noise? ‘cause those too, the buzzing of cicadas, thunderstorms, strong winds that make the windows rattle, cacciabombardiere airplanes flying over, it’s not really a pleasant sound but I’ve heard it since I was a kid and it has become... calming.

favorite book to get lost in: It has to be the Fairy Oak series written by Elisabetta Gnone, who is also one of the creators of the famous comic book W.I.T.C.H., it’s the first books I’ve ever read at age 7 and as a cancer I live off of my own childhood, so a lot of my favourite things are related to it lmao.

Honorable mentions go to basically all books by Licia Troisi, except maybe the newer ones, Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion by Jane Austen, Anne of Green Gables by L.M Montgomery, I wanna read the other books in Anne’s serie but I’ve been having a hard time reading anything so I’m not sure when that’ll happen, Cicely Mary Barker’s books on fairies have a big place in my heart but they’re monstly illustrations tbh, and I’m sure I’ve forgotten some books but these are already a lot.

favorite chill-out tv show: this one is kinda hard ‘cause although I watch kind of a lot... not many mean a lot  to me? but some I really enjoyed are: Go Back Couple, this one made me cry kind of a lot, but I loved it, Sotus, it’s wholesome, I also love Sotus S, Anne with an E, I swear it’s so good and I really hope there’s gonna be a new season of it although it’s very improbable, the last one left me with some questions unanswered and I’m :( about it

These are some that came up in my head but really I think anything that’s in my #shows tag, also I have a MyDramaList account and a MyAnimeList account too although it’s way less updated than I’d like it to be, it’s just a bit of an uncomfortable site.

the best advice you’ve ever had: I have a short memory and I’ve probably recieved lots of good advice that I 100% forgot, but I guess it was my psychologist’s telling me to not put myself down when I can’t change a situation that is not up to me, and it’s hard to live by it but it’s important to remember.

Again thank you Nico this was fun to do! and again I’m not sure who did this already but I’m gonna tag @sunmorkcafe @iulovbot @altgulf @artisticgrroove @hatake @honeyvanity @diaxia @lqr so basically all of my mutuals, as always don’t feel pressured to do this and if you wanna be tagged just shot me a message or just say I tagged you!

[rangerleigh]

what’s rightfully yours [ self ]

location: boston museum of art, medieval era offices time: 7:39pm

illustration: the ascension [x]

Post passionem suam...nubes suscepit eum ab oculis eorum alleluia...

There’s a part of Leigh’s brain telling her to turn on the fluorescents to make the manuscript easier to read. The other, the one that wins, is the one that finds a romance with deciphering Old Latin in low light, submitting herself to the same practices of Niccolo di Giacomo da Bologna, who likely passed hands over this very illustration every candlelit night before bed. 

The piece is a part of a new installation of Medieval manuscripts, and her work on its restoration is nearly complete. She’s been trying to carefully bring back the sea blue of the background next to Christ’s floating figure; it’s an amorphous stain of white, and an eyesore in her opinion. But she’s been working in circles for the entirety of her shift, and nothing tried has worked. 

“You’re going to give yourself a migraine, working like this,” her boss calls from the doorway, startling her. “I’m heading out. Lock up, will you?” 

She nods dutifully, still focused on the illustration. Martin’s sass is not appreciated, however full of care it may be. “Say hi to Alec for me?” she asks as he turns to leave, sparing a second of her attention to glance up at him with a sheepish smile. “I haven’t seen him since the Christmas party. Bring him around sometime, pretty please? He laughs at my jokes.” 

Martin shakes his head. “He laughs at anything,” he replies. Leigh pouts, feigning hurt. “enough of that! I’ll tell him, I’ll tell him. Don’t stay too late this time? I don’t want all this to be responsible for your untimely death. Save that for the PhD.” With that he exits, giving her no time to extrapolate on the benefits of her working overtime. He knows her too well, she’ll give him that.

Speaking of PhD: there’s a three hundred page analysis on 13th century wedding customs that has to be read and condensed into an analysis by Friday. The white spot will have to wait until tomorrow. Leigh places the illustration back in its case and removes her white gloves, rolling her shoulders to stretch out the sore muscles in her back. 

A crash from outside her office pulls her attention. Probably a clumsy intern leaving for the day; she’s been there, as everyone has. Leigh pulls on her coat, grabs her bag, locks up her office and goes to the break-room to see if anyone or anything has been damaged. 

What she finds isn’t necessarily anyone... or anything. It’s foreign and familiar, terrifying and curious. It’s knocked over the vase on the coffee table, and it nearly seems sheepish about the whole mess. As if it didn’t mean to be so clumsy. Against her better judgement she grows closer to the queer thing, a floating ball of light, green and transparent, dripping in supernatural glow. She reaches a hand out and it bobs towards her, taking up the distance between the two and wrapping a faint tendril around her index finger. 

Leigh gasps at the sensation, soft and slippery, as if falling water wrapped itself around her. Its eyes, if what she interprets to be eyes are such, glow with a determined intensity that makes her shiver. 

And then, it tugs. She stumbles with the force of its power, her bag slipping from her shoulder and into the crook of her elbow. The tendril slides into her palm, drawing a tender circle in her palm, like the ones she does to herself to remind herself to take a breath, that everything’s all right, that she’s safe. Then it wraps around her wrist and gives another tug, gentler this time. This one she’s prepared for, and she steps with it, allowing this strange, familiar force to lead her up the stairs and into the Geology wing. 

The light -- a wisp, that’s what she’ll call it -- leads her up a landing and towards the back of the room, to a cabinet filled with small geometric crystals, mostly in cool hues. They’re the historically significant ones; crystals that had specific owners, people who cared enough for them to hold them upon their person for protection, health, fertility. Her wisp friend places her hand on the glass, presses each of her fingers into the pane gently, as if pressing her to look further, to find something specific. Leigh passes over the biographies, noting one belonging to a noblewoman in 17th century England, another to a so-called sorceress during the Salem Witch Trials. 

Something green and glinting catches her eye. The card below it reads, “Green Jasper - Frankish Amulet worn by a member of the da Bologna family. Known as the rain bringer - The gods hearken to the prayers of whoe’er the polished grass-green jasper wears; his parched globe they’ll satiate with rain and send showers to soak the thirsty plain.” 

Her wisp buzzes next to her, as if she’s chosen right. Leigh shoots it a curious glance, nearly bemused as it wobbles up and down in the air excitedly. What she doesn’t expect is for it to pound its way through the glass. 

“Wait -- no, no, no no, stop! Stop, please!” she inhales sharply, stepping away from the wisp as the pane begins to crack under the weight of its movement. A few more sharp hits and the glass shatters, breaking into angles and covering the carpeted ground. The wisp wraps tender tendrils around the Green Jasper Crystal just as security alarms sound. Leigh stares, open mouthed and dumb, as the moving morph of light presses the stone to the bare skin of her collarbone. She feels a delicate warmth spread from its point of contact, as if being soaked with warm water from the inside out. 

The surrounding light of the wisp expands, filling the space around her, wrapping around Leigh and drawing her into its center. For a moment, before everything turns to white, she swears she sees a stallion.