#inbox is open 

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

what do you think about the autism levels?

Hi there,

I really don’t have an opinion about them honestly. I actually thought that they actually came before the high and low functioning labels. But @autistic-af explained that they can after the low and high functioning labels.

I am curious about what my followers think about them. If anyone wants to share their thoughts and opinion, feel free to do so. :)

Thank you op for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

[rafeandonlyrafe]

well 🧍‍♀️ as a reminder this blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters but it IS a safe place for women, queers, trans ppl, people of color, undocumented people, and any marginalized group.

[etherealspacejelly]

Jelly, buddy as someone who knows next to nothing about Star Trek, please tell me what’s happening

ok so spock/kirk is like. the oldest ship ever, okay? they invented slash fiction. these guys pioneered fandom as we know it today

in the last movies they made with those original characters, they were separated into like. alternate universes. okay. these guys were never gonna see each other again and it was very sad and tragic and the fans were kinda sad about it but it is what it is.

then. they made a short film. right. like 8 minutes long. of kirk reuniting with spock. on spocks deathbed. and kirk holds his hand, and they look off into the sunset together.

they got to be reunited. they got to be together in the end. they got their romantic ending i swear to god im losing it.

if it helps. imagine if in 50 years time, they released an 8 minute video of old man dean winchester going to the empty and saving castiel and then they sat on the hood of the impala holding hands and watching the sun set. thats what its like. you see how insane that is??? do you get it???

[ocean-irl]

Wake up babe, new Doctor Who snog chart just dropped. (insp.)

[kajamnikk]

dipper eating a burger like that one jerma screenshot

and ford mabel - uncle niece bonding time (as we didnt get it enough in the show)

these are twitter art requests!! doodle requests r still open, as so is my inbox!!

[maiiuelle]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

rafe got you a nintendo switch in hopes of keeping you occupied — not that he doesn’t like to spend time with you, it’s just that he’s a very busy man, and you need a distraction when he’s off handling business.

your cozy game addiction started with an innocent folder on his phone, and now rafe’s paying for your annual nintendo online membership. you have all the basics — mario kart, stardew valley, pokemon, and your favorite, animal crossing.

obsessed is an understatement — your manicured hands are glued to your baby pink nintendo switch at all hours of the day, hard at work on your animal crossing island. your intense focus on decorating keeps you from hearing rafe return home, his eyes skimming over where you’re laying over the arm of tannyhill’s leather couch.

“you’re still playing that goddamn game?” he sighs, squinting at you in disbelief that you’re not coming to hang off of him like you usually do. instead, he swaggers over to where you’re sitting with his hands in his sweatpants pockets.

“yeah, rafe. i have a lot to do.” you respond matter of factly, not bothering to take your eyes off the little screen. “i have to catch all these fish before next month, pay back my home loan, and decorate the campsite. and that’s just today, if i can get through it all.” you shake your head at the stress, but you shrug as if it’s unavoidable, still laser focused on planting flowers in the game. “i want my island to be pretty and nice for my villagers. i mean — if i don’t take care of it who will?”

you finally pause, lowering the switch to cover your mouth suddenly. “ew.. i sound like you.” you peer up at him looming over you, your head practically hanging off the side of the couch.

“wh—what?” he rears back, visibly offended. “i do not sound like that, okay — first of all.” he gestures to himself, poking at his chest through his preppy collared shirt. “‘n i don’t talk to fuckin’ cats all day, alright? i got real business — real shit i gotta take care of.” he smacks his hand, trying to drive home the point for you. then, like the realization had just hit him, he presses his lips into a line, tapping his temple. “y’know what? at least now maybe you can understand the stress i’m under runnin’ all this shit.”

you raise your eyebrows at him, his frustrated tirade only proving you right. “you’re right, you sound totally different.”

“aight, i’m done with you. seriously.” he throws his hands up, his short fuse slowly fizzling out. “you gonna put that away and gimme a kiss or not?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ ᡣ𐭩 ⋆ ˚｡⋆

[sunlit-mess]

[ CH1 | P1 | Next | Tag guide ] Review

Launching this HH AU then I'll be gone for a month 😭👽

[bluerasbunny]

(To the daycare attendants)

Crazy? I was crazy once. They locked me in a room. A rubber room. A rubber room full of rats. The rats made me crazy. Crazy? I was crazy once…

well, at least moon seems to be enjoying it?

[my-autism-adhd-blog]

Hey there!

I was diagnosed with adhd when i was 6, and while giving me part of the explanation , i’ve been wondering if i might be autistic as well? I find it really difficult to ask for a test bc the two are very similar and my psychiatrist might just say “no, you don’t have autism.” Which, fair, but i really feel i need to get tested.

Could you explain a bit about auDHD as a whole? (If you’ve already done so then I apologise)

Hi there,

I’ll share some Infographs and an excerpt from Neurodivergent Insights:

Except:

There are various hypotheses regarding this common co-occurrence. Leitner et al., 2014 hypothesize that they share a common genetic etiology.

This hypothesis is supported by twin studies that suggest a substantial genetic overlap (approximately a 50-72% overlap). This theory suggests genetics explain why ADHD/Autism commonly co-occurs within individuals and families at such high rates (Leitner et al., 2014; Rommelse et al., 2010). 

Furthermore, evidence points to a strong neurobiological overlap. Sokolova et al., 2017 suggest biological pathways involved in attentional control (inattention and task-switching difficulty) may be a key factor in understanding the genetic overlap between these conditions

I hope this helps. Thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️

[sw33tm0urningl4mb]

Deep/Fun Questions to Ask!

Do you like watching sunsets?

Have you ever started a rumor?

What makes you laugh hard?

What's the last concert you went to?

If you believed in it, what would you be reincarnated to?

What's your current vocal stim?

What shirt are you wearing?

Who or what is on your mind?

What are your favorite pair of shoes?

What would easily win you over if someone gave you it?

What three words describe you?

What's a funny memory you have?

Do you have any drunk stories?

What's one thing you own that you're sure no one else has?

Do you have any superstitions?

What is your guilty pleasure?

What weird thing do you do when you're alone?

What is the worst food you've ever had?

What fictional character would you bring to life if you could?

If you could join a career immediately, what would it be?

What keeps you going during the day?

Current song on repeat?

Funniest inside joke?

What's your favorite piece of jewelry you own?

Favorite niche topic?

What fandom are you currently in?

Most controversial take?

Favorite ship and why?

Do you have any piercings or tattoos, and what are they?

What is your worst & best quality?

[ohno-wallace]

Sherlock & Co. fan art because we need more.

Please darling please listen to this podcast <3

[piercethedoll]

stretches 😇

[buddie-buddie]

Buck drums his fingers anxiously on the steering wheel of his Jeep, his left knee bouncing as he waits out the red light in front of him. His shift ended half an hour ago, but the tension in his shoulders hasn’t budged. He thought the drive across town to Tommy’s would help— windows down, music blaring— but it’s done nothing to quiet the anxiety buzzing beneath his skin.

The light turns green, and Buck presses the gas pedal a little too hard, the Jeep lurching forward. Driving through the quiet, tree-lined streets of Tommy’s neighborhood usually settles him, quiets his mind in the way that only the promise of strong arms and that warm, familiar smile can. But tonight, even the hum of crickets and the soft glow of porch lights can’t soothe the unease twisting in his gut.

He pulls up in front of Tommy’s house and sits for a moment, his hands resting on the wheel. He stares at the front door, watching as a couple of moths flutter around the porch light Tommy always leaves on for him. It’s something so small, yet it hits him right in the chest every time. It makes Buck’s skin flood with warmth, makes those three little words rise in his chest until he can practically taste them on the back of his tongue.

In every other relationship, those words felt like a lifeline— something he had to cling to, something that had to be said and something that had to be heard, just to make sure he wasn’t standing on shaky ground. He found himself constantly waiting for that reassurance, always needing to feel wanted. Even when the words came, they didn’t bring the safe, steady feeling he was so desperate for. Instead, they left him restless, chasing a sense of belonging that slipped through his fingers, no matter how tightly he held on.

It’s different with Tommy.

He doesn’t feel rushed, doesn’t feel pressured. He doesn’t feel like there’s a countdown ticking in the background, waiting for the moment those words will finally fall from his lips or Tommy’s. He’s content to let it be what it is, for as long as it takes.

Because with Tommy, it doesn’t have to be said. He can feel it.

He hears it in the quiet moments that hang between them on slow mornings, when they’re curled up together in bed, limbs tangled beneath the sheets, the world outside forgotten. He feels it when they’re in the car together, when Tommy’s left hand rests on the steering wheel and his right hand settles on Buck’s thigh like it belongs there.

It’s in the small, thoughtful things— like the porch light, glowing softly and guiding him home. It’s in the way Buck’s favorite coffee quietly appeared in Tommy’s cabinets, how his fancy, hard-to-find body wash showed up on the ledge in Tommy’s shower one day.

It’s in the way Tommy leans in close, steadying him when his mind runs too fast, grounding him without a word. How he always remembers the little things— like Buck’s complicated coffee order from the cafe down the street from the loft, or how he always wakes up thirsty in the middle of the night. 

It’s in the glass of water that’s always on the nightstand next to Buck’s side of the bed. It’s in the feel of Tommy’s hand on the small of Buck’s back when they’re out, a touch that says I’m here without needing to say anything at all. How, when Buck has had a hard day, Tommy makes space— quiet, gentle space— for him to just be, without asking for anything in return.

It’s in those little moments, tucked away between heartbeats and breaths, where words aren’t needed. 

Tommy leaves the porch light on. And even if they haven’t said as much yet, it feels like love, all the same. 

Buck leans his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes for a second, exhaling slowly through his nose. The knot of unease in his chest hasn’t disappeared, not entirely, but it’s loosened just enough for him to get a deep breath and turn the engine off. 

He finally gets out of the car, grabbing his bag from the passenger seat. He walks up the path to the front door, the sound of his boots quiet against the brick. The porch light casts a warm glow over everything, and Buck finds himself smiling, just a little.

Before he can dig out the key Tommy gave him a few weeks ago, the door swings open, and there’s Tommy— hair mussed, barefoot, wearing one of his old threadbare t-shirts that’s too soft for its own good. Buck’s heart unclenches just a little. 

“Did they let you out early for good behavior?” Tommy says by way of greeting, his mouth curling into that little lopsided smirk Buck loves so much. He steps to the side, his back against the open door to let Buck through.

“Oh, you have no idea,” Buck mutters, pausing as he steps inside to meet Tommy’s lips in a soft kiss. While Gerrard didn’t technically let him out early, it was the first time in the last few weeks that he didn’t approach Buck in the last twenty minutes of the shift to saddle him with a ridiculously tedious task–– the kind that takes at least an hour–– and tell him he wasn’t to leave until it was finished. Which meant that Buck actually left the station on time for the first time in the better part of a month. 

“Hi, baby,” Tommy murmurs against Buck’s lips.

Buck exhales, the tension in his chest loosening just a bit as he leans into Tommy, chasing the kiss for a moment longer. His hands come to rest lightly on Tommy’s hips, grounding himself in the familiar feel of his steady, solid warmth.

“Hi,” he whispers back, his voice low and tired. He lingers there, forehead pressed gently against Tommy’s, letting the moment stretch between them. 

Tommy pulls back slightly, his thumb brushing along Buck’s jaw in a way that feels like both a comfort and a promise. “Rough shift?”

“Uh,” Buck toes his sneakers off, leaving them beside the door next to Tommy’s boots. “Weird one,” he says, trying and failing to suppress the weariness that pulls at the corners of his voice.

He lets his bag drop to the floor beside his shoes as Tommy turns to close the door with a quiet click. Buck watches as he locks up and flips the porch light off, a quiet confirmation of Buck’s suspicions that Tommy turns it on for him, a 60-watt beacon guiding him here, guiding him home.

The realization settles deep in Buck’s chest, spreading warmth through him like a slow-burning fire. He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of being cared for like this— so subtly, so consistently, without any sort of fanfare or obligation. It’s not something he had to ask for or fight to get. It’s just here, waiting for him.

Buck swallows hard, the tight knot of exhaustion and frustration from his shift loosening just a little more. Tommy catches the look on Buck’s face, his expression softening as he steps back into Buck’s space.

“C’mon,” Tommy murmurs, his hand finding the small of Buck’s back, the same familiar touch that grounds him every time. 

Buck leans into the touch, letting Tommy steer him toward the couch. He slumps onto it, dropping his head into his hands with a low sigh. Tommy sits beside him, close enough that their knees bump, but doesn’t say anything else. He’s good at that— letting the silence sit until Buck is ready to speak.  

“Gerrard hugged me,” Buck blurts out, his hands tugging at his hair. 

Tommy goes still for a second, and then— “He hugged you?” There’s disbelief in his tone, and when Buck lifts his head to meet Tommy’s eyes, he sees that crooked smirk forming again, fighting to stay serious.

“That’s not even the worst part,” Buck mutters, voice tight with frustration. “He— He told me he’s gonna take me ‘under his wing.’” He tears his hand from his hair long enough to make air quotes around Gerrard’s words.

Tommy blinks. Then snorts.  

“Under his wing?” Tommy echoes. “That’s where all the love and joy of life go to die.”  

Buck huffs out a laugh. He leans back against the couch cushions, his hands falling to his lap. “You’re not helping.”  

“I’m not trying to help yet,” Tommy replies, smirking again. He nudges Buck’s knee with his own. “I’m trying to make you laugh so you don’t spiral. Looks like I’m halfway there.”  

Buck shakes his head, but the small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth anyway.  

“Okay, seriously,” Tommy continues, his voice softening. “What happened?”  

Buck sighs, letting his head fall back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “I– I don’t know. He had us line up at the start of shift. Went down the line and was his… usual self to everyone else. And then he got to me and– and…” Buck’s voice trails off, discomfort curling in his gut as he relives the moment. “He– He told me I saved his life and then he hugged me.” He drags his hands down his face. “And now, suddenly, I’m his pet project.”  

Tommy’s brow furrows. “He really hugged you?”

Buck makes a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh. “Yeah. A hug. Not, like, a friendly slap on the back, but a full-body, completely awkward, get-in-here-son hug. You should’ve seen everyone else’s faces. I thought Eddie was going to keel over.”  

Tommy lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “That’s... something.” He leans back, resting an arm along the top of the couch behind Buck. His fingers slip into Buck’s hair, running through his curls as the silence hangs between them. Buck relaxes into the touch, tipping his head toward Tommy, leaning into the warmth and steadiness of his hand.

“Under his wing,” Buck mutters again, almost to himself. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“It means you’re officially his new favorite. Congratulations, babe. You’ve leveled up.”

“Oh, yeah. Lucky me,” Buck deadpans, dragging his hands down his face. “Just what I’ve always wanted—mentorship from a guy who makes my skin crawl.”

Tommy lets out a soft chuckle, his fingers still threading gently through Buck’s curls. The silence between them stretches, comfortable but charged, like Tommy is waiting, watching, reading Buck the way he always does. The humor fades from his face, replaced by something softer, more careful. “Okay,” Tommy murmurs after a moment, his fingers brushing lightly along the nape of Buck’s neck. “What’s really going on?”

Buck freezes for a second, caught between wanting to say it and wanting to shove it down. Tommy always has this way of coaxing things out of him without even trying. He approaches him with equal parts gentleness and insistence, like peeling back layers until Buck has no choice but to lay it all bare.

“It’s nothing,” Buck tries, voice thin.

“Evan.” Tommy’s voice is low, steady, patient. His thumb sweeps a slow circle against the back of Buck’s neck. “Talk to me.”

Buck blows out a breath, frustrated more with himself than anything. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, running a hand through his hair as if it might shake the thoughts loose.

“I don’t even know that I meant to save him,” Buck admits, his voice tight. “I can’t... I can’t tell if I pushed him because I heard the blade, or if I just— snapped.”

Tommy stays quiet for a beat, letting the weight of Buck’s words settle between them. His hand doesn’t leave the back of Buck’s neck, fingers still working in soothing circles. “Maybe it’s both.”

“Both?” Buck glances at him, brow furrowed. 

“Yeah.” Tommy shrugs, his expression steady but kind, his gaze warm with quiet understanding. “You’re not exactly known for your patience, Evan. But that doesn’t mean your instincts aren’t solid. Maybe you snapped, and maybe you also saved his miserable life at the same time. Those things don’t cancel each other out.”  

Buck lets the words sink in, his jaw tightening as he rolls them over in his mind. He exhales slowly, the tight knot in his chest loosening just a bit. “I– I don’t know. I keep thinking, what if– what if it wasn’t instinct? What if it was just... me losing control?”

Tommy’s thumb strokes a slow path along the back of Buck’s neck, and he leans in even closer, their foreheads almost touching. “You’re human,” Tommy says, his voice gentle. “You get angry. You hit your limit. But you wouldn’t have let him die, even if you wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Buck huffs out a wet laugh, shaky but real. “I definitely wanted to knock his teeth out.”

Tommy grins, brushing a kiss against Buck’s temple. “Rightfully so.”

Buck closes his eyes for a moment, letting himself sink into the warmth of Tommy’s presence, the steadiness of his voice, the way his hand stays firm and reassuring on the back of his neck.

“I just don’t want him anywhere near me,” Buck admits, well aware of how petulant and childish he sounds— and yet, he doesn’t care. Something about Tommy makes it easy for Buck to drop the mask he wears everywhere else, to let the frustration and helplessness spill out without fear of judgment. With Tommy, he doesn’t have to be composed or tough all the time; he can just be— messy, tired, and human. Tommy’s presence is like a safety net, one that will catch him no matter how ridiculous he sounds or how tangled his emotions get.

“I don’t know how I’m going to survive this,” Buck mumbles, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“You will,” Tommy says without hesitation. “Keep your head down, lean on all of us who’ve got your back, and wait him out. He's going to burn out or screw up sooner or later. You’ve just gotta outlast him.”  

Buck huffs a tired, bitter laugh. “I’m not good at keeping my head down.”

“I know,” Tommy murmurs, his lips brushing the top of Buck’s hair in a soft, steadying touch. “But you’re good at the important stuff— like saving people. Even assholes who don’t deserve it.”

Buck closes his eyes, leaning into Tommy, the familiar weight of his hand still resting on the back of Buck’s neck. The knot in his chest loosens just a little more, the tension in his shoulders easing just a bit under the warmth of Tommy’s words. “Yeah, well... maybe I’m getting tired of being good at that.”

Tommy’s arms tighten around him, pulling Buck closer. “That’s okay, too,” Tommy says simply. His voice is barely louder than a whisper, low and steady and full of quiet, unwavering conviction. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to carry all of it by yourself.”

Buck closes his eyes, sinking deeper into Tommy’s embrace. This time, when those three little words rest on the tip of his tongue, he doesn’t swallow them down. Even though he knows they won’t ever be enough, he can’t think of anywhere better to start. 

“I love you,” Buck whispers, the words slipping out like an exhale, simple and unforced.

For a moment, Tommy stays perfectly still, as if letting the words settle between them. Then, slowly, a smile curves against Buck’s temple. 

Tommy presses a kiss to the top of Buck’s birthmark, soft and reverent. “I love you, too.” 

And just like that, everything feels lighter. Not perfect. Not fixed. But it’s enough.

It’s quiet between them, the kind of silence Buck used to hate. The kind he used to scramble to fill with words, desperate to bridge the gaps. But here, in Tommy’s arms, the silence feels different. It feels easy. It feels safe. 

It feels like home.

also on ao3

[cubbihue]

If Timmy struggled with adjusting to magic because he was raised on earth, does that mean this is the reason Peri also struggles? Since in his early years he grew up on earth with his parents?

Yup! There's a multitude of reasons why Peri struggles so much, but they all lie in his origins. Peri was born from a wish! And Wishes, well. They're not meant to last long. Most wishes become unstable as the years go by, but Peri's persisted because he's an entire living being!

CosWan initially feared Peri wouldn't grow up properly, but he turned out nearly as fine as any other Fairy would! Probably!!

Growing up on Earth, being related to the VonStrangles, born from a 10 year old's wish, living past the lifespan of wishes, beyond that of humans... Each part is rather small, but when added together, it culminates into a very... very unstable baby.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

Instability: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

[bigfatbimbo]

holyyyy shitttt I’ve never run into a writing blog I agree with so much! refusal to write dom!male characters? you’re speaking my language here, seriously! the sub bill fic/concept was so godly too actually what the fuck?????

despite that ��� I actually came here to speak about Stanford lol. I’d just be so curious to hear any thoughts you have on sub! ford really, whether hcs, a drabble, or just you going on a general little rant over how you think he’d be like. sorry if this is too vague!!!

a/n — anon, your so real!! I literally cannot write dom!male characters without getting icked out — also i’m glad you liked the bill fic!

warnings — dom!reader, sub!ford, gender-neutral reader, mentions of various kinks

summary — [SMUT] headcanons of reader and sub!Ford

ᯓ★ I genuinely do not know why people would be think this man doms, he is such a bottom.

ᯓ★ He has very little experience, maybe he got lucky at a party in college or met a hot alien during his time in the portal, but he might as well be a virgin.

ᯓ★ He’d probably be very nervous your first time together, fumbling taking his clothes off, not knowing where to start.

ᯓ★ His confidence has come along way but he’s still a nerd at heart, and he’d get flustered so easily.

ᯓ★ His praise kink would be so unmatched.

ᯓ★ Call him good and smart while talking him through it, he deals with so many high tension situations, he’d love you to be soft with him.

ᯓ★ “Pretty boy” would ruin him. After being bullied for being a freak all his life, even if he is genuinely over it now, it’s still be jarring to be praised for his looks.

ᯓ★ He would literally feel such a relief when you tell him you’d be leading, like “ah, yes. perhaps that’s.. a good idea.”

ᯓ★ Ford is probably immensely touch-starved after everything he’s been through. He’d want you to touch him literally everywhere.

ᯓ★ He would probably be pretty vanilla, anything to crazy would freak him out.

ᯓ★ Not a fan of degradation, where is the pleasure in being openly mocked by a loved one?

ᯓ★ After a little bit, he would probably feel bad for making you do all the work, so he’d try to do things for you to make it up to you.

ᯓ★ However, only to realize he wants constant reassurance while doing that too. Even when he’s fingering you and treating you nice, a ‘good boy’ every now and then would make him fold.

ᯓ★ And it’s probably always deserved too.. He’s a genius and a scientist, it’s not crazy to say he knows a thing or two about anatomy. Things to enhance your pleasure.

ᯓ★ Would love pegging, probably already knows about it, but you’d still have to ask first. And even then he’d be incredibly nervous and not masking it well.

ᯓ★ Probably cannot go for a long time or do that many rounds. Look, he’s old… I don’t know what you people expect when you’re into a 60+ year old man.

ᯓ★ Will always help out during aftercare no matter how tired out he is. Even if you insist he rest, he’ll still get you glass of water at the very least.

[maiiuelle]

˚❀˚

rafe can’t handle it when you cry. he’s a problem solver at heart, and if something is bothering you, in his eyes it’s his responsibility to fix it. he was on a business call when you burst through the front doors of tannyhill, cheeks already stained with tears as your kitten heels click through the house. “rafe?” you call, sniffling and desperate to find him.

he hears you, attention shifting from his meeting to you. rafe is used to your dramatics, but something about your tone sets off alarm bells in his head. he gets up from his desk, cutting off the investor on the other line. “hey — hey man, i hate to do this to you, but could you just give me one second? somethin’ just came up.” he puts the call on hold and shoves his phone in his pocket before they can protest, and just in time for you to walk through his office doors. you’re a mess, shivering with mascara running wildly down your flushed cheeks. rafe’s forehead creases in concern, rushing around his desk to meet you where you’re standing so you can throw yourself into his arms.

“woah — woah, baby. breathe for me, alright?” rafe’s voice is soft but demanding, and he pulls away when you don’t respond, placing his warm hands on your upper arms to steady you. “hey — tell me what’s goin’ on.”

you suck in a few shaky breaths, whining and pawing at your eyes. you’re already so upset, and trying to condense your frustration into any sort of coherent answer has you even more overwhelmed. you just shake your head, more tears welling up in your eyes. “i don’t know! everything is going wrong.”

“okay, listen to me. you have to breathe.” he leans down to your level, commanding more of your attention as he brings one hand to wipe your tears. rafe knows you’re a sensitive girl, sweet and delicate — it’s one of the things he likes the most about you. as much as he hates seeing you upset, he does love being your knight in shining armor. “what do you mean going wrong? what’s going wrong, princess?”

you finally take a deep breath, wet eyelashes fluttering. it really is everything. you offered to plan a surprise birthday party for one of your friends at the country club, but now that you also have to start organizing your plans for midsummers, you don’t know when you’re going to organize it — and soon enough, tourist season is going to make work at the golf club impossible. the icing on top is that rafe has been busy all day, barely even texting you between meetings, and you really missed him.

all of it comes out in a jumbled string of sobs until you finish with a deep sigh, lip still wobbling as your watery puppy-dog eyes bore into his. “alright.” rafe starts, letting go of you now that you’ve settled a little. “tell you what, i’ll help you out with the shit for midsummers. we can head out to the mainland tomorrow and get you a nice dress, yeah?” he pauses to make sure you’re following, and you nod with a sniffle — already feeling a little better with a promised shopping trip. “and, baby — i know you can handle a little party planning. n’if you need me to, i got no problem pulling a few strings to get you a nice reservation, okay, but for now — you’ve gotta relax. go take a nice bath and wait for me, alright? i have to take this.” rafe pulls his phone from his pocket again, the screen lighting up with the call still on hold. he brings his free hand up to wipe your remaining tears, followed by a gentle kiss pressed to your forehead. “you’re alright, princess — i’ll be right there.”

the whole ordeal has your head spinning, one second you’re flying off the handle with anxiety and now you feel light as a feather. but that’s why you came to tannyhill in the first place, knowing rafe would know just what to do to fix your terrible mood.

˚❀˚