how do you cure

you know what I hate about having a permanent illness, both physical and mental, is the balancing act between looking after yourself and accepting the realities of living with illness. like, you know you should do the ‘right’ things like eating well and having a good sleeping pattern and whatever, but you also know that no matter what you do or how hard you try you’ll probably never be able to cure yourself. it just feels really cruel, like the constant guilt of ‘this is all my fault’ vs. the despondency of ‘what the fuck is the point’

advice for people in school, taking notes

yo, since it’s that time of year, here’s my unsolicited advice on how to take notes. it’s primarily for college or high school folks but i suppose anyone who is in a positive to take notes could use this.

here’s the advice:

make your notes as CASUAL as possible. by which i mean, put them in your voice, make them funny, use memes, write out information as if you were texting it to your friend, curse!, use everyday phrases and weird internet speak, relate it to your life if possible!, fucking hashtag that shit, relate it to things you like, write out academic articles like they are just Drama happening to your friends, etc etc– do this in class and when doing the readings and when making studying guides for tests!!

even if you are taking notes on the reading and you have NO IDEA what is going on (real talk: im doing reading for my english masters right now and i have NO IDEA what this man is saying), try to get the basic gist or even if you can tell the writer feels negatively or positively towards a particular subject, WRITE THAT SHIT DOWN. 

Here are honest to god, some examples from my notes right now:

  • I have literally no idea what this man is saying– it seems to be something about God?– the difference between learning stuff just for the sake of learning and learning stuff to make order and sense and “find God” 
  • Culture is the study of perfection and goes beyond religion because we make up religion and culture is about more than us?? its possible that’s what this dude is saying. i give it a 60-40 shot.
  • will he ever writer a sentence shorter than 8 lines long??? #probablynot
  • I am not totally convinced by his culture= perfection argument but then again that could be the exact opposite of what he’s saying. 
  • “Another newspaper, representing, like the Nonconformist, one of the religious organisations of this country, was a short time ago giving an account of the crowd at Epsom on the Derby day, and of all the vice and hideousness which was to be seen in that crowd; and then the writer turned suddenly round upon Professor Huxley, and asked him how he proposed to cure all this vice and hideousness without religion. I confess I felt disposed to ask the asker this question: And how do you propose to cure it with such a religion as yours? How is the ideal of a life so unlovely, so unattractive, so narrow, so far removed from a true and satisfying ideal of human perfection, as is the life of your religious organisation as you yourself image it, to conquer and transform all this vice and hideousness?” 10 – I mean i do fuck with this part tho
  • He’s at Oxford. Fucking loves Oxford. On Oxford’s dick

the point is, i clearly don’t really know what’s going on, but hopefully the professor will clue me in and i’ll at least have some idea of what he said by the end of it. plus just writing your notes in a fun casual way is going to make reading back over them SO much more enjoyable and memorable! (there’s science to back this up but i gotta finish this work so no time to fact check myself now just trust me)

alright, advice over. good luck with school dudes!

[OH Also, if you write a direct quote in your notes– ALWAYS WRITE THE PAGE NUMBER. you’ll need that shit if you use it in a paper.]

Had an acute desire to put Kaiba together with an army of furry/cute DM that I had to do something about

Naturia decks are so op in Duel Links lols, insanely cheap to put together and mow things down like no tomorrow <3 but whenever I envision Kaiba with an army of puppy-eyed garden critter/florafauna I’m like *dies of cute attack*

(Kaiba: I f*king miss my dragons)

(Kaiba+mountain of Kuribohs might come on my next fix _(:3/L)_ in case anyone’s interested)

(since as furry and deceptively Kuriboh-related as Marrons look, they would probably hurt to cuddle)

why go with ‘the mages rebellion let all the dangerous people out in the streets and even though they were just defending themselves from templars attacking, their fire got 13 people killed all of them orphaned children’ when you can

  • an old enchanter who has not seen their younger siblings for decades and finally returning home and to his family and finding out that he has grand nephews and cousins
  • a mage who stops by to heal a wounded farmer who has taken a fall and for the first time in their lives feeling like their magic is not a curse 
  • a young apprentice who, for the first time in their lives, has felt grass and wet soil beneath their bare feet instead of stone floors of their tower, the rainfall and the sea breeze
  • a teenage mage who hasn’t had a good night’s sleep ever since they started worrying about the Harrowing and Tranquility, finally getting a night of dreamless sleep without the fear of being taken away in the night (not again)
  • a quiet mage who has always had to watch her words and her mouth in fear that someone would pick it apart, brand her maleficar, use it against her, finally being able to say what she wants, and actually being the loudest of all her friends with a mouth foul enough to shame sailors
  • young mage children who are afraid to go out of the little cottage they’ve been taken in, being enticed to hide and seek by the local non-mage children, exploring new places and woods, so much bigger than the world they were used to, the enchanter being in charge of them taking in the local friends because what is another child who she can teach letters to?
  • a recently harrowed mage who is fascinated by all different kind of foods, espcially roasts and cured meats, so much flavor, how do you guys cook without fire magic?

Here’s to the people suffering from conditions that primarily affect women and people designated female at birth. There probably could have been a cure or more effective and humane treatment discovered 80 years ago, but sexism happened and people threw up their hands and said “what do  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.”

Keep fighting the good fight for awareness and recognition. Your struggle matters and is deserving of more than a brush-off of “that’s how life is.”

Dear non-autistics,

Just because we complain about the difficulties that come with being autistic doesn’t mean we want a “cure”. 

Do you complain about how light skin burns so easily because you want a cure for being white? Do you complain about police brutality against people of colour because you want a cure for being darker-skinned?


So why would you assume we complain about autism because we want to “cure” a part of who we are? 

Being autistic is just a much a part of who someone is as their skin colour.

Of course we bitch about it. We’re human

Whining is humanity’s unofficial universal pastime. If it’s summer, we whine about the heat. As soon as it gets cold we whine about that too. 

It’s like when you wish your skin was lighter so you were less discriminated  against or wish your skin was darker so you didn’t burn as much; you might say that it’s what you want, but if you were to actually wake up tomorrow with a different skin shade I’ll bet you’d feel like part of your identity was taken from you.

Then there’s the reason why we complain. 

We don’t bemoan the trials of being autistic because autism makes our life hard. 

We complain about the trials of being autistic because non-autistic society makes our life hard.

We live in a world designed solely for non-autistics and which is unwilling to make even minor adjustments to accommodate us.

There’s tons of tiny little things that can be done that has little to no effect on you but to us makes a world of difference, but society just can’t be bothered.

Y’all have nearly unanimously decided that we’re not worth caring about. And that’s what we’re complaining about.

When we complain about autism the problem we’re complaining about isn’t us

It’s you.

* Some examples of simple things you could do:

- Not telling an autistic person that they’re using their autism “as an excuse” for not being able to do something or for doing something you don’t like (e.g. being overly clumsy, fidgeting, stimming, not making eye contact, etc)

- Not judging us for quietly stimming when we need to (playing with fidget/stress toys, biting our chewy jewelry, playing with our fingers, etc)

- Not calling us “broken” because we’re different than you and we don’t meet your expectations.

- Not calling people who murder their autistic kids a “guardian angel” and “good parent”

- Not giving a parent who has murdered their kid a platform on tv to argue about how killing their perfectly healthy kid was “euthanasia”.

- Not treating non-verbal autistics like they’re dumb and  incapable of functioning.

- Not saying “I sometimes think about killing my child” near your child. We all can hear and understand everything you’re saying, regardless of whether we can vocalize a response. When you say “sometimes I think about killing my child” near your kid you just told your kid that you fantasize about killing them.

- Not treating autism like a disease. It’s a harmless genetic variation. We don’t  “suffer” from autism and we’re don’t “have” autism. We ARE autistic. That’s like saying we “have whiteness”.

- Listening to autistics when they say that groups like Autism Speaks are hate groups and that they don’t speak for us.

- Supporting autism societies run by autistics.

- Not firing us for being autistic.

- Not placing fully capable 30 year old adults in a home for seniors with dementia just because they have autism.

- Not calling autism an “epidemic”. It’s not a disease. It’s been around for millennia, the rise in diagnoses is because we’re starting to understand more about it.

I could go on, but I think you catch my drift.

  • Lars: Also Sadie is feeling... under the weather. And this is one of the few activities I can do without her.
  • Steven: Under the weather?
  • Connie: Lady sickness. My mom gets that all the time.
  • Steven: How do you cure it?
  • Connie: Edge closer to death.
Chicken Soup - Requested

Sam Holland x Reader

Words: 1,406

Requested by: anonymous

“Can you do an imagine where the reader is sam’s girlfriend and he’s taking care of her when she’s sick? xx”

Hi there! Just a little story: I guess I wasn’t reading the request so well because when I was writing it, it was the other way around? Like it was Sam who was sick and the reader was taking care of him? I might post it idk? I THINK I’VE WRITTEN THIS HORRIBLY but, I hope you like it! REQUESTS ARE CLOSED FOR NOW. SORRY!

(Harry’s BTS vid for “Roses for Lily” fucked me up so baaaad.. They’re so cuteeee) (Sam pls take care of me)



The word was just three goddamn letters but it would take a whole lot more than three fucking letters to fully and appropriately describe the absolute discomfort you were feeling. You couldn’t smell, couldn’t taste, your entire body felt like it was being exposed to subzero conditions, and your head felt like Thor himself was taking whacks at it with his Mjolnir.

“I love death and dying.” you sighed as you hugged a pillow close to your chest

Your boyfriend and an absolute angel, Sam, was lying next to you on your bed. He’d been waiting on your hand and foot the entire day. He just shook his head at what you said and held your hand, playing with your fingers.

“Anything you need, my love?” he asked you, his deep voice was like velvet, rich and smooth. Oh, you just loved it.

“You’re so beautiful, Sam Anthony.” you told him in all seriousness

He tried his hardest not to laugh but the exaggerated lovestruck way you were looking at him was too much. Sam chuckled and kissed you on your forehead, he immediately felt your burning temperature.

“Christ, Y/N! You’re burning up, Jesus Christ, wait here.” he immediately shot out of your bed and rushed to your bathroom

“Wait, Sam, don’t leave meee.” you reached for him but your arms just met thin air

Your fever was climbing steadily, it was making you delirious. Or maybe not that delirious, at least that’s what the fishes swimming in front of you were saying. Beautiful, colourful fishes swimming in crystalline water right in front of your eyes.

“Pretty, pretty fishies.” you beamed, reaching a hand out to touch them

Sam emerged from your bathroom, a wet washcloth in his hand. He stopped dead in his tracks as he saw you almost drunkenly poking thin air, dread filled his senses as he approached you.

“Love?” he called out to you apprehensively

He sat down on your bed and slowly shook your shoulder. Your glazed over eyes met his worried green ones, he gave you a tight smile. Sam was a little scared, he’d never seen you so out of it before.

“Sammy!” you squealed albeit weakly

“Hi, love. Hold still, please.” he gently placed the damp washcloth on your forehead

The cool sensation against your burning forehead made you sigh. The fishes swimming in your vision dissolved into your boyfriend’s anxious expression.

“Are you okay, Sam?” you asked him. Your initial delirium was beginning to fade, a disoriented feeling washing over you.

“Y/N, you’re the one who’s burning up here and you’re asking me if I’m okay?” he shook his head at you, placing a hand on top of the washcloth. Sam wished that the added pressure would just suck your fever away.

“I feel cold.” you mumbled weakly. The sound of your raspy voice just about broke Sam’s heart.

In the three years you two had been together, you never got sick. Three years and no sick days, you can see why Sam has grown accustomed to seeing you in perfect health. Whereas Sam, well, he occasionally had the sniffles, strep throat, that time he got the chickenpox was particularly difficult.

But you were the one who nursed him through all that, you took such good care of him (you just couldn’t control all of his scratching when he had the chickenpox so they left some scars on his face, but they blended in with his freckles). He always got better rather quickly. See, when you looked at it from that standpoint, you could confidently say that you were the one who always cared for Sam when he was sick.

Now though, you were sick and it was Sam’s job to take care of you, that was all he wanted to do really. He wanted to take care of you as well as you have cared for him.

“You know what my mum always makes for me when I have the flu, Y/N?” he tried to ignore the way his voice faltered as he watched a shiver pass through your body. Sam secured more blankets and wrapped them around you.

“Chicken soup, my love.” he continued, “It cures a multitude of ills and reaches deep into your soul.”

“Sam. What the fuck?” you may have been a little out of it earlier but there was no doubt in your mind that that statement right there, was just about the weirdest fucking thing that Sam has ever said.

“Too much?” Sam asked, smiling at you while stroking your hair

You nodded, rolling your eyes. He smiled wider, seeing you act like your normal self was comforting. At least you weren’t sick enough to dismiss his weirdness. He got up from your bed and bowed gentlemanly.

“My lady, I’m off in pursuit of chicken soup. I suggest you stay in bed and keep that on your head.”

The unintended rhyme he made caused you to giggle which turned into coughing fits. He rushed over to you to rub your back.

“Take it easy, Y/N. I’ll be right back.”

With a heavy sigh, he left your room. Why couldn’t you get better already? He hated seeing you in such a vulnerable state, he just wanted to hear you laugh, not cough until your chest ached.

Sam went into your kitchen and found a can of chicken soup in your cupboard. He opened it and jiggled the glutinous substance out of its can, the plop it made as it hit the bottom of the pot made Sam wrinkle his freckled nose. He stirred it around and added a glass of water, he was satisfied once it started to actually resemble soup.

He poured the finished product into a bowl and made his way back to you.

Thankfully, as he entered your room, you weren’t trying to grasp thin air again. Instead, you were sound asleep. How he wished he didn’t have to wake you up, but you had to eat and drink your medicine after.

Sam gently placed the bowl on your bedside table, he placed a tender hand on your cheek and pressed a soft kiss on your lips. Sleeping Beauty had nothing on you, you didn’t have to wait a hundred years nor did Sam have to fight some malevolent dragon. You had your own Prince Phillip right there, no curses, no spinning wheels required.

Your eyes fluttered open and you smiled at your knight in grey sweater.

“My hero.” you whispered, taking in the sight of him

“Oh no, Y/N. Is the delirium coming back?” he asked you as he helped you lean against your headboard, propping your back up with pillows

You watched as Sam moved around your room with ease, turning the AC temperature up, gathering wayward pieces of clothing strewn on your floor. Finally, he picked up the bowl filled with piping hot chicken soup and sat next to you.

He lifted a spoonful to his beautiful lips and blew on it carefully, the sight of it made you feel all warm inside. Once the spoonful had cooled down to match Sam’s standards of appropriate soup temperature, he held it out to you.

You took a grateful sip, letting the savoury flavour linger in your mouth before swallowing, it felt like a soothing salve on your scratched up throat.

“Good?” Sam asked, noticing just a bit of colour return to your cheeks. He felt like he could give himself several congratulatory pats on the back.

“Yes. Very.”

He couldn’t help but grin, words couldn’t even describe how good Sam was feeling. “I told you chicken soup cures a multitude of ills.” he told you, holding out another spoonful to you

You took the spoon from him and put it back in the bowl. Moving closer to him, you placed your hands on both his speckled cheeks. Did he even know what a great job he was doing?

“I think you’re the cure, Sam.”

How you still managed to make him blush like a schoolboy, he will never figure out.

“It’s the chicken soup, my love.” he tried to brush off the butterflies in his stomach but the rosy tint in his cheeks could not be ignored.

“It’s you.”

“You silly girl.” Sam pressed his lips against yours, letting his warmth spread through you. The euphoria you felt as he kissed you was slowly but surely defeating any sickness you felt.

Oh, he was definitely the cure.

hemansbobcut  asked:

I really want to draw Ravus smiling or laughing. Like completely losing it over something dumb the dogs did or something. Do you have any headcanons on how his features change while he's smiling? Any micro expressions or details like dimples or how much his eyes close?


  • Ravus Nox Fleuret’s probably got a subtle and hidden smile that very few people have seen. But when they do see it, the light in the heavens shine down upon him while angels weep.
  • Okay, perhaps not that dramatic, but he honestly does have a pleasant smile.
  • Tiny corners for his lips curl up first before he slowly flashes a brighter smile that showcases his pearly whites.
  • But he always tries to cover it, hand coming up with fingers curling over to conceal his growing smile.
  • Probably has dimples that are prominent when he grins in particular, but it’s not as apparent with small smirks and curls of his lips.
  • His cheekbones probably rise up too when he smiles, causing his eyes to squint the slightest bit that only makes his smile and expression glow even more.
  • And his tiny freckles over his face makes his smile all the more humble and pleasant.
  • He hates smiling though, and has to turn away when he does it, hanging his gaze because he doesn’t smile or laugh often, so he thinks it’s an annoyance to others and himself – kinda sad really.
  • But when he laughs, he tries his damnedest not to laugh loudly, having to cover his mouth with the back or side of his hand as he gives out a gross snicker.
  • He chuckles from the throat more, light and gentle like a tiny harmony.
  • And when he gets going on his laugh, he snorts. He hates it, but it was a habit he never quite grew out of, or found a way to master.
  • Whenever he’s done laughing, he clears his throat, presses his knuckles to his brow as if to relax his face, and presses his lips tight together to hide whatever trace of a smile or laugh he just did.
  • Nobody saw that, he hoped. But smiling and laughing was definitely something enjoyable, for it is rare when it happens. 
Rock, Paper, Scissors - Jim Kirk

Summary: Leonard has a date, you have a date, one of you needs to work. The most fair game Jim could think of ensues.

Warnings: language

A/N: a silly little fic about friends.

You were hoping Leonard had changed his mind by now. But, just in case he hadn’t, you took a deep breath— deep enough to allow every corner of your lungs to sting with the most sterile of scents— and smiled in the brightest way you knew how as you stepped into his favorite exam room.

He glanced at you, raising an eyebrow before he looked back down at his PADD. Wordlessly.

You cleared your throat, flashing him that attempt at a brilliant smile once more. Wordlessly.

Finally, he snorted. He set his hands against the edge of the counter he stood at and narrowed tired hazel eyes at you. “There a reason I can see all thirty-two of your teeth, sugar?”

Your cheeks grew more sore with each passing second, but you kept that smile intact like your life depended on it. “How are you doing today, Len? Did those beautiful hazels cure all my patients with just a glance in their direction?”

He crossed his arms over his chest and turned so he could face you entirely, he leant his side against the counter and raised his dark eyebrows. “What do you want?”

“Why is it that whenever I’m nice to you, you think it means I want something?” you asked, crossing your own arms over your chest and raising your own eyebrows. You nodded upwards. “You really that insecure, Len? Are you really that sus—”

“What do you want?” he pressed, his Southern accented voice louder than before while a smile contradictorily played at his lips. “Make it quick.”

Keep reading


found these super old sketches while cleaning out some ancient folders.. probably shouldnt post these lol but then for some reason posting stuff always makes it feel more like closure lol. clickthrough for descr.



Request: hii! idk if you take requests for stiles, but could you do one where the reader has liked Issac a while but he doesn’t feel the same, so stiles goes to comfort her and ends up accidentally gushing his feelings for her. thank you! <3 

warnings: just fluff, more fluff, kisses, and fluff.

gif cred @lovemusiclifexx


They had been sitting in the clustered little cafe around half an hour, but she still hadn’t brought a finger to her mug of cocoa. She sat with her legs folded to her chest, black jeans skinny and tattered, a comfy over sized white sweater drooping around her front. Her hair fell in tangled waves around her face, and her bright eyes bore intently into the marshmallows floating atop the surface of her drink.

“Hey, earth to (Y/N),” Stiles snapped after the fourth time of trying to get her attention.

“Wha-sorry,” she shook her head, blinking away her stars and raising her eyes to Stiles’ bright coppery brown ones.

He leaned forward a little in his big green sofa chair, his blue flannel hung loosely around his shoulders. He took a deep breath, his lips parting as he blinked, “you’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“Am not,” she fired back defensively, her cheeks flaring up.

“Oh come on sweet cheeks, you haven’t touched your cocoa in thirty minutes, and that stuff is usually a cure to anything for you,” he chuckled.

“How do you know that?” she stammered, arms folding.

“Because I know you,” he smiled. His little dimples arose on his cute cheeks, his bright eyes crinkling as he watched her response intently.

She sat quiet for a minute, toying with a string on her sweater, “am I good enough?” she asked at last.

Stiles gaped, taken a back, “obviously, what, why?!”

“Well because apparently he doesn’t think so,” she pouted, lower lip jutting out.

“Ugh, Isaac? That guy? Really?” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Hey, don’t say it like that,” she huffed.

“Well I’m sure you have better taste than in sunshine haired werewolf boys with commitment issues,” Stiles leaned back in his chair, tapping his foot against the polished wooden floorboards.

“Stiles,” she warned.

“Right, sorry, sorry!” he raised his hands in defeat, tilting his chin to the ceiling, where golden lights came trickling down from strings.

“You say it like you know better,” she teased, “do you?”

His eyes flickered back to hers, “maybe.”

Her hands wrapped around her big red mug as she took a sip of her not so hot drink, the chocolate making her feel bubbly and good just like Stiles knew it would. 

“Enlighten me,” she smiled.

“Oookay,” Stiles ran his slender fingers absentmindedly through his messy brown hair. “I think there’s someone out there who really cares for you, like a lot, like you’re their whole world,” his voice lowered seriously. “I think he loves how your laugh sounds, and he just wants to hear it all the time, to know you’re happy and that he can give you everything you deserve.”

He finished quietly, his eyes burning holes into the oak table and basically looking anywhere except at hers. He breathed in the scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm pastries, his heart doing flips. The cafe was practically empty by this point, and they were the last two to be sat in the cozy back room.

“Mm,” she contemplated, setting down her mug when he finished. “Now where do you think my mystery man is, Mr. Stilinski?” she beamed.

“Probably closer than you think,” he tried weakly.

She stared at him for a good few seconds, eyes flickering up and down her friend with interest, and then she burst out in a fit of giggles.

“What?” stiles chuckled, throat rumbling from the sight of her sinking into her laughter with little wheezes for air.

“Phew, you got me for a second there,” she snorted. “Oh god,” she covered her face like she always did when she ugly laughed, but Stiles just grinned. He loved her ugly laugh.

“What?” he said again.

“Oh nothing,” she bent forward in her chair and placed her palm to Stiles’ knee, “it was a good act though.”

“Act?” Stiles pondered, buzzing with electricity from where she touched him.

“Well you know, Stiles the nerdy goofball, lecturing me on love? Yeah right,” she winked.

“Heyy,” Stiles said with mock hurt, the butterflies in his stomach dying down, “you’d be surprised how knowledgeable I am in that area.”

“Oh please, the farthest you’ve managed is a high school crush, and lord knows she’s not going anywhere near that area,” the girl snickered.

Stiles let out a giggle, resting his palm atop the girls hand. She didn’t flinch away, but she tensed, just a little.

“Okay, so I’m a little lacking in the relationship field. But you had a crush on a dumb jock of a werewolf with raging hormones,” he fired back playfully.

“Ouch,” she said.

“Too soon?” Stiles asked, wondering if he’d hurt her feelings.

“Nah,” she smiled, “I don’t need that loser,” she decided.

“There you go!” Stiles beamed, “you finally came around.”

“I guess I just needed the right person to show me how,” she squeezed his hand lightly.

“Here,” Stiles said, moving his hand and raising a thumb to her face. She dipped back a little, but he shushed her protests and wiped the excess whipped cream from around her mouth anyways.

“Oof, thanks,” she said. “Wha-EW!” she giggled when Stiles licked the cream off his fingers with a smirk.

“What?” he snickered, “can’t waste. That would just be selfish.”

“Well, you’re right there. You’re not selfish, Stiles Stilinski.”

“Aren’t I?” he lifted a brow, frown settling in on his full lips.

“No,” she insisted. “You care too much about the people you love to hurt them,” she said, “one of the many wonderful things about you. Coupled with the fact that you buy me hot chocolate all the time,” she smiled.

“Well, I know how to treat a lady,” he said, giving her a nudge.

“Oh yeah?” she challenged.

“Hey hey hey, don’t judge. I bet I’m way better at this stuff than you’d give me credit for,” his warm brown eyes crinkled happily.


“Like I give great cuddles.”

“From practicing with your pillow?”

“Okay well I’m a good kisser, I bet.”

“From practicing on your hand?”

“Fine but I can fend off anyone who gets in our way.”

“From practicing with that flimsy thing you call a bat?”

Stiles stopped, eyes narrowing as he suppressed a smile, “you can make fun of me, but don’t you dare make fun of my bat.”

They burst out laughing in sync, wiping the tears from their eyes as they bent over themselves with giggles. When they finally calmed down enough to take a breather, the girl had propped herself on her elbows, leaning in towards him, and he mimicked her gesture.

His eyes flickered over his, and his voice came a whisper, “you’re really cute when you laugh, you know that?”

“Wow, guess you can add being a gentleman to that list of yours,” she blushed.

He sighed, his face saddening, eyes drawing away.

“What’s up?” she asked, tilting his chin up with her fingertips.

“You know what else I’m good at?” he said with a sense of defeat.

“What?” she said, so close to him now that she could breathe in his cologne and warm aroma.

“Falling for beautiful girls who can’t even see the power they have over me.”

For a second, she laughed. It was instinct. He was joking, right? That’s what Stiles was best at, jokes. But then her eyes came to him, and she noticed his hesitant gaze, tilted lips, and trembling fingers, and suddenly it wasn’t so funny. Stiles, the adorable and dorky Stiles, suddenly seemed far more intimidating in front of her.

She bent back, her heart faltering, “oh.”

The cafe seemed to spin around her. The floorboards were gone, the coffee’s scent was making her dizzy,  the lights were blurring.

“Yeah,” Stiles said softly. Then, when he saw her spaced out expression, “you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” she shook her head, taking in a long breath and focusing herself once more, “fine.”

“I’m sorry,” he said at once. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I-I m-mean that was dumb, obviously. I guess I was wrapped up in the moment and you’re whole fall for Isaac just got me all over the place,” he stammered, placing his head in his hands.

“Hey, no, Stiles, look at me,” she soothed, pulling his hands gently away from his face, “I’m glad you told me.”

“Really?” he rasped, fingers trembling against hers.

“Yeah, I was just so oblivious that it never even occurred to me you could feel like that, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t say that,” he said quietly.

“No, but I have to. You’re my best friend Stiles, you’ve always been there for me. So there for me that I never even thought twice of what we meant to each other besides that. You bringing it up just woke me up, shone a light for me, reminded me that…” she trailed off.

“That what?’ he murmured, golden flecked eyes darting over her face.

“Maybe you’re right. Maybe he is closer than I know,” she said. “I mean, who’s there when I can’t stand being alone or afraid? You. Who makes me laugh more than anyone else could? You. Who puts me first, the person who I know I would fight for the same way they would fight for me-” she babbled, fireworks erupting in her belly, suddenly wanting to melt under Stiles’ gaze.

“Loving you just comes so easy that I’ve been taking it for granted,” she finished.

It was weird for her, to stare at her best friend and suddenly see him clearly. His adorable freckles, the distinct blink of his eyes when he laughed, how much more vivid his eyes looked up close, the way he would twitch his nose or touch his face when he was nervous. It was like seeing him for the first time.

“What are you saying?” Stiles breathed.

“I don’t know what I’m saying,” she admitted, her heart doing bounds.

Stiles bent forward, so close their noses almost brushed each other.

“Okay. What are you feeling?” he tried.

“I’m feeling,” she whispered, heart going into overdrive, unable to think clearly from being so close to him.

“Yeah?” he breathed.

“I’m feeling…” she blinked down at his lips, and he tilted his head like he was daring her to try something.

“I’m feeling kind of like I want to kiss you,” she said, her last words coming muffled as she spoke them into the breath where her lips met Stiles’. They were soft and warm, intoxicating, even, and god did Stiles know how to use them. He brought a hand to her cheek, fingers sliding across her flesh and into her hair as he bent more deeply into her mouth, sending electricity through her veins. She detached herself for a breath, but he was back at once, and there was a sudden urge for dominance as the two molded their lips together with more pressure, dipping back and forth as one leaned in harder than the other. Her hands went to his hair, brushing through his soft locks and tugging softly at them, the smell of the cafe being drowned out by his gentle aroma, and the brief taste of him being enough to have her hooked, to know she was going to have it bad.

Stiles pulled away with a long breath, his big eyes blinking open to hers, their foreheads touching.

“Wow,” stiles said breathlessly.

“Wow,” she repeated, instantly hating the way her mouth felt without his lips pressed to hers. “I guess that practice on your hand really did pay off,” she giggled.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Stiles’ eyes crinkled, his lips twitching.

“I really tried,” she laughed.

He brushed his nose lightly to hers with a big smile that filled her whole being with joy.

“You really make me crazy, Stiles Stilinski,” she said in awe of him.

“Do you think,” he started nervously, “I can continue to make you crazy? I can be, you know, the only guy making you crazy, maybe?” 

“Maybe?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” his cheeks warmed.

“More than maybe,” she decided.