doodled some balletlock being all shy and nervous about meeting John’s rugby friends
watercolour + gouache + ink
just like the sun
there are people in the fandom who can
- write fanfictions
- draw fanarts
- create gifs
- think of theories
- edit stuff
and then there’s me
But there’s you, who
- Read our fanfictions
- Like/Reblog/Commission us for our fanarts
- View our gifs
- Support our theories
- Are amused by our edits
You are just as important as the rest of us.
Well…since my anxiety has crept back without warning, I figured I just draw some of my thoughts down…Personally I understand that some people truly do not mind reassuring a friend who has self doubt on the brain, but I can’t help having it circle my mind as often as it does. Wish it would stop honestly. It just feels like empty space that I try too hard to fill.
If anyone actually needs to know what goes through my head at all times…
hmmm its a bad feeling to have.. i’m glad I don’t have that anymore.
Wow, it’s like you read my mind… Everytime i make a joke or say something to my friend i always either regret my decision to open my mouth in the first place or thinking that they might talk about me behind my back… it’s not good to doubt my friends but i can’t help it either…
Derek leans forward as Stiles’ eyes flutter open, touches his hand carefully.
Stiles scrunches his face up, squints at him groggily, “Who’re you?”
"I’m Derek," he says hesitantly, reminding himself the doctor did say this could happen. It’s not long term. It’s not a terrible spell gone wrong. Derek will be remembered by the most important person in his life eventually. He swallows hard, tries not to panic. "I’m your husband."
Stiles’ eyes go wide, “You’re what— you’re my— you?”
Derek tamps down on the flash of hurt, “Yeah, I’m sor—”
"Holy bananas, how’d I— how’d I get you to marry me? You’re so beautiful.”
Derek laughs, “So’re you.”
"Yeah, but," Stiles points weakly at Derek’s mouth, "Look at’your teeth, oh my god, how do they even— s’cute. Am I— Are you sure?”
"Pretty sure," Derek promises, squeezes his hand, "There was a ceremony and everything."
"What?" Stiles sits up a little, blinks wildly, "Did we really— I mean— really?"