Be warned! This blog contains Teen Wolf, Bones, Kurt Hummel, Blaine hate, WWE and many other fandom-related things leaning heavily to the side of slash.
I also reblog about feminism, equality, LGBTQ issues, rape-culture, fat-positivism, mental issues and art.
Also, there will be cats.
Derek comes to slowly, stretching out and relishing the warm, sweet scent he’s surrounded by. He realises he can’t pinpoint the smell, or anything more than his own name around the same time he notices there are what look like hundreds of post it notes around him.
"What," he croaks out; relieved he can still remember how to form words. Everything feels a little swirly, slow, comfy. Derek is extremely comfortable. It’s hard to get stressed about anything when he feels this relaxed, this warm, and there’s that fucking magic smell in the air.
A pair of brown eyes appear inches from his face, and Derek grins stupidly. Those are pretty eyes.
“‘Lo,” Derek slurs out, tries to lift a hand to wave, squints. The rest of the face belonging to those nice eyes comes into view and Derek hums, pleased. The man hovering over him is very attractive. He’s got a lovely looking mouth, and a cute upturned nose that Derek wants to rub his own against.
“‘M Derek,” he pronounces, “Who’re you?”
The man’s lips twitch and Derek’s stomach hops around excitedly. He made the man want to laugh, that is a good sign. Derek must be funny.