Test Number Three.
Necropolis will launch at the end of August as an ongoing weekly webcomic. Stay tuned!
WAKE UP SHEEPLE!
Commander Crunch sounds fucking badass.
Hand Around the Heart –a sterek zine because why the fuck not.
I will never NOT reblog this, omg, so many feelings
Fun fact: Dustin Hoffman and Bob Hoskins decided secretly that they’d play Hook and Smee as a gay couple. When Spielberg, the director, found out, he was furious.
I just think it’s hilarious.
OH MY GOD
well this just made my childhood 1000% better
“Oh please don’t go- I’ll eat you up- I love you so!”
Finally done with this Where the Wild Things are AU pic!
Stiles is eight and his mother is dead and his father works shift after shift so he doesn’t have to sit at home and see the face of the woman he loved reflected in his son day after day. Stiles is eight and doesn’t understand this; all he knows is that he misses his mom and needs his dad. He is eight, standing on the couch cushions and screaming until he’s blue in the face because his babysitter wants him to take off the wolf pajamas his mom made when he was six. They’re too small and they have holes in the knees and half the whiskers have fallen out but when he wears them he can feel his mom’s arms around him, tight and secure.
The babysitter stands with her arms crossed over her chest, waiting until he has to take a breath or pass out and she says, “You’re too old for tantrums, little man,” and plucks him off the couch. She carries him upstairs and sets him on his bed. “Time out. Don’t let me catch you out of this bed.”
Stiles turns his back on her and burrows under the covers, the sound of his breathing filling the space between the sheets until it sounds like the sloughing of the sea. His bed rocks under him gently and when he pushes back the covers he finds himself on a little boat in the middle of a vast dark sea. Overhead the stars and moon are bright and clear and Stiles giggles, delighted. He drifts for days on end and lands on an island where the trees grow thick and close.
Bright golden eyes peer out of the darkness of the forest at him and Stiles stares back boldly, lifting his chin when a voice rumbles, “What tiny beast is this?”
“I’m Stiles!” he calls. “What are you?”
A great tall monster steps out of the trees to crouch in front of him. It is huge and terrible, with dark horns twisting from its head and legs rough with scales, but its voice is gentle when it asks, “What is a Stiles?”
“That’s me!” Stiles insists, waving his arms. “I’m Stiles!”
“Stiles,” the monster repeats gravely, climbing to its clawed feet. It holds a hand full of talons out to Stiles. “Will you howl with us, little beast?”
Stiles takes the monster’s paw and they run through the wood, howling and calling. They are joined by other strange creatures who warble and whoop. The horned beast, Derek, lifts Stiles onto his furry shoulders and they dance around a huge bonfire until they can dance no more and the wild things collapse into a warm pile of limbs and fur with Stiles nestled in their midst.
He spends his days romping through the woods and shore, learning about the beasts and everything they love. Lydia and Jackson live in a treehouse high above the forest floor and he helps them collect dried leaves to carpet their home. He builds sandcastles on the beach with quiet Isaac, and Erica and Boyd swing him by his hands and feet and toss him into the ocean. He plays hide and seek with Scott, giggling until he’s breathless when Scott finds him and tickles him mercilessly.
He likes Derek most of all. He clings to Derek’s hand while they walk through the darkest part of the forest and Derek shows him that there’s nothing in the shadows to be frightened of. Derek holds him at night, finds him the best food, laughs the loudest when Stiles tells knock-knock jokes. They sit on a cliff with the ocean battering the rocks below and howl at the full moon and Stiles couldn’t be happier.
He forgets about his mom and why he’s so sad, but he feels like he’s missing something. One day he can hear his father calling his name and he says, “I have to go home.”
Derek cries, pulling Stiles into his arms, arms folded tight around him. “Oh please,” he says, and his tears are warm on Stiles’ cheek. “Oh please don’t go - I’ll eat you up - I love you so!”
But Stiles is eight and he needs his dad so he struggles out of Derek’s grasp and climbs into his little boat. All the wild things stand on the shore and wail their misery. Stiles howls back but when the sea starts getting rough he puts his head under the blanket and when he reemerges he’s back in his bedroom. His dad is sitting on the edge of his bed and Stiles crawls into his lap and cries until no more tears come.
Stiles is sixteen and just as lonely as he was when he was eight. He wanders the woods of the preserve and one day a boy a few years older than him steps out of the trees and says to him, “You can’t be out here. This is private property.”
Stiles looks at his face and says, “Derek?” because you never really forget your first friend.
Derek blinks, a slow, wondering expression coming over his face and then he says, “Will you come howl with me?”
Stiles laughs until he cries.
people-who-ruined-my-life suggested I do a little fic for this amazing piece of fanart, so I did.
that is an excellent question
(also thank you so much! you’re such a sweetheart ububu)