it's more than just a jeep

anonymous asked:

Ugh Trash Wolf would have been so much better if the hales were left alive but Peter,Laura, Derek and Cora were in beacon hills and they along with stiles and Chris were the main focus of the program. I think Tyler, Ian , J.R and Dylan have the best on screen interactions with each other, it's all sass and I got your back bro but do what it takes to get the job done. Scott would weep if he hit a hunter with the jeep, stile just doesn't give a damn.

The backstory with the Hales vs the Argents was always a lot more interesting to me than Scott worrying about making the team, or getting the girl, or whatever nonsense was his main problem that episode. 

And even when he matured, the backstory was still more interesting. I’d much rather watch Peter and Chris dance around each other for a while than half an episode of Scott’s bland moralising–even his hypocrisy got boring after a while. 

Saiyuki Inktober 2017, Day 1 - “Beginning”

Fandom: Saiyuki
Pairing: None, really but apparently in this version of things Kanzeon Bosatsu is a masive 10K shipper
Rating: G
Word Count: Approx. 800
Author’s Note: I’M SO SORRY THAT THIS IS SO LATE BUT I MOVED HOUSE THIS WEEKEND AND STILL DON’T HAVE WIFI THANK GOD FOR PUBLIC LIBRARIES also apologies if this is kinda garbage I have SO had other things on my mind ahahahaha 

The earth understood, she thinks, that these men were destined for more than just one life.

There was a saying in the Lower World, wasn’t there? From dust and ashes we are born, and to dust and ashes we must return - it’s something like that, she decides. It’s a funny turn of phrase, she can’t help but think. Dust, after all, is good for nothing. It nestles inside your nose and creeps into the creases of your clothes and the folds of your skin, and it lingers there, pervasively present and always unpleasant. And ashes crumble in your palm, less long-lived than creatures like worms and dragonflies, and infinitely more useless. Why, she asks herself, did humans place so much stock in dust and ashes?

She smiles, amused.

For her part, she will always bet on stone.

Sometimes, she wakes in the cool, predawn hours, and her mind slips back five hundred years, and she once again feels the scrape of hard rubble beneath her bare feet, and she remembers.

Upon whose bones am I treading? she always wonders vaguely. The General’s, perhaps? The Field Marshal’s? Always, when she catches herself remembering, she has to remind herself that the Field Marshal and the General had fallen separately, not together - not locked for dear life (such as it was) in each other’s arms. She shakes her head, chiding herself for her forgetfulness. Contrary to her fancies, they had not been granted the simple grace of lying together in death.

A pity, really, considering how often they had lain together in life.

Death, she supposes, must not be a warm embrace after all, as her querulous nephew had often surmised. And just think, she reflects, almost distantly enough to laugh at the idea, now that you know, Konzen, you cannot tell me. How’s that for irony? She does laugh, then. I hope you’re happy with the way things turned out, Konzen, she thinks. I hope you’re happy, but I’m sure you’re not.

It was fitting, she believes, that he had been crushed by stone, in the end.

In truth, she couldn’t fault the universe for the way things had come full circle. Konzen wasn’t to know it, and neither, it seemed, was Kenren, or Tenpou. They weren’t to know just how cleverly stone had shaped their destinies, like some ingenious sculpture in reverse. That’s how the saying should go, she resolves, more than a little pleased with herself. From stone you were born, and in stone you shall die, and from stone you shall be born again.

Sometimes, she slumbers in the sun-dappled, afternoon hours, and her mind slips down to the desert below, and she watches, languid and listless, silently searching the faces of the raucous party below for any sign of recognition. Every now and then, she recognizes her nephew in the disdainful smirk of the gun-toting human squashed squarely in the passenger’s seat of that rambling, rumbling Jeep. Every now and then, she swears she can feel the air go electric when blood-red eyes meet mismatched green, and linger there for just a second too long - searching, she can’t help but hope, for an almost-not-forgotten past, an almost-remembered bond. Every now and then, she’s sure she sees a gleam of melancholy memory in that youthful, ages-old face - in those glinting, ages-old golden eyes.

Stone, she thinks once more.

The four were meant to be, and she knows it. Stone had brought them together, and stone had rent them asunder, and then, five hundred long, long years later, stone had brought them together again.

It’s all thanks to you, Seiten Taisei, she thinks, watching the boy’s eyes screw up tight and his mouth go wide with agony as he cries out in a desperate clamor for food. The half-youkai that used to be Kenren slugs him in the arm, and the boy punches back. A flurry of blows rises in the back of the Jeep; mild laughter, good-natured but simmering tightly with tension just below the surface, rises from the driver’s seat; and a gunshot, hot and final, rises above it all, stopping the bedlam in its clumsy tracks. The four companions settle, and once again, the only sounds that cuts through the vast, dusty desert are the growling of the boy’s stomach, and the growling of the Jeep’s roaring engine. Perhaps, she realizes, gazing more fondly than she’d like to admit upon the party below, I shouldn’t be thanking you at all, Seiten Taisei. Perhaps I should be thanking the earth, for having had the foresight to create you in the first place.

But, when all is said and done, she’s not sure it matters.

They had all ended up together in the end - or, if you thought about things just a little differently, in the beginning - hadn’t they?

Quick Stop (Smut)

Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Reader x Stiles Stilinski
Words: 1,271
Warnings: smut, smut, smut, but not too graphic smut. and langugage.
Request? yes or no
Inspired By: let’s not talk about this one okay?
A/N: just another from the archive. it’s also smut. so you know just thought I’d repeat that. and yeah enjoy :)

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nononononoimsorry  asked:

How's the next w2h coming along?

If I can just use this ask to be completely honest for a second here, I haven’t been able to touch W2H2 for about a month.  I have never had less money and–though I don’t like to admit this because its in direct contrast with my NOTORIOUSLY EASY-GOING PERSONALITY–more stress than I’ve ever had in my life, right now.  I’ve had car troubles for a few months now, and I wont bore anyone with the details but I’m basically attached at the hip with this cranky, leaky-ass jeep and I can’t function if he wont function, so I had to take this weirdly convenient offer to fill out the last 6 or 7 weeks of a friend’s contract as a storyboard artist at ShadowMachine, WHICH MEANS YAY, I have money to fix the jeep, but BOOOOO, I work 9-7 every day and haven’t had time to do anything else, especially not something like W2H, which is big and daunting and sometimes even when I set aside time to storyboard on it, my brain shuts off and I can’t.  Or I have other freelance projects to work on with the studio I’m starting up with my friends…. EHHHH, all kinds of stuff going on!

It’s a very different situation than being in college, where my job was “be a student.  Make this film.  Live off of the overage check from your loans, you can pay back the government when you’re dead.”  

I’m rambling, but basically it’s slow-going.  It’s gonna’ be slow-going for awhile.  And people even send me messages like “Take your time sweetie, don’t rush, we want the sequel to be really great!” which is nice, but like.. trust me, I couldn’t rush this even if I wanted to!  Haha.  There’s a lot going on in my life right now.  And there’s a lot going on in the sequel itself!  It’s not gonna’ lean on telling a story through a montage like the first one.  There’s a lot of hefty storytelling that needs to be worked through, and I’m just taking it a pace that I’m able to handle right now.  

I guess the short answer is that I’m still storyboarding it.  There’s some weird stuff that happens in the second act which is difficult to conceptualize.  There’s some stuff in the 3rd act that’s really funny but might get cut.  The whole thing is kind of involved and I think I might have to cut it up into 3 separate parts.   I don’t have an animatic timed out yet, but I have a feeling that it’s at least twice as long as the first W2H, so… yeah!  Pretty big project.  Haha.  

Sorry I can’t give a more concise answer!  It’s all kinda messy right now.  But I guess an update like this is better than no update at all, right?  

Life or Death Situation

originally posted by suspiciousbiscotti

Request: Can you please do an imagine where the reader is like working at the I-Rex’s enclosure or something when it gets out and Owen saves her? Thanks in advance!
A/N: Thanks for the request! I’m not sure if I got the scene completely accurate, but I did my best. This is the first request and the first Jurassic World thing that I’ve done so I hope it’s okay!
Pairing: Owen Grady x Reader
Warnings: Violence (not detailed)

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Precisely five minutes after she’d ended her call to the Sheriff, Una Hudson watches the Stilinski boy throw open his front door and storm out onto the porch. Which was just enough time for her to make a cup of tea and settle down with her binoculars.

If it were anyone else she’d feel guilty, but Una has spent the last nineteen years putting up with frisbees and drum kits and ‘borrowed’ cats and illegal fireworks and broken windows and mangled rosebushes and that damned Jeep roaring around at all hours of the night and by God she has earned this.

Here’s the art for chapter 2 of How It Works! I commissioned aredblush to bring Mrs Hudson to life with nothing more descriptive than a vague “Little Old Lady aesthetic” and just look at how utterly perfect the finished product is. 

Once again, thank you so much, Nas! I’m completely in love with this ♥

Click here to see the art for chapter 1, and to read my rave review of a truly fantastic artist. 

The Car

Throughout my life I never really believed in the paranormal. About two and a half years ago, that belief changed.

I was about to turn sixteen years old, and I was excited only about one thing: cars. Cars and driving had been my only focus and reason to live for the last year of my life. I loved everything about cars: the raw power, the way you can tinker with them, the freedom they bring. Cars were my life. I had been saving up money from birthday gifts/odd jobs/etc. since I was 12 to pay for a car. My grandfather generously told me that he would be more than happy to buy me a new car from the Chevrolet dealership in town (he used to work for GM), but I told him that I wanted to buy the car with the money that I had saved up, and he thought it was a great idea. So one day, about a month from my birthday (my birthday is in late October), my grandfather and I set out to see some used cars we had found online. We had seen about twelve different cars, each in its own state of disrepair, before we found my dream car: A 1996 Jeep Cherokee. Forest Green, 4x4, and just one somewhat large ding near the front left wheel well. It had 170,000 miles on it, but I was not planning on driving it for more than three years or for a very long distance, so that was okay. The best part was the interior. The rather elderly man who was selling the Jeep must have had OCD or something, because there was not so much as a fingerprint in the whole entire inside of the car. Perfect. The only wear I could see on the inside is that the radio did not work, but I had planned to put an aftermarket radio inside it anyway that I could connect my phone to and stuff like that. The best part about it was the price, $1500, which was a complete steal since it had all its records and had a clean title. Other cars priced the same sometimes didn’t even have an engine. My grandfather and I were convinced that this car was perfect. Before I purchased it, however, I asked the elderly gentlemen how the ding in front of the front-left wheel well happened. “It’s a kinda funny story,” the old man replied, “I was drivin’ down the farm-to-market road one night around three in the morning. It was dark out, and I was admittedly drivin’ a little bit faster than I should have for that kind of road. I rounded a corner, and there were tons of vultures picking off a carcass on the left side of the road (I live in Central Texas, about an hour’s drive north of Houston. Deer, possums, and skunk are commonly hit in the back roads here). Well, since they weren’t on my side of the road, I didn’t slow down. When I got closer, I guess I spooked ‘em, and they flew straight in front of me. I swerved to try and avoid them, but I ended up hitting that carcass and one of them buzzards flew straight into the side of the car here” and he pointed at the dent. That story added up, my grandmother had cracked her windshield one time by hitting a flying buzzard, so I knew what those things could do to a car at high speeds. I did one last inspection of the car and the engine, found it to be nearly perfect, and started to write the check. The old man placed his hand on mine, and softly said, “you know, you seem like a really good kid. I’m an old man, I don’t need money that much. $1000 will be fine, you don’t need to pay $1500.” My heart leapt into my throat. It was one of the most generous things anybody had ever done for me. I paid the $1000, awkwardly hugged the old man in thanks, then left in my beautiful “brand new” jeep with my grandfather.

Time passed. I turned sixteen in late October. Things were perfect. Things changed.

It was around the middle of November. Thanksgiving break was upon us. My classmates and I were giddy with the thought of not having school for a couple of days. I was an avid Orchestra member, and loved to play in school plays and musicals. Since I signed up for the school musical, I had rehearsals every day until about 10 p.m.. On the last day before Thanksgiving break, we had an extra long rehearsal until 1 a.m. since the director knew that we would not be practicing over Thanksgiving break (which he was right about). The practice ended, and the entire cast staggered out of the auditorium exhausted, yet happy it was over. We all shared a few laughs in the school parking lot for a while, then we all got in our cars and started the drive home. It was very dark on my way home, and there were hardly any cars around. I was going around a corner when terror set in. I slammed on the breaks so hard that the ABS set in, and stopped about 18 feet from about twenty buzzards picking off of a deer carcass on my side of the road. Heart still pounding from potentially devastating experience, I turned my wheel to move around the carcass. That’s when one of the buzzards stepped away from the carcass and moved to the left side of the road to block my path. I could not believe what I was seeing. This bird was intentionally getting in the way of a car. I honked and honked, but none of the buzzards even flinched, and they all stayed in place. Frustrated, tired, and scared, I started to inch my way forward towards the buzzard, knowing that its animal instincts would make it move when I got close. It got to the point to where I could not see the buzzard since it was so close to the car that the hood blocked it from my view. I was debating whether or not to get out of the car to scare it away, when an extremely large BANG resounded through my car. A buzzard had flown into my car window on the right side. In my terror, I slammed on the gas. At the same moment I felt my wheel crunch the buzzard in front of my car, an ear-splitting scream pierced the air. Scared witless, I accelerated as fast as I could and got out of there, the scream still reverberating through my mind. The scream sounded more than what a buzzard could make. It sounded human. Almost.

I was traumatized by the night’s events. I told myself that those birds probably had rabies, and that’s why they were so oblivious to my presence. I soon passed the events off as a weird occurrence, and continued on with my life. Things were bad. Things got worse.

It was the day before Thanksgiving. I had helped my mom prepare most of the food for the next day, and in return I was allowed to go spend some time with my friends. I was planning on leaving around midnight, but at around 10:30, my mom texted me and asked if I could leave a little early and run by Kroger to pick up some vanilla extract for a dessert she was making. I agreed, since I wasn’t into the game we were playing, and at 11:00, I left his house. My friend’s house is what most people commonly associate with Texas. It’s located about two miles into a thick forest. You drive down this thin two-way road and then stumble upon about three acres worth of open pasture. It’s really neat. I was parked out by the road, which was about 100 yards away from their house. I couldn’t park in their driveway because his parents went out for a date night and were going to need to park in the driveway when they got home. So there I was, walking alone in the pitch dark towards my car. To give you a concept of how dark it was, I was pressing the lock/unlock button on my car keys so that the car lights came on for me to see. I reached my car, sat down in the driver’s seat, turned they key in the ignition, and shouted in fright. When the Jeep turned on, there was a hollow thump at the back of my car, and when I looked in the rear-view mirror I saw in vivid detail a long arm and hand plastered against my rear window. When I turned around to look at it, it had disappeared. After about ten seconds of heart-stopping shock, I broke into a fit of laughter. My friends and I were great pranksters, we prided ourselves in it. I, laughing, stepped out of the car to “confront my attacker”. But no one was there. Nothing. I checked the back seat. Nothing. Dismissing it as a shadow cast by one of the trees, I drove away from civilization.

On my way home, I decided to call my mom to find out if she needed anything else from Kroger. My mom has always been very kind, but very strict at the same time. When I got my driver’s license, she made me promise that I would not take anybody around in my car without her permission (she was concerned about the effects of peer pressure). In return, she would pay for my insurance, a worthy deal in my opinion. Anyway, I called her and was talking to her about the grocery list when she stopped talking to me. I remember the conversation that happened next word for word. She started asking me who was in the car with me. Confused, I replied that no one was in the car with me, not knowing why she was asking. She just slowly repeated the question over and over and over again, asking who was in the car with me. I vehemently kept replying that no one was in the car with me, but she remained skeptical. Angrily, she told me that she heard the girl laughing. The girl laughing? I couldn’t hear anything. Shaken, I told her that she was hearing her T.V., but she told me that she wasn’t watching T.V. She told me to call her when I dropped this non-existent girl off, and that then she would give me the grocery list. Then she hung up. I swear, every hair on my body stood on end. It stands on end as I type this now. How could she hear a girl laughing? Even back then I was a 190 lb. 5’10 guy who hadn’t made a girly laugh since I hit puberty in 4th grade. I immediately called my mom back, and protested that no one was in the car with me. She asked if it could be my radio making the sound. It couldn’t, she and I both knew, because the radio did not work. It sounded like my mom was just about to believe me, when all the lights on my dashboard went out. Most people don’t know this, but when your speedometer, fuel range, and all those lights go out, it gets really dark in the car. Really dark. I was about to tell my mom this, but then I felt my phone vibrate and I watched as the “Goodbye” message fittingly popped up onto my screen, and then turned off. Luckily, my headlights were still on, so I could see where I was going. That’s when the screaming started. The ear-splitting scream similar to that of a little girl broke the complete silence of the night. The exact same scream as when I hit the buzzard. I was too afraid to get out of the car in complete darkness in the middle of nowhere, yet I was extremely afraid being in the car. Panicked, I sped through the night. As I saw the lights of civilization grow closer, the screams lessened, then stopped. I pulled into the parking lot of Kroger, went inside and bought the vanilla extract, then called my mom to come pick me up. We left the car there overnight, and drove it back to our place the next day.

I called the old man after a week, asking if he had any weird or scary experiences in the car, besides the buzzards. All he replied was, “I WILL NOT BUY IT BACK”, then hung up. I never tried to call him again.

You might be asking why I choose to tell you this story now. The other day, I was reading the local newspaper. On the second page, there was an article about a man found dead the other day. He was found alone in the middle of a lonely road. The driver who reported it did not know that it was a man, she simply called animal control due to the immense number of buzzards surrounding him. The man was, as I’m sure you have guessed by now, the old man that sold me the car.

I have a Forrest Green Jeep Cherokee for sale. Perfect interior, one ding on the exterior. Clean title. 171,000 miles. $750, or best offer.

(Credit to GreenJeepCherokee, via Reddit)


anonymous asked:

do you think stiles was mean to lydia like in the jeep scene?

Uh no and I find it really funny that so many people are whining about this cause I think its partly due to fandoms warped perception of characters.

Stiles is not a sweetheart. He’s a little shit and has made more than a handful of shitty comments towards a ton of people, ironically, mostly towards Derek. He’s sarcastic and dry and thats exactly what we saw. He’s no longer coddling Lydia because she’s just a bro and he’s comfortable enough with her to be himself. Everyone was whining about Lydia being on a pedestal, but now that she’s off of it and he’s treating her just as he would anyone else, ya’ll still whining.

Simply switch out any other character for Lydia in that jeep scene. Would it be MEAN if he said it to Scott/Kira? No, so idk whyyy its mean if he says it to Lydia.

I think he’s simply no longer overtly aware of himself around her - just like when you’re around your crush you overthink everything and act a little weird. I think he’s just being himself, and when he’s under stress - like anyone else, he’s going to overreact. Just like he did when he yelled at her about getting beat up by Gerard.