my vehicles

Busybody stay-at-home mom neighbor harasses me until my restraining order kicks her out of her house.

I lived across the street from a very bored stay-at-home mom whose excess idle time turned her into an insufferable busybody.

Her husband backed out of the driveway and slammed into my roommate’s car parked on the curb. He apologized, gave us his insurance info, and took care of it. He was never a problem, because he accepted responsibility for what he did.

His wife, however, demanded that we never ever park any cars at the curb again, because “we can’t get out of our driveway otherwise”. The street was very wide - she was just completely unable to accept that the accident was her husband’s fault, and figured we were somehow responsible for it, ergo we were responsible for preventing it in the future.

We told her that we would avoid parking there whenever possible, but that we still had the legal right to park on the street, and that if necessary we would still do so, and that it was her and her husband’s responsibility to avoid hitting other people’s legally parked cars when backing out of the driveway. She wasn’t happy with that answer, but just told us we better stay out of her family’s way, and stormed off.

One day, she came storming over, banging on the front door, cussing us out. We got her on our security camera saying “If you don’t move that f*cking car in the next 10 minutes, I am going to f*cking total it with my truck. It’ll be your fault, and you’ll have to pay for the damage to my f*cking vehicle”. To this, I simply responded: “I don’t know whose car that is, but I didn’t park it there. I have you on camera, so if you do anything to that car, I’ll have to call the police and hand over this tape”. She then threatened to sue me for invasion of privacy for recording her, and still insisted that we move the car, even though it wasn’t our property. We just ignored her, and she did not do anything to the car - we did keep the recording though.

A few weeks later, I had a friend visit from out of town. He parked his car on the curb, and then started unloading some stuff from his trunk. She came storming out, screaming and cussing at him “I have told you repeatedly never park your f*cking car on this curb. If you don’t move it, I am going to f*cking total it, and you can f*cking pay for a new goddamn car, as well as the damage you do to mine!” He tried to calm her down, and asked if there was somewhere else he could park, and she replied “You can park it in Hell, because that’s where you’ll be after I f*cking kill you!”.

Unfortunately for her, he had his dashcam running the whole time, and it captured everything. He called the police, and she was arrested for threatening to commit vandalism and for threatening violence.

A few days later, she left a long-winded hate-letter in our mailbox. It was written as if it were an open letter from the entire neighborhood, and it basically said that “nobody knows who you are”, and “Everyone wishes you would move away”, and “Nobody wants you living in our neighborhood”.

Thing is, she forgot about the security cameras. I took the video of her opening my mailbox - which included her taking all our letters out of the mailbox and rifling through them - and I gave them to the post office. This led to her getting arrested for a second time that week.

After that, we used her two arrests, our collection of security and dashcam footage, and her letter to get a restraining order against her that actually prohibited her from entering her own home, and then we called the police every time we saw her because she was in violation of the order.

She ended up having to live in a hotel room, and her husband came over, apologized to us, and asked if we would drop the restraining order so his wife could come home. I told him I would do it, but only if she wrote me, my wife, our roommates, and the friend of mine she threatened a 1-page apology for her harassment - and that she would promise to never ever contact us again for any reason whatsoever moving forward.

I received no apology, and the house went on the market a week later.

Some f*cking people…

* VIOLENT ACTION STARTERS
Send me a NUMBER for your muse to : 

001. Backhand my muse.
002. Stab my muse. 
003. Put out a cigarette on my muse’s skin.
004. Hit my muse with a blunt object. 
005. Throw something large at my muse. 
006. Kick my muse.
007. Punch my muse.
008. Break one of my muse’s bones.
009. Scratch my muse.
010. Headbutt my muse.
011. Shoot my muse.
012. Knock my muse out.
013. Strangle my muse.
014. Push my muse roughly.
015. Grab my muse by the hair.
016. Bruise my muse.
017. Threathen my muse with an object of harm. 
018. Go to harm my muse’s eyes.
019. Bite my muse.
020. Tear away parts of my muse’s skin.
021. — Force my muse’s head under water.
022. Throw something scalding at my muse.
023. Burn my muse.
024. Step on my muse’s fingers.
025. Rip one of my muse’s teeth out.
026. — Slash my muse’s achilles tendon ( s ).
027. — Clothesline my muse.
028. — Harm my muse enough for them to cough up blood. 
029. — Drive into my muse with a vehicle.
030. — Electrocute my muse.
031. — Slam my muse against a wall.
032. — Force my muse’s arm behind their back.
033. — Kick my muse’s crotch.
034. — Trip my muse.
035. — Put my muse in a headlock.
036. — Break my muse’s nose.
037. — Force their fingers down my muse’s throat.
038. — Crack my muse’s head against a wall.
039. — Attempt to kill my muse.
040. — Attempt to kill my muse creatively.

Magic Works (aka STORY TIME)

Sit down, witches young and old.  I have a story to share.

So, in late Summer 2014, I was held at gunpoint and my car was stolen.  Without going into too much detail, I was out at night running errands and two masked men cornered me in the parking lot of my apartment complex.  (The Mister was not with me at the time; he was in the apartment.)  In the trunk of my car was my witchy box, which contained ALL of my most important craft materials including my book of shadows, my tarot, and my most beloved trinkets.  (I had taken it on a witchy retreat the weekend before.)

When they stole my car, they used it in a bank robbery and then ditched the vehicle after use.  I was DEVASTATED.  I couldn’t sleep or eat for days (trauma can be an absolute bitch); I was terrified to go out on my own, even on our porch.  I lost my job because I no longer had a means of transportation.  And to top it off, I ended up having a miscarriage around the same time.

Guys and gals, I went to a very dark place after this.  The police, as helpful as they were, told me that the likelihood of finding the vehicle was slim-to-none.  In fact, it is common in most places (and especially my state) that stolen vehicles are dumped in rivers or ravines, never to be found again.  What made matters worse was that I had JUST PAID THE CAR OFF and SWITCHED MY INSURANCE TO LIABILITY ONLY.  (For you bebes out there that don’t know, this means that your insurance company won’t replace the car if it is stolen.)

For months, I tried to dig myself out of this hole, but I felt like I couldn’t really connect with my craft because I was missing important elements to my spellwork.  Some of the things in that box were passed down for generations in my family.  They were absolutely priceless.  I felt so…lost.

The following May, I was visiting Tulum, Mexico.  A tropical storm was brewing off the shoreline and everyone else was drunk at one of the all-inclusive bar.  I watched from my balcony as surfers took to the turbulent waves and something came over me.  I felt a literal pull in my chest.  Something kept telling me to go to the water.

My family, friends, and the Mister all told me I was crazy when I went to the beach.  There was thunder, the waves were insanely high, and even the experienced surfers were having trouble.  On the lifeguard stands, black flags were posted (one of the signs that swimming is absolutely ill-advised) and for even an experienced competitive swimmer (that’s me!), it would be dangerous. But something told me to get into the water.

Nothing could have prepared me for the power of the ocean.  It pulled me when I resisted; it dragged against every limb and I became frightened.  But instead of thinking about the fact that I could possibly drown, I kept replaying those guys and their guns pointed at me, one shoved into my forehead.  I became angry; I kicked harder, pushed myself further until I felt the sand at my toes again.

I was crying and so angry.  I stood still in the water and called out into the wind.  I beat my fists against the surface of the sea (I probably looked insane, but no one was out there) and felt all of my pain seep away.  I begged the water for one thing: even if the car didn’t run, could my precious things be returned to me.  I bartered with the sea.

The sea giveth and the sea taketh away, as they say.  All of the hurt and terror and anguish I had felt over the previous year disappeared.  I was embraced by the water and somewhere so very deep inside me, I knew everything would be okay.  There was finally a sense of calm and clarity inside me, replacing the tumultuous emotions I had been feeling.

The morning we left, after the storms had passed, I went back to that secluded part of the beach and promised that I would dedicate my life to helping witches around me.  I had never made a promise like that in my life.

A month after that, the state police found my car.  It wasn’t in working condition at all, but everything remained intact in the trunk.  They brought it to my parents’ house and I rushed outside.  I sobbed when my dad opened the trunk and saw the box waiting, looking the exact same way it did the night the car was stolen.  Everything was in it, untouched by the elements.  (Eventually, I repaired the car enough for it to run another two-and-half-years, too!)

Magic is real.  Against impossible odds, there is power in every wish and desire.  I will never regret the promise I made that day.  I will never take for granted the gifts that have been given to me.  And when people scoff when I say that I am a witch, I inwardly smile and know that my magic is true and real.  I have all the proof I need.

Big gentle bott

look I can draw robots :’)))

4

Operation Sniper Friendship: activate Plan B
You can’t be mad, he brought you beer, it’s the rule.

For parallelpie! (“sniper trying to fix his van and engineer is trying really hard to get sniper to let him help with his van but sniper wants nothing to do with engineer’s so called upgrades”)
Glad I could pinch hit a request for you yaaay

Steal my car, I'll wreck your life.

Back story, i am apart of a small family-owned type used car dealership (cue used car salesman joke here) we have maybe 50 cars on the lot at any time and our main business is sub-prime or people with less than perfect credit. We truly want to help the people that can’t afford/have the credit to buy from a new car dealership. We’re actually very liked in our small community.

So recently I had these customers, lets call her wife and him husband (They’re early 20’s). They come into my store and I like them, they seem like a nice young couple trying to start their lives out, they have two very sweet little girls, and could just use a break. They have made some mistakes in their early lives and have less than perfect credit. I coach them on how to improve their credit and they seem sincerely interested in fixing it so I bust my ass to get them a loan with the wifes mother cosigning on a nice third row SUV. Wife is literally crying hugging me because every other dealer turned them down. Now they are a little short on the down payment so i take a check for the balance and we agree i’ll cash it on his next payday (Mistake number one) but pretty common in this line of work.

I forget about them until the next week when I drop the check at the bank along with other deposits. The next thing i know i receive a notice that the check has bounced. Along with a couple NSF fees attached for me, and the check comes back. It’s a dollar amount that is considered a first degree misdemeanor in our state, just under a felony. I reach out to wife to see what happened and how we can make arrangements to get this taken care of. The last thing I want to do is go after a young couple with two small kids. At first wife is a little shocked and insists the funds were pulled from their account and I show them the picture of the NSF check. She understands and says they can pay half in 2 weeks when she’s paid again and in another 2 weeks pay the other half. I agree to this and just take them on their word (mistake 2).

A couple weeks rolls around and I don’t hear from wife or husband and am now thinking i’ve been taken for a ride Ignoring my calls/texts/etc you get the point. I get a call from the bank and come to find out they haven’t made their first payment either.

Now with this particular bank if the customer does not make their first payment we have to “Buy Back” the deal. Basically we have to give the bank the money they sent us for the loan. After blowing up their phones and facebook they finally call me back. I get the sob story he got let go from his job and he just started a new one and mom is going to help them get back on their feet. I go through hell and high water with the bank to make a deal that if they make their payment they’ll keep the loan but i’m still on the hook if they miss any of the next 3 payments. Wife also tells me they’ll make payments to me on the bounced check once he starts getting paychecks. So i agree, they make their payment to the bank and i go about my life….Until the next month comes around.

I get an email from the bank saying wife didn’t make the next months payment and won’t answer their calls. At this point i’m furious and ready to just go get their vehicle. They won’t answer any of my calls and call mom, mom scrounges everything in her social security paycheck to help try to make the payment for them and is short. Wife and husband tells her they’ll cover the balance and of course don’t pay. Bank says deal is a buyback we need our money back for the loan within 7 days. Now the only way I can payback their loan is if my floor plan (Basically giant credit card we buy cars on) gets pictures of the car in my possession.

I try to call/text/email/message on facebook to get ahold of both wife and husband and they block me on everything. They’re basically just stealing the vehicle without paying. They even blocked mom who has been trying to help them get this handled, yes they screwed over their own mother in this ordeal. I just want the vehicle back and move on with life. So this is where i go @prorevenge on them.

I begin by dropping the check off at the local prosecutor, and they’re delighted to file charges against them. I do some skip tracing calling family members, all of which are more than happy to help because come to find out husband has had 7 jobs in 4 months and has burned every single family member with money they’ve borrowed. I find wifes Father on Facebook, Father has been trying to take custody of deadbeat wife and husbands 2 kids because of how they treat them. He informs me they are staying in sisters house right over the border (we are on the state line of 2 states remember this) I call up a repo company and even myself drive the hour to go get the vehicle. They’ve been hiding it in the garage (according to neighbors and repo company). I do some searching and find out they’re both on probation for stealing a bunch of stuff from multiple stores. So I of course find and call up Mrs. Probation officer to see if she has a last known address. I then mention to her they’re staying above the state line and bounced a very large check to me, and they’re facing fresh charges in my town, she appreciates the knowledge.

Now while I was up at their house one evening I talk to one of the neighbors (Who also hate them they’re always yelling at their kids and eachother) and convince neighbor to call me if they see the vehicle outside. It took one day, I get the call, I send a very large friend who lives nearby them to go get the vehicle. After many expletives, berating my friend, they hand over the vehicle. But not before finally calling me while he was there and tell me how they’re going to sue and blah blah.

I’m out quite a bit of money from the ordeal, but here’s the best part. I just found out by living out of state they violated probation and just got sentenced to 30 days in jail from that, and they also just had their “video court date”(because they’re currently in jail with the probation violation) with the local judge on the new charges of the bounced check. I got my vehicle back and guess what? Deadbeat wife’s Father got custody of the 2 kids.

Someone to Watch Over Me

Title:  Someone to Watch Over Me (A Bodyguard AU)

Series Masterlist (coming soon)

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Six months ago, everything changed. Widowed and alone, Dean Winchester is determined to pick himself up and move on, so he goes back to his job as a bodyguard for Singer Protective Services. His first assignment? An actress receiving death threats, an actress with an uncanny resemblance to his wife.

You don’t want protection, don’t need it. Especially from someone as cold and impersonal as Dean Winchester. You’re not afraid of a bunch of stupid death threats, you just want to be left alone to live your life.

Two people, two very different lives. Who will be the first to let the armor slip?

Characters:  Dean Winchester, Female reader, Bobby Singer, Tiny, Sam Winchester (mentioned), Georgia (OFC), Melissa (OFC-mentioned)

Word Count:  2936

Warnings: language, mentions stalking, death threats, mentions of blood

Author’s Notes: This was written for two challenges: @impala-dreamer One Prompt for All (had to be Dean x Reader, no more than 3,000 words, and the prompt: “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to kill me.”) and @luci-in-trenchcoats AU & Things Challenge (I chose Bodyguard AU). I’m not gonna lie, a lot inspiration for this came from the Whitney Houston/Kevin Costner movie The Bodyguard.

***My work is not to be posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Keep reading

4

the bus prepared by youngmin’s chinese fansite is now ready! the sides of the bus say “pick me” and “paca youngmin,” the front says “youngmin bus” and “alpaca go,” and the back says “gain strength! we’re cheering you on every day.” (cr: @youngminbar)

The Raid

I woke up at 5.30 and couldn’t fall back to sleep, so I fell into Sterek feels instead. Thought I’d try to make some sense of the story it looks like they’re telling (possibly a futile attempt, but…)

I’m on mobile, so no read more, sorry!

1.7k

T rating

*****

It had taken Stiles a while to get comfortable leaving his phone on silent when he was in the middle of something; the idea of being unreachable, or worse, unaware of the current threat had haunted him for months. The reality of being almost 3,000 miles away eventually sunk in and he was able to accept being temporarily out of the loop when he needed to focus. It was equal parts terrifying and freeing, a sort of nauseating relief.

So when he sees a missed call from Chris Argent after his last class before break, his heart drops immediately into his stomach. The voice-mail is maddeningly vague, but before it’s even over Stiles is shoving a few last essentials into his mostly packed duffel bag and impatiently waiting the handful of seconds for Chris to pick up his phone.

Chris has barely gotten a “Stiles” out before Stiles rushes out “What’s going on?”

Thankfully, Chris doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “There’s a rumor that there’ll be an FBI raid at a location I’ve been looking into for some possible illegal hunting. Can you see what you find out from whatever contacts you’ve made there?”

“Yeah, of course. Give me a couple hours. Do we know when it’s supposed to be happening?”

“Week from last Friday, so what, few days from now,” Stiles feels overwhelmingly sorry for Chris, the man must be pushing himself hard if he’s losing track of the days. “I’m not sure what their interest is, possibly a human trafficking angle,” Stiles’ stomach clenches at that. The idea of it so abhorrent it makes him shiver; the fact that hunters are involved, and therefore some of the people involved are likely to be werewolves adds an extra layer of disgust, a too vivid picture of Erica, Boyd,and Derek at the mercy of unhinged hunters flashes in his head and his whole body tenses. Chris confirms the thought with his next words, “but it’s not like they’ll be prepared for what they’ll find if my intel is right.”

“Right, I’ll get back to you as soon as I have something.”

“Thanks, Stiles,” Chris says sincerely, the exhaustion in his voice obvious, and Stiles has a moment of shameful relief that he’s not responsible for any of whatever is going on. It doesn’t last long. Chris inhales audibly, and Stiles instinctively prepares for a blow. “And Stiles,” he begins and pauses, reluctance and regret clear in his voice and in the short silence, “You should know that there’s a Beacon Hills connection to whatever we’re walking into.” Before Stiles can demand more, Chris adds an apologetic “I don’t know more than that right now, but I’m looking into it.”

Stiles drops onto his crappy dorm mattress, the weight of the information making his legs buckle. Stiles chokes out “I’ll call you back tonight,” and hangs up.

The call to Rafael McCall takes an eternity to connect, so when he finally answers, Stiles doesn’t wait for a greeting. “I need to know everything you know about a possible human trafficking raid happening in a few days that has a connection to Beacon Hills.”

“Hello to you, too, Stiles,” Rafael says in that condescending way he has always addressed others with, and Stiles is reminded that despite the man having put in a good word for him at the FBI, he was a first class asshole.

Stiles grits his teeth and manages a “Please,” letting his panic color his voice and hoping Mr McCall is having a day where he’s capable of basic human compassion.

He gets lucky, because Rafael responds with “I’ll see what I can find out, but no promises.”

“Fair enough, but I need it tonight.”

Rafael sighs, but agrees, and Stiles disconnects the call. Stiles spends the next two hours on the computer, finding everything he can on human trafficking, reaching out to contacts for information on hunters who’ve gone off the rails, and wishing Danny was there to help him find a backdoor into government files.

When Rafe calls back with a time and place, Stiles has a frustratingly small list of notes, but at least he has confirmation to pass along to Chris. Rafael has managed to get himself assigned to the team going on the raid, citing his “personal interest,” and Stiles manages not to scoff at the idea that the man has any real connection to Beacon Hills or its inhabitants. Still, Stiles says a sincere “Thank you,” before he tells Rafael firmly “I’m going with you.”

Rafe sighs out a resigned “I figured you’d say that. You’ll have a seat in my vehicle, otherwise I know you’ll just show up on your own.”

He’s not wrong. “Thank you,” he repeats, this time, he says goodbye befits hanging up to call Chris.

*****

Sitting in the government issue black SUV while FBI agents move with surprising stealth to prepare to storm the building is excruciating. Being told to stay in the car isn’t surprising, but it makes him feel anxious and angry and helpless all the same.

While the agents surround the building, a familiar figure approaches Stiles’ car. Stiles barely restrains himself from hugging Chris,the relief at seeing him, at seeing someone from home, from his life in Beacon Hills, from his pack of misfits, is almost staggering.

He settles for a nod of greeting and gratefully accepts Chris’ hand on his shoulder, letting the weight of it ground him.

“Stiles,” Chris says, clearly unsurprised at seeing him there, but decidedly unhappy about it. “I know you couldn’t, but damn do I wish you’d stayed away from this, kid. I’m sorry for dragging you back into this shitshow.” Stiles can see Allison’s ghost in Chris’s eyes, and it hurts in a way he knows it always will.

“I don’t think I could really stay out. Not forever,” he tries to reassure Chris. “Plus, if I could’ve helped and I didn’t, I’d never forgive myself.” Chris squeezes his shoulder, but his face draws tight.

“We’re moving in as soon as the FBI does, hoping the chaos gives us some cover. I wish they weren’t watching this place, so we could’ve moved in as soon as we found this place,” Chris says as he drops his hand to check his weapon. Before he turns to move into position, he levels Stiles with a sympathetic look. “I don’t want to tell you, but you should know, Derek is in there.”

Stiles freezes, he can’t feel his hands for a moment, but uses his thumb to count off his fingers, hoping with all he has that this is all a bad dream. There are only five fingers, and Stiles feels icy dread rushing through his veins. Chris’s voice pulls him from the edge of panic, “Whatever you do, be careful,” he says, the words heavy between them but a strange comfort nonetheless as Chris pats his shoulder again and walks away with practiced silence.

It takes Stiles less than 30 seconds to make a plan. With determination and likely ill advised bravery, honed over two plus years of fighting monsters–human and supernatural alike–he turns on the radio scanner in the SUV and assesses the unassuming old warehouse for a good entry point.

*****

When he finds Derek, he almost cries when Derek looks up from where he’s sagged against a crumbling wall, a complicated mix of emotions playing across his face. Derek chokes out “Stiles?” and despite the confusion in his voice, hearing his name from Derek’s mouth again is incredible.

Stiles takes in the room as he walks through it, a standard villain’s lair except for the heavy chains bolted to the walls, floor, and disturbingly, the ceiling. And the IVs filled with what Stiles assumes is a wolfsbane solution, considering there’s one in Derek’s arm. Anger and relief swirl around in his brain as he moves to Derek’s side, pulling the IV from his arm with disgusted satisfaction.

He’s restrained, but thankfully only by heavy leather cuffs–laced with more wolfsbane, judging by the reddened skin on Derek’s wrists. Stiles takes Derek’s hands, one at a time, removing the cuffs carefully and tossing them away.

“Hey, Der,” he says, cupping Derek’s face with one hand and resting the other on his shoulder. “Not quite the reunion we were planning, big guy, but we need to get the hell out of here, okay?”

Derek is worryingly quiet, eyes glassy from the drugs in his system, a look of shock and something like awe on his face. “Hey,” Stiles pats Derek’s cheek, not willing to slap him to awareness while he’s been so abused. “Derek, we need to go, are you with me?” His thumb traces Derek’s cheek as he pleads and tries to calculate how far he can carry Derek before he can’t anymore. “Der, c’mon, let’s go, c’mon. Please.”

Derek closes his eyes tightly for a second, and when he opens them again they’re clearer. Stiles fights the urge to sag against him in relief, but it’s a near thing.

“Yeah,” Derek says, voice raw (Stiles willfully ignores the knowledge that that means Derek’s likely been screaming for long hours, over however many days). “Yeah, I’m with you. I’m with you. Let’s go.”

Stiles breathes out heavily and gratefully, standing to help pull Derek off the floor. Derek stumbles, the wolfsbane making his movements unsteady, but Stiles catches him. He drapes Derek’s arm over his shoulder, gripping his forearm firmly and wrapping his free arm around Derek’s middle. They both hold on to each other tightly.

They make it into the hallway just as a team of FBI agents run down it in the opposite direction. Stiles is grateful for the vest Rafael had given him to wear, as not a single agent gives him a second glance.

Derek grips Stiles’ shirt as they struggle down the dim corridor, Stiles pulls him closer in response, taking more of his weight as Derek slips. He’d had to leave Derek once, and it had torn him apart; he wouldn’t be leaving him again.

They just had to get to Rafael’s car, then Stiles could get them both far away from this nightmare. Mr McCall will understand.

A road trip should give Derek time to recover, give them time to reconnect, to decide what to do next. Plus, it sounded like a much better reunion story; they deserved a kinder story.

Originally posted by dyjanobrien

5

Hey! Long time no see. School is over (it actually has been for a few weeks “^^) and I’m finally posting my concept painting class final. The assignment was to take a pre-existing IP and mix it up (don’t remember the exact words used) so I did FVII but designed it as a for-TV cartoon. I personally based it off of SatAM haha.

The goal was to create protag, antag, vehicle, and weapon turn-arounds, as well as a landscape painting. However, after doing Cloud, Boko, and the Buster Sword, I learned that you only had to render the ¾ pose. Thus, Sephiroth remained unrendered.

We also were given some brushes by our professor to use, but I can’t remember where they came from, so I’m sorry if you want to know.

Anyway, enjoy the stuff I made for the project!