#if you can dodge a wrench you can dodge a ball!

[mithrandirl]

[im-always-watching-7]

I was talking with a friend about the Star Wars sequels, and Star Wars in general, and we were thinking about how they would train them. In the prequels, it's shown that they are taken from their parents in infancy. I had the idea that Luke and the gang would change it to be about 10 years old, and then I said what may be the single stupidest thing I have ever said in my entire life.

"If you're old enough to be a pokemon trainer, you're old enough to be a Jedi".

I think I may have contracted tumblr officially.

[solusprime]

Solus: If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball.

[thewisemankey]

Today's Words of Wisdom:

If you can block trolls in a comment section, you can block a ball.

[polkadotsandtulips]

"Bold move, Cotton" is a spin off of "Bold strategy, Cotton" from the movie Dodgeball.

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

req'd by @quotesandmiracles

well you know what they say, if you can dodge it you can dodge a ball

text: The wrench is a weapon of temptation

[bettyfrommars]

v a c a n c y

Eddie x afab!Reader

This is a short snippet of a world I've been thinking about for a while, loosely inspired by the film Equilibrium where feeling is a crime punishable by death, but also by my fascination with abandoned places, wastelands, and the idea that, even though love sets us up for pain and grief, life is not worth living without it. I hope to expand on it eventually. Hint: this might also be interwoven with my nightmare Eddie.

wc: 1.3k

18+MDNI, dystopian au

This is rough, I just spit out this scene because I needed this Eddie to cheer me up.

The sting of the frosty air bit your cheeks when you stepped out of the motel room you shared with your aunt Ramona.  Wiggling the knob to make sure it was locked, you zipped up your coat, and then checked to make sure it was locked one more time for good measure. 

Nearby, someone whistled to get your attention.

You snapped a look across the way to find that the newest resident of the Grove Motel was out in the parking space in front of his room working on his van. He waved a wrench in the air at you.  “She needs tender loving care when it’s cold outside,” he shouted, possibly unaware of the noise ordinance for loud voices on the premises.  

You wondered if perhaps he had mistaken you for someone else, so you adjusted the bag on your shoulder, turned your back on him, and kept going.  

The steel of the wrench clinked to the cement, and then, at a jog, he caught up to you, and extended the spread out fingers of his hand for you to see.  “What do you think?”

He was referring to the new skull ring he wore, and was about to tell you a story about how a Hell’s Angel traded it for a six pack, but you were fixated on something else.  

“You’re not supposed to do that,” you gestured to the chipped, black polish on his short fingernails, not to mention the jewelry adornments he so proudly wore. “If they catch you, you’ll get a fine.” 

“Fuck ‘em,” he put a cigarette to his lips, lit the end with a metal zippo from his pocket, and then clapped the lighter shut, keeping the coffin nail in the corner of his mouth as he spoke.  “They can put me in jail, wouldn’t be the first time.”

You came to a full halt on the pavement then, unnerved by his unique and utterly idiotic nonchalance. His gaudy rings, the flash on his vest over his leather jacket, his long hair, everything.  Hell, you could very well get a fine for just associating with him.  “They banish people too, you know? To the Outer Limits, I bet you wouldn’t be so cocky then?”

He puffed a laugh out his nose and leaned in, his voice a murmur that melted into a purr. “Well, then, you don’t know shit about me, sweetheart.”

You dodged to the side to avoid him, marching ahead with brutal determination.

“Hey, hey, hey, please wait,” he jumped in front of  you, waving his arms. “I’m sorry okay? Just...wait,” and then his hands were up, palms out to mime the invisible wall between you.

Your gaze lingered on the dead tufts of grass around the sidewalk, but then cautiously rose to his brown orbs rimmed in gold.

“My name’s Eddie,” he bobbed forward before bouncing back on the balls of his feet.  “I’ve been seeing you around for a couple weeks and thought maybe I’d introduce myself.”

“I know who you are,” you swallowed.  “You moved into Curtis and Janey’s old place. They were friends of mine.”

“Oh shit, that’s right.  He was taken away, wasn’t he? By those rent-a-cops with the cowboy hats.”

You nodded, working your jaw.  “Curtis and his wife, they were always holding hands and kissing and…” a part of  you worried you’d get in trouble just for speaking the words. “...being really affectionate with each other.”

Eddie gave an exaggerated grimace.  “Yikes, that sound like some hardcore stuff.”

“Don’t make fun,” you inclined your head.  “This is serious.”

He broke into a chuckle, biting his lip.  “I can tell that you think it is.”

You kept walking, only to have him take backwards steps to keep pace with you, wallet chain bouncing with each jolly movement.  “So, what’s your name?”

“You’re not from around here, I can tell,” you let him know, mumbling your name so it was almost inaudible.

“What gave it away?” 

“Do they not have laws against feelings and self-expression where you’re from?”

“No, they do,” he spun on his heel to face the same direction as you.  “I guess I just don’t care about their rules.”

You came to another abrupt stop to gape at his casual smile.  You’d never met anyone like him before, and it made you curious almost as much as it infuriated you.  He appeared to welcome your assessment of him with matched intensity, rolling his bottom lip through his teeth a few times.  

“I have to get to work,” you stepped from the curb, gnashing your teeth.

“Are you taking the bus?” 

“No genius,” you spat over your shoulder.  “I’m waiting for my limousine to pick me up at the curb.”

At that, Eddie guffawed with laughter and sprang up next to you, shuffling in little hop-steps.  “You had me worried there for a second.  I thought maybe you were dead inside like the rest of them.”

“I’m plenty dead inside,” you muttered, thinking it was time to take your pills again, the medication that kept you from feeling anything and sucked any and all joy out of life.

“Do you want a ride?” He exhaled toward the sky, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.  “I know a guy with a van who has some time to kill.”

“No thank you,” was your quick and curt response.  

“Suit yourself,” he flicked the butt into the street just as an old, rusted Plymouth cruised by with a huge dent in the door.  “But if you ever need like, milk or sugar, you know where to find me.”

“I won’t.”

A few yards from the bus stop, he called your name, and you spun around to face him, brow creased with irritation.  

“Was that Led Zeppelin I heard coming from your place the other day or was I dreaming?”  

You froze, panic flushing arctic ice through your veins.  

The enjoyment of music was absolutely forbidden in your territory, and the only thing on the radio were news and religious stations.  You’d kept your dad’s old cassette player and a shoebox full of tapes hidden in the wall behind your dresser for years.  It was a secret you’d kept so long, you were always very careful about when you listened and how loud.

You were shaking your head, moving your jaw, but no words could come out.  He would tell on you, and then the Troopers would come and ransack your room and take the only thing of your father’s you had left.

“Please don’t,” you took cautious steps, searching his face.  “I can’t, I won’t listen anymore, but please don’t tell anyone. I’m begging  you.”

Eddie frowned and grinned at the same time, confused.  “I would never—” and then he realized you were actually freaking out, and his tone got very soft.  “Hey, listen, it’ll be our secret, alright? I like to listen to music too.”

You looked around, worried that the aluminum skeletons in the junkyard next door had ears. You believed him, you had to.  You’d been caught and you were at his mercy. 

“I was just going to say we need to get you some headphones.” He bucked his chin and gave a proud wink, “I know a guy.”

[artsyunderstudy]

WIP Wednesday

Hey friends. Okay so, I haven't been writing too much, I'm sort of fucking exhausted and my brain isn't working. Or at least, not consistently. Anyway I've been perusing my WIPs and decided to open up the doc for A Mild Case of Madness because it's been almost a year since I updated that and I just. God. Okay.

But I actually really like what I have, even if I'm still not sure it's working. So maybe I'm going to start picking at it again. In the meantime, here is a LONG excerpt. Just to, I dunno, get some of it out there.

They're fighting a tree.

“Baz!”  I hear it before I see it. A whip in the air. I try to dodge [the root], but it clips my shoulder, and strange, heavy magick reverberates through me like a resounding bass. My vision swims. The ground pulls away, or I do. I’m free falling. Then my head snaps back as I’m wrenched forward by the collar, held tight in Simon’s shaking fist. My stomach keeps dropping even though I’ve stopped. Snow holds me there, half-dangling over the moat. His sword arm is raised over his head and the air around him is distorted, like heat waves. The newly detached root is on the ground between us shimmering with his magick. He’s panting, broad shoulders heaving. I'm staring. His eyes are too blue, like someone’s put a light behind them. Flickering and unreal. Full of magick. “All right?” he asks, blinking rapidly as his eyes begin to dull.  “Yeah.”  “I told you to wait.”  I shake my head as he pulls me upright. I smell fire. I smell blood. There’s a thin rivulet of red winding down his bicep where he’s been grazed. I avoid breathing through my nose, though mouth breathing is hardly better. I can very nearly taste it. “Let me go, Snow.” I say it too quietly.  He doesn’t for a breath, but then he does. He averts his eyes—almost shyly I’d say if it were anyone else—and takes a step back. Bunce is on the ground behind him examining the charred remains of the tree.  “That did it,” she mutters, mostly to herself.  As if in response, a lingering root shoots out over her shoulder, straight for Snow. I snatch his shirt over his bicep and shove him to the side. A ball of flame bursts out of my palm as I shout, “Burn, baby, burn!” My fire burns blue, eating up the root like flash paper. I can’t help but think that it’d look like that, like a cigarette burning down in fast forward, if I ever went up in flames.  (When.)

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[leonisdumbasallhell]

In honor of Beat the Shit out of Chris Friday, how about a sketch of him being pummeled with dodgeballs?

The poll I have for this is still ongoing (although, Leon and Wesker did beat him in the first round) but it's not looking like he'll win so... yeah.

You don't have to add anyone else in the pic, just the balls coming in from all sides from the offscreen women's team (and probably Wesker).

Thanks <3

Wesker voice: if you can dodge a wrench you can dodge a ball

[gimmethosedaddymilkers]

Modern Arthur Morgan Headcannons

This was requested by @mrsarthurmorgan7​ Modern Arthur is one of my favorite things to think about, and I think it’s mainly because he....well cause tattoos more than likely, so lets get this ball rolling! 

Ok, so first things first

Modern Arthur’s job

It’s important to him, it might not pay well, but it is important to him.

He loves his job, he has so much fun with it! 

He’s a mechanic of course. 

Well, I mean, he likes his side hustle at Dutch’s ranch where he helps out with the horses, takes care of them, runs them when the need to be worn out, and helps wrangle the new ones, but when he isn’t doing that he’s working over at the mechanic shop he started with a couple of the boys, Charles and John.

He meets you when your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere and he just happened to be on the road in his tow truck. 

You had very little knowledge about what went on under the hood, I mean, you could Identify what car brand was what, Honda, Hyundai, Subaru, Chevy, Ford, the list goes on, but you couldn’t tell a head gasket from a piston. 

So, when he sees you on the side of the road, the hood up on your orange 1971 Dodge Challenger he whistles to himself and pulls over.

To be honest with you he was really just interested in the car more so than you, at least that was until he got out of the truck.

He pulled on that stupid dodge baseball cap of his and did the best to wipe the oil off his hands.

When he finally gets out of his old tow truck and moves around your car, again whistling, which this time catches your attention.

When you lean around and offer a shy smile to him.

Oh, it’s love at first sight.

He has to compose himself, but when he does he mentions how much he loves the year of your car, how it’s his favorite model, and he wished that they were still made.

You admit to him that you only got it because it made you feel like you were actually important with all the looks you got.

He laughs at that and offers to take a look under the hood, to which you gladly allow because you have no idea what else you’re gonna do otherwise. 

When Arthur takes a look under the hood he realizes that your problem is probably gonna cost a fortune to fix, and more than likely whoever had sold you the car had known that it was an issue,

Mainly because the damage seemed man made. In his opinion the guy who sold it was probably hoping you’d come back and pay him more to fix it.

“Well, it ain’t pretty I ain’t gonna lie to ya.” 

He doesn’t tell you how much it will cost you, mainly because he is absolutely smitten with you.

Instead he offers to hook you up and drive you back to his garage and take a better look at what parts he’s got in stock.

Of course you let him and from there the two of you climb into his truck and are on your way to a little car garage run by three guys in a fairly small town. 

The whole ride there the two of you bond, and it comes to your attention that you like him, he’s handsome and he’s incredibly charming with the way he talks to you the whole ride over. 

When you get there he looks the car over a little more carefully and goes through his inventory to figure out if he’s got what he needs.

You can’t help but watch him in that black tank top with a red grease rag hooked in to one of his belt loops and a concentrated look in his eyes.

A wrench in hand and grease and oil smeared all over him.

You realize that maybe....

You do in fact feel something for this kind stranger. 

When he finishes up and claims that it’s on the house, you demand that you pay him for the hard work he’s done, considering that it took him a solid two hours to do it.

He smiles a little sheepishly at you and then says you can make it up to him if you agree to go on a date with him.

You happily agree, and that’s where the wonderful relationship between you two starts.

Lord have mercy, from there the two of you are nearly inseparable. I mean, you do everything together.

He introduces you to his family, Dutch and Hosea up at the ranch, John and Charles, though John is on accident, he just happens to be in the shop when the two of you were uh....fooling around 

You two still had wonderful, AMAZING sex that night.

Your first time with him and from there you knew you weren’t gonna leave him.

I mean, you knew that you weren’t going to before you did it with him but...

sealed the deal for sure.

That was only about six months into dating.

Sean, Lenny, Javier, Bill and the others all come later, when Dutch and Hosea hold a holiday get together, and all of them absolutely adore you.

After just a year of dating he asks you to move in with him, and in all honesty he wanted to ask you to move in after only a few months, but he waited just because he didn’t want to push his luck with you.

His house is small, but it’s in no way uncomfortable. 

It’s just a little ranch house, not far from his shop, and while the house is little there’s plenty of land to expand it if you need too.

He’s got three vehicles that he stores lovingly in the garage which is much bigger than the house. 

A 1969 Camero, a newer, probably like 2020, Chevy truck, and a Harley Davidson bike, which he LOVES to ride in the summer.

And boy, he is absolutely 

HOT 

on that bike. 

His cigarettes rolled up in his sleeve to keep them where he can find them, and those tight fitting jeans

AH

Now, every once in a while, even though you’re moved into the same house together you get anxiety, horrible, horrible anxiety.

I mean, crippling, as well as depression, and Arthur understands.

He gets it, he has both of those himself, but he doesn’t understand why you think he’d start hating you all the sudden.

He loves you with everything he has and every time he sees you sitting there with that look on your face he knows your in your head too much.

Those are the days when he simply kisses your forehead and then guides you out to his truck where he then takes you out to Dutch’s ranch and the two of you spend the rest of the day riding until you’re ready to talk about what’s going on in your head.

If you refuse that, he’ll gladly sit behind you and cuddle with you until you want to talk. 

Sometimes all you need is some reassurance and he’s happy to give it to you.

In return you always offer reassurance to him when he needs it, he has issues just like you do. 

The night he proposes to you is a night you’ll never forget.

You came home from work, it had been the shittiest day of the week. 

The whole day you’d been harassed, you’d been yelled at, you hated work.

When you come through the door you’re hoping to just take a bath and curl up with Arthur but you’re greeted with something else. 

The living room is completely dark, and all you can see is a candle lit in the kitchen.

When you plop your bag down you hear a radio click on and one of your favorite country songs, one of Arthur’s as well, “Must Be Doin’ Somethin’ Right” starts to play. 

You walk to the kitchen and there he is, kneeling next to a boombox wearing his best suit he’s got, and a small jewelry box in his hands.

“Darlin’, I....Y/N I love you to the ends of the earth, I love ya more than life itself. You mean more to me than anything else in my life, and...Well Shit, I wish I coulda done this with more finesse...Y/N L/N, will you marry me?” 

Of course you say yes.

The two of you embrace and share a passionate kiss that makes the day’s troubles disappear from your mind. 

He’s the best husband you could have asked for.

.....Wedding headcannons soon? Modern....not modern???? THOUGHTS?

[ice-cap-k]

Distant Visions

Hard prompt is hard.

Cross-posted on AO3 here: Distant Visions

______________________________________________________

“Calling for help will get you nowhere, anyway. Don’t be a fool. Tell us where he is, and this won’t have to get messy.”

Joe Hills blinked open his eyes. 

The room before him had been trashed. Broken pieces of porcelain and plastic lay scattered across the floor. Chairs are splintered and smashed, tossed haphazardly on top of a table shoved against a wall. There’s some sort of dark liquid dripping down the plaster, but it is impossible for him to tell what it could be. 

It kind of looks like the safe house’s kitchen.

Men in suits were spread out to cover the place from corner to corner. They were glaring at a familiar figure standing at the room’s center. Joe recognized his friend Jevin. He was crouched down and tense, looking wildly around him at the people closing in from all sides. Clutched against his chest was a busted cell phone with a bullet hole through the screen. 

Jevin rolled his eyes. “I feel bad for your parents if this isn't what you consider messy.” His tone was still full of the usual snark, but his voice cracked at the end. Joe can tell by the look on the others’ faces that they weren’t impressed. 

“And you’re naive if you consider this a mess,” one snarled behind Jevin. The gun in his hand caught the light from a bare bulb in the ceiling. 

“Enough.” The one who spoke first silenced his comrade with a swipe of his hand. “There’s no need for things to get any worse. This has nothing to do with you.” He tilted his head towards Jevin and raised both eyebrows. “All we want is your little friend. If you tell us where he is, we’ll leave you on your merry way.” He held out his hand as if hoping Jevin might reach out and take it. 

But Jevin only smiled and shrugged, swatting away the hand held out to him like it was nothing more than an annoying bug. His eyes shifted back and forth as some of the people around him inched closer. “Sorry, but you already said it. This has nothing to do with me. I don’t know anything.” He crossed his arms with a smug smirk. “Absolutely nothing.”

Jevin and the man who seemed to be in charge stared each other down for a moment. Jevin leaned back, relaxed and confident as he held the grim gaze of the man in the suit. Each one dared the other to look away. Eventually, the other man broke eye contact first. He pivoted on the ball of his foot, leaving his back facing Jevin while he turned to address the others. “He’s not talking. We’ll never get anything out of him like this. Grab him and we’ll bring him back to make him talk.”

"As if, jerk!" Jevin's broken phone spiraled through the air and nailed the guy in the back of his head. There was a scream, and the whole room broke into chaos. Men in suits rushed at Jevin. Some still had guns out. They did not hesitate to swing them around in the hopes of throttling Joe’s friend.

Jeven swung his fists wildly. This wasn’t his first time in a fistfight. However, it was his first time in a fistfight so clearly stacked against him. A few punches managed to hit his attackers, but he was woefully outnumbered. They overpowered him in seconds, pinning him down to his knees and wrenching his arms out behind his back. Even then, Jevin wasn’t one to just roll over and let it happen. He continued to wriggle and buck, hoping to wrench himself free. “You’ll get nothing out of me. I don’t even know where they would go! He saw you coming and got out of dodge real fast.”

The guy in charge glared daggers down at him. He was still rubbing at the back of his head where Jevin’s phone had hit. “As if the subject would have left one of his little guard dogs behind without telling them where he was going.”

“He didn’t,” Jevin hissed. “I ran out before he could say anything to try and buy time. Even if I hadn’t, his future sight would have seen how things played out. They would know to go somewhere else.”

The man furrowed his brow. "So you're telling," he says slowly, enunciating each word with a chilling tone. "Is that you really are useless to us?"

Jevin clamped his mouth shut. Joe knew that Jevin had said too much. Joe could see in Jevin's face that his friend knew he had messed up as well. 

"What do we do with him, then," another of the men asked.

"We lose the dead weight."

Jevin finally stopped struggling, eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. They only got wider as the man in charge pulled his own gun out from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. He raised it slowly, the barrel tracing over the ground before arching up to aim directly at Jevin's forehead.

"W-wait… wait, WAIT! Wait a minute," Jevin is stuttering. He seemed to have shaken off his fear-fueled paralysis. He is once more back to desperately trying to claw at the wrists of the men pinning him down. "You said this doesn't have to get messy. You could just let me go."

The finger tightens around the trigger.

"PLEASE!"

Joe…? Joe, are you in there? Joe!

BANG!

Joe Hills blinked open his eyes. 

He’s sitting at the kitchen table in the safe house. The morning sun was just visible outside the window, rising to meet another day. There's a fresh mug of tea cupped in his hands. Its warmth felt nice against his palms.

Cleo is sitting in a chair of her own across from him. She looks like she just crawled out of bed. Her bright orange hair was frizzy and tangled but pulled back into a lazy ponytail to keep all but a few too-short strands from falling in her face. She is still wearing her PJs too. At her side was a mug of her own she had been drinking from. Now it was placed to the side as she propped one elbow against the table and rested her cheek against her hand. Her head tilted curiously when she noticed that he was looking at her. "What did you see?"

Joe felt his throat seize up. It was such a simple question. He hated how loaded it became whenever it was directed at him. How is he supposed to answer something like that? The sound of that gunshot was still ringing in his ears. He couldn’t find it in himself to try to explain, so instead he decided to focus on the swirling surface of his tea. Tears were already starting to burn at the corners of his eyes.

"Oh, Joe…" A teardrop falls into his mug. Warm fingers wrap around his wrist and gently squeeze. He can just make out Cleo’s chipped black nail polish from the edges of his vision. Her voice is soft and comforting. It’s measured and sad and understanding as she asks, “Is it time to start packing up?”

He manages a nod because he doesn’t trust his voice not to crack if he tries to speak. It was. The sooner the better. This safe house had served its purpose up until now, but something had changed. Their location was known, or about to be found out very soon. 

Clea sighed. She pushed back her chair and stood up. “Right. Let me get dressed. Hey, JEVIN!”

The couch in the other room creaked as their friend shot awake. There was an incoherent shout. Joe could make out the other man’s arms flailing. A blanket fluttered over the side of the armrest. Shortly after, a bleary-eyed Jevin poked his head up over the back of the couch. “Whuh?! What happened? Did we win?”

“No,” Cleo said, with a tone that held a hint of annoyance. “I don’t know what you were dreaming about, but we did not win.”

“Oh… ok.” And just like that, Jevin closed his eyes and flopped back down into the couch. Joe held back a snort of laughter. Despite the tears trailing from his eyes, it was a relief to see that Jevin was still very much the same Jevin he always was, safe and happy and none the wiser to what Joe had just seen. 

And when Cleo huffed and started stomping towards the couch, Joe even smiled. It all felt so normal when the situation was anything but.

“Oh no you don’t, Jev. None of that.” She reached over the arm of the couch and roughly shook the sleeping man by his shoulder. “Joe just saw the future again. That government group is on its way.”

Joe groaned, not even opening his eyes. “Again?”

“Yes again,” Cleo snapped. “So wake up.”

“Ugh, fine. But only for Joe. Not for you. I need my beauty sleep.”

“I’m sure.” Cleo’s tone was all sarcasm as she turned away. Behind her, Jevin was rolling out of the couch cushions with immense difficulty. “We should have some time to pack our bags, and if someone knocks on the front door we can have Jevin answer it. I trust him to handle himself in a fight more than I trust either of us.” 

Joe nearly slammed his mug down on the tabletop. “NO!” His sudden outburst scared her so badly, she somehow managed to freeze in place and jump out of her skin. Jevin leaned out from behind her, his face blank and blinking slowly as if unable to process what just happened. Considering he had just woken up, he probably couldn’t. “Sorry…” Joe said sheepishly, shrinking into himself. He found himself hunkering his shoulders against the growing intensity of Cleo’s glare. “I mean, if there’s a knock on the door, nobody should answer. Especially not Jevin. In fact, I would go so far as to say it would be best if we made sure Jevin stayed with us at all times.”

Both Cleo and Jevin shared a knowing look. “Ok!” She clapped her hands together once. “So the potential bad future you saw involved Jevin. Noted. Now to make sure that doesn’t happen. Come on boys. If we have time later, we can reheat that tea for you, Joe.”

“Yeah,” Joe said, letting go of his mug. He dried the tears with the back of his shirt sleeve. “That’s fair.” 

Joe lets her shoo him off to his room to get changed and get ready. The safe house became a flurry of activity as clothes and personal possessions were stuffed into backpacks. Honestly, there’s not much to pack between the three of them. Just what they could carry on their backs. That’s what a life constantly on the run will do to you. Eventually, you just have to pare down your belongings to the stuff you need, and what matters most. A cooler was packed with some of the non-perishable food left in the cupboards. Not too full, though. It can’t be too heavy to carry for long distances. Even then, there’s a chance they may just have to drop it and run. 

Jevin popped his head into Joe’s room as he’s folding his clothes into his pack. “Hey Joe, any clue when your vision is supposed to take place?”

“Sort of. The details were a little fuzzy on this one. Maybe half an hour from now? Forty-five minutes?”

“Dang, that fast? Ok, then I guess I’m ready then. That place I’m working at will figure out I’ve quit when I don’t show up for work.”

“Sorry man,” Joe says, feeling his heart sink a little.

Jevin just waves him off. “No worries. It was just a temp job anyway.” 

In fifteen minutes, the three of them are all packed up and standing at the back door. 

“We each have all our things, right,” Cleo asked as Joe slid open the screen door. She slipped outside first as he held it open. “I’m not going behind you two and checking if you forgot anything.”

Joe shook his head. “I’m good.”

“Me too.”

“Good. Then what about water bottles?”

Joe held his out before sliding it into the mesh pocket on the side of his pack. Jeven just motioned towards the canister hanging from his belt loop. 

“Perfect. And I’ve got the food. That’s everything. Let’s be off.” 

They all started walking out of the back alley of the safe house. Jevin hung back a few steps, looking uncertain. “And where exactly are we off to?” he asked. “I don’t recall anyone mentioning the plan.”

Cleo tilted her head in Joe’s direction. “Just follow him for now.”

“There’s a train that’s about to pass through town with sliding door rail cars. If we can jump on when it passes through, it will take us far, far away."

"How do you know about that? Was that part of what you saw this morning?"

"No. I just looked up the local train schedules on my phone while you were getting ready."

"He may have weird powers, but he can still use the internet like the rest of us," Cleo half scolded, half teased. 

Jevin rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, sorry. Excuse me for not having everything all figured out. It's not like I literally just woke up or anything." He reached out to playfully smack Cleo's shoulder. She swatted him back, and all three broke out in snickers. 

It was a sweet moment. Joe appreciated how they could make light of the situation so easily. He wished things could be different. That it could always be like this. 

“You know, you guys don’t have to keep going like this if you don’t want to,” Joe found himself saying. He felt so small saying it out loud. They seemed so much larger than life when they laughed like this. But he had their attention now. “I’m the one who has weird powers and can see into the future. It’s me they want. Not you guys. You guys are normal. You don’t have to keep coming with me.”

“Don’t be silly.” Cleo’s voice is scathing and full of love. A sort of tone only Cleo could pull off, really. “Of course we do. Who else will keep you out of trouble?”

“Me…?” Joe offered with a shrug.

That got another laugh out of both of them. 

Jevin patted his shoulder. “Relax, man. Friends watch out for each other. If one of us were being hunted down by the government, you’d do the same.” Joe would. He already kind of was. Jevin must have seen a hint of reluctance in his face. “It’s not your fault, Joe. Right, Cleo?”

“Right. We want to be here for you. We want to help you. Let us do that. We’re all just a bunch of hermits now anyway. A bit of hermits helping hermits never hurt anyone.”

Gosh, Joe had such great friends. He sniffed, already feeling the tears coming on once more. “Awww,” his voice wavered. “You guys…” 

Joe grabbed a handful of Cleo’s sleeve and Jevin’s hoodie and pulled them in close. They wrapped him and each other up in their arms in one big group hug. As far as Joe was concerned, this was the best thing ever, and he was glad to be sharing it with the best people ever.

The moment was short-lived at the sound of angry knocking. It sounded like someone was pounding on a door. It also sounded close. Really close. Like, on the other side of the building close. 

The three friends separated and hunkered closer to the wall in a panic. “We weren’t fast enough,” Joe hissed. “That must be them. They’re already here.”

Jevin rolled his shoulders, shrugging off his pack so he could lower it to the ground. “I’ll go back and talk to them. See if I can buy you two some time to get out of here.” 

Joe’s breath caught in his lungs. Oh no. It was happening. Joe already saw how this scenario ended, and he reached out for Jevin before the man could make a break for it. Before Jevin can slip away, though, Cleo grabs his arm and pulls. “Oh no you’re not,” she hissed under her breath. “The three of us are sticking together and sneaking out the back.”

“But they’re not after me,” Jevin tried to reason with her as she shoved his bag back into his arms. “And I can handle myself in a fight if things go south.”

“I don’t care. We’re going. Now.” Cleo’s word is final. Jevin doesn’t make any further attempts to go back. Instead, he silently follows her over a chain link fence. 

Joe’s glad she got the message loud and clear when he said Jevin shouldn’t answer the door. He could always count on her. On the other side of the fence, he patted Jevin on the back. “If it makes you feel better, I’m much more comfortable knowing you’re here with us than if you were back there trying to buy us time.”

[laneynoir]

@legoriel-fan this is the one inspired by that link you tagged me in, so I blame you.

Legolas x reader: Not All Come Back.

Word count: 1279 (pretty short, oops)

He understands.

Finally he understands. What causes his fathers protective nature, the reason for his closing the borders of his kingdom. Why King Thranduil keeps those he cares for so close, so protected.

It has taken this. No arrows fire from Legolas' bow, as foes and friend alike make a barrier between himself and you, you who are locked in combat with a troll that is at least six times the size of yourself.

You take it down, but not without a sickening crack from your leg, broken by a final sweep from the horrid creature's mace.

Legolas cries you name, but despite his elven strength he cannot clear a path to your side. He is forced to pull his daggers free, slaying many, but not enough. Never enough.

You are unbable to stand, and glancing at your leg provides a hopeless sight. Not bothering to stiffle the sound of pain that escapes, you drag yourself against the troll and pull free your belt of knives.

Each throw finds a target, but there are only so many of the weapons, and the enemies are endless. Legolas fights against the tide as you loose the last knife. An orc steps close, jagged dagger in hand and malicious smirk on it's face.

Legolas is pressed in from all sides, silver in his hands flashing on auto pilot, he cannit move.

He can only watch.

The orc stomps on the already shattered leg and your body wrenches in pain. You lash out with a half spear from the ground, the orc dodges to the side, but to late and his side is slashed open.

Ripping the weapon from your grasp, it mimicks the movement, cutting your stomach open. It's other hand still holds the knife, which he applies to your face; slicing from right below your hairline, through your brow and down to your chin.

Back. He's been pushed further away, the tide of battle will not allow him closer, but he needs to, he needs to get to you. The accursed orc kicks you, hitting the wound. You roll a few feet before landing, absolutly still.

The Eagles have come, but Legolas does not notice. The majestic birds however, do notice the sound that next escapes the fair prince's body; it is the sound of a shattered heart, breaking the body.

And Legolas understands.

Suddenly by his side is a red haired windmill of fury and determination. Axe hewing oponents with a will, Gimli shouting in Khuzdul.

When a small area is cleared, the dwarf kneels, Legolas taking only a moment to see the idea. Once he does, he feels enough love for the dwarven race to orchestrating an epic balled in their honor, maybe thirteen of them.

"You are mad," Legolas says placing a foot into the double hold of Gimli's hands. "But bright stars I am as well. Away!"

And on his shout, he is launched into the air. The weight of elves is very little, and coupled with the strength of a dwarf the effort is more than sufficient to send Legolas tweanty feet into the air.

Drawing the bow of Lothlórien the orc falls dead before it can touch you again, the next two orcs follow their fellow to deaths door before Legolas touches the ground, a third joins quickly.

You lie still as a corpse, and for a time he thinks that is all he protects. That is all he can see, your face mangled and bloodied so that he cannt even discern your features, but at last his quick eyes catch the shallow choke of breath. 

Hope renewed -though still shallow- he stand by your body until the ground shakes and the forces of Mordor retreat. Until the Eagles collect the hobbits. Until Aragorn is running to Legolas, and a short while later you also are in the sky.

Though there is little chance that you will live, he sees the dispare in Aragorn's eyes.

He cannot leave.

Four weeks you have laid in the bed in comatose state, no recogniton for anything, the only sighn of life is your now steady heartbeat, and steady rise and fall of your chest.

The wound on your side misty healed, and all cuts and bruises have now faded, but your face...

Wraped in bandage, skin reknit by nothing less than magic and the work of a wizard, an elven lord, and, to Legolas relief, an Elvenking. At the three week mark, Legolas asks if there is a way to wake you preemptively.

"Not that I see. And indeed the pain of healing would be... Highly unfortunate. Unconsciousness is, in this case, a blessing." Legolas nodds wairaly at Elrond's words, but does not look away from you. Elrond sighs and leaves the room.

Elves can go long without sleep, but this is far to long, and though Elrond worries after the moral stansing of such a plan, Thranduil is not above drugging his own son.

"Four weeks Elrond,"

"Yes Thranduil I know, however-"

The king waves a gracefully impatient hand. "Four weeks my son has gone without proper nourishment, and no rest to think of. I will not tolerate my son's ill health because of your stubbornness."

Elrond rubbs his temples, Thranduil's voice carries still the tone of a King, but there is such worry beneath the surface that the effect is somewhat lessened. "Alright, I concede, " at the last Elvenking's smug look Elrond scowls. "I still remember exactly how to do so. After all I've had practice. Your famil2u is rather self destructive under mourning, Mellon"

A tilt of the head. "Your administering the tonic after my Maereth passed is exactly what gives me this idea. Legolas is far to muvh like me for anyone's comfort, and I cannot loose him," the piercing blue eyes make contact with Elrond's, they glisten. "Not to the loss of his love, and especially if there still is hope still."

A short while later, when a caring Sam apears with a cup of tea, Legolas has not the heart to turn him away. Elrond smirks despite himself when Thranduil moves his son over to the cot in the corner, covering him gently.

Though Legolas is decidedly displeased when he wakes, he is eventually convinced to take at least a two-hour rest each day, or the threat of removing him from your side will be carried through.

As fate -and the author- would have it, when Legolas has finally layed his head down to sleep (on his own, no more druging thank you father) he hears a movement from the the bed on which you lay.

He's never moved so quickly as this moment, kneeling beside you he grasps your hand, staring anxiously.

"Legolas?"

He moves his head in a movement of affirmation. "Yes Meleth, it is me."

You sit up, and Legolas startled as you rub your eyes vigorously. "Y/n, don't, you are unjured still!" Your breath has vecome eratic, and worried he calls for the guard outsude the door to fetch Elrond.

He snatches your hands away from your face befire you can open the healing wounds. Whispering your name brings yoyr attention back to him.

"Legolas, I cannot see. I cannot see anything."

His heart stops for a moment, before, "Worry not, it is dark still I'm sure your eyesight will be fine my love. It us only temporary."

Elrond arives, immediately checking over your person. When he places a hand in your forehead, tilting your head back, his face is grave. It is not much larer when he leaves, unable to do anything.

You are permenantly blind.

[heavenlyhoundoom]

Since there was a tragedy in the latest Monty and Foxy Show video, here's some shit posts involving the Bloodtwins to try and cheer people up.

1.(The gang is playing gmod Jenga, and Hunter spawns couches at the tower).

Moon: What the fuck, you're throwing couches at us!?

Hunter: Eat my sofas!

(Hunter launches more couches, nearly hitting Moon).

Moon:(scared) Oh shit!

(Moon panics and narrowly avoids the couches.)

2.(Scythe, Eclipse, FT Foxy, and Trashcan Man are flying a helicopter in GTA 5).

Trashcan Man: Oh, man.

Scythe: Does your TV work?

Trashcan Man: No.

Scythe: Is your tv working?

Trashcan Man: Mine's not.

Scythe: Mine's working, press Y.

Trashcan Man: Press Y, really?

(Trashcan Man pressed Y and jumped out of the helicopter).

Trashcan Man: No, no, no, you son of a bitch, no!

(The game subtitles announced that Trashcan Man fell to his death, and everyone laughs).

Eclipse: I can't believe he fell for that.

Trashcan Man: Why did I do that, Why!?

FtFoxy: Because you're stupid!(she's just kidding)

3.(Lunar and the bloodtwins are playing Baldi's Bassics and Lunar sees the sock.)

Lunar: W-What does a sock do!?

Hunter and Scythe:(teasing) Your mom.

(Cue "Bruh" sound effect).

Lunar: I'm a robot, so I don't have a mom.

4.(The gang is playing dodge ball in Gmod.)

Scythe: If you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball.

(Scythe launches a wrench at Chica with his physics gun, hurting her).

Chica: Ow!

Hunter: Of you can dogde an RPG, you're Jesus!

(Hunter launches an rpg, and Freddy launches his rag doll into the air).

Freddy: Agh!

(Everyone starts laughing/giggling)

5.Hunter: Heeeeeyyyy-

Eclipse: What!? What do you want!?

Hunter: I'm drink.

Eclipse: What?

Hunter: Drink.

Eclipse: You're drunk?

(Hunter doesn't respond.)

Eclipse: Hello!?

Hunter:(Random drunken gibberish)

Eclipse: Are you okay?

Hunter: Can you pick me up? I'm crying.

Eclipse: It's three in the morning, get an Uber!

Hunter: Watch this...

Eclipse: Watch wha- (realization) Are you driving!?

Hunter: Th-That tr- you th- (drunken gibberish) that tree wasn't Oh.

Eclipse: You hit a tree!?

(Scythe hears this and grabs Eclipse's phone)

Scythe: What happened, are you alright!?

Hunter: I lied, I'm still in a Chuck E Cheese.

Scythe and Eclipse: Chuck E Cheese!?

[tomcriuse]

btw if you can dodge a wrench you can dodge a ball

[77angelnumbers77]

for the writing prompt: fem!eridan and vriska fighting/sniping while subtly implying their gf is better

Super rough, this one. Thanks for the awesome prompt!! Absolutely obsessed with this.

"Why are you bothering me?"

The ship needed routine maintenance, and without a crew, the work fell to Vriska. She had been broken up with Eridan for two sweeps, but selling the boat would send off the wrong message. Something like "I only bought it for you" or, worse, "I can't be on the sea without thinking of you". Which, no, it wasn't that big a deal. The whole relationship was about their ancestors -- Eridan herself? Vriska could honestly care less.

That being said, the rope holding the anchor is fraying, which means that the rope that more or less holds the craft together is capable of fraying, and of course that means that Eridan is here to flaunt her imagined superiority, right when Vriska has more important things to worry about. Just great.

"That's no way to greet an old friend," Eridan's tone suggests that she is enjoying this immensely.

"Well I don't see any of those," Vriska deadpans, running the heavy rope through her point stumps and trying to simulate in her mind how long it will take for the rope to actually snap.

"You're not looking at me."

"Do you need something?" Vriska snaps, dropping the rope to the deck with a heavy thud and finally turning to her solicitor. Eridan smiles like the purrbeast with the cream, decked to the nines (eights) in heavy gold rings, a cape that kisses the deck, her long scarf, flapping in the wind, and those stupid pants. She hasn't changed at all.

"I was wonderin' if we could spar," Eridan gurgles out in her weird seadweller accent that stretches the W's into throaty waves. "Like old times."

"Do I have to?" Vriska asks, feeling like she already knows the answer. Eridan's rifle is out of its holster. It doesn't dwarf her like it did in the past, it fits nicely in her hands, she doesn't struggle to hold it up, which is dangerous to a girl down on her luck. The dice are out before Vriska has a chance to consciously think about it.

"I have a new kismesis," Eridan says conversationally. To someone else, it might've sounded casual. Vriska can tell she is practically vibrating with the excitement of it.

"Do you want me to be jealous or something? Congrats."

It's just the right thing to say to Eridan, who does want her to be jealous, who wants to be seen as a prize that everyone is vying for. She always hated Vriska blacker than Vriska could ever hate her.

With a snarl, the rifle goes off, a warning shot meant to make Vriska jump. She does not jump. The shell lands somewhere in the ocean behind her.

"Polluting?" Vriska lunges forward. "Nasty."

Dodging her prosthetic claws, Eridan sets her rifle up for the next shot. With a flick of her wrist, Vriska has an axe, heavy even distributed across both hands, one augmented. It's not a bad choice, she can move quickly with it, and it's hefty enough to work as a shield too, if she's lucky and holds it parallel to her shoulders. Either way, it'll make Eridan's job more difficult, and for that Vriska thanks the dice.

"Aren't you doing to ask who?" Eridan shoots again. It's loud, and it embeds itself into the mast of Vriska's ship. Now she's angry.

"I actually couldn't care less. Stop destroying my ship," she snaps.

"It's Sol," Eridan discloses like she's telling Vriska some great secret.

"Ew," Vriska says reflexively. "Does she even use her ablutionchamber? She's always online."

"Don't talk shit about her hygiene," Eridan gives Vriska an opening, which she gladly takes. She attempts to disarm her opponent, grabbing at her forearms and leaning on her one-handed strength. Eridan holds fast. "That's my job."

Vriska wrenches the rifle out of Eridan's grasp and chucks it overboard without a second thought.

"What the fuck?"

"Fetch," Vriska commands flippantly. "You swim, right?"

Eridan doesn't move except to ball her hands up into fists, to shake with some sort of effervescent rage. It's not going to work on her. Vriska has a mast to take care of, rope to replace, and finances to lust after. Serves Eridan right. She goes back to her diagnostics.

"Sol is a better kismesis than you ever were," Eridan shouts.

Vriska can barely help rolling her eyes. "I find that hard to believe."

"Like you'd know. You don't even have a kismesis. I was the only one. You can't compare at all. I bet that makes you angry."

Vriska sighs, deciding that she's not going to get any work done as long as Eridan is here. "Your information is outdated."

"What?"

"Yeah, I've been with Terezi for ages. Not sure where you're getting your intel. The same place you got the scoop when we were FLARPing? That explains a lot."

Eridan mouths something -- there might be words behind it, but Vriska can't hear her over the crashing waves. Nor does she particularly want to hear.

"Terezi, huh?"

"Yeah. She's a lot less pathetic than you. I couldn't even hate you right, you were just always so pitiable. Platonically, of course. I never really wanted to fix your soggy ass."

Eridan is gaping now, like a fish.

"Sol doesn't pity me at all. Her hatred for me is the blackest variety. Darker than the pitted trenches of the sea. It's not your run-of-the-mill hatred, it's the type they write sonnets about. Epics," she quite literally spits. Flecks of saliva fly out from behind her teeth. It's disgusting.

"Cool," Vriska pretends to dislodge something out from under her nails. "Are you done yet?"

"You know what? Yeah. Fuck you, Vris," Eridan turns with a dramatic sweep of her cape. She spits right onto the deck before jumping off the side after her rifle.

It might, Vriska reflects, be time to sell this piece of junk before Eridan takes its value down further.

[thecarnivorousmuffinmeta]

Unexpectedly, Caius winds up sole guardian of the newborn Reneesme. (It's probably Edward's fault).

What kind of parent does he make, and is her life better than in canon?

This is called "things went so sideways how did we even get here?" in Breaking Dawn.

But yes, it probably is Edward's fault.

Newborn Renesmee? Sweet Jesus, well, how he turns out depends in part how this happened. This is really fic worthy but the easiest way to make this happen is that somehow, pregnant Bella wound up stuck alone with Caius somewhere, died in childbirth, and now he's stuck with a baby.

Regardless, I imagine Caius's philosophy of childrearing is "if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball"

Renesmee has to make up for the fact that she'd physically weaker and slower than any vampire by going through endless, terrifying, obstacle courses and running laps.

"A parent's duty in life is to see their child survive," Caius says to himself, "RUN FASTER, HYBRID!"

Sadly, this is better than canon.