#and joel my beloved <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[chelseasdagger]

Okay, so I think you've seen that ask game at Chelle's... that was me 😝 and I thought that you might like it too, so I made a version for you:

Joel Miller or Sam Rossi?

Frank Castle or Julian Kaye?

Rahul Kohli or Mads Mikkelsen?

Robert Pattinson or Richard Gere (ofc 1990)?

and something extra because I thought of too many characters:

fuck/marry/kill with Hopper, Matt Murdock and Father Paul

again, I tried to make it difficult, you're welcome <3

- 👽

I SHOULD’VE KNOWN IT WAS YOU!!!!! causing chaos but from a place of love CJSKSKSK

oh my GOD you broke my heart with this one. how do i choose between my two cowboys?! what?!

LOOK AT THEM!!!!!!!! i love them so much 😭😭 okay okay i guess i’ll have to answer. if we are talking joel from the tv show? then sammy HANDS down!! but if it’s joel from the games i… i don’t know i seriously don’t know how to choose 😭 i think… I DONT WANNA PICK my brain hurts i love them both so so much

now frankie or jules?

okayyyy so i know i talk a big game about jules being my boyfriend aND HE IS!!! but whenever i feel so sad and just need a TRUE comfort character? its always bearded frankie. soooo i'm gonna go with my big bear of a man please n sank youuuu

rahul or mads!! i thought this one was going to be difficult but then i realized just how long i've loved rahul and ALSO me personally (ik the mads girls are gonna kick me out for saying this) but mads isn't consistently it for me? like sometimes he doesn't look hot but i feel like rahul ALWAYS looks good no matter what he does CJKDSKSK rahul just has one of the best looking faces ever and i'll stand by that CSLKDLKS

robert pattinson or (1990s) richard gere?!

(the hold that robert photoshoot had on me 😵‍💫)

why put two beautiful men against each other 😭 if you had asked me in 2020 at the HEIGHT of my robert pattinson phase i would've immediately said him with no second thought. but........ richardddddd and the greyssss and i just... he's so pretty. his features remind me of jon's and i love him so i'm going with him :3

OKAY SO THE BONUS ROUND WAS SO UNCALLED FOR. how do i... i don't even... how do i even BEGIN to choose i—?!

jesus i've had to think this one through quite a while. and i... i think i'm gonna go with fuck matt, marry hop, and... kill the priest!! i don't mean to and i feel like my decision on marrying hop or matt will chance depending on who's show i most recently watched CKSLDSL cause part of me wants to say i'd rather marry matt but... hop's a big boy and i need him to absolutely crush me in bed soooo PFFF!!

this was absolutely some of the hardest decisions i've ever had to make in my LIFE so thank you SO SO much my love!!! this was the most fun i've had in a while so thank you!!! i'm giving you a BIG kiss and i hope you're having a good day/night!! 🩵✨

[floweroflaurelin]

I’m trying to get back into the swing of painting, so as a warmup I made this!! Morgan the dog belongs to my friend @theminecraftbee and is the bestest girl <3

[unclewaynemunson]

Thanks to a conversation I had with @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe and @stevesbipanic about this post by @piratefishmama about Scott Clarke helping middle schoolers with sexuality crises I wrote a lil something :)

Scott Clarke has been worrying about Eddie Munson ever since the boy first set foot into his classroom. He was tiny for his age and thin on the verge of being scrawny, with big, scared eyes in a pale face. With his long, dark curls he was the kind of boy who would unavoidably be called names for being too much like a girl, and Scott wasn't surprised that it only took one week before the boy came in with his hair all buzzed off, pulling even more attention to his expressive eyes instead.

Scott was known for worrying about the nerdy kids, and even though it wouldn't be obvious to everyone right away, he immediately noticed that Eddie was one of those. He wasn't the kind of nerdy kid who would sit in the front of the classroom, hanging onto Scott's every word while avidly scribbling down the secrets of the universe that Scott liked to share. No, Eddie was the other kind of nerdy kid: the kind who would often be called dreamy, or imaginative, or quiet, or lazy. The kind who would retreat to the back of the class and get low scores on their tests because they were spending their time sneakily reading comic books underneath the table or staring out of the window with their mind completely elsewhere for hours on end.

Middle school wasn't an easy place for kids like Eddie, as Scott knew all too well. The only thing he could do, as a teacher, was try to make it a little bit more bearable for him. He was glad when the boy took him up on his offer to spend his lunch breaks in the science classroom instead of the cafeteria or the playground. Soon, it became a habit that Eddie would be on the other side of Scott's desk reading his way through some big book while Scott was grading papers or preparing his next lesson.

Scott knew that with patience and kindness, all kids like Eddie would eventually come out of their shell and start trusting him. So he asked about the books Eddie brought first, proceeded to topics like music and games he liked to play later, and eventually could ask him about his home life.

Whenever he'd talk about his books or his music, Eddie's eyes lit up and his smile widened. Scott soon found out that, when Eddie was at ease, he could talk a mile a minute and bounce around the classroom, caught up in his stories with all kinds of excited hand gestures. At those moments, he was nothing like the quiet boy with the haunted look in his eyes who Scott met two months ago.

But Eddie never disclosed much about his personal life. He didn't mention his mother even once and he didn't tell Scott much more than that he was living with his uncle in Forest Hills because his dad was “unavailable” to take care of him.

Scott doubted whether Eddie was much better off living with his uncle than with his father. Judging from the meager lunches he brought with him, the shabby and ill-fitting clothes he wore, and the fact that the man never once came to drop Eddie off or pick him up at school, Scott was skeptical, to say the least.

He started worrying even more when one day, Eddie lingered in the classroom after the last lesson of the day, saying he wanted to ask him a “science question” with a certain dread in his eyes that Scott had never seen there before.

“There's nothing I love more than a good science question,” Scott quickly reassured him. “Tell me, what is it?”

“The other kids,” said Eddie, “Brendon and Mark and, you know... They call me names.” His voice was soft and his eyes were aimed towards the ground as he spoke. “Queer. And fag. And...” He shrugged. “Y'know.” He raised his head up again, big scared eyes meeting Scott's.

“I – I think they're right,” he said, almost in a whisper. “How can you stop being gay?”

And oh, this was a conversation Scott had experience with. He had been a teacher at Hawkins Middle School for almost two decades and there had always been kids he worried about, who would open up to him about this exact topic.

So he sat Eddie down at his desk and patiently talked him through everything the boy needed to know; God knows his trailer park uncle most certainly wouldn't. He told him all about science and nature and feelings and, most importantly, being perfect the way you are, no matter who you love.

More than two hours later, Eddie finally left the classroom with relief in his eyes instead of dread. But Scott kept worrying: Eddie's uncle hadn't so much as called the school to inform where Eddie was. Who was looking out for him after the last school bell rang and the kid rode his bike out of Scott's sight?

Not long after that conversation, Scott finally got to meet Mr. Munson for the first time. He was one of Scott's last appointments of the yearly parent-teacher evening, and Scott half expected him not to show up. But he was right on time, even though he looked almost comically out of place when he walked into the science classroom.

He was exactly what Scott would've imagined of a man living in Forest Hills: washed-up jeans and a worn-down flannel, cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth, and a gruff frown hidden underneath a faded gray trucker's hat. He walked up to where Scott was seated behind his desk in a few big strides, and Scott couldn't help but think that there was something almost intimidating in merely the way he carried himself. Not exactly the kind of man who radiated safety for a boy like Eddie.

They shook hands and Scott felt rough callouses press against his own chalk-stained fingers.

While Scott talked Mr. Munson through Eddie's grade list – a list that at this point was barely enough to get him into the next grade – Mr. Munson didn't say anything. Only when Scott asked him if he had any questions, he opened his mouth.

“How're the other kids treatin' him?” the man asked him in a thick southern accent.

“It's not easy for him,” Scott answered in all honesty. He wondered how much Eddie told his uncle about what his days at school usually looked like.

Mr. Munson bowed his head. “I know,” he mumbled.

“Eddie is a sensitive kid, he –”

“I know what kinda kid he is,” Mr. Munson interrupted him immediately. It sounded sharp and Scott wondered if he should be worried about Mr. Munson having a temper.

“Of course,” he cautiously retreated. “I just assumed, since I've never seen you at the school before, sir, that you might not be aware of what exactly he has to deal with in here.”

“Maybe you should do less assuming, then,” Mr. Munson answered bluntly. “You think I should be at the school more? Drop Eddie here in the mornin', come pick him up in the afternoon, all that?”

Scott wondered if Mr. Munson was mocking him.

“Well, I think it might be good for Eddie if –”

“You know why I ain't never at the school? 'Cause I'm tryin' my damned best to keep that boy's stomach filled. When should I be at the school, exactly, between my day shift at the quarry and my night shift at the plant?”

“I – I'm sorry,” Scott backpedaled. Suddenly, the frown lines in the tired face of the man in front of him had gotten a different meaning. “I didn't know. You're right, I shouldn't have made assumptions.”

“Look, I dunno how much he shared with you, Mr. Clarke, but I know he looks up to you. So I think you should know that he's the kinda kid who got in trouble at home for bein' “too sensitive.”” He shot Scott a meaningful glance. “Boy was cryin' to me on the phone, 'cause of what his daddy did to him, so I picked him up and drove him here and I made it my mission, as his uncle, to protect him, to shield him, and to take care of him as best as I possibly can.”

Scott had always prided himself on being a good judge of character. He wondered if he had ever been more wrong about somebody before in his life.

“I know he thinks highly of you, Sir,” Mr. Munson continued. “And I'm very grateful that you're keepin' an eye on him when I can't. But at some point, he may trust you with some very personal information about himself, and you better have his back when he does.”

He knows, Scott realized with a shock. He tried to give Mr. Munson a reassuring smile, but his heart was beating in his throat with what he was about to tell him.

“I was a sensitive kid, myself, Sir. I promise you Eddie is in good hands with me.”

Scott wondered whether Mr. Munson caught the message in those words while a long silence stretched out. Their gazes were locked: Mr. Munson's eyes were bright blue, completely different from Eddie's but just as expressive. His gaze softened while the seconds passed and underneath his graying beard, his mouth twitched.

“I was a sensitive kid, too,” he eventually said.

And Scott's jaw nearly dropped to the floor. This man, with his big calloused hands and his trucker's hat and his undeniably manly demeanor?

His feelings of astonishment must have been visible on his face, because Mr. Munson chortled softly.

“Didn't see that one coming, did ya?”

Scott laughed, too, making the last bit of residual tension between them disappear. “I'm sorry, Mr. Munson. I had no idea.”

“'S okay,” Mr. Munson said. “'s good to know that Eddie has someone lookin' out for him here. Um –” He scraped his throat. “I um...” He abruptly averted his gaze back to his lap again, where his fingers were nervously fumbling with the cap he was holding between his hands.

“I always make Eddie dinner,” he finally said. “'S one of the few things I can do for him, y'know. It'd probably be better for me if I took a quick nap 'tween my jobs, but it's the only time of the day we got together. I'm not much of a cook, but I try to get him to eat somethin' healthy and warm, and we talk about stuff, whatever it is he wants to talk about. So um... If you ever wanna join us – that is, if you don't mind comin' to the trailer park... We don't have much, but I'm sure we can fit another chair 'round the table. I think it could be good for Eddie.”

Scott could barely believe what was happening. To think that only a few minutes ago, he had been worried about this man having a temper or being neglectful towards his nephew...

Wayne Munson was shy and soft-spoken and he loved Eddie with a passion that sparked a fierce protectiveness. And after having Scott judge him based on the way he looked and a bunch of false assumptions, he showed him nothing but genuine goodness.

He felt his lips bend into a smile more authentic than he'd been able to give in a while.

“I'd love to join you sometime,” he told Mr. Munson. “For Eddie – but I also wouldn't mind getting to know you better,” he added in a sudden spur or braveness.

And he could swear that something suspiciously like a smile matching his own was hiding beneath Mr. Munson's beard.

[ceres46]

losing my mind i need them to interact again NOW

[chiimiraa]

contrast

[glass-clown]

joel encounters the gears event (edited so its easier to see)

[psycairotrist]

the spooky scary dulladan

[clairenovaking]

¹²⁾ tipsy, semi-public sex after sneaking away from everyone else at the rooftop pool party + tessjoel bc this one just screams them

The sounds of the party fall away as Tess and Joel stumble outside the Tipsy Bison, the back door shutting with a sharp snap behind them.

Tess laughs, breath billowing out in the chilly air before her. They’re both far from sober, Maria having challenged them to a drinking game earlier that they’d failed miserably, and the whiskey was catching up to them. Soon enough they’d have to stumble home down the snow-lined streets, and Joel would have to try to build a fire despite the double vision he was sporting.

For now, though, Joel crowds Tess up against the brick wall of the bar, cold hands cupping her face as he kissed her sloppily, drunkenness making him uncoordinated. Tess kisses him back just as messily, hands tugging at the buttons of his shirt.

“Mm, Joel,” Tess moans into the kiss, hands sunk into the back pockets of his jeans as she pressed closer to him for warmth. She’s dressed in one of Maria’s long skirts, stolen years ago, and a white blouse she’d embroidered with blue and purple flowers on the collar and sleeves, hours spent painstakingly pulling needle and thread through fabric.

Joel’s hands slide down her body to hike her skirt up, the blue fabric gathering in his hands until he can skate fingertips over the soft skin of her thighs. Tess shudders, whining, and spreads her legs to allow Joel more room to work- he cups where she’s warm and wet and lacking underwear. Two fingers sink into her with ease and Tess’s breath hitches in her chest as her head smacks back into the bricks.

“More,” she pants, desperate, and doesn’t care that they could be walked in on. Wants them to be watched, almost. Let others see. Let others catch a glimpse of the way they move together, if they were so desperate.

Joel’s thumb slicks over her clit, hot and wanton, and she snaps as her orgasm plunders through her, rocking her to her core as her cunt spasms around his fingers. Joel’s name is ripped from her throat on a cry and then he’s kissing her quiet, silencing the explosion of noise from her throat.

Tess’s thighs shudder around his wrist in aftershocks as she pants for air, cheek pressed to Joel’s when he pulls away, gasping for air. He slowly tugs his fingers from her cunt, wiping his damp fingers against her inner thigh, and Tess whines, achingly empty.

She’s adjusting her skirt, Joel sucking the last of her juices from his fingers, when the back door of the Tipsy Bison opens, and Tommy sticks his head out. He catches sight of them, and a look of annoyed disgust crosses his features.

“They’re doin’ last call. C’mon, Maria wants to do a toast,” he says, jerking his neck back inside. “And fuck at your own house for the love’a christ, god dammit.”

Joel just grins at his little brother, twining his fingers with Tess and pulling her towards the open door.

[strange0-0storm]

OMFG I MADE A ENA OC WOOOOO

I wanted to make my own Ena so BOOM I did 🤭 They go by They/He🥳

THIS IS URI THE MAGICIAN

The green side is their eccentric side, very excited and strange. And their blue/purple side is his calm side. Very collected and organized.

When the green side is in full control it let's out his manic side, which is a insane out of control version of Uri. When the blue side is in control it let's out his eerie side, which is uncomfortably quiet, too quiet. It's feels like he's staring right through you, and he knows your next move

He's a magician of course and they travel travel all around to perform their show

(THE GREEN LOOKS YELLOW GRRR It's okay ig)

[bluebblurry]

e!Joel gets pegged

[freelancearsonist]

our dusty dad

how could i not use this gif 🤭🤭

oh god pls that gif 🫠

OK. SO. ellie's always making fun of him for stinking. they find an abandoned mall and she thinks the packaging for this one is so fun that she makes him take it home.

he tries on the most wanted parfum once and is surprised by how sexy it smells. he starts getting the Look in the tipsy bison. he knows he should thank ellie but he's a man of few words 😌

[actual-changeling]

bpd ellie lives rent free in my mind so i have to inflict this pain on everyone else, too

ptsd makes everything like ten times worse and because i haven't tortured myself enough: ellie becoming suicidal.

her mental health tanks, it's winter, she's fucked.

and it's not like she actually wants to do it, really, but she keeps thinking about it, and every single time she wakes up from a nightmare it tempts her a little bit more. every panic attack, every snow storm that leaves her shivering and exhausted (not from the cold), all the moments where she tastes metal and blood, sees joel bleeding out in the snow, feels hands on her wrists, all of it accumulates into one giant ball of pain.

so no, she has no plan, not really, but she checks the drawer where joel keeps his gun just because. thinks about henry more than she should. mentally traces joel's scar whenever she looks at him. she thinks she gets it now, maybe, why joel tried. her shoulders are tearing apart with the weight she is carrying and there is nothing joel can say that will take away the memories.

the funny part is, joel sees himself, too, sees the same look in her eyes he knows he had in his, recognized it in henry right before. and it scares him to death. he unloads the gun and gives the bullets to tommy, makes him swear not to let ellie anywhere near them. he asks maria, asks the doctors at the clinic, asks whoever he thinks might know an answer.

there is not much he can do, in the end. he holds her through the night, keeps her warm and safe, doesn't let her out of his sight, and ellie might not care much about her life, but she cares about joel's, so she grits her teeth and forces her way through the darkest months of the year.

and like every year, winter passes and her pain melts away with the snow when it starts to thaw.

there's a version of this story that ends with two new graves in jackson's cemetery once the ground is soft enough to dig again

[2ndstar-ontheright]

I just gotta say something real quick, 2023 is THE year for pathetic men in movies/tv. I’m sorry, I don’t make the rules here. My brain does lmao

[fountainpenguin]

"There's really just one thing that we have in common; neither of us will be missed..." (x)

---

New Dog's Life chapter today!

Chapter 2 - “Embers (Impulse)”

Read on AO3

Start from Chapter 1

---

Impulse is allowed to be POV character for both the pre-game and the rules chapters, not because I split the opening in several pieces but because he specifically can do whatever he wants <3

Dog's Life doesn't have a boogeyman, but it sure has hunting hounds! Grian's got rules to explain, everybody scrambles, folks start taking on mob traits, and Impulse gets his quarry roll. Check it out!

(First 1,000 words under the cut)

---

[ImpulseSV - Player]

Quarry: TBA

Hunter: Unknown

💚  💛  ❤️

Seed 125. It's such an innocuous number, that. Just a sliver of a thing. You could almost personify it like a little fairy. What's that TV show where the letters of the alphabet form words and come alive? If there's a spin-off for numbers, this is exactly that. The number 125 is too ridiculously quaint and pretty to be "randomly selected," which makes it feel ethereal and fey. Does that make sense?

Listen to me. I really do sound like a guy whose friend group has been mostly other parents for the last dozen years.

Smajor gets it, though. Er… Scott. He's all-in on the freckly, pointy eared woodland fey aesthetic this time around- glittery and mystical with iridescent white fairy wings printed down the back of his bright green jacket. Someone call the Summer Court, because Tam Lin's in big trouble. That's him.

You know, just the name alone is hilarious. "Seed 125" sounds like a tourist trap or government lab, like Area 51 or something (at least in all the memes). The air here is warm and smells of salt and mucky sand. It's night, but no one's shivering… even those among the crowd of 17 (like Impulse) whose base code currently depicts them in shorts and a T-shirt. Skizz's suit vest doesn't even have sleeves. Cleo has her arms crossed, hands running up and down her skin, but she sort of always does that. You know: stands off to one side, watchful and aloof. Then she settles with a fwump on the edge of Ren's melon.

(Funny story about the staring. 16 of the 17 players gathered around the melon circle are tailed by "ghosts." They're not normally spoken of- invisible to each other's camera eyes, here only if you squint. HumanCleo betrays all the emotions of life and fear that ZombieCleo does not. The ghostly figure shivers, shifting from foot to foot. She presses her palms to her face. She's transparent, so it does very little to hide her. Impulse can see her beady camera eye staring blearily at the bedrock ground.)

Tango's red-blond hair flickers in the dark. His flames burn low. Since their center torch is pretty pathetic, he alone is lighting up the darkness of their inner circle. Well… Skizz has his halo and Scar decorated his cane with a glowing red orb, which rests in his lap, but there's no telling what that's about. Impulse squints.

Is Scar made of wood?

That'll be interesting. Scar always goes overboard with his skin swaps and roleplay in the death games, and clearly he's already built the bare bones of a plan. Doesn't wood rot near the seaside? This is the seaside, right? Slight waves slap against the shore down the hill from where they sit. Stalks of bamboo leer over them like skyscrapers and the bedrock Grian admin'd in around spawn is freckled with roaming pigs.

Seed 125 is too pretty of a place to be brutally murdered in a death loop. And this time, the realization of that cuts Impulse to the core. He jolts upright, gripping the edges of his melon chair.

Why are we doing all this? For the 'entertainment' of those whose faces we never see? Can't we just have a beach episode and enjoy building together in a tropical survival paradise?

Would that be good content? Maybe not, but it'd be a well-deserved vacation. Impulse rubs behind his neck, tracing out the ghosts of old scars and the ache of this morning's Skyblock stream with Skizz. Ooh. Is he really up for this?

I really shouldn't have spent an hour skimming through the void.

His cam twin moves instinctively to rub his shoulders. His misty hands pass straight through.

"So Grian," Scar calls, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Explain to us in your soothing British accent what the rules of this Life game are."

"Welcome to Dog's Life," Grian recites, spinning around like a king. He wobbles his arms, leaning his weight on just one leg. Gets his balance back. Exhales. They're all standing on random melons gathered around the bedrock spawn point, although there weren't enough for everyone, so some are on the ground. Actually, Smajor (Scott) and BigB have their arms wrapped around each other, tongues poking out uncertainly as they fight gravity and each other to keep themselves upright. Scott, a little squashed and frumpy, looks like he might step down in a second or two. While their melon is square, it's a little lumpy on one side. BigB grips Scott like a life preserver as though the grass is lava.

Beside them is Mumbo, fiddling with his tie. He stares at his shoes, but lifts his gaze as Impulse's eyes bear into him. This is only Mumbo's second round in the death game, so it's no wonder he's nervous. He looks out of his element - like a dolphin in Arizona - like he's debating if he ought to surrender his own melon to one of the senior players. Impulse tries to smile, but it comes out like a grimace. Mumbo fidgets with the hems of his coat. The skeletons on the fringes of their circle are noisy, bones clicking. Pigs snort. The zombies are the loudest of all… enough to make Impulse wonder whether they're standing just above a cave. How grateful he is for the bedrock that prevents death loops from trapping spawn.

One skeleton twists around, making Mumbo jump. But Ren shoots him a reassuring look, waving a dismissive hand. He's sitting on his melon, one leg crossed over the other. He looks relaxed. Cleo's doing the exact same thing, having apparently decided - quite stubbornly - that they won't stray far from spawn while the stars are out. They're in no rush to get moving.

Can't blame her, Impulse thinks, watching the skeleton keep its distance. He taps his fingers against the melon's side, starting up a beat (Skizz instinctively picks it up, drumming too). There's almost no point in foraging at night during Hardcore.

[Cnt'd on AO3 - Link at top]

[mediocre-megs]

funniest comments left by ridi (@steelycunt xx) while they beta’d the first half of my fic:

yes, this is the same steely cunt who writes the gut wrenchingly wonderful r/s fics… she’s sooooooo multifaceted you guys don’t even understand

[im-a-loaf]

@ghostertoasted ALKJKGALHJSKF

... car