#Find Comfort In Word

[betterlifeinoverall-rethabilep]

Fam First

Family First Is The Winning Formula!! Like, Shares and Follow Please don’t forget to comment

[danandfuckingjonlmao]

⛪️🏍️✝️🪧🏳️‍🌈😈😇

👩‍❤️‍💋‍👩👩‍❤️‍👩👭❤️🧡🤍🩷

[ghost-proofbaby]

It's summer for you, winter for me. Warm me up with strawberry fluff! As always, my muse, your muse, the one and only, Eddie.

Midsummer's night, because I don't have a lot to inspire you with. I'm thinking something cute but weird? Maybe some human body softness where Eddie is a bit of a freak and we love him for it. And we're told our bodies are lovely, even when they're doing weird shit.

I lalalove youuuuu. xo Rhi

RHI!!!! <3 i adore you. thank you for this prompt - i had far too many ideas for it, but ended up on settling for this one, which coincidentally feels like the most subtle of them all? either way, it definitely turned out being the softest. give me an eddie munson who just wants to sniff me like a dog. this definitely got a bit long but i hope you enjoy, my dear <3

the smell of you

warnings: weirdos in love? idk. i have a skewed sense of what is actually weird i think. mentions of death and coffins jokingly. eddie 'manhandles' reader sort of. not edited.

wc: 2.2k+

come enjoy a sweet summer treat with me <3

“Eddie?”

The entire apartment is quiet – too quiet – as you drop your keys into the old crystal bowl on the counter. The clink resonates through the air, louder than the soft murmur of the stereo static you can hear from down the hall. 

“You dead?” you call out again, slipping off your running shoes and tossing down your headphones onto the counter as well now, “Do I need to call the coroner?” 

Your tone is lilted, teasing with airiness as you continue to wander deeper into the apartment and head straight for the room you know Eddie has to be in. Like the waves pulled by the moon, there’s an incessant string tied around one end of your soul that connects you to his, and you follow it all the way down the hallway. The bedroom door is wide open, and you can hear his mumbled yell of a response without clarity before you even cross the threshold. 

You wouldn’t have even needed him to verbally respond to find him in this tiny apartment. You two could get separated on the streets of a bustling city, of a buzzing New York sidewalk, and you still wouldn’t properly lose him. It’s more than just soul ties and his gravity that keeps you pulled to him. 

Something unspoken. Something homely. 

“Sorry, what was that?” you hum as you spy him face-down in the bed, pillow muting him by the mouthful, “Say it one more time, and this time not into the pillow.” 

When he finally properly turns over, he’s a vision. Sleep lines folded into his skin and a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth, eyes squinting in irritation not at you but the sunlight flooding in through the bedroom window. Messy hair, messy shirt, messy everything. A kind of mess you just want to collapse into currently, curling up in all that he is from the day’s exhaustion. 

He’d mentioned wanting to take a nap before you’d left for the gym. Something about the summer heat draining him, trailing off as he’d rambled about how he’d probably thrive as a vampire. 

“I said,” he huffs, sitting up, the frizz of his hair becoming a makeshift halo, “If you call the coroner, request the comfiest coffin possible.”

“Why do you need a comfy coffin if you’re already dead?” 

“You dare deny me of being buried in tempurpedic memory foam? In my hour of need?” 

You roll your eyes as you huff out a little laugh, forcing yourself to turn away from him long enough to strip out of your socks. But just as you reach down for the pieces of clothing, you catch sight of the source of that stereo static flooding the room. 

Your shared record player, spinning a blood red pressing of one of your more recent vinyl purchases. The album has been played through, but the player no longer had an automatic stop mechanism, probably from years of use. 

The center of the record is probably scratched, and Eddie knows it, from how sheepish he looks when you glance over your shoulder at him. 

“Speaking of death,” you walk over quickly, purposefully, before carefully lifting the needle and cutting the static finally, “Care to explain why you’re burning scratches into my Momento Mori vinyl?” 

“I’m sorry,” he quickly apologizes, nearly flinging himself off the bed as he scooches quickly to the end, clearly fully awake now, “I put it on and thought I’d just lay down for a quick second, but then the bed was so comfy, and I thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick nap, and then…” he trails off, looking up at you through his lashes with big eyes already pleading for forgiveness, “I’ll buy you a new one. Swear it.” 

It’s impossible to be mad at him when he’s looking like this, inhumanely soft and easily forgiven, “You’re lucky you’re cute, or you really would be dead.” 

He doesn’t respond with words, but instead the outstretch of his hands, fingers flexing as he beckons to you. The needle rests on its perch, the vinyl left behind to gather dust for a few extra moments, as you go straight to him. 

When his palms slip beneath your old t-shirt and meet your skin, they’re pleasantly warm. 

“You were right,” you admit as his knees spread, delegating even more room for you to stand in front of him as your hand wanders to cradle the side of his face, fingers tangling in sweaty curls from his rest. Your thumb mimics his on your own skin instinctively, tracing a large arch right up over his cheekbone, “It’s hot as balls outside.” 

“Told you so,” he murmurs, smiling softly in satisfaction as he leans lazily into your touch. 

“You did,” you agree quietly, half-entranced by his relaxed face, no sight of pride in the room currently. 

He resembles a cat as he continues to preen under your gentle hand, and you almost expect him to start purring right before you find the strength to pull away, removing his hands from where they'd wandered to your lower back. 

One swipe of his finger along your sweaty spine, and you’d remembered what your original intentions had been immediately upon getting home. 

“Wai- Where are you going?” he’s seemingly brought back down to Earth the moment he loses the pattern your thumb had been tracing, the press of your fingertips into his scalp. When he reaches back out to latch onto you again, you take a step back, “Get back here-”

“I need to shower,” you laugh, shaking your head and smacking his hands away as he continues to barter, “I’m all sweaty and smelly, let me go clean up and then we can nap togeth-” 

“You can shower after we nap,” he nearly whines, finally catching your shirt between his fingers and tugging, uncaring for if he stretches the fabric. A small price to pay to have you close to him, “C’mon, sweetheart. I know you’re just as exhausted as I am.” 

You swear you meant to take another step backwards, but somehow, you end up back between his knees, “Did you not hear me, Munson? I stink.”

“Good.” 

He doesn’t give you any time to react – in an instant, he’s throwing his face forward, burying it against your stomach as you let out a gasp and immediately try to pry him away with far too gentle of hands in his hair. 

“Eddie!”

If it were anyone else, you’d probably be mortified. But Eddie just takes a dramatic deep breath in, nose buried just shy of your belly button, and when his shoulders start to shake with muted laughter, you can’t stop the smile from breaking. Your fingers are still twisted in his hair, still pulling back in an attempt to get him away from you, but he’s resilient. 

And all your faux resistance is weak in comparison. Soon enough, you’re back to melting into him. 

Only once you’re relaxed once more, no sign of trying to pull away again any time soon as his hands once more evade the space beneath your shirt to wander up and down your sticky skin without a care in the world, does he lift his face away from you long enough to breathe and speak, “I’ll have you know – I love your stink.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“I’m your idiot.” 

The game of banter is cut short when he goes back to pressing his nose into your clothes that surely can’t smell good. No amount of deodorant or perfume could erase that underlying stench of sweat. Hell, the shirt is still a bit moist from it all: from the walk to the gym, from your workout itself, from the walk home. It’d been through the ringer, and you’re back to tugging him away from you. 

“I refuse to believe you like how gross I smell right now,” you reinforce, eyes darting towards the bathroom connected to your master bedroom, “I promise I’ll be quick with the shower.” 

“Baby,” he fights back, wrapping his arms around you securely, no intention of losing this battle, “You remember that time we went to the fair, and you were complaining about how you were sweating, so I tried to lick your face?” 

Your nose scrunches quickly at the memory, “I do, unfortunately.”

“You really think I’d be willing to lick the sweat off your body but be afraid of you smelling a little bad while we cuddle?” his shoulders drop as he looks up at you, head tilted, almost as if amused with the conversation, “What kind of man do you take me for?” 

“The kind that gets off on annoying me.” 

His jaw drops, putting on a fake look of offense before he dramatically throws himself back onto the bed, laying flat as he makes a fist to mimic stabbing his chest, “You wound me.”

You’ve heard those words a thousand times in a hundred different ridiculous voices. You’ve seen this scene enough to have it mesmerized at this point, down to the over-exaggerated pout of his lips and the lingering of the fist against his sternum. 

You never grow tired of it. You never will. 

“Need me to kiss it better?” you joke as you prop a knee up on the bed, following the same script as always. 

And he hits his queue perfectly when he lifts his head eagerly at the expected response, wiggling his brows a bit. “Absolutely. Doctor’s orders, in fact.” 

“Great,” you see an opportunity, and take it, “I’ll get right to it, after my showe-” 

You don’t even get the final syllable of the word off your tongue before he’s clenching his thighs around your own, knees pressing hard before he wraps his legs the rest of the way around your waist to pull you in. A squeak of surprise leaves your lips as you begin to fall forward, but Eddie is quick to break the fall with ease. Catching you with his eager hands, maneuvering for you to half drop to the mattress while some of you still lands atop of him. 

He has you right where he wants you, turning his head to be face to face with you, noses nearly brushing, “Unfortunately, the doc said you have to kiss it better now, or else you’ll be comfy coffin shopping.” 

“A fatal wound?” you gasp, nearly mocking him. It doesn’t offend him – if anything, his boyish grin only grows wider, “First, I’m smelly-”

“Again, I like when you’re smelly.”

“-And then I inflict a fatal wound upon my lover? Oh, how dare I.”

Slowly, all your insecurity of how you currently smell is simply fading. The entire ordeal has become an art of childlike, whimsical jokes – and Eddie is an artist. A professional at the dance, locked and loaded with his incomparable skill set equipped for disarming you this way. The ability to make someone feel loved, imperfections and weirdness aside. 

He likes you, even when you claim you don’t smell your best. And you like him, even when his hair is tangled beyond recognition and one of his socks is half-hanging off his foot from a nap.

You like him when he’s embarrassing you in public, tongue chasing after you with the threat of licking your sweat away, and he likes you when all you can do in response is a weak palm to his chest (that isn’t even making an effort to push him away) as you giggle relentlessly. 

You like each other on the good days, the bad days, the weird days. 

Disarmed entirely, you don’t even notice when his face conveniently slots itself far too close to your armpit as you two scooch further up into the bed. You’re more occupied with the way your legs tangle up, toeing each other’s socks off properly as he slings a heavy arm across your torso. 

“We’re gonna have to wash the sheets,” you mumble, exhaustion catching up as the two of you finally settle. 

He hums absentmindedly, nuzzling into your skin a bit further as he makes himself comfortable. “And wash away your sweet, sweet stink? I don’t think so, sweetheart.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, unbothered as your fingers start to trail up and down his back over the t-shirt, smoothing out wrinkles along the way, “I’m serious. We need to change them soon anyways, I think I got crumbs in the bed the other night with those crackers.” 

“Bury me in the crumbs of all your midnight snacks,” he almost slurs, clearly drifting back off. 

You snort in response, relaxing and letting your own eyes shut. Matching all your deep breaths with his own, a million different last words crossing your mind to whisper to the boy you’re sure is once again asleep. 

I love you.

I adore you. 

I would like to spend the rest of my life with you, if you’ll have me. 

And maybe some of those unspoken thoughts slip out without you realizing, because he squeezes you just a little bit tighter, presses his face just a little bit deeper into your skin as his scruff tickles you. 

The only actual thought you can know for certain that you say, though, is, “Do you think they actually make coffins with memory foam inside?” 

To your surprise, even despite the almost-snores that had been escaping him, he answers in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, definitely. We’ll order two.”

[spartalabouche]

sometimes its really obvious how much people dont actually believe presentation=/=gender when they see their nonbinary friend go from extremely masculine to relaxing back into femininity once theyre comfortable with their gender and every time they call it detransitioning with zero indication thats what their friend is calling it. i dont know how to tell you this but sometimes you present a certain way for social reasons and not because thats how you actually feel. sometimes you experience dysphoria about your body that is actually related to how people view you and not how you feel about your body. i really dont think its that uncommon for trans people to swing really hard in one direction for the affirmation and then relax back into a different presentation once they are more comfortable in their gender

[way-too-obsessed-gamer]

(Clips from ep5, ep9, and ep16. Video length 4 minutes 4 seconds)

Originally was gonna just clip ep16 and the start of 5 but then I remembered how they were all being very sweet in their own ways when, you know. Their friendship makes me ill

[canisalbus]

hey, i'm the anon who asked about using machete as a wallpaper. first of all, thank you SO much, you're an angel. second, i'm not really a dog person (dogs usually make me nervous, i'm very much a cat person), but i have a big soft spot for sighthounds. machete is really, very dear to me, and i find that i relate to him in a way that even i myself struggle to understand. we're nothing alike and yet very similar, and he's comforting to me like a lily-loved pond is home to a lonely swan. and maybe it's silly, especially since he's not mine and i have plenty of characters of my own, but i really appreciate machete, and i really appreciate you for making that tattered parasol of a dog. i hope you're doing okay

.

[stardustdiiving]

Me explaining in terms of strictly how I read canon I think Nahida not severely punishing the Sages is just meant to convey that Nahida, even when wronged, is not a very vengeful or harsh person and makes the choice to be kind instead, but in my mind I have this idea of a Nahida interpretation which elaborates on that where her self punishing tendencies extend to her being someone who internally downplays her own experiences constantly, and as a result has a hard time feeling she’s allowed or justified in placing a lot of blame on the Sages for what they did to her So while she is following her own philosophies regarding teaching lessons/wisdom/etc in how to handle the Sages and genuinely doesn’t want to be really angry or punishing because of who she is as a person, her decision is also influenced by the fact she’s basically blocked herself out of grappling with how to handle people who hurt her by blaming herself for said hurt instead as a coping mechanism. And like this is all just me being insane about Nahida Trauma and not something explicitly implied in canon but also I really do think this isn’t a far stretch from her canon characterization especially when my vision isn’t to conclude that Nahida needs to be angry and vengeful but she should extend the kindness she shows others to herself and also every day I get tormented thinking about she was the mental equivalent of an average human child when the Sages found her and how they basically specifically discarded her for being a child and the idea of how Nahida would pick up on + internalize that and eventually need time to unlearn it

[phanrenaissance]

tell me what the video Basically, I’m Gay means to you?

daniel howell why did you send this ask to every phannie tumblr account you could find .

[thewhizzyhead]

I don't have the proper words to like describe it aptly, but the song 'same train home', despite it coming right after a gruesome tragedy, is just so fuckin soft and warm and comforting and not just in the 🎶"Oh let them stare in judgment, let them witness this/ Swan leans into Mercy, pulls her deep into a kiss" 🎶 sense (though I will argue that section is one of the best written parts of Warriors). I mean it in the sense of the train being the only constant among the lives of new yorkers in the story and how both the warriors and us, the audience, enjoy brief respites in it. I dunno how to fuckin describe really I'm at a loss now, but I like the brief comfort everyone involved takes in it as both the audience and the characters near the end of the story. oh and it also does help that the song is like genuinely fuckin beautiful

[beanghostprincess]

Denji's hypersexuality caused by having been groomed and sexually assaulted constantly being mocked and laughed at is my villain origin story because I swear to God some people can't fucking read

[flowersandfashion]

Mary Oliver, "Staying Alive" from Upstream

[total-drama-brainrot]

World Tour Assistant Noah AU (where he is always an assistant):

After the gross kiss failed to stop Alejandro's flirting... Noah begs Duncan to convince Alejandro, that Noah is too dorky to date... but Duncan has an even better idea; make Alejandro jealous for fun!

(In this AU, Duncan and Courtney had broken up before Season 3, so Duncan isn't a cheater!)

Duncan: "Thanks for letting me return to the show, handsome.~" 😘

(Duncan kisses Assistant Noah's cheek.)

Alejandro: "Duncan, I will DESTROY you!" 😡

Noah: "I just want to be left alone!" 🙄

Wait hold on... hold on... this is just the premise of my favourite Dunnoah fic series but with an assistant Noah twist. And extra Alenoah flavouring. That's not to say I'm against the idea.

Though I can't really imagine Duncan ever committing himself to flirting with Noah unless the two had struck up a deal prior- Duncan's that specific brand of 2000s era bigoted where being seen as anything but straight is a social crime (despite the fact that Duncan is definitely a boykisser, just in denial), but he's also aware of just how much of a threat Alejandro is in the competition and the latino's huge obvious crush on Chris' personal assistant, so I think Duncan could push aside his own internal biases to at the very least propose a similar idea to Noah.

Really, it'd be beneficial for the both of them; Noah gets to subtly-not-so-subtly tell Alejandro to back off by responding to Duncan's advances but not his, and Duncan gets to rile up Alejandro enough to redivert his attention away from the competition itself thus increasing his own chances of winning. It's strategic, really, nothing more.

It's that line of logic that has Noah eventually conceding that, for all intents and purposes, it's a good plan. So he deigns to play along, at least for a little bit, just to get Alejandro off of his back.

And, canonically, they're both shown to be at least half-decent at flirting, so whatever displays they have planned to annoy Alejandro would be just convincing enough to really get under his skin. Especially since Alejandro's shown in canon to be the protective/possessive type (mostly in All-Stars, in how he reacts to José insulting Heather) and likely wouldn't take too kindly to Duncan swooping in on "his amor" or whatever Spanish nickname he'd substitute it with.

Which all eventually leads to the scenario you proposed; Duncan plants a wet one on Noah's cheek and Alejandro sees red.

Noah's already exhausted by default, but feels weariness seep into the marrow of his bones as a seething Alejandro glares poisonous daggers towards Duncan, who's committed enough to their little ruse to in turn shoot a wink and a pair of finger guns towards the assistant. Deciding that he isn't paid nearly enough to deal with the inevitable confrontation between the two idiots who've apparently taken an interest in him (Duncan's, of course, being a known ruse), Noah leaves to go and do his actual job.

...

And then, Alejandro confronts Duncan directly in the Economy cabin, claiming that he doesn't deserve to so much as look at Noah, and that he (Alejandro) was the one Noah kissed and therefore the object of his attraction so Duncan better lay off. This is news to the punk, and adds a whole new layer of complexity to their plan. And perhaps something he can later exploit to give himself a leg up in the competition.

But why does the idea of Noah kissing Alejandro make his chest tighten up with envy?

And then maybe Duncan finds the untamed passion of Alejandro's genuine fury kind of hot and he too enters the metaphorical boxing ring of feelings? Aledunnoah endgame? The intern server has been posting a lot of Aleduncan lately so letting those two get together (and with Noah in there too, as a bonus) just seems natural to my brain at this point.

[artsymonart]

Been thinking about that one scene when hero and partner decided to go find Grovyle but make it more sweet? I think?

(Also, I’m a sucker for comfort)

[lucent-roase]

Why I Think Willow has OCD

(i've done a lot of reposting lately so i'm just going to reply to this instead of my previous post about it)

explanation is below the cut, i just wanted to address a few things beforehand. there will be a few triggering topics when you go on.

before anything else, Willow has extremely good neurodivergent representation in general. clearly unmasking in front of her friends, succeeding in the plant track because she learns differently than others, and of course, she (arguably) hyperfixates on flyer derby. those are pretty surface level symptoms that i'm sure everyone knows, but there are other traits (belonging to the entirety of the neurodivergent spectrum and also specific to OCD) that i will go into throughout this post.

Willow’s anxiety. one of the interesting facts about OCD is that many scientists consider it to be a syndrome rather than a disorder (for reference, obsessive compulsive disorder) because it consists of so many other disorders such as anxiety, depression, different EDs, amongst others. furthermore, Willow’s is debilitating. she defaults to blaming herself in almost every situation, even when she gets more confident in ASIAS. nothing stops the nagging feeling that she made the mistake, set a bad situation into motion. she thinks back to everything she did and she excuses everyone’s actions except for her own. in ASIAS, like i mentioned, this is so prevalent. Willow is constantly doing the right thing, for her team and everyone in it. she’s hopeful and she pushes her teammates to be their best selves. she helps Hunter, and he initially pays her back with jail time and the promise of leaving her friends and family forever. that situation was entirely in Hunter’s hands, and he would have picked up a few other students to join the emperor’s coven anyway. but Willow blames herself for everything. she shouldn’t have asked Caleb to join her team. maybe she shouldn’t have even made the team in the first place, her old teacher was right. she put many people she cared about in danger. until she can “redeem” herself by helping everyone back to safety and hear Hunter indirectly apologize for putting them in that situation himself, she’s in her head about it. with the distraction and confirmation of being of help to those she “messed up” with and that she didn’t really even mess up, she was able to go back to her charming, typical self.

similarly but also slightly different, she regrets her actions immediately after doing them, assuming she’s at fault and kind of gets hyper focused on it. when she, Gus, and Luz get caught animating the house, it takes her a moment to remember that she can grab the root they’re hanging from and completely save their asses from dying. lots of OCD people tend to second guess their own judgment and actions. this can show up when police are called, and trying to find someone. someone with OCD might believe they committed a crime even if they were just, say, reading a newspaper. another instance is if someone talks in a different tone than usual, triggering anxiety and leaving because they think they have done something wrong and that the person who talked differently doesn’t want the person with ocd to be around them (sorry, that was a mouthful of words). this is similar to when Willow gave Hunter that picture of him and Flapjack, causing his eyes to widen and just stare at her. for all we know, he could have just been taking in her nice words and gesture. she shut down and fled the situation as to “not bother” Hunter anymore.

Willow also has her “out of sight, out of mind” mindset. i would argue that this is compulsive behavior. when an OCD individual has intrusive thoughts, such as “___ will die in twenty minutes from now,” they are typically convinced that it will happen. sometimes, partaking in some sort of ritual will ward off the thought or almost counter-convince the person (this will generally sound like “if i turn the light switch on and off 6 times, that car crash won’t happen and everyone will be safe) (also, that’s why people with OCD are usually stereotyped to always be cleaning—rituals like needing everything lined up in the right order are common). Willow’s “out of sight, out of mind” and “i can do this” is similar to an OCD ritual, especially because her thoughts are sometimes dangerous (to her wellbeing). when the polaroid of her and Amity came up, she immediately told Luz her motto. thinking about her old best friend might have sent her into a downward spiral, because it would have reminded her of how she "wasn't strong enough to be Amity's friend" and how badly she had ruined her life. i also believe that the vines that she had created were very representative of intrusive thoughts. they were literally eating her up, and they wouldn’t go away until she let her emotions out, and actually facing how badly she felt.

i can assure you that some of these are far-reaches but i really felt represented by her throughout the series, especially the vine scene in For the Future. it felt so realistic no matter how much magic was being used.

uhh, i’m bad at conclusions, thanks for coming to my ted talk!

[yellowlaboratory]

How are you holding up? I’m heartbroken and damn I can’t believe this happened to my comfort show

all I can say is I am so sorry, I wish this went literally any other way. sending you a hug 💛

as for me, i'm not even sad yet, I'm just so so so angry. idk when I'll get to the sad part of this all. or if I will get there at all. I might just be angry for a while.

[nickelpilled]

doodle + first time drawing angie !!!!!!!!