murmur

I want to write here once in a while. I hope I don't quit as usual.

[olstark]

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.::･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡✧:･

the list of posts that I have her

smell like love (Daryl Dixon)

⋆｡°✩ chapter one

⋆｡°✩ chapter two

⋆｡°✩ chapter three

⋆｡°✩ chapter four

⋆｡°✩ chapter five

⋆｡°✩ chapter six

⋆｡°✩ chapter seven

⋆｡°✩ chapter eight

⋆｡°✩ chapter nine

⋆｡°✩ chapter ten

⋆｡°✩ chapter eleven

Rick Grimes

⋆｡°✩ Warm evening

[olstark]

our coquette's photoshoot💅 💅

[olstark]

Norman's street style aesthetic

[olstark]

one side of my life

[olstark]

Norman Reedus as a cat

[olstark]

Norman's favorite scene in season 6 is the one with the rocket launcher 🤌🤌

[olstark]

the end of the working week is associated with these photos of Norman...

[olstark]

headcanon:

— Daryl never takes your hand first—he just silently intercepts your palm when you walk side by side. Always. In the store, in the woods, down a dirt road—his fingers find yours on their own, like he loses his bearings without it. If you pull away (to fix your hair or grab keys), he freezes for a second, then reaches for your fingers again—more insistent this time, with a light squeeze. "Don't wander off," that gesture says. He doesn't comment, just holds on, like something fragile and completely his. And when you get on the bike, his hand on your waist is the same thing continued.

[olstark]

Debate over what's cooler — Daryl's vest or Negan's jacket

Norman: The vest. Sorry, bro.

Jeffrey: The jacket.

Norman: The vest.

Jeffrey: The jacket.

Norman: Are you kidding me? I've got wings.

[olstark]

the Norman Twitter aesthetic

[olstark]

It was the last can of Adrenaline. Daryl stared at the blue can in his hand like it was a live grenade. There were no others left. The shelf gaped with emptiness.

— I took it first, — he said without even turning around. Just feeling with his back that someone was standing behind him. Breathing. Waiting.

— You just grabbed it, — came a calm voice. — And I'd been eyeing it for the last five minutes.

Daryl turned. A short girl with a crooked bun on her head was looking at the can with the same longing he'd felt for the last clean sock in his house.

— I need to drive two hours out of town, — he said, tightening his grip on the can. — I've got a saddle, it's hot, and there won't be any gas stations.

— And I need to turn in my damn diploma by midnight, — the girl replied, shrugging. — Without it, they'll kick me out. And I want to sleep. And you, old man, just take your heart pills.

They froze. Pop music played over the store radio, the air smelled of fried pies and hopelessness. Daryl sighed. He could just leave. He always could. Grab and go. But this girl was looking at him like he was taking her last shred of hope. And that "old man" stung.

— Old man, huh? — he snorted, studying her crooked bun and the dark circles under her eyes. — How old are you, twenty? I'm old enough to be your father.

— Then act like one, — she shot back, but without malice. Just tired. — Give me the can. Please.

Daryl thoughtfully turned the can over in his hands. The blue metal had warmed from his palm. He imagined the empty road, the sickly sweet tea from his thermos, and the drone of the engine. Then he looked at her. At her fingers gripping the edge of the shelf like it was her only support. At the mascara smudged slightly under her eyes. At the bun that was about to fall apart.

— You know, — he said slowly, — I once didn't sleep for three days before an exam. A long time ago. Back when I was in the army, studying for something.

She blinked, clearly not expecting his story.

— And? Did you pass?

— Failed, — Daryl chuckled. — Fell asleep right at my desk. Woke up to the professor banging his ruler on the table. And I had an imprint of my own pen on my forehead.

She snorted. Annoyed, but something warm slipped through the sound.

— And what did you do?

— Retook it a year later. Calmly. And without energy drinks.

He held out the can to her. Didn't throw it like last time, but carefully placed it in her palms.

— But if you fail your diploma now, — he added, already at the door, — that's on your conscience. And I won't know about it, because we're never meeting again.

She opened her mouth to say something, but he'd already turned around. Stepped toward the exit. The air conditioning hit his back, along with the smell of bread from the bakery and her voice:

— Hey! What's your name?!

Daryl paused for a second but didn't turn around. Just raised his hand in a farewell gesture.

— dilf, — he tossed over his shoulder.

— WHAT?!

And pushed the door open, stepping out into the evening heat. Behind him, the can hissed softly — pshhh.

He smiled. For no reason. And ambled toward his old motorcycle, feeling just a little less empty than half an hour ago.

[olstark]

Norman: We’ve a little thing we do if there’s a really intense scene and it’s just the two of us, I’ll whisper, “I love you,” and then he’ll whisper back,

Andrew: Fuck you

[olstark]

She was my first thought in the morning and the reason I couldn't sleep at night

[olstark]

We were in too much of a hurry to be adults, and by the time we looked back, our life was no longer a polaroid in full color — just an old monochrome reel, buzzing with static and ringing with silence.

[olstark]

state of life - Monday

[olstark]

Norman Reedus as a cat

[olstark]

my roman empire...