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projecting my period cramps onto daryl because i'm dying bro

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YES LAWDDDDDD😫😫😫

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Faceless Norman…

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BOOOOOOMMBBBAAACLLAAAATTT😻

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in s2 when daryl hallucinated merle we get a very interesting glimpse into his mind. the hallucination of merle is a reflection of how daryl sees himself.

merle says something along the lines of “you’re nothing but a freak to them. redneck trash, that’s all you are” and “they’re all laughing at you behind your back.” this how how daryl fears the group sees him. notice how he isn’t necessarily afraid that the group views him as angry, mean, or violent. being perceived that way is something he can accept (he arguably wants people to see him that way). what he’s actually afraid of is that they think he’s strange or low class. he thinks they might be mocking him behind his back (which, as we see, they are) and it clearly upsets him.

he presents himself as an angry, unfriendly person (and he *is* an angry person) partially to reject people before they reject him. he’s insecure about the rest of the group looking down on him so he pushes them away and tries to convince both himself and everyone else that their opinions don’t bother him. we see when he’s hallucinating that their opinions actually bother him a great deal. he’s used to being perceived as trash and that’s what he expects from the group.

I love that scene bc it reveals that he’s a lot more sensitive than he lets on. he cares about how the group sees him and despite his attempts to push them away he desperately wants them to accept him. the thought of them looking down on him is clearly painful to him even though he’d never admit it to anyone. once he opens up to them and stops trying to scare them off they do accept him!! but until they get to know him they do, at least in some ways, view him the way he fears they do.

some of the groups bad impression of him is caused by his own bad behavior. they think of him as hostile, ignorant, and bigoted because that’s how he behaves, but there are a few moments where it’s clear that’s not all there is to it.

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top 3 nsfw daryl headcanons??

★ . . . baby boy is vanilla as all fuck. despite the fact that some of my writing is not vanilla, he is. i know i’m writing him ooc a lot but that’s just cause a girl can dream. okay?? but he is so vanilla it’s unfair. he doesn’t even know how to initiate sex and just goes into an internal panic at the thought of it.

★ . . . he doesn’t care about his own pleasure as much as he does about his partners. he’s not big on sex, never has been, probably never will be. in all of the apocalypse, we’ve seen him (onscreen) have sex once, and technically we didn’t even see him. i just think he’s more into little acts of affection, like leaning on each other. i think even holding hands for more than a few seconds is too much for him. but when it does come down to sex, he’d much rather take care of his partner and make sure that their needs are fulfilled than worry about himself.

★ . . . he cums almost instantly. he just be cumming and cumming. he’s so unused to the feeling of sex that it overwhelms him quickly. sometimes he’s barely inside - which can take a few minutes because i just know that he’s thick - before he’s having to spill inside you or pull out. then he’s all apologies and flushed in the face with embarrassment. such a sensitive little cutie patootie.

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john fartston

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the shootist 🏜️

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Daryl saw my chemical romance!!!

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Daryl.... why'd you do that :(

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and with this act of obsession I declare my death stranding era

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I love that he has a hanky. I know this man has no idea what flagging is.

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Earlier seasons daryl makes me soo sad by just looking at him, he just has that kicked puppy stare y’know

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i literally have no innocent thoughts about this man. (pls i just wanna ride him til im crying).

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Hi sorry for being inactive again. I see mcr tomorrow lol ….

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johnny warms you up when you’re sick ₊˚⊹☆

johnny storm x reader — gn!reader, pre-relationship, fluff! 0.7k

You wake up feeling bad. Your eyes ache like they've doubled in size, too big and heavy for their sockets. Your whole head is swimming now that you focus on it. And you're trembling like a flame despite the three layers of blankets you’ve ended up sleeping with. 

You’re not surprised. The last few nights found you crawling into bed much sooner, and at some point, your throat had adopted this irritating scratch. But said scratch has worsened into more of a burn, like you’ve got a mouthful of hot sauce every time you swallow. You should’ve taken Ben’s advice. Take it easy, he said. But easy doesn’t come easy for you. 

In the morning, you’ll blame the fever for fogging your judgement. But really, it’s the thought of Johnny’s hands that gets you tripping out of bed. They’re always warm when he touches you, like he’s sewn little pocket warmers under his skin. And they’re big beside yours, brusque in their movement but still so gentle when need be. 

His door swings open silently under your palm. The room’s quiet apart from the record still spinning on the turntable, a faint crackle where the needle retraces the last groove. 

“Johnny?” you whisper. 

He’s face down on the sheets, arms folded under his pillow, with one leg hiked far enough to lose the blanket. He’s unmoving apart from the steady rise and fall of the linen over his back. 

You take a few steps. Then another few when he doesn’t react. “Johnny,” you call again, stood gawky in the center of his room. Nothing. You bridge the rest of the gap, hovering over his bedside, hand stretching for his shoulder. 

But he shifts then, just before your fingers brush him. His lips smack, and he inhales hard, nose crushed to his pillow. One eye cracks, just a slit, his lashes crusted with sleep. 

“Sorry,” you whisper automatically. 

Johnny squints up at you like you’re aiming a flashlight at his face. He looks terribly tired, sounds it even more. “Hmm,” he whines. 

“Can I sleep in here?”

He stares at you blankly for a long time before he nods. His cheek drops back down to the mattress in defeat as he kneads his eye with a fist. You climb in on the other side and slip under cool covers. It’s still for a beat before the springs creak under his weight. He rolls onto his hip to face you. 

The curtains are parted enough for a slice of the city, washing the whole room in a deep blue, Johnny's face no exception. His eyes are like glaciers in the moonlight.

“What’s wrong?” he rasps. 

“Cold.” 

An understatement from what his ears tell him. He can hear the rattle of your teeth chattering and the shaky little breaths through your mouth. His hand sneaks across the sheets, knuckles laying across your cheek, skipping up to your forehead. 

You feel normal to him, maybe slightly warm. But that’s alarming, considering Johnny runs hot. His body regulates itself a few degrees warmer than the average man. Any other day, your skin’s like porcelain to his. 

“Sick?” he asks. 

“Guess so.”

“Mm. Come here.” 

You fall into his open arms, no hesitation, no room for embarrassment. He’s not your boyfriend, but he’s not nothing either. He couldn’t be, not with this being so easy. His chest is a furnace, bare skin hot under your hotter cheek. You nose your way up his neck. Even stuffy, you can smell yesterday's cologne. 

His hand smooths up your spine. “Take anything?”

“Yeah. Just did.”

Johnny could crank up the heat if he wanted to, soak some more warmth into your poor body using his. But not without risk. He’d rather not have to throw you in an ice bath to get your temperature back down. 

He tucks the blanket around your neck. You’ve stopped shivering, at least. “Better?” he asks. 

“Mhmm.” You thread your leg between his. Your hand curls loosely around his shoulder. “Thanks,” you slur.