i took embarrasingly long to get to this shes so COOL !!!
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Welcome to ‘Your fave is’ !
What is this?
This is a gimmick account for sending your favourite character in with any flag you please ! Anywhere from nationality to pride !
Rules::
DNI if you are an anti minor account
Mod of this account is a minor
Dont request real people !
But this still means your allowed to request characters the person has played, such as adam copelands character Edge.
No proship / map flags !
This is basically common sense please dont send anything like this stuff in pls
Do NOT interact if you support ice or are homophobic / transphobic
Me!
Im darby,, im a minor and scottish !
My main interests currently are wrestling and farcry
@shaneomaxxing
How to request !
Make sure to add the character name, what theyre from and the flag (^.^)
Something like::
“Hai darby, can i request *insert character* from *fandom* with the *insert flag* flag, please ?”
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anon i could kiss you, i think this truly rewired my brain a little bit
this is beautiful and you are a genius
it is added to the list, bolded, highlighted, and underlined
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ooooooo i do love this. i’m sensing forced political marriage in this, i see it in my crystal ball 👀
very much to consider. i have added this to my ideas list, i’m vibing with it
thank you very much! 🩷
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once i get off work and i settle a moment or two, i can certainly work on a soren or two <33
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Oh my god this is such a cute idea. Let me get some water and I’ll try to at least write a small blurb, I love you ohhhhh this is so cute thank YOUUUUU
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valentines roulette requests are CLOSED as of midnight thank you so much everybody!!!!
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UHM IF U SUBMITTED A DRAWING REQ TY 🥹🥹🥹 ill be overloaded w work for the next day or so n i prolly wont have time until later to get to it 😭😭 BUT I WILL. DO IT I SWEAR ON MY SOUL
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10000 posts!
You can find YCH’s, commissions, and requests through searches on my blog
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hello anon! thank you so much for the request!
to be honest, i’m terrible at slow burn, but rn i’m working on something that might become one so… i won’t tell you no! I’ll try my best. thankies for trusting me with your idea! 🫡💖
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i will get to this later but request me some pokemon to drawwww preferably some from gen 2 / johto :-) been feeling very artiful 🐟🐾🌈
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First request art for this year for one of my instagram regulars. As usual sketch stage, soon a finished coloured one :)
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⣴♬ how was salt lake city, dear?
summary: sometimes, in an apocalypse, blood isn’t the worst pain. it can still be a broken heart ; loosely based on this song.
warnings: angst, age gap (30s/60s)
wc: 1,4k
side note: this is a request i got a long time ago and could never work out. i’m actually depressed and hating my works so have some angst because if i’m not happy neither are my characters !!! 🫵🏼
pairing: joel miller x younger!fem reader
blood stained your shoes, and not once, did he look back. tears in your face, and he didn’t wipe them either.
never back, never to where you lingered: because you were past. not the one that wrapped him up in guilt and curled on the air he breathed, pressing on his haunted lungs―on the ghosts swimming in his brown-eyed stare.
that was reserved for others.
because there was once this woman who shared a bed and things of his past life, bonded by loss and strength, and even if he never smiled at her, you felt the warmth by the way he silently followed her orders and how her sacrifice made him hesitate again ever since a long time.
instead, joel looked forward. to future days.
on the girl who used to be cargo, but after that small town where the meat smelled with the blood of the loved ones that died, he had held her like a child of his own, promising things he’d gone long without saying out loud, kept locked inside with a grief that soured with regret and age, with just one single sentence.
i got you, babygirl.
you didn’t have tess’ trust or ellie’s love.
the truth is, you had nothing.
except the solace of his body next to yours and how he’d let you hold him in the dark, not afraid of your hand dropping over scars and the hollow space of his heart.
joel was your compass: anywhere he’d go, you’d too. he could wreck your plans; life, all over again, and you would let him―every time. let the words dying to be screamed drown in the poison of the bitterness inside you, hoping he’d hear the bellow of loyalty begged to be seen; rewarded. for staying; straying. like a worn boot or a scar: not wanted but needed, kept around for use. not wanted, but present, as the seasons changing and the cruel time that never stopped.
you’d hope for anything: for him to feel you. to love you.
the truth is, joel didn’t see over his shoulder to see if you were behind: because he knew you’d always follow.
when you left the QZ for tommy, then for ellie. keeping tess’ promise even if it was only sworn to him. letting the blood of the hospital stain your clothes. marlene’s blood.
not even with the crimson on your hands could he look your way with the love you craved.
so you learned to hate him. resent him.
him and his hardened stare, bitter as the coffee he took back when the world was normal.
for the ache he put in you. for knowing this was never going to change, surrendering when tess died because ellie took her spot.
it would always be another one. because joel could love, just never you.
he knew it: when he let you have him but not his heart. when danger lurked in and he ran to ellie without a doubt. when the warmth of those nights didn’t reach his eyes but the comfort of your body, steady rough hands seeking for relief and not a refuge.
and you still dared to hound, with your old loyal dog lingering, licking his soles for a single touch.
for a silent look that promised what you craved and gave without questioning away:
i’m here.
always.
with you.
that seed of hoping he planted in you, grew, sharpness of thorns up your throat, choking up in the silence of the unsaid. the sorrow that echoed in enclosed spaces, where having his body close burned.
burned with the flame that maimed you slowly when you woke up to the smell of your favorite flowers, freshly cut, next to your bed. or when he taught you how to fire a gun because you didn’t know how to defend yourself. put himself between you and those raiders that almost touched you how only he had: killed them slowly, almost enjoyed it. in the way his fingers brushed the blue hues on your skin when you were hurt; they digged softly into the ones of your wounded heart.
you learned to see those quiet moments for nothing but circumstance, the one that bounded broken souls in this apocalypse, wrapping them up in barb wire and letting their shattered sharp glass edges tear into one another.
you let your burning love reduce to ashes and a sadness that couldn’t be removed like a stain. instead, it splattered like the blood you couldn’t wash off.
some days, when the loneliness got harder, you’d go to empty placess like you: decayed by memories. most of the times, the theater, and pretended the music was there. and in the midst of your bittersweet symphony, you couldn’t help but wonder if there was someone new. if he was full where you felt hollow.
if he held someone close like he used to hold you, times were he felt stronger and you felt protected. if they knew his favorite color and other silly things he didn’t talk about. if the nightmares he used to have, dwindled.
if somebody else could finally give joel peace.
those were the days, you missed him.
missed mostly the way he made you feel: because in a rugged, quiet, aching and empty way, just maybe, joel loved you.
loved too the way you made him feel: safe, keeping the rotten inside the cage you’d locked both of you inside―the one that once felt like a refuge and not a prison.
because these people hadn’t cracked the locks you craved freeing yourself from.
they were colder.
some had smiles like those joel could never give you except for when he let time still and loosened up with that rare soft smirk that made butterflies ache in your chest.
those, you killed with a rage that felt almost animalistic. a feeling that was better than being empty at all.
because the wolves you dreamed of throwing your life away to, had found you before: carrying nothing but rocks in your pockets, weighting you down with joel’s burden.
the burden of a love that emptied you with foolishness and a tomorrow that never came. one you believed in as a prayer, holding onto a rare faith found in the middle of hell.
why did you allow yourself to feel anything in a world like this?
now, you were a wolf: biting before being bitten. sinking teeth on tender meat like your own had been, the one that still beat. to taste blood, because existing costed blood, and you still had sins to pay.
“thought i may find you here”
that sadistic gleam in her eyes you’d gotten used to stares back at you.
“i’m predictable”
“it’s because i know you”
it sends chills down your spine: the words not of a friend but rather an enemy you should keep close.
“you should tell me the story”
“one day” you agree with crossed fingers, thinking of his own and the soft accords of a forgotten guitar.
then, she tells what she’d been dying to say:
“we found him” her lips utters between a shaky disbelief and quiet simmering relief. the promise of finishing long due killings. “are you coming?”
you don’t know the story, don’t care: a lost father, one you had learned to lose before it all turned upside down. abby anderson is a person you’ve come to known―the curse of coexisting in shared spaces. she’s probably a sister you could’ve loved before, back when softness came to you like a crux; not disease or weakness. or perhaps the daughter this world never allowed you to have.
you never asked for details or explanations: not when they found you, trembling, and her eyes stare was too haunted for a girl her age. not after, as she broke little by little, sharpening the edges her ill-fitting pieces had left.
“yeah” you stand up. “i’m coming”
always a follower, never a leader. straying behind, falling into footprints left to rot in the dirt, erased by the wind: as if you had never been there.
never had been loyal. never had chosen to stay.
just remained, because you had no place to go.
no home.
only you had been foolish enough to believe joel miller could’ve been.
so, when roads lead, you don’t expect them to end in that old house: but all wandering lost stars are bound to find themselves back to the sky that lit them up.
there he is, hands raised up as bile does in your throat, tasting like the thick air of that hospital many years ago.
a name you haven’t said in years, afraid of the smokey memories it might billow, with the ghosts that haunt your nightmares and empty bed. of that love you had sworn off but never left.
“joel”
