ignatttt  asked:

I'm just following the blog for ustudio shenanigans. Can we have have some more of that?

There you have. Cross!Chara is searching for his people outside the Studio.

It hasn’t happened that you know someone with your same tastes, similar styles in almost everything, someone that could be like a brother/sister and learn about each other… but you can’t be his/her bestie?

Drunk Chara by @ask-drunk-chara
And Underswap!Chara as themself

anonymous asked:

idk if u still do the drunk Phil thing and stuff but hey, im super drtuiuunk and I just wanted to say tat fil is just too pretty, like his cheekbones and his smile lines, his face shape when he smiles, his squinting eyes when he laughs at a joke from dan, wen he pouts when dan says something cute/sad and sees just sooooooooo pretty. dan is like normal-face-good-looking compared to himk aaaragbvd he's so lovely an I want to hujfg hm sobadlyand say that we ove him so much and jbguriaejl,fdzg


anonymous asked:

taako once sat down next to me in the park with a plate of some reaaal garlic-y smelling chicken and a GIANT bottle of wine. i'd never met him before but he poured me a glass. it was after reclaiming the chalice, he said he was celebrating something?? but then he just started chugging the rest. it was mid day. he left after that. i never saw him again.

ravenshadows08  asked:

“I didn’t want it to end, I just thought you’d be better off without me..” (Fenhawk, fenhawk, fenhawk!)

I hope it hurts the way you asked me to make it ;) <3

She comes to him when he wants no one, wearing a plain tunic and patched leggings, eyes red but blue bright. She smiles when she brushes hair from his eyes, bends down to plant a kiss in the clearing she has created. He sits on the bench, does not rise. He keeps his eyes lowered, away from her, focusing on the nervous way her feet shift, unsure of whether to stay or run. She kneels before him, finger on the chin, forcing his gaze to hers. “Fenris, I have something for you,” she says.

Her hands are warm on his skin, and he is limp and pliable in her hands. She takes his arm, holds his wrist, and ties a ribbon around it. Red upon red, tucking in the knot, pinning it together with a family crest. Her family crest. “We Hawkes,” she says, “bestow a favor on those we love.” He squeezes his eyes closed. She shouldn’t – he wasn’t – he didn’t… Forgive me, and it’s given. Hate me, and she won’t. Forget me, and she can’t.

Year passes upon year and she still looks upon him softly, gentle in her gaze and in her voice, tender in her touch. It aches as much as it did that night, a clamp around his chest, squeezing rib and lung. He never takes the red from his wrist, and it marks the truth he cannot speak. He loves her still, but knows she deserves better. It’s Anders who says it. A simple comment outside the Hanged Man. “You wear that, and she’s never going to move on.”

The anger brews, boils, bubbles in his chest, a sneering “you know nothing about it,” but understands that he is right. Fenris catches the way the line of her shoulders fall, the way the smile slowly fades, the sad blue when she sees the favor is no longer tied around his wrist the next day. He pretends not to notice. He holds himself still as to not to run to her, to tell her that it is for her own sake, and that she deserves better than a broken man can give.

He asks her to come with her. He asks her to help find the family he might once have known. Varania. A sister. She doesn’t hesitate in her answer. Moving forward, her hand in his, giving it a tight squeeze. “We’ll go as soon as you’re ready,” she says. He doesn’t want to let go. He wishes he were still holding her hand when Varania calls him Leto. He wishes he were still holding her hand when Danarius walks down the stairs. He wishes he were still holding her hand when the magic courses through markings, drags him to his knees.

A twist, a turn, Danarius driving the blade of his staff through his belly. Triumph in the Magister’s eyes, Hawke’s anguished cry. She leaves all her magic behind as she throws herself at Danarius, drawing the small knife from her belt. A knee into his gut, pushing him down to the floor. Quick screaming thrusts as metal meets soft flesh, knife sinking itself into Danarius’s neck, red pooling around him. She scrambles on hands and knees to Fenris’s side, pulls him into her lap.

“Fenris,” she says, her hand pressing tightly against the hole in his belly, “Hold on. Anders will be here soon.” She cradles him tightly, fingers biting into his arm. He can only stare up at her as she looks at the wound, gritting her teeth, eyes wide. A strand of hair makes its way across her forehead, settles over her face. Freckles like stars against clear skies, red lips he’s had the privilege of touching. She’s so beautiful.

“I’m sorry,” he says. Her gaze moves from the red seeping around her fingers to him, to the way he smiles at her. “I kept your favor.”

“Don’t talk,” she says, “You need to-”

“I never wanted it to end,” he tells her. “I thought you’d be better off without me.” Her brows knit, her chin shakes.

“You daft, foolish, idiot, stupid fool of a man,” she says as she presses her forehead against his. “Don’t you know we’re better when we’re together?”