i am such a chick

So today I was waiting for the bus after I got my hair cut and this guys sits next to me.
  • Guy: you look like a lesbian.
  • Me: what?
  • Guy: you look like a lesbian, your hair is too short.
  • Me: so?
  • Guy: So guys don't like it.
  • Me: and I should care because...?
  • Guy: you're not gonna get laid with that hair.
  • Me: well, thankfully I like women even more than you so trust me, I am gonna get laid.
  • Guy: oh, you're into chicks? That's hot.. Apart from the hair I'd fuck you.
  • Me: ...
  • Guy: ...
  • Me: I CHANGED MY MIND YES TAKE ME I'M YOURS!
  • Guy: what?
  • Me: (SCREAMING LIKE THE END OF THE WORLD IS HERE) OH SHIT SLAM ME AGAINST THAT WALL AND FUCK ME IN THE ASS PLEASE DO IT OH GOD I NEED YOUR DICK!
  • Guy: you're fucking weird. (stands up)
  • Me: OH... OH WHAT'S WRONG? AM I MAKING YOU UNCOMFORTABLE?! WELL, THAT SUCKS, BOOHOO PRINCESS! NOW GO BACK TO THE PIT YOU LIVE IN AND GO FUCK YOURSELF!
  • (Guy leaves. I sit down)
  • Old lady sitting next to me: that was faboulous.

// Happy Lunar New Year to everyone celebrating!  ✧(*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑  Wishing you guys all the best as we move onto the year of the Rooster! ♡  - Admin Dissu

etherealbatwing  asked:

Hello! May I please get some HCs for the chocobros and how they would react spending the night with their S/O for the first time? The thing is it was completely by accident that they end up having to do so~

OKAY OKAY, SO I’m bad at this s/o thing bc i much prefer character/character shippy things, so it’s very neutral and if you close your eyes it works for any ship really. BUT I did it?? I think? I DON’T KNOW GUYS. 

After being fussed over by royal attendants all day, then dragged around the Citadel to blocks of princely meetings he paid little mind too, Noctis only wants to feel some semblance of normalcy again. So when he’s had a long day, Noct usually finds himself making evening visits that end with him on their couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, suit jacket slung over the armrest and tie hanging loose against his chest. Popping a few of the buttons open on his dress shirt lets him feel like he can breathe again. He makes a passing mention of having a massive headache, but apparently finds himself well enough to stare at flashy pixels for the rest of the evening; he gets up to turn on the gaming console and grab the two controllers off the entertainment center, tossing the second one at them (the one that will give them the 2nd player screen, because even though it might be their house, he is the prince and he’ll use that as leverage— but only for important things, like making sure he’s got the 1st player, top screen view).

It’s a small activity, filled with sitting close enough to bump shoulders, playing dirty to get ahead, and cursing at each other with a smile on each of their faces, but Noct just wanted this. To come over, play some video games with his favorite person, and unwind— and he does. So much so that when they get up to grab something to drink from the kitchen, they return to find Noctis laying across the couch, controller loosely still set in his hands, head resting where they were previously sitting, out cold. In short, it ends up being an impromptu sleepover.

He’ll wake up, long eyelashes fluttering, with his head in their lap and their hand brushing through his hair. Noctis has a moment of tired deliriousness where he’s trying to figure why the ceiling looks nothing like the one in his room before he catches the other’s gaze. Oh. Right. He shifts in their lap and makes a move to sit back up, only to be gently kept against them. A blush rises against his cheeks as he tries to apologize, his voice a low, sleepy rumble in his chest. They can tell he’s trying to play it off with a cool attitude, but the redness tingeing his ears says otherwise. He’s probably asking a million self-conscious questions in his head, most of which come across as a blow to his imagined nonchalant-ness— he’s worried about snoring too loud, sleeping with his mouth open, drooling on them— but he manages to ask what time it is. 3am. With their hand still in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp, and his eyes closing as he tucks his face against their stomach and sighs, there’s no argument. He might as well stay the rest of the night.

With Prompto, accidentally staying over the first time is unquestionably because of an accident. This boy tries so hard to impress the one he likes and what better way to do so than help them make dinner? He comes over prepared: finds the recipe that morning, picks up all the necessary groceries, and arrives at 6 o’clock sharp to get started. He’s only a little mad at himself for forgetting his “Kiss the Cook” apron at home. Nonetheless, Prompto insists that he do it all himself, arguing that they do too much for him as it is—and maybe he feels a little guilty over the fact that they paid the quite substantial bill for their last diner date at Galdin Quay in its entirety. The least he can do cook a small meal for the two of them. Except it’s not small. And it’s exceedingly more complicated (and expensive) than anticipated; but it’s fine! He’s been watching a lot of cooking shows lately, that’s definitely gonna pay off tonight.

Except none of it is much help when he’s quite a bit flustered being around someone that makes his heart flip in his chest just from meeting his eyes, let alone actually laughing at his stupid puns (‘Penne for your thoughts?’ he said, pouring the penne into the boiling water. And they had actually giggled, like, a real one! Not out of pity!) But the combination of being nervous and jittery while trying to be a literal Bobby Flay, causes him to forget to put the lid on the blender. There’s a quick pulse, a decisively girlish screech, and then silence. There’s now homemade spaghetti sauce splattered over the walls, down the counter, and, mainly, all over Prompto. Down his chest, in his hair and across his face. He thinks for a moment that they’ll be peeved, but when he’s greeted with the sound of laughter and a finger swiping at the line of sauce down his freckled cheek to take a taste, he’s relived if not extraordinarily embarrassed. 

By the time they’ve got his clothes in their washer, him in the shower, and dinner finally done, it’s late; his clothes still need to dry and food still needs to be eaten. When Prompto comes out of the bathroom, hair damp and drooping without any gel, wearing some mismatched amalgamation of their clothes he borrowed, it’s natural to suggest that he spend the night. He agrees, perhaps a bit too eagerly, laughing and watching them break out a jar of spaghetti sauce to replace the one now slowly drying against the wall.

Gladiolus tends to pride himself on being smooth— in some part, it’s the charm that got him in this relationship in the first place— but, damn, is he so much more sweetly conniving than they initially gave him credit for. Usually he finds himself planning dates on the weekends, but when he calls them on a weekday to let them know he’s dropping by their place for a visit after work, they know something’s up. It doesn’t hit them until they’re cuddled up on the couch, hand-in-hand and stomachs full after a junk food filled night of Cup Noodles and a couple beers, watching the nightly news. “A strong storm front moving in bringing periods of light snow throughout the evening, ending in a combination of sleet and freezing ra—“ A dusting of snow had the entire city of Insomnia shutting down, let alone a whole inch. “It is advisable that people stay off the roads if possible and take caution to avoid—“

Gladio pulls them closer to kiss the top of their head and smiles into their hair, “Guess I’m spending the night then?“ And that’s all it takes. Honestly, how had they not seen this coming? He’d planned this since he heard the weather report two days ago; he knows what he’s trying to set up. They have to resist laughing with a roll of their eyes when he excuses himself to grab something out of his car and comes back with a small, pre-packed sports bag filled with spare clothes, a toothbrush, a razor… he is not trying to hide this at all. Talk about over-confident. Yet still strangely coy enough to have never outright asked to spend the night without an excuse? Cute.

The night is spent doing lot of shitty movie watching, finding the worst direct to television productions possible and binging them— everything ranging from one about supernatural sharks, to another about a scorned housewife that plays off like a daytime soap opera. Gladio’s infectious laugh makes them both more than giddy and they find themselves making fun of every little corny line and botched CGI until the credits roll then the early morning block of infomercials start playing. Gladio stands up, back and arm muscles pulling his tattoo taut as he stretches and yawns before hoisting them up too. Tossing them a wink, he declares himself ready for bed and saunters on into their room, shedding his shirt on the way. It’s like he’s lived there the whole time, like this wasn’t something new. The casualness of it all is more than welcoming. 

The shops began closing their doors and the plaza’s usual throngs of people were thinning when Ignis suggests calling it an evening; it’s getting quite late after a long night of a reserved, high-class dining and walking the city streets together, popping in and out of small boutiques and sitting on park benches, watching daring street performers make their living. It’s painfully obvious that Ignis doesn’t often find time to unwind— and, gods, does it take an hour or so to whittle the advisory persona down— but from the way his shoulders slouch far more than usual, the way his lips curve into a smirk instead of a tight line of concentration, the way he backtalks and quips, anyone can see the ease the night has brought him. Being nothing short of an extraordinary gentleman, he’ll offer to drive them back to their place. He outright refuses to let them take the Insomnian subway system at the dead of night.

So the plan was to end the night at their doorstep— walking them up the steps, leaving a chaste kiss against their lips with a promise to see them again soon— except when he retreats, leaving them floating on air in the doorway, watching him get into his car with an almost dorky wave goodbye, Ignis can’t get his stupid royal car to start. Gods, it’s making the saddest little stalling noise and it’s nearing midnight, and Ignis is a little panicked when the ‘check engine’ light turns on. When he’s asked to come inside their house to figure out what to do next, he agrees, a tad defeated. Once inside, they ask him to stay the night— not for sleazy intentions. It’s simply that Hammerhead is far away and overnight towing is expensive. Despite the fact that they know he can pay for it, it seems senseless. Stay the night and wait until morning? 

Ignis feels alight with nerves. He clears his throat and tries a few excuses as to why he shouldn’t stay— it’s not out of ungratefulness, he assures them. Most of what he says is trivial, nervous talking that stems from not wanting to sleep in his clothes, or not having clean clothes to wear the next morning, or disturbing their sleep. He plays it off as being a bother, but, really, he’s reluctant to let them see him not at his best; as if this will change their whole view of him if they see him so undignified in the morning, with his horrendous bedhead and un-pressed clothes. It’s a level of personal that Ignis is not used to anyone seeing. But when their hand is on his, and their waving off his excuses, he’s convinced to stay.

Regardless, they can’t stop him from being so apologetic for imposing on them, acting as if he sabotaged his own car. And, wow, he is so awkward when he crawls into bed with them, murmuring little apologies when his legs, bare from stripping down to his briefs, brushes against theirs. They convince him it’s more than fine by tangling them together to guide him closer into their arms, where he’ll find that he spends the rest of the night.

  • Nonbinary person: hello friend I am nonbinary
  • Cisgender friend: ...but like... You're a chick, right? I mean... You've got chick parts!
  • Nonbinary person: don't you dare bring my poultry collection into this

Beyonce performed with the Dixie Chicks at the CMA’s and I am LIVING for how EXTRA Bey was showing up in her bedazzled gown smizing at the audience and you could just see her and the Chicks cackling with glee at the glares they were getting from several of the audience members LMAO