i think that was a lie

Fantasy Daddy Simulator -- Final Fantasy XV x Dream Daddy Headcanons (Part 1)

Okay, I’m far too impatient to wait until this is all finished. SO HERE! Have the first part to the FFXV x Dream Daddy headcanons. c: It’s fun to write, that’s for sure, and it’s cool to think about the fun scenario of all these single dads. I hope you guys enjoy the day I go on our Fantasy Daddies though!
(So weird to say that, not gonna lie…)


  • Let’s add about 15-20 years on these boys. Give them time for the children to grow older.
  • Let’s also say they live in that cul-de-sac area just like from Dream Daddy.
  • And the children are just me throwing dumb thoughts your way. Because yay for thinking up of headcanons (and child characters unmentioned!).


Featuring: Noctis Lucis Caelum, Prompto Argentum, Ignis Scientia, and Gladiolus Amicitia

Noctis Lucis Caelum – Divorced, Father of Three Boys

Likes: Fishing, Sleeping In, Telling Stories About The Good Ol’Days
Dislikes: Veggies, Cooking Heathy Things For His Kids, Not Being Able to Fish or Sleep

  • He was married to Lunafreya Nox Fleuret as part of an arranged marriage ordeal. But as time passed, they came to realize that they never really got the live they life they wanted to when they were immediately married at twenty-years old.
  • So they mutually divorced, yet they still remain very big and important figures in their kids lives, despite having a shared custody over them.
  • Noctis takes the kids for a month and then they alternate back and forth. But luckily for Noctis, Lunafreya just lives up the road, so they boys can really just pick where they want to go.
  • The boys ultimately decide that they’d rather live with their dad more than their mom. No offense to Lunafreya, really! They’re just, you know, more okay with Noctis being a chill dad than with Lunafreya being a proper lady mom.
  • Noctis is the kind of dad who will pretend to be asleep until noon on his days off, refusing to get up even when his little boys would jump on him and demand his attention.
  • Or demand food. Can’t they just make ramen like how Uncle Gladio taught them? Damn… Now he’d have to break out that emergency cookbook Ignis made him.

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Hey, y'all, question: which rebelcaptain prompt do you want to see filled next?

>More of foster mom Jyn and teacher Cassian please

>“I think I can live without you, but it won’t be any kind of life.”

 >Jyn and Cassian hiding out in the bunker where Saw abandoned her.


>"I threw stones at the stars, but the whole sky fell”

>K-2 having to help Cassian lie to Jyn about something.

>Person A discovers Person B snores

>After the war

>something from North & South AU

So if you’re seeing a lot more Lie to Me coming up on your dash, it may or may not be because I told @tvfreakd and @lolcat76 to watch it, thus starting the suffering circle.

and now @tearsandbrightness and @love-letters-x-cardigan-sweaters have watched it and are blaming me for their anguish but guess what

I don’t care.

And now were got some Lie to Me zombies coming out of the wood work with “WHY IS THIS BACK ON MY DASH I’VE BEEN TRYING TO OPPRESS IT FOR THE PAST SEVERAL YEARS AND NOW HERE WE ARE” (that’s almost a direct quote I SWEAR)


(I think the count is at 6 lmao)

The thing is, if you need to lie, intentionally mislead, and misrepresent what someone said in order to vilify them, maybe your hate and actions are not as justified as you think. If you are knowingly liking or reblogging a false narrative, you are just as guilty as the person posting it. And really, we know what kind of people are willing to manipulate others in order pass along their “truth”.

Originally posted by welcometoyouredoom


Baby hold me like I’m gonna burst 

Stop thinking, what’s so hard about it

Kiss me like it’s a lie, as if

I am your last love ♡

- “As if it’s your last love”, Blackpink

I was tagged by the wonderful @the-third-guy-from-the-left and @jinssmile to do the bias selfie tag! I apologize for the weird format (if there is one since I didn’t have time to crop these to fit the photo size limit) and for the ugly photos of me

As if it’s your last has been giving me feels since I read the english lyrics so I thought the words were cute and kinda matched the ‘theme’ of the photos 

lmao someone make a fic out of the last two photos… (I rlly liked them)

I tag : @baxngtan @namgerine  @jiminslolli @gujoonim @pinkforyoongi@kthyunngg @mochimim @godsavemefrombts and anyone who wants to do this tag!  

ksjfhsdhf the thing is. is that i dont think its self image issues really. like im an objective person and what i see when i look in the mirror is someone fairly ugly. like im not the ugliest person around i dont think, but by no means do i find myself pretty and to me it isnt like a self image thing its just fact i guess? i dont wanna say people lie to me when they say im pretty but sometimes it feels like theyre just trying to make me feel better bc of how much i struggle with my appearance 

aearyn  asked:

I think it's funny that these rude anons send you stuff and then you get 50x as much positive response, like are they just trying to bring your friends/supporters out of the woodwork....? Like if they're trying to foster negativity they are failing miserably :)

I don’t think they even read those responses, but they sure showed me how amazing and loving my followers are. <3
I won’t lie, though, I actually had fun replying to some of their asks. I was always like: hmmm, do I want to be sassy or do I want to respond with spongebob quote…Yeah and I enjoyed going through reaction gifs. But this is getting out of hand and I think it’s time to end it for good. :-)

anonymous asked:

what do you think of inohina? i always thought that was p. cute. (and better than inosaku tbh i know that's one of the bigger wlw pairings but ino deserves better) (and so does karin)

InoHina is so effing cute, I’m not going to lie. I HC that they spend a lot of time together during the timeskip between Shippuden and they’re really good friends from then on (because they both deserve better than being friends with Sakura imo) 
But consider this: InoHinaKarin as an ot3, plenty of loving for all three girls then!

Why do people think threatening to leave a bad review will magically make the way the entire shipping system works changes?

This gal comes in with a package she needs to print the label for. It’s not printing off right at home, so she wants to print it in store. Alright, cool. That’s a service we offer, and it costs a whopping $1.50.
What?? she complains, at the other guys they do it for free.
Now, I know that’s a lie, but I also know that technically they only charge 12¢ because instead of having a cute label thing they print on from email, they make you do self serve, so you’re just charged for the one page of printing. So I calmly let her know that if she wants to go home and print it, we’ll still be accepting dropoffs until 6pm.
She insists again that she can’t get the label to print out at home, only the text prints. I apologise sympathetically and offer to let her pull out up on our computer, for free, to try and figure out what the problem is. This only makes her angrier for whatever reason, and she starts gesturing wildly at the barcode on her phone.
Can’t you just scan this? She demands.
No, I can’t, because it’s not attached to a package, I answer.
So scanning it won’t print a label?
No, I’m afraid that won’t do anything but check it in.
Well can’t you check it in anyway?
Your box is unlabeled, so it won’t go anywhere. It’s a blank box.
At this point she grabs a pen and informs me she’ll just write the tracking number on the box.
So I explain to her that that’s not how it works, we need the barcode for it to go through the system.
That’s dumb, she tells me, can’t you just read the address?
Unfortunately not, ma'am. Our system is all automated. If it has no barcode, the sorting system won’t know where to take your package.
She gets even angrier at this stage, telling me that that makes no sense and I’m just trying to scam $1.50 out of her when she knows a single sheet of paper doesn’t cost us that much.
She turns to my co-worker and demands to know if he’s the manager. He’s not. She starts addressing him like he is, anyway, asking what kind of a business model we think we’re running. He hasn’t heard any of this happening so she goes through the entire just scan it and I’ll write the tracking number on it speal with him, too.
He tells her the same thing.
So she storms out, informing us that she’s gonna leave some GREAT reviews for us.
My co-worker goes a step further than I would by calling “have fun” after her.

I will not miss it when I someday don’t have to deal with customers.

ladynorbert  asked:

Once you get this say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Send to ten of your favorite followers!

Thank you my dear @ladynorbert for thinking of me!

 I was debating to do this or not but decided that my low self esteem has been ruling the roost lately so a little smack upside its head wouldn’t hurt

1) I’m a caring person - mostly about animals and good people 

2) I’m kind/considerate - my natural default is to put the other persons needs first

3) I’m honest - I can’t lie for shit so just stick to the truth so long as its not too hurtful

4) I’m kinda smart - not super smart but a solid B student 

5) I’m hard working- I have worked since I was 16 and always worked hard, mainly because doing nothing is kinda boring

Phew… ><

(Three of those form part of my self esteem ‘mantra’ something a therapist taught me which has stuck as beating myself up with a stick is my go to move)

idk man the thing that sucks about not being really pretty is that no matter what you tell yourself and what your friends might say, you sort of always know that you’re just not. and i’m not talking about being stubborn and fishing for compliments, it’s just knowing that you’re not conventionally attractive, that people on the street won’t double-take when you pass by them, that people won’t be flustered trying to talk to you. and i know looks aren’t everything but damn it sure feels like it when you aren’t absolutely gorgeous

  • fanfic writer: *writing* Oh wow, they are going to love this. This is by far my best work!
  • fic: *witty lines* *perfect love making* *fluffy enough to kill us all* *a dash of angst, a smidgen of hurt/comfort*
  • fanfic writer: Oh man. This is it. This will be my legacy! *sweats into fic* *bleeds into fic* *cries into fic* *spends days perfecting the grammar and verbage and sex scenes* *has 15 betas look over it*
  • fanfic writer: Okay. It is finally time to release my baby on the world. Here you go fandom. You're welcome.
  • fandom: Ha, cute. *like* *kudos*
  • fanfic writer: :/
  • * * *
  • same fanfic writer: *writing* Whatever. This is shit, I don't even care right now. A singing squirrel? Sure, let's do it. Haha, cheesy lines that make no sense, sure. Grammatical errors out the wazoo? Why not. No one's going to read this piece of crap anyway, I literally wrote it on a scrap of 1 ply toilet paper with a broken yellow crayon.
  • fanfic writer: LOL *post*
  • fanfic writer: *sigh*

“make the princess speak and you will have the crown of kings.”

my knees hurt, as usual, from scrubbing. technically i’m too high of Maid Station to help out with these things, but i like seeing what happens when you clean. the development of things. how a lot of effort can make something. i like learning and trying and working hard to get towards something.

and i’ve seen them, from the back of pillars, from behind cracked doors, from beside her (on the best days) the way they talk to her. oh beautiful won’t you just look at me. oh darling. if you speak i’ll be your prince. if you speak i’ll be your king. 

the princess, i know, finds the lines of suitors boring. it’s in the way her hands are always moving. she hides yawns, leaves early, we make her apologies. once, a man comes and tries to startle her into screaming. she rolls her eyes and looks directly at me. i have to hide my smile behind my sleeve. he is taken away while still screaming.

by accident, i find her once, crying. when we imagine princesses, they always cry daintily. hers is hoarse, angry, and something in it breaks me. in my station i should apologize and bow and leave. instead i am frozen, watching her shoulders heaving.

she looks up and spots me, her cheeks ruddy. i know i should go but instead i make a big show. i act as one of her princes. i make grand gestures and speak in deep voices. i frantically offer her handkerchiefs and trip over my own two feet. a smile crawls up over her, slowly. i dab my sweat away and offer her the used rag. i feign a fluster, turn a terrible cartwheel, make shadow puppets. the sound of her laugh, raw and rusty, sends shivers through me.

for a while, i do not see her after this. but then i am called to her chambers. she is crying again. i offer silly gifts, pebbles and dusting rags and a candlestick from her own kitchen, pretend to steal it, use it as a hat, rock it as a babe. she laughs more easily this time, gladly, and when she laughs i am taken by more important maids, thereby officially Excused.

it goes like this for months. the winter comes. i rarely see her. i spend my week thinking about ways to please her. i knick interesting cookies, show her shiny buttons, learn to cartwheel in a full skirt, and then promptly how to make it look foolish again. i learn how to juggle hot bread and dance as a man would, i learn how to balance on a ball and how to fall down without hurting myself, how to fake a fight with my own body, which colors she likes and which don’t please her.

i show up on a cold eve with a knotted line of scarves hidden down my sleeve, worried and breathless, wondering why she’s been crying. the door opens and she is sitting there, happy. at first i’m confused, but she waves me in. next to her is her small dessert, in two containers. i’m not sure how to respond, so i fake a fall to hear her laugh, and then sit at her feet. she gives me ice cream - so rare a treat. i know what went into making it - the hours of shaking. it’s smooth and tasty. i don’t feign my reaction, but she laughs anyway, kindly. 

it goes like this. i see her more frequently. she likes giving me new things, watching me discover i hate kiwi and love oranges and would die if it made her laugh breathlessly. i’ve made her keel over with cackling and she’s put a fire in me. sometimes we just sit there, quietly, enjoying each other’s company. 

it’s in her hands, always moving. little things i thought were just her, fidgeting. here’s how she says she’s thirsty, this is what her hands do when she needs a second to think, here’s how she shows she’s happy. this is how i learn to speak back to her. around her i spend much of my time smiling. i feel every visit is a gift. a new part to unravel. i find out she doesn’t respond to spoken things, that she needs to be looking in order to know you were speaking. sometimes she has me talk and she holds her hands to the base of my throat, her eyes wide and wondering. sometimes she just looks at me and i forget that i’m her jester in chief. i get caught up in her eyes, in how expressive they are when she’s happy, in how when she’s sad i feel like i’m drowning.

i never see the king or queen, but i know when she’s had a visit with them, because she never comes back happy. two winters i have known her, two winters and now we dine frequently. i am often called to stand beside her, to whisper translations of her desires into the ears of someone more important than i, someone who gets to be the voice of royalty. i can’t decide if i’m her friend or her plaything, but i don’t know i care much of the distinction. every moment i’m near her is a moment free of friction. i take stock of suitors and curtsy to them in daylight only to mock them in the candle’s eye later.

she asks me one night to stay. it has been a bad day. it’s completely not okay. i cannot say no but i cannot, by my station, stay. but she begs with her eyes and her hands and i know i’ll take the punishment. 

we lie beside each other. i make sure to turn to her when i speak. in the dark she can’t see me, so i move my hands in the way i’m learning. she asks if i am ever lonely. i cannot tell her that i am always lonely without her beside me, so instead i say i think all people are very lonely and just are pretending. she laughs a little at that and says she thinks her parents are the two most lonely people that ever met. her mother was like her; broke a fairy curse and talked, just once, although nobody knows what she said. well, excepting her father, who was the only one around, and who won her hand in marriage.

from her mother she learned the art of hands, of speaking without words - from her father she learned that who she was included a curse. that she just wanted someone who would make her open like a rose - someone who could fix her. how she stared out into the royal garden and wished on flowers to be what her kingdom needs.

she fell asleep pressed against me. i couldn’t breathe. i was still awake in the morning. 

the punishment never came. we spent nights like this. the handmaidens had grown to know me. whenever their princess was stubborn, i worked magic and made her lovely.

it was a terrible thing. i did too good a job, i think. the princess glowed too much or shone too brightly - or at least, i saw it that way, so who knows what the truth is. every day it felt like we were being rushed with princes. 

her father’s temper at hosting failed. it was the day before her twenty-first birthday and first time i’d ever seen him. he stormed in at the end of the session. “just speak!” he said, “it’s not that hard! do for others what your mother did!” 

“tomorrow is your last day of this,” he warned her, “either you pick a prince or i pick for you. i’m done with it.”

he stormed off. she was left shellshocked and trembling. that night she didn’t ask me to come, but i waited outside, just in case she changed her mind. i understood why she needed space. either she’d speak and be married tomorrow or she’d be married shortly. i heard her crying and it took everything in my power not to rush in and hold her, cradle her gently. but i cannot come into a room of a royal person without being invited. i stayed there, tears in my own eyes, thinking of treason.

the next day was a huge festival. what had been a birthday celebration was turned into a day about princes. i watched her shake her head. i tried to cheer her up. i tried everything. i frequently came inches from causing public humiliation, toed the line of mocking and failing to acknowledge my station. she wouldn’t smile. not once. not even for anything.

the day was long. the bonfire wore down. i watched her crumple into herself. i was out of ideas. i knelt at her feet. her eyes barely looked at me. just wait, i said to her with my hands, i’ll be right back. i took off running.

the price of stealing is losing my hands. these things that i spoke to her with. these things that mattered so much to me, that helped with my comedy and cleaning. 

i didn’t think of them. i bloodied my fingers when i ripped the royal roses from their stems. and then i ran, as fast as i could, back to her feet. i picked them to show you, i said, as she gasped, looking at my treason, they’re beautiful and nobody told them to open to reveal their secrets to the bees. they are unbroken. as you are. as you always will be. 

she fell off her throne and for a second i was beyond speaking, worried something had happened, or she’d fainted, or i’d said the wrong thing. but then she was on her knees, her arms around me, and i heard it. i heard the soft croak of her speaking. just one word, and it sent shivers down me. my name, in her voice, awkward and unwieldy, but full of love and passion, burning fire through me.

i felt a hand on my shoulder. i was pulled away from her. they already had me in handcuffs while i struggled to get back to her, to tell her i loved her, to beg her to run off with me or maybe just hold me around her, maybe just have her for a moment, because i couldn’t live without her for a moment longer.

they put me in the cells. i rotted in there, for a while or for no time at all, i’m not sure. the thorns scarred my palms. i watched the scabs build up and flake off. every time someone came down, i flinched, wondering if i would be the next to be taken and chopped into bits.

but one day the light was different. not the smoky torch of the jailer, instead a bright light in a lantern. at first when i saw her, my breath caught in my throat, mistaking her for my princess.

but she was my queen. at first we stood in silence. and slowly, i moved my hands to speak. is she married? is what came out, even though i should be more worried about me myself and me.

she is not. she bit her father on the arm when he tried to make her. then she fought him. and then ran away. it took us a bit to find her, i’m afraid. she threatened her own life and the life of everyone in this place. the queen was smiling. i was told there was a young woman who could make the princess speak, whom she would die to save, who brought roses to her feet. someone in a cell, rotting. are you her?

the memory of her voice rang through me. i’m she.

yes, her hands said, for even now, aren’t you speaking to the silent Queen?

she opened the door. come, she said, let’s get you cleaned up for the ceremony.

the crown of kings. when she wraps her arms around my neck and laughs next to me, i am royalty. when she smiles or makes a joke or asks to see my cartwheel again, i’m lost in her. i kiss her whenever i can, which is often. we have roses in a vase at the base of our bed, and for all of the kingdom, i’d give my hands if it would keep her laughing.

the next time she spoke was just once, at our wedding, where she said the two words i do to bind us for eternity. she had learned from me, from holding her hands over my voicebox, the way i learned from her how to use hands to speak. sometimes at night she says my name, just because she likes what it does to me.

i’m more blessed than a king. every day i spend with her is a day i spend happily. 


Have a very sketchy iwaoi kiss meme (*¯ ³¯*)♡ This is part kiss practice, part expression practice, part i have too many feelings about iwaoi and can’t possibly satisfy the need with just one picture.

I like to think that Iwa-chan is as physical with his affection as he is when expressing other emotions <3 Oikawa is just obnoxious when it comes to pda.

I just got home from watching Spider-man Homecoming. Oh my GOD.
The people were not joking. I’ve never so laughed this much in my life.
The amount of times I said “Holy SHIT” and “Oh my GOD” and “Awww” was horrendously alarming. I came into the cinemas with high expectations and it exceeded it. Oh my god. GUYS. WATCH IT. TOM HOLLAND WAS AMAZING.