“Babe I’m not saying I don’t trust you but at the end of the day if I was acting like that around any of the boys you would hate it!” You sigh.
For the past ten minutes you had been arguing with your boyfriend Jack about how flirtatious he acted around Lydia.
“So you’re saying I can’t be friends with anyone of the opposite gender?” He scoffs, being as ridiculous as ever.
“Of course I’m not fucking saying that Jesus Christ Jack!” You groan in frustration, “I’m just saying my opinion. It’s okay for us to have to talk about stuff like this as long as you fucking listen”
“I am listening but you’re being far too ridiculous and jealous. It’s pathetic!” He shrugs
“I’m being pathetic? You’re the one that won’t even hear what I’m saying and keep twisting my words.” You raise your voice.
“Maybe because you’re being a jealous girlfriend that won’t let her boyfriend have any friends!”
“Yeah you know what? That’s exactly what I’m doing. Because I’m that pathetic aren’t I?” You say sarcastically.
Jack stays silent, knowing he had hit a nerve.
“I’m not staying around someone who doesn’t even know the meaning of mature conversation” You finish, grabbing your bag.
“I’m being immature? Coming from the one that’s walking away from it” He retorts, hiding his hope that you would stay.
You don’t dignify him with a response and instead just grab some sleeping clothes from your room and stuff them into your bag, taking your keys and leaving Jack with only the sound of the door closing behind you.
“I just don’t have time for him Oli” You sigh, feet tucked under you on the couch as he handed you a drink.
“You’ve just had an argument. You know what he’s like when people disagree with him” Oli points out, sitting down too.
After leaving the apartment you turned to someone you could always turn to. Oliver White. Though you were friends with all of the guys, Oli was the one that could make you see sense and make you understand the other side of things.
It had been almost a day since you left and this had been when you only really got to speak to Oli as he had been out for the majority of the day, assuring you it was fine to stay.
“I just don’t get why he can’t just see my si-” You stop as a notification pops up on your phone.
It is from YouTube to let you know that someone you are subscribed to has just uploaded a new video. Jack Maynard. And the title? Lydia does my makeup.
You didn’t know how to feel. Was he really that immature?
“Don’t give him the attention” Oli tries to stop you, seeing the notification himself.
You ignore him and open up your texts to Jack.
You- Real mature Jack…
He replies almost instantly.
Jack- I made a video. I told you I didn’t have an idea for today and Lydia was free so we filmed.
You- Oh well isn’t that convenient. Hope everyone likes the video.
The sarcasm is evident in your words. You weren’t taking any of his shit.
Jack- You’re saying I’m immature and you’re the one that won’t even accept I have a job to complete and creating videos with people is an important part of that.
You- Don’t be so pathetic. You’re just trying to get a reaction out of me so you look like the better person.
Jack- I’m not! I just don’t get why you think I’m flirting with someone I’m just friends with!
You don’t bother responding. Oli is sat on his laptop and looks up when you throw down your phone.
“What happened?” He frowns.
“My dick boyfriend happened” You groan, getting up and going towards the spare bedroom you had been sleeping in.
Before you do there is a knock at the door.
Oli gets up and opens it to see Jack on the other side.
“(Y/n) I think you might want this” He says, stepping back.
You sigh and walk over but see Jack and stop.
“Is it too late for me to say sorry?” He asks with a hint of hope in his voice.
A part of you, though 90% angry, told you that no matter what the answer to that question would never be no.
OH MY GOD LITTLE ORO BEING GIVEN THE RINNEGAN INSTEAD OF NAGATO. for some reason i want it to be LITTLE oro and not GROWN oro because little oro is sweet and smol and could possibly do good with this ridiculous power??? or am i just too optimistic
RIGHT?? ISN’T THAT THE MOST INTERESTING IDEA EVER? Bb!Oro accidentally resurrecting his parents without understanding how just breaks my heart into pieces with happiness.
So I’m playing a new SW for the Dark vs. Light event and also because I’m writing fic about it, so I need to remember what the hell happens during the story. Somehow, maybe because I’m leveling faster than the devs originally benchmarked or something, I wind up having the “let’s go to my quarters so I can show you how my penis feels I feel about you” conversation immediately upon returning to the ship after the Quinncident.
I started yelling at my monitor and scared my cats. Bad juxtaposition, Bioware. Very bad.
If you're taking Prohibition Era AU prompts, do you think you could manage the darling of all ships, Emma x Henry, for "You intend to start a war? In New York? Where things actually matter?" You have such a beautiful way of writing those two!
THIS IS GOING TO BE SO MUCH FUN. (But because I am lame and I have no books about 1920s era New York gangsters on my shelves, we’re going to change this to Chicago.) Also because I am lame and I like worldbuilding too much, have some ridiculously detailed backstory instead of, you know, something substantial and shippy.
To everyone watching the traffic on Lake Shore Drive, the taxi cab was just another taxi cab. But to Emma Green, the taxi was her carriage, and she was Cinderella on her way to her first ball. Not having a fairy godmother on hand, she’d had to do most of the legwork herself, but she was pleased with the results - a tight head of marcelled curls, held under a headband ornamented with a daring spray of feathers and an equally daring cluster of jewels – paste, of course, Daddy wasn’t quite made of money – to match her dress, an extremely chic slip of a thing that made her feel like the cover of one of her sister’s Hollywood gossip magazines. A string of pearls – sea-green, to match the dress – silk stockings, rolled at the knees just like the dancers did, and a very ritzy pair of dancing shoes completed the look. Next to her on the bench seat, her sister checked her makeup in her compact mirror for the umpteenth time.
“Are you sure Frank will remember?” she asked, patting at her own blonde curls and pouting for her mirror.
“He won’t be late, Alice,” Emma said, sitting back in the taxi and trying not to think too much about the night ahead. Her first speakeasy, and all the jazz she could stand, and Frank, all to herself for the evening.