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[ineedaplacetostay]

See, the thing is I always feel compelled to make Sho’s mom at least a little bit behaviorally strange to match her husband’s energy.

Like, she can be the one who has ethics and morals and all that shit, but she’s gotta be a mild weirdo minimum

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I’m going to unlearn shame *bursts into tears and beats my head against a brick wall*

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I want to follow him around like a cat and run in front of his feet and trip him

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When people get a little too gung-ho about-

wait. cancel post. gung-ho cannot be English. where did that phrase come from? China?

ok, yes. gōnghé, which is…an abbreviation for “industrial cooperative”? Like it was just a term for a worker-run organization? A specific U.S. marine stationed in China interpreted it as a motivational slogan about teamwork, and as a commander he got his whole battalion using it, and other U.S. marines found those guys so exhausting that it migrated into English slang with the meaning “overly enthusiastic”.

That’s…wild. What was I talking about?

[ineedaplacetostay]

being a fan of a friend's ocs is actually so humiliating....... like yes my favourite character rn is tragically doomed and a pillar of humanity who i think is relevant to the current world. you can find information about them on discord dot com and sometimes in late-night conversations with this guy i know. what the fuck

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reblog for sample size !!

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Customer: MY BASKETBALL NUMBER DMV: BALLER? Verdict: DENIED

[ineedaplacetostay]

More stories from hell (retail) today I was ringing up this lady and she goes oh I want to do part of this on a gift card and the rest on normal card and I go ok and then she hands me a folded piece of paper. I think oh OK it must be folded around the gift card, right? Wrong. It is a folded sheet of 8×11 printer paper with "$40" written on the inside in ballpoint pen. I go what is this. She says a gift card. I say this is not a gift card. She says yes it is. I say this is a piece of paper with "$40" written on it. She says "well it's a gift card." I say it absolutely is not. I am grinding my teeth. She says well I want to use it. I say you physically cannot do that bc it is a piece of paper. I cannot scan or swipe it. I apologize, as if this is my fault, and not because she is completely insane. I hate it here

[ineedaplacetostay]

this does not apply if you wear exclusively leggings. Those things tear all the time you need like a million on standby

[ineedaplacetostay]

Gary’s Sex Tips #1002

If she calls out her ex boyfriend’s name in bed go to his house and kiss him. See what the dick about! See what all the fuss is about!

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If I had a nickel for every ‘this should be a one-scene fic’ that turned into a multi-chapter fic…I’d have two nickels, but it’s weird that it’s happened twice.

(The bodyswap au fic will be more than 4k long. I’m still in chapter one)

[ineedaplacetostay]

Rabbis from the US and Israel marched towards the Erez crossing carrying symbolic aid for Gaza and calling to end the war. The police blocked them a few hundred meters from the border, and arrested 7 protesters. source

[ineedaplacetostay]

to see the humanity in the people you were raised to hate is one of the greatest rebellions against those who rely on your hatred for them to prosper. don't give them that, fight the urge, fight their voice in your head which you know is not yours, fight the anger they instill within you with the purpose of making you hateful and vengeful.

[ineedaplacetostay]

I don’t get to talk about this world/these characters a lot, so a great opportunity this week! Thanks to @flashfictionfridayofficial and the anonymous prompter for it!

[Image ID: white text reading ‘FFF250 Rushing Train’ on a background of blurring red and white lights.

End ID]

all i did was try my best, this the kind of thanks i get?

word count: 595

Content Warnings: mention of POV character getting previously shot, brief mention of a prior war

—

Letha can’t fathom the benefit being sent away from her work and her wife to the seaside, not even in the name of her heath, but she does enjoy the body of the train.

It’s a marvelous thing, gleaming metal at a breathtaking speed, quick miles of countryside outside of the cabin windows blurred to one of her mother’s watercolor paintings. Nothing like the dull-black machines of the war that carted weapons and soldiers, this is progress, peace she and the other code-keepers could once have only dreamed of seeing again.

She contents herself with that, loathe as she is to confront a month of quiet sunning and—per the doctor’s firm orders after she was shot—no mysteries. It’s hardly her own fault that her parents created her intellect and she’s seen fit to use it. Her mind is no less hungry when emptied of military codes and the work of it remains respectable, even necessary when there are those who would use stories of spirits and monsters to harm or swindle others.

Letha sighs and attempts to look forward to sand. She is not looking forward to it, especially in her father’s stricter curls. Her hair will look speckled and her mother’s pale olive skin will peel unless she applies paste.

The seaside, pah.

“Em, are you—“ a maid enters her cabin, a private one to keep her from becoming overly curious in her rest, and it’s a terribly familiar thing when the person throws their hands up in frustration. “Endless names of the gods, what are you doing here?!”

Letha manages not to leap to her feet and embrace the woman, but she does stand with a splitting grin. “Šarko!”

Strictly speaking, the short woman before her with dubiously-dyed dark hair, foreigners’ snow-struck coloring, and maid’s drab dress is a criminal. And a thief. And a serial romance of clergywomen’s wives.

But what a mind!

A mind that outwitted Letha under Letha’s half-noble nose. Letha’s friend.

“You got shot,” Amindaj—which is her proper personal name—says, craning her sturdy neck up to glare at Letha, sharp green eyes checking for blood presumably.

“I was shot a season ago, Amindaj,” Letha waves her off.

“Oh, a season. Does sickness know that it’s been a season and it isn’t welcome in your guts?”

She’s being ridiculous. Letha is whole and well enough to travel. More importantly, where Šarko goes, something interesting must be at play.

“I’m fine. Who has valuables on this train?”

Amindaj blusters for a moment, muttered excuses, then relents. They know each other too well for lengthy lies. “Prob’ly your employers.”

Oh. Oh, wonderful.

“I’ve been sent to the sea,” Letha confesses, giddy as her heart picks up. “No employers. And, Amindaj, I’m bored.”

Amindaj grins back, as sharkish as her epithet. “You’ll go sick before we reach the shore without something to occupy your mind, Letha.”

“I will,” Letha says, nodding along. “How many other people do you imagine will be looking for the…”

“Diamonds, love. Gold too, is likely.”

“Terrible risk.” Wonderful damned risk! “Someone should keep abreast of the passengers.”

“And you can’t trust the help either,” Amindaj adds with a wink.

“Terrible risk,” Letha echoes.

She’ll have to introduce herself to enough people, but not too many. Her detecting reputation often precedes her and word should spread throughout. Faster if she asks nothing be said.

“Terrible risk, love, terrible,” Amindaj tuts, handing over a written—coded, gods keep her!—passenger list from a hidden pocket.

Such a lovely thing, a trip to the seaside. Letha can feel her health improving already.