thirtysixsavefiles

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Lockscreen photo featuring an orange cat looking out of a rainbow colored cat unicorn.

A bedroom with various IKEA parts in green, white and pine stacked up against the walls.

A grey drawer rail with a screw sticking out at an angle. The screw head is stripped.

A pair of white high heels with red splattered on them to look like blood.

A pair of patent high heeled shoes with black toes and heels and a white body.

Two crocheted pieces in the shape of a bird’s body and wing, next to a crochet hook and a small pair of scissors. The body of the bird is white and the wing is gray and black.

An orange cat rolling on his back, feet curled and front paws stretched out to the side

Three rows of pink-frosted cupcakes in silver wrappers, in front of an empty bottle of Treveri rosé

rialtostation
Feb 25, 2025

pacific rim fucks severely for a lot of reasons but my favorite is that it opens with "the lizard aliens are unionizing so we built robots running on the power of love to fight them you got all that right" and before you have time to really process that concept bam gunshot body on the floor and the movie goes "now consider the vast power of grief in this setup" it never really stops considering

Aubrey @aubrey_li

Reply with a fic premise that 100% sounds like the kind of thing I would write, and l'll tell you how embarrassingly accurate it is.
2:15 PM - Aug 16, 2020 -Twitter Web App

A pink cocktail in a conical glass made of ice. A mini-cocktail shaker stands next to it.

A crocheted bag that looks like a pigeon with a cross-body strap

Caption from Critical Role Campaign 4, Episode 9 — Travis: What the fuck, Brennan?

A bowl of potato soup with cheddar cheese, green onions, and bacon toppings.

A paper crafted adirondack chair and purple wisteria tree under a glass dome. They are each about two inches wide.

Wolfwood snores faintly. Vash smiles as he listens to it, to the inhale and exhale. To the proof that he's still breathing.

Vash rolls over and lays his head on Wolfwood's chest. The snoring is louder from here but so is the sound of Wolfwood's heartbeat: strong and regular and perfect. Soothing.

There's a snort above him and Wolfwood stirs. Vash shifts enough so that Wolfwood can free his arm enough to lay it around Vash's back.

"Can't sleep?" Wolfwood says. He sounds significantly more awake than the snoring would indicate.

"Just thinking," Vash says, listening to that strong and steady beat.

Wolfwood grunts. "Don't hurt yourself," he says, and a few minutes later the snoring resumes.

"That's a fuckload of armed security to sneak past," Wolfwood says from his chair. "You'd better come up with a better plan, Needle-Noggin."

"You don't think I'm sneaky?" Vash says absently. He turns the blueprint upside down, in case something appears to him that way. It doesn't.

Wolfwood snorts. "You already know what I think," he says, putting his feet up on the table. "I think this plan sucks."

Vash hums. "You're right," he concludes, putting the blueprint down and letting it roll up. "Front door it is."

$The storm has quieted and the third and fourth moon are ascendant by the time Vash makes his way upstairs. The room is small, but still more comfortable than steerage on a sandsteamer, and better than a lot of places Vash has slept. He doesn't bother with the light; the moonlight spilling in through the slats over the window is enough to navigate by, to remove his boots and hang his coat, to make ready for the sleep he can feel tugging at his body. Vash settles onto the bed, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, it's to a broken city. The ceiling and the walls have detached themselves, floating several feet apart from their former joins. The wall with the windows is entirely gone, exposing the road outside, similarly fractured, and between the gaps a soft, rolling mist. The floor here is still solid enough, as is his bed, and for a moment Vash considers rolling over and closing his eyes again. Then he sighs, throws the blankets back, and sits up, reaching for his boots.$