'80s school picture day comes even for grown inventors.

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@ramius-xiv
'80s school picture day comes even for grown inventors.

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I always wanted to do something in this style, I adore steampunk🥰
My friend: "Why is Rami on this beer"
Me: "I'm not seeing it"
Just absolutely appalled
He's ready for his wardrobe to no longer be locked to his crafting jobs.

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"We'd strutted every step of our little tango, played the game almost to its end. What else was left for a gal to do? I swept the dame back into my office for a little interrogation session." (Collab with the absolutely stunning zosynangel.bsky.social!)
Meanwhile, in Alexandria... "City of Electrope Dreams, they call it. A pulsing utopia soaked in purple iridescent awe and holographic joy, where every need is filled and every hunger sated. "Makes me laugh. Brighter the shell, the darker the underbelly. When life itself is currency and you're overdrawn at the soul bank, and ya fall and hit those streets and and learn electrope is as hard a landing as any stone, that's when ya know there are corners of this burg even neon light don't reach. "Name's Amethyst, or Ames for short. I belong to these tarnished alleys. You got a problem—missing property, missing loved one, sorta stuff the tin cans can't be bothered with—might be I'm your girl, if you've got the creds and I'm halfway sober. "Cross me, mind, and we'll find out just how deep your soul reserves go, one by one."
That Pet
Hello, it's been awhile. I'd like to steal just a few minutes of your day, amid the upsetting things unfolding around us, to tell you everything you need to know about Sneakers.
On an aggressively rainy day during the Fall of 2007—so her story went—my mother's attention was drawn by a piteous cry coming from under a porch in Fitchburg, MA. The tiny kitten she found cowering there was perhaps two months old, drenched, and miserably alone. Where he came from, unguessable. She brought him home, and named him Sneakers based on his white paws. Names weren't her strong suit.
Two years later, my mother abruptly moved back to the Philadelphia area where my parents grew up. My dad, sister, brother, his now-wife, and I spent the better part of a weekend clearing out her apartment, as she'd left almost everything behind: more even than we knew.
I first saw that broad silhouette and those piercing eyes peeping at me from behind a pillow as we were finishing up. He was terrified, the world he grew up in being dismantled noisily outside the closet where he'd been hiding. But as they always would, friendliness and curiosity got the better of him.
Tiny no longer, Sneakers was a big-boned, fluffy specimen with a bottlebrush tail he held high, impressing even himself. His face was strikingly handsome and distinguished. His articulate eyes were far-set on either side of a wide leonine nose that recalled a big cat of the wild. Maine Coon blood was clearly strong in him.
The others in my family, never cat people, suggested taking this poor twice-abandoned boy directly to a shelter. Unable to abide this, I called my girlfriend at the time and asked about coming back the next day to drive Sneakers back with us so we could find him a good home ourselves. We already had three cats between the two of us and it seemed unrealistic to add a fourth, so we would search for a loving home for him, and in the meantime make a warm, cozy, and comfy place for him in the finished basement where his presence wouldn't upset our cats.
Each day we would both spend time downstairs visiting with our Basement Cat. And each day he would eagerly receive us: never standoffish or even cautious. I'd sit in a chair and he'd come trotting over, stand up on his hind legs, and plant his front paws in my lap—a signature move he'd continue always after—drinking up all the attention I could give him.
It was as though he already knew that he was far too good a cat for us to even think about giving up.
Upstairs came the Basement Cat.
In seemingly no time at all, Sneakers and I forged an ironclad bond. His devotion to me was canine-adjacent. Where I went, he was my graceful shadow. On the rare occasion when he lost track of me, he'd trot from room to room, mrrowing in panic, until he found me safe and sound... and then nap as close as he could with one eye open until he was satisfied I wouldn't vanish again. When not standing up on his hind legs to plant his paws in my lap for ear scritches and rubbings of that wide nose, his second favorite activity was to sit nearby and just look at me admiringly. That habit was mutual.
He did not limit that love to me. His feline trepidation never held out long against the promise of pets from a new person. Those few of you who were fortunate to have been in his life with me for periods of time will no doubt eagerly provide testimony to his Extremely Good Cathood and character references upon request.
For over fifteen years he's been with me, through relationships, breakups, three moves, other cats—including Rugen, my other cat, who joined the family in 2012 and whom Sneakers tolerates for my sake—and some of the hardest times of my life. Always he's been there when I felt my lowest, ready to curl up at my side and look at me with an expression of, "Hey, buddy, it's all right. It's not all bad. After all, there's still dinner to eat tonight. On the topic of which..."
He was such a wonderful companion—mild-mannered, casual, friendly, never a mean thought in his head (imagine if The Dude were even floofier and tiger-striped)—that I sometimes wondered if I deserved him. I'd wonder if I was giving him all the love he needed, in those moments when I was busy. If, possibly, had I found him another home all those years ago, he wouldn't have developed intestinal cancer in 2023. If another family would have been able to afford the exorbitant cost of his cancer-fighting drugs for longer than I could.
Yes, I'm sorry. You undoubtedly suspected already, but this is That Sort of Post.
Last night, the best friend I ever had and ever will have took the long-expected turn for the worse. Early this morning, two months shy of his 18th birthday, faced with half-hearted alternatives but not much hope, I set Sneakers free from his pain. The last thing he heard was a fusillade of "I love you"s from the person he spent his life adoring and being adored by.
I lost my best human friend a year ago, and now Sneakers has finally found someone else to follow behind. Life will go on, probably. But I feel, today, exactly the way that kitten must have done, huddled under the porous shelter of a rainy porch.
Yet, I also feel happy and lucky to have had him in my life, and I know that we loved each other as hard as any two creatures on this Earth ever have. He was That Pet, for me. That one you find once in your life if you're lucky, the one whose little soul is in perfect harmony with your own. My Basement Cat deserves mourning, but also celebration.
This was Sneakers. Please perceive him. Please love him. He would have loved you.
"In a minute from now I want you to remember that because I love you, I gave you a gift I rarely give to anyone: a chance to walk away."
The stars aligned for another Rameme.

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Hey y'all! I don't often ask for help, but my soul sibling is struggling and I'm putting this out there in hopes it can get shared around and they can hopefully get the funds they need.
For my folks in the US, y'all know how fucking borked our medical system is and this is one of those stories. Selah is eight, she's been having suicidal ideations, behavioral difficulties, learning that her brain doesn't work the way 'normal' peoples brains work and she's struggling HARD. Her mom, though, is stepping up in a way a lot of parents do not. She's putting her own mental well being and job on the line to try to get Selah to psychiatric specialists (in Idaho of all goddamn places) who can help, but the expense is not covered by insurance. Literally at all.
The doctor she is seeing doesn't want to just throw medications after medications at an eight year old child and wants to find the best way to treat her to help her be happy and well adjusted and walked through how to deal with her own brain. It's hard for any adult, let alone a kiddo. This appointment alone is enough to break my soul sibling in this Capitalistic nightmare hellscape we call reality. If you can, please donate or share this. It would mean a whole lot to me. <3
Hello all, As much as it sometimes doesn't feel good to accept that we … Promise Thompson needs your support for Support Selah's Men
"Doll, I know it's a spectacular view back there, but if you don't come take my arm you'll get left behind like yesterday's papers."
Commission for the lovely @lukelxiv
𝕀'𝕞 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕪𝕠𝕦.
𝕐𝕠𝕦'𝕣𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕖.
On a secluded road with rain drumming at her windows, she knew she'd picked up a dangerous stalker that night...
...Little did they suspect what she was capable of.
Prima Vista Pictures presents Victoria Sinclair in
"Deadly Curves"

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𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕦𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕖𝕣.
𝕀𝕥 𝕘𝕖𝕥𝕤 𝕕𝕒𝕣𝕜 𝕨𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕀 𝕤𝕒𝕪 𝕚𝕥 𝕕𝕠𝕖𝕤.
Open the door
Get on the floor
Roses are red
Gandalf wears lace
Roses are red
Jade vine is turquoise