—DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989) | Dir. Peter Weir

Xuebing Du
almost home
Cosimo Galluzzi
trying on a metaphor

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Today's Document

pixel skylines
cherry valley forever
d e v o n

Andulka

Kaledo Art

shark vs the universe
AnasAbdin
Three Goblin Art
Cosmic Funnies
will byers stan first human second
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Misplaced Lens Cap
$LAYYYTER

seen from Malaysia
seen from Latvia
seen from Vietnam

seen from Germany
seen from Russia

seen from Malaysia

seen from Nigeria

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from France
seen from France

seen from Spain
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
@rileychester
—DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989) | Dir. Peter Weir

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james mccrae
We’re winning.
I found his bio on societyofpresidentialdescendants.org and it was so delightful I had to copy paste the whole thing:
“Ulysses Grant Dietz grew up in Syracuse, New York, where his Leave it to Beaver life was enlivened by his fascination with vampires, from Bela Lugosi to Barnabas Collins. He studied French at Yale (BA, 1977), and was trained to be a museum curator in the University of Delaware’s Winterthur Program in American Material Culture (MA, 1980). A decorative arts curator at the Newark Museum for thirty-seven years before he retired, Ulysses has never stopped writing for the sheer pleasure of it. Aside from books on Victorian furniture, art pottery, studio ceramics, jewelry, and the White House, Ulysses created the character of Desmond Beckwith in 1988 as his personal response to Anne Rice’s landmark novels. Alyson Books released his first novel, Desmond, in 1998. Vampire in Suburbia, the sequel, appeared in 2012. His most recent novel, Cliffhanger, was released by JMS Books in December 2020.
“Ulysses lives in suburban New Jersey with his husband of 45 years. They have two grown children, adopted in 1996.
“Ulysses is a great-great grandson of Ulysses S. Grant. His late mother, Julia, was the President’s last living great-grandchild; youngest daughter of Ulysses S. Grant III, and granddaughter of the president’s eldest son, Frederick. Every year on April 27 he gives a speech at Grant’s Tomb in New York City. He is also on the board of the U.S. Grant Presidential Library and Museum at Mississippi State University.”
And frankly, the novels sound like they slap:
Desmond was nominated for a Lambda Award.
“With his husband of 45 years.” You kids don’t know ... they got together before AIDS, at the peak of the Gay Glam Life. They stayed together as their generation died around them, and made through it to the point where they could marry and have a legal family. He looks like a chipper preppie who never had a serious thought or care in the world, but it took *incredible* determination, commitment, and also luck to get here.
having now read the first of this man's vampire books, you can absolutely tell that he cares a lot about historical furniture because oh my god he really wanted to tell us about all the historical furniture in this vampire's house. material culture as foreplay. seduction via theses about chairs
#myThey

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Meadow in the morning ☘️
Today I had to be at work at 6 am. When I arrived at my bus stop, this beautiful sunrise landing on the meadow delighted my eyes. Sometimes I really want to live a little longer.
Ilya and Shane are so sappy in love extra sweet and clingy during the season when it’s just tiny pockets of each other that they get. They are curled up asleep heavy limbed and exhausted, mid season, Boston vs Montreal and they finally have each other overnight. Just barely. But it’s overnight. So when Ilya wakes up and it’s still dark out and he checks, with a deeply unimpressed frown, their alarms haven’t gone off yet, and Shane is nowhere to be seen he is NOT happy.
He and Shane have been falling asleep on FaceTime for months while Ilya was curled up tight around a pillow, Shane’s voice in his ear and blurred imagine on his screen as he dreamed of the warmth and smell and feel of Shane under his hands. He’d been looking forward to this for almost three months. Where the fuck was his Shane. Half asleep and frowning hard Ilya tumbles out of his bed, they are at his since it had been a home match in Boston. He scratches at the low of his stomach as he muffles a yawn and with one eye squinted stumbles towards the ensuite. The light is pushing out the bottom of the door and it makes Ilya wince, but his stomach turn hopefully that he will find his shane there.
He pushes open the door, and sees Shane there, handsome and just in sweats stood by the sink, hands under the water because of course Shane washes his hands so thoroughly after a middle of the night piss. Ilya loves him so much, the sight of his back makes his chest fucking ache. The distance between them seems ridiculous. Shane is turning toward him now, eyes half shut, voice a low rumbled sound, heavy with sleep.
“Baby? Wasswrong?” Shane asks, and he’s drying off his hands, half a step towards Ilya before Ilya is already there, arms wrapping around the low of Shane’s waist, squeezing him to his chest to tight it lifts his feet up off the tiles and makes him grunt.
Shane’s hand smooths the back of Ilya’s sleep hot curls and his arms wrap around him and he’s so warm and lovely and strong in Ilya’s arms. So real. Ilya wants to sink his teeth into him.
“Okay?” Shane asks, and he’s tucking his face into Ilya’s neck, rubbing a sleep rosey cheek into Ilya’s neck, jaw, hand massaging at his scalp.
“You were gone” Ilya grumbles back, as if Shane had committed the worst act possible. An act of warfare.
“Had to piss” Shane sighs, nips at Ilyas earlobe.
“Missed you” Ilya whispers, a tiny confession, and he feels Shane’s arms tighten around him, wrapping around his neck.
“Then take me back to bed baby” Shane asks, lets Ilya lift him up, it’s easy, a slide of hands and he’s against Ilya’s chest, hands under Shane’s thighs, walking them back to his bed.
Ilya lays shane on the bed first, climbs in and pulls the covers up up over them and lays himself overtop of Shane. “Stay” Ilya gruffs, an instruction, and bites at Shane’s chin, jaw, shoves his hand down Shane’s sweats and feels Shane’s hand in his hair, slowly combing through, over and over.
“Just like this” shane agrees, fingers at the back of Ilya’s neck. Shane’s heartbeat, strong and steady under his cheek, the smell of him, warm and slightly of sweat, of the soap he’d washed his hands with.
“Close” Ilya agrees and Shane nods, “stay close” he breaths and his feet are rubbing soft loving circles against Ilya’s calf, toes wriggling and Ilya burrows in as close as he can to Shane’s chest, cheek mushed to bare skin. Ilya presses his nose to his sternum, nuzzling and kisses, soft shapes of his mouth until he falls asleep.
how it feels to message a friend who's having Problems that you can't do anything to help with.

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Wishing you a relaxed nervous system today. 🐾🤍
MULAN (1998) dir. BARRY COOK & TONY BANCROFT
+BONUS

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i don’t think i’m exaggerating when i say that the average height for women in the US would increase by at least an inch if teen girls were allowed to eat as much as teen boys are
and not to bring my own clocky bitch ass into this but if cis women weren’t so consistently starved their entire lives you’d see a lot more cis women with the kind of bodies that we currently associate closely with trans women. the amount that the standards of feminine presentation are culturally defined by malnutrition is crazy
i don’t think i can keep pretending i don’t like you anymore