Every time I see this picture I wonder why he's there at the front (I might be wrong (because they do all kind of look the same), but he's not one of the poets, is he???)
So I started thinking about it. Two things I came up with...
1. To show Keating also impacted the other students. They also care. (Pitts and Knox are the closest from all the poets. Four tables away from Keating. Too far to save him?)
Or.
2. Mr. Boy isn't the focus of this image at all. He's at the FRONT. but in the centre of the image? Trapped between people stepped up on desks. Richard Cameron.
Well, him and Todd. The two opposites. The one that stood the one that sat.
I might be looking too far into it, but, well, I didn't do art class for nothing.
Where some of the other boys (sitting) are holding their head in their hands, tense shoulders, staring down at their desks like looking up would mean giving in. Cameron looks defeated. Unmoving. If you'd cut THIS Cameron out and paste him in a normal class scene, not a thing would change.
He's not thinking about getting up. He's not worrying about whether he should. He knows he's made the decision. This scene might be Todd and Keating's. But this picture? It is Cameron's.
Horizon line of sitting boys. Also. I think, as this is Keating's pov in the scene, it's who he was looking towards. Cameron and Todd.
When looking at this I want your eye to be drawn to Todd for a moment. Look at him, face in the light.
Then let your eyes drop.
Cameron, in the shadows. Sitting there, a prison of his own making.
Imagine Todd breaking down crying when Neil’s smell finally fades from all his pillows and clothes and he knows he’ll never get that comfort ever again and the last piece he had left to imagine he was still there was gone forever
todd who switches sides in the dorm after neil's suicide, laying in his bed every night and smelling the cologne and slight tint of shampoo that he'd use, the subtle dent his body had made over the months in the mattress, hidden vandalism only visible at certain angles and unusual positions, which at some point he sees lazily drawn boobs with '- charlie dalton' written hastily beneath it, one friend dead and the other expelled, both have made their mark on the bed
todd who cries as the soft scents disappear, and his own dent replaces neil's original one, the drawings start to fade, everything is like losing him another time
It hurts so bad every time I think about Charlie probably being the first one to know about Neil's death out of all his friends because he was his best friend.
Like imagine that you're the first one to learn about your best friend's death by suicide, and that you also have to tell the others about it.
They were all asleep, proud of their friend, proud of him and his play and they were awaken just to know he was dead, and that they were never able to tell him how much they loved him.
hiiii can i request for a neil perry breakup and make up imagine? i dont have a specific plot for it but i lowkey want the angst of this😭
A/n: Okay I’m so sorry this took ages to get to but I finally have some inspiration for it!! I promise the next time I write for Neil it won’t be heart wrenching
Cw: low-key sad, another depressing Neil Perry fic by yours truly, although it does have a happy ending this time!
Hopeless Hearts
(Neil Perry x gn!Reader Angst/Make-up)
“You don’t understand!” Neil broke the silence he had held on to for the last ten minutes as the pair of you sat alone in his dorm. “I have to be an actor, it’s.. I can’t do anything else in this life.”
“I know,” you sigh. “All I did was ask if you had a backup plan,”
“You’re talking just like my dad,” he huffed, clearly upset.
“But Neil, I need to know you’re going to be okay!” Exasperation presented in your voice, unable to attend to his every problem. “So what if you have to go to medical school? Just get through it and receive your MD, then you can act and prove your father wrong.” You conclude sensibly.
“You just don’t get it,” he mumbled, almost resentfully. The way he told his father the very same thing.
You huff once more ignoring the crack forming in your heart, “I do get it, Neil. That’s why I’m trying to help-”
“This isn’t helping!” He snapped, voice breaking delicately. His chest hammered with nerves as he spoke his next words, almost silently,
“I think we should break up.”
Your face dropped six feet under, unable to comprehend it at first. “What..?”
“You heard me…” he murmured, an evident lump in his throat, “we don’t want the same things, and I-I need support,”
“I am supportive… I love you-”
“No you don’t!” He spat mindlessly.
Your heart sank within your chest, shattering as it went. Silence washed over the room.
With that, you rose from your spot on the bed. Panic flooded Neil’s chest, “where are you going?”
“Clearly,” you struggle to get out, “you don’t want me.”
Then you were gone.
The first few hours were rough for both of you, then days, and then even weeks. The pair thinking the other had it fine, but in reality, both of you were just as crushed as the other.
You passed Neil in the hallway almost every day since, seeing him laugh and joke with the other Poets; a group you were once apart of. Now, you felt like just another forgotten love affair. The late night promises of marriage and security crumpled up, tossed off the roof like the desk set you and Neil once threw with glee.
The day of Neil’s first play at Henley Hall came around. Every other member of your ex-group was to be there… everyone but you. You were cross-legged on your bed, watering the equations in your chemistry book with your never ending tears.
A hesitant knock echoed from the other side of the door.
“What?”
Neil opened the door just enough to slip through, “Hey..”
“What do you want?” You ask, unbothered about your rough appearance.
“Can we talk?”
You wave your arm as a silent invitation, allowing him to speak. Neil came towards you at a glacial pace, sitting meekly on the edge of the bed. A few quiet moments passed as he gathered his words, looking at his hands as he spoke, “I.. I think we made a mistake.”
“We?” Is all you could muster. He chuckled humourlessly,
“Okay, I made a mistake.”
“And you want to apologise?” Neil nodded awkwardly before you continued. Your voice came out weak, “you really hurt me, Neil.”
An apologetic dump of words came from him “Sweetie, I- I need you. I know I was stupid and I can’t take back what I said but I need you. Please?”
Silence.
“Baby, c’mon-”
“I’m not your baby,” you whisper. “Not anymore.”
“C’mon, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean it,”
“You knew exactly what you meant.” You sighed again, this time harsher. Neil scampered to the floor below the bed which you sat, hands placed gently on your thighs.
“Sweetheart, please?” He softly begged. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and you felt bad; but not as bad as his past comments had once made you feel.
You shook your head, trying to conceal your own tears, “I can’t…”
“Please, y/n?” For the first time, Neil was nothing but desperate. You had never seen him this way, not about his friends, about acting, anything. He was so quiet, yet his words had never felt more powerful.
“I need you.”
He continued to love on you delicately, taking your hands in his as he peppered kisses heavy with despair. “I understand if you don’t forgive me, but for the love of god, please try…” he whispered.
You nod with sniffles, allowing your tears to freely flow. Neil took that as acceptation, standing to wrap you in a deep hug. You wrapped your arms around him in return, of course you did, how couldn’t you? The pair of you sobbing into the shoulder of the other, mumbling ‘sorry’s’ and ‘I love you’s’ between every imperfect kiss to the neck.
Once a fraction calmer, you pull away just enough to look at his face. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy, cheeks splotched with tears as his lip subtly quivered. Your hand cupped his face, “I love you so much, Neil.” You began, your own voice quivering too, holding too much emotion to handle, “all I want for you is to succeed, to get every little thing out of life that you can. I want you to seize your days.”
With another sniffle, he quirked his lip into one of his signature smirks, although a little softer this time. “Carpe Diem,” he responded knowingly.
Your lips ever so slightly perked into a hopeful smile, “so.. what time is your show?”
He reached for his back pocket, pulling out a scrunched up flyer advertising the play with all the details.
