#strry stfu

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he shouldve been writing graphic novels with will. but no. homophobia and ted wheeler imagery

[charliessaxophone]

This is how it feels to """"agree"""" with the "strry stfu" tag

(@strryspace)

[strryspace]

charlie dalton in that fuckass cave

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white boy in a coat save me. save me white boy

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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

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charlie, meeks, pitts and say 'no more mr nice guy' ironically

cameron, knox and neil say it entirely seriously

todd can go either way

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neil closing his eyes after he put on the headpiece for the last time is very special to me. personally, it speaks on a sort of innocence that still lingers within him, despite the hopelessness in everything else, he cant find a reason to contiue going, so he closes his eyes, reminisces, recalls the feeling of the stage, the practices before the final display, how freeing it was to speak those words, be involved in the century-old play, to be not neil, but puck, mischievous and free. for a good hour or so, he had no academics to be concerned about, there was no weight on his broad shoulders. for a good hour or so, acting wasn't just a dream, it was a reality, and he had it in his careful hold.

slowly tilting his head down, as if he is finally giving into the fact that acting will never be his, or maybe he's remembering looking down at the audience as he stood so proudly, seeing the loving faces of the other dead poets, and the man that inspired him so fiercely, mr keating.

he has the gentle press of the headpiece against his hair, maybe comforting, yet taunting, he had a taste for freedom on stage, and now there was only freedom in death

being suppressed and pushed around into submission all his life, all he wanted was one thing. and it was acting. and he couldnt have it, so he couldnt live without it.

it really speaks on how damaging it is to push down someone's passion so violently, especially in the arts. conformity isnt a saviour, its the killer of many

[strryspace]

neil and mr perry