Latest Posts by ashadonis - Page 2

Joe Keery for WWD — August 2023

Honestly, steddie where they're both famous and massive fans of eachother has my heart

it was all supposed to be a dumb joke.

the boys had been sitting around after rehearsal one night passing a bowl and more than a few beers, laughing about how unsuccessful the newest music based social media app would be. mere seconds of songs looping over and over with other songs mixed in would never work, especially for corroded coffin where the story, the buildup of their songs was part of the reason to listen.

it all started with jeff, grinning slowly ear to ear. "what if were to get in there and take some celebrity's name for a user name? like paris hilton or something."

then it moved to gareth, who paused with a scrunched up face. "dude, paris hilton? what the fuck kind of reference is that..."

then it was over to greg, choking on a smoke-laced laugh. "yeah, it'd be funnier if it was eddie's pop prince loverboy instead."

that got everyone's attention. eddie had protested to ears that didn't want to hear it as they cackled in their studio that they rented by the hour, bent over in their rolling chairs, leaning against the side of the mixing board for support.

"loverboy?! you know i can't stand steve harrington and his bullshit lyrics, what the fuck kind of suggestion is that..."

but come the next day, when the weed had left his system and his veins were alcohol-free, eddie stared at the mixr app home screen and the blinking red circle over his inbox with disdain after successfully acquiring a user name he never would have picked for himself.

'steveharrington', eddie's account says, along with an icon of himself and his tongue out.

if it hadn't been for being less than sober when the app dropped. if it hadn't been for his best friends egging him on with taunts and jeers and kissy noises and less than sincere dreamy calls of 'oh steve' in the background. if it hadn't been for the way that eddie secretly did think about a certain head of floppy hair and soft brown eyes and shoulders littered with constellations.

if it hadn't been for all of that he wouldn't have had the chance to have his celebrity crush, the steve harrington, in his inbox at 8am on a random tuesday morning.

"good morning!" the message says simply enough. eddie stares at the words, trying to process what they mean, looking at the verified username of 'steveharrington1' next to an icon of his most recent album along with it. his inbox is flooded with people all asking him random things, thinking he's the real steve harrington, but this one verified account has him shaking.

for all that eddie is, all big hair and black jeans and skull rings and leather, he's still a man. a man who can look at a pop star, annoying as their music may be, and see charm. he can see attractiveness. he can see that smile that steve harrington has perfected behind his eyelids and he can see them strolling off into the sunset together hand in hand and he can see steve all flushed and breathing heavily underneath him on a mountain of plush pillows and he can see-

the message pings again with a new addition. "i know this seems weird and my team advised against it but i'd really like your user name of... well, my name."

eddie blinks slowly. he pictures steve maybe laying in bed, maybe sitting at the breakfast table with a cup of coffee, with his phone in his hand as he types out a message to him. to think that steve has any idea about him existing on any sort of level is doing his head in. his heartbeat races a little faster as he types back with shaky hands and a pit in his stomach.

"is this real?" is all he can type out, leaning against the kitchen counter as he waits for his coffee to brew.

three dots pull up on the app screen before disappearing and eddie pulls his lip in between his teeth to focus his energy elsewhere. he tears his eyes away from his phone and looks out the window to watch the people out for their morning walks. he's just about to the point where he thinks about maybe taking up walking if nothing else to get all the pent up energy out of him when the app dings again. as he looks back, his heart sinks to the bottom of his stomach.

it's a photo of steve that can't have been released before. he's sitting outside in bright sunshine with sunglasses on, tousled hair and grin on his face. he's holding his hand up in a thumbs up and eddie can see the remnants of cream cheese on the side of his index finger.

he sucks in a stuttering breath through his teeth, trying to force his lungs to breath again. the dots pop up on screen once more and the message that comes through is instantaneous.

"real enough for you?" it reads. and then an additional message is tacked on. "need me to hold up a newspaper with the date on it?"

there's a winky face that follows and it feels fake even though it's very real. this whole morning feels wrong, unreal. he's just eddie munson, some singer in some halfway popular band in some kind of shitty neighborhood in los angeles that just happens to have not just some pop star in his dms. this doesn't happen to him.

"why did your team tell you not to message me? does my reputation precede me?"

eddie pulls his hand up to his mouth to bite at the side of his fingernail, watching the screen with rapt attention and waiting for the typing dots to disappear.

"according to this account your name is steve harrington and yes, i'd say his reputation does precede him."

eddie barks out a laugh, not exactly expecting that.

he didn't know what he was expecting out of any of this. he thought that it might help get the corroded coffin name out more if he got tangled up somehow with the steve harrington name. spark a little bit of drama to boost their visibility. but now here he is, talking to the man himself, cracking jokes and trying not to hyperventilate.

"how were you able to get this name so fast anyway? my team was on it right when the app dropped last night."

"i had the power of bandmates and weed on my side," he types back, side of his mouth quirking up into a smile.

"oh so you're a musician? maybe i should be looking into your reputation then, mystery person."

eddie pauses and thinks about every option. he is semi-known in the metal scene, his outlandish stunts on stage and political speeches at shows that garner them becoming an almost brand for him. if he tells steve who he is, would he know? care? run away from the scary guy who may or may not use stage blood in every music video?

but the thing is, he's not a scary guy and he never has been. he might be a little intimidating and he guesses that's the armor he puts on everyday after being bullied in school but it's not an accurate showing of who he is. eddie is sweet, funny, kind of smart in that has random fun facts about dungeons and dragons kind of way.

and he wants the steve harrington to know that guy.

eddie flips over at his middle so his head is nearly touching the floor and ruffles his hair, giving it volume and calming down the frizz that comes from sleep. he shakes it out of his face once he's upright and grabs his garfield coffee mug if only to have something to do with his hands. grabbing his phone off the counter, he opens the camera option in their message thread and snaps a quick picture of himself grinning, mug next to his face with a matching cat-like smirk. he nervously presses send before he can even think about all the flaws with it.

"eddie munson at your service," is what he types out with a saluting emoji and a muttered prayer to whoever would listen to him that things don't end horribly.

it's not like he's expecting to sweep steve off his feet. he knows that steve has picture perfect partners, he sees enough internet news to know that gruff and dark isn't the kind of guy he normally goes for. but he looks back at the photo he sent and hopes that steve sees the kindness in his eyes, the scruff on his jawline that makes it look just the smallest bit chiseled, the whimsy and life that he embodies that comes from a tacky coffee cup.

there isn't an automatic answer and it makes whatever hope eddie has floating around his system falter. ''at this point you've probably searched me and i can reassure you, i'm not actually a vampire like google seems to think i am."

"holy shit."

it's short, two words followed by typing dots that disappear, reappear, disappear once more before reappearing for the last time.

"would you believe me if i told you that i am huge fan??"

choking on coffee hurts, eddie finds out. he coughs as the hot liquid goes down the wrong pipe and concentrates on the messages once he gets his bearings back. steve, the steve harrington, a fan of his? it's a prank, it has to be, there is no way that steve harrington-

"one of my exes took me to your show at the bowl and it quite possibly changed my life. you gave that speech about the pipeline before the encore and i went home and bought every single one of your albums that same night."

he's dead. the papers will read 'eddie munson found dead in his home in a ratty metallica shirt holding onto a garfield coffee mug and cellphone open to a chat where steve harrington tells him he's a fan of his work'. it's the only way that this is possibly happening. he's died and gone to whatever fucked up version of heaven has him still living in his shitty la apartment.

"are you fucking kidding me?" is what he types back, slamming his coffee mug onto the counter to have access to both hands. "you've heard my stuff?"

and then it happens, like out of a shitty teenage rom-com, his phone is lighting up with an in-app call from steve harrington. the steve harrington. careful not to drop his phone in his hurried movements, he presses accept faster than he thinks his fingers have every worked.

"hello?" he questions into the phone and there's no hello back, just steve apparently freaking out as much as he is.

"i hope this is okay," he says and god, does his voice sound wonderful over the phone like this. "but it's faster and i have too many things to say that typing it all out would be stupid."

eddie grins and his feet tap against the ground like an excited kid. "it's fine, i uhm... i get it. god, this is weird."

steve hums in agreement before laughing. and oh, that laugh. it has eddie floating up to cloud nine, heart thumping painfully in his chest, butterflies beating their wings wildly in his stomach.

"yeah, it's definitely not how i expected this morning to go. talking to eddie munson, wow."

"sure," eddie snorts, "you talk to celebrities all the time, i'm sure this is small fish for you."

he hears steve laugh again, soft and gentle, like it's meant just for eddie. "i might talk to celebrities all the times but not ones that i have posters on my wall of like a pre-teen. i'm properly geeking out right now."

eddie short circuits. that's the only way to explain the way his body shuts down as he slumps into an armchair in the living room.

"you, steve harrington, have posters of me on your bedroom wall?" eddie's mouth feels dry as he talks and regrets making coffee at all because he's wide awake now and feels jittery.

"well okay, to be fair, it's of the whole band and it's in my studio but you are shirtless so i contemplated putting it in my bedroom." something shifts on the other end of the line and it sounds like steve sitting down. there's birds chirping in the background and eddie closes his eyes to picture himself sitting with steve on a patio instead of in his dingy apartment.

"you're gonna give me big head, pretty boy." the pet name slips out before he can stop it and the pitch of his voice lowering is out of his control. eddie can't be held responsible for his actions at 8am especially when he's flirting over the phone with his celebrity crush.

"pretty boy, hmm?" steve murmurs back. "so does that mean you have posters of me too?"

the timbre of his voice shoots from eddie's ears all the way down to his toes, lighting his veins on fire as it travels down his body. the hopeful part of his brain supplies an image of steve smirking, relaxing in a pool chair outside of what must be a mansion, phone in one hand and cup of coffee in the other. it could be domestic, if eddie thinks about it hard enough. if he wants it enough.

and god, does he want that. domestic bliss with steve harrington.

"well i wouldn't exactly call picturing you in my dreams every night posters, but it's close enough i guess."

it's gutsy, it's brash, it's too forward for a tuesday morning but steve started it. he hears a shaky exhale on the other end of the line and lets out a chuckle. it feels like they're playing chess and there's no clear cut winner quite yet but if the match ends in a tie, eddie can't exactly say he'd be upset about it.

"i tell you what," steve says in an almost airy voice. "in exchange for giving me my user name, i'll give you my number and you can use it to see me in something other than your dreams tonight."

"...are you bribing me, harrington?"

"is it working?"

eddie takes in a deep breath and thinks about what possible plans he could have with the username 'steveharrington' that would amount to something better than taking the man himself out on a date with his phone number saved as a contact in his phone. he'd put a heart next to it and everything.

"of course it is."

the call drops away and it's quick enough for eddie to think everything that happened in the last 30 minutes could have been a fever dream but then there's three dots on the message thread and his hopeful heart starts to kick back into gear.

"213-555-5469. let me know when you've given up that username and i'll let you know when to pick me up. it's a win-win all around. turns out we each get to go a date with our celebrity crushes, how lucky is that?"

it's signed with a kissing face emoji and eddie's glad that he's sitting down when the last picture steve sends comes through. he's grinning in a way eddie's never seen before, blush high on his cheeks, sweaty shoulders and collarbones and pecs glinting in the early morning sun, and eddie thinks it's probably too early to be in love with someone but he's well on his way.

he texts the number he's sent without hesitation and without shaking hands this time. he signs the message with a black heart like it's a signature of it's own.

"lucky indeed."

“Fuck it, we slay” (heavy eye bags, dehydrated, on the verge of insanity)

5 years he's been in hiding.

5 miserable years he's had to go by a different name, wear different clothes and tell a different story to everyone he meets. He's been James, Frank, he thinks he even went by Dustin at one point. He's had long hair, short hair, he's been bald. He had a beard for a while and taught music in a small music store, but he shaved it off after a week because all he saw in the mirror was Wayne, his uncle, his family, the man he abandoned.

For 5 years, he's been everyone but Eddie Munson.

The government told him he couldn't be Eddie anymore.

"Eddie Munson is dead." They told him; they even had the death certificate to prove it. "Don't come back to Hawkins. Keep moving. There are still people looking for you." Was the last thing they said to him before dropping him off with a wad of cash in some town he's never been to before.

He'd asked for the date at the front desk of a motel, and they'd told him April 20th. Eddie had crumbled down to his knees and cried, he'd cried so hard the motel clerk asked if she should call someone, asked if he was alright.

"I'm fine." Was his broken reply. He'd taken the key for his room, curled up on the uncomfortable bed, and didn’t move for days. He wasn't alright. He'd been in a government hospital for what he thought was a few days but was actually over a month and then released into the world like some rehabilitated animal. He didn't get to say goodbye to anyone. Fuck, he didn't even know if they all made it out of the upside down. All he knew was that he was alone. And that he couldn't go home. Ever.

He'd eventually gotten over himself and made some kind of life for himself.

It took him a few tries to find something that stuck, something that felt sort of like himself. Every few months, an ungodly amount of money appears in his bank account. The formal bank statement says it's from an estranged relative. Eddie knows it's not. He knows it's the government's way of buying his silence. His expensive rent and struggle to find a job is the only reason he doesn't send it all back to them.

He's lived in his current place for a year now, which is a new record for him, but he's got no friends. Well, he has acquaintances, people he can laugh with every now and then and go out for drinks with, but no one who knows him. No one who knows why he wakes every night screaming, no one who understands why he flinches when the lights in the bar flicker, why he hates the sound of people cracking their knuckles and why his hands shake whenever anyone mentions the scar on his face.

It's late at night when he's covered in sweat and his throat is raw from screaming awake from a nightmare, that he really misses his friends, his family, the people that he went through hell with. He's not allowed to call them, not allowed to send them letters or visit. He's not even allowed to know how Wayne is doing. It hurts. It hurts so much. He can't even look at himself in the mirror anymore because he's aged, and he's slowly starting to look more and more like his uncle.

But his friends are a little harder to escape, it's like parts of them have found him and are trying to haunt him, trying to remind him that he can't be a part of their lives.

Just last week, he walked by a book store and saw a brand new fantasy graphic novel on display in the window, 'written by Mike Wheeler & illustrated by Will Byers' was displayed on the bottom of the cover in gold letters. He's never bought a book so fast in his life. He's read it front to back 3 times already.

He can't even watch the news in peace because they were doing a news story about a small town basketball player who's made it to the big leagues and is winning everyone's hearts with his skills and bright personality. Eddie had cried and wished he'd been there to congratulate Lucas, wished he could have been there to tell him how proud he was.

Even Nancy is haunting him. Her news articles get delivered to his front door every day in the paper and most of the time the articles aren't even sad, but he cries at his small dining table alone, his breakfast cold and his coffee filled with his tears.

He misses his friends. He misses them so much and it's eating him alive. It feels like he's lying on the ground of the upside down all over again, tiny little mouths ripping away at his flesh except this time it's happening from the inside. Each time he's reminded how far away he is from his friends, a small piece of him is eaten away.

He doesn't know how much more he can take.

And then something odd happens. He gets a postcard and it's addressed to him, the real him; Eddie Munson.

The handwriting is hard to read and some words have been crossed out but the name signed at the bottom of the card pulls a sob from Eddie's throat and has him almost crumbling on his doorstep.

I'm sorry I took so long. I'll see you soon.

From Steve Harrington.

Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late.

Me last year: 6:46 is… very precise, buddy.

Me this year:

BREAKING: Dracula has fallen down the stairs at the met gala

you don’t talk too much. you aren’t too loud. you aren’t too needy. you aren’t too sensitive. you aren’t too this, or that. you aren’t too much anything. you will never be too much: you are you, and you are allowed to take up space. you are allowed to exist however you choose.

Fuck all love letters except whatever Cardan Greenbriar had going on when he wrote “my heart is buried with you in the strange soil of the mortal world, as it was drowned with you in the cold waters of the undersea. it was yours before i could admit it, and yours it shall ever remain”

in the morning, it's light academia at night, it's dark academia in the brain, it chaotic academia

Relationships should be 50/50. I tell her that I think of her, often, it's disgusting and I can't stop, and she puts a knife to my throat

in case anyone else needs to hear this it’s ok to be more serious. i don’t just mean ‘it’s ok to be serious sometimes’ i mean in general. not everyone has to be funny. it doesn’t have to mean you’re sad or unlikeable. you can just be serious and genuine most of the time and that’s great. i personally think that we’re too focused on ‘funny’ as the primary carrier of likeability right now. i often feel starved for serious conversation, for serious spaces, for a feeling of gravity. you don’t have make good jokes to give people a good time. i say, goof only as the spirit moves you, & don’t worry about it. 

heard porn bots might be following you guys again. sorry about that. but in some good news i have been gaining many new followers who are real stunningly beautiful women. welcome ladies :)

#this had to be done

Girls don't need love they need the trilogy in cardan's pov

Todd watched Neil, his face soft and his eyes closed, asleep, peaceful, lovely. He reached down and brushed Neil’s hair out of his face. Neil shifted closer. Todd wondered how it was possible to love one person so much, but here he was.

It was late in the evening, most of the students had already retired. Neil had been working on some extra homework while Todd had sat on his bed, reading. At some point Neil had finished up and had climbed next to Todd. He’d looked tired but hesitant but Todd had been dating him long enough to know exactly what he wanted. Neil hadn’t grown up in an environment where he could seek comfort (though admittedly, neither had Todd (but Todd had Neil constantly proving that he could ask for what he wanted even before they’d started dating and that had made a world of difference)). Sometimes he’d want Todd but wouldn’t know how to phrase it. Todd had learned to pick up the cues. So he moved his book back and held his arms out and Neil didn’t hesitate further, simply sank into his embrace. It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, he head resting on Todd’s chest, Todd’s hand playing with his hair.

Neil and Todd hadn’t exchanged ‘I love you’s yet. They were always there, at the tip of Todd’s tongue. Sometimes when Neil looked at him, Todd thought they might be there, too, at the tip of Neil’s tongue. Todd knew he loved him, had known for a while. But they hadn’t been dating long so he held those words back. He didn’t think he’d hold out much longer, though, not when Neil was so lovable, so breathtakingly beautiful and sweet, so easy to want, so perfectly fit in his arms. Todd loved him so much he didn’t know what to do with himself half of the time.

Neil shifted again and Todd leaned down to press a kiss at the edge of his eyebrow.

'I love you’.

texting sucks, let’s have deep conversations and roll on grass instead

"he is fictional and dead" TO YOU MAYBE

I talked to him personally yesterday and he offered me some tea

currently sobbing at the bus stop

"...You think things would have been different, if I'd been here?"

"I don't know." No, that's not true. He knew how it could've ended, maybe he would've ran away with Todd the night when his parents are asleep, or they could've called Mr. Keating to get them away. So many possibilities yet none took place. "Maybe."

They stand there, for another moment, the wind whispering across the ocean the only sound.

There's nothing left to say. There's everything left to say, and Neil's already wasted every chance to say it. It's too late for redemption, too late for forgiveness. Too late.

Todd's the first to move. He turns away, takes a step towards Charlie and the others.

Looks back, just once.

"Goodbye, Neil."

He doesn't respond.

He doesn't look back as Todd's footsteps recede, as the telltale hum of the portal spikes, once, and then falls silent.

They're gone.

He's alone.

"Goodbye," Neil whispers to the wind. --- pss @aedan-mills @impressedcauliflower @zeegy @inahallucination @nik-knacks

The Queer Symbolism of Dead Poets Society

that’s right y’all i actually did it. tw/cw for mentions of Neil’s death, homophobia, reclaiming queer

Dead Poets Society; a beloved, slightly problematic staple of dark academic films. Since its release in 1989, it has gained a strong following over the years, and even more speculation. Fans of the film have long believed that the central characters, Todd and Neil, were in love. Furthermore, there are theories that not only were the main characters lovers, but major plotlines and themes possess metaphors of queerness. Debate has been made over the reality of these theories, and it’s pretty believable. This essay has no intention to change any thoughts on the matter, more like reading into the content and considering what the general opinion is. 

Anyone who has seen the movie or even read a brief summary should be aware of the major theme of the story; tradition versus nonconformity. Mr. Keating made a point to challenge tradition, which, considering the patriarchal, conservative setting, was quite risky. It’s almost like queer people have been challenging tradition for centuries. ‘Tradition,’ or heteronormativity, against the ‘nonconventional’ is instead celebrated. The Dead Poets Society was all about defiance from societal norms and living authentically, in other words not having to hide.

“We all have a great need for acceptance, but you must trust that your beliefs are your own, unique, even though others may think them odd or unpopular. Even though the herd may go ‘that’s bad.’” - Keating

Deviating from tradition not only takes form in the Dead Poets Society being revived, but in the confrontation of supposed gender roles. A deep passion for theatre is connected with homosexuals and has roots in queer culture since at least the early 20th century, from the author’s knowledge. The group had taken a keen interest in poetry, as well being long associated with femininity or homosexuality, by reasons of toxic masculinity. With harmful intentions or not, poetry is still a staple of queer culture. Infamous queer poets like Sappho, Emily Dickinson, Oscar Wilde, and Walt Whitman have been influential in their works since the sixth century. Walt Whitman specifically is mentioned many times in this film. One of his more well-known poems, “Oh Captain, My Captain” is referenced various times. Out of all the poems to choose, why go with the poem written by a hypothesized gay man about a president who also may have been gay? To add to this, during the scene in which Todd chases Neil around while the latter reads his poetry, Neil has the gall to say “I’m being chased by Walt Whitman.” As if that scene wasn’t already one of their more emotionally charged moments that lead to this essay’s creation.

That is not where the references to queer culture stops. During the audience’s first introduction to English teacher John Keating, he is whistling the tune of ‘1812 Overture,’ composed by notoriously homosexual composer Tchaikovsky. In the cave, Charlie Dalton recites a line from Shakespeare’s ‘Sonnet 18,’ famously written about a feminine man, recognizable from the line: “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” That sonnet created much skepticism over Shakespeare’s sexuality and some consider him to have been queer.

The thing with queer people indulging in these interests are both fine points in the queer identity and culture, as well as stereotypes against queer people in that aspect. What a fun time.

The symbolism and references are not the only evidence of this being a queer movie. There are the characters themselves. Most frequently discussed, is the case of Neil and Todd. Although Todd is new to the school and riddled with anxiety, he ends up quite close to Neil. Did it help that they were roommates? Certainly, but there is quite a bit more to it than that. Neil had developed the habit of being in Todd’s space quickly, and Todd got rather comfortable with Neil by the time the play auditions rolled around. Even more, Neil is very frequently seen looking at Todd in a way that friends don’t typically do. When Todd performed the improvised poem for the class, it had cut to Neil, looking positively enamored at Todd. The aforementioned Walt Whitman reference to Todd is to be taken into consideration as well. Todd’s reaction to Neil’s death too made quite the difference. It is normal to mourn for a lost friend, but was there a reason to show Todd in such a state of despair? Charlie had known Neil much longer, yet all seen in the final film, Todd showed the most aggravated grief. Yes, in the original script, Charlie had had a grieving moment, but why keep Todd’s? It might have been for character development, or it could have been much, much more personal.

Because of the fandom’s hope for canonical queer characters, former cast member Gale Hansen has graciously supplied some answers via Twitter on several occasions. He has said that he ships Todd and Neil and confirmed that Charlie could’ve been portrayed as nonbinary. 

Besides the many references, metaphors, and instances of symbolism, there is still one more area that needs to be covered; the relation between the Dead Poets Society and being a queer person. Considering a very queer individual is writing this, this part may get a little long and personal. Throughout the film, Neil feels the worst pressure to conform to the life his father wants for him and struggles with it immensely. He feels hopeless and drained from every short conversation with his father, and it did end up killing him slowly. He despaired over who he was. He knew what he was, he enjoyed who he was, but faced criticism over being himself. Neil’s father hated the parts of Neil he couldn’t control and suppressed his son’s identity. Seeing Neil on stage was a turning part in the movie, as if Mr. Perry is seeing his son for the first time how he really is. He wasn’t hiding, he was out. 

Yes, it is quite true that people just couldn’t live if their passion was taken away for a bleak existence. That could’ve been the case for Neil. Or, as this whole thing is about finding how this film mirrors queerness, he could not live knowing that he would be despised by his own father. It might just be the queer existence at it’s saddest state, but it certainly is understandable. 

Taking in all of the reasons why this movie could be a piece of inexplicably queer media, there is just the fact that it might not be. It’s subjective some look at it and think ‘yeah, they are definitely gay’ whereas someone else might not look at it that way. This essay was just a way of proving some points, really. I analyzed the content based on my own view and took my thoughts into account. Keating did say that the reader’s opinion is one that matters.

something that really hits me is the way neil reads the opening poem by thoreau at the very first dps meeting. the way after he finishes reading the poem he takes a moment to himself in order to take in what he’s just read. you can tell that these words genuinely mean something to him and that he really resonates with them. i think it’s in that moment that he fully understands what keating means by carpe diem. especially the last line “and not, when i came to die, discover that i had not lived.” it’s so beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time

He’s alive and well in my mind

just thinking about neil perry.

Ben Barnes | Francesco Carrozzini | Salvatore Ferragamo

◌ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ◌

𝘐 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘥𝘺

𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘥.

♡ xoxo-Suzy ♡

◌ ⏝ ୨ ♡ ୧ ⏝ ◌

⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺

𝙄’𝙫𝙚 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙤𝙬,

𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙤𝙛 𝙬𝙚𝙩 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚𝙨 𝙗𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙢𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚

𝙄 𝙡𝙚𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙨𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙡 𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙤𝙙𝙮.

𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙄 𝙢𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙢𝙮𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙙𝙞𝙯𝙯𝙮,

♡ xoxo-Suzy ♡

⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛

𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛’𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑠𝑒𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑒𝑎𝑢𝑡𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑏𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑠

𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠.

𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢…

♡ xoxo-Suzy ♡

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

i wish people could understand what they say affects the other person to an extent that they start hating/doubting themselves

Subtle remarks are remarks too.

I lost my best friend 3 years ago- not lost as in dead but lost as in we only text each other on our birthdays now. Movies and books don't tell you that a friendship dying is like the sinking of a ship, you try to get higher and higher and hold onto the rails and unanswered texts, the captain tries to steer it to safety and salvage pieces of two broken hearts until you're left with memories of what once was. We were friends for a decade and knew each other's diaries by heart, I still remember her phone number and the way she took her coffee. Seeing her in streets is like breathing in a scent you forgot you knew but it immediately takes you back to a summer in '07.

Movies and books also don't tell you that friendships don't just end after one fight or incident, it's like the rusting of a bridge, the slow decay of flesh and bones and secrets. It took weeks, months- until one day I woke up and I realized I hadn't thought of her in a while. And I wrote a poem that day and I titled it 'The dying of a best friend' and I put all my love for her in a tiny box with my half of the matching pendant of a dolphin we had and stored them in a corner of my heart under the heading Grief. Where else can one hide unspent love?

It's been 3 years since I lost my best friend, lost as in I still carry our secrets in a tiny box but we only text each other on our birthdays.

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

Edit: here's the visualizer for this piece

want that indie movie, rainy days, reading 4 fun, kate bush, tired smiles, i am not okay with this, music playing, cool girl, lipgloss, doc martens, thrifting, effortless beauty, wlw, mazzy star, chipped nail polish, doodling, dim lighting, end of the f***ing world, quiet, baggy clothes, wind blowing ur hair out of ur face, carolina by taylor swift, record shops, leather jackets, red, messy hair, sunset walks, polaroid photos, crystal rings, smudged eyeliner, fairy lights, playing guitar kind of life i think thats what i deserve