I'm.begging Someone Draw Toby As This Image

When I'm enjoying dead poets society but then I remember that the gunshot was Neil's yawp and "NEIL!" was Todd's and suddenly nothings funny anymore

TODD hated NEIL

He hated his smile. His hair. His never-ending supply of friendship. The way his name sounded on his tongue.

So much so that he'd scream it until he lost his voice, till it was the last thing he ever said. He'd do anything for NEIL PERRY. Anything if it meant he could bring him back

OK. There was absolutely NO need to post this.

……do you guys think that todd hangs an ornament that’s in the shape of a wreath with red berries on it every year? or am i just trying to break my own heart?

BLACKOUT — A RICH? STORY

This is just a silly story about my oc, guys. Felt like uploading it, ig... it's not very good.b

Divider by @strangergraphics !!

TW: IMPLICATIONS OF SUICIDAL THOUGHTS, MATURE LANGUAGE,

NOTHING—

The room was almost dark, save for the glow of a computer screen somewhere near the middle of the continuous rows of desks, or whatever moonlight filtered in from outside. Richard Haddon was dead, or at least he felt like it.

Endless nights stuck in the same room, at the same computer, typing the same things out every single day for twelve freaking hours had worn him down. Who the hell put someone on a night shift at an office? His fingers felt numb, like they were about to drop off completely. The dull hum of the AC sounded overhead, blowing cool air at the back of Rich's neck, wrapping him a tight embrace.

All things considered, Rich should've been dead.

That dead end office job was the bane of his life, the thing that made him never want to wake up. The thing he was sure was going to kill him.

But he was still inexplicably alive.

Rich lay slumped in his chair, his eyes blankly focused on the screen in front of him. An alarm clock, the type you can get really cheap from the store, sat close by on the desk, counting down the minutes to freedom.

Rich didn't look at it.

He sighed, shutting his eyes and running a hand through his already unruly hair. Despite the cold, his shirt was undone by the top few buttons, his tie hanging loosely around his neck like a scarf. He felt like one of those drunk middle-aged dads who sat on the porch with a can of Special Brew and watched their kids play in the street.

His eyes opened and drifted towards the open window. If he craned his neck for enough, Rich could see the stream of cars below. It was always busy at night, he found, wherever he lived. He found that here in Jefferson City, it was just about as loud as you'd expect it to be in London. Though he didn't have much room to comment on that. He'd been about twice for school trips.

It was far.

Almost... speaking to him.

The office had always got him down. From the moment he stepped in for that God forsaken interview to now, sitting in that stupid chair and wasting away. Hoping for something better.

A second chance.

It came to Rich suddenly, in his exhaustion infused mania: he'd never, ever got what he wanted out of life. Did he even know what he wanted? He didn't need to answer that. Because he never had.

Until now.

A sudden crash brought Rich to his senses, jerking him up into a sitting position and tearing his eyes away from the window. He looked around desperately for the source of the sound, something which had dropped. Something to tell him that he was alright.

The room felt smaller somehow. Darker. Rich had broken into a sweat despite the cold air from the AC, and he could feel his heart as it pounding against his ribs, trying to break free.

'Don't be stupid, Richard.' He told himself. Jesus, he must've been afraid if he was full naming himself, 'You're fine. You're ok. You're on your own. 2 more hours. That's all you have to do, thats—'

Rich's monitor turned off.

He jumped back in his seat with a yelp, feeling that ineffable sense of dread sinking its teeth into his heart and clinging to it. His eyes were wide, and to his horror, as he looked around. He could no longer see the windows. The only light source was the alarm clock on the desk.

4:27 AM

Rich grabbed his mouse, swishing it back and forth, desperately willing his computer to turn back on, "No! Come on, no, no, no—FUCK—! "

Rich experienced minor heart failure as the alarm clock started to ring. That was ridiculous. It was set for 6:00 AM. He pressed the stop button, but it was only getting louder. It was the only thing he could hear.

He looked around desperately. He may have been imagining it, but he couldn't see spots of white popping around in the dark. They seemed tinbe giving out light, which calmed his nerves ever so slightly. But then he hear the AC thunk as it turned off, and he looked up.

Holy shit.

A massive white eye stared back at him, lighting up a mass of what looked like thick, black slime. And teeth. So many fucking teeth.

Rich was frozen. He couldn't move. His eyes were wide. However, the creature could move just fine, and whatever God awful scream ripped its way out of Rich's mouth was quickly silenced by the thing lunging and forcing its way down his throat.

He sort of wanted to be dead.

When I'm trying to enjoy the dead poets society book,but then knox comes out with:

"God...I want to suck all the marrow out of Chris!"

WHAAAAATT

Suddenly, you're in a new school.

Suddenly, you've got even more to live up to.

Suddenly, you feel even more crushed by society.

and still we sleep

But suddenly you have friends.

Suddenly, you've got a group to hang out with.

Suddenly, you've got a true friend. Someone who's never going to let you down.

and still we sleep

But suddenly he's gone.

And suddenly, it's December.

And you're not seventeen anymore.

And you haven't been seventeen for a very long time.

But you have to remind yourself every now and again.

and still we sleep.

Suddenly, he's leaving.

And nothing feels right.

Because your best friend is dead.

And your inspiration is gone.

and still we sleep.

Posting is optional, you know.

little tw just to be safe: talking about neil's death (specifically methods etc.)

thinking about neil's death and– do we think he shot himself in the head? that's the most common thing, right? either through the mouth or the temple or even the forehead. BUT i present you an even MORE TRAGIC possibility.

what if he chose to shoot his heart instead of his head? that'd have a whole symbolism to it. it'd reconnect with the answer he gave his father when he asked "what do you feel?" and neil said "nothing". he is literally showing that he feels nothing by destroying the symbol of human emotions, the heart. it's physical proof to mr. perry that he feels nothing, on full-on display for the world to see