#dead poet

[sunflorall]

what do they put in october and november that makes them the most ungodly mental breakdown psychosis inducing months imaginable. what are they storing in the orange leaves and generally grey drowsy atmosphere

[tohakumaru]

Hello!

you can now find the full illustrations + text only versions of all Impossible Nomad chapters on my project page

https://tohakumaru.carbonmade.com/projects/7264503

preview (phone, i think better on desktop)

thank you to everyone who has voted in polls and taken interest in this so far! it means the world to me :)

[pookielious]

Hi : )

I'm making a dps fic that takes place in the years Keating would've been attending Welton but from the perspective of Neil's mother who was going to Henley hall at the time

It's basically the maraudersifcation of dead poet society, that's what I've been calling it😭

It'll have alot of the parents like charlies and the other poets parents, both the fathers who would've been going to welton but it won't be focused on them but the original dead poets will be making appearances, also the others who would've been going to ridgeway (basically just Tom perry) will also be present and so much other things I'm so excited to write about

I think it'll just be fun, I've seen the idea on tiktok (unfortunately i cant find the video anymore ☹️ )and from one of my moots on dpstwt so this is just my addition🤲

I might post updates on here, it'll take time because I want it to be the best I can and because I have a bunch of other ideas I need to do + I go to in person school now so im busy with that😞😞

It'll be a long fic though I'm not sure exactly how long but definitely more then 10 chapters

[nee-naw-nee-naw-beepbeep]

todd and neil pissing cameron off to bond you cant tell me otherwise.

[deadpoetsparacosm]

there isn't any tenderness, it's fake: like god

there's just teeth and a wound

i told my mother if their wish to make me pursue medical succeeds, i'll never write ever again

and she laughed and congratulated me, told me to never write ever again: teeth

she knows how much i love to write: a wound

now i write, like it's cheap; vulgar; pathetic; and ugly: like being queer in the 80s

i hide it, i create a blog to place it to a world which doesn't want to feast on it

the world: a wolf

as a young woman, i let it tear me asunder in exchange for little love: sacrificial lamb like your mother

i weep for hours and hours and suddenly it starts to rain

no sun tomorrow, my soul starts to rot

it smells, it smells. it smells, mother.

so i write this, act of vandalism: prison is this house i was raised in

yearn to see the sky, feel the rain pouring on my eyes: captivation

not a moment i feel less paranoid, why did you terrorize me this way, mother? father?

i do not know what to say to you,

nor that you will ever listen: maybe it's my submission

11:11. Make a wish. Sham: like god

—dead poet, rooted but flowing

[glorious-destruction]

I was waiting for her to return my touch, and I felt at that moment, felt with all my heart, that I could wait the whole life of the world for such a thing, until the earth and the sky met and locked and the distance between them closed forever.

Kevin Brockmeier, The Ceiling

[hydetheghost]

" I slowly start falling to dust. " - - - hmhmhm going through the pages of your math book isn't only scary, it is also a nightmare. So many examples, so many questions. Each of them unsolved, waiting to be calculated. arghh get out of my head! get out of my life! begone already! the never-ending math drama is starting all over again and the only way out of it is with distraction like art and music. ah yes. - and then? ...?

... ... ??

[quadruple-whammy]

Red Wire i

And so maybe, again, I feel love.

The kind I should feel.

And this time, for real, I can accept it.

My skin is raw where he traced me

Making me flinch into him and

Hear his small exhales of a laugh.

His thumb pushing into my leg

Just enough to hurt but never

Enough for pain.

And always, always,

Pulling me infinitely closer,

Deeper into his smell.

My mother asked if we touched.

I told her that all we did was

That innocent act of holding hands.

[intothewildflowers]

they say it takes a village to raise a child. but what about the village who have kept me alive. the ones who have held my scarred arms, been shoulders to sigh into, hugs to weep into. the village that carried me for months when I was unable to carry myself. we all know about children, but i need to tell you about adult villages too.

[des-vanecido]

Marché como prisionero condenado a muerte, con mi cabeza gacha, pasos lentos, arrastrando las cadenas de un pasado turbulento, caminaba como quien no quisiera ir pero debe, ya que no le queda de otra. Miles de pensamientos pasaban por mi cabeza, en todos estabas tú. Fue imposible el tratar de evitar tales pensamientos, recordaba a cada paso, como si de flashback se trataran mientras que al mismo tiempo una punzada en el pecho se hacía presente con cada recuerdo.

Avanzaba por el pasillo de la soledad, volviendo a la silla eléctrica, después de mucho tiempo creer que abandonaría ese lugar en el que pase demasiado tiempo, y hoy mirame aqui volviendo con pena máxima, por el acto de traición. Y está bien, acepto mi responsabilidad en aquellos actos, luego de tanto rogar tener una persona, obtuve dos, y al final ninguna sin dudas es el acto pleno de la avaricia. En fin, antes de que todo llegue a su fin, te he dejado mis últimas palabras en aquella carta que en cualquier momento te entregaran.

Eres lo mejor de mi vida, aunque te parezca difícil de creer. Sabes que siempre suelo ser un maldito cínico, que no extraña a nadie, que no le importa nada. Pero tú jodida mujer, haces que deje todo atrás, que dejé mi melancolía por horas, o días cuánto estoy contigo. Y se que tuve mis errores es algo que ya no puedo reparar, la verdad nunca que tenías tú que las otras no. Quizás sea tu cuerpo, quizás sean tus ojos, esos ojos café oscuro, que parecen un tesoro maldito, por qué me enamoraron y no puedo sacarlos de mi mente. Mirando tus ojos aprendí: A no prostituir un te quiero, a no cambiarlo por promesas falsas, a decir te amo desde lo más profundo, de este corazón hueco. Y aunque aún no me creas, es tu mirada la que pone mi mundo en cámara lenta y calma todo mi caos. Ahora me despido, sé que ya podré irme en paz.

- Dorian A

[firesidefirebow]

Actually, i made this Tumblr account because i knew i would left

So after i die people could come here and know what was going on inside my head.

now i feel like i'm immortalized in these little posts

[sunflorall]

The “i hate you with all my heart because you hurt and betrayed me yet why can't i stop loving you” trope will never not DESTROY me. That's the kind of pain i ALWAYS look for―

[esmeraywrites]

Just a draft, m writing what comes to my mind

how could you ever ask me to love nd live my life

did you not know or did i never say that you were my only reason

through death and chaos and destruction and strife

you were my light, my sunshine, my beloved light beacon

i stared at the moon, nights too long

wishing i had you like you promised all along

but my darling, worry not, for to noone else i shall ever belong.

[ohtodd598]

gale hansen talking about his encounter with jfk jr and john john’s experience about wanting to be an actor.

[creativeaneurysm]

love is

lyrics written on rose petals

eyes perfumed in angelic hymnals

holding hands at the end of the world

soft skin peppered in kisses

hearts floating on butterfly clouds

harp strings plucked to play a tipsy melody

a cat purring on your lap

dreamy

[whimsifae]