#dead poets society oneshot

[heliads]

LISA REQUESTS ARE OPEN AHHHH!!! I have been waiting for this moment!!

Could I pretty please request Steven Meeks (my beloved) with a female reader? The reader is a student at Welton who’s disguised herself and pretended to be a boy at her family’s request since Welton doesn’t accept girls but she was smart enough to get in and her family wanted her to have a good education. Since she’s friends with Neil and Charlie, she gets invited to be a part of the Dead Poets Society, and because of that she gets to know Meeks and gets closer to him, but she feels terrible about lying to him. So one night at a Dead Poets meeting, she stands up and admits to being a girl, and though she’s terrified about them reacting badly the other Dead Poets promise not to tell anyone because she’s their friend (except for Cameron, obvs, but the others kind of bully him into promising). And then afterwards she has a one-on-one conversation with Meeks where she tells him how she feels and he admits he feels the same (and maybe he even felt the same about her when he thought she was a boy but was scared to say anything) and it’s just really cute?

Of course, if you don’t wanna write this that’s totally cool!! Thanks in advance, and I hope you’re doing well, beloved!! <3

'the secrets that we keep' - steven meeks

masterlist

a/n: in the fic, b/n stands for boy name. since reader is pretending to be a boy, you need a boy name for Vibes and Plot

Although dutifully called on by schoolboys to change the age-old protocol, Welton Academy has never admitted a girl to their brilliant ranks. For reasons of religious purity, single-minded pursuit of study, and otherwise knowing how easily distracted teenage boys are by a pretty face, the doors of this bright school have shut in the face of willing and able female candidates for years. It is a long-standing rule, as familiar as not running in the halls or sneaking off campus to engage in underage drinking. Similarly, this rule is about to be ignored by yet another student, and this one is you.

Headmaster Nolan firmly intended to maintain this rule. Your parents wanted a good education for their daughter. Never before has such a violent clash rocked the hills of Vermont. Not in a while, at least. It took many, many heated arguments and a good deal of defensive letters, plus a promise to secure an internship at a nearby hospital for the son of Headmaster Nolan’s good friend, a certain Mr. Perry. Also, you would have to promise to keep the whole girl thing under wraps.

This may seem impossible, but they were the terms of your acceptance to the prestigious school, and you were willing to live by them. No doubt Headmaster Nolan would be watching you like a hawk for even the smallest of slip ups, but you don’t intend to give him even a second of victory over you. You’ll play according to his rules, and you’ll ace your classes at the same time. Wouldn’t it be funny if one of Welton’s brightest pupils was a girl?

These were the sorts of thoughts that helped tide you over the summer until your first day of school. When that inevitable day came around, though, you couldn’t help but feel paranoia wrap around your stomach with cold, digging claws. This whole idea seemed impossible. How could you possibly pretend to be a boy the whole time you were at the school? You could cut your hair short and deepen your voice, stomp around the halls and act as if you were just like the rest, but what a thing to do. Still, whenever you think about quitting, you think about the triumphant expression on the headmaster’s face, knowing he’d assigned you the one task he thought impossible. If you were going to do anything, you could at least prove him wrong.

With this mindset in place, you move your belongings into Welton. You’ve been given a single room, as the headmaster decided that having a roommate would only complicate things. Smart move there; it might be difficult to hide your evident lack of masculinity from someone who’d be with you around the clock.

There are plenty of singles in the Welton dorms, the students placed inside for various reasons. It’s nothing uncommon. Still, it does draw a fair amount of attention during move-in, as students pretend not to openly stare at you while you’re unpacking your luggage to see what kind of kid could manage to pull the lucky slot of a dorm room all to themselves.

One group of boys in particular seems keen on making your acquaintance, although their attention, unlike that of many of the other students coincidentally passing by your door, seems pleasant instead of demanding. Their apparent leader, Neil Perry, drops by to say hello. Always glad to see a new face, or so he’d claimed.

Neil was the first, quickly followed by his new roommate, Todd Anderson, plus Neil’s best friend, Charlie Dalton. An additional entourage of Gerard Pitts and Steven Meeks joined them soon enough, and a redheaded Richard Cameron followed up the tour, although judging by the not-so-subtle hostility in everyone’s glances his way, Cameron would be the least favored of the whole group.

At first, you’re terrified to have that much attention directed your way. Your goal was to skate under the radar, only making friends when you absolutely had to so you could both avoid detection and focus on your studies. Although it might make for a lonelier experience, staying undercover was far more important. Your parents were sacrificing a lot to keep you in Welton’s halls. You couldn’t afford to disappoint them by getting caught all because you started feeling alone.

However, none of the boys seem to notice that you’re not what you claim. They take up your explanation of having recently moved there readily enough, as it would explain why they’d never heard of your boy name before. You picked that one out earlier that month as if it were a new notebook or yet another school supply: B/N. It’ll be tricky to remember to respond to that name, but no trickier than any other part of this little scheme.

Besides, once classes start to kick up, all of you have far bigger fish to fry than unraveling the precise identities of the latest addition to the friend group. Soon, questions about where you grew up and how you managed to get yourself cast down to Hellton are replaced with frantic trig study sessions and grievous Latin complaints.

If there’s one class none of you seem to mind at all, though, it would be English. The other boys heard rumors that you’d be getting a new teacher, but none of them knew a thing about this Mr. Keating. The general consensus is that English this term would be no different from English at any other time of year; plenty of assigned readings, loads of essays required to be written under short durations, and all of the other joys that a required literature course often brings.

This, however, was not to be the case. From the moment Mr. Keating opened his mouth, all of you knew you’d be in for a treat. Some of you were less hesitant to embrace Mr. Keating into your hearts, namely Cameron, but the rest of you have been quick to appreciate what you have. For once, you’re having fun in class. Who could have an issue with that?

And, when Neil swoops by your seat and asks you if you’d be willing to engage in the first meeting of the new Dead Poets Society out in the woods that evening, you know that the impact your new teacher has on his students is far more drastic than even you’d envisioned. You agree readily, and the rest of your friends look pleased with themselves for managing to boost their numbers with such an agreeable fellow.

If there was one boy who looked the happiest that you’d be joining them after hours, you’d have to say that it was Steven Meeks. Although he may not be the loudest of the set, Steven has quickly been rising through the ranks in your mind. He’s been working on this radio set almost nonstop with Pitts, but every time Steven accomplishes even the smallest of achievements, he immediately has to put everything aside to rush to your side and tell you all about it. It’s wonderful to watch him, how his eyes light up as he talks, hands waving wildly in the air while he talks about receiving signals and communication potential.

You should know better than to get attached. There is a significant chance that your whole ruse will be revealed sooner rather than later, and you’ll be unceremoniously removed from Welton, never to speak to any of these boys again. Still, watching Steven’s ginger curls fall messily about his bright eyes, tracing the path of his hand absentmindedly combing back the strands so he can focus on repeating the information he’s just learned, you can’t help but wonder if maybe this one connection wouldn’t be so bad. Your friends wouldn’t turn you in.

Besides, cutting yourself off from Steven sort of feels like chopping off a limb. When the lot of you sneak out from the dorms that evening, running and howling through the forest, Steven stays by your side the entire time. Dry leaves crunch underfoot, and the moon hangs low and bright overhead. Your heart beats erratically from its cage in your ribs, and you wonder how you could ever have been afraid of something like this. This is living, you decide. You and Steven in the endless night, laughing like crazy, more free than you’ve ever been even as you live your greatest lie.

The first meeting of the Dead Poets Society is a wild success. You take turns reading off various stanzas and prose, alternating between oohing appreciatively at a particularly good turn of phrase and teasing each other wholeheartedly whenever someone provides the opportunity. Despite the jokes, the atmosphere in the cave is reverential, almost. Everyone believes in the strange spirit that’s bewitched all of you, the knowledge that what you’re doing here will make you gods of men. It’s entrancing and awe-inspiring and the first thing you ask the next morning is when all of you will be meeting up to do it again.

Charlie breaks into raucous laughter. “See, that’s the spirit we want! Even B/N here wants more. We’re high off poetry, imagine that.”

You scowl at him, even as the others laugh along. “What do you mean, even B/N? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Charlie rolls his eyes. “Nothing, honestly. Just that you didn’t seem all that inclined to hang out with us at the start of the semester, that’s all. We got worried you didn’t like us so much, but obviously that’s not so anymore.”

You arch a brow incredulously. “Of course I like you guys! Would I put up with Neil’s monologues if I didn’t? Or Cameron’s bullshit? Or all of you howling in a cave past midnight so we can pay homage to dead poets worldwide?”

Steven snorts, more at the disbelieving look on Cameron’s face than anything else. “Now that’s a vote of sympathy if you’ll ever get one. I, for one, never doubted you.”

Charlie scoffs loudly. “Of course you didn’t, Steven. Anyone who listens to you ramble on about the benefits of the modern radio as much as B/N would have to be your best friend. Honestly, I’m surprised that didn’t scare him off more than anything else.”

Steven’s face falls, and to cover up for it, you say quickly, “I don’t mind the radio talk. Honest. It’s interesting.”

“Sure it is,” Charlie says a little too loudly, “So’s the company. Anyway, B/N’s right. How about tomorrow night for another meeting? Bring your best limericks, I want to be entertained.”

Neil breaks into choking laughter. “Absolutely, your highness. All your jesters will do their best to make you crack a smile.”

“It’s an honor and a privilege, you know that,” Charlie defends himself.

As you watch the friend group devolve into cackling laughter, you can’t help but meet Steven’s eyes across the table. Instead of getting caught up in the mock argument between Charlie and Neil, he hasn’t lost focus on you for one instant. When he catches you looking, he smiles quietly and mouths, thank you. You smile back.

The meetings of the illustrious Dead Poets Society carry on for weeks. As they go, you realize that you’ve never had friends like these, and it feels as if you never will. They’re the best, brightest bunch of boys in the world. You trust them more than you do anyone else. Those sacred spaces in the caves off campus, baptized by moonlight and wild imagination, make you feel more like you than anything else.

Except, of course, for one secret that still hangs in your way.

You haven’t told anyone that you’re a girl. Your silence carries with it the weight of your studies at Welton. If you want to stay, no one can know. It’s as easy as that. Still, in the quiet, happy moments when the wild laughter fades and you’re left looking around at the faces of the boys who have become your brothers, you can’t help but wonder if maybe you could tell them after all. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they knew. Maybe they would even help you maintain your cover.

It would be nice to have a little bit of this burden off of your shoulders, after all. It feels as if every waking moment not spent studying is chained to making this lie work. Every time someone talks to you, you’re certain they’ve figured you out. This sort of paranoia is driving you mad, and being able to finally share the secret feels like a relief akin to offering a drink of water to a man dying of thirst.

The opportunity to share comes up sooner than you expected. At one of the Dead Poets Society’s meetings, Neil turns to you with a slight frown when they’re asking around for someone else to share a piece.

“B/N, do you want to go next? You’ve been quiet all meeting, I don’t want to speak over you accidentally.”

You shake your head a little too quickly. “No, no, I’m good. Just thinking.”

This, more than anything, attracts attention. Charlie grins, leaning over to you dramatically. “Thinking about what? World domination?”

You snort. “I’ll leave those plans to you, thanks.”

“Come on, B/N, talk to us,” Neil urges. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Your breath hitches in your throat. This is it, your chance. They’re all here, all willing to hear you out. If not now, then when?

“Alright,” you begin, “There is something I do need to say. I’ve, uh, been keeping a secret from you. A pretty big one.”

Charlie arches a brow. “A big secret? Let me guess, you’re secretly a teacher in disguise sent to keep an eye on us.”

This would usually elicit a laugh from you, but tonight you’re so worried about getting this right that you can’t even muster up a weak chuckle. “Not quite, Charlie. I’m–” The words dry up in your throat. How do you say this, after all this time?

The other boys stare at you expectantly. You’ve started now, you can’t back out anymore. “I’m a girl,” you say in a rush. “My parents wanted me to get a good education so they sent me to Welton. The headmaster really didn’t want to let me in, but he only allowed me to enroll if no one knew I was a girl. He said he didn’t want to mess with his pristine record of only letting boys inside or something. It’ll still show up on my college record that I went here, and he wouldn’t have to handle the difficulty of more girl students. I’ve been pretending to be a boy this whole time, but I’m not. I’m a girl.”

The words hang in the air. For once, the cave is absolutely silent. You can hear quiet breathing all around you, nothing more. Your eyes are fixed on the stone in front of you, resolutely refusing to meet anyone’s gaze. You’re certain that if you were to look up, you’d only see disgust or disbelief on their faces. This was their sacred space, and you’ve broken it to bits with your secret. You never should have told them. You never should have thought you could pull this off in the first place.

Just when you’re debating the merits of running for the dorms to get out of here, Charlie starts clapping loudly. You jerk up, expecting him to be mocking you, but instead his expression is celebratory. “Let’s go!” He says. “I’ve been waiting for a girl to go here forever. Of course Headmaster Nolan would be an asshole about it. Wow. Can you get more of your friends to enroll, too?”

You stare at him incredulously. “You’re not mad?”

Neil breaks in. “Why on earth would we be mad? That’s totally cool. You’re like a spy or something. We should write a poem about it. Maybe even a play.”

You can’t help but laugh at that. “It would be an honor to be your muse, Neil. But seriously, you’re all fine with it?”

“Of course we are,” Charlie assures you. “Jesus, have you really been worried about that? What were we going to do, kick you out? Your secret’s safe with us. We’re not rats.”

“We’re not?” Cameron chooses this moment to pipe up.

Immediately, he’s hit with death glares from every other boy in the cave. “No, we’re not,” Neil says firmly. “And if anyone even hints to an administrator or other student that B/N’s not a boy, they’ll get their ass kicked. Is that understood?”

Cameron nods, not meeting your eyes. Still, you have a feeling he’ll keep your secret.

Pitts raises a hand. “If you’re not a boy, is B/N your real name?”

“No,” you answer him. “I’m actually Y/N.”

“Sick name,” Charlie comments.

You swat him on the shoulder. “Shut up, Charlie.”

“Nuwanda,” he says in a dramatically injured tone.

Just like that, the tension is diffused. Once you’ve been assured a few more times that no one will say a word about your inherent lack of boyhood, the agenda turns back to poetry more. It’s like nothing even happened, except everything did. Your friends still support you. You feel more free than you could have even imagined, knowing that everything worked out.

On the way back to the dorms, you hang back a little, wanting to take in the events of the past hour by yourself. Steven notices and joins you.

“So,” he says quietly, “Y/N.”

“Y/N,” you affirm. “It’s not too weird, is it?”

“Trust me, it’s not,” Steven says. “This actually answers a lot of questions for me.”

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?”

It’s hard to tell in the darkness of night, but you swear his cheeks have started to heat up. “Well, I realized– or, I thought, really, I was sort of still deciding that for myself, I mean– Well, Y/N, I think I love you.”

Silence in the forest. “You love me?” You ask cautiously.

Steven scratches his head. “Yeah, I do. Hadn’t really admitted it to myself yet because I thought you were a boy. There was a lot of reflection going on. This makes a lot more sense, though.”

You can’t help it, but break into laughter. “I’m fascinated by that. What have the past few weeks been like for you?”

“Very confusing,” he answers. “Still a lot of questions left unanswered.”

“Like what?” You ask.

“Like if you like me,” he says quietly.

You smile again. “Well, I thought that one was obvious. I love you too.”

Steven stops walking completely. “Really?”

“Really,” you laugh. “Now come on, we have to get back to our dorms before an administrator notices we’re gone.”

Steven sighs dramatically. “The administrators are the last thing I want to talk about right now.”

You think your smile might never fade. “Me too. We’ve got plenty of time for that, though.”

Plenty of time indeed. The rest of this term, then on and on until both you and Steven can sum up perfectly what it feels like to be absolutely happy. For now, though, you think you’ll let the sensation of him taking your hand for the first time to lead you back through the forest do the explaining for you.

requested by @faerieroyal, i hope you enjoy!

dead poets society tag list: empty for now!

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#steven meeks #steven meeks imagines #steven meeks x reader #steven meeks oneshot #meeks #meeks imagines #meeks x reader #meeks oneshot #dead poets society #dead poets society imagines #dead poets society x reader #dead poets society oneshot #dps #dps imagines #dps x reader #dps oneshot #dead poets society meeks

[sarahisslytherin]

leaves of grass || t.a.

summary: todd helps you understand poetry, or at least he tries to.

contains: unicorn gumdrop rainbow fluff.

a/n: this anon request was sitting in my inbox for weeks and when i tried to answer it i lost it so i hope you see this hon. gif is by @yawpanderson.

you wait patiently for todd’s arrival. you had snuck into his and neil’s dorm a few minutes ago, just like you had agreed. like clockwork, the doorknob turns and in he walks. “sorry,” he immediately excuses himself, “the guys just wouldn’t let me go.”

“you’re right on time, todd.” you laugh. “why are you apologizing?”

“oh, i don’t know.” he laughs as well, though you can tell his is made up mostly of nerves. “i don’t really know the etiquette necessary when there’s a girl hiding in my room.” he pulls his chair out and takes a seat at his desk while you sit at the edge of his bed, textbook and notes in hand. 

“calm down, i’m not some random girl.” you smile, patting his knee. “it’s just me.” todd looks at you with an expression you can’t quite place; bewilderment, perhaps. “what?”

“nothing, it’s just that you say ‘just you’ as if you aren’t one of the coolest people i know, if not the coolest.” he snickers as if it’s a dumb joke that only he himself would understand. 

“you think i’m cool?” you ask genuinely. todd looks at you like that again, like he can’t comprehend of a world where you don’t see yourself the way he does. he wants to tell you all this, wants to tell you that ever since that autumn day when knox and chris introduced you to him, his poems have been incapable of being about anything else.

he settles for a simple “yeah”. 

for a moment your eyes linger on him, the way his copper hair falls in his eyes as he hunches over a copy of ‘leaves of grass’. his brows furrow in concentration as he searches for the passage you need help with. you can’t help but get a bit distracted by the way he looks in the warm lamplight of the dorm, the cute little smile that forms on his face now and then as he reads a quote he deeply enjoys.

“thank you for helping me, by the way.” you blurt out, growing more anxious by the minute. “i’m just so dense when it comes to poetry.”

“please don’t thank me.” he chuckles bashfully. “it’s my pleasure. and you’re not dense. you’re actually really smart. poetry, it’s just about seeing what other people don’t. it’s about looking a little harder till you finally see it. then it all clicks.”

“and what exactly is it that i’m supposed to see?” you ask.

“i don’t know yet.” he says with a soft smile, and suddenly it feels like he’s speaking a different language. a language just for the two of you. “i don’t know how or when, but you will.”

#todd anderson #todd anderson x reader #todd anderson x you #todd anderson x y/n #todd anderson oneshot #todd anderson fluff #dead poets society

[nogoandbees]

Ten Ways To Say "I Love You" | Neil Perry edition

First one shot of the serie. The gift isn´t mine.

Pairing: Neil Perry x Fem!Reader

Summary: Neil may never dare to say those words out loud, but he will take advantage of every situation to make you feel loved.

Word count: 950

N.A: Well, this was supposed to be a short one shot, but as I really enjoyed writing the first part I've decided to turn this story into a series. I don't really know when I will update the next part, but it will be soon so... stay tune!

This whole fanfic is dedicate to @mietlynn , thank you for all your love and support. I love you sis.

Next part here:

One

Little more than two months had passed since your arrival at Welton Academy. Of course, being the first and only girl to attend the school caused quite a stir, but things calmed down over time.

After being expelled from yor fourth school due to bad behaviour, your grandfather, Mr Nolan, decided that interning you in his own school would give you a lesson. Despite your mother's concern about leaving her little miss surrounded by teenage boys, your behaviour did improve.

Weeks passed and, although the idea of playing a prank on the teachers dangerously caught your attention, you were so immersed in your studies that you had no energy to plan any prank. You finally felt like you were learning useful things, and not the “how to be a lady” nonsense that the nuns tried to teach you in yor preveious schools.

However, what really changed the way you saw the school, were the friends you made there. By the second day you were joking around with Charlie and Meeks, and by the third day, Neil offered you to get into their study group. Not just that, you were proud to be a member of the second generation of dead poets.

Exams period was getting closer, but all of you considered club meetings more than sacred. You don´t really mind to sacrifice a few hours of sleep just to not fall behind on your studies after staying in the cave until late at night.

This particular night you had barely slept. All the poets were so fascinated in Byron's poetry that you all lost track of time. However, the thought of not handing over your trigonometry homework on time kept you awake until the sun began to peek over the horizon. When professor Hager said he would take a point from the final mark if anyone was late on his homeworks, he wasnt kidding.

When you finished the last exercise, you didn't even bother to get into bed. You waited a couple of minutes for the alarm clock to go off and sighed as you reached over it to turn off.

Through your window, you could see the path the dead poets took to go to the cave. A sleepily smile appeared your face at the thought of how quickly you had hit it off with the boys. Maybe, in other circumstances, a girl in a boys school would cause a hormone problem; being the head master´s granddaughter makes boor boys stay away.

Although most of the time you were grateful that it was so, your heart shivers every time Neil looked at you. You knew it was impossible for the boy to feel the same way about you; but you couldn't help but get butterflies in your stomach every time you heard him recite sonnets from Shakespeare, rehearse for his play, or just see him sitting in class with his glasses…

After a while, a bell pulled you out of your thoughts. Without being able to believe it, you grabbed the clock from your table, and with a gasp, you rushed towards the closet. You had wasted an hour rambling about Neil and the club, there were only a few minutes to get dressed and get to trigonometry class.

By running through the corridors and avoiding the rest of the stragglers, you managed to get to class before Mr Hager. You have never considered yourself a religious person, but the fact that the stricter and puntual teacher was five minutes late could be considered a divine miracle.

You sat at your place, behind Neil's, thanking any god in existence for his services. The boy turned to you smiling; he had the same dark circles under his eyes that you after the previous evening.

- For a moment I thought you wouldn't come. Did you stay awake after coming back from the meeting?

- It´s fine. I had to finish today's exercises, I've been up all night. I thought I was late, couldn't even get any breakfast.

As if waiting for a signal, your stomach growled for food. You hadn't realized how hungry you were until that moment.

Neil was about to say something when voices came down the hall. You both turned your gazes towards the door.

- Thank you for solving my doubts, sir.

- It is not necesarry to thank anything, Mr Dalton, but I still don't understand why you couldn't wait until we got to class to answer.

- I couldn't take another second without understanding the argument of complex numbers. I almost felt like I was going to faint!

Mr Hager came through the door followed by Charlie, who was still in the role of his concerned student. The chestnut had left full of numbers under his arm. Before sitting down on his seat, he looked up and winked at you mockingly.

As the teacher got the books ready to start class, Neil turned back to you.

- Are you sure you're okay, darling? It seems that you are going to fall asleep on top of the exercises at any moment -He asked raising an eyebrow

- These exercises worth more than my life right now. I wish I could have taken some coffee from the dining room. -Your stomach sounded again as if you were right.

Neil stifled a laugh as he shook his head in amusement. He casually reached down to pick up his backpack and pulled out a white, messed-up napkin and an apple.

- Sorry to disappoint you then. -He smiled as he placed the wrappers on your desk.

Curiously you unwrapped the napkin and you see a couple of toasts.

- I couldn't fit a coffee pot in my backpack.

~ End of the first chapter

#I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping And I Don't Regret It #dead poets society #neil perry #neil perry x reader #dead poets au #dead poets oneshot #neil perry fanfic #todd anderson #charlie dalton #knox overstreet #richard cameron #gerard pitts #steven meeks #welton academy #dps hcs #dps fandom #dps fanfiction #dead poets headcanons #dps

[good--merits-accumulated]

new oneshot! 9.1k of Anderperry/silly banter/frothy fluff with a small side of Les Mis - a teeny present for @aj-scott725 (man, sorry the betaing didn't work out!! thanks for being such a great mutual). found here!

(knight/bard au will be out at... some point when proofreading is done. very excited for that one!)

#irl mutuals you know the drill. i love you all so much. leave this post ALONE #very slowly getting into the habit of not regarding fluffy oneshots as #like. less meritorious than ones with plot! hey! there's a place for everything #and sometimes you DO just want to write 9k of silly repartee. it happens #dead poets society #dead poets society fanfic #dead poets society fanfiction #dps #anderperry #tristan writes

[olskuvallanpoe]

new fic: nothing in the world belongs to me (but my love)

anderperry, 4.3k words - angst *MCD*

summary: neil perry has never owned anything in his life, until he fell in love with todd anderson, until he discovered his passion for acting. / and then, then his father takes them both away. / [inspired by “my love mine all mine” by mitski]

#writing #new fic #my fic #fanfic #dead poets society #dead poets #dead poets fandom #dps fandom #dps #anderperry #todd anderson #neil perry #angst #major character death #canon compliant #oneshot #songfic #based on a song #slash fic #gay mlm

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

1989

Ship: Eddie x reader

Summary: Returning to Hawkins after years of helping Eddie through English class (and specifically poetry assignments), you make Eddie watch a new film with you called Dead Poets Society.

Word Count: 4, 298

Warnings: DPS spoilers (ish?), fluff, ending is waaaay sappier than I originally planned, mentions of the events of S4E9

Note: I have elected to ignore season 4's ending due to the year DPS was released and because that episode was just painful to sit through anyway.

☟ Continue below the fold ☟

Hawkins had been quiet in the past week since your return from college. The town seemed to have reverted to the same peaceful place its residents had known before 1983. It felt strange. You couldn't say you hated the peace, but a part of you did miss the adventure, knowing that danger was around the corner. That urge to chase danger had curbed quite a bit since '86, of course, which was probably the only reason you had survived three years of college so far away from home and the people (read: person) you cared about most.

Summer break had begun two weeks ago, and you'd come back to your hometown to visit your family and friends—and most importantly, Eddie Munson. You had seen him during break of course, but that was nothing compared to spending three consecutive months of summer with him in Hawkins.

You had your other friends to entertain, of course—Steve and Robin had both been sending you letters nonstop throughout the school year, but this summer was important. This was the summer before your final year of college, and you wanted to make it very clear to Eddie you wanted to get your life together (preferably with him, which he ought to know by now) before you graduated.

Practically melting in the scorching heat, you slammed your car door shut and bolted for the AC'ed depths of Family Video. Steve was at the counter, concentrating on organizing a stack showcasing new movies. He looked up when the bell above the door chimed, a grin spreading on his face.

"Y/N!" he said, holding up his hand for a high-five. "Are you starting today?"

Family Video had been your summer job since the summer before heading to college. You were working there again this summer, but you weren't starting yet. "Nope. I'm coming back next week."

Steve frowned. "Then what are you here for?"

You rolled your eyes. "Maybe Dustin's right and you really do need to be told everything."

He made a face. "No no no, I mean why would you come to your place of work if you didn't have to work yet?"

"Maybe she just wants to see us!" called Robin, peering out from behind a row of movies. She beamed at the sight of you.

"As much as I'd love to spend time with you guys, I'm actually here for a movie," you said, leaning on the countertop. "It's date night."

Steve raised his eyebrows, his mouth forming an 'O'. "I suppose you'll want something a little more, ah, intimate, shall we say?"

You laughed, whacking his arm. "Hardly. I've got something in mind. A new release, if you have it."

"We might," said Robin, leaving the stack she was shelving and peering at the new releases Steve was arranging. "How new?"

"June 2."

Steve's head snapped up. "Dead Poets Society?"

You grinned. "You know it!"

He groaned, not the reaction you'd been expecting. "Nancy's been making everyone watch it. She cries every time."

You shrugged. "I can't blame her. They killed off the best character."

"As per usual," Robin grumbled. "You know, they always do that. They kill of the ones I like the most."

"You and me both," you groaned. "So. You got it?"

"Uhhhhhh, lemme check the box of stuff we just got." Steve crouched below the desk and you stood on your toes to lean over the countertop. You watched him sort through movies, looking for the familiar movie cover.

Robin snorted. "You be careful there, Y/N, or Eddie'll think you're into Steve."

Over your shoulder so Steve wouldn't see, you mimed gagging. She snickered and went back to shelving movies as Steve peered at the pair of you suspiciously.

"Speaking of Eddie," began Steve, "have you guys figured it out yet?"

"After college plans? That's what this summer is for."

"And is the movie with the ending that makes everybody cry going to help you sort that out?"

You shrugged, suddenly mute and unsure of yourself.

Steve stood back up, Dead Poets Society in hand. "You alright?"

"Gotta be honest," you sighed, "I'm scared for the whole conversation." You toyed with the ring on your hand, a simple silver band that had your initials and Eddie's intertwined on the inside, as Robin came back over. "Y'know, the whole...having a life together conversation."

"You think he won't want to?" Robin asked, aghast.

You shrugged. "I don't think he won't want to, I'm just worried about the other things that might...might get in the way. His band stuff is always pretty time-consuming, and I don't want him putting that aside for me, but I also don't want to be shoved aside for the band, y'know? It's just..." You sighed heavily, dropping your head into your hands. "After everything that happened in '86, in the Upside Down—"

Blood covered your jacket, the smell of it drawing even more bats. Dustin howled, trying to keep them away from the pair of you, but a few slipped through. You screamed, shielding Eddie with your body. Your shirt came away soaked with his blood when you sat back up, pulling him into your lap.

"Stay with me, Eddie, please. You hear me? You're not going anywhere, love."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice thick and choked.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you insisted fiercely, cradling his head. "Absolutely nothing."

Eddie grinned up at you, and you couldn't help but flinch at the sight of the blood on his face, in his mouth, coating his teeth. You knew how this ended in movies, and you hoped to God this wasn't going to be like that. "Yeah," he whispered. "I wasn't a coward this time, eh?"

"You are many things, Eddie Munson, but a coward is not one of them."

His eyes fluttered, his head dropping.

"Eddie? Eddie!"

"'M okay," he whispered. "I just...need a mo...moment..."

"Ed? Ed? DUSTIN! Dustin, c'mon, we gotta get him outta here!"

"Y/N? Y/N, you there?"

Fingers clicked in your face. "Earth to Y/N?" said Robin, both of them peering at you with twin expressions of worry.

You shook yourself out of the memory, more vivid than the ones that usually plagued you and took you back to that awful moment, to the beginning of the weeks where you thought Eddie wasn't going to make it out.

"Sorry...sorry, I just...got thinking about it again." You rubbed your eyes. "After all that, I don't know what I'd do without him. I mean, you guys saw what I was like. And that was just a few weeks! Life without him? I'd lose my mind."

"Does he know?" Robin asked. "About that week. This."

You nodded. "We...we talked about it before I left for college. It wasn't really a conversation he wanted to have, because he knows it scared me half to death, but...he had it. I'm just hoping he'll be okay with talking about it all again now."

"It's been three years," Steve said reassuringly. "He'll be okay. You'll both be okay."

You nodded, knowing Eddie would listen. The memory had shaken you, and Eddie would notice, so you needed some time before you had your movie date. At least he was with his band for a few more hours beforehand.

"Yeah. I'll, uh, let you guys know how it goes. Say hi to Nancy and the boys for me! I'm off to go see my gremlin child."

"Your gremlin child?" Steve echoed, raising his brows. You grinned.

"Dustin!"

"That's my child!"

You laughed yourself out of the store, listening to Steve shout his irate questions after you.

~❊~

You rapped on the Hendersons' front door. Dustin whipped it open, shouting something to his mother further inside, but his words dissolved into a joyful shout of your name as he flung his arms around you.

"You're back!"

"So are you! How's Suzie?"

Dustin grinned, almost bashful. "She's great! I told her all about you. She wants to meet you, she says you sound like a fantasy character come to life!"

You laughed. "Eddie says the same thing, I'm guessing they'd get along just fine."

Dustin giggled, the kind of giggle that meant he knew something you didn't. You narrowed your eyes.

"Alright, what's he planning?"

"Planning?" Dustin asked innocently. "Nothing. Not that I know of. No plans. Nothing at all."

"You are such a bad liar, Dustin Henderson."

"I am not, Eddie taught me!"

You snorted. "Which is exactly why I know those tells, Dusty. Ed can't hide anything from me." Dustin smirked, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. Realization dawned on you. "He's right behind me, isn't he?"

Tattooed arms swooped around your waist, lifting you into the air. You shrieked as he put you back down, his head resting on your shoulder. "Miss me?" he asked in your ear.

You responded with a grin and a quick peck to his cheek. You turned in his arms, draping your own over his shoulders. "What are you up to, mister?"

He pouted playfully. "No hello?"

You put your hands on either side of his face, thumbs resting above the pale, hardly visible scars left on his cheeks, and put your foreheads together. "Hello, Eddie Munson." You closed your eyes as he kissed you softly and pulled you into one of those warm bear hugs you missed during the school year. "I missed you."

He smiled, pulling back to see your face and brush hair out of your eyes. "If you didn't, I'd be worried."

"No need to worry, believe me." You pulled him back into a hug. "I thought you were rehearsing with the band."

"They practically shoved me out the door when I told them we had a date. So Dustin here helped me set up a little surprise."

You glanced back at Dustin. "How on earth did you two know I'd come visit Dustin?"

"You're a creature of habit," Dustin said matter-of-factly, "and you always come to visit."

"'Course I do, I gotta visit the kid I've got shared custody with," you said, ruffling his hair.

"'Shared custody' is not how you say you're his mom, sweetheart," Eddie laughed.

You smirked. "Oh, sure, but we've gotta share him with Steve."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "Not my kid!"

"You both say that, you know that right?" You glanced at Dustin. "They're gonna fight over you for the rest of your life, just so you know."

"I'm sure," Dustin sighed.

"You like me better, right?" Eddie asked, grinning mischievously over your shoulder.

Dustin paled and hurried to close the door. "You guys should really, really get to your date! You know, um, it's been a while, I'm sure you really want to, uh, kiss and—and watch a movie or—or something. Like that."

Eddie frowned at you. "Since when does he endorse us kissing?"

You laughed. "I'm pretty sure he's just trying to stay out of you and Steve's custody argument."

Eddie slung an arm around your waist, pulling you down the road toward the trailer park. "Kid's right, though. We should get to our date." You leaned on him, murmuring your agreement. "You got a movie picked out?"

You held up the copy of Dead Poets Society. "Yup!"

He raised his brows. "Sweetheart, am I gonna fall asleep during this one?"

"You better not. It's my favorite thing since, well..." You looked at him with a smile. "Since you."

He whistled. "Damn! It's been since '65 since you found something you liked? That's rough."

You rolled your eyes. "Not since you were born, you idiot. Since we met."

"Still a good ten or so years since then," he said.

"Ah, well. Let's just say every day with you has been like discovering my favorite thing all over again."

Eddie beamed. "You sap."

"You love it and can't pretend otherwise, I know you too well."

He kissed your cheek. "Yes, yes you do." He glanced at the movie again. "And now I've been replaced with a movie!"

"Not a movie, but maybe a fictional character."

Eddie dramatically smacked a hand into his chest, feigning offense. "Excuse you." You giggled. "Last I checked, fictional characters could not write you songs and play them for you. And they couldn't hold your hand." He laced his fingers through yours as if to prove his point.

You wrapped your free arm around his waist. "Alright, alright—the real thing is infinitely better."

He beamed. "Are you going to keep that opinion while we watch this?"

You looked up at him. "With this beautiful face in front of me? How could I not?"

"Sap."

"You like it."

~❊~

"Mr. Perry, will you read the opening paragraph of the preface entitled Understanding Poetry?" said Professor Keating, sitting in his onscreen classroom.

In a bored voice, Neil complied, reading, "Understanding Poetry, by Dr. J. Evans Pritchard, PhD. 'To fully understand poetry, we must first be fluent with its meter, rhyme, and figures of speech, then ask two questions. One: how artfully has the objective of the poem been rendered? And two: how important is that objective? Question one rates the poem's perfection, question two rates its importance, and once these questions have been answered, determining the poem's greatness become's a relatively simple matter."

Keating had, by now, gotten up in front of his bored students and now stood before the chalkboard.

"If the poem's score for perfection is plotted on the horizontal of a graph," continued Neil, as Keating drew what he spoke of on the board, "and its importance on the vertical, then calculating the total area of the poem yields its greatness." Neil looked up as Meeks copied down the graph Keating was drawing. "A sonnet by Byron might score high on the vertical, but only average on the horizontal. A Shakespearean sonnet, on the other hand, would score high both horizontally and vertically, yielding a massive total area, thereby revealing the poem to be truly great. As you proceed through the poetry in this book, practice this rating method. As your ability to rate poems in this manner grows, so will—so will your enjoyment and understanding of poetry."

Eddie turned to stare at you. "Are they serious? Is that what we were taught?"

You hushed him and pointed to Keating, who had at last faced his class.

"Excrement," he announced. "That's what I think of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. We're not laying pipe. We're talking about poetry. How can you describe poetry like American bandstand? 'Well, I like Byron, I give him a 42, but I can't dance to it!'" mocked Keating, getting a laugh out of his students. Meeks was crossing out his copied diagram. "Now I want you to rip out that page."

The class grew deadly silent.

"Go on!" Keating prompted. "Rip out the entire page! You heard me: rip it out. Rip it out! Come on! Rip it out!"

Dalton slowly tore his page from his book.

"Thank you, Mr. Dalton! Gentlemen, tell you what: don't just rip out that page, rip out the entire introduction. I want it gone, history! Leave nothing of it! Rip it out, rip! Be gone, J. Evans Pritchard, PhD! Rip, shred, tear, rip it out! I want to hear nothing but ripping of Mr. Pritchard! We'll perforate it and put it on a roll! It's not the Bible, you're not gonna go to Hell for this! Make a clean tear, I want nothing left of it."

Meeks, ever the academic, turned to Neil. "We shouldn't be doing this—"

"Rip, rip, rip!" urged Neil, turning Meeks back around in his chair.

The classroom was filled with ripping and giggling as the boys tore the pages out of their books, some more messily than others.

Eddie looked delighted. "A teacher is encouraging students to deface books," he said gleefully.

In burst another teacher, Mr. McAllister. "What the hell is going on here?" he demanded, and the class turned to stare at him, their joy and amusement fading quickly.

"I don't hear enough rips!" announced Keating as he returned with a wastepaper basket, just before he saw the other teacher.

"Mr. Keating," Mr. McAllister said.

"Mr. McAllister," said Keating, still wearing his smile.

"I'm sorry, I— I didn't know you were here."

Keating spread his arms. "I am."

"Ah. So you are." McAllister's discomfort was growing, much to the pleasure of the students. "Excuse me." He slowly backed out of the classroom once more.

Keating walked between desks, taking the ripped pages in his basket. "Keep ripping, gentleman! This is a battle, a war, and the casualties could be your hearts and souls! Thank you, Mr. Dalton. Armies of academics going forward, measuring poetry. No! We will not have that here, no more of Mr. J. Evans Pritchard. Now, my class, you will learn to think for yourselves again! You will learn to savor words and language! No matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world. I see that look in Mr. Pitts' eye, like nineteenth century literature has nothing to do with going to business school or medical school. Right? Maybe. Mr. Hopkins, you may agree with him, thinking, Yes, we should simply study our Mr. Pritchard, and learn our rhyme and meter and go quietly about the business of achieving other ambitions. A little secret for you—huddle up. Huddle up!"

The class leaned in.

"We don't read and write poetry because it's cute. We read and write poetry because we are members of the human race! And the human race is filled with passion. Medicine, law, business, engineering—these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life, but poetry, beauty, romance, love! These are what we stay alive for! To quote from Whitman, 'Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring, Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish / What good amid these, O me, O life?' Answer that you are here. That life exists, and identity. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse. What will your verse be?"

Eddie leaned toward you. "Okay," he admitted. "I see why you like this movie."

You let your hand, wrapped around his shoulders, drift through his hair, a wistful look on your face. "Imagine if we'd had a teacher like Mr. Keating."

Eddie snorted. "I would have passed. I would have paid attention. I like this guy!"

You laughed. "Is it just because you want to rip pages out of a textbook?”

He grinned. "Maaaaybe."

~❊~

Contrary to Eddie's initial skepticism, he seemed to enjoy Dead Poets Society immensely, particularly the part where the kids all shouted at the top of their lungs and stood on tables. He cackled loudly while he watched, drawing a giddy smile from you.

While Neil performed, Eddie turned to you. "Okay, I like this movie."

You grinned, hoping his opinion wouldn't change in the next ten minutes. It, of course, did.

"WHAT?! Y/N, HOW DO YOU LIKE THIS MOVIE?"

"Um—"

Eddie turned to you, in visible distress. "He—! He just—! He died! His father was a dick, so he—" He groaned, shoving his head into your shoulder. "I don't like this anymore."

You held him closer, holding your own tears back. "I know. It's got a horrible ending. I really don't know why they chose to end it the way they did."

"This may be the saddest movie you have ever shown me," he complained, his words and tears muffled by your shirt and shoulder. "How can you like this movie?"

You shrugged. "Well, I mean...it's poetry, and it's Robin Williams, and it's about refusing to conform so it reminds me of you, and it reminds me that life is fleeting so why not make the most of it before it's over, and it's like this...this realizing why people are important and that they even are important to you and how hard it is to go on without them. And that just kind of...resonates with me."

Eddie lifted his head. "Did you have that list prepared?"

"Kind of?"

He sat up fully. "It reminds you of me?"

"Well, yeah. You stand on desks a lot and you like to be loud and you're passionate about the things you love. You'd fit right in at Wheaton."

Eddie snorted, then started to laugh. "Y/N, look at me." He spread his arms, gesturing to the tattoos, band tee, and rings.

"Okay, okay, fine, not entirely," you laughed. "You're too you for that kind of school, but you get my point. You're unapologetically you, and that's what this movie reminds me of."

Eddie pulled you up to stand with him, swaying in place to music only he could hear. "And...what about that last part on your list. The important people part."

"That...reminds me of you, too," you admitted. "I... After everything we've been through and done together, you're my favorite person. I trust you the most, I love you the most, I am most myself with you. I can't really imagine life without you, and those few weeks I did spend without you, not knowing if you'd be waiting for me when I came back to your bedside..." Your head slumped until your forehead rested on his chest. Eddie's arms curled tightly around you.

"You're thinking about the hospital." It wasn't a question or a guess. He knew, just as he always did.

You nodded. "I was so scared I'd come back from the bathroom or a food run or checking up on Dustin and some doctor would tell me you'd gone while I was away. I couldn't bear the thought of living without you." You reached up, touching the tiny scars littering his jawline and cheeks. There were more, these more severe, covering his sides, reminders of what he'd gone through and what he had almost lost.

"You didn't lose me," he said. "I'm right here. I'm okay, I promise."

"I know that, it's just..." You sighed and pushed the words out. "Are you serious, Eddie? About the future. About...our future."

Eddie cupped your face in his hands. "If you're asking me if I'm going to stay with you forever, of course I am." He lifted your face, kissing you gently. "I know I might have seemed delirious, or desperate, or scared, or just plain insane, but I recall asking you to marry me in the Upside Down."

You remembered. Your heart had just about dropped to the ground when he'd said it. As you'd lifted him up with Dustin's help through the rift in his trailer, then climbed up yourself and hobbled to Max's trailer to borrow her car, Eddie had slumped onto your shoulder, had said "You don't have to save me, but I'm glad that you are. Will you marry me?" in the same breath, and then promptly passed out from blood loss. He hadn't woken up after that, and nothing was every said about his impromptu proposal after he woke up for another year, when you mentioned it in passing.

"You know, that was one of the most unromantic proposals I'd ever heard."

He made a face. "Have many men proposed to you?"

You rolled your eyes. "No, but I am a regular romance movie watcher. Usually there's a ring, some flowers, and crying."

"You were crying."

"I was ugly crying because you were gonna die and you were bleeding to death on my shoulder."

He sighed. "Okay, fine, I'll re-propose if that's what you want, and I'll make it as sappy as possible. But the point still stands. I wanted to marry you then, and I still do now."

"Like...now now?"

"Now as in now or in the future, sweetheart," Eddie said, looking into your eyes as if he could see your soul. He brushed his thumb across your cheekbone. "Don't you worry. I'm not leaving you. I asked you to marry me, and you can answer that question whenever you're ready, so I am more than prepared to spend forever with you." He pressed his mouth to your forehead.

You looked at him as his lips left your skin. "So if I were to say yes...after college, could we move in together?"

A grin started to pull at the side of Eddie's mouth. "You serious?" You nodded. "Absolutely. Absolutely we could live together."

"Then start house shopping," you said, "because here I am, saying yes."

Eddie beamed, and it was the largest grin you had seen in a very, very long time.

~❊~

When you stopped into Family Video to return the movie the next day, wearing one of Eddie's rings, Robin caught on immediately and started screaming.

"OH MY GOD, ARE YOU GETTING MARRIED?!"

You giggled, showing off your hand. "It's a temporary ring because it was kind of impromptu again, but—"

"AGAIN?" Steve demanded.

"Well, he proposed to me in the Upside Down but he was bleeding out so he passed out immediately after and I never got to answer, and—"

Steve took you by your shoulders and made you sit on one of the stools behind the desk. "Alright, that's it. You're telling the story from the beginning."

You laughed. "Well, it all started in 1979, when I met Eddie in our freshman year of high school—"

"Y/N!" Steve and Robin yelled.

"Alright, alright, fine. So it was just when the movie ended that we started to get serious and talk about it..."

"You mean after Neil died you had this conversation?"

"You wanted me to do it before?!"

"Steve, shut up and tell the story!"

Maybe Hawkins had gone back to its regular old self, and maybe you were floating through life with Eddie's ring on your finger, but these two certainly hadn't changed. It was a reassuring thought.

☞ ❊ ☜

Stranger Things // Eddie Munson

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #oneshot #fluff #poetry #dead poets society #au stranger things #eddie x reader #fix it fic #steve harrington #robin buckley #eddie #eddie x y/n #joseph quinn #joe quinn #joe keery #maya hawke #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fic

[honeymelonpm]

Updated Masterlist (01/08/22)

Oneshots

Moonknight

Arthur Harrow

Suds and Saliva

~Drabble~

Moonboys

~Baby~

~Bottles and Bonds~

~Daze~ (Marc)

~Domestic~ (Marc, Steven)

~Empty~ (MarcSteven)

Say It (Marc?)

MCU Spider-Man/Peter Parker

Head Rush

Star Wars

Anakin Skywalker

~Angel~

Actors

Oscar Isaac

I'm Fine (Featuring May Calamawy)

Series

Moonknight

Arthur Harrow

-Innocence- Part 1

-Innocence- Part 2

-Innocence- Part 3

-Innocence- Part 4

-Innocence- Part 5

-Innocence- Part 6

-Innocence- Part 7

-Innocence- Part 8

-Innocence- Part 9

Dead Poets Society

-Too Much- Part 1

Star Wars

-Master- Part 1

#moon knight #fanfic #ammit #arthur harrow #arthur harrow x reader #jake lockley #konshu #layla el faouly #marc spector #steven grant #oscar isaac #oscar issac x reader #tawaret #mr knight #dead poets society #neil perry #yandere #oneshot #todd anderson #star wars #star wars prequels #anakin skywalker #x reader #obi wan kenobi #jedi #spiderman #mcu #marvel #peter parker

[akshsome]

A book is a piece of silence between the reader's hands. The person who writes it is quiet. The person who reads it doesnt break the silence.

#dead poets society #oneshots #dark academia #writing inspiration #poetry #kitabkhana #writers on tumblr #short story #writing prompt #sunset #Spotify

[cowboysodapop]

my little rat brain reallllllly wants to write a series/project of dps oneshots all inspired by Noah Kahan’s album Stick Season but I just know I’ll never finish it. but then again.... 

#i keep talking myself out of it and then back into it #BUT LIKE A ONESHOT OF DIAL DRUNK WITH CHARLIE AND KNOX?!?!?! #like if I could guarantee at least one of them at would be the one cause SCREEEE I have a lot of ideas for it #dead poets society #dps

[toddperrys]

Carry Me Home

Hello all, I know I haven't written in quite a while but my mental health has been much better lately and I've been feeling a lot more motivated so have some Anderperry. I'm actually writing a longer fic with them and I'm hoping to have the first chapter of that out soon. In the meantime, enjoy!! Reblogs always appreciated Title: Carry Me Home Pairing: Anderperry (Neil Perry and Todd Anderson) Word Count: 1735 Rating: G Read it on AO3 here

Despite the music thrumming from behind the counter, Neil’s eyelids were drooping shut. It was late, nearly four in the morning, and the dumpy Irish pub was nearly empty save for a few townies sitting alone and—of course—Neil’s friends, drunk and chortling and hardly able to stand. 

Neil, however, was stone cold sober. When Charlie proposed going out to celebrate the end of finals week, Neil didn’t hesitate to volunteer as designated driver. Normally he loved drinking with his friends, but after a grueling final that morning for his queer theatre and film class, he wasn’t in the mood for a wild night out. 

Many hours later—sitting in the bar and watching his friends sign a terrible rendition of Britney Spears’ “Womanizer” they surely wouldn’t remember tomorrow morning—Neil decided it was time to go. He stood from his stool and approached the others.

“Alright, American Idol, let’s get out of here,” Neil said. 

“Neil,” Charlie moaned, “A little longer, please.” 

Neil sighed, “We’ve been here since eight, you’ll hate me if I let you stay and continue to embarrass yourselves.”

The others huffed as Neil herded them towards the door. Meeks and Pitts leaned against each other, snorting at their own half-coherent sentences. Charlie dragged his feet and complained and Knox followed closely behind, silent and still as a rock aside from the dopey smile plastered across his face. Cameron muttered to himself, as drunk as the others despite his earlier scolding about the dangers of too much alcohol. They made it to the sidewalk and Neil opened the car. 

He ran through a mental checklist as they climbed in, making sure everyone that entered the bar came out—wait, where was Todd? He scanned the group’s faces once again and confirmed his earlier observation. Todd was missing. Once the other five were in their seats, Neil hurried back through the door. 

He spotted Todd slumped against the far wall near the bathrooms. He was smiling peacefully, the anxiety that normally coiled in his muscles gone and replaced with a nearly unrecognizable ease. Something inside Neil softened at the site and he was tempted to just settle on the floor beside him, DD be damned.

“Todd, there you are,” Neil said. 

“N-Neil,” Todd slurred. “C’you lift me?”

“What?”

“Lift me,” Todd repeated. His eyes suddenly became alert, a hopeful glittering blue that rendered Neil incapable of saying no. 

Neil sighed and looped an arm over Todd’s shoulders. He groaned as he pulled them both upward. 

“Better?” he asked.

Todd nodded, “Much better.”

They trudged across the bar. Todd nestled his head in the spot where Neil’s neck met his shoulder and took a deep breath. 

“You smell good,” Todd said. “And this sweater, looks s’good.”

“I–” Neil paused and looked at Todd. His eyes were closed and he was leaning against Neil. One hand rested against Neil’s chest, just over his heart. Heat flood his cheeks. He swallowed his question and instead said, “Thank you, Todd.”

They made it to Neil’s car at the curb, Todd still snuggling against him. The others had gone quiet in the backseat and Neil helped Todd into the passenger side. As he pulled the seatbelt across his chest, Todd grabbed Neil’s hand. 

“Where we going?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Neil smiled, “Just home.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Todd. He released Neil’s hand and allowed his head to loll back against the seat, eyes closed and smiling. 

Neil slid into the driver’s seat and started the car. As he steered through the empty, rain-slick streets, he occasionally stole glimpses of Todd, who gazed out the window at the buildings slipping by. Street lights would occasionally throw light onto his face, turning his eyes to a shock of blue and his hair a brilliant copper for just a moment before everything went dark again. 

“Neil?” Todd said.

“Yes Todd?”

“You’re so good to me.”

They were at a redlight. Neil turned to look at Todd. His eyes were closed and his face was still save for the slight movement of his lips as he spoke. “Why wouldn’t I be good to you?” Neil asked.

“So many people aren’t,” Todd said, “But you always are, you always have been.”

A few beats of silence passed. Neil swallowed and said, “I appreciate you, Todd.”

They pulled up to the dorm a few minutes later. The car’s interior lights flickered on when Neil turned the key, waking the others. 

“Home?” Charlie said.

“Home,” Neil confirmed. 

They stepped out, Charlie and Knox first followed by Meeks and Pitts, then Cameron, and finally Neil, still supporting an unsteady Todd. It was a short journey up the stairs and down the hall to the cluster of rooms they called their own. 

Todd was quiet as he and Neil stepped into their dorm. Neil leaned down to help Todd settle himself on his bed. He unwound his arm from his shoulder and began to straighten, but Todd grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the bed beside him.

“Stay,” Todd said. He leaned against Neil, burying his face into his sweater, “Please just stay with me.”

“This isn’t my bed, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Neil said. His face felt like it was on fire now and his heart only seemed to be hitting every other beat. 

“You could never make me uncomfortable,” Todd said. “Please just be here.”

Neil hesitated. Everything in him screamed to stay put—to lay down against Todd’s comforter and wrap his arms around Todd’s waist and breathe in Todd’s scent—but this couldn’t be right. Todd wasn’t sober and Neil was just his friend, he’d never want Neil that way. 

“Todd, I just think—”

“Neil, don’t go,” Todd repeated. He lifted his face from Neil’s chest and met his eyes with a soft, beseeching gaze. “I really, really want you to be here with me.”

Neil’s head was swimming and he thanked God Todd was too drunk to notice the increase in his heart rate. “Okay,” he finally said. 

Todd grinned and relaxed against Neil as they laid down. Their legs tangled and Todd was so close Neil could count the silver flecks floating in his doe-like blue eyes. The night’s excitement fell on him all at once, his eyes and limbs growing heavy. 

“Good night, Todd,” Neil said. 

“G’night,” Todd answered. “I love you.”

Sleep overtook them both. 

Neil didn’t know where he was when he woke up the next morning. He panicked and bolted upright before spotting his empty bed on the opposite side of the room, the books and journals spilling across the floor from both he and Todd’s creative endevours, and—most surprisingly—Todd sleeping soundly beside him. 

The night’s events came flooding back to him—the bad karaoke, the quiet drive home, stumbling up the stairs to bed, and Todd saying he loved him. 

Todd said he loved him. 

Panic and joy rioted inside him. He wanted to jup up and down and shout to the whole world that Todd loved him, but he also knew Todd had been drunk. What if he hadn’t meant it? What if it was a mistake or a joke? How was he supposed to talk about any of this?

Before Neil could answer any of his questions, Todd stirred and opened his eyes. “Neil,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. “What are you doing in my bed?”

Neil forced his roiling emotions to subside. It felt like trying to contain a hurricane. “Do you remember anything about what happened last night?”

Todd furrowed his brow, “I remember going out, then drinking a lot of cheap alcohol, then not being able to walk and—” Todd cut off his sentence and went white as a sheet, “Oh God.”

Neil could see the anxiety building in Todd’s frame, watch as his muscles tensed and his breath sped up. “Todd, it’s okay—”

“I’m so sorry,” Todd said, cradling his face in hands. “Oh my God, Neil, I’m so sorry.”

“Todd, you don’t have to be—”

“I fucked up so bad I’m so sorry, oh my God.”

“Please just listen to me, Todd, I—”

“Just forget it ever happened, okay? It’s all irrelevant and I fucked up so bad, I know—”

“TODD!”

Todd went silent. 

Neil didn’t meant to shout, but he had to stop the tidal wave of fear that was threatening to drown both of them. 

“Todd, I didn’t mean to yell, I—” Neil paused and met Todd’s eyes. They were round and terrified, like Neil was about to slap him. Neil’s chest ached. “Just tell me, did you mean it, or was it just drunk mumbling?”

Todd hesitated. Neil felt like they were standing on ice. The shore was just a few feet away, but one wrong move and they would be plunged into icy territory from which they could never recover. 

“I meant it,” Todd finally said. “I’m sorry—”

“Please, Todd, don’t say sorry, you can’t say sorry,” Neil said. 

Several beats of silence passed as Neil took a breath. He noticed Todd’s hands were balled into fists and trembling. 

“I love you too,” Neil said. 

Todd blinked, “You love me?” He released his hands and his body relaxed and stilled. 

Neil let out a breath and smiled. “God, yes, I love you,” he said. “I love you so much I could barely say ‘I love you’ because I was so terrified I’d scare you away.”

Todd let out a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “I can’t believe this.” He kept laughing and Neil laughed with him. 

Neil lunged forward and tackled Todd to the bed, tears welling in his eyes from relief and happiness and love all at once. They kept laughing as Neil ran his hands over Todd’s face and Todd admired the warm sturdiness of Neil’s torso against him.

“Can I kiss you?” Todd asked. 

“Yes, please kiss me, in fact,” Neil replied, laughing harder. 

Todd crashed their lips together and it was even better than Neil imagined it would be. It was the comfort of a fire in winter and the excitement of a roller coaster and the novelty of a first spring rain, it was past and present colliding and a million things unsaid and conveyed only through the sweet press of their mouths. 

They pulled apart and Neil leaned his forehead against Todd’s, “Remind me to take you out more often.”

#anderperry #todd anderson #neil perry #dead poets society #dps #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #fluff #oneshot #drabble #a mess but i love her <3 #writing #my writing

[heliads]

If requests are still open :) Something for dead poets society, just sth with the gang having a good time, maybe trying to stage a play in the woods? Tbh just a everyone lives and is happy AU with fluff and winter and hot tea! (while I love this book I havent read it in a very long time...)

ok consider an everyone lives au but they are not 100% happy. (i am incapable of not writing angst my apologies) also this is movie dead poets society not book because i have not yet read the books whoops. hope you enjoy xoxo

'and it's not tonight' - dead poets society

masterlist

Todd Anderson is looking out the window at a gray, blustery morning, when they ask him if he’s going to be alright. It wasn’t quite certain before then. It’s not quite certain now, either, even after he answers.

“Of course,” he says somewhat unconvincingly, “Why do you ask?”

Behind him, Charlie Dalton raises a dubious brow. For once in his life, he’s holding himself back, but the situation requires discretion, and who is he to mess up at a time like this? He’s already been warned about treating Todd like a glass doll rather than a paper mache target, but even Charlie can tell that now is the time to pull a few punches. The hollows under his friend’s eyes are far darker than they were a couple of months ago. He wears unease like a well-traveled coat, thin at the elbows and rubbed raw at the seams.

“Look at yourself,” Charlie answers at last, “You’re exhaustion walking. And don’t tell me otherwise, I’ve got eyes.”

“I should hope so,” Todd remarks, and permits himself a small curl of his lips up into a half-smile. Half-smiles are good, though. Almost there to the real thing. So he’ll tell himself, at least.

Even a half-smile can let Charlie know that he’s alright. The other boy breaks into a well-intentioned snorting laugh. “Hey, ask any girl in town and they’ll tell you I’ve got beautiful ones. ‘Sides, Anderson, you know everything’s alright. The stuff with Neil was cleared over, right? He came back.”

“He came back,” Todd repeats somewhat weakly.

“Yeah, yeah, he came back,” Charlie confirms, walking over to clap his friend on the shoulder, shaking him a little bit just to mess with him but mainly to get his affections across. “He’s a little more tired than he used to be, and we’re all plenty scared from what could have happened, but overall we’re glad to see him again. His parents realized they messed up in the nick of time, and even if they wanted him under watch for a little bit, he’s back and we’re back and everything’s alright. Capiche?” He asks dramatically, wiggling his eyebrows for a bit of flair.

“Since when are you Italian?” Todd asks doubtfully.

“Since the situation requires it,” Charlie answers him, and slings an arm around the boy’s bony frame. “Come on now. The snow’s cleared up, and even if all that does is remind us how little grass grows on our campus, it means we can go into the woods again. I’ve been talking to the boys and we all agree that it’s time to dust off our finesse with literature. What do you say, Todd? You up for another rousing poetic exchange tonight?”

Todd jerks his head up and down in a hasty agreement. “Yeah. Neill’ be there?”

“Yeah, and me, and Knoxie, and everyone else you forgot to mention,” Charlie says in a tone of mock outrage. “God, you live with the guy, don’t you? Can’t you spare some excitement for the rest of us, too?”

Todd rolls his eyes, and finds the grace to elbow Charlie in the ribs. “Spare me the self-indulgence, Dalton. I’m glad to see all of you.”

“Don’t I know it,” Charlie affirms. “It’s been a while since we were all together, yeah?”

Todd blows out a low breath as they walk back towards the halls. It has been a long time, or it felt that way, at least. After the– after the incident after the play, in which Neil was found in his father’s study with a gun in his hands about to blow the trigger, it was decided that all of the pupils of Welton Academy would go home for a short period of time to clear their heads and come back ready to face the end of term. 

Mainly, Todd thinks it was so rumors couldn’t spread about just what happened with Neil Perry to take him out of school, and he’s glad for it. Neil doesn’t deserve to have everyone whispering about what happened to make him decide that the best thing for his life was to end it. Neil deserves the world, and none of them could give it to him.

That was the worst part of it all, Todd decides. The guilt, how it wrapped around him in wires as strong as the heaviest chains of iron. He couldn’t escape it. If he was really Neil’s friend, he would have known. If he was really Neil’s friend, Todd could have stopped him. If he was really Neil’s friend, Todd wouldn’t have found out about the attempt the next morning, quietly awoken from drowsy sleep by a Charlie Dalton with eyes like a stricken soldier as he lurchingly informed Todd that Neill Perry had tried to kill himself the night before. And none of them had known. And when his father had taken the gun away, Neil fought and screamed for it, worse than he did when he tried to convince his parents that he wanted to act, louder than he protested that he would be sent away to military school.

And then they were alone. At home. The worst place for boys to be. Should you grieve the friend who is not dead? Do you call each other on the phone, and ask if you have been playing any sporting games with other boys your age, or if you have given any thought to the fact that your friend might not have wanted to die if you had praised him more in class, or clapped louder when he performed, or said something– anything– to this beautiful, brittle boy?

They don’t say any of that. They think it quite loudly, but unspoken thoughts do not travel well over the telephone. The flittering ghosts of would-be words tend to get lodged in the coils of wire from receiver to housing, across the street and over the miles of terrain until they reach the abode of the boy on the end, who also has a lot to say but won’t. And then they both stay silent. And they both know exactly what the other wanted to say anyway. That is how friendship works.

They came back, though. Welton sent out a series of letters to usher back the pupils, even had its secretaries working overtime to call the people who never seem to answer their mail. There was another rush of cars and luggage to the dorms, and then they were settled in again. Todd had wondered if he might be assigned another roommate– anyone other than Cameron, God, but preferably Neil still– and then the door had opened quietly and Neil was there again, trying for a brave smile, and saying, “Todd?” in a voice that had once rung pure and true through a theater that loved him.

Todd loves him for it. He’d embraced Neill with open arms, felt the air punch out of his lungs in one strike, but it came back. He came back. They were alright again, sort of. They might be alright in time, but time is what they have.

Now they’ve all been waiting for the snow to melt, and treading on thin ice around topics they don’t dare broach. Neil has been a good sport, never making them feel awkward for wanting to treat him like a china doll. He was good before, too, though, and– It gets hard to tell sometimes, that’s all. Hard to tell when he genuinely is unbothered and when he’s superbly good at pretending otherwise. They stick to safer subjects anyway.

At last, though, the ground is firm, the weather not terrible, and Charlie’s gone and rallied the troops for a night out there. At first, Todd’s first instinct is to panic. They aren’t supposed to be having any more meetings of the Dead Poets Society, not since Keating was the scapegoat for all the trouble and everyone cracked down on what makes a good boy want to escape, but over time he realizes that it’ll be alright. Some things are worth the risk. Making Neil smile again is one of them.

They meet at midnight. Todd sits awake with bated breath, even though the act by itself isn’t even all that unusual. They’re teenage boys. Staying up until the moon hangs high and lofty in the sky is expected, not uncommon. Still, a delicious shiver of inherent wrongdoing whispers down his spine when Neil walks slowly into the center of their shared dorm room and says quietly, reverently, “It’s time.”

As if the others had been waiting upon that very proclamation, the remaining boys peer out into the hall immediately after Neil and Todd silently close their door behind them. Their eyes meet with shared secrecy, shared triumph, and they make their way down the wooden stairs and out into the bristling chill of night. The stars are out tonight. We are all out tonight.

They all start heading out into the woods. Charlie takes off like a flash at the end of a matchstick, hurtling at a runner’s sprint across the hills, and the others follow him at varying speeds. Todd begins walking at a normal clip until it occurs to him that he doesn’t see enough heads bobbing around him and he turns to see Neil hesitating by the door.

They lock eyes, and Todd sees a whole host of things swimming in brown irises, fear and apprehension and a sick sort of guilt that makes Todd’s stomach squirm in sympathy. He gives Neil one last moment over the threshold, then jerks his head towards the others, putting a little faux arrogance into the gesture in the hopes that an actor might appreciate an act in someone else and remember what it is like to trust oneself again.

Neil accepts the move and grins, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. “I’ll race you to the caves,” he calls, and begins to run, his footsteps sure and strong.

Todd stares after him, an astronomer watching his first comet, then takes off after him. The grass is dry and quick under his feet, spread out under each footstep like the wake of a speedboat. The wind, already coarse, pulls at Todd’s skin, his hair, his clothes, but not even the strongest gusts could keep him down. Somehow, he’s already to the edge of the forest, and he lets out a loud, delighted whoop. A barbaric yawp, if you will. Somewhere in the back of Todd’s mind, a dark-haired man in a comfortable brown sweater smiles indulgently, and chalks up another small victory to the wonders of poetry.

The second his war cry leaves Todd’s throat, the other boys swarm him like moths to a flame. Someone claps a hand over his mouth, and around him, laughs echo into the crunching of leaves underfoot. 

“Don’t be so loud, you’ll get the professors on us in no time,” someone admonishes, but then a different boy cuts in, “Don’t be stupid, we’re far enough out that we can all be shouting,” and Todd’s punishment is lifted and he can yell once more. His defender– Neil, it must be, no one else can make their voice ring with glory like that in just a few words– joins in in the triumphant calls, and then they’re all shrieking up to the stars above, here we are, not boys and not men, bold enough to scream and young enough to never listen.

Todd thinks, as they run through the forest, that it’s been a while since he let himself go free. He hasn’t listened to his mind in a long time, hasn’t let the words roll around in his brain, loose marbles of similes and paraphrased poems. His musings are dusty, dark things most of the time, but sometimes the light catches them just right and they glow like sapphires. He could write a thousand stanzas if he wanted to, right now, and everyone would listen.

The Dead Poets Society reaches the caves and a hush falls among the crowd. Slowly, they edge inside, eyes wide. The rock faces and crumbling caverns should be different, Todd thinks, something should mark the passage of time and all the awful things that have twisted their fates since the last time they sat together and thought of prose, but the stones still look as they did the last time they were here. The moss grows in familiar patterns, albeit a little thicker in certain patches now that it hasn’t been scuffed by boots in a month or so, but one of Charlie’s magazines that he forgot to take back with him turns up under some spiderwebs, and Todd’s favorite place to sit is still just as inviting. Maybe, then, the only thing that changed was them. Maybe that’s all that needs to happen.

“So?” Meeks asks, settling into a seat, “What are we doing tonight?”

“Poetry, duh,” Charlie answers him, rolling his eyes fondly. “We’re the Dead Poets Society. What else would we do, peruse our textbooks?”

This earns him a vengeful swat on the shoulder from Meeks, but even Charlie can admit that the question was fair. They’ve read plenty of poems, they’ve written a few, they’ve even gone off and run some improv limerick challenges, although Todd notes that they haven’t brought nearly enough alcohol for that tonight.

After a few moments’ thought, someone suggests a play. It might be Todd. Instantly, the idea is accepted, and roles are divided out. They’ll be doing Hamlet, since there are plenty of long sticks outside and everyone is quite fond of the idea of pretending to run each other through. Pitts is already practicing his death rattles, except he’s not very good at it, and it sounds more like he’s hacking up a lung or two.

Neil, though, is glowing at the idea, and even though they haven’t got any scripts so everyone is mostly just planning on paraphrasing the hell out of one of William Shakespeare’s finer works, Todd gets the idea that Neil has a few memorized soliloquies rattling around in his head already.

Good, then. They’ll enjoy tonight, and the next night they’re out here, and the one after that, too. It has been a very long winter, but Todd has caught his first glimpse of new spring, and he gets the feeling that warmer, sunnier days aren’t the impossibility they seemed a few weeks ago. The days are healing, and they will too. And so the Dead Poets come back to life.

requested by @reinekes-fox, i hope you enjoy!

dead poets society tag list: @faerieroyal

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#dead poets society #dead poets society imagines #dead poets society oneshot #dead poets society fanfic #dps #dps imagines #dps oneshot #dps fanfic #todd anderson #todd anderson imagines #todd anderson oneshot #todd anderson fanfic #neil perry #neil perry imagines #neil perry oneshot #neil perry fanfic #anderperry #anderperry imagines #anderperry oneshot #anderperry fanfic

[missm0oshroom]

𝒲𝑒𝓁𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓁𝑜𝑔

/\___/\ ꒰ ˶• ༝ - ˶꒱ 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 𝐜𝐚𝐟𝐞 ./づ~ ☕ My name is Miss Mooshroom but if you like you can refer to me as Shroom (or anything else that is close enough to that xd). I use she/her pronouns and I will be serving you today and help you create your own specialised fanfic :D! I have a few rules though (´ ･ｪ･｀) (sorry)

𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬 ~ I do NOT write NSFW ~ Please do not request weird relationship dynamics eg. minor x adult ~ And please do not come after me if I do not choose your request (that isn't really a rule but I would really appreciate it)

Now that we’ve gone over the rules, what would you like to order? :D Here is our menu, please once you’ve have decided what you’d like, fill out this form <3

I write for fandoms such as 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐎𝐇𝐇𝐂, 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐬 and many more. If you have any specific character/fandom that you would like me to write about please fill out the last question on the form. Please forgive me if I do not get to your request, I’ll try to get to everyone’s requests <3

Have a splendid day and remember to stay hydrated ʕ ￫ᴥ￩ʔ <3 ~ 𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦

#genshin imagines #ohhc #star wars #x reader #dead poets society #new blogger #mha #headcanon #imagine #oneshot #fanfic #dsmp x reader #dsmp fic #multi fandom fanfiction #kdrama

[nogoandbees]

i’ve showed the extremely sad neil perry x todd anderson fanfic i’m currently writing to my mum. She wants me to show it to my therapist bue cause she thinks is an autobiographic and now she is very concern about me. What the fuck have i done?

#what the actual fuuuuuck #i guess my therapist is going to read my gay fanfic now #no but rly #what the fuck had happened #is just gay shit #ao3fic #ao3 #aot fanfiction #dead poets oneshot #dead poets society #dead poets au #dead poets edit #dead poets fanfic #todd anderson #neil perry fanfic #neil perry #writter #dps fanfiction #fanfic

[good--merits-accumulated]

i've been getting real into Cameron lately. like opening the back of his head and poking round in there trying to find the gear that makes him tick. man i feel like in a universe two steps to the left Neil could have really antagonised Cameron and they would have been at each other's throats, which is fun to write. anyway here's a preview of a oneshot that will be out some time in the next two days god willing

#to be perfectly clear: the rest of this oneshot is the fluffiest cutest most saccharine thing ever. or something #it's just these three paragraphs i wrote in that are. hm. Like This. #all to say that i don't have a handle on cameron other than the obvious - he was a kid! #and the other obvious - he wants individualism and community at the same time. what a terrible choice for a child's shoulders #it's ok cameron we are going to get you a big thing of chicken nuggets and some self-perception. on god #dead poets society #dead poets society fanfic #dps fanfiction #dps #dps fandom #richard cameron #soooooo. sleeby #tristan writes

[olskuvallanpoe]

…my fanfics (poet_olskuv on ao3)…

dead poets society

…nothing in the world belongs to me (but my love) - anderperry, oneshot, 4,327 words, *MCD*

…ur so pretty - anderperry, oneshot, 710 words, *implied MCD*

…the swingset - charlie & neil, oneshot, 1,133 words, *past MCD*

…the grassy road in a yellow wood - anderperry, oneshot, 1,174 words

marauders (hp)

…sharp (like fangs) - wolfstar, oneshot, 3,090 words

…it’s you (that I lie with) - wolfstar, oneshot, 1,664 words, *MCD*

…bleeding hearts - wolfstar, oneshot, 7,595 words

…and that’s what you missed on…the marauders? - wolfstarbucks, WIP, 31,679 words (so far)

…stereo hearts - nobleflower, oneshot, 3,071 words

…little wolf - lyall & remus, oneshot, 12,286 words *VIOLENCE*

…scarborough fair - lilylene, oneshot, 1,929 words

…the night we met - lilylene, oneshot, 1,380 words *MCD*

…honey hair & juniper - pandorcas, oneshot, 1,046 words

…a dog-eared map - dorlily, oneshot, 6,141 words

…that night he was happy - wolfstar, oneshot, 722 words

six of crows

…the water is fine - kylan, oneshot, 405 words

and more to come…

#marauders #fanfic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #fic writing #marauders era #my fic #hp marauders #marauders fic #oneshot #wip #long fic #dps #dead poets society #anderperry #todd anderson #neil perry #fic rec #lilylene #lily evans #pandorcas #six of crows #kaz brekker #wylan van eck

[honeylashofficial]

Like Embers | an Imp and Skizz Oneshot

Firewatch AU - original story by @quaranmine

Skizz Week Prompt #2: Hybrid / AU (@skizzlemanweek)

Fire and friendship are not as incomparable as one may think. It's insistent, it's beautiful, and it marks you for life, whether you care to acknowledge it or not. In the way that unconditional love leaves scorch-marks across ones heart; like how embers remain, rekindle, and remind us of the raw power we possess between our very own fingertips. When wielded wisely, nothing compares.

Hurt / comfort, fluff, more fluff, unspecified injury (but no blood :D)

–+– 3,228 words –+–

November 14th, 1989

“Come on, we could totally make it happen.”

“Seriously, I’m telling you. It will not work.”

“You worried about the equipment?”

“Yes!”

“You’re just no fun.” Skizz paused in the dust, taking his time to lean backwards in a satisfying stretch. He sighed contentedly as the base of his spine popped, loosening again. His keychain of keys jangled in his hoodie pocket.

Beside him, Impulse released his own sigh, shaking his head in finality. “It’s not like they’ll want the footage anyways. There’s gonna be way too much background noise. You’d barely even hear us.”

“What if that’s the intrigue though,” Skizz pointed out, walking onward once more. “The Imp and Skizz radio segment, Forest Edition! I think I’m really on to something here.”

“I think you’re on something,” Impulse muttered, matching him step for step.

“Never. Tis simply my nature to explore the world on a more finite level,” Skizz defended himself curtly, dramatic English accent and all.

The forest crowded in on all sides of their path, silently encouraging them to hush and enjoy the nature around them. But being quiet was something neither of the two men had ever been good at, even from young ages. And it only got worse when they were in the same room. Or, in this case, in the same forest. It was a brisk late morning up in the mountains as they followed a well-trodden path towards a supposed lake. They hadn’t caught sight of it quite yet, but they’d been informed by a ranger a day ago that this was the perfect time to go and see it. Admittedly, Impulse was not nearly as enthralled about this whole hiking business as Skizz was. They were doing it together though, and Skizz had also promised to cook meals for the next two weeks once they got back to the duplex. His skills with a pan had finally convinced Impulse to agree on the weekend trip.

“Alright Shakespeare. Then maybe you could finally explore Dead Poet Society so we can get that out of the way?”

Skizz made a face at the comment, wrinkling up his nose in disgust. “They still want us to do that?”

“It’s extremely popular with the kiddies, says the studio,” Impulse shrugged.

Skizz shot him a look.

“Okay, fine,” Impulse hunched slightly, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. “I really want to do it still. Did you at least read some of the book?”

“No,” Skizz shook his head. A fraction of guilt poked at his innards upon the look his friend returned. He sidestepped a fallen branch on the path before putting his own hands in his hoodie pocket. “I told you already. I don’t read.”

“You’re missing out, man,” Impulse insisted quietly.

“What if I just go watch it and say I did?” Skizz countered smartly. Even as he said it, he knew what the response would be.

“No,” Impulse declared shortly. “I would know.”

Skizz smirked, grinning at him the way only he was allowed to. “Because?” He prodded annoyingly.

Impulse glared despite no heat radiating from the look. He pursed his lips, refusing to say it.

“Say it!” Skizz encouraged. There was a taunt in his voice, but it was a part of a language only they spoke. It was an undertone only distinguishable over years and years of growing familiar with one another. And it frequently rolled off both of their tongues in a familial way. Neither of them knew what they would do if that sweet playful banter were to cease.

Impulse averted his gaze, refusing to satisfy Skizz. It was a joke at this point, and one that Impulse played often. It never got old though, and Skizz never grew tired of it. If anything, he’d only gotten more persistent over the years.

“Say it!”

“Because you’re my best friend.”

“Now that’s what I like to- woah!”

The solid terrain disappeared from under Skizz’s feet. His eyes darted back to the path ahead, only to find that he’d misjudged it entirely. The path turned sharply, leading way to steep forest hills and rocky shelves. He gasped as he found no form of grip beneath his body, sinking into the angle and getting tossed head over heels. The world spun dizzyingly out of control as his weight was thrown into the ground over and over again. Blurry smears of color skidded past him before with a jolt, everything stopped at once.

There were stars at the edge of Skizz’s vision. He blinked slowly, trying to bring them into focus. There were parts of his body that ached and some parts that he couldn’t feel at all. If he concentrated really hard, he could manage to hear something beyond the ringing that filled his ears. Impulse was shouting his name distantly. How far down had he fallen? Should he get up, or wait for his buddy?

A minute or so later, his ears began to settle again. The sounds of trees and wind welcomed him back, and the fog in his head lifted just a tad. He needed to get up. He needed to get back to Impulse —get back to the designated path. But something heavy was laying on top of him… He lifted his head to see what it was, but nothing greeted his gaze.

“Skizz! Stupid bra- Skizz! Where are you?”

The voice was getting louder. Skizz could hear his friend pushing recklessly through the underbrush. There was sliding and skidding mixed with half hearted curses before another holler split the air. His tone was unmasked; betraying exactly what he felt. And a part of Skizz couldn’t help but find it endearing.

“I’m here,” he responded, pulling his elbows underneath him in order to push upward. As soon as he did though, a bolt of lightning rocketed through his backside. He just barely composed his tongue, dropping into the dirt again and holding back a pained yelp. Teeth gritted, he muttered furiously under his breath. “Great. Just great.”

Impulse appeared a moment later, his cheeks bright red with windburn. He took deep gulps of air as if he’d been the one rolled down a hill. Upon catching sight of Skizz, he ran forward to crouch down at his side. “You okay?” He wheezed.

“No, I don’t think so,” Skizz admitted, trying not to think about all the things that could currently be wrong with his backside. Pain had bloomed about three quarters of the way down his spine, threatening with another burst if he moved the wrong way. “I think something happened to my back.”

“Uh, Skizz? If you haven’t noticed, something definitely happened,” Impulse slowly slid his backpack from his shoulders. “You fell down a hill for goodness sake. Thank God for this tree here.”

Skizz grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. “That’s probably what got me.” He didn’t know what to do now. He was stuck, lying here on his stomach with who knew how serious of an injury. Not to mention, they had to be at least 30 feet from the trail with no guide to point them in the right direction. Why had they even come out here? Why didn’t he just stay put like Impulse had encouraged him to during their precious days off?

“Do you wanna sit up at least, or… how bad is it?” Impulse leaned over, trying to make eye contact at this awkward angle. “Do I need to call for help?”

“No, no,” Skizz raised his head, albeit slowly, so as not to disturb the muscles along his spine. “Gimme a minute or two. It might just be shock.”

“You went down pretty hard,” Impulse murmured before attempting to add more lightly, “And I refuse to carry you bridal style anywhere, just so we’re on the same page.”

An involuntary smile crawled onto Skizz’s face. “Aw… and here I thought Dipple-dop was my knight in shining armor.”

Impulse blew a raspberry, rolling his eyes as he sat heavily in the leaf litter. “I’m just one guy, Skizz. A guy that’s trying to keep you alive-“

Skizz flinched. He didn’t know whether it was because of the statement or the pain.

“-and I just feel pretty terrible at my job right now. So what do you need? Water? Pain meds..? I think I have one or two of something somewhere.”

Skizz knew Impulse. He was in need of a task. Something to keep him preoccupied while the situation outcome was unknown. He was outwardly scared on Skizz’s behalf. And Skizz simply couldn’t ask for a greater friend. “Water sounds great right about now.”

Impulse nodded, opening his bag and digging around inside. After a moment, he brought out a clear bottle, handing it over. Only then did Skizz realize that his hands were trembling with nerves.

“Buddy,” he began, taking the water and unscrewing the cap. “You gotta relax. I’m not dying.”

“I- I know that,” Impulse retorted, looking away. Skizz sighed faintly.

“Look at me.”

Dark brown eyes sheepishly met his.

“What do I always say?”

Impulse groaned, gaze sliding past his ear.

“There are times when you can play it safe, and there are times to be reckless.”

“What are you getting at, Skizz?”

“Look at me?”

Impulse’s gaze returned, slightly harder this time. “What?”

“There’s a third option. It’s not an option though. It’s happenstance. And we just happened to run into it today, alright?”

Confusion swam behind Impulse’s eyes, but it was obvious his patience on the matter had run raggedly thin. He scowled at Skizz. “Would you just tell me what needs to happen man? I don’t need your cryptic-“

“Alright, alright,” Skizz lifted a hand, patting the air calmly. “Just…” He let out a slow breath, hoping that it would negate the throbbing pain somehow. “Just give me another minute or so. I’ll see if I can get up then.”

It still felt as if a heavy object had weighed Skizz’s lower backside to the ground. He couldn’t help but wonder why that was. His legs tingled faintly, weak, and he could tell his jeans had holes in them now. What would his girlfriend think when he returned home with a newly ruined article of clothing? If he returned at all.

Now there was a grim sentence. But Skizz was a realist. And the genuine logical reality of all this was that he’d probably bruised a bone or two and was overreacting completely.

His spine didn’t get the memo.

Shooting pain rushed up and down his muscles, nearly making him sick as he strained himself. His arms shook before giving way, and he just barely had time to clamp his jaw shut, so as to dampen the landing as much as possible. It wasn’t without his mind spewing a line of vial phrases though.

“This really isn’t looking good, Skizz,” Impulse shuffled forward. “You okay?”

“No, it’s not. And yes,” Skizz replied curtly. He gritted his teeth, trying again to bring his palms beneath him. After a moment, Impulse stretched out a tentative hand, placing it on his shoulder.

“Maybe… a few more minutes..?”

They were speaking that familiar language again. The one that said a thousand words, but only required the minimum. The one that they’d learned to interpret through studying the other. Impulse’s hand spoke volumes. Feeling the brush of fingertips against Skizz’s body sent a shiver down his already pained backside.

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, Impulse radioed the emergency frequency.

–+–

“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

“Huh?” Skizz opened his eyes, tipping his head backwards from where he was now laying on his back, wrapped in his sleeping bag. The crackle of the fire near his head filled the silent night air.

“The forest segment,” Impulse explained, hugging himself tighter in his thin cotton jacket. It was colder tonight than it had been the night before. And many of the stars were hidden through the dead leaves still on the trees. They would be falling soon, no doubt, littering the forest floor in a blanket of its own. The two of them were now regretting not having packed more properly for emergencies. Hindsight was constantly and annoyingly 20-20.

“You’re not just feelin’ sorry for me now are you?” Skizz chided jokingly. He was comfortable making light of the current situation. He was okay with mentally removing himself from this harsh reality. He was just tired and sore from the day. That was all. So they’d camped early. “I would hate to be scoring pity points, you know.”

Impulse was silent for a while. The low fire casted heavy shadows across his face. “…no. Genuinely. Now that I’ve been listening, it’s kinda… nice out here.”

Skizz smiled. “See? I told ya. And if they really like it, maybe they can send us other places, like the ocean. That could be cool, you think?”

“You mean..?” Impulse raised his head shyly.

“We could travel the world,” Skizz nodded eagerly. “Just like we always wanted to.

“You’re crazy.”

“I choose to take that as a compliment.”

“Well you shouldn’t.”

The momentary excitement dwindled. A tired sigh played on Skizz’s lips, and his smile faded, replaced with disheartenment. Pain still riddled his body, more prominent in places he hadn’t noticed before. But it was his heart that bled openly. It bled and it wept. Because despite his calm and collected face, a part of him really was scared. Fear twisted in his gut, unkind with its iron grip and sickening anxiety. He was infinitely better at hiding emotions than Impulse was. Now was no exception. But seeing his best friend so torn up about all this wasn’t exactly making it easy. There was pain, yes. But Skizz personally chose to stash it away. The two of them had always differed in their preferred coping mechanisms. Skizz believed that faking it till you made it was the answer to all problems. Impulse had a much softer approach. It did make his temper less stable, but if that was the only thing Skizz had to worry about when it came to this, then he’d still take it any day.

“I’m not dying, buddy,” he reminded his friend softly.

“You’re so lucky it wasn’t your head…”

“True. But seeing as it wasn’t, you can relax now.”

“Skizz…” Impulse found him in the firelight. “I don’t think you get it.”

Smoke curled into a perfectly still evening.

A pause followed. Skizz grew uncomfortable at it, as he swallowed nervously and filled the emptiness with, “Pitch it to me then.”

Impulse sniffled, and if it weren’t so dark, perhaps his watery eyes would be acknowledged. But the light of the low fire was too weak for that.

“What would I have done if it was your head? What am I supposed to do now? I don’t know CPR, or how to set a bone. I wasn’t ready for all this. And you’re acting like it’s nothing. But it’s not nothing. It’s an emergency. You’re in God knows how much pain and refuse to take the stupid tablets-“

“Impulse. The mountain rescue people are coming. They will find us, and I will be okay.”

“You don’t know that!”

“What did I tell you?” Skizz snapped, his tone dipping sharply.

“You say a lot of things, Skizz,” Impulse retorted.

“Happenstance,” Skizz glared through the dark, brows drawn together in seriousness. “You cannot plan for everything. This was never in your control.”

Sparks drifted from the pit of embers. They danced on the air, winking out of existence as if they'd never been there in the first place. And tree branches rattled above their heads, scraping against one another in an eerie disconsonant symphony. Earthy smells overpowered the fire despite being so close to its heat.

“You quoted Dead Poet Society earlier. You know that right?” Impulse asked. He twirled a small twig between his fingers absently —another coping mechanism. “There’s a similar saying in the movie. Something like ‘there’s a time for being daring and a time to be careful, and a wise man understands what is called for’.”

“Huh…” Skizz blinked, his vision blurring slightly.

“I’ll be the first to admit on both of our behalfs that we aren’t exactly wise,” Impulse broke the twig in half, tossing its pieces on the fire. “We’re not stupid either though. The jokes kinda made me.. feel stupid.”

“Okay.”

Skizz loved to make people laugh. He always had. That was why he broadcasted his voice across the county Monday through Friday, for hours on end. To bring people a little ounce of joy throughout their stress filled days and weary nights. And he got to do it alongside his best friend at that. But even more than laughter, Skizz strived to provide comfort. There could only be real laughter once comfort was established. And tonight, it was as if he was seeing Impulse for the very first time. Because in a way, he was. Impulse was in a state unfamiliar to him. And he’d been trying to push the wrong buttons all in the wrong order. So his gaze softened, relaxing as best he could despite his pain.

“Okay, Dipple-dop. No more jokes tonight.”

Impulse nodded, as if to reassure himself as well. “I just really don’t like happenstance, as you call it.”

“I know,” Skizz murmured. “I don’t like it either. I should have said that from the beginning.”

“It’s still pretty impressive how close your quote was though.”

Skizz chuckled. “If I had known that, I’d have kept my mouth shut.”

“To keep me from talking about it?” Impulse rolled his eyes, shoulders relaxing a little. “Actually, since you aren’t going anywhere, I can just tell you what happens.”

“Does this mean I won’t have to read the book.”

“Maybe. It depends on how well I remember everything.”

“Oh shut up, you remember everything!”

“Apparently everything except a first aid kit,” Impulse pointed out. “I know the first thing I’ll be doing once we get back home.”

“I think I should be the one making that purchase,” Skizz argued. “I was the one who fell down the hill, remember?”

“I suppose you are more accident prone.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“You know I could.”

“Just tell me about the book already. We’ll worry about this later.”

“Just as soon as you say it.”

“Say what now? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Say it.”

“You really are the worst, aren’t you.”

For the first time in hours, Impulse finally smiled. Its brilliance washed over Skizz in a warm wave, providing more heat than the fires embers ever could. He cherished this very moment in time, because despite how he’d been acting, this wasn’t going to be anything easy to get over. He had no clue whether the injury had repercussions or a long recovery time in store for him. But Impulse’s smile made everything better somehow. It glowed like the pale moon above them, twinkling like stars, infinite like space itself.

Skizz wondered how a man such as himself would go about gaining such depths —such wisdom. And then he remembered what Impulse had said.

‘There’s a time for daring, and a time for caution, and a wise man understands which is called for.’

And perhaps he would read that book when they returned home.

Maybe then he could gain a little bit of wisdom himself.

–+– The End –+–

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