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Midnight At Noonday | Dead Poets (Part 2)

PART 1

ship: Surprise! x fem!OC

warnings: still none

summary: Clare attends her first classes at Welton.

word count: 3222

a/n:

written by @ganymede-princess

By the time Neil left, I had only half an hour left to settle into my room, and with such an exhausting trip up, all I could manage to do was pray I wouldn’t nap through the bell. As I dozed, I saw visions of slender fingers laced between my own, loam-brown eyes blinking slow with adoration, and dimples deep enough to hide a fairy in. If I had the strength, I would get my notebook and scribble out some lines to settle my mind, but I could scarcely keep my eyes open. In that moment, I cursed my father for passing on his poetic heart to me. Surely if he had left me to develop normal interests like sports or baking, maybe I would have a better lock on my heart, or at least I wouldn’t be so foolhardy with the key. I rolled over with a groan when I heard the door swing open and in stepped my father, a breath of fresh air in a place so stifled with tradition. Still, I scowled at him.

“Oh, Clare.” He hurried over as soon as he saw me bundled miserably on the bed. “You must be exhausted.”

“Yes.” I grumbled, feeling his hand soothingly stroke my hair. “No thanks to you.”

“Now, I’m sorry I couldn’t help you get up here.” He brushed his thumb over my cheek, his face softening with compassion. “You know I had to-”

“Hold the fort.” I finished, sitting up and folding into his arms. “Something awful happened.”

“Sweetheart, already?”

“Yes.” I held onto him like a lifeline, crushing his fine white shirt in my fists. “When is this place going to feel normal?”

“Soon. Soon, darling.” He kissed my forehead. Tears welled in my eyes.

“Everyone was talking about me like I couldn’t hear them. I froze completely. It was horrible.”

“I’m sorry. Oh, Clare, I’m sorry.” He wiped away the first tear that fell on my cheek. “I should have thought this through a bit better, huh? If only I’d organised somebody to help you or-”

“It’s okay, Dad.” I sniffed and wrung my fingers on my eyes, willing myself to get a grip on my emotions. “It wasn’t so bad.”

“No?”

“No. That wasn’t even the awful thing I was talking about.”

“No? Well tell me about that, maybe I can fix it.”

“I sort of… Well, I can’t really explain it.”

“Come on, Miss Keating, you’re a poet!” He smiled encouragingly. “Just give it a shot.”

“Well, this group of boys helped me with my bags, and… Well, they invited me to their study group tonight, which is nice.” My father raised his eyebrows in a look that said ‘stop beating around the bush.’ “Dad, have you ever met someone who shines so brightly it feels like the whole world is in shadow?”

A knowing smile passed over his face, and his eyes shone with delight.

“I think I understand now. I felt that way about your mother when I first saw her, like my eyes refused to see anything but her.” He looked wistfully out the window for a passing moment, then met my gaze again. “You’re growing up, Clare. I know such big feelings can seem invasive and frightening, but they are things we all must go through. There is a poem by John Clare- your namesake- that describes this feeling praecise. I will leave it in your room tonight. But now, you must go forth and conquer the academic frontier of Latin. Leave your emotions here for later.”

“Thanks, Dad.” I flung myself at him for one final embrace, which he returned with enthusiasm.

“Any time.”

The rest of the day passed in a state of extreme academic focus. My first-term determination to learn every detail of every class had yet to be stamped out by the doledrom of traditional teaching, so the rest of the world took the backseat as I filled my exercise books with excessive notes. The only things left tugging my focus were Neil Perry, excitement for my first English class of the year, and the prospect of socialising at the study group later that night. Thankfully, Neil wasn’t in my Latin class, so I was able to get on with things without a hitch. I sat in the row behind Steven, though we had to stay quiet under Mr McAllister’s watchful eye. He was not in my Trig class either. I found myself in the mostly empty classroom, and sat down beside that odd read-headed boy from the hallway before. We were both a little early and the teacher was nowhere to be seen. I cast a glance at him, but he seemed to be ignoring me. Having wounded my pride terribly, I was determined to let him know I was as normal as the next person, so I grit my teeth and tapped him on the arm. He looked up, eyebrows raised in mild surprise.

“Hi.” I said, offering him a little wave. “Cameron, right? I’m Clare Keating.”

“Hey.” He half smiled, looking puzzled. “So, uh, you do talk, then?”

“Yes, of course.” I laced my fingers together and rested my cheek on them. “You caught me at a bad time earlier.”

“Right.” He glanced behind me at the door.

“Will I see you at the study group tonight?”

“Which study group?” He frowned. “Neil’s?”

“Yes, Neil’s. He and his friends helped me with my bags.” I said pointedly. His eyes flashed with veiled panic. “Such gentlemen.”

“Right, uh yeah. They’re stand up guys.”

That was the extent of our conversation.

Next class was Chemistry, and to my luck, I found an empty seat beside Todd. He offered me a tight-lipped smile, but kept his eyes on his desk for the most part. It made me sad to think he might never like me at all after I had blundered so terribly the first time we met, but I tried to stay positive.

Finally, it was time for English. On the way, I bumped into Steven who was being trailed by a very tall and gawky boy with a light brown flat-top who introduced himself as Gerard Pitts.

“You guys got English next?” I asked as we wove between swarms of boys heading in all directions.

“Yeah, we do.” Steven nodded.

“You excited?”

“I don’t know about ‘excited.’” Pitts scoffed.

“Why not? I think English is the best thing in the world to study.”

“What Pittsie means to say is we’re sure we’d enjoy it more if we had a more interesting teacher.” Steven said diplomatically.

“I think you might be in luck.” I flashed a grin. “I’ll say no more. See you guys there, okay?”

We said our goodbyes and I slipped into the crowd. I was fairly small compared to most of the older boys, so I made quick time moving between them and was one of the first to arrive at the classroom, besides Todd and a rake thin little boy with a runny nose. I put my books on the desk behind Todd’s, wanting to avoid being in his eyeline lest I feel compelled to make conversation. The room, like most of Welton Academy, was fairly bare, with standard wood desks in four rows of five, a green chalkboard at each end of the room, and a few bookshelves laden with textbooks, and a proud little American flag on the wall beside the windows. I noticed that The Captain had started to add his special Keating flair to the room already with portraits of his favourite poets hanging around the room.

Soon enough, the classroom began to fill out. I caught sight of The Captain himself peeping in from his office. He offered me a wink. Back to business. I turned around in my seat and assessed the damage. Of course, I spied Steven sitting beside the sickly boy, and Pitts a few rows behind him. Cameron in the seat beside me, and then Knox two rows behind me. Oh, please let Neil be here… I looked around frantically, but he was nowhere to be seen. Feeling deflated, I turned to Knox and waved.

“Hey, Knox!”

“Oh, hi.” He smiled politely, but had to shout over the ruckus.

“Having a good day?”

“Eh.” He shrugged. “How good can it be? I mean, business as usual, huh?”

“I suppose.” Admittedly, I wasn’t having a great day, but I’d barely had time to stop and wallow in it. “Do you like-”

Knox’s gaze had drifted past me and he got a mischievous look in his eye.

“Hey, Spaz! Spaz!” I turned around just in time to see that ill looking boy turn around and get pelted with a ball of paper. Before I knew it, I had balled up a sheet from my notebook and landed it right inbetween Knox’s eyes. He spluttered, looking around for the culprit.

“Over here!” I waved. “Don’t be a jackass, huh? What did he ever do to you?”

He looked scandalised and began to protest, but something else caught my eye. Neil and Charlie had arrived and were getting settled on the last two available seats. Charlie sat at the very back in the corner and Neil was one across and a row back from me. He looked quite exhausted, so I stared until I caught his eye and waved encouragingly. He smiled in acknowledgement, then turned around in his seat to talk to Pitts. I felt a horrible wave of embarrassment at his dismissiveness and my teeth found purchase on the pad of my thumb. A ball of paper glanced off my shoulder and I looked up to see Charlie grinning cheesily at me. He blew me a kiss, to which I made an exaggerated ducking motion, threw a glance over my shoulder at where it would have landed, and wiped my brow in mock relief at the close call. He put a hand on his chest, jaw agape with phoney indignation.

Rolling my eyes, I turned around, just as The Captain made his grand entrance. He strolled along calmly, whistling the 1812 Overture and clutching his clipboard. As he passed by me, I collected my exercise book and hymnal and filed out after him. The eyes of every boy in the room followed us incredulously. I had been in classes at Chelsea with several first-time students of my father, but I had never seen a group so sceptical of his methods; and he had barely done anything unusual yet. I stood by the door and held it open, surveying the confused faces and trying not to feel embarrassed.

“Well, come on.” The Captain poked his head through the door briefly, then disappeared again.

Neil was the first to stand, to my delight, and the rest moved at his example. I couldn’t hide my smile. I knew he would take to The Captain the moment I saw him. Oh, he’d be a perfect boyfriend… He flashed me a grin on his way past, half amused and half quizzical. I followed him, feet moving without my command. I felt like a sad little lamb in love with a shepherd. I trailed behind him until we came to a hallway furnished with Welton banners, a stuffed deer head and antlers, and a few cabinets with trophies, class photos, and a few other pieces of Welton memorabilia inside. Neil- being quite tall- gravitated to the back, so I regretfully left him behind, pushing my way to the front beside Steven. The Captain stood quite calmly, though palpable excitement simmered under the surface.

“Oh Captain, my Captain.” He stated in a voice of quiet authority, pausing to drag his eyes across the motley crowd before him. “Who knows where that comes from?”

I knotted my fingers together to keep from raising my hand, wanting the others to have their moment. Besides, the last thing I wanted to be labelled was a know-it-all.

“Anybody?” The room was silent except for the honk of the sick boy blowing his nose. “Not a clue? Miss Keating?”

“It’s from a poem of the same title by Walt Whitman about the death of Abraham Lincoln, who he never actually met, but felt very connected to.” I spilled my guts a little bit, but I managed not to tell everyone about how unusual the poem was in context of Whitman’s larger body of work, given its simple rhyme, metre, and theme.

“Indeed. I wonder who taught you that.” He winked. “Now, in this class, you can either call me Mr Keating, or- if you’re slightly more daring- ‘Oh Captain, my Captain.’” A murmur of laughter passed through the room. “Now, let me disperse a few rumours so they don’t fester into facts. Yes, Miss Keating here is indeed my daughter, and the First Mate on this ship. In keeping with the nautical theme, you might like to call her Skipper, but use your discretion lest you meet with a grizzly end. I know I will later.” It’s true, I could have killed him for bringing that insufferable nickname across continental borders. “Secondly, yes, I too attended Hell-ton and survived. And no, at that time, I was not the mental giant you see before you. I was the intellectual equivalent of a ninety-eight pound weakling. I would go to the beach, and people would kick copies of Byron in my face.” Another murmur of laughter, a little louder now. Laughter, however quiet, is what had fed him all his life.

The rest of the lesson was spent stirring the boys into a state of awe at the school halls they had taken for granted for so long. I learned that Pitts struggled to read aloud with emotion, watched Steven put his Latin knowledge to work, and had my suspicions confirmed that Charlie was the class clown. Neil stayed quiet, soaking in The Captain’s words. As we crowded in to look closely at the class photos from close to a hundred years ago, I watched him as his eyes reflected the lights above. It was as if something had passed over him, changing him. An epiphany he was yet to fully realise.

“I think you really got to them, Cap’n.” I said, giving him a quick side hug as I left to get cleaned up for dinner.

“Thank you, dear.”

“I can’t believe you told them that stupid nickname, though!” I aimed a half-hearted smack at him.

“Couldn’t let you off too easily, now could I? Lest you forget my nickname here was Sasquatch.” He flashed the back of his hand that was covered in wiry hair. “If I let the boys come up with their own, it could be a lot worse.”

“As if!” I rolled my eyes. “Okay, I’ll see you after dinner?”

“Sure, sweetheart, see you then.”

I headed out into the hall, and down to the courtyard, where, to my surprise there was a boy waiting for me. He was fairly attractive with a lot of golden-brown hair and a sort of self-assured stance. I didn’t recognise him, but he made a beeline for me straight away.

“Hey, Skipper!” He called for me, smirking. That was enough to piss me right off, but not wanting to have a confrontation, I walked straight past him. “Hey! I’m talking to you! Hey! Miss Keating?”

“Yes?” I turned my head in acknowledgement, but kept walking.

“Hey, uh, sorry about that, I figured your dad wouldn’t have told us to call you that if you weren’t cool with it.”

His tone of voice was polite enough that I thought I may have misjudged him.

“It’s okay. Can I help you?”

“Uh, yeah! Well, uh, first of all, my name is Daniel Stanley.” He offered me an enthused handshake. “And, well, me and my friends were hoping you’d join our study group. You're already hip with English and we think you'd be a real asset.”

“Oh, jeez, I'm sorry. I'm already with Neil Perry's study group.”

“Perry.” There was a scoff in his laugh. “Of course.”

“What about him?” The disrespectful tone was enough for me to stop walking and turn to face him.

“Well, I mean, of course he got to you first.” He smiled knowingly. “I mean, I know he’s desperate to be valedictorian and tops at everything, but I didn’t think he’d get his teeth in you immediately. Like, jeez, at least give the rest of us guys a chance.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but it’s not Neil’s fault. In fact he wasn’t even the one who asked me to join.”

“Well, no…” He faltered for a second, then doubled down. “But he’s the reason you joined, right? That smile, those eyes!”

“Huh?” I gaped. “Well, what do you expect me to say? ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Neil. I can’t study with you ‘cause you’re too pretty! I can’t have people thinking I’m shallow, can I?’”

“I just think you should have a more open mind. There are plenty of gu-groups out there with just as much to offer as him.”

“Well, my mind’s about as open as it gets.” I turned on my heel and started to walk off, but he kept pace with me.

“C’mon, just give me a chance.” He flashed me a coy smile.

“Oh.” I felt a wave of guilty discomfort come over me. “Is that what this is about?”

“What?” He tilted his head a little.

“Well, y’know, I’m the only girl in the school, and… uh… oh!” I caught sight of my guardian angel in the distance. “Charlie! Hey, Charlie!”

He turned around with a delighted grin on his face, said something to the boy next to him, and then jogged over.

“Hark!” He put his hand on his heart dramatically. “Yonder maiden fair, how doth thee doing?”

“I’m good, thanks Charlie.”

“Hello, Dalton.” Stanley grumbled.

“Hello to you too, Stanley. How can I help you, dolly?”

“Oh, I just wanted to say ‘hi.’” I raised my eyebrows at him and glanced at the other boy. He seemed to get the message.

“Oh, jee, Danny, did you hear that? She just wanted to say ‘hi!’ Isn’t that just swell?”

“Peachy keen.” Stanley pinched his brow.

“Hey, I think Meeks is looking for you, how about you and me walk and talk?” Charlie linked his arm with mine and began to march swiftly towards the dorms, leaving me no time to say goodbye.

“Thanks for saving me.” I said softly when we were far enough away.

“Hey, Stanley’s a square.” He turned to me with the most genuine smile I had seen from him so far. “And anyway, loyalty to the study group is to the death, I hope you know that.”

“Figures.” I giggled. “Y’know he was trying to get me to switch study groups, but I gave him what for.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, I said ‘Mr Stanley, I would go to war for my study group. I know we haven’t had a session yet, but I’m enlisted already and I take this very seriously.’”

“Good on ya, chicky.” He grinned. “You want me to walk you to your room?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

I couldn’t help but remember what Neil had said this morning, and felt a new flood of gratitude, and reassurance of his honesty. Some of the most upstanding people at this school indeed.

#dead poets society #dead poets #dead poets x reader #neil perry x reader #charlie dalton x reader #todd anderson x reader #steven meeks x reader #gerard pitts x reader #richard cameron x reader #knox overstreet x reader

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ganymede-princess · 1 day

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Midnight At Noonday | Dead Poets

PART 2

ship: Surprise! x fem!OC

warnings: none... yet (muahahaha)

summary: Clare Keating is given the opportunity to attend the prestigious all-boy's preparatory school Welton Academy. Boy-mad and in denial, she must navigate friendships, crushes, and academics, all while helping to run the school's underground poets club.

word count: 2949

a/n: Hi guys, this chapter was originally written in third person, but I changed it to first person. I have read through it MANY times to ensure that the pronouns all make sense, and used control F, but it seems that some continue to slip through the cracks. I am very sorry if any mistakes remain after I have posted this notice. (Also this was originally published on AO3!)

written by @ganymede-princess

There would be no flowers for Welton’s first female student. The only welcome I received was a short paragraph at the end of the Welton annual letter including my surname and the promise to any concerned parents that the faculty would not let my presence distract their sons from their studies. I was to keep my head down, study hard, and make no sudden moves, lest I be transferred to Henley Hall, leaving my father behind. I don’t offer you this position lightly, Miss Keating. Mister Nolan’s voice plagued my thoughts. Don’t make me regret where I place my faith. My breath seemed to catch on a thorn in my throat, and I lost my grip on my heavy suitcases that thumped to the floor on either side of me. My vest was scratchy, blouse stiff with too much starch, blazer too thick around the neck and boiling hot, skirt too long, shoes too tight… I thought of my father down at the gates, ‘holding the fort,’ which no doubt meant fighting for my thin claim to a place in the most exclusive boys’ preparatory school in the United States; pleading my case, charming the parents, dying inside.

“That’s the Keating girl!”

The raucous hallway chatter trickled to a whisper as the boys drew in around me.

“Yeah, from the newsletter.”

“You sure?”

“Who else could it be, dummy?”

I tore my eyes from the floor to see dozens of boys stealing glances at me as they passed, and a few outright gawking.

“Doesn’t she look like a barrel o’ laughs?” One of them hissed.

“What does she need two suitcases for?”

“Special treatment.”

I tried to speak, but my teeth were somehow glued together. I tried to walk, but my feet were cast in concrete.

“Hey, get out of the way, would you?” Someone bumped into my back. “You’re taking up the whole hallway!”

I turned, arms stiff and mouth dry to see a frowning young man with a froggish mouth and a face full of orange freckles. I tried to apologise, but only a thin trickle of air escaped my throat.

“Oh, you’re Keating’s daughter! Hi, how ya going? I’m Richard Cameron.” His hand shot up to smooth his auburn flat top. He paused, eyebrows raised for an answer. “Oookaaay.” He looked at me like I was crazy, and I feared he might be right. “You really oughta move, you’re gonna get trampled.”

“Clare.” I whispered to his back as it disappeared into the crowd. “My name’s Clare.”

Regaining my voice lent me a small burst of energy, just enough to pick my cases back up and hobble a few more steps down the hall. My arms burned with the effort and my lungs seemed far too small. I gritted my teeth and closed my mind to the hushed gossiping happening right in front of me. Just a few more steps, surely my room would be just around this bend. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. The hallway led to yet another hallway. Surely I should just sit down and die of heatstroke, right? I'll just leave my spirit here, cursed to eternally wander this academic desert...

“...the Keating girl…” Over the ruckus I heard a fragment of the Cameron boy’s voice. “Well… pretty enough… idiot savant or something!”

My stomach turned over. What was wrong with me? I strained to remember if I had hit my head some time between breakfast and the welcome ceremony and turned visibly stupid. The humiliation was almost too much to bear, and I felt my knees on the verge of buckling.

“Hey, excuse me?” Just as my heart was about to break, another soft voice spoke up, leaving me no time at all to wallow in self pity. “Would you like some help with your bags?” The voice belonged to another red-head, this time with a kindly, mouse-ish face and big browline glasses. He smiled soothingly when I failed to respond and gestured to my bags. “My friends and I would be happy to help you.”

“Uh-th-” I pressed my lips together and swallowed hard against the urge to vomit. “That’s okay.”

“Hey, they must weigh a ton! We don’t mind, really.” Two more boys appeared at the red-head’s side, the taller one spoke up and took no time to pick up the bag at my left, making a little ‘oof’ sound as he stood up.

“Thank you, y-you really don’t have to.”

“Charlie, help her out would you?” The red-head hit his shorter friend on the arm insistently.

“Is that an order, Meeks?” The friend quirked an eyebrow.

“You wanna fail Latin? No. So pick the bag up. I’m sorry about this.” He addressed me again, placing a solemn hand on his heart. “My name is Steven Meeks, this is Knox Overstreet-”

“Hi, there.” The taller boy took a step forward and nodded. He had the sort of dorky casanova spirit in his hazel eyes and lop-sided smile that was unmissable.

“-and-”

“Charlie.” He sidled up, arranged his face in a smouldering smirk, and offered his hand to shake. “Dalton.”

“It’s very nice to meet all of you.” I was very glad to have my voice back, though I nearly lost it again when Charlie swooped in and kissed the back of my hand. I snatched it away and cast a fearful glance up and down the hallway, thankfully seeing no teachers or hall monitors. “You can’t do that! What if somebody saw?”

“What if?” His cocky smile faltered as his eyebrows furrowed.

“They’d transfer me to Henley Hall!”

“Oh.” His face fell.

“Anyway, Miss Keating,” Steven stepped in to put us back on track, calming me with his even temper. “We’re on our way to visit our good friend Neil Perry to organise a study group for this semester. Would you like to join us?”

“Oh, sure.” A genuine smile grew on my face, the first since I had arrived at Welton. “I’d really appreciate that, thank you. And please, call me Clare.”

“No problem, Clare.” He put a gentle hand on my shoulder to show me the way, but the moment was brief and clandestine.

“You got a speciality?” Knox grunted as he lugged the suitcase along.

“Knoxious, her father’s the English teacher.” Charlie rolled his eyes, voice tense with effort.

“Well, sure, but maybe she hates English, and that’s why!”

“I-I don’t. I’m happy to cover English, but I can also do History if you need me to.”

“You’re in.” Charlie winked. “But no way are you doing History. That’s mine. I can’t be a total free-loader now, can I?”

“I suppose not.”

We shuffled along the hall until we came to a room mid-way along. Charlie and Knox dropped my bags by the door and the three boys crowded around the doorway, waiting for whoever was inside to notice them. I pushed my thumb into my palm, waiting on the outskirts of the group.

“Rumour has it,” Charlie pointed an accusatory finger into the room. “You did summer school.”

“Yep, chemistry.” I propped myself onto my tiptoes, trying to see over the group. “My father thought I should get ahead. How’s your summer, Slick?”

“Keen.” Charlie took a sauntering step forward, earning half a laugh from Steven. He stepped into the room and tossed over his shoulder, “Meeks, door, closed.”

I took note of Charlie and Meek’s strange dynamic of mutual bossiness, and decided I liked this old married couple. Steven and Knox heaved my cases into the room, sliding one into a free space behind the right side closet and the other beside the desk on the left, while I slipped in quietly and closed the door, feeling much safer with no prying eyes on me. I quickly relieved myself of my blazer and hung it over my arm.

“What’s all this?” The boy with the dark hair- Neil, I supposed- poked one of the cases with his toe.

“Oh, Neil, this is Clare Keating.” Steven spoke up, his hand genially placed on my upper arm.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.” The prettiest boy I had ever seen stooped down and took my hand, shaking it delicately. “I’m Neil Perry.”

“I’m Cl- It’s um, nice to meet you Neil… Perry.” I stumbled, transfixed by two dark eyes under two thick eyebrows, the colour of stained oakwood.

“Aw jeez, here we go.”

“Shut up, Charlie.” Neil said evenly, barely tossing a glance at him. “It’s nice to meet you too.”

He stepped away and stood by the radiator beneath the window, the autumn sun forming a halo on his sooty hair. The room seemed to blur and disappear behind his radiance, like a soft focus photograph. I had never felt embarrassed by a person's beauty until that moment.

“Gentlemen, what are the four pillars?”

“Travesty!” They all chanted, Knox shushing them frantically. “Horror! Decadence! Excrement!”

I found myself giggling at their antics, feeling a swell of gratitude to have found such a kind group of people in such a frightening place. Neil grinned at me as they all found places to sit, sending a current of electricity through my heart. I suddenly found myself with a huge excess of energy, and feeling it would be a bridge too far to sit on a stranger’s bed- there being no seats left- settled for standing at Steven’s side.

“Okay, study group.” Charlie got down to it. “Meeks aced Latin, I didn’t quite flunk History, and Clare here has gotta be an English whizz; so, if you want, we got our study group.”

“Sure. Cameron asked me too.” Neil said, a little reluctantly. “Anyone mind including him?”

I wished I could speak up about overhearing his insult earlier, but I couldn’t bring myself too. Instead, I promised myself I would try to give the boy a second chance, now that I had my voice back.

“What’s his specialty, bootlicking?” Charlie rolled his eyes and sparked a cigarette.

“He’s your roommate.” Neil fired back.

“That’s not my fault.”

“Uh, I’m sorry, my name is Steven Meeks.” Ever the gentlemen, Steven introduced himself to a young man that had gone entirely unnoticed by me. I felt ashamed to have brushed over him so easily, but how could I blame myself under circumstances like these?

“Oh, this is Todd Anderson.” Neil reached over to tap the boy encouragingly on the back. The boys all exchanged handshakes and pleasantries, leaving me as the last.

“I’m Clare Keating.” I shook his hand, feeling it cold and clammy to the touch. “It’s nice to meet you, Todd.”

“Nice to meet you.” He muttered, face red beneath his freckles, and shied away quickly.

“Todd’s brother was Jeffrey Anderson.” Neil stated, as if I should be impressed.

“Oh, yeah sure!” Charlie saved me the embarrassment. “Valedictorian. National Merit scholar.”

I thought of my father, the Welton honours graduate, Cambridge educated, published poet, well-liked by all… Tough shoes to fill.

“Welcome to Hell-ton!” Steven exclaimed.

“It’s every bit as tough as they say,” Charlie said gravely. “Unless you’re a genius, like Meeks.”

“He flatters me. That’s why I help him with Latin.”

“And English, and trig.” Charlie interrupted himself with a cough.

A knock came on the door. All in a second, an Oxford shoe ground out the cigarette and kicked it under Neil’s bed, I disappeared into the wardrobe, stepping onto the suitcase laying at the bottom, and drew the curtain across and held my breath. I had no idea where my sudden instinct for rebellion had risen from, but I was thankful for it when the door creaked open and an authoritative footstep sounded on the floor outside.

“Father,” Neil’s voice cracked. “I thought you’d gone.”

I heard my new friends form a chorus of ‘hello, Mr Perry,’ and scramble to their feet. I held a hand over my mouth to quiet my breathing.

“Keep your seats, fellas, keep your seats.” An older man’s voice said genially. “Neil, I’ve just spoken to Mr Nolan. I think you’re taking too many extracurricular activities this semester, and I’ve decided that you should drop the school annual.”

“But, I’m the assistant editor this year.” My heart nearly broke at the distress in his voice.

“Well, I’m sorry Neil.” Mr Perry’s voice carried a challenging undercurrent.

“But, father, I can’t! It wouldn’t be fair!” Neil’s voice raised frantically.

“Fellas, would you excuse us a moment?”

A silence fell and I held my breath as the pair stepped past my hiding place on the way out. Too terrified to move, I stayed where I was, hearing their argument muffled through the wall. After a few moments, it seemed Neil’s father had departed and the rest of the boys had made their way over to comfort him. I had never been so grateful for my father. Yet, I still failed to move, frozen at the thought that the old ghoul might be staring right at me if I pulled away the curtain. After a few moments, a hesitant hand pulled back the fabric to reveal Neil’s sweet little roommate who seemed so uninterested in making friends.

“Um, h-he’s gone.”

“Thanks, Tom.” I stepped down and gave him a grateful smile. “That was scary, huh?”

“U-um…” Tom went beet-red and wide-eyed, stammering like words were hot food in his mouth.

“Oh, I’m sorry, was this your suitcase? I didn’t mean to step on it, it just sort of happened. I don’t think I broke it.”

“N-no, I…”

“Well, uh, Latin?” Steven and the others stepped back into the room, interrupting us. “Eight o’clock in my room?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds good.”

“Todd, Clare, you’re welcome to join us.” Steven addressed us. My heart sank.

“Yeah, come along guys.” Knox spoke up.

“Thanks.” Todd nodded, eyes still wide.

“Thank you, I’ll be there.” I promised, and as the others filed out, I turned to Todd and grimaced sheepishly. I had my voice back, for sure, and now a torrent of words poured out of me. “Oh, jeez, Todd, I’m sorry. I’m terrible with names, I really am. I really blew it didn’t I? I’m so sorry, I’ll make it up to you somehow, I promise.”

“It-it’s okay.” He nodded, smiled stiffly, and sat down at his desk with his back to me.

“Well, I… I better bounce.” I said to the back of his head. “Um, Neil?” The boy wandered into the room, listless and dejected, but made an effort to brighten his expression when I addressed him. “I’m so sorry to inconvenience you, but, do you think you could show me to the teacher’s wing?”

“Of course.” He bent down to pick up one of my suitcases, groaning when he straightened back up. “Gosh, this is heavy. What do you have in here?”

“It’s books, mostly.” I took the other one and lugged it out of the room. “I can’t do without them.”

“The perks of having a teacher for a father, I suppose.” He said, a wistful tone in his voice. “At least they keep you strong, huh?”

“Hmm.” To my dismay, I could find nothing to say to comfort the boy, or anything to say at all, for that matter. I wished I could just be consistent.

“Hey, smart thinking in there!” Charlie appeared beside us, grinning proudly. “I didn’t pin you for the rebellious type, but you seem to be a natural.”

“I don’t know about that…”

“Here, let me take that for you.” Before I could protest, the suitcase was out of my hands. “Where are we off to?”

“Teacher’s wing.”

“Well, you went completely the wrong way. How did you manage that?” Charlie shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, we’ll get you there.”

As we traipsed through the halls, retracing most of my steps, I couldn’t help but steal glances at Neil. My mind raced with verse after verse at the faraway look in his eyes. I felt like Byron, struck by beauty in the moonlight and scrambling to capture the moment like a firefly in a jar of words.

“Neil?” I said softly, surprised for a moment to hear my own voice. “I’m sorry about… the thing, the newspaper.”

“It’s fine.” He smiled sadly, but gratefully. “I still have soccer and… stuff.”

“My father is coaching soccer. We might be on the same team.”

“Maybe.” His smile grew a little more genuine. “You’d better hope you’re not with Charlie. He’s a terror.”

“Is it a crime to want to win?” Charlie retorted.

“You’d think it's a crime not to, the way you carry on.”

“Yeah, yeah. Which room?”

“Three-ten. I think it’s the first one here.”

Sure enough, my room was the first one in the wing, closest to the hallway. I thanked the both of them, laughing as Charlie waggled his eyebrows and bowed with mock reverence on his way. Neil lingered a moment by my door under the pretence of making sure I had everything right and that my key worked.

“I’ll see you at the study group, then.” I leaned up against the doorframe, feeling infinitely lucky to have the privilege of looking at him.

“See you then.” He turned to go, but hesitated. “Hey, Clare? If you need anything, come find one of us. Those guys you met today are some of the most upstanding people at this school. We’ll help you if you’re ever… I don’t know. If you ever need it.”

“Thank you, Neil. I appreciate that.”

With a final nod of acknowledgement, he disappeared, and I ran across the room and tossed myself onto the bed, exhausted, and dreading the task of unpacking the horrible truth: I had fallen right off the deep end and landed squarely in love with Neil Perry.

#neil perry x reader #todd anderson x reader #steven meeks x reader #gerard pitts x reader #charlie dalton x reader #richard cameron x reader #knox overstreet x reader #dead poets society #dead poets x reader #dead poets society x reader

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ganymede-princess · 1 day

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The Craving | Jack Conroy (Pt. 2)

PART 1

ship: Jack Conroy x fem!OC

warnings: n/a

summary: Jack meets a musher girl on his first day in Alaska.

word count: 2105

a/n:

written by @ganymede-princess

Mushing with Jack Conroy made the Yukon come alive. I learned that on our first day out. It was as if the cruel, gnarled landscape transformed into a land of fairies as it passed through his eyes; and slowly, slowly, I began to see it too. The rolling fields of white began to glitter as if full of diamond crumbs as he trudged across them. Stones burst up from beneath the shimmering layer and became black obelisks as he wiped away the snow, marking a witch’s way. Silent owls and scurrying lemmings turned into forest sprites under his wondrous eye. I had never known a boy to carry magic in his pocket like he did, and I felt myself consumed with a mission to protect his optimism. It became a balancing act between guarding his body or his spirit. Often, I chose the body, for what is a soul with no vessel. When I scouted out our flanks and found huge pawprints gouged into the snow and fur snagged on a scraggly gorse bush, I couldn’t bare to frighten him with tales of snapping jaws and meat-stinking spittle, so I simply berated him for falling so far behind and dragged him back to the sled. Of course, he found out soon enough and turned timid for the rest of the day.

That night, I found myself observing a fight simmering between Jack and Alex. The frontier was a cruel mistress who had made Alex short tempered and unyielding; he felt Jack’s foolhardy nature itching him like a bedbug sore, as if any scrap of optimism was an insult to the suffering he had faced. Our night began calmly enough. We tied up the dogs and gathered enough dry wood for a fire, then sat around it to eat our salt beef, beans, and dried fruit. We had rice pudding in a can too, but Alex and I agreed we ought to save it for a rainy day. After that, Skunker hung a bucket of fish over the fire to thaw for the dogs, and Jack set about brushing his teeth.

“Got that tarp a little close to the fire, don’t you?” Alex’s voice was measured, but I could sense his irritation.

“Don’t wanna freeze to death.” Jack responded cheerfully. The meal and the fire had warmed up his spirits.

Alex said nothing in response, but sat down and watched him, seemingly waiting for the thing to catch alight. I picked my teeth with my thumbnail and stayed quiet. This was a man’s game, and I had no desire to stick my nose into it.

“What’s he doin?” Skunker sat by Alex and squinted as the boy scrubbed his mouth out.

“Cleaning his teeth.” He sipped his tea, eyes still trained on the sleeping tarp.

“How’d they get dirty?”

“C’mon, Skunker, you seen me do that.” I said, trying to alleviate some of the tension. I sucked a piece of beef gristle from my teeth and pointedly pulled out my own toothbrush from my rucksack.

“Well, you’re a lady.”

“Really, I hadn’t noticed.” I filled my cup with snow and nestled it in the embers at the edge of the fire to melt. “And cavities are the manliest of illnesses, right?”

Skunker stuck his hands up in surrender, making Jack chuckle. The sound of his laugh warmed me better than the fire. I paused for a moment to admire the orange light as it flickered on his face. He turned around and spat, and in that moment his tarp caught alight. He leapt to his feet and stamped on it to no avail, but Skunker came to rescue and dumped some fish water on it. I stifled a gag at the stink of charred wool and fish guts, sticking my toothbrush in my mouth to mask it with mint. Poor Jackie. Skunker grabbed up the few fish that fell out and said his apologies.

“Told you, too close to the fire.” Alex said, eyebrows raised in a challenge.

Jack smirked, shrugged humbly and sat down to finish his teeth. Nothing seemed to faze this boy, and I could see that Alex’s goat was well and truly gotten. His bad attitude only got worse when we all shared a laugh at Jack’s frozen-solid toothbrush.

“Nice weather.” He guffawed, showing me his beautiful, stupid smile. My face broke into a grin before I could stop it and I had to quickly turn around to spit before I drooled white foam all down the front of me.

The thing that finally set Alex off was Jack having the audacity to read a book. I caught his face darkening beneath his hat, and as he rose I felt a terrible sense of foreboding. I set my toothbrush aside and crossed my arms to watch as he strode over, grabbed Jack’s pack and started scattering the books about the snow. There were heaps of them. I couldn’t believe we had been hauling around that much dead weight.

“What are you doing?” Jack hadn’t even had the chance to get angry yet.

“Only things my dogs drag are things we need.”

Jack’s eyes widened incredulously, and it took him a full second to comprehend what was happening.

“That’s my property!”

“You want ‘em?” He dropped a book right in my lap and tossed the bag at Jack. “You carry ‘em.”

“Hold it, hold it, hold it.” Skunker emerged between them, wielding the fish pail. “I’m gonna feed the dogs, fellas. You’re not gonna kill each other while I’m gone, are ya?”

“We’ll wait ‘til you come back.” Alex grumbled.

They glared at one another for a moment, then Jack sat down and kept reading, leaving his books strewn about camp. Alex started twanging his mouth harp, seemingly just to distract the boy from his book. They were both getting on my last nerve. I took a look at the book in my lap. It was brown, clothbound and had an engraving of a cat with wings and a man’s face on the front. I got to my feet and picked up another book.

“Alex is right, y’know.” I said casually, ambling over to pick up another one. “Even if I think he’s being an asshole-” I turned around and tossed the word over my shoulder. “-about it. But you should think about losin’ some of these. They’re weighin’ us down.”

Jack stayed quiet, glaring up at me in indignation. I handed him the first book and he snatched it ferociously from my hand. A surge of anger took hold of me, but I set my teeth and swallowed it. I held the next book out for him, and when he went to grab it, I pulled it away. His eyes flared, and then settled. I stared him down for a long moment before I held it out again. His hand reached gently for it, then yanked it away when he had me unawares.

“Hey!” I snarled and chucked the last book in his face. “Pick the rest up yourself if you’re gonna act like that! Ungrateful child.”

“I’m older than you!” It seemed my last comment got to him.

“Yeah, well act like it then.”

I wrapped up my sleeping mat that laid beside his and moved it to a clear spot beside the fire. I sat with my back facing him, heart hammering with wrath. I picked at my nails, chewing at the dead skin on the side of my right thumb, wishing I had something more significant to rip to pieces. I was furious to think I had let this kid grab a hold of my heart when he was still acting like a spoiled little brat. Rich city boy. I thought. Clinging to your books and your fantasies and weighing us down when every pound counts out here!

Skunker returned soon after, muttering agitatedly under his breath, leading Digger along by his harness.

“What are you mumbling about?” Alex lolled his head to the side.

“I had seven fish for seven dogs, and Digger didn't get fed.” Skunker fretted, stroking Digger’s ivory fur. “I swear there was a wolf in with the dogs! And I fed the damn thing!”

“How would a wolf get in with the dogs?” I cast a quick glance at Jack whose eyes were wide and fearful. I felt a prick of annoyance. Surely he doesn’t believe this horseshit? How green can you get?

“He’s dreaming again.” Alex assured him.

I got to my feet and picked my way over to check Digger over myself. He seemed happy enough, if a little annoyed at the absence of food.

“Maybe you mis-counted.” I offered.

“No. No, there was definitely seven.” He shook his head emphatically.

“Poor Digger. He doesn’t seem upset, though. Surely a wolf would frighten ‘em.”

“Your bitch is half wolf, maybe they’re used to the smell.”

“Maybe. Shall we give him some canned stuff?”

“Yeah.” Skunker agreed. “Be quicker to thaw.”

I looked him over one more time, and was about to go and check on Connie when I felt a hand on my upper arm. It was Jack, holding a stick of jerky and smiling apologetically.

“For Digger.” He said softly. “To keep him going ‘til his real food.”

“Thanks.” I took the stick and avoided his eyes, still annoyed with his prior rudeness and now flustered at the softness of his cheek in the firelight. I picked the jerky to pieces and fed it to Digger slowly, making him chew it.

“Um.” Jack said, still lingering beside me. I turned, not enough to see him, but enough to show I was listening. He paused for a second. “Uh, Quinn?”

“Mm?”

“I, um.” He took a deep breath and continued in a very formal voice. ”I apologise for my previous actions before, at the fire.”

I looked up at him. His eyebrows were lifted expectantly, though I read true remorse on his face.

“Okay.” I wiped the dog slobber off on the snow, cast a quick glance at the other dogs who were now happily fed and settling in for the night. Satisfied and not willing to disturb them, I marched over and took up Jack’s tarp.

“Hey!” He said, an accusatory edge to his voice. I looked up, irritated he would think I might do something to damage it, especially since it had already been spoiled with fish juice.

“Hey yourself.”

I laid the tarp out on a rock and piled a few handfuls of snow onto the stained piece, then took up a rock and started to scrape it down.

“Oh… sorry.” He ran a hand threw his hair, smiling bashfully.

“I ain’t out to get ya.” I grunted, looking down to hide the redness on my face. “What’re ya reading?”

“Oh, it’s uh, it’s called A Journey to the Centre of the Earth.” He pulled the book from his pocket and made his way over to show me. It was a thick thing, brown, with a beautiful gold illumination on the front. I looked at it close and saw it was a picture of three people on a raft, one holding what seemed to be a torch. “It’s an adventure story about a professor and his nephew who travel down a volcano into the Earth’s core, which turns out to be hollow and full of all sorts of weird creatures.”

“My… Do you s’pose it’s really like that?” I replaced the snow and scraped it down again.

“Who knows?” He chuckled. “When we were walking today I couldn’t stop imagining the snow collapsing under me and falling down into the underworld. Who knows what’s down there?”

“Well, if the volcano at Alligator Lake is any indicator, I suspect it's naught but hot gravy down there.”

“Gravy?” He giggled, tongue between his teeth. “I guess you’re right, but where’s the fun in that?”

“Nowhere, I s’pose.” I tossed away the rock and dug around in my inside pockets until I found my mother’s lavender oil. There was still a little there, so I sacrificed a drop to help mask the reek of the tarp. “You oughta read me some tonight, since I cleaned your bed up real nice. Help me sleep.”

“Sure.” His face lit up in a grin so wide I could see both rows of his teeth. “Will you move your tarp back over? I won’t be such a jackass, I promise.”

“Course you won’t.” I strolled by him on my way to collect my tarp. His eyes followed me, then my hand as it ran along his shoulder as I passed. “You might stink like one, though.”

#ethan hawke #ethan hawke x reader #jack conroy #jack conroy x reader #white fang #white fang 1991 #todd anderson x reader

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ganymede-princess · 4 days

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A Hazy Shade of Winter | Angus Tully (Pt. 2)

PART 1

ship: Angus Tully x fem!OC

warnings: Discussions of loss and grief, descriptions of dissociation.

summary: Carol gears up for her first night at Barton.

word count: 1767

a/n: Thanks so much for all the love on part one! I hope you enjoy this one. More to come soon.

written by @ganymede-princess

Carol’s fingers felt thick and unruly as she dug through her suitcase, scattering her belongings over one of the spare beds that she had designated as the closet. She fumbled with her hairbrush for a moment, the smooth plastic slipped through her fingers and scuttled across the floor. With a rush of loathing, she dove at it and threw it against the wall where it thumped weakly and fell onto the blankets. Underwhelmed by the result and full up with a bone deep weariness, she stooped over the bed and rested her weight on her open palms, trembling at the elbows. As she caught sight of herself in the hand mirror that laid at the bottom of her case, a stray tear slapped against the surface of her glasses, casting a wobbling splotch across her vision. Perhaps that was how the old man saw through his bad eye. Something must have gone wrong in the womb, she thought; some pressure that misshaped it. Maybe it was the same pressure that popped the connection in her brain that would have allowed her hands to work in tandem with her eyes.

She took off her glasses and set them aside, laying back on the prison mattress with her hand mirror above her. She watched herself with vision slightly blurred without her glasses, but still in focus. The face staring back was familiar, but she felt no ownership of it. Half hidden under the shag haircut she chose on her last out-day to Portland, streaked with tears, flushed at the extremities, hollow brown eyes glaring in defiance to the brokenness inside. It was the way she should look, but it wasn’t her. It was too pretty and too human. These days she was a fractionation, barely managing to act like a fully formed person in front of those boys. Grief clouded around her like moths, eating up her brain like a forgotten overcoat and tying the loose strings around the back of her tongue to stifle her speech. Jason had made her feel something like her old self for a few precious minutes, then Angus paid her the favour of shoving that part of her back into the box. Perhaps she should thank him. After all, she was closest to Elias this way.

A soft knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She pushed herself up and took a shivering breath, and spoke in a voice that grated in her throat.

“I-it’s open.”

In waddled Mr Hunham, his unfocussed eyes clouded with pity. He adjusted his bowtie, then let his hands rest awkwardly by his round body, like a little brown penguin.

“Hello, Carol.” His smile was stilted, and overly toothy.

“Hi, um… Mr Hunham.”

“Please.” He hesitantly stepped toward her. “We’re in private. Just call me Paul.”

“Oh.” She paused. “U-uncle Paul?”

His eyes widened, and for a moment Carol thought he must be horrified at the suggestion, but soon he clasped his hands in front of him and smiled more genuinely than before.

“Sure. Uncle Paul.”

He just stood there for a long, awkward moment.

“Can-” She cleared her throat, willing the warble in her voice to still. “Can I help you?” She bit the inside of her cheek as punishment for stumbling on her words.

“Ah. Well, I was just seeing how you’re holding up.”

“I’m fine.” Her hand moved against her will to wipe a stray tear that tickled her cheek.

“You’re crying!” He hurried over, already wild as a bull. “If one of those reprobates said something to-”

“No!” She said, though her ribs still stung as though Angus had punched her right in the spleen. “No, nothing like that. I-I’m just… thinking about… Eli.”

“Ah.” Tentatively, he lowered himself onto the end of the bed. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through-”

“Please.” She put her hand up to absolve him, not sure if she would handle hearing any more sorries. “You don’t need to say anything.”

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a while. Carol contemplated apologising, though she was not sure for what, so she stayed silent.

“I can’t imagine what you must be going through,” He repeated, eyeing her dubiously. “But I may know someone who can. After dinner tonight- if you want to, that is- I’d like to introduce you to Mary, our head of catering. She lost her son.”

“Oh.” She pinched her forearm, avoiding his line of sight as guilt chewed her up. “Sorry. I-I thought you were going to say… I don’t know, um-”

“I know what you meant.” Paul said gently.

“Hm.” She wiped at her face and finally met his cross-eyed gaze, darting her eyes between each of his before settling on the one that focussed on her. “Losing a child must be the hardest thing in the world.”

“I would imagine so.” He sighed. Hesitantly, he reached out to her and let his hand rest on her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here, Carol. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the opportunity to entertain a guest, let alone family. Now, I know the circumstances are not ideal, and that we said we’d be staying in Boston, but-” He let out a frustrated huff. “I’ve been unfairly targeted by my pompous asshat of a superior, so we’ll just have to play the hand we’ve been dealt.”

“I don’t mind.” She said, minding it very much. “I’m not sure now is the right time for Boston.”

“I understand.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze and stood up to leave.

“Uncle Paul?”

“Yes, dear?”

“Thank you, for-”

Paul bolted upright like a meerkat as a loud thud came from the boys’ rooms, followed by the squeaking and shuffling of rubber soles on linoleum and the unmistakable grunting of two teenage boys locked in battle. He cast a wide eyed glance at her, stuttered an apology and dashed away. Carol sighed, gathering her strength and her glasses, and followed. She kept her distance as she approached, holding her arms around her waist in the old familiar protective stance.

“They weren’t fighting!” She heard Alex exclaim unconvincingly.

Peering past the younger boys she caught sight of Angus, his back pressed to the wall like a caged animal. He met her eyes with a look of such wild desperation that it knocked her off kilter with an overwhelming wave of sympathy, untempered even by her disdain for him. Then, she saw Teddy, standing with feet apart and arms raised from his sides as if poised to pounce back into the scrap. It made her skin crawl to see such malice written bold across his face, and felt validated in her immediate suspicion of him. There had been a strange glint in his eye when he rushed to shake her hand that afternoon, like sunlight on black ice. Jason stood between them, sleeves rolled up to the elbows and hair ruffled. The eye contact between them was brief; his eyes darted between her and her uncle, she raised a questioning eyebrow, he shrugged almost imperceptibly, and then it was over.

“I see.” Her uncle deadpanned. “And who started it, the ‘not fighting?’ Mm? Mr Tully? Perhaps you could shed some light on the subject?”

Carol stepped forward, intrigued. The boys stayed quiet, as she expected. All teenagers adhered to an unspoken code: don’t fink. Fink and you’re dead. Angus and Teddy’s eyes met in a silent challenge. Teddy jutted his jaw and glared like a petulant child.

“Mr Kountze? Mr Smith? Mr Ollerman? Mr Park? Alright then, we’ll do it like the Roman Legions.” Carol picked up a tinge of delight in her uncle’s voice. “Absent a confession, one man’s sin is every man’s suffering. For every minute the truth is withheld, you will all receive a detention.”

“I thought all the Nazis were hiding in Argentina.” Angus muttered. A barely contained laugh threatened to spill from Carol’s mouth, to her horror and confusion.

“Stifle it, Tully!” Mr Hunham checked his watch. “Now, in the first of said detentions, you will…” He paused as if thinking on his feet. “...clean the library. Top to bottom. Scraping the underside of the desks, which are caked with snot and gum, and all manner of unspeakable proteins.” Jason met her eyes, pleading silently ‘do something!’ “Ahh, on your hands and knees, down in the dust.” She felt a protest bubbling up in her chest. “Breathing in the dead skin of generations of students, and dessicated cockroaches-”

“Mr Hunham!”

“It was Kountze!” Little Alex blurted out, drowning her own exclamation. As he pointed desperately at Teddy, she caught Angus throwing him a look that landed somewhere between pity and disgust.

“Bravo, Mr Ollerman. Bravo!” Mr Hunham exclaimed sardonically, eyes shimmering with malignant joy. “As it stands, you've all had two hearty meals today, so I’m sure going without supper won’t hurt Mr Kountze too badly. We’ll be meeting in the dining hall in one hour, where you-” He waggled his finger at Teddy. “Will sit aside and watch us. I suggest you all take this time as an opportunity to study, and, uh, gentlemen? Break it up.”

With that, he waddled out past Park and Ollerman, raising his eyebrows as he caught sight of Carol waiting for him.

“Ah. You caught that, I assume?” She said nothing, just nodded and fell in step beside him. “I’m sensing some disapproval?”

“Well.” She bit her lip, unsure of how bold she should be. But then again, this Christmas couldn’t get any worse, right? “As a history teacher, I’m sure you’re familiar with the Geneva Convention.”

“Yes, I am.” Paul chuckled. “And I know what you’re getting at, too.”

“Well, personally, I’d rather not be subjected to any war crimes over my Christmas break. Plus, I’d rather not be in the position to agree with Angus Tully on something.”

“You’re off to a rocky start with him?”

“You could say that.”

“He’s a bright kid, in spite of his determination to act out and destroy his own potential.”

“I believe you.” She contemplated his words for a moment. “Maybe, and don’t take this the wrong way, if you, say… cut them some slack, the morale would be higher and everyone would get along a whole lot better. It’s Christmas.”

“Trust me, Carol, the last thing those boys need is leniency. They already think they can get away with murder, and I’d hate to see what comes after that. If you’re ever in the sorry position of a teacher, you’ll understand what I mean.”

“I suppose so.” She sighed, feeling thoroughly deflated. “See you at dinner.”

#angus tully #angus tully x reader #dominic sessa #dominic sessa x reader #the holdovers

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