Authors Note: Ok, so here's the whole shebang. November is NaNoWiMo or "National Novel Writing Month" which is when people who are either really fast at typing or have a lot of time on their hands...or both, write an entire novel in ONE MONTH! Crazy but also very boss. Anyway, if you're a follower of any of my stories, which I doubt you are because I have very few, you see, you have probably noticed that I update very, very, VERY rarely. In retrospect, I guess this is why I have very few followers. Hhhmmm... Anyway, I want to take NaNoRiMo and tweak it to "NaFanFicMo" Or "National FanFiction Month" where I will write A FULL FIC IN ONE MONTH! That' write update EVERY WEEK ON THIS STORY! I'll do it and if I don't I'll eat a fat sandwich and a blenderized Happy Meal just like John Green had to when he didn't update his Vlogs. I swear.

Anyway, that's what gonna happen and OF COURSE I brought my love for the holidays and Dead Poets together! So I'm writing a fic about the Dead Poets and how they do Thanksgiving. I'm also going to do one for Christmas! But this one first.

So PLEASE Rate and Review! It'll be the only way for me to finish!


The Dead Poets:

Thanksgiving Celebration

Chapter One

As winter settled over the tiny town of Welton, the rolling golden hills, typical of the Vermont countryside in autumn began to fade and transform into something resembling that of arctic tundra. Frigid winds blew in sharp gusts and rattled the frosted windowpanes of Welton Academy. The students attending the all-boys boarding school had not expected the harsh side-effects winter to spring upon them so early, nor had they expected the furnace to be on the fritz every other day giving many of the students the inevitable opportunity to become pyro-masters, all being learning how to build a fire in as many fire places they could get their hands on just to make the frigid classrooms to a bearable chilly.

Many had become quite skilled in the art of building a fire with the exception of Knox Overstreet, who, upon lighting a match became so frightened by the sudden spark of the flame that he hurled the match across the room, singeing the seat of Richard Cameron's trousers—much to the amusement of the rest of the Poets excluding the aforementioned.

Either way, in sight of the unfavorable conditions along with the inevitable droning monotony that the weeks at "Hellton" brought, the students were quite relived to be leaving it all for a week to join their families for the welcome Thanksgiving break.

It was the day before break and the common room was significantly less crowded that it usually was. This was due to the fact that many of the students had been released early, as their families had great influence on the school and could easily convince Headmaster Nolan to do so. Only a handful of students were left in the school the day before break—including the seven members of the Dead Poets Society.

Neil Perry, Todd Anderson, Charlie Dalton, Knox Overstreet, Steven Meeks, Gerard Pitts and Richard Cameron were all sprawled out in various spots in the common room. The wind rattled as harshly as ever and one could catch a glimpse of a few stray flurries whooshing by in the perpetual darkness. While the conditions outside the common room were rather unfavorable, inside was a rather cozy and relaxed atmosphere. A crackling fire washed the room in a warm glow, casting flickering shadows on its seven occupants. Meeks and Pitts were hunkered over a bundle of wires and gears, two winkled cords leading to a pair of chunky headphones resting on either boy's head.

Meeks pushed his horned rimmed glasses a little higher on his freckly nose, his thick red curls mashed onto his forehead from the headphones. He muttered something under his breath before pocketing the bundle with the screwdriver he was holding. Pitts, across from him, was a little less productive, not paying much attention to the odd little machine before him and more by the tiny wrench he had unearthed from Meeks's cluttered toolbox.

Charlie was sprawled out on the worn-out plaid couch, flipping through an old issue of Better Homes and Gardens. His generous stack of Playboy's had been swiped earlier that week when he unwisely allowed an underclassmen into his room to clean it. Though the kid had failed wiped it clean of any grime, he had no trouble wiping it clean of anything Charlie needed to sustain himself for life (i.e. Smokes, Playboy's, etc, etc) So until the new issue came out, Charlie was forced to scan housewife magazines (Pitt's had a surprising large collection and had generous lent them to his pal) for anything to, er, amuse himself. Sadly for him, Charlie was finding the housewives a little to underexposed for his taste, despite what Pitt's had told him about them being "classy babes". "And they can cook too," he had informed Charlie proudly.

Knox was lying by the hearth on his stomach trying his hand at drawing. He wanted to make a portrait of all the Dead Poets to hang in the cave. He was doing quite well too, until a certain girl came to mind, and suddenly Neil had grown brown hair and a wicked set of knockers. All in all, the picture wasn't coming along as planned.

The real Neil, whose chest was appropriately flat and hair still brown and fashioned into a sensible, yet very unoriginal crew-cut, had his long legs dangling over the arm of a rather beat-up armchair, immersed in Crime and Punishment—the Russian novel wasn't exactly as inspiring as Leaves of Grass might be but it was just as thought-provoking. Still, he couldn't' help but keep his eyes wandering over to Todd, who was sitting off to the side in the corner, notebook tucked in his lap, pencil poised on the paper, though still, waiting to be thrust into motion. By the dazed look on Todd's face though, it could be safely assumed that this might not happen anytime soon. After a few more moments, Neil finally called his friend on it.

"Hey, Todd," Neil said, breaking the silence. The sudden noise, caught the attention of nearly everyone in the room, except the person it was intended for.

"Hey, Todd," Neil repeated, a little louder.

Hearing this time, Todd looked up, startled, "W-what?"

"You ok?" Neil asked sitting up in his chair slightly, "You seem a little….distracted."

Todd blushed a little at being called out, "Oh, uh no…I-I'm fine."

"Neil we're all distracted," Charlie, pointed out, happy to find an excuse to close the Women's Day he'd been rifling through. "Holidays tomorrow, we finally get to leave this hellhole."

"Charlie!" Cameron exclaimed, snapping out of the trance he had been in while pouring over Geometry. "Welton is a fine Academy! How dare you disgrace it by calling it derogatory names."

Charlie wheeled around at the snot-nosed ginge, "Oh, I'm sorry Dickums, when exactly did I ask for your input?"

"You didn't," Cameron sniffed, drawing himself up importantly in his seat. "But I'm never afraid to offer my opinion when it's needed."

"We noticed," Charlie deadpanned. "Anyway, why the hell are you doing homework. Who does homework the day before break?" Charlie demanded, looking at the open Geometry textbook in horror.

"Well unlike some people, I actually respect the fact that my parents pay for my tuition to attend this fine school and I want to give them the idea that they're getting their money's worth," Cameron informed Charlie snottily.

"Give it a rest Cameron," Neil sighed. "If you didn't notice there aren't any teachers boots around to lick."

Cameron opened his mouth to protest but Neil had already turned away from him and back to Todd. "You sure you're ok?" Neil asked, still concerned.

"Yeah—yeah, I'm fine," Todd insisted, though rather weakly.

"Ok…" Neil hesitated, wisely not entirely convinced. "You just seem kind of down and, I mean, it's the holidays tomorrow."

"I know," Todd said quietly. "I'm excited…"

"You sure sound it," Charlie snorted doubtfully. "Come on cheer up Todders!" Charlie said springing up from the couch. "One week, no classes, no homework and a whole day of nothing but stuffing your face!" Charlie paused thoughtfully, "Leave it to America to have the one holiday with nothing you do but eat."

"Some great country we are," Cameron grumbled.

"Whoa man, whoa," Charlie snapped. "This is America you're talking about. Land of the brave, home of the something…"

"You're quite the patriot," Meeks snorted from his post at the table. "But frankly, Charlie, Thanksgiving is a waste."

"A day of nothing but eating and you all that a waste?" Charlie demanded.

"I don't mind eating," Meeks replied in an even yet maddeningly superior tone. "I'm just saying, it's based on something that never even happened. We have this false tale declaring that the Pilgrims and the Indians helped each other grow corn to make peace, when in actually it was just some celebration of the Harvest where upon a few Native Americans attended—and then the Pilgrims still found it justifiable to slaughter them in thousands…" Meeks shook his head is disgust before a signal suddenly zapped from the transmitter and he spun around to fiddle with it, leaving Charlie to just scowl at him.

Neil looked over at Knox who was gaping at Meeks in open-mouthed horror.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked.

"Do you mean to tell me that the Pilgrims and the Indians weren't friends at all and that there was no big feast?" Knox demanded, staring imploringly at Knox.

"Precisely," Meeks said, not looking up from his work.

Knox just started at the curly-haired boy and wildly wondered if Santa Clause was a sham as well. He wanted to ask but he didn't want to know the answer. He couldn't handle that much heartbreak in one night.

Neil stared at Knox calculatingly for a moment and then simply shook his head. "Knox, don't kill yourself about this."

"Oh, like you're one to talk," Knox snapped.

"What are you talking about?" Neil asked thoroughly confused.

Knox paused for a second, "Nothing," he said quickly, turning back down to his picture.

"I always wanted to cook a Thanksgiving dinner," Pitt's said, randomly jumping into the conversation. "There's a great stuffing recipe in the November issue of Women's Day," he said shooting a significant glance to Charlie who pointedly ignored him.

"I don't mind Thanksgiving," Neil shrugged. "My Dad always brings up the Doctor thing to my family but the turkey numbs my senses so it makes it more bearable."

"You got that right," Charlie agreed.

Neil turned to Todd, as he noticed his friend hadn't joined in. "What about you, Todd?"

Todd flushed again and shrugged, " I—I really…I…"

Thankfully, for the squirming boy, Todd was interrupted from another loud zap from the transmitter on the table followed by a gurgle of static and then a man talking.

"Eureaka!" Meeks shouted, frantically fiddling with the knob. "We have signal! Better than that we have a station!"

The Poets fell quiet as a mans clear and informative voice cut through the static of the radio and projected around the room,

"An for those of you in the Welton area, it seems that Jack Frost has come early this year—"

"Jack Frost really?" Charlie snorted but was hushed quickly by the rest.

"—a blizzard is on the way and is expected overnight, hitting you hard with at least eight to ten inches—" The radio crackled again and the signal was lost.

"Blizzard? Blizzard?" Cameron raged, glaring furiously at the transmitter as though the little bundle of wires was the cause of the incident, not merely the messenger. "Who has blizzards in November?" Cameron demanded.

"Uh, Cameron, it's Vermont," Neil pointed out, rather wisely.

"Yeah, really," Knox chimed in, sitting up a little from his spot on the hearth. "Haven't you ever seen White Christmas?"

"No," Cameron snapped. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Knox snorted out of disbelief, "What does that have to do with anything, he asks," he mused. "The movie took place in Vermont because the main characters wanted to go where snow was. Idiot," Knox shook his head wondering what the world was becoming these days.

"Knox, no one cares about your stupid movie," Cameron retorted. "As if that makes any sense and besides the movie is called White Christmas not White Thanksgiving!"

"Ok, you two need to calm down," Neil stepped in as Knox looked close to ramming a fire poker up Cameron's ass—not that it wouldn't have been entirely unwelcome, but Neil didn't have the energy to clean up the mess it would make (because everyone knew he'd be the only one responsible enough to clean up the blood from the carpet).

"First of all, Knox the fact that you're indulging in Christmas musicals featuring Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye is faintly disturbing and also, Cameron, calm down. If there were a big storm on the way, we would have known by now. Why would the first time we hear about it be ten-thirty at night? So just relax, you'll be at home tomorrow with mummy and daddy, trust me."

"If I were Cameron's mummy and daddy I'd be praying for snow," Charlie muttered, only silenced by a swift glare from Neil.

" I love snow," Pitt's remarked randomly.

"Getting caught in a snowstorm all alone with Miss. October…." Charlie mused thoughtfully, "Now there's a thought."

"On that note, I'm going to bed," Meeks said, pulling off his headphones and Pitt's before carefully tucking the transmitter back into it's case.

"I'm going to bed too," Knox said, standing up and starching. "Early to bed early to rise…uh…wait I got this…"

"Come one Knoxie," Charlie said, ushering the still-pondering Knox out of the room. "Sleep on it."

Neil went over and poked out the fire as everyone shuffled out of the room. He turned to leave just as Todd was scuttling out.

"Hey, Todd," Neil said, catching him. "I'm sure you're annoyed by this by now but you were really quiet tonight…I mean quieter than usual which is saying a lot…considering."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine," Todd, said, once again as unconvincing as ever. He knew this, of course and didn't need to doubtful look on Neil's face to tell him. "Really, Neil, I'm fine," he tried to insist.

Neil scanned his friends face for another moment before letting out a small sigh and deciding to drop the subject. Maybe he needed to simply relaxing and maybe lessen on the overbearing concern he had for Todd. He was beginning to act like Cameron's mother and if that wasn't a reason, Neil didn't know what was. No, Neil decided that if something was bothering Todd he'd tell him in due time.

"Ok, sure," Neil smiled then shivered. "Jesus, I'm just looking to get out of here to get into a warm house."

"Yeah," Todd agreed, though only half-heartedly—something Neil noted and then forced himself to ignore. "You think it'll snow?" Todd asked, looking up at his friend.

"I doubt it," Neil said. "More cold, as if I could be thankful about that…"

Just then they passed Charlie and Cameron's room where they could hear the loud snippets of what soon became a very amusing conversation…

"No!"

"C'mon Charlie it's freezing!"

"Goddamn it NO! Get the hell back over to your bed!"

"It would be for warmth!"

"It's gay!"

"It's practical!"

"It's disgusting!"

"You did it with Meeks once!"

"DON'T BRING HIM INTO THIS! THERE IS NO CHANCE IN HELL I AM SLEEPING IN THE SAME BED AS YOU! I DON'T CARE HOW FUCKING COLD I GET! NO. FUCKING. CHANCE!"

"But then again," Neil said thoughtfully as Todd and he entered their dorm. "Maybe I could…"


Authors Note: I know, I know. The characters aren't "full-on" but it's kind of a parody and Cloudy's Yawp-tastic fics kinda inspired some of the charaters personality traits (ie, Knox's clumsiness, Meeks and Charlie slash references). But, c'mon, these guys are HA-larious, either way.

Oh, Neil is reading Crime and Punishment bcause I'm trying to read it as well. My AP Lit teacher said once I got past every Russian name looking the same it's great. And I trust her, she's like John Keating in female boss form.

Also Cameron is doing Geometry because Geometry sucks and so does Cameron. If that's not symbolism, I couldn't tell you what is.

And we all know Knox would love White Christmas. Ever since he heard Bing Crosbey sing it with Danny Fucking Keye, he knew, as well as I, that life just could never be the same again.

~RevelationToBehold68