#maybe just some continuity stuff here and there

[certaimromance]

𝜗𝜚 Spooky Call.

Spencer Reid x Hotchner!reader

Summary: When your boyfriend gets a call from you, the last thing he expects to hear is that you're being held at a police station for decorating your house.

Words: 2,2k.

TW: fem!reader. mention of haley's death, jack, crime, murder, blood (fake). reader was arrested (obviously). implication that the reader is wearing jeans and shirt (not very descriptive). reader is hotch's sister. established relationship. spencer being the standard. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This was the last fic of my october special, but I had problems and never posted it, so I had to change the plot a bit and here it is.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

You’ve always hated asking for help. It wasn’t just a matter of pride—it was the belief that you could, and should, handle everything yourself. Life, however, had a cruel way of reminding you that it didn’t always work like that. Everyone needs help sometimes. At least, that’s what people—well-meaning friends, family, even your boyfriend—kept telling you. We live in a society; there are people who love you; they’d want to help, they’d say. Blah, blah, blah. The sentiment was kind, sure, but it never stuck with you. Not really.

Today, though, maybe you should’ve listened.

All you wanted was to throw your nephew a belated Halloween party. It wasn’t like you were planning anything crazy. Just a few decorations, some music, and a bit of creativity—how hard could it be? Nothing about it seemed complicated or dangerous, not at first. You’d seen your brother overwhelmed trying to keep things normal for Jack, and you figured this was something you could handle on your own. Something small but meaningful.

Somehow, things got out of your control, and now you were sitting in your boyfriend's car in the police station parking lot trying to organize your thoughts to explain to him how you had ended up arrested in the first place.

“This has a perfectly reasonable and not at all criminal explanation. I swear.” You began to speak as you noticed by the watch on his wrist that three minutes of complete silence had already passed.

It had only been a year since you started dating officially, and there were still some things you were afraid Spencer would see, especially the things that got you in trouble for doing stupid things. You'd liked him for a long time, even before he realized you could be more than just his friend and his boss's sister. The last thing you wanted to do was ruin everything and make him run away in terror, even though that didn't sound very much like him or his values.

“This better be a good explanation,” Reid finally said, his voice calm but tinged with confusion. He placed the car keys down in the cupholder and turned to look at you fully. “Because right now, I’m struggling to understand how decorating your house could get you arrested.”

You squirmed in your seat, the knot in your stomach twisting tighter. “It’s…complicated,” you mumbled, avoiding his eyes.

Please don't think I'm weird. Please don't think I'm weird. Please don't think I'm weird. That was the only thing that kept repeating in your mind.

“I’m sure it is,” he finally said, his tone dry but still patient, his gaze never wavering.

You exhaled sharply, dragging your hands down your face. “Okay. So, I started with simple decorations—some cobwebs, pumpkins, and all the usual stuff. But it just…it wasn’t enough. I wanted to do something big. Something really cool.”

He raised an eyebrow, silently urging you to continue.

“So, I got this idea,” you said, hesitating. You could already feel the heat rising in your face. “I took a garbage bag, stuffed it with paper to make it look like a body, and then—” You paused, your voice dropping slightly. “Then I added some fake blood. A lot of fake blood.”

His eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying to hold back a laugh. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” you admitted, wincing. “But it looked amazing! For like…five minutes.” You gestured vaguely toward the dashboard, trying to find the words to defend yourself. “I might have spilled some of the fake blood on the lawn. And…it might’ve looked a little too real.”

Too real, extra real.

“A little?” Spencer asked, incredulous. “You mean realistic enough to make the neighbors call the cops?”

You winced, expecting him to think you were ridiculous—or worse, stupid. But then, to your surprise, his lips quirked into a soft laugh.

“Hey, don’t laugh at me!” You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest when you saw the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

Yeah, maybe you didn't want him to think you were weird, but you didn't like being laughed at either.

“I’m not laughing,” he said, though the hint of amusement in his voice betrayed him.

“You are absolutely laughing,” you huffed, your pout deepening. “It’s not funny, Spencer.”

He took a deep breath, finally managing to suppress his laughter—mostly. His hand reached out to tilt your chin up gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. The warmth in his hazel eyes softened the sting of your embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely, though his lips still twitched with the ghost of a smile. “I really am, angel. But you have to admit, you went a little overboard with the ‘terrifying’ concept.”

And there it was, the kind of sweetness that had made you fall for him so hard. The kind you'd expect to receive without question after spending at least half an hour locked in a filthy cell.

You sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “Okay, maybe. But in my head, it wasn’t that bad,” you said weakly. “It just…went a little wrong.”

“A little?” he repeated, his eyebrows raising again. “You got arrested. You scared half the neighborhood into thinking they’d stumbled onto a crime scene.”

“At least it wasn’t illegal!” You shot back, crossing your arms defensively. “I didn’t actually hurt anyone. I just made a mess. With fake blood.”

Spencer’s gaze dropped to your hands, where smears of red clung stubbornly to your skin. His eyes flicked to your clothes—your jeans, your shirt, both stained with dried streaks of crimson. A slow grin spread across his face.

“It wasn’t illegal, but now you look like you walked off the set of a slasher movie,” he said, his voice filled with teasing affection. “Here—and here.” He gestured to a streak of red on your shoulder, then another on your cheek.

You were about to protest when he suddenly leaned in. His face was so close now, his breath warm against your skin. Before you could say another word, his lips brushed softly against yours—a brief, gentle kiss that caught you off guard. You froze for a moment, your heart skipping a beat. Then, as if it had all been a slow, perfect dance, you melted into him. His lips were warm and tender, the kiss slow and sweet, like a quiet promise that everything, even in the chaos of your night, was going to be okay.

When he pulled back, your breath caught, your chest fluttering in that way only he could make you feel. His grin was wide, playful, but there was something else in his eyes—a depth, a tenderness that made your heart thud. You blinked up at him, still dazed from the warmth of his kiss.

“For the record,” he murmured, his voice soft, his lips still dangerously close to yours, “I never thought you were a criminal. Just a little…overly enthusiastic.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, a genuine, warm sound bubbling out of you. “Overly enthusiastic,” you echoed, shaking your head. “That’s one way to put it.”

“And messy,” he added, his eyes twinkling as they lingered on the fake blood smeared across your face.

“Don’t push your luck, Dr. Reid,” you warned, though the smile on your face betrayed you.

Spencer chuckled softly, the sound melting into the quiet of the car. He leaned in then, his lips brushing against your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss that felt like a promise—quiet, tender, and full of unspoken reassurance. The warmth of his touch seeped into you, and you closed your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the comfort of his presence.

As he pulled back, he studied you with that signature look—the one that always made you feel like he could see straight into your soul. His brow furrowed slightly, and you recognized that expression well: the one he wore when he was about to ask something important, when he wanted to understand you better. It was a look that never failed to make your heart flutter, even if it made you feel vulnerable.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his tone gentler now. “I get wanting to make the decorations amazing, but why was it so important? Why go all out to the point of, well…” He gestured vaguely toward you, his lips twitching again. “Fake crime scene levels of effort?”

You hesitated, his question hitting you like a wave. You knew the answer, but speaking it aloud felt heavier than you had anticipated. It was as though the words themselves had a weight you hadn’t been prepared to carry. You lowered your gaze, absently picking at the hem of your shirt as you fought to find the right words, your mind tangled in emotions that were hard to articulate.

Reid didn’t push, though. His silence was patient, waiting for you to open up at your own pace. It was one of the things you adored about him—the way he didn’t rush, didn’t demand. He just let you be, trusting you would share when you were ready.

Finally, you exhaled a shaky breath and met his eyes, the vulnerability in your voice clear as you spoke. “It’s not just about the decorations,” you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about Jack.”

His expression shifted immediately, his eyes softening with understanding but remaining focused as you continued.

“I just…” You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “I want to be the perfect aunt for him, you know? Someone who makes things better, even if just for a little while. He’s been through so much—losing Hayley, seeing my brother juggle everything just to make sure Jack’s okay…” Your voice wavered, and you clenched your hands to steady yourself. “He’s only a kid. He deserves to feel happy and safe and…loved.”

Maybe that last word was too personal, and maybe your boyfriend noticed.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours in a silent offer of comfort. You took his hand, the warmth of his touch grounding you enough to keep going.

“I know I can’t replace his mom, and I’d never try to,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought maybe, just maybe, if I did this party right—if I made it something really special—it could be a distraction. Something fun. Something he could look back on and smile about instead of just…” You trailed off, biting your lip as the words lodged in your throat.

He squeezed your hand gently, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “Instead of just remembering what he’s lost,” he finished for you, his voice soft and understanding.

You nodded, blinking back the sting of tears. “Yeah.”

The car was quiet for a moment, the weight of your confession settling between you. Then Spencer shifted closer, his free hand reaching up to brush a stray tear from your cheek. The tenderness in his touch made your chest ache in a way that was both painful and comforting.

“You don’t have to be perfect,” he said gently, his voice steady and sure. “You’re already doing more for him than you realize. Just by being there, by loving him the way you do…that’s what matters. Not decorations or parties or anything else.”

His words hit you squarely in the heart, and you let out a shaky laugh, the tension in your chest loosening just a fraction. “I just wanted it to be perfect,” you admitted, leaning into his touch. “I didn’t want to mess it up and end up in a cell.”

Reid smiled softly, his fingers brushing lightly against your jaw as he held your gaze. “You didn’t mess it up,” he said firmly. “Okay, maybe the decorations were a little unconventional,” he added with a playful glint in his eye. “But your heart was in the right place. And Jack knows that. He loves you and thinks you’re wonderful, just like I do.”

You felt your breath catch at his words, the warmth in his eyes making your cheeks flush despite everything. “You’ve really become good at this, you know,” you said quietly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “The whole comforting and making me blushing thing.”

He let out a soft chuckle, giving your cheek a gentle tap with his thumb before pulling back slightly. “I might have read eleven books to brush up on a few things and be better,” he said, his tone light but not dismissive.

You chuckled, the sound lifting the tension that had been pulling at your chest. “Eleven books? You really went all in on this, huh?”

His arm slipped around your shoulders, drawing you closer, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against you grounding and reassuring. “When it’s you,” he said softly, “I’d go even further than that.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the weight of the world ease off your shoulders. A quiet thought lingered in your mind, one you hadn’t been able to put into words until now. “But…sometimes, don’t you think I’m weird?” you asked, the vulnerability creeping in despite yourself.

Please say no.

“Weird? No,” he murmured, his breath warm against your hair. “I think you’re perfect.” He paused for a moment, then added with a soft laugh, “And every day, I’m grateful you don’t think I’m weird either.”

You smiled, the knot in your chest loosening, the weight of uncertainty fading as his words settled in. “Guess we both can be a little weird then,” you said, the truth of it comforting you more than you expected.

He chuckled, the sound easy and light, as he pulled you a little closer, holding you in a way that spoke of quiet promises. “It’s perfect for me.”

[harryssyndrome]

Darkness and You | h.s

summery: a late night drive takes an unexpected turn when an handsome stranger takes his place in your passenger seat.

wc: 5.3k || 🌕���🌗🌘 Masterlist 🌒🌓🌔🌕

WARNING ⚠️ sexual references, mention of unprotected sex. MINORS DNI! you’re responsible for your own consumption, don’t blame me later. It’s your own choice.

Posted on: November 25th, 2024

Tag-List: @fruity-harry @angeldavis777 || TAGLIST IS OPEN!

Surprise lovelies! The first part from serial-killer!Harry series is here and I really hope you enjoy it. 😌 let me know how was it and if you have any ideas for other parts, I just might post some more this week itself. this is my first ever try at writing 18+ stuff tho it’s not really much so I hope it didn’t suck🤭😳 REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

You don’t do this. Any of this. You don’t pick up hitchhikers in the middle of the night. Especially men.

You’ve seen a lot of horror movies and you’ve heard a ton of news stories.

You’re not five. You know what you should and what you shouldn’t do. But you’ve made an array of bad choices tonight so why not continue it?

You don’t know what it was but something compelled you to pull over.

The boy with the curls and those deep green eyes, gets into the passenger seat, a grateful smile on his face. He looks sweet, to be honest.

“Oh, thank you so so much. I’ve been out here for so long. My car just gave out on me and there’s no signal in this shithole.” He says, his English accent very evident as he adjusts his seatbelt. “May I know my saviour’s name?” He asks with a smiles that shows a pair of dimples.

The air is thick with the quiet hum of the engine, and your fingers clench the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. You’re not sure if it’s the cold seeping into the car or the nervous energy building in your chest. Something about this feels surreal, like stepping into a scene you’d only watch from the safety of your couch. Yet, here you are, with a stranger in the passenger seat and an unspoken weight hanging between you.

“Uh, YN,” you reply, your voice more hesitant than you’d like. His accent catches you off guard again, so polished and charming it almost makes you forget the unease simmering below the surface. Almost.

“YN,” he repeats, letting your name roll off his tongue like he’s testing its sound. “That’s a lovely name. I’m Harry.”

Harry. It suits him somehow. Still, you can’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His curls are messy, probably from standing in the cold too long, and his coat looks worn, but there’s a warmth to him. Those green eyes, so striking, carry a sense of ease—like he’s the last person in the world you should be afraid of.

Still, you’re not stupid. Sweet smiles and dimples don’t guarantee safety.

“So… where are you headed?” you ask, trying to keep your tone neutral while silently calculating how far you are from the nearest gas station or town. Somewhere with people. Witnesses.

He exhales, the sound almost a laugh. “Honestly? Just anywhere away from here.” He runs a hand through his curls, shaking his head. “My car decided to betray me in the middle of nowhere. Tried to call for help, but of course, there’s no signal. Classic, right?”

You manage a small laugh, though it feels forced. Your instincts are at war—one side whispering that this guy is harmless, the other screaming at you for stopping in the first place.

“Well,” you say, trying to sound composed, “you got lucky I came by. Not a lot of cars out tonight.”

“Not a lot of kind people either,” Harry adds, his voice softer now. “I was starting to think I’d be out there all night.”

His words linger in the air, and for a moment, you feel a pang of guilt. Maybe he’s just another unlucky soul, stranded and hoping for a break. Maybe you’re overthinking this. Or maybe this is exactly how every cautionary tale starts.

“So, YN,” Harry says, breaking the silence again. His tone is light, conversational, as if this is the most normal thing in the world. “What’s a girl like you doing out here at this hour? Don’t tell me you’re running away from something, too.”

The question catches you off guard, and your grip on the wheel tightens. “No,” you reply quickly, a little too defensively. “Just… a long drive. Needed to clear my head.”

He hums in acknowledgment, not pushing further, and you feel a flicker of relief. He leans back in his seat, letting his head rest against the window. For a moment, you think he’s going to drift off, but then he glances at you again, his eyes almost piercing in their intensity.

“You’ve got this look,” he says, his voice quieter now. “Like you’re carrying the weight of the world.”

You don’t respond right away, unsure how to take that. “You’ve known me for all of five minutes,” you finally say, trying to deflect with a weak smile. “Bit of a bold assumption, don’t you think?”

He chuckles softly. “Maybe. But I’m pretty good at reading people.”

The car falls into a strange silence again, and you can feel his gaze shift back to the window. There’s something about him—something you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s not just the way he talks or the way he looks at you. It’s the way he feels out of place, like he belongs in a story that hasn’t been written yet.

And for reasons you can’t explain, you let yourself keep driving.

There was some reason he can’t take his eyes off of you, almost as if you’re a rare piece of art he couldn’t help but admire.

“You always pick up handsome strangers in the middle of the night?” He teases with a cheeky smirk on his features.

You glance over at him, briefly, before focusing back on the road. The way his smirk lingers, paired with those dimples, feels both disarming and maddeningly charming. “Not usually,” you reply, your tone even, though you’re acutely aware of his gaze on you. “Just the ones who look like they’ve had a rough night.”

He laughs at that, the sound soft and warm, filling the small space of the car. “Lucky me, then,” he says, his accent turning the words into something smoother, like they carry more weight than they should. “Although, I think the luck might be yours. How often do you get to share a car with a proper English gentleman?”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “English gentleman, huh? You sound like a guy who gives himself that title. Let me guess, you also drink tea at every opportunity and say ‘cheerio’ unironically?”

His hand flies to his chest in mock offense, and he lets out a dramatic gasp. “Cheerio? Absolutely not. What do you take me for, a walking British stereotype?”

“Maybe,” you shoot back, your tone playful now. “I mean, you did say your car ‘gave out,’ and who even says that anymore?”

He chuckles again, his head tilting slightly as he studies you. “Fair enough. But for the record, I’m more of a coffee guy. And I don’t say ‘cheerio.’” His smirk returns, softer this time, as he adds, “I think you might be the first person to question my gentleman status, though. Most people just take one look at me and assume I’m… irresistible.”

You snort, trying to stifle your laugh. “Irresistible? You really do think highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Can you blame me?” he quips, his voice teasing but not cocky. His gaze lingers again, softer now, almost contemplative. “But I’m serious. You’ve got this… way about you. Like you’re completely unimpressed by people like me, and I can’t decide if it’s refreshing or terrifying.”

That catches you off guard, and you shift in your seat, the smile slipping from your face just a little. “People like you?”

He shrugs, the smirk still lingering but now tinged with something deeper. “You know, the ones who talk too much, crack jokes, try to charm their way through life. The ones who should be lucky just to share the same space as someone like you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, a mix of unease and flattery you’re not quite sure how to handle. You keep your eyes on the road, focusing on the distant glow of headlights in the distance. “You’ve got a lot of opinions for someone who just met me.”

“Maybe,” he admits, leaning back in his seat and letting his gaze wander out the window. “But you can tell a lot about someone in five minutes. Like how you’ve got this look in your eyes, like you’re constantly bracing for something to go wrong.”

You freeze for just a moment, his words hitting closer to home than you’d like. “You’re imagining things,” you say quickly, brushing it off with a casualness you don’t really feel.

“Maybe I am,” he replies, his voice low and calm, like he doesn’t quite believe you but won’t push. After a moment, he adds, almost to himself, “But for some reason, I can’t stop looking at you. It’s like… you’re a puzzle, and I can’t figure out the edges.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you settle for silence, the tension in the car shifting to something strange and unspoken. Outside, the road stretches endlessly ahead, the darkness pressing in on both sides. And for the first time since picking him up, you wonder if you’re the one being read, the layers of your carefully built armor peeling away under the weight of those deep green eyes.

Harry leans back in his seat, one hand resting casually on his knee as he studies you. His gaze, though soft, feels weighted—like he’s trying to peel back layers you didn’t even know you were wearing. After a beat of silence, he speaks, his voice low and curious.

“Can I ask you something, YN?” he says, his tone gentle, almost disarming.

You glance at him briefly before focusing back on the road. “Sure,” you reply, though the way he says your name sends a faint chill up your spine.

“Aren’t you scared?” he asks, tilting his head slightly. “Picking up a male stranger in the middle of the night? Alone? I mean, you said it yourself—this isn’t exactly normal behavior.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, his words triggering the voice of reason that’s been screaming at you ever since you stopped the car. Your fingers tighten on the steering wheel, and you force a small laugh. “A little,” you admit, though your voice wavers slightly. “But you don’t seem like the scary type.”

Harry’s lips curl into a smile, one that’s almost too perfect—dimples and all. “Well, I promise you, I’m not some sort of serial killer,” he says lightly, his tone almost playful. “Scout’s honor.”

Something about his phrasing makes you laugh, and the tension in your chest eases—if only slightly. “Isn’t that exactly what all serial killers say in the movies?” you tease, glancing at him briefly with a raised brow.

Harry’s smile widens, but there’s a flicker of something behind his eyes—a shadow of a thought you can’t quite catch. “Touché,” he says, leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His gaze never leaves you, as though he’s memorizing every detail of your face. “I suppose it would be the perfect cover, wouldn’t it? A smile, a little charm… make yourself seem harmless enough, and no one suspects a thing.”

The way he says it sends a ripple of unease through you, and the playful smirk he wears only deepens the strange knot in your stomach. You force yourself to stay calm, trying to brush it off. “That’s… a little creepy, don’t you think?” you reply, half-joking.

Harry chuckles softly, the sound low and almost hypnotic. “Maybe. But if I were a killer, wouldn’t I have already done something by now? You’ve got me here, alone, no witnesses. Seems like the perfect opportunity, doesn’t it?”

Your heart skips a beat, and your hands grip the wheel tighter, your knuckles whitening. His voice is still light, teasing, but there’s an undercurrent to his words that you can’t quite place. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, trying to gauge whether he’s just messing with you or if there’s something darker lurking beneath the surface.

“And yet,” he continues, his tone softening again, “here I am, just a guy stranded on the side of the road, grateful for the kindness of a beautiful stranger.”

Your throat feels dry as you swallow hard, forcing yourself to respond. “Well, for your sake—and mine—I hope you’re telling the truth.”

He lets out another soft laugh, leaning back against the seat again. “Of course I am,” he says smoothly. But there’s something about the way he says it—like he knows more than he’s letting on. Like he’s enjoying this moment a little too much.

The road stretches on in front of you, the darkness pressing in from all sides, and for the first time, you start to wonder if stopping for Harry was the worst decision you’ve ever made. Because while his smile is charming and his voice is calm, there’s something about him that feels off. Like the quiet before a storm.

Harry shifts in his seat, his gaze flicking to you every so often, like he’s studying the curve of your profile, the way your fingers tap the wheel, the faint crease in your brow as you concentrate on the dark road ahead. The hum of the engine and the soft patter of the tires on asphalt are the only sounds filling the car now, a strange kind of peace settling between you two.

“How far’s the city?” he asks casually, breaking the quiet, his voice smooth and easy, though there’s a strange undertone to it—like he already knows the answer but wants to hear you say it.

You glance at the dashboard clock before replying, “Probably around three hours. Give or take.”

Harry lets out a soft hum, leaning back in his seat, his head tilting toward you as though drawn by some invisible force. Three hours. Three uninterrupted hours with you. It’s enough to make his heart race.

He lets the silence return, but his thoughts are anything but quiet. His mind is a storm of emotions and desires—chaotic, consuming, and entirely focused on you. There’s something about you that’s different. It’s not just the way you look, though your beauty feels like something out of a dream. It’s the way you hold yourself, the sharpness in your wit, the vulnerability you try to mask but can’t fully hide. You’re magnetic in a way he can’t explain, and the more he sits beside you, the deeper his obsession grows.

He watches the soft glow of the dashboard lights reflect off your face, highlighting your cheekbones and the curve of your jaw. He wonders what it would feel like to trace that line with his fingers. To know the softness of your skin. To see you look at him not with the occasional suspicion that flashes in your eyes but with trust. Admiration. Love.

His thoughts spiral, wild and untamed, as his gaze lingers on you. What would it take for you to see him the way he already sees you? Would you ever understand how special you are? How perfect this moment is? You were meant to find him tonight—he’s sure of it. The universe wouldn’t have aligned so perfectly otherwise.

His fingers twitch, his desire to reach out, to touch you, almost overwhelming. But no, not yet. He has time. Three hours to savor this moment, to bask in the glow of your presence, to solidify the bond he’s convinced you’re destined to share.

You’re unaware of the storm raging in his mind, the way his chest tightens with every glance at you. You think the silence is peaceful, and in a way, it is—for you. For Harry, it’s intoxicating. Maddening.

He forces himself to take a steady breath, his fingers curling into his palms as he tries to calm the fire within him. He doesn’t want to scare you, not yet. You’re like a delicate thread, and if he pulls too hard, you might snap.

So, he keeps his voice soft, his demeanor calm, though his thoughts are anything but. He smiles to himself, a small, secret smile, as he stares out the window at the endless darkness. You have no idea, he thinks, how utterly and completely you’ve captured him.

And he plans to make sure you never get away.

As the silence stretches between you, Harry's mind spirals further into chaos. He shifts again in his seat, the seatbelt digging into his chest as his thoughts race uncontrollably. His green eyes flicker to the rearview mirror and then to the empty backseat, a dark thought taking hold of him. It's ridiculous, he knows, but the image is vivid, almost too vivid to push away-the two of you tangled together in the small space, your back arching against the leather as his hands grip your hips, holding you in place.

The idea sends a heat rushing through him, and he clenches his jaw, forcing his gaze back to the road ahead. But it's no use. His thoughts keep circling back, no matter how hard he tries to distract himself. The way your lips curve as you speak, the soft rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, the faint scent of your perfume that fills the car—it's driving him mad. You're so close, yet just out of reach, and it's enough to make him want to explode.

He imagines it so clearly: the way you'd look beneath him, your head thrown back, your lips parted in a gasp as he claims you. The sound of his name spilling from your mouth, a mix of moans and screams that would echo in his ears forever. The thought of marking you, leaving his fingerprints, his bruises, his everything on you-it consumes him. He wants you to be his, entirely his, in every possible way. To make sure no one else could ever have you, touch you, or even think of you the way he does.

His breathing becomes shallow as the lust builds inside him, threatening to take over. His hands clench into fists in his lap, his nails digging into his palms as he fights to regain control. Not yet, he tells himself. Not yet. You're driving, unaware of the wildfire burning inside him, and the last thing he wants is to ruin this perfect moment.

But his eyes betray him, flicking back to the rearview mirror, imagining again how easy it would be. The backseat seems like it was made for this-for you. He could pull you back there, coax you into his arms, and let his hands explore every inch of you. He'd take his time, memorizing the feel of your skin, the way your body reacts to his touch. You'd look so beautiful, so utterly perfect, with your cheeks flushed and your voice breaking as you beg for more.

Harry exhales sharply, trying to shake the thoughts from his mind. He turns his head slightly, stealing another glance at you, and it only makes things worse. The way your lips press together in concentration as you drive, the way your fingers drum softly against the steering wheel-it's enough to make him want to lose control.

He shifts again, trying to adjust himself discreetly, the tension in his body almost unbearable now. His lustful thoughts are a storm, loud and demanding, drowning out every ounce of reason he has left. He's trying to distract himself, to think of anything else, but it's no use. Every thought keeps looping back to you-your voice, your scent, your body, your everything.

You glance at him briefly, catching the flicker of something dark and unspoken in his eyes, but you brush it off as nothing. To you, he's still the stranded, grateful stranger, polite and charming, sitting quietly beside you.

But Harry's chest tightens as he fights the urge to act on the consuming need inside him. His teeth graze his bottom lip, his mind racing. He's never felt like this before— this overwhelming obsession, this uncontrollable desire. And it terrifies him. But it also excites him, in a way he can't even begin to describe.

For now, he forces himself to stay still, to keep his hands in his lap and his voice calm. But his thoughts? His thoughts are far from calm. They're filled with you, with every possible way he wants to have you. And the longer he sits beside you, the harder it becomes to stop himself from making you his. Completely, utterly, and irrevocably his.

Harry’s voice cuts through the silence, a casual curiosity in his tone that makes you glance at him briefly. “You don’t have a boyfriend yet, do you?”

You raise an eyebrow, momentarily taken aback by the unexpected question. You keep your eyes on the road, trying to process his words. “How did you know?” you ask, voice light, though you can’t quite place the reason why it feels like an oddly personal question.

Harry shrugs slightly, a devil-may-care smile curling on his lips. “Just a guess,” he says nonchalantly. “No man in his right mind would let a gorgeous girl like you be alone at night for this long. Either that or you’ve got a terrible taste in men.”

His words hit you with an unexpected warmth. You laugh, a soft chuckle escaping your lips, trying to hide the flutter of something that rises in your chest. It feels like he’s teasing you, and yet there’s a charm in his tone, something alluring and carefree that makes it hard not to feel a little… flattered.

“Terrible taste, huh?” you reply, half-joking, your eyes flickering back to him. “Well, maybe I’ve just been too picky.”

Harry’s smirk deepens, a glint of mischief dancing in his green eyes. He leans forward slightly, his voice low, as if sharing a secret. “Maybe I can be your new boyfriend,” he suggests, his tone playful but with a teasing undertone that makes your pulse quicken. “Save you from your bad taste?”

You laugh again, this time more freely, the sound light and natural. “Oh really?” you reply, shaking your head with a mock skeptical smile. “You think you could do a better job?”

Harry’s gaze flickers to you, a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he’s sure he’s exactly what you need, even though you’re not quite sure how to respond. “I mean,” he says, his smile widening, “you wouldn’t know until you tried, would you?”

The playful banter between the two of you continues, the tension that had briefly been present starting to dissipate, replaced by a light-hearted connection that feels easy and natural. But beneath the surface of the conversation, Harry’s thoughts still swirl with that same obsessive desire. He’s enjoying the game, enjoying the way you laugh, the way your eyes twinkle when you tease him back. But deep down, he’s already picturing what it would look like if he were your boyfriend. How it would feel to have you close, to make you his—completely, entirely, and without question.

For now, though, he lets the teasing continue, enjoying the playfulness between you, and the undeniable pull he feels toward you. But he knows, deep down, that this is only the beginning. This is just the start of what’s to come. And he’s more than willing to wait for the moment when you’ll be his.

Harry’s smirk widens as you teasingly reply, “Maybe.” He can’t help it; his pulse quickens at your words. He’s always been good at reading people, but with you, everything feels like an exciting game—one he’s eager to win.

He leans in a little, his arm stretching out to rest on the console between you, positioning himself closer. His breath hitches slightly as he catches the scent of your perfume again, the warmth of your presence filling the car. He’s trying to remain casual, but he can’t help it; his thoughts are moving too fast, pulling him deeper into the haze of attraction.

“Give me some hope at least, moon flower,” he says, his voice softer now, almost intimate. “Let me know I’ve got a shot.”

His eyes never leave you as he waits for your response, and when you tease him back, saying, “Okay, you do. You have a shot at it,” Harry’s grin stretches across his face, almost too excited for his own good. It’s as if he’s won something. Something he can’t quite put into words yet, but it feels like a step toward getting closer to you.

He sits up straighter, a surge of confidence overtaking him. His gaze moves over your figure with a deliberation that makes your stomach flutter. The way his eyes drink in the details of your face, your body, makes you feel… noticed. Seen.

“That’s one hell of a boost for my ego,” Harry says, his voice dripping with a mix of playful arrogance and genuine admiration. “I’ve got a chance with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”

The words hang in the air for a moment, and you can feel the intensity of his gaze. It’s flattering, but there’s something else in his look—something deeper, something more consuming than mere compliments. It’s as if he’s claiming you in some unspoken way. His eyes linger a little too long, and though he’s trying to be playful, there’s a certain hunger there that catches you off guard.

A part of you wants to laugh it off, but another part of you… well, another part of you can’t quite deny the effect his words have on you. The way his confidence oozes, the way he seems to have you completely captivated even when he’s just speaking casually.

You force your gaze back to the road, but the tension between you both feels different now. It’s charged, electric—filled with unspoken possibilities. Harry, however, doesn’t let up. His eyes keep studying you, as if trying to decipher every little detail about you. His lips curl into a smile that’s both triumphant and knowing.

The atmosphere in the car shifts. The lightness of the teasing still hangs in the air, but there’s a deeper layer now—one that feels almost like a promise. Harry’s made it clear: he’s not here for just a simple ride. He’s here to win your attention, your affection, to make sure you know exactly how much he wants you. And as he watches you, he knows he’s already made his mark on you in some way, whether you realize it yet or not.

The air between you thickens, charged with the energy of his words. Harry's voice lowers, almost like a secret. "This might sound crazy since I hardly know you," he says, his gaze flickering from your face to your lips, then back to your eyes. "But I really, really want to kiss you."

The intensity of his gaze, the weight of his words, sends a rush of heat to your chest.

Your heart skips a beat, then races faster than before. You know it's reckless, impulsive, but it's as if something deep inside you is responding to him, telling you to act, to do something. But before you can process the surge of emotions, your foot slams down on the brake pedal without warning.

Harry's eyes widen, his body thrown forward by the sudden stop. His hands instinctively grip the console as he stumbles against the force of the car halting.

"Jesus!" he exclaims, his voice laced with shock, his pulse spiking.

You breathe shakily, your hands still gripping the steering wheel as the car finally comes to a stop. The silence in the car is thick with anticipation. Harry's heart is racing, not just from the sudden stop, but from the way you're looking at him now-there's something different in your eyes. Something that mirrors the craving he's been feeling.

When the shock of the stop wears off, Harry turns to you, his breath coming in quick bursts. His chest rises and falls rapidly as he stares at you.

"Why the hell did you stop the car like that, love?" he asks, his voice rough, his brows furrowed in both confusion and curiosity.

Your eyes lock with his, and something shifts. The walls you'd both been playing behind-teasing, joking-begin to crumble. His question hangs in the air between you like a challenge. But then, without saying another word, you lean toward him. A glint of something darker passes over your face.

"Because I wanted to do this," you whisper, and without waiting for any further hesitation, your lips crash into his.

The kiss is immediate and intense, born out of the tension that's been building ever since he first got into the car. His lips are soft but urgent, pulling you closer. There's no room for uncertainty anymore; only the heat of the moment, the heat of his body pressing against yours, the heat of desire crackling between you both.

Harry responds eagerly, his hand reaching to cup your jaw, fingers threading into your hair as he deepens the kiss, his lips moving hungrily against yours. The taste of him is intoxicating, sending a pulse of warmth straight to your core. His kiss is fierce, as if he's been waiting for this moment just as much as you. His tongue brushes against yours, a soft, tantalizing pressure that makes you lose yourself in the sensation.

For a brief moment, nothing else matters-the world outside the car, the consequences, the lingering doubt. All of it fades away as you both succumb to the pull of each other, driven by something stronger than logic or reason. The kiss feels like a release, the pent-up tension from the entire ride coming to fruition in one passionate, desperate embrace.

When you finally break away, your breaths are ragged, both of you still close, your foreheads resting against each other. Your pulse is wild, your heart pounding in your chest, and you can't help but smile at the way he looks at you now-his eyes dark with desire, filled with a hunger that matches your own.

Harry grins, a satisfied, almost predatory look crossing his face. "Well... I guess I got what I wanted," he murmurs, his lips barely brushing against yours as he speaks.

But you know this isn't over. The tension between you both is only just beginning, and neither of you can walk away from it now.

“God, you’re so hot,” Harry mutters against your lips, the hand not on your face sneaking down to your thigh, his fingers gently squeezing the flesh through your jeans. He’s getting drunk on you, addicted to the feeling of your lips on his. He’s never before felt this way, it’s like something in him has snapped in half, the primal and possessive side of him awakening. He doesn’t want to let you go.

The kiss gets more heated, the sweet gestures replaced by desperate and hungry ones. Harry’s fingers dig into your thigh almost possessively, his head tilting to deepen the kiss even more.

His tongue runs over your lower lip, begging for entrance.

As soon as you grant him access his tongue immediately pushes inside your mouth, exploring every inch of your wet cavern hungrily. It’s as if he wants to devour you. His hand moves up from your thigh to your waist, pulling you closer, trying to get the most possible body contact.

“You’re driving me insane, princess…” Harry mumbles against your lips, one hand now gently gripping your chin, holding you in place. He’s practically addicted to the way your mouth feels on his, you’ve unleashed something primal in him, something he has trouble controlling.

“Your car is like.. a perfect spot for this, love,” Harry comments, his lips moving off of yours, down to your jawline. He begins kissing the skin there as he speaks, “Plenty of space… dark, private… you should park somewhere. I bet your backseats are really comfortable.”

There was no denying that he get want he wants and you’re now his… and this is just the beginning

[jakef3ver]

Nishimura Riki | NDA

☁︎︎ Idol!riki x fan!reader | fem!reader

↯ fluff, crack maybe suggestive a little more into the fic, use of social media (instagram, twt), reader is just a regular girl going to school and stuff

⚠︎︎ will contain mentions of alcohol consume later

-Love at first sight?-

“I swear to god Alija“

”Imagine you just want to work in peace and suddenly out of nowhere Jake and Ni-ki from fucking enhypen walk in and order a coffee from you” you say before taking another bite from the pizza Alija made for the both of you.

Alija giggles, “I would’ve freaked out honestly” she says.

“I DID freak out and you know it, but I had to keep it together somehow, you know”

“nah that’s true” she says between chewing her last bite.

“Like, I knew they’d be here in this area because of the concert” you start.

“but I would’ve never imagined that they come to our fucking workplace for coffee” you finish dramatically and slap your hands on your face.

“and the worst thing is” you exclaim and stand up abruptly “rikis hand touched mine”

“WHILE HE SMILED AT ME ALIJA”

Alija bursts out into laughter.

“I swear I fell in love even more” you sigh.

“I bet he’ll recognize you at the concert” she says as the supportive-equally-delusional best friend she is.

“He absolutely won’t” you answer

“Hyung do you remember the girl from the cafe this morning?” Ni-ki asks Jake, as they sit in Jakes hotel room and scroll through their phones.

Jake looks up from his phone and smirks.

“Yes of course”

Riki also looks up from his phone and sighs.

“I can't get her out of my head” he says and runs his free hand through his hair.

“I really wanna see her again, do you think she'll be at the concert?” he asks.

“I don't know, could be possible, she seemed a little nervous when we ordered” Jake chuckles.

“Can we go back tomorrow before the rehearsals?” Riki asks and looks at Jake, hoping he'll go back with him.

“yea I think that should fit” Jake answers him, still smirking.

“Why do you look at me like that?” Riki asks jokingly offended and throws his hands in the air.

Then suddenly he hears his phone go off.



After looking at his phone, Riki looks up to Jake who’s now holding in a laugh.

“I am really not” he whines “I- I just think she’s pretty you know”

Jake shakes his head and starts typing again.

After sending his last message, he walks over to Jake and jokingly threatens to kick him “I genuinely hate you” he says and lets himself fall onto the hotel bed.

“oh come on, there’s nothing bad about this”

Jake declares “Just give her your number tomorrow if you're so down bad already” he continues and shrugs his shoulders.

“No I cannot do that, what if it gets leaked or some shit like that” Riki groans while staring at the ceiling.

“True” Jake starts to speak while sitting down beside him, “but honestly, I guess it's a take it or it's probably gone forever kind of situation” he finishes his sentence.

“But isn't that problematic? What if she's a fan for real? Isn't that even-” Riki replies but get's cut off by Jake “fuck this problematic whatever stuff” he calls out “Nda's exist you know” he adds.

Riki hums.

“Just try and see where it goes, huh” he begins again. “Not everything has to ‘end’ negatively”

Riki nods and sits up. “I guess, yea” he answers while standing up.

“Then tomorrow 11 AM down in the lobby?” he asks before turning to leave the room.

“Sure, see you” he answers “and think about it” Jake exclaims before Riki leaves the hotel room, to go into his own.

His thoughts now running wild.

Should I do it and take the risk?

Would she even be interested?

What if it works out?

What if I'm in love for real?

Wait, does love at first sight exist?

He shakes his head, and rummages through his suitcase searching for the pajamas he packed, before changing and getting ready for bed.

But, he couldn't really sleep.

He turns from the left side, to the right side.

From his back to his stomach.

And again, from left to right.

From back to stomach.

But he couldn't get her out of his head.

masterlist | previous | next

tags: @chaevibes @yangjungwonnie @minskzy @d-dilemma @microwvdstrawb3rri3s @ssiiwave @deadpool15

[noblechaton]

idk like on some level. sure. mutual hate on a thing can be fun. there's plenty of stuff I poke fun at with my friends - but that's to ourselves, typically in private conversations where fans of such things won't see em, and I've gone out of my way in the near decade (maybe over at this point? eugh) of my fandom of this show to kinda be aware of any of my more negative posts, not tagging them or at least not spamming them

yet with ml there seems to be this constant effort from some to go out of their way to remind you "Erm, but the show is bad??" and it's like. ok. that's how ya feel, whatever, totally fine to think that way, but then they keep going, they go to every post they see - fanart, fic, casual shitposts, anywhere ppl are having fun, anything that doesn't also say the show is bad, and remind you that they think it's bad. they run 6 salt blogs dedicated to characters they've hated for near half a decade from a show they've maybe hated for even longer and sometimes haven't even seen the last few seasons of, all to continue to spout this constant stream of "Show....bad" negativity with no further goal than to, seemingly, try and ruin it for someone else, and to me that sorta thing is just like. what are we doing here man. what the fuck are you

be critical of the show, that's totally fine! I don't love every aspect of it, I'm sure even the biggest bugheads would have something to point out as a flaw or issue they have with it. but this seemingly endless wave of ppl going on and on about how bad they think the show is, how they carry that as if it's objective fact, how they believe everyone in the cast except Marinette or Adrien (or even sometimes like, I dunno, Lila) should be thrown in a meat grinder and make sure that you know they believe such a thing, repeating it so many times as if they want you to believe it, too, and it's just like. why? what's so wrong about others enjoying a silly lil cartoon show?

and ultimately to me it's just like. fuckin' buzz off lmao. I don't give a flying fuck what anyone else thinks of the show - my taste in media and my feelings toward the media I consume are the objectively correct ones, after all!

you can't make a single fucking post about miraculous ladybug on this site without someone thinking their opinions about how ML Is A Bad Show are wanted or appropriate

[northern-passage]

some of you may have seen over on my kithj blog but i'm currently in the process of editing/rewriting the current chapters of tnp (mainly the prologue & ch1) i'm only on the prologue right now but making steady progress. i'm getting to a lot of edits i've been putting off (like the wraith fight) and updating/revising some of the lore and worldbuilding. i'm hopeful this will improve what's already there and also motivate me to keep going and finally get back in the saddle completely.

i've made the decision to cut out certain choices, the biggest ones being that you can no longer turn Clementine away on the road (it was always a bit of an empty choice and just resulted in the player losing interactions with a main character who is ultimately unavoidable) as well as genderlocking the sibling. congrats, you now have a little sister!

otherwise the only other major changes i'm planning on at the moment is the aforementioned wraith fight, though i don't imagine the fight itself changing too much, mainly the structure and choices, and then i also plan to rewrite Noel's route in ch1. Noel's route has been something that has bothered me since the start, and i'm going to essentially swap xir path in ch1-- rather than going to the isolation district (which ultimately doesn't do much, since you go with him either way the following day in ch2) you'll be going along with him on his house calls. there are a lot of other minor things i'll be editing as well, but those are the only big content changes i'm looking at currently.

the wraith fight will probably take some time, and i want to update with both chapter overhauls completed, so don't expect that any time soon, but i figured i'd share what i'm up to at the moment :-) thank you as always for your patience and support!

[xxplastic-cubexx]

me Omw to annoy you about more Francesca content 😼😼

you and my entire inbox my friend strap in everyone this is gonna be The Francesca Mega Collection. part one The Bed Collection ft You HAVE To Click/Tap To Read Anything ESPECIALLY The Asks

thank you for joining me for the Francesca Bed Collection im going to pass out

[luna-loveboop]

I made a side blog! @luna-love-reboops is the current url. It's for reblogging stuff. Mainly Loz and Lu content :)

[cardinalcyn]

i had another idea for a futari wa rewrite and that's:

what if we got to see the seeds of darkness working their human jobs and living their human lives during the second half of the show? they say they learned so much from our world but it's never shown...

here were my ideas/headcanons

juna/kakuzawa is an office worker, as we all know. post-awakening, he gets a job in the same office as nagisa's dad being the friendly jokester he is, nagisa's dad tries to befriend the quiet new guy eventually he has "kakuzawa" over for dinner. nagisa thinks nothing at all of this because mepple is in her room and can't freak out over the evil energy but juna knows. that brashness, that face, the lacrosse stuff? he defo knows he would try to kill her, but he'd rather not cause a scene with the one person who makes work remotely tolerable, so he doesn't

regine/shouko was a middle school student in the lacrosse episode so i am forced to assume her human form goes to that other school she's very shy and quiet and she wishes she could go to school in awakened form she eventually gets her chance, because of halloween. everyone wonders who she is and how she got so much confidence she reaches out to a couple of friendly classmates while she's in "costume" and after the halloween festivities are over, she goes back to being shy and quiet but remains in their friendship circle she actually gets some respect for once. the other seeds don't really hear her, so she gets to open up and complain about her "brothers" to her friends they want to come over to her house but they're never permitted to. someone called "jaaku king" does not allow it. they dismiss this as shouko being a chuuni

belzei/dr. genbu yuuki continues his work in hospital administration that specific hospital already has a director so that would make things weird. just like with his villain duties, he is gunning for his boss's job. he's maybe head of neurology or radiology, since he has those electric powers. his colleagues give him the nickname "esper" because technology will sometimes mysteriously malfunction when he walks in the room honoka's prodigious science skills put her in this hospital's orbit somehow. by chance, she gets a limited opportunity to study under a certain dr. yuuki for a science club training camp thing "yuuki" recognizes her immediately, but honoka only really knows him as the kind old doctor who drove fuji-p to the hospital during that storm, so she trusts him immediately they have a mentor-mentee kind of relationship on the outside, a good rapport at that, but since yuuki is actually belzei, he's trying to gain information about honoka that he can exploit. there's probably a lesson in this about understanding when people in positions of power want to use you maybe he even meets her grandma once, who can tell something's off about him right away this dynamic between belzei and honoka is how he is able to find her house in episode 40 btw. he probably looked "yukishiro" up in the phone book lmao

i think it would be funny to see futari wa from shiho and rina’s perspective. a slice of life/sports anime where their lacrosse star teammate friend has got SOMETHING going on with the smart girl from the science club and also sometimes some weird stuff happens for basically no reason and it’s never talked about afterward.

[daemon-in-my-head]

WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tag @jashonja

Finally got smth that isn't just stick figures, ik the hair nd sht is weird, trust the process skdhsksksms (knowing me, this is by no means an indication of the final product)

Dunno if I'll keep the flower or if I'll just throw gore in there or not... I kinda wanna but also kinda hmmmmm subtlety is fun.

Tagging @aleksxo @defira85 @beecreeper @quacaserous nd anyone else who wants to

Somebody remind me to do the accessories I forgot em... Earings nd rings my beloved

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[verflares]

lying face down on the floor. there are so many things to draw always. that is so crazy

[everythingisawayoflife]

OKAY LIKE TWO PEOPLE SAID I SHOULD SO LET ME TALK ABOUT THIS, its gonna sound like nonsense. Trigger Warning for discussions of Suicide, Self-Harm, Mental Health. Please read at caution cause I discuss a lot of sensitive stuff here.

So my scene analysis paper was exactly as it sounds, we watch a movie of our choice, and analyze it from our textbook, America on Film: 3rd edition. I chose Dead Poets bc it had been a minute since I’ve seen it and I also have seen it enough times to be able to analyze it. So I chose Neil’s suicide. a very chilling scene that when broken down, says a lot, for saying very little. so first lets get into the biblical allegory.

When we first see Neil, he opens his window and slowly puts his Puck crown on his head, like so:

This combines two major elements of the main biblical parallels at play: The Agony in the Garden and one of the major Instruments of the Passion, The Crown of Thorns. For those who have not grown up around Christianity/don't pay attention to it, here are some brief yet thorough definitions of the terms I just threw around:

Agony in the Garden: The night Jesus and his disciples spend in the Garden of Gethsemane where Jesus spends the entire night praying and wrestling with his inevitable crucifixion. Some scriptures add that he was sweating blood during this but it depends on which translation you read. The Agony really shows Jesus' human side and can best be seen in the musical Jesus Christ Superstar's most pivotal number, Gethsemane, which I've linked here.

The Passion: A collective name for the events leading up to Jesus' crucifixion. Essentially all of what Easter is. Passion's archaic definition is suffering.

The Instruments of the Passion: Notable relics and icons from the Passion. These include the Crown of Thorns, the cross itself, Holy Lance, Veil of Veronica, and more.

Anyway, the entire first part of the scene shows Neil, who moves slowly and deliberately. No one else in the entire house is awake and he has become one with nature, by opening his window and feeling the winter breeze. Neil bows his head, presumably IN PRAYER, before we cut to the next part. While Christianity has become decentralized in households across America, it was still very crucial in 1950s America, especially in WASP-y domains. So, it would be correct to assume Neil's family is Christian, especially of how Welton is structured (i.e. the main meeting hall is basically a chapel, they sing hymns, etc.).

Jesus Christ was crowned with thorns as a way of mocking him. He was put on trial because according to the Romans, he claimed to be a God, which because the Romans adhered to their set pantheon, it was considered sacrilege and blasphemy. Jesus only ever responded (again, depending on the translation), "You say that I am." So they wanted to mock his authority and placed that crown on his head. Neil is essentially mocking his own authority because the entire movie he has tried and failed to have authority over his own life. His father continuously shoots him down and refuses to listen until the final break when he tells Neil he is sending him to military school. For Neil, he believes it was foolish to think he could even persuade his father just a tiny bit. He expresses this from the moment we first meet Mr. Perry to the final argument.

Where Jesus wears a crown of thorns, Neil's crown is woven with what appears to be fruits and maybe flowers. Flowers and fruit have had sensitive and romantic connotations throughout all of history and are often represented in classic art and literature. Neil is making this sacrifice in the name of art. If you notice throughout the entire movie, anytime death is mentioned, the camera is focused on Neil. It is brilliant subtle foreshadowing and it eats me alive every time it happens. Neil knows what he is about to do. Robert Sean Leonard played this scene beautifully and I so badly want to discuss all of this with him.

Continuing on, we watch Neil make a silent descent down the stairs and he is entirely shadowed. This gives the audience the implication that we already see a ghost:

Neil needed theater like he needed breathing and when theater was taken away from him, his life force was gone. The whole of Neil already died. We see this resignation with his final line:

"I was good. I was really good."

Neil already views himself as dead. He speaks of himself in the past tense. So Neil walking silently through his house as if he were already a ghost is so haunting. I mentioned earlier that Neil knows what he is doing. In Christianity, suicide is considered a sin. We see this in The Divine Comedy, an Italian narrative written by author Dante Alighieri in the 1300s CE. In the first and most famous section, Inferno, when Dante and Virgil arrive in the Seventh Circle and come across those who have committed suicide where they have been turned into trees. The only exception to this is Judas Iscariot, who is being feasted on by a three-headed Satan. Now again, Judas dies two different ways depending on which biblical translation you read but typically the narrative is this:

Judas turns Jesus into the Sanhedrin for 30 pieces of silver and when he discovers Jesus is to be crucified, Judas hangs himself.

In Biblical times, despite suicide being marked as a sin, in Judas' case, because he wanted redemption from his bad act, it was viewed as an acceptable death. So for Neil, this suicide is a redemption for betraying his father. A small parallel, maybe even a bit of stretch, but it is there for me nonetheless.

Back to Jesus, Neil's descent down the stairs also parallels to the walk along the Via Dolorosa or the Way of Suffering. It is the path Jesus walked to his crucifixion, a long and arduous journey. The walk is about 2,000 ft (600 Meters in Metric) yet this is a man who has been beaten, starved, tortured, who was also tasked with carrying his own large wooden cross, but that's besides the point. It was a slow and painful walk and Neil's deliberate footsteps are exactly that. Skipping ahead, Neil finally arrives to his destination. The choice to do it in his father's office was absolutely on purpose. Neil comes back to the spot he emotionally died, the moment he lost everything. We get just a brief bit of hesitation for Neil. He fiddles with the key to his father's desk. He holds it gingerly and turns it over in his fingers a few times before reaching down to unlock the drawer with the gun. This goes back to the Agony in the Garden, which again, is best expressed in Jesus Christ Superstar's Gethsemane:

Why I should die?

Eventually, Jesus resigns himself to die:

Alright, I'll die! Just watch me die! See how I die!

Neil does not go silently. I don't know if I'm hallucinating or have really keen hearing, but I swear you can hear the tail end of the gunshot simultaneously as the dirge-like music cuts and Mr. Perry gasps awake. I might just be making that up but I don't know tbh. But anyway, while Jesus resigns himself, the following lyrics express frustration with God and the life that was already planned for him when he has a selfish sense to live. This song and musical really delve into the debate of how much human and God was Jesus Christ and it really opens the door for his human side. He expresses selfishness and a want to abandon his mission. He is hesitant to die. He is hesitant to die painfully. Like I said earlier, Neil hesitates ever so slightly.

Then I was inspired Now, I'm sad and tired After all I've tried for three years

Cause not only is God, well, y'know, GOD, he is also Jesus' father. A father who had planned out a whole life for his son and while his son goes along with it, he has a desire to live outside of that. Sound familiar? And I really am trying not to be sacrilegious or anything! I grew up in a Christian household but outside of that, theology has always interested me and I've learned to view it from an academic standpoint. As for my beliefs now, I'm still unsure, and I don't think I ever will be sure and I think that's okay. We're getting off topic, so let me get back on track.

The final time we see Neil alive is him sitting at his Dad's desk, gun wrapped in cloth with Neil gripping it:

He looks sure, with maybe just a flicker of sadness. The entire scene Neil has looked serene. And not like the calm kind of serene, the morose kind. Solemn, I think is a better word for it. Neil's soul has died. Neil is about to crucify himself and become a Dead Poet. He has fulfilled the purpose of the poets they read about in the Society. He lived life as full as he could only for it to be cut down so short. That's the tragedy of it: Neil had so much life to live and so much more to contribute to the arts. But Neil's father killed that passion, killed that love. Earlier in the film, Keating recites the Whitman poem, O Me! O Life! In summary, the poem essentially states that life itself is what makes life worth living. It's a question and answer poem. The speaker wonders what about life is worth living when it is full of constant suffering. They get an answer: life itself is. You being here on Earth and having an identity is what makes it worth it. Neil doesn't see that worth anymore. Life without the arts, his friends, Keating, is not worth living for him anymore. I really recommend reading that full poem, linked here, it is so gorgeous despite it being so short. That sweaty-toothed madman had a gift.

I think that's pretty much everything. There have been a MILLION think pieces on Todd and Neil's whole relationship (TLDR: those boys are GAY) so I didn't get into it here, mainly cause I wanted to focus on Neil and the real meat of my rambling, which was the Biblical allegory. I feel like I said a whole bunch of nothing and it might not make sense to me in the morning but it feels good to get it all out. I love this movie and I love Neil and I love Biblical allegory.

I also hope that this post communicates that suicide is not the answer! Please reach out if you have feelings that make you feel unsafe or need someone to lean on. My DMs are always open and I will leave the major crisis hotlines if needed.

988 - Suicide & Crisis Lifeline, call for support

741741 - Crisis Text Line, text TALK to speak to someone for support.

writing a final paper on dead poets society for my film class and my page limit is THREE?? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CANNOT DELVE INTO THE QUEER SUBTEXT OF NEIL AND TODD’S RELATIONSHIP AND THE PARALLELS OF NEIL’S DEATH TO THE PASSION OF CHRIST BUT ALSO MAYBE JUDAS ISCARIOT’S DEATH??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I DON’T HAVE ROOM TO DISCUSS THE CHRISTIAN IMAGERY??? WHAT DO YOU MEAN I CANNOT FURTHER DELVE INTO THE TRAGEDY OF NEIL’S DEATH AND THE IMPACT IT HAS ON EVERYONE AROUND HIM???

i need a Cigarette.

somebody let me write this essay. pleak.

[altruistic-meme]

shoutout to walmart for doing more for my community than the government officials are

[stillcominback]

🎀 🎀 🎀

[iwakuraz]

it'll all be okay because there's only one more day left in the school week and after that it'll be the weekend. wait no what do you mean after the weekend I'll just have to go back to school? what do you mean the cycle of going to school and coming back home completely worn out is gonna continue?

[whenthegoldrays]

sigh