#it feels wrong to commit to all that and then not have him there in a way

[stillalivebydemand893]

That night,That Lie,That fucking kiss

Part 2

(so sorry my loves for the delay this degree is humping my ass)

A road trip with Erik you'll never forget

18+ very romantic i was in my feels

You were both left breathless on the kitchen floor,half-naked, half what the actual fuck just happened.

Erik was still buried inside you, still cockwarming you like you were the last warmth on Earth. His grip on your waist tightened, like if you moved even an inch, he might combust,or worse, feel too much.

“Did we just fuck everything up?” you whispered, hand brushing his cheek, fingers trembling.

You’d prayed for this moment more times than you could count,fantasized about it like a goddamn sinner. You’d imagined what it’d feel like to finally have your best friend between your thighs, moaning your name like it meant something. And now?

It didn’t feel wrong. Not even a little.

Which made the spiral even worse.

Every cell in your body was screaming SHAME like you were the village whore in a medieval drama. Somewhere in the back of your brain, there was a nun with a bell shouting, “SHAME! TO THE ONES WHO STARVE FOR DICK!”

You were losing your goddamn mind.

Erik bit your collarbone, hard.

Your gasp punched straight through the fog.

“Okay, technically yeah, we definitely fucked” he said, smirking like the devil reincarnated. “But hey,60% of accidents happen in the kitchen. We just made the best out of it.”

“You made that shit up,” you laughed, swatting his arm.

It felt insane. Hysterical. Like you hadn’t just been screaming at each other two hours ago. Like he hadn’t ripped you apart and then kissed you back together.

“You’re still dripping on my dick, Peach,” he said, like it was a compliment, like it was a fact.

Then he took your breast in his tattooed hand and sucked your nipple into his hot mouth like he was trying to undo you all over again.

You moaned,because of course you did. Like you’d just woken the devil from a nap and he was starving.

“Can we move to the couch?” you panted, tugging his hair. “My knees are fucked and I’d like to avoid arthritis before I turn 30.”

His mouth stayed where it was, hands still reverent on your chest like your tits were the eighth and ninth wonders of the world.

“I need those knees working, Sweets. You ride me like I owe you rent.”

He kissed your neck, dragging his teeth just enough to make your legs twitch.

You groaned. “Come on, stupid.”

You both stood,instantly missing the feeling of being tangled together.

You lasted maybe five seconds before your knees buckled again.

Erik caught you around the waist like he knew it was coming.

“Jesus, Peach, give a guy a warning. We’re gonna end up crippled and unfucked at this rate.”

He swept you into his arms like you weighed nothing and started walking toward your bedroom.

“We’ll get Alzheimer’s one day and think we’re having sex for the first time every week,” you muttered against his chest.

“What a fucking blessing,” he smirked.

You didn’t say it, but the thought of growing old with him,of getting old and still doing this messy dance with him,settled in your chest like comfort.

Like home.

You collapsed onto the bed side by side, skin still humming, bodies wrecked in that perfect way.

“Remember two years ago?” he said suddenly, voice a little hoarse. “When we said we’d just drive around the States? Like Thelma and Louise, but hotter and with less felony murder?”

You turned your head toward him, snorting. “We had the playlist ready. Crime podcasts saved. Snacks planned. But someone-” you jabbed his bicep, hard “-decided to stick his tongue down her throat and settle down .”

“Ow,” he winced. “Unnecessary violence.”

“Say her name and I’ll commit actual violence.”

You ran a hand over your face like that would erase the memory. The image of them kissing in the studio burned behind your eyelids like an old scar that wouldn’t fade.

Erik turned to you, serious now.

“She came by when I was leaving,” he said quietly. “Started crying. Kissed me out of nowhere. I didn’t kiss her back. I didn’t want it. There’s nothing between us, Peach. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”

He exhaled like he was praying you’d believe him.

But your brain was a locked room, and belief didn’t come easy.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” you whispered.

“Then don’t,” he said, getting up and reaching for his pants on the kitchen chair. “Just pack your bags.”

“What?” You blinked, confused. “Where the fuck are you going?”

He looked at you, half-dressed and completely serious.

“We’re doing it. The roadtrip.”

“Erik. You’re not making any sense.Where would we even go?”

“Twilight. Twin Peaks. Buttfuck Nowhere. I don’t care. Just us. We’ll figure it out.”

He came back over, dropped a kiss to your lips like it was muscle memory.

“Fifteen minutes. Don’t be late.”

He walked out the door, tossing an “I love you” like it was something he’d been saying every day for a hundred years.

Your heart hit the floor.

“Love you too,” you whispered, dazed.

Then, louder:

“Asshole.”

You stared at the window.

Maybe if you jumped out, he’d catch you.

A good trust exercise for whatever the hell this relationship was now.

Whatever it was becoming.

You threw four pairs of underwear, one hoodie, and a bottle of dry shampoo into your duffel like that counted as packing.

You yanked on your sluttiest tank top ,the one that made your boobs look like a renaissance painting and your shoulders scream “I have secrets and bad decisions to offer” and stared at yourself like you were suiting up for war.

Because you were.

War with your brain.

With your thighs.

With Erik and the cursed magic of his dick.

And with the highway of consequences which, unlike Erik, was reliable.

Fifteen minutes later, a black Jeep honked outside .

You opened the door.

Erik was there, leaning against the driver’s side he was auditioning to play “Emotionally Damaged Yet Inexplicably Hot Roadtrip Love Interest” in the A24 version of your breakdown.

Sunglasses.

Sweatshirt sleeve pushed up just enough to show off that one tattoo you used to trace with your fingers like it was braille for "Please make out with me."

Music blasting , something aggressive, chaotic, definitely featured in a trailer for a movie where someone robs a bank shirtless.

“You’re late,” he said, without looking.

“You left me post-sex and emotionally obliterated with no warning.”

He turned. Smirked. That fuckboy smirk. The one that made you wanna throw your panties in one direction and your pride in the other.

“So... on time, then.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck in another dimension.

“Where are we going,Kiki?”

He shrugged. “South? East? Hell?”

You tossed your duffel in the backseat and slid into the passenger seat.

“Perfect. I’ve always wanted to get fingered in Satan’s backyard.”

He choked on his Red Bull.

"Driver’s Seat" by Sniff 'n' the Tears was blasting through the speakers, and for a second, you and Erik felt like you were eighteen again. Back when he first got his license and you’d spent days driving aimlessly through LA, just the two of you, windows down, singing like your hearts didn’t already belong to each other.

“She always smiled for the people she’d meet,” Erik sang in a gloriously off-key tone.

“On trouble and strife,” you joined in, tone equally chaotic.

“She had another way of looking at life-” you both finished in perfect sync before disolving into laughter, giggling like you weren’t two people stitched together by unresolved trauma and explosive chemistry.

He reached over, took your hand, and kissed your knuckles so softly it made something in your chest break open. Like you were made of sugar.

You melted right there in the passenger seat.

“I love you too,” you murmured , barely audible. But he heard it. His smile said everything.

He kissed your palm this time, slower. Deeper. Like a promise.

Then he turned the music down with a smirk that should be illegal in three states.

“Come on, Peach. Be more romantic. Pick a song. Show me how much you love me,” he teased, voice low and cocky.

“Oh don’t try me, Campbell,” you shot back, already grabbing your phone.

He leaned back in his seat like he was watching a show.

And then the playlist appeared on the Jeep’s touchscreen.

“how can I stop loving you without fucking this up”

Erik blinked. His smirk grew.

“Peach…” he said slowly, dragging the word out like he was tasting it. “Do you have a playlist for me?”

“Not for you,” you muttered, already turning red. “About you.”

“Oh,” he said, eyes lighting up. “Even better. Show me what you got, Sweets.”

You hit play.

And then:

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you…

His face changed.

That song.

That song.

You didn’t have to look to know he recognized it. Wicked Game. The first one he ever played for you in that beat-up Corolla with the broken aux cord, his hand resting on your thigh like it meant nothing,when it meant everything.

You started singing along. Soft. A little shaky.

It’s strange what desire will make foolish people do…

You glanced at him, embarrassed, it felt like you were cracking your chest open and pouring your whole stupid, lovesick soul into the car.

Because that’s what this playlist was. This wasn’t just a collection of songs , it was every moment you’d spent together. Every late night. Every “fuck, I think I love him” thought you pretended wasn’t real.

And this song? This one made you feel like you had memories in a life you hadn’t lived. Like you were someone else’s heartbreak. Someone’s wife in New Orleans. A forest witch with Erik’s name carved into a tree. Like you’d loved him in every lifetime and failed every time.

You felt a tear slide down your cheek before you could stop it.

Erik didn’t say a word. Just pulled into a gas station, parked, and didn’t turn the song off. He let it play , the hum of the guitar bleeding into the quiet night, just the two of you in the soft glow of fluorescent lights, your soul spilling into his passenger seat.

He reached out and gently swept the tear from your face with his thumb.

His voice was hoarse.

“I already fell in love with you, Peach.”

That was it.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

You unbuckled your seatbelt, climbed over the center console, and landed in his lap, knees on either side of him. Your mouth was already on his before he could finish breathing.

And god, the kiss.

It was everything ,soft and hungry and hot and heartbreaking. Your moans caught in his mouth like confessions. Your tears mixed with his breath. His hands slid up your back, pulling you closer, closer, like he couldn’t bear one more inch of space between you.

You ground down on his lap, and he groaned into your mouth, hands gripping your hips like he was seconds away from losing his mind.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your lips. “You’re gonna make me come in the front seat of my own car.”

“Maybe I want you to,” you panted. “Maybe I like ruining you in small spaces.”

“You have ruined me,” he growled, pressing kisses along your jaw, your throat. “I can’t even think straight when you’re on top of me like this.”

“Good,” you whispered, hips rolling slow and deliberate against his hard length beneath his jeans. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice before ghosting the girl who made you a goddamn playlist.”

He cursed under his breath, dragging his hands under your hoodie, fingertips brushing skin, making you shiver.

“You’re a fucking menace,” he rasped.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you said, grinding down harder.

You kissed again ,deeper, wetter, like your bodies were trying to say everything your words couldn’t.

The song played on.

No, I don’t wanna fall in love… with you…

Too late.

You were already in freefall.

And this time?

You weren’t falling alone.

You were still in his lap.

Still breathing like you’d just been kissed back to life.

Wicked Game faded into silence, and Erik was staring at you like you were made of constellations and he had just memorized every single one.

Your hands rested on his chest. His heart was pounding.

You didn’t know if it was from the kiss or the fact that you’d just emotionally roundhouse kicked each other in a gas station parking lot with a Chris Isaak song.

Maybe both.

You reached up, touched his cheek with your thumb, and whispered:

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over you.”

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t laugh.

Didn’t dodge like he usually did when shit got too real.

He just nodded,slow. Like he knew. Like he felt it too. Like he’d already tried.

“I don’t think I want you to,” he said.

Your throat burned.

“Erik…”

“I know, Peach,” he said softly, forehead resting against yours. “I know.”

You stayed like that for a long moment,just holding each other in a car that smelled like gas station coffee, bad decisions, and the start of something holy.

You shifted your hips a little and felt him still hard underneath you.

“God,” you whispered, smirking. “Still?”

He gave you a look that could’ve set the dashboard on fire.

“You climbed into my lap singing Wicked Game, cried a little, told me you loved me, and then started grinding like we weren’t in public, Peach. You think I’m made of stone?”

You giggled.

Actually giggled.

Like an idiot.

He pulled you tighter, arms locking around your waist.

“Let’s get outta here,” he murmured. “I wanna take you somewhere where I can love you properly.”

That made your whole chest ache.

“You love me?” you teased, trying to lighten the weight pressing down on your lungs.

He tilted his head, lips brushing yours.

“I love you in every language I don’t speak. In every song I’ve ever skipped because it reminded me of you. In every version of this fucked-up life where I don’t get to kiss you like this.”

You blinked. “You’re making me crazy love.”

He kissed your nose. Then your cheek. Then your jaw.

“I love you in the dumbass way I don’t say it right, but show it every time I look at you like you hung the fucking moon.”

“Erik-”

“And I love you in the annoying way that means I’ll never be able to let you go without burning something down.”

You swallowed.

Your brain was a blur of what did I do to deserve this, and your heart was crawling into his hoodie like it finally found a place to live.

“Take me somewhere,” you whispered.

“Anywhere?”

“Anywhere. Just drive. I don’t care. I’ll love you in every zip code.”

His lips twitched into a soft, crooked smile.

“Damn, Peach,” he muttered, kissing your forehead. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

“You started it.”

He chuckled.

“You ready?”

You kissed him again. Slower this time. Sweeter. Like you were making a promise you couldn’t take back.

“Yeah,” you said against his lips. “Let’s go fall in love on the road like two idiots with a death wish.”

He drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh like it belonged there.

You put on another song,this one soft, nostalgic, something that made your eyes sting without knowing why.

Outside, the stars were starting to come out.

Inside, you were glowing.

You leaned your head against the window, hand in his, and whispered:

“If we crash and die tonight, I just want god to know I died horny and in love.”

Erik snorted.

“Romantic and deranged. My dream girl.”

You smiled.

And somewhere between one exit sign and the next town, he looked at you like you were the only destination that mattered.

You didn’t know where Erik was driving. Didn’t care.

The road spilled in front of you like a ribbon made of second chances, and the air felt different - heavier, maybe, or sacred. The way it does right before a storm, or a kiss that’ll change everything.

You were quiet now. Just music humming low through the speakers and Erik’s hand warm on your thigh like he didn’t ever want to let go.

Outside, the sky had darkened into that deep indigo, stars beginning to scatter like someone spilled glitter across the universe.

“You tired?” he asked softly, glancing over.

You shook your head. “No. Just… floating.”

He smirked. “You always get philosophical after orgasms and playlists.”

You elbowed him, but didn’t deny it.

Twenty minutes later, he pulled off into a field , open, wide, nothing but grass and sky and the kind of silence that makes you feel like the only two people left in the world.

The engine cut. The stars blinked brighter.

You both got out, and you climbed onto the hood of the car like it was something you’d done a thousand times , because maybe, in some other life, you had.

He joined you. Laid back, arms folded behind his head.

“God,” you whispered. “We’re so fucking cliché.”

“Hot people doing cliché things. It’s allowed,” he said, smirking up at the sky.

You laid next to him. Close. Barely touching.

“I almost told you I loved you,” you murmured. “Last year. Remember that night at the lake? When you fell asleep on my lap after three beers and a panic attack?”

He blinked. Turned to look at you.

“I remember,” he said quietly.

“I was gonna say it. You were mumbling in your sleep. Said my name like it hurt.”

He swallowed.

“I remember that too.”

You were silent for a long second.

“I didn’t say it because I didn’t want to be another thing you had to survive.”

He turned on his side. Eyes locked on yours.

“You’ve never been something I survived, Peach,” he said. “You’re the reason I’m still fucking breathing.”

The air left your lungs.

And then, from the car speakers, a soft Sinatra song started to play. Erik had turned the volume up from his phone.

He held out a hand.

You stared.

“You’re not serious.”

“Deadly,” he said. “Get up here and dance with me, Peach.”

“We’re in the middle of a field, Erik.”

“So?”

“No one dances to Sinatra in an open field under a full moon like they’re in a goddamn perfume commercial-”

“I do.”

You snorted, but he was already climbing off the hood, standing under the stars, hand still outstretched like he knew you’d come to him.

You always did.

You hopped down.

“Try anything horny and I’m headbutting you.”

“No promises.”

You slipped your hand into his.

And suddenly, he was pulling you into his chest, one hand on your back, the other twined in your fingers. Your bodies aligned like puzzle pieces that had been aching to fit.

He started to sway. Slowly.

You bit your lip.

“This is so fucking stupid.”

“I know,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours.

“But I love you anyway.”

Your knees went weak.

His grip tightened.

“I love you like it’s ruining me,” he said. “And I don’t even care.”

You closed your eyes. Breathed him in.

“I love you like it’s always been you.”

And you swayed.

There. In the middle of nowhere. With the stars overhead and the world asleep and your entire chest cracked wide open like maybe this time… maybe it was safe to be soft.

He dipped you.

You screamed.

He laughed.

You shoved him back and he caught you around the waist, spun you once, then kissed you like it was the grand finale of a love story no one thought would survive the first chapter.

“Promise me something,” you said, breathless.

“Anything.”

“When this roadtrip ends… don’t stop choosing me.”

He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“I never stopped.”

The moment the dance ended, you didn’t even realize who moved first.

Maybe it was you.

Maybe it was him.

But your back hit the car door and Erik’s mouth was on yours, hot and starving, and his hands were everywhere at once , cupping your face, sliding down your waist, gripping your ass like he’d waited years to do it in open air.

You moaned against his mouth, fingers in his hair, dragging him down until his hips pressed to yours and there was no doubt how hard he was.

“This is insane,” you gasped as he kissed down your neck, teeth grazing your throat.

“Then call me fucking crazy,” he growled, fumbling to open the back door with one hand while the other slipped under your shirt, thumbs dragging over bare skin.

The car door opened and you both fell inside, tangled limbs, breathless gasps, the weight of everything crashing down in the form of pure, desperate need.

You landed in the backseat, Erik’s body caging you in, heat radiating off him like he was made of fire.

He kissed you again , deeper now, slower, but with a tension that could snap bones. Tongue against yours, hands everywhere, so much skin and not enough time.

Your shirt was gone first.

Then his hoodie.

Then your bra.

He pulled back, just to look.

“Fuck,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You’re so beautiful it makes me crazy.”

“Then do something about it,” you breathed, hips rolling up into his.

That broke him.

He dove back in, mouth on your chest, licking, sucking, biting , one hand gripping your thigh, the other squeezing your breast like he couldn’t believe you were real.

You dragged your fingers down his stomach, over the trail of hair that led to his waistband, and undid his belt with shaking hands.

He hissed when your palm brushed his cock.

“You gonna tease me again?” you smirked, already knowing the answer.

His eyes snapped up to yours, dark and wild.

“I’m going to ruin you.”

He yanked your jeans down , impatient, messy , and hooked your legs over his shoulders like he was prepping for battle.

Then , his tongue was on you.

You cried out, back arching into the seat, hands clawing at the upholstery as he devoured you like a man possessed.

“Erik-fuck-”

He moaned into you, like the taste of you wrecked him, tongue curling just right, fingers digging into your thighs, holding you open like this was his purpose.

You were shaking already.

“Please,” you gasped, body strung tight. “I need you -please.”

He pulled back just long enough to wipe his mouth on the back of his hand and say:

“You want it, Peach? Say it.”

“I want you to fuck me,” you moaned. “Now. Here. I don’t care. Just-now.”

His mouth was back on yours instantly, wet and hot and filthy.

You felt him line up against your entrance, his cock thick and hot, already leaking against your skin.

Then, one deep thrust , and he was inside.

You gasped , loud. Body bowing into him.

He groaned like he’d been punched in the gut.

“Fuck, you feel like heaven,” he choked out, pulling back and slamming into you again.

The car shook.

Your moan turned into a scream.

He set a brutal rhythm , hips snapping into yours, the sound of skin on skin obscene in the tiny space, the windows fogging so fast it looked like a scene out of a horror movie ,except this was the most alive you’d ever felt.

You clawed at his back, his shoulders, dragged your nails down his spine just to feel him shiver.

“Erik, I—oh my god—”

“I know,” he panted, biting down on your shoulder. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

He reached down, thumb finding your clit, circling just right.

You lost it.

Your whole body clenched, legs tightening around him, scream caught in your throat as you came hard, the kind of orgasm that wrecked memory and rewrote religion.

He cursed, hips stuttering.

“Gonna cum,” he growled. “Where do you-”

“Inside,” you gasped. “Inside. I need it.”

That’s all it took.

He buried himself deep, let out a broken moan, and came with a shudder so intense it felt like an earthquake inside your chest.

You stayed like that, panting, tangled, skin slick and burning, his face pressed into your neck, breath ghosting over your skin like an apology.

You were both trembling.

Both ruined.

And still - he didn’t pull out.

Didn’t move.

Just whispered into your skin:

“You’re my home, Peach. Always have been.”

You pressed a kiss to his hair, still catching your breath.

“And you’re the disaster I’d choose every time.”

THE NEXT MORNING:

You woke up with your leg over the center console, your face smushed into Erik’s bare chest, and a single french fry stuck to your arm like it had gone to war with you.

The car windows were fogged.

Erik was dead asleep under the hoodie you both fought over. His mouth was slightly open, hair a complete mess, and he looked like an angel who’d gotten in a bar fight with a raccoon.

You shifted, winced, and whispered:

“Oh my God… my spine’s filing for divorce.”

“Same,” Erik muttered without opening his eyes. “Pretty sure I left one of my vertebrae under your ass.”

You sat up. Everything hurt. Everything smelled like… regret, sex, and possibly Funyuns.

“I think I gave you a hickey the size of Rhode Island.”

He smirked, eyes still closed.

“You think?”

You shoved him gently, and the car creaked in protest like it too had seen some shit last night.

ONE HOUR LATER: SMALL TOWN DINER, BIG TIME SHAME

You stumbled into a local diner looking like two feral raccoons who’d just discovered what love and backseat sex felt like.

Erik’s hoodie was stretched out in weird places. Your shorts were inside out,and Erik’s neck looked like it had been claimed by a vampire with emotional issues.

The waitress didn’t even blink.

“Booth or bar?”

“Booth,” you both croaked in unison like cursed dolls.

You slid into the booth, hissing as your thighs met the cold leather.

“God, I am fucking wrecked.”

“Same,” Erik muttered, flopping in across from you. “Pretty sure I dislocated a hip.”

You both opened your menus in silence.

Then a sweet old woman from the next booth leaned over and, with the voice of someone who had absolutely zero boundaries, said:

“Well. Someone had fun last night.”

You froze.

Erik blinked.

“Sorry?” you said, attempting politeness but radiating shame.

“Oh, honey,” she said, sipping her black coffee. “I know that walk. And those bruises.”

You reached for your ice water like it might help you evaporate.

Erik, of course, grinned like a feral golden retriever.

“Ma’am, if I could high-five you for that, I would.”

She did high-five him.

You nearly died on the spot.

“I’m Shirley,” she added. “Used to be a gymnast. Your form looked impressive.”

“Shirley. Please.”

Erik was beaming. “Shirley, you’re a legend.”

“I still got it,” she winked at him. “But you got it more, sweetheart.”

You slammed your menu down. “I will walk into oncoming traffic.”

After Shirley left (but not before sliding Erik a handwritten note that may or may not have been her number), you finally got your coffee, your pancakes, and a moment of peace.

Erik looked across the table, eyes softer now.

“You ever think about what this would be like every day?” he asked.

You blinked, halfway through drowning your plate in syrup.

“What, sex in a car and old women heckling us?”

“No. I mean-” he ran a hand through his hair, suddenly shy, “us. Waking up together. Mornings. Diners. Fighting over who used the last of the toothpaste.”

Your heart did something horrible and fluttery.

You tried to play it cool.

“Nah,” you said, sipping your coffee. “I’m just in it for the hickeys and public humiliation.”

He reached across the table and stole your bacon with zero remorse.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m in it for your ass in my hoodie and your voice when you sing ‘Wicked Game’ at midnight.”

You blushed.

He smiled.

And that was it.

You were screwed.

Like, emotionally.

Later, back in the car:

You climbed into the passenger seat, pulled down the mirror, and caught sight of your hair.

“Jesus. I look like I got into a fight with a leaf blower and lost.”

Erik leaned over and kissed your cheek.

“Yeah,” he said. “But you looked hot doing it.”

You groaned, leaned your head back, and muttered:

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, starting the car. “You love me.”

You didn’t answer.

Just reached over, laced your fingers through his, and whispered,

“Yeah. I really fucking do.”

And as the Jeep pulled back onto the road, Shirley waved at you from the diner parking lot.

Winked at Erik.

Blew him a kiss.

You screamed into the hoodie.

He laughed until he almost ran a stop sign.

[lacheri]

29...with Toji (:<

this genuinely almost killed me.

send me a number and a kiss prompt!

prompt 29. “Let me show you what a real kiss feels like.”

minors do NOT interact! ageless blogs do NOT interact! I block!

summary: neighbor Toji x afab reader. (exists in any au/canonverse tbh there is no indication) yandere Toji hints, alcohol (wine), cigarette smoking, reader got ghosted oh no! good thing neighbor Toji is there. suggestive themes, Toji is his own warning, I’m incapable of writing anything shorter than 1.5k enjoy! wc: 2.9k

Sniffling into your snot sodden pillow, you admit an ugly truth. You are wildly pathetic to be sobbing over a man who does not care if you live or die.

Dating sucks, plainly spoken. Time after time, men disappoint you and demolish every preconceived notion of romance and connection. You blame the lack of commitment due to dating apps. The casual cruelty of easy detachment, the lack of motivation to see a blossoming love come to fruition, the utter indifference of the human soul. 

But you thought this time was different. You believed that you had met someone worthy of all the love you’re spilling over with. Unfortunately, you were proven wrong.

You’re all dressed up too. Pretty dress, hair and makeup perfectly executed, an eager smile ever so present on your lips. You were just so excited nearly an hour ago, slipping your shoes on to stand at your front door. Patiently, you scrolled through your phone, waiting for your date to signal that he was on his way to a restaurant you had picked out. Not somewhere too casual, nor dapperly formal, but occasion enough to throw on a nice outfit.

You’d been looking forward to the date all week, so when the text never arrived to your phone, every minute that passed became increasingly more depressing. 

You really thought this time would be different. You had seen this guy thrice already, and things seemed to be going very well. Agreeing on the important things — career paths, family, morals — you really believed this was finally your prince amongst a sea of frogs. 

Not to mention the fact you had genuinely liked the guy. Good looking, established job, responsible; He checked off every one of your boxes. On your previous date, you even invited him to your bedroom.

Though the sex was disappointing to say the least, you were willing to sacrifice lust for love. He really seemed that great. 

You swipe at your mascara stained cheeks, smudging the makeup away. Your stomach rumbles, reminding you that you still have not eaten.

Taking a deep grounding breath, you stumble to your feet, your pretty heels still clinging to your soles. Shaking off the pathetic self loathing, you make a decision. You’re not going to let this guy ruin your night.

Cocooning yourself in a jacket, you march over to the closest mirror and fix yourself up. Luckily, your makeup remains primarily intact despite the tear trails. Your hair is a mess, but you’re not really going anywhere anymore, so it doesn’t matter too much.

Grabbing a bottle of wine from your kitchen and an assortment of snacks, you unlock your apartment door and greet the hallway with spiteful excitement. A perk of your building is the fact that the roof access is only a floor above your dwelling. You swiftly navigate to the staircase, stomping hurriedly to the exit door.

Revealing a sea of street lamps and headlights below, you’re greeted by the chilled early Summer breeze. Directly ahead sits a long forgotten patio set, your intended destination.

Self care, or whatever you want to call it — you’re going to spend your evening drinking down your feelings whilst feasting on your favorite treats. Is it a healthy coping mechanism? No, but being ghosted sucks. Any drop of dopamine would be much appreciated at the moment.

Taking a seat on a wicker couch, you pop the cork and take a swig directly from the bottle. Your eyes are still fairly watery, and the room temperature wine elicits further tears. It’s a dry red, one of your personal favorites, but this bottle bites back.

Chewing slowly on your assortment of snacks, you watch the lights flicker and pulse in the distance. The time grows further away from you, absorbed in the reflection of yourself and your romantic endeavors. Postmodern dating is abysmally sad. You wonder flippantly if it is even worth your time or efforts anymore. Love feels like a luxury product rather than an all encompassing experience. Too far away from your grasp, out of budget, and lacking quality.

You almost miss the metallic screech of the rooftop door. Technically, you’re not really supposed to be up here, let alone completely by yourself with a bottle of wine. You hug the red to your chest, a terrible attempt to conceal the contraband, and whip your head around to see who has come to disturb your solitude.

Oh, it’s just your neighbor. Toji, if you are recalling his name correctly. He appears that he doesn’t even notice you, flicking the wheel of his lighter, cradling the edge of a cigarette from the wind. Sparks fail to ignite, a swear present beneath his breath. You stifle a gentle chuckle, maneuvering yourself out of the chair loudly so as to not startle him. 

“Need a hand?” you ask, your voice carried by the wind and delivered to his agitated expression.

Toji’s verdant gaze slides over your form, a ghost of a smirk at the edges of his mouth as he says, “Your body, actually.”

With practiced strides, Toji approaches where you sit. Leaning over, he uses your frame to find a sweet spot of stale air. You try to help, angling yourself effectively. With a pleased hum, the man finally produces a flame, and with a long drag the tobacco catches fire. He exhales a billowy cloud, swirls and haze carried off to the sky.

“Didn’t know that you were a smoker,” you note casually. In all honesty, you know little to nothing about Toji, just that his apartment resides directly next to yours.

“I’m not,” he takes another drag. “Just had a shit day, I guess.”

You hum in agreement, eyes flickering to the wine bottle in your lap. “I get that.”

Toji is a towering, burly man, you notice. Thick muscles rippling beneath his clinging shirt, pants hanging lowly on his hips — he is a sight to be gawked at. You’ve never really gotten a good look at him, usually waving in polite greeting whenever stumbling by one another in the hallway or lobby. You hear him occasionally banging around in his apartment, but other than that, you haven’t really interacted with the guy.

You feel his eyes rake over you, observing in terrible accuracy as he asks, “Boyfriend problems?”

“Is it that obvious?” you snort, gesturing to the wine.

Toji chuckles, “You’re all dolled up sitting up here all by yourself.”

“I got ghosted,” you grimace. “But I’ll be alright. I’m sure you don’t really care to hear about my stupid problems when you’re dealing with your own.”

“Nah,” he tosses himself beside you, extending his hand out to take your bottle. “I love hearing about stupid problems. Talk my ear off sweetheart.”

You pass the wine reluctantly, a frown upon your lips. “Are you sure? I really don’t want to bother you.”

“It ain’t bothering me if I’m asking for it. ‘Sides, it’ll take my mind off my own shit if you’re yapping your pretty mouth.”

Heat erupts in your ears, blood roaring to the tops of your cheeks. With a flushed stammer, you recount a shortened version of tonight’s events, providing minimal backstory of the guy who stood you up. Toji listens, grunting and humming in between pauses, taking long drags from his stoge and deep gulps from the neck of the wine bottle. When you wrap up your venting, he passes back the red, and you take an eager swig.

“He sounds like a pussy,” Toji says bluntly. “Was he a good fuck at least?”

Flustered by his crudeness, you stutter, “Not really.”

His brows lift into his hairline, “You’ve got to tell me about that.”

“I don’t have much to say, honestly,” you squeak. “Didn’t last long, and he was a terrible kisser.”

“Shit,” Toji chuckles darkly. “Dude didn’t even kiss you right?”

You shake your head, embarrassed. “No.”

“How old was this asshole?” Toji asks, scoffing. “Fuckin’ teenager or something?”

You laugh, “Obviously not.”

“Obviously never grew the fuck up. Obviously doesn’t know how to make a lady happy.”

“Obviously,” you mirror. “But I liked him enough.”

“Oh no,” his voice deepens, all grovel and grit. “Don’t tell me you were still willing to give that idiot another chance.”

You gesture to your dress and heels, “Idiots attract idiots, I guess.”

Toji shakes his head in disbelief, grinning at the sky. “Most guys don’t know what the fuck to do with pretty girls like yourself. In a fucked up way, you should take it as a compliment.”

“Why does that feel so casually misogynistic?” you joke.

“Hey now, don’t get it twisted. I respect my women. Enough to treat them right, at least.”

Your eyes unabashedly trace his bulky form, “I’m sure you do.”

“You checking me out?” Toji smirks. “Take it in, sweet thing. You’re looking at a real man.”

Maybe it’s the warm intoxication of the wine, or the comforting presence of your virtually unknown neighbor, but you feel embolden enough to confess, “You’re good looking, sure. Your girlfriend is a lucky lady.”

Toji laughs, loud and boisterous. “Girlfriend? You’re out of your fuckin’ mind. I’m as single as they come, darlin’.”

“So that cigarette isn’t dedicated to your lady problems?” you giggle. 

“Sort of, but not a fucking girlfriend.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” you offer.

He snorts, “Not a fucking chance.”

“Seems a bit rude. I just spilled all my dirty laundry and you’re being stingy on yours.”

“Mine’s a bit too dirty for your delicate ears.”

“Try me.”

Toji appears to consider it for a moment, scratching at his cheek and avoiding your inquisitive attention. “Nah. It’s just work bullshit. Ladies aren’t really a problem for me.”

“Arrogant,” you say sarcastically.

“For good reason,” he smirks. “You’ve never heard the sounds from your side of the wall? Real late at night?”

You blink, “The banging? I just figured you were a night owl.”

“It’s the banging alright,” he flashes a wicked grin.

“Ew,” you scrunch your nose. “Gross.”

“I’m just fucking with you,” Toji chortles. “Well, kinda’.”

“You should get checked at the clinic,” you tease. “Who knows what diseases you might have.”

“Why, you want one?” 

“Hey!”

You share a hearty laugh, and you realize something. You feel worlds better than the beginning of your night. Gone are any indications of your teary emotions and self loathing. You feel as if you’re floating on happiness, the weightlessness of a good time. You stare at Toji, laughing from deep within his sternum at his own filthy joke, and wonder why the hell you haven’t approached him before. You could’ve used a friend like him.

Not recognizing you’ve said any of this out loud, Toji eyes you with a dangerous glimmer. “You’re completely oblivious, ain’t you?”

“Huh?”

A heated palm rests atop your thigh, his cigarette long forgotten and tossed over the roof. “‘S okay, it’s cute.”

Toji looks at you with an unreadable expression. Something dark lingers in his irises, swirling and expanding. You feel as though you’re missing something, something important.

“I’ve got an idea,” he murmurs, lids growing heavy. “You interested, pretty thing?”

You nod, hypnotized by the sudden change in atmosphere. It’s thick, foggy, and heavy. Toji leans closer, swinging a thick arm around the back of the wicker couch, just above your shoulders. You mirror him, intrigued by his potential proposition, as if he’s about to share a secret.

Little do you know, Toji has you exactly where he wants you. 

Breathing tobacco stained exhales against your faces, he speaks above a harsh whisper, “How’s about I fix your boy problem?”

“What do you mean?” you cock your head, all confusion and innocence.

“What’s this asshole’s name?” Toji’s fingers foxtrot across your shoulder, tickling the nape of your neck. “Gimme’ his number while you’re at it.”

“What’re you gonna’ do, kill him?” you chuckle haphazardly. 

Toji’s face remains concerningly passive, “Only if you want me to.”

You roll your eyes, “Funny.”

“Give me his name,” he presses. “Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“I’m gonna’ have to right his wrongs,” he offers cooly. “Maybe I’ll rub his face in it while I’m at it.”

Your eyebrows knit together, asking, “And how do you plan to do that?”

“Well, I’ll start with this,” he huffs. The palm on your thigh inches higher, fingers toying at the hem of your dress. The hand on your shoulder locks a hot grip onto the back of your neck, scraping at the underside of your skull. You gulp, unable to tear your sight away from his intense stare. “Hearts racing, ain’t it?”

You nod slowly, feeling so very heavy. Toji smirks, cocky and confident.

“Feeling squirmy? Thighs twitching?” he inquires, rubbing a thumb along the inside of your leg. “Can’t catch your breath?”

“Toji?” you mumble, licking at your rapidly drying lips. 

His stare locks in to the movement, all his focus on your moistened lips. “Been waiting a while to get you alone, you know.”

You hum in questioning, but you’re not really paying that close attention to what he’s saying anymore. His touch is so warm, scorching a blaze through your nerves. You feel like you might melt.

“Saw you leave your apartment,” his voice is thick with lust. “Looking so pretty. Had to check on you, seen the tears in your eyes darlin’. Knew I had to say something.”

You choke on a squeak, unable to properly respond as he continues to toy with the bottom of your dress and the hair at the bottom of your head. You shift your weight in your seat, attempting to find relief from the growing ache in your center.

He chuckles, dark and foreboding, “They just don’t know how to treat you right, do they? Don’t know what to do with you, fuckin’ morons. They don’t know how to touch you, to kiss you.”

You feel stupid as you nod once again, burning alive. “No, they don’t, Toji.”

“They gotta’ get you all squirmy and excited,” his grip on your neck shifts to your jaw, a gentle thumb brushing against your bottom lip. “Get you wanting it.”

You gulp, lashes fluttering as your gaze drops to his mouth. He twitches his smug smile, revealing a row of teeth. He’s positively fucking beaming watching you writhe in your seat. 

“Got another idea,” Toji husks. “Let me show you what a real kiss feels like, huh? You want me to do that for you, baby?”

“Yes,” you offer meekly.

With a wolfish simper, Toji paws at your waist, holding you firm and solid. “Such a pretty little thing, you need to be treated right, don’t you?”

You whimper, completely lost in all the heat and tension. A predatory glint in his olive gaze sparks. He’s got you completely trapped. 

“Look at you,” he coos. “Such a pretty little thing. You didn’t deserve any of that, did you? ‘S okay, I’m gonna’ make it all better, alright?”

Toji doesn’t kiss you right away, opting to place his mouth on your cheek. It’s soft, the kiss. Far too gentle. You choke on an impatient mewl, all broken vocals and desire. He chuckles against your skin, licking a swift wet stripe against the corner of your mouth. You shiver, enamored by the filthy tease. It only encourages Toji further, gently nipping at your bottom nip, a growl deep within his throat.

“Gotta’ ask me for it, darlin’,” he says, a hair above a whisper. “Pretty please, Toji?”

“Please,” you relent, eyelids fluttering shut.

“Please, what?”

“Kiss me,” you breathe.

Toji dives in, all restraint and playfulness abandoned. He captures your lips in a fever, crushing you completely against him. You are utterly surrounded and consumed by Toji, his arms locked around you. He moans at the embrace, but he must decide it is not enough. He breaks the kiss only for a brief pause, panting and grunting as he maneuvers you to straddle him. Your thighs part to accommodate his width, the muscles of his clothed thighs solid and unwavering.

Flushed center to center, you gasp at the contact, but it is swallowed by Toji’s eager tongue. The muscle flicks at your teeth, swooping beneath the top row to search for your reluctant tongue. Taste buds slide, your mouth the epitome of surprise, and Toji rolls you over his lap. You stammer a shocked mewl, a jolt of pleasure shooting from your barely concealed clit.

Intoxicated by the mounting heat growing in the pit of your belly, you test a confident swirl of your hips. Toji strokes your tongue in approval, a breathy laugh escaping his chest. You prep yourself to continue, to repeat the motion, but it is met with resistance. He holds you still at the hips, smacking the tops of your exposed thighs. You peel your lids apart to question him, but he simply shakes his head.

“Next time, eager thing,” he says coolly. “Gotta’ take you out on a date first.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, you gulp on a dry swallow. “When?”

“Tomorrow sound good?” he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, watching in heated focus as it bounces back to your mouth.

“Yes,” you agree without hesitation.

A part of you might feel shame for what you’re doing — locking lips with practically a stranger — but honestly, you don’t really care all that much.

Perhaps you should have.

“You can keep kissin’ me though,” Toji says. “On one little condition.”

Feeling bold, you press your lips to the edge of his sharp jaw. “Yes?”

He shutters, grip deathly tight on your hips. You cannot read his expression as he requests, “Give me that guy’s name, sweetheart.”

LACHERI © 2021-2025: all writing content belongs to LACHERI. I do not allow reposts or translations.

[noxvigil-noxtradam]

" The heir lives... "

is all the soldier could mutter, magic spent, and mind fogged.

there was some cheering, celebration against the betrayed forces of the crown's heir. somewhat, a grim thing rather it would be called, he could imagine. Probably for the sane and right of mind it would seem an ill omen and a... unnerving display of resentment and enjoyment at the thought of a strong leader ripe for a change and a coming grudge.

something their younger, naive past selves would frown upon.

He would, if his wounds didn't leech his strength away from him, and his own madness taken his empathy for the lesser and weaker. But he, too, couldn't help but share similar sentiments to his fellows. The prince was alive, against all odds of the surely done fatal wound he had recieved. but he could not find it in himself to show the sentiments outwardly, nor could he find the fleeting warm remaining as his eyes fell upon the slowly awaking royal form, crawling from his ragged tent retrieved from a ghostly camp slaughtered long ago.

The regal man, almost as young as himself, bore haunting scars, wherever bandages did not veil his pale skin. unnatural in their semblance to a darker shade of flesh than humanely possible. A color of stale lifeless spilt blood, dark and thick in is shade as a scribe's ink under a dim candle-lit night, a warning of what laid beneath them all, laid bare with a reminder that only sobered his relief upon the royal's eyes.

For his gaze was no longer the same.

Something somber had taken his place, and he could see it with ease. a hand would clench by his side, teeth grit and back tense to the harsher stare in the prince's eyes. Gravely cold and unholy fire all in the same hues of supernatural blue and green embers that had taken to slowly consume him, as much as that unholy strength threatened them all. there was no hesitation in them anymore, there was no concern he once bore for their foes. Just one single, hallowless conviction he could already tell as clear as night and day.

A conviction he knew the others, in their vengeful madness, would share. Against the old king, Against their breathen, and all who fueled the betrayal committed upon themselves and their kind. a sentiment he found himself... leaning towards, against all reason. Even if it was wrong... and god, was it very wrong.

just as it was the prince's gaze once it feel upon him, the same harshness all open for him to show as eyes indifferently traced his wounds and face. Weighting in his own worth and life with a callousness that knew and screamed for him to defy whatever came back from his brush with death. Go on, condemn him, deny him the slaughters to come due his way, the unrestrained bloodshed that their people would suffer in his name and under his banner.

his own gaze fell, in submission, in defeat.

What could he do, after all? friendship in youth, alliance as they grew, it all meant nothing now. He could see it. Whatever memories they bore of their past died with that betrayal. whatever prince he followed died when that cursed blade cut through the man's heart. And no amount of resurrection or healing would bring it back. All they could do was nail the coffin and bury the grave in the soil of their kin's mistakes, all they could do is leave whatever monster the virtuous man had fought against.

And now that there was no man to leash and reign that, he could only taste the bitter and grim truth of a single fact:

" The prince is no more... long live the king, "

The prince had died, and the beast that remained would tear the world asunder to have his crown and bend the world to his will. A fell king, a dark sovereign, it would matter not, nor whom died, to sate the wretched blight of a seed that bloomed in his corpse...

" May the world mourn the ashen lord's wrath. "

The king died, but the healers managed to resuscitate him. Everyone celebrated his survival but you, because you know whatever is staring at you with the king's dead eyes isn't the man you grew up with.

[leons--gf]

Leon Kennedy x the president's son (3/3)(final part)

TOP!LEON KENNEDY X M!READER

Word count:4.004k

Tags:leon kennedy x male reader,secret relationship,forbidden romance,bodyguard au,slow burn turns spicy,canon divergence (kinda?)NSFW,mutual pining but also mutual horniness,Leon is so in love it hurts,reader is bold and flirty and we love that,protective leon,emotional comfort,anal fingering,cumplay if you squint,they’re literally in love.

Summary:Three months later, a bioterrorist attack happens at the White House, you and Leon run away together and stay at a hotel far away, things heat up and he uses his fingers on you.

A/N: FINAL PART FINALLY. I really didn't like writing 3 chapters because I'm terrible at anything other than a one shot.Again, if the translation is a bit lame it's not my fault, blame the Gpt chat for making me believe that this would be a "100% faithful translation to American English"

Anyway, enjoy reading, and see you in the next chapter (a new story, still with Leon obviously)

Your POV:

It’s been three months since Leon and I first had sex.

Well… if oral counts, then it’s been four.

Anyway—

It’s been three months since we first lost ourselves in each other.

And ever since then, it hasn’t stopped.

It’s like, after that first time, we couldn’t help ourselves.

Once turned into twice… then four… then so many I’ve lost count.

Even with Leon hesitating almost every time—

He always looked like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

And I get it. It’s risky, especially for him.

If my dad ever found out, the worst that could happen to me is a few weeks grounded, maybe no more using his card to buy the useless stuff I like.

But Leon?

He’d lose everything.

His position as my bodyguard, the president’s trust, his entire reputation.

And honestly, that wouldn’t even be the worst part.

The worst part would be how he would feel.

Because Leon takes this seriously. He wants to protect me.

But even with all that...

It never stopped us.

There were so many times.

In his room, in mine, in the back of the presidential car after class…

Even in the White House’s meeting room—

with the portraits of old presidents staring us down like we were committing a crime.

We knew it was “wrong,”

but nothing ever felt more right than being in his arms.

He always made me feel so good. So wanted.

He kissed me like he was starving—like he wanted to devour me.

And every time we came undone,

he’d pull me close, face buried in my neck, breathless…

kissing me softly over and over, like it was his way of saying sorry.

Or maybe… a promise to do it again.

The only person who knows about this—besides Leon and me—is Alice.

My best friend, confidant, and honestly, the biggest accomplice to this forbidden little romance.

I tell her everything. Everything.

From the very first time to the bolder ones—

like that time Leon threw me onto the couch in the presidential library,

half-panicked someone might walk in at any second.

Alice always reacts the same way:

some mix of “you’re insane” and “I’m obsessed, tell me more.”

She supports me. Never judged. Never even raised an eyebrow.

I think, deep down, she ships us harder than I do.

Take today, for example.

We met up real quick during break on campus.

Leon, as always, was waiting outside—

sunglasses on, looking like the definition of “I bite but don’t kiss.”

But I knew better.

I knew the man behind the uniform.

I knew how he blushed when I told him he was handsome.

I knew the little sound he made when I bit his shoulder.

I knew how he trembled whenever I ran my hand along the back of his neck.

Seeing him there, all serious and protective…

just made me even more excited for later.

I turned to Alice with a sly little smile and said under my breath:

“After class, I think I’ll ask him to grab something to eat with me downtown…”

I paused, just long enough for effect, then added with a smirk,

“...and maybe I’ll see if he wants to have me for dessert.”

Alice’s eyes went wide as she let out this half-scream laugh.

“Oh my God, you’re terrible!” she whispered through giggles.

“But listen… if he says yes, you better tell me everything.”

“I promise. If we hook up again, you’ll be the first to know.”

We laughed for another minute before the bell rang.

We hugged tight and gave each other that knowing look—

Then I headed to class, pretending to listen to the lecture,

while my brain could only focus on one thing:

The look on Leon’s face when I ask him out for that “snack” later...

I was almost asleep on my desk. Political theory class felt like it would never end, and the professor sounded like he’d popped a tranquilizer before walking in.

Alice nudged me with her elbow and whispered a joke that nearly made me laugh, but I didn’t even get the chance to reply.

That’s when the classroom door slammed open with a loud bang.

Everyone turned, startled.

And there he was.

Leon.

Wearing that serious look I’d only seen a few times before—one of them being when he pulled me behind him to shield me the moment Sadler found us back in Spain.

His eyes scanned the room until they locked onto mine. Then, in a firm, commanding voice that sliced through the silence, he said:

"He's leaving early."

Those piercing blue eyes never left me.

"And if I were any of you, I’d go home. Now."

No one questioned it. His tone left no room for doubt.

My heart was already racing before I could even process why.

Leon marched across the classroom and grabbed my wrist—firm, but not rough. Urgent.

I stumbled up from my seat.

"What’s going on?" I asked as he led me into the hallway. "Leon... is it my dad?"

He didn’t answer right away.

His grip was steady and his pace relentless, dragging me through the halls like every second mattered. Students stared. Some whispered. He didn’t care. His eyes were locked straight ahead.

"Leon!" I tried again, nearly jogging to keep up.

He finally paused for just a second. Long enough to look into my eyes.

There was something there. Fear? Anger? No... it was something else.

Controlled panic.

"You’re in danger," he said, voice low but serious. "And I can’t explain right now. Just—follow me. Please."

That was all I needed.

Because the moment I heard that tone—the same tone he used the night he promised to protect me—I shut my mouth and trusted him.

I got in the car with him, chest tight, heart racing, mind spiraling with questions.

Something was seriously, seriously wrong.

And this time...

I had the feeling it was just the beginning.

The car sped down the road, too fast.

Leon barely blinked, his eyes locked on the highway, his fingers clenched tight around the steering wheel.

The silence only made things worse. I needed answers. I needed to know why my heart wouldn’t stop pounding—and why he looked even more tense than usual.

I looked ahead, trying to distract myself with something—anything.

Out of instinct, I reached over and turned on the radio.

"...confirmed attack on the White House..." "...authorities have no strategy in place to contain the outbreak..." "...witnesses report seeing disfigured, violent corpses..."

My eyes widened. My throat went dry.

My fingers began to tremble.

I tried to hide it, but it was impossible.

My hands were stiff in my lap, shaking, cold from fear, as something twisted tighter and tighter inside my chest.

Without saying a word, Leon reached over and placed his hand over mine.

Warm skin against cold.

"It’s going to be alright," he said, voice low but steady.

His eyes never left the road.

"I promise."

I swallowed hard, trying to believe him.

Because no matter how fast the world outside was falling apart…

I was still with him.

And right now, that was the only thing keeping me from breaking.

The road stretched endlessly ahead, swallowed by trees on both sides.

The city had long disappeared in the rearview mirror. The sky was starting to dim, stained with orange and gray.

The radio still murmured distant news updates, so Leon turned the volume down and put on a soft instrumental track—something calm, something that filled the silence without making it worse.

My shoulders finally started to relax, even if the fear was still pulsing somewhere deep inside.

It was impossible not to feel it after everything I’d heard… and everything that was still to come.

But Leon being there, right next to me, made it all bearable.

Every now and then, he’d reach over and rest his hand on my thigh, giving it a soft squeeze—like he was reminding me he was still there.

At one point, a strand of hair fell over my face, and without saying a word, he gently tucked it behind my ear, so carefully it almost made me forget about the chaos outside.

I let out a soft sigh, glancing sideways at him—his eyes locked on the road.

“So… where exactly are we going?” I asked, trying to sound calm, even though my voice still came out a bit shaky.

Leon took a second to respond.

When he finally did, his voice was low and intense.

“As far as we can.”

His gaze never left the road.

“Out of the city, out of the state… and if I have to, even out of the country.”

I fell silent.

My chest tightened again—but it wasn’t just fear.

It was the weight of how much everything had changed.

And the realization of how far he was willing to go… for me.

Then he added, his voice softer this time:

“But you don’t have to worry. I’ll be with you.”

I turned my face toward the window, biting my lip to hold back a dumb little smile.

Because even with the world falling apart… I felt safe.

Because he was with me.

—

As soon as we walked into the hotel lobby, Leon headed straight to the front desk.

I stayed close behind, keeping quiet as I looked around.

The place seemed simple, clean—and most importantly, discreet.

The receptionist gave Leon a warm smile as he approached.

She was young, with her hair pulled back and a bold red lipstick that made her look both elegant and a little playful.

She typed something into the computer, then asked with a light tone, almost teasing:

“One bed… or two?”

The way her eyes briefly flicked between the two of us said everything.

That little half-smile, the slightly raised brow.

She thought we were a couple.

And maybe… she wasn’t entirely wrong.

Leon cleared his throat, clearly thrown off.

He opened his mouth, then shut it, before replying quickly—trying to sound casual:

“Two… please.”

---

I kept pretending to be distracted, eyes on my phone, trying not to laugh.

I could practically feel the heat rising to his face.

Once the receptionist handed us the keys and wished us a good night, we walked together to the elevator.

We stepped inside, and the silence between us lasted only until the doors closed.

I leaned against the corner, arms crossed, a smug little smirk playing on my lips.

“Two beds, huh? Even after you've fucked me more times than I can count?”

Leon turned to look at me slowly, his expression a mix of tired and troubled—like he already knew I wasn’t gonna let it slide.

“We can’t draw attention, (Y/N),” he murmured. “If anyone suspects anything… it could get bad. For both of us.”

I sighed and let my head rest lightly against the elevator wall, but the smile didn’t fade.

“I know... I’m just messing with you.”

He looked at me for another second, then glanced away, trying not to smile.

Even while we were on the run, even in the middle of all this chaos, I could still tease him—and that gave me a little piece of normal.

---

The room was simple, but cozy.

A queen-sized bed on the left, a twin tucked against the opposite wall.

A desk, a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall, and a bathroom in the back, the door slightly ajar.

It wasn’t much, but it was what we had.

A makeshift hideout.

Leon shut the door behind us and leaned against it, finally letting out a long sigh.

I sat on the edge of the queen bed, watching him.

Only then did the silence start to feel heavy.

“We’ll need to stay here... for a while,” he began, arms crossed. “Until further notice, the plan is to keep away from the city. If possible, leave the state. Everything depends on how things unfold in the next few hours.”

I nodded, taking a deep breath.

Only now did the exhaustion hit.

The fear was still there, but with Leon by my side, it felt less suffocating.

I trusted him with my life.

Literally.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” I said, standing up slowly.

Leon raised an eyebrow, that cocky little smirk already starting to grow on his lips.

“Need a hand?” he asked, voice low and teasing.

I rolled my eyes but smiled.

“No, but thanks for the offer,” I shot back with just as much sass, chuckling softly as I closed the bathroom door behind me.

I turned on the shower and waited for the water to warm up.

The mirror slowly began to fog, but before it fully blurred, I caught a glimpse of myself.

The reflection showed a tired face, with light bags under my eyes and a hint of redness in them.

I ran a hand through my hair—and that’s when I saw it: a hickey.

Still visible, near my shoulder.

Just below the collarbone, left side.

Leon.

I let out a soft laugh and gently touched the spot with my fingertips.

It didn’t even feel like we were running from a biological collapse.

My chest warmed at the memory of the last time he marked me like that—breathless, whispering against my ear, his fingers digging into my waist like he was afraid I’d slip away from him.

I stripped off my clothes and stepped into the shower.

The hot water spilled over my shoulders like pure relief.

I closed my eyes and let it wash down my back, trying to relax every muscle in my body.

But my mind wouldn’t stop.

His hands.

The way he pulled me close...

And now, that same hand had dragged me out of class like I was the most important thing in the world.

I smiled to myself, still under the water.

Even in the middle of all this chaos, he was all I could think about.

I stepped out of the shower with warm skin, steam still lingering behind me. I dried off slowly, savoring that rare moment of peace. But when I went to look for clean clothes… nothing. Not a single piece. Of course I hadn’t packed anything—we ran out in a hurry.

I sighed and looked over at the bathrobe folded neatly by the sink. White, soft, with the hotel’s logo stitched into the corner. It wasn’t ideal, but it would do. I slipped it on, tied the sash around my waist, and opened the door quietly, feeling the cool air from the room hit my freshly showered skin.

I walked out calmly, the robe slightly open at the chest, leaving some damp skin exposed. Leon was sitting on the edge of the bed, but when he saw me, his eyes scanned me slowly—up and down, taking his sweet time.

He stood up without saying a word, walking over with that confident stride of his, practically devouring me with his gaze. When he got close enough, he cupped my face and kissed me.

His touch was firm, but the kiss started soft, like he was holding back. I responded with a sly smile, returning the kiss with a slow peck—but I didn’t let it deepen.

I pulled away just slightly, teasing:

“We could save that for later…” I whispered, voice low, his breath still brushing against my lips. “Because right now… why don’t you go get me something to eat?”

I saw the look in his eyes change—half surprised, half amused.

“Pretty sure I saw a vending machine in the lobby,” I added, flashing a smug smile and lightly biting my bottom lip.

Leon let out a small, nasal chuckle and stepped back, shaking his head.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy, you know that?”

“I know. Now go, before I strip and you completely lose focus,” I said, winking at him.

He laughed again, grabbed his wallet, and left the room with that classic attitude—slightly annoyed, but clearly smiling. And I stayed there, still smelling the hotel shampoo, wrapped in the robe, heart racing.

Even with the world falling apart out there… in here, everything felt calm.

A few minutes later, I heard the key turn in the door. Leon walked in with a soda in one hand and a bag of mixed snacks in the other. He closed the door with his foot and gave me that crooked little smile he always wore when he was trying to act casual—though it was obvious he was happy to be there.

“Look who turned into my personal supplier,” I joked, adjusting myself on the bed with the robe still loosely tied, crossing my legs over the sheets.

“I figured you’d starve and pass out, then I’d have to revive you with mouth-to-mouth,” he replied, tossing his jacket onto the room’s armchair.

He dropped down beside me, opened the snacks, and handed me the TV remote. I flipped through the channels until I stopped on some old, silly animated cartoon—exactly what we needed after such a heavy day. Leon didn’t complain. He just chuckled and leaned his head on my shoulder, pulling me a little closer.

While we snacked, he’d occasionally press soft kisses to my cheek, and I pretended not to melt inside. Sometimes he leaned in to breathe me in—smiling faintly, almost sighing. His hand rested on my thigh over the robe, fingers lazily tracing small circles on my skin.

We laughed out loud at a particularly stupid scene—some character accidentally throwing a pie in his own face. And for a second, everything felt… normal.

But my laughter slowly faded. The weight of reality crept back in like a cold wave down my spine.

“Leon…” I started quietly. “I’m scared of what’s coming. The next few days, how things are going to be.” I sighed. “I’m worried about my parents... everyone.”

He turned his head immediately. He gently took hold of my chin, guiding me to face him. His eyes were steady—but full of tenderness.

“Hey... look at me. I’m with you. I’m not gonna let anything bad happen. I promise.”

My throat tightened, and for a second, my breath caught in my chest.

“We’ve been through worse before, remember?” he continued, his voice low and comforting. “You were so brave... and now it’s gonna be the same. We’ll get through this together. Like always.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. His scent, his voice, the warmth of his body pressed to mine... it was everything I needed to keep from falling apart.

“Thank you, Leon,” I whispered, resting my forehead against his.

He smiled softly against my skin, kissing the corner of my mouth.

“Good thing you’ll never have to find out what life’s like without me.”

---

I was lying there, tucked into Leon’s chest, the TV casting soft, colorful lights across his face. The cartoon was still playing, but I wasn’t paying attention anymore.

All I could think about was him. The way he’d occasionally sniff my hair. The light kisses he pressed to my face. And that one damned memory that started hammering in my head without mercy.

"Leon..." I murmured, just to break the silence.

"Hm?" he replied, not looking away from the screen, but gently squeezing my waist with his hand.

"I was remembering something."

"A good something?" he asked in that lazy tone of his—lazy, but definitely intrigued.

"Depends on how you look at it," I said, biting my lip. I shifted, lifting my face just enough to meet his eyes. "Do you remember the conference room?"

He finally looked away from the TV, and the grin that slowly spread across his face was downright indecent.

"That time?"

"Yeah... the one where we almost got caught," I whispered, leaning in closer. "You pinned me against the wall and covered my mouth with your hand so I wouldn’t moan."

He let out a low chuckle and licked his lips like he could see it all over again in his mind.

"You were wearing that white shirt," he said, voice rougher now. "It hugged your body just right..."

"I’d been craving you all day," he admitted, his fingers starting to trail up my side. "You drove me crazy... acting all innocent, but grinding up on me in the corner like you wanted me to ruin you right there."

"I did ask," I murmured, locking eyes with him. "And you had the nerve to ask if I could take it without making a sound."

Leon took a deep breath, like the memory had stirred something in him too. He turned more toward me, pulling me closer, and pressed a hot kiss to my neck.

"You nearly cried when I used my fingers on you, remember?" he whispered in my ear. "But you were such a good boy... holding it all in so no one would hear."

"I had your handprint on my hip for days," I said, laughing softly, cheeks burning.

"And you showed it off proudly every time you undressed," he teased, gently pushing me back against the pillows. "And now here you are again, lying in bed with me, teasing me all over... and you think you're gonna get away with it?"

"I’m not even trying to," I said, biting back a smirk. "Guess I was just waiting for the right moment."

Leon moved over me slowly, his body pressing against mine, eyes gleaming with desire—but still carrying that tenderness only he could give.

“So this is it,” he whispered. “Now I’m gonna show you what it’s like when we actually have time... and privacy.”

It all happened so fast.

He opened my robe, and from the look on his face, he seemed absolutely starving for my body—like always.

That familiar smirk curved his lips as he spotted the mark he’d left on me last time...

And that’s where he started—kissing, licking—and god, that alone was enough to get me hard. He had that kind of power over me. He could get me turned on without even trying.

He wanted to keep kissing me, touching me, taking his time... but I stopped him—only to make him take his clothes off too.

And damn. What a view.

No matter how many times I see it, I’m always stunned. How can a man be this perfect?

I looked down and he was rubbing his erection against mine.

He knew very well how to use those nine inches. Sometimes I wonder how I managed to take it all the first time.

But it always seemed to fit so well... as if it had been tailor-made just for me.

He pressed two fingers under my lips and told me to "make it nice and wet".

And I obeyed of course... damn,even his fingers were perfect.

I sucked looking into his eyes, he went a little deeper just to make me choke.

His fingers came out and went down to my ass, and my lips were taken by his, his tongue invading my mouth... I let out a little moan.

---

He already had his fingers deep inside me, making a slow back and forth movement, while still kissing me.

It felt good. Not as good

as his cock, but it was good and stimulating, especially when he kept rubbing his fingertips against my anal walls.

"Start touching yourself." He said, not even giving me time to reply and already kissing me again.

And so I did.

I started masturbating, gradually speeding up, and so did Leon.

Each time faster and harder. It was when he moved his kisses down from my mouth to my neck that I couldn't stand it.

Rope after rope of semen gushed onto my belly, and even a little onto my chest.

Leon finally pulled his fingers out of me, leaving me feeling empty.

He spread the cum on my belly with his fingertips, brought it to his lips and sucked on it.

“You taste sweet...” he said, opening a smile, and then pulling me into a kiss, making me taste myself.

[ogsherlockholmes]

This is incredibly interesting and insightful, and I would like to add a few comments, as someone else who can't help but feel slightly disappointed by certain adaptations.

Generally, I (surprisingly) find older Holmes adaptations, such as Rathbone/Bruce, somehow more faithful to the canon, even though there are clear problems with characterisations (I mention Bruce, despite finding his version of Watson very far removed from the canon). On the whole, these Holmeses are more connected to the 'oddness' which is integral to Holmes: he is never written to be a smooth, suave, debonair seducer, he's noted to be quite unusual and struggles to follow social cues, but not to the point of extreme rudeness. In fact, his peculiarity makes him somewhat charming. So, yes, Peter Cushing's Holmes could be quite harsh at times, but he was still human (it's been a while since I've watched Cushing adaptation's, so correct me if I'm wrong) and wasn't presented as 'eye candy'.

Of course, I can hardly forget Jeremy Brett's Holmes, and will never forgo an opportunity to gush over him and his commitment to accuracy. Personally, I believe that the Brett/Hardwicke/Burke adaptation is the most accurate.

Then we move to the 2000s, and OP is entirely correct on the focus shift to Irene Adler, a character who was only in one story and not mentioned much afterwards. That's not to say she wasn't important, she certainly was, but not in being a sort of sexual awakening as many adaptations make her out to be.

Modern Holmeses are, yes, quite different from the canon, that goes without saying. Part of me argues that, perhaps this is to match the effect of Holmes' character on a Victorian audience with a modern day audience. Meaning, certain features of his character which might not be a big deal now might have been a massive focus when originally written. To use an example entirely different from this, if a 19th century author might want to convey that a character was 'indecent' they might mention a 'reveal' of an ankle or even a thigh, maybe a hairstyle not done as neat as others (God forbid, a woman might have her hair down in the presence of a man). These days, if an author wanted their character to be a bit slutty, there will be a reveal of more than just a thigh... So, these two separate audiences will still have the same emotion conveyed upon them. Going back to Holmes, what was considered rude in the Victorian era isn't as rude these days (or the social etiquette has differed all round), so modern Holmeses need to be ruder than the canon, so we still have that effect.

But here, I disagree with myself, because even in the Victorian era, Holmes was never as rude as House, for example. Or, in the case of RDJ, Holmes was never described to be a slob; his rooms were untidy, yes, but his appearance mattered to him and he made sure to look after himself (in this case, I have to argue that the likes of Cumberbatch with his expensive hair products and Burberry coat are more akin to the canon).

Now that I have mentioned BBCSherlock, I have to admit that I do really enjoy this show still, despite holding back screams at certain moments (most moments). Honestly, I think Watson is mischaracterised just as often in all adaptations, both modern and 20th century, but in terms of the BBC version, I think this Holmes is the closest to canon. Arguments of queerbait aside, (yes, I maintain that they were queerbaiting, but enough has been said about that) I think Cumberbatch!Holmes is more applicable for the argument that his characterisation was trying to have the same effect on the audience as the canon, rather than matching the canon. Yes, rude, but there were just as many moments of genuine human kindness, love even, and he had big emotions, just like the canon. (He did call himself a sociopath but I maintain to this day that was him trying to find a word for himself and being very incorrect, but enough about BBCSherlock.)

I have never liked Enola Holmes (no hate to the creators or people involved); not because I thought the movie was bad, I just wonder why they bothered to relate it to Sherlock Holmes if it was going to be so far removed. I understand that it was an adaptation of a children's book series, so I won't comment on the plot, but I specifically remember watching the movie and wondering what the point of Cavill's Holmes was. It wasn't that he was 'too' good-looking, but he was, dare I say, useless. I'll admit, I can't remember the story entirely, but I was underwhelmed by Holmes' intelligence. No, he needn't be a superhuman, but being clever is a pretty difficult point to miss from Holmes' character.

All this being said (and, yes, I could go on and on about my opinions on all the adaptations I've consumed), I'm going to offer a little bit of mercy to Holmes adapters. As much as I would want a perfect near enough word for word adaptation of the canon (with Johnlock, of course) I understand that, in the modern day, people always want something new. It must be difficult to remain faithful to a story which has been told over and over without boring the audience. Therefore, there's an action movie Holmes made when superhero movies were popular; a TV series whose budget substantially increased and had a wider audience then intended, so had more convoluted storylines which slowly became less connected to the canon; and a Holmes which was more appeasable to a younger crowd, specifically targeted at younger girls and giving them a new character to look up to (even though I dislike it, I recognise that Enola Holmes was intended to be a role-model, and I do respect that).

Take Shakespeare for example: so many people are adaptating his works into so many different versions; i.e, Romeo and Juliet in modern-day America with guns and ecstasy; The Merchant of Venice set during WW2; The Taming of the Shrew with swapped genders; and so on. Writers constantly want to excite/confuse/intrigue the audience in ways which haven't been done, and after many years and many adaptations, the list begins to run out.

Still, I do feel disappointed by what Holmes has become. OP's original statement, 'Sherlock Holmes became an adaptation of an adaptation' is so true, and it does come to a point where it's not an adaptation but an inspiration. In my opinion, I'd argue that House MD is more inspired by Holmes then adapting the canon, since there aren't really many exact plot points included, aside from (spoilers!!) a faked death, drug usage and homoerotic longing. I seriously don't think there's a problem with that, we can't reinvent the wheel, but it would be nice if creators would recognise that the Holmes and Watson they are presenting are not the real Holmes and Watson.

On that note, Fawx&Stallion is a Holmes adaptation worthy of being mentioned- those creators understand Holmes, and that is clear to see.

Sherlock Holmes became an adaptation of an adaptation.

By watching several adaptations, it is possible to see how Holmes' personality begins to change over time, and how some adaptations are very similar to each other, not because they are based on the same book, but because they are based on each other instead of being based on the canon.

For example, the stereotype that Holmes is cold and emotionless, even though in the book Watson indeed says that Holmes is "a machine", Watson still describes him as sensitive, gentle, Holmes compassionate towards the clients who need it most. In addition to the explicit affection he has for Watson and how he respects Watson's feelings.

In older adaptations, Holmes has a personality and attitudes that are more faithful to the books, until the 2000s, Holmes' personality was consistent with the canon.

From the 2000s onwards, the adaptations became increasingly distant from the canon and began to be based on existing versions of the character instead of the canon, and thus a whole new perception of the character was created that did NOT match AT ALL with his original counterpart.

(very long post)

And it's not just Holmes' personality that is affected, but his dynamic with Watson and the history and personality of the other characters ends up being affected. For example, Irene Adler.

Although the interpretation of Irene as Holmes' romantic partner has existed for decades, since the 19th century, and even though she appeared in ONE short story, and was the only woman to beat the great detective, her relevance in having been a woman at that time and having been smarter than Holmes was transformed and reduced to her being Holmes' love interest, BUT even then, there isn't THAT many adaptations where Irene is portrayed this way how people think

First, there is Alice Faulkner, Holmes' romantic partner created by William Gillette, an original character inspired by Irene Adler, but very different from Irene. Holmes helps her and falls in love with her, kinda cute. (almost everyone knows) William Gillette is also responsible for the image of Holmes with the big pipe and the famous phrase never said by the canon Holmes "Elementary, my dear Watson". This is where the first influence on the other adaptations begins.

William Gillette's Holmes inspired the adaptations by Clive Brook and John Barrymore. Brook's version Holmes has a wife like Alice, and Barrymore's version is an adaptation of Gillette's film.

‼️This is all referring specifically to visual media such as movies and tv shows.

From decades before until the 1950s (not included), there is no Irene Adler. Of the more than 30 adaptations, four of them have an original female character as a romantic partner to Holmes. From the 50s to the 80s (not included), there are 30 other film and television adaptations. Where Irene only appears in 1976 in “Sherlock Holmes In New York” with Roger Moore as Holmes, and I believe that this is perhaps the FIRST version where Irene and Holmes really have a romance.

In this movie, half of the time, it is shown how Holmes loves Irene Adler and misses her, until a case ends up taking him to New York, to meet the woman he loves so much, BUT in the end, after he discovers that he has a son with Irene, he simply decides that he cannot stay with her and their son, because he has a whole life in London and cannot leave everything like that. Father of the year.

Before that, of course, there is “The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes” in 1970 by Billy Wilder, where he has the character of Gabrielle, which may have been the starting point for Irene Adler's transformation.

There were two adaptations in the 1970s where a man ends up in a type of psychosis that makes him believe he is Sherlock Holmes and a doctor named, by coincidence of course, Watson, and she is the one who helps him. In the first film, “They Might Be Giants,” Holmes and Dr. Watson fall in love.

At this time, it has the movie “The Seven Per-Cent Solution,” where Freud helps Holmes overcome his “aversion to women” and at the end of the movie, Holmes meets a potential female love interest.

Of all the 33 films from this period [50s-80s], there is ONE movie where Holmes is implicitly homosexual, ONE movie where H&W fall in love, ONE movie where Holmes has an original female romantic partner and ONE movie where Holmes and Irene Adler were a couple.

Irene only appears then in the “Soviet Holmes” series from (1979), where although it seems that Holmes may have feelings for her, she is not a love interest.

From the 80s to the 2000s (not included), of the almost 40 film and television adaptations, Irene Adler only appears THREE TIMES.

In 1984 in the film with Peter Cushing “The Mask of Death”, where Holmes seems grumpy with the mere presence of Irene and complains about how he lost to a woman. In the same year also Irene appears in “Granada Holmes” which is probably the most faithful adaptation of the tale of the Scandal in Bohemia.

Irene only appears AGAIN in 1991 in “The Leading Lady” with Christopher Lee, where Irene has no self-respect whatsoever and has only one mission in this movie, which is to marry Holmes. She literally says that she DOESN’T CARE IF HOLMES DOESN’T LOVE HER, she wants to marry him and ends baby trapping him.

In 1994, there was the pilot episode of the series that would be called “Baker Street: Sherlock Holmes Returns”, which is a remake of the 1987 pilot episode “The Return of Sherlock Holmes”. In the first version, Holmes wakes up from cryogenics and meets Watson’s granddaughter, Jane, and from her, he learns that it is okay to be gay in the 80s. In the second version, Holmes is found by a doctor named Winslow who falls in love with him, but Holmes shows no interest in her.

In the late 90s, there is “Shirley Holmes”, who is Holmes' great-great-granddaughter-niece (?), her father is a Holmes and her mother is a doctor named Joanne. There is also “My Dearly Beloved Detective” where H&W kiss, the movie is mainly about love.

From this period, of the three times that Irene appears, only once she is a love interest and other THREE adaptations that put H&W in a romantic position.

So until the 2000s, of the more than one hundred adaptations, Irene is Holmes' love interest ONLY TWICE.

Of about 61 film and series adaptations produced since the 2000s till this day, EIGHT adaptations have Irene Adler as Holmes' romantic partner and another EIGHT adaptations where Holmes has other originals female characters as romantic partners.

And hust because I'm a math teacher:

It's worth noting that the number of adaptations (movies and tv shows) in 25 years is almost equivalent to the number of adaptations (movies and tv shows) in ONE CENTURY.

From the first sample of adaptations (movies and tv shows) from the period 1900-1999, there were 104 adaptations.

Irene as a romantic partner: 2 (± 2%)

Original Female Character: 4 (± 3.8%)

H&W in a romantic situation (corresponding or not, explicit or not): 4 (± 3.8%)

From the second sample of adaptations (movies and tv shows) from the period 2000-2025, there were 61 adaptations.

Irene as a romantic partner: 8 (± 13%)

Original Female Character: 8 (± 13%)

H&W in a romantic situation (corresponding or not, explicit or not): 7 (± 11.5%)

Irene Adler as love interest from the 2000s onwards:

“The Royal Scandal” with Matt Frewer, their relationship is implicit, this movie sucks, but other Frewer movies are good, as is Clive Merrison, Frewer is one of the only actors who has a voice that most closely matches the description of Holmes' voice in the canon. Also in the television film “Sherlock Holmes and the Baker Street Irregulars”, where Irene spends most of the movie disguised as a man, because of course that the ONLY WOMAN Holmes could fall in love with, dresses as a man. And then we have the Robert Downey Jr. films where despite explicitly showing the romantic relationship between Holmes and Irene at the same time it implicitly shows the romantic feelings between Holmes and Watson. And then we have “Elementary” (2012-2019), “Шерлок Холмс” (2013), “Sherlock Gnomes” (2018) and the most recent “CBS Watson” (Holmes is dead but they still made sure to let us know that Irene and Holmes had an affair.)

So, it was here, in the 2000s that the adaptations really began to change and became adaptations of each other. Holmes lost his personality and became another character. The canon stories were replaced by “fanfics” of other adaptations. (Irene Adler case)

I consider that three adaptations are mainly responsible for the CURRENT image of Sherlock Holmes, and that it is from these three adaptations that the image that we have (in the contemporary era) of Sherlock Holmes was perpetuated and is the basis for the adaptations produced more recently.

The first is House M.D. (2004-2012). Although the general public does not know that it is based on Sherlock Holmes, House influenced other adaptations, especially the personality that Holmes has today. The cliché of the super-intelligent, cold, calculating, emotionless male character begins here. Even though House is not exactly that trope. The image of Holmes being insensitive to clients/patients, his arrogance and being an ASSHOLE starts in House. Including the way he treats or mistreats Watson/Wilson.

The second adaptation is the Robert Downey Jr. films as Holmes (2009-2011). He turns Holmes into an action hero, which Holmes is not, his personality does not match the canon at all (in these movies, this is not a problem). But the main influence of RDJ Holmes is Holmes as an action hero, and being SLOPPY. He dresses badly and does not keep a clean appearance. It looks like he has not showered in months. I know he STINKS.

And then we have the third adaptation, which is where the adaptations of other adaptations begin: BBC Sherlock (2010-2017). BBC Sherlock could almost be an adaptation of “The Private of Sherlock Holmes” considering the amount of similarities and references to Billy Wilder's film and the number of times Moffat and Gatiss said that this was their favorite film and INSPIRATION. BBC Sherlock is set in the modern era as Basil Rathbone's film series was then, it also makes references to the 1965 BBC series with a background appearance by Douglas Wilmer, they made reference to “Granada Holmes” in “The Abominable Bride”. And considering that RDJ Holmes is (I believe) the FIRST adaptation that decided to have Irene Adler working for Moriarty, it can be considered that Irene Adler from BBCSH, besides being an adaptation of Gabrielle from “Private Life of Sherlock Holmes”, is also inspired by Irene from the movie.

Still, controversy, but BBC Sherlock also suffers from the influence of House, mainly in Sherlock’s PERSONALITY. He has a personality quite similar to House’s.

So we have BBC Sherlock that is inspired by other adaptations and other adaptations that are inspired by BBC Sherlock. They are adaptations based on others adaptations, where the original Holmes gets lost and it is no longer possible to recognize him.

House influenced BBC Sherlock, Elementary and CBS Watson. Although Elementary suffered from the obvious comparisons to BBC Sherlock, it clearly follows a House approach style, including the opening of the show is inspired by the 1965 BBC series. And even with the influences of other adaptations, Elementary managed to maintain a personality more in keeping with Holmes, despite the sexual appeal that Elementary Holmes has (I believe it's House's fault). This Holmes has character development and takes a more serious approach to being neurodivergent and queer, and to his addiction. Unlike both House and BBCSH, which do not fully address Holmes' autistic, or his sexuality, and in the case of BBCSH at no point does it seriously address Sherlock's addiction problem.

And again, possibly influenced by Irene from the Warner Bros. films, we have an Irene Adler who works with Moriarty, and spoiler alert, not only does she work with Moriarty but is actually Moriarty herself. In addition to having a romantic involvement with Holmes, and Moriarty (her own counterpart) being an obstacle in their relationship (as in the film).

CBS Watson series has a big problem, being from the same producers as Elementary, even though Elementary managed to maintain consistency and a certain fidelity to Holmes' personality, CBS Watson ends up having almost no personality, being similar to House, and with a Watson that seems trying to be Holmes at all times. In a way, CBS Watson is an adaptation of another adaptation: House, which is inspired by Sherlock Holmes.

RDJ Holmes has influenced two Russian adaptations, “Sherlock Holmes” from 2013, where despite expectations that it was inspired by the Soviet series from 1979, the new Russian Holmes is very similar to the ways of RDJ Holmes, sloppy and careless. The series plot is that Watson narrates the adventures of Sherlock Holmes, but the Holmes he writes about is not the same as the real Holmes he lives with. Even though in this context, fidelity to the canon somehow does not need to exist. It still shows the influence of RDJ's films. And again, Irene Adler here is Holmes' romantic partner.

As for the NEW Russian series “Sherlock in Russia” (2020), despite its originality and very well produced, we have an almost sloppy Holmes, long hair and a goatee, that yes, is RDJ's fault.

Being the most influential of the post-2000s adaptations, BBC Sherlock influenced several other adaptations, such as: “Miss Sherlock” (2018) which is not only inspired by BBC Sherlock, but clearly an adaptation of BBC Sherlock in a modern Tokyo setting where Sherlock and John are women. (An adaptation of another adaptation that was inspired by other adaptations). “Sherlock Untold Stories” (2019-2022) which is also heavily inspired by BBC Sherlock visually, but unlike Miss Sherlock it manages to be more original.

Moriarty the Patriot's Sherlock. Both the manga and the anime are, in my opinion, the best adaptation of Sherlock Holmes, both in the original plot and in how they adapted Moriarty and the canon to the context of the manga universe. However, Sherlock is clearly inspired by BBCSH's Sherlock. Some parts of the manga are also very similar to the events of BBC Sherlock.

And the most controversial one: Sherlock and Co. And I say this not as if they deliberately decided this. It's undeniable the impact that BBC Sherlock had on the general public's perception of WHO SHERLOCK HOLMES IS. Considering that the producer himself said that they had three audiences that they had to balance when making this adaptation, one of them being the "Johnlocker Community". Evidencing the HUGE impact that BBC Sherlock has even on the general Sherlock Holmes fandom, and yet, the producer said that he didn't know about queerbaiting when the allegations started that SH&Co. could be queerbaiting, remembering that no adaptation is obligated to make H&W a couple. This fact happened precisely because of the public's perception of how SH&Co. is similar to BBCSH and not just because it is set in the modern era. Observing the fandom, especially in the beginning, it was perceptive that SH&Co. was being treated as an extension of BBC Sherlock. So by EXTERNAL CONSEQUENCES, I will consider that SH&Co. Whether willingly or not, he suffers from the direct influence of BBCSH (and its fandom).

And then there's the Netflix problem. I haven't read the Enola books (yet), and I have no idea how Holmes is adapted in her books. But Henry Cavill Holmes is a consequence of BBCSH and RDJ. It's as if they had a son, but he clearly pulled Sherlock's hair more (BBCSH).

And Irregulars, only Netflix know where they got their inspiration from to do that. And Holmes is sloppy again, it's RDJ's fault. And taking inspiration from Sherlock in New York, Netflix's Holmes also abandons his daughter even though he says he loves the child's mother more than anything. Eleven worse, Irregulars Holmes neglects his daughter for FIFTEEN YEARS, but her mother is the love of his life and could let the world end if they could be together. And for some reason Watson loves that jerk.

(also is like benedict and jonny lee miller had a child)

And the light at the end of the tunnel came, unexpectedly, from the CW. Finally an adaptation that is not based on another adaptation, that despite the original approach, it is still noticeable that it is in fact based on the canon and does not suffer from the influence of other adaptations.

This is based on a twitter discussion, but mostly on a comment from an oomf.

English is not my first language, I am smarter in Brazilian Portuguese

[moonsglare]

arlecchino is so husband meanwhile feixiao is so boyfriend. does that make sense

[starlightwayfinder]

aros when the story explores the role of relationships and their effect on sense of self and fulfillment, the acceptance of impermanence and change, the perceived emptiness and isolation that comes from having a different emotional experience than the people around you, the struggle to balance independence with connection to others, wanting to be loved but not at the expense of being ‘imprisoned’ or tied down, choosing to be true to yourself at the expense of meeting others’ expectations—

[w1ld-wr1t3r]

I'm not even 15 minutes into rewatching Interstellar and I think there is a chance my imagination is running wild again . . .

I have at least half a loose fic plot already hELP.

[land-of-frogs-and-dragons]

Y'know what this still lives in my head rent free so some more rambling from Yours Truly under the cut

@phoenixdellaverita ping for you in case you still wanna talk about this bad boi

I was thinking about all of The Shenanigans And Tomfoolery Danny could get up to whilst under the care of The Princesses and realized that, BECAUSE he is Their Ward (for now) this TECHNICALLY makes him a prince, especially because he's a liddol bebe alicorn. Therefore:

Danny thinking the guards assigned to him are just, Vibing, and not actually assigned to him for more than "pls help the bebe not be lost thanks"

Luna and Celestia BOTH being asked which of them sired Danny (I'm kinda tossing him getting his age lowered for The Funny but also bc DC x DP fics where that happens slap) and they both go "my sister did :3"

Danny being confused when regular ponies bow to him like No Please Don't He's Just A Liddol Guy,,,,, Bowing Is For Squares,,,,, pLeasE

On that note, Celestia and Luna both teaching him how to be More Royal: how to say nothing of value or committing to things without insulting other nations diplomats, how to read between the lines for the problems that aren't spoken aloud, how to manage a spy network, ECT.

BUT ALSO Teaching him how to make space to relax while having The Whole Nation Depending On You, how to still be true to yourself while presenting a public facing mask, how to make sure your advisors are good and not trying to backstab you

Also, the sisters get to learn how to have fun again: Celestia with pulling Harmless Shenanigans For Fun and Luna with telling stories and things

Also I think all of the above and ALSO think that they pull Cadence in within a few weeks for Danny under their care bc both princesses gotta be present for a meeting so they call her in bc "she babysat Twilight and Twi was already like that, surely nothing can go wrong here"

Cadence introduced to Danny and Danny's wary of her until he gets a FULL breakdown of how her magic works. Poor Cadence expecting Spoiled Colt instead gets the PTSD Trauma Response Colt (they make a series of code words so that if either Is Sus of mind control or something, they use it to confirm that the other is clear and ok. This is what makes Danny sus of Future Chrysalis!Cadence)

Idk I want to do more with Discord so I feel like, in his season finale when he gets re statued, Danny somehow gets him out without fucking up the statue? So now he gets a Pocket Sized Chaos going around places with him

Me, rambling about my fanfic idea that I've not had the chance to really delve into the writing and planning and thus am rambling about my blorbos during lunch? It's more likely than you'd think.

Fic idea under the cut, it's the dp x MLP crossover I talked about a good while back

SO I've had time to Noodle On This (God bless the person that sent me fanart of this, you saved this AU from never leaving my brain I'm saving it in my asks to Never Forgor) and I think the crossover would happen like this:

In Equestria, one of the Finale Events is ongoing. I'm partial to the first time Discord gets un-statued but that's me loving that blorbos tbh

That plotline proceeds as usual until close to the end

AT THE SAME TIME, the realms has finally had peace and Danny's been properly crowned king of the realms.

Danny, who doesn't want to be king

Danny, who wants to live his life and only become king when he dies fully or when 100 years pass from his not-death

Danny, whose death happens a few years earlier than canon and everything happens with a younger ghost kid

The GIW aren't gone but they are properly handled, his parents are chill with him, things are looking up

And then (if it's Discord) my mans Does A Thing

This thing wouldn't have done anything if it were Pariah or another ghost adult on the throne.

Unfortunately it's Danny, the Baby Ghost, who Has A Regent So He Can Live Life Still, still Chirps when Ghost Grandpa Gives Him Cookies

Baby Ghost Danny wandering the realms with some ghost friends during summer break under adult supervision getting sucked into a surprise portal in the realms

Discord: Whose Sassy Small Child Is This

Danny: Fuck You You Colossal Snakey Bastard, I'll Bite You

Discord, suddenly pleased: Ah Yes, My Child Now

Now the girls NOT ONLY have to re-stone Discord, they have to ""save the baby""

Only to find that The Baby needs Discord to send him home (they did not like the suggestion of "guess I'll die then")

ALSO only to find that Danny is a young Alicorn by de facto of being royalty (since that's the only time we see alicorns really)

Danny runs away, shifts forms, and finds that he has a lil coat on his alive form to hide the wings (along with a note from Clockwork saying all is as it should be, Big Sigh from our tired boi)

Sneaks back to Discords statue to try and break the guy out so he can go home only to get caught by one of the princesses (haven't decided which yet) who are understandably Less Than Pleased that this random child is trying to bust out the bad guy of the year to start the mess over again

Noone but Pinkie Pie recognizes that Alive Danny is also Dead Danny

Noone but Pinkie Pie (and, if homie gets to get a nap in, Luna who sneaks into the dreams) believes it's him if he admits it

Pinkie, *somehow,* bullies the princesses into taking care of the child because "finders keepers and you found him" or something

Now Danny has to learn advanced pony magitech in order to go home while a) keeping it from the nosy new guardians, and b) not get so attached that he hits a point where he doesn't want to go home. Also c) not get caught trying (and succeeding) in busting discord out again to get his help in going home

[nyssasatelier]

Surely she won't redesign Poseidon for a third time...right?

(the answer is maybe....who am I kidding it's yes, it's a hard yes) have these quick teaser sketches

[firefl1ezz]

i just. hit s+ rank in splatoon and i never honestly thought this would happen?? am i cool now.. do i get to be a part of the s4? do i get to be watered down to my running joke all the time?

[kimbapisnotsushi]

man the only thing that makes me sad about the final family-gathering dinner scene in derek's route is that cove couldn't be there too . . . he and derek were besties!!! he was OUR bestie!!!! he's basically family!!! his DAD was there!!!!! cove could have been there joshing us and making fun of us and telling derek "yeah, [name] spent forever pining after you when you left" bc that's information we sure as hell wouldn't have told liz back then. cove could have spilled all the embarrassing shit the way derek's family did for him. i just really loved being able to have cove by my side and being able to do all the interactions with him as purely platonic and familial and imagining him as my support in this whole route. and then he's not there at the end and it just makes me sad AGH

[artist-issues]

That’s It.

I’m tired of seeing everyone repeat the same four points: “1) Nani gives Lilo to the state! 2) Hawaii has a better marine biology program than San Fransisco! 3) Jumba doesn’t get redeemed! 4) Pleakley’s not wearing a dress!”

Those are not the only things that were bad about this remake. You could easily tell it was going to be all that and more beforehand, but most people’s reaction to the trailer was “it’s surprisingly good!” and now they’re acting all surprised. If you didn’t see this coming, enough to purchase a ticket, you’re part of the problem and you don’t get the original movie any more than the people who made this remake did.

So I’m done being quiet, this is the Lilo & Stitch 2025 Takedown Post.

And as usual the only good thing about an attempted-remake is that it gives people a reason to think about what made the original so good.

Let’s go in order. But just scroll down to the Heading you Care About if you don’t want to read all this.

1. Cobra Bubbles

In this movie, Cobra Bubbles is a secret agent hunting for aliens and they have a new character take his place as the state social worker.

The Problem They Were Trying to Solve With this Change: “We shouldn’t have a black man or a government worker feel like an insensitive antagonist to Lilo’s family.”

That’s a stupid surface-level one-dimensional misread of the character from the original…and it wouldn’t have been hard, at all, for a child to explain to the 2025 filmmakers that Cobra is not an insensitive antagonist in the original.

Cobra Bubbles is not insensitive and he is not in any way portrayed as a bad guy in the original. Nani sees him that way, Nani sees him as antagonistic, because he’s the representation of Lilo being taken away.

But Nani is wrong about him and learns that she is wrong about him by the end of the movie.

Can we please make a list?

Cobra’s first interaction with the caretaker of the child he was being sent to protect was that she ran out into the road, yelled at a complete stranger, and dented his car.

Then he found her locked out of the home and threatening the child inside with a hammer in her hand.

Then he found out the stove was on while she was out, and she’d left a 7 year-old alone.

The 7 year-old made comments about being disciplined with bricks and a pillow case.

The 7 year-old looks like she might be more than a little emotionally unbalanced because she’s figuring out how to put voodoo spells on her friends to punish them.

He still gave that pair of sisters three days to straighten the ship. When in actuality, in 2002, under HRS §587-73, (don’t play with me) the social worker would’ve been well within his rights to remove the child from the home right then. But instead he gives her three days to fix it. THEN

The 18 year-old loses her job.

The family gets a “dog” who he is implied to know is an alien, right off the bat.

The alien is violent and wreaks havoc across town.

The 7 year-old almost drowns while they surf instead of find a job.

He lets the child and caretaker have one more night together to say goodbye, but when he’s on the way to get her he gets a call that she’s being attacked by aliens, hears a chainsaw, and finds the house on fire.

Do you understand what I’m saying.

Cobra Bubbles had NO BUSINESS being as BIG A SOFTIE AS HE WAS for all of the original movie. He was not only well within his legal rights to take Lilo away from Nani immediately, but he was actually required by law, it was his DUTY, to remove her immediately. But he didn’t do that. Why?

Now listen to me very carefully.

Lilo and Stitch is a movie about how “Family chooses to love and commit to one another selflessly, no matter what the other person can do for them or how hard they make it.” The fancy way they say it is just “Ohana means family: family means nobody gets left behind or forgotten.”

Did you catch that? “No matter how hard they make it.”

Cobra Bubbles was a CIA agent before this. A CIA agent who saved the planet, by doing what? Convincing an alien race to leave them alone. Oh, he didn’t fight them off? No. How? He “convinced” them? He talked it out? Sounds like a pretty compassionate guy, for all his tough exterior. How did he do that?

He could’ve picked any animal that’s actually endangered. The filmmakers chose to make him the guy who convinced aliens to value mosquitos.

MOSQUITOS. Creatures that give nothing, only take. Ugly little bloodsucking monsters. That’s the creature he convinced them to care about enough to save the planet.

NOW do you have any trouble understanding why this is the specific social worker who would give an alien-infested dumpster fire of a dangerous home a chance when two sisters are about to be torn apart?

Do you see that Cobra is just another example of the grace that the movie is always talking about? The love that transforms someone from bad to good simply because it refuses to give up even when it gets nothing out of it? I’m repeating myself because I want you to see why he was a well-done character who NEEDED NO CHANGE.

Cobra Bubbles’ character is not an insensitive monster who doesn’t care who his actions hurt as long as he gets the job done. But you know who that does sound like?

2. Gantu

Gantu is not in the remake at all.

The Problem They Were Trying to Solve With This Change: “It’s going to cost us upwards of 1.5 millions of dollars to design, sculpt, rig, animate, and render a character this big in addition to finding a suitable voice actor to play the part.”

This is a really dumb choice for several reasons. A. Without Gantu, there is no “stakes-raiser” to Lilo and Nani’s story. The movie has no climax without him. For the first and second acts of the movie, it’s about a grieving pair of girls trying to prove themselves to a social worker while the story-equivalent of Beethoven the Destructive St. Bernard wacky Jumba & Pleakley antics get in their way. But when a 40-foot tall alien stomps into their lives and abducts Lilo & Stitch in a spaceship that careens around the island during an explosive sky-chase scene, now you have a high-octane, somebody-could-die climax.

B. Without Gantu, Stitch looks weaker. The climax gave Stitch a reason to come out of the wackadoo puppy he’s been posing as and suddenly remind everybody that he’s a lethal weapon who can survive thousand-foot drops, lava, and astronomic explosions—and a giant alien’s Thanos-dwarfing fist. Take him out and who do we have as a match for Stitch to go up against, even for a moment, and prove how much he’s changed to be willing to risk his freedom and fight?

C. Without Gantu you have no villain to reflect that STITCH is no longer a villain. (So they substituted Jumba.)

But the reason this character is really worth millions is, again, the theme.

I told you Cobra Bubbles was a character who did not put “duty” or even “convenience” or “position” over the real lives of Lilo and Nani. He saw that there was love there, and in his own way, he gave it a chance. And even when he chose to take Lilo away, he did it carefully; he gave them time to say goodbye.

GANTU IS THE OPPOSITE OF COBRA BUBBLES.

Gantu is the insensitive, uncaring, unyielding Captain whose commitment to duty turns into rage and cruelty. Not Cobra.

Nani thinks Cobra is walking in a threatening to tear apart their family in a display of government judgement. But that’s what Gantu literally does.

His first reaction to Stitch is to call for his destruction. Without even waiting to see if “it can be reasoned with” like the Grand Councilwoman suggests. He’s merciless. He mocks Stitch when Stitch is captive. And he knows that he caught Lilo, a human, along with him. He doesn’t care. He even suggests that Stitch eat her as a snack.

There are only two other characters who laugh at others’ misfortune in the movie. One is Stitch, the original villain. Then love changes him. The other is Jumba, who made Stitch. Then love changes him. But Gantu never gets changed. He’s only concerned with his job, and with personally annihilating the flaws he sees in Stitch.

Gantu is unyielding, ungracious, and cruel. And he’s big and powerful enough to be a test for Stitch to prove he’s changed. For the benefits he brings to the story, he’s worth 1.5 million and more. But they cut him anyway.

3. Jumba

In the new movie, Jumba is a villain through-and-through with designs on overthrowing the Galactic Council using Stitch, and instead of being redeemed, he’s sentenced to prison.

The Problem They Were Trying to Solve With This Change: “We can’t spend money on our real villain so we’ll just keep Jumba evil.”

The reason this is dumb is obvious. They created their own problem, and the ‘fix’ makes the movie weaker, not stronger. But here’s how.

In the original, Jumba is introduced as trying to self-protect. He’s on trial, and he lies. But when Stitch is revealed, he’s genuinely passionate about the thing he’s created. And he cares about image. He prefers to be called “evil genius,” and he hates the headlines labelling him “idiot scientist.”

You have to remember he’s part of “Galaxy Defense Industries.” They had him making weapons of destruction anyway. He just got too into it with his genetic Experiments, went a little insane.

I’m not downplaying the fact that Jumba is evil at the start of the movie. He is. It is evil to be outcasted from society and then respond to that with, “well, if they’re going to treat me like an idiot, I’LL SHOW THEM, I won’t care about anything except my passion for mad science!” That’s evil.

But it also explains a lot.

I said it in another post. Jumba’s whole utility as a character is that he knows who and what Stitch really is, better than anyone. He made him to be a monster who can’t belong and wreaks havoc on everybody else’s ‘place of belonging.’ Jumba is the audience’s insider’s perspective on what is going on in Stitch’s head, at first.

But when he’s redeemed, it happens fast. And why? Because that’s how plain and simple Stitch is, as a character. Jumba knows Stitch is a disgusting little monster with nothing inherently loveable about him, and no “greater purpose.” So when his disgusting monster is loved by someone? When his disgusting monster is willing to ask him, Jumba, for help? Something totally outside his programming, totally not what Jumba thought he’d ever be capable of?

That proves to Jumba, in an instant, that there’s love out there that transforms. And creates a place of belonging.

There were already germs of that, a desire to belong, a compassion, in Jumba after he reached earth.

He doesn’t try to get Nani fired, he offers an explanation for Pleakley’s swollen head.

He claims he won’t hit Lilo (why would he care about collateral damage?)

He sounds sorry for Nani when she’s upset about losing Lilo, and tries to keep Stitch from bothering her.

My point is, Jumba’s redemption isn’t important because it’s cute or because we need to set up the big happy found-family trope everybody loves.

Jumba’s redemption is important because it is just one more PROOF that what’s happened to Stitch is so incredible. The love Jumba finds transforming his monster is enough to transform Jumba, too.

But sure, fine, whatever, make him a soulless one-dimensional talking head. Whatever.

4. Stitch’s Design

In this movie, Stitch is cuter than he is ugly, and he’s half Lilo’s size.

The Problem They Were Trying to Solve With This Change: “Ugly-cute doesn’t come across as well in ‘live action’ animation. And all the Wal-Mart moms remember Stitch as ‘cute.’ Plus we’ll save about 15% in rendering the animation.”

This is crippling to the characterization of Stitch.

Stitch is supposed to be an echo of who Lilo could become now that she’s lost her parents and may be losing Nani. This scene:

Where Jumba points out that Stitch has nothing, and destruction is his only purpose, is the evidence for that. But Chris Sanders, who made this whole story, also point-blank said it. Stitch is a future Lilo, if she loses her family.

So that’s reason number 1 that he should be her same height. But also, practically, no iconic pair of best friends, yin and yang, have visuals where one is smaller than the other. Especially not if one of them is supposed to be disguised as a pet.

The point is, Stitch is not LILO’s pet. He is her best friend, her other half. But between the muzzle-muscles they worked into his upper lip and the darkened dog nose and the butt-scooting across the floor, the remake is trying to make him more pet-like in relation to Lilo.

That’s not what he is.

I said this in another post. But Stitch is supposed to throw food to the back of his head like a gator—his lips are not designed for forming words. His gums and teeth are supposed to look like a shark’s. His nose is supposed to be too big, stamped into his face. His ears are supposed to be like bat ears, not bunny ears. He hunches forward, instead of bending at the waist like a toddler. His eyes can narrow to lizard slits.

He has to look like he can believably be a disgusting monster. Yes, he can also be cute. But he has to first look like a monster. Because that’s what he really is, in the story. If he isn’t, then LILO’s love for him doesn’t look as powerful.

It is easy to love a cat even if it scratches you, because it’s cute. It’s harder to love a life-sized spider that keeps knocking you down and eating your prized possessions and laughing when you get hurt. Stitch is supposed to be closer to the second one, so that Lilo’s love shines brighter.

But also, practically:

She can’t look him in the eye for emotional shots when he’s that short. He’ll always have to awkwardly be standing on a box or a chair or a bed.

How is he going to scoop her up, hero-style, and leap off of an exploding spaceship with her in his arms, when he’s half her size? He could do it: it’ll look stupid, though. So they just don’t have that part in the movie.

She can pick him up. That alone is demeaning and again, the visuals are silly. Not what we’re going for.

5. Lilo’s Personality

In this movie, Lilo doesn’t like weird stuff, and she screams when she first meets Stitch. There’s no problem that this solves. It’s just laziness and a lack of care about the characters.

I would like to remind you that the original Lilo:

Made her own doll that looks like a shrunken head and pretended a bug laid eggs in her ears.

Makes up stories about a fish that controls the weather and actively deep-sea dives to bring it peanut butter sandwiches.

Has a knee-jerk reaction of using practical voodoo spells on friends who wrong her.

Listens exclusively to Elvis Presley.

Fills baby bottles with coffee.

Believes Nani’s manager is a vampire.

Has fishing nets and seashells in her room for decoration.

takes safari pictures of overweight bleached tourists.

meets a social worker and her first impulse is to ask if he’s killed someone.

Nails the door shut when she’s mad at her big sister.

She’s not friends with pound dogs in that original movie; when they first get there she acts like she’s never been in the kennel before, and originally wants a pet lobster.

I know that we all love that little girl they got to play Lilo, but if you were really being objective, you’d acknowledge that she’s a little girl. She’s not Lilo. She’s a cute little girl.

They did not write Lilo into the 2025 movie. They wrote any old little girl.

You should have known, from the moment she first sees Stitch and her reaction is to scream in the trailer, that THAT IS NOT LILO.

Lilo had a very specific set of characterizations. She was a character with a personality that exploded out of the screen. Every other character in the movie meets Stitch and reacts with disgust.

But not. LILO. She’s the only one to react to him like THIS:

She is literally not like anyone else. She’s doesn’t care that he’s ugly. Or weird. Or blue. Or even bat an eye when he can talk with all those shark teeth.

From Moment One, Lilo chooses Stitch. She chooses to love him. Regardless of what he can do for her. Regardless of how many times he pushes her over or rips up her house or makes her relationship with Nani harder. That is the number one thing about Lilo.

She is desperate for people to stay, but she chooses to love Stitch even though he’s a monster. And she tries to make him better. And her love succeeds in transforming him when nothing else could.

Lilo’s personality traits all mean something in the story. (I.e. she likes Elvis because she’s clinging to the past, she snaps pictures of tourists like they’re safari animals because they’re inherently people who LEAVE and she has issues with LEAVING, etc.) But the thing I think that was so obvious that the moviemakers missed for 2025 is she has to be weird. If she’s not weird, there’s no reason for her not to have friends. And if she has friends, what does she need Stitch for?

But also, Lilo’s personality in the new movie is just boring. Cute. But boring. Cute’s not that great of an accomplishment; any 7 year-old is cute.

6. Nani

I don’t think you guys need to know this. It’s not just that Nani leaves. It’s that “take care of yourself” is the exact opposite of the selfless message of the movie.

In the beginning, Lilo literally argues with Nani after being told she’s “such a pain,” and goes, “why don’t you SELL ME and buy a RABBIT INSTEAD?”

And then breaks down and cries at the thought of Nani wishing she had a rabbit instead of Lilo, later.

Because Lilo is afraid of people leaving. But Nani won’t leave her. Nani loses her job, her own life, because of Lilo. But she’s desperate to keep Lilo anyway, because she loves her. Don’t you understand? The message of the movie was about self-sacrificial love. A love that doesn't care what I get out of the relationship.

Nani starts it. But you know what, David loves her like that, too. And then Lilo transfers it to Stitch, who shows it off to Jumba. It’s a chain reaction, but Nani is spearheading it.

You realize that when their parents died, Nani already would’ve been in high school? With a whole life of her own? Her own friends, her own potential boyfriend, a job she went to, surf competitions (the trophies are in her room.) Lilo would’ve been well aware that that was the status-quo: Nani has her own life. And even a seven year-old can see that that life is being put on hold, but maybe the big sister wants to go back to it, at every turn.

The fact that Nani never does that, never expresses a desire for that, only ever expresses a desire to keep Lilo with her, is huge. It’s the core of the movie.

I don’t think that needs any more explaining.

We could talk more. Like about how Lilo needs to see that Stitch is an alien, because that’s the ultimate test: he’s one of the monsters who destroyed her house, he’s been lying to her and using her as a human shield, he’s a criminal—but she still winds up giving everything up to protect him.

Anyway. My neck hurts and I don’t want to type anymore. But we could talk about the music, the social worker, the grand councilwoman—it just doesn’t matter.

Ya’ll had more than enough details in the trailer to be able to not go see this movie because it was obviously going to ruin everything. But instead you chose to make this twisted corpse “the highest-grossing movie of any Memorial Day.” You bought tickets because they ruined a perfect movie and slapped together an uglier package for you.

Whatever. It was my favorite movie today, it’ll be your Treasure Planet or Tangled tomorrow. Keep riiiight on giving them your money, and keep letting influencers regurgitate the same four obvious facts to you over and over, because they paid Disney to make a talking-point for their content benefit. Whatever.

[ariesvibe]

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