#it just seems like the only 'bad' part of her life is being in a wheelchair which....so are a lot of people it's not a big deal

[covenofagatha]

Sugar, spice, and everything nice (Part 3)

Word count: 3100

Warnings: semi-public sex, sex toys, masturbation

You spend almost all of Saturday and Sunday at the bakery, just waiting for Agatha to walk in. 

She never does. 

It was especially hard on Saturday, opening up the box full of sex toys she had sent you and then having to come into work just an hour later, being more turned on than you ever had in your life. The only thing you were looking forward to was Agatha walking in and smirking at you. You were sorely disappointed.

So much so that you hadn’t even found it in yourself to use the toys she had sent. The vibrator, dildo, clit-sucker (you had finally figured out what it was), and the long distance vibrator had sat in the box on your floor for the whole weekend, you trying to not look at it whenever you walked in. 

Was Agatha worried she had made a mistake? You hadn’t texted her Saturday morning upon receiving the package, assuming she’d be in the bakery that morning, but now it seemed too late to send a message. 

Now it’s Monday and you’re supposed to go on a date tomorrow. Maybe you can wear the vibrator on Tuesday. Even just thinking about her letter sends thrills down your spine. 

Is the date still on though? 

And then the door opens and in walks Agatha. Your breath catches in your throat and you stand up off your stool. She is stunning. 

She shoots you her signature smirk and all of your worries and doubts just melt away. 

“Hey, doll,” she says, coming to a stop in front of the register. 

“Agatha,” you sigh. “I haven’t seen you all weekend.” 

She runs a hand through her hair and you find yourself transfixed. “Sorry, sweetheart. I got a new case and it’s very time-consuming. I kept trying to get away but I just couldn’t.” 

And then you feel bad, because of course the excellent lawyer was working and wasn’t avoiding you. 

A glint appears in her eyes. “Did you have a busy weekend?” 

There’s only one thing she could be possibly talking about in that tone with that look on her face. Your cheeks redden and you look at the counter, wiping an imaginary speck of dust off it. 

“I-uh-haven’t actually used any of them yet,” you answer sheepishly. You dare to meet her eyes to see that her smile has gotten bigger if possible. 

“You haven’t? Why not?” 

You shrug, too embarrassed to tell her that you were worried she was icing you out. It sounds stupid now, with her standing right there, but your thoughts tend to get the best of you when you’re alone. 

“Do you need some help with them?” Agatha asks and you choke on nothing. You open and close your mouth a few times, not able to think straight but trying to formulate some kind of response, when she tosses her head back with a laugh. “I’m just joking, doll.” 

“Do you really want me to wear the vibrator tomorrow?” Your voice falls to a hush even though it’s only the two of you in the store. 

“You aren’t wearing it right now?” She teases and you gasp at the thought of her toying with you while you try to make coffee and talk to customers. 

“No,” you squeak and shake your head furiously. “I didn’t know-”

“I’m kidding, doll,” she assures you. “Wear it tomorrow only if you want to. It connects to an app so you’ll have to send me the code on the manual once you open it. If you want to, of course.”

“I do,” you say hoarsely, feeling a flush all over your cheeks and neck. She smiles triumphantly and taps the counter. 

“So, where are you taking me on our next date?” 

You had actually spent a lot of time trying to figure it out. Obviously, as a college student making just above minimum wage, you couldn’t really treat her to a nice restaurant and you weren’t quite sure what she liked to do. 

So you were settling for something simple. 

A nice picnic in the park to watch the sunset. Maybe go for a walk after. Quality time is very important to you and you wanted to just be with the older woman. 

You hoped it would be good enough for her. 

“It’s a surprise. Pick me up at 6 tomorrow?” Not super classy to make her come get you, but you’d much rather ride in her slick, black Range Rover than have to pick her up in your ten year old Subaru. 

“Any plans for after the date?” She asks casually. 

Your mouth opens in mock outrage. “Do you think I’m the kind of girl to have sex after two dates?” With her, you are. You hope she says yes. 

She smirks. “You seemed pretty desperate for sex after the first date, sweetheart. We don’t have to do anything though. We could always go back to my place and just watch a movie.”

“That would be nice,” you admit, even though you know you want her hands on your body. Fuck, if she wanted to come around the counter and slip her fingers into your pants right there and then, you wouldn’t be opposed. 

She seems to know where your head is at and by the darkening in her eyes, she is feeling a similar sort of way. “And if you wanted to, you know, bring those toys…maybe we could finally put them to good use.” 

Your eyes widen and you nod eagerly before you can stop yourself. She chuckles. 

“Alright, well I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night at 6,” she says, drumming her fingernails on the counter one last time before shooting you a wink and leaving the bakery. 

“Don’t you want-” Your attempt to ask if she wants coffee or cake falls upon deaf ears as the door opens and she’s gone. 

You breathe a sigh of relief that she was just busy the past two days. And you’re sort of mad that you wasted those last two days not using the toys she had sent. 

But that would end tomorrow. 

Heat was already igniting in your stomach at the thought of it. You had never used a toy before and you were especially looking forward to trying the long-distance vibrator. 

The rest of your shift is pretty quiet, not too many customers either on Mondays. 

When you get back to your dorm, though, you realize that you are positively dripping. You guess your interaction with Agatha had more of an effect on you than you realize. 

You chew on your lip and your eyes keep darting back and forth between your bed and the box of toys on the floor. 

It couldn’t hurt to test one out, could it?

You grab the box with the vibrator and open it. Glancing at the instructions, you press the power button and gasp as the purple toy buzzes to life in your palm. You turn it off, heart pounding, and lay down. 

You close your eyes and remember what it was like to kiss Agatha at the Winter Wonderland the other night. Her tongue in your mouth, her sucking your lip, her hand under your shirt. You shift and hike up the skirt you were wearing and place the vibrator on your clit over your underwear. 

A whimper is forced out of your throat and your back arches off the bed. Quickly, you pull it away. 

Holy fuck. 

You’ve never felt anything so intense. 

You take a deep breath and slowly place it against you again, mind wandering to Agatha. 

Her veiny hands, her mouth, her confidence, the way she fluffs her hair. You imagine the way her fingers and tongue would feel on you. Your hips are rolling against the vibrator – that she gave you – and you’re already close. You truly cannot believe you’ve never used one before. 

You cum harder than you ever have by your own hand at the wishful thought of Agatha laughing as she holds the vibrator against you. 

It takes you a second to calm down and when you turn the toy off, you can still feel the rumbling in your hand. 

And then you reach for your phone. Just used the vibrator. You click send before you can second-guess yourself. 

Agatha’s response comes immediately after. And? 

Changed my life lol. 

She doesn’t reply for a few minutes so you go wash the toy, but when you come back, there’s a new message. 

Just wait for tomorrow night, doll. 

Heat flashes through you and you seriously consider using the vibrator again. 

But you want to wait. You can wait. 

However, the next 24 hours pass so slowly that you think time might have stopped. 

There are countless times you look at the clock, expecting an hour to have passed, only to find that it was three minutes. 

It’s like being a child on Christmas Eve again. Except instead of presents, you’re waiting to get fucked by an older woman. 

Finally, finally, she texts you that she’s on her way and to get ready (she sends a winky face, as if there’s any doubt what she means). 

You’re wearing a short lilac skirt so you bunch it up with one hand and slide your underwear to the side. You’re already wet just at the thought of seeing Agatha so you’re able to slide the bulb easily into you. It’s not too big but you can definitely feel it deep inside you. The other piece rests against your clit and you can only imagine what it will feel like when she turns it on. 

You find the bluetooth connection instructions on the instruction manual and text it to her. 

Barely a second later, she texts back Good girl. I’m about to turn into the parking lot. 

It’s going to be a long night. 

You wait until you see her car pull up before exiting the building, and as you’re walking to the car with the basket of food and a backpack with all the toys and some extra clothes, she turns it on. You almost fall to the ground. Thankfully you were holding onto the dinner tight.  

If you thought the vibrator from yesterday was intense, it’s nothing compared to the sensation of it against your clit and inside you. 

And just as quickly as the feeling came, it’s gone. You gasp and stumble hurriedly the rest of the way to the car before she can do it again. 

Agatha’s smirk is dripping with smugness. “How does it feel?” 

“Fuck,” is all you can say and she laughs. 

“Fuck, indeed. Now, where are we going?” 

You give her directions to the park. It’s in a pretty secluded area and there’s never really anyone there when it starts to get dark, so it should be empty. Even if it’s not, you’re just having a picnic. 

And just as you suspected, there’s no other cars in the lot when Agatha pulls up to park.

“What are we going here, sweetheart?” She asks, curiosity tinging her voice. She’s not judging though. You knew she wouldn’t. 

You hold up the basket. “I thought we could have a picnic?” 

She smiles. “I think that’s an excellent idea, honey.” You lead her over to a spot by the perimeter by the hand and don’t let her do anything while you shake out the blanket and take out two plates of sushi and a bottle of wine. You pour her a glass while you finish making everything perfect and she watches you amusedly while sipping on the Rosé. 

Dinner is so comfortable and filled with laughter and jokes and questions, and once you both are done with the food, you lay down on the blanket, Agatha’s arm around your shoulders and her other hand pointing out the constellations to you. 

She shows you how to always be able to find the North Star, which is in Ursa Minor, and then points out the Big Dipper, and you lose yourself in watching her point to all the stars and hearing her tell you the stories. You’re having so much fun with her and she makes you feel at peace. 

“I didn’t realize you knew so much about astronomy,” you say in awe, focusing on her face rather than what she’s showing you. She turns her head down so she’s looking at you. 

“Have you been listening or have you been staring at me the whole time?” She jokes, kissing your nose and chuckling as you scrunch it at her. 

“I’ve been listening!” 

“Oh yeah? What’s that one then?” She points at a star and as you peer at it, her finger fumbles with something and the vibrator inside of you turns on, turning your thoughts to mush. 

You had honestly forgotten that you were wearing it. 

But it’s impossible to forget now, and your fingers dig into her side and you let out a quiet moan. 

“Agatha,” you whine when it turns off. 

“What constellation is that?” She turns it on again and your hips start undulating involuntarily as you rack your brain. Your eyes frantically dart to the surrounding stars as you start whimpering. 

“Andromeda?” It’s partly a guess but you do remember her saying something about that one. You can vaguely remember the story too. Something about her mom being vain and then Andromeda being chained for a sea monster but Perseus rescues her. 

The toy turns off and you gasp for breath. Your hips are still gently riding against nothing, missing the stimulation. 

“Very good,” Agatha muses. “How are you feeling?” 

“Why don’t you feel for yourself?” You challenge but your smirk turns into a gasp when she reaches over, pushes up your skirt, and rubs your slit over your underwear. Your hips chase her fingers but she pulls away. 

You are throbbing. 

She holds her fingertips up to the lamp and you both can see them glistening. You have soaked through your panties. Before you can say anything or be too embarrassed, she sucks them into her mouth and your jaw drops. She moans at your taste and when she opens her eyes, you can barely see the blue with how blown out her pupils are. 

“Can we go?” You rasp. 

“Sure, doll,” she says and helps you pack up so the two of you can get in the car faster. You’re checking the spot one last time just to make sure you have everything when Agatha turns the vibrator on. Your knees buckle this time because of how needy you are, but she catches you. 

“Agatha,” you breathe, pleasure overtaking your body. 

“Thought you wanted to leave?” She teases innocently and you wrap your arms around her so you can try to walk because she hasn’t turned it off. 

You’ve become a moaning mess, face pressed hotly into Agatha’s neck while she basically drags you to the car. You can see goosebumps on the older woman and you can hear her breathing get heavier so you know she’s at least a little affected too. 

“Please, please, Aggie, so close,” you babble and it seems like the car is a mile away. 

“Aw, does my baby need some relief right now?” She asks, and as pathetic as it is, you nod your head eagerly. She turns it off and you’re able to stand on your own, but Agatha takes off in a different direction of the car. 

“Where are you going?” You call after her, but then you realize she’s making a beeline towards a bench. You follow in a daze, not really sure what’s going on. She sits and pats her thighs. 

“Since you’re so desperate,” she says with a smirk. You think you might cum right then and there. She spreads her legs when you get closer so you’re able to straddle one of her legs. “Grind.” 

She doesn't have to tell you twice. You wrap your arms around her neck and bury your head back into her, moving your hips experimentally. 

And then she turns the toy back on and you rip your face out of her shoulder to bite your hand before you moan loudly. 

“Fuck,” you keen, rhythm getting sloppy but she moves her hands to her waist to help you out. 

“You like this?” She pants into your ear and your resounding moan is all the answer she needs. “You like riding my thigh in a park where anyone could walk by and see how much you need me?”

You nod frantically, every single drag against her leg pushing the vibration against your clit. It feels so delicious and you’ve been on edge all day. 

“So desperate for me, so desperate for mommy,” she whispers and her voice shakes a little on the last word, almost like she was nervous. Clearly she had nothing to be nervous about though, because your walls clench even more and you let out a loud whine. You can practically hear her smirking at you. 

“Mommy,” you gasp, moving your hips faster, chasing your high. “Need to cum, so close.” 

“Do you want to cum all over my leg right now?” She says lowly, peppering your jaw with kisses. 

“Please, please, yes, mommy,” you beg. Agatha grabs your chin and tilts it up to lean in for a kiss, but she stops a breath away from your lips. 

And then the vibrations stop. 

“No, no,” you cry, furiously grinding against her leg, trying to regain the stimulation that you just lost. It’s no use; it’s not the same. Her fingernails dig into your hip to stop your movements. 

Your head drops against her shoulder in frustration and you can feel her body shake with contained laughter.

“Why?” You ask and you’re almost ashamed of how needy you sound. Her thumb swipes your bottom lip and then brushes your sweaty hair off your forehead. 

“I’m not having the first time I make you cum be on a park bench using a vibrator,” she says matter-of-factly. “It’s going to be in my bed, with either my fingers or my mouth.” You bite your lip at the thought and your hips give another weak jump. She smirks. “After that, we’ll have all the time for toys in the world.” 

And with that, she stands you back up and pulls you to the car, intending to make good on her promise. 

[pucksandpower]

Malfunction

Franco Colapinto x physician!Reader

Summary: Franco’s concussion has come and gone, but his desire to see the angel of a physician who likely saved his life has only gotten stronger … it’s just a shame that he tends to lose any semblance of composure when you’re around

Note: this is the much requested second part to Malpractice … but even better than the first part if I do say so myself 🫣

The Las Vegas Grand Prix is a distant blur in Franco’s memory. The crash. The pain. The disorientation.

But there’s something else that lingers, too. Something soft that refuses to leave him alone.

It’s the image of you, kneeling in front of him, your hands steady even as his world spun. Your voice cutting through the haze, your gaze sharp and intense, demanding his attention. The way you pushed him to stay alert, to pay attention, to focus on something other than the chaos in his head.

Franco knows he owes his sanity, maybe even his life, to you.

It’s been a week since the crash, and he’s been cleared by the medical team to race again in Qatar, despite a lingering headache that’s been stubbornly hanging on. But it’s not the headache that’s bothering him. It’s the fact that you’re not here. You’re not at the track. Not in the garage. Not hovering over him like some kind of guardian angel.

He wants to see you again. Needs to.

He’s sitting in the Williams debrief room, surrounded by engineers who are talking a mile a minute about tire wear and lap times. But Franco is barely listening. He keeps checking his phone, hoping for some sort of miracle: a text, a call, anything that might tell him you’re here. That you’ve returned to the paddock.

But the screen stays empty.

“Franco, are you with us?” James Vowles’ voice cuts through his thoughts, snapping him back to the present.

“Yeah, sorry,” Franco mutters, rubbing his eyes. “What were you saying about tire strategy?”

James raises an eyebrow. “It’s fine. Focus on your recovery. We’re just going over the data from today’s practice. You’ve got time. But-” He looks around, making sure no one else is listening, “-don’t be distracted during qualifying tomorrow. We need every bit of performance we can get from you this weekend.”

“Right.” Franco nods, but his mind drifts again, his gaze slipping back to his phone. It’s like the rhythm of the weekend has been broken without you here, without the sharpness of your voice telling him he’s being an idiot, without your soft, steady presence making everything feel a little more manageable.

A soft knock sounds at the door, and Alex steps in, his casual smile immediately making the room feel a little lighter. His eyes flicker over to Franco. “How’s it going, mate?”

Franco immediately perks up. “Alex! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He straightens up in his chair, suddenly interested in the conversation.

Alex raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Is that because you’ve missed me, or because I bring good news?”

“Both,” Franco grins. “But seriously, I’ve been thinking about something, and I need your help.”

Alex folds his arms, giving Franco a knowing look. “Uh oh. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

“It’s about Y/N,” Franco says, leaning forward with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Alex’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t seem too surprised. He sighs, already knowing where this is headed. “Ah, I should’ve known.”

“No, listen,” Franco presses, his voice a little more serious. “I need her to come to Abu Dhabi. She has to be there. I-” He pauses, trying to put his feelings into words. “I’ve been thinking about her all week. I just … I need to see her again.”

Alex raises both hands in mock surrender. “Whoa, whoa. Slow down. You want me to convince her to come to a race just so you can see her again?”

Franco shrugs, looking entirely unapologetic. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Alex shakes his head, a bemused smile tugging at his lips. “You really have it bad, don’t you?”

Franco hesitates, his smile faltering just slightly, then nods. “I do.” His expression softens. “She helped me when I didn’t even know what was happening. I’ve never had someone take care of me like that.”

Alex takes a moment, studying Franco’s face, then lets out a long breath. “Look, I can’t make any promises. Y/N’s a resident physician. Her schedule is insane. She barely has time to breathe, let alone fly out to the Middle East for a race. But-” He hesitates, as if weighing his next words carefully. “But I’ll ask her. I’ll see what I can do. But no promises, okay?”

“Just ask,” Franco says urgently. “I don’t care if it’s a long shot. I need her there.”

Alex chuckles, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I’ll ask. But you owe me a beer if this works.”

“You got it,” Franco grins, already feeling the relief of having put his request into motion. “Thanks.”

***

It’s late by the time you’re wrapping up your shift at the hospital. The weight of your scrubs feels heavier than usual tonight, your body aching after hours of rounds and consultations. You’ve barely slept all week, the demands of your residency taking up every last ounce of energy. All you want to do now is crash into bed and forget about the world for a few hours.

But then your phone buzzes in your pocket, and the familiar name on the screen makes you stop in your tracks.

Alex.

You sigh, glancing around the empty hallway before answering. “Hey, Alex. What’s up?”

“Hey,” Alex greets you, his tone casual but there’s a hint of something else in his voice. “How’s it going?”

You roll your eyes, leaning against the wall. “You know, same old. Patients, paperwork, more patients. I swear, I’m starting to see people’s illnesses in my dreams at this point. What’s up?”

“Well, funny you should mention that,” Alex says with a chuckle, “because I’ve got a bit of a favor to ask.”

You brace yourself. “What now?”

“I need you to come to Abu Dhabi.”

There’s a beat of silence. “What? No. I can’t just drop everything and fly to Abu Dhabi. You know how insane my schedule is right now.”

“I know, I know,” Alex says quickly. “But listen, it’s not for me. It’s for Franco.”

You blink, unsure if you heard him right. “Franco? What does he have to do with this?”

“He, uh, well, he’s been asking about you. He really wants you to come. He … he kind of needs you there, Y/N.”

You frown. “Needs me? What, like for a medical emergency?”

“No, no,” Alex quickly reassures you. “It’s not like that. He’s just — he’s been a bit, you know, off since the crash. He keeps talking about how much you helped him, how much he needs to see you again. He’s … kinda, well, taken with you.”

You pause, processing the unexpected request. “Wait. You want me to go to Abu Dhabi just to … see Franco?”

Alex sighs. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I totally get it if you can’t make it. I just thought I’d put it out there, because he’s really … well, he’s really worried about seeing you again.”

You take a deep breath, staring at the floor. There’s a tug at your chest. Franco’s crash. The way he looked when he stumbled into the garage, his eyes unfocused, his voice thick with concussion. And how you couldn’t help but care, couldn’t help but feel something stir in your chest as you took care of him.

“I don’t know,” you say softly. “I don’t know if I can get time off. I’ve got a million things to do.”

“Please,” Alex pleads, his tone sincere. “Just think about it. I’ll take care of the rest. You don’t have to worry about anything. Just — just come for the weekend. For him.”

You hesitate for a long moment. Your exhaustion is overwhelming, but so is the pull to be there for Franco, to check in on him after everything that happened.

“Okay,” you say finally, your voice quiet but firm. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Alex lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to him.”

“I’ll talk to my supervisor tomorrow and see if I can get a couple of days off. I’ll let you know.”

“Great. I’ll keep you posted. Thanks again, really.”

As the call ends, you press the phone to your ear, staring at the blank hospital hallway. Something in your chest stirs, a mix of curiosity and something else you can’t quite name. You promised yourself you wouldn’t get involved with any of these drivers. But Franco … there’s something about him. Something you can’t shake.

You don’t know what’s going to happen in Abu Dhabi. But you know one thing for sure: you’re going to see him again.

***

Franco is buzzing with energy as he walks away from the Williams garage after FP2. The track is alive with its usual Friday hum: team radios squawking, mechanics wheeling equipment, fans pressing against barricades for a glimpse of the action. Normally, this is his favorite part of the weekend — the calm between sessions when he can breathe and think through what’s next.

But today, his thoughts are miles away.

You.

Alex told him you’d agreed to come. He’s spent all week mentally preparing for this moment, imagining what he’ll say when he sees you again. He’d told himself he’d play it cool. That he wouldn’t come off as desperate or weird. That he’d be charming and effortless.

And now, as he walks toward the Williams motorhome, he’s running through those lines in his head like a script. But then, through the glass doors of the motorhome, he spots you.

You’re sitting at a table with Lily, wine glasses between you. You’re mid-laugh, one hand lightly gesturing, the other wrapped around the stem of your glass. The sound of your laugh doesn’t reach him, but your expression — warm and animated — is enough to stop him in his tracks.

Franco stares, frozen. For a second, he’s not a professional driver or a smooth-talking twenty-one-year-old. He’s just a guy, floored by the sight of someone he’s been thinking about far too much.

And then, because the universe has a cruel sense of humor, he walks straight into the glass door.

The sound is embarrassingly loud — a deep, resonant thud that draws the attention of a couple of mechanics nearby. Franco stumbles back, clutching his forehead as the door wobbles slightly on its hinges.

“Oh, come on,” he mutters under his breath, blinking rapidly to clear the stars dancing in his vision.

Inside, Lily gasps, already half out of her chair. But you — you just press a hand to your mouth, visibly trying to suppress a laugh.

Franco pushes the door open this time (successfully, thank God) and steps into the motorhome, trying to salvage whatever remains of his dignity.

“Didn’t know the motorhome was defending itself today,” he says, flashing a crooked grin as he rubs his forehead.

You’re still smiling, but there’s a glint in your eyes as you take a sip of wine. “I see you’re still finding creative ways to injure yourself.”

Lily, standing now, gives him a once-over. “Are you okay? That sounded bad.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Franco says quickly, though he’s still holding his head. “Just testing the structural integrity of the door. Very solid. Great engineering.”

Lily rolls her eyes, muttering something about grabbing an ice pack before disappearing into the kitchen.

You lean back in your chair, tilting your head as you look at him. “You know, you really don’t have to keep hurting yourself just to get my attention. There are easier ways.”

Franco blinks, momentarily thrown off by the teasing edge in your voice. But then he recovers, his grin widening. “Oh, so you noticed me, huh? Mission accomplished.”

You arch an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Hard not to notice when someone face-plants into a door.”

“Ouch,” Franco says, clutching his chest dramatically. “First my head, now my ego. You’re ruthless.”

You laugh, setting your glass down. “I’m a doctor. I call it like I see it.”

“And what do you see?” He asks, leaning casually against the doorframe (or at least trying to — he slightly misjudges the angle and has to correct himself, which makes him look anything but casual).

“I see someone who might need another concussion test if they keep this up,” you say dryly, though there’s a hint of amusement in your tone.

Franco seizes the opening. “Oh, you’ll give me a test? What, right here? Should I sit down? Or maybe lie down? Whatever you need, angel, I’m ready.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch. “I’m off-duty, thank you very much. And stop calling me angel.”

“Why? It suits you,” Franco says without missing a beat. He steps closer, his grin turning just a bit sheepish. “You did save me, after all.”

“From driving with a concussion,” you reply, crossing your arms.

“Still counts,” he says, shrugging. “So … you’re really here. Thought maybe Alex was messing with me.”

You tilt your head, watching him carefully. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know, for fun? He likes to mess with me,” Franco says, his grin turning rueful. “But I’m glad he wasn’t. It’s … it’s good to see you.”

Your expression softens, and you glance down briefly before meeting his eyes again. “It’s good to see you too.”

For a moment, there’s a silence between you. Not awkward, but charged. Franco shifts his weight, scratching the back of his neck. He’s been preparing for this moment all week, but now that you’re standing in front of him, he’s at a loss.

Lily reappears then, an ice pack in hand. She tosses it to Franco, who catches it against his chest. “Here,” she says. “For the door-shaped bruise you’re probably going to have.”

“Thanks,” Franco says, pressing the pack to his forehead. He winces slightly but keeps his gaze on you.

Lily looks between the two of you, her lips twitching as if she’s trying not to laugh. “Well, I’ll leave you two to … whatever this is,” she says, grabbing her glass and retreating toward the other end of the motorhome.

Franco watches her go, then looks back at you, his smile softening. “So … you’re here for the whole weekend?”

You nod. “Lily convinced me to stay. Said I needed a break.”

“You do,” Franco says quickly. “Definitely. Big time.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because …” Franco hesitates, then decides to go for it. “Because I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since Vegas.”

You blink, caught off guard by his honesty. “Franco-”

“I’m serious,” he interrupts, stepping closer. “I know I’m probably coming off like a total idiot right now, but I don’t care. You-” He gestures vaguely, as if struggling to find the right words. “You’re different. You’re not like anyone else here.”

“That’s because I’m not supposed to be here,” you say, your tone light but your eyes searching his. “I’m a doctor, Franco. Not meant for … whatever this world is.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, shaking his head. “You could be anything, and I’d still want to know you. You’re …” He trails off, then laughs at himself. “God, I’m bad at this.”

You laugh too, finally relaxing. “A little, yeah.”

“But I’m trying,” he says, his expression earnest now. “And I’ll keep trying, even if it means walking into more doors. Or walls. Or whatever else gets in my way.”

You shake your head, exasperated but undeniably charmed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously into you,” Franco counters, grinning.

You groan, but your smile betrays you. “Stop. That was awful.”

“Was it?” Hr teases, leaning just slightly closer.

“Yes,” you say firmly, though there’s a hint of laughter in your voice. “And I’m not letting you use your injuries as an excuse to flirt with me.”

“Then what excuse should I use?” He asks, tilting his head.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling now. “How about none? Just be normal.”

“Normal,” Franco repeats, as if testing the word. “Okay. I can do that. Probably.”

“Somehow, I doubt it,” you say, but your tone is lighter now, your guard lowering just a fraction.

Franco grins, sensing the shift. He might not be smooth, but he’s persistent. And right now, that feels like enough.

***

The hospital hums with its usual rhythm: the sharp beeps of monitors, the steady shuffle of footsteps, and the occasional murmur of voices echoing down sterile hallways. You’re halfway through your shift, mentally cataloging a growing to-do list, when one of the nurses finds you near the break room.

She looks far too amused for your liking, a sly smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “Hey, Doc,” she says, her tone conspiratorial. “You’ve got a patient in Room 43. Interesting case. File’s by the door.”

You glance up from your notes, immediately suspicious. “Interesting how?”

“Let’s just say … not your usual trauma,” she replies, her grin widening. “Go see for yourself.”

With a sigh, you grab your tablet and head down the hallway. You’re too tired to entertain the nurse’s cryptic humor, but curiosity tugs at you anyway. When you reach Room 43, you spot the chart hanging by the door. You pick it up and start skimming, your brain automatically processing the medical shorthand.

And then your eyes land on the complaint: penile fracture.

You freeze. Your brain short-circuits for a good five seconds.

Penile fracture. Seriously? You take a deep breath, fighting the urge to laugh or groan. It’s not unheard of, but it’s rare enough to make your day a little more … colorful.

Squaring your shoulders, you prepare yourself for what’s undoubtedly going to be an awkward encounter. Professionalism, you remind yourself. You’ve handled weirder cases.

But all of that resolve shatters the second you open the door and step into the room.

Because the patient isn’t some anonymous stranger.

It’s Franco.

Franco, lounging on the exam table like he doesn’t have a care in the world, scrolling through his phone with his free hand. Franco, the same man you’ve been dating for months, who absolutely should not be in this hospital room right now.

Your mouth opens, ready to deliver your standard introduction, but no words come out.

Franco looks up at the sound of the door, his face breaking into that familiar, devilish grin. “Hey, angel.”

“What the-” You stop yourself, gripping the edge of the clipboard like it’s the only thing tethering you to reality. “Franco, what are you doing here?”

He sets his phone down, looking at you with wide, innocent eyes. “I’m a patient. Clearly.”

You take a deep breath, setting the clipboard aside. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” He leans back slightly, gesturing toward himself with both hands. “Broken dick. You saw the file.”

Your jaw tightens as you step closer, lowering your voice. “Franco, this is a hospital. You can’t just-”

“I didn’t just anything,” he cuts in, feigning indignation. “I’m here because you abandoned me this morning. And now I’m suffering.”

You blink at him, completely thrown. “Suffering?”

“Yes!” He says, sitting up straighter, though the smirk tugging at his lips betrays any attempt at seriousness. “You left me. Alone. In bed. With …” He lowers his voice dramatically. “An issue.”

Your brain scrambles to keep up. “An issue?”

Franco sighs, as though the weight of the world is on his shoulders. “Blue balls. A raging, unresolved situation. You’re a doctor — you know how dangerous that can be.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice rises slightly before you catch yourself. “Franco, I left because I had to come to work. Like a normal person.”

“Right, but normal people don’t leave their boyfriends high and dry,” he argues, his tone edging into the realm of petulant. “Do you know how much it hurts? It’s practically a medical emergency.”

You close your eyes for a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose. “So let me get this straight,” you say slowly. “You’re here because you have blue balls. And instead of — oh, I don’t know — handling it with your hand and some lotion like a grown adult, you decided to come to my workplace and waste everyone’s time?”

“I don’t see it as wasting time,” Franco says, crossing his arms. “I see it as seeking expert care. From a very qualified, very beautiful doctor.”

“Franco,” you say warningly, but he’s already grinning.

“Besides,” he continues, his voice dropping into a teasing lilt, “don’t you think it’s romantic? I’m literally willing to suffer for you.”

“Oh my God.” You press a hand to your forehead, feeling a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “You are not suffering. And this is not romantic — it’s ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously sweet,” Franco counters, clearly enjoying himself.

You stare at him, torn between wanting to strangle him and laugh. “You know I could get in trouble for this, right? What if someone finds out I’m treating my boyfriend? Or worse, that you’re faking a medical emergency?”

“I’m not faking,” he says quickly, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “The pain in my cock is very real.”

“Franco.” Your voice is flat, and you fix him with your best no-nonsense look.

He hesitates for a beat, then leans forward slightly, lowering his voice like he’s about to confess something scandalous. “Okay, maybe it isn’t a fracture. But it is painful!”

You throw your hands up, resisting the urge to laugh despite yourself. “Unbelievable. Absolutely unbelievable.”

Franco pouts, his lower lip sticking out in an exaggerated fashion. “Come on, angel. Don’t be mad. I just wanted to see you.”

“You couldn’t have waited until my shift was over?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? I’m impatient. And in my defense, you looked very cute leaving this morning.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you love me,” he says, his grin widening.

“Don’t push your luck,” you warn, though there’s no real bite in your tone.

Franco leans back on the exam table, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who just disrupted your workday. “So … are you gonna examine me or what?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Do you want me to call security? Because that’s where this is headed.”

“You wouldn’t,” he says, his confidence unwavering.

You cross your arms, raising an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Franco holds your gaze for a moment, then sighs dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. “Fine. No exam. But only because I value our relationship.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, not even trying to hide your sarcasm.

He grins again, the kind of grin that’s always been your undoing. “You can’t stay mad at me, angel. Admit it.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth despite your best efforts. “Franco, you’re lucky I like you. Otherwise, you’d be on your way out of here in handcuffs.”

His eyebrows shoot up, and he smirks. “Kinky.”

“Oh, for the love of-” You don’t bother finishing the sentence, turning toward the door instead.

“Wait, wait!” Franco calls after you, sliding off the exam table. “I’m kidding! Don’t go!”

You pause, looking back at him. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, his expression softer now. “Seriously,” he says. “I just … I missed you. And I thought maybe this would make you laugh. Or at least roll your eyes. Which it did, so … mission accomplished?”

You sigh, feeling your resolve waver. It’s hard to stay mad at him when he’s looking at you like that — like you’re the only person in the world who matters.

“Franco,” you say, your voice quieter now. “You can’t just show up like this. I have a job to do.”

“I know,” he says, stepping closer. “And I promise I won’t make a habit of it. But … can I take you to dinner after your shift? As an apology?”

You study him for a moment, weighing your options. Finally, you let out a small sigh. “Fine. But only if you promise to behave.”

“I promise,” he says quickly, holding a hand over his heart.

“And no more faking injuries,” you add, pointing a finger at him.

“Scout’s honor,” he says, though the mischievous glint in his eye suggests otherwise.

You shake your head, exasperated but smiling. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And yet, you keep me around,” he says, grinning.

“For now,” you say, opening the door. “Now get out of here before someone sees you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franco says, saluting playfully as he follows you into the hallway.

As he walks away, you can’t help but smile to yourself. Ridiculous as he is, there’s no denying that life with Franco is never boring.

[viperify]

Oneshots | ᴛᴏᴍ ʀɪᴅᴅʟᴇ X ꜰ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Daddy‘s home.

Short summary: Tom Riddle was not easily distraught. Though, since the birth of your daughter, things seemed to change. He was torn – torn between loving her or pretending not to care. Just after he had left for a gathering with his Knights, you and your daughter find yourself in a tense situation. Will that night change the man you knew?

Warnings: slight mentions of child abuse ig, angst, fluff

A/N: Tom is such a girl dad, change my mind.

wordcount: 3,2k

Tom had just woken from the horrors of yet another nightmare and sighed softly. Steadily, he lifted himself from the firm mattress, his feet touching the polished wooden planks of the floor as he got up. He took a quick glance at you, his beautiful wife, who was still fast asleep by the time he woke up. No wonder, he thought, it was quite early after all, not a single ray of sunshine visible on the pitch-black horizon when he looked out of the foggy window. Without causing too much noise, he exited the bedroom, heading towards the small room on the other side of the hallway. He enjoyed doing it like this. It meant he could visit the nursery without being disturbed, watching over his sweet little daughter while she was sleeping peacefully.

A freshly lit candle led his way, and after taking a deep breath, he opened the wooden door with a small creak, peeking inside. Tom sat down on the cushioned chair you nursed her in and just like he had suspected, the little girl’s eyes were closed, chest rising and falling calmly under her woollen blanket. A relieved sigh escaped his lips, slowly sinking back against the chair, always watching over her.

He did this almost daily, at least when he was home, which happened to be quite often lately. The mere thought of something bad happening to you or his daughter sent shivers down his spine. He found himself having nightmares quite often since you had given birth, which was mostly before he then went to check on her. Never had he, Tom Riddle, leader of the Knights of Walpurgis, expected to grow a soft spot for such a tiny human being. In fact, he didn’t fathom ever feeling anything for another person. But there he was, with his small family he would do anything for.

She was six months old by now, and slowly her hair started growing in. Gorgeous brunette curls blossomed all over her tiny head, the same color as Tom’s. Even her facial features resembled her father’s, forest green eyes and puffy lips making her her dad’s twin. He cherished every little moment he got to be alone with her, and ever since the first time he met her right after she was born, he secretly promised himself something.

No matter what happened, he would always take care of his little girl. Protect her from harm and raise her like he would have wanted to be raised. Give her the love she deserved and prevent her from growing up like he did. At any cost. However, he hadn’t really been able to fulfil his promise yet. Every time he wanted to actively become a part of her life, something in him stalled. He couldn’t bring himself to even look her in the eyes.

Today, he would have to attend yet another meeting, discussing the future of the Knights. While it was of great importance to him, at that time he would have much rather stayed home. There was something so peaceful about the presence of his daughter. A place where he could truly relax for once, where nobody was watching or judging him. Just him and his precious girl, only their soft breaths breaking the comforting silence of the room. How could he feel so many things for such a tiny being? Her nose smaller than his thumb, fingers so fragile yet so sweet when they were all scrunched up. He yearned to caress her soft skin, hold her, love on her. Yet, he rarely did.

In fact, he had never held her before. You had offered it multiple times, even encouraged him to. He had always declined. You knew it wasn’t because he didn’t love her, that there must be something else. You didn’t want to push him, give him time to get comfortable. It was all new for both of you – becoming parents. Certainly not an easy task, especially with all the changes your body went through during and after pregnancy. Emotionally though, you knew Tom was struggling more. He was torn, torn between loving and accepting her or pretending to not care. To your surprise, he was quite awful at the latter.

Sometimes when he sat there next to her, he reached out slowly, mostly halting and pulling his hand back again. In very rare cases, like today, he didn’t. His thumb softly caressed the back of her tiny hand, watching her for any signs of discomfort, of disgust. Well, he knew she couldn’t yet feel like that for him. But as the days and weeks passed, he increasingly got the feeling that she would one day. That she would be afraid of him – her own father.

She was still so little, so vulnerable. Tom couldn’t trust himself holding her. He was terrified of hurting her, just like he had so many other people.

When the first rays of sunshine emerged on the horizon, he slowly got up, and after checking one last time whether she was breathing fine, he exited the nursery. Tom then returned to your bed, carefully lying down next to you. He swiped a strand of hair out of your face and closed his eyes, waiting for either you to stir and get up or your daughter letting you know she was hungry.

A small smile formed on his lips at that thought.

Only a few minutes had passed before the soft cries of your daughter woke him again. Tom’s eyes shot open immediately, though he remained calm. He always let you check on her, even if he had the urge to do it himself, like right now. It stirred something in him - hearing the continuous cries of his daughter. Something he recognized from his own childhood at the orphanage. Back then his cries were left unanswered, nobody ever there to soothe him, tell him everything would be alright. Sometimes all he wanted was to be held, to be comforted by someone. Just like all these happy kids that used to walk past with their parents outside the gates of the orphanage when he stood there, looking out of the barred windows of his room.

He grew to despise the monsters, or “nurses” as they called themselves, at his residence. The worst part about it was that he didn’t act any differently toward his own daughter now 20 years later. His thoughts started consuming him and just as he was about to get up to check on her, you woke, yawning.

“I am sorry. Has she been crying for long?” You asked, voice still thick with sleep, sitting up. Tom shook his head slightly. “A minute, I guess.”

“You could always go check on her too.”

He huffed softly. “You know I can't.”

“Try it. She is your daughter. She doesn’t know what love or hate is yet. Make it right before it is too late.”

He didn’t answer, avoiding your gaze by staring at the ceiling.

You sighed and got up, heading to the nursery to feed your daughter. Sometimes he would come too, watch you two with a stoic expression, eyes locked onto the baby in your arms. He never spoke, though. Then, when she had finished nursing, he would turn around to leave before you even got the chance to ask him to take her from your arms, almost like he had suspected what you were about to say.

This time, he didn’t join you but rather walked past the nursery without paying you any attention and descended the stairs, probably to fetch the Daily Prophet which arrived every single day at exactly 7:38 am.

When your daughter was satiated, you stayed with her for a while, helping her digest. She loved being baby-worn when you completed chores around the house, so that is what you did. You too entered the kitchen, having her comfortably wrapped against your front. Tom sat there, eyes fully locked onto the newspaper in front of him while he sipped his lemon balm tea. As always, he had prepared another cup for you, with one spoon of honey and your favourite biscuit.

You sat down next to him, your daughter’s head resting on your chest, staring right at her father. “Thank you.” You said, taking your first sip of the tea he had made you. He turned his head to reply, but your daughter’s eyes caught his. He froze for a moment and as her mouth then curled up in a little smile, his facial expression dropped and he stood up in an instant, clearing his throat. “I am going to Rosier’s. Not sure if I will return tonight.”

You nodded, taking another sip of your tea. “Good luck.”

Tom grabbed his coat and put on his black leather shoes, reaching for the handle of your front door before he halted and turned around once more.

“The wards are intact. Take care. Keep the door locked, don’t open any windows and stay inside until I am back. Got it?” He said, eyes flickering between you and your daughter.

“I will. Don’t worry about that.” You replied, shooting him a small smile.

He nodded and left the house, making his way towards Rosier Manor, where the Knights now normally held their meetings. He could have apparated, however he found a strange sense of solace in the beauty of nature, the contrasting colors of flowers and trees, birds chirping, sky blue without any cloud in sight. A perfect summer day, you could say.

Just a mere kilometre later, two men from further down the road passed him, the smell of alcohol thick in the air. Tom shook his head. How could someone be this drunk at just 11am?

Without turning around, he continued his path, not too far away from his destination now. When he arrived, most of them were waiting already, greeting him as he entered the building. He sat down on his designated chair on the short side of the banquet table, resting his hands on the dark, polished wood. Then, only when everyone had gathered around him, he started talking. Their heads shot in his direction, listening intently to what he was saying, never interrupting him when he spoke.

In the meanwhile, you prepared lunch for you and your daughter, slowly introducing her to solids. You carefully cut up cooked carrots, potatoes and broccoli and watched her closely while her small fingers tried grabbing the vegetables, though often smashing them in her hand before she got the chance to eat them. You smiled softly at the determined expression on her face, just the same as Tom had when he was focused on something. She really was her father’s twin after all.

After both of you were done, you cleaned up. Normally around this time you would go outside for a little walk, Tom joining you two. He told you to stay in the house though, and you respected that. The neighbourhood you lived in didn’t have the best reputation and to be honest, you didn’t feel too safe going outside alone with your daughter anyway. As you looked out of the kitchen window, you saw dark clouds gathering on the otherwise bright blue sky. It was July, so often after a hot summer day thunderstorms would strike, heavy raindrops falling from the dark grey sky.

You sighed and decided to retreat to the nursery, letting your daughter crawl around and play with some toys you two had gotten her. You sat down on the chair and watched her movements. You really were lucky with how easy going she was, rarely crying or complaining, definitely a trait she didn’t inherit from her father. Soon, your eyelids slowly fluttered closed, until a loud thud jolted you awake, eyes immediately searching for your daughter.

-

“We considered getting one of our own into the registry for muggle-borns. What do you say, my Lord?”

Tom might have been present physically during the meeting, however mentally he was far from that. With a sizzling noise the lightnings split the otherwise dark sky, casting a faint glow on the pale faces of him and the Knights. He couldn’t concentrate on what they were saying by any means. All he could think about was her, how scared she must be, her sensitive ears not yet accustomed to the horrors of thunderstorms. He questioned whether you were alright, if the house was doing its duty protecting his little family. Then Tom remembered the two men he had seen a few hours ago, who, he now realised, were heading in your direction. What if they meant harm? Seeing him leave, they must have known you were home alone with your daughter. He had checked the wards on the house before leaving, but what if they found a way? A strange feeling erupted in his chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. A sense of panic, helplessness.

It reminded him of his own childhood, the first time he experienced a thunderstorm of that extent. He could still see the memory to this day, how frightened he was. When he was banging on the door, crying, begging for someone to open it. They had a habit of locking him in his room until the morning for “disciplinary reasons”, or, as he assumed, because they were afraid of him and his “strange” behaviour.

Nobody came that night to comfort him.

His breathing quickened at the thought of his precious girl going through the same and without another thought, he stood up. “I need to leave. Meeting is postponed.”

They shot each other concerned glances, yet nobody dared to ask what was going on, confused by his sudden change in demeanour. Tom though couldn’t have cared less at that point.

“My Lord?” Rosier asked quietly, carefully watching the brunette’s expression.

In a quick fashion Tom fetched his black coat and left the manor, stepping outside into the pouring rain as another loud lightning bolt came down with an electrifying crack, followed by a deep, rumbling thunder. All he wanted to do was check if you two were okay, apparating back to your shared home.

At first sight, everything seemed to be alright. Though, after taking a closer look, he spotted a shattered window. He felt his heart skip a beat, and without thinking twice he entered the house, his wand pointed. At first, he didn’t hear or see anything, the house being completely dark apart from the occasional lightnings illuminating the room for a split second, the sound of the heavy rain muting anything else. He called your name, searching for you downstairs. Nothing.

Then, he heard something. Faint cries of a baby, the ones he recognized so well. He didn’t waste another second and rushed up the stairs, heading towards the nursery.

A small source of light shone onto the hallway from the room and when Tom entered, all his worries faded. There you were, trying to comfort your daughter, softly cradling and shushing her. When your eyes met his, you saw his anxious expression and the way his chest rose and fell quickly, gasping for breath. His damp, brunette locks stuck to his forehead as he exhaled sharply, fingers swiping through his messy hair.

“Are you two alright?” Tom asked softly, coming closer to press a kiss on your forehead.

“We are fine. She is just really scared of the loud noises.” You said, still trying to calm her down.

He nodded, looking down at his daughter’s scrunched-up face while she was crying. Tom had always thought nothing could affect him after what he had been through, but this? It hurt him. For a moment, he just stood there, watching over you two, glad you two were well. Though, he needed more. Tom wanted to comfort her, give back to the broken child deep inside of him. He wanted to give her what he didn’t have. A loving family.

“Can I-“ he breathed, hands reaching out, “Can I hold her?”

Your eyes met his, smiling reassuringly at him. “Of course. She has been waiting for you.”

He took her from your arms and almost in an instant, she stopped crying. His eyebrows drew together as he held her, watching his little girl intently. The way he cradled her and calmed her down could have you think he had been doing this for Merlin knows how long. You watched them, a feeling of relief washing over you. Tom had finally overcome his inner demons and both of you knew there was no going back now. After a while she fell asleep as he walked around the room with her, whispering sweet, yet for you inaudible words to her.

“You go to bed. I will stay here with her if that’s alright.”

“That’s totally okay. Thank you for coming back.” You responded, getting up to head to bed.

Tom walked over to you and leaned in for a tender kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You replied with a warm smile and planted a soft kiss on your daughter’s cheek before heading to bed.

He then sat down on the cushioned chair, still holding her close to him. Until the storm was over, he wouldn’t leave her.

The candle on the nightstand flickered steadily, shining a faint light on her sleeping form. For the first time since he had gone out that day, a sense of peace washed over him. The rain and thunders had calmed down after a while, yet he didn’t think of returning to his own bed yet. Tom didn’t only do this for her, no, also for himself. The little boy from the orphanage needed this just as much as she did.

Sometimes she would stir slightly, making soft sounds. Tom would then shush her, tenderly swiping over her soft cheek.

She looked so peaceful like this, and he started telling her stories about his childhood, how he met you, and his plans for the future. His daughter was a big part of his life after all, she deserved to know, even if she couldn’t yet understand the meaning.

“Daddy’s going to become the most respected wizard in the whole world. Everyone will listen to me, and one day, my sweet girl, they are going to follow your commands. You will forever be my little princess. For them, though? You will be the reigning Queen. I will make sure of it.”

He stayed with her until he was on the verge of falling asleep himself, only then carefully laying her into her crib. He placed a light kiss on her forehead before he silently exited the nursery, lying down next to you. For the first time in his life, he fell asleep with a smile plastered on his otherwise emotionless face.

Never would he have thought allowing himself to love such a tiny human would heal parts of his inner child. But it did.

requested by:

@dream-your-own-way @boohbear19

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Re-skimmed through a bunch of Dune Messiah last night because why not and now I am having thoughts:

The thing that sticks with me most is the tone. It's melancholy, it's eerie, it's unsettled and weird. Cannot think of a more pitch-perfect director for it than Denis Villeneuve. He's gonna nail it.

There is...not that much...actual story? Denis has referred to it in interviews as "a small book" and I'm like my guy it is 350 pages. But there are actually not that many plot beats. It's just that every. single. scene. is WILDLY overwritten. The real challenge of adapting Dune is not the giant worms or the dense complicated worldbuilding or the fact that actors have to say the name "Duncan Idaho" repeatedly with a straight face. It's that there are pages and pages and PAGES of internal monologue that have to be externalized somehow for film.

After a re-skim my gut instinct for "how much story goes in a feature film" is that if you just wrote out the dialogue and action that happens in every scene in the book in screenplay format you'd end up with...maybe about an hour of material? Which is great, actually, because it means there is room to add stuff. Like a whole new independent plotline for Chani if they decide to do that.

It may seem insane to add things to an adaptation of what's notoriously one of the wordiest series in classic sci-fi but it's worth remembering that they added quite a bit to Dune Part Two. Most of the first hour of the movie--almost everything before the worm ride except for Jessica drinking the Water of Life--is stuff that isn't in the book. And it's the best part of the movie essential to making the movie work as well as it does. Yes, they also cut elements from both parts (the dinner scene, the whole plotline where Gurney thinks Jessica is a Harkonnen spy, Thufir Hawat's fate, Leto II the Elder, murder toddler Alia) but I understand why each of those elements was cut or changed in the service of cinematic storytelling.

There's an interview (can't remember which one) with Jon Spaihts, the other co-writer of the scripts along with Denis, where he talks about how Dune is like a stage play, with so many of what would be the big action set pieces happening off-page. I kept thinking about that comparison while reviewing Dune Messiah because in addition to the scenes that do exist being wordy and internal as fuck, an absolutely insane list of major events/reveals/emotionally significant moments happen off-page. The list of things that we don't actually see in the main action of the story, that we're only told about after they happen, includes:

Chani finding out Irulan has been secretly dosing her with birth control for YEARS

People trying to capture a sandworm and take it off planet

Chani and Paul finding out Chani is pregnant after 12 years of trying to conceive

Paul flying an ornithopter carrying his extremely-about-to-go-into-labor partner while blind

CHANI DYING (first time reading I did NOT know this was coming and damn near threw my Kindle across the room at the way the information was delivered)

Alia executing a bunch of people including a Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother

Paul walking into the desert at the end

You could add all these moments into a scene-for-scene film adaptation of the book and probably still have room to add more material.

The other thing that jumps out is that Paul doesn't really...govern...much. Like there's this whole subgenre of post-Dune/Dune Messiah-era fic that's just some combination of Paul, Chani, Irulan and sometimes Feyd traipsing around the palace having feelings while vague politics happens in the background, but I forgot that Dune Messiah is actually kinda like that??

There is a whole thread of Paul feeling kind of abstractly bad about being Space Hitler but he does not, in fact, actually do anything about it. And like yes both bureaucracies and religious movements can grow to have a life of their own that seems beyond the control of any one person. But also my dude you are the Emperor of the Known Universe. Someone is signing those space checks for the Endless War budget. You are not powerless here.

The one thing that really, clearly drives Paul to actively do things in the plot is not feeling guilty about having unleashed catastrophic religious war on the universe. It is protecting his family. Chani, Alia, his unborn children, and you could probably throw in Duncan by the end. That is what motivates him to act at key moments, and to want to hold on to power. And hey, y'know, if I'd experienced almost everyone I'd ever known getting murdered in a single night, I would probably get a bit intense about that too! It makes sense from a character point of view!

I'm very curious to see how these threads interweave with each other in the film, because the Villeneuve films put a lot of emphasis on Paul's agency and the fact that he may be constrained by shitty circumstances thousands of years in the making, but he still makes choices within that context. I can't see the narrative allowing film!Paul to get away with the same Poor Little Dictator routine as in the book. There are a few ways they could play this but I think the most interesting one is kinda the way they started going at the end of Part Two. Which is that as soon as you start reaching for that kind of power, then power becomes its own end and you will end up doing increasingly horrific things to maintain it. I think it would be quite interesting if the film shows us Paul not just being like "woe is me" but actively choosing to make the world worse because his trauma-driven fear of losing the people he loves makes him cling ever more desperately to power for its own sake.

If they went this route I think it would make Paul's decision at the end hit even harder. FWIW I actually really like Paul walking off into the desert at the end of the book. I think it brings things full circle with his relationship to the Fremen and creates this beautiful arc going back to the duel with Jamis. He first won a place among the Fremen through respecting their customs even though he really did not want to fight and kill someone he had no beef with. And by respecting the Fremen custom of the blind walking off into the desert, he proves himself to be fully Fremen and protects his children not by making them heirs to the throne but by making them Fremen.

And yeah, to a modern audience here on Earth it can look like "Paul conveniently fucks off and doesn't have to raise his newly-motherless children." And we can have a whole discussion about the unexamined ableism of the idea of someone who's gone blind voluntarily choosing death so as to "not be a burden" on their community. But neither of those readings is really the point here. Within the logic of Fremen cultural values, where the survival of the group as a whole is more important than the life of any one individual ("your water belongs to the tribe" etc.) Paul's choice is a willing and intentional self-sacrifice (see also: fedaykin) that wins him huge respect. There's a line in the book about Paul that's like "He would be one of them forever now" and damn if that didn't give me shivers. Like!! The political-symbolic implications!!! Which maybe I'm particularly attuned to because I just wrote a whole fic about what does it mean for an outsider to become Fremen but hmm something something Paul's final* act not being an exercise of Imperial power but an expression of kinship with an oppressed group and that being the thing that's needed to keep his family safe even if he is not physically present with them...IT IS RICH SYMBOLIC TERRITORY.

(*Yes yes I know about events in the next book. Shush.)

This kind of stuff is why I tend to think Chani may start out in a very different place in the story but the end will still be pretty close to what's in the book. It's too thematically powerful and tragic to go any other way.

But also...if they change things around enough that she is still alive at the end of the movie...I won't be sad about it.

[loonavrsl]

241128 [💌] Yves' letter to fans for her 7th debut anniversary

Hi! I just arrived home after finishing dance lessons. It's a pity to have the day pass by as soon as I arrive, and so I write. It had snowed just like this, on that day. Coming home while stepping on the soft snow, I briefly glimpsed my past self. I used to get called over by teachers at school and be scolded for grasping at clouds, because I wanted to become a singer. On the two-hour ride home aboard the 1002 bus, the pitch-black darkness outside the window seemed just like my future. What if I really was chasing clouds? Those times, seemingly in my grasp but never quite, would always scatter like the morning fog. Meanwhile, I shed my school uniform and the first digit of my age changed, but my days were cruel. I'd walk an hour's distance to save money on fares, shedding the snow piled up on my shoulders and listening to Haseul's "Let Me In". I vividly remember myself wiping the damp screen with shattering cold hands, looking at that album cover again and again, running to my part-time job. I don't think I could ever forget being accepted to the company I'd been rejected from twice, and coming face-to-face with Haseul. I think it was an incredibly big happiness to be able to do the music I like, together with the precious relationships that I'd never have met if it wasn't for the group. True happiness can only be felt after experiencing misfortune, did they say? Maybe the heavens were jealous, or maybe I did wrongs in my past life, but after spending a year that felt like a decade, I was standing on the stage alone. They also say that no pain is meaningless. Even though my past self may have been upset, I'm assured that that has made me a little more sturdy and resilient. But why does a corner of my heart ache. Perhaps it is aimed towards you all. Have you ever seen a shooting star? When I blew out my birthday candles, I'd often try to get as many wishes in as possible and the candle would drip onto the cake. One night, at the shooting star rushing towards me in the sky I'd just looked up at, I wished without hesitation: 'Please let everyone be happy'. I don't know if that wish is still valid, but like the meteor headed to me then, perhaps I too am rushing towards that happiness that I don't know of yet. Please don't hate me. I am not a bad person. Tonight, I hear those words that I endlessly repeated and repeated inside myself for six years, like an echo. Now, when the vestige of those echoes fade, I want to speak anew in a calm voice. Thank you for loving me. Someday, when this resonance ends, I'd like to impart another new set of words to you. On this silent night with the world covered in white snow, leaving my clamorous heart behind; to you, to whom I want to give only love.

Translation by: litell_johnn

[bthump]

I see a lot of people acting like Guts was so good to Casca when he admitted he just wanted a side chick. Reading the manga it felt that she was unimportant to him, someone to fuck and throw to the side. Even when he was trying to be there for her it felt so...forced. Like he didn't want to be there at all, why do you think that is?

I think it's a combination of Miura deliberately writing it as a flawed attempt at a relationship in terrible circumstances between two fucked up people that was always kind of a mistake, and like, probably some bad writing as well lol.

Like I think it's supposed to at least come across as sweet and earnest and hopeful at the time. A genuine connection between Guts and Casca. Miura has said in an interview that he wrote their relationship to add more drama to the Eclipse, so presumably the audience is meant to root for them to an extent, so that the Eclipse rape can make the reader even more angry lol.

But I don't think it was ever intended to be true love or even necessarily a good idea on the parts of the characters. When Guts invites Casca along he directly says she might get in the way of what he wants to do (fight strong opponents) so his invitation is conditional. This actually foreshadows Guts abandoning her in a cave to go and fight monsters, because she does get in his way.

Casca also cries when Guts fights Wyald and afterwards tells him to die on his own if he's so insistant about it, so even if she hadn't gone insane she probably would've gotten in the way of his dream to throw himself into danger over and over anyway lol.

On the rescue mission they start getting jealous as they get closer to Griffith. They essentially break up right before the Eclipse starts, Casca telling Guts to leave to pursue his dream while she stays with Griffith.

Judeau puts a lot of energy into trying to get them to hook up and leave together, and it's strongly implied that it's because he doesn't feel like he deserves Casca himself and he wants what he thinks is best for her. But when he dies he regrets never telling Casca about his feelings, and Casca even has a little romantic moment with him after he saves her life, which echoes the way she falls for Griffith and then Guts when they save her life.

And it's kind of jarring when she's already hooked up with the protagonist of the story, and certainly suggests that her relationship with Guts is not exactly all-consuming for them. It's realistically unromantic.

Post-Eclipse, Casca is framed as Guts' responsibility that pulls him away from the more visceral temptation to go after Griffith. And this causes him to nearly kill Casca, and then nearly rape her.

When Casca gets her mind back but can't look at him, Guts swings his sword in frustration and restlessness and thinks about Griffith's intense gaze from across a field. After she gets kidnapped, Guts only seems to care that his sword couldn't hit Griffith.

I could go on lol, but basically there are so many deliberate details that point to Guts and Casca's relationship being intended not as super romantic, but rather a more realistic hookup that isn't necessarily a net positive for either of them. And I do think that's what Miura intended, to a greater or lesser degree. I'm sure it was meant to be somewhat genuine and sweet, but I think they're ultimately shown to be incompatible and like, a trainwreck overall.

And yeah, a lot of Guts' shitty treatment of Casca is definitely deliberate, since after the Eclipse he does abandon her, and later attacks and assaults her, and she's currently traumatized by not just Femto and monsters, but also him.

I've actually written a ton of posts about their relationship and its flaws, so I'll link some in case you're interested in more detailed takes:

This is probably one of the best posts I've written about them imo, about how Judeau and Guts' relationships to Casca are compared and contrasted to highlight some of Guts' flaws.

Guts and Casca's hook up being paralleled to Griffith and Charlotte's hook up in terms of both men trying to repress their feelings about the other.

How Judeau's manipulations reflect on Guts and Casca's relationship.

Visual parallels during the Guts + Casca sex scene that suggest they're both rebounding from Griffith.

My take on Guts wanting to earn Casca's affection in ch 33.

Guts and Casca's relationship as a mistake that contributes to the Eclipse happening.

Guts and Casca's hook up failing to have an impact.

A long list of moments that contradict Guts and Casca's relationship as particularly romantic.

Thanks for the ask!

[dealershipcoffee]

AAAAAA!!! Ok I have some thoughts on this too. I actually don’t want Korekiyo to be more likeable and I don’t really mind the whole inc3$t thing, it reminds me of Norman Bates. I take the whole feelings for his sister as another part of him being delusional and an unreliable narrator and they were never actually in a relationship. I don’t think anything nasty or gross should be “separated” from him, as that’s what makes Korekiyo, Korekiyo. He’s an absolutely insane guy that has extremely twisted views on humans and tried to explain why murder and other illegal things aren’t actually bad because people only made laws saying they were bad. And I don’t think that his backstory drives people away from the rest of his character, I mean half of the content you see of him is actually people pumping out sympathy points for him because of his fanon backstory. I also don’t think the writers should’ve done anything to make him more palatable. In fact, in the artbook, Kodaka wrote down how he was planning to make Korekiyo even creepier, but the staff told him it would be too much (this is literally a game about murder how would it be too much??) But yeah I really hate the whole gr00ming headcanon and whatnot. He most likely does have childhood trauma but he doesn’t need this overblown tragic backstory so he can just be another character who does terrible things but turns out he’s just misunderstood and now has a scapegoat for all his wrongdoing. He would still be an amazing character and villain. This might be a little too much opinion but I also don’t like it bc why are we blaming a girl who has zero lines who we never see on screen whose personality is only hinted by an unreliable narrator for a man’s actions….and there’s a lot of double standards in not just Korekiyo’s fanbase but the DR fandom as a whole as well. People sweep Korekiyo’s actions under the rug because of a popular fan theory, but Mukuro who was explicitly shown to be manipulated by Junko has multiple posts made about her and how she’s a terrible person too and she’s apart of organizations and stuff. Or when people downplay Korekiyo being a serial killer by saying “Maki killed people too” etc. Maki was at the hands of a cult, was tortured every single day, and had to kill people for her own life and for the lives of others. Korekiyo killed people with his own free will for his own sick reasons. And once you start analyzing the girls that he finds “unworthy” and why he praises Kirumi so much, you start to realize that he selects his victims based off of his judgement on how well a woman performs femininity in his eyes. I’m going to mention Victorian hysteria so here’s something to look back at for reference:

What I mean is, to make this segment as short as possible, Maki is quite blunt and tends to not sugarcoat anything which would most likely get her called a “b1tch” Miu, and yes I know she lacks any sort of boundaries, but she’s very vocal about her urges desires sexuality etc etc, and is disliked by Korekiyo for being too “vulgar.” If Miu were alive in the Victorian Era (which Korekiyo seems to be very fond of) she would be diagnosed with hysteria (aka what women who acted out of line with societal norms were diagnosed with), and these are the symptoms which she meets quite a few of.

I also wanna mention that Miu is literally on the same freak level as Korekiyo, has the same kinks as him and Korekiyo has even said some inappropriate things about himself out of the blue (when he mentioned the women of a village he visited begging him to stay) yet for some reason he hates Miu for having all of those common traits with him. He’s also rude to Maki and Miu on multiple occasions (ie. before the third trial) Like, Miu doesn’t even say anything remotely nasty here, and he just insults her unprovoked

And when you look at all of this, and then look back to Chapter 2 when he’s constantly fawning over Kirumi (who is literally the Ultimate Maid, and gets called “mom” constantly by the cast even though she’s expressed her dislike for that but i guess they don’t care), and then you look back at the “The Hysterical Female” article, especially the first paragraph, Korekiyo holding Kirumi to such high regards compared to literally any other girl in the cast starts to become unsettling.

So now that we’ve talked about how much of a jerk he already is, now I need to talk about how he literally starts entering douchebag territory.

Just listing a few examples:

the way he handles Angie (keep in mind she’s still alive just unconscious)

literally wearing her around his neck….carelessly plopping her on the floor, and then immediately knocking her over. and it gets worse.

“No, not just because I could” he saw an opportunity, and he took it, just because he could. Not only was Angie alone and had her back turned, but she was also killed around 2am. Everyone else would have been in the dormitories sleeping, so even if Angie didn’t get so unlucky, nobody would’ve been there to help her.

And….the love suite event. “The love hotels aren’t canon!” “It didn’t actually happen, it’s a fantasy!” I’m aware of that but I’m going to be treating it as such until people stop trying to cover up for Korekiyo. Nobody ever says that Miu is supposed to represent her abandonment issues at the end of her Love Suite. No one covers up for her, I sure as hell don’t. It sickens me how nobody takes what happens to Shuichi seriously and how even in situations where Korekiyo is clearly in the wrong, none of the sympathy goes to the person who he wronged. I’ll never understand how most of the reactions to his love suite were either “I wanna be Shuichi so bad” or feeling bad for Korekiyo somehow. Korekiyo mocking and taunting Himiko for how she’ll never forgive him also flies over people’s heads.

Dishonorable Mentions include Korekiyo’s birthday tweet this year from Kodaka:

yeah that doesn’t really help his case at all

Like I said, while I don’t mind the inc3$t plot (oh lord that sounds so weird), taking it away doesn’t make him a better person. He would still be a serial killer and he would still be manipulative, kind of misogynistic, not gaf about consent, a sadist, and just a pretty mean person in general. I honestly think that the staff should’ve let Kodaka make him even worse, I personally enjoy Korekiyo being an absolute menace to society. He’s a character who’s fun to hate because he deserves it, but also a character who’s fun to love because he’s so interesting. I apologize for writing the whole Declaration of Independence as well. Yeah but like I said I’m tired of people trying to find ways to make him more likeable. That defeats the point of his character.

am I the only one who’s sick and tired of people trying to make korekiyo redeemable, just curious

like tbh i prefer psychological horror antagonist eroguro bdsm Suehiro Maruo perverse artsy romanticist edglelord ninja sadomasochistic folklore cunt with a strict diet of human meat and psychedelics korekiyo over quirky nerdy guy that just happened to commit a few crimes but don’t worry he didn’t mean it and now he goes to therapy instead of the death penalty and hogs all the sympathy that should’ve been given to the near 100 young women that he brutally murdered and shows absolutely no remorse for korekiyo

and just a little thing to add I don’t think enough people acknowledge that korekiyo as actually kinda mean and manipulative as well

but yeah I love him as a character Im just pissed at everyone treating him like he’s innocent, and the writers didn’t do him dirty imo people are just mad that they didn’t make him sympathetic. also keep in mind this is a very abbreviated post about him. I’m currently in the process of writing an entire script for a video I’m making about him to truly get all of my thoughts about this out.

and dare I mention the fact that so many people still say “korekiyo is so overhated!!” or “he’s such an underrated character!!” as if 80% or more of the fandom is constantly glazing him. I also wanna mention AUs and fics where the serial killer part of korekiyo is just completely taken out and he reads more as misunderstood than creepy. from what I’ve seen people want a korekiyo that’s a good person, which doesn’t make any sense. he’s not 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 to be a good person. the entire point of his character is that he’s an icky disgusting genuinely creepy morally corrupt guy.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

maybe its just me but i cant stand when people are like "it just doesn't sit right with me how teruhashi thought about aiura 🥺" like yes... its not supposed to ??? because her thinking badly of other girls and prioritizing male validation over everything is one of her main flaws ??? can we talk about that WITHOUT making it seem like shes not allowed to have a single actual flaw without suddenly becoming an awful person? nobody can handle complex female characters at all and its so fucking annoying

[shannonsketches]

like why did they change where Vegeta was when Cell announced the cell games in the anime

why did they make this vegeta starting shit with yamcha instead of chillin in the lab with his family? why did they take Bulma out of the lab? Why'd they say she was Out while Dr Brief was repairing 16? Why did they change Bulma working on advanced robotics to running in late with her baby?

it's the same scene except: - Bulma's actively at work being a scientist - Vegeta's not being rude to her (or anyone else!) - Vegeta waits for Trunks instead of leaving the room - Cell interrupted the airwaves, which means Trunks and Vegeta were just hanging out with Bulma and Dr B while they were working

Those are all Great Character Details!! That the anime rails against!!

[queenboimler]

CAN I JUST SAY

I fucking hate nessarose

[starlooove]

I rlly liked red hood the hill bc besides the gift it completely ignored everything else with the batfam which to meeee I’m taking it as the hill has been overlooked by the bats forever (see Orpheus rising) so yeah nobody there gives a fuck about those people and jason knows better than to bring that shit over there

[girlivealwaysbean]

on one hand completely ignoring your emotions is soo good for my mental stability and productivity but man i miss staring at the ceiling and listening to sad songs on loop

[bunveh]

I’m so glad my exams are finally over bc I can at last cut my long term friends off since I have so much free time now.

[kavehater]

Do I have to start saying not that anyone would care in that super duper passive aggressive way to guilt people into caring or what

[sassyandclassy94]

Funny how a bad day makes you a whole lot less excited and more hesitant to return to work the next day…

[sunderwight]

Headcanon that Shen Yuan was hotter than Shen Qingqiu, actually.

Like yeah SQQ being a cultivator gave him a boost to enough attributes + being in a stallion novel where everyone is either unrealistic hot or dog's butt ugly got the Shen Qingqiu body extra points, and he wasn't bad looking to begin with. Plus not being ill is vastly more important to the new Shen Qingqiu than those extra hotness points (Without a Cure notwithstanding). But part of the reason why he's kind of like, meh, at least I'm not hideous or anything, is because Shen Yuan's original body was a knock out.

I also like him as chronically ill, and, as many people know, beauty standards and sustained suffering are not as incompatible as they should be. Shen Yuan was conventionally attractive in part because conventional beauty standards seem to want everyone slowly dying all the time. But even setting that aside, the man had flawless bone structure, an appealing figure, captivating eyes, and the kind of voice that stopped people in their tracks.

All of which was a contributing factor to his antisocial lifestyle, actually. Despite the fact that Shen Yuan does enjoy company and requires a certain baseline of social enrichment for his enclosure, his internalized homophobia and closeting did not play well with overtures from interested parties (regardless of gender). The only way to minimize the odds of him being asked out on dates was to essentially become a shut-in, especially since even Shen Yuan can only make so many excuses before he himself starts to notice that he's going to a lot of effort to avoid specifically that avenue of socialization. Far better to just remove himself from any risk of it, and then vocally lament that oh no he's just too much of a nerd to get anywhere with women!

Anyway this largely doesn't matter much outside of sheer comedy potential for any situation where SY gets his old body/life back. Like imagine a reveal scenario where the System is going to transport them back to their old lives.

Shang Qinghua: well bro I guess this is gonna be the ultimate test of love, right?

Shen Yuan: what do you mean?

Shang Qinghua: our husbands are gonna see what we looked like back before we were glorious cultivators! they're going to have to track us down in our mundane, kinda shitty pre-transmigration lives! it's gonna be at least a little embarrassing, right?

Shen Yuan: *gets his old body back*

Shang Qinghua, normal human with average looks: ...

Shen Yuan, exemplary 11/10: ?

Shang Qinghua: what. the fuck?? bro what the fuck why are you hot???

Shen Yuan: don't make it weird

Shang Qinghua: make it weird??? why were you sitting at home reading my shitty novel when you could have been out there building your own harem???

Shen Yuan: stop exaggerating

Shang Qinghua: oh my god you've always been like this. this is it, isn't it? it wasn't even brain damage from the transmigration or something--

Shen Yuan: hey

Shang Qinghua: --you've just always been completely unaware, haven't you? every time I wrote a beautiful woman who didn't know her own appeal you'd be jumping down my throat--

Shen Yuan: because that's a stupid trope--!

Shang Qinghua: --JUMPING DOWN MY THROAT EXACTLY LIKE THAT but this whole time THIS WHOLE TIME it wasn't even a glow-up issue, you've just been that, personified, yourself--

Shen Yuan: look I know I'm not ugly but I'm not I'm hardly that good-looking

Shang Qinghua: YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO CRITICIZE THAT TROPE AGAIN! oh my god. how many broken hearts did you leave behind when you died?!

Shen Yuan: none, I wasn't even seeing anyone--

Shang Qinghua: yeah full offense but I am nottt taking your word for that. I bet you had a harem you didn't know about in this lifetime too. I bet you had a fan club, like an anime prince

Shen Yuan: *mumbling*

Shang Qinghua: what was that?

Shen Yuan: I said... only in high school...

Shang Qinghua: oh my god

Shen Yuan: it wasn't a big deal!

Shang Qinghua: *frantically trying to see if he can find any trace of it on the internet now*