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megamindsecretlair · 18 days ago

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Make Me Weak, Part 1

Pairing: Sex Therapist!Terry Richmond x Sub!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, mentions of depression, anxiety, and description of sex acts and sexual issues. Power imbalance, Shy!reader. Dark!Terry. Dom!Terry, AU Terry, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some. I'm not a therapist and while I do not make light of therapy, this is purely for my own fun. Please seek real medical attention when necessary.

Summary: Desperately at your absolute limit, you decide to see one last therapist to try and help with your condition. After one session, Dr. Richmond manages to put you at ease, giving you enough tools to start you on your journey. As the exploration continues, your true hope is that you don’t get burned.

Word Count: 4,648k

AO3 Link

A/N: Don't judge me for this chile. I saw that beautiful man in a black turtleneck with glasses and lost my marbles. I had TOO much fun writing this and you will not hurt my feelings if you don't want to read this one. However, I must tag to keep my taglist updated. Forgive me, my loves. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You

He came highly recommended. That was the only reason you were here. You’d stared at his pictures and read all of the available posts recommending him but you couldn’t get over the fact that he was so damn pretty. And intimidating.

But after going through nine different therapists, most who ended up as creeps or couldn’t help you, you were at your wit’s end. It was already embarrassing enough starting over with a brand new therapist, but this had to take the cake.

The hallway was quiet, with muted browns and reds. Supposedly academic, soothing colors. As if the darker the color, the less likely you were to think about anything sexual. You stared at the imposing brown door with his name embossed on a placard. Dr. Terry Richmond.

You bit your lip and stared at the slip in your hand with the referral scrawled across it. He took on special cases. Pathetic cases.

“Fuck this,” you said to yourself. You turned on your heel and stepped down the hallway. The door opened and the man himself looked down the hallway.

“Are you my two o’clock?” He asked. His deep baritone was unexpected. Soothing. Calming. Unnerving.

“Uh,” you sighed.

He continued to stare so you continued to stare back. He wore an all black outfit, right down to his black tennis shoes. He wore a long sleeved black T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Black, form fitting pants that only highlighted how tall he was. He had to be 6’1. Hell, possibly 6’3.

He cleared his throat, looking for an answer. Light refracted off of his frames, temporarily hiding his eyes. You gripped the straps of your purse and squared your shoulders. “Yes,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded his head and waved you inside. You walked behind him, feeling like you were walking to your doom. Inside his office, it was just as drab as outside.

Bookshelves lined the walls, stuffed with medical texts and non-fictional books on powerful Black figures through history. The office was small, but clean, with a golden brown sofa pushed against a solid wall of taupe. He had a painting above the sofa, showing a serene ocean view with a boat out on the water.

Natural light filtered into the room from a window showcasing the cityscape outside. His office was high up in the building, letting you look down on all the people living their normal lives.

The door closed behind you and you jumped, whipping around to see Dr. Richmond leaning away from the door. He raised his hands. “I’m sorry, would you like it to remain open?” He asked.

You shook your head. Closed was preferable. You watched Dr. Richmond take his seat behind a massive desk, everything in a neat stack and in its proper place. He rolled forward and then opened a black folder, picking up a pen.

“Please, have a seat. Tell me about yourself,” he said.

“My thick ass file didn’t give me away? Sorry, I shouldn’t say ass. Sorry,” you said and winced after cussing so much. You pointed to a thick file on his desk and you knew without a doubt that it was yours.

It was crazy how you had a full record of your insanity, detailing how you started down this deep, dark path. Cataloged every doctor, every note, every nasty thought in your mind. Okay, you were being a little dramatic, but this was just so…embarrassing. And it didn’t help to have someone who looked like that hearing what you had to say.

“There’s no rules here. You want to say ass, go for it,” he said and shrugged.

You giggled, feeling more at ease. You nodded and took a seat on the sofa. There was a clear coffee table in front of it that held a zen garden complete with little trees, shiny rocks, and…were those Lego figures? You looked from it to him and he smirked, drawing your attention to his full, lush lips.

“Some people find it easier to occupy their hands during discussions. You can give it a try if you want,” he said.

You sat back on the sofa. Maybe later. You felt too awkward as is. Like you were some alien visitor testing out your disguise on the human population. You rubbed your sweaty palms on your leggings and shook your head. “What, uh, did my file say about me?”

Dr. Richmond shrugged and leaned back in his seat, fixing his thin gold glasses on his face. “Those are words and opinions from other doctors. I’d rather hear what you have to say,” he said and leaned back in his seat.

He was so…disarming in a way that allowed you to release the ironclad control you held on to. You picked at your nails and focused on that, rather than his stormy eyes. “I think I’m broken. And I’m not entirely sure why I’m even entertaining this,” you said.

“Why are you then?” He prompted.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Tired of feeling like a freak,” you said.

“A freak? Why would you use that term?” He asked.

You snuck a glance at him. He no longer held the pen. He rested his hands against his stomach, clasped, and just looked at you. Even that was different from all your other therapists combined.

“Because that’s what it feels like. Like I’m in a freak show. I–,” you stopped and licked your lips. But you were here now. May as well rip the bandaid off. “I can’t cum! And I know, it’s normal. I know plenty of people experience it. I know that women especially have a hard time doing it. But no matter what I fuckin’ try, I just can’t. I feel it coming, I know it’s coming, but then it sort of…goes away? And then I’m sitting there embarrassed that I can’t and when I’m with a partner, they pretend that it’s cool, but then I never hear from them again.”

You clicked your teeth shut as you realized you were rambling. You picked at a stiff hangnail, tugged at it until it started to hurt. You continued flicking at it, egged on by your awkwardness. And realizing you were being awkward was only making it worse. So you picked. And picked, until the hangnail tore and hurt worse.

“Why is it important that you cum?” He asked.

“What?” You asked. You looked at him, expecting to see pity. Disgust. Curiousness. Dr. Richmond held none of those things. His face was a pillar of stoicism, balancing the perfect mix of professionalism and empathy.

“Why is it so important to you? If you know that it’s normal and plenty of people experience it, shouldn’t the journey matter more than the destination?” He asked.

Your mouth fell open on a silent gasp as you looked at him. Your mind emptied of every single possible answer to that question. It was important because…it was. Because you never got anything else right either. You were always a step behind, slow on the uptick, feeling like you were taking up too much space in the world even after shrinking yourself to the smallest possible point.

Not easy to do considering your size. You loved your body and wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it wasn’t exactly easy to hide. You were unassuming, sweet, kind, and a great friend. But beneath all of that, you wanted desperately to fit in. This was a basic human release. It was part of the big three things that humans needed. Food, safety, sex. And you could only achieve one of those things.

But how did you word that without sounding like a pathetic kook? You pulled at the hangnail, felt the burn as it ripped, and shrugged your shoulders. Might as well tell the truth. “Because I feel like a freak when I can’t. Like I waited too long. To have sex, to experience life, to explore what I’m into,” you said.

“Do you think there are goal posts for life?” He asked. He may as well have been a statue for how often he moved. He retained his position, chair turned slightly towards you, as he looked at you like you were a puzzle.

“Isn’t there? That’s why we call them milestones? Reach your 18th birthday, yay you’re an adult. Find the love of your life, yay you’re married. Pop out some kids, yay, you’re continuing the bloodline. I feel like now, at my age, I should know what one fuckin’ orgasm feels like,” you said.

“How do you know you haven’t had one already?” He asked.

“I know my body. There’s nothing. There’s the build up, there’s the excitement, there’s everything leading up to it. But I never get over that peak. It just…goes away,” you said.

Dr. Richmond nodded and turned his attention to the pad. He wrote down a few sentences and it was so quiet in his office, you could hear a clock ticking nearby. You also heard his pen scratch against the paper. He must be using some fancy, fountain pen. He looked the type.

“What do you hope to achieve through therapy?” He asked.

You shrugged. “If I knew, you wouldn’t be my tenth therapist,” you said with a heavy sigh. When you first thought about going to therapy, you thought it wasn’t truly for you. There was nothing that really bothered you outside of life’s stress. Everybody had that.

But you ended up finding some that encouraged you to dig deep and find the woman within. The one comfortable in her skin. Encouraged you to explore your sexuality and think about it in depth. You crawled through so many forums, so many health websites, so many articles that you had a great idea of what ailed you.

“There has to be a reason you keep trying,” he said.

You leaned back into the sofa with a huff. “You definitely ask the easy questions. What happened to the intake and whatever?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. He tapped his pen against your folder. “You’ve done plenty of that, don’t you think?”

Your lips twisted with a smile. Okay, maybe you were starting to see why he was so highly recommended. He was comforting without being condescending. Soothing without being smarmy. He treated you like an adult and for the first time, you had a little beacon of hope.

“I keep trying because I want it. I don’t have the words right now to describe why I want it. I want to know the hype. I want the relief. I want to know what post nut clarity feels like,” you said.

Dr. Richmond chuckled and you chuckled with him. It sounded funny, but you were so serious. It was exhausting at this point. Pretending like you knew what the fuck you were talking about when others asked you. Your group chat blew up with your equally single friends who were less discerning about who they took to bed.

Every other night, there were stories about dick sizes, oral, and a whole treatise on the lack of finesse these guys had. You almost snorted thinking about your best friend, Brooklyn, and how she said that no wonder men were trapping women in marriages in the past. It was the only way they could get women to be with them. It certainly wasn’t because of their pornographic sexual prowess.

“What’s been your journey with sex so far?” He asked.

You took a deep breath and told him all about it. The way that you picked up a book one day with sex in it and never looked back. In a lot of ways, that book probably shaped how you viewed sex and your sexual kinks. Before long, you were searching for more and more books with the exact same tropes. A sexy, semi-asshole alpha male that was too big to be real. 7’8, long dick, and a short attitude. Typically bad boy types with tattoos and “touch her and die” vibes. The kind to only be soft with the female main character.

You could wax poetic about why it appealed to you. Blah blah blah, you had a terrible childhood where you felt invisible. It was all there in the file if he wanted to take a gander.

“I know I’m submissive, that I want to be dominated in bed. But, whew, the game out here is ridiculous,” you said. “The men I wouldn’t mind submitting to are too damn weak to take control. The men I would never submit to act like I’m their pet already and can speak to me however they want.”

“Do you think you’re being too picky?” He asked.

You were startled into a laugh. “What gave me away, Dr. Richmond?” You asked.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “I have a process, bear with me,” he said. That ain’t all you wanted to do. He was fine as hell. You mentally shook your head. No, you could not go there. Not at all.

You continued to discuss how you led to certain conclusions. Yes, you were picky. But why shouldn’t you be? You weren’t seeking perfection. You just wanted something normal. Something healthy. Something toe curling, mind numbing, sickeningly disgusting and sweet. Was that too much to ask for?

Dr. Richmond asked more questions and you relaxed fraction by fraction, getting right to the core of why you were seeking professional help. You told him about some of the partners you had. Some who were sweet and really tried. You had a long term boyfriend at one point who was attentive and caring. But he fell short of making you cum.

He ate you out long enough to get you wet and going and then jumped straight to sex just so he could cum. You often lied about cumming until it got too exhausting to keep up with. He promptly got mad, hurt that you lied, and possibly embarrassed that he wasn’t God’s gift to sex. His loss.

It was awkward at first to discuss such intimate details with Dr. Richmond but you often forgot he was even there. Until he asked you to expand on something you said or ask a clarifying question. Even the scratch of his pen faded into the background as you spoke about how you arrived in his office.

Dr. Richmond finally finished and leaned back in his seat once more, squaring his broad shoulders against the high back of his chair. He crossed his leg and looked at you and you briefly wondered what he’d look like without the glasses.

“We’re nearing the end of our session but I think I’m getting a clearer picture of why you’re here. After hearing from you and looking through your file, it seems like your perception of what sex really is has been skewed. Either through these books, these movies, or even porn. It’s perfectly okay to consider what you like in bed or what you prefer in a partner. But most people’s foray into their sexual journey starts with themselves. What’s your relationship like with your body?”

“I love my body,” you said, immediately. Why wouldn’t you love your body? You were gorgeous. Sure, you struggled with your weight, but you didn’t want to be thin anyway. You just wanted to roll out of bed without being out of breath sometimes. Or cut your toenails without having to stop every few minutes for air.

Dr. Richmond licked his lips and your eyes dropped immediately to it. He rubbed the corner of his mouth with his thumb and it drew your attention to his big hands. Too damn bad you hadn’t met him under better circumstances. You bet he could make you cum. Often.

“What else?” He asked.

“What else is there?” You asked, clearing your throat, and drawing your attention away from how drop dead gorgeous he was. Your thoughts ran wild still, picturing him in all sorts of nasty scenarios. If nothing else, your imagination was always there to show you a good time. Your own perfect world where you experienced back to back orgasms.

“What has your personal sexual journey encompassed besides you loving your body? Do you touch yourself?” He asked.

You fought every urge you had to squeeze your thighs together. How the hell did this man end up in this profession? He missed his calling as a phone sex operator. Or an erotic audio content creator. Good lord, he could have people eating out of the palm of his hand if he so wished. Swimming in a tub full of money earned from hundreds of thousands of horny bitches who could cum to his voice alone. Lucky bitches.

You shrugged. “Of course I touch myself. I can’t cum that way either,” you said.

Dr. Richmond chuckled. “This only works if you lower them walls you try so hard to hide behind,” he said.

You kissed your teeth and rolled your eyes to the ceiling. The hell did he know. So what if he had fancy doctor diplomas behind his chair. So what if he had a MD in this field. What the hell did he know?

After cursing him out two ways from Sunday in your mind, you deflated. “I know I’m not relaxed when I masterbate. I lock my door, I put on headphones, and I still feel like I’m…”

“Like you’re…?” Dr. Richmond prompted.

“Being watched? Being judged? You can probably guess I grew up religious. It’s not like I had enough time or space to explore my body. My room was directly next to my parents’. If I so much as sighed too loud, my mom was banging on my wall telling me to fix my attitude,” you admitted. That had been oodles of fun. Growing up, you couldn’t even roll your eyes without someone telling you to fix your face.

“What does relax you then?” He asked.

“When I find out, I’ll tell you,” you said.

Dr. Richmond smiled, showing off a dazzling, mega-watt movie star smile that made your knees weak. If you weren’t already sitting down, you’d fall flat on your face.

“I believe I can help you, but you have to be willing to do the work. I need total, focused commitment from you. Do you think you can do that?” He asked.

“Yes,” you said instantly. There wasn’t even a question. You wanted this more than breathing, more than eating. And that was saying something because you would happily drive far and wide for a good meal.

Dr. Richmond nodded. “Good. I’m giving you homework. I want you to spend the next week exploring your body. Nothing sexual. Spend time in your body and with your body. Touch yourself, but no masterbating. When you shower, acknowledge your body. When you lotion up, pay attention to every mole, every scar. This is the only body you’ll ever have so it’s time to think beyond simple body maintenance. Admire your body. I also want you to keep a journal. You won’t share it with me unless you want to, but this exercise is to get you in tune with your body. Rewire how you perceive sex and sexual completion. Does that sound doable?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice at the moment. He must not know the effect he had on those around him. He had to be completely clueless. Batshit fucking oblivious. The wreck he was having on your libido was absolutely insane.

Joking aside, you were taking this seriously. In just one session, Dr. Richmond managed to give you a tiny spark of hope. That maybe you weren’t a lost cause. You immediately tempered your thoughts. Hope hurt. You’d been hopeful so many times in the past, with different therapists, who seemed like they had a plan to help you.

Only for them to diagnose some other problem. You had anxiety, duh. You had depression, shocker. You had a laundry list of diagnoses from doctors and therapists who just thought you were obsessed with sex. That was like saying the sky was blue. Who wasn’t obsessed with sex? Besides asexual people.

“I’ll do it,” you said.

“Good,” he said. He went over your schedule, working out a time to see him once a week until you would eventually graduate to fewer sessions. That bummed you out. Not seeing his gorgeous face ever again? Could you fake another issue and continue seeing him?

Dr. Richmond dismissed you and you left his office feeling a smidgen lighter than when you entered. Maybe this would actually work out. Maybe.

Terry

Terry finished with his last client of the day and went over his notes, inputting his clearer thoughts into the patient portal on his laptop. When he ran across your file, he paused and opened it once more.

Your case fascinated him. He couldn’t stop pouring over your files, doctor’s notes, direct quotes. There had been plenty of therapists before him, all trying to help the beautiful woman who entered his office earlier in the afternoon.

He wasn’t immune to his patients. Some were beautiful and charming and all tried to flirt their way into his bed. He never crossed that line. Never. Yet…when you discussed your story, the rawness of it captivated him. He held onto your every word like you were a theater production right before his eyes.

He hardly took notes because he was so fascinated with the dichotomy of you. On the outside, you were a bit shy. Perhaps too self-aware which led you to shrink, hide who you really were. He got the sense that there was an entire universe wrapped up in your mind and he began asking deeper questions than he ever had on a first session.

The hour had gone by too fast for his tastes. He wanted to hear more. Learn more. Know more. He hated to admit it, he even got semi-erect as you told your tale. He was understandably disgusted and it wasn’t the first time; occupational hazard. But it was the first time he’d ever cursed his medical degree.

You were perfect. Absolutely perfect. When you admitted to being submissive, his dick even twitched. Ached. Why couldn’t he have met you somewhere else? Surely, fate hadn’t been so cruel as to put the perfect sub within reach and then ensure that he could never have you? Never touch you?

Describing your previous lovers actually made his chest boil. You had been subjected to ignorant men who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman like you. And they had you believing that you were the problem. It was laughable. It was maddening. It was cruel.

He frowned at your file. He had gone over it so many times in preparation for the session. He didn’t know what would walk through the door. A file this thick? He thought he’d have a sex-obsessed, delusional fiend on his hands that he’d have to contend with.

Your wish of cumming was almost cute. Terry sighed. He shouldn’t be thinking it was cute. If anything, he should be passing your case off to his colleague down the hall. Dr. Crawford was as capable as Terry was, their ideas often aligning in regards to treatment.

He preferred a holistic approach. Most problems could be resolved within a few months, once people began to shift their idea of sex and their role in it.

“Everything is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.” That was one of his favorite quotes, said so many times that no one truly knew where it originated.

It was a quote he often repeated to his patients at the right moment. When they were beginning to discover a part of themselves previously unexplored. He wondered how long it would take for your moment? That dawning realization.

He was only sad he couldn’t see it in real time. That moment when you let yourself feel. Let yourself relax and sink into that subspace you so desperately needed. Terry grunted and closed your file.

He was about to crack you open like an egg and watch a brand new woman emerge. He was about to hand you off to the first man who pretended to understand your needs. He took out his fresh notepad, every patient got one, and scribbled some more notes. He’d have to make sure you understood the difference between a real dom and a little boy playing dress up.

His eyes scanned across his earlier notes, little things he jotted down while you spoke. Areas you skipped over, areas you expanded on. They were only a sentence or two long, something to kickstart his memory. Because at the time, his eyes were focused on you. On your face, your voice, your mannerisms.

It was both a curse and a blessing to notice so much. See so much. Understand so much. But it worked when necessary. You deflected about your sexual partners, retreated when he tried to push further about how you reached these conclusions. What methods you tried.

Usually, Terry did a whole song and dance to ease patients into talking about sex. Sex was taboo until it was time to have it. Now everything was awkward, unbalanced, and led to too many instances of abuse.

But between your file and how skittish but determined you seemed, you didn’t need a song and dance. You needed someone to give you guideposts. You didn’t truly need therapists. You just needed a nudge in the right direction. A nudge to someone else.

Terry pursed his lips and looked at your name on the file. He had to be careful. If he wasn’t, you would end up being trouble in more ways than one.

He finished up the last of his notes and then scanned through for anything he might have missed. He wrote down what your homework assignment was. He hadn’t truly known where that came from.

Perhaps it was the look in your eyes. Perhaps it was the helpless, frantic twist to your mouth that had him going from zero to one hundred where you were concerned. But the more he described it, the lower your eyes went. The way your mouth slackened just a bit. As if you were caught in some picture in your mind that he couldn’t see.

Terry leaned away from his desk and looked outside of his window. The tinted glass showed the sun in the distance, sinking lower towards the horizon. A bird flew, twisting and turning with the hot currents it found.

He ought to do the right thing. There was no way to remain objective in this manner. Not when he was strangely drawn to you, drawn to your file, and drawn to the unique challenge it presented.

You could very well end up a case study in some medical textbook or journal, name changed, but the presentation exactly the same. He didn’t relish the thought of being the one to put you there. But your case could end up helping someone else. It was the way the world worked.

He only hoped that he had enough self-restraint to walk away if he found himself compromised. If he couldn’t reign in his personal tastes and habits to help you. If he found himself looking at your lips as you spoke, your smile as you made self-deprecating jokes, or the shy way you licked your lips.

“Shit.” He took his phone out of his bag and hit up his on again, off again submissive play partner, Tasia. Perhaps it’d been too long since he took care of his own needs. Perhaps what he needed was to release the pent up tension he carried around all the time.

How long had it been? He didn’t know. But even as he set up the details with Tasia, he couldn’t help wondering if you were following his directions to the letter.

I said don't judge me! LOL. Thank you for reading, truly.

The Secret Terry Richmond Files

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scealaiscoite · 22 days ago

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｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ。ﾟ。　 november prompts

　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

¹⁾ traffic lights

²⁾ ripe mangos

³⁾ frozen peas pressed against a fresh bruise

⁴⁾ sunday evening

⁵⁾ a cluttered kitchen sink

⁶⁾ hands marred with coal dust

⁷⁾ a red-painted front door

⁸⁾ a fistful of sand

⁹⁾ cheap candles

¹⁰⁾ sunken gravestones

¹¹⁾ neroli perfume

¹²⁾ the shoe section in a second-hand shop

¹³⁾ a cracked headlight

¹⁴⁾ gold-embossed dinner plates

¹⁵⁾ green velvet

¹⁶⁾ a highball glass

¹⁷⁾ prayer beads

¹⁸⁾ a matchbox

¹⁹⁾ fresh apple tart

²⁰⁾ grey smoke curling up into a night sky

²¹⁾ a shared sleeping bag

²²⁾ raspberry tea

²³⁾ a barstool

²⁴⁾ a boss’s office with a closed door

²⁵⁾ skinned knees

²⁶⁾ a glass shower enclosure

²⁷⁾ orange segments

²⁸⁾ a thick manilla folder

²⁹⁾ barbed wire

³⁰⁾ a twin bed

#prompts #november prompts #november writing prompts #monthly prompts #month prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #writing exercise #rp meme

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just-my-latest-hyperfixation · 11 months ago

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Eddie Munson's royal fuck-up

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 11

Prompt: Royalty AU

Rated: G

CW: none

Tags: Rockstar Eddie Munson; Royal Steve Harrington; Meet cute; Flirting; Secret Identity; Sort of angsty/open ending

"So, tommorow…" Chrissy says from behind the folder they've been provided. It looks so posh with its dark green binding, the royal sigil embossed on it in gold print. Eddie hates it. It probably thinks it's so much better than the other folders. "When you're introduced to Prince Steven, you're to address him as Your Royal Highness. After that, you call him Sir."

"What, really? Dude, at least buy me dinner before we start with the kinky shit."

Chrissy shoves his feet off the desk, which almost makes him topple off his chair.

"Can you take this seriously? A royal visit is an important matter. We can certainly use the publicity-"

Eddie's hand crashes down on the desk. "I'm a fucking rockstar, Chris. That ain't enough publicity? This place is my baby, mine. What does that royal asshole know about what it's like to have a rough childhood? He thinks he can come here, give a little speech, smile for the cameras, and suddenly it's all about him?"

"What, now you care?"

He whirls on her, but the look she gives him makes him freeze. Chrissy sighs.

"Eds, you are so busy with the new album and the tour, you haven't even met the new volunteers. I said I'd manage the place, and that's fine. But you must trust me. Just do it for me. Please?"

The skate park has new graffiti, and he hasn't even seen it yet. Eddie exhales his cigarette smoke and watches how it curls up to the sign spelling Hellfire Youth Center.

Maybe Chrissy is right. Maybe he should be here more. Maybe he's been so caught up in the whole fame and fortune thing, he's losing sight of what's important, like-

"Watch out!"

Like guys on skateboards barrelling towards him.

Eddie throws up his hands. The guy tries to swerve, completely tips his precarious balance, and goes flying off the board and right into him. They land on the asphalt with an undignified oomph.

"Shit, sorry," babbles the guy and tries to disentangle his limbs from Eddie’s. "Couldn't brake-"

"S alright," Eddie hears himself say, even though his ass hurts like a bitch from the impact and he can already feel the bruises forming. "You can fall into my arms any time."

Skateboard guy blinks up at him and - fuuuck, he's cute! In a scrungly, beanie-stuffed-over-chestnut-locks, black-rimmed-nerd-glasses kind of way.

For a second, nobody says anything.

"For fuck’s sake," someone swears, and then little Max Mayfield is running towards them, ginger braids jumping with the movement. "I told you to be careful."

"Sorry," cutie with the glasses says again. Eddie has never seen him around. He must be one of the new volunteers Chrissy mentioned. "Guess I'll need to practice some mo- ow, shit!"

His hands fly up to cradle his knee. There's a hole and a rapidly spreading bloodstain in the fabric of his jeans.

"Oh fuck," Eddie says, and whips his bandana from his back pocket to press it to the wound. "Red, why don't you hop inside and get the first aid kit? I'll stay here with …"

He trails off expectantly. Cutie's eyes go wide.

"I, erm … Dustin."

"I'll stay here with Dustin."

Dustin, it turns out, isn't just cute, but also fun to talk to. He doesn’t gush about what a huge fan he is or ask for an autograph once. Eddie never thought he'd appreciate that one day, but it gets really old really quick.

Instead, they jump from one topic to the next, sitting on one of the benches and watching Max go on her board. Dustin has a quick, sharp wit and isn't afraid to counter Eddie’s jabs with his own, delightfully bitchy sense of humor. Damn, to think he almost missed this one. He really needs to be around more.

"I love this place, y’know? You created something great for these kids."

Eddie jerks to attention. The sun has started to dip, casting Dustin’s smile and the hair poking from his beanie in a soft golden light.

"Thanks man," Eddie murmurs, and feels the bitterness boil back up. "Some people seem to think it needs better publicity, though."

Dustin shuffles awkwardly, winces when the movement pulls on the Care Bears bandaids Max has plastered all over his knee.

"You mean the royal visit?"

Eddie huffs.

"Yeah, man. I mean, what are they expecting me to do, bow and grovel while his Royal Doucheness prances all over the place with his perfect hair and fancy suit and thank him for it? It's not like he cares about these kids, it's all just a gig to him."

Dustin draws his bottom lip between his teeth.

"You can't know that. Maybe he does care. Maybe he's-"

Eddie barks a laugh. "Oh, give me a break. All the royals are good at is looking important and spending our tax money. I can fucking do without-"

"Steve? We gotta leave, c'mon."

They both whip around. A fancy black limousine with tinted windows has pulled up in the parking lot behind them. A gruff looking man is holding the back door open and looking at them expectantly.

Dustin sighs and stands.

"Coming, Hop."

"Wait, wait, what?" Eddie babbles as he walks towards the car, shoulders in a sad little hunch. "What's going on? Who's that guy? Why's he calling you-"

And then it clicks.

"Oh fuck," Eddie says.

Dustin … no, Steve … no, Steven - Crown Prince Steven fucking Harrington - gives him a tight smile while the man ushers him into the backseat.

"Thank you for your time, Mr Munson, I'll see you tomorrow. I'll try not to be too much of a douchebag, I promise."

The door clicks shut.

The car glides away.

Eddie buries his face in his palms.

"Jesus fucking Christ. He's the fucking Prince."

Beside him, wheels grate on asphalt as Max brakes.

"Wow," she deadpans. "You're in some deep shit."

Eddie groans.

Tomorrow is gonna be a long-ass fucking day.

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve x eddie #steddie brainrot #steddie fanfic #fanfiction writer #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #steddie ficlet #steddie holiday drabbles #hype's holiday drabbles #the rock star and the royal

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magicandpizza · 3 months ago

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“Person who believes they’re hard to love” and “person who thinks loving them is as easy as breathing” but make it wesper.

“Alright, that’s everything sorted for the fruit imports from the Southern Colonies,” Jesper says, dating the document he’s been working on and carefully adding it to the correct folder. “What do you want to tackle next, sugar cane or…” He rifles through their stack of mail until he finds the letter he’s looking for, printed on thick lavender paper and embossed in gold. He holds it up with a grimace. “This summer ball invite from Boreg?”

As soon as he looks up from the desk he realises something is wrong. His merchling has curled up on the armchair, knees tucked up to his chest as he picks at the skin of his fingers.

“Wy? Love, what’s wrong?”

Wylan sniffles and wipes the back of his sleeve across his nose. “I don’t deserve you.”

Discarding the offensively lurid ball invite on the desk, Jesper crosses the room and kneels on the floor in front of him. “What do you mean, darling?”

“I know you hate it, having to read everything to me all the time. I know how fidgety you get when you have to sit still, and I basically trapped you here with me because you’re too much of a good person to leave.” The words spill from Wylan’s lips in a sad, frustrated wave.

“Hey, hey,” Jesper says soothingly, placing a hand over Wylan’s where he’s clenching and unclenching them against his knees, but now that the dam has broken, the words just keep flowing.

“And I know it’s not easy for you, because I’m, well, me, and I’m hard to love and-”

“Wylan.”

So, so carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll flinch away and disappear if he moves too quickly, Jesper cups Wylan’s cheek with one hand and encourages him to lift his head to look at him. “Firstly, you didn’t trap me here, I offered. You’re right that import taxes and bills of lading don’t exactly get me going, but I promise you, I’m right where I want to be, because I’m with you.”

Wylan’s mouth opens to speak again, but Jesper places one ringed finger to his lips.

“And secondly, you are not hard to love.”

Wylan’s eyes bore into his, wide as ever and glossy with tears. Jesper strokes his thumb over his cheekbone before continuing.

“Loving you is… it’s the only thing that’s ever made sense. You may have almost died in the canal, but I was drowning too, and I didn’t even know it.”

Now he’s the one who can’t stop talking, but something about Wylan’s gorgeous, brown eyes, the way he’s looking at Jesper so hopefully, makes him want to keep going.

“Then I met you and it was like I could breathe again.”

If he could pull his heart out of his chest, hold it in his hands and present it to Wylan and say “here, it’s yours” then he would. It would probably be easier.

He takes a calming breath and plasters an admittedly somewhat weak smile on his face. “So no more of this kind of nonsense okay? Because loving you is the easiest thing in the world.”

Wylan’s returning smile is just as wobbly. The tears that have been clinging to his lashes and threatening to fall finally do, tumbling down his pink-tinged cheeks. “You’re such a sap,” he finally manages to say, tugging Jesper close by the nape of his neck and pressing their lips together in a slightly damp kiss. “And I’m definitely not doing any more paperwork after that speech.”

#everyone else completely fine and normal after the third army summit?#yeah me too #six of crows #wesper #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #shadow and bone

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papersnakepress · 2 months ago

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I had a message the other day asking (among other things) what kind of tools and equipment I use in making books, and as it's something I like to go into detail on, I realized I couldn't fit everything I had to say in a message so it's getting its own post. With photos!

Disclaimer that I'm not a professional bookbinder, I'm entirely self-taught and probably have habits and practices that would drive a pro nuts. I'm no authority, but these are the things that have worked for me, and maybe you can adapt them to work for you too.

This post will not cover: storage options, materials like board and glue, or equipment specific to one narrower aspect of the hobby like embossing or gilding. It is also not a tutorial on how to make a book, though I am covering things in more-or-less the order I use them in during the book-making process.

This post will cover: What I've found useful, what I've regretted buying, and some things you can co-opt from other, more common hobbies. A lot of it you may already have in your house. Some of it is for beginners, some is nicer equipment you might want as you get further into making books. They are not separated, it's just a list and some description.

Keep reading below the cut; this is gonna be a very long one and there are a lot of photos of everything.

If you want to make books you will need access to a printer. I'm not going to go into detail on this part and I didn't take a photo of my HP (not the best brand, but that's a long discussion in and of itself). Once you've got your pages printed and it's time to fold it into signatures, it helps to have a folding tool like these:

Folding tools can be anything as long as they're smooth and flat. The one on the left here is an actual bone folder from an art supply shop, but the center one is a plastic leatherworking tool that I got at Hobby Lobby, and the one on the right is an agate burnisher that I got from Amazon. None of these cost more than $10, and you can also use the edge of a pen (as long as it has no rubber grip or cap/clip) or the back of a spoon. Or your fingers, but the tools make it faster and the folds are more precise. I once worked a job where I had to fold maps, and all my coworkers were wondering how I did them so much faster and why mine were flatter than everyone else's, and it was because I'd grabbed a sharpie and started using the back end like a bone folder.

Once it's folded, you'll need to poke holes for sewing. I use one of these:

Left is, again, an actual bookbinding awl from an art supply store, while the center one is a paper quilling tool and the right one is a beadwork awl, both of which came from a big chain craft store. The bead one is my favorite; it's a good size and very stable. The quilling thing has too long and thin of a blade and it's wobbly, and I don't like the tapering on the bookbinding awl. It tends to make the holes in the middle page too big, and the outer ones too small. Again, these were cheap, about $10 each, but you can also use a sewing needle stuck in a cork, or a thumbtack or pushpin. If it's pointy and rigid, it'll work.

This isn't a requirement by any means, but I've found I like having a punching cradle for the hole-poking step. I got this 3d printed one from a fellow bookbinder, who was designing their own and made this one as a prototype. There are a lot of tutorials on how to make a punching cradle, or you can buy them online from several different vendors. They don's all look like this, and you can make them from wood or cardboard (though those don't usually have guide holes). If you're just starting out or this doesn't appeal, you can just use a paper template like the one on the far right. The cradle helps get the holes lined up and evenly spaced, and I've never liked this step so anything that makes it faster and less fussy is a win. If you use this kind, check that your hole-poking tool fits in the guide holes--the binding awl pictured above doesn't, but the other two do.

We've made holes, so let's stitch them up. These are just regular sewing needles and beeswax, to make your thread less prone to tangling. You can get both of them in any store that has a sewing department. There are dedicated bookbinding needles, like curved needles, and some binders like them, but I've never gotten the hang of the curved ones and they aren't necessary, especially when you're just starting out. If it fits through the holes you made, it will work.

Once it's sewn, you probably want to squish your new text block so it's flat. I've got a laying press that I bought a couple of years ago when I was first getting started. It was marketed as a book and flower press, and it's honestly not the best. I would probably not have bought it if I had known that it wasn't essential to the process, and I mainly use it now when I'm squishing a text block and still want to use my work space, because once it's tight I can move it somewhere else. You can really use almost anything for squishing as long as it's heavy and flat and rigid on one side, like the stack of books in the right-hand photo. Textbooks, encyclopedias, art and photo books, and comic book omnibuses are all great. I've seen people use all kinds of things, like paper-wrapped bricks and doorstops, and there are tutorials out there to make your own press out of cutting boards if you do want one.

If you like your books to have smooth, flat page edges you're going to have to trim them. This is a book plow from Affordable Binding Equipment, and it was the first piece of actual expensive equipment that I bought. Not all plows look like this; I think the design is unique to ABE, but I've never used the traditional kind. In the interest of full disclosure, you can also trim edges with a sharpened chisel, which is much cheaper and can be bought at any hardware store, and some binders love this method. I do not love this method and have had zero regrets about caving and getting the plow. Very easy to use but does require some grip strength. Not pictured: the setup for sharpening the blade, which isn't hard but requires a bit of space and a small sheet of plate glass that you have to source yourself. Even with that, I still prefer it to the chisel. That said, this is not an essential step and you can leave your books with a "sawtooth" or deckled edge. Most of my early books have them, and some people just like them better than the flat ones and never learn to trim them. As another side note, some tutorials will say that you can trim your edges flat with a knife. You can't. Maybe on a pamphlet you can, but if it's more than 10 or 20 pages you just can't. It will look terrible.

If you're going to use a plow, you've got to have the right kind of press. The one I talked about further up the thread is the wrong kind (full disclosure: I did use it with that press turned on its side, before I bought this one. But it's harder, more time-consuming, less comfortable, and less safe. Don't be like me). So here's a photo of my finishing press (also from Affordable Binding Equipment). I bought it so I could make backed books, but I use it for trimming too. The top part here has a narrow tapered section for backing, but if you flip it over it's totally flat, which is what you need for trimming. Not pictured: the stand that it came with for backing, or the c-clamps that I use to attach it to the desk for trimming. Again, though--this isn't a requirement for bookbinding. This is a later stage that's entirely optional. On the subject of backing, though:

You don't need special equipment to round the spines of your books, but you do for backing. Left image is the set of backing boards I got from, once again, Affordable Binding Equipment, and on the right is a backing hammer from Hollander's. Neither of these are essential. Even if you get the boards (which have to be used in a press with a tapered edge, like the one directly above) you can actually use a regular hammer as long as the front part has no scratches or gouges. This one is a backing hammer, the primary difference being that it has a wider, convex head than a regular household hammer, to make the kind of glancing blows needed for backing a little easier. Honestly, I'm still learning how to use these and I'm not very good with them yet. Comes of being self-taught, probably. I don't think youtube is the best vehicle for learning this part, but it's what I have and I'm making do. Not every book is going to benefit from backing, either; it's primarily for helping mitigate spine swell.

Okay, time for my favorite repurposed equipment hack.

It's bookends. Regular bookends that I've had for ages and that probably came from Ross or some other place that doesn't even sell craft supplies.

Want to keep the text block upright while you glue it? Bookends. Want to sew some custom end bands but your text block keeps falling over? Bookends. They won't provide pressure for squishing, but if you just need to hold something upright while you work on it, bookends are the answer. They hold up books, it's right there in the name. Having said that, you want some with a little weight to them, like these agate slices, so they won't slide around. And you want something with a smooth finished edge like these, so they won't scratch up your text block or leave dents. I have other sets but these are the only ones I use for this purpose, and they're better for it than anything else I've got.

Moving on from making the text block, let's look at what I use to make covers.

It's appeared in the background of most of the other photos, but here's a photo of just the desk surface covered in cutting mats. I really recommend a mat to protect the surface of your furniture and keep your knives from going immediately dull. I've got a big one that covers almost the full surface, and a small one for when I want to be more mobile. I started with just the small one and it was good until I started working with larger sheets of paper. The big one was bought largely for convenience but I have no regrets about it. They're self-healing, non-slip, and you can get them in the sewing section of any big craft store.

I'll be honest, I am not big on knives. I've got a regular box cutter for trimming board, and a razor knife for paper and cloth, and that's it. There are a lot of kinds and really all you need is one sharp blade for board. Paper and cloth can be cut with scissors if you want, though I find I get more consistently straight lines with the knives. Also pictured: Metal rulers and a T-square. You want a metal ruler for this. Plastic will flex and wood won't lay flat. Ideally you want one without a cork backing (my 18" one has this problem) and with the tick marks etched in rather than printed (my 12" one has this problem). For larger sheets of paper and cloth, the 18" one is great, but you can get by with the smaller one. The T-square is for making right angles; mine is plastic and only 12", and I really wish I had a longer one that was metal. These are drafting tools and you'll find them in the section of the craft store that has easels and sketch pads and they're usually pretty cheap.

This is an adjustable compass. You can probably get these at craft stores but I got mine on Amazon. It's for measuring hinge gaps and the width of spines, both essential for making sure your cover fits your text block and your hinges open the way they should. Both of those are incredibly frustrating situations, and this thing makes it so much easier to avoid them.

Things to spread glue with! Any old paintbrush will do, though I like to have a few different sizes and textures on hand to choose from. I like the big one for cover boards and casing in, the mid-size ones for doing turn-ins, and the little fellow for details and touch-ups. I don't care for foam brushes because I find them hard to clean when glue is involved, but if you like you can use those. The metal thing on the left is a micro-spatula, and I did have to special order it from an art supply place but it was cheap and it's very helpful to have on hand for when the brushes are too thick, for doing turn-ins on rounded spines, and for separating pages if you decide to learn edge foiling. Not essential, but recommended.

One thing I neglected to take a photo of is my crepe eraser. Despite the best intentions, no matter how careful you are, you will at some point get glue where you don't want it, where it will be visible on the finished book. This is where the crepe eraser comes in; you can use it to remove dried glue from cloth or (to a lesser extent) paper. Very annoyingly, none of the craft or art supply places I went to had even heard of these and I had to get mine from Amazon. It was cheap (under $10) and I strongly recommend getting one.

Once your cover is made, you have some options. You can leave it blank, hand-letter or draw an image, stamp it with ink or embossing powder, use a stencil, or do what I usually do these days and make a cover graphic from HTV. I've got a cricut for this (though they're not the only kind of cutting machine; it pays to research other brands) and a mini heat press (I want a bigger one, but I got this one cheap because the box is messed up). A lot of libraries have cricuts you can use, and you can use a regular iron to apply the HTV. Getting it to stick is a bit tricky, but that's true no matter which tools you use. Not pictured: a cutting mat, different than the kind shown above, necessary with most materials you can cut (mine came with one, they're about $20 at most craft stores, and they're lightly sticky to keep your materials in place while it's being cut). I don't know if other brands require them, but cricut does unless you're using their Smart Materials (I have never used these). If your library has a cutting machine, they will also have the appropriate cutting mats. Also not pictured: weeding tools. Weeding is when you remove the bits of HTV that you don't want in the final image, usually the spaces between letters and such. The negative space, if you want to get artsy. The special tools cricut sells aren't necessary, you can use an awl or needle and the dull edge of your knife blade, but I have a set of theirs and I like mine.

I didn't take a photo of it, but sometimes I use embossing inks and powder to make cover designs and text. You only need a heat gun for embossing powder, it takes up way less space than the cricut does, and it's cheaper. I got mine free from a family member so I don't know what it cost initially, but cutting machines are a really big expense; the cricut is my third most expensive piece of equipment, after the finishing press and the plow.

Good god I think that's everything. It sounds intimidating, I know. And it sounds like it takes up tons of space in your home, and to be honest it can, but it doesn't have to. The first dozen or so books I made, I made completely to my satisfaction with tools and materials that fit in one 12x16" moving box. If you love the hobby and can make the space, the bulkier items might be worth it down the line, but especially when you're first getting started it's smart to keep things low-cost and compact. Most of the basics are simple and your fellow bookbinders are delighted to share their shortcuts and substitutions if you ask.

The end! I hope it was helpful, @cardassianexpats! I did warn you it would be wordy, lol.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #long post #like ridiculously long post omg #my own verbosity will be my downfall #if anything is unclear please tell me #i can't always tell when i'm over-explaining #or when i think i've given enough info but my audience thinks i haven't #snek makes books #but sometimes she just talks about them

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wedarkacademia · 11 months ago

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dark academia stationary tips? ideas? please? i beg of you.

Deepen Your Dive into Dark Academia Stationery:

Crafting the Canvas:

Paper: Embrace the tactile – rough-edged parchment, marbled sheets, hand-dyed linen paper. Seek antique ledgers, vintage score sheets, or maps for a truly timeworn effect.

Ink: Let your words drip in history – deep emerald greens, rich burgundy, charcoal grey. Discover shimmering gold or silver for elegant annotations. For an extra flourish, explore calligraphy inks and vintage fountain pens.

Beyond the Basics:

Washi Tapes: Forget the neon, embrace botanical prints, celestial patterns, and antique library stamps. Layer them for depth, use them to seal letters, or decorate journal edges.

Stickers & Tags: Pressed leaves, dried flowers, and ephemera from library archives add a touch of natural mystery. Vintage anatomy diagrams, constellations, and old library catalog cards offer an academic flair.

Sealing Secrets: Wax seals & ribbons elevate simple letters into heirlooms. Choose deep green wax, embossed with a raven, a quill, or your own monogram. Tie with silk or hemp twine for a finishing touch.

Unleashing the Scholarly Spirit:

Journals & Notebooks: Opt for leather-bound volumes, with aged paper and ribbon bookmarks. Decorate with antique maps, pressed flowers, or handwritten quotes from your favorite poets.

Organizing Knowledge: Index cards, vintage library pockets, and antique file folders help categorize your studies. Label them with elegant script and adorn them with botanical sketches or scientific diagrams.

The Scholar's Tools: Antique brass compasses, vintage rulers, and magnifying glasses add a touch of academic ambiance to your desk.

Whispers of Antiquity:

Poetry & Letters: Handwrite in a flowing script, penning sonnets or letters to fellow scholars. Let foreign languages add a touch of mystery, or slip in quotes from forgotten classics.

Ephemera & Found Objects: Tuck pressed leaves, antique botanical prints, or ticket stubs from forgotten museums into your notebooks. Let them spark inspiration and evoke past journeys.

The Art of Storytelling: Create your own dark academia-inspired stationery. Make vintage-themed envelopes from maps, decorate boxes with constellation patterns, or craft your own wax seal stamp.

Remember, dark academia is about embracing an atmosphere. Let your creativity flow, curate your collection with intention, and transform your stationery into a portal to an enchanting world of forgotten knowledge and secret societies.

#dark academia #stationary #studying #studyblr #dark acamedia #spilled words #spilled thoughts #text #words #answered #ask #anon #replies #inbox

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papersquirrels · 10 months ago

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#Flowers #Embossing folder #Tulips #Die cutting #Ink blending #cardmaking #papercraft #craftblr #handmade cards

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horsefigureoftheday · 4 months ago

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Tiny horsespotting from today: I am not immune to Chap Mei horse, a guide to horse massage, a depressed brutalist dalahäst, and EMBOSSED SCRAPS!!!! I feel like a Victorian child lol but I loved embossed scraps as a kid. I only had one other friend who collected them so we'd just trade them back and forth. I kinda lost interest after a 6th grader stole one of my scrap folders >:(

#not horse of the day #horsespotting

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sovietpostcards · 1 year ago

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Vintage souvenir set of a notebook and an address book, in cardboard cover. Unused, from the 1980s.

The notebook is basically an unlined paper pad. The address book is lined and has a Russian index. Book covers are PVC with golden embossed designs and clear overlay. The designs are of traditional Moscow symbols--the horseman (depicted on Moscow coat of arms) and Tsar Bell and the Tsar Cannon.

The cardboard folder has the St Basil's Cathedral on it and reads "Moscow Souvenir" on the sides. The folder is a bit flimsy and doesn't make a sturdy storage box. It has storage yellowing on the back, and is overall in a good condition.

Size of each book is 10 × 14 cm (4" × 5.5")

Price $28 + $14 shipping

Message me!

Other items in my shop. I combine shipping. How to buy.

#sp: available #sp: available: other

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craftystampin · 3 months ago

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Stamp It Group August 2024 Christmas in Fall Theme Blog Hop

Loveliest Tree Card Welcome to Stamp It Group Fall Theme Day Blog Hop. We are all using current Stampin’ Up! Products. I’m Linda Cullen from Massachusetts, USA and you are visiting my blog Crafty Stampin’. At the bottom of the blog post, you will find a list of all the participating blog hoppers so you can move along from blog to blog and see all the fantastic projects. Leave a comment on each…

#Country Woods Designer Series Paper #Embossing Additions Tool Kit #Leaf Fall 3D Embossing Folder #Loveliest Tree Dies #Loveliest Tree Stamp Set #Metallics Wow! Embossing Powder #Pecan Pie & Clear Ribboned Adhesive-Backed Dots #Sponge Daubers #Stylish Shapes Dies

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spiriteddreams · 2 years ago

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For Riddles, For Wonders

The Fine Line: Act III (masterlist)Conclusion + Future Implications Pairing: Al-Haitham x Reader Warnings: hurt/comfort, happy ending Word Count: 2.8k A/N: *gasps* it's complete! thank you for sticking around for this little mini series!!

V. Conclusion Al-Haitham is a prideful man. He’s well aware of his reputation within Sumeru, attuned to the way scholars speak of him as if he’s a genius, then scoff and curse his name behind their backs. He’s not an idiot. He knows that while many look up to him and cast him looks of awe as he walks through the Akademiya, he’s not as well liked as he wishes he was.

The first time that he notices how uncomfortably spacious his office feels is two weeks after your last meeting with him. The first week had been rather nice, with no one pushing their way into his office, chattering away about languages and investigations. He relished in the silence of his office and the fact that he would finally be able to finish his work. The last thing that needed to be done before submitting and publishing the research in the Akademiya was to go over every part of the investigation once more. But with the amount of work that had piled up from his time spent with you grabbing coffee and sharing silly conversation over dinner, the research paper you had both co-written would have to wait one more week.

So when Al-Haitham tugs out the folder from beneath piles of papers, he stares at the embossed gold symbol for a bit longer than he would like. You should be here, he thinks, to go over the paper with him. Yet when he had sent you a letter, asking to meet up for an afternoon drink, after attempting to knock on your office door multiple times over the past few days, you had simply replied so cordially and straight to the point that Al-Haitham had momentarily been afraid that it wasn’t you who was replying.

The sages will trust your judgement more than mine. Do what you will with the research.

There’s no mention of the fight, if it could even be called a fight, that occurred in his office. Nothing about the tension that’s somehow blocked you both from seeing one another, nothing about the odd feeling that’s been bubbling in Al-Haitham’s chest when you don’t open your office door, nothing. It’s as if you’ve successfully pulled yourself out of his life. He isn’t quite sure if you’re simply ignoring him, or you just haven’t been working in your office at the Akademiya since. For once, he’s left to mull over the consequences of his actions and words. He tries to push the thoughts away as he flips open the folder to read over the report again. He knows you well enough, that after the events in Aaru Village, you would have likely stayed up late to finish it. On the front page, printed in neat typing are both yours and his names. Except that this time, his name is above yours, a single space separating your names. His lips tug into a frown. It doesn’t sit right with him.

“Have you seen (y/n) recently?” Al-Haitham ends up sucking up his pride and asking Kaveh over lunch about your whereabouts. His roommate pauses, spoon halfway to his mouth as he stares across the table at Al-Haitham, who’s levelled him with a bored stare. He’s hoping that Kaveh can’t detect anything and prays that his words come off as simple curiosity.

“You’re their research partner, shouldn’t you know that better than me? Some partner, huh.” Kaveh tilts his head with a smirk. The mumbled off-handed comment about his terrible way with words is enough for Al-Haitham to know that his roommate is aware of the situation at hand. He sits up straighter and waits for Kaveh to finish enjoying his soup, various scenarios running through his mind. Have you been spending time with Kaveh recently? Have the two of you been gossiping about him? You were so upset with him last time, did that mean you had cried to Kaveh? Archons, what does Kaveh know?

“This is new.” Kaveh says instead, “I didn’t realize you were capable of caring about someone.” Al-Haitham glares at him, seconds away from lunging over the table to strangle his good-for-nothing-mooching roommate.

“Get to the point. I don’t have time for your silly games. It’s about the research paper.” Al-Haitham lies through his teeth. At this point, he doesn't care if Kaveh can see through him. He just wants to find you and ask why you haven’t answered your door. He wants to ask why your names are separated by a paragraphed space instead of by a symbol, on the report. He wants to ask why you haven’t come to see him, you’re still welcome in his office of course. He wants to ask if you would still like to go to Puspa Cafe and sit in the back and people watch and remind him to take breaks. He wants to ask why you’ve hung out with Kaveh yet haven’t sought him out.

He wants to ask if you’re still friends.

Kaveh stares at him oddly before shaking his head. “They’re meeting with the General Mahamatra today.” Al-Haitham freezes. A new wave of questions washes over him. Why would you be meeting with Cyno? Last he checked, neither of you had done anything wrong. All the research the two of you had conducted together had been under the approval of the Sages. Did something happen in the time that he hadn’t seen you? Were you in trouble? He stares down at his finished plate of food before grumbling about seeking you out, ignoring the snicker that Kaveh sends behind his back. He doesn’t like the feeling of unease that’s been bubbling in his chest, paired with the fact that he hadn’t seen you in over two weeks now. He misses you a lot more than he thought he would.

He lets himself mull over the thought as he fixes his clothes at the door. Admittedly, the past few weeks have felt off, without your warm presence and little comments that he can’t help but smile at. That odd feeling that’s been stirring in his chest for the past few months makes its reappearance as he grabs his keys from off the rack next to the door. He swallows thickly, the image of your teary eyes rising to his memory. He decides that he never wants to see that expression on your face again, especially if it’s because of him.

You, who wormed your way into his life and forced yourself to stay, ignoring the eye rolls and scoffs from others when you sought out his company. How much backlash did you face for being his friend? And what did he do with that friendship? Toss it right back into your face with uncaring words and cruel sneers, putting up a guarded front and refusing to let you in. He finds this feeling uncomfortable and comfortable at the same time, after all, you’re the only one who’s been able to stir these emotions that he’s always tried to push away. And for the first time, he thinks of you as more than a friend.

Kaveh whistles in the background and Al-Haitham makes a mental note to take both keys with him on the way out.

VI. Future Implications Al-Haitham is a prideful man. He’s always valued rationality over emotions, letting that be his guiding principle whilst navigating physically and mentally through the Akademiya. If you’re to play a game of chess within the Akademiya, you must have everything planned out to the end of the game. Every move must be taken into account, every word and every action. So why is it that he finds all his plans disregarded and tossed to the wind as he quickly walks through the Akademiya in search of the General Mahamatra’s office? Students cower away when they meet his eyes, brows furrowed and concentrated gaze flicking across the doors until he’s face to face with a pair of double-doors identical to his own. Cyno’s name is printed on a plaque outside and Al-Haitham prepares himself for the worst.

“Cyno, please don’t!” Al-Haithmam’s hand pauses before he knocks. Your pleading voice stops him and the worst thoughts flood his mind. He doesn’t hesitate before pushing the door open hastily, only to come face to face with you and Cyno sitting across from each other, cards laid out on the table as you wail out that he’s cheating. But at the sound of the door opening, the two of you turn to face him, matching expressions of shock on your faces. Cyno glares at him while you stumble over his name, immediately sitting up straighter. Al-Haitham doesn’t miss the way you seem to lean towards Cyno.

“Scribe Al-Haitham. What are you doing here?” Cyno jumps straight to the point, his tone as blunt as ever.

He clears his throat, “I heard they were meeting with you. I was under the impression that something was wrong. I didn’t realize the two of you were… playing card games.” He feels awkward in this space. It’s the first time he’s seen you in two weeks and… you look a lot better than he thought you would. That’s not to say he thought you would be emotionally distraught, but you weren’t even dressed in your Akademiya wear. Wrapped in clothes that seemed much more comfortable and casual, it was clear that you had the day off. And you were spending it playing card games with Cyno.

“If you have no business here then please see yourself out. I have no intention of allowing you to stay in my office any longer than you need to.” Cyno’s cold tone shocks Al-Haitham. He’s well aware that the General Mahamatra isn’t fond of him, but he takes in the way Cyno looks between your worried expression and Al-Haitham standing in the doorway. Is there something going on between the two of you that he should be aware of? Despite Cyno’s words, he doesn’t move. He’s stubborn enough to stay where he is, tearing his gaze from the general to you, curled up in a chair with cards held close to your chest.

“I wanted to speak to (y/n). Please.” He adds the second part softly, hoping you can read through him and understand that this is him sucking up his pride, in front of Cyno no less. Quiet stretches across the room and Al-Haitham realizes how much he hates silence from you. Cyno’s eyes flicker between the two of you, the general ready to butt in when you shake your head and push yourself out of the chair.

“You’ve already won this match.” You drop the cards on the table and turn towards the Scribe, meeting his eyes with an indescribable look. “Let’s talk outside.” Al-Haitham nods silently and waits as you and Cyno mumble something to one another before he bids you farewell, but not before raising his voice ever so slightly as he reminds you to find him if Al-Haitham does something wrong. It’s a threat he chooses to ignore.

“My apologies if you’ve been trying to reach me. I’ve been busy. Today has been my first actual day off.” You start the conversation, walking just a step ahead of him as you both walk through the Akademiya halls. Al-Haitham isn’t sure where you’re leading him, but he has no intention of asking. He’ll let you lead wherever, so long as he can be with you.

“Have you been well?” He asks lamely. For the first time, the great Scribe Al-Haitham finds he isn’t quite sure what to say now that he’s gotten a chance to speak with you. Despite all the questions that had swarmed his mind days earlier, he doesn’t know what to ask now. You glance back at him whilst pushing through the entrance doors to the Akademiya. Your expression is enough to hint to him the whirl of emotions that you’ve dealt with.

He waits as you lead him to a quieter spot overlooking Sumeru City, leaning against the railings, body not quite facing him, but he knows you’re simply trying to gather his thoughts. You weren’t expecting him to seek you out, and especially not to find you playing Genius Invokation TCG with Cyno nonetheless. And yet you’ve managed to retain your composure thus far. Al-Haitham isn’t sure if he should brace himself for your well-directed rage, you officially breaking off your friendship, or if he’s lucky, forgiveness.

“I’m sorry.” He blurts out. You glance at him with raised brows, mouth pressed into a line but eyes soft enough to tell him that you’re listening. “I’m sorry for lashing out at you. I’m sorry for all the crude remarks and unnecessary comments. Archons… I— I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m so sorry for everything I’ve put you through. I didn’t mean what I said I just… I was worried. For you.” You don’t respond and Al-Haitham feels his resolve cracking. Your expression is far too calm for his liking and he hates that he can’t read any emotions that usually flicker across your face. He counts the seconds, far too aware of his own breathing, his chest falling up and down steadily as he waits. And waits. And—

“I don’t want to forgive you.” You say it so softly that he almost misses it. But he doesn’t. And as the weight of your words begins to sink in, Al-Haitham lets out a heavy breath, moving closer to you with his hands ready to grasp onto your hands but he hesitates when he finds you staring at him. He looks down to see his hands shaking, hesitant to reach out to you because he’s suddenly hit with the realization that this friendship may have been broken for good, just as he’s realized how much you truly mean to him. He doesn’t know what to say anymore. For once, the great Scribe Al-Haitham is at a loss for words.

“But I know you. And I know that sometimes you say things you don’t mean, even if it hurts. But I think you and I share something closer, so, as much as it hurt, I know you didn’t mean it.” You continue, taking note of every action, every tremble of his lips, every shake of his hands, until you can get a proper read on him. It’s enough to tell you that he cares. And while Al-Haitham may not be able to say the words yet, his actions speak louder. You can see it in his eyes, that flash of fear when you said you wouldn’t be able to forgive him just yet, the hitch in his breath as he moved towards you, the hesitance in his actions because he’s afraid you might actually run away from him.

You tilt your head slightly and grasp one of his hands. “I’ve been able to think about this since we’ve last spoken. You’re scared, aren’t you? You’re scared of losing the people you care about most, so you push them away so that you won’t be tied to those emotions. Don’t you?” Al-Haitham stares at you. It’s terrifying how you know exactly what he’s thinking. But instead of opening his mouth to immediately deny it, what he would usually do, he stays quiet and nods. A small smile crosses your features, and even though you’re upset with him, he can see the understanding in your eyes. It’s so unfair how even after all that he’s put you through, you still find it in you to be so kind and understanding. He really doesn’t deserve you.

“Isn’t that ironic. The great Al-Haitham doesn’t understand emotions.” You lean closer, and Al-Haitham inhales sharply. His eyes flicker across your face, from your eyes, to your cheeks, to your lips. No, he needs to stop that. You haven’t forgiven him yet but he’s still nervous when you’re this close to him.

You take a step back but still hold onto his hand, “That’s alright. We’re scholars for a reason aren’t we? There’s always room to learn.” Archons, he wants to kiss you right then and there. His mind runs amuck. One moment he’s ready to beg for your forgiveness, the next he wants to sweep you off your feet. Is this the result of him trying to push down his emotions? Forget formalities, forget the fact that you’re definitely still a bit mad at him, he just wants to kiss you and forget it all. Because while you may not be saying the words aloud, he can feel the forgiveness in your gentle actions and words.

“Can I take you out?” He lets the words fall out before he can even process what he’s saying. You raise your eyebrows at the sudden change in subject and Al-Haitham wishes Kaveh were here to hit him. Yet he continues anyway. “We can go to Puspa Cafe and sit in the corner and talk about anything, you decide. But, would you like to come with me?”

“I’d love to.”

Thank the Archons.

“But you’re paying for the next few dates.” Al-Haitham grins at your words but he doesn’t mind. He’ll pay for as many, so long as you stay by his side.

Two weeks later, the final research paper is submitted and published to the Akademiya with your names sitting next to one another, linked by a little symbol. You & Al-Haitham.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! <3 A/N: i was really worried that i might have mischaracterized al-haitham in that i made him very rude and uncaring so i hope that's not how he came across!! he's such an interesting character and he definitely cares for those around him but his way of showing it isn't as straightforward as some other genshin characters, which i think makes him such a deep and interesting character! anyways, hope you all enjoyed it :)

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