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cadotoast · 1 day

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Chapter 2- The Summons

Minors DNI please. 4.7k word length

Your house can't really be called anything more than a cottage, really. But it is home to you, your father, and your brother on the occasions when he is not in the Knights' quarters in the palace. It is small, drafty, and in desperate need of repairs, but it is home. It is safety. It is sanctuary.

A week and three days after the announcement at the festival, that sanctuary is shattered.

You are in the middle of sharing a breakfast with your father when the knock at the door comes. Seeing your pale expression, he gets to his feet and answers the door for you. You hear him greet whoever is delivering the message, confirming your residence. Your father, usually so kind and chatty, is rather brusque with the messenger, and does not linger in the doorway before closing the door in the man's face.

"Was it from the palace?" You ask needlessly, stirring your porridge with a wooden spoon.

"It is," Your father says, voice soft. "Do you want to read it? Or shall I?"

You hold your hand out for the sealed letter, and take it from his hand. You rip the top of the envelope open, not bothering with breaking the wax seal that bears the signet of Prince Aldous.

"Dear so-and-so," you start with a dreary, sarcastic sigh. "This is a formal summons to the palace to participate in the presentation of yourself as a candidate for courtship to His Royal Highness Aldous Godfrey. You are required to present yourself at the palace in a weeks's time. Any questions should be directed to the Royal Steward." You set the parchment down, swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat.

"I don't want to do this," You whisper to the empty room. "I don't have any desire to be royal."

Your father comes around the table, settling in the chair next to you in order to pull you into a tight embrace. You press your face into his shoulder, leaning into his embrace as you accept the reality that you're going to have to go to the palace.

"Maybe if I'm lucky I'll spill wine on him or something and get booted immediately," You mutter into the fabric of your father's tunic.

He runs his hand over your hair and down your back in a soothing manner. "Whatever happens, whichever the results, I will always be proud of you, my darling daughter. And I have no doubts that you will be safe at the palace, under Jonas' watchful eye."

That thought has occured to you. A dim flicker of hope in what seems like a sea of doom. "He won't let anything happen. Maybe I can bribe him to kidnap me," You giggle then, leaning back once more. Your father gives you a tight-lipped smile, but the corners of his eyes crinkle in that familiar, soothing way.

"Well you have a week to get yourself together. Either your Sunday Best, or your washing clothes, which will it be?"

---

"Your summons, my lady?" The guard at the gate peers down at you, an eyebrow raised. He's evidently tired of this particular assignment, and you can't particularly blame him. You hand him the envelope with the letter inside, watching as he removes the summons, skimming over the contents and examining the seal.

"Thank you," the guard says, handing you the letter back. "Continue through that door there, and you will wait in the parlor room with the other ladies being presented today." You give him a nod before gathering your bag into your hands once more and heading for the door that leads into the castle proper.

The morning is bright, sunlight and birdsong filling the courtyard with warmth and beauty. You're loathe to leave it for the uncertainty that is within the castle walls, but alas, with more women arriving behind you, and guards all around keeping a watchful eye, you can't exactly make a grand escape, at least not without making a scene.

Despite your reluctance to participate in this whole debacle, you've resigned yourself to the fact that, if you do indeed try to win the Prince's hand, your father may yet be able to retire in peace and comfort. As the wedded of the heir to the throne, you, and by extension your family, would never be without.

The parlor you enter is well-lit and filled with a soothing breeze. The windows that are usually shuttered against the elements are open now, letting in the smells and sounds of summer. A couple dozen young ladies lounge on the many chairs, cushions, and couches, twittering away like a flock of sparrows. You find yourself a plush cushion to settle on, situated underneath one of the many windows, and pull out a bit of mending from your bag.

As you begin a row of careful stitches on a torn stocking, you let your eyes roam the room. Aside from the young ladies, there are a handful of guards in the room, posted to keep the peace, and to escort the ladies to their audience with the Prince. Every few minutes or so, a harried-looking page will run in, announce the names of several of the women, and then dash away once more.

The ladies themselves are a rainbow of colors, though you cant help but notice that some shine brighter than others. The young noblewomen have come from their estates with bustles and pastels and ropes of pearls. Some even cary boxes and bags of what you can only assume are gifts, though perhaps the better term would be "bribe". The young nobles flounce around and laugh and chat, casting glances over their shoulders at other women in the room, particularly the commoners such as yourself. The truth of the matter is that your Sunday Best will never equate to even the worst of the gowns that those with noble blood boast of.

"Would you care for some refreshment?" A voice from somewhere above you brings you back to the present. You glance up from your needlework, gazing up into the fair face of one of the palace servants. Her plain but practical dress suits her nicely, and she wear a matronly look about her, with her greying hair tucked into a bonnet. "There is wine, cider, ale, and water."

"Some water would be lovely, thank you." You say to the servant with a smile. She gives you one in return, and then moves away to a door that you assume leads to where the refreshments are being stored. In a matter of minutes, you have a cup of cool water in your hands from which to sip from. Then the matron is on her way to the next lady to inquire the same of her.

You're not certain how long you have been sitting on your cushion, basking in the warm sunlight and darning your socks, before a ripple of excitement heralds the return of the pageboy. You lift your gaze to watch the page as he unrolls a slip of parchment, from which he reads several names. You watch those who approach the door when their names are called, noting their mannerisms. All but one of this group seem excited to get their moment with the Prince.

Once they are lead away, the room settles back into its previous state of waiting, and you return once more to the mending in your hands. You count the stitches to keep yourself entertained as the minutes crawl by, humming tunelessly to yourself.

"Is this seat taken?" A familiar voice asks. You glance up to smile at Jenny, gesturing to the cushion beside you. She fluffs her skirts out and settles next to you, bumping your shoulder with hers as she giggles a little.

"It's a good thing you and I got picked for the same day for our summonings," You remark. "I don't know hardly anyone else in here."

"Oh tosh," Jenny said, rolling her eyes. "There are at least three girls here that we attended early schooling with." She scans the crowd. "There's Elisa Redmont, Genevieve Windmyre, and whats-her-name over there."

You roll your eyes and chuckle, rolling your needle between your fingers. "I wouldn't say I know them," you reply in kind. "We meet occasionally on market days, but I don't actually speak with them, or go out of my way to spend time with them." Patting Jenny's arm, you continue. "That's what I have you for. Who else do I need?"

"You flatterer," Jenny grins, leaning gracefully against the wall behind her. You notice the book in her hands, one you'd given her a few years' past for a birthday present. Fondness makes your chest tight as you smile at your friend, before settling your back once more against the stone wall.

The time does go by faster with a friend in tow, and before you know it, the pageboy is back once more with a new set of names. "Jennifer Atkins, Wren Rivers, Carmen Pruitt..." And there, at the end of the list of names, you hear your own. You and Jenny share a look before getting to your feet and move to the door along with the others that have been called.

"I'm sure ready for this to be over with," Jenny murmurs in your ear, a note of nervousness tinging her words now. You nod in agreement, clutching the bag at your side.

As you and the others walk down the stone corridors of the castle, you can't help but admire the beauty in the architecture. High ceilings with arching supports, brass candelabras bearing flickering candles, and braziers glowing with fire. In certain places of the castle are well-worn, but ornate rugs to cover the wooden slats, and in other places, delicate but impractical tables stand, boasting beautiful vases of summer wildflowers.

"My Da says that my great-great Grandda was a mason for this castle," jenny murmurs to you, looking at a stone blocks that line the walls. "Can you imagine?"

You shake your head in mute wonder, eyes wide and taking in all the sights.

"You'd think they'd never been inside a castle, the way they stare," Your ears pique up at the sound of a scornful tone. Facing your attention forward, you see three of the young women in the group huddled together and looking over their shoulders at you and Jenny. You can hear their mocking giggles, and grit your teeth as an angry, embarrassed flush fills your cheeks.

"Ignore them," Jenny murmurs to you, though her face is red and her eyebrows furrow as well. "They are just frustrated that they don't get a leg-up by being noble. Normally, the Prince would never even consider a commoner, and here they are, having to associate with us as they vie for position."

Taking your friend's words to heart, you inhale deeply and slowly before letting the air whoosh from your lungs in a steady stream. More focused and centered now, you lift your chin high, continuing to admire the castle you walk through.

Before long, you're brought before an ornate wooden door, heavy and decorated with some sort of mosaic made of precious and semi-precious stones.

"You will wait here until your name is called," One of the soldiers says. "When your audience with the Prince is over, you will be escorted out to the courtyard from where you entered, and you will be free to return to your respective dwellings." The soldier looks around at the group of women in front of him. "Any questions?" When there are none, he gives a brusque nod, and then raps his knuckles on the heavy wooden door.

The herald looks a little winded, truth be told, his balding white hair all askew. He gives the group of girls, yourself included a slightly weary glance, before unrolling the scroll of parchment he has in his hands. "Let's start with Wren Rivers, shall we?"

One by one, the girls are called. Jenny is in the middle of the pack, and after she is escorted to the throne room, time seems to drag on infinitely longer. You lean with your back against the cool stone wall, peering up at a high and shuttered window that lets in a small crack of sunlight. The otherwise dim entryway is lit by torches, their flames flickering and dancing to some song unknown to you.

Soon enough, you are alone once more, save for the guards who remain with you. In an attempt to steady your nervous fidgeting, you clasp your hands behind you, humming tunelessly as you begin to count flagstones. One... Two... Three... Four...

"You look familiar, my lady." You glance up from your counting towards one of the guards, who is looking at you with a queer expression. "Have you been around the palace before?"

You shake your head, rocking back on your slippered heels a little, and then forward onto your toes. "No, I can't say that I have. My brother, however, is a Knight and guard for the castle here. That might be why I seem familiar."

The guard grunts, giving you a once-over, before dropping the topic and returning to his watch. You return to your counting, now timing your breaths with the even and odd counts.

Somewhere around three hundred, the heavy door opens, and the herald says your name. Despite his tired expression, his eyes are kind, and he gives you a soft smile to match your nervous one. "Are you ready?"

The nod you give is a little shaky, but you manage it nonetheless. The herald enters the room and announces you as you step through into the hall beyond.

The high ceilings continue here, the rafters arching above your head. Torches in brackets along the wall remain unlit at this time, allowing for natural light to enter the room from the lofted windows. The ground underfoot is smooth flagstone, though as you raise your gaze to the end of the room where the dais and the throne sits, you notice a small recess into the floor, like a remarkably shallow amphitheater, and a beautiful mosaic which decorates the floor in front of the throne.

The king's throne has been replaced with a smaller, but no less elegant one. The Crown Prince is settled in the throne, draped in fine silk and velvet, and with a silver wine goblet in his hand. Behind him stand his parents, and to the sides of the dais is the full guard of the King's Men. The urge to twitch when you notice familiar faces in the audience rises up, a flash flood of heat in your face.

As it is, you brave the walk down to the mosaicked floor, and dip into a curtsy as low and as graceful as you can manage.

"Rise," Prince Aldous says, and you do so, setting your cloth bag behind you so as to not be a distraction. A moment of silence drags on as you wait for the Prince to finish looking you over. "You look familiar, My Lady," he finally says, bringing his gaze up to meet yours. "Have we met?"

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure, your highness." You clasp your hands in front of you, biting the inside of your cheek to remind yourself not to roll your eyes at the increasingly annoying reminder how much you look like Jonas. "But my brother is a knight of the realm, it's possible that you are thinking of him." Out of the corner of your eye, You see Ser MacTavish grin, apparently recalling the conversation you'd had with him and his comrades at the festival.

"And your brother is...?" The prince's gaze is intense, boring into you.

"Ser Jonas, of the same surname as I," Recognition flares in the Prince's eyes, and you watch for a queer moment as a handful fo emotions flits across his face, before his expression melts into a smooth mask once more.

"I see," He nods slowly. "You and he share a striking resemblance," Another heartbeat of silence, and Prince Aldous Adjusts his seat, leaning forward a little more as he combs his pale hair off of his forehead. "Tell me about yourself, My lady."

You hesitate, gnawing on your lip slightly. Searching for the right words, your gaze flicks over the others in the room. The King and Queen watch you with rapt attention, and you don't dare hold their gazes for long, before shifting to glance at the knights. Ser Simon in his black armor, Ser Mactavish with his kilt. Sers John and Kyle have their heads tilted towards each other slightly, as if in the middle of conversation, their gazes on you. You feel the older's dark blue eyes on you more intently than most.

"I am the lowborn second child of a blacksmith." You finally say, rocking from your toes to your heels. "My mother passed away a few years ago in the Summer Sickness, Leaving just my father, my brother and I. My brother, as I mentioned, is a knight serving in your Highness's service.

"My father is aging, and recently had to retire due to an injury. The Summer Sickness also left him much weaker than he used to be, his heart aches for my mother, I feel.

"I bake for a local tavern to earn some coin, and serve in the evenings to travelers at some local inns. It gets us by, between my income and my brother's, we are luckier than most to benefit from the generosity of our peers and superiors.

"I know my letters and my numbers; I used to assist my father in keeping record of his expenses. I enjoy reading when I can afford the time. I can sew and mend, and I am learning knitting from a friend. I can cook and maintain a household, and with the help of Jonas, I am a decent seat on a horse."

"Can you wield any weapon?" Prince Aldous asks, brows furrowed.

"Not well, Your Highness," Your hands run along the sleeves of your forearms. "My brother has made sure that I have some small skill in knife-work, and he bids me bring one with me when I leave the cottage unattended. Though today I lave left it at home, as you can see." The spot at your waist where the small knife in its worn leather sheathe would normally hang from your belt is indeed vacant.

"As a child I had some experience with the sling, but that would be the extent of my weapons knowledge."

"Do you play any instruments? Perform any art?"

You think of the lute that your mother used to play. "Unfortunately I have not had the pleasure of being able to learn the finer arts. Especially since mother died." You trace the line of your lips with a fingertip. "My family isn't as poor as others... but it is hard to justify luxuries such as instrument or dance lessons when we are still struggling to get by."

Prince Aldous stares at you for a long moment before getting to his feet, and steps down from the dais. You watch with wide eyes as he walks towards you with a swaggering charm. Those remaining on the dais, as if surprised at the Prince's movements, murmur amongst one another. Ser John steps down as well, shadowing whom you now assume to be his protective charge.

The Prince's movements are smooth, like the strides of a dancer, or mabey like one of the great mountain cats that stalk the outer shanties of the town. As he draws even with you, you have to tilt your head up to remain meeting his gaze; he's quite a bit taller than you. You fight the urge to draw back a step as the prince bends his head down towards you, close enough that his breath fans your face as he takes one of your hands into his own. They are warmer than you thought they'd be.

"Have you had any lovers before me, my Lady?" His voice is pitched low enough that only you, and maybe the guard standing at his shoulder, can hear. All the same, your cheeks flame red, and your ears burn in indignation. "Do you currently have a lover? Are you here unwillingly?"

"I don't see how my lovers, past or present, is your business, Your Highness," You mirror his lowered tone, but there is a bite of frost to your words. You watch as Aldous' spine snaps straight, his face tilted down with an unreadable expression. Oh Damn, I've done it now. You press your lips into a thin line, but make no move to remove your hand from his.

"Because," The words are drawn out, as if he is speaking with a child, "I need to know if you will be loyal to me, or if there is a risk of unfaithfulness with someone who might be my competition for your beauty." One of his thumbs, long and thin, strokes the back of your hand with a feather's touch. "I also need to ensure that whomever I chose will not give me bastard heirs, female or male."

"There is no one that you need to be concerned of," You say with measured tone, despite your irritation, "The only men in my life are my brother and father."

Prince Aldous considers you for a few more moments, before pulling back and spinning on his heel, leaving you for the dais once more. He nearly shoulder-checks the Captain, who takes a step back to let him pass. Ser John turns his gaze towards you for an instant, his gaze scrutinizing. The appraisal takes only a second, and then he is stepping back up into the dais to his previous station.

"That is all the questions I have for you, my Lady. You are dismissed."

You don't linger to ponder the brusqueness of the dismissal, nor the queer feeling settling in your gutt. With another curtsy, you gather your bag into your hands and allow one of the guards to escort you from the throne room.

Back out in the courtyard, you blink at the bright sunlight, shading your eyes as you peer up into the sky. It is clear and breezy, a fair day. A direct contrast to the storm brewing in your own thoughts.

"How did it go?" Jenny steps out from a shady spot beneath a sprawling willow. You approach her, sighing through your nose.

"It went,"

Jenny chuckles at your brevity, reaching out to catch the crook of your elbow. She tows you along beside her as she makes her way across the courtyard, back to the main road that leads into town. "Nothing of interest to note? I'll tell you about mine if you tell me about yours."

"He recognized my resemblance to Jonas."

"Everyone does. Are you sure you two aren't twins?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Anyways, he asked about the things I could do, and I guess about the things I can't do. He asked about if I had any lovers, too."

"He did?" Jenny's eyebrows raise. "That's a rather intimate question."

"If you think so, then you will love how he asked me!"

Before long, the grey clouds are blown away from Jenny's gushing and laughing as you dramatize your experience, and as you both descend into the village, you let your cares tumble away for a little while, like pebbles in the bottom of a stream.

---

The phases of the moon pass, and you almost forget the looming doom that hangs over your head. Each day, Prince Aldous meets more and more young women of the kingdom, some of which will be trying their very best to impress him. You're grateful for the number of women, frankly, and the length of the process. "The more women there are to choose from, the less likely I'll be one of them," You tell your father over supper one evening, nearly a full moon having passed since your audience.

"Aye, that may be true," Your father murmurs, a twinkle in his eye. "However, he would be a fool not to pick the most beautiful young woman his kingdom has to offer."

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you're trying to get rid of me!" You exclaim, the grin on your face betraying the fake outrage in your voice. You father laughs deeply, his deep rumble dissolving into a slough of hacking coughs.

As quickly as it came, the good mood is gone. You get to your feet and move to your father's shoulder. "That's sounding worse, Da," You murmur, fingers combing through his thinning salt-and-pepper hair.

"I'll live," You father rasps, clearing his throat once more. "I've been through worse, and it's yet to kill me."

Despite his assurances, you continue to worry, even as your father readies for bed. You make sure that he is settled comfortably in the one bed in the house, before you yourself retire to your pallet situated by the dying embers in the hearth. The night is sleepless, and when the sun begins to rise, and the roosters crow, you're scrubbing your face with cold water, sighing and the warped image of your face in the cracked silver mirror that hangs over the washbasin. Plum-colored smudges adorn your under eyes, and you have no face powder with which to cover them as the rich girls do.

Muttering curses under your breath, you search for your basket, and the coin purse that resides next to it. "I'm going to town, Da," You call as you exit the cottage. "I'll be back in a while." You hear a muted affirmation from your father in the back room, and take it as your cue to leave.

Your skirts wind around your legs as the breeze blows past, bringing with it the fresh smells of produce from the market. Your pace picks up almost of its own accord, your mouth watering at the thought of a leg of lamb for dinner, maybe a fresh piece of fruit. Townspeople already flood the main road leading up to the village square, and you take care to keep your basket and purse close by.

You are neck-deep into negotiations with the butcher when you hear it: the sound of a royal herald. Your stomach does an acrobatics routine as you hastily agree on a sum with the butcher, gathering the wrapped meat in your basket before heading for the center of town.

It's not hard to locate the herald. He is standing on a stack of boxes, to be above the gathered crowd. His garb is nicer than the average commoner, a sign of his station. Standing at the edge of the crowd, you've situated yourself under an awning for the shade, but you can hear the herald clear as day as he begins to speak.

"People of the kingdom, hear the words of your King! The Summons have been finished, and the selection has been made. Of all the women in the kingdom, ten will be brought to the palace to win the Prince's hand. These ten women are as follows: Ami Orund, Joan Bavent, Ysoria Rainecourt, Jennifer Atkins, Natale Parry, Sabine Vauville, Lydia Gueron, Floretia Eveque, Cyrila Tirel, and-"

Hearing your name roll off of a stranger's tongue is disconcerting, especially in this context. You lean back against the wall behind you, steadying yourself as the truth of the matter sets in. As the herald continues his speech, you tune him out, eyes scanning the crowd. Which woman would have wanted to take my place? You wonder, gripping your basket with whiote-knuckled tighness. Some people in the crowd are looking your way. In this little villiage below the castle, it is not uncommon for everyone to be at least semi-aquainted with each other. To your dismay, it appears there are quite a few aquaintances in the crowd.

Warmth creeps into your face as you edge around the crowd, just wanting to go home. People whisper as you pass, and you duck your head, walking all the faster.

Someone beats you there. Jenny stands in front of your door, face pale, apron wringing in her hands. You both gaze at each other in wordless shock, as the fact of the matter sets in. You invite her into the house with little preamble, to prepare for the ordeal to come.

tag list: (hope i did this right ;-;)

@adnauseum11 @the-californicationist @strawberrygato @marierg

#john price #john price x reader #writing #midieval #tagging is exhausting

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themonotonysyndrome · 2 days

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Ě̸̡̞̱̘̹̮̫͚̯͍͕̟̪͂̀̋̉̾͛̂̑̅͜͝c̴̢̺̟̣̠̤̽͋͒̄̄͂̆̿͗̑̊̒̒̕ḧ̷͇͍͉͉̺͈͙́̀͆̀̒̒̅̒͒̔̽ó̶͔̜̓͛̓̂̔̆͌́͆̉͂͘͝͠es of regrets

So! I saw this post from @rivyx (if you like, I can untag you. Just wanna give credit where credit is due):

And I thought:

"Man. It's been a while since I broke my own heart. Oh! Angst between Geordi and Cutie? How about I make Geordi regret for making Cutie believe that they need to multiate and hide the magical part of themselves and even the Empowered world because he doesn't understand a Telepath's needs?"

Hence. This oneshot. Shout out to @moonandstarlightsposts for helping me come up with the title!

(Yes. Yes. I know. Cutie was canonically at fault, too. I just wanna focus on Geordi regretting his actions for a change.)

Summary: Second chances come and go. But for Geordi and Cutie, perhaps they should have let it go by.

First comes the awkwardness.

It’s to be expected. A break was decided - no, needed - for the both of them after… well. No point in digging up bad memories. The two of them were heading down a dangerous spiral, and Geordi could no longer ignore the red flags. He’d been through too much to drown in toxicity and abuse again. Whether his partner realised it or not. And that’s the part that crushed his heart. A heart that Geordi painstakingly put back together with liquid gold and long nights of tearful frustrations. He told them about Ben. He told them how his ex callously disregarded his boundaries. And Cutie just -

Therapy was something they agreed to during their break. Geordi needed to address old trauma that re-open like wounds and Cutie -

‘I… I hope this isn’t me coming across as presumptuous, but one of my coworkers is a really good therapist. I think you’ll like him! His name is Cam - ’

‘I still have my old therapist’s number. Um. Thanks, though.’

‘O-Oh! Right. Of course. I should’ve thought of that. I just… never mind.’

That was the last text that Cutie sent. Even after they moved out of his apartment, the two continued to exchange careful messages with one another, awkwardly making sure not to step on each other’s landmines. However, as days gone by, the texts became more and more superficial: ’Morning. Have you eaten?’. ‘Just cereal. Thanks for checking up on me.’ ‘The weather forecast mentioned a thunderstorm. Don’t forget an umbrella, ok?’. When Cutie brought the subject of therapists to the table -

The texts stopped after that.

Geordi had no idea how lonely his existence truly was without Ben and Cutie. The two-bedroom apartment became too big. He cooked too much for a single person. His left side felt too exposed whenever his coworkers dragged him out for drinks and karaoke. It hurts. He has a habit of rubbing his left arm nowadays.

His therapist is a kind woman, the kind that has laugh lines all over her face. Older than him, more at ease with her place in the world, unlike Geordi. She never judges him whenever he finds the courage to unravel before her. Ugly, jagged broken pieces for a heart. Gold and bitter tears for the next few months.

Soon, a year passes.

Something settled within Geordi then. New foundations were built. The world is a little less lonely now that he has opened up to his coworkers, reached out to some cousins on phones and slowly put himself out there again. He had fallen in love with building LEGOs recently. A hobby that happily kept him occupied while a slow, reverb version of Evil by Melanie Martinez plays in the background of the living room.

It took a while, but he finally reached a point and mental headspace to put Cutie back into the equation.

His therapist's words constantly echo in his head, grounding him whenever his fingertips run on the rim of their favourite mug, red with little ladybugs on the ceramic. Witty, funny, confident, mischievous and kind - Cutie’s best would always outshine their worst in Geordi’s eyes. Perhaps that’s why he subconsciously ignores the raising red flags the more and more they tested his boundaries. Anyway, being with Cutie brought out the best of Geordi in return, which he never even knew existed. He loved them, plain and simple. He loves learning about them and their world every day of the week. He was so happy and content whenever they were in his arms. Growing old together was something he thought about when they drove back home from his folks’. Cutie was fast asleep, with their head gently resting against the window of the car. That moment was magical in its own way.

Geordi misses them. His incredible, one-of-a-kind partner.

He thinks about them more often than not nowadays, wondering how therapy is going for them. Had they fallen in love with any new hobbies? Did Cutie make any new friends outside of the Department? If so, he wonders what they’re like.

Thoughts turn to yearning. Yearning turns to Geordi, picking up his phone and texting Cutie first for once.

‘Hey. Good morning. How are you?’

The two of them never used to be awkward when they were a couple. Feeling hopeful, Geordi puts aside his phone as he continues about his day. Fixing himself a hearty lunch using a recipe that he can’t wait to share with Cutie and goes about doing the laundry afterwards. It’s only after his evening shower that a notification lights up on his phone screen.

‘Hey. I’m alright. You?’

Superficial. That’s OK, though. Geordi is not giving up.

The two resume texting every day soon enough as if the distance weren’t ever there. It makes him happy to be updated with every little thing that is going on in Cutie’s life. He spams GIFs and emojis at every picture they share and they, in return, slowly start to send over recorded audio of their little laughter and quips. It makes him miss them all the more. Enough to replay those audios over and over again whenever he can’t sleep at night. During those nights, his phone would always be on the right side of the bed.

Texting eventually evolves to calling when Geordi wakes up from a rather bad nightmare. Something so vague that it slipped from the recess of his conscious as he panted for air. Without even thinking about it, he presses on a familiar number. His call is answered almost immediately.

“Geordi? Why are you awake around this hour?”

Relief floods into his very being. They once fondly tease him that, no, their voice isn’t magic. Unlike Vampires and their special eyes, Telepaths specialised in minds instead. It’s his love that makes their voice special and it’s love that dispels the lingering nightmare.

“Geordi?” Cutie’s voice is hesitant at the end of the line. “Is everything ok? Do you have someone nearby that you can call for help?”

“No! No, no. I’m fine.” Comes his quick assurance. The shirt that he brought to sleep is drenched in sweat. His hair is matted to his forehead. He feels gross, and yet he doesn’t want to put Cutie on loudspeaker while he cleans himself up. “I just… really miss you. So much.”

Cutie’s reply is a whisper, “I-I miss you too. Can I ask if that’s the reason why you called me?”

“Yeah… had a nightmare; can’t remember what it was about. What I do remember is how you used to bring me to the kitchen, and you’d make warm chocolate milk for the both of us to help. You’d then talked me through it, helped me calm me down. Did I ever thank you for that? Thank you, by the way.”

“You’re welcome. I like taking care of you. And, uh, you did thank me. Always.”

Geordi lets out a ragged sigh. Those happy moments were just what he needed. “Did I wake you up? I didn’t mean to.”

“Nah, you’re good. I was doing some leftover documents for an assignment.”

Cutie never used to stay up past midnight. They like to sleep early whenever they can due to how mentally, emotionally, and physically taxing their job as an intel extraction officer can be. Cutie often rants about how the Department inefficiently run things, especially when it comes to bureaucracy. Perhaps this is one of their new habits? Speaking of which -

“How’s work treating you? Did you get that promotion?”

“Work’s alright. Are you feeling better now?”

Well, his heart was no longer racing, that’s for sure. But he still wants to hear their voice even through the static. “Like magic. You’re always the perfect cure for everything.” He waits for Cutie to laugh in that out-of-breath sort whenever he compliments them. Light and carefree.

Instead, they hum.

“Glad to hear it. Are you going to try and go back to sleep?”

“Only when you are, Cutie.” Geordi tries to flirt and perhaps coax them to rest for the evening.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll go to bed in a bit. Um. If that’s all - ”

Perhaps it’s because the nightmare that he can no longer recall had something to do with Cutie. Perhaps it’s because he hasn’t heard their voice properly in so, so long. Whatever it is, it gave Geordi a burst of courage. He quickly asks before Cutie can hang up, “Wait, wait! Can I see you, Cutie? I just want to talk. Please?” He swallowed thickly. “I think we’re ready to discuss about… us.”

A thoughtful silence from Cutie.

“I’d like that. Where do you want to meet up?”

Geordi’s night becomes much sweeter after that. They talk and plan until his eyes grow heavy and Cutie’s documents are filed away. They even put him on loudspeaker and brought him to the bathroom so they could continue talking while they showered. God, the sounds of running water alone fill him with wants and images. He can’t stop picturing himself in that shower with them. So you can’t blame how incredibly giddy Geordi is when he finally sees Cutie walk up to the cafe the next day. They offered him a small smile as they made themselves comfortable across the table. Healthy and rocking a new fashion style when Geordi is busy absorbing every little detail about them. He could honestly stare at them like a work of art in the Louvre.

“So I’m here…” Cutie says rather unnecessarily. They scratch their cheek nervously. “You wanted to talk?”

He snaps out of a daze. Shit, he got distracted by his thoughts! For a split second, Geordi can’t help but wonder if they heard his inner ramblings. Judging by Cutie’s guarded expression, he lets out a sigh of relief. It sets his heart at ease to learn about this new side of Cutie. “Yeah. Thanks for agreeing to meet up with me. You look… god, Cutie. You look amazing.”

“Thanks! You’re not too bad on the eye yourself.” Cutie’s smile is wider now. “We’ve practically caught up to speed with each other lives for a while now. So, this is it. Whatever you decide, I’ll respect it this time. I promise.”

That assurance dissolves any doubts that Geordi might have harboured. He’s more sure about his next few words than ever before. “I still want us to be together, Cutie. That never changed. Even when we were on a break, I had no one else. I love you, even when you broke my heart. Do you… do you still feel the same?”

Cutie reaches out to hold his hand, which is gripping a fork so tightly. He didn’t even realise it. The moment when skin meets skin, a familiar warmth spread across his arm. It’s like sunshine thawing out the chills in his bone marrow. He lets go of the fork in favour of holding their hand and squeezes it. “My feelings haven’t changed too. I love you so damn much, Geordi. I know I said it before, but I’m so sorry for hurting you. Words alone aren’t enough to promise you that I won’t do it again, but I’ll make sure my actions make up for it. From now on, you’ll lead where this relationship is going. I’ll follow” Steely determination glimmers behind Cutie’s eyes. God, they look so hot! Would his therapist finally judge him if he asked Cutie to drag him to the bathroom for a quickie? It’s been too long since they’re in him.

“Geordi? Are you ok? You look flush.” Some of that hesitation creeps back into Cutie. Dimming that spark of fire. He panics when their hand tugs back.

“Yeah! Sorry. My head’s a bit of a mess.” He begins to explain. Here, he lowered his voice; his eyes lidded. “Maybe you can make sense of it? You might like what you find, Cutie…”

“Oh!” For some reason, Cutie looks positively alarmed. A deer in a headlight. He had never seen that kind of look on their face before. Their sudden reaction threw Geordi off guard. Any lustful thoughts are completely replaced with concern now. “Maybe later. So, uh, where do we go from here? I can’t move back in just yet due to my apartment lease. Or do you want things to stay as they are right now for a little while longer?”

Continue this distance between them? Geordi doesn’t think he’s that strong of a man.

“Feel free to move in any time you can. My place is your home. You know that.”

That gorgeous smile slowly returns. This is Cutie at their best. After that day, things begin falling into place without a hitch. Cutie is back in his life. They bring their clothes and toiletries over when their lease is up -

“You kept my mug?”

“Of course I did, silly. Why would I throw it out?”

“Right… right. Sorry.”

“Cutie? Is something wrong?”

“Nah, don’t worry about it. Say, that recipe you bookmarked earlier, why don’t you let me take a crack at it? I’ll handle dinner tonight!”

- their routines fall into one once more, and Geordi couldn’t be happier. His world is no longer filled with silence and bitterness.

Second comes the realisation.

Geordi has been riding high on cloud nine ever since Cutie settled back into his apartment, into his life. Waking up to their sleeping face feels like a dream that he never wants to end. Their giggling when he rouses them with kisses is a bonus. He loves greeting the morning sun with a partner who is happy and satiated from the night before. And if Cutie is in the mood to play? Well! He’s more than happy to ruin the sheets for the third time in the span of six hours.

And don’t even get him started on domestic bliss.

Since Cutie’s work hours are a lot more flexible than Geordi’s, he’s forever grateful that they always have a pot of hot coffee ready for him on the table and a sweet kiss before he dashes out for the day. If he returns before traffic picks up in the evening, the couple would either go out for a dinner date or stay at home and binge-watch a new series while they eat in the living room. They alternate in cooking and cleaning depending on their schedule, but Cutie seems to have a habit of doing both whenever they can. The coworkers that he invited over for DnD sessions would whistle and nudge him on the shoulder when they looked around the spotless apartment, praising him for scoring the perfect partner after Cutie left them with a tray of snacks and drinks. Internally, Geordi preens.

When the weekends roll around, and it’s just the two of them lazying together in their sweats and old t-shirts, Geordi and Cutie would spend time together by combining their new hobbies. Geordi would lose himself in another LEGO building project while Cutie reads a novel on their phone on the couch. His favourite playlists play on and on, wrapping the couple in a peaceful cocoon.

That is until -

Geordi blinks, back in the present, when he suddenly hears the sliding door of the balcony softly shut. He sees Cutie outside talking on the phone, their back against him. He watches them moving their free hand animatedly for a few seconds longer before focusing back on the tower that he had been building. When the sliding door shuts again, he absentmindedly asks, “Hey, Cutie? What are you in the mood for lunch? Do you want to go to that Chinese restaurant down the street or…” His words trail off the moment he notices the frustrated lines on his partner's forehead. Their eyes were exhausted all of a sudden. Before he could say anything, his partner flashed an apologetic smile.

“Work called. Something came up. I need to step out in a bit, but I should have some time to make lunch - ”

Geordi stops them right there and then. He doesn’t want them to get more stressed out, especially when an emergency - he assumed - just happened. “No, no. Don’t sweat it. How about you go get ready while I make us lunch? I’d rather you have something in your stomach before you leave.” He replies, already up on his feet.

Deer in a headlight on Cutie. Again. What’s going on? “I can do it. It’s your rest day after all - ”

“Nu-uh. You just get your pretty ass in the shower, alright? I’ll have your favourites ready as soon as you step out of our bedroom door again.” Geordi assures them, but in reality? He’s so confused. They never so stressed out about cooking before. Seriously, what’s going on?

Cutie eventually nods. They kiss him on the cheek and make a beeline for the bathroom while Geordi takes out a wok and spatula. Their strange behaviour remains in his mind as he makes spicy stir-fry noodles. Now that he thinks about it, they’ve been going along with everything he likes nowadays. Cooking his favourite meals, making sure the laundry is clean and folded, helping him with the LEGOs, hanging out with his friends and letting him initiate intimacy and sex every time. They laugh when he tells jokes, as cheesy as they are. Apart from their clothes and toiletries, they haven’t brought back their Digimon plushies, or any of their physical books on the shelves. They hate horror movies, but when he absentmindedly suggests they watch Saint Maud, they agree without any hesitation.

It’s like they’re a satellite, faithfully orbiting Geordi’s every need and want. Why… why did he never notice that before? And when was the last time they went out to Cutie’s favourite restaurant again? When was the last time they did what Cutie wanted for a change?

Ah. Geordi remembers now. It was before they went on a break.

Something’s wrong with Cutie. Shit! Why didn’t he notice it before!? Was he truly caught up in his own world that he utterly neglected his partner’s?

The noodles are hot and plated, ready on the table, but Geordi feels so cold and empty. Guilt was heavy in his stomach. His grin is stiff when Cutie finally emerges wearing their standard work fit. Even in black slacks and a white collared shirt, Cutie looks like a model ready for the runway. They tuck into their meal, but Geordi doesn’t have much appetite for it. So many thoughts clash with one another in his head like angry hornets. He doesn’t even know where to start or what to ask. At times like this, Cutie would slip into his mind and act as his anchor. But ever since they got back together again -

“What time would you be coming home?” Is what comes out from Geordi’s lips, frustrated with himself.

Cutie stops washing their dishes to turn around. “If all goes well? In the evening. Probably before midnight, so you don’t have to wait up or put aside dinner for me. I can just grab something when I leave the office.”

And that’s another thing that Geordi just now realised. They don’t talk about work as much as they did before. When asked, sure, Cutie would always answer him, but it was never more than a, “Oh, my cases? Some old, same old.”, “These documents are pretty boring, actually. Something for the higher-ups to keep in their record.”, “The therapist I mentioned before? Oh, you mean Cam? He’s still working on the floor above mine.” Lukewarm. Tepid. Those are the kinds of replies that Cutie would often give him before the conversation seamlessly shifts to another topic.

Not once have they performed magic around him. In fact, ever since they got back together again, Cutie’s voice is constantly absent in his mind.

Suddenly, Geordi feels sick. He forces himself to put on a brave face, a mask that tells his partner that everything is alright, because their eyebrows begin to furrow in hesitation.

And now he knows why.

“Call me when you leave?” Geordi tries not to plead. His voice didn’t crack, that good. The last thing he wants is to get the love of his life in trouble with their superiors. They never did tell him if they received that promotion or not.

It’s a bittersweet victory when Cutie smiles again. “Sure! Have fun with your project, baby.”

They exchange a long kiss; he wonders if they find it weird that Geordi is reluctant to pull their lips away from him. He weeps and weeps into his hands when they leave the apartment. What has he done? Oh god, Cutie… he didn’t mean to. He didn’t mean to drive them into cutting a part of themselves in order to make him happy. He didn’t mean to be so blinded when they made themselves smaller and smaller if that’s what they thought would make him happy. Would let them stay in his life.

He didn’t mean to hurt Cutie. He didn’t mean for any of this to happen! He thought that - he had hoped they got better, not - why couldn’t they just talk - has he become Ben?

Mrs Potato Head plays on and on while Geordi struggles to breathe.

Finally, in comes the heartbreak.

Geordi didn’t even wait for Cutie to come back. The moment he regained control of himself, he ran out with his phone and wallet. His eyes are rimmed-red, just like the setting sun behind him. He knows which streets are veiled against people like him; he just hopes he can ask for help from any Empowered folks who might be entering the Department. He has to fix this. He desperately needs to talk to Cutie. He needs them to know that he loves every part of them, that he loves the magical world as much as they do.

However, when he cuts through the park, he freezes.

Sitting on a bench a little further from the playground is his partner, crying in the arms of a stranger. Cracks begin to form in Geordi’s heart. He’s too far away to hear what they’re saying, but judging from how the stranger does the talking and Cutie sighs and sniffles, it clued him in pretty quickly that they’re talking through him via telepathy. The stranger smiles sadly and offers them a handkerchief. His body language is serene, but the expression on his beautiful face is tight and worried. Is he a coworker? Another lover? Geordi doesn’t know what to believe anymore. Stricken, he watches them pat the stranger’s hand and gathers up their things. Leaving him on the bench as Cutie makes their way out of the park.

It’s at that moment that Geordi’s phone rings. He answers the call without a word.

“Hey, baby. Just left the office.” Cutie’s voice is hoarse. They clear their throat. This time, they sound more like themselves again - fake and bright. “Turns out one of the interns needed a stand-in instructor for tomorrow’s fieldwork. Since I’m on the way home, do you want me to grab anything?”

Geordi watches them wait at the same bus stop from which he just got off. “Why haven’t you talked to me through my head?”

“…Geordi, I’m out right now. Can we maybe talk about this at home?”

“OK. Why have you stopped ironing your work clothes with your hands?”

“I-I like using your new iron instead. What’s going on, Geordi? Did I do something wrong? Look, tell me how I can fix it, please? I don’t… I don’t know what I did wrong…”

Is this how it will always be when they’re together? Hurting each other whether they mean to or not? Acts of love turning into subservience?

The weaker side of him can’t help but wonder if it was a mistake for him and Cutie to get back together again if it means new sorrows and new regrets will always sour their relationship.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #fanfic #angsty #redacted geordi #redacted cutie #redacted camelopardalis

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cinnbar-bun · 1 day

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Hi. I hope you’re doing well at the moment. If not, feel free to push off writing this request or to ignore it altogether.

I’m curious to see what headcanons you have about Bruno and how he’d feel about receiving flower arrangements from a S/O.

Your wish is my command, nonnie!!!

Bruno Bucciarati Receiving a Flower Arrangement From his S/O

Rating: SFW

Word Count: ~1k

Notes: Just fluff, plus a minor mention of Bruno's backstory in a bullet point (nothing major). GN reader as always, and just lots of loving for our fave capo <3 As well as cameos from the rest of the gang.

One thing that’s for certain is that your capo adores the flowers. He was rather shocked to see the florist hand deliver him such a large bouquet.

At first, he briefly thought it was from you- but, well, that’d be kind of selfish to assume, wouldn’t it? So he thinks it’s maybe a thank-you gift from one of the many citizens in Napoli he’s helped.

However, once he reads the card with the message you put on it, the adoration on his face is clear. He’s touched beyond belief.

He immediately puts the flowers in a vase as a centerpiece for the table of their room. He’s kind of hoping that the others ask about it so he can proudly gloat that his lovely, wonderful partner got them for him.

Mista and Narancia will whine and then wonder if they can ever get flowers from their s/o one day, and Bruno teases them by saying that if they get their act together, they just might.

Fugo acts like he doesn’t give a shit but he’s pretty happy that Bruno is happy and has you as his partner. The young boy is grateful that there’s someone who takes care of Bruno after all Bruno does for everyone else.

Abbacchio complains about the smell of the flowers, citing them as being too strong or something while he’s drinking his wine or listening to his music. Despite that, he’ll be damned before he touches or does anything to them. Bruno knows Abbacchio would never throw them out despite his complaints, so he often jokes back that Abbacchio is just jealous he is not getting flowers.

Trish is wide-eyed at the gift you got Bruno, thinking it’s romantic, and remarks that the bouquet has to be super expensive. She joins in with Mista and Narancia about wanting a nice bouquet of flowers from her future lover.

Giorno thinks it’s a nice gift and feels it says a lot about you that you would gift Bruno them. Especially if you took the time to arrange the bouquet or choose specific flowers/colors, it makes Giorno appreciate and think higher of you.

Bruno would love any kind of bouquet you’d get him. He adores them and always, always, always will appreciate them and do his best to keep them alive and fresh for as long as possible (including, but not limited to, enlisting Giorno’s help to freshen them up)

That said, he does have different (but positive) reactions to the flowers depending on what type you may have chosen for him!

If you got him roses (any color): he’d be extra romantic and sappy to you. Roses are the flowers of love, aren’t they? And this was most certainly your way of trying to show him your desire for him, wasn’t it? So he’ll pay it back by using more Italian pet names with you or more romantic gestures as if he were a lovesick puppy.

If you got him a bright, colorful bouquet: he’d be quick to think it stands out from the rest of the room, but frankly, it was a necessary one. He would do his best to make the flowers stand out even more by using a colorful vase/glass and putting it directly in front of everyone. Everyone has to see this. He smiles brightly when he sees them, too, and it makes him think about how much light you’ve given in his life. He becomes eager to pull you close.

If you got him a white bouquet (any flowers): He’d be more solemn and deliberate in his movements and decisions. Quieter displays of his affection will ensue, with him taking your hand to his and pressing kisses on it, buying your favorite food/drink, and whispering the sweetest words of poetry known to man in your ear. Those flowers were what he saw often during funeral processions, but it’s also seen in weddings, too. It’s a sort of reminder to himself that his time with you is limited and that every moment with you is a precious thing to be savored.

If you got him a pastel bouquet: He reacts in a way that’s a mixture of the bright flowers and the white flowers. He reacts more on the quieter end, but is less prone to the feelings of nostalgia he may have had with the white flowers. He finds these ones sweet and gentle, and it, in turn, makes him act pretty gentle with you. Tons of romantic words in your ear and kisses peppered all over your face are what awaits you.

If you got him a bouquet with darker flowers: At first, he’s taken aback by the colors. Not in a bad way, they’re flowers and they’re from you on top of that. He’s just a bit surprised that flowers could be arranged in such a way, but it’s so unique like you? Oh my gosh? It’s unconventional but makes him smile, and he is proud to have them as a centerpiece. He’s quick to thank you and he will get more specific in his praises and compliments for you. More affectionate and grateful here, but more teasing as well.

Seriously, buy him flowers, it makes his day- nay, his week(s)- and gives him more motivation. He’s not used to being treated often, but with you, every day is a treat, and every gift you give him makes him practically melt.

Plus, how could you resist the wide-eyed smile he does when he realizes that you were the one who sent the flowers?

#jojo x reader #jjba x reader #reader insert #x reader #jojo hcs #jjba hcs #bruno bucciarati #bruno buccellati #jojo #jjba #golden wind #jjba part 5 #vento aureo #bruno bucciarati x reader #Bruno bucellati x reader

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