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assortedseaglass · 11 months ago

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🌟Mistletoe | Yuletide🌟

Michael Gavey x Fem!Reader

Summary: Michael's Christmas plans are scuppered, but a chance encounter lifts his hopes for the New Year.

Content: Fluff, Language.

Yuletide Masterlist

December 15th. The night of the Catton Christmas party in Brasenose College. Term ended a week ago, but the prospect of partying with the university’s hottest boy and his gaggle of gorgeous followers was too delicious to pass up. Freshers to third-years clamoured to rub shoulders with the prime ministers and business men of tomorrow. Any way to get your foot in the door, and maybe some Christmas action too.

The single-pane windows of the old college dorm room rattled to the beat of NOW XMAS, and each time the door opened a pair of drunk undergrads tumbled into the quadrangle.

The latest two, a straw-haired girl in a Juicy Couture tracksuit and a burly boy wearing a rugby polo, stumbled from the old double doors leading to the common room. On their way, between sloppy kiss and over the top giggles, they bumped into a solitary figure.

“Sorry, mate,” the drunk boy said, watching the other young man through alcohol-heavy eyes. The girl beside him eyed the stranger and snorted. “Merry Christmas.”

Hands tucked into his pockets, scarf wrapped neatly around his neck, Michael Gavey stumbled. The pair got no reply, only a cold glance of annoyance as he made for his dorm.

Gold, string-light bulbs decorated Brasenose quadrangle, tacky Christmas trees were perched in various student windows, and the saccharine chorus of Band Aid 20 was shouted from the common room.

Michael didn’t hate Christmas. He quite enjoyed the fuss from his aunties and the jumpers his grandmother bought him. His mum snuck extra roasties onto his plate and his dad made a point to buy him each year’s Telegraph Quiz Book. This year would surely be even better. The pride on his family’s faces, each asking about his first term at Oxford. First one in his family to go to university and he gets into Oxford.

It was precisely because he liked Christmas that this one was so miserable. Michael was neither surprised nor upset when he checked his pigeonhole that morning to see no invitation to the Catton Christmas part. Him and Oliver. A pair of nobodies.

He took the new Nokia his dad got him for his A Levels out of his pocket. No texts. Punching the numbered keys, he sent one to Oliver.

Back at BC. Mince pies and port ready.

The corridor to his dorm room was empty. With the turn of his key, he opened the door. The room was cold. The ancient radiator was ticking into life and the old windows were beginning to fog with condensation. On top of his stack of maths textbooks a bottle of unopened port gleamed.

Turning on his bedside lamp, Michael gathered two dusty glasses his mother insisted he pack with him, and from his Tesco bag produced a pack of mince pies. He placed them on a paper plate and emptied the rest of the carrier bag (wallet, keys, pencil case, workbook) next to the E45 cream and battered copy of GH Hardy’s biography.

The Nokia buzzed aggressively on the table. Removing his scarf, Michael checked the screen. It was from Oliver. He unlocked the phone and checked the small envelope icon.

Something’s come up, sorry.

Michael slumped on the bed. His thumb hovered over the keypad.

Get a better offer, did you?

He deleted the text, locked the screen and threw it on the cheap duvet.

The others would still be at the pub. He could just go back and meet them there. Could, were it not for his pride. It just wasn’t the same, a group of people forced together, as opposed to those who found each other.

The pub was full of his fellow mathematics students. Spotty, eager to please and reeking of desperation to prove themselves. Michael didn’t need to. He watched as they fought for Professor Mathison’s attention, keen to discuss tutorial projects and career prospects. Mathison was already keenly aware of Michael, judging by the way his jaw dropped when Michael recited the Lagrangian form to the last letter.

With Oliver it was different. They were two outsiders, making their way in a world entirely foreign to their own, their intellect their only way in. Now it seemed the friendship Michael was working so hard to cultivate with Oliver was slipping away.

He stared at the empty glasses. Fuck it. Pouring a little too much port in one of the glasses, Michael stuffed a mince pie into his mouth, grabbed another and made for the door.

The air was crisp, but mild for mid-December. The music of the Catton party across the quadrangle had mellowed, and through the misty windows Michael could make out shapes dancing close together, swaying slowly.

A pang of jealousy twisted in his naval and he twitched awkwardly. He wondered what it would be like, having another body pressed against his. Or rather, to have someone want to be that close to him. His mind flashed to the French girl in tutorial. She’d pressed her leg against his at the pub when Mathison mentioned a partnered project for the new year, and when he’d looked down, he saw her fingers brushing the cuff of his jumper. He’d flinched away.

Everyone was doing it. Quick flings with no regard for consequence. He supposed he could do it too. With the French girl, or the girl with agoraphobia. Lord knows, she was getting as much action as he was. But there was something in his studious nature, his desire for knowledge, that meant he had to be consumed by knowing someone fully, or nothing at all.

Perching his bony bottom on the cold concrete step under an old brick archway, Michael took a gulp of port and began on the mince pie. He took the top off, ate it, and thought of his grandfather, and how he would add brandy butter before replacing the pastry cover. He ate the rest quickly and sipped his port slowly, thinking over the last term. The successes; far and away the best student on the course, and the failures; one (?) friend. It was as he did this that the door behind him opened.

“Shit, sorry! Didn’t see you there!” You hadn’t done anything wrong. Not opened the door on his back or tripped over him. Michael waved his hand noncommittally and without answer. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

He looked up at this. An old grey coat at least a size too big was wrapped around you, a scarf pulled up to your nose and muffling your voice. Michael couldn’t make much of you out, just the eyes peering down at him from above the scarf, but he could tell you were beaming at him. Why?

He gestured to the cold step. You sat beside him, gave him a bright smile that didn’t falter when he stared at you a little too long, and turned to look at the night beyond the small archway.

“Pretty, aren’t they? All the lights?” Michael didn’t respond. He shifted his body slightly away from yours and took another sip of port. You weren’t deterred. “You a Billy-no-mates too then?”

“It’s Norman-no-mates-”

“I don’t think it matters.” You cut him off. “Well?”

Michael turned his face to you. You were still watching the lights but sensed him looking at you. In turn, you looked back at him, unabashed and direct.

“I might have mates waiting inside.”

“You might, but you don’t. You’re out here drinking wine,”

“Port.”

“Port’s just fortified wine. Drinking on your own when everyone’s off partying.”

Michael didn’t blink as he watched you. You weren’t being cruel by making him feel bad for his social ineptitude. Nor were you prying into what it was that made him so deplorable to seemingly everyone in college. No. You were just stating the facts. Michael loved facts.

“NFI.”

“Snap.” You held out your hand and gave him your name. Michael’s heart didn’t leap, but it did give a strange sort of jolt.

“Michael Gavey.” He shook yours and his mouth twitched when you gave him a firm smile.

“What about you? Why are you sitting on a cold step with a stranger?”

“Mate’s back there screaming at her fella cos he necked some girl in Exeter after a Hooch too many.”

“Let me guess, Business Management?”

“The very same.”

There was a contented silence a while. Michael sipped his port and watched you from the corner of his eye. The fingerless gloves you wore were fraying a little. Everything looked second hand. From your slightly battered Mary Janes and baggy jeans to the bag by your feet. Even the scarf still wrapped around your neck. The hair there was bunching under the fabric and a few wisps kept sticking to your lip gloss. Too pretty to be sitting with him, and too rough around the edges to be the usual Catton-fodder.

Michael licked his lips. “What are you reading?” Please be something good.

“Computer Sciences.” Merry fucking Christmas. “You?”

“Maths.”

“Ah, we could have done with you at the pub quiz! ‘How many birds in total are there in the twelve days o-’”

“One-hundred and eighty-four.” Michael rattled off as though the answer was a grocery list. You stared at him, an impressed smile playing at the corner of your mouth. Michael’s heart vaulted that time. He wanted more.

“Ask me anything. I can do any sum.”

You eyed him with barely supressed glee. “Twelve times thirty-one.”

“Three-hundred and seventy-two. Come on, ask me something harder.”

“Three-hundred and seventy-two times eight.”

“Harder.”

“Times twenty-three?”

“Harder.”

You almost shouted with excitement. “Three-hundred and seventy-two times forty-seven!”

“Seventeen-thousand, four hundred and eighty-four.”

You giggled and let out a low whistle. “Fuck me,”

Yes please.

A broad flush spread across Michael’s cheeks and he licked his lips again. “I can also-”

“Better check madam is ok,” your eyes indicated behind you as you took you phone from your pocket. The white light from the small screen was garish amongst the soft golds of the Christmas lights, and Michael’s heart sank as he watched you scroll through your contacts list. So many names. He’d give anything to be among.

He didn’t pay attention to anything you were saying as you chatted to your friend. The shine of your lip gloss beneath the fairy lights was too mesmerising. Michael raised his port glass to his lips, took a sip and let the glass linger there as you ended your call. He was entranced.

“Love you, mate. Alright, chat tomorrow.” You sighed as you hung up and looked at Michael. “Home for me, I think.”

As you stood, Michael did too, pulling his trousers up and tucking his hands into his pockets. “Nice to meet you, Michael.” You shook his free hand again and took the port from the other. He watched, agog, as you downed it in one. “Graham’s? Very nice.” You passed him the empty glass and began making your way to the end of the archway. He followed you like a shadow.

At the end of the passageway into the old quadrangle you turned to face him. “What are you doing for Christmas, Michael?”

“Home,” his voice was unnaturally high and he coughed. “Home, to see family but not much else.”

“And new year?”

“Seeing some boring old school friends then back here before term st-starts-starts,” you were leaning towards him. With no hint of shyness, and perhaps a little too forcefully, you kissed him. You pulled back, smiling.

“What was that for?” The surprise of your lips on his made him shout, and it sounded more hysterical than genuine shock and curiosity.

“Mistletoe,” you stated simply, pointing at the small poesy hanging from the archway.

Michael coughed. “Of course, yeah. Thank you.” He made an odd movement and almost clicked his heels. You laughed again, turning into the dark night.

“See you in the new year, Michael.” Your voice echoed off the old stone walls. Just as Michael expected, you sounded so certain. In all your ten minutes of knowing each other, he’d learned that about you. The statement wasn’t speculation or conjecture. It was a fact. Michael loved facts.

Merry Christmas everyone! I hope it's been a kind and calm one. H x

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

#ewan mitchell #michael gavey #michael gavey x reader #ewan mitchell x reader #mistletoe #saltburn #OI SALTBURN PEEPS #if you're fed up with the lack of oliver and felix fanfic #write your own and leave us to thirst over the nerd in peace #merry christmas!#hilde's twelve days of christmas

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emeraldbloodcrown · 6 months ago

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Once More

Chapter: Two - Rumors and Hesitations Pairing: Poly; Tattoo Artists!141 x Baker!Female Reader Summary: It's time to explore the town a little, leaving you with some insecurities after sampling one of the big coffee shops your grandmother seemed to hate. Content/Warning: Still none, just small towns being small towns Word Count: 4k

You couldn't find it in you to argue with Anna's reasoning and taking another look at the flyer, you both agreed to take the opportunity to get to know your neighbors.

"We should probably take a walk around town before that. That would probably earn us some points when we talk to the owners"

"Sounds like fun. Tomorrow then?"

You nodded, putting the flyer away and reaching for your dinner again when you remembered another thing on your to-do list. Making a small sound of frustration, which got Anna's attention and a questioning look from her, as you pulled your phone out of your pocket, along with the small note.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing bad. I got some help while I was shopping from another customer, promised I'd text them so I could thank them properly."

"Properly, huh." Her voice dipped teasingly, getting a seductive edge and she waggled her eyebrows at your words. Rolling your eyes, you punched her in the shoulder, getting a yelp from her.

"Nothing like that"

Anna shortened the distance between you both so that she could look over your shoulder while you typed his number in.

"A note? Did you get help from the elderly variety?"

"Nah, just older."

She watched you as you quickly wrote a text, something short and straight to the point but with a kind tone still.

"We're barely a month here and you've already got a date," Anna grumbled before she scooted back to her chair to finish her food.

John wasn't the type of person who enjoyed texting. In fact, if it hadn't been for Johnny's encouraging, well really bothering him multiple times a day for almost a year, he still would carry his old Nokia. It had gotten the job done, he could text and he could call with it, but each time Johnny had seen it, he looked like he wanted to throw it out of the window, so John had relented and gotten a cheap second-hand one.

He still kept up the pretense of preferring his old one, just to get on Johnny's nerves now and then, but he had to admit, never out loud of course, that setting up a time in his phone to heat his house, so it would be toasty warm when he got home in the winter, was a convenience he didn't want to part from anymore. It had originally been to help his ex-wife with her arthritis but in the end, he had used that more than she had.

So when he had been cooking, really only heating up the leftovers Kate had brought him, and he'd been mindlessly staring out of the window, only to hear his phone go off with a new text message, he had half a mind to ignore it.

It would most likely be Kyle asking him something he had no idea how to answer or Simon who would use an administrative question, that he already knew the answer of, to weasle his way into a conversation about John's whereabouts and wellbeing.

Despite all of that, he still pulled the device out, and he was right. Well, partially. Because on top of Kyle's and Simon's texts was another one, from a new number but with a name he recognized. He had been hoping to hear from you soon, to go back into the little bubble, but he hadn't expected it so soon. It tugged a faint smile into the corner of his mouth.

'Just wanted to know when I'd get the chance to thank you, and where you'd like to go.'

His lips twitched. Even proper punctuation, hm? He didn't know if you'd done it for him or if that was something you focused on yourself, but he appreciated it nonetheless.

With a swipe of his thumb, he unlocked his phone, careful to not get on one of his boys' texts, and went to answer you.

'Like I said, there's really no need. Coffee will be fine.'

He watched as the little pen appeared, indicating you were already typing a response, and his smile widened a little.

'See, I'll show my grandma that and all I'm gonna get is a slipper to the face. If you only truly want to have coffee with me, that's fine.'

'But with how long you've helped me, I think it calls for more'

Ever since you had mentioned it the first time, he had wondered who your grandmother might be, what spitfire you might be related to, and while there was a handful he could see doing it, it mostly had left him with the amusing mental picture.

'And what does it call for?'

The pen stayed longer this time, the animation stopping a few times only to pop up again after a moment.

'Dinner?'

'Or lunch, if dinner's too much."

John felt the knot appear in his stomach again. Ever since his ex-wife had moved out, only leaving him the divorce papers that he had yet to sign, he had been hesitant to be seen in town for more than a few minutes. They were all lovely people but the disadvantage with as a tight-knit community as theirs was that everybody talked.

Between separation and his unwanted leave of absence had only been one afternoon, night, and morning, not even 24 hours, and yet everyone he had met that day looked at him with pity. A look so well-meaning but every time it was focused on him, it felt as if it was burning him, searing his very skin from the flesh. It had irritated him so much that in his effort to not say something unkind - so they would just fucking stop -, he had bitten his tongue so long that it had started to bleed a bit.

The almost altercations had been enough that it became obvious that John couldn't work like this, that a little bit of time off would do him good, and it did. It felt good to come to terms with it, even though he often caught himself reaching for her before his brain could fight off his dream with the bitter bite of reality. But for the most part, it also hadn't helped. He had grown so used to being on his own, to being able to exist without needing to worry about what others thought, that the idea of subjecting himself to their unwanted opinions was already grinding his gears.

Coffee had seemed like a small thing, something he could steel his nerves for, and then disappear for days on end before he had to endure the loud outside again. The two of you could've walked across town a little, he could've used it as an excuse to show you around just to not be in one place for too long, surely not long enough for anyone to make sure it was really him they had recognized.

But lunch or dinner? That meant being stuck in one place for a while, meant people would see him, meant people would perceive him once more, and acknowledge him not as his wife's husband, as the proud businessman and helpful handyman, but just as someone who failed.

The angry bubbling of his dinner pulled him out of his thoughts, his phone forgotten for a moment as he tried to salvage the damage. With the stove turned off and the pot pushed away from the hob, he took another glance at his phone, shooting you one last text before he powered it down.

'Think I'm gonna have to insist on the coffee. Maybe another time.'

You had always prided yourself on being able to read people's moods very well, even through text, a skill born out of necessity in your childhood that was only sharpened with experience as you got older. You tried not to let it get to you, but you couldn't help but feel a bit dejected at John's last response, noticing the change in his mood in his texts no matter how often you read them.

But each to their own, right? There could be a dozen reasons for that shift, and if he was only up for coffee, you wouldn't argue with that. If anything - your brain quickly tried to rationalize - it could be better, a chance to combine something fun with work, allowing you to see what you might wanna offer once you've rebuilt the bakery with Anna.

The next day came and John's text was forgotten beyond telling Anna what day and time you'd be gone. Instead, you found yourself outside, a light jacket wrapped around your body, autumn already chilling the early morning air. With a to-go coffee (once again, not from a fast-paced coffee shop) in one hand and the other in your pocket, hooked around Anna's elbow, the two of wandered the streets, heels clicking over the cobbles.

Your grandmother had been able to score the building for the bakery on a busy but cozy street, close enough to the town square that wandering customers could just stumble onto it but as you rounded the corner, it paled in comparison to the bustle the shops there received even this early in the day.

Anna noticed a shop to your left and just by looking at it, you knew that this would be one of the new shops that seemed to always put a frown on your grandmother's face.

"Coff-ee-holic, really?" You deadpanned, feeling a little bit of sympathy for your grandma.

"Can't go wrong with a pun."

You shot her a glare before you mentioned one word to her: "Henry." Anna's face contorted in disgust at your last long-term relationship. She had never hidden how much she had disliked him with you and mocked nearly daily his need to constantly spew puns, even when it was the wrong moment for them.

"He doesn't count. And it's an insult to puns to be compared to that…person."

Scoffing, you followed her to the menu display in one of the windows, glancing over the wide array of drinks. Passing your eyes past it, you could see the baristas working behind the counter, which took up almost half of their space, only leaving two seating sections in both corners. It was clear that they prioritized getting their customers a quick caffeine fix above comfort and coziness, which had been your grandma's priority above anything else.

"Hold that"

Faster than you realized, Anna had slipped her half-full cup into your hand and slipped out from your elbow, quickly heading into the shop. You opened your mouth to call her back but by that time you could already see her through the window standing in line, it was too late.

The line progressed at a pace that seemed like an impossible dream in the city you had called your home not too long ago. Sure, that was also due to the fact that this town simply didn't have the same numbers as a city, despite how well-patronized this shop was, but you'd also chalk up to these baristas being less stressed and more motivated than the overworked ones you had encountered before moving.

Hardly any time passed before Anna was at the front of the line and got her order, joining you again outside and taking a mouthful from her new drink. A moment later, her eyes widened and hummed happily.

"That's really good. Go on, give it a try."

Switching cups with her, you sipped hesitantly. Coffee wasn't something you usually enjoyed and while Anna preferred them nearly black, with just a hint of sweetness, yours could rather be dubbed as sugar with coffee than the other way around. It was generally just something you drank when you needed to get yourself going.

Despite all of that, although, you found yourself going back for seconds, this one was quite bigger than the first. There was still the bitterness, the telltale taste of coffee, but it wasn't overwhelming, mingling with a natural sweetness that made it tasty even to you.

"Okay, this is just unfair."

"Supposed to be some fancy blend that they make."

"Of course, it is."

The two of you shared a look - if this is what you'd be up against once the bakery is restored, you'd need a plan, and while that was music for the distant future, it wouldn't hurt to keep it in mind - before you continued your stroll.

It was true that in the years you were gone, the town had changed a lot but, as you and Anna kept exploring the streets, you found that it still had kept the charm you had yearned for in all the time away. Still largely immune to society's incessant need to rush towards goals, it invited you to take your time, to sit down and exhale, and really take this little town in. While progress clung to everything like mold in the corner, it hadn't been able to infect the base, hadn't been able to shake the ground and turn it into a mindless run-of-the-mill copy of everything else.

It still had heart, and in that moment, you made a promise to yourself. Regardless of what you'd need to do to fulfill your grandmother's wish because you knew it wouldn't succeed as an exact doppelganger of what she had created, so it had to change in some way, but you wanted to keep this. You didn't want the incessant grind to popularity, the soul-consuming hunt for bigger things that seemed to stare you in the face each time you opened your phone.

Instead, you wanted it to be the bliss of a job well done, the pride that would bloom in your chest when looking at what you'd achieved. You wanted the ache and tiredness in your bones from the hard work but free of infecting stress. No more thinking about quitting every day, only putting in the hours because you needed the money to survive. No, you wanted to enjoy yourself again, to have the drive to create your own living.

However, that would look like.

Hours passed and you were able to get the idea of how this town worked again: the gaggle of elderlies and adults who loved to spread gossip around, the people who seemed to belong to no group but who were largely protected by the whole community, and who could give you grief while living here if you got on their wrong side.

It wasn't a full picture by any means, but the corner pieces of the puzzle were in place, allowing you a glimpse at what the result might look like.

"Can we sit down somewhere? I’m hungry and my feet hurt," Anna grumbled and you cast your eyes around. You saw a glimpse of a small restaurant around the corner and you pointed towards it.

"That sound good?"

"Sure, as long as it has a seat and food, I don't care what it is."

Chuckling, you made your way towards it, only for you to catch sight of another shop to your left, making you stop and Anna stumble at the sudden movement.

The door was closed but all over it were names in a graffiti style but it looked less like it had fallen victim to a bored street artist and more like it was a design choice by the owners. Left and right of it were big, clear windows with several concept drawings, finished colored pieces, and pictures of people presenting those on their skin. Above the windows, in a graffiti font too, was the name of it.

"Death Or Glory… Jesus, that's edge behavior. You want some new ink?"

"Maybe…"

Anna opened her mouth for another question but paused as a dark shadow loomed over you, making you both take a look at the sky, where the sun was still brightly shining, only to hear someone speak behind you.

"'Scuse me."

The voice was low, a rumbling from deep within in the chest, but seemingly void of emotions, no polite uptick or annoyed frustration present. So, you turned around and felt the blood in your veins chill.

Dear fucking God, if looks could kill.

It didn't help that he was towering over both of you, making you reach for Anna almost on instinct and taking a step back, and covered nearly head to toe in black. Even his face was almost completely hidden, a mask sitting on the lower half, the fabric only stopping on the bridge of his nose. The little skin that should've been visible was darkened by him having the hood drawn deep into his face, leaving the only thing you could see of him were his eyes.

Despite the general warm attribution of brown as a warm color, all you could feel was ice as he glared down at you, and you felt yourself jump as his eyebrow ticked up, displeased by something.

"Move"

Never had one word sounded so terrifying and it was only thanks to Anna, who yanked you to her side so you'd free up the entrance, that you were even able to comply with his order.

There was no other word spoken, no thanks or anything else, he just walked through the door and let it slam shut behind him.

Utterly confused by that situation, you felt your blood thaw as your heart pounded painfully in your chest. The fear you had felt just seconds ago was gone and had been displaced by anger.

"What the hell? What was his fucking problem??"

Anna refused not to say anything to it, more focused on bringing her own heartbeat back to normal and avoiding being hit by your wild hand movements, your body's response of releasing the agitation in your system.

You grabbed her hand and took her with you as you stomped your way to the restaurant, muttering annoyances under your breath.

"Fucking weirdo. I hope I never have to see him again."

The door closed behind Simon and, alerted by the sound, Johnny peaked his head around the corner, arms full of boxes of protective gloves.

"Ye been ta John's?"

"Tried. Wouldn't open the door."

Johnny heaved a sigh, putting the boxes away and running a hand through his short hair.

"How many times is this now?"

"Didn't bother counting. Too many, tho."

Both men looked at each other. Something needed to happen. It had been several weeks by now and while they all knew that their boss wouldn't be able to just shake the pain off, the way John seemed eager to not be seen by anyone if he could help it, left them all with heavy hearts. No one expected a healed wound but it felt more like John was eager to keep them gaping as long as possible.

"What do we get today?"

"Next appointment's in two hours, longer piece but tha's about it. Pretty sure ye scared off a possible walk-in. Ain't like I'm doin' inventory fer fun."

Simon just shrugged, taking his balaclava off and replacing it with a surgical mask.

At first, they hadn't thought anything about it. Customers always fluctuated a bit, but it was never a cause of concern: tattoos were expensive, most weren't signing up for the next after one piece was done, and despite the town being somewhat of a tourist secret tip, walk-ins had never been a lot.

But after the second week of John being gone, it became clear that people were avoiding them as if they'd catch a dose of his bad luck if they stepped into his shop. A silly notion that Simon refused to believe at first until he heard it parrot back by their regulars, pushing their appointments to "just gimme a ring when he's back".

Of course, things only got worse after Johnny had gotten into a fight, the rumors got out of control, and now weeks later, they were fully struggling.

Perks of a small town, right?

"Off to better things."

Simon cocked an eyebrow and watched Johnny take a flyer out of his pockets, and as soon as he saw the big, colorful letters, he was rolling his eyes and pushed past Johnny, conversation evidently done.

"Absolutely not."

But had he ever been cautious around Simon, he had long grown immune to it because Johnny was hot on his heels.

"Oh come on, ye weren't coming to the last one, either. Or any before tha'."

"And I ain't going to. Same thing every time."

"Could be good ta mingle with the folks. Prove ta 'em tha' were not as bad as they think, aye?"

Simon turned around, staring down at Johnny, but when the latter refused to back down, he simply said:

"Ask Kyle."

The rest of the day had been uneventful. Anna and you had continued to explore a little after lunch, mostly following your foggy memories and piecing together who you remembered, and also who remembered you, and what had fallen away in the meantime.

By the time you were finally back, the two of you were satiated and fed but also so very tired and dead on your feet that the call of your bed was more similar to a siren's song, and nothing sounded better at that moment than to lie down on it, even if it was your turn with the mattress on the floor.

"We need a place of our own," she repeated the senitment and you only hummed in exhaustion. That was future you's problem while present you had a hot date with Morpheus. You could feel your eyelids growing heavier by the second, sleep taking over you as you heard a loud crash above you.

Anna and you sat up ramstock straight, sharing a glance for barely a second before you both jumped into action, immediately locating the source of the noise to come from your grandmother's room.

You yanked the door open, taking two steps at once to get to the upper floor, and only stopped once you were at her door, repeatedly knocking hard enough on her door that it shook in its frame.

You paused for a moment, listening for sounds on the other side and when none came, you pulled the door open and saw your grandmother kneeling on the floor.

"Are you alright?"

In a few long and fast strides, you were next to her, checking her for any visible injuries but, after noticing the concern in your eyes, she just waved you off.

"'m fine, dearie. Didn't fall."

Anna stopped next to you, blood pressure cuff in her hand. She pulled the loose fabric of your grandmother's nightgown up her arm and wrapped the cuff around it, making sure the tube was in the middle, and then started the device.

"Then what was that noise?"

She cast her eyes down for a moment, seemingly thinking about her answer before a kind smile appeared on her features and she spoke reassuringly.

"That book pile fell over. Had it on the chair and I accidentally tipped it over."

Following her eyes, you saw the chair still fallen over, the books she had mentioned weren't on the ground but on the table in front of the chair.

"So why are you on the floor?"

"Just had to take a small break. Didn't expect the cavalary to come knocking." She chuckled but it didn't reach her eyes. Something wasn't right and you felt a chill settle in your body; you didn't like this.

"On..the floor?"

"What, I remember you preferring to rest in all sorts of odds places. Gave me a fright the first time I found you in the tub sleeping."

Yeah, when you were fifteen. You hadn't done that in years because your job had left your bones too exhausted to be able to get up with no issue, which made it that less believable for your grandmother at her age to prefer the hard wooden floor instead of her soft bed, just a few meters away.

"Just help an old lady up, will ya?"

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da-rulah · 1 year ago

Note

I saw an aesthetic picture about spreading Satan through the Internet recently and it got me thinking about being the IT support at the ministry, and which papas and ghouls would be best and worst at technology. So now I obviously want to hear your thoughts.

(I think Primo would surprise us by being surprisingly proficient, sort of like how my grandma mastered email and Facebook in her 80s.)

I have discussed this at great lengths with my best friend, @her-satanic-wiles, and these are the conclusions we have come to. These include all technology and use of the internet and social media habits.

Please enjoy as much as we did - it was too much fun. This is long, so i've put a page break in.

Some 18+ content here, MDNI!

Primo

As you said, surprisingly proficient.

He learns very fast, intently listening to you when you explain email, Microsoft Word & Excel, and Facebook.

He doesn't get Instagram but that's okay, that's not his target audience.

Doesn't understand how the internet works... "So, is it floating around in the air, or...?"

But he does know how to work it, and how to use it.

Secondo

No patience for technology at all.

If it doesn't work how it should, it is immediately referred to as broken.

"Mostrami solo le mie email, pezzo di merda!" you'll hear him scream from his office.

If it is not broken, it soon will be. His frustration makes him violent.

Got the iPhone 4 when it first came out but it perished in a mysterious fire. He doesn't know how it happened. Stop asking him.

Has been through four Ministry issued keyboards and one monitor that saw violent ends.

Terzo

Not bad at technology at all, in fact learns very quickly.

However, the discovery of Internet Pornography set him back in his paperwork by about a week.

He takes casual nudes and sends them to everyone, like him sat on the toilet or just having got out of the shower. Just because he can.

Your phone keeps saving them automatically and you have to do a mass exodus of Terzo nudes at least once a week to save your phone memory.

When you delete them he sends you more out of spite.

Ends up with Malware on his computer all the time from scam emails that promise him 'hot single babes in his area'.

The kind of guy to go on Omegle to flirt with random people, maybe find someone to jerk off with.

Copia

Boomer.

He's bloody useless, it always makes him feel like a silly old fool.

The only thing he can do by himself is search YouTube for rat videos, because you've shown him a million times.

Types with the screen close to his face and with one finger.

FaceTime angle of a typical dad.

"Look at this!" and proceeds to not flip the camera because he doesn't know how so you just end up staring at his face anyway.

SHOUTS when he's on the phone, no concept of noise at all.

Always forgetting his passwords - you get phone calls asking what his password for this and that is every. damn. day.

How many times do you have to remind him his phone unlocks with FaceID?!

Got scammed by a Facebook ad and had to change all his credit cards.

And now for the Ghouls...

Rain

He's VERY good with tech.

Quiet little genius, knows all the keyboard shortcuts and phone tips and tricks going.

Others ask him for help a lot, and he gets such a sense of pride when he can help them, swishing his tails and smiling to himself as he's helping.

Rain is also in charge of Copia's computer. He built it, fixed it, and cries every time Papa does something he shouldn’t to it.

Swiss

Technology conspiracy theorist.

He is terrified of tech, thinks it's listening to him all the time. Alexa is a demon he doesn't trust and his phone is an old Nokia he uses for emergencies ONLY.

That Nokia is also his weapon that he throws at people's heads when they piss him off. Which happens entirely too often and has caused some damage...

Mountain

Always up to date with the latest tech, never misses a launch.

He keeps leaving his second-hand phones in places Swiss will find them to trigger his technophobia and paranoia.

"DO THEY BREED, OR SOMETHING?!" Mountain is snickering outside his dorm listening to the chaos he's created.

Phantom

TROLL.

Chaos maker, through and through.

He is a serial redditer. The havoc he creates on there is diabolical, honestly.

Goes on Omegle to troll people.

He came across Papa Terzo one evening. They both agreed to never speak of what he saw ever again.

Plays on Swiss' technophobia along with Mountain.

He even created a cruel "conspiracy mode" on the Alexa that plays dramatic music, changes the lighting and shuts the window blinds in Swiss' room whilst Alexa tells him "I'm here, Swiss. I see everything."

Sodo

Has absolutely no interest in the internet or technology whatsoever.

Serial text forgetter. Sees you've text him, ignores it. Promises to get back to it. Never does.

When it comes to guitar tech though, he'll chew your ear off for hours. He knows EVERYTHING.

Ask him a question, but be prepared to be stuck there for approx. 45 minutes while he explains it in great detail with tangents you didn't ask for.

Aurora

Very good with tech, specifically social media.

Basically the social media manager of The Ghost Project.

She loves tiktok, makes them regularly. but it gives off 'Illegal Disney' vibes... Total crack.

Papa had to stop her making them and tell her to take them down.

Ask her about dance challenges - she knows them all.

Cumulus