[schmidttywrites-blog]

anemonewrites:

“You’re trying out for uni again?” He doesn’t know why he sounds so surprised, Ethan is the smartest person he knows (except for maybe Owl), and for him not to get his degree would be a huge waste. Toby himself knows he’s not suited to higher education, though what he’s going to do with his life now he’s back home is anybody’s guess, and something he’s completely unwilling to think about at present. Still, to see his friends succeeding academically has always made him proud, and to see Ethan pursuing something Toby knows very well that he loves makes him all the happier.

“Wait, wait - art trade!” He says enthusiastically, snatching up his backpack from where he had discarded it on the floor and proceeding to rummage feverishly through its contents, occasionally dumping the odd piece of clothing out of the side in his haste. Eventually Toby is able to produce his own sketchbook - an ancient thing that he’s been carrying around since sixth form, largely held together by the colourful stickers plastered across its cover - and shoves it across the table at Ethan. “There is so much cool shit in Europe, mate, and even cooler people. All the new stuff’s near the back.”

With that said, Toby reaches out for the pile of immaculate papers his friend had gestured at, but then thinks better of it and gives his hands a quick wipe on the front of his jeans, mindful of Ethan’s warning not to wreck them. “These are great!” He proclaims, before quickly conceding, “I mean, obviously I’m no architecture guy, but still, aces! Are you putting all of these in your ‘folio? There’s a lot here…” Toby leafs through the drawings as carefully as he is physically able to, though he still leans in right close to examine the details. “You probably don’t even need to go to uni, I bet some big business arse would buy these right now.”

He shrugs in response. They both know that uni was one of the several elephants in the room that Ethan was bound to confront sooner rather than later. His grandparents had wanted him to finish school, and while Ethan had had the grades to do it, he simply hadn’t been in a mindset to pursue anything of the like. The last several months at Grimm had him thinking otherwise - or at least start changing how he thought about school and his ability to accomplish it.·

Ethan blinks in surprise as a sketchbook that he knows all too well is shoved in front of his nose. It had been a while since he had seen the thing (a year to be exact), but he’d probably be able to identify it if its excitable and sometimes forgetful owner ever lost it somewhere. “I have to narrow them down. Show them a diversity but also prove that I’ve got my own style. Or something like that.” He fingers the pages of the worn, falling apart sketch book flipping towards the back of the book where he can only assume the new pieces are. It’s as if he forgot how talented Toby actually was when it came to art. His friend’s year-long journey is laid out as clear as day in front of him on the pages, and Ethan can’t help but feel a little jealous, but undeniably proud that Toby had been able to experience everything he had drawn in his sketchbook.·

Looking up from the sketchbook, Ethan stares at his friend’s profile as he pours over his own drawings.·“Why don’t you go to art school or start publishing something?” he asks. “You’ve gotten better. Loads better.”

[anemonewrites-blog]

schmidttywrites:

His pen doesn’t falter as Toby begin his torrent of questions, and Ethan, without missing a beat answers each one easily as if he had been anticipating them. It’s easy when the questions aren’t about himself or about his wellbeing. Nothing had changed since he had left - he still hated speaking about himself - and it was one of the few things about him that probably wouldn’t change at all. “Winnie is fine,” or as fine as he could be, “And Roo is growing faster than Kanga can buy clothes for him,” a story that had managed to draw a rare chuckle out of Ethan when Kanga was telling him about it. 

Sophie’s name is next on his lips, but he’s interrupted by both Toby plunking his coffee mug down and the feeling of Toby’s arms wrapping around his shoulders. pulling him into a hug. His immediate reaction is to stiffen, and he’s sure that Toby can feel it because he’s shushing him, sending Ethan’s lips into a scowl. Despite his discomfort however, the corner of his lips turn down, giving him a tired and weary look. He let’s Toby hold him for several moments before letting out a sigh and patting Toby’s hand. “You done yet?” 

It’s gratifying to hear that everyone seems to have been doing well in his absence - naturally he’ll go and visit them all himself to get more details, but even vague affirmations from Ethan cheer him. Toby hopes the others will be pleased to see him when he comes around. 

“Almost. I’ve got a whole year to make up for, want to make sure I get my money’s worth,” he mumbles, letting a few more seconds pass before he gives Ethan one final squeeze and releases his grip. “There, you’re free, that’ll tide me over for the rest of the month, probably.”

With that done, Toby is smiling again, and he drags another of the dining room chairs over with a loud screech so he can sit as close to Ethan as social norms and his prickly friend will allow for. As he takes a huge mouthful of tea, he tilts his head to consider the papers spread out over the table, trying to make sense of them from upside-down.` “What’s that you’re doing? He asks, though he’s still wondering when it’ll be time to ask his real questions, the ones becoming an increasingly large elephant in the room.

[schmidttywrites-blog]

“Thank god for that,” Ethan replied lightly, as his posture visibly relaxed upon being released from Toby’s embrace. It was nothing to do with Toby specifically, and Ethan knew that Toby knew that. They had a silent understanding between the pair of them that physical intimacy of any kind was generally something Ethan preferred not to partake in. Hugs, even from someone who he had known for years was often met with a very unwelcome reciprocation. The last time Ethan had ever willingly hugged someone had been his grandparents...and well. 

His pen resumes its motions, lines blooming the tip of his pen as he sets back to work. “I can’t get into UCL without a portfolio. Figured I may as well start on it.” He knew what a big deal this was. He’d had his heart set on UCL before the untimely passing of his grandparents and his trip to Grimm. There had been a period of time when he was convinced he wasn’t going to go to UCL, never mind any other place of higher education. He was beginning to see now that that sort of mindset was going to do little to help him in the long run, and frankly, the thought of having to go back to Grimm was unappealing enough to spur him to get a move on with his life. Everyone else in his life had after all. 

He motions with his pen for a brief moment to a pile of designs and sketches that are already encased in a binder. “Take a look if you want. Just don’t spill anything on them.” 

[anemonewrites-blog]

schmidttywrites:

Ethan’s had enough sense to move the boxes that he has yet to unpack into areas of the cottage that most visitors don’t venture into. There are far less than there were before, and he’s challenged himself to unpack at least one on his cleaning day, and so far, he’s stuck to it. Centipede hadn’t been able to hide the pride in his voice during his weekly check-in’s over the phone. Having a routine, at least for a little while, was good for him, he explained. It’d give him structure and force him to commit to something - force him to commit to getting better. As a result, the cottage looks quaint and lived in, with his jackets and shoes hung by the door, blankets and a patchwork quilt his nan had made on the couch he had unearthed from the closets. For anyone who didn’t know Ethan had gone away for depression, they would have thought everything was business as usual. 

He wander his way back into the dining room, back to his drawings and organized mess, letting out a slightly snort as he mentions their raven-haired friend. When he had caught up with her, she had been fiery and still angry that Toby had left without so much of a word. That was a meeting that he didn’t want to be around for. 

“You ask too many questions,” Ethan responded as he took a seat again in front of his unfinished design. He isn’t a mind reader, but he can tell there’s questions that Toby is straining not to ask. Unfortunately, Ethan isn’t prepared to have that conversation with anyone apart from Sophie who had been there when he left. His blue eyes look briefly at him for a moment before he resumes what he had been doing before Toby had appeared at his door. “I got back probably about two weeks ago.” He knows it’s two weeks. He’s gotten good at remembering what day of the week it was, good at slipping back into the rest of society. “I’ve seen everyone. They’ve all been round. Or I’ve been round.” He gives Toby a dry smile though he doesn’t look up from his paper. “Though going round their places has been more of a demand than anything else.” 

“Two and a half, that’s not that many!” He protests, knowing full well that Ethan can read him like a book by now and must therefore be able to see the deluge of questions that he’s doing a terrible job of keeping trapped behind his teeth. “I’m glad you’ve seen them though, is everyone the same? How’s Pooh Bear? Roo must be getting big now, eh?”

Without being invited to do so, Toby wanders into the kitchen and starts clattering about making drinks, the gesture second nature after nearly two decades of treating this place like an extension of his own home. It’s good to see the kitchen with its curtains open, with clean dishes standing in the rack by the sink. It’s nice that the milk in the fridge hasn’t been left to spoil, and that there’s actually food on the shelves. All of these tokens of functionality point to a happier Ethan, and Toby feels an overwhelming sense of relief to see signs that perhaps the worst is finally over.

When he comes back into the living room, he pops a mug of his trademark disgusting coffee down next to Ethan, and then immediately wraps his arms tightly around his shoulders from behind, nuzzling his nose against his dark hair. Before the other man can speak or try to brush him off, he says, “I know, I know, you hate this, but I’ve got too much love for simple words to express so just shush and let it happen.” And though his tone is blasé, his expression is uncharacteristically serious where it is hidden from Ethan’s view.

[schmidttywrites-blog]

His pen doesn’t falter as Toby begin his torrent of questions, and Ethan, without missing a beat answers each one easily as if he had been anticipating them. It’s easy when the questions aren’t about himself or about his wellbeing. Nothing had changed since he had left - he still hated speaking about himself - and it was one of the few things about him that probably wouldn’t change at all. “Winnie is fine,” or as fine as he could be, “And Roo is growing faster than Kanga can buy clothes for him,” a story that had managed to draw a rare chuckle out of Ethan when Kanga was telling him about it. 

Sophie’s name is next on his lips, but he’s interrupted by both Toby plunking his coffee mug down and the feeling of Toby’s arms wrapping around his shoulders. pulling him into a hug. His immediate reaction is to stiffen, and he’s sure that Toby can feel it because he’s shushing him, sending Ethan’s lips into a scowl. Despite his discomfort however, the corner of his lips turn down, giving him a tired and weary look. He let’s Toby hold him for several moments before letting out a sigh and patting Toby’s hand. “You done yet?” 

[anemonewrites-blog]

schmidttywrites:

The way that the two had an uncanny ability to be in sync had clearly not changed in their year apart. The minute Toby comes tumbling through the door, Ethan had already stepped aside, ensuring that he wouldn’t get knocked down in the process. He looked down at his best friend who, although growing taller and filling out, had clearly not gotten any more graceful during his time away. At least that was something he could take comfort in. 

Ethan rolled his eyes before turning on his heel to retreat back into the house. “I think you’re just being overdramatic as always. Houses can’t beat people up.” Hopefully Toby would have the sense to close the door - but even if he didn’t, Hartfordshire was still stuck in that odd little comforting bubble where people didn’t have to worry about their homes being broken into. As a result, there were still some residents that didn’t lock their doors. Ethan, however, wasn’t one of them. 

“Have you gone to see anyone else?” 

Getting back to his feet and dusting off his jeans as Ethan disappears back into the depths of the cottage, Toby stops for a moment to scrutinise his reflection in the hall mirror. His nose doesn’t seem to be bleeding, thankfully, so he turns his attention to his orange curls, which he ruffles with his fingers in the hope that’ll make him look handsome and rakish. At least he’s not covered in acne anymore, right?

Pushing the door shut with the toe of his boot, Toby finally trails after Ethan, openly examining the familiar contents of the Bowdler home for visible signs that the dark-haired man is still… not himself. 

“Just Mum,” he answers with an idle shrug. His mother, Sarah, is the only one he’d given even the slightest indication that he was taking off to travel for a while, though he hadn’t given her any information on where he was going or when he’d be back, since he didn’t know himself. The poor woman deserves to be deified, the amount she’s put up with over the years. “I was thinking about going over to see Kanga if you still weren’t home, but luckily I can put that off for another day now.” Because she’ll certainly beat him to death for wandering off into the great blue yonder. He’s glad he got to see Ethan again before his inevitable end.

“What about you, have you seen anyone? When did you get back?” Where have you been? Why didn’t you tell me you were going?

[schmidttywrites-blog]

Ethan’s had enough sense to move the boxes that he has yet to unpack into areas of the cottage that most visitors don’t venture into. There are far less than there were before, and he’s challenged himself to unpack at least one on his cleaning day, and so far, he’s stuck to it. Centipede hadn’t been able to hide the pride in his voice during his weekly check-in’s over the phone. Having a routine, at least for a little while, was good for him, he explained. It’d give him structure and force him to commit to something - force him to commit to getting better. As a result, the cottage looks quaint and lived in, with his jackets and shoes hung by the door, blankets and a patchwork quilt his nan had made on the couch he had unearthed from the closets. For anyone who didn’t know Ethan had gone away for depression, they would have thought everything was business as usual. 

He wander his way back into the dining room, back to his drawings and organized mess, letting out a slightly snort as he mentions their raven-haired friend. When he had caught up with her, she had been fiery and still angry that Toby had left without so much of a word. That was a meeting that he didn’t want to be around for. 

“You ask too many questions,” Ethan responded as he took a seat again in front of his unfinished design. He isn’t a mind reader, but he can tell there’s questions that Toby is straining not to ask. Unfortunately, Ethan isn't prepared to have that conversation with anyone apart from Sophie who had been there when he left. His blue eyes look briefly at him for a moment before he resumes what he had been doing before Toby had appeared at his door. “I got back probably about two weeks ago.” He knows it’s two weeks. He’s gotten good at remembering what day of the week it was, good at slipping back into the rest of society. “I’ve seen everyone. They’ve all been round. Or I’ve been round.” He gives Toby a dry smile though he doesn’t look up from his paper. “Though going round their places has been more of a demand than anything else.” 

[anemonewrites-blog]

schmidttywrites:

Ethan couldn’t help but snort at the beard comment; a part of him doubted that facial hair equalled a new found sense of responsibility. That being said, he didn’t know what a year away had done for Toby in terms of personal growth. So maybe he had grown a little bit more responsible (but, he thought dryly, not responsible enough for him to update their friends here where he had upped and gone…not that he could say much on that matter himself. It was like the pot calling the kettle black).

His eyebrow arched, at the mention of the Holy City. “Surprised it didn’t explode with you there,” he replied, though he still made no motion to open the door. Ethan was having trouble imagining his friend in the Vatican, but aside from that picturing Toby backpacking was an image that suited his friend well. He’s drawn from his thoughts when Toby’s finger wriggles through the mail slot - and Ethan quickly moves his head backwards away from it by reflex with a noise that could probably be equated to something akin of an agreement. But that really only if you read between the lines. 

“It was quieter without you around,” Ethan huffed, pushing Toby’s finger back through the slot and pushing the flap shut. In one swift motion he straightened up and unlocked the door without a warning to his friend on the other side. At least he was opening the door, right? 

“Are you calling me Satan? Thank you,” he says cheerfully. In truth, the Vatican didn’t have a lot to offer Toby in terms of excitement - he only stayed a couple of days in the end, just to say that he had been, and spent the majority of that time trying to catch the Pope out and about in his little clown car. 

His smile only grows wider as Ethan dodges his poking and admits that it had been quiet without him. As far as Toby’s concerned, that’s as good as the dark-haired man saying he’d missed him too. “Never fear, I have returned to bring the noise back to your life, starting ten minutes ago,” is his enthusiastic reply, though he lets out a petulant ‘hey!’ as his finger is shoved forcefully out of the letterbox.

“God, I’m so lonely out here. I feel the darkness closing in,” he whines, spreading his arms out and pressing himself right up against the door with a heavy sigh. Of course, it’s at that moment that it finally swings open, and there isn’t a moment to catch himself before he goes tumbling over the threshold and lands with a yelp on the floor at Ethan’s feet. “Ha, knew you’d give in,” Toby says weakly as he pushes himself up onto all fours, trying to smile through the pain of yet another blow to his poor nose, “though you should tell your house to stop beating me up; I think I might be bleeding.”

[schmidttywrites-blog]

The way that the two had an uncanny ability to be in sync had clearly not changed in their year apart. The minute Toby comes tumbling through the door, Ethan had already stepped aside, ensuring that he wouldn’t get knocked down in the process. He looked down at his best friend who, although growing taller and filling out, had clearly not gotten any more graceful during his time away. At least that was something he could take comfort in. 

Ethan rolled his eyes before turning on his heel to retreat back into the house. “I think you’re just being overdramatic as always. Houses can’t beat people up.” Hopefully Toby would have the sense to close the door - but even if he didn’t, Hartfordshire was still stuck in that odd little comforting bubble where people didn’t have to worry about their homes being broken into. As a result, there were still some residents that didn’t lock their doors. Ethan, however, wasn’t one of them. 

“Have you gone to see anyone else?” 

[anemonewrites-blog]

schmidttywrites:

Ethan’s brain was still trying to wrap his around what he had just seen. That wasn’t Toby. But it sounded like Toby even if his voice was was a little deeper than what he remembered. What the fuck, he kept thinking, in an almost very amused manner in his own way. 

He’d probably never admit that he was slightly offended that Toby was suddenly taller than him. Out of all their friends, Ethan had always towered over everyone, but the title of tallest had clearly been handed to the man standing outside his door. 

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Ethan called back as the mail flap opened and a pair of eyes peered at him from the other side of the door. “I just cleaned the house I don’t want you messing it up.” After a moment he crouched down so that the pair were at eye level and pausing, wondering what question he should ask first out of all the questions that were buzzing through his mind. “Weren’t you off causing mayhem in another country?”

“I would never mess up your house!” Toby insists with a faux-offended gasp. “Well, not now anyway, look at me - I have a beard, I’m responsible and stuff.” And now they’re back together, he’s ready to start being a good, responsible friend to Ethan - he’s going to personally make sure that nothing turns him back into the sad ghost that haunted this cottage after his grandparents’ deaths. 

When Ethan joins him at the letterbox opening (and, ha, who’s silly now!), Toby’s eyes crinkle with his resulting smile. “Try several! In fact, try every country in Europe including the Vatican City,” he says, unable to keep the pride and enthusiasm from his voice. Fifty countries in a year, all on his own, and he hadn’t died even once! “Let me in and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Happy as he is to keep things light and breezy, the thought that still presents itself most prominently in his mind is to ask where on earth Ethan has been. He just sort of… vanished one day, with not a word to anyone about where. He doesn’t like to look at it too closely, but Toby has always relied heavily on his friends for the stability they provide him, and for his best friend to suddenly disappear after months of grief and self-imposed isolation had sent him into a bit of a crisis.

“I missed you,” he says then, poking his finger through the letterbox and trying to boop Ethan’s nose. His own nose still hurts from being slammed in the door. 

[schmidttywrites-blog]

Ethan couldn’t help but snort at the beard comment; a part of him doubted that facial hair equalled a new found sense of responsibility. That being said, he didn’t know what a year away had done for Toby in terms of personal growth. So maybe he had grown a little bit more responsible (but, he thought dryly, not responsible enough for him to update their friends here where he had upped and gone...not that he could say much on that matter himself. It was like the pot calling the kettle black).

His eyebrow arched, at the mention of the Holy City. “Surprised it didn’t explode with you there,” he replied, though he still made no motion to open the door. Ethan was having trouble imagining his friend in the Vatican, but aside from that picturing Toby backpacking was an image that suited his friend well. He’s drawn from his thoughts when Toby’s finger wriggles through the mail slot - and Ethan quickly moves his head backwards away from it by reflex with a noise that could probably be equated to something akin of an agreement. But that really only if you read between the lines. 

“It was quieter without you around,” Ethan huffed, pushing Toby’s finger back through the slot and pushing the flap shut. In one swift motion he straightened up and unlocked the door without a warning to his friend on the other side. At least he was opening the door, right? 

[schmidttywrites-blog]

stansasnarked:

Driftwood was a complete dive, but it was a cheap dive and that was why it was absolutely packed with students. The bass made the entire room vibrate and Lydia could feel it in her rib cage, strong and steady. By this point, everything was rather soft around the edges and blurry where she wasn’t concentrating. Far better than being sober, in her her opinion. The neon lights which flickered and sliced above the dancefloor were brighter than a rainbow and twice as pretty, lighting up the revelers in colours you’d never see in daylight. And everyone looked so goddamn happy. Even the guy throwing up in the corner was grinning like a wolf once he’d straightened up, whopping and throwing himself back into the throng. 

She felt her phone buzz in her pocket and took it out as she waited for her next drink, squinting a little so that she’d be able to focus on the suddenly over-bright screen. ASSHOLE. She frowned, feeling the bubble of anger and longing fill the pit of her stomach once more, but she pushed it away. She wanted to know what he had to say to her now. Huh. Apparently he was there, at the bar. 

A sudden jolt of fear went through her muddled brain. She hadn’t thought he’d do that, especially since he’d been insisting that it wasn’t him that she’d been texting. She whipped around, scanning the crowd with difficulty. It was pretty dark, despite the flashing lights, and full, so it was difficult to see anyone, let alone a specific person. Frowning again, she texted him back, trying hard to hit the right letters and failing miserably. m by thdc bar next tv the unicirnf statue. 

When his phone chimed again, and he saw the garbled mess of a text, Asher let out what could only be called a disgruntled noise. He looked up from his phone in an attempt to figure out which drunk mess this girl was in the dimly lit bar, but it was proving more difficult than Asher had anticipated. This, of course, only made him grow more annoyed.

When he deciphered what she was saying (he had gotten scarily good at piecing together the drunken texts she sent him on a regular basis), he pushed through the crowd towards the unicorn statue that was covered in an obscene amount of glitter. He suspected it had probably seen better days much like the rest of the Driftwood. When he was finally able to make his way closer, it was then he saw who he assumed to be Lydia...also covered in an obscene amount of glitter if the low, flashing lights could be believed. Asher let out a slow breath before finally approaching the crazy girl he’d be texting for the past several months. “Lydia?” Her name felt strange on her lips. He’d referred to her as nothing but “crazy” out loud until then.

[schmidttywrites-blog]

anemonewrites:

Against all odds, the front door opens to reveal his old friend, his sharp cheekbones and grumpy expression the same as ever - even if he does seem to have shrunk a few inches in the time since they were last together. Something inside Toby’s chest rises like a balloon at the sight of him, and he can’t help but grin like an absolute maniac - he feels more at home right now than he has in ages.

More than ready to get the reunion underway, Toby opens both his mouth and his arms for the biggest ‘how the bloody hell are you’ and matching embrace he’s given in his life, only for the door to be unceremoniously slammed on his literal face where he had stepped forward to cross the threshold. “Mother of dragons,” he curses, rubbing his bumped nose and trying (unsuccessfully) not to pout at the obstacle that has reappeared between them.

But Toby is nothing if not persistent, so he squats down in front of the offending door and addresses Ethan through the letterbox. “Not to point out your mistakes, Eeyore, but you accidentally left me on this side of the door,” he says, peering into the house in search of the dark-haired man.

Ethan’s brain was still trying to wrap his around what he had just seen. That wasn’t Toby. But it sounded like Toby even if his voice was was a little deeper than what he remembered. What the fuck, he kept thinking, in an almost very amused manner in his own way. 

He’d probably never admit that he was slightly offended that Toby was suddenly taller than him. Out of all their friends, Ethan had always towered over everyone, but the title of tallest had clearly been handed to the man standing outside his door. 

“It wasn’t a mistake,” Ethan called back as the mail flap opened and a pair of eyes peered at him from the other side of the door. “I just cleaned the house I don’t want you messing it up.” After a moment he crouched down so that the pair were at eye level and pausing, wondering what question he should ask first out of all the questions that were buzzing through his mind. “Weren’t you off causing mayhem in another country?”

[anemonewrites-blog]

After hours upon hours of cycling, Toby Tilll is finally able to hop off his bike, leaving it to clatter to the ground behind him as he hops over the low stone wall that separates the Bowdler residence from the public footpath circling the Hundred Acre Wood. It’s been almost a year since he was last home, and to breathe familiar air again is something truly special. To be here outside this particular house is even more-so.

As he strides towards the familiar cottage, Toby finds himself scrutinising his surroundings in a way he usually doesn’t, trying to spot any sign that the place has been lived in recently. Ethan has been gone for so long, but Toby still has hope that his best friend (boyfriend? Can he still reasonably call Ethan that?) has somehow been able to read his mind and predict that his return would be today. He can’t wait another moment to see him; he feels like he might burst. 

Shifting the weight of his backpack over to one shoulder as he tries to think of something clever to say, Toby taps out a cheerful pattern on the front door and tries not to fidget as he waits for a response from within. What will he do if Ethan still hasn’t returned? He glances back at his canary yellow bike, madly thinking he’d just have to get right back on it and go to Europe for another year, and just keep to-ing and fro-ing until his Eeyore reappeared.

… God, his mum would kill him. 

Worth it.

[schmidttywrites-blog]

Ethan had always felt as if time ran differently for him than it did for everyone else around him. The days spent at Grimm had all felt elongated and dragged on - each day bled into the next, and there were some days when Ethan wouldn’t know what day of the week it was. But the minute he had stepped into the city limits of Hetfordshire, all that time he had lost seemed to come rushing back. He could no longer ghost through the days pretending that he was a man who had lived outside of time. Sophie had bought him a calendar, and insisted on setting firm dates to see each other along with his other friends. Ethan’s weeks were now earmarked by these social responsibilities, his honest to god effort to get shopping done on Sunday, to clean his grandparent’s house (he was still getting used to calling it his), and perhaps most importantly, to apply for university.

Today was one of those days dedicated to his application. He was hunched over grid papers, pens and pencils strewn in a hazard fashion amongst his coffee mugs across the dining room table, when there’s a rap at the door. Ethan looks up, hair falling slightly into his face (a haircut was something on his calendar this week). His eyes narrowed, recognizing the knock but knowing full well that the person he was associating it with wasn’t home, and hadn’t been home in a year.

Please don’t let that be him, he thought wearily as he straightened up and headed towards the door with an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. When he finally opened the door, Ethan expected to see the Toby he had known when he had left: scrawny, a mop of orange hair and shorter than him. But now what he saw at his door was the complete opposite save for the mop of orange hair. He was looking at well...a Scottish highlander. He was silent for a moment before letting out a noise of disbelief - and closed the door in the man’s face.

[schmidttywrites-blog]

Asher had admittedly been to the bar that the drunk girl he had been texting on and off for the past several months was currently at. That being said, he couldn’t ever remember having an enjoyable time there, and had only gone there at the insistence of his mates. 

Tonight the bar was particularly packed, and as he was waved through the door, he pulled his phone out to text the inebriated girl. He figured this would be easier than trying to figure out which drunk girl at the bar she was because well...there were a lot of them. Once the text was sent, Asher silently went over the plan in his head again: he'd show up, prove to her that he wasn't her idjit of an ex, and leave. He still had work to get done. 

[schmidttywrites-blog]

Text to ASSHOLE: Lydia. Me. the one youb usxed to see nsked a lot

Text to ASSHOLE: i know its u

Text to ASSHOLE: and i aldo know that drinks at driftwdsood are great even if thed plaec is shit

Text to [phone]: Stay there.

[schmidttywrites-blog]

Text to ASSHOLE: look i think i know who i'm yslluing at ok i knowd it's u because u gibe off the aura

Text to ASSHOLE: THED aura of shite

Text to [phone]: what will convince you i'm not him

Text to [phone]: i don't know how many times i have to tell you i'm not him

Text to [phone]: i don't even know who you are

[schmidttywrites-blog]

Text to asher: i'm at that bar we had out first date at it sucks btw n everyonv here is more attractcuvg than u

Text to [phone]: that's fascinating

Text to [phone]: i don't care

Text to [phone]: because i'm not your idjit of an ex

[stansasnarked]

The little place before Penny didn’t look like much, but she hadn’t expected anything different from Skyla. Tucked away from the busier areas of the city, it was hidden under an awning and between several other small businesses; a greengrocer and a jewelry boutique flanked it on either side. Over the last few weeks, Penny had been getting used to her new coven, visiting them when she could and learning from their skills. Or, at least, that would be the aim eventually. Covens were in operation to let witches grow in skill and stay safe, but Penny thought that she’d prefer to get her own skills under control first. The new city, with far more people than she was used to, was already wreaking havoc with it. Half the time, she didn’t even want to go outside. With that in mind, she felt more partial to the kind of neighbourhood Skyla’s sop was in. It was wonderfully calm and quiet. 

She looked inside dubiously; it wasn’t exactly the most intimidating of businesses (what business dealing with love could be truly intimidating to think about?), but the fact of the matter was that Skyla herself was. She’d seen the other girls a couple of times, but Skyla always claimed to be busy, something Penny didn’t want to press too much about. It wouldn’t do to annoy her coven mate so early. But she still wanted to integrate herself in properly, and that meant visiting all of her new comrades. She squinted inside the windows of the store, feeling her stomach clench uncomfortably with nerves. She could barely see inside the damn shop. It felt rather like walking into a cave. A cave where you suspected the occupant might eat you for dinner. Ok, that’s being ridiculous, Penny thought, chastising herself crossly and pushing the door open. 

A bell tinkled as she entered the shop, falling silent as the door slid shut behind her, and Penny looked around, blinking in surprise at the sight that met her. Wooden beans criss crossed the shop, certainly more quaint than she’d ever expect to find in any city building, and there were flowers braided around them, even now in the dead of winter. Hearing a small noise, she turned her attention towards it, starting guiltily. 

[schmidttywrites-blog]

For anyone unfamiliar with Skyla and her character, they would have assumed that she disliked Penelope, and would have much rather not invited anyone else into their tight knit coven. It was hardly a matter of that though. Skyla just didn’t like people in general, and had taken ages to quietly warm to the other coven members. She thought Penelope was fine, a little skittish, but apart from that had little opinion on the new member. She hadn’t realized that her fairly busy schedule was making it appear that she disliked her though, not until Doreen had quietly mentioned it to her one day when she was dropping something off at her shop. 

It was what prompted Skyla to make time for Penelope to visit her shop in between appointments that winter afternoon. That day had already been a whirlwind from the moment the ‘open’ sign flipped on its own in the shop window. She’d already had 4 sob stories come through the door that morning, and frankly, she could feel the headache coming on. The last thing she wanted was to be around another human being - good thing she forgot that Penelope was supposed to drop by. 

She’s in the back measuring out ingredients for her next batch of love potions when she hears the bell chime softly from the front. Henry, her hedgehog looks up from his bowl of meal worms and lets out a little snort to which Skyla can only look at him begrudgingly. Be nice, he sniffs, and Skyla can’t help but roll her eyes before slipping off the stool and moving towards the front. She’s mentally forcing herself to be somewhat hospitable, but she visibly relaxes whn she realizes its Penelope. “Oh shit,” she utters. “I forgot you were coming.” A part of her wants to ask her to come back, but then she hears Doreen’s scolding voice in her head. She had to make an effort. 

“Come in the back. I guess.” 

[iris-delacour]

She refused to look at him now, having a nice conversation with the man that was so gracefully dancing with her. Many though Iris great at schmoozing, but in truth, Iris was good at enjoying almost every conversation she had to have, regardless of who it was with. And so she ensured her entire attention was on this man in front of her, so as not to be rude. It’s not that she still didn’t know that the man was circling around her, she did, but there were more important things right now - like trying to figure out what this man had been saying for the past minute. 

It was almost her turn to reply when the waltz ended and another began, and she was gracefully interrupted from looking a fool (although she most definitely would have been able to find a way out of it). Silently, Iris shook her head no. Just because she didn’t quite play games like everyone around her didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy the air of mystery surrounding the pair right now. Gently laying her hand on the tall mans shoulder, she let them fall quickly into rhythm before making her move. “Is dancing with strangers a specialty of yours, or am I just the lucky winner?” she asked, no hint of disdain or anger in her voice, only curiosity and wonder as she looked up at him. 

[schmidttywrites-blog]

“A bit of both?” he asked with a cheeky laugh, as they swirled around the room in time to the music. He still found it hard to believe sometimes that he had picked up a skill like being able to dance at these kind of events. It was certainly a skill he didn’t use in his regular day-to-day, and one that if his closest friends knew about would have given him shit for. “I do this out of necessity. And as a way to acquaint myself with people who are clearly very well acquainted with everyone else around them. Call it a selfish way to save myself from the social awkwardness of having to introduce myself to everyone with terrible small talk.” With a small tilt of his head, and the practiced smile, he looked down at her with her long eyelashes and sculpted face, “That isn’t a problem, I hope?”

[iris-delacour]

Iris had been told many times that she was devious in her looks, many believed her to pretend she didn’t know how attractive she was, use it to make others even more interested. This was far from the case, Iris knew - she loved how she looked, marveled every second, but she didn’t care much about using it, didn’t care much about the looks as long as she was happy with what she was doing. 

It was easy to look away from the stranger at first, Iris was stared at all the time. But in-between the shared giggles she and her few friends shared, in-between the gossip she didn’t pay attention to, this man kept staring at her, and she couldn’t help but catch his eye. For a second, she felt as if she had spilled something, ripped something on her dress, but after a quick check of making sure this wasn’t the case, she shot him a strange look from across the room, before being whisked away to dance with one of the donors, one of her fathers friends, her eyes still almost trained on the handsome stranger.

[schmidttywrites-blog]

Noah worked the room, eyes leaving the striking young woman as his attention turned to the others around him. As a rule of thumb it wasn’t wise to focus on a single target right off the bat, and Noah preferred to keep his options open, but there was something about the way that she carried herself that had a distinct air of difference compared to everyone else in the room. 

He slipped in and out of the crowd, schmoozing and socializing with whoever happened to stop him or cross his path. It was a skill to know where someone was in the room even without looking at them, and he always kept her within his peripherals, while simultaneously ensuring that he was in hers. The waltz that played overhead came to a gentle close, and it was then that Noah made his move. His lean figure cut through the crowd, and he materialized beside her and her partner, giving both of them a humble nod and a slight smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt but would you mind if I had the next dance?” 

[whiteyrabbit]

take your skin off when you’re talking to me

[whiteyrabbit]

“Oh funny ‘buns’, it’s very funny.” he said, wiggling his eyebrows as she continued to try and look everywhere but at her. He didn’t know what had come over him, it was just as if his body was sick of the mess it was going through. He turned towards her, hands covering his crowned jewels as if he had just now thought of protecting her modesty. “Come on baby Belle, get out that shell!”

[schmidttywrites-blog]

“You turn right around and don’t peak, you hear?” she called, cheeks still a rosy pink at the sight of one of her closest friends stark naked. There was no denying that she thought John was handsome (she thought all of her male friends were handsome), but in her insistence to keep things platonic with everyone she came across, Belle was sometimes blind sided by the fact that she was attracted to some of her male friends.

With a quick shake of her head at the very thought of it, she waited until he was turned around before she began stripping her clothes off. Before she could talk herself out of it, Belle crashed into the waves, an exhilarated laugh leaving her lips as the cold water hit her and subsequently washed whatever doubts she’d had moments ago away.