With the capture of Verandi Farley and several high-ranking Trossach members, the British wizarding world has finally caught a break. The rate of rogue werewolf attacks have started dropping at a steady rate and, hopefully, things will stay that way. The Ministry is starting to loosen some restrictions, like not arresting werewolves standing on the street for loitering, however there’s still an obvious power imbalance between wizardfolk and werewolves.
The Cotswolds pack are continuing to advocate for the rights of werewolves and petitioning to change the legislation that has been set in motion by the current Minister for Magic, whilst the remaining Trossachs members are trying to stay out of the spotlight and keep a low profile… for now.
Whilst the British wizarding world seems to have calmed down, the same cannot be said for over in Northern Europe where a rebellion of magical creatures has risen. The state of things has gotten so bad that the European Ministry has enacted protocols to protect those under eighteen whilst their adult witches and wizards fight to keep control of their countries.
Students from Durmstrang have been sent to Hogwarts to keep them safe and those not old enough to attend school have been sent to live with relatives or designated British Ministry officials outside of Europe for the time being.
Will the low rates of werewolf attacks in Britain continue? How long will Durmstrang students stay at Hogwarts? Will the creatures usurp the wizardfolk in Northern Europe? Only time will tell.
SEPTEMBER 2019 It's been a very long, eventful summer in the wizarding world. A baby was stolen, several high ranking Trossach members were imprisoned, and werewolf attacks have drastically dropped as a result. What will happen now school has returned?
MAY 2019 An attempt to capture the beta of the Trossachs has been launched. Were the Aurors successful in their mission? Go read more here!
Forward, forward, don’t look back, don’t look back, it pursues, it runs after you, run, run, don’t look, the heat on the back of your neck, don’t look back, run, run, the teeth, they sink in--
Wolfgang’s eyes opened at once, his heart beating in his throat, a place that it had begun to fancy in the last few weeks. He couldn’t breathe, not laying on his back, not like this, he needed to get up, to get away from the…
The blanket?
Where was the hut, where were the trees, where were the rotting floorboards, where was the werewolf?
There was none of that. He was laying on a couch, bathed in the soft glow of a fireplace, the light illuminating a fuzzy throw carpet right by it. Getting up was… Hard. His entire left side was screaming out in pain with every move he made, but he needed to get up, he needed to get the pressure off his neck.
And he needed to know -- where was Isobel?
Isobel, Isobel, Isobel, “Isobel,” he muttered, pushing himself up from the couch. Where was he? There were… Many things of wool in the room, under his feet, the blanket he’d gotten himself tangled in was woolen… Isobel… It was the farm? It had to be.
But how long had he been laying there? If not for the fireplace, it would have been pitch dark in the room, so it must still be nighttime. But where was Isobel, then? In her room? Or, gods forbid, was she at St.Mungos?
No, she’d… She’d held his hand, she’d caressed his cheek, she hadn’t been hurt that much. But, but what if there was something he didn’t remember?
He had to know, right now.
He’d only ever been in the kitchen and the living room of the Linwood farm, but Isobel had mentioned once that she lived upstairs, in a conversation that felt like it had happened centuries ago. Upstairs, upstairs. His eyes burned like hell, but he could see the outline of a staircase now, a spiral one, going up.
He made a step toward it, then another, his pace sluggish, reaching his right hand out to grab onto something -- a wall, furniture, he didn’t know, nor care. His chest wasn’t agreeing with him, but fuck that, he’d walk for miles like this if he had to. One step, another, slowly making his way up the stairs in the pitch dark--
He lost his balance and fell forward, showing a hand underneath his face, yelping out in pain as he could hear all the bones somewhere in his hand crack. Goddamnit.
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 8, 2020 3:58:14 GMT
the state of dreaming
Isobel turned over yet again, readjusting her head on the pillow, unable to rest. It wasn’t the pain of the bruises that was keeping her up--no, the potion had taken care of that. It was her mind that wouldn’t let her sleep for more than an hour or so at a time. Part of it was the unease she felt at knowing the discussion with her parents wasn’t over. It was one thing to disappoint them because of her dreams, but entirely another to make them fear for her life. And then there was Wolfgang--she hadn’t meant to drag him into this, no matter how upset she’d been at his outburst. He was more hurt than her, and she knew it was her own fault. She was the one who thought it might be a good idea to get revenge.
Then there was a creaking noise on the stairs, familiar except for the fact that it came along with stumbling and huffing, followed by a pained yelp. Isobel threw the blanket off of herself--it felt too hot anyway, even in the middle of winter. She grabbed her wand from where it rested on her drawing table, wrapping herself in a bathrobe before flinging open the door.
“Wolfgang!” she whispered, running over to the staircase. “You shouldn’t have--you should be sleeping, come on--” She took his arm, pulling as gently as she could, trying to get him to stand upright.
“Isobel,” he murmured back, “you’re okay.”
“Yes, I am.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was close enough that she could reassure him of it. “Get up, please. I’m taking you to bed. You need to rest.”
He was still trying -- and failing -- to get up, when his brain registered the commotion above him, a door creaking open, the sound of bare feet against the wooden boards and a voice.
"Wolfgang!" said the whisper, and someone wrapped their hands around his arm, gently pushing him to stand up, while fussing about the fact that he wasn't sleeping on the couch. In the dim light coming from the candles on the walls of the second floor hallway, Wolfgang recognized the speaker.
"Isobel," he murmured, paying no mind to her worries, "You're okay." That's all he wanted to know. That was all. He wouldn't protest now, letting her lead him up the stairs, into a room, her room.
The lights in her room were brighter than those in the hall, making Wolfgang shut his eyes and hiss out -- it burned. She had him sit down on her bed, and without much ceremony, she got to undressing him.
But they weren't the hasty movements, accompanied by hungry kisses that he'd grown so used to. No, her hands were slow and precise, handling him as if he could fall apart at any moment.
He could no longer feel the rubber band of his socks pressing into his skin, and then after a bit of shuffling around his dress pants had been discarded too. And then she leaned over him, a stray lock of hair brushing against his face as she tried to undo the buttons by his neck. He took a deep breath and almost swooned, recognizing the scent of her shampoo. He couldn't put a word to it, not right now, but it was Isobel's favorite, he knew that.
And then there were her soft hands on the bare skin of his shoulders, gently pushing him into the bed and guiding him to the proper spot.
She tossed a blanket over him, and then there was darkness. But she didn't leave him alone, no, she got in right next to him, sharing the blanket, and her hand rested right on his heart.
Darkness. Ticking of a clock. The sound of calm breathing.
Wolfgang slipped into a deep, calm slumber.
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all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 8, 2020 19:07:30 GMT
the state of dreaming
With the softest touch she could muster, Isobel laid Wolfgang down in her bed, fluffing up the pillow under his head and getting out another blanket from her chest of drawers. Even though she knew she was too warm, the product of her tossing and turning and worrying, she didn't want Wolfgang to shiver. He needed to let the potion do its work on his bones.
The bloody clothes were discarded on her floor, far more of a mess than she ever let herself make under normal circumstances, but she told herself she would deal with it in the morning. What was important now was to make sure Wolfgang was comfortable, and she tucked a blanket gently around him, pulling the wool right up to his chin, before blowing out her candle.
For a moment, she sat on the edge of the bed, just watching his face. His eyes were sometimes open, sometimes closed, and she gave a small smile to know that he was comfortable enough to sleep again, even though it was dark enough that she was sure he could barely see. Pushing a curl out of his face with one hand, she paused, hand resting on the pillow next to him. It felt strange to think of kissing him again, after everything that had happened between them just a few short weeks ago. But she had missed him. Perhaps she wanted no part of the wild, angry Wolfgang who spilled vodka down his shirt, but she had missed the Wolfgang who smiled smoothly as he held her hand at the Winter Ball, the Wolfgang who let her pet his hair while she sketched with her other hand, the Wolfgang she thought she knew.
Was he still in there?
With the gentlest of motions, Isobel leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before snuggling up close to him. She didn't know if she would rest, but she hoped for Wolfgang's sake that her presence would help him sleep. Placing her hand on his heart, she closed her eyes once more.
He woke up lying on his side, head sunken into the white pillow underneath. The pillow smelled like...strawberries. Wolfgang's brain could conceive of only a single reason as to why a pillow would smell such a way. Because it was Isobel's pillow.
His eyes opened at once, any drowsiness washed away by the bout of anxiety he felt. He was right -- this wasn't the couch he could vaguely recall being placed on the previous evening. He was in a bed, in Isobel's bed. The clock somewhere in the room kept its steady beat, not minding the thoughts trying to race through Wolfgang's head.
He rolled on his back, looking to the other side. Empty. Cold.
His clothes were in a pile on the ground, stains of the most disgusting color covering the white of his dress shirt. It was a bloody mess.
He needed to get out of here. Why? Because coming here was a bad idea. Not because of what had happened with the werewolf, no, because... Because Isobel hadn't said that he was allowed to come, that she was ready to talk to him. They hadn't booted him last night out of common courtesy, so it was better if he made himself scarce instead, before they have to tell him to leave.
He got out of bed, trying to ignore the fact that his chest looked like it had taken 3 bludgers at once and grabbed his pants off from the floor, trying to figure out which was the front before attempting to get into them -- which wasn't particularly successful , as his limbs hadn't caught up with his brain.
As he was trying to pull the pants on, he saw the door open and caught a glimpse of Isobel's face.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here," he rambled on, struggling with the pants, "You said you needed space and I had no right to intrude until you were ready, thank you for patching me up, I'll, I'll take my leave now."
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all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 9, 2020 15:57:01 GMT
the state of dreaming
Isobel's eyes opened early, before the sun came up, the room still dark, but it seemed like she had slept after all. The bruises on her back were beginning to ache again, and perhaps that was what had woken her, but at least there had been a little rest. Wolfgang was in the exact spot she'd placed him on her bed, breathing slowly and steadily, which was a comforting noise. Still, Isobel knew that she would not be able to go back to sleep so easily, between the grumbling of her stomach and the sense of unease she still felt.
Careful not to disturb the sleeping boy, she slipped out of bed, heading downstairs to the kitchen where she could already hear her parents moving around. They always woke early--caring for animals didn't allow for sleeping in particularly often. Eggs were sizzling in one pan on the stove, and as Isobel entered the room, Mum produced another pan to set there, slicing bread for toast.
"Morning." Dad was his usual laconic self, looking more concerned with the eggs on his plate than anything else. It was almost comforting, if Isobel hadn't known that he was angry and disappointed inside. Isobel hesitated in the doorway.
"Have some breakfast. I'm sure you need it." Mum's voice was far calmer than it had been the day before. Isobel sat in her usual chair at the table, while Dad finished up, saying he was going to go tend to the sheep.
Setting a plate of eggs and toast in front of Isobel, Mum sat down as well, moving the pans off the flames for a moment. "He's upstairs, isn't he?"
"Yeah. He's sleeping in my room."
"I thought so." Mum took a sip of her tea, sitting back in her chair. "He kept asking for you, when I was trying to fix his teeth. I think he thought I was you, at one point."
Isobel cringed at that, remembering the obsessive way he'd tried to reach for her face back in the shack. "He came looking for me in the middle of the night. I had to make him go back to sleep."
"Well, if he's resting, that's what matters." Mum paused then, as if she was trying to think of how to phrase something. "Now, I expect you to stay here for the rest of the break--as for him, though."
"If he can't stay--I understand." Isobel looked down at her plate, knowing that she did understand, even if she knew it would break Wolfgang's heart to have to go back to his own family, with the situation that she knew was there.
"No, he can stay." Mum set down her teacup. "You can be punished by being grounded from everything else--he needs a calm place to heal." She reached out a hand to touch Isobel's, making the girl look up into her mother's eyes. "You know, when I was seventeen, I might have done the same thing he did if your father had done something so phenomenally stupid."
Isobel wanted to ask if he ever had, but she knew better than to bring up memories of the war time.
"So he will be a guest for now," Mum continued. "Just--no funny business, alright? Or if you must, because I, too, have been seventeen and in love--" she looked around conspiratorially-- "don't let anyone know about it." She patted Isobel's hand, getting back up and going back over to the stove. "And take this up to him, please," she added, fixing another plate of toast.
Carefully balancing the tray of food as she made her way back up the stairs, Isobel was surprised to open her door only to find Wolfgang clearly awake, stumbling around out of bed. She blinked, wondering where the sleepiness had gone. And right when she'd been told that he needed to stay here, needed to keep resting?
"But--I brought you toast," she said quietly. "You have to be in bed. To eat it."
But--I brought you toast. You have to be in bed. To eat it.
Wolfgang paused his utterly ungraceful hopping around as he tried to shove his leg into the pants, and looked straight at Isobel, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
"Toast?" he echoed her words. She...She was bringing him breakfast? In bed? Was this just common courtesy again, showing that the Linwoods were above kicking him out just like that?
His eyes glanced at the tray she was holding. Indeed, there wasn't just toast on there, there was a cooked egg and orange juice, which Isobel knew was his favorite.
Wolfgang felt baffled. So baffled, that he let go of his pants, letting them fall down to the floor and sat back down on the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped.
"But..." he muttered, looking at his hands instead of his girlfriend, "I don't-- No, I really can't infringe on your hospitality like this, not after... Not after..." He turned his head, once again facing Isobel, this time looking straight into her eyes. Wolfgang could feel a lump gathering in his throat, but he had to stop being such a coward if he wanted to try and fix things.
"Not after what you found out."
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1.75m (5'9")| Open relationship with ISOBEL LINWOOD | Bisexual | English
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 10, 2020 16:10:26 GMT
the state of dreaming
"Well... yes." Isobel looked down at the tray, then back at Wolfgang, who was, thankfully, sitting on the bed now. "You need breakfast. You have to be really hungry--I know I was." Softly, she set the tray down on her drawing table, careful to avoid any of her sketchbooks--magic could dry orange juice stains, but it would be a little harder to bring back pencil strokes exactly as they had been before.
She hesitated at Wolfgang's words, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear nervously. It was true that they had a lot to talk about, that finding out what he'd done had rattled her to the core, had made her afraid of the boy she'd never had any reason to be afraid of before. It was something unexpected of him, a side she hoped she'd never see again.
And she'd been pondering it in the weeks they had been apart, of course she had. Could she blame him? Yes, she could, it had been premeditated; he'd even gathered money from somewhere to pay off the killers, and she knew he didn't have a vast Gringotts vault where it all could come from easily. At the same time, the words echoed in her head about the reasons--what his father had done to his mother and brother, simply because of an accident of birth. Being a Squib had always been a fear of Isobel's even as her magic manifested itself, because of that very reason, that people were cruel, that they viewed them as scum, more useless than Muggles. She couldn't imagine watching the abuse happen right in front of her eyes.
They would talk. But first, Wolfgang needed to eat, to gain some strength.
"Get back in bed," she said softly. "I know what I found out, but we'll talk about it, alright? Because you're going to stay here. Mum already said you could, so you won't be arguing." She picked up the tray, waiting for him to get his legs back under the blankets.
His eyes followed Isobel around the room, timid, as if some part of him expected her demeanor to change in an instant, telling him to scram and not show his face here ever again, even though there wasn't a precedent for such a thing. Then again, she had gone out to fight a werewolf, which was the most un-Isobel like thing he could imagine, so, at this point, perhaps the dread in his stomach wasn't that unrealistic.
But no. Isobel was telling him that he had to get back in bed, that her mother was telling him to stay -- and he wasn't exactly on the best of terms with the rest of Isobel's family either, and that she wanted to talk.
Wolfgang wanted to get it over with, to skip the breakfast and get to the point, but his stomach growled loudly, betraying him. And the breakfast did smell so inviting...
"Alright," he sighed out, crawling back into bed and pulling the blanket up, tucking it around his sides, "Thank you for the breakfast. I..."
He had wanted to make a joke about Isobel's cooking skills, or the lack of them, but hesitated. He felt like one wrong word could ruin any chances of an amicable ending to this conversation.
After a few minutes of silence, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock and the sound of kitchen utensils scraping against a plate, Wolfgang spoke up once more.
"Isobel, I... I promise to be honest and nothing less than honest from now on. I deeply regret that you had to find out... From other sources. I just... Like I said, I truly didn't know how to approach such a subject."
MADE BY VEL OF GS, WW + ADOX 2.0
1.75m (5'9")| Open relationship with ISOBEL LINWOOD | Bisexual | English
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 16, 2020 0:33:01 GMT
the state of dreaming
With careful movements, Isobel picked the tray back up, setting it on Wolfgang's lap when it was clear he was settled back in the bed, not about to get up again. She laid the tray across his legs, the glass of orange juice rattling slightly, but not spilling.
"Eat up," she said quietly, at the sound of Wolfgang's stomach growling. She waited for him to pick up the fork and begin cutting up the egg before she sat on the bed next to his legs, trying to keep her movements to a minimum, even as the springs of her mattress squeaked beneath her weight. While they sat in silence--uncomfortable silence, Isobel thought, but where did they even start to talk now?--one of the barn cats padded through the door, the black one that had been in the litter with Mia-Rose's cat. It sniffed at her feet curiously, and, seeing that it was about to leap up onto the bed, Isobel scooped it up in her hands, not about to make the orange juice the unfortunate victim of one of the farm's many fluffy creatures.
She took a deep breath as Wolfgang began to speak, squeezing the cat slightly for comfort, even as she knew there would be black fur all over her soft pajamas. "I--I wish so too," she said, kicking her slippers off, pulling her legs up onto the bed, and crossing them. "It's just that--it was such a shock for me, you know? I expected you to say it was nothing, and then suddenly you were telling me what actually happened." Like she'd thought to herself so many times in the past weeks, it was nothing like what she'd expected of him. There were times, she knew, when he had been less than kind, but he hadn't ordered the murder of Grace Longbottom. And to her, he had only ever been perfectly sweet until that moment.
"The thing was, I was afraid," Isobel admitted. "I'd never seen you like that before, all yelling and wild, and I was scared. That maybe--maybe you would turn on me next. All I wanted was to be out of the situation."
The silence between the two of them was unbearable, and the scraping of the fork against porcelain, and the ticking of the clock -- it ticked away so steadily, as if nothing else mattered in the world -- weren't bringing him any comfort. He kept his eyes down for the most part, except when there was strange movement on Isobel's end of the bed.
She was holding a very fluffy, black cat. Said cat was eyeing Wolfgang's plate with its amber eyes, black slits peering at the boy distrustfully. He looked right back at the cat, his lips twitching and forming a smile for a few brief moments. He'd never had a pet, but deep down he'd always wanted to have a cat. Perhaps not one with such long fur -- it would be hell to keep his clothes clean -- but it wasn't like the animal had any control over it.
But he didn't have time to distract himself with the cat. No, not until he knew where him and Isobel stood. There was a ravine between them, and with his words Wolfgang was taking a leap of faith...
And her words felt like slamming face first into the floor. He'd guessed she'd been afraid of him already back then, but God, it hurt to hear her say it. The last bits of food in his mouth tasted like ash and he had to force himself to swallow it down.
"I'm very, very sorry for making you afraid, Isobel," he said, placing the platter on the other side of the bed, "But-- I wasn't angry. I wasn't going to, I'd never-- If I'd ever hurt you, I'd wouldn't be able to live with myself. That outburst was... Fear. I was terrified of what you would do, what you would say when I told you the truth, and even though my father is dead, I'm still afraid of him, and my brother, and... I was so, so scared. I lose control when I'm scared and..." his fingers were grabbing the edge of the woolen blanket, and without noticing, he'd started pulling them up, covering his bare chest, building a barrier between him and Isobel.
"I wouldn't ever want to hurt you, Isobel. You've never hurt me like he did."
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all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 22, 2020 3:36:00 GMT
the state of dreaming
Remembering the fateful afternoon in the apartment would probably never stop making Isobel's heart ache. She'd felt nervousness around Wolfgang before, like with the tango, but then he'd encouraged her. And she'd felt fear when she had been near him, like when the ball had been attacked, but then he'd been shielding her. Feeling fear of Wolfgang was a new horror, the kind of thing that nobody could prepare for.
And yet he had been afraid just as well. Afraid, as he said, that she would be afraid, which she had been--who could blame her? This had been no outside attacker, only Wolfgang himself.
At the same time, as Isobel had reflected to herself in between debating how she should avenge her sister's injuries, he'd done it out of fear himself--the fear of his father. Isobel had her own arguments with her parents--she'd had another one along with Wolfgang just a month or so ago!--but she knew they loved her. They would never raise a hand against her or her sisters, no matter what they did. She heard the pain in Wolfgang's voice, how much hurt his father had caused him. And to hurt a Squib, someone even more defenseless than a wizard...
Could it really be morally wrong to remove such a person from society?
But then there was always the fear that he would turn on her next, and Isobel wanted deeply to believe that he was telling the truth, that he would never do that, but it wasn't so easy. There would need to be time to make the image of Wolfgang in her mind the one who had defended her, not the wild yelling one.
Releasing the cat onto the bed with the hope that he wouldn't step on Wolfgang's injured ribs, Isobel reached out as he pulled the blanket up defensively, taking one of his hands in hers.
"I don't want to be afraid of you, I don't." Isobel looked right into Wolfgang's eyes, her gaze serious. "It's just going to take time. Even if I want to forget, right now, I can't just snap my fingers and do it." She laced her fingers in between his, trying to remind him, even if she was explaining the difficulties, that she was still there. "But we can get there, as long as you understand that you can't do that to me again. Now that I know--there should be no reason, right?"
There was another thing that had been occupying her mind in the night, when she'd been laying half-asleep, the pain potion doing nothing to help her rest. And she'd been reminded of it when Wolfgang had stumbled up the stairs, and then again when her mother had mentioned it at breakfast.
"Can I ask you one more thing?" she added. "Do you--do you remember what you were saying to me when you were hurt?"
The blanket shifted as the black cat made its way across his legs, heavy paws making their way over to the tray with empty dishes, nose poking in the dish, looking for any stray pieces of bacon. Wolfgang wanted to reach out and pet the fluffy beast, but Isobel had moved too, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together, making his eyes flicker right back to her.
Those grey eyes were looking at him with such intensity that it made shivers run down his spine. And yet... There was no trace of anger, no real trace of fear in them. No. There was determination both in her words and in her eyes. She wanted him around. She wanted him, still. Holding his bloodstained hands -- the blood long since gone, and yet so fresh -- as if letting them go would make Wolfgang disappear just like ash in the wind.
'Now that I know--there should be no reason, right?'
Was there? Wolfgang took a deep breath, quickly trying to figure out if there was anything else that Isobel ought to know about the entire endeavor. He couldn't figure anything out, unless she wanted a detailed account of it from beginning to end -- and he prayed to every god there was that she wouldn't think to ask.
"No. That...That is all," he responded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze as his other hand let go of the blanket, letting it fall onto his lap.
But then she had another question and the boy felt his entire body tense up. What would it be now? More conditions? Did she want him to come clean about it to the Ministry--
"Oh," a sigh escaped his lips and his shoulders slumped down. It wasn't anything like that.
"I do, Isobel. I remember. I love you. I love you,"he spoke, reaching out for her other hand and lacing all of their fingers together. "In truth, that is simply the only thing I do remember from last night. I barely remember your uncle telling me something about Hogsmeade, when I was already running and calling out for you-- Did you even hear me at all? And then..." he closed his eyes, trying to recall a single clear memory of the night before, but it was all a mangled mess, except for... "Then I remember your freckles, those freckles of yours," he released her right hand, slowly rising his fingertips up to her face and ever so lightly caressing her cheek, "I've always liked them a great deal, they're like stars... I think I was trying to count them so that I wouldn't think of the pain. I thought I was dying, Isobel. And I needed to admit it to myself, and to you. I love you."
MADE BY VEL OF GS, WW + ADOX 2.0
1.75m (5'9")| Open relationship with ISOBEL LINWOOD | Bisexual | English
all i really want is to be wonderful/people in this town, they can be so cruel
143 posts
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Post by ISOBEL LINWOOD on May 24, 2020 19:27:39 GMT
the state of dreaming
He loved her.
It was not that Isobel didn't know. The number of times Wolfgang had repeated it told her that. It was just that it was a strange mix of emotions, to be upset with him and afraid of him and yet wanting to say it back when she saw the desperation in his eyes. Because she had loved him, she had loved him for months now, and even though she had been sure she might fall out of love after the revelation, things had changed. He had come back to her, what she had worried he might never do. He had gone after her recklessly, chased her into the forest, even risking himself for her--and that was nothing like the Wolfgang she'd been afraid of.
Things would never go back to the way they had been, but they would change for the better--they had to.
"No, I--I didn't hear you at all, actually." Isobel lowered her eyes. "The forest there is so thick." And if he'd been anywhere close to her, she'd probably have been so focused on navigating to such an unfamiliar place to listen for distant shouting. It could have sounded like an animal to her--probably did. Because who would have expected him to chase her? "And then you got hurt--and I was so worried, with all the blood--I know now it was just because he hit you in the mouth, but I was scared."
"So why did you come after me?" She had a feeling he might answer that it was because he loved her, but that was what she already knew. Besides, he had come to talk to her, not to run after her through a forest in Scotland. "It couldn't just be to tell you that you love me?" She ran her thumb over the side of his hand, comforting, their fingers still laced together, blushing at the mention of her freckles. She still wasn't sure if she would ever see what Wolfgang saw in them.
Wolfgang felt a strange softness stirring up somewhere in his chest as he listened to her voice, even as she told him that she hadn't heard him call out. He couldn't be upset about that, not at all, the woods there had been thick and he'd been out of breath anyways. He wished he could have stopped her sooner, though, so that it wouldn't have come to the sight of him beaten and bloodied, head laying in her lap.
And when she said that she'd been worried, Wolfgang couldn't help but to both smile and shed a treacherous tear. He closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, as if that would get the tears to go backwards. The hand that had been caressing Isobel's cheek fell down, his fingers grasping at the blanket, while his other hand squeezed hers. He didn't want to cry, not now, not in front of her, not during a conversation.
"Why?" He answered, sniffling, "I.. Initially, I'd come to see if you would be willing to talk to me about.. Everything. But when I heard that you were going after a werewolf, I... I couldn't comprehend it, because that sounds nothing like the Isobel I know. And I've dealt with werewolves firsthand, I know how the worst of them can be in human shape alone, and I wouldn't ever be able to live with myself if one of those... Those mangy mutts would lay a hand on you. So I ran," his lips twitched in a smile as he looked at her, eyes wet, "No wand, dress shoes on. To make sure you were okay."
"I'd always rather it be me battered and bruised than you." His voice got quieter, his smile growing,"Even if my face has to suffer."
MADE BY VEL OF GS, WW + ADOX 2.0
1.75m (5'9")| Open relationship with ISOBEL LINWOOD | Bisexual | English
