* 𝕙𝕖𝕒𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕤 / 𝓼𝓪𝓴𝓮 !

𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖎𝖆𝖒 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖓 penned by 𝓼𝓪𝓶 for 𝕤𝕡𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕙𝕢𝕤

[woflies]

@cwbosch​

“ah!” he exclaims, seemingly exiting his apartment in escalus just at the same time as his neighbor, who he’d happened to be looking for ever since he missed him at the picnic. even more so now, admittedly, since the news of valentine’s arrest, which had piqued wolfie’s interest into what alexandre had mentioned a week ago. “i was hoping i’d run into you, mate,” he offers what he hopes is a consoling smile, “are you busy?” 

[woflies]

@gevrgina

admittedly, it takes him a little while to realize she’s avoiding him. but when he puts two and two together, he decides it’s fair. he deserves it, after all the promises he’d broken. after he looked her in the eyes and assured her he was done fighting. it was a stupid promise to make in the first place — he should know better by now than to think he had control over the anger that sat idly in his chest, waiting for the right moment to claw it’s way up his ribcage and out his throat. but it was another promise he’d made regardless — and he’d broken it. so he’d give her space, if that’s what she needed. only — that space got old, quickly. he had half a mind that georgina would ignore him for a little while, and then show up. or leave him a text. or slide a note under his door. but none of that happened. the days passed, and he hadn’t heard a word, and his texts had gone unanswered, and it was beginning to dawn on him that he may have pushed it too far this time. he’d plucked the wrong jenga piece from the tower, and now everything had come crashing down. 

he’d been on his way to the dining hall to grab his first proper meal in days when he’d spotted her across the courtyard. he was sure she hadn’t seen him yet, and he quickly began making his way toward her, an awkward half-jog across the courtyard until he was close enough to call her name without shouting it and garnering everyone’s attention. “georgie,” he says the nickname like it’ll somehow make up for it, “wait up.”

[woflies]

@mvrcutios​

his stomach lurches when he hears about it — the police walking away with valentine in their custody. it felt like a confirmation of everything he’d foolishly refused to believe, a final nail in the coffin of his blind stubbornness. his promise to xandre to ask christian about some box felt utterly more viable now, and there was a sinking feeling of guilt and remorse for not taking his cousin more seriously to begin with. and of course — and his knuckles were bruised from his run-in with talbot, which only made him feel foolish now. there were only three people he cared to see now: one of which was locked away (oberon), one that had dashed off, refusing to hear another word from him (georgina), which left him with alexandre — who might be the only person he hadn’t driven away quite yet. 

“xandre,” he breathed a sigh of relief as soon as he spotted him, that familiar head of unruly, sandy brown hair would stand out to him in any crowd, “i heard about what happened,” he says quietly, he hadn’t been there, hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he’d already been escorted out of the picnic by then, so now he needed confirmation — an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear. “is it true? they’ve arrested valentine?” 

[lisaveronica]

[woflies]

winifred‌.

     he’s right, but she’s compelled to apologize anyhow because tal isn’t right. he isn’t wrong either, though. “yeah, but. still.” it’s all she’s got. the only way she can think to mediate something she still refuses to take part in. freda lets out a sigh at his tone. as much as she deserves it, he’s never been like this with her. “yes.” she can see the end of this conversation already. “he’s allowed to have a hard time too, you know,” she adds quietly, heart still racing but for a different reason. “honestly, if the two of you would just stop arguing for five seconds…” she mutters, half under her breath, leaving her sentence unfinished. he won’t want to hear the end of it anyway. “never mind,” she says, shaking her head, cutting the conversation short. she lost her nerve. of course.

“no,” he shakes his head, arms crossing over his chest as he lifts his chin as if to gesture to go on, “if we stopped arguing for five seconds we’d what ?” he presses — and perhaps his attempt to let things to had been futile, perhaps he was always grasping onto the anger in his chest so tightly because it was the only thing he had to grab onto. still, being angry with winifred didn’t make him feel any better. in fact, the look on her face only made him feel worse. “we’d realize we have more in common than we thought ?” he asks mockingly, “spare me the lecture, winifred.”

[sunsetchasersss]

[woflies]

winifred‌.

     “huh,” she says, surprised. there’s not a part of her that believes he simply ‘let him off the hook,’ but she won’t press for any detaiils. she still doesn’t know what she’ll do if they continue to talk about him, if she’ll defend him with the same intensity she does with other people. freda raises her brows, looking up at him. “mhm?” her breath hitches as he pushes her hair behind her ear — everything pauses for just a second. wolfie drops his hand, and she drops her gaze, finally exhaling, her heart’s beating wildly in her chest, and she’s taking so much care to tamp down all the hope that’s sprouted because she knows it means nothing. and yet. she swallows, shaking her head. the motion is almost erratic now that she’s so flustered. “it’s, i’m sorry. about your eye.” she gestures to it vaguely. “he’s… having a difficult time.” she doesn’t realize how awful of a response it is until the words already hang in the air. “i mean,” she rushes, covering her face with her hand, now feeling that she’ll be unhappy with however she conducts herself.

he crinkles his nose, shaking his head in response to her apology. “you didn’t do this to my eye,” he says, shrugging his shoulders in response, “don’t be sorry. it’s not your fault.” he wants to say — why the hell are you friends with him ? why the hell do you believe anything he says ? he wants to shake her by the shoulders, but he doesn’t. he doesn’t need to put her in the middle of it, when she’d done nothing wrong. except for befriend the wrong sort, he supposed. but could she be blamed for that ? he snorts at the justification — the thought of talbot having a rough go at things, after all of this, seems ironic. and though he doesn’t mean to be short or snarky with her, he can’t help it. “oh, is he ?” he asks, raising a brow, and he hates the sound of his mocking tone in his own ears, yet that doesn’t seem to stop him. “that poor boy.” 

[woflies]

georgina‌.

– “YEAH, SORRY,” HER VOICE GROWS SOFT FOR A MINUTE, and it’s not that she’s been avoiding him after their conversation about octavia, but she’s been nervous, and – well, maybe she’s been hoping that he would seek her out for a change, for some sort of reassurance. but she’s happy to see him now, and she won’t let everything else ruin her buzz, “ but you look great, actually, ” she beams, standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek. and she actually does think he looks remarkably better compared to normal ! so, she reaches both of her hands out, locking them with his and swaying slightly, and for a moment she looks up into his eyes and it feels just like the past, before everything happened. “ really ? i don’t know this song, ” she admits, shrugging her shoulders slightly, “ but we can dance, if you like. i mean, ” she grins cheekily up at him, “ if you ask me, i might say yes. ” 

he never feels like dancing anymore. which is strange — because he’d never hated it before. in fact, as a child, while all of his friends complained about cotillion, complained about the dancing and having to hold a girl’s hand as you waltzed around the ballroom — he adored it. he always had. he recalls fondly the days of dancing with his mother in the quiet hallway of their home, with a sam cooke record on the turntable, and how he’d done the same when he’d taught georgina about etta james and percy sledge. but now he never feels like dancing. now, it’s a chore. now, he looks down at the girl in front of him, and there’s a smile on her face that seems impossible to let down. the corners of his lips tug up into a smile, too, and he lets go of one of her hands as he lifts the other as he guides her into a twirl. “all right,” he says softly, as she completes the spin, facing him again, “georgina bishop, would you make me the luckiest chap at ashcroft and dance with me?” 

[woflies]

talbot.

what had t expected? a reconciliation hug? well, he certainly hadn’t expected stupidity. with police and passersby both guarding and enjoying the festival, he had thought he was invincible. that was one thing he supposed he paid for, the idea that he was invulnerable. he wasn’t achilles now, was he? pinned under wolfie’s weight and the brutality of his fists, he was made well-aware of that. more than just cognizant too, but stunned when the air’s knocked out of him. the preston had done a killer job at wiping that smirk off his lips. there was no clarity in whether his reactions and thrashing came slow because of his thundering hangover or the look of boyish terror dawning across his face. the mar already on wolfie’s face betrayed the fact that talbot was not built to fight; his ever present fighting words did no good either. there was no flipping wolfie off of him with ease. there was still his wagging lips, however, when he could shutter the fear away.

“ then fucking do it, prick! ” he replies, volume alike. his face contorts to anger after the second punch lands, unaware of much now that the adrenaline defeats the taste of metal in his mouth. arms that struggle to cover his face have arrived posthumously till he reaches a hand out to slipperily grip wolfie’s face. his hand desperately clawing and shoving so he might recuperate, of which only allows him enough breadth to realize the world is spinning and that the scene above him is moving and changing like a kaleidoscope. not that he can truly focus on it when he can hardly hear anyone but himself and wolfie. “ octavia, octavia, octavia, ” he mocks as loudly as he can manage. the other hand presses into wolfie’s shoulder, aware that his short fingernails are poor at sinking into flesh. “ ruin me, kill me. she’ll be so thrilled you care so little. ”

losing his temper like this was stupid — it was childish, it was thoughtless, and above all, it was another promise broken. but for every step he took forward, it was two steps back. for every moment he thought he was getting better, he was reminded of all the ways he was getting worse. the pain he’d endured for months after the loss of octavia never eased like everyone had promised. time didn’t heal — time only allowed it to grow. the pain manifested into something deeper, something worse, this uncontrollable anger that tore its way out of his body with claws that left him tattered on the inside. the suffering didn’t build character, it tore him down limb from limb until he was no longer the man he once was — he was no longer william preston. he was a boy, helpless and scared, with a rage that had metastasized from a dull ache in his chest, to each and every corner and crevice of his body. so full of hatred he could barely breathe. 

and as talbot’s hands reach up at him, clawing desperately under his weight, he could feel his nails successfully scratch at the skin of his cheek, his other hand digging into the skin of his shoulder under his shirt. as he lifts his fist in the air again, hurtling down into a third punch, he feels himself suddenly being lifted — unaware that he’d managed to block out his surroundings completely until that moment, so blinded by rage he’d forgotten where they were. still, he struggles against the arms pulling him back, his legs still attempting to get a swift kick at him, but the officers restraining him limit his motion, and as much as he struggles to break free, he can’t. “you’re dead, griffith !” he shouts, spitting at the other, “you’re fucking dead !” 

[woflies]

winifred‌.

     talbot. she should’ve known. t’s been simmering with resentment for months; any room that contained both him and wolfie was bound to become a sort of battleground. she’s not even surprised that tal hadn’t told her. that’s to be expected when he hasn’t told her much of anything. “oh.” she looks down, idly moves the dessert on her plate around with her fork. he was supposed to be her best friend for crying out loud. even if they were in the middle of this strange impasse where neither was willing to talk to one another, she still thought of him as her best friend. “he shouldn’t…” she shakes her head, cutting herself off. she’ll defend tal with every breath, but of course it is now that she loses her resolve. “nothing,” she echoes, nodding once. “so you didn’t return any punches.” freda points out, half a question, half a statement. she and t hadn’t been speaking but she’s seen him walking through the halls, in escalus. he doesn’t have a bruise over either of his eyes.

“it was his lucky day,” he smiles, a little awkwardly — he didn’t want to put winifred in the middle of something she didn’t need to be involved with, although he had been forcing people to take sides since the beginning of all of this, “i let him off the hook.” although he hadn’t returned a punch that day — he certainly hadn’t kept his cool, either. but there was something so sacrilegious about fighting like that in oberon’s office, knowing, or at least thinking he knew, what a peaceful person oberon ashcroft was. those, these days, he saw so little of the man, he wasn’t sure how much he really knew of him at all. “hey,” he says, his voice soft this time as he reaches up to tuck away a loose strand of her hair. the action feels more intimate than he’d meant for it to, and he quickly returns his hand to his side. “i’m sorry. i know he’s your best friend,” he frowns at the word — he’d been friends with talbot once, too, but now the thought of it made his skin crawl — “it wasn’t his fault. i incited it.” 

[woflies]

cal.

“sorry,” cal held up his free hand with a laugh as he notices wolfie flinch. “didn’t mean to scare you.” he had forgotten how hard it was to be in wolfie’s presence and not feel immediately guilty. he’d gotten good at pushing the feeling away by now, but the second he saw him it all came rushing back. maybe because he couldn’t help but see her when he saw him. or maybe it was seeing how much this all had affected him. if cal hadn’t done what he’d done and known he was the cause of all of this, he knew he probably would’ve been secretly happy about it. wolfie was his friend, but he was also his biggest rival in a lot of ways. there was always this sort of… friendly competition between them. if competition was ever friendly. maybe he was still a little glad about it. just a tiny bit. “i wouldn’t put it past them. there always is.” he rolled eyes, although he could feeling his body tense up at the mention of the word cop. he had yet to be questioned, but he figured it was only a matter of time. the answers to any possible questions had been playing like a tape in his head. over and over. “oh yeah? what’d they say? can’t believe they’re putting you through all that, considering everything.”

he shrugs his shoulders in response. the first few times he’d spoken with the detectives, he’d been irrationally angry, inconsolably upset, he’d been brash and aggressive — now, at least, he could speak to them sensibly. not that that would do much good anyway — he couldn’t be much help when he was still pretty convinced that they’d had it right the first time. clearly, though, with the case re-opened, and with lysander out, there was something that was missing. something that wolfie — naively ?  — was overlooking. “asked if my family had enemies,” he scoffs, crinkling his nose as he shakes his head in disbelief. “which like — obviously. my dad’s the richest man in london, he probably has more enemies than i could count on two hands. you know?” 

[woflies]

talbot.

something lights up in t’s eyes behind his shades. there’s no real reason for it, but he likes that wolfie lingers. after his first bite of his second piece of pie that day, he can feel the sugar coating his teeth; the way he feels the need to pull out a mint. it’s not something he should have even bothered trying to eat. he shoves the sunglasses into his dark locks before wolfie pops out a word. of everything tal knows, it’s not to egg an aggressor on. nonetheless, his red eyes gleam and a smile splits his face in two. “ then, fucking ruin me! ” in this state, he can’t seem to pull forth his own anger as much as he conjures enthusiasm at the prospect of the idea wolfie can’t actually do anything but throw a temper tantrum and raise his voice.

the sound of his plate dragging across the table is an offering of his pie. “ it’s yours, ablach. i like talking anyhow. and I’ll keep at it till you make due with your promise there. here’s a topic: i’ve heard your dead sister’s been making plenty of house calls. she’s looking good too! not never better, per se, because she’s dead. but, well, i’m frankly jealous of her hair. could never get mine quite that tame. her makeup? almost as on point as that water bottle was trajectory-wise. i mean, one hit. almost would make you think it wasn’t a crime of passion, huh? that’s besides the point though, really. do you know what kind of eyeliner she uses? i’m afraid i haven’t gotten the chance to ask her. a wee elusive in her ghostly form, wouldn’t you say? ” he can’t help instigating, even though he had recognized long ago that wolfie was not her killer and he had make a sort-of promise to the ghost. it made him feel better somehow. not the fact that wolfie hadn’t killed her; the way he could hurt him in such an utterly simple way.

it wasn’t long ago that he’d promised georgina he’d try harder. that he was done with the heavy drinking, the losing his temper — admittedly, he hadn’t been very good at keeping his promises lately, but he was actually going to try and stop. he was trying to control it. but talbot — talbot made it so damn impossible to do that. still, though, he tries — and he has half a mind to walk away, to remove himself from the situation before it inevitably gets out of hand. but then talbot mentions his sister, and his mind goes blank, just white with fury. and he doesn’t stop. his fists are clenched so tightly it hurts, and he’s nearly shaking trying to hold himself back. but it’s the blatant and nonchalant mention of her murder that finally makes him snap — and there’s a brief moment, just a split second, where his heart sinks for his sister, and for another promise he’s about to break — but it passes just as quickly as he comes, his body entirely filled with a blind rage he’d never felt so fiercely, before he’s moving around the table to lunge at him and tackling him to the ground. his knees are on either side of the other, his left hand pinning down talbot’s shoulder, as he lifts his right hand and swings it back down, his already injured fist meeting talbot’s cheekbone with such ferocity it sends pain shooting up through his own arm. “don’t fucking talk about my sister !” he shouts, his voice breaking, and it sounds more like a plead than a demand, this time swinging his opposite fist, “i’ll fucking kill you !” he shouts again, far too overcome with resentment to care about what anybody heard, “i’ll fucking kill you so lysander knows how it feels !” 

[woflies]

winifred‌.

     it makes her smile — the thought of him messing up even pasta. of course, she thinks, because why would he need to know how to do that? she knows how some of the scholarship students see their peers, how they sneer at the way money smooths over the rough edges, but she can never find it in herself to vilify them. if anything, it amuses her how differently they lived their lives. different lives, different problems. freda watches as he ducks his head and avoids her gaze. she wants to press for more; she’s tired of living in ignorance, no matter how blissful it’s been. she returns a half-hearted smile, one that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “have they got bruises on both eyes?” she asks lightly. she wants to kick herself for allowing things to slide past her again, for avoiding the hard conversations. she turns her gaze towards the center of the field. “who was it then?” she finally asks after a pause. not that there was anything she could do anything with the information. she was simply curious.

he purses his lips, his eyes narrowing on her behind his sunglasses as he tries to decide whether or not to admit the truth. freda had always been easy to talk to, it was part of why he enjoyed being around her so much. but could she say the same about him? would she, if she knew he was still picking fights with her best friend? if she know how much he couldn’t stand him? his eyes flicker past her, in search for that head of unruly brown curls, but he doesn’t see talbot anywhere. he lets out a sigh as he returns his gaze to freda, and there’s a grimace on his face as he finally comes to admit it. “talbot,” it’s mumbled, and he’s not sure if he’s embarrassed to admit it because he’s her best friend, or because talbot was even capable of giving him a bruise so big, but he keeps his sunglasses on in hopes of hiding his expression. “it was nothing, really.” 

[vcugifs]

You’re a good boy. You’re a sensitive boy. Come home.

[woflies]

winifred‌.

     it’s always been difficult not to smile when she’s around him, but all of that is amplified with the champagne. “really? i mean,” it isn’t hard to believe, but she can’t imagine it. “i can’t remember the last time mine did, but i’m sure she must have at some point or another. everything i know how to make has been from her.” she doesn’t remember learning how to cook; she remembers realizing that, if she didn’t, they would go hungry. whatever the reason, she’s glad she learned how to do it. freda steals another glance at him, and furrows her brows. “your…” she nearly reaches out to touch it. “eye. that’s quite a bruise you’ve got.”

he raises a curious brow, cocking his head to the side slightly as his lips tugged upward into an amused smile. “well, then, i absolutely must request that you make something sometime,” he says matter-of-factly, taking a small amount of the toffee putting on the tip of his spoon and taking a bite. “i’m shit at cooking myself,” he adds with a chuckle, “can hardly even make a plate of pasta without fucking it up,” he jokes — though, if he’s being honest, he’s not even sure he’s ever tried to cook for himself. he’s never had to. the smile on his lips, however, fades when he notices the way she looks at him, at his eye, and he ducks his head down in response, shaking his head as he pulled his sunglasses off from where they hung on his shirt. “it’s nothing, really,” he says, placing the sunglasses over his eyes as he returns his gaze to her, and in true, cliché fashion, a somewhat forced, but teasing smile on his face, “you should see the other guy.” though, in fact, he hadn’t actually returned any punches — he’d only shoved the other to the floor and left him in oberon’s office, his mind still curious as to what he’d been doing with that file. 

[woflies]

georgina‌.

– THE GENTLE WAY HE TOUCHES HER MAKES HER WHOLE FACE LIGHT UP, and for a moment she thinks she could close her eyes and everything would be normal. they’d be back in time, when things were good and everything was new – and it’d just be a matter of moments before she’s tugging him away, begging him to touch her while they have the apartments to themselves. “ what ? did you think i was hiding ? ” she laughs, flickering her gaze upward to look at him through her lashes. she’s on his level, the right level of drunk to be comfortable being a little flirtatious. “ yeah, ” she reaches up to touch his face, brushing her fingers across his jawline, “ kind of weird, but…yeah, i’m okay. how are you getting on ? ” 

“feel like i haven’t seen you,” he replies, reaching up to tuck a misplaces strand of hair back behind her ear, “that’s all.” okay — perhaps he is forcing himself to play nice — because he owes her that much, because it’s actually a nice day out, and because, for once, he doesn’t feel like throwing all the food off the table and punching talbot’s face in (although the latter would always be a temptation, lately). but he also had to, because he couldn’t cause a scene. he needed to keep himself composed, needed to remain sober enough that when he talked to christian on behalf of his cousin, it could seem normal. “i’m great,” he replies, and then his nose crinkles and his brow furrows, like he realizes it’s too much, too forced, so he quickly adds, “you know, all things considered,” he smiles softly, momentarily lifting his gaze from georgina to the surrounding picnic — searching for christian’s familiar friendly face — and when he doesn’t spot it, he returns his attention to the girl in front of him. “it’s strange not to see oberon here,” he admits, “but the music is just wonderful.” 

[woflies]

talbot.

t swings into a nearby table well after he’d had the opportunity to hear wolfie’s insensitive remark. throwing his feet over the bench, he ponders a reply. the right grip he’d received his fork with is accompanied by a stretch of his lips that feigns something of a smile. an action that he is trying too hard to force. an abrupt wave of his hand suggests the brunette should sit across from him.

“ ah, brave? let’s be honest, wolfie. i should be in prison by now. why haven’t you buried me yet? is it because of octavia, xandre maybe? or is it something else? is it something beyond your control? how about this— i’ve loads of drugs. i do, really. you call up your wee mole and bust me in the middle of the picnic. doesn’t that sound like fun? we can even make a scene! ” the level at which he speaks is ridiculous. why should he care who should hear? he pauses, sinking his teeth into a bite of his pie. now that the cogs are turning in his mind, he hasn’t the ability to stop his lips from wiggling for long. “ could trick her real killer into thinking we’re close-minded eejits. ” the conclusion is spurred through a path of his own words. a rash, idiotic truce that wolfie will snap in two. he is so set on lysander that tal doubts he’s created room for xandre to trust him. for all he knows, the whispers of christian’s and val’s guilt begins and ends with him.

his eyes narrow on the other, so smug and sure of himself, and it takes every ounce of will power not to reach across the table and grab him by the collar. but that wouldn’t do any good — he knows it — it would only upset georgina, and talbot hardly seems to have a care regardless. but he keeps going — keeps pushing, and wolfie’s hands curl slowly into fists at his side, fingernails pressing crescent moon shaped dents into the palm of his hand — that pinch being the only reminder of where he was. don’t lose it, he reminds himself, and he doesn’t even know how he got to this point — all his life he’d been so good at containing it, caging that shadowy creature that seemed to live inside him. but it’s been harder and harder to control, and with each pressing word that leaves talbot’s lips, wolfie feels his grip on the leash getting looser. “enough!” he finally erupts, his fist slamming down onto the table talbot was sat at, and he was now hunched over it, propping himself up with his palms pressed against the table so that he was eye level with the other boy. “keep running your mouth, griffith,” he lowers his voice now, but it’s dropping with venom, “and i will fucking ruin you,” he stands up straighter again, adjusting his t-shirt. “so just shut the fuck up about your killer conspiracies and eat your fucking pie, will you?”