chosenlonely

[chosenlonely]

@frcmashes​

Landon: I made a mistake. Now are you going to help me fix it or are you going to continue to berate me?

Hope: I am perfectly capable of doing both at the same time.

[chosenlonely]

I can be dangerous to people. It’s better if I keep my distance.

[chosenlonely]

@enflamedxtouch @geminislegacy

Hope: I need a plan.

Josie: Burn the school down.

Lizzie: I have an idea, but we're gonna need a tugboat.

Hope: Arson and tugboats. That's all I can ever get from you guys.

[chosenlonely]

HOPE MIKAELSON + that blue Salvatore School jacket I’m obsessed with

[chosenlonely]

@enflamedxtouch

Dickinson | 1x03 - “Wild Nights”

[chosenlonely]

diabolics​:

it is with tremendous relief that he lets out a sigh, assured now that his daughter is safe and sound and exactly where she is supposed to be. ( with him. ) nothing else matters to him in that moment. for now, he is content with this outcome. “i tried to call you, but the lines stopped working —” he waves his head, then looks her in the eye. “it doesn’t matter, as long as you are alright.” a small smile rests upon his lips with fragile comfort. 

klaus has never been one to accept safety too easily or too quickly, there is always something out there ( or more likely someone ) to watch out for, but he is happy she is unharmed and by his side, where he can keep her out of harm’s way. “i went to the school to find you, but you weren’t there,” he explains, then creasing his forehead in doubt. “where is josie now?” 

    “  the  lines  got  cut  by  the  storm.  ”  she  finishes  for  him  when  she  somehow  can’t  seem  to  let  it  pass.  (  it’s  not  his  fault.  she  needs  him  to  KNOW  that.  perhaps  that’s  her  way  of  indemnifying  him  for  what  he  USED  to  do.  )  “  i  know.  ”  there’s  a  fragile  smile  of  her  lips  that’s  only  widened  by  the  knowledge  of  his  whereabouts.  THE SCHOOL.  of  course,  the  school  was  a  safe  house  too.  they  have enough  will  power  (  and  magic  )  to  withstand  dragons  ;  the  storm  was  probably  a piece  of  cake.  “  i  got  rushed  to  dante’s  when  the  lockdown  started.  ”  dante’s,  the  club  she’s  PRETTY  SURE  has  some  nefarious  undertaking  within  it  and  that  she  now  has  somewhat  fond  memories  of.       questioning  josie’s  whereabouts  remind  her  of  why  she’s  eager  to  indemnify  him  to  begin  with.  he  hasn’t  always  been  PRESENT  but  regardless,  he  cares.  “  i  don’t  know.  ---  she  probably  went  to  check  on  lizzie.  or  her  mom.  ”  she  trails  off,  still  feels  breathless  and  restless  and  tired  as  she  tries  to  organise  her  thoughts.  “  she’ll  come  back  when  she’s  done.  ”  she’ll  come  back  HOME  she  almost  says  and  then  realises  that  she  would  have  to  clarify  which  home  she  means.  she  breaks  the  cycle  of  restless,  reckless  thinking  with  a  small  smile  and  an  exhale.  (  it’s  a  START  at  least.  )  “  so,  did  you  like  the  school?  ”  she  hasn’t  given  him  a  tour  in  years.  

[chosenlonely]

    since  they  last  spoke,  things  have  happened.  as  they  always  seem  to.  they  both  survived  hypothermia  for  one.  (  barely  she  knows,  but  she’s  not  going  to  give  that  weight  it  no  longer  deserves.  )  she  found  her  father,  learned  that  it  was  okay  not  to  solve  every  crisis  and  oh  --  had  a  confessional  with  josie  on  the  brink  of  death  that  is  still  hanging  in  the  air  between  them.  (  not  that  she  minded  the  confessional  or  the  things  that  came  before  it,  but  she’s  pretty  sure  there’s  going  to  be  an  adjustment  period.  )  that’s  EXACTLY  the  kind  of  stuff  she  should  talk  to  her  best  friend  about,  she’s  perfectly  aware,  but  considering  the  lines  that  have  only  recently  been  smoothed  over  between  them  and  the  fact  she’s  significantly  worse  with  worse  with  words  when  death  isn’t  looming,  she’s  wondering  how  she’s  supposed  to  go  about  it.  (  she’ll  figure  it  out.  )  first  of  all,  there’s  the  I’M  REALLY  SUPER  GLAD  YOU’RE  NOT  DEAD  hug  and  reunion  to  attend  to.  “  hey.  ”  a  casual  greeting  for  what’s  become  somewhat  a  casual  event  for  her  at  least.  (  one  would  think  there  was  a  quota  for  we  almost  died  but  we  didn’t  so  let’s  celebrate!  there  isn’t,  go  figure.  )  “  we  sure  seem  to  do  the  glad  you’re  not  dead  thing  a  lot,  huh?  ”  is  she  going  to  reach  for  a  hug  anyway?  absolutely.  if  they’re  going  to  keep  doing  this,  she  may  as  well  commit.  @geminislegacy​

[chosenlonely]

enflamedxtouch‌:

           it had been soft and F A T H O M L E S S as something akin to the way she’d typically feel around Hope Mikaelson but this seemed to be a bottomless pit that she was happy to fall into. it’s not without meaning; sometimes she’d find herself imagining hundreds of scenarios where this would happen. where she’d pluck up some courage out of nowhere and kiss her because she wanted to: because when her heart spoke volumes, it was hard to cancel out the noise —impossible even. the IRONY comes in the hardships she’d created in her own mind because storms of anxiety always waged wars she was doubtful of winning; whispers of rejection or narratives that would NEVER happen because she was who she was ( that typically meant everyone had to be looking at her through the same set of goggles ). And then, that tale….some version of events her mind had spent so long constructing for the sake of self-preservation fell into the water and dissolved into nothing. she’d kissed back, some echo of self-doubt remained but for a moment longer she’d allow herself to fall into it. confetti to the wind because she felt as if she was floating mid-air, grounded only by some tender caress of lips she’d never have believed would return the sentiment she’d given. a smile seems to take place before she can stop it, something that reminds her how isolated this feels: as if all the problems and everyone on the planet had disappeared. she’d never fool herself, assume that this was anything but a reflex on the other’s part but it was NICE and it kept her warm. it made her want to cry, to sing…to just tell herself this was real. fire and ice weren’t meant to mesh, except maybe they did, and if by some miracle what they had happened to be something fateful or written in the stars. the fire would melt ice and the water that remained would be enough to keep everything clear and they’d never see anything but the truth. 

      she already did. Hope Andrea Mikaelson had been a mystery, not one she’d wanted to solve years ago but one she admired from afar because crushes were supposed to fall away like dust in the air and not all paintings were meant to be touched — just appreciated. it was a SHALLOW concept but she’d been young; love, and beauty were concepts devised against shallow beliefs because maybe she had enough of her own ugly inner workings that she hadn’t wanted to face. it wasn’t person, maybe, in the end, it was a matter of timing. a matter of understanding something she hadn’t experienced then but did now. something simple and cracked…a world in which she finds all of their broken parts as beautiful as the shell that surrounds them ( because in the end, the shell doesn’t matter ). she’d not pulled away far; she could still feel the ghost of lips touching, still feel shallow breaths that matched her own but she’s almost speechless. a silence that doesn’t speak of rejection but rather the nerves she’s attained when it comes to approaching the situation. she’s still smiling, that’s a normal consequence of being in the other’s presence that she isn’t afraid to indulge in because it’s something that leaves a lasting warmth between the two of them that they need. it’s something that makes it easy to sweep hair from her face and tuck it behind her ear as if it’s nothing as if she’s just trying to see Hope clearer and then she feels a chill. a breath wavering as she let her hand fall. “ so…i’m glad you’re okay, ” she wavers in her tone, treading a line because she refused to force the other into a conversation she wasn’t ready to have yet. eyes almost afraid to find hers until they weren’t: until she NEVER wanted to leave this time or place again. “ I probably already said that…god, I…uh — sorry. ” she’s laughing quietly because she’s aware of how awkward she’s being: that she doesn’t need to be. 

    josie  saltzman  is,  secretly  or  not  so,  kind  of  a  dork.  she  apologises  for  repeating  herself  like  it’s  necessary,  and  jokingly  tells  her  that  her  favourite  take  out  could  give  her  a  run  for  her  money.  she  does  everything  to  make  her  smile  (  even  though  she  doesn’t  need  to  DO  or  BE  anything  to  make  her  smile  )  and  has  no  reservations  about  physical  affection.  she  loves  everything  she  loves  purely  and  deeply  from  tv  shows  she’s  never  heard  of  (  but  wants  to  be  educated  on  )  to  lizzie  and  her  parents  and  ...  her.  she  loves  her  and  she  sees  her  and  she  NEVER  ASKS  for  anything  in  return.  even  now,  while  they’re  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  damn  near  apocalypse  of  ice  in  a  club  they’re  both  likely  to  never  set  foot  in  again,  she’s  safe  and  easy  and  just  so  josie.  “  it’s  okay.  ”       she  wants  to  say  a  lot  when  josie  brushes  her  hair  away  from  her  face  for  want  of  nothing  else  but  to  see  her.  tell  her  that  she  appreciates  it  or  her  or  both.  that  she  notices  everything  josie  puts  into  everything  and  it’s  been  a  highlight  to  her  days  for  a  while  now.  or  maybe  something  less  grand  and  more  articulate.  the  problem  is,  she’s  not  good  at  less  grand,  more  concise  ;  not  where  it  really  counts.  it’s  a  draw  back  from  a  downright  pathological  need  to  let  people  know  what  they  mean.  she  tries  to  supplement  it  with  physical  affection,  with  time  given  and  time  spent,  instead  of  words  where  they  aren’t  needed.  she’ll  awkwardly  step  over  and  around  them,  or  maybe  it  won’t  be  awkward  and  she’ll  think  it’s  PERFECT  before  she  has  the  time  to  realise  the  depth  of  everything  she’s  just  said.  and  as  nice  as  that  all  sounds,  it  doesn’t  feel  RIGHT  for  this.  (  they’re  honest  with  each  other  all  the  time  and  that  means  they  have  time,  or  at  least  she  hopes.  )  “  you’re  okay.  ”  her  fingers  are  still  on  her  jaw,  even  with  the  (  albeit  small  )  distance  josie  has  put  between  them.  she  wants  to  be  better  than  words  they  might  not  be  ready  to  share,  and  she  wants  to  be  better  than  simply  standing  here  with  a  joy  stricken,  love  stricken  grin,  so  she  takes  a  page  back  out  of  her  book.  (  she  remembers  josie  reads  before  she  goes  to  sleep  sometimes,  and  it’s  such  a  small  detail  that  it  somehow  reaffirms  that  she  wants  to  do  what  she’s  about  to.  )       she  moves  her  fingers  over  to  josie’s  cheek,  doesn’t  let  the  cold  that’s  somehow  pressing  into  her  bother  her  for  just  a  few  minutes  until  she’s  leant  up  and  kissed  josie  saltzman  for  the  second  time  that  night.  she  pulls  her  closer,  partially  because  she’s  WARM  BLOODED  and  if  the  cold  is  getting  to  her  it’s  definitely  getting  to  josie,  and  partially  because  she  just  wants  her  closer.  she  knows  it’s  not  the  conversation  they’re  going  to  need  when  this  is  all  over,  but  she  hopes  it  says  enough.  (  things  like  i  want  you  and  you  make  me  happy  and  i’m  glad  you’re  here  even  if  there  might  be  yetis  outside.  things  like  no  one  but  you.  )  

[chosenlonely]

    she’s  gotten  really  good  at  running.  metaphorically  (  and  from  her  problems,  sure  )  but  she’s  fast.  she  feels  faster,  stronger,  today  and  she  blames  it  on  sleep  deprivation  and  the  adrenaline  that  has  settled  into  all  the  places  the  cold  has  now  LEFT.  the  path  back  to  her  house  is  easy,  familiar,  and  the  warmth  she’s  searching  for  pulls  her  in  as  soon  as  she  reaches  the  door.  it’s  warmer  than  it  is  outside,  even  as  the  snow  starts  to  melt  and  the  sensation  returns  to  her  limbs,  but  it’s  also  noticeably  empty.  she  knows  where  josie  is  (  or  rather,  she  knows  that  josie’s  okay,  that  she’s  likely  checking  on  her  family  )  but  there’s  still  a  GIANT  QUESTION  MARK  hanging  over  her  father.  she’s  about  to  trail  back,  find  the  other  shelters  and  see  if  he’d  gone  looking  for  her  at  them,  until  she  hears  his  voice.       “  dad.  ”  it  turns  her  around,  lets  her  sigh  in  relief  before  she  starts  to  run  towards  it  again.  he’s  there  in  half  the  time,  as  she’s  a  few  steps  out  of  the  dining  room,  and  she  stops  holding  her  breath.  (  the  height  of  her  concern  when  everything  started  was  the  safety  of  those  trapped  with  him  ;  it  hadn’t  stayed  that  way,  but  she’d  begun  to  miss  the  steadiness  of  that  fear.  )  “  i’m  okay.  ”  it  takes  a  few  moments,  verifies  that  he’s  okay  (  and  that  nature  didn’t  find  another  way  to  kill  immortals  ),  before  she  wraps  her  arms  around  him.  “  i  was  with  josie.  ”  she  knows  she  has  a  habit  of  talking  too  much  when  the  adrenaline  starts  to  come  down  ;  the  emotional  kick  back  that  hits  her  like  a  ton  of  bricks.  (  she  hopes  he  knows  what  she  means  even  if  it  feels  chaotic  and  unaligned  to  her.  at  this  point,  I  WAS  WITH  JOSIE  is  just  a  substitute  for  I  WAS  SAFE.  )  “  are  you  okay?  i  didn’t  see  you  before  the  storm  started.  ”  physically,  he’s  standing.  and  she  can’t  complain. 

@chosenlonely 

as soon as it is safe to go outside, klaus makes his way back to his family home in san francisco, well aware that is where hope would go if she meant to find him or anyone else for the matter. 

“HOPE!” he yells for her as he sets foot in the house. the storm has given way to a make but it is still far too cold, colder than he is supposed to feel anyway. “hope, sweetheart, this isn’t the time to play games!” klaus sharpens his senses in order to try and locate her, something he refrains from doing within his home usually. god forbid he hears something he’s not supposed to. this isn’t the time for self-restraint, however, and he locates her quickly, speeding towards the girl. “there you are,” klaus lets out at the sight of her and relief washes over him, softening his expression as he steps closer to bring his hands to her shoulders. “are you alright?” 

[chosenlonely]

@xhcyley​ @enflamedxtouch​

THE ORIGINALS 2.21 || LEGACIES 2.16

[chosenlonely]

shegrief‌:

entirety of her mind was blurred,  a complete bottomless pit as she steps through the trees.  it’s like she’s functioning,  but isn’t aware of it.  it could be blamed on the fact that she’s covered in soil from pulling herself out of the ground.  (  out of a grave that WASN’T in mystic falls.  or any place she recognised.  )  if she was more alert,  maybe she’d have realised how truly crazy she looked  —-  like she’d been pulled through a hedge backwards,  but she’s too busy glancing at her surroundings,  soft baby browns bewildered from the hustle and bustle,  and the business.  it’s worlds away from what she was used to,  to the town she grew up in.  IT’S MYSTIC FALLS NOTHING BAD EVER HAPPENS HERE.  tell that to the fact that she died on the same bridge twice,  and went over it three times.  had her body been buried here ?  none of it made a lick of sense.   she’s not sure she’s alive,  it’s still up for debate but the thudding of the heart against her cage of ribs lets her know that at least something is functioning even if she isn’t.  her lungs are aching,  she wonders if it’s from the lack of air they received previously,  or from the overexertion of now having to breathe again.  throat parched,  she’s so thirsty that she’s desperate for a drink and so when she walks up to someone,  or rather stumbles,  her voice almost fails her.  “  s —… . sorry,  can you TELL ME where i am  ?  or … or what year it is  ?  ”

    people  come  back  from  the  dead  all  the  time.  it  takes  some  getting  used  to,  sure,  but  eventually  she  has  to  admit  she  has  a  somewhat  blasé  attitude  to  most  instances  of  necromancy.  (  and  monsters,  and  dragons,  and  gargoyles.  oh,  how  the  list  goes  on.  at  this  point,  the  krampus  barely  scrapes  the  list.  )  she’s  on  the  outskirts  of  town  when  she  notices  a  woman,  disoriented  and  desperately  driven,  APPROACHING  her.  it’s  the  same  song  and  dance  as  the  others,  she  recognises.  they  get  brought  back,  they  wake  up  with  the  often  unfortunately  vivid  image  of  their  death  still  fresh,  and  then  they  question  their  sanity.  (  the  first  two  stages  sound  awful,  the  latter  wears  off  with  time.  )  she  walks  towards  her,  the  picture  of  calm.  no  one  wants  to  come  back  from  the  dead  to  fire  and  flame,  or  ice  and  frost,  so  she  supposes  she  GOT  LUCKY.  “  you’re  in  san  francisco.  ”  why?  she  could  into  a  long  winded  explanation  about  the  dead  being  drawn  her,  the  supernatural  being  drawn  here,  but  she  doesn’t  want  to  drop  two  bombs  at  the  once  in  the  event  this  is  just  a  innocent  victim.  “  and  it’s  2030.  ”  she  can’t  tell  how  old  the  other  woman  is,  but  if  she  had  to  guess,  it  would  probably  be  a  few  years  off  her  own  age.  “  i  know  that ‘s  confusing.  ”  time  passes  even  for  the  dead.  or  the  recently  resurrected.  “  i’m  hope.  ”  the  split  second  decision  to  exclude  her  last  name  from  her  introduction  is  made  in  one  simple  effort  :  if  she  does  know  about  the  supernatural,  there’s  always  the  chance  a  member  of  her  family  could  be  responsible  for  bringing  her  to  her  end.  and  if  that’s  the  case,  she’ll  never  let  her  help  her. 

[chosenlonely]

    she’s  good  at  collecting  herself  after  traumatic  incidents,  NEAR  MISSES  that  she  tries  not  to  dwell  on.  (  if  she  started  to  decline  after  every  near  death  experience  she  enjoyed,  she’d  be  barrelling  down  the  road  with  no  brakes.  all  the  time.  )  but  she’s  not  particularly  adept  at  tackling  near  death  experiences  that  also  involved  undying  love  confessions  and  promises  she  thought  she’d  never  get  to  act  on.  she’s  not  struggling  with  the  fact  they  all  almost  died  again,  or  with  the  fact  snow  definitely  has  a  sour  association  now  ;  she’s  struggling  with  what  to  do  next.  the  ice  has  melted,  the  sun  is  shining,  and  ...  they’re  out  of  alcohol.  (  yikes.  )  “  it’s  been  a  long  week.  ”  she  cracks  a  smile  and  (  selfishly  )  she  has  to  admit  she  loves  the  reminder  that  problems  that  aren’t  life  changing  still  exist.  “  i  think  my  dad  still  has  a  couple  of  bottles  back  home,  though.  ”  one  doesn’t  live  for  centuries  and  learn  not  to  stockpile  alcohol,  apparently. 

“well  crud,”  rebekah  sighs  as  the  bottle  she  had  chosen  to  drink  from  revealed  itself  to  be  empty.  “don’t  tell  me  san  francisco  has  gone  dry.”                          @apxstarters​

[chosenlonely]

enflamedxtouch‌:

              it’s not a present moment issue; she’s very much  A W A R E  of the grounding nature of Hope Mikaelson. on sleepless nights ( when Hope had managed to find a moment to sleep ) she’d find herself listening or watching: a few moments of watching the other’s chest rise and fall felt like letting the waves wash away the imprint of a hard day. it’s IRONIC she’d thought Hope Andrea Mikaelson was a box she’d closed and labeled crush because as wonderful as she was, she had been stuck in her rut. a shadow she’d placed over herself with the belief that co-dependence and reaching for relationships which offered her the freedom she was otherwise left without. It’s easy to imagine the fire ( an accident raised from fear ) had burnt feelings to ash and everything that lingered was nothing but an appreciation for all that she was and happened to be. she’d ALWAYS love Penelope; she represents a chapter of her life that even while closed was still relevant. no, she wasn’t with her and it took too long to realize that the things they needed didn’t ENTIRELY cross paths. she remembered reading something somewhere. something that spoke volumes to the way that love was different in each relationship whether it was meant to be LASTING or not. she remembers the moment the box was opened again: where the deal was done — signed. they were sat under a crack in a ceiling, grieving a momentary loss of someone they both loved but it was something eye-opening as if until that very moment, she’d been so consumed by everything she wanted to need that she couldn’t see what she actually needed was there all along. they were broken, pieces scattered from scars they’d both been dealt and it was the most HONEST moment they’d had; a moment of accepting those parts and trying. just trying because succeeding or winning wasn’t always what life was about. no one was perfect ( she’d argue she knew one person who was ). 

      she’s aware of what Hope is trying to do, reassurance and it’s NEEDED because she’s not sure how calm her storm would be if she’d found herself here alone without anyone. it would be hard to ignore the rising heartbeat; she couldn’t breathe again but this time she knew it was for a far different reason. she knows that looking in ocean eyes only means trouble but it’s trouble she wants because she’s aware it’s hardly trouble at all. she finds a warmth she wants to imagine is radiating from the other, that she’s now buried so deep in holding onto a moment that she’s channeling something. that maybe she’s overthinking it; sometimes it’s better to just be able to see something from afar. smiles she recalls catching when an unrequited gaze was offered in a school hallway years ago like the sun and now she was close enough to burn it seemed WORTH the risk. worth the silent panic that would follow or something unreturned, it never mattered if someone loved her back. she didn’t love in a selfish way ( not like she once had ). And then she leans in, she thinks it had been slow motion as if the ghost of a chaste meeting was hardly there at all but it’s something gentle. it’s a kiss that she hoped didn’t feel forced or demanding; if all it could be was a silent thank you…—it would be enough. 

    she’s  not  exactly  a  paragon  of  self  awareness.  she’s  spun  herself  lies  and  masks  for  years  and  slowly,  but  surely,  they’d  blurred  into  each  other.  she’d  lost  track  of  what  hope  mikaelson  was  responsible  for  and  what  hope  wanted.  she  still  isn’t  winning  any  awards  for  introspection,  but  she  likes  to  think  she’s  making  progress.  she’s  working  through  separations  and  putting  them  into  like  piles,  assembling  them  into  fixes  for  the  cracks  in  the  ceiling.  she’ll  leave  pieces  untouched,  so  the  light  still  shines  through  at  sunrise  and  she  has  the  pleasure  of  complaining  about  the  light  in  her  eyes.  she’s  trying,  perhaps  harder  than  she  ever  has,  to  be  alive.  it  sounds  cliche  (  she  can  recognise  the  concept  of  the  war  torn  hero  is  an  accurate  but  undesirable  one,  one  she  wants  to  chip  away  at  until  she’s  neither  war  stained  or  good  )  but  cliches  exist  to  speak  to  truths  that  are  hard  to  express  without  connection  to  common  experience.  she’s  working  and  that’s  what  matters.  but  even  with  her  new  found  hope  (  no,  the  irony  doesn’t  escape  her  ),  she  didn’t  predict  this.  josie  saltzman  has  always  been  a  wildcard,  fixed  into  the  middle  of  her  deck.  she  can  remember  wanting  to  be  her  friend,  age  eight,  because  josie  was  all  warm  smiles  and  no  pressure.  she  can  remember  the  first  moment  she  recognised  it  had  become  more,  age  fourteen,  with  first  crush  butterflies  in  her  chest  that  she  would  come  to  miss  a  week,  a  month,  a  year  later.  she  can  remember  the  first  moment  she  realised  it  was  never  going  to  happen,  age  fifteen,  and  a  shadow  of  the  person  she  was  when  she  looked  in  the  mirror.  she  can  remember  the  three  dark  years  in  between,  where  she  can  count  the  words  they  exchanged  on  one  hand.  she  can  remember  realising  she’s  at  fault  for  the  fact  they  aren’t  friends,  age  eighteen,  she  can  remember  smiling  at  josie  and  missing  the  warmth  from  when  they  were  kids.  she  can  remember  anxiety  she’s  never  been  quite  able  to  place,  wandering  eyes  that  strayed  in  every  room,  wanting  to  memorise the  look  on  josie’s  face  when  she  asked  if  she  wanted  to  move  in  with  her.  she  can  remember  all  of  it.  what  she  can’t  remember,  what  she  can’t  place,  is  when  all  of  it  became  so  normal.       she  knows  she  doesn’t  have  an  answer  for  that  question,  doesn’t  have  a  moment  she  can  remember  looking  at  josie  and  realising.  she  supposes,  if  she  had  to  guess,  that  it  snuck  up  on  her.  just  as  josie’s  intention  has.  she  realises  that  the  distance  between  them  is  getting  shorter  but  she  doesn’t  catch  up.  suddenly  and  slowly  at  once,  josie  saltzman  is  kissing  her.  in  the  middle  of  a  snow  storm,  in  a  club  that  screams  pain  and  pleasure  in  ways  she’d  rather  not  explore,  and  she  feels  calm.  she’s  not  a  paragon  of  self  awareness,  still  doesn’t  entirely  understand  what  this  means,  but  it’s  nice.  it  feels  like  every  warm  smile  and  understanding  gesture  in  ten  years.  (  her  brain  would  RUN  AMUCK  if  she  let  it.  she  chooses  to  limit  it  at  least.  )  she  readjusts  with  slow  tenderness,  realises  that  she  feels  like  she  doesn’t  know  how  to  be  kissed.  it  strikes  her  as  bizarre  until  she  realises  she  just  doesn’t  know  how  to  be  kissed  like  this.  her  other  hand  comes  up  to  find  the  underside  of  josie’s  jaw,  rests  there  because  josie  is  soft  and  warm  and  she  wants  more.  (  on  a  very  base  level,  if  she  had  to  guess,  she  gets  it.  josie  wasn’t  placed  with  her  by  design,  by  determination.  she  fell  through  one  of  the  cracks  in  the  ceiling,  beautiful  and  accidental.  that  sentiment  stays  with  her,  and  she’s  okay  with  that.  )  a  smile  slips  onto  her  lips  and  she  kisses  josie with  a  tenderness  that  says  she  wants  this.  to  take  a  beautiful  accident  for  whatever  it is.  

[chosenlonely]

enflamedxtouch‌:

   she found herself  W I S H I N G  she’d listened to her gut feeling: to actually charge her phone before going about the day because inevitably it ran out of charge, which would’ve been fine. then the storm hit and it was as if her phone was hit too ( by every fault of her own making ) and she couldn’t breathe. she didn’t know where anyone was…if they were okay. she’d found herself wondering if it was some form of PTSD; something that had set in from all the stepping stones of chaos that had befallen her life since they were all brought here and maybe some NOSTALGIC part of her was hoping for an okay result but her brain wasn’t going to imagine that — good endings didn’t exist in her present mental state ( there was a storm outside and a storm within her ).  it’s as if she finds herself faded to black for a moment like she can’t hear or think of anything but if people are safe. nor can she help that her mind seems to go back to Hope every single time because despite knowing what she is, there’s a concern that had burrowed itself so deep she ALMOST wanted to scream at it. to find herself yelling so loudly that she’d just be here with her and then EVERYTHING would be okay. 

     and then some illusion of all the ways she could be hurt or worst-case scenario, frozen to death are torn down. the illusion shattered as if the fragments are the lasting pieces of any semblance of worry because she’s fractionally just grateful that she’s here…that this is REAL. she found herself squeezing the other so tight, she was surprised she wasn’t breaking or maybe she just hoped that if she held on long enough she’d not have to face the idea that this would be over soon. “ yeah, I… ” she feels herself taking a moment, shifting back a little because in some understandable notion she needs to see Hope’s face to break away from her panic ( or at least part of it ). eyes seeming ablaze with something akin to concern and joy, though she wasn’t sure which was more prominent. “ I uh — my phone died and I couldn’t breathe… ” she’s laughing, not out of humor but from the sheer force that panic brings forth. “ I’m not sure..how I’m breathing now; I was so scared, ” she’s aware of how ridiculous it is, the notion of a storm wasn’t ( didn’t need to be ) some prophecy of doom. she remembered the last one, the one where Penelope had been in her place because then her world was her: to be in love with someone that she thought she needed ( ironic in the end that she never fully knew the scale of need and love until Hope came bounding back in ). “ but you’re here and of course it’s better now; it’s always better. ”

    the  world  is  still  in  tatters.  there’s  still  a  dramatic  snowstorm  outside,  she  still  doesn’t  know  where  her  father  is.  (  she  doubts  josie  knows  where  her  sister  is,  and  that  must  be  terrifying  in  it’s  own  right.  )  but  this  is  the  great  equaliser.  her  fingers  move  up  into  josie’s  hair,  over  the  back  of  her  neck  and  down  her  back  again.  she  might  be  overly  comfortable,  overly  tactile,  but  she  thinks  she  has  every  right.  allowing  herself  to  feel  again,  even  with  the  world  in  tatters,  has  taught  her  perspective  is  a  gift.  she  can’t  fix  this  crisis,  has  no  idea  where  to  start  with  figuring  it  out.  and  that’s  okay.  and  sure,  she’s  still  tempted  to  find  a  backdoor  and  slip  out.  reassure  both  of  them  that  the  people  outside  of  those  doors  and  knee  deep  in  snow  are  still  breathing.  but  it’s  easier  to  compartmentalise  now.  because  josie,  with  her  rapid  heartbeat  and  her  panicked  laughter,  needs  her  here.  she  can’t  fix  this  crisis,  but  she  can  stay  until  josie  feels  the  broken  pieces  start  to  become  a  little  more  discernible.       “  hey,  hey.  ”  josie  puts  distance  between  them  and  she  uses  it  to  bring  one  of  her hands  up  to  josie’s  face,  thumb  stroking  over  her  cheek.  it’s  the  first  comforting  thing  she  can  think  to  do  ;   she’s  always  fiddled  with  her  hands,  her  fingers,  for  want  of  something  to  touch.  she  knows  how  she  feels,  the  swell  of  panic  in  her  chest  and  the  lump  in  her  throat.  breathing  feels  like  a  labour,  like  she’ll  break  if  she  tries  to.  she  knows  what’s  helped  her  before.  fortunately,  it’s  been  the  girl  before  her.  it’s  equal  measures  tactile,  gentle,  and  a  means  to  ensuring  josie  keeps  looking  at  her.   not  at  the  mess  outside,  not  at  the  burgundy  walls  and  the  less  than  inviting  decor.  not  even  at  the  hustle  and  bustle  of  people  in  shock.  just  at  her.  into  her  eyes,  as  she’s  done  a  thousand  times  before.  “  you’re  okay.  ”  she  won’t  tell  her  that  everything’s  okay,  because  she  can’t  know  that.  (  the  truth  stings,  but  the  quiet  panic  in  josie’s  eyes  quell  the  burn.  )  “  you’re  okay,  josie.  and  you  can  use  my  phone.  ”  the  first  solution  that  feels  like  a  tangible  effort.  she’s  been  preserving  it,  keeping  it  in  her  back  pocket  for  emergencies  only.  “  i’m  here.  ”  she  confirms,  because  that  does  seem  to  help.  “  and  we’re  going  to  get  through  this  together,  okay?  ”

[chosenlonely]

    her  priorities  are  still  the  same,  even  if  her  approach  to  crises  is  under  construction.  she’s  trying  to  remove  the  parts  of  herself  that  are  blunt,  logical.  interrogatory  and  allowing  someone  else  to  pick  up  the  pieces  of  her  that  are  scattered  across  the  floor.  she’s  still  intent  on  keeping  her  promises.  it’s  been  snowing  consistently  when  it  turns.  a  cold  snap  she’s  tried  not  to  worry  about.  she’d  put  on  an  extra  sweater,  make  two  cups  of  hot  cocoa  ;  reinforce  that  not  everything  had  to  be  a  bad  omen.  (  naturally,  it  still  feels  like  one.  )  but  the  snow  falls  harder,  the  alarms  sound  and  she’s  more  or  less  ushered  into  the  nearest  shelter.  she  can’t  protest,  not  with  a  press  of  people  into  the  door  and  a  strict  order  against  leaving,  but  that  doesn’t  stop  her  from  pacing  through  the  waiting  area.  she’d  seen  the  lower  levels  ---  the  first  at  all.  it  was  dark  and  red  and  made  her  feel  claustrophobic.  when  it  had  become  clear  that  no  one  she  was  looking  for  (  lizzie,  josie,  her  father,  landon  )  had  been  ushered  in  with  her,  she  decided  to  relocate.  she’s  okay  with  sticking  to  higher  ground.     a  few  people  come  in  with  varying  degrees  of  hypothermia  and  her  gaze  lingers  on  each  of  them  in  the  silent  hope  she’ll  find  someone.  she  doesn’t,  they  keep  going,  she  fights  against  losing  hope.  (  or  slipping  out  the  back.  somehow.  she’d  be  fine.  )  she’s  ready  to  keep  pacing  the  floor  when  she  turns  towards  the  stairs  and  just  like  that  (  just  like  always,  just  like  the  one  constant  she  feels  she  can  count  on  )  josie  saltzman  comes  into  view.  her  arms  fall  away  from  their  position,  crossed  against  her  chest,  and  she  runs.  the  hug  she  engulfs  her  in  probably  seems  suffocating,  and  she’ll  stop  if  josie  asks  her  to.  but  right  now,  “  you’re  okay.  ”  mumbled  against  her  collarbone,  she  feels  relief  bleed  into  her.  (  she’s  not  entirely  shocked  they  ended  up  in  the  same  place,  but  right  now,  she’s  happy  to  cling  to  this  good.  )   @enflamedxtouch​

[chosenlonely]

ofadan‌:

          adan  is,  truthfully,  more  of  an  urban  person  —  like  that  one  saying  goes,  you  can  take  a  man  out  of  the  city,  but  you  can’t  take  the  city  out  of  the  man.  it  might  be  pretentious  (  some  would  even  call  it  expected  of  someone  who  unabashedly  carries  a  few  benjamin  franklins  in  his  wallet  ),  but  he  can’t  really  stand  the  eery  nature  of  the  woods,  especially  late  at  night,  hundreds  of  feet  deep  into  the  density  of  trees.  he  prefers  the  bustling  streets,  foreign  faces,  the  soothing  assurance  that  when  there  are  people  around  him,  no  matter  their  intentions,  he’ll  always  be  safer,  more  alert.  somewhere  outside  the  city,  however  …  that’s  where  people  bury  their  secrets.  he  knows  because  he’s  been  one  of  them  and  he’ll  never  shake off  the  feeling  of  their  ghosts  haunting  him  whenever  he  steps  onto  the  sacred  land,  and  don’t  even  get  him  started  on  werewolves.  he’s  past  the  PREJUDICE  against  this  species,  but  he’s  aware  that  the  same  thing  can’t  be  said  about  some  of  them  ——  it  gets  him  feeling  like  edward  cullen  stepping  inside  the  la  push  territory.  

          he  smells  and  hears  her  footsteps  first  before  she  even  has  the  chance  to  speak  up  or  come  into  his  peripheral  vision.  with  a  lazy  turn,  he  comes  to  face  her  and  her  very  BOLD  choice  of  attire,  abandoning  the  focus  of  his  mission  for  a  brief  moment.  the  most  likely  and  logical  explanation  is  that  she’s  a  wolf,  but  he  silently  entertains  other  possibilities,  every  single  one  of  them  more  amusing  than  the  previous  one.  adan  braces  himself  against  one  of  the  trees  and  hopes  that  it  won’t  pull  a  thread  out  of  his  expensive  sweater  or,  worse,  stain  it  with  moss.  “  i  don’t  remember  this  part  of  the  little  red  riding  hood.  here’s  to  hoping  a  big  bad  wolf  isn’t  wearing  your  grandma’s  floral  nightgown.  ”  if  he  was  a  gentleman,  he’d  offer  her  his  pants.  unfortunately,  he’s  not  (  and  as  much  as  he  loves  being  naked,  he  doubts  that  his  next  destination  includes  nudity  in  their  dress  code  ).  she  also  looks  an  awful  lot  like  she’s  on  a  walk  of  shame.  “  ah,  let  me  guess,  ”  he  snaps  his  fingers,  “  you’re  one  of  those  hippies  that  have  sex  with  nature.  ”

    one  of  those  hippies  who  have  sex  with  nature.  a  part  of  her  feels  like  that  would  be  easier  to  explain,  less  existentially  terrifying  than  i’m  a  werewolf,  thank  you  and  good  night.  (  she  knows  there  aren’t  just  supernatural  creatures  in  san  francisco  and  that’s  part  of  the  problem.  )  “  uh ---  ”  she  has  a  plan.  it’s  tell  the  man  who’s  lurking  in  the  woods  at  night,  for  no  seeming  reason,  a  story. (  it  makes  her  think  he  either  has  to  know  or  he’s  just  incredibly  stupid.  )  the  plan  is  not  to  look  around  bewildered  and  search  for  an  exit  that  will  save  her  from  having  to  tell  this  lie,  but  that  doesn’t  look  likely.  on  the  bright  side,  he  could  be  mistaking  bewilderment  for  embarrassment  and  she  won’t  have  to  sell  this  that  hard.  she’s  almost  accepted  defeat  when  she  remembers  that  camping  is  an  entirely  normal  past  time.  “  actually,  i  was  camping.  ”  there’s  no  tent  to  be  seen.  in  fact,  there’s  nothing  to  be  seen  period.  so ....     “  someone  stole  my  stuff.  ”  and  made  a  clean  break.  she  only  had  what  she  was  wearing  which  is  why  she’s  dressed  like  this.  it’s  not  a  perfect  lie,  but  it’s  not  the  worst  either.  “  and  i  lost  them.  ”  it  likely  would’ve  been  both  easier  and  more  forgiving  to  just  go  along  with  his  story.  “  what  are  you  doing  out  here?  ”  she’s  just  realised  she  should  probably  sound  more  frazzled,  more  out  of  breath  from  her  supposedly  failed  venture.  (  oh  well,  she  just  has  to  hope  he’s  more  concerned  about  his  own  odd  habits  being  exposed  than  attention  to  detail.  )  

[chosenlonely]

ofprinciples‌:

            there’s  no  ulterior  motives  behind  his  visit  to  the  cafe.  NOT  THIS  TIME.  maybe  there’s  some  nostalgia  in  visiting  the  places  he’d  once  visited  before,  —  when  he’d  been  uncertain  of  the  future  he’d  choose  for  himself  —  now  that  he’s  made  the  decision  to  stay.  where  an  immortal  existence  had  once  felt  like  a  curse,  a  punishment,  he  now  sees  it  as  an  opportunity.  (  he’s  seen  the  other  side.  left  the  city,  spent  some  time  on  sandy  shores  with  drinks  in  his  hand,  but  in  the  end  like  a  moth  to  a  flame  he  ended  up  back  where  he  started.  )  he  fully  intends  on  making  the  most  of  things  and  given  he’s  got  a  horseman  in  his  pocket  ?  whom  OWES  HIM  ONE  ?  he  likes  to  think  he’s  fairly  protected  should  any  of  his  family  members  get  a  little  dagger  happy  again.   the  voice  he  hears  next  to  him,  reaching  for  the  very  same  scones,  is  one  he  recognizes.   she  has  her  father’s  flair  and  penchant  for  sneaking  up  unexpected  —  though  one  could  argue  it’s  a  family  trait.   “  indeed.  everyone’s  so  fixated  on  those  cronuts  that  are  ever  popular  these  days  but  there’s  something  about  a  croissant  that  i’ve  always  preferred. ”  especially  these  ones  in  particular  but  that  goes  without  saying  considering  they’ve  done  this  song  and  dance  before.  “  it’s  good  to  see  you  again,  hope. ”   the  words  are  genuine  though  there  is  caution  in  them.   he  did  borrow  one  of  her  classmate’s  body  and  hightail  it  out  of  town.   there’s  no  telling  what  she  knows,  if  she  even  knows  anything,  and  there’s  something  about  the  unknown  that  both  interests  and  worries  him.   “  excellent  choice.  you  have  impeccable  taste. ”   he  takes  the  pastry  and  slides  it  onto  one  of  the  napkins,  extending  it  like  an  olive  branch.   he’ll  take  the  blueberry  muffin  today:   a  concession  he  makes  willingly.  he  doesn’t  quite  know  how  to  be  an  uncle.   lord  knows  he’s  never  had  the  opportunity.   he  barely  knows  how  to  be  a  brother  and  has  certainly  had  his  own  shortcomings  over  their  lifetime.   but  for  what  it’s  worth,  given  his  decision  to  stay,  he  wants  to  try.   for  better  or  for  worse.  

    she  wasn’t  sure  where  they  stood  before  this.  he  (  essentially  )  stalked  her,  made  an  effort  to  introduce  himself  and  ingratiate  himself  with  her.  and  then,  disappeared.  like  smoke.  (  dissipating  with  no  evidence  he  was  ever  there.  )  and  she  could  say  she’s  offended,  that  she’s  tired  of  the  balancing  act,  but  one  odd  incident  isn’t  going  to  pull  her  five  steps  back.  “  it’s  good  to  see  you  too.  ”  she  does  almost  stray  into  old  habits,  catalogues  what  she  knows  about  him  and  tries  to  apply  to  it  where  he  could’ve  been.  but  she  doesn’t.  (  not  until  he  gives  her  reason  to  and  not  a  croissant.  that’s  what  nieces  do,  isn’t  it?  )  “  thanks.  ”  she  takes  the  pastry  when  it’s  offered,  a  smile  starting  on  her  face,  and  glances  around  the  cafe.  there  are  a  few  empty  tables,  one  by  the  window  and  one  by  the  door.  she  doesn’t  want  the  silence  to  stretch  out  over  too  long,  given  it  looks  as  though  they’re  both  making  an  effort.  “  do  you  want  to  sit  down?  ”  she’s  ear  marked  the  table  by  the  window  for  this  ;  repetition  is  good,  it  makes  differences  stand  out  against  the  mundane,  but  there’s  a  fine  line  between  repetition  and  replication.  (  oddly,  she  has  no  desire  to  recreate  their  last  interaction.  for  a  multitude  of  reasons.  )  “  you  could  tell  me  when  you  got  back  in  town?  ”  it  still  sounds  accusatory,  so  she  tries  again.  “  we  could  share  this.  ”