JOSIE SALTZMAN

@apxstarters​ The cigarette between his lips was stained with blood, much like the hand that brought the fragile thing up to his lips. This vessel’s body was so dependent on nicotine, and Lucifer could feel the agonizing twitch in the back of his mind far too often throughout the day. At first it had been amusing, but now this habit was certainly getting in the way of things. Exhaling slightly, his eyes turned towards the other beside him outside. “Oh, it’s not mine,” he said with a rougish grin, referring to the blood coating his hands and face. “You should see the other guy. …Nah, you probably don’t want to.”

      she’s  careful  about  her  approach,  something   C O N T E M P L A T I V E   in  the  way  she  chooses  to  hold  herself;  she’s  hardly  some  scared  girl  but  there’s  a  narrative  of  biting  off  more  than  you  can  chew  (  she’s certain anyone who knew her would presently question why she’d even stuck around  ).  there’s  an  effort  made  from  one  storm  to  try  and  understand  others  —-  she’s  finding  the  IRONY  in  playing devil's  advocate...or  she  certainly  would  be  later.   “ right. ”  she  swallows  her  words,  lets  harsh  sarcasm  fall  onto  unmoving  lips,  if  only  by  not  wanting  to  rock  the  boat.  “ really looks like you...had a time. ”

    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.  )  

   it’s  okay.  if  there  was  ever  a  time  for  something  to   REPETIVELY   play  in  her  head  for  the  next  week,  it  was  going  to  be  those  words;  every  single  time  she’d  find  herself  in  a  moment  presuming  her  stance  on  gay  panic  ( which frankly happened a lot )  she’d  need  to  hear  them  but  maybe  that  was  bias?  most  of  the  time  she  just  wanted  to  hear  her  in  general:  her  breathing,  her  talking  about  something,  or  the  way  she  settled  when  she’d  draw.  she’d  take  Hope  Mikaelson  with  a  bow  or  with  a  pencil;  mundane  or  heroic —-  it  didn’t  matter  to  her.  it’s  strange  sometimes  because  she’d  find  herself  wanting  to  be  selfish;  feelings  weren’t  controllable  devices  and  her  panic  when  Hope  seemed  to  be  in  soft  states,  which  merely  left  her  stricken  with  the  unnerving  need  to  reach  out  or  to  want  to  kiss  her...be  held  by  her  (  she could go on, she would go on. her brain in those moments seemed so unfiltered with the only desirable subject being Hope  ).  most  of  the  time  she  was  just  innately  conscious  that  until  she’d  found  herself  feeling  some  reminisce  of  familiar  spark,  the  very  nature  of  who  she  had  been  was  pushing  for  REALISM:  for  not  getting  lost  or  just  following  her  heart  but  being  smart  about  it.  she’d  also  argue  that  was  GUILT.  that  was  every  scar  left  from  memories  of  acts  that still tended  to  haunt  her  if  she  choose  to  close  her  eyes  for  too  long  because  she’s  not  made  of  stone,  death  and  murder  weren’t  something  she  could  look  back  on  and  claim  to  feel  nothing  about  ( in the end, she was certain that was one part of her life that she’d never FULLY let go of ).  she  embraces  who  she  is  and  who  she’s  been  because  of  Hope;  in  some  weird  metaphorical  way,  Hope  is  her  crack  in  the  ceiling  and  she  shines  light  through  all  of  her  darkness —-  she’d  have  remained  lost  to  guilt  for  years  without  her. 

                                 she’s  incredibly  aware  of  the  cold,  if  only  by  the  way  she  can   feel  herself  shaking  and  surprisingly..not  because  she’s  just  in  some  weird  next  level  gay  panic  scenario  ( or convinced this could all be some weirdly romantic wet dream ).  it’s  DIFFERENT  because  she  doesn’t  typically  allow  herself  to  be  this  close:  to  see  the  details  or  to  find  herself  looking  at  each  without  fear  of  what  consequence  or  question  she’d  be  asked.  it’s  not  just  the  shallow  traits  because  of  course,  she  sees  those,  SHE’S  NOT  BLIND  but  it’s  the  intention:  it’s  everything  that  lies  beneath  the  surface  of  how  a  single  touch  has  Hope  looking  at  her  in  a  way  she  hasn’t  seen  much  of.  it’s  sweet  and  it’s  something  she  imagines  Jane  Austin  would  describe  every  detail  of  like  it  was  some  love  affair  with  the  simple  nature  of  soft  intent.  she’s  aware  that  Hope  Mikaelson  and  her  poetic  softness  happened  to  be  the  least  of  her  worries —-  she  just  would  rather  get  lost  to  that,  than  to  whatever  was  making  them  cold.  “ yeah, ”  it’s  something  real,  a  smile  that  she’s  not  forcing  or  putting  pretence  into.  something  so  genuine  and  soft  because  she’s  afraid  she  might  just  lean  in  and  whisper  everything  she’s  ever  thought  about  Hope  to  the  wind,  in  some  dumb  romantic  gesture  because  she’s  cold  and  she  wonders  if  that’s  beginning  to  make  her  delirious  ( if she’d just made up the kiss in her head ).                     “ kinda...cold though. ”  she  chuckles,  breaks  the  two-second  silence  just  because  she’s  afraid  of  what  else  she  might  fill  it  with.  And  then  she’s  lost  again —-  lost  to  Hope  seems  like  a  gift  in  any  and  all  scenarios. 

✖ JOSIE SALTZMAN

He wakes up choking and he’s immediately reminded of the months he spent locked in that safe and drowning - over and over again. Not the best start of the day but Stefan manages to find some distractions. Does some exercise to keep his mind occupied, reads a book, tries to watch some show on netflix but it doesn’t last long before he’s attacked with hunger pains. One blood bag becomes two, then three and by the time the fifth one is sucked empty he is breathless. As if he had just ran a marathon. He feels like a lion trapped in a cage and so he reaches for his jacket takes of for his nightly walk. A ring, he reminds himself, he needs to get a daylight ring but so far he hasn’t been lucky. It’s not like he has made friends with witches and the one witch he knows is currently wishing he had stayed dead. Ok, that might be slightly over dramatic but Bonnie is still not happy with him and so he doubts that he can ask her for any favor. He is completely lost in thought that he doesn’t notice the school until he is standing right by the entrance. So this is the Salvatore School? Oh, he should leave. Not a good idea to be surrounded by children right now and yet he walks in, hands in pocket, looking around. Perhaps there is a part of him that hopes to run into Caroline and another part that hopes he never does. Maybe he can find Lizzie and ask her for help regarding this ring situation. He finds his way inside the library and the first thing that he sees is one of his diaries hiding behind glass and to his horror it is open for anyone to read from the page.  ❛ Oh my god, seriously? ❜  It’s not even a good entry. @enflamedxtouch​

   it’s  weird  because  in  some  form  of    I M P E N D I N G   irony,  she  finds  herself  wanting  to  be  at  the  school more  because  now  she’s  merely  months  away  from  having  to  decide  on  what  her  plans  are  for  the  outside  world  (  and given she spends most of her time in awkward panic mode, it’s not looking great  ).  she’d  always  be  weirdly  grateful  for  how  MUNDANE  her  present  issues  were;  given  the  recent  climate  and  the  past  year  or  so,  it  was  nice  to  imagine  that  she’d  finally  come  out  of  the  other  end  with  plenty  of  scars  and  also  a  life  to  look  forward  to —- even  if  it’s  an  eternity  long.  “ uh —- what? ”  she  takes  a  moment,  having  to  adjust  the  strap  of  the  bag  on  her  shoulder  before  she  attempted  to  peer  over  at  what  it was  they’re  looking  at.  it’s  not  that  she  forgot  but  rather  that  she’d  spent  months  away dealing  with  her  own  inner  storm  of  guilt,  that  dead  stepfathers  and  their  journals  had  been  the  last  thing  on  her  mind.  she  had  once  thought  about  the  topic  a  lot:  more  so  saw  the  turmoil  death  left  on  her  mom  and  wanted  to  understand  the  person  she  could  barely  remember  (  empathy never seemed to stop being her biggest trait  ).  “ welcome back, ” she  says  in  a  hesitant  tone:  unsure  of  how  to  really  approach  the  whole  hello,  I'm  one  of  your  former  step  kids  all  grown  up subject but  she  was  trying.  honesty  was  the  best  policy  (  and if cracks in ceilings or falling for tribrids that seemed to bring it out of her, didn’t work, then she’d just have to push herself  ).  “ this is a strangely normal situation and yet, I don’t even know how to do it right. ”  she  imagined  if  Lizzie  was  next  to  her,  she’d  happily  rip  off  the  band  aid  or  have  something  to  say  about  the  irony  of  everyone  returning  but  her  sister  would  ALWAYS  be  better  at  wording  things  than  she  was  (  or certainly in the manner of honesty  ).  “ it’s Josie, I mean —- i’m Josie, all grown up, I guess and you’ve been gone a while. so it’s totally okay to be a little overwhelmed. ”

                  “the fuck.” it was more aggressive than he attended it to come off in all fairness. but josie looked fucking freezing ( were her lips blue?? ) and will wrenched off his jacket, swaddling it around his almost-sister-in-law’s shoulders. fuck, she was cold. “don’t… don’t fucking apologize.” not as aggressive, but still a bit hard as he checked over her vitals making sure she was ALRIGHT. “we should get you something warmer.” he noted, though will didn’t even know the first place to look. it hadn’t been much of a concern until this very moment.

                    it’d been a last-second  R E A L I Z A T I O N  and in her defense, she’d been almost certain whatever was making everyone cold was the same thing scrambling her head. she’d found herself needing moments; between clinging to the wall and trying to not fall into someone ( because she wasn’t sure she wanted to risk making anyone a human pancake ). It may have taken longer than she wanted but she’d found him at least — a positive, in her opinion. “ SORRY... ” she’s speaking quietly, unable to muster up the strength to turn up the volume. she hoped he could hear it, although it was more so a relief he was here. “ I tried to get here sooner. ”