Archive of Our Own

~

// It first started with the sounds of smashed glass and profanities echoing into the walls of a darkened room. Bittersweet memories and a broken heart shattering in the process.

Green eyes welling up with defeat and despondency while raging fists took to work on whatever was in sight – photo frames, old trophies, perfume bottles and the nearest wall.

A wall that was far too hard to cause any real damage to, at least not with the soft, clenched fist being pathetically swung at it anyway.

A wall that had lived centuries yet remained as sturdy as the day it was first built. Maybe it was the excellent workmanship that maintained it in such a condition. Or maybe it developed it’s rigidity from having to withstand the wraths of the short-tempered vampires that lived there previously. Perhaps it was just used to the forceful fists and fragile objects it had hurdled at it over the years.

And it didn’t take a genius to work out who would win in a battle of flesh and bone vs bricks and cement but maybe that wasn’t point, maybe she didn’t want to win. Perhaps the stinging sensation that flowed through her from each hit was what she craved – because the pain in her fists dulled the growing ache in her heart and she’d rather that over the latter pain, any day.

So, she continued to punch, hard. Her burning knuckles splitting deeper, releasing more red with each hit.

And in the archway by the door left ajar, stood soft blue eyes that overlooked the disquieting encounter.

Eyes that seemed to have had their fill for as much suffering as they could endure already, that much was obvious from the way they faltered as they took in the mess before them.

Eyes that followed the girl’s erratic movements and didn’t run or walk away but gravitated towards them. Eyes that softened as they approached the girl in an attempt to diffuse, to quell the dark cloud overtaking her.

Gentle hands neared the rampant girl, whispering sweet melodies of optimism and consolation as they reached out:

“It’s okay Penelope”,

“You’re going to be okay”,

“Just let me help you.”

And when gentle hands met trembling shoulders, they squeezed down lightly and slowly, as if the body they were holding onto was the most delicate thing alive. And perhaps it was, to those soft blue eyes, in that moment anyway.

Hushed assurances escaped soft lips once more, mouthing quiet I’ve got you’s and I’m here for you.

And Penelope must have heard, amidst her harsh and laboured breaths because she was sinking now, into the contact, her hands giving up their fight. Her whole body seemed to shut down now too, as she fell back, crushed and defeated, into arms that welcomed her immediately and wrapped her completely.

Arms that outstretched the entirety of the girls body, enveloping her with warmth and comfort as delicate hands gently ran small circles on her back. And in the private and quiet moments that secluded the two, when those caring hands squeezed just a fraction tighter, Penelope Park breathed for the first time that night. Properly and with ease, she breathed, slowly and melted into the embrace being offered to her.

And when her breaths plateaued and found a steady rhythm, in synch with the breaths besides her, she turned around.

And green eyes met blue.

And for the second time that day, Penelope broke down.

Because these eyes were so, so different to the ones she’d met just moments before she lost control. And these eyes weren’t avoiding her gaze and holding onto someone else as they apologetically fumbled over repeated words consisting of half-hearted sorry’s and it just happened.

Yeah, these eyes were different.

And they were hurting too.

So, Penelope turned, completely now and pulled the girl before her. Arms extending around her with haste and hurry. Like it was the most important and urgent thing she ever had to do and if she took a moment too long, the universe would never forgive her.

The embrace was different to their last, where the blue-eyed girl had moved slowly and timidly, afraid to push too hard, Penelope was brash and impetuous. And sure, it caught the girl off guard, but soon enough she was melting too, allowing herself to fall into the arms of the girl she held herself, mere moments ago.

And Penelope Park wasn’t one to allow just anyone in, into her life or into her arms, but this was Hope Mikaelson. The selfless girl who had saved everyone and lost the one person that was supposed to be hers in the process.

So, hugging her right now and repaying the sentiment was the easiest thing Penelope Park had ever done and she would do it again in a heartbeat if she had to. Because hugging Hope wasn’t so bad either. She had this specific thing about her. Penelope couldn’t tell you for sure what it was, but she was almost certain everyone understood it anyway. Because anyone and everyone that had ever had the privilege of knowing the girl, properly knowing the girl, knew just how special and magnetising she could be.

The hug doesn’t last long though.

Hope pulls away first.

And Penelope’s confused, readying to pull the girl back in, to tell her that it’s okay if she’s hurting too, to not be so stubborn, to let Penelope be there for her.

But suddenly, Hope’s taking Penelope’s hand and bringing it up to her face, cupping it between both of her own as she carries it close to her lips, gently and slowly, with care and caution to not hurt the girl further.

And Penelope’s preparing herself to ask what the fuck until she feels soft, hot breaths grazing over her cuts.

And it should sting, but it doesn’t. 

It feels good and sooths every fragment of hurt in her body and Penelope could get used to this feeling.

So, when the gentle breaths Hope’s blowing over her knuckles turn into small inaudible whispers and ends with a delicate kiss right atop the deepest of her cuts, Penelope’s breath hitches and she blinks.

She blinks and suddenly the cuts are all gone. Her hand’s healed.

Her hand’s healed and her heart still hurts.

But it feels something more now, for Hope Mikaelson.

Not love, never that. Not for anyone else.

But she feels, something.

And perhaps more of that feeling is exactly what she needs right now. So, she thinks, fuck it and dives in, head first and without thinking, taking hold off those gentle, magical hands.

As she pushes her back, onto the bed behind them, taking one more look into those light blue eyes that deserved the world, but had it taken from her and kisses her, hard.

And she’s kissing her back. Hope Mikaelson is kissing her back.

And it’s different to what she expects, there’s nothing strange or wrong about the taste of the girl’s lips on her own. Because God, it feels good and it’s everything she needs right now.

And she wonders if she’s going to regret this, regret kissing her when she didn’t mean it, but she wants her so bad, wants to be touched by those hands, over and over again.

So, she thinks what the hell and leans down once more, let’s herself become consumed by Hope Mikaelson and everything that she is.

Let’s herself fall deeper into the heated and hungry embrace being offered to her.

Let’s herself become trapped between legs and arms and lips, as desperate as her own that trail kisses along her jaw and neck and every other part of her soul that she can expose and have touched by those hands.

And when Hope Mikaelson takes ahold of her and flips them so that Penelope’s now staring up at her, at a supernova, so breath-taking and so resplendent within the depths of Hope Mikaelson’s blue eyes, she thinks, this is what death must feel like.

Because everything stops then.

The world beneath her stops spinning on its axis.

As the sun says goodbye and departs in the far distance – taking the small glimmers of light it shone through the cracks of Penelope’s window with it.

Even the trees shut their eyes and lay down their heads in the darkness that envelops them.

And Penelope Park stops with it,

her breath hitches and for a moment gets caught into a stillness,

as her heart flatlines and every cell in her body cries for oxygen,

because for a moment, one fleeting moment, she just stops.

And takes in Hope Mikaelson.

Hope Mikaelson and all that she is – with her soft lips and pretty eyes and beautiful smile and delicate slander hands. Hands that are touching Penelope in all the right places and trailing further and further down to where Penelope needs her. And when those hands reach a destination that aches to be loved and touched and kissed, Penelope is immediately pulled out of her stillness by a fire burning so bright within the depths of Hope Mikaelson’s eyes, a fire so magnetising, that Penelope can’t find it in herself to look away. Not even for one moment.

And with that, inhibitions are once again thrown out the window as a deep desire for the taste of one another overtakes the two. Clothes coming undone, fingers exploring the prettiest parts of one another, and green eyes unmoving from the powerful hold of those burning blue eyes. 

Because it all started with eyes.

Green and blue.

Angry and broken.

Mad eyes and sad eyes.

And in the moments that follow, both girls long for each other with everything they have, because longing for someone else was no longer an option.

And because the feeling of hands and heat and lips and desire was better than feelings of being unwanted.

And so, Penelope Park lets Hope Mikaelson consume her.

And Hope Mikaelson lets Penelope Park do the same.

As they comfort each other for the second time that night.

The second time it happens is when Hope Mikaelson’s gaze meets Landon’s in the cafeteria. Except he’s not looking back at her.

No, he’s looking at Josie instead.

The two are walking, hand in hand, and giggling amongst themselves.

It’s a pure and cute sight, seeing the two look so happy together. And they deserve it alright, deserve to find happiness in each other. But Hope can’t help the ache in her chest at the sight.

She can’t help the anger she still feels at the best friend who ignored her.

She can’t help the love she still feels for the boy she would risk it all for. The boy she did risk it all for.

Because being in that pit of nothingness was Hell, literal Hell but she’d never tell him that. Not now.

Not now that he’s moved on and now that he’s happy again.

So, she just stands and watches. At the way he looks at her,

and holds her

and smiles at her.

And she doesn’t mean to, but she can’t help the fire that burns within her and pushes on her insides, urging to be released. So, she starts to panic – and what comes next is never easy, but she’s still fixated on him and frozen into a stillness leaving her unable to move.

Her clenched fists digging deep into her palms, fingernails burrowing, hard as she tries, desperately to slow her breathing.

No one seems to notice her though.

And she feels like she’s back in that pit again, where no one remembers her, and everyone forgets.

And she’s wondering now, if anyone actually even cares that she’s back and then she feels it creeping, she feels her herself changing, readying to wolf out and go ham on the entire student body.

But instead, slender arms wrap around her waist and take hold of her, leading her out.

Because someone did notice.

Worry-riddled green eyes had watched her unfold and on instinct, darted for the girl as quick as their legs could take them, desperate to get the girl out of there. Out of reach, out of sight and out of mind from the boy that unintentionally broke her heart.

Because Hope doesn’t react the way those green eyes do. She doesn’t get mad or angry or breaks things. She doesn’t blame the boy either. I mean, could you blame someone who only moved on because they forget about your existence – because you were suddenly erased from the universe and never really existed to them anyway?

Penelope Park thinks she still would, but this is Hope Mikaelson we’re talking about. And in the short while they’ve grown to know each other, Penelope hasn’t found a single hateful bone in the girl’s body.

So, Penelope just pulls and leads the girl as far away as possible till they’re outside and at the docks.

“Hey, breathe slowly for me now okay, follow my breaths, stay with me now alright.”

Hope thinks its funny how she used to pay no mind to the witch, how she’d brushed her off as some self-absorbed, conceited narcissist.

And Hope thinks she’s stupid for it, reminding herself never to underestimate Penelope Park again.

Because here she was, letting herself unravel before the girl, for a second time.

And here she was, reaching out and pulling her through it, for a second time.

Her breathing doesn’t seem to slow though, and she’s preparing herself to run, to push Penelope away because she can’t control herself when she turns and because the girl’s been hurt enough.

But suddenly she’s breathing again, properly.

Suddenly, Penelope Park’s holding her like she’s never going to let go, worried hands gently massaging her back and soft lips whispering quiet assurances into her ears and into her heart.

And Hope thinks she really should never have underestimated Penelope Park.

Because she’s starting to regain control again, slowly but surely she’s starting to feel whole again.

Thanks to green eyes and caring hands.

And even though she feels better now, she lets herself stay like that, in Penelope’s grasp – because right now there’s nowhere else she wants to be, nowhere else that can make her feel this safe.

And eventually when Penelope releases, after placing a small kiss atop Hope’s head – right above the part of her brain that makes her feel all the bad and hateful things she feels about herself, the two just take in one other and bask in the solace they’ve recently discovered in each other’s smiles.

And so they smile - despite the hurting and their broken hearts, they smile at one another, with everything they have, like their life depends on it.

And then lips collide once more.

Their lips meet like a car crash, or a downpour of heavy rain.

And awaken sensations neither of them knew they were capable of feeling.

Hope doesn’t think about anything else when she leans in. She doesn’t think at all.

And Penelope doesn’t think about anything other than the desire for Hope’s lips when she lets her.

They kiss to forget, they kiss to feel, to soothe the storm that hangs over them.

And it works.

Because neither girl feels as wanted as they do in those moments where it’s just them and a shower of desperate, hungry kisses.

And because neither girl can find it in them to stop.

Because it was scary the way they related to each other, (to each other’s pain, at least) and it was even scarier how the exchanged kisses and touches made the pain go away.

Because the wetness from sloppy, rushed kisses was better than the wetness of sorrowful tears that drowned them from weak moments of despair and lonely cries.

Because comforting each other was easy and doing it with kisses was even easier.

And so, they kiss.

With everything that they have and everything that they can offer to each other, they kiss.

And when kissing turns into something more and clothes begin to shed, they rush back inside with hurry and impatience.

Because although they were desperate, sex outdoors - with an onlooker of birds and a graveyard of ghosts nearby wasn’t on either girl’s agenda for the evening.

So as hurried kisses come to a halt, and a breathless “my room or yours?” escapes plump parted lips, gentle hands grab ahold of slender wrists and lead the two inside.

And as Hope Mikaelson leads her up the staircase, into a night of familiar intimacy, in the back of Penelope Park’s mind settles a gentle reminder to seal off her heart, so that it may never have the chance to become so vulnerable or hurt ever again.

And as Penelope Park’s lips dart for her neck once more, hands locking the door behind them – in the back of Hope Mikaelson’s mind enters a new proposition, one involving a fondness for a pretty girl with pretty green eyes; and a heart on the verge of mending and exploring something new.

The third time, they’re both drunk and Penelope accidentally brings up Josie.

“Shhhhh, stop”, the tribrid slurs as she presses a finger to the girl’s lips, “for one night can we not talk about exes.”

And honestly, Penelope’s too drunk to even care anyway so she thinks fuck it and is ready to toast to never thinking or talking about exes again when the girl besides her continues, unsurprisingly not taking her own requests seriously.

“And besides, she’s stoopid for not choosing you,” Hope declares amidst slurred s’s and an exaggerated delivery of her words.

And Penelope laughs but the words ring in her ears and she almost dwells on them, almost thinks about them for a moment too long before realising she didn’t have the right to anymore.

She didn’t have the right to Josie Saltzman or her heart anymore. And thinking about her was pointless. It didn’t matter anymore, and her brain had ought to learn that.

And, maybe Hope was right, maybe she should have chosen Penelope the moment the girl returned.

Maybe she should have run to Penelope the instant the girl came back for her (the desperation to see Josie again and her lonely heart having made Penelope instantly regret her departure).

Maybe 2 weeks shouldn’t have been all it took for her to have moved on.

But Penelope couldn’t live her life on maybes anymore. And right now, there were only three things absolutely certain to her.

One: “ Landon Kirby sucks”

She announces amidst swigs of wine and uninhibited fits of giggles echoing into the quiet night’s sky, matching Hope’s entirely too animated disposition.

It’s proclaimed sometime after her second rant that night about feelings – and how they ruin everything.

“No, seriously, that boy was punching wayyy above his weight and had the audacity to move on, please,” she quips.

“Penelope!” is all Hope can muster amongst struggled and humoured breaths as she chokes on the sip of beer she’s now spitting back out. “He’s cute alright.”

“Not that its any competition, but my girl’s cuter,” she shoots back with a wink and nudge to Hope’s shoulder.

And Hope doesn’t hesitate to reciprocate the nudge, nor does she hold back on the force at which she does so.

“Ouch, Mikaelson, what was that for?”

“Calling your ex cute, we said we weren’t gonna talk about them remember.”

“First of all, you called your ex cute, secondly, you’re the one that said we weren’t gonna talk about them, I never agreed. And lastly, I was talking about you dipshit, –” Penelope explains, rubbing the stinging spot on her shoulder where Hope had not so graciously elbowed her – with full tribrid force.

“– you’re way cuter than that mophead bird.”

( Hope can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at that.)

“My girl huh?” she repeats, grinning at the term, reminding herself to tease the girl about it tomorrow. When she’s regained her senses and when everything hurts again, and a little laughter is something she’ll desperately need.

“Yeah Mikaelson, I suppose so.”

“You’re cute too,” Hope adds, after a wave of quiet settles over them and she’s not yet drunk enough to dull all her thoughts – not the painful ones that thrived in silence anyway.

“– seriously, you are one big fat catch Penelope Park!!” She shouts. Into the emptiness before them, into the hollow sky, and into the universe, she shouts, amidst feigned laughter and an additional swig of beer.

And Hope’s never felt as eager to hear something, anything as she did in that moment, with self-deprecating thoughts lingering in her alcohol-affected brain.

So when Penelope Park responds with an “oh my god, shut up,” for a moment, Hope feels better.

Because Penelope’s laughing now, and her giggles are the nicest sound Hope’s ever heard, the only sound she wants to hear forevermore. The only sound that soothes the ache that creeps up her chest and lodges in her throat.

So she laughs with her, and leans into the girl’s shoulder, resting her head in the crook of Penelope Park’s neck.

Because lately, that had become her favourite thing to do. Her favourite place to reside.

Whenever she felt those cruel thoughts surfacing within herself, she’d find herself reaching for the girl, for the warmth and solace she could find only within the depths of her touch and the crook of her neck.

Because the warm sweet scents of jasmine, vanilla and rose that overcome her senses when she rests her head upon Penelope Park’s shoulder are alone enough to tear her away from any other thoughts and bring her back home, back to a place of happiness that exists only within the depths of the green-eyed girl’s pretty smile.

And Penelope didn’t mind it either.

Because Penelope knew exactly what it meant when Hope leant on her like that. And Penelope Park would do anything to rid Hope of the cruel thoughts that lingered within her brain.

And because,

Two: Hope Mikaelson deserved the world.

Penelope Park was sure of it.

Hope Mikaelson deserved the world and Penelope Park would grant it to her if she could.

Lately, Hope had quickly become the girl’s favourite habit. She longed for the moments they shared, longed for the comfort and serenity she experienced in the nearness of having Hope besides her.

Penelope had grown so fond of the tribrid, and she couldn’t imagine her life without her.

Or life, at all. In its entirety.

A universe without Hope Mikaelson was surely a cruel and pitiful place to exist, and Penelope thanked the Gods above for granting her a life with the girl in it.

Hope.

Her sheer name alone instilled within Penelope the absolute certainty that one day everything would be fine.

One day, the two of them would be just fine.

And that day couldn’t come sooner.

But right now, nothing seemed fine, and the near future just seemed bleak and quite frankly, shit.

So when the laughter has settled and the night-kissed air hangs heavy around them. As the wind blows its gentle breaths and places delicate cold kisses onto exposed cheeks and hands, Penelope Park’s thoughts begin to drift.

And then, amidst quiet and shuddered breaths comes a voice, so small and so pained, even the moon and the trees falter in the hurt emanating from those soft lips.

“He couldn’t remember you, he forgot, she didn’t - but she moved on anyway.”

Hope flinches.

She’d expected it.

Feigned humour and laughter could only go so far, especially when mixed with alcohol and two recently broken hearts.

“Maybe I’m to blame then,” she says.

She’d thought it for some while.

If she hadn’t done what she did, her and Landon would still be together, and Penelope wouldn’t be hurting the way she is now.

But she just had to go and, quite literally – jump to save the day.

Abandonment issues and a hero complex - Lizzie Saltzman had once called it.

Hope didn’t bother to deny it or correct her.

Because Hope Mikaelson had often wondered about herself.

Why she was the way she was.

Questioning her existence, whether her tribrid nature was a blessing or a curse. Most people would kill for the power, right?

And the universe wouldn’t grant it to just anyone, surely.

So, she often thought about it and decided – it was either a gift provided to her because she was special. A miracle.

Or – it was a punishment, perfectly fitting for her because she was so, so inherently fucked up. So fundamentally rotten and broken. A cosmic mistake.

And the former prospect never appealed to her. It was too optimistic, in the universe and in herself.

Because when had the universe ever gotten anything right?

It just took from her, again and again, never giving anything back.

It took everything from her.

So yeah, Hope Mikaelson wasn’t anything special, not to herself at least. And she was absolutely sure that the universe hated her.

But not as much as she hated herself.

She hated how she needed to be needed by others to make her feel worth something. She hated how she still couldn’t bring herself to think of her parents without breaking down and blaming herself – how it was her fault they were gone.

How she wasn’t worth staying for.

And maybe it was selfish of her to expect anyone to. Maybe the universe was telling her exactly that.

That maybe the countless people that had left her was enough to show her just how unlovable she was, just how much she didn’t deserve it.

But the line between being selfish and selfless had been blurred for Hope Mikaelson a long time ago.

Because sure, she was always there whenever anyone needed her.

Because doing something good for others actually made her happier and increased the sense of self-worth she lacked in herself so greatly.

But the approval seeking that followed a successful defeat or mission with her friends, the validation she craved to make her feel like she was actually worth something trumped all the feigned altruism she presented to the world.

Because maybe it was never about anyone else.

And did it make her a bad person? Probably.

And was it selfish of her to rely on saving others for her own happiness? Definitely.

That didn’t stop her from jumping though, and God, did she regret it.

Regretting it the moment she fell and felt nothing, the moment she no longer could feel, and the moment darkness was the only colour her eyes could see.

So sure, she did it for them, him. And saving everyone was something she’d do again in a heartbeat, if she had to.

But it was different this time. There was no coming back from it, no warm embraces greeting her or the feeling of gratification after doing something good, doing something right - no validation.

So, yeah, Hope Mikaelson blamed herself for ruining yet another good thing in her life.

“None of this would have happened if I didn’t – “

“Don’t do that.”

Penelope cuts her off.

Her voice is stern, and it sounds almost immediately after Hope’s own lips start moving, as if already sensing what the girl was about to say.

“Don’t for one second do that. Don’t blame yourself for any of this, or anything, ever. You saved the world Hope, so just give yourself that.”

Penelope reaches for Hope’s face then, fingertips moving to wipe the quiet drops of dejection that fall down the girl’s cheeks, “you’re fucking awesome, so just accept that alright.”

And when Penelope hugs her so tightly after that, Hope almost laughs because, hey there comes that validation she so superficially craved.

So, when Hope pulls away from the hug soon after, and speaks up once more, then comes the third and final thing absolutely certain to Penelope Park in that moment.

Alas;

Three: She really badly needed to kiss Hope Mikaelson.

The urge to do so comes immediately after Hope utters words that almost instantly ignites Penelope’s fight or flight response in the process.

“Do you think we’re unlovable?” she says.

Penelope thinks it’s the most untruthful thing she’s ever heard escape Hope’s lips – and she’s heard enough broken confessions from the girl before, amidst quiet nights spent together and words meant only for her.

So, hearing this, Penelope Park has the sudden urge to destroy anything, anyone in the world that wronged Hope Mikaelson so greatly to ever cause her to think such a thing.

And sure, some other time maybe, Penelope would certainly have allowed the thought to linger about herself. But she’d never, never for one second, allow Hope Mikaelson to ever think such an abhorrent, false thing about herself.

So naturally, she does the first thing that comes to mind.

(It’s not that there weren’t other ways to approach to Hope’s questioned sentiment because sure, there definitely was.

And sitting and conversing with the girl while telling her just how lovable she is and identifying every single beautiful and completely worthy-of-love characteristic about her was entirely on the table.

And it’s not even that she necessarily thinks kissing her will somehow solve anything.

Rather, she just needs to kiss her.)

She couldn’t tell you why exactly, but it just made sense to her.

Because kissing away the pain had become their thing.

And Penelope Park didn’t plan on changing that anytime soon, not right now at least.

Not when Hope needed her.

Because Hope Mikaelson deserved the absolute world and Penelope Park would shower her with thousands upon thousands of kisses if it meant that she finally understood just how worthy of love she is.

So, when Penelope Parks leans in and lips familiar to one another meet once more, she kisses Hope Mikaelson with everything that she has.

Because nothing is more important to her than the need to kiss away the self-critical spoken out loud thoughts from those soft, pretty lips.

And because maybe she needs this too, just as much as the other girl.

So when Hope welcomes Penelope’s lips and kisses her back, hard, Penelope thinks surely the girl must understand what she’s trying to convey.

And when the kissing progresses, and neither girl can find it in themselves to stop, beer bottles and painful thoughts are abandoned and left outside in the dark as laughter-filled movements and drunken legs make their way inside.

And if you listen closely that night, the sounds of hushed giggles and sloppy movements can be heard within the walls of the Salvatore school corridors as two girls stumble their way into secluded quarters and the privacy of each other’s arms.

And when Penelope Park’s moans sound in her ears later that night, Hope Mikaelson thinks it’s the prettiest sound she’s ever heard and with those soft moans and sweet whispers ringing in her ears, she receives all the validation she needs to hear.

And because maybe her future within the walls of Penelope Park’s room seemed a little less bleak.

And because maybe, just maybe, the girl who stayed, despite the universe’s decree that Hope Mikaelson deserved no one was enough to show her that perhaps she was not so unlovable after all.

The fourth time, there’s no exchange of words or any build up.

Hope just wants to forget and to feel something and the next thing she knows, she’s at Penelope Park’s door.

And its 3am, so Hope’s neither hopeful nor certain that the girl will even answer.

But then the door’s opening and revealing a messy-haired Penelope rubbing her eyelids.

Hair falling in her face and an oversized t-shirt draping her body and stopping just above her knees.

Hope thinks she looks beautiful.

And now that the door before her is open and no longer separating her from what she wants, she’s instantly reaching for the girl, hands gripping the sides of her head and lips colliding into lips like they’ve already done countless times before.

And when there’s no hesitation from Penelope and her kisses are being returned with just as much readiness, Hope’s pushing her against a wall, ripping off her own clothes in the process while Penelope does the same.

Because Penelope can understand that Hope’s frustrated and hurting again, and honestly, she’d been hoping for some form of release herself, so she just sheds her clothing and bares herself for Hope Mikaelson to explore.

And when Hope does exactly that and gets to exploring the girl, with delicate touches and the wetness from the tip of her tongue, Penelope Park lets herself come undone then, and relaxes beneath the heat radiating from Hope Mikaelson’s pretty body.

And later that night, when highs have been reached and hungers have been satisfied, the atmosphere softens to one of peace and tranquillity, with the sweet melodies of bird’s singing outside sounding from within the small quarters of Penelope Park’s room.

And in the corner of the dimly lit room wherein the pleasurable moans and screams from a routine nightly high still echoes, can be found Hope Mikaelson – tucked safely and neatly within the grasp of a delicate witch whose arms extend round the girl and wrap her up carefully.

And when a gentle kiss is placed atop the girl’s sweat-covered forehead and quiet goodnights are uttered amidst worn out laboured breaths, blue eyes shut carefully and melt into the warmth of the embrace enveloping her.

To an outsider, the sight alone, of the two girls nuzzling deep into one another, naked bodies shrouded by each other’s limbs and the thin fabric that drapes them and secludes them from everyone else, is alone enough to make you question the nature of the relationship the two shared.

But to the girls themselves, there’s nothing more there than the simple intimacy of two friends looking after one another and supporting each other in the best way they knew how, with messy kisses and warm cuddles.

Because there’s an unspoken agreement between the two.

And sure, they’ve never talked about it, any of it – not the countless nights they’ve shared, but they both know they’ll do it over, and over again, as much as they needed to.

For as long as either needed.

Because that’s just how they helped each other, and no one else needed to understand it, all that mattered to either girl was their unspoken promise to one another.

At least, that’s what their dynamic was to Penelope Park.

And the girl had never thought much more of it, she figured Hope knew too.

But as Hope succumbed to sleep that night and dreamt of green eyes and raven black hair and a pretty smile, the inclination for something more brewed within her subconscious.

And in the morning when she awakes – with a smile and adoration for the girl who’s arms she fell to peace in through the night, to her disappointment she finds the girl already awake and dressed for the day, glancing in a mirror as she fixes up her hair.

And when the girl beams with a sunshiny smile, noting her now awoken presence, she can’t help the rush of blood surfacing in her cheeks after a quick kiss is placed there and a gentle “morning sleepyhead” is whispered in her favourite sweet-sounding voice.

Because something changes within Hope Mikaelson’s brain and heart. As thoughts of her linger a little longer and the pace at which her blood flows moves a little faster.

And if the growing butterflies that flutter within her stomach were any indication at all, something within her was happening. Something within her was dwelling a little more upon the brief moments and exchanged glances she shared with Penelope Park and something within her was hoping that maybe Penelope Park was doing the same.

The fifth time is ignited by Shakespeare and role-played romances.

Naturally, the school’s hosting its annual rendition of one of the classics.

And of course, fate – with all its cruel and wicked games determines this year’s play as none other than – Romeo and Juliet.

(“So, a tragic love story.”

Penelope remarks upon her uninvited entrance into Hope’s bedroom, carrying an unsurprising air of excitement and bounce in her step. “God, how fitting,” she continues, eyes rolling as she slumps onto Hope’s bed.

“Nice to see you too Penelope,” Hope returns, seeming to find amusement within the girl’s dramatics. Well, that, or she was more so relieved in the distraction that had just entered, and in the shape of Penelope Park nonetheless.

A paintbrush with remnants of dried paint on the tips of its bristles is set down then, as Hope turns her back to the blank canvas that had been agonising her brain for a glimmer of creativity within the past hours that secluded and confined her to her bedroom.

Because usually there was no thinking involved in any of her paintings, she merely held a paintbrush to a canvas, near enough so that it was almost touching, and then it’d happen. Her hands would seemingly come to a life of their own, almost communicating with her brain without telling her and would fashion pretty pieces of poetry in the arrangement of a plethora of colour and brush strokes.

Because paintings and poetry were all the same to Hope Mikaelson. Both were depictions of raw passion, emotion and beauty merely expressed through different mediums – be it words or colour.

Lately however, it was as if there was something wrong with her. And every time she neared a canvas, this sudden wave of anger raged over every fibre in her body and all she wanted – all she needed to do was punch a hole straight through the pure whites of the frame – right down the middle, to create one big gaping hole. Sort of like the one she could feel in her heart.

So honestly, she was grateful for a distraction from the chaos in her brain, and even more grateful that it came in the form of Penelope Park, “– and come on it’s not so bad.”

“Please, its cringey and overrated, not to mention completely overdone, stop enabling it.” Penelope remarks, feeling way beyond done with the school and their archaic traditions as she shifts to adjust her comfort on the bed – pulling a pink fluffy cushion out from under her arse and throwing it onto the floor. “Besides, didn’t they do this last year?”

“No, that was Oedipus remember,” Hope explains while reaching to obtain the discarded cushion to fire back at Penelope.

It lands right atop her perfect black curls and earns a feigned groan from the girl, “– you wouldn’t let MG live it down for an entire month afterwards, pretty sure the words ‘mother fucker’ still haunt him.”

“Oh yeah,” Penelope snickers, remembering it so fondly, “anyway back to business, say how’s about you and I get out of here and go into town until this dull play thing blows over. I don’t think I can stomach the thought of you know who and well, you know who, playing star crossed lovers – ever so deeply and madly in love.”

“God, that sounds great, it’s just, I promised Lizzie I’d help her prepare the stage decorations.”

“Ugh fine, I guess I’ll have to entertain myself then.”

“Or, you could stay, and I don’t know actually help?,” Hope retorts, “please Pen, for me?”

“You’re lucky I like you, Mikaelson.” Penelope concedes, entirely too aware of the chokehold Hope Mikaelson held her in when she looked at her with those puppy-dog-esque cute blue eyes and adorable pouty face, “besides, maybe some playful banter with Lizzie Saltzman is exactly what I need right now,” she teases while darting for the door. “– I’ll see you later.”

And as Penelope’s words echoe into her room, Hope shouts back a “Penelope! Behave!” just as the girl’s figure recedes out the doorway, secluding Hope to privacy and a non-cooperating brain on the verge of collapsing once more.)

…..

And truth be told, when it came down to it, Penelope Park did exactly that and well, behaved.

There was no mocking, no sarcasm, no taunting remarks uttered from her lips, not a single rant about the ‘cringe fest of a play’ she’d earlier described it as. There was just: nothing.

Because, not a single word escapes Penelope Park’s lips as she quietly nails down paper leaves onto the branches of fake tree trunks.

Not one word.

Not even when MG makes some witty remark about Lizzie and her flair for dramatics – one, that would usually get Penelope bursting with laughter, any other day.

Not even when she accidentally cuts her thumb with the harsh edges of otherwise harmless paper decorations. She just stares down at the innocent prop and wonders how the most seemingly fragile things somehow end up hurting her the most.

And not even when the keeper of her heart and all things beautiful walks into the hall, wearing a pretty smile (the kind that makes Penelope stop and think, ‘hey she looks happy, really happy’) and the hand of another interlocked within her own as quiet giggles from private, inside jokes sound and vibrate into Penelope’s ears.

Penelope just watches, says nothing and continues her mechanical movements. An array of paper, glitter and cardboard cut-outs distracting her vision from deviating to brown eyes and staring too hard and too longingly.

And when the emotionless façade Penelope’s got going on appears to have gone on long enough and Hope’s preparing herself to steal the girl away into the privacy of her room, where she can finally exhale and let out all the muted words she’s been keeping in all evening, a gentle voice reaches the girl before she does, stopping Hope in her tracks.

Because delicate brown eyes are nearing the girl now and speaking her name. The name that had been on Hope’s lips so many nights previously, the name that was currently plaguing her mind in the best of ways. A name that when uttered from another’s lips shouldn’t be making her feel the way it does and definitely, shouldn’t be making her feel the possessiveness and jealousy that now overcomes her.

So, when Josie Saltzman nears Penelope Park and delicately whispers “Penelope”, in a manner so breath-taking, Hope Mikaelson turns her back on the encounter, because she doesn’t know why, but she can’t help growing pangs of disappointment and ache looming within her chest.

But if Hope Mikaelson had perhaps looked for a moment longer, she’d too see the reflections of surprise and confusion littered within the greens of Penelope’s eyes, as she then speaks for the first time that evening and repays the spoken pleasantries with quiet fumbled words.

“Um hey, Jojo.”

And Penelope didn’t really know what to expect after that because hell, their last encounter involved tears, awkward apologies, and pain – way too much pain, so when a simple and innocent “hey, how are you?” escapes Josie’s lips, Penelope Park becomes lost for words once more that evening.

Because truth be told, the girl wanted nothing more than to answer honestly and to voice all the excruciating agony that had boiled over her ever since her return to Mystic Falls but sharing that with the girl she’d given her all to, the girl who didn’t reciprocate it, demanded more tears and hurt than Penelope could fathom in that moment. And so, instead, a quiet lie escapes her lips and green eyes meet brown for the first time in a long and lonely while.

“I’m great.”

And perhaps it would have been true, at any other time, but not on this day and in this moment. Because lately, Penelope Park did feel great – to a small extent, and definitely not in a sense where she’d announce she was the happiest she’d ever be been, but God, did she feel good lately. Because how could she not have felt so, when she had Hope Mikaelson – the literal epitome of sunshine and happiness itself, in her life and besides her all the way.

So when an awkward silence settles over the two and Penelope realises she should probably have returned a little more of the pleasantries than she had already done so, she fumbles out a quiet “how are you?” because well, the thought had been playing on her mind a lot anyway. She really did want to know if the girl was doing well, if she was genuinely happy, if he was everything she wanted and more.

And when she looks into Josie’s eyes then, properly looks into those eyes she so dearly misses, she sees a bright spark light up within them, as though the girl was grateful for Penelope’s participation in whatever this conversation was.

Penelope smiles. Softly and reminisces. Because when could she ever say or do anything, but that which Josie Saltzman required.

“I’m doing really good thanks – better for seeing you, you seem well.”

(Well? Penelope wonders.

Because oh, if only you knew how much the thought of you rattles around in my skull, how it keeps me up at night and how the only times I find solace is within dreams of you and us and the way we used to be, is what Penelope Park thinks.)

“Thank you, oh and congrats on the role, I know you always wanted a lead role in the school play, so… I’m really happy for you,” is what Penelope Park says.

An appreciated thank you escapes Josie’s lips then and before Penelope can dwell on what to say next, her gaze trains on the girl’s shuffling movements as she shifts her position on the ground near her until they are completely besides one another.

A quiet hand nervously reaches for a nearby arm then, moving slowly and with apprehension – perhaps afraid of having the touch it was working towards becoming declined. It doesn’t falter however, retaining its cautious unhurried movements as soft brown eyes carefully watch bewildered green ones.

And when the hand finally makes contact, after prolonged dramatics, it settles into the touch and rests there. Questioning why it hasn’t been there all along, why it hasn’t touched Penelope Park in so long when – being there and feeling the mere warm touch of her arm alone, feels like home and happiness personified.

So when brown eyes begin to well up and a lower lip belonging to those same features begins to tremble, and her brain questions why it ever, ever forgot such a feeling of comfort and peace, hurried words begin to leave her at once – as whispers amidst a strangled sob.

“I’m so sorry for everything, for the way it all happened, for being so distant, for not checking up on you sooner, and I really, really hope you are doing okay, Pen.”

And before Penelope can even allow herself to linger on the old, familiar, sweet nickname or the way her touch brings her to life, the way those soft fingertips brush over her yet dig deep within her soul and awaken forgotten feelings and memories of life and love – before she can allow herself to fall into the sweet smelling tunnel of Josie Saltzman, a voice (the last voice she ever wants to hear) emerges from behind closed doors, shattering her back to reality.

“Hey babe they’re looking for you out front, we still have lines we need to run, what are you – uh, Penelope, sorry I didn’t know you guys were, um, I’ll just leave you to it sorry, I’ll uh see you later bab- erm Josie.”

There’s quiet after that.

And it was so quick too, Penelope almost forgets it even happened.

A brief interaction with a voice that went as quick as it came – one fleeting moment causing fumbled, emotional apologies and an old friendship on the road to mending to come to a halt.

Penelope thinks, knows that Josie’s probably wondering what she’s thinking right now, if she’s angry or annoyed or hurt. And truthfully, she’s none of things, she feels fine, almost good somehow?

Because Penelope Park doesn’t know many things in life, and she’s never prided herself on things like knowledge, because it was all so rudimentary and relative anyway.

What she does know however, is that ever since she returned, she’d been letting her emotions get the better of her and acting out in ways that she didn’t deserve.

And right now, the most important thing she knew was that Josie Saltzman deserved an apology.

So when a stifled laughter escapes her lips, and soft brown eyes stained from dried wetness look at her in confusion, she can’t help but find humour in the irony of it all, of everything that lead up to now.

And when Josie Saltzman lets her curiosity get the better of her and asks what’s so funny, Penelope Park simply smiles to herself and thinks about just how wrong she had been – about everything.

“It’s just, I spent so long thinking – overthinking this moment, of seeing you again, and I mean properly and not just from opposite ends of a corridor, you know?  And wondering how I’d cope, but now that we’re here, in the same room, talking, well it just dawned on me how stupid this must all seem to an outsider… or to some omniscient being watching over us, just how stupid it now seems to me.”

And when Josie Saltzman listens to her words carefully.

And frowns.

And that confused look washes over her face – the look that Penelope has seen countless times before and placated and assured countless times over herself, she just smiles, deeper, and turns fully as she takes the girls hands besides her in her own.

“Look, I love you Josie. And you know what, maybe I always will but maybe I’ll stop loving you too, but amongst the uncertainty of all of that, one thing I do know is that you’re not to blame for my heartache. And I shouldn’t be making you feel guilty and apologetic about that, about having found someone good, something better, I shouldn’t be making you feel like you can’t even come and talk to me, and I definitely shouldn’t be making Landon Kirby feel the need to apologise twice within the same sentence and run away like that.”

And by the end of it, Penelope’s half laughing and half choking up herself, because God, she hadn’t expected her evening to turn out like this.

But here she is. And there’s no point turning back now.

So, she silences the lump forming in her throat and does what she really should have done a long time ago.

Because an apology to Josie Saltzman is long, overdue. And because the girl had never meant to wrong her, and simply acting out of love is something Penelope Park could never hate her for.

“So I guess what I’m saying is, I’m sorry too, for everything,” Penelope chokes out, aware of the few drops that escape her tear ducts for the night and make shelter on her cheeks and the corners of her lips. “And hey, I’ve really missed you.”

“Penelope Park”, is all Josie can manage before her resolve comes tumbling down.

And before she’s swept into Penelope’s arms.

Arms that hold her delicately and dampen from warm cries that seep into them.

Arms that don’t falter once even, despite the countless minutes that pass and the scrutiny they gain from several onlookers nearby.

They just stay like that, arms holding onto the girl with the same fondness they embraced her in, quietly and privately they stay like that – as if the whole auditorium of students (or Lizzie Saltzman and the give or take, 10 bodies she’d roped into helping her) weren’t watching. 

Josie pulls away first, glancing at Penelope through wet eyelashes and professed confessions that tear the very heartstrings that were on the verge of mending within Penelope, “I was so scared of what you were going to say, I thought you hated me.”

“Oh Josie, come here,” she offers, arms reaching out and pulling the girl into an embrace once more.

In moments like these, you’ll often find yourself in the clutch of a various array of hugs, all different from the last. There are ones that still give you space to breathe, holding you close, but delicately and with room for yourself; and then there are ones amidst strong outstretched arms that hold you in such a compelling manner, that they tell everything that you are – body, mind and soul – that they are with you, completely and to the end of the line. That the oceans may dry, and the stars may die, but they would never, never give up on you ever.

Penelope Park holds Josie with the latter of the two.

“I could never hate you, okay. Never, never you Josie Saltzman,” she whispers, placing a delicate kiss right atop the crown of Josie’s head.

“…never.”

And when Josie squeezes the girl a fraction tighter and pulls away, brown eyes meeting green again, a sincere promise escapes her lips as she smiles fondly at a friend, both old and new. “Penelope Park, you know I love you right, I always have, and I always will. I just love you a little differently now and I hope that’s okay.”

A different kind of love, Penelope wonders, mulling it over. And deciding she likes the ring of it.

A different kind of love.

And she’s okay with that.

So when the privacy bubble the two are in is broken by the sounds of Lizzie Saltzman shouting “tick tock bitches we haven’t got all day,” both girls allow themselves to laugh and fondly lean into one another, like they used to.

And when Penelope eventually stands and makes her return to her post as one of Lizzie Saltzman’s foot soldiers, Josie stops her once more – as if not quite done with their emotional reunion yet.

“Hey, Pen.. don’t be a stranger, please.”

And for the first time in a long while, Penelope Park’s heart feels whole again, free from pain and free from sorrow.

Because allowing herself to become a stranger to the girl who taught her what love truly meant, was something she’d ensure would never happen.

And because Penelope Park was ready to move on and ready to exist without the ache of her unrequited heart looming over her.

…..

The thing about love is – there’s this misconception that you’ll just know it when you feel it.

And for some people that’s not the case.

There’s an old saying that goes, love is blind – meaning that, when you love someone, you love them completely and madly, with so much devotion that suddenly any flaws and negative characteristics they have become invisible to you.

But love can be blind in other ways.

Because being in love is blind, but so is falling in love.

Because love can change your life, and love can better it, or even ruin it. And the prospect of that can make us entirely unaware that we are even falling into the sentiments of love when we begin to undergo the changes that occur once we fall into the pretty pits of it.

Because love can make you happy and love can make you sad and not knowing you’re in love can make you tirelessly question what’s wrong with you and why you feel the unknown feelings you do, as you lay in bed, staring at the small but noticeable cracks in your ceiling.

And as Hope counts the cracks in her ceiling, a gentle rhythmic knock breaks her out of her silent contemplations.

“Hey, Hope are you in?”

So yeah, falling in love was blind, because even the skip of Hope Mikaelson’s heartbeat and the nervousness brewing in her stomach as Penelope Park knocks on her door was not enough to indicate or explain to herself the weird feelings she was experiencing lately.

Even the constant appearances of such changed behaviours within her body and the correlation it bared to the presence of Penelope was no explanation for the girl.

And not even the flutters and nervousness and excitement that overcomes her as Penelope enters and cuddles into her is enough to make the girl finally reach the conclusion that there was something (love) brewing in her heart.

“Where’d you get off to earlier? Can’t believe you roped me into helping and made a run for it yourself, not cool Mikaelson,” Penelope teases.

And as delicate fingers run soft strokes through Hope’s hair, the girl can’t help but shiver at the touch.

“Sorry I wasn’t feeling too good,” Hope responds, quietly and absentmindedly, thoughts far too distracted and concentrated on the fingers brushing through her hair. Sending shivers along the entirety of her spine and chills into the warmth of her beating heart.

“Oh god, are you okay?? is everything alright, do you need me to get you anything?”

When Penelope stops playing with her hair then, and instead places her pretty hands on her face, and arms and waist, eyes darting frantically across her as she inspects the girl with so much caution and so much concern, Hope’s thoughts fall flat, missing the soothing feeling of Penelope’s fingers in her hair dearly.

“What? Oh…yeah I’m okay don’t worry, it was just a small headache, nothing serious.”

“Okay, if you say so, but I’m still checking up on you later though, can’t have you dying on me now Mikaelson,” Penelope jokes. And though her words are light-hearted, her actions show sincerity and a manner of care and overprotectiveness reserved only for Hope Mikaelson – the arm she throws around the girl and squeezes her tightly with only fortifies this.

“God, shut up Penelope… also you’re – squeezing – too… tight, ease – up – Pen, I promise – I’m – fine,” Hope breathes out – and not without struggle. But still, she can’t help but melt at the concern radiating from Penelope and the way her cheeks blush and tinge with soft pink as she whispers an apologetic sorry and scrunches up her face into the adorable turtle-like grin Hope had grown so fond of.

Because God, could Hope look at that smile for hours on end and never once grow tired of it or feel any less adoration for the girl she had grown to become so enamoured by.

For the girl she abandoned mere hours ago out of a wave of jealousy she couldn’t explain – certainly not to herself.

“Anyway, how are you, I saw ‘you know who’ approach you earlier, is everything alright?”

Because Hope would be lying if she said the thought of Penelope and Josie’s conversation didn’t plague her mind for the last hours she spent isolated in her room. Because something inside her craved to know what words had been exchanged between the two… or if there was something going on she didn’t know about.

“Oh, you saw that huh?” Penelope asks, a small smile growing on her face as she recalls the bittersweet conversation she shared with Josie, and just how good, and at peace she felt in the moments afterwards.

“Honestly Hope, yeah, I think everything is more than alright, in fact it’s great. I think I really needed that conversation you know? And as for Josie, we’re on good terms and I’m just happy she’s happy, I feel ready to move on.”

Oh.

“Move on?” Hope asks. Quietly. And timidly.

“Yeah, you know, it’s sort of like… like I had this wound or a scar, and every day, I would just pick at it because seeing it made me angry and I wanted it to go already. But doing that just aggravated the wound and made it get worse. Every day, again and again it would come back. But now, now I’ve realised that maybe I just need to let it sit and heal, because it’s an old wound now and it’s time I treated it like one, it’s time I forget about it and just exist without the thought of it lingering within me constantly.”

By the time Penelope’s done explaining, she’s half – awkwardly fumbling with the sleeves of her sweater and half – laughing (like she usually does after one of her long rants about feelings) that almost always systematically ends with a: “sorry that probably makes no sense.”

Except Penelope Park almost always makes sense and this time, Penelope Park really makes sense.

“It does…make sense. I get it, I really do,” Hope assures.

Because, really Hope understands it exactly, and Hope’s wounds are being laid to rest too. And right now, right now, she wants nothing more than to heal completely too, and to feel something new, something different, something better, something reciprocated.

And most of all she just wants to feel adored by Penelope Park.

So when she instantaneously leans in, like she’s done so many times before, she feels her body coming to life like it always does in close proximity of Penelope Park and by the mere touch and taste of her lips.

And when her kisses are being returned, until suddenly they’re not and Penelope Park is breathlessly pulling away and without words giving Hope a look that reads hey, what are you doing? and an oh, are we still doing this? Hope stares into those pretty green orbs for a moment and wonders what it would be like to kiss Penelope Park for the last time.

Because maybe, maybe they should have laid down some ground rules when they started whatever this was – this “lets make out and fuck feelings” pact.

Because maybe Hope never wants to stop, never wants this to end.

Because maybe Penelope wants this just as much as she does and finds as much comfort and security as Hope does, enough to want to continue this forever.

But when Penelope Park says nothing and wordlessly stares back at Hope with the same questioning stare, she thinks maybe she has her answer.

But when her brain begs for the taste of Penelope Park again, and her body craves its nightly high that can only be reached by the girls lips and fingers and the warmth of her embrace, she’s reaching for Penelope once more and softly meeting her lips again.

“Let me help you heal quicker,” she whispers against Penelope’s lips.

(And she hopes it doesn’t sound as desperate and as pleading as she means it.)

So when Penelope Park’s pretty emerald eyes dart to her lips and then to her neck and suddenly warm lips are following suit, she takes that as an okay.

And when they meet in an embrace of open arms and gentle-laced desire one more time, Hope Mikaelson secretly hopes it’s not the last.

But just in case –

Just in case, the nagging feeling in her brain telling her that this is all about to end is true; Hope Mikaelson kisses Penelope Park twice later – as the night comes to an end.

Once, for desire, and the second time, to remember.

To memorise the taste of her lips. The influx of serotonin that floods in her brain with a simple kiss from Penelope Park. The butterflies that flutter in her stomach whenever she gazes upon her beauty. The delicate softness of her touch.

And Hope Mikaelson hopes she never forgets the feeling.

And in the weeks that follow, Hope Mikaelson catches herself finding Penelope Park in everything that she does. And in everything that she sees. Everywhere she goes.

It starts with a polaroid she finds tucked in between the pages of a book on her nightstand.

And it instils within her feelings of laughter and lightness and excitement as she vividly remembers the birth of the memory – from one of the many nights an impulsive Penelope Park took her by the hand as the two snuck off campus together.

A bar, a jukebox, an old polaroid camera found in the alley behind a diner and a harmless spell to bring it back to life would later become one of Hope’s favourite memories.

And smiling upon the reckless and uninhibited enjoyment from that night, she finds herself staring at the memories of herself and Penelope laughing into the night sky as they danced and took dumb pictures of one another. She traces the sweet moment captured in black and white pixels within its small, plastic 5 by 5-inch white frame with her finger and wonders to herself about Penelope Park.

And how the girl always retained such beauty in everything she did, even when making silly faces and captured completely devoid of colour.

And soon enough, polaroid’s turn into left over sweaters and borrowed hoodies and crumbled up pieces of paper littered with messy sketches from afternoon sessions of quiet doodling, soft music and warm cups of tea.

Soon, she’s finding Penelope in every corner, every crack in her room.

Even in the residues of her pretty perfume that still lingers upon the pillows and covers in her bed.

And when the discoveries of Penelope Park are no longer restricted to merely the outside and she’s soon finding the girl within every creeping thought in her brain.

She finds herself wondering if Penelope Park thinks of her as much as she lingers on thoughts of her.

And when she finds herself beaming with excitement every time she nears the girl or hears her laugh or feels her touch, she wonders what makes Penelope Park so special and why her body reacts to her the way it does.

And when the answers still fail her and hide from her, until one evening, she’s stopped by Josie Saltzman and a soft smile, she learns two things:

One – She really missed Josie Saltzman, despite everything and despite their recently parted ways.

And;

Two – She was truly, madly and completely in love with Penelope Park.

It happens when she’s sat in complete silence, wind breathing in her face and the stretch of the afternoon sky in sight. With all its reds, oranges and purples splashed upon the interrupted canvas of deep blue that envelops her field of vision.

A delicate voice and a body kneeling down and resting besides her, pulls her from her cloud of thoughts.

It says, “hey, Hope.”

And without looking, Hope knows all too well who those words and that voice belong to.

Because it’s a voice she so dearly missed, and it’s a voice that had been her rock for a significant part of her life.

And a voice that, upon hearing, turns her blood cold and causes a stillness like no other to overcome her, teeth clenching and her fists tightening in a bid to keep the anger looming over her at bay.

Because she should be mad at the girl, she should be angry and upset at her for staying away when she needed her the most. For leaving her behind like she meant nothing to her, for her to now turn up weeks later expecting simple pleasantries and politeness in return. As though nothing had happened, and nothing had changed.

And perhaps that was entirely the problem – nothing had happened at all.

The two had barely even interacted since Hope’s return.

And Hope had waited.

Waited for her best friend to embrace her after weeks upon weeks of torture in that pit of darkness. Waited for the familiar sense of comfort she so desperately needed to feel within the safety of Josie Saltzman’s arms. Waited for something.

Instead, she received nothing.

And it was only until Lizzie Saltzman had run up to her that day – that first day back, squeezing her so tight and giving her that look that made Hope instantly know that something was wrong. Because that look was a mixture of relief and sympathy – that look had such pity slathered across it that Hope was almost prepared to turn back to the gates of Hell rather than hear what that look had to say.

So when she found herself calmly listening to Lizzie Saltzman catch her up on everything that she missed while she was gone, she remembers thinking how funny it was that the universe, with all its sick and twisted games, had still managed to torment her from beyond the pits of non-existence.

And because, well, she’d sort of expected it.

Deep down, she had hoped it was just the hallucinations and the evils of that place clinging onto her fears and making her weak, giving her nothing to hold onto, nothing to live for and to fight for.

Because Hope Mikaelson always hated it when she lost someone, and Hope Mikaelson almost always blamed herself when it happened.

So, when she had gained yet lost her two favourite people that day, Hope Mikaelson found no one to blame but herself.

She stills remembers that day vividly and the aftermath of her conversation with Lizzie Saltzman still ingrains in her memory, playing on loop like a broken record.

(How Landon had rushed to her. Wetness staining his cheeks and trembling lips firing apologies at an incredulous pace, that even Hope’s tribrid brain struggled to keep up.

How she’d watched him and the way the curls of his messy black hair fell down into his eyes, damp with sweat from running too fast.

How she listened to the sound of his voice and melted at the peace she discovered within the melodies of it.

How she wished she could kiss him, but how she knew she no longer could for he no longer belonged to her.

And how she’d let herself become brave, for just a moment, as she embraced him and assured him it wasn’t his fault.

How silent tears fell from her as he whispered amidst struggled and strangled sobs – “none of this would have happened if I’d just remembered you a little harder.”

How the tears stung.

How she’d held him tighter then and how she made him promise to tell her honestly, to tell her truthfully if he’d found happiness in her, if he loved her.

And how she’d let him go after that, urging him to return to the soft brown eyes he’d fallen for while she was gone.

How she’d made him promise to never apologise again. For doing nothing wrong but simply following his heart.

Because if you love something, you set it free, right?

So when that first night came to an end and filled with just as much tears and loss as the first night she spent in Malivore, she waited.

Waited for Josie to come and find her too.

Waited for a repeat of the emotional reunion she’d just experienced.

Waited for Josie to embrace her like Landon.

Waited to tell the girl it was okay too, okay for her to be happy with him.

Except it never came.

And Josie never came.

She just took from Hope like everyone else in her life and left without goodbye.)

And if that didn’t warrant the anger that now coursed through her blood, Hope didn’t know what else ever could. Because the betrayal she never expected from someone who held such a significant place in her heart was the only thing that would ever cause Hope to feel the way she now did.

Because Josie had countless opportunities to say something.

And because Josie used every single one of them to let her down.

So when Hope turns then, and blue eyes meet brown, like they used to. She feels the stinging absence in her heart for an old friend who left, and the sorrow as it questions why Josie Saltzman chucked her aside like she meant nothing.

And before she can stop herself from doing something dumb like hugging the girl or voicing feelings about how she missed her to fill that void and that absence in her heart, she turns her attention back to the waters before her and their quiet movements, leaving Josie Saltzman in her periphery and in her past, where she belonged.

But when the voice sounds again;

“Hope?”,

And it’s determined and relentlessly probing for a response, Hope snaps.

“What Josie? What could you possibly want from me now after weeks of ignoring me?”

And when Josie winces and recoils then. When she retreats and increases the distance between herself and Hope. When Hope’s words cut deep and surface the harsh realities of her behaviour, she lets her head hang low.

Partly out of empathy and understanding, but mostly because she’s disappointed in herself.

Because she hates herself for all of it, and because Hope has every right to be angry at her.

“I, I’m sorry Hope, I didn’t know what to say,”

I didn’t know what I could say.

“Are you kidding me?” Hope spits back.

Letting herself unwind then, allowing words laced with frustration and anger to flow from her tongue.

“Maybe a: hey I’m really glad you’re back and you made it out alive might have been nice.”

And when Josie winces and bites her tongue, stopping herself from adding more salt to the visible wounds upon Hope Mikaelson’s face, she lifts a shaking hand.

And when she moves it cautiously, with hesitation but a sense of determination, she hovers it over Hope Mikaelson’s arm and wishes for a complete do-over of the past.

Because Hope Mikaelson deserved none of what she had given her.

Because three times, Josie Saltzman had let down the girl and three times, Josie Saltzman had deserved all of Hope’s anger and retaliation in return.

The first time – when she set her room on fire, destroying all her private belongings and memories – including the only painting she’d ever made with her dad.

The second time – when she drove a wedge between her sister and Hope, out of jealousy and the irrational voice in her head that clouded her judgement.

And the third time – when Hope had risked her life for everyone while she unknowingly stole her boyfriend and out of the shame and fear of it all, she’d decided it was better to hide than to look the girl in the face. That, despite the ache in her heart and the dying urge she felt to run to the girl the moment she came back and to hug away her pain, she was better off avoiding her.

Three times she’d let down the girl.

And three times she’d deserved all of her anger and retaliation in return.

Except, two times it never came.

Hope almost always forgave her and brushed off the hurt, even hugged her and assured her that it was okay, that it wasn’t her fault and she never meant to do it.

And Josie should have known her luck would eventually run out.

That Hope Mikaelson would eventually see her for the mess she truly was and finally snap.

She just didn’t realise how much it would hurt, until it was too late.

Until the girl stood before her, fire and hurt raging in her eyes.

Until she’s reaching for the girl and her touch is being rejected and Hope’s backing away from her, pain and sorrow emanating from her broken voice.

“No, stop, you don’t get to just act like you care now okay, you weren’t there when I needed you…”

“You weren’t there.”

And Josie really wishes for a complete do-over of all the moments leading up to now because all she wants to do is to take the girl in her arms, like old times. To comfort her and tell her everything was going to be okay.

Josie thinks it’s the worst pain she’s ever felt.

And it’s why she’d avoided her, in fear of this exact pain.

The pain that came with hurting Hope Mikaelson.

So when her lips start to tremble and salty drops begin to protrude from her aching brown eyes, she apologises, like a cassette stuck on loop, she apologises over and over.

“Hope, I – I’m sorry, I really am so sorry, I know I hurt you…and I’ll never forgive myself, I’m so sorry.”

And when Josie’s broken sobs and repeated apologies fill her ears, Hope lets her resolve fall then, as her angry demeanour begins to fade – the way it always does whenever there was an upset Josie Saltzman on the verge of tears involved.

“I only ever stayed away because I thought you wouldn’t want to see me. I thought I was the last person you’d want to see,” she says.

And despite the hurting, despite the confusion, despite the betrayal she still felt, she lets herself succumb to reason and lets the sliver in her heart that still felt for Josie Saltzman to speak aloud for her.

“Why would you think that?”

And when Josie Saltzman looks at her through those soft brown eyes that well up with defeat, and through a broken smile that aches to be forgiven, Hope really has to hold back the urge to do some stupid like hug her or tell her she misses her.

“It certainly comes with the territory of stealing your boyfriend, Hope,” she says.

And in any other moment, Hope thinks it would have sounded sarcastic, funny almost. But it’s not, and, it just sounds sad.

And Hope almost feels sad for the girl.

So she takes a deep breath, watching the way the colours of the afternoon sun reflect upon the pools that flood from those sad brown eyes, and extends an olive branch.

“Josie,” she sighs, glancing towards the girl, “none of that mattered to me, not at first anyway. I’d just come back from weeks of isolated darkness, I wasn’t looking for a fight or to get angry, I was just…”

Scared that you’d all still forget.

Desperately hoping that you’d recognise me.

Afraid.

“Lonely,” she says, “all I needed was to see you, figuring out the rest would come afterwards.”

And when Josie looks at her then, when she looks at her through wet eyelashes and a quivering chin, with that look plastered across her sad face – the look that could end wars with the mere sight of it alone, Hope sighs once more.

Because really, she had every right to be angry at the girl, and she should – be angry.

Except she’s not, and she just feels sad and lost.

But mostly, she just feels for Josie Saltzman.

“I didn’t need an explanation, Jo,” she tells her, through furrowed brows and the memories of the loneliness from that day still looming in her brain, “all I needed was a hug from my best friend” she says, softly – squeezing the words out of the tightness lodged in her throat. “That’s all I needed,” she chokes out.

And when soft brown eyes glance at her once more, through wet eyelashes and a face that frowns deep in thought, Hope wonders about the thoughts that were brewing in Josie Saltzman’s brain.

And when suddenly she doesn’t need to wonder and the sounds of empty, broken words break through her quiet contemplations, she wonders if her arms still remember the way it felt to hold Josie Saltzman within them.

“I thought you hated me,” she says.

It comes out as a whisper. Quietly. And nervous.

And the girl’s retreating almost immediately after she says it.

Hope wonders why. Chalking it up to the unease that came hand in hand with their current dynamic.

Probably afraid of the words that might follow, she thinks.

Because maybe Josie’s words would ring true and maybe Hope wouldn’t deny them and the hatred she may or may not have felt for Josie Saltzman.

And Hope almost thinks she might.

Lingering on the thought of just saying I do – hate you, or not saying anything at all and watching as the girl unravels as it dawns on her.

Because hating her would be so much easier.

And because she wishes it were that easy.

Except she doesn’t hate her, and she never did.

She just hates that she left her.

So when she looks at her. When she properly looks at her and no longer sees the Josie Saltzman she’s so accustomed to seeing. Her sunshiny happy demeanour replaced by a cloudy rainstorm. The light that usually exists within the crinkles and curves of her smile stripped away and traded for darkness and a forced expression filled with sorrow and regret, she wonders how long it would take to wrap her arms around the girl.

And wonders how long she need hold her for until her heart feels whole again and until her arms no longer miss her.

Breathing after that feels like the hardest thing Hope Mikaelson has ever had to do.

Because Josie Saltzman’s smile caused flowers to bloom and trees to grow to heights of beauty, and without it, the very air Hope Mikaelson inhales feels tainted and rotten. Because without the sun that existed within the depths of Josie’s smile alone, everything feels wrong. And perhaps that’s why she’d felt so broken ever since she came back, because the very sun that gave her life had been stripped from her.

“I could never hate you, Josie” she tells her.

With a sense of certainty and conviction that tells her like it’s the most truthful thing she’s ever said.

That nothing is as certain to her as this. That despite it all, despite everything, she loved the girl completely. That hating her was never an option.

And when the Josie’s eyebrows furrow and her bottom lip juts out, she looks at Hope, through hopeful sad brown eyes, and without words gives her a look that reads, are you sure?

And when Hope shoots her a smile, one of certainty and one of immense fondness, it reads; of course I do, Jo, as the tides of apprehension and unease slowly wash away from Josie’s expression.

Because three times Josie Saltzman had let down the girl - and three times she’d deserved all of her anger and retaliation in return. And three times it never came.

“Then..” Josie says, with a new-found sense of optimism and hope, “is it too late to give you that hug?”

And for the first time, in a long while, Hope no longer has to wonder about the warmth and comforts of Josie Saltzman’s embrace. She just feels it, in the now and in the present.

And breathing after that feels like the easiest thing Hope Mikaelson has ever had to do.

Because she’d waited so long for this. And because she’d wait a forevermore more if she had to. And if she could, she’d wish for those arms to wrap round her every chance the universe was kind enough to grant her.

Hope thinks its moments likes these, within the arms of someone she loved that make her truly understand the point of life, or anything for that matter. Because she’s never felt such comfort and protection before.

Danger and worry – it’s all she’s ever known, her whole life.

But when she’s wrapped up, arms encompassing her, a gentle head resting on her shoulder, and pretty scents filling her senses, she truly feels safe.

And for a while, she only ever found the solace discovered within a set of arms in Josie Saltzman alone.

After that, there was Landon.

And then she had neither.

And when suddenly she had someone new, and someone that not only provided her body and soul with safety, but even her heart too, she was fine again. But with the panicked and painful thoughts that lingered in her brain telling her she’d soon no longer have that, she was grateful for finding a sense of safety within Josie Saltzman once more.

Because right now she needed it more than ever.

So when Josie pulls away then and smiles, Hope falters. Because in the midst of it all, the sun had made its way down from the sky again and rebuilt a home right where it belonged – within the very crooks of Josie Saltzman’s smile. And with delicate smiles the two share and the unspoken comfort that envelops them, Hope Mikaelson breathes for a moment and thinks, hey – I’ve really missed you Josie Saltzman. And with the familiar feelings of comfort and security hanging in the air, the two allow the peaceful quiet to prosper and unknowingly agree to not interrupt its tranquillity with small exchanged smiles.

The movements of the trees wavering in the cold winds being the only sounds that fill their ears.

And when suddenly Josie is breaking the silence, and uttering a word that brings Hope back to feelings of confusion and nervousness, she is reminded of the very reason she’d found herself outside and in the isolation of her own company in the first place.

“So are we going to talk about Penelope?” She asks.

And it comes out quiet, yet it’s spoken so quickly that Hope almost thinks she imagined it.

Penelope, she wonders.

Allowing her thoughts to drift and return to agonising contemplations about the girl and her mesmerising eyes, pretty smile and delicate laugh.

My Penelope? She thinks.

Allowing herself to succumb to the very thoughts within her mind that held her prisoner. The very thoughts that played in her mind on repeat and filled her with flashes of sweet memories of late-night rendezvous and delicate morning kisses.

And Hope wonders how she’d ever forgot such feelings of resplendence that ran such waves through her the moment she thinks of the girl once more and lets her brain run havoc with memories of the two of them wrapped up in one another.

“Penelope?” She asks, as the nerves in her stomach grow, “what about her?”

And when Josie smiles, softly and it feels like old times again, she gives Hope a look; a look of affection and of partial pity for the girl’s unaware heart; a look that reads, ‘are-you-really-pretending-to-not-know-what-I’m-talking-about’ and a look that remembers the way it too felt to fall for Penelope Park.

“Hope,” she says, reaching out and holding her hand, “I know we haven’t exactly been on talking terms these past few weeks.” Sparing a sincere regretful smile before she continues. “But I still looked out for you… watched you to make sure you were doing okay. And to my surprise, someone else was doing the exact same, and someone else cared enough to look after you up-close, and where it mattered. And I see you Hope, I see the way you are with her.”

Hope laughs, rolls her eyes, and watches the way Josie watches her with the same sincere and pitying glance, wondering where the girl was going with this. “Not that I don’t love the ominous ambiguity and all but, what are you talking about Josie?”

“I’m talking about how you’re in love with Penelope.” She says.

It comes out so matter of factly.

She just says it and lets it hang, as though the words she’s just uttered don’t hold the weight of whole the world – or Hope’s world at least. And as though Hope’s world in mention wasn’t just turned upside down by it.

Hope almost laughs from the whiplash of it all.

Because for weeks, she’d been waiting for it to finally click within her. For her to finally gain some sense of acceptance and an explanation for the strange feelings she’d been experiencing.

For the way her stomach flipped whenever Penelope Park was around.

For the way her body heated up under a simple touch from the girl and the way that touch lingered and set her entire sense of sanity ablaze.

For the way her heart beat so hard and so erratically whenever Penelope was near, as though beating for her was its only purpose and beating to provide oxygen to the cells in her body came second.

For the way every fibre in her body broke and tore apart the moment the girl left her side, for even a second.

And suddenly everything makes sense and suddenly Hope’s heart craves Penelope Park just that little bit harder.

Because her heart used to beat for Penelope alright, but now her brain understood it too; and that just makes those beats and those thoughts that revolved around the girl feel that little bit sweeter.

And because falling for Penelope Park was the easy part. But admitting it out loud was the hard bit.

So when she tries to admit it. To speak it loud and accept it, her lips move – but they say nothing.

It doesn’t matter though, because her eyes speak all that needs to be said.

And Josie understands. She understands it perfectly.

Because love was terrifying, and the uncertainties and unawareness that came hand in hand with falling in love was even more terrifying. Josie knows that first hand.

So she just hugs the girl. Reassures her that it was okay. Okay that she couldn’t make sense of it yet. Or voice the words explicitly. That in time, it would all make sense. And in time, she’d make sense of the feelings that warped in her mind for Penelope Park.

And Hope lets her.

She doesn’t speak or even attempt to move after that. Because her mind is still reeling from the influx of intense emotion she was met with today. And because her brain is still reeling from the discovery of her heart’s desires and the acceptance of its loved-up state.

So she just stays like that. In the arms of a dear old friend, and in the clutch of a heart on the verge of melting – or exploding. She doesn’t know which would hurt more.

....

And later, that very night, as she lays awake, wrapped up in a borrowed sweater from a girl that borrowed her heart without asking, she wonders how many times her lips tasted Penelope Parks lips. And wonders how many more times they would get to taste them.

And when she calls to sleep, to distract her and take her away from the very thoughts that excited her, yet scared her all the same, she finds herself frowning as sleep declines all her demands.

And when those same thoughts continue to linger and expand into vivid images of her, and her smile and her eyes – and the way they sparkle, she finds herself reaching for a paintbrush.

And its 4:00am, and the whole town is asleep, the night is quiet and dead. Even the moon shuts its eyes and rests for a moment.

But Hope, she gets to work on moulding a blank canvas into something more, giving it purpose and giving it meaning, with the thoughts of a hundred moments spent with a pretty smile. 

And as she sets to perfecting the right shade of green for the details in her painting that mattered most, she wonders what tidings the morning would bring her. And whether her heart would find itself finally confessing its deepest feelings aloud, or if the person that mattered most to her in life would for once, just once, decide to stay.

Perhaps she was in love with Penelope park.  And perhaps Penelope park was everything she needed in life.  Everything she ever needed.

Because maybe falling for Penelope wouldn’t be such a bad thing and maybe the universe had gotten something right for once.

Because maybe Landon was never meant for her.

Maybe Penelope Park was hers to find all along.

Because she’d gone to literal Hell and back and the only consistent thing in her life ever since her return had been Penelope, with her comforting arms and beautiful smile.

The only person who had stayed and been there for her throughout it all.

And maybe the five times she’d spent unknowingly falling for the girl were the only times she’d ever felt such feelings of belonging and solace.

So maybe, just maybe the universe, with all its vast complexities and harsh lessons, was finally embracing Hope with open arms and telling the girl the only thing she’d been waiting her entire life to hear and to finally ring true to her.

That she was worth loving, completely and unconditionally.

Except there’s no sixth time. Not the kind Hope wants anyway, with Penelope trailing kisses down her neck and the sun setting in the distance as the only sounds to be heard are of hers and the girl whose arms she lay in.

Instead, Penelope Park rushes into her arms the next morning, gushing about someone else and a new-found philosophy on soulmates.

“I can’t believe she asked me out, me, can you believe?” she bursts, as she walks round, and around in circles, like a puppy discovering its tail for the first time.

And Hope’s not even sure who she’s talking about, all she can think is, what’s not to believe, you’re literally perfect.

Hope thinks it’s cute though, how enamoured she is, and how her eyes sparkle as she speaks of whoever she is.

And God, she looks pretty.

“And God, she’s so pretty and cool and smart and you’re gonna love her oh my God I can’t wait for you to meet her again, properly this time.”

“Who are we talking about?”

“Clara, remember the girl we met in town last week?”

Nothing.

“The cute one that waitresses at that diner we found?”

Still nothing.

“The diner where we found that polaroid camera?”

Finally something.

“Oh yeah, right sorry. Clara.”

The name tastes bitter as she pronounces it.

It sounds wrong.

Hope’s not even sure she’s listening anymore, or if she ever was. She’s pretty certain she drowned out after the words about someone else escaped her lips.

“Do you know what this means Hope??”

That our bittersweet romances are finally coming to an end?

That I was a fool for ever thinking I could deserve someone like you, or someone at all.

“Multiple soul mates exist Hope! And now that I’ve found the woman of my dreams, I am making it my next venture to focus solely on finding you someone too.”

Oh.

“Yeah… I don’t know about that Pen, I’m sort of all relationship-ed out right now, I don’t think I can stomach any more heartbreak.”

“Hey, that’s not going to happen, you’re going to find someone who loves you for all that you are, I promise you that.” Penelope demands. “You’re an angel Hope Mikaelson, – I know it and someone out there knows it and is currently waiting for you to get out there and rock them of their feet.”

“Besides, I kind of maybe sorta already told Clara you’d come join us at the bar this evening.”

“Penelope –” 

“I’m not letting you spend the evening alone with just your paintbrushes for company, Hope. You are most certainly coming with, and you are going to mingle and flirt and get your rock on princess.”

Hope gives in after that.

Because when could she ever say no to Penelope Park.

And when could she ever look into those happy green eyes and do anything to displease them.

Hope Mikaelson still remembers the first time she laid upon those eyes.

The first time – the proper first time.

When she looked into the depths of the forests within them and saw them for everything that they were.

And Hope Mikaelson will never forget the beauty that she saw within them, and how they encapsulated sunsets and stars and the night sky all within the gold and black flecks running circles in the deep greens of them.  

And Hope will never forget the raging pain she saw in those eyes that day.

And it’s so, so different to what she sees now when she looks into them. When they glimmer with such light that makes the rest of the world appear so dark and so absent.

And Hope’s beginning to think she’s cursed now. To always fall for green eyes. To always become to dependant and enamoured by a pair of green eyes and a pretty smile.

And she wonders if she ever asked for any of this. And she wonders if she’ll ever come back from any of this.

And even though she may never be allowed to love Penelope Park the way her heart desires, she would probably still forever love the girl.

Because Hope didn’t have parents to warn her about the traps of love and how it didn’t demand to be loved back, to be reciprocated.

Hope had to learn the hard and cruel way. That love was pure and selfless and undemanding and free.

And though it may not have been the love she wanted, it was the love she had been dealt by the universe. And Hope Mikaelson really did not mind it one bit. Because really, how could she blame the universe for making her fall for Penelope Park when Penelope Park’s sheer existence was the epitome of all that is sacred and good in the world.

So Hope Mikaelson continued to lay there and bask in the soft and warm embrace of Penelope Park as the younger girl snuggled closer to her proclaiming excited ramblings detailing her plans for tonight.

And when Penelope Park gushes about the pretty diner girl they met last week, Hope Mikaelson smiles fondly at the girl and wonders what it would feel like to be loved by Penelope Park. She thanks the universe and the Gods above in that moment. She thanks them with all of her being and all of her might for granting her the chance to cross paths with Penelope Park in this lifetime.

Because Hope Mikaelson didn’t know what she was in for when she allowed Penelope Park into her heart but Hope Mikaelson now knew one thing for sure.

Falling in love with Penelope Park was the easiest thing she ever had to do.

Getting over her would later become the hardest thing.

And in that moment, with the sun peaking in through the blinds and cascading onto Penlope Park’s beautiful tanned skin; for Hope Mikaelson, it was as if her universe both began and ended right in that moment.

And finally, just finally, she was home in the arms of her love. //

~