#maybe it was like an inkling thing that happened. that sorta like spark of feelings

[impossible-rat-babies]

shadowbringers? More like Sad-bringers, eh?

I’m real sad y’all

[filmfanatic82]

AO3 Link (HERE)

Chapter 6

“I'm gonna paint you by numbers and color you in

If things go right we can frame it and put you on a wall

And it's so hard to say it but I've been here before

Now I'll surrender up my heart and swap it for yours”

-- Lego House, Ed Sheeran

__________

BEEP.

BEEP.

BEEP.

“Fuck,” Penelope grumbles, face down in a mound of pillows. “Turn off freakin’ your phone, Mikaelson!”

Penelope waits for a minute or two, but the alarm keeps on beeping. 

“Ugh!” Penelope flings the comforter off of herself and is hit dead on with the sudden realization of where exactly she is. This isn’t Hope’s bedroom from their apartment, but it’s her dorm room instead. She must’ve fallen asleep last night and never left.

Penelope runs her hands through her tangled mess of hair and takes a moment to collect herself. She once again notices the incessant beeping and looks around the room for its source. There, beside the nightstand sits an alarm clock with a note addressed to her.

Penelope reaches over, hits the alarm off, and then snatches up the note. 

Pen—

Went to go train at the docks. Set my alarm so you wouldn’t sleep the whole Saturday away. Come find me when you get up.

—Hope

P.S. You snore like a full-grown mountain troll.

A small smile crawls across Penelope’s lips. “And you snore like a werewolf with sleep apnea, Furball.” 

Penelope pockets the note, then gathers up her belongings and slips out the door. She starts to move down the deserted hallway, beyond thankful that weekends at Salvatore means everyone is either sleeping in or are off-campus when suddenly--

“Pen?” 

Penelope freezes at the sound of Josie’s voice. “Shit.”

“Did you just leave Hope’s room?” Josie asks. Penelope slowly turns and spots Josie standing in the middle of the hallway, hands-on-hips, with a look of utter confusion written all over her face.

“Sorta…” 

“Sorta?” Josie responds with a quirk of her brow. She moves closer and as she does, Penelope gets a good look at the beaten-up sweatshirt that she’s wearing. 

It’s a navy Salvatore school hooded sweatshirt.

It’s her sweatshirt.

That sweatshirt had been one of Penelope’s prized possessions back when she had attended the school the first time around. It had been one of those articles of clothing that had grown on her over time until it became her go-to comfort item whenever she was feeling under the weather or didn’t want to deal with the outside world. Her metaphorical coat of armor.

Penelope had been sure that she had lost it shortly after she had broken up with Josie. One minute it had been in the pile of clothes on the floor in the corner of her dorm room and the next it was nowhere to be found. She had spent months scouring every inch of the school for her sweatshirt. Even going as far as to question Lizzie as to its whereabouts. But it never turned up. 

Not once. 

Not until this very moment. 

“Is that my sweatshirt?” Penelope questions and Josie’s face instantly ignites with a deep reddish hue. 

“Sorta…”

“Sorta?” Penelope mimics back. She can’t help but feel the beginning of a smirk form as she watches Josie grow visibly flustered.

“Okay. It is. But that’s not the point.” Josie lets out a huff and folds her arms. “Why were you in Hope’s room?”

“I’ve been searching for that sweatshirt for yea-- months now. How’d you get it?”

Josie bites her lip. “I might’ve borrowed it.”

“From my dorm room floor?” 

“Yes. Okay? I took it from your dorm room. Now, can you please stop changing the subject?” 

“I wasn’t changing the subject, Jojo.” Penelope’s smirk widens. “Just asking you a question. That’s all.” 

“Fine. I answered yours, so answer mine. Why were you in Hope’s room?”

“I…” Penelope hesitates as her mind scrambles for a believable enough excuse. 

“You promised,” Josie says softly. Her words are simple but still manage to knock the air right out of Penelope’s lungs. 

No more lies. 

But how?

Penelope swallows down her growing nerves and then runs her hands through her hair, tucking a stray curl behind her ear as she does. “I was in Hope’s room because I accidentally passed out in her bed last night.”

“You slept with Hope?” 

“Yes.” Penelope watches as Josie’s eyebrow shoot straight up into her hairline and instantly kicks herself in the ass. “Wait. No. Not in that way. Yes, we slept together in the same bed… but that’s all we did. Sleep. Nothing else. I swear.”

“Okay…”

“I stopped by last night cause Hope needed to talk and ended up falling asleep. I didn’t mean to stay all night but guess I was more exhausted than I thought. I literally just woke up.”

“I can see that,” Josie says. Her features soften once again as she reaches forward and gently tussles Penelope’s hair. 

Penelope breathes an invisible sigh of relief. 

Half-truths. 

That’s the best she can offer at the moment. Nothing more than that. It isn’t ideal. Not by a long shot. But what other option is there?

“Is Hope okay?”

“Yeah,” Penelope replies, thankful for the slight shift in topics. “She’s fine. Just needed someone to talk through some stuff with.” 

“And does that stuff happen to involve my sister?”

“I can’t say.”

“Pen…”

“No can do, Jojo. Besides I’ve said too much already. Hope swore me to secrecy.”

Josie laughs and shakes her head in amused disbelief. “Okay who are you and what have you done with Penelope?” 

“New leaf. Remember?” Penelope matches Josie’s laugh, unable to contain her ever-growing smile. Her inner voice screams at the top of its lungs for her to seize the moment and make a move. Something bold and daring like her 16-year-old self wouldn’t hesitate to do. 

But tapping into that long-dominant side of her isn’t quite as easy as she first thought it would be. Especially not in the presence of Josie Saltzman. 

A slightly awkward silence encompasses them as Penelope watches Josie start to fidget with the frayed string to the hood of her sweatshirt. Another signature tell. One that Penelope as witnessed countless times before. Even after all of these years, she still knows every last one of them. The lip biting. The fidgeting with ends of clothing. The slight tilt of her head-- down and to the left-- whenever growing too embarrassed for words. 

All are committed to Penelope’s memory, like a secret code that only she knows how to decipher. 

“Well I oughta--”

“What are you doing tonight?” Penelope blurts out in a sudden burst of confidence. 

“Nothing really. Probably going to stay in and get a head start on our 17th-century magical artifacts essay. Why?” 

“Want to hang out?” 

“Just the two of us?” Josie asks with a hopeful spark within her chocolate brown eyes.  

“Just you and me.” 

“Sure. I’d love to.” 

“Good,” Penelope responds as she feels herself slipping back into her old cool, confident facade.  “Cause I’ve got an idea.”

“Oh really?” 

Penelope hums a vague response and then adds a smirk for added measure. 

“What is it?” Josie asks, now fully intrigued. 

“Nope. Not telling.”

“C’mon… Not even a hint?” Josie inches closer and instantly Penelope’s senses are overtaken by the distinct mixture of vanilla and orange blossoms. Josie’s signature scent. 

The one that Penelope tried to recreate for at least two good years after departing from Salvatore to no avail. 

It smells like home. 

“Nope,” Penelope replies, pausing to inhale another breath of the intoxicating aroma. “You’ll just have to wait and see… Pick you up at 6?” 

“It’s a date,” Josie says and then without warning, leans in and plants a tender kiss on Penelope’s cheek, instantly rendering the raven-haired girl utterly useless.

“A date.” Penelope manages to produce a small nod in confirmation and watches as Josie takes off down the hallway.

__________

“Fuck… Fuck… Fuck…” Penelope paces the length of her dorm room a short while later. She runs her hands through her short curls, again and again, trying her best to keep her nerves in check. 

Two hours. 

Penelope has two hours left and… Nothing. 

Not even an inkling of an idea. 

“Fuck!” Penelope stops pacing and flops down onto her bed with a heavy sigh. 

“Hey, Park… Are you in-- Whoa!” Hope says as she opens Penelope’s dorm room door and comes to a crashing halt at the scene before her. Penelope’s room has been transformed into a massive wreckage of belongings with clothes and books covering almost every inch of space. “What happened?”

Penelope sits up at the sound of Hope’s voice. “Josie Saltzman. That’s what happened.”

“Josie wrecked your room?”

“Not exactly…” Penelope falls back down once again against the bed and Hope moves to join her. 

“Okay. I’m not following… What does this have to do with Josie?”

“Josie saw me coming out of your room this morning.”

“Oh…” Hope’s eyes widen with a sudden understanding. “She didn’t think that we…”

“She did at first for like a minute but I was able to convince her that it wasn’t what she thought it was.”

“Thank god.”

“You’re telling me,” Penelope replies. “Not exactly the rumor I need running rampant around here at the moment… Especially given my circumstances.”

“So then why the Park-nado in here?”

“I asked Josie out.” Penelope exhales and runs her hands again through her hair. 

“And…?”

“And what?”

“And what else happened?” Hope responds still not fully following.

“That’s it,” Penelope says. She pulls herself off of the bed and returns to pacing the room. “I asked Josie to hang out with me tonight and made a big fucking deal about having some sort of grand plan up my sleeve and she said yes.”

“Okay… And her saying yes is a bad thing?” 

“No… Yes… Maybe…” Penelope pauses in front of her semi-empty closet and flips through the few remaining items of clothing again and again in hopes that she might’ve missed a hidden top or skirt amongst the rest of her wardrobe. “I dunno.”

“Why are you so stressed out? It’s Josie. You could show up in sweats with Chinese takeout and she would still think it was amazing.” 

“No she wouldn’t.”

Hope lets out a frustrated sigh and then pulls herself up off of the bed. She moves about the room, strategically gathering straying articles of clothing as she does. “What is wrong with you?” 

“Nothing. It’s just…” Penelope trails off as her fingers wander up towards her neck in search for her non-existing scar. “I thought I would have more time, you know?”

Hope walks over and shoves a pile of clothes into Penelope’s arms. “But you don’t. You’ve got what? Three days? So kick it into high gear, Park.” 

“I’m trying to.”

“No. You’re hiding out and making excuses.”

“Am not,” Park fires back but is only met with a hard eye roll from Hope.

“Are too… And why are you even dragging your heels in the first place on this? The Penelope Park I know sure as hell doesn’t freak out about anything… including Josie Saltzman.” 

Penelope doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she carefully looks over the clothes that Hope picked out for her, piece by piece as if she’s discovering them for the first time. Penelope stops on a pair of black leather pants and a small but noticeable smile unfolds upon her face. 

“What?” Hope asks picking up on Penelope’s sudden fascination with the pair of pants.

“These are your favorites.”

“Mine?”

“Yeah. These leather pants and a motorcycle jacket you got off of a witch in Istanbul. You wear them all the time. So much so that Caroline went and got you like four back up pairs for Christmas last year.” 

Hope can’t help but laugh as she lets this newfound piece of information settle in. “Really? Those pants?” 

Penelope nods. “The exact same pair. You stole them from my laundry pile during the first month we were living together and never gave them back.” 

“Interesting…”

“Here. Have them,” Penelope says and then tosses the pants at Hope.

“No, I couldn’t… They’re yours.”

“Take them. Besides they look way better on you than they ever did on me.” 

“Thanks,” Hope replies quietly while studying the pants. She sits back down on the bed and Penelope joins her, still holding onto the rest of the clothes. She watches Hope traces over the smooth leather with her fingers for a moment or two, knowing that the Tribrid needs time to process. 

She always does.  

And Penelope gives it to her, without hesitation. That’s just how it works with the two of them. Regardless of whether it’s the future or the past… or some hybrid in between. 

“Huh… Leather pants and a motorcycle jacket. Sounds pretty badass.”

“Oh you are,” Penelope answers with a smile. “Of course not as badass as me, but pretty damn close.”

“So what else should I know about my future self? I know you can’t tell me everything, but looks-wise… What else? Do I have any tattoos?”

“Tattoos yes. You’ve got like five… No, wait… You’ve got six. There’s the one on your left wrist that you keep hidden from view by your watch.” 

“What’s it of?”

“It’s an E and an S,” Penelope says and then sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, bracing herself for the inevitable follow up question.

“Elizabeth Saltzman…” 

Penelope nods. “Yeah.”

“Okay… What about piercings? Cause I’ve always wanted to get my septum--” 

“No!” Penelope cuts Hope off. “No septum piercing.”

“Um… I’m taking it there’s a story?”

“Oh yeah. A big one that involves a Bulgarian vampire and stolen 15th-century daylight ring and me having to magically piece your nose back together.”

“You’re joking, right?” Hope replies in sheer disbelief. 

“God do I wish I was… Just trust me on the septum piercing, okay? It’s so not worth it and you look way better without it.” 

Hope shakes her head and smiles. “Alright. I believe you. No piercings.” 

“Oh, I didn’t say that… The nipples were a great choice and also--”

“Okay, you can stop now. I’m good. Thanks,” Hope says unable to hide the sudden underlying sense of shock in her voice.

“Too much?” 

“Just a little bit, yeah.” Hope leans across Penelope and fishes out an old concert t-shirt and a pair of perfectly ripped light gray jeans. “Here. Wear these.”

“These?” Penelope asks checking out the outfit. “You sure?”

“100%. Josie has mentioned that t-shirt at least ten times in the last three months. It’s a favorite for sure.” Hope rises to her feet and stretches, cracking her neck in the process. “Okay, I need to go get up close and personal with a hot bath before my muscles start to cramp up. But you’ve got this, Park. Just show up and be your annoying, smart-ass self and everything will go great. Trust me.”

“Thanks.” Penelope gives Hope an earnest smile and Hope returns it with a firm nod.

“Sure thing.” 

Penelope waits until Hope disappears through the dorm room door, before getting up off of her bed and walking over to the full-length mirror. She holds the outfit up against her body and gives herself a long, hard look. 

“I’ve got this,” Penelope says and then exhales, expelling the last of her fears and doubts in the process. 

[thedeviljudges]

this is based off of a movie i watched the other night, and while i enjoyed it, i despised the ending because of the death scene. so here’s me, writing a prompt for this with a happier ending. keep in mind, everyone’s aged up to whatever number you want tbh. late 20s is sorta where i’d imagine it at.

billy and his gang of misfits preserve the village of hawkins, indiana after the government swept through and voided them of basic necessities due to the labs’ shutdown. labs that festered drug cartels and bosses from other communities that dipped their hand in drug trade because what’s more profitable than doped up kids ready for their next fix?

the weapon he carries in the waistband of his pants is always cold, always heavy, but billy needs it because crime knows no boundaries, and if he’s meant to help rebuild his community on the basis of legitimacy, then he’s got to be the ruthless scoundrel that does the dirty work to keep trafficking at bay.

he can’t watch any more kids die.

in the midst of his calling, billy sleeps and wakes and dreams of a prosperous future, one that doesn’t need his legs and hands and entire fucking body as a shield against destruction, his brain a powerhouse of ambiguous morality. he finds it in the notes he writes, along the pieces of paper and napkins he manages to find, hoards them in his run down shack of an apartment when inspiration sparks.

then, mike tells him he’s got this cousin he’s picking up at the airport. this cousin who’s got rumors rumors about him. about how he’s killed a guy and might be of some use.

tommy is softer than billy imagined, but he’s knuckled-prone, skin-and-teeth. a guard dog with a whole lot of bite. of course, he becomes billy’s right hand man.

what billy eventually learns, however--with as much appreciation for tommy’s slick ways of finding information, billy’s very own informant--he does not particularly enjoy the silence that reigns over tommy’s mouth the minute steve greets them during his daily afternoon walks, when he approaches the kids in the neighborhood and promises that he’ll teach them to dance--an opportunity usually only afforded to those with money and a subtle inclination to fill the time they all have on their hands.

see, billy doesn’t put pen to paper for naught. he writes what he feels and draws metaphorical lines of want between letters because billy has known steve since before he could talk, has been in love with him for that long, too. his heart leans on a different kind of beat when steve’s around, and the only soul he’s told are the four walls that don’t necessarily keep him safe.

which means billy’s never said as much. his words are lost to graphite and the internal monologue that gnaws his brain. he fills the black hole in his chest with other worries, those more important things like keeping the village safe, like protecting the kids he wants to see live past the age of thirteen.

billy doesn’t entertain the idea of steve in his arms or in his bed because that’s too arduous, which makes the requests--the eventual one he had an inkling would come--all the more painful to hear.

steve wants tommy, and he wants him protected. the pleas that fall from his lips tell billy all he needs to know about their feelings.

so on tommy’s behalf, billy writes. billy is brains as much as he is brawn, but some people don’t carry both gifts. tommy’s words are always malicious, particularly when he turns icy eyes upon their enemies. but to be with steve means opening up a soft part of himself that comes in the form of billy’s words, pretending, masquerading as a caricature tommy wishes he could be.

billy never says a word.

he protects his village, and he pours his heart into his writing even if steve believes they belong to another man. he’s content, he thinks, and maybe a monster destined for heroic endeavors fraught with loneliness.

but not all good things last.

tommy gets shot, and he dies in billy’s arms with one last request. a letter. just one. a tangible thing for steve to hang on to. how could billy deny the request of a dying man? of a friend who believed in the dream of a village free of treachery and death?

billy delivers the letter, and he listens to the sound of steve crying.

life goes on, but billy’s not sure if steve fully recovers.

the thing about miracles is that they only happen so often and never to a boy like billy. but once in a blue moon, they get the upper hand, and it takes years and sweat and blood, but they’re close. billy can feel it.

he stays. some go, some pass, and eventually when things settle in the village, steve says he’s moving just over the hill, to the school he’s always dreamed of. to dance and come back and prove to the youngins that they can leave. that that option was fought for. for them. for all of them.

billy visits sometimes, and that’s only because steve asked. they chat, reminisce, and billy always has updates of the improvements, of the stories that come from home that are most positive. instead of another death, there’s light at the end of a tunnel they never thought they’d see.

until steve asks about regrets. what are they, and what do they mean to billy? but he’s hardheaded, grown worn by decay and minimal self-love. of protecting the place he’s always called home. so he argues, with spite. asks steve what his biggest regret is and if he’d choose to take it back, sparks malice on his tongue because steve should know the regret that lingers through billy. every scar tells those stories.

in the end, he pulls out a letter, hand slapping against billy’s chest, over his heart in a dramatic show of exasperation. he’s angery, as he should be, because billy is love-worn, but tired, thinks maybe the love he had grew nimble and thin. and yet, he opens the letter, immediately recognizing the writing as steve turns away from billy’s ugly behavior.

an ugly man with an ugly past, with death at his feet and blood under his fingernails.

billy unfolds the paper, rests it on his knee, but he doesn’t look at it again. instead, he looks out into the garden, out at the flowers and the bushes, words falling from his tongue like he’d written them just yesterday. they flow like water off his skin, remembers the night he wrote these affirmations, the day he delivered it, the tears that sealed shut any possibility of what he’d wished they could be.

at some point, his mouth goes dry, and steve’s voice is calling his name, is asking no one has seen this letter, billy and how do you know what it says. that frantic anticipation lasts until billy’s done, until he blinks at steve with wet eyes, fingers curling the paper into a ball.

silence has a sound; it always did, and billy wonders why people seek it out because it’s drowning, and it’s loud, suffocating the way steve cocks his head and wonders if he’d written it. if the letter was his, if tommy was a lie, that love does not seep through paper as such unless it’s really meant.

to confirm or to deny would be another kind of death sentence, billy thinks, but the moment he looks away, steve lets out breath, a sob, and billy’s gathered in warm arms and warm lips against his temple.

for a boy like him, he knew something like this, like love, would never be possible. he’s only fortunate that steve has the compassion, has the heart to prove billy wrong.

steve loves him. mistakes and all.