hannah and clay are happily together, jeff would still be alive and playing baseball, the jocks mind their own business, hannah, jessica and alex are still best friends and still drinking coffee in monets, bryce isn’t a douche bag and a fucking rapist and everyone’s happy
in a parallel universe, even is the main of season 4 and we get to know his past and the balloon squad is introduced and evak moves in together and even makes up with the balloon squad. this all leads up to season 5, which is sana’s and is about how she’s struggling with her fate and the conflict between her and her crush, Yousef who isn’t muslim, while the bus stuff is starting to unfold. then we get to season 6, about vilde who is still the bus boss, with the boy squad joining their bus and they face off against the pepsimax squad and win bus of the year
I want to believe that in another world- a parallel universe- we would have worked out.
That in another universe, I’d be wearing your hoodie and you’d be my muse.
That in another universe, you’d be looking over my shoulder as my favourite pen scribbled another badly written poem about you.
I’d like to believe, that in another universe, you’d be laughing at it.
Yes, I’d like to believe that we would have worked out- in a world where I’d be less broken and you’d be more willing to try.
The problem with the multiverse, is that there are infinite possibilities. Stiles is tired. He’s been at this for a long, long time. It took years to master the power to traverse universes, and Stiles is putting a lot of faith in that he’ll find Derek again– a year of his life per shot, as is.
The nightmares stop and Stiles can read again. Lying awake two nights after rescuing Malia, he thinks it’s like a fairytale : the little girl trapped in a coyote, brought back to the last of her family, the whole ordeal making his own demons stop in their haunting of his nights. It’s like one of the stories his mom told him before bed, and it sparks a memory.
Everyone had a soulmate, tied to them by an invisible string of fate. When they met the one to whom they’d been tied, the red mark would appear around their left pinkie, and just about everyone had their mark before they turned thirty.
Derek was almost thirty-five when he woke up with a driving need to find someone named Stiles. He just had no idea his soulmate would take searching multiple parallel universes to find.
Will there be more of the parallel universe one where Claire is pregnant?
Note from WTT: So this isn’t a continuation of the parallel universe fic, I’m not sure when I’ll get to that one so please enjoy this different parallel universe fic!
“…and that’s how this particular set of mountains got their names, at least if you believe the story of an old woman passed down from the generations.” The old woman smiled, the creases of her skin wrinkling in happiness.
“Thank you! You’ve been such a help to us. Do you know of anywhere where the artifacts you mention might be? I’d love to be able to provide a sketch for my books,” Uncle Lamb asked, intriguing the old woman again. Their talk was animated and I wandered about the room, the odd carvings and paintings leading to knick-knacks and heirlooms. It’s a wonder that these things were made, let alone still existed in the twentieth century.
A shine caught my eye as I paced by the small, but ornate hearth. Tucked behind a carving of the Virgin Mary was something metallic. Groping behind the statue, I could just feel the object with my fingertips.
“Aha!” I gasped in triumph when the object was secured in my fist. “A knife?”
The small knife had a shiny, well worn handle with the perfect finger holds, it felt warm and fit perfectly in my hand. I turned it over inspecting the craftsmanship. The silver was finely polished but there were nicks and scratches all along the edge proving that this had been used, and maybe not just for household needs. If there was a design on the handle it had long since been rubbed into smoothness. The only flaw was closer to the blade where a small chunk of wood was missing, exposing the metal beneath.
“So ye found my ancestors wee knife, hmm?”
I jumped and let out a squeal the knife flying from my hand and landing tip first into the wood near my foot.
“Sorry! I didn’t mean to pry, I just—well it was that the blade—I—”
The old woman held up her hand shook her head. “Och, dinna fash yerself one bit. This blade is tough and old. I doubt you could do any harm to it. The way you were holding it showed more that you’d be the one to get hurt. Never point the blade at yourself. You nearly took out a toe when you dropped it.”
To emphasize her point, the old woman stooped down and pulled the blade from the floor, giving her left big toe a thump with the flat part of the blade.
“This knife has been in my family for generations. The story is said that it was owned by a witch and she used it to make her brews here in this very cabin. But that’s just to scare off the locals children. The truth of the blade is that it was owned by a healer who lived on this mountain, nearly two hundred years ago. She helped raise my great-great-great grandmother as well as her own family. My great-great grandfather always had it on the mantle. I never understood why as a child that my great grandparents and grandparents continued to do so. ‘It brings luck!’ Uncle Thomas would say, or ‘It’s magic and it’ll keep folk from messing with us!’ my Grandda Beardsley would murmur before doing the sign of the cross.” The woman twirled the knife between her fingers until the underneath was shown. Scratches that weren’t scratches at all shone in the firelight.
“T C L J?” I murmured, “What does TCLJ mean?”
The woman shrugged. “No one knows. I assume it’s the initials of the crafter, but I can’t be certain. Anyone who would know is already dead.”
I reached out and gently stroked the initials. “Maybe it’s To someone Love someone else?”
“Hmm… Perhaps. Here.” The woman handed me the knife. “You keep it. It may come in handy where you and your Uncle are headed.”
“No! I couldn’t possibly! It’s a family heirloom. You should pass it on to your children, I don’t deserve it,” I protested, trying to hand back the knife.
“I won’t hear of it. My children are grown and my grandchildren uninterested in a bit o’ family magic. You, though, would appreciate it and use it as it’s meant. It’s not meant to be tucked away, but used!”
“Thank you. I’ll take care of it,” I promised, as I gingerly held the knife closer to me.
“Just remember things always have a way of making themselves back to their rightful owners. And I think you were meant to have this knife. Do you have any roots at all leading to North Carolina or the States?”
I shook my head, still transfixed by the initials on the handle. “No ma’am. Not that I know of. Uncle Lamb might know.”
“Claire?” Peeling my eyes away from the knife I looked at Uncle Lamb, who looked like a kid in a candy store. “Come. We need to get going if we want to make it up the mountain and back before dark.”
Following obediently, I said one last thank you to the old woman and pocketed the knife.