#multiple realities | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sunnynwanda · 3 months

Text

Black hole

Part 2 for the Wedding bells snippet. The next parts can be found here and the finale.

The moment their eyes land on the ring, Hero jerks up. The slumber is chased from their eyes as their pulse picks up. It seems to be racing against time itself, frantic to comprehend the wave of heat crushing over Hero's head. They sit up in their bed, staring at their left hand. They know this ring. They've seen it one too many times in their dreams to forget its familiar weight on their finger.

They fold their elbow, allowing their hand to balance in the air. It doesn't feel foreign at all. Though it should. Hero was never a fan of jewellery, and it's not like their line of work allowed it, so they never wore much. But this, it feels comfortable. Like it belongs on their finger. Like it's always been there.

Hero exhales loudly, waving their hands over their face to counter the heat that blushes their cheeks. The movement sends a sharp jolt of pain between their ribs, causing them to stop with a hiss. Wait. Hero carefully peels their shirt off, examining their wound - a treated wound, mind you.

How the hell... and who..?

They stop mid-thought. It seems they attempted to ignore a certain constant in their dreams for far too long. It's time they found out the truth of what was happening with their mind and, apparently, now body as well. And there's only one way to do it.

The bell chimes, announcing the arrival of a new customer. The coffee shop is rather empty for a Saturday morning, and Hero assumes not many were willing to wake up this early for a cup of coffee. Only two customers are waiting for their orders, and three more are at the counter.

Hero gets in line behind Villain, standing a little closer than necessary to whisper into their ear. "Hi."

"Jesus Christ," Villain jumps, glancing around to locate the intruder. "You scared the fuck out of me!" They complain, turning back aroun to face the counter and avoid Hero's scanning eyes.

"Since when are you scared of me?" Hero chuckles at their back, unfazed by the hostility. They need answers, and Villain's mood is of no concern to them. "Is that a new development?"

"Fuck off, I'm not committing a crime," their nemesis retorts, rolling their eyes at the customer in front of them that is taking their sweet time choosing a goddamn drink. Villain cannot fathom what could be taking this long.

"Are you not?" Hero muses, nudging their arm as they come to stand side by side. Villain's face is void of emotions despite the harshness of their words.

"We're in a coffee shop - you think I'm that desperate?" Villain quirks a brow. They sigh in relief when the person in front of them finally makes a choice, stepping aside to wait for their order.

"I don't know," Hero admits, but as Villain steps to the counter, they think of a way to test the waters. "Be a darling - grab me a coffee."

With that, Hero walks towards the corner table. Villain is stunned by the sudden change in their interaction style but shrugs and - much to Hero's surprise - obeys.

When they place the paper cup in front of Hero, they only hum in appreciation. As Villain sits opposite them, Hero decides to keep their charade up. They shrug their coat off, visibly wincing at the excessive movement.

"Does it still hurt?" Villain asks without thinking. Hero can bet they don't realise what they said yet. Just how far away is your mind?

"Yeah, it's a nasty cut," they take a sip of their coffee and have to stop a satisfied groan from escaping. Villain nods, staring out of the window absentmindedly.

Hero watches their face, noting their bloodshot eyes and bitten lips, before glancing at their long fingers wrapped around their cup and not finding a matching band. "Where's your ring?"

It's entirely out of the blue, and Villain is positively out of it because they reply before they can process the question and its implications. "I left it on the sink."

"After washing my blood off your hands?" Hero's intense gaze finally manages to draw Villain's attention.

"Wait, what?" Their face remains composed, but the storm in their eyes is a combination of shock and horror. Their fingers grip the poor paper cup until it bends in, causing the hot liquid to spill over their fingers, slightly burning their skin. Villain can't feel it.

"It was real, wasn't it?" Hero asks though the answer is clear now. They grab a napkin and reach for Villain's hand, forcing them to place the cup down.

"I don't know what you're talking about," it's a poor attempt at a save, given the tightness in their voice, but Villain had to try. Their brain is foggy with anxiety and something else they won't name because hope is a luxury they cannot afford. Not unless they are sure.

"Mhm," Hero nods and finishes with their fingers, discarding the napkin on the table before looking up at them. Villain struggles to keep their face emotionless when Hero's palm covers their knuckles gently. "So you guessed I was wounded?"

"You're always wounded. I'm used to your clumsiness," Villain jerks their hand away from Hero's grip, trying their best to sound snarky. "Tactical research, is all."

"Does knowing my coffee order provide a tactical advantage as well?" Hero quips, leaning back against their chair. Their ribs feel like they are about to crumble in, but their wound doesn't seem to be the sole reason.

"If I choose to poison you," Villain hates the way their stomach turns when Hero gives them a lopsided grin, their lips parting enough to reveal their front teeth.

Villain loves that goddamn grin so fucking much.

"You mean to tell me it was all a dream?" Hero takes a sip of their drink, watching Villain fumble over the brim of their cup.

"Of course," Villain confirms in a decently confident tone, twisting the napkin between their fingers until it rips. "In what world would I marry you?"

Got you.

"Sure," Hero has to press their lips together to keep their smile at bay. They wait for a moment to make sure their voice is stable and to let the tension brew. If Villain's twitching is any sign at all, they are doing a fantastic job of it. "I didn't mention the wedding, though."

Shit.

Villain bites their tongue as hard as they can. They taste blood, but that's what they get for not keeping their godforsaken mouth shut. Hero's stare is unrelenting and curious.

"You know I always feel sick when you use your powers on me. No wonder I've been so sick recently," Hero is right, they know that. They know everything about Hero, in fact. It doesn't make this any easier. "You're gonna have to explain what's going on."

"I-" Villain sighs, shaking their head. The sheer terror of telling Hero what's happening overwhelms them. There is no way they can put into words just what they've been going through.

The scope of their misfortune borders catastrophic ranges, with them caged in the very centre of the black hole that keeps compressing inside, threatening to shatter the universe over their head while they watch.

All they can do is watch.

Over and over again until their mind breaks.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi

88 notes · View notes

spoopkook · 7 months

Text

NO. #1

"But now this room is spinning while I'm trying just to fill in all the gaps." | "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Summary: The Captain gets black out drunk at a party and remembers the last time that occurred.

CW: disassociation, unreality, delusion, multiple realities, mention of murders, deaths, the works

Words: 2,552

"Hey, hey, Captain? Captain, are you okay?"

"When did the room start spinning?" You asked.

"Captain?!" Mark looked concerned. His face looked funny all scrunched up like that.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Mark asked, holding up three fingers.

"Uum, eleven?" Your counting skills weren't the best right now. And neither were your eyes. Or anything else.

You lost consciousness before you could register what was happening. You wouldn't have known, but someone caught you before you fell.

…

You woke up. After catching up to the fact that you were now awake, you were in pain. Excruciating pain. The worst migraine ever. Aches all over. Oh and you were in a gurney. That was never good.

"Um hello?" Luckily someone was there with you. He never left your side after all.

"C-captain! I'm sorry I fell asleep…"

He seemed ashamed of himself. "Don't worry Mark. You didn't have to stay in that uncomfortable chair for however long…"

You cleared your throat. "How, how long was I out? I remember the party and the toast with the champagne… poker, and games, and oh my god didn't Damien do a keg stand?! Everything's blurry. I don't quite remember last night and I'm trying just to fill in all the gaps."

"Doctors! Celci! Get in here!" Mark called out the door.

"Um, Captain, your head might be in worse shape than just a hangover… there's no Damien as part of our crew and… there were no poker games last night?"

"You don't know who Damien is? But Maaaaark, he's your friend! How could you not kno-"

Then it hit you. Mark was dead. You remembered his dead body wrapped in that red robe on the floor.

"Nonononono…." You went into a panic, everything around you blurred.

"Celci get in here quick! We have a medical emergency!" Mark called out again.

…

"The Captain's unresponsive," Mark informed Celci.

"How long have they been like this?"

"They woke up just a few minutes ago and they seemed fine! Until they started talking crazy and now it seems they're disassociating or something I don't know!"

"Mark, calm down. Yelling doesn't help right now. What do you mean talking crazy?"

"They were trying to recall the events from last night, but it seems like they got black out drunk or something. They don't remember much… but then they said they remembered Damien doing a keg stand? And something about poker?"

CC couldn't put her finger on it but something about that name struck a chord with her.

"Did they say anything else about this Damien?" CC asked.

"They said I should know him because he's my friend?" Mark said, exasperated. "I don't know about you, but I've never met a Damien in my life. Let alone at last night's crew party."

"Okay. You stay with the Captain, let me see what I can find out."

…

Celci went to the server room. She had no last names and almost no clues, but she'd look anyway.

She typed in 'Damien' and millions of results came up. "Ugh this won't help."

'Damien and Mark' less results came up, but as Celci scrolled through it still seemed useless.

'Damien keg stand' nothing worth looking into popped up.

'Damien Mark party'

Now the results were getting interesting.

"Mayor Damien Whitacare has no comment on the death of former Hollywood star, Mark Iplier. Mark Iplier showed up dead at his mansion last Tuesday during a party with friends. Police have not released any information, but amateur news reporters, Jim and Jim, say they have evidence from the crime scene. The story continues to unfold…"

"Hmmm…" Whitacare where had Celci seen that name before?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was just Mark and the Captain. Mark and a very hungover and confused Captain. Did someone put something in their drink last night? Your behavior had Mark worried.

"You-you-you" your voice quivered as you pointed an accusing finger towards Mark. "You died, you're dead. Am I dead? What's happening?"

"Sshhh, Captain calm down…" Mark tried to soothe you by rubbing your hand.

"Don't touch me!" You screamed, still unsure if what you were seeing was real.

"Captain are you remembering the wormhole incident or something? I know we haven't really talked about it, but I know it must've been awful for you," Mark tried to calm you down.

"Wormhole? What are you talking about?"

"You-you don't remember?" Mark was close to tears.

"W-wormholes don't exist. Are you trying out method acting or something?" You asked, Mark was talking nonsense and he was a talking corpse.

"W-wormholes don't exist?" Now Mark was extremely puzzled. "Captain, that's how we got here… to the new planet."

Suddenly, Mark got an idea. "Captain, what year is it?"

"What year is it? What type of question is…." You thought for a moment. "Well, it's 19-"

"NINETEEN??!" Mark responded. "Captain, it's 2083."

"What?"

~~~

"Ahh, Dorene Whitacare," Celci greeted the colonist at their new residence on the planet.

"And what do I owe the pleasure?" Dorene asks before taking out a plate of cookies. "You can have one if you like dearie."

"Thank you, Ms. Whitacare, but I was wondering if you knew a Mark?"

"Why that's the name of that head engineer isn't it? I don't like him, he always gets my title wrong."

Celci felt a sort of kinship that she couldn't explain with Dorene. It seemed to go further than just shared hatred.

"Well, yes, but do you know any other Marks?"

"Hmm. Good question," says Dorene.

"Or-or a Damien?" Celci asks.

"Now that's a name I haven't heard in quite some time…"

~~~

"Captain, who are you?"

"I'm the DA. I'm not reading scripts with you or improvising or whatever this is Mark. Who are you and please just tell me the truth."

"A district attorney?"

"Yes ever since the mayor promoted me. I don't want to be a part of whatever game or story this is, Actor."

"Actor?" Mark asked.

"You. Because you know you're the actor. Do you have amnesia or something?"

"No but I think you do. I'm not an actor. I'm your head engineer. You're the Captain. Of our ship the Invincible II? Any of this ring a bell?"

"Invincible II? After the first 'Invincible' went down they decided to make another one? Has no one learned from the Titanic?"

"Captain-"

"Would you stop calling me that! I told you I didn't want to be part of your story today, Actor. Go bother someone else."

"Well okay, Cap- I mean District Attorney. I think it's best if you rest for a bit and I'll just be out in the hall."

"Okay Mark."

~~~

"So Mayor Damien Whitacare was your great uncle?" Celci asked.

"Why yes, something like that." Dorene answered.

"Do you know anything about that news story? About the dead actor-"

"Only that he had what was coming to him."

"What do you mean by that?"

"He was playing with powers he couldn't understand. Things from beyond the veil. It manipulated him and ruined everyone close to him."

"Well uh, nice talking with you Dorene, but I have to check on the Captain," Celci clumsily left the conversation, feeling very uncomfortable.

"I'm sure you do," she said.

~~~

Mark and Celci bumped into each other, running away from their subsequent conversations.

"Hey, watch i-" Celci interrupted herself when she realized he came from the Captain's room. "What did they say?"

Mark rubbed his head where they collided before continuing, "that they're a district attorney? And I'm an actor… and that I'm…"

"Dead?" Celci asked.

"How did you know?"

…

"So let me get this straight, over a 100 years ago, some famous actor named Mark died at a party with this Mayor Damien and mysterious District Attorney?" Mark asked.

"And the case was never solved. The police tried to cover it up, blaming this crazy colonel or some blaming a detective who was there that night, but it doesn't add up. Who hired the detective to be at the party and why? Also the District Attorney, the Mayor, and some other guests disappeared that night. The chef, butler, and groundskeeper all told the policemen their stories, but…"

"But?" Mark asked.

"They all said something supernatural happened. They were all speaking nonsense."

"But why does our Captain think they're connected to this DA?"

"I'm not sure. There's a colonist on board who's a descendant of the mayor or something but I don't know."

"Who's a descendant of the Mayor?"

"Dorene Whitacare." CC answered.

~~~

"Hey Captain, are you feeling any better?" Celine asked.

"I told Mark I'm the DA. You can drop the act. I don't know why you of all people would play along with him though."

"Ok DA. And who am I?" She asked.

"You're all acting so weird! You're Celine! The seer? Mark's ex wife? Any of this sound familiar?"

Saying no would be a lie. Some part of Celci felt like she was somehow connected to all of this. She didn't believe in reincarnation and past lives, but… after what she'd seen in the wormhole, she does believe in multiple universes. Perhaps the Captain was remembering a universe so vividly, they were stuck in it mentally.

Maybe if Celci could remind them of the end of this universe when they were inevitably sucked into a wormhole they could break them out of it.

"Right. Right. Well can you tell me what you remember from the party?"

~~~

"Hello, Mrs. Whitacare," Mark greeted.

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not married anymore young man!"

"S-sorry Ms, Ms. Whitacare," Mark corrected.

It may have been the first time she reminded him in this universe, but they both remembered.

"About that… who were you married to before?" Mark asked hesitantly.

"That's none of your business boy!"

"Okay, uh sorry. Do you want to tell me about your great uncle Damien?"

"Here, I baked cookies."

She was avoiding the question, but Mark was still going to take one. "Sure. Thank you. Would you know anything about…" Mark paused for a moment. He was getting nowhere asking about Mark or Damien. He should go to the root of the cause.

"Sorry, I meant to say… what do you think of our Captain?" Mark asked.

"Well I think they've made a lot of mistakes. But they've been through a lot, and they're very strong to have gotten this far."

"Does the Captain remind you of anyone?"

"Why yes they do. Multiple people," Dorene answered.

"And who would that be, Ms. Whitacare?"

"Why, I need to get the cookies out of the oven. You can interrogate me some other time, Mark." Dorene got up and headed towards her kitchen.

"But you already had cookies…"

~~~

"Well, the gang was back together again! There was a toast by Mark himself of course, poker games, a keg stand, probably a fight or two… Honestly, I don't remember much. And I fell asleep around 1:30 am, but…" you said.

"Go on," Celine encouraged.

"Well I woke up the next morning and Mark was dead. His body on the floor. Out of nowhere. The detective turned it into an investigation. Said it wasn't an accident. Everyone started accusing each other. It was chaos. But you know the rest."

"I know the rest?" She asked.

"Because you suddenly showed up. I don't know why… maybe because your lover William hadn't come home? I don't know. But you are the master manipulator. You could turn everyone against me in a second. And then the ritual and the time…"

"What else were you doing in these days after the party?"

"Well I was helping the detective as best I could. But I didn't know who I could believe. My dear old friends or a man of the law or the staff… none of it added up. The colonel's eccentric but he wouldn't… he… William wouldn't…" it was all flooding back to you. The fights, the lightning storm, the gunshots. William shot the detective and then he shot… you."

"I-I I'm dead. He shot me and I fell off the balcony… how am I here?"

"Do you remember what happened next?"

What was happening. Was this another one of Celine's rituals?

"I… I was in the void. With the actor's corpse. And you and Damien… you said everything would be okay… you trapped me." You started to cry. "You walked away with my body and you just left me there!"

Mark walked in at the worst moment.

"And you! You! This is all your fault! It was all your stupid plan for revenge! We were your friends! How could you." You hit your fists against his chest until sobs crashed over you and you just leaned against him.

"Hey, it's going to be okay, Ca- District Attorney. You're no longer trapped. You're on a new planet far, far away from Earth and everyone who hurt you." Mark tried to comfort you.

"Is this another one of your lies?"

You ran out of the room. You ran out of the hospital. But they were right. This didn't look like earth. The plants were different. There were two moons in the sky. A memory of Mark, your head engineer, crossed your mind. He was in front of that glass window, holding a coffee mug and telling you about the new planet you've discovered. The ship… the- the warp core.

You felt the scar on your hand. The warp crystal. You were the Captain not the DA. Was it another universe you remembered? Or a past life? Maybe a little of both…

~~~

Eventually, Mark caught up to you.

"District Attorney?"

"It's alright. I know I'm the Captain now." You sat on a hill admiring the stars. They looked different than on Earth. You wondered if you could name a constellation.

"Do you know what happened?"

"I'm not sure. I was so stuck in this other reality. All the multiverses we went through and lives we've lived… I guess it was bound to happen and scramble my mind eventually."

"Let's hope it doesn't happen again. It was kind of scary," Mark admitted.

"Yeah… do you remember past lives?"

"Yeah. Quite a few. Most I'd rather forget."

"We really screwed stuff up with that wormhole huh?"

"I screwed stuff up," Mark said.

"No. We did. I was the Captain. I was in charge and I…. I played with my crew, the colonists I was supposed to protect, I played with you like toys. Like your lives were nothing more than dust on the wind."

"I built the warp core. I'm the whole reason all this happened in the first place."

"You were trying to fix my mistakes."

"That you didn't make!" Mark argued.

"Because I lost your trust. I lost everyone's trust. I was a poor leader. Now enough dwelling on the past. Let's run this colony as best we can, okay?" You asked.

"Yeah," Mark agreed.

"And I promise to never get that drunk again."

24 notes · View notes

theantarwitch · 3 months

Text

I have a "dream" but I actually think I went to another dimension or something lol

First, I dream a lot, I remember mostly of my dreams and I know them, I know how they feel when I wake up like "nnngg wtf zzzz". This one didn't matched to anything I dreamed before. I don't do astral travel, I don't have lucid dreams. Maybe are they, maybe are not. Yet the thing was extremely interesting and detailed to just let it be.

Was like a switch, I was sleeping, typical emptiness ko sleep... and then... Peace, the most joyful, overwhelming, heart fiilling peace I ever felt in my entire life. There wasn't a hint of fear, nothing bad, not even confusion, neither a memory, it was as my brain was empty of all kind of experiences.

I was just a bunch of beautiful sparks floating around, I had no body, no parts, no nothing. The sparks were my body, my soul, my mind, my all. I floated softly around, there was no rush, just peace.

I felt like I knew the place, but not a familiarity of "I was there before", way beyond that, was a "I born here, I belong here, me, them, you, all of us". There also was a beautiful feeling of familiarity with others, even when I was not seeing others, I was sure there was others, because is where we all belong.

I floated in what I can say was inside a kaleidoscope, a massive one, a soft one. There wasn't sharp points, no strong lights, there was softness, soft patches of reality, of flowers and clouds, where I could swear I could feel them with my fingers, even when I didn't have fingers of body.

I floated for what my body on earth felt like minutes. Because I was aware of where was my earthly body, I knew I was in bed, I felt the smile on my face. Yet "me" wasn't with my body, was there, floating in the kaleidoscope of realities, in joy and peace. Minutes for me in earth, decades for my self on that plane. Because is what it felt, like if time was a second and a year at the same time, like if time was not longer time, not even a construct, time wasn't longer there. No time, no space, just a "there". Floating as a tiny spark in the kaleidoscope, for decades. A beautiful spark with many tiny sparks around, colorful and colorless, cause they were too many colors at once, it was white and all the colors at the same time.

I floated and I knew that each part of that kaleidoscope was a realm, a reality, a time, a space, a world, from countless worlds. Not in a scifi alien way, more like multiple realities one. All was happening there. I didn't saw anything but I felt it, I knew it, as everyone of us knew it. There was the past and the future and the present, of each reality of the endless realities. Endless living humans, endless deaths, endless births, endless love and suffering, endless laughter, endless dreams and conflict, endless war and peace, all happening together, all there at the reach of my "hand".

I knew what to do, I knew I was free to pick any of them to see, to help, to watch. I knew I will be free to choose where to born again, as soon I end here. Because I see it, each realm exploding there, there is no mystery anymore, all happened already and is happening at the same time.

I pick one, not to exist, hence I still exist here, but my soul can go. Is a beautiful place, a bunch of ladies reunited around a round table. They have factions that are a mild point between Arab and Oriental, dressed in their beautiful and colorful long clothes, similar to the ethnic traditional hindu style.

They were sitted around the table, cleaning fruits, talking in a language I never heard before. Fruits I never saw before. In the table, between other things was a beautiful golden feather next a candle, somewhat I knew that it was in honor to her father of one of the young ladies. A deceased father. I felt like I got a order, to move the feather. I did it, the ladies gasped and got closer.

When I did that, I felt like someone out there thought I spent way too much time on that beautiful land. Some kind of very old, very fatherly, very wise and lovingly massive energy just push me gently away, just like as we take and move our cat away of a candle. It felt like that, as if I wasn't supposed to be there for that long, I was going to hurt myself but I didn't knew. That force knew. It, they, it knew it ALL, it was the supreme force of compassion and endless patience.

It felt like a master watching a studen, as the hug of a beloved mother, with the patience and temperance of a hundred monks. It felt like if would smile if I insulted it, or would cover me with a blanket if I had a tantrum. Permissive, gently, quiet. No voice, it spoke with energy. No face, no body, nothing. Was not even "visually" there, it just felt as if it WAS literally everywhere around. As if me and the kaleidoscope of realms was inside it.

Who knew how long my soul spent there in that timeless land, it definitely felt like years, and maybe I wasn't supposed to stay years as I'm still alive. That ancient supreme force just gently shove me away, like "go back to dream, child" and I left in a blink, I get into another random dream, which felt like a normal dream, where I behave as a dream, absurd, pointless, in my brain, confusing and even scary. A dream that is don't even worthy to mention.

And I wake up. Was definitely not a dream, and my heart miss that place, that joy, I feel homesick and sad from a place beyond places. I cry because I'm here and I don't know why I'm here. I have questions that I can't answer and a mix of joy for be able to experience it, and the pain for being pushed away. Maybe that's what a cat feels when we put them down the table. I just have so many questions, and the need to be near that warm, massive ancient kindness that I can't avoid to see as a God-like. Who knows, maybe was just a dream… or not…

#dreams #multiple realities #spirituality #spiritism #realms #witchcraft #witch #pagan #paganism #witchy #today i dreamt #weird #astral projection #reality shift #i have no idea

9 notes · View notes

ahfrickenfrick · 8 months

Text

HI!!!! Okay this is a little drabble about ranboo living different lives… if that makes sense?? Like they all connect?? Anyways lol, ignore mistakes for now pls <3

⚠️CONTENT WARNING FOR GORE BTW!!!⚠️

——————

They’ve lived a lot of lives.

And not really lives, more like moments. They can’t really remember the first, it being so long ago.

When it began, they thought they were dreaming, and then they didn’t return, and now here they are.

Drowning in lives and stories, some they return to, others not. They see beginnings and ends, love and death, creation and destruction.

Reoccurring worlds were the worst. Past mistakes staring blankly, punishments for things they didn’t do, but who would believe them? No one has, it’s likely no one ever would if they did tell.

Death was a reoccurring theme.

They’ve felt it, it’s claws digging into their skin, the pain lasting multiple worlds, until it subsides to a dull throb, constantly there, a firm reminder.

It’s happened four times, four of their own deaths that follow like a phantom.

A shot through the heart, saving a life, throwing away one, having someone throw away yours.

They were all unique, all held their own pain. It was supposed to be an ordinary dinner party, an ordinary day being a hero, being a servant, being controlled…

The dinner party, they were just supposed to have a family dinner, who knew their grandfather would have a gun? Who knew that’s when they would first feel Death’s lips, after living for so long, they never thought it possible.

The pain in their chest had practically disappeared when the next happened. Hundreds of worlds, and the ache lived on, but again, a firm reminder of what could happen.

One world they woke up a hero, living the day saving civilians with their quips and webs, until a super villain gets an upper hand, and pierces their gut. They somehow defeat the villain, but end up in a puddle of their own blood, wondering if they died in vain.

Right after this, they woke up in a world where they were an Angel, an obedient servant ready to do the Lord’s work.

And they stayed there. Days and days passing with no change, this world slowly became their only reality.

One day a new Angel joined, and they showed him around. Maybe they become friends, maybe more…

They were banished and thrown down anyways, finally not being alone in their death, they held on tight, feeling a sickening crack from his body before blinding pain went through theirs.

They woke up in a red covered bed, swallowing screams.

The worlds continued after that, their bones ached, their mind ached, they were so tired.

Worlds continued, some just going through a day of school, others a 9-5 job, even a video game character.

This was something they missed, just everyday changing, their past staying their, their deaths staying in the past, it was perfect.

They didn’t have to think.

And then they woke up with a mask on their face, digging into their flesh, mind going blank, different flashes of memory missing.

People to love, people to lose, choices to make, people to put faith in, everything on the line.

This felt different, this world, the door to other worlds…

The blanks in memory got worse, different rooms, but the mask was always there, always digging, sometimes shocking…

Choices they didn’t make.

Friends, people who have been in other worlds being there.

Most people in their different worlds stayed constant if they payed close enough attention, but they were all familiar faces.

They needed to save them.

And they didn’t.

They couldn’t even save themselves.

In the end, with everyone’s bloods on their hands, they begged for it all to end.

Even with the mask they felt blood trickle from their mouth down their throat, begging for them to chose death, for it to end because it meant everything would end.

The spikes dived into their skull.

And it all went black.

#genloss #generation loss #ranboo #ranboosaysstuff #ranboo live #multiple dimensions #LISTEN MY PAIN MEDS WON THE WAR AND SO DID MY LITTLE THOUGHTS #ranboo dinner party #dinner party #spiderman au #fallen angel au #does this story make sense?#multiple realities #writing drabble #fanfic

14 notes · View notes

manifesting-grotto · 2 years

Text

The theory of multiple realities has always been mind blowing to me. But I believe in it 100%. Quantum physics has proven this. If you and someone else are manifesting the same thing (i.e. winning a contest, you're interested in the same SP, applied to the same job) you win in your reality and they win in theirs.

Realistically speaking it can be easy to get discouraged. You are allowed to feel whatever you feel. But keep persisting in your desired reality! 💖

#law of assumption #manifesting #loa #create your reality #multiple realities #circumstances don't matter #competition doesn't exist

11 notes · View notes

alinacecee · 1 year

Text

Shifting thoughts while I was in class…BE KIND!!!! Anti-shifters DNI, and the discussion and thoughts for this are open or if you just wanna talk ig🫶🫶🫶

Hope u guys can understand my writing😭😭😭

#shifting journey #reality shifting #shifting community #shifting #shifting realities #anti shifters dni #antis dni #law of assumption #law of manifestation #law of desire #desired reality #multiple realities #reality shift #reality shifter #master shifter

3 notes · View notes

mysteriesoftheinfinite · 2 years

Text

Lately I have had such an intense longing to be able to live multiple lives at once. They would all be completely different and fulfilling in their own ways..

I know that my soul is currently leading many lives on different timelines. I tap into them in my dreams and they are so delicious. Leaving them to come back into the waking world is always so bittersweet.

#timelines #multiple realities #a longing deep in my stomach

5 notes · View notes

mrspasser · 1 year

Text

Count your fingers - chapter 5

Trigger warnings: light non-con, drowning

Read it on Ao3 Read it on Wattpad

<< Chapter 4

5. Not here

Trees rustle above his head, a slight breeze making goosebumps break out over his arms. Stiles realises he’s standing in The Preserve, not that far from the old Hale house, at the same time that he sees Derek standing a few steps away from him. “Derek!”

The werewolf turns to him, the relief visible on his face. “Stiles.”

“You okay?” Stiles looks around them. He feels nothing out of the ordinary and he recognises the trees around them. There’s a cluster of three young trees growing close together, their roots intertwined while the distance between their stems increases if you get further up from the ground. Across from it is the tree that got uprooted years ago and still found a way to grow skywards from its new horizontal position. Stiles is always reminded of Dr. Ian Malcom’s quote of “Nature, uh, finds a way” when he sees the thing.

“Yeah,” Derek confirms, flexing his hand as he makes claws appear and disappear. Still a werewolf then. Ten fingers too, so it’s not a dream.

“Do you think it worked?” It’s the million dollar question.

“Everything smells familiar.” The werewolf is equally hesitant in getting his hopes up.

Stiles feels in his jeans pockets and gets a phone out. It’s his own phone, the date and time saying it’s early Fall and late in the afternoon. That seems to correspond with the chill he feels, standing here in his T-shirt. He can’t remember what day it was when they disappeared from their own reality, but today seems as good a day as any.

“Who are you gonna call?” Derek pops up next to him, looking down at the phone in his hands.

Stiles shrugs. “Nobody. I’ve got no signal here.”

Derek takes out his own phone, but the screen stays black. “The battery died.”

“At least we know where we are. We could walk back to town, I guess.” He ignores the nagging feeling in his stomach that this doesn’t bode well. Derek seems to do the same, agreeing with him with a curt nod and a small, wry smile on his face.

They steer clear of the area where the old Hale House is, walking around it so the trees will always block their sight of the burnt out shell of what once was Derek’s home. After everything that happened, Stiles doesn’t like to see it any more than Derek does. They walk in silence, their arms brushing every once in a while. They’re both tense, even though everything seems to be alright.

“Stop right there.” The voice from behind startles them both. They turn to find Scott and Jackson behind them, both dressed in track pants and a sleeveless shirt as if they are going for a run.

“Scott!” Stiles can’t help but exclaim when he sees his friend.

“You’re not Stiles.”

“Well, shit.” His shoulders slump with disappointment. They’re not back in their own reality.

Next to him, Derek bristles and positions himself slightly before the human. “I can’t smell them,” he urges quietly, holding one arm out to keep Stiles back.

Jackson tilts his head, grinning viciously. “That’s not Derek either, though he acts like a guard dog just the same.”

Stiles’ eyes catch on the tattoo that sits on the left side of Jackson’s neck. It looks like Derek’s triskelion, but instead of round swirls this one has warped and pointy lines. Scott has the same one, also on the left side of his neck.

Scott holds a phone to his ear, talking into it while he keeps his eyes locked on Derek and Stiles. “We’ve got them. I think you’ll want to see this for yourself.” There’s no audible confirmation, but he disconnects the call anyway and puts the phone away again. “So,” he says conversationally, “who are you?” It doesn’t really come out as a pleasant question, especially paired with the red glow of his eyes.

Stiles and Derek both keep silent. It’s hard to know what’s the right thing to do here. All cards on the table or play it close to the chest? This Scott and Jackson are werewolves, just like they are in their own world. And Scott is an Alpha, another similarity. They’re in the Beacon Hills Preserve, so they’re at least in familiar territory. That’s about it, when it comes to comforting similarities. Their Scott may be a fan of tattoos, Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever go for the gang-like design he’s sporting in this reality. Matching with Jackson, of all people.

Derek crouches down and starts to growl when a blue pinprick of light appears out of nothing and quickly grows bigger, right behind where Scott and Jackson stand. The two other werewolves merely smirk at him, not bothering to match Derek’s aggressive stance. They step to the side when the light flashes and two dark shapes step out.

Derek growls harder, but his growl is met with a vicious snarl that has Stiles grab the werewolf by the arm. Whatever is in front of them, it’s large and lethal.

The light dissipates and the dark shapes become visible. Stiles is looking at himself, or to be more precise: another version of himself. This Stiles is considerably more badass, just from looks alone. He’s wearing black skinny jeans, a tight black T-shirt and a plaid shirt in black and red with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His skin is covered in tattoos, most of them in the same jagged lines as Jackson’s and Scott’s. Stiles instinctively knows that the other Stiles put those tattoos on their necks. Right next to him is a black wolf, large enough that the top of its back comes up to his elbow. The wolf has his teeth bared in a snarl and Stiles has no doubts that the beast could rip him apart before he could say ‘nice doggy’. Its blue eyes are almost neon-like in their glow.

The other Stiles comes closer, his hand loosely resting in the wolf’s neck. He smiles at them, the expression made eery by his cold, hard stare. “What reality are you from?”

“Our own,” Stiles answers brusquely. He keeps a hand on Derek’s arm, not entirely trusting the werewolf not to get it in his head that he can take them. Because he can’t. “Who are you?”

The question makes the cold eyes light up for a short moment. The smile turns into a lopsided smirk. “I’m you,” the other answers, “but better.”

Stiles would roll his eyes at the corny statement if he wasn’t positive that he would’ve said the same thing if their roles were reversed. He might not have the scary tattoos or the badass magic, but he’s pretty sure they have the same obnoxious sense of humour. “You better be. It’d be nice if you could help us get back home.”

“Now why would I do that?” The other Stiles makes a swirly movement with the fingers of his free hand and the next thing Stiles knows he’s hovering a foot in the air, covered in a bluish glow. Next to him Derek endures the same faith, the werewolf now fully wolfed out in Beta shift.

His body feels numb and he can hardly move. He can talk, though. “Two of us in one reality seems like a bit much. We’ll be out of your hair shortly if you can just point us in the right direction.”

“Or I can just kill you.” Other Stiles shrugs with an air of pleasantry that doesn’t fit the situation.

“Hurt him and I’ll rip your throat out with my teeth!” Derek wrestles against the blue glow, looking furious.

Other Stiles laughs and ruffles his hand in the wolf’s fur. “Look at you, sweetheart, so protective of me even in other worlds.” The wolf pushes closer against his leg, silently acknowledging his words.

“That’s Derek?” Stiles gawks at the enormous wolf. Derek was able to do a full shift, but this wolf is easily twice as big as the black and grey wolf Derek could turn into. It’s more like a creature from hell than a werewolf.

Meanwhile Scott and Jackson seem pretty comfortable to just hang back and watch. It’s a testament to how powerful their Stiles and Derek are, if they don’t feel the need to get involved. Scott may be an Alpha in this reality, but it’s clear that Stiles calls the shots.

“Impressive, isn’t he?” Other Stiles agrees, putting his hand on top of the beast’s head and splaying his fingers as if to show how large it is. His thumb and pinky don’t even reach the ears on either side. “Extremely loyal and protective of those he loves. But I guess you know about those qualities from your own experience.”

Stiles glances at Derek, but the werewolf is solely focussed on their opponents. If they really are just that. After the Nogitsune he has no trouble imagining himself as a foe, but his gut tells him that is not the case here. This is just him, albeit a far more powerful version of him. He figures they have nothing left to lose, so he decides to be frank. “Look, man, as fun as this is, we would really like to return home. We’re a little out of our depth here, as I’m sure you can tell.” Jackson chuckles at his words, it’s almost reassuring to notice he’s as much of an asshole in this reality as he is in the others. “We don’t know how we got here or to any of the other realities we’ve been to, but this one is the first that has magic in it, so it would be really cool if you could use that magic to send us back to our own reality.”

“You have been travelling between more than one reality?” Other Stiles suddenly seems intrigued. “Without magic?”

Stiles nods, the movement sluggish because of the blue glow that envelops him. “Deaton said I’m a Spark, but I never was able to do more than play around with mountain ash a little.”

“Deaton doesn’t know shit,” the Other scoffs before looking up sharply at Stiles. He’s closer now, almost within touching distance. Stiles wouldn’t mind that so much if the wolf’s snappy jaws weren’t just as close. “How many worlds have you been to?”

“A couple,” Stiles hedges. He senses a chance to negotiate with his other self. “We’ll tell you all about it if you promise to help us get back to our own world.”

“Can’t make that promise,” the Other counters. “But I do want to hear more. We’ll take you back to the house.” He snaps his fingers and the blue glow disappears. Stiles and Derek drop to the ground, Stiles like a sack of potatoes while Derek lands neatly on his feet. He’s immediately crouched in front of Stiles, teeth and claws at the ready. It’s a miracle the large wolf hasn’t jumped at him yet. Other Stiles shakes his head condescendingly. “Behave,” he warns, “don’t make me change my mind about not killing you.”

Stiles gets to his feet and puts his hands on Derek’s arm again. “Easy, big guy. Let’s just go with it, for now. Maybe they can help us.”

Derek doesn’t readily agree, but he gets out of his protective stance and lets the shift fall away from his features. His eyes keep glowing blue and his hands are still clawed, but he allows Stiles to take his hand and squeeze it encouragingly.

Other Stiles ignores them and saunters away in the direction of the Hale house, the large wolf plastered against his side. With Scott and Jackson hovering behind them, Stiles and Derek have little other choice than to follow.

There are no other werewolves at the house as far as they can tell, but it is clearly lived in by a large number of people. There’s no sign that this building ever burnt down. Either it didn’t, or they rebuilt it from the ground up. Despite their cold reception in the forest, the house seems welcoming. The warm afternoon light filters in through the big windows in the large sitting room that Stiles and Derek are ushered into. Other Stiles says something to the wolf and after a calculating glance back at them the air around the wolf begins to vibrate. A few moments later a very naked Derek stands in the middle of the room. He’s bulkier than the Derek Stiles is used to, even more than when the werewolf was still an Alpha. He has the same tattoo as Scott and Jackson have, only his is situated right over his heart. The man crosses his impressive arms across an even more impressive chest, fixing them with a hard glare. At first he seems content to be naked for the duration of their stay, as he makes no move to put on pants. Luckily, he disappears from the room shortly after Stiles and Derek sit down on one of the sofas and quickly returns dressed in black sweatpants and a white tank top. Stiles doesn’t think he could’ve managed a serious conversation with a very naked Derek in the room, even when it’s a version on steroids that’s more scary than appealing. The werewolf takes a seat close to Other Stiles, who runs a possessive hand over his thigh in appreciation. Stiles abruptly shuts down any thoughts he has on their relationship, deciding it’s better to not know.

Scott brings everybody coffee and Stiles is delighted despite everything when he discovers that their alternate selves drink their coffee the same way. Other Stiles isn’t even insulted when Derek insists on checking Stiles’ coffee for poison before he allows him to drink from it, he just assures them that they will not be harmed. The ‘yet’ on the end of the sentence remains unsaid but not unheard.

Stiles unabashedly checks his other self out. They appear to be identical except for the tattoos and the slightly darker choice of wardrobe.

“There’s a piercing or two too,” Other Stiles says cheekily, noticing his scrutiny. He smirks when he causes his other self to blush, before deeming that enough pleasantry for the moment and demanding that they tell him all about their “adventures in different realities”.

Already having decided their other selves may be their only chance for help, Stiles complies and tells them the broad outlines of their situation. He leaves out the more personal stuff, like getting assaulted by Ennis and Kali or the panic attacks he endured in prison. He also leaves the horrors Derek endured at the research facility to their imagination, much like Derek did with him. He totally understands why Derek doesn’t want to talk about it; he’s not even sure they ever should. Some things are better left in the past.

“And you guys just have to kiss in order to travel to another reality?” It’s the most Stiles-like they’ve seen Other Stiles until now. He looks positively delighted by that snippet of information. “That’s so cool! Now kiss!”

“I’m sorry?” Stiles frowns at the sudden demand.

“You heard me! Kiss! I wanna see what happens!”

“Are you nuts?! You just heard me tell you we end up in a different reality, without any control over where we end up. You could be sending us to our deaths for all you know!”

This time it is Derek who holds Stiles back, wary of the shift to alertness in his other, bulkier self.

“And you could just be spinning me a tale,” Other Stiles counters in a measured voice. “So kiss. Prove it.” The threat behind his words is so thinly veiled he might as well have pulled a gun on them. Except this Other Stiles probably doesn’t need a gun to kill anyone, he might not even have to lift a finger.

Stiles grips Derek’s hand where it was already waiting for him on top of his leg. If they kiss, they risk ending up in a dangerous reality, together or apart. If they don’t kiss, well, Stiles has very little hope to convince his Other Me of his genuine intentions.

“I’ll come find you,” Derek whispers, already turning his face towards Stiles. His hand is a lifeline Stiles desperately wants to hold on to.

“If you find a way to help us control this crossing between realities, you might even be able to do it yourself.” He can’t help but argue his case one last time. They’ve been lucky so far, managing to escape before something irreparable took place. That luck has to run out at some point, he’s sure.

“Nah, I’m good here,” Other Stiles says with a shrug. He’s leaning back in the sofa across from them, one hand absently trailing Other Derek’s shoulders. “I just wanna see if it works.”

His callousness has Stiles seething so much that he gives Derek hardly any warning before he presses a close mouthed kiss against his lips. The werewolf squeezes his hand so hard in alarm it causes Stiles to jerk back. “Ow!”

He expects the strange swoop of his stomach, but nothing happens. Derek is waiting for it just like him, his eyes darting searchingly around Stiles’ face. For several long seconds, nothing happens.

“Just what I thought,” Other Stiles scoffs, startling them. “Scott, Jackson.” He signals with his hand and the two weres appear behind them and grab them forcefully by their shoulders. Scott holds Stiles in place without trouble, though Jackson struggles significantly more with Derek. His claws dig deep in the werewolf’s shoulders and for a second it looks like Derek will fight back, but then there’s a loud roar and a flash of claws and teeth. Other Derek is halfway shifted between human and wolf, reminding Stiles of the abomination from years ago. His other self still leans back on the sofa, looking utterly in control of the situation. “Now boys, we’re gonna try this one more time. You better put in some effort, or, you know, it’ll be the last thing you do.”

It’s the careless threats that do it. Even more than the vicious menace that the half shifted wolf presents. There, in that comfortable living room with the sun shining innocuously through the windows, Stiles and Derek lock eyes one more time. Derek doesn’t repeat his promise and Stiles keeps silent too. Instead, they pour their feelings into the kiss.

*** *** ***

The sun shines down on him mercilessly, a film of sweat and sun lotion covering his skin. His baseball cap helps in keeping the sun from his head, though he's steadily sweating through it. There’s hardly any breeze, even this close to the water. It's so hot that even the seagulls keep quiet. Not that it's ever quiet on the beach, not in the middle of Summer anyway. From behind his sunglasses Derek’s eyes scan his surroundings, keeping an ear out for any sounds that stand out from the familiar drum of chatting adults and playing kids on the beach.

The sea is pretty calm today. Most people that needed their help had heat stroke or hurt their foot on a broken seashell or a sharp bit of rock. Nothing major. But Derek knows better than to let his attention slack. Behind him, Cora comes out of the lifeguard tower’s main room, pulling her hair up in a short ponytail. "That makes ten heat strokes for today already and it’s barely past noon," she complains. "This is gonna be a long day."

Derek nods, keeping his eyes on the water. He’s got a bad feeling, an uneasy nagging at the back of his head. He feels like he's forgetting something, or someone. But Cora helped their last heat stroke victim inside the cabin while he kept watch, as protocol dictates in situations like these. So that couldn’t be it.

The feeling stays, leaving a bad taste in his mouth, until almost an hour later his eyes lock on a sole figure in the water, just behind the surf. "He's a little far out, isn't he?"

Cora follows his line of sight and squints her eyes. "I don't see anyone with him."

Derek grabs the binoculars that hang from the railing and points them at the swimmer. The guy is too low in the water to his liking, moving erratically. "I'm going in," he decides, "spot me."

Cora takes the binoculars from him without taking her eyes off the swimmer. Her other hand drifts to the walkie talkie on her hip, ready to call in backup if needed. Derek quickly sheds his T-shirt, baseball cap and sunglasses, grabbing the red rescue tube and jogs over to the water. He doesn’t want to cause a panic by sprinting across the beach and diving in. The swimmer needed help, but from what he saw the person was in no immediate danger of drowning. That can change quickly, though. And it does. Derek is about halfway to him when the man disappears under water. The other people in the water don't notice it, they’ve got their backs to him and unlike what you see on tv, drowning is a rather quiet affair. Derek powers through the water and dives for the person as soon as he’s close enough. The moment his hands make contact with the water slick skin of the other, a jolt shoots through his body and he accidently swallows some water.

Sputtering, he breaks the surface, securing the head of the young man between his hands. “Stiles?!” Because it is his pack mate who nearly drowned and is now coughing up water violently. The movements make Stiles take in water again and he’s incapable of doing something about it himself, as he’s barely responsive. His body coughing up the water is a mostly automatic response. Derek tries not to think too much as he feels himself going through the motions of manhandling Stiles in the right position to be able to swim them both back to the shore. He’s not a werewolf in this reality, but he is apparently a trained lifeguard and an experienced swimmer. He lets muscle memory take over to get them both safely back to the beach, where his sister is already waiting for them with a first aid bag.

He lays a limp Stiles out on the sand, the boy now fully unconscious and not breathing. Willing himself not to panic, Derek tries to focus on what his body wants him to do. Almost automatically he tilts Stiles’ head back and starts mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, a skill he never used before in real life but seems to be a pro at in this world. It only takes a few blows to get Stiles coughing up water again, his body curling around Derek’s knees in the sand.

“Der?” Stiles croaks out as soon as he gains a bit of consciousness.

Derek leans down over Stiles and presses his forehead against Stiles’ temple, his hand cradling Stiles’ face where it presses in the sand. “You’re okay,” he breathes, a confirmation for them both.

Stiles nods, breathing laboriously. His movements are jerkily as he turns a little in Derek’s hold so he can look at him. There’s sand sticking to his face that Derek tries to brush off. “Did you just…” Stiles breaks off to cough wetly. “Give me mouth-to-mouth?”

Derek nods. “You nearly drowned.”

“That would’ve sucked,” Stiles groans.

“Yeah.” Derek can’t help but laugh and he presses a relieved kiss to a corner of Stiles’ mouth where there’s no sand sticking to his skin. A cold wet hand grabs him by the jaw and draws him back in for another kiss, this time more centred.

*** *** ***

The sun shines down on him mercilessly, a film of sweat, dust and grime covering his skin. The leather bands that strap the armour plate to his chest chafe underneath his arms, the armour slightly too small on him. But it protects the soft skin of his stomach, which is more important than a bit of discomfort. Stiles weighs the spear in his hand, the length of the weapon giving him an advantage over the shorter swords of some of his opponents. The people in the stands of the arena yell and shout, their words clotting together into one amorphous din.

There’s a shout to his right side and Stiles is just quick enough to catch the sword hew with his spear, answering with a hard jab with the butt of his weapon against his opponent's sternum. The man is not wearing a breastplate, he has shoulder pads instead, as well as a helmet. His armour does him a fat load of good when Stiles drives his spear into his unprotected armpit several moments later. The man drops his sword and Stiles uses it to finish the job, not wanting to let the man bleed out in the sand unnecessarily long.

He becomes aware of movement at his back and Stiles turns on his heel, his newly acquired sword ready to strike. Steel meets steel in a jarring hit, an unpleasant sensation that travels up his arm. His attacker is shorter than him, although the man is broader in the shoulders and has more muscle mass. He immediately wishes his spear wasn’t still stuck in that other man’s armpit, as the sword brings his opponent in much closer range. The other is stronger and he seems to match him in speed, so Stiles needs to be smarter if he wants to survive this. They trade blows in a flurry of movements, pushing each other back and forth across the dirt packed floor of the arena. It’s sheer luck that brings Stiles close enough to his spear to be able to yank it free, though he pays for it with a nasty cut in his left upper leg. He grits his teeth through the pain, unable to keep his footing properly for a moment. Another blow, this one dangerously close to the edge of his breastplate.

There’s shouting and it sounds like someone is calling his name, but Stiles can’t afford to look away from his attacker who is closing in on him. He is too close to use his spear properly and the other’s superior strength is starting to wear Stiles down. Yet just when he’s starting to think this’ll be it, someone runs his attacker through with a sword. Like, completely through, with the point of the sword sticking out his chest. The man falls heavily to Stiles’ feet, his own sword dropping to the floor uselessly.

Stiles is too stunned to form a proper response to the words he hears, so when a familiar voice asks him if he’s okay, he answers with a jab of his spear. “Ow! Stiles! Stop that! It’s me, Derek!”

“Derek?” The gladiator in front of him rips off his helmet and it is indeed Derek Hale standing in front of him, in all his bloodied, sweaty glory. Stiles almost drops his weapons in surprise and relief. “Oh my god, I nearly stabbed you!”

“Yeah, well, not so nearly.” Derek gingerly touches a gash on the side of his ribs.

Stiles rushes towards him. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” He knocks the shaft of his spear against Derek’s head when he tries to put his hands on him.

The werewolf - or, maybe not a werewolf in this reality, as he’s not really healing from the wound that Stiles inflicted - grabs the spear, holding it still. “For fuck’s sake, Stiles. How is it that I’ve just seen you kill a man with these and now you barely know how to hold them?”

Stiles flushes uncomfortably, simultaneously reminded of his trademark clumsiness and the fact that he just killed a man. A warm hand closes around his bicep, making him look up. “You okay?” Derek peers up at him from where Stiles ducked his head.

“Yeah, no,” Stiles sighs, sparing a glance around them. There’s still fighting around them and any moment now people could cotton onto what’s happening between him and Derek. “We need to get out of here, fast.”

Derek nods solemnly. “It’s not safe here.”

Stiles would argue that he feels pretty safe with Derek by his side, but the big guy is right. Either one of the other gladiators attacks them, or some sort of steward notices there’s something amiss and who knows what will happen then? If this world is anything like the movie Gladiator, Stiles doesn’t want to stay here a minute longer. “Well, we know what we gotta do.”

Derek nods again, looking a bit grim. Stiles suspects that has more to do with their situation than what they’re about to do, as Derek easily lets him crowd closer.

In the stands behind them, the audience catches onto the fact that Stiles and Derek are not fighting anymore. He still can’t really understand what they’re shouting, but he takes it they’re not happy with them.

“We gotta hurry,” Derek urges, his hands now on both of Stiles’ arms. He’s looking around them warily, his eyes on the other fighters as if he suspects them to attack at any moment. For all Stiles knows they could.

He drops his weapons and shuffles forward to close the last bit of distance between them, their position more familiar than he ever thought it could be. It’s a shame they started doing this in such dire circumstances, because he kinda likes this whole kissing thing.

Stiles might have said as much out loud, because Derek mumbles “Me too” right before their lips slot together and talking is a thing of the past.

#count your fingers sterek fanfic #count your fingers #sterek fanfic #written by ilse #derek hale #stiles stilinski #sterek #multiple realities #travelling through alternate universes #alternate universes #chaptered fic #long fanfic

1 note · View note

person-on-pluto · 2 years

Text

Inktober day 7: trip

#art #my art #inktober #trip #ink drawing #inktober 2022 #space #universe #portals #multiple universes #multiple realities #teleport

0 notes

mumblesplash · 1 year

Text

[narrator voice] she did not forget

#this was so funny lmao #my art #hermitcraft #goodtimeswithscar #pearlescentmoon #all the hermits send out out weekly newsletters via pesky bird mail #the information contained within varies wildly in both relevance and factual correctness from hermit to hermit #doc will put ‘got a new pet’ and neglect to mention that It Is The Ender Dragon #whereas grian will regularly write up multiple pages explaining the details of his base progress #and sign off with maybe one sentence about how the hole he accidentally ripped in the fabric of reality ‘seems fine’#scar has an obits segment that’s just all his own deaths #that single segment is frequently longer than doc’s entire newsletter

6K notes · View notes

sunnynwanda · 2 months

Text

Black hole: The revelations

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

"So, why the hell were we getting married?" Hero questions, leaning back on the bright green bench to look nonchalant. Villain sits next to them, rubbing a finger over their furrowed eyebrows. They've ended up on this bench after the coffee shop at least three times. Hero glances at them in expectation of an answer.

"Because that's what is supposed to happen," Villain confesses with a deep sigh. Their mind is running a mile an hour, trying to figure out what went wrong to leave Hero with the wounds and memories of their wedding day. "But, every time we do, you die by the end of the day."

"You were the one that stabbed me," Hero counters, gaze fixed on Villain's profile against the morning sky. They can't help the way their eyes are drawn to their archnemesis every damn time they cross paths, be it in battle or civilian life. So goddamn beautiful.

They should have figured this out sooner, Hero thinks. They should have started dating sooner.

"To try and get you out before it happens again," Villain's voice reaches them through the haze of their thoughts, their face still averted from Hero, as if it pains them to talk about it. Pretty sure that's exactly what it does.

Hero considers the situation for a moment before shifting to sit sideways on the bench, folding their foot under them. "Why does it seem like no one remembers anything?"

"Because they don't," Villain's hand comes to rest on their folded knee without a second of thought. Hero doesn't comment on it for now.

"Why?" They tilt their head, watching Villain intently. They figure it must have been a tad too intense when Villain turns to face them at last.

"Because it did not yet happen in this version of reality." If that statement was supposed to clarify anything for Hero, it did not. If anything, it got them even more confused. Villain's powers never made proper sense to them.

"What are you talking about?" They inquire, busying their hands with the hem of Villain's shirt. The soft fabric feels familiar to the touch.

"We got together eight months before our wedding," Villain explains, eyes locked to Hero's fingers twisting their favourite shirt. They never liked it that much until Hero commented how it brought out their eyes. They wore it for each one of their first dates ever since. "Today."

A gasp is all that leaves Hero's parted lips, so Villain continues. "This was our first date because you stumbled into me and demanded I get you a coffee, and I did. We started talking after that and spent the entire afternoon together. It picked up from there."

"Like today?" Hero looks up at them through their lashes, and Villain knows they won't find their voice, so they nod instead, unnerved and exhaling shakily. "But I only came because when I woke up, I found a cut between my ribs and a ring on my finger. That dream felt eerily real, so I decided to confront you and see if it's your doing."

"That's the issue. I come back to this day to try and track what I need to change to ensure you stay with me. It was supposed to only be me remembering all of it." They pause, taking a deep breath to slow their racing mind. "Come to think of it, I've been so caught up in trying to find a solution to keep you alive I never asked why you always come in the first place."

Hero has no idea. They won't admit feeling the need to see Villain was an everyday thing - way before their relationship happened. Or is set to happen, to be precise.

"How long?" Noting the confused expression on Villain's face, they elaborate. "How long has this been going on?"

"Too long for my own liking," Villain rakes a hand through their messy strands, the wind not helping the disaster that was their hair. Hero has to stop themself from reaching out for a touch.

"Vil, were all of my dreams your attempts at fixing it?" They lean back, and Villain wraps an arm around their calves, bringing their legs onto their lap. Hero is stunned at how natural physical contact with them feels.

"Yes," they choke out, their jaw tight with pent-up emotion. They don't know if they can handle Hero remembering any or each of those times.

"Twelve times?" Villain almost jolts at the sharpness in their voice. Hero can feel it scratching the back of their throat like shreds of glass. "You've lived those eight months twelve times?!"

"Look, believe it or not, I love you," Villain meets their eyes, love, pain and despair equally present in their gaze. Hero watches something else flash to life in the depths of their soul, burning bright as they take hold of Hero's face with calloused fingers. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you alive. Right now, something has changed."

"Why?" They don't dare to move away, struggling to swallow when Villain's thumb rubs soft circles against their cheek.

"I don't know," their voice is barely audible as they speak, entranced by the proximity. "When I reset the time, I'm the only one keeping my memories and wounds. You never remembered anything nor had any injuries."

"Or this?" Hero brings their hand up to their faces, pointing at the wedding band. Villain's eyes widen slightly, despite seeing it previously in the coffee shop. "Yeah, I figured it was off. Does this mean we're onto something?"

"Might be," Villain sighs, catching their wrist and laying a gentle kiss on their knuckles. "I hope so."

Hero intertwines their fingers, offering Villain a small smile as they battle their tears. They cannot even begin to imagine what living all those months must have felt like - knowing what they were leading to, grappling to find a solution. To no avail. Time and time again. "We'll find a way out."

"I've watched you die twelve times," their throat clamps up, threatening to spill years' worth of tears, but they squeeze their eyes shut, willing the storm within to calm. Their voice breaks nonetheless. "I don't know if I can handle another one."

"Hey, we're in this together now," Hero ensures, tilting their chin up with their free hand, the other still holding Villain's tight. "And we have eight months to figure it out. That's plenty of time."

"It's not as long as you'd think," Villain's smile is soft and sad as they draw Hero closer and hug their head against their chest. Hero can hear their heart racing, the pattern torn and uneven when Villain litters kisses onto their hair. "Not when it's all you get with your love."

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Masterlist

A/N: I didn't intend to do another part for this one initially, but I might just be forced to because they feel too alive in my head. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this and thank you for reading! xo Sunny

95 notes · View notes