There's something called the quantum universe hypothesis, that says that for each decision and event that takes place, a new universe is created for the infinite number of other possibilities.
Stephen Hawking's final theory was that our universe was just one, created by a singular big bang within an infinite number of big bangs that happened simultaneously, creating infinite universes.
And by those theories, somewhere out there in the cosmos, your daydreams and desires have actually played out. In a different universe, on a different earth, but one that's very much like this one, you've lived that life you're dreaming of.
Theoretically, that longing you have for the lover, friends, children, parents, pets, creatures, successes, adventures, what have you - that longing that you feel comes from an out of reach place that's... not so truly very far away.
Maybe that's why, when you're dreaming or imagining that world or life you want, all these little things, conversations, and details have to feel "right".
Maybe that's why you imagine your lover with blonde hair, even though you prefer brunette. Maybe that's why you suddenly noticed that daughter you're dreaming of has a dimple on her chin. Maybe that's why you could write a novel of what you want to say to your addict brother, but when you imagine that confrontation, all you say is, "Please choose me." Maybe that's why you're telling the world you want a New York pent house, but in your dreams, you find happiness in a cottage in a small mountain town. Maybe that's why you imagine your looming break up at the kitchen table, next to the window, where you watch the dust float through the sun rays... even though it should be pouring and grey.
Maybe it's because the version of you out there that lived what you're dreaming, hoping, dreading... They know those faces, those places, those people. They know that success and that failure. They know that love and that hurt...
Posting my video on here from TikTok. It’s been a hot minute since I was active on this account but dang, this is where it all started 10+ years ago. I MISS Y’ALL 😭
Good morning to the trans man loudly slamming his girlfriend in the bunk above convicted sex trafficker Ghislaine Maxwell, and ONLY the trans man loudly slamming his girlfriend in the bunk above convicted sex trafficker Ghislaine Maxwell
Found this in the comments of Shaun's latest video on Andrew Tate, in which he talks pretty extensively about how important it is for men to find ways to be confident in their genders without trying to adhere to, or enforce, anyone else's ideas of manhood on anyone.
Highly recommend checking it out.
Anyway. I rarely see folks talk about the positive impact transmascs have on manhood as a whole, and I think it's important to acknowledge and celebrate that.
Another little story where the MC died and one (or more) of the boys feels sad. Could this turn into a series where MC dies in various ways and the other characters feel feelings about it? Yeah, maybe!
Takes place anytime after Step 3. Unrequited love, unnamed illness, funeral setting. Very sad Derek.
It was never the right time.
That's what Derek always told himself. Someday when things were different -- when he was different, when he was better -- then he'd take a chance. That's when he'd let himself admit how he felt about you. He'd tell you he loved you then.
Countless moments had popped up over the years since that first summer that might have worked. A quiet moment on the beach by your house, a summer soiree while the two of you were dressed to the nines. A school dance he'd invited you to, "just as friends" even though he wanted so much more.
He had so many opportunities to just tell you how he felt, to take a risk on the chance you might feel the same way, but he was never good enough for you, not even close.
It was only when it became clear that he'd run out of time that he really started to sit down and think about all those lost chances.
"I'll be ok," you always told him when he came to visit you in the hospital, a smile on your face for him despite the tubes in your body, the constant hums and beeps of the machines a constant soundtrack to his trips there. You'd always hold his hand, and sometimes it made him sick to think about how he let you comfort him, even then, when he should have been stronger.
Derek did think about confessing, even after things got bad. He tried to work out whether you'd want to know, if it would bring you some comfort or just add awkwardness or confusion in an already difficult time. Sometimes he let himself picture telling you, then you telling him that you loved him too, and then you'd get better and you'd be together, so on and so forth, happily ever after.
But that's not how it happened.
Things were already bad, but they got worse fast, and before he could make a decision about telling you, you were gone.
"Derek? You all right?"
He was brought back to the present -- something he sincerely did not appreciate, but was of course too polite to ever mention -- by Nicolas' hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his little brother, looking like some bizarre alternate universe version of himself in a dark suit with his hair tamed as best it could be.
It didn't feel right. Then again, nothing did.
"Yeah," Derek answered automatically, eyes glancing around the funeral home. He saw his parents talking to Cove's father, all serious faces and quiet voices. There was Liz by the casket, eyes dry but fierce -- the protective older sister, even now. Your moms were nearby too, huddled close together. Cove was there as well, he'd heard, but based on the muffled sound of wails coming from an adjacent room, it seemed like he'd excused himself.
"Hey, bros," Jorge said, coming up to place a hand on Derek's other shoulder. "How's it going?"
He tried to give a smile to his other little brother, but he couldn't imagine he succeeded.
"Did you want ..." Jorge began, stopping himself before he got a full sentence out. He gave his head a little shake, then stood a little straighter and asked "Did you want to go up there?"
Derek looked back toward the casket. He hadn't been able to approach it, not yet, and he wasn't sure if he would. It may be nice to see your face one more time, even if what made you you was no longer there. Then again, it may be too hard to take.
Reasoning that the entire day was too hard to take -- hell, existence felt too hard to take at this point -- and that if worse came to worst, he'd at least have Cove to keep him company if he lost it entirely, he gave another shaky smile to Jorge and began moving towards the coffin.
He wasn't sure what he expected to feel upon seeing you like that, but whatever he could have imagined, it was so much more than that. You were too pale, too still, and if he touched you, he was sure you'd be way, way too cold.
His eyes moved over your body, taking in individual parts and cataloging them in the most heartbreaking ways possible. Your eyelids, closed shut, never to flutter open again. Your hands folded over your stomach -- stiff, he was sure. Then he looked at your lips and started to understand, really understand, that he'd never see them smiling for him again.
Because they did -- you did. Smile just for him. Even at his absolute lowest, when he hated himself so much he couldn't stand it, he knew that. That you liked him. Maybe not in the same way he liked you, but he couldn't deny that you, his favorite person on the planet, had seen a least a little something special in him.
His stomach clenched, his hands balled into fists, and he did one of the things that he did best, literally and metaphorically -- he ran.
Not hearing the questions or remarks as his family called out to him, not noticing concerned looks from your other friends, Derek bolted out of the funeral home. He was wearing a suit and stiff dress shoes, but he flew down the street. If his feet started aching or his muscles started protesting his pace, he didn't notice.
He wasn't thinking, not really, and eventually he found himself in the park, running to the field you'd played in when you were kids. He kept running to the tree line and went past it, letting himself get a little bit lost before he came to a stop, leaned his head back and screamed.
Derek held things in -- it was just what he did. But there in the trees, he let everything out. The shattering grief, the loss of everything he might have had with you but never would. All the things he never said, all the opportunities he let slip by because it could happen later, there would always be more time.
Eventually he stopped. His throat was shredded and he started feeling the strain on his body. He waited a little while, certain someone had called the police, but none ever showed. He considered going back, assuring his family he was all right, but for once, he decided to be selfish and sat down on the ground, taking a little longer for himself.
He had no idea what life was going to look like now. He felt sad and scared, like the rug had been pulled out from under him, and then he felt guilty for feeling that way when everyone else had lost you too.
Those old feelings of self hatred started sneaking in, and he leaned into them, content to soak in the misery he was feeling.
After all, the future he'd dreamed of, the one he'd worked so hard for for so much of his life -- the one with you front and center -- was impossible. So really, what was the point of any of it?
Lilia, gaming next door and feeling a sudden earthquake: "Why is there an earth... No, it's just coming from Malleus' room. What is that boy doing? MAL--"
Lilia, suddenly realizing something: "Could it be?! Has my boy finally managed to get some bitches? And there's only one person in this entire school who qualifies as his bitch!"
Lilia: "Oh, I am so proud. To think he would figure out how to do it all by himself! Without the help of visual aids! He truly is a very smart lad!"
Lilia, throwing a shoe to the wall to get Malleus' attention: "DON'T WEAR PROTECTION!"
His boy is simply going through a severe case of dragon zoomies.
