#find your true self

[alwayswiselight]

BEING GAY DOES NOT DEFINE ME

Being gay does not define me as a person. Being homosexual is merely a facet of who I am. Therefore, I have deleted several overtly gay posts that have received too many likes from gay men. I didn't come here for that. And, I'm too old to care about that sort of affirmation from others.

The events following October 7 have reminded me that I am a loving and compassionate individual. That is the persona that I prefer over everything else. And, I will always continue to promote truth and justice here and elsewhere.

As the great Sufi philosophers and poets write: Clean your mirror so that you can see who you really are. Also: Burn your house down so that you can find the treasure buried under it.

LOVE ALONE IS ETERNITY.

[cecoeur]

[coolnonsenseworld]

A little promo with my little obsession on the side...........

Reminder all items are shipped from Poland - for details on shipping times check out FAQ or send me a private message!

 mmezzy.bigcartel.com

[breitzbachbea]

I guess the key to writing hws England to me is to understand he is both a control freak and a dreamer. He must have loved having secrets all for himself as a kid, his own world. He's so certain he can make the whole world dance to his tune, but should something go wrong, he has learned to pre-empt disappointment with cynicism. If something works, he will present it as inevitable success based on his abilities. If stuff goes wrong, he will say that he hadn't had high hopes. Everyone else is an idiot, except for him, because if he says he is an idiot, he isn't one. Ultimately, he cares so much but being SEEN caring is a weakness. Depending on someone else is a WEAKNESS. Anyone else feel like the Introduction From Communion to Cannibalism by Maggie Kilgour is in the room with us.

[lorillee]

in honor of kakashis birthday i thought i might as well finally release my half finished mini concept of "inverse lost tower where baby kakashi comes to hang out with shippuden era team 7. Badly" because obviously baby kakashi seeing his older self have relationships and happiness that baby kks doesnt think he can or deserves to have pisses him off on such a fundamental level hes so filled with rage he barely knows what to do with himself. not to mention that adult kakashis general outward lackadaisical demeanor also makes him angry because how can they have gone through all the same things and yet he still doesnt take anything seriously etc etc u already know all this. regardless the issue more than anything else was that im not much of a writer so i could never get the words to feel right so it'll probably stay unfinished forever, but take these anyways

[alivebutnotreallyyy]

A man once told me “no one will ever love you”

That’s okay Ill just love myself 🔑 ♥️

[serene-ly]

Own your weirdness. Someone will love the real you.

[usefulquotes7]

When love finds you again, I wish for you that is kind, gentle, loving, peaceful and tranquil. May it make you smile again, laugh often, dance like no one’s watching, and support your true self without condition.

[ananke-xiii]

A spell goes wrong and somehow Dean travels back in time to when he was 7 or 8 years old and Sam goes well into his future, a few weeks prior to his final death. The only way to go back to their timeline is for Dean to find someone who loves him unconditionally and for Sam to establish a real, meaningful connection with another person.

It takes them some time to get it but they eventually manage:

Dean understands that no matter how hard he tries whatever happened, happened, the damage is there and yet there's a way to change the past, you don't need to change events but you can change your relation to them. He understands that the only person who will ever unconditionally love that child/him is himself, he can heal his own wound by pouring all the love he has to give to that scared little child who'll forever live beside him.

Sam understands that he doesn't have to be the spectator of his death as he thinks he is of his life, he can take matters into his hands by establishing a real connection with that old man/his own self. Whatever happened, happened, the trauma is there but he has the possibility to take it slowly to the foreground, to talk about it, to talk with it because it is a part of him that will never change, sure, but he can modify his relation with it in order to take control of his own story. He can create a connection with himself.

Dean goes back to the future after he's hugged himself as a child and told him he'll forever be loved and Dean will never forget about him, it's a promise; while Sam goes back to the past by holding his hand as his future self dies and telling him not to be afraid, that they still have time and Sam will do whatever he can to make every second count, it's a promise.

[moonpastries]

hiya!

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

The New Titans #55 (1989)

Batman (2010-) #641

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Red Hood and the Outlaws (2016-) #6

…

…

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Batman and Red Hood (2011-) #20

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Batman (2016-) #138

They sure do bAT&Tman. They sure as hell do.

Yet Jason never thought this way about you.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Fuck I hate being an adult. I need a more adult adult to help with the volatile emotional situation.

[ingravinoveritas]

angelsadvocate96 replied to your post "I am entirely floored at the discourse that's been…"

Calling him "nonpracticing" erases all of his sexuality, not just the part they don't want to see. He has 2 children under age 5, so he's clearly been "practicing," making the term is demonstrably untrue. Michael's sexuality is palpable, you can feel it through the screen. To deny any part of that is not only dehumanizing but de-Michaelizing.

@angelsadvocate96

[thebrainrotsreal]

Thinking about the version of Mark that DID survive out in the wasteland for all those years (???) (post-Angstrom fight). Thinking about him being told he wouldn’t like who he had become. Thinking about Mark whispering “I thought you were stronger” at the bloody corpse crushed into the sand. Thinking about the hot sun and incredibly hot earth and unwavering isolation at such a critically vulnerable point. Mark, stranded and bloody, left to wonder if this was worth trying to protect his family, left to wonder if the violence in him is inevitable, as if it's some evil thing that's always been there, underneath his skin, just now waking. Left to wonder until he trips into spiraling, but no matter how loud he screams these questions into the sky, there is nothing but silence. A corpse for company. Thinking about the crushing weight of loneliness, and your own shocked mind. Thinking about being that way for years and years and years, somehow surviving. Only to become something a younger you wouldn’t "like". And what that looks like.

Thinking about the Mark that did get rescued, and being left to wonder how many times other versions of himself stumble into bad endings. How long until he becomes something he wouldn't like.

[tev-the-random]

He expected to bolt upright immediately, like the rash man he was. Instead, Jimmy opened his eyes and sat up slowly — very slowly, at the pace of someone who couldn’t quite grasp their bearings. Like he needed time to process something as simple as the universal joke that he just experienced. Truth is, Jimmy had had a lifetime to understand that.

He should have known better. He should have learned not to be so naive by now, not to feed false hopes like they were a starving dog.

But he hadn’t learned. Maybe he never would.

And that was, perhaps, what hurt the most: that he allowed them in. That he wanted them by his side. That every time, without fail, he hoped for things to change. Just this once! Just this once they would get it, they would drop the blade instead of using it against him!

But it always ended the same way. So maybe he was just stupid.

What did he expect, really? For his friends to be happy for him? To somehow justify the trust he put on them? To finally tell him he’s worthy?

What a joke. Everything in his life was a joke.

He sighed. Although he deeply wished to bury his face in his hat and scream for all eternity, the best he could do was pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. They had the hat, and it’s not like they would hand it back so easily. No, no, they didn’t respect him enough for that.

What even is respect, anyway? When Jimmy arrived at the mesa, he envisioned it as power: to be respected is to have authority, to dictate the rules. But as time went on, his expectations started to lower. In fact, some would say his bar had hit the floor.

To be respected is to be taken seriously.

To be respected is to be listened to.

To be respected is to not be antagonised and humiliated.

To be respected is to be seen as a person.

With the sensation that he would fall apart if he didn’t hold onto something, Jimmy grasped his bedsheets.

He wasn’t even a person to them, was he?

The ones he so innocently, so desperately called “friends” had clearly latched onto the idea that he was, for the lack of a better term, a plaything. Look at the tiny Sheriff and his tiny empire! Watch him get mad! Watch him try and fail to defend himself! Point and laugh at this pathetic thing!

Within only a few minutes, he had already embraced the idea that having someone else — someone as important as a real sheriff — tell him that he deserved legitimacy would be enough to earn him some dignity. All he really hoped for was a place amongst his peers, who only looked down on him, both literally and metaphorically.

But it was worthless, in the end.

His vision blurred at about the same time his lungs decided they were too upset to take in air properly. It took him a second to realise why: Jimmy had gotten used to the fact that, as a living doll, he just couldn’t function the same as he had before; surely, amongst other things, he had become incapable of shedding tears?

But here he was: breathlessly, shakily, undeniably crying. And now that it had started, it was hard to stop.

It was a well-known fact that Jimmy got angry much easier than he got sad. Screaming matches, hand hasty to the blade, petty plots that he would never manage to fulfil; it all helped push down his sense of self-awareness, this powerlessness clawing at his gut.

Right now, he felt as if a wave had crashed down on him.

He hated this fake body he was trapped in. Hated that he was smaller and more fragile than a child, that nothing felt real anymore, that he didn’t even have it in himself to bleed.

Breathing is such a basic task, why can’t he do it? Is it that he doesn’t actually have lungs or that he isn’t supposed to breathe in the first place?

He hated his own incompetence. No matter how hard he tried, he would always fall behind, crash and burn into the most pathetic of explosions. He had nothing to offer and he couldn’t take, no wonder he wasn’t allowed to have anything.

His entire body hurts. He hasn’t even done anything today, why does it hurt?

He hated that he could be so arrogant and selfish and that no one ever hesitated to point it out.

Heck, maybe they had a reason to bash him all the time after all! Maybe he missed all the shots he had. Maybe he deserved it, that had to be it!

He hated the way he always made a fool of himself and couldn’t even cover it up half-decently.

Oh, he hated this empty town, hated the mighty empires, hated his friends, those toys, the gunpowder, the bandits, the stupid Law and even stupider Lore! He hated and hated until he crumbled and there was nothing left of him.

And there really was nothing left. No one to fight for him or see the mess he’d made of himself. Not even Tango or Scar would stay by his side in the end, and the Old Sheriff was bound to follow, wasn’t he?

He was alone.

Jimmy cried until he couldn’t breathe anymore. He screamed into his hands until his voice was gone and clung to himself as a sorry excuse for comfort. And then he just laid there, drained and numb.

The sun was setting outside, its orange light peeking through his window lazily. He could just stay here, not get up; it’s not like he had anything important to do. But as much as he would like to disappear under his covers until his bones turned to dust, the idea only made him feel worse. Then again, someone once told him that it was good to breathe some fresh air when you’re upset, so maybe he should do that instead.

Dragging his feet, Jimmy left his bed and stepped outside, where a warm breeze awaited him. It wasn’t particularly refreshing; the sight of the blue walls surrounding Tumble Town gave him an ill feeling. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. It was replaced by confusion, for the horrible melody of a disjointed piano ringed across the valley.

“What in the world—”

Oh. Right.

If only for a moment, the thought of having a tavern bustling with people made him feel... less terrible. And although he knew that it wasn’t the case, that his town currently only had one citizen apart from himself, that was enough to pull him from his melancholic haze and towards the saloon.

He walked into the establishment to find the Old Sheriff predictably sat at the piano in the corner. His hat rested on top of the instrument, like the dear damsel to whom he was dedicating a song.

“Oh, there you are.” The old cowboy stopped his cacophony once he noticed the small figure by the door. “I was starting to wonder when you were coming back. Did you...” He eyed Jimmy up and down, “wrestle with your friends or something?”

All the tiny man could do, once again, was sigh. His face was probably still puffy from crying, and he guessed his wrinkled shirt and ruffled hair didn’t help giving off the most pristine of impressions.

“Or something,” he half-answered.

Without bothering to elaborate, he walked around the bar and opened one of the cabinets underneath. Behind a dozen or so empty bottles, there was still one with about three quarters of liquid left. Jimmy wasn’t one to drink often; he’d been keeping this last one around for special occasions, but he supposed it didn’t matter anymore.

The bottle was nearly as tall as he was. He dragged it all the way to one of the tables, which he climbed on top of before fighting to pour himself a shot glass. A few instants later, a larger cup tentatively appeared in front of him.

“Care to share?” The Old Sheriff asked, leaning against his table.

He nodded.

The two men drank next to each other without exchanging a word. The silence held a thin mental thread Jimmy was struggling not to snap. He didn’t know whether or not he was thankful when the Old Sheriff interrupted it:

“Your piano is out of tune.”

“What, is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?” Jimmy’s intonation was flat, too tired to sort out any emotion to put into it. He tried not to think of a voice box. “Is there a second T in ‘respect’ now? For ‘tune’?”

“No, I mean literally. The piano’s out of tune.” The man gestured towards the instrument he had been playing.

“Oh.” The young sheriff awkwardly cleared his throat at that. “Um... I don’t really know how to tune it.”

“That’s fair enough, I don’t really know how to play it.”

With a shrug, the old man downed the rest of his drink, and was already pouring a new dose by the time Jimmy realised the corner of his mouth had raised the smallest amount. But that mild amusement quickly vanished, giving way to quietness once more. This one felt a bit too uncomfortable, staring at him as his mind continued to reel.

“It didn’t work out,” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“Your tips, the whole respect thing? Actually, I think they might respect me less now!” The tiny sheriff huffed, resting his head against the window behind him. Not that he thought it was possible for people to degrade him any more than they already did, but here they are.

“Huh. I dunno, maybe you just did it wrong. The R.E.S.P.E.C.T tactic has never failed me.” The Old Sheriff chuckled.

Jimmy couldn’t help but sigh yet again. He didn’t shout, didn’t splutter, didn’t even try to defend himself. You see, he wasn’t exactly angry. No, he had mellowed out for today. Staring down at his distorted reflection on the amber drink, he searched for a word that could describe this numbness; this burning sensation in his chest that made him look at the world around him with such disgust.

Hopelessness? Exhaustion?

“They killed me, you know?” He commented, then quietly added, “And they took my hat again.”

“Well, now that’s just rude!”

With a disappointed click of the tongue, his senior refilled Jimmy’s glass, despite it still being half full. He was already on this third cup himself; the bottle was significantly emptier.

Was that it? Disappointment? Disbelief?

“It’s not the first time, either.” Tim ran his hands through his hair in what could maybe be called exasperation. That still wasn’t it, though. “I’m really starting to think that I should... I don’t know, cut ties with them or— or maybe I should just leave. Find somewhere new to live. I can’t take this anymore, man.”

All he received in response was a soft hum. The past Sheriff stared at the wall somewhere above Jimmy, who wondered if he was even listening anymore.

“Tell you what,” the old man started a few moments later. “Why don’t you show me around them empires? I wanna see what’s changed. And if we happen to stumble upon any of those ‘friends’ of yours, we can show them what for, yeah?”

He blinked. Then he blinked again. And then he laughed, incredulous. His chest untightened the slightest amount.

“I— You— I mean, that— that sounds great, yeah! Sure!”

For the rest of the evening, Jimmy managed to push down the fog of that strange feeling by ranting to someone who would finally listen to him — more or less; he wasn’t sure the Old Sheriff was completely conscious by the time the moon was up. Something at the back of his mind told him not to get used to this by the time he went back home. It could always be a trick, a lie even. The irony of hoping that he could hope wasn’t lost on him.

And irony, much like everything else, would pull the rug from under him.

From the moment Fwhip saw the Old Sheriff and opened that cunning smile of his, he knew that the best of his bravado wouldn’t be enough. He would always fall back to bickering with his ex-deputy, whose verbal traps never failed to demean him. Oh, he tried so hard not to, but could he help it? Fwhip had the ease of pulling people in that Jimmy and his frantic arguments never would.

So maybe he should have listened to that thing at the back of his mind. At least he wouldn’t be surprised when his new partner got so quickly dissuaded from following him; wouldn’t bother going to Gobland or reminding them of his stance with Fwhip. It would certainly have spared him some heartache.

On the way to the goblin empire, the same jokes that had begun to cut so deep were laughed at. At the Drip, his inevitable boiling annoyance was taken advantage of. The slander went undefended and his call for assistance in the ensuing fight, unanswered. His possessions were teased out of his reach and given to a “real sheriff”. In the middle of all of this, his last ally, captured by Fwhip’s determination to take everything he could away from him, rubbed elbows with his enemies without giving him so much as a reassuring look. That’s when Jimmy finally realised what the feeling was.

Bitterness. Unrelenting, cold resentment.

Maybe he wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t commanding or assertive, nor was he easy to live with. Yes, Jimmy had a lot to learn, and he would. But he couldn’t fathom what could possibly made anyone deserving of such a world-shattering emotion. It was all so clear now, he didn’t have to put up with any of this! They don't get to do this to him over and over again!

This is bullshit.

And he’s done.

He didn’t even bother going back for his stuff when Fwhip killed him the second time. His armour, his tools, all of it was tainted with weakness and ridicule — he didn’t even have a badge or a hat to hand in anymore. In the end, there were very little items he cared to take with him.

The very same caravan he arrived in Tumble Town with was loaded by the time night had fallen. Norman had already leaped into the back without Jimmy needing to call him, and Bullseye was harnessed and ready to go. He briefly considered waiting for the Old Sheriff to return, but he didn’t think he could bear looking at the man at this point. By far, the biggest lesson he learned was that it wasn’t worth it getting attached.

Without anyone to say goodbye to, he left the empty silence of Tumble Town behind. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but the sheriff dream was gone — and so was Jimmy.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

while I don’t think I really ship them, I am a huge fan of the idea that Ryuji was Ren’s bi awakening