#feeling unworthy

[eeerrrrewsd]

Worth the Risk

Jason Todd x Reader – Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, a Little Cute

Jason Todd had learned to live with ghosts.

They followed him everywhere.

In the roar of his motorcycle’s engine.

In the smell of gunpowder clinging to his gloves.

In the cold weight of his helmet, pressing against his skull like a second skin.

They whispered to him in the silence.

In the alleyways.

In the spaces between shadows.

In the stillness of the nights where he sat alone, wondering why he even came back.

He had learned to live with them.

But then you came along.

And suddenly, Jason didn’t know how to live with you.

You weren’t supposed to stay.

Jason had made sure of that.

He had tried everything—brushing you off, keeping you at a distance, scowling at you until his face hurt. He even threw in a few “I’m no good for you” speeches, just to be safe.

But you didn’t care.

You stuck around.

You smiled at him like he wasn’t broken.

You laughed at his jokes like he was someone worth laughing with.

You treated him like he was Jason—not Red Hood, not Robin, not a cautionary tale—just him.

And Jason didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

So, he did what he always did.

He pushed you away.

And you, stubborn as ever, refused to go.

The first time Jason realized he couldn’t keep you at arm’s length forever was when you found him bleeding in his apartment.

He hadn’t meant for you to see him like that.

He had been careful.

The fight had been messy, but he had made it home, made it to his shitty excuse for a first-aid kit, and was fine.

Or, he would have been—if you hadn’t let yourself in with the spare key he forgot you had.

The moment your eyes landed on him—shirt torn, bruises darkening along his ribs, blood staining his gloves—you had frozen.

Then your expression shifted into something unreadable.

And Jason?

Jason panicked.

“Don’t,” he warned before you could say anything. “I’m fine.”

You didn’t listen.

You never listened.

“Fine?” you echoed, marching toward him. “Jason, you’re bleeding all over your couch.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Your glare could have set the whole damn apartment on fire. “You’re literally trying to hold yourself together with duct tape right now.”

“…It’s quality duct tape.”

Your hands landed on your hips. “Sit down.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “I don’t take orders.”

“Then sit down or I’ll make you.”

For a second, he considered arguing.

But you looked mad.

And Jason had taken on Gotham’s worst criminals, but even he knew better than to mess with you when you were pissed.

So, with a dramatic sigh, he sat.

You wordlessly grabbed the first-aid kit, crouching in front of him.

Jason tensed. He hated being this close, being seen like this. But your hands were careful, gentle as you reached for his injured arm.

And then, so softly he almost didn’t catch it—

“You scared me.”

Jason blinked.

Your voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.

Like you weren’t just mad.

Like you were hurt.

And Jason—Jason hated that.

“…Didn’t mean to,” he mumbled.

You sighed, dabbing antiseptic over his wound. “Then stop trying to die every other night, and maybe we’ll be even.”

Jason swallowed.

He had no idea what to say to that.

So, he sat there, letting you clean his wounds, letting your touch ease some of the ache in his body.

Letting himself wonder—just for a moment—why the hell you were still here.

Jason wasn’t an idiot.

He knew who he was.

He knew what he had done.

And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn’t someone people stayed for.

But you did.

And it terrified him.

Another night.

Another fight.

Another set of bruises Jason didn’t have the energy to deal with.

He sat on the fire escape outside your apartment, the cool night air stinging against his busted lip.

He hadn’t meant to come here.

But somehow, he had.

Because after a night like this—after feeling like he had nothing left to give, after Gotham had chewed him up and spit him back out—he didn’t want to be alone.

And when he saw your light flicker on, when you stepped outside and spotted him sitting there like some stray cat, you didn’t even hesitate.

You just sighed, held out your hand, and said—

“Come inside, dumbass.”

Jason almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead, he let you pull him inside, let you fuss over him, let you care.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself stay.

Weeks passed.

Jason still didn’t get it.

Didn’t get you.

Didn’t get why you weren’t afraid of him, why you didn’t run the first time you saw how deep his scars really went.

He didn’t get why you smiled at him like he wasn’t some walking tragedy.

Didn’t get why, when he was with you, the ghosts in his head got quiet.

So, one night, after you had patched him up again, after you had fallen asleep with your head against his shoulder, he whispered—

“…Why me?”

You stirred but didn’t wake.

Jason exhaled, staring at the ceiling, at the way the city lights flickered through your window.

Of all people—why him?

Why would you care?

Why would you stay?

Then, as if you could hear his thoughts, you mumbled—

“Because you’re worth it.”

Jason went still.

His chest ached, something warm pressing behind his ribs, something he couldn’t name.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

He let himself believe it.

[mabelyn-unfiltered]

The Weight of Words

Words are often dismissed as “just words,” but they cut deeper than we realize.

They don’t fade—

they settle under the skin,

turning into invisible scars we carry forward.

They whisper doubts where there once was light,

telling us we’re too much, not enough,

a mistake

I try to shake them off,

but some words don’t disappear—they leave a stain.

And still, I’m trying to find my way,

to hold onto my voice amidst the echoes of unworthiness they leave behind. It’s exhausting.

😪

[radiantmorningstar]

Dehydration, Insomnia, and Getting Things Done

So I had a bad bout of insomnia last night due in large part, I think, to dehydration and sleep debt. Sometimes this happens and I know I need to be more mindful of these things during the week or I will pay a very real price on the weekend.

It's Saturday morning now and I should be doing jujitsu across town, but I had to text my friends and let them know I wouldn't be making it. I already feel bad from not sleeping, but having to miss a practice makes me feel embarrassed, like I'm failing and I'm a defective person.

But I refuse to accept failure on any front, which means I refuse to accept the narrative of my unworthiness. Setbacks are inevitable. I will not inflate them by focusing on them. Instead, I will make use of externally imposed downtime to plan, contemplate, and improve my overall attitude.  That's what I'm doing and the world has to get with my program because, in my life, I'm the only one making the decisions.

[muddlemore]

shout out to the club penguin journey crew for still managing to give us a halloween party so shortly after the fair holy shit

[eeerrrrewsd]

Fractured Light Pt3

Steve Rogers wasn’t a man who gave up.

Not on a fight.

Not on a mission.

And definitely not on you.

A Cold Night, A Warmer Moment

It was late when he found you.

You were on the rooftop of the compound, staring at the night sky like it might offer some kind of answer.

Steve had been looking for you all day.

After the mission, after that conversation, you had disappeared. And while the others didn’t seem concerned—used to your vanishing acts—Steve knew better.

He stepped onto the rooftop, his footsteps quiet but deliberate.

You didn’t turn, but he knew you heard him.

For a moment, he thought you wouldn’t acknowledge him at all. But then—

“I thought I made it clear.” Your voice was soft, but sharp. “You shouldn’t care about me.”

Steve exhaled through his nose. “That’s not something you get to decide.”

You let out a quiet laugh—tired, worn down. “Of course it is. You just don’t listen.”

He moved closer, stopping just beside you.

“You keep telling me I shouldn’t care,” he said, watching your profile. “But you never tell me why.”

You clenched your jaw, hands tightening around the edge of the railing.

“Because I don’t deserve it, Steve,” you muttered, barely above a whisper.

His heart clenched.

Finally, finally, you were telling him what he had always known but needed to hear.

Carefully, he reached out, fingers ghosting over yours. Not holding. Not forcing. Just there.

You looked down at his hand like it was something foreign. Something you didn’t know what to do with.

“You’re not a bad person,” he said quietly. “No matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise.”

You swallowed hard, eyes flickering toward the horizon. “You don’t know everything I’ve done.”

“No,” he admitted. “I don’t.”

You turned to him then, something raw and wary in your expression.

“But I do know the person who stayed up all night helping Nat when she had nightmares.” His voice was gentle but firm. “The one who covers for Sam when he sneaks food into team meetings.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line.

He continued, “The one who always gets an extra cup of coffee because she knows how long my morning meetings run.”

Your breath hitched, and Steve knew he was getting through to you.

“I see you,” he murmured. “And you’re not the villain you think you are.”

A long silence stretched between you.

Then, hesitantly, you spoke.

“I don’t know how to do this,” you whispered. “To be… normal. To let someone—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “I don’t even know if I can.”

Steve’s throat tightened.

So this was what it came down to. Not just fear of hurting others—but fear of letting yourself be cared for.

He took a slow, careful breath.

“Then we’ll take it slow,” he said.

Your gaze snapped to his.

“You don’t have to figure it out alone,” he continued. “Just… let me be here. Let me try.”

You stared at him, eyes flickering between his, searching.

And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t pull away.

Instead, after a long moment—

You nodded.

It was small. Hesitant. But it was something.

Steve felt warmth bloom in his chest.

Maybe you weren’t ready to believe in yourself just yet.

But if nothing else—

You were finally letting him believe in you.

And for now, that was enough.

[liesmultixxx]

i hate it when something good happens to me and initially i’m happy about it

but then after a while, doubts creep up on me and i feel like i don’t deserve to be happy

[buggachat]

something so fucked up about Chat Noir’s whole deal is that he is in a lot of ways Adrien playing a character. Like Adrien picked up his miraculous and was told he’d be a superhero so he was like “ok, time to act like a superhero!” and he lets himself have fun w it and play up the role and let loose and kind of just allow himself to be silly and goofy and have fun and for once in his life not care about performing Perfection™.

But. But none of the other characters KNOW THAT. So everyone just sees Chat Noir and is like “look at this guy’s ego. He’s so full of himself. Surely it’d be fair to knock him down a few pegs” without being aware of how few pegs he actually HAS. He’s like the “insecure character who overcompensates in ego” trope except he’s really not doing it unironically, he’s just having a fun LARP pretending to have self worth in his off-hours but nobody else is on the same page about it being a game and he refuses to tell them. He just dramatically pouts about it and lets them laugh and pretends like he’s not internalizing it and it is almost 3 am and my brain forced me to write this instead of sleeping I’m gonna take a melatonin

[transsophiedevereaux]

been rewatching s1 of leverage and it really hammers home how down bad hardison has been from the start. and it's not even the stupid flirting and telling parker she looks good in the bridesmaid dress.

when the team first gets together they don't really get parker. eliot calls her crazy about twice per episode, sophie clearly feels bad for her, and nate barely cares for anyone at this point. hardison, by contrast, always engages with her, answers her questions, listens to her concerns about the orphanages in the stork job, explains to her that they're a little more than a team, cheekily adresses her, while in character for the juror #6 job, just to make her smile. yes we all remember how parker stabbed the guy from the stork job with a fork, but also remember that, just moments before, while talking stone-faced to this guy she clearly loathes hardison managed to make her laugh with only a stupid vampire joke mocking the mark's accent. she thinks he's funny! they're in love your honour!!

[cerealforkart]

Can’t believe I haven’t seen anyone else do this with them gotta do everything myself

[callmekatydid]

“Wait no not like that.”

OR: Results? To MY own self-sabotage? More likely than you’d think!

OR: I don’t CARE that the prophecy was self-fulfilling, I’m still angry about it! 😤

OR: Blitzø sweetie pie please go to therapy I know this great lady with a hotel where you do trust falls and talk about your feelings she’s like a block away from your office just pop in for thirty seconds please I’m begging you 🥺

[villainsandvictimsalliance]

A reminder that Spinner canonically compares himself to Dabi and feels inferior to the rest of the League of Villains.

Part of the reason he allowed AFO to manipulate him is because he wanted to be reliable, as in he wanted to be stronger to be of use to Tomura. So again, he's canonically kinda jealous not only of Dabi's quirk, but of him as a person.

[quijotine]

all the vivziepop critical posts thinking they're making a good point shitting on Sinsmas while in reality it just exposes their absolutely nonexistent media literacy.

"Stolas is a bad father, a bad lover, selfish and he doesn't try enough"

Girl, have you ever heard of a character arc? We are in mf season two for a show that will be 5 seasons. We're not even at the midpoint. Three doritos ago, people were shitting on Blitzø for his emotional unavailability and lack of commitment, and now that his arc has progressed, he's everyone's favorite. How about you wait until the story is done to draw your conclusions? I know. Revolutionary concept.

Alternatively, if it makes you so angry that you want to shit yourself, you could just. Stop watching. And let everyone else enjoy in peace.

[macksartblock]

anyway i'm still drawing him with a mullet it's important to me

[nite-puff]

this was what their dr:s interaction was originally gonna be. trust me. i’m mr. danganronpa

(no cuz seriously. how are you gonna have them interact and then forget that hiroko canonically has a bit of a thing for takaaki?) (i say this like the dr:s writers even knew who the other captives were)

[eeerrrrewsd]

Fractured Light pt2

Steve should’ve let it go.

Any rational person would’ve seen it by now—seen that you wanted to push him away. That no matter what he said, you’d find a way to prove him wrong.

But he wasn’t a rational man when it came to you.

No, when it came to you, Steve Rogers was stubborn. Desperate, even.

Because he knew what it looked like when someone wanted to be saved.

And he knew what it looked like when someone didn’t believe they could be.

An Unfinished Battle

It had been two weeks since that conversation.

Two weeks of you keeping him at arm’s length, of acting like his words hadn’t meant anything.

He was used to people needing time. He wasn’t used to feeling this helpless.

But it was still there—the weight of your words, the way you had looked at him, like he was offering something you weren’t sure you could accept.

Like maybe, just maybe, a part of you wanted to.

And that was enough to keep him from walking away.

The Breaking Point

It happened on a mission.

SHIELD had intel on a facility experimenting on enhanced individuals, and you were on the team sent to shut it down.

Things went south—fast.

You had always fought like you had nothing to lose, but today, it was different. Reckless. Almost like you didn’t care if you made it out.

Steve saw it.

And it terrified him.

So when the dust settled, when the mission was over and the team was safe, Steve didn’t waste a second.

“What the hell was that?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet of the debriefing room where you were peeling off your gloves like nothing had happened.

You barely spared him a glance. “The mission’s done, Rogers. Relax.”

His jaw tightened. “That’s not what I’m talking about, and you know it.”

You sighed, tossing your gloves onto the table before finally meeting his eyes. “I did what I had to do.”

“No,” he snapped. “You did what you always do. You acted like your life doesn’t matter.”

Something flickered in your expression—something brief, but Steve caught it before you shut it down.

He took a step closer. “You think no one notices, but I do. I see you.”

“Steve—”

“I see the way you put yourself in the line of fire like it doesn’t matter if you make it out. I see the way you look at yourself, like you’re already gone.” His voice softened, but there was no less urgency in it. “I can’t stand watching you do this to yourself.”

You clenched your jaw, looking away. “I don’t need a savior, Steve.”

He exhaled sharply. “Maybe not. But you sure as hell need someone who gives a damn.”

Silence.

Then, after a moment—

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Your voice was quiet. Cold. “You do care. And you shouldn’t.”

Steve took a step closer. “Why not?”

You finally met his eyes again, and this time, he could see it. The exhaustion. The frustration. The fear, buried so deep you probably didn’t even know it was there.

“Because if you knew the kind of person I really am, you wouldn’t.”

His expression didn’t waver.

“Try me.”

The words hung between you like a challenge.

But you just shook your head, a humorless smile curving your lips.

“You really are too good for this world, Rogers.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there, fists clenched, heart aching.

[kyitsya]

while holding the title of royal sorcerer, goodwyn the great saved his king’s life 9+ times. once the position was passed down, cedric failed to save his queen.