#worthiness

[shrinkrants]

...so embedded that even modest proposals—like canceling student loans or medical debt—are met with moral outrage. What about personal responsibility? What about fairness? But no one asks whether it’s fair that Wall Street got a bailout while working families got foreclosure. Or that tax cuts for the wealthy are “investments,” while relief for the poor is a “handout.”

Debt functions like religion: enforced by ritual, defended by dogma. The high priests wear suits, not robes. And the heresy they fear most is not inflation or default—it’s forgiveness.

But even the most deeply rooted beliefs can be questioned. Even the most rigid structures can fall. History tells us that jubilees were not utopian fantasies but practical resets—ancient acknowledgments that too much debt leads not to productivity, but to bondage and collapse. The cancellation of debts wasn’t charity. It was survival.

[aashiquidreams]

I want to rest, because I am worthy of softness.

I want to be held. Gently and safely, without having to explain or shrink myself.

I want to feel emotionally safe not just in theory, but in real arms, in real presence, and real understanding.

I want compassion to meet me where I am, not where I should be.

I want peace that doesn’t demand perfection first.

I want softness that melts the armor I’ve worn for too long.

I’m tired of carrying it all alone.

I want to break, softly, and still be held with love.

[shiningmystic]

You are loving, you are deserving, you are worthy.

[kamala-laxman]

You alone are the judge of your worth and your goal is to discover infinite worth in yourself, no matter what anyone else thinks. Deepak Chopra

[vertigoartgore]

Thanos by Olivier Coipel & Matthew Wilson (from 2016's Unworthy Thor #2). Words by Jason Aaron & lettering by Joe Sabino.

[xxdreamscapes]

Because, despite everything, you are still worth love and respect and trust and dignity. Even if people have shown you otherwise.

[arabdoll]

“Why do you style yourself "your worthless and insignificant brother"? You recognize your insignificance? . . . Recognize it before God; perhaps, too, in the presence of beauty, intelligence, nature, but not before men. Among men you must be conscious of your dignity. Why, you are not a rascal, you are an honest man, aren't you?

Well, respect yourself as an honest man and know that an honest man is not something worthless. Don't confound "being humble" with "recognizing one's worthlessness."

Anton Chekhov, The Letters of Anton Chekhov

[thesilliestrovingalive]

To meet oneself - part 3

The previous chapters: 1 and 2

Chapter 3: Let's talk

“Wh-Who are ya? What dooooo ya w-want?” Marchrius calmly slurs his words, forcing himself to blink slowly as his eyes narrow, straining to focus.

The man he questions eyes Marchrius warily, sensing that he’s struggling to trust him. This realisation sparks curiosity, and he wonders what’s running through Marchrius' mind. Letting out a deep sigh, he carefully sets the heavy machine gun on the ground and crosses his arms, signalling that he means no harm.

“The name's Marco,” he says stoically, his tone polite. “There is nothing I want from you. I'm simply lost. I have no idea where I am.”

Marchrius lowers his combat knife slightly, stumbling backward as he casts a bewildered glance around, his expression cloudy with confusion.

“Uhhh… Hoooww the hell do y-ya havvvve my… errr, common nickname?” he asks with a raised eyebrow and a slight tilt of his head to the right, his voice low and his words barely intelligible.

Marco's eyes widen in shock as he scratches the back of his head, asking incredulously, "You also go by Marco?"

“Y-Yeah! Of coursssse! Aaaaallll of my b-buddies call me ‘Marco’, except for Nadiaaaa, and it just s-sticks, ya know?” Marchrius responds loudly, his speech slurred, and lifts a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, yet keeps his combat knife at the ready.

Marco strokes his chin thoughtfully, his expression transforming as Marchrius' mention of buddies ignites a brilliant idea. A gentle smile spreads across his face, and his turquoise eyes shine with passion. Sensing the lingering emotional pain and distrust etched on Marchrius' face and reflected in his eyes, Marco seizes the opportunity to steer the conversation in a new direction.

“Say… What are your friends like?” he asks respectfully, hoping the question might lift Marchrius' spirits.

Marchrius' grasp on his combat knife relaxes marginally, but his facade of nonchalance falters. His gaze drifts downward, his breathing grows shallow, and his heart swells with emotion. However, the lingering ache within him obscures his thoughts, and he can't shake the fear of being abandoned if his friends discover his secret: his solitary binge drinking habit. The haunting thought that he's unworthy of their meaningful friendships crosses his mind, and his grip on the knife tightens once more. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but his expression twists into a fierce scowl, a desperate attempt to mask his vulnerability.

Marco's eyes widen, regret washing over him for asking the question. He hadn't anticipated his raw emotional response, or the deafening silence that followed, heavy with unspoken pain. Shame creeps onto his face as he averts his gaze, his eyes drifting to the blood-stained combat knife still clutched in Marchrius' hand. The sight sends a jolt of concern through him; he hadn't realised Marchrius' inner turmoil ran so deep or that it might drive him to self-harm.

“I’m sorry… You don’t have to talk about your buddies if it makes you feel uneasy,” Marco speaks reassuringly, doing his best to make Marchrius feel comfortable.

He maintains a safe distance from Marchrius, searching for the perfect words to say. Not wanting to come across as pushy or insensitive, he recognizes that approaching someone as emotionally fragile as Marchrius requires tact. Taking a deep, measured breath, he launches into a heartfelt and enthusiastic conversation about his friends, hoping to distract Marchrius from his inner turmoil and provide a much-needed respite.

"Wow, where do I even start?" Marco pauses, collecting his thoughts.

Marco's gaze drifts downward, his eyes tracing the gentle contours of the grass-covered earth beneath his feet. He strokes his chin thoughtfully, his back resting against the rugged trunk of the great oak. A moment of contemplation passes, and then his face slowly brightens with a gentle, introspective smile. Lifting his gaze, his turquoise eyes lock onto Marchrius', burning with a quiet, unwavering passion.

"I love my friends more than words can express. I'd do anything to keep them safe. We've got our differences, and yeah, we butt heads sometimes, but that's just life. The amazing part is, we work through it together, like a team. They're my rock, my everything. Honestly, they're the reason I'm still going strong," Marco begins, his voice filled with emotion, as he pours his heart out.

Marchius closely listens, the grip on his combat knife loosening slightly, as Marco talks about all of his friends, many of whom share similarities with Marchius' own companions. Marco enthusiastically discusses his best friend and brother-in-arms, Tarma, whose breezy, slightly sarcastic attitude is a refreshing presence during intense moments. He gushes about Fio's baking, and admires her cleverness and optimism. Marco also appreciates Eri's dry sense of humour, which he finds amusing and funny at times. He views Trevor's computer expertise like an intellectual work of art, while praising his gentle heart and intelligence as well as his phenomenal taekwondo teaching skills, particularly with his android student, Liane. Marco is equally impressed by Nadia's exceptional marksmanship skills, her love of food, and her fantastic fashion advice. As Marco speaks about his friends, it's clear that he holds them in high esteem and loves them dearly.

He shares a playful, brotherly dynamic with Tarma, often engaging in lighthearted banter and sibling-like squabbles. He values his friendship with Eri, enjoying conversations about everyday life and shared experiences. Fond memories of reading together are especially cherished. Marco harbours a significant crush on Fio, which renders him tongue-tied in her presence. When alone, he struggles to resist the urge to show affection, often finding himself wanting to kiss her cheek. Although he doesn't frequently interact with Nadia, he appreciates her company and enjoys discussing various topics with her. His close friendship with Trevor revolves around a shared passion for computers and software.

Marco continues, sharing stories about individuals Marchrius hasn't met, but listens intently nonetheless. He begins with Derek, another close friend, whom he values for their camaraderie. However, he acknowledges Derek's quick temper, recalling a memorable altercation during their cadet days. His relationship with Raymond is strained due to the latter's short fuse. In contrast, he maintains a neutral stance towards Noah, despite frustration with his lax attitude towards militant duties and leadership responsibilities. Among the android unit, Marco singles out Iria for praise, appreciating her enthusiasm for learning and enjoying their conversations whenever possible. Regarding Liane, he expresses concern, citing her impulsive nature as a source of worry.

As Marchrius listens with utmost curiosity, his piercing glare at Marco gradually yields to a softer expression. He lowers his combat knife, the tension in his body easing. His loyalty to his friends runs deep; he'd willingly risk his life to keep them safe. However, beneath his resolute exterior, the ache of loneliness lingers, seeding doubts about the sincerity of those around him. He observes Marco, swiftly concluding that this man is no imperfect clone or cyborg. The subtle nuances of his expression, the depth of his emotions, and the uniqueness of his character all scream one thing: humanity. Marchrius shakes his head, his gaze drifting to the wilted grass before slowly lifting to meet Marco's, his eyes probing the depths of his soul for answers.

“Do ya thhhink I’m w-worthy… of the fri-friends I havvvvveee?” Marchrius asks, his voice low and slurred, yet tinged with genuine interest and soothing calmness.

His voice cracks as he continues to speak, the words tumbling out in a desperate, ragged whisper. His lower lip quivers beneath his nervous bite, and his chest heaves with laboured breaths. The combat knife shakes in his unsteady hand.

“I-I… I dunno knowwww if… if I can tru-trust theeemmmm or n-not,” he tells Marco, his voice swelling as a sob threatens to take over, shaking his entire frame. “I’m just a b-b-burden! How c-can they puuut up with me?! Whoooo wants to de-deal with a stttuuuupid drunk like meeee?!”

Marco watches as Marchrius drops his combat knife, its weight sinking into the grassy earth with a muted thud. Marchrius' chest heaves with ragged breaths, his hands trembling as he covers his face and succumbs to uncontrollable sobs. He stumbles backward, collapsing against the sturdy trunk of the oak tree, his body wracked with emotion. Marco's expression softens in shock and sympathy, recognizing the depth of Marchrius' pain. Having struggled with his own addiction, Marco understands the crushing weight of self-doubt and the relentless grip of alcoholism. Despite his own ongoing efforts to overcome his habit, Marco's empathy for Marchrius is palpable.

Marco carefully approaches Marchrius and sits down beside him, giving him a tender pat on the back. Marchrius subtly turns to face Marco, gently parting his fingers to stare at him, and tries to quiet his sobbing as he sniffles, wondering why Marco even bothered to sit down next to him. Without a moment's notice, Marco places his hands on both of Marchrius' shoulders, encouraging him to fully look him in the eye. This startles Marchrius, causing his muscles to tense as he turns further to face Marco. He lifts his hands from his face, his eyes widening in surprise and confusion as he stares at the man before him.

"I know we're strangers, but I want you to know something. I don't think you're a burden, and I don't think you're stupid either. You're worthy of the friendships you have! It's hard to find genuine friends, but I know you're lucky to have made some amazing ones. If they didn't value you, they wouldn't still be around. I assume it's because they deeply care about you. That's what friends do—they stick together like a loyal pack, always having each other's backs!" Marco gently reassures Marchrius, boosting his confidence and sense of belonging among his friends.

Marchrius is taken aback by Marco's heartfelt words, and before he can process them, Marco envelops him in a warm hug. The sudden gesture catches Marchrius off guard, leaving him wondering why this stranger, who bears an uncanny resemblance to him and seems to understand his friendships, is showing him such kindness. As Marco's arms wrap around him, Marchrius' hands tremble and tears well up in his eyes once more. His breathing becomes shallow, and his body succumbs to overwhelming emotion.

He hesitantly returns the hug, embracing Marco and burying his face in the crook of his right shoulder. Uncontrollable sobs rack Marchrius' body as he struggles to comprehend the stranger's selfless act. Amidst the emotional turmoil, a spark of gratitude flickers within him, but it's shadowed by the crushing weight of his sadness. The pain of expressing thanks feels too much to bear.

Marchrius sobs frantically, his body racked with convulsive shudders as he pours out every last tear of anguish and sorrow. Beside him, Marco offers what little comfort he can, periodically patting Marchrius' back as his wails give way to sporadic hiccups. He weeps, overwhelmed by emotions he's never before experienced, as the pain in his right forearm begins to subside. Blood from Marchrius' raw wounds continues to trickle steadily, silently staining the military-issued backpack draped over Marco's back, unseen by either of them. In this moment, he yearns to remain forever, surrendering to tears that purge his heart of every regret and anguish that have left him shattered.

Marchrius clings to Marco, his arms tightening around him in a desperate embrace. The enhanced strength of his cybernetic prosthetic and rippling muscles flex as he holds on, his grip almost overwhelming. It feels like an attempt to hold Marco in place, fearing he'll resist the embrace and swiftly slip away, leaving him behind. His deep-seated fear of abandonment gnaws at him, the last thing he wants to exacerbate his already fragile state. All he yearns for is liberation from the shackles of loneliness. He longs for someone to stand by his side, offering emotional solace and support. Marco, taken aback by the intensity of the hug, begins to struggle for breath. Seeking to calm Marchrius, Marco gently rubs his back in soothing circular and linear movements. But despite his efforts, his tears continue to fall, dampening the skin of Marco's right shoulder and chilling it in the night air.

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

[ravynfyre]

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[quotesandzensome]

“Rest and be kind, you don’t have to prove anything.” –Jack Kerouac

[joelbrouwer]

[kamala-laxman]

I believe that owning our worthiness is the act of acknowledging that we are sacred. Perhaps embracing vulnerability and overcoming numbing is ultimately about the care and feeding of our spirits - Brene Brown

[vertigoartgore]

2018's Old Man Hawkeye Vol.1 #3 Mighty Thor variant cover by artist Olivier Coipel & colorist Jason Keith (done in 2017).

[eloquence682]

My mother always asks me why I struggle to ask others for help. Why I would rather free-climb my own mountain than ask someone to hand me a rope. But how I could I? How could I, when I am but one small mind in a world of a billions? I am smart, but not especially so. I can be kind, but can’t everyone else, too? I am reckless, but in all the wrong ways. I put my foot in my mouth—speak before thinking and then question a hundred times the words now spoken into the folds of collective consciousness. I am not special. Not when there are others—bigger than me, smarter than me … holier than me.

How could I be worthy of help under the shadow of everyone else? Each of us are climbing our own mountains. Wind screaming, cold-knuckled grips on sheer rock faces. One slip, one wrong step, and …. well, how could I ever ask someone to let go—even for just a moment—to assure that I make it to the top?