something bad happened to you, and you died, and you came back wrong.
not wrong all the way. the little ways. you forget important dates, stopped going out with friends. it's harder to make you smile. you're apathetic towards things you used to love, afraid of places you used to go to cheer up. quieter. flinching. different.
you came back for love. you're still here for love. what pulled you back was a brightness so loud that even death couldn't outshout it. death heard the call and smiled at you and said okay. go home. somebody is waiting for you.
but you came back different. like lot's wife; you've turned into salt. you used to chirp through life in hops and skips; but now you lose skin just standing up. you have to move slower, skimming across this world without-touching-it. most things feel dull - until they're suddenly all-too-much. life, and being alive just rushes up and over you and you get hopelessly crushed.
you try to explain it to them: it is ugly, but this is what you are, now. the huge golden hoop of your halo now a little bronze ring. you are still watering your plants and wearing the same clothes. after all, you worked hard to come home. this life; so odd and off-color, now that you are wrong.
but they waited for you - it's just that they wanted the "you" that happened before this. the "you" that could sing in the show and hug people tight and look at a blade without breaking down to cry. the you with a smile in pictures. god, holyshit, it's like looking at a completely different person, isn't it. that other-you; the one they actually wanted.
you are the consolation prize. you are the body that forgot the ghost. you are the memory of the bad thing, and the death after; like you are wearing that memory as a banner. you are a fragment, an assembly. simulacrum. you don't make eye contact in mirrors, afraid the light will glance off and your true nature will flash back at you.
you hear them talk about it in their hushed, desperate whispers. sometimes they even admit it to your face; harsh and violent, acid thrown at christmas dinner. god, can you just fucking be normal again. you do not remember what normal is. you had to climb so far to get back here; you are far too exhausted. you want to open the glass door of your heart and show all the gears. can you help resolve whatever got messed up?
you try so, so hard. you came back for them. because you believed they would love you, even when you were so horribly broken. because you believed they would be patient. because you believed unconditional meant "without exception." you cannot do things the same way. you just get tired too quickly these days.
you want to put them on a couch and pour them the tea with hands that shake more than they remember. you want to line them up and draw them a map of where you have had to wander. you want to show every bruise in a backsplash; the little helpless ant of your soul carrying all that weight, over and over. you want to say: yes! it is different! but i did it for love!
you want to say: "i'm not the same, but i'm yours and i'm here. can that be enough?"
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Undead Unluck has no freaking business having such a cute couple dynamic with such an insane plot and wild character design.
Like, watching Fuuko's and Andy's relationship grow from Andy just teasing/wanting to use her, to him actively trying to make her fall for him to get the best death ever, to them just naturally starting to grow together as characters and just, respecting each other and actually learning to love the other, like, hurghhh!! Why is it so good??? Andy is literally insane yet he has a more mature and stable relationship with Fuuko than most other protagonists?!?
Also, the way the mangaka draws them constantly being physically so close is gonna kill me. Like, yeah, during the fights Fuuko's gotta play Koala to get her unluck on him, but there's rly no reason for the two of em to be all over each other out from battle (i mean, before they obviously start to like each other). I just keep thinking back on that one plane scene, where they literally have a whole plane for themselves, yet Fuuko naps in Andy's lap and cluthes his tie.
A man who looks like he smells of stale cigarette smoke should not be allowed to be adorable istg.
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recovering Whumpee prompts
Whumpee who NEEDS to see everything around them. They will not let anyone, even Caretaker, walk behind them, they sit or stand with their back to a wall if possible. They're always looking behind them, constantly expecting Whumper there, even if it's just subconsciously.
Whumpee who makes themself as small as possible. They know their posture is taking a hit, but they draw in all of their limbs and hunch over in an attempt to be as small as possible. They're most comfortable this way.
Whumpee who has periods of time where they lose speech - partially or totally. During these, if they want or need something, they find it difficult or impossible to ask for it, and god forbid someone ask them about Whumper.
Whumpee who dissociates - their eyes grow unfocused at times and they always look confused or lost. They mindlessly follow Caretaker wherever they go, even when they're completely out of it.
Whumpee who has lost touch with their own self and feelings, and who notices that their breathing and heartbeat are speeding up. They notice their symptoms of having, say, a panic attack, too late to stop the effects.
Whumpee who has to be their own caretaker, whether that means stitching up their own wounds while biting on their wallet, or forcing themself up and out of bed in the morning.
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Whumpees forced to kneel on broken glass. Whumpees forced to kneel on blistering sand. Whumpees forced to kneel in a stress position. Whumpees forced to kneel with a hand at the back of their neck, shoving them down into a proper bow. Whumpees forced to kneel under the threat of a loved one’s life.
Whumpees forced to kneel my beloved.
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