living weapon whumpee who's never known anything but pain and violence.
their existence hurts. they were made to be effective, not happy, and their masters decided that keeping them in constant pain provided better results. they're wilder, more unpredictable, and the pain keeps them from thinking straight enough to question anything.
they're only given painkillers, only allowed a respite from their seemingly endless suffering, after a successful mission. it keeps them loyal, and most importantly, teaches their brain to associate acts of violence with relief and rewards.
everyone they've ever met has treated them as a tool, a monster, or both. they don't know how to be anything else.
that is until they're rampaging through a village, destroying, killing, whatever their masters demand of them. whatever will give them a few blissful hours of numbness.
one of the villagers steps out of a ruined building and looks them straight in the eyes. whumpee expects fear, hatred, disgust, the things they see in the faces of every person who's ever crossed their path. but they see something completely different.
compassion.
whumpee is so stunned, they don't think to move or do anything at all as the villager steps closer, gently reaching out a hand to cup whumpee's face.
"oh, poor thing." they murmur, taking in the creature in front of them - part human, part animal, part machine. "they've done a number on you, huh?"
whumpee blinks at them. pain continues to course through their body, but the gentle hand on their cheek distracts them, even if just a little. all the indistinct noise in their foggy, addled mind finally goes quiet.
caretaker had stepped out in front of the being destroying their home with the intention to get through to it or die trying, and the expectation to absolutely die trying.
they did not at all expect the seemingly feral mishmash of metal, fur, and flesh to lean so heavily into their touch that they nearly collapsed into caretaker's arms.
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RESOLUTIONS (this year is different)
tw: alcohol consumption
This year, you wait for January in an apartment that is packed full.
You’re familiar with everyone, for the most part, all people who have played with Ushijima over the years, all people you’ve watched in one jersey or another. Everyone is laughing, happy — even Wakatoshi himself who, normally quite reserved, laughs with one of his teammates, a glass half-full in hand.
This year is different, you tell yourself.
You know that, whenever you're all drunk enough to call it a night, you’ll call a cab and go home, probably kiss on the way there. He’ll lean on the bathroom counter and giggle while you smear your makeup away with a wipe, then take it from you and do it himself. He’ll be so much worse at it, but he’ll be gentle, and you’ll let him.
This year, you’re going to let yourself be loved. You’re excited to let him.
You watch Wakatoshi from your place on the couch, a small smile on your face. Happy looks good on him; he’s handsome when he’s free. His smile gives him lines around his mouth, his eyes crinkle. His laugh is saccharine.
He doesn’t notice you’re watching, either, it’s not often he does. It’s not hard to be subtle — your eyes typically find him, anyway, golden boy wherever he goes.
This year, I’m going to let myself be loved.
You met him years ago, sort of in a situation like this. You were both in a bar in Tokyo, you think, and he stuck out like a sore thumb; freshly twenty and new to this, surrounded by teammates who made it obvious he’s never been to a bar before.
They also made it obvious he was new to a lot of things, likely why they made it so obvious in how they were jabbing his side with their elbows, nodding to you sat a few seats down. Go talk to her, she’s totally into you, she’s pretty!
(He didn’t even talk when he first sat down — you offered him a shot he probably needed and he took it.)
The rest is history.
It feels weird to think about going home. Home. You live with him, the bills get paid. He has smile lines and stretch marks on his shoulders. He’s going to take your makeup off for you because he’s seen you in every way you come. You have a house and you have a home — your friend said she thinks he might propose this year.
Growing pains are scarier when they’re not in your knees.
You only notice he’s moved when the couch sinks beside you. Wakatoshi sits next to you, a close-lipped smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he rests a hand on your thigh.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and it’s just the two of you.
You look over his face, his flushed cheeks. You smile, too. “Yeah, I’m okay.”
Wakatoshi is gentle when he guides you towards him, his hand on your nape, kissing you like you’ve never done it before. He tastes like Tennessee, and like a resolution.
This year, I’m going to kiss him more.
“I love you,” he murmurs. “I’m glad I’m here with you.”
Whatever dread you carried before, it’s going away now.
“You are?” you tease, pulling back to really look at him. An anonymous hand walks by and ruffles his hair, like he’s scoring his first girl, and carries on. He doesn’t look up.
“Very.”
“Mm,” you hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I guess I’m glad I’m here with you, too.”
“I mean, I would hope so.”
“Hah,” you snort, “I’m excited to go home, too.”
He scoffs, as if he isn’t typically the reserved one; as if he wasn’t the one you had to convince to make a show here. “You want to get out so soon?”
“What, you’re not excited to deal with me at home?” you giggle, craning your head to look up at him. “Not excited to spend, like, a fat hour getting ready for bed?”
He snickers again, taking a sip of his drink. He squints like he drank it too quickly.
“Like last year?”
“Yup. Except, I don’t know about the last part. I’m gonna pass out the second I hit the mattress, ‘Toshi.”
“That’s okay, I’ll tuck you in.”
Your chest warms, and you both laugh. One of you starts it, but you don’t remember who.
“You’re gonna tuck me in and take my makeup off, huh?”
“Like last year,” he confirms. “And get you water — get us both water,”
“Mm, you’ll need it, big guy.”
“I am fine.”
“Yeah, I know. As long as you can see where my face is, that’s good enough for me.”
“I can find it blind,” he says simply, smoothing your hair back and out of your face. “But yes, I can see it fine.”
You smile all crooked — he tilts his head like he wants to see it upright.
“We’re gettin' older, huh ‘Toshi?”
“That is how years work, yes.”
“Going home,” you say; your thoughts are all out loud. “Going to bed.”
He smiles — he loves it. “Unless you want to stay out?”
“No, no, I want to. I’m just,” you take a deep breath, “thinking. This’ll be how many years?”
“Not enough,” he says simply. “I wanna do this forever.”
“Hah, well, I have no doubt your body could sustain years of New Years Eve parties—”
“I meant going home,” he interrupts. “Taking off your makeup, getting you water, and kissing you goodnight.”
Your heart swells to the point of being uncomfortable, the lump in your throat impossibly there. His hand hasn’t left your thigh, it hasn’t risen higher, it just sits there. His touch is warm like a swaddle, unmoving. It’s so familiar that you lean into it like you're being carried to bed.
Wakatoshi grins; it’s crooked and you tilt your head to see it upright. “Every year, I think I love you a little more.”
(The dread you had is gone now — why you ever had it, you don’t know for sure.)
This year is different, you tell yourself. This year, you’re gonna grow.
There’s a cheer throughout the room, all this laughter becoming a dull muffle when the room seems to reach the sound capacity the little space has. There’s kazoos, glass clinking, goofy hats falling to the floor — people are singing:
“Happy new year, love,” he murmurs, and he captures your lips again.
This year, I’m gonna grow.
I’m gonna let him love it, and maybe I’ll love it, too.
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Dearest friends ♡
I deleted my new blog, and came here to delete this one as well.
As I am going to be honest, and say I am dealing with a lot.
My father, who I have mentioned before is in hospice, took a turn for the worst, and is getting closer to the end I think.
I have to work, study, and take care of many others.
The pressure to reply to asks, comments, and post outfits when I am struggling .. has been a lot. I do not want to let anyone down, but am not feeling as social with all that is happening.
I wanted a bit of peace, comfort, and time to myself during what has been a very difficult time in my life honestly.
Losing my father is .. I cannot describe what it has been like or the sort of grief I have been trying to manage.
There are some genuinely wonderful people here though, who appreciate me being here and brighten my day.
I love, and am so SO very thankful for those sweet friends ♡
So for you I would like to stay! I am not sure what that looks like right now, whether it is fixing up this blog to my comfort level or creating a new one, but I will think about it.
Will you please pray for me, and my father, during this time though?
Giving a big hug, and lots and *lots* of love to every kind and wonderful soul here — Rosy xo
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