I was meant to make this ages ago but I’ve been too lazy😔
But ANYWAYS I thought I’d make this so people know a bit about me incase anyone wants to talk etc!
𝙁𝘼𝙉𝘿𝙊𝙈𝙎 𝙄𝙈 𝙄𝙉/𝙎𝙃𝙊𝙒𝙎 𝙄 𝙇𝙄𝙆𝙀?
Bungo stray dogs
Death note
MHA
Tokyo ghoul
Bluelock
Demon slayer
Angels of death
Spy x family
Saiki k
Ouran high school host club
Fruits basket
Kamisama kiss (wish I could watch it for the first time again)
The big bang theory
SpongeBob
Sanrio
(if you couldn’t already tell i really love anime and cartoons..)
𝙃𝙊𝘽𝘽𝙄𝙀𝙎
Art (drawing traditionally, painting usually with watercolour, digital art too)
Writing! I used to love writing when I was younger and it’s something I’ve only recently picked up again but it’s not something I do tooooooo often but I would like to.
Attempting.. to sew
Embroidery
Reading
𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍 𝙄𝙉𝙁𝙊
I am british! I was born in Northern Ireland but live in London and have most of my life.
I’ve been watching anime since I was very young (about 4 or 5) and used to actually enjoy cosplaying when I was 11, it’s something I eventually want to get back into!
I have an obsession with chocolate milk and cheese.
And I really really really really really want a pet cat.
THANK YOU FOR READING especially if you read this far!
Once when I was in undergrad, someone described something as “problematic” in class and our professor was like, “That’s cool, but ‘problematic’ doesn’t really mean anything. It means that the thing you’re describing has a problem, and in and of itself that’s not bad. Art, especially, should always have problems, or else it’s not interesting and not art, either. It sounds like you’re trying to say that this is bad, but you don’t want to say ‘bad.’ Is that right?”
So from then on whenever one of us called something problematic, he would make us talk it out until we could name the “bad” thing we were hinting at. In this particular class, 7/10 it was some type of oppression, and the remainder was like, “I’m uncomfortable because this is very new/confusing/pushing boundaries that made me feel safe.”
Once we stopped calling things “problematic” and stopping at that, class got way more interesting and... we all had to say, like, “that’s racist” or “that’s misogynistic” or “ew capitalism gross” out loud, which a lot of us had never done in a classroom before. Or we had to be like, “Uhhh... I’m not sure what’s so bad?” and confront our own beliefs and that was maybe even more useful.
Anyway. Whenever I see the word problematic, I can’t help but think of this professor being like, “Good starting point, now let’s get specific.” I think when we have to commit to saying “that’s ___” it requires a lot more careful thought about the truth and impact and complexities of whatever we’re claiming. Sometimes there really is some bullshit afoot, and also sometimes it’s art, and it should be full of problems, because that’s what art is.
#'this is present in the text' is often a good first step #but those second and third ones (naming it; describing its function) are vital (via @elucubrare)
Summary: Your boyfriend shows up at your apartment right after a League mission.
Author's Notes: Something different from what I write every now and then.
"Jesus, Touya," you breathed out, taking an involuntary half-step back. "You scare the hell out of me when you show up looking like this."
Dabi was leaning against the wall right next to your doorframe.
He looked terrifying. Wisps of white smoke were literally curling off his skin, smelling like burnt leather and ozone. His clothes were slightly singed, and his bright blue eyes were wide and manic, glowing in the dim hallway. It didn't take a genius to figure out he had just come back from a League of Villains mission, and it definitely hadn't been a peaceful one.
A slow, lazy smirk crept onto his scarred face, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Aw, seems like I gave you a little scare. Maybe you should lock your doors better, doll."
"I do lock them. You just happen to have a weird habit of lurking," you replied, rolling your eyes. You stepped aside to let him in, but he stayed put, tapping his fingers against his thighs. "So, how did the League stuff go anyway?"
Dabi let out a dry huff, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "It was alright." He glanced at you, his eyes scanning your face, shifting the subject before he could get too specific about the blood on his boots. "What about you? Did you actually do something productive today, or just watching that boring TV show?"
"Hey, I actually cleaned the kitchen," you defended yourself, pointing a finger at him. "And I did my laundry. Unlike some people, I don't just run around setting things on fire for a living."
"Sounds exhausting," he drawled, his voice dropping into that familiar, mocking tone. But then he glanced down at his boots, then back at the dark staircase. His smirk faded into something a bit more distant. "Anyway, I shouldn't have come here looking like this. Go back to your boring TV show since I'm ruining your night."
He turned and started walking down the stairs, his hands shoved deep into his pockets.
As you watched his back move away from you, a sudden wave of guilt hit you. His voice had sounded normal, but the way his shoulders slumped told a different story. You realized your joke about him being scary might have actually hurt his feelings.
"Touya, wait!" you called out, stepping out into the cool hallway.
He stopped on the steps but didn't turn around right away. He kept his back to you, his voice sounding a little forced when he finally spoke. "What? Forgot to ask for takeout? I can hit the convenience store on the corner if you're hungry."
Before you could answer, he let out a dry, humorless sigh. "Better get your requests in now, anyway. The League is getting way too famous. Pretty soon, I won't even be able to grab you a soda without some annoying hero trying to pick a fight with me."
You walked down the hallway and down the first few steps until you were standing right behind him. Without giving him a chance to say another sarcastic remark, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms tightly around his waist from behind, not caring about the ash or the lingering heat radiating off his leather coat.
Dabi went completely, utterly rigid.
His breath hitched loudly in his throat. He was still radiating a feverish, dangerous heat from his quirk, but you didn't care. You just squeezed him tighter. For a long, quiet moment, the feared villain of the League of Villains was completely paralyzed by a simple hug.
"I don't want anything from the store," you whispered against his jacket. "I just want you to stay."
Slowly, the tension left his shoulders. His hands came out of his pockets, and he covered your hands with his own, his grip tight and almost desperate. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the last of the smoke finally clearing from his skin as he leaned back into you.
"...You're gonna get ash all over your floor," he grumbled.
summary ─ cutie little oneshot about raising a boy with touya
“oh noo! you got me!” you exclaim dramatically, clutching your hands to your chest as if you've been fatally wounded in a theatrical scene. woodchips poke beneath knees as you shift your weight, though they dont really bother you at all. minor annoyances like that don’t trouble you as much when you’re spending time with him—your own little you.
your son’s laughter echoes all around the small neighborhood park as he giddily jumps up and down in triumph. he weilds a small stick and raises it above his head like a sword, giggling, “i win, i win!”
touya watches several feet away, lounging on a worn metal bench just across the park that’s in dire need of replacement. for once, there’s a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. nothing born from evil or vengeance as it might once have been. a quieter happiness he’d only recently fostered with you.
in the midst of celebration, your son catches sight of another kid from school entering the playground on a tiny bike guided by his parents. he instantly gasps, dropping the stick completely and bursting, “mom, mom, mom! its my friend! can go play with him, pleasee?” you laugh at the abrupt change and nod your head. he bolts instantly, practically screaming as he bounds to the other boy.
dusting the remnants of woodchips and sawdust off your pants, you rise with a groan, hands finding your lower back as though to hold yourself upright. a moment passes as you stretch slowly and your eyes land on touya, still watching, still smiling. a gentle laugh that’s a little closer to an exhale passes your lips. you stroll across the playground and settle right at his side, leaning your head against his shoulder with a sigh.
it doesn’t take long for touya’s arm to lazily wrap around your waist, softly tracing circles over your t-shirt. “saw you struggling to stand up over there, grandma,” teases, voice low and rough.
“oh c’mon, i’m not old yet! try carrying a baby for nine months and report back to me.”
“yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, fingers just barely pressing into your skin.
you slowly turn your head toward him, just to get a good look at his face, if only for a moment. he looks content. genuinely happy. you held an sort of an unspoken assumption that genuine happiness was something you'd never openly witness from him, and for years, you believed touya felt the same. though something had shifted as time passed and touya’s lens expanded beyond a past of mistakes and focused on something of his own. something tender, careful, and quietly cherished.
“y’know,” he starts quietly, gaze fixed distantly on his son joyfully running about the playground. “i told myself for years i’d never have a kid.” a pause. you watch him swallow silently. “didn’t wanna risk turnin’ out like him.”
your expression shifts just slightly. something unreadable flickers across his eyes. hesitation maybe. rewritten fear. “you sorta changed those plans.” your eyes burn just slightly. the sincere tone in his voice doesn’t make it any better. his gaze flips back to you, “don’t get all sappy on me.” theres no real bite behind the words, no trace of the old fire they held.
you giggle, lifting your head from his shoulder just enough to roll your eyes. “too late.”
“yeah, it’s tragic.”
“you literally just admitted you love being a dad,” you coo. “can’t i be just a little proud?”
“quit puttin' words in my mouth.” a laugh slips out before you can stop it. his arm tightens slightly around your waist, pulling you a little closer despite all the complaining.
“y'know,” you murmur, watching your son race around the playground, “you're a lot better at this than you think.”
“that's a low bar.”
“not really.”
touya hums dismissively. “guess the kid's still alive, isn't he?”
“well that's not exactly the gold standard of parenting.”
“seems like a pretty important one.”
before you can bicker any further, a sharp cry cuts through the park. “mommy!” your heart drops instantly. “dada!” both your heads snap toward the playground. your son is sprawled out on the ground near the jungle gym, tiny hands pressed into the dirt. even from here, you can see his face crumpling as sobs shake his little body. you and touya are moving before either of you even says a word. the distance suddenly feels way too long.
“oh, baby,” you breathe, dropping down beside him. “what happened?”
“i-i fell!” he wails.
you glance down. both knees are scraped up pretty badly, bright red beneath streaks of dirt and woodchips. nothing serious, but for a three year old, it might as well be the end of the world. touya crouches beside him. “lemme see.”
your son hiccups through another sob and immediately reaches for him. “daddy—”
a certain, rare softness flits across touya's expression, twisting his eyebrows and flooding his gaze with a small sadness. “yeah, yeah. c'mere.” he scoops him up effortlessly, settling him against his chest. tiny arms instantly wrap around his neck.
“it hurts,” your son sniffles. he looks to touya with those big blue eyes reminiscent of his own, encased in dewy tears, and it nearly breaks him completely.
“no kidding.”
“touya,” you scold.
your son lets out another dramatic cry. touya sighs. “it’s lookin’ pretty bad kid, we might just have to cut ‘em off,” he teases. your son instantly breaks out into a loud sob, blubbering something about how he doesn’t want to lose his legs and burying his face in touya’s shoulder.
“touya, not now, c’mon.” you mumble, hitting him softly with the back of your hand while holding in a laugh of your own. he scoffs, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.
“what?” he says, already standing. “we're fixin' it, aren't we?”
your son's tears soak into his hoodie, leaving clear splotches as he lifts his head once more. “home?” he squeaks, voice wobbly.
“home,” touya confirms. he brings a hand thats practically twice the size of your son’s head and ruffles his hair gently, smiling.
the walk isn't long. by the time you get back, the tears have mostly settled into occasional sniffles. touya carries him straight into the bathroom and lifts him onto the counter. “there.”
your son sits miserably while his legs dangle over the edge. “i don't wanna.”
“you don't wanna what?”
“the medicine.”
“yeah, nobody does.” touya rummages through the cabinet until he finds the disinfectant and a handful of bandaids. “still gotta do it.”
your son immediately looks to you for backup. “mommy?”
you offer him an apologetic smile. “sorry, sweetheart. dad's right.”
“traitor,” touya mutters.
you lightly kick his shin. “focus.”
touya rolls his eyes but turns back to his son. “alright. look at me.”
the little boy's lip trembles. “it's gonna sting?”
“probably.” a heightened wave of panic flushes over his little face. “but,” touya continues, “if you scream loud enough, maybe the neighbors'll call the cops.”
your son blinks. “what?”
“then i'll have to explain why i'm torturing a tiny criminal.”
“i'm not a criminal!”
“y’know, that's exactly what a criminal would say.” the distraction works. while your son argues his innocence with increasing outrage, touya carefully cleans the scrapes. he works slower than anyone would've expected from him, patient and gentle. he keeps one hand steady against his tiny leg while the other wipes away dirt and dried blood.
your chest aches at the sight. years ago, touya couldn't even imagine surviving long enough to have this. now he's crouched in a bathroom, carefully sticking dinosaur bandaids onto scraped little knees.
“there,” he says finally. “good as new.”
your son stares blankly down at the bandaids. the tears are completely gone. “really?”
“yup.”
“can i go play now?”
touya chuckles. “that's what you got outta all this?” your son grins, then he's gone in a flash.
tiny feet thunder down the hallway toward his bedroom and a comfortable silence settles over the bathroom. touya stands, tossing the bandaid wrappers into the trash. you watch him for a moment, unmoving.
“what?”
you smile. “nothing.”
“liar.”
“i was just thinking.”
“sure.”
a laugh escapes you. “you're a really good dad.”
touya freezes for half a second, so brief most people probably wouldn't catch it. you do. every time, you do. his eyes flick away. “kid scraped his knees,” he mutters. “didn't exactly perform surgery.”
“still.”
the tips of his ears darken just slightly. for a moment, he doesn't say anything. then a crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “shut up.” the words come out quieter than usual. you grin.
“make me.”
touya groans dramatically, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. “think i liked you better when you were losin' sword fights to toddlers.”
Rin Itoshi and the way he shows affection through your favorite food or drink. Just sliding a specific snack across the table without a word, his expression cold and bored, muttering a lie about it being a "mistake" because he'd rather die than admit that he stood in the store aisle for minutes just to find the exact one you like.
Rin Itoshi and the way he stiffens the moment you lean against him, his entire body going rigid. He always complains about you being clingy, but he never moves away. Instead, he subconsciously tilts his head toward you, letting himself be soft only for you.
Rin Itoshi and the way he walks beside you always half a step ahead, acting like he's in a rush. The moment you lag behind he stops dead in his tracks and waits silently for you, unable to move forward unless you're with him.
Rin Itoshi and the way he pulls you into his insane routines. Forcing you to do yoga or stretch with him under the guise that your posture is terrible and it annoys him. Pushing you down gently but firmly by your shoulders, his hands lingering a bit too long on your skin and his breathing rough against your ear as he guides your movements. That may lead to something else..
Rin Itoshi and the way he forces you to rest the moment he decides you've been working too hard. Ignoring your protests and pushing your head down onto his lap as his pretty fingers tangle into your hair to keep you pinned there.
Rin Itoshi and the way he guides you through a crowd by resting his hand on the back of your neck, fingers digging slightly into your skin. Steering you through the rush, his eyes glaring at anyone who dares to get too close to you.
Rin Itoshi and the way he gets angry when you say something bad about yourself, like you said the stupidest thing in the world. He'll just stare you down and tell you that his standards are high and the fact that he chose you means you're perfect.
Rin Itoshi and the way he uses his sharp tongue to hide his worry for you. Snapping at you for being careless or frowning deeply the second you look tired. Instead, he may shove a drink in your hand with an annoyed look, refusing to look away until your color comes back. He acts like your weakness irritates him but your well-being is the only thing he's truly focused on.
Rin Itoshi and the way he reacts when you compliment him. His eyes widening before he quickly turns his head, an angry flush creeping up his neck and ears. Scowling at you or calling you an idiot for stating the obvious. A single compliment from you is all it takes to completely shatter his composure.
Rin Itoshi and the way he lingers by the door when he needs to leave, staring down at you with an intense, irritated look until you finally take the hint and go to kiss him goodbye, only for him to grip your chin and deepen the kiss aggressively because he hates the thought of leaving you for a long period of time.
Rin Itoshi and the way he acts jealous by stepping right into your space as his shoulder is blocking you from their view. Glaring at them and holding your fingers tight. He's claiming you as his without ever having to say a word.
Rin Itoshi and the way he cuddles you at night, holding you against his chest the second you try to move away. His grip tight even in his sleep, locking you against him like you might vanish. Holding you this close is his only security.
Rin Itoshi and the way he invades your space. Kicking your feet out of the way on the couch only to rest his own heavy legs over yours, leaving you no room to move away from him. Acting like he's taking up space when he really just makes sure every part of him is touching you.
Rin Itoshi and the way he gets competitive over your attention. He will narrow his eyes the moment you start mentioning someone else, interrupting you to desperately pull your focus back to him. He needs to be the only thing you ever think about.
Rin Itoshi and the way he claims your things. Taking your keys or your phone out of your hands and casually dropping them into his own pockets when you're out together. Acting like it's just because you're careless and might lose them, when really he just likes the subtle control of carrying your world around in his jacket.
It struck me the other day that a shred of symbolism can be perceived in Mello's death. After suffering a heart attack, his corpse was burnt in a fire. That was not the first time he encountered a fire that damaged him, but it was the last. Mello's life was characterized by an intense ambition that drove the majority of all his actions and thoughts. Mello's passion is much like a fire. It's ruthless. Destructive. It pushes and pushes, turning everything to black char until the world is reduced to ash. Mello gaining a scar in the explosion, as well as being cremated against his will, is symbolic of self-destruction. Mello was a fire. And the fact that fire also seemed to cause him such grief in the story mimics how his own acts tore himself down. Every injury sustained was ultimately brought forth by himself. The death note never killed Mello. It was the very thing he thought he was living for that did.
