Touya Takami

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Hello, I’m a Touya fictive in a DID system. I’m gay and married to our Keigo. I absolutely will post about him a lot, so if you’re not interested in hearing me ramble about my husband, don’t follow me. May or may not post about my (adopted) kids, who knows.

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BYF:

- Please do not call me Dabi. I’m not very connected to my source and I’m not proud of that part of my life. My name is Touya, please address me as such.

- I don’t use my original family name (Todoroki). My last name is Takami. Please don’t say otherwise; I’m married and I took my husband’s last name.

- Do not compare me to my father. Non-negotiable; I’m not like him at all. I can admit that we have a couple similarities, but they’re very few and far between.

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DNI (You will be blocked):

-Basic DNI criteria.

- Fakeclaimers.

- Proshippers / Anti-antis.

- Syscourse.

- Under age 15.

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Tagging system;

- #cremating - Source related posts

- #sekoto - Vent / mental health related posts

- #hotwings - Posts about my husband

- #frostbite - Posts about my family

- #scorched - Reblogs

- #melting - System related posts

- #lose yourself - Any / all posts that I’ve written

Natsuo insisted on keeping my room the same as it was when I left

Fuyumi learned to bake and she would make batches of my favorite cupcakes every year on my birthday, even after it was assumed I was never coming back

Sometimes Natsuo would show Shoto the stuff in my room (like my pictures and stuff from school) and he would explain why I had it

There was a box left in my room, in front of the memorial altar, where my siblings left letters for me. I never read them, but I hope one day I’ll get the chance to

Natsuo and Fuyumi made sure I wasn’t forgotten. Our father was too eager to pretend I never happened, so they talked about me a lot

One day, Shoto asked where I was and if I was coming back. Turns out he did remember me, even if only a little bit

Natsuo would drink my favorite tea at least once a week, even though he hated it

Fuyumi carried a picture of us two as kids in her purse every day to work and she would tell her students about me sometimes

Our father didn’t want Shoto to learn the kanji for my name. So Fuyumi taught him, and he started leaving his own letters in the box for me

Natsuo would sometimes insist on leaving a plate of food for me at the table in case I came back in the middle of the night

He also always left a light on in his room and his window unlocked, because I knew exactly where his room was from the outside of the house

Natsuo left a futon set up in the corner of his room for me with an extra set of pajamas that he changed every week

Fuyumi stopped eating seafood because she knew I hated it

I was mad when I was a kid. I thought she could’ve done something to help, but maybe she didn’t want to. I know now that’s not the case. There wasn’t anything she could’ve done that wouldn’t have made everything worse for everyone.

I feel horrible about what I did. I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing, or where I was going. My mom was already in a psych ward by that point. Shoto was being secluded from the rest of us. Fuyumi and Natsuo were just trying to make it through everything alive.

To them, I was there one day, and just gone the next.

I had a grave, not like there was anything substantial to bury, anyway. Just a piece of my jaw that came off, and one of my fingers.

Most of my nerve endings were fried in the fire on Sekoto Peak. But not all of them. More of them were burned in the times when I was in the League, pushing my quirk past its limits and adding to the burn scars that covered my body.

I’m really glad I finally got my shit together and decided to be with him. I’m a better person because of him. He’s the only person I’ve ever fallen in love with, and I’m sure it’ll stay that way.

The color of love, to me, is gold. Bright gold, so bright that you almost can’t look at it directly. You’d expect it to be burning hot, but it’s just pleasantly warm. It’s the same color as his eyes. They’re often the first things I see when I wake up, and the last things I see when I fall asleep. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

He’s the first person to treat me with nothing but kindness. No hate, no genuine annoyance, no malicious intent. He loves me not just for who I am, but in spite of who I am. I would argue that I’m not a good person. But I know he sees me as a great one.

If I’m being completely honest, I never expected to make it this far in my life. I expected it to be over before I hit 14.

And now, 12 years later, I’m still alive. And I’m married with kids. And my family talks to me and loves me.