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呪術廻戦 S2 Ep. 12: Blunt Knife

fanfic really is. like. it really is about the community. it's about the comments. it's about the story you rip directly for your heart and bleed out on your keyboard. it's about the i loved it when you... and the i screamed when you wrote... and the keyboard smashes and the i can't believe you did that!!!! and the i'm suing you for damages like it. this is community. fanfic is literally. an act of community. the greatest act of community in fandom because it comes with such raw, overwhelming vulnerability. whether you're writing kink fic or 100k words of trauma exploration, you're just like. hi hello this is my soul please embrace it and people do. oh my gosh

Oh, this is cute. So people were pointing out that Miruko called Katsuki “Dainama” in the chapter around the same time as the Dynama comic was drafted when she’s trying to get him to get his act together. But look, the characters used are different! What could it mean?

Miruko uses: ダイナマあ (Dainamaa), just a shortened version of his hero name (Dainamaito, ダイナマイト) plus the interjection あ which is “Ah!”, like “Hey” in English, something you say to grab attention.

Our little Dynama on the other hand has a really clever name! The hiragana used are: だいなま (Dainama)

Dai: ‘what the—’

and

Nama: rude little shit basically. (Yes I also tittered at that third definition 😏).

It’s a pun!!

So our new favourite son’s name is pretty much…

WTF Is That Rude Thing

I love Horikoshi so much.

pride and prejudice (2005, dir. joe wright)

Bakugou didn’t like you.

He didn’t.

You weren’t even in the same class. Barely even interacted. Just two UA students who happened to take the same train every so often. Yet, whenever you were near, he was hyper-aware of you.

For example, he could be in the school’s gymnasium with the rest of the class, resting after a rigorous basketball training, but the minute he caught sight of you in the bleachers to collect the leftover materials, suddenly all basketballs are making it through the hoop.

Not that he cared. He didn’t do it to impress you.

He doesn’t even know what you did to have him notice you in the first place. An enigma that has him hooked.

The train slowed as he approached the station, the robotic voice announcing their stop. Bakugou stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder, only to glance at you just as you pocketed your gadget and stood as well.

Just my luck.

The train doors slid open, and you both stepped onto the platform, the cool morning air greeting you. Bakugou stuffed his hands into his pockets, his usual scowl in place, already planning to walk ahead—only to hear a familiar patter of liquid against the pavement below.

Shit.

Within seconds, the drizzle turned into a steady shower. Students groaned, hurriedly pulling out umbrellas—not wanting to be late. Bakugou clicked his tongue, reaching into his bag to grab his own when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw you just standing there, blinking at the street.

No umbrella.

Of course.

He should’ve ignored it. Should’ve just walked ahead like he always did. But instead, he found himself sighing—deeply, begrudgingly—before flicking his umbrella open.

“Hey,” he grunted, stepping closer so the umbrella covered both of them. “Don’t just stand there like an idiot.”

You blinked at him, startled. “Oh. Um—” you hesitated, then smiled sheepishly. “You don’t have to—”

“I ain’t gonna let you walk in the rain, dumbass.” His ears burned. “Just walk.”

A pause. Then, to his horror, you laughed.

Not scoffed. Not sighed. Laughed.

It was light. Amused. Like he had just said the most funny thing in the world.

His grip on the umbrella tightened.

You walked side by side, your pace naturally slower than his. It was torture. Bakugou had to consciously slow himself down, had to fight the instinct to just power ahead and leave you behind. But you were under his damn umbrella now, and he wasn’t about to be a jerk and make you run after him.

So, he adjusted his steps. He adjusted.

For you.

Oh, god. He must've caught a flu.

It was annoying. Unnatural. But you didn’t seem to notice.

“Thanks, Bakugou,” you said after a while.

His chest felt tight.

“Whatever,” he muttered.

He didn’t like you.

He didn’t.

So why was he hoping that the next morning it’ll rain the same and that he gets to go on the same train car as you?

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deep v-neck

for olldolldraws <3

you can do it

It was inevitable, you just chose to cover your eyes and ears when he showed you. Tight skirts, crop tops and eyeliner —a costume, armour— to face the unfaceable. The Unfaceable sits at the corner seat at the local coffee shop. The Unmovable: every Saturday, since 5:30 pm, he is always there.

In front of Bakugou, lies his calculator, computer, homework, and sometimes a drink. You look at him carefully —arduously— while you can, earphones in and his hair pushed back, rough, blonde, gravelly next to the window.

You think of the inevitable. When the question tumbles out of your lips, the vowels and fricatives that lay foreign and slimy on your tongue. Then the inevitable answer: yeah.

It’s why you don your costume; your armour: of tight skirts, tight tops, and tight eyeliner. They squeeze the fat of your thighs, the meat on your shoulder, and at your tear glands. The inevitable and imminent answer. But you walk in anyway, you let your legs rest on the wooden stool, your elbows against the sticky residue of sweet drinks. Your costume clings onto your skin; your armour cups itself around your dignity. Mold. Mockery.

“You’re aro ace?”