Bakugo Is The Type Of Idiot Who Doesn’t Realize That Roughhousing With Someone You’re Interested

bakugo does that thing where you spread your legs to be at eye level with a much shorter person (he's an asshole) (request)

The sleeping quarters on the upper floor.

Architecture in Wood, 1992

do your best, deku-sensei!!!

Matt walking up to the stand about to open his examination of Powell with "I'm told you have a black eye, I hope it gets better"

Nosferatu (2024) dir. Robert Eggers

Death and Life (1894) by Edvard Munch

Earl Grey Brown Butter Cake with Blackberry and Raspberry Cream

p.e.

sometimes i remember that suguru has literally been dead since the beginning of jjk and it makes me feel physically ill. like. we never got him back. not once. that was never him. it was always kenjaku in his skin, wearing his face, using his voice. and everyone just went along with it. and gojo went along with it. because what was he supposed to do?? watch his best friend's body walk around and pretend he doesn't feel like he's 17 again, failing all over again??

it’s not even a “they fell apart” kind of tragedy. it’s so much worse. suguru died, and then got turned into a puppet, and then gojo had to keep living in a world where his best friend’s corpse was smiling at him. talking to him. looking at him like nothing ever happened. you know how violating that is??? how soul-crushing it must’ve been to hear that voice and know it wasn’t him?? that his suguru was long gone and all that was left was a cruel joke played by the universe???

kenjaku didn’t just take his body, he took everything. his identity, his name, his legacy. made a mockery of it. reduced him to a vessel. and gojo could never do anything about it. he couldn’t kill him, not really. not without killing suguru all over again. and the worst part is that he hesitated. he always hesitated. because he kept hoping—kept hoping—that maybe there was something left. that maybe, just maybe, suguru was still in there. listening. waiting.

and that is the most heartbreaking thing. gojo never moved on. he couldn’t. he never even got the chance to grieve properly because the body never went cold. the body kept moving. kept smiling. kept killing.

suguru never got to rest.

and gojo never got to let go.

and in the end… they were both just trapped. one in a body that wasn’t his, the other in a memory he couldn’t escape.

no peace. no closure. just echoes and rot.

- Vladimir Nabokov