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AI artwork featuring #มายฮีโร่ อคาเดเมีย and #บาคุโก คัตสึกิ

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บาคุโก คัตสึกิ, มายฮีโร่ อคาเดเมีย

#มายฮีโร่ อคาเดเมีย #บาคุโก คัตสึกิ

เผยแพร่เมื่อ Oct 30, 2026

Princess Diani The FNAF Gal 2000

ดูเพิ่มเติม

character: bakugou_katsuki 1boy, solo, bakugou katsuki, short spiked blonde hair, red eyes, bloodshot eyes, heavy dark bags under eyes, tear tracks, flushed face, red nose, swollen eyelids, crying, wailing, open mouth, ugly crying, tears streaming, hunched over, sitting on floor, from above, dutch angle, looking down at letter, holding letter, old handwritten letters, yellowed paper, stacks of letters, piles of letters on floor, crumpled tissues, lined paper, blowing nose, gripping lined paper to nose, gloves, black pants, shirt, hours of crying, dim room, warm desk lamp light, evening The camera looks down from a steep high angle onto a young man with short spiked blonde hair, slumped on the bare wooden floor of a small dim room, his back against the leg of a low table, one knee drawn up and the other leg folded under him so his weight rides on his right hip. He is caught mid-wail: head tipped back and tilted away from the paper in his left hand, jaw wide open, throat working, one long tear still traveling down the side of his jaw while older tracks have dried shiny on his cheeks. His face is deep red from hairline to neck, his nose raw and swollen, and both eyes are so bloodshot the red drowns most of the iris, lids puffy and rimmed dark from hours of this. The letter in his left hand is held delicately by one corner, gripped through the fabric of his glove so the paper never creases; the writing on it is faded, looping, handwritten in dark ink, an old date at the top, the sheet slightly yellowed and softened at the folds. He is blowing his nose into a folded sheet of fresh white ruled paper held in his right hand pressed over his nose and mouth, the paper crushed inward at the center and darkened wet through in a spreading patch, the ruled lines bending with the crumple. Around him the floor is layered with letters: neat bundles tied with string, loose sheets fanned out, envelopes with old stamps, some stacked in a heap beside his hip, some scattered in a rough arc where he dropped them; a few show the same faded looping handwriting, one lying face down at the edge of the frame. A small waste pile of already-used crumpled tissues and torn page halves sits by his folded knee. The only light is a warm desk lamp out of frame to the upper left; it rakes across the top of his hair and the raised planes of his knuckles, drops his eyes and the underside of his chin into shadow, casts a long soft shadow of his hunched shoulder across the scattered letters, and leaves the far corner of the room beyond the lamp's pool absolutely dark. Palette locked to warm amber lamplight, the cream and pale ochre of aged paper, his black trousers, and the raw reds of his face and eyes against the grey-brown floorboards; his gloves and shirt are the muted cool notes. Detail is spent on the open mouth, the wet crushed paper at his nose, the corner of the old letter held intact, and the pooling lamplight on tears and ink; the distant room stays simple and dim. The ruling: a single wet drop has landed on the floorboard beside his hip, beaded and still, not yet soaked in. Grief-stricken, raw.

บาคุโก คัตสึกิ, มายฮีโร่ อคาเดเมีย

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