#Soul Guide

[dreamconsumer]

Mercury conducting the souls of the suitors to the Infernal Regions. By John Flaxman.

[tina-aumont]

Beautiful photo of Raïna Manuel-Paris with her horse Quincy pictured circa 2020. Here you can find more photos of this very same photoshot.

✨Very special thanks to @74paris for sharing this beautiful photo of Tina's cousin✨

[nikkigameslore]

Stories From Miraland - Love Nikki: Ghost Gathering [Part 3/3] Ghost City [Part 3/4]

Note: Minor suits Yama Judge, Soul Guide, and Flower Mirror. Sorry its taken 5 thousand years for this i have been very busy qwq.

Warnings: minor mentions of murder for Flower Mirror.

Part 1 | Part 2

Yama Judge

Life Judge In the first 300 years I walked through mortal world In the last 300 years I get tired of immortal life Now I have to find the girl To beg for eternal sleep To ask her for mercy To reach my last verdict

Story: The suit tells the story of the daughter of Yama. (a Hindu and Buddhist deity who both serve similar functions in their respective religions of punishing sinners and ruling over death.) She sneaks out one day with her fathers scroll and comes across a man who she had met previously and granted immortality to due to his sinful nature. He begged her to change his fate and let him die having grown tired of immortal life in the past 300 years. The girl is filled with doubts and is confused on why he wouldn't thank her for granting him immortality, but in the end she decided to ignore her questions and continue on. It is a story of a rebellious daughter using her fathers work for fun.

Soul Guide

Soul Lamp: Before I realized I was at the center of mist Someone whispered to ears But when I turned around Only saw light shimmers In the vast mist

Story: This suit tells the story of Soul Guide whose job is to guard the city gate and guide ghosts where they should go deep inside the mist. Because KEEP AWAY is written so big on her skirt the travelers avoid her, so she messes around and fools with them to see the faces they make. Her job is very boring as she only patrols the city and makes sure ghosts are obedient. Although she has thought of quitting, it is only with her lantern that anyone can see through the ghost mist.

Flower Mirror

Lotus Image: Who cries so sadly Beside the lake Through the clouds the Sun shines I walk into the lotuses Starting the birds Stirring the waves

Story: This suit tells the story of a lotus pond and a mirror that is said to gain form from people's desires. Because the lotus pond is so clear and deep it also called Mirror Pond. One night a traveler stops there and finds that his reflection isn't in the pond but instead that of a beautiful maiden. She appears to be sad and when he looks closer he finds her crying. She tells him that after falling into the pond she was locked there by the City Lord and asked him to drag her out. He reaches out to help her but instead she drags him into the pond.

[nightmaretheif]

So i wanted to do more Gods/Goddess's to go with who i already designed, and grown on the Univurse and stories and to help fill out @the-slender-doll Cursed God World.

So in my vurse (and depending what you read) Wepwawet is the child of Hathor and Set.

Wep dosent know who his father is, he was a weak baby when born, which lead to his grey colouring. He has a sight to see spirits, guiding them makes him sick so he chooses to ignore them.

Wep is often a translater for his mother,  and holds her dearly to his heart. He had no idea of his God Status, and lives an avaerage collage life when hes introduced. His half brother is Anubis and he looks up to him.

Wep, in lore, was often confused with Anubis, soni made him a Lycanthrope, hes just smoll and weak and stays home on the moon cycle. He is Demi Bisexual and his two best friends are also chrildren of gods who hid them away for their safty.

He had a small crush on Maahes, adores Seshat and her blatant attitude.

He hates Horus. He dosent know anything about him, but knows when he apeared before his mother, she was stressed and in tears. therefore he hates him.

Wepwawet (c) Nightmaretheif

[wispy-candyshop]

Wolf Wednesday

Khal is reading a news paper and drinking a cup of coffee, as Raija walks in she announces "Happy Wolf Wednesday"

"Am not wolf, am hound. There difference." Raija grumbles.

"Um well if you go by evolution hounds and canines alike and came from wol-" Joyelle began to chime out till a low growl from Raija silenced her. "N-never mind, s-sorry" Joyelle squeaked and darted off.

"Didnt have to scare her off" Khal chuckles and takes another ship of her coffee.

"Fuck off" Raija grumbled and starts digging for food.

[bixels]

Hot to the Touch

(Sunset x Thea)

[writingslob]

SPIN-OFF: Lin Ling's guide to becoming an emotional support civilian [BIRTHDAY EDITION!]

[TO BE HERO X] x [LIN LING]

[The actual series can be found here!]

Author's note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIN LING! This is written as a crack spin-off of my main series, so this is not canonical! I hope you enjoy!

Once again, thank you @kiraisrika for the idea (And for reminding me today is Lin Ling's birthday)

.

.

.

Nice was stressed.

E-Soul was running around at top speed, setting decorations, but they were all crooked, so Nice had to follow behind him and fix them. Even though that wasn’t his job. No, his job was to make sure everything was on schedule, but nothing was! It has been 50 minutes since X and Ahu were sent to go pick up the cake (From some bakery he doesn’t know, mind you). The only reason he allowed it was because X promised him they sold the best cake, and Lin Ling deserved the best. But! It has been 50 minutes! Where the hell are they!? (X can fucking teleport!) 

Behind him, as he straightened another streamer, he could hear Lucky Cyan arguing over the phone, telling the backup singers and dancers if they didn’t get over to the right location in time, she would personally make sure they were blacklisted from the industries forever. Loli, on the other hand, hasn’t even arrived yet, even though she was supposed to help Lucky Cyan and her team set up the stage for Lin Ling’s birthday concert. (There’s a text in the ‘Number 1. Lin Ling fan group’ which states that she would be late as she’s still putting the finishing touches on his gift. No one has seen it.) 

Dragon Boy and Ghostblade were busting in the kitchen, and he could hear the arguments and swearing from where he was standing. 

“You shouldn’t have put in that much butter. It’s not healthy for Lin Ling.”  Dragon boy snaps back, “IT’S HIS BIRTHDAY, OLD MAN!”  “So? I don’t want him to be as unhealthy as you.” Ghostblade calmly replies, continuing his chopping. “HUH!? WANT TO SAY THAT TO MY FACE, GRANDPA!?” 

Originally, they planned to hire the best catering company. But, when Lin Ling shyly told them that he preferred food made by his friends. Well, how could they deny him that? (The catering company was not happy with the late cancellation, but Queen and Ghostblade took care of it.) Speaking of Queen, he looked over to what she was doing, only to drop the banner he was fixing because—

“WHY IS THERE A ZOO IN HERE!?” The Johnnies looked over to him and glared at him witherly. The animals behind him give him the same look. “Because Lin Ling said he always wanted to visit a petting zoo, so this is our gift.” A faux look of surprise overcame his face as he looked at Nice. “Oh! Wait, no, you weren’t there when Lin Ling said that on our date. What. A. Shame.” Nice felt a blood vessel burst at Johnnie’s smug look. Before he could kill him, Queen intervened. 

“That’s Enough from the both of you. Lin Ling is set to come back any minute now. Get in your places.” She orders through gritted teeth. It was loud enough that everyone heard, and immediately complaints were raised.

“I HAVEN’T FINISHED FIXING EVERYTHING!”

“HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO HIDE ALL THESE ANIMALS!?”

“...” 

“THE STAFF WON’T COME IN TIME!”

“WE STILL HAVE 5 DISHES THAT NEED MORE TIME TO COOK.”

“SHUT UP!” Queen’s power takes effect, and Nice can feel his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth and his throat close up. He settles on glaring at her instead. She meets his and everyone’s glare head-on. “I don’t care about whether you finished your part or not. Lin Ling is coming. GET. IN. YOUR. PLACES.” His finger itches as his brain reminds him how many imperfections there still are (Lin Ling only deserves the best, after all.) But he backs down and flies over to his hiding spot beside the elevator. Nice can see everyone scatter, and the lights are turned off; the apartment is now pitch black. (Loli had designed automated curtains after Lin Ling muttered how he couldn’t sleep well because of the city lights.)

Waiting in the dark, Nice can only hear the sound of faint shuffling and soft breaths as they wait. Soon, the sound of the elevator rising and the glowing number up top illuminating what floor the elevator’s on—what floor Lin Ling is on. 

15

14

13

12

11

Nice’s hand spasms. Just one more floor. Then Lin Ling can be in his arms once more. (He already misses him.)

10

The elevator door opens. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LIN LING!!!”

X blinks back at them, a cake box sitting innocently in his hands. Ahu at his feet. They stood in silence before Dragon Boy groaned. “OH COME ON! WHERE THE FUCK IS LIN LING!?” That shout broke everyone out of the silence, and soon, everyone else was groaning and bemoaning the fact that Lin Ling wasn’t here. X blinked again. “Don’t worry, he’s coming soon. Very soon.” Taking a look around the place, the smile on his face turned into a slight grimace. “This looks…nice.” X turns to Nice. “No pun intended.” Nice, waves him off. “Whatever, just hand me the cake.”

X looks confused. “Why?”

“I’m going to greet Lin Ling with it.” Obviously. 

Before X can respond, Lucky Cyan jogs over. “Now hold on, why do you get to be the one to greet Lin Ling first with the cake?” Nice scoffs, “Because I’m his favorite, obviously. Now give it.” Before Nice can take it out of X's hands, X raises it above his head. His smile was now one of amusement. “His favorite? And here I thought I was number 1.” 

Nice opens his mouth to retort (X? The favorite? Please, Nice has been here the longest.) When the cake box is ripped out of X’s hand, Dragon Boy crackles manically. “Ha! And why would he want to hang out with you old fucks?” His grins widens “You know what? I’ll take this cake and Lin Ling, and we’ll celebrate his birthday. Privately.” Everyone saw red, and what transpired was a battle to the death. Punches were thrown along with all manner of weapons as they ducked out who could hold the cake.

They were so engrossed in their battle, in fact, that they didn’t hear the opening of elevator doors or the sound of footsteps approaching the battlefield before—

“What are you guys doing?”

Instantly, a feeling of calm washes over him as Lin Ling draws closer. However, the calm is instantly replaced with panic as he sees E-Soul kick the cake. It soars above them all as it flies directly over to Lin Ling. Nice tries to push him out of the way, and X has his hands ready to snap, but it’s too late as—

SPLAT

They all watch in horror as chunks of cake and frosting drip down Lin Ling’s head, splattering onto the ground below. The room is deafeningly quiet, and even with Lin Ling in arm’s reach, Nice can feel his heartbeat reach a crescendo. (Because Lin Ling is going to hate him because of this. This was supposed to be the perfect day—everything was supposed to be perfect. How did he fuck up this badly? Oh god, Lin Ling hasn’t moved. He’s going to hate it. What can he do? What can he do? WHAT CAN HE DO? Clean up. He can clean Lin Ling up and then beg for his forgiveness. Right, he can do that. Oh god, why won’t Lin Ling say anything—?)

Lin Ling laughs. 

Everyone freezes.

Ling Ling clutched his stomach and stumbled as he laughed. The laugh was loud, bright, and ugly, and Nice fell in love once more. It lasted for a few minutes, and everyone stared transfixed as Lin Ling's laugh turned into a giggle. His eyes were bright with joy. “Is…is this supposed to be my birthday party?” Someone nodded behind Nice. Lin Ling’s smile grew even bigger. “Then this is the best birthday party I have ever had!” His eyes soften. “Thank you.”

The party went smoothly after that. 

(“Hi guys! Sorry, Lin Ling, for being late—huh!? You already started without me!?”)

[ruoyeming]

Spirited Away! AU to heal my sad little heart <3

[euphorictruths]

The Spirit Mirror- Jess Purmeswar

[tina-aumont]

Happy birthday Raina

✨We hope you have a nice day with your loved ones, thank you very much for sharing your path to wisdom✨

[just-bee-lieve]

the ferryman

[reaversanctuary]

Sancta Spatha de Lunae Lumen, absolvo! Absolvo me!

Sancta Spatha de Lunae Lumen, praemostra mea manus!

Sancta Spatha de Lunae Lumen, semper ad latus meo, mea dux sancta!

[tokoweka]

surely all the moonshadow elves and other moon primal beings felt the moon nexus inverting. the wrongness deep deep in their bones, the weakness of the centre of their magic on earth twisted inside out. did the elves of the silvergrove awaken all at the same time knowing something was deeply wrong? did runaan and ethari stumble out of bed alarmed and look for their daughter only to be told about aaravos?

[wedarkacademia]

But don't forget who you really are. And I'm not talking about your so-called real name. All names are made up by someone else, even the one your parents gave you. You know who you really are. When you're alone at night, looking up at the stars, or maybe lying in your bed in total darkness, you know that nameless person inside you.

― Louis Sachar, Stanley Yelnats' Survival Guide to Camp Green Lake

[posthumanwanderings]

[a11eya]

TITLE: lights will guide you home

CHAPTER: 8

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

Ikeda tells you that two of the pictures—only two!—you took of Bakugou are viable and that one of the videos is passable. It’s a little harsh, in your opinion, especially considering who your subject was. 

She also asks you for the name of the organization you used to foster the kittens. You tell her the organization name, and, a little sheepishly, that the adoption and foster program’s called Save the Meow Meows. It makes her laugh. 

“Next time, try to get Dynamight to smile, okay?” she says after her laughter dissolves into a grin, audible even over the phone. “He looks like he’s being held hostage in 90% of these.”

“I know. I tried, but you know how he is.” It takes a half-second for the entirety of her words to process. You blink. “Wait, next time?”

“Well, yeah!” she says, sounding amused. “This first post we just put up on Dynamight’s socials is already doing well, and your pictures with him at the pet store are in the rearview mirror. Who knew that people would like them so much? No accounting for taste, I suppose.” 

Well. You knew, the moment you saw Bakugou pick up Mikan. There’s one photo in particular that didn't make it to Dynamight’s social media because Mikan’s mid-motion in it, but something about Bakugou’s expression… You’ll never tell him, but the two of them together make such a pretty picture that you favorited it on your phone. 

You try to pay attention as Ikeda continues, “A couple more posts should suffice, so we need more photos with him in different clothes, maybe in a different spot in your apartment, individual shots with each kitten… and definitely better expressions. Only makes sense, right?”

“Right…”

“You can go ahead and let him know about the additional shoots; you did a great job of coordinating things between you. And good job wrangling him so far! Keep up the good work! ”

“Thanks,” you say, after a pause, to the dial tone. You wonder if Bakugou knows how much Ikeda dislikes him. 

Grimacing, you type out a message and send Bakugou the bad news. 

You: Hey. Just finished talking to Ikeda. She says we need to take more pictures 🙏

Not a minute passes before your phone begins vibrating in your hand. You eye it like it’s a snake and answer hesitantly. 

“…Hello?”

“What’dya mean, more pictures?” Bakugou snaps. 

“Literally, there are no other meanings for that statement.”

“Call her back and tell her to fuck off.”

“Bakugou,” you sigh in exasperation. “I’m not gonna tell her to fuck off. Also, she’s your PR person. If you have complaints, shouldn’t you tell her directly?”

“The fifty pictures you took weren’t enough?” he demands.

“She says we need to take pictures of you wearing different clothes, in different spots in my apartment, so it’s clear they happened on different days. She also says you need solos with each of the kittens. And that you need to smile.” 

Quietly, you mutter away from the receiver, “Like I told you to.”

Bakugou must have the ears of a bat because his tone lowers, dangerous. “What’d you say, brat? Come and say that to my face.”

“Make me,” you say immediately, then close your eyes, feeling embarrassed. He really does bring out an unfortunately childish side of you. 

The line goes silent.

You wait, wondering if you pissed him off. 

“Text me when you’re free this week,” he says abruptly. “I’ll come by for the damn pictures.”

He hangs up before you can reply. 

Bakugou: I’m outside. 

Standing from your couch, you walk over to your front door and pull it open.

“Hey,” you tell him, but you stop in confusion when you notice he has a duffle bag in one hand and a reusable bag, the kind you’d put groceries in, in the other. His expression is pinched when your eyes meet.

“Here,” Bakugou says, and shoves the reusable bag at you. You automatically grab at the handles and make a sound when he lets go; it’s heavy. 

“Gotta reschedule the dumb photos. I was called in for work,” he says. 

Bakugou steps back, clearly moving to leave, and you grab his wrist.  

“Hold on,” you say. You let your hand fall from him and raise the reusable bag. “What is this?”

“Nutrients instead of the garbage you usually have. Be grateful,” he tells you, baring his teeth in a mean smile. You make a face at him, instinctively, and the mean fades from his smile, shifting to an amused twist of his lips. He looks at you as if he’s going to say something more. He doesn’t. 

Bakugou turns and makes his way down the hallway. 

You stare at his back, then duck your head to look at the contents of the bag. 

There are several bentos in there, stacked neatly, easily a week’s worth of lunches. The ones at the top have sticky notes on them, labeled with a number and what looks like a list of ingredients. 

When it finally clicks what you’re holding, your eyes widen. 

You shove your feet into some slides, grabbing another shoe to hold your door open, and chase Bakugou down the hallway, lugging the bag with you.

“Bakugou, wait,” you call, catching up to him where he’s waiting at the elevator, duffle bag on the ground. 

He turns to look at you, eyes narrowed. You come to an abrupt halt in front of him and try to give him the bag back. 

Bakugou crosses his arms, a refusal. “The fuck are you doing?”

“I can’t accept this,” you say. “It’s so much food! And was probably a lot of work to make!”

“S’why you should shut up and keep it,” he growls. “Go back.”

You scrabble about for a more convincing argument. “You should keep it. You’re going to work, right? You need lunch!”

“Already got lunch. This shit’s just because I made extra meal prepping this week,” Bakugou says.

Your mouth opens, and you furrow your brow, looking down at the bag. Uncertain, now.

“If you don’t want it, toss it,” he tells you, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t do that,” you gasp, just as the elevator arrives and opens. 

One of your neighbors, coming back from walking her dog, blinks at the both of you from inside the elevator. 

You quickly step closer to where Bakugou’s standing so she can pass. Bakugou picks up his duffle bag so it isn’t in the way, and you exchange greeting smiles with your neighbor as she slips by. Her big dog stops to sniff at the bag you’re holding, no doubt detecting the food, but your neighbor tugs at the leash and away.

Feeling self-conscious now that you have an audience, even if she is getting further down the hall, you turn back to Bakugou. He’s looking at you already, an exasperated expression on his face.

“Stop being stubborn,” he says, mouth a downward slash. “Gotta go. Eat that shit or don’t. I don’t care.”

He steps into the elevator and jabs the button for the ground floor. He’s gone before you can come up with a response.

You stack the bentos in your fridge, taking care not to jostle them more than you had during your jog down the hallway. As you place the last one inside, you trace the edge of its lid thoughtfully.  

You weren’t sure, at first, why these bentos bothered you, why your first reaction was to try to give them back. But the longer you sit on it, the more clarity you have. 

You feel a little guilty, that Bakugou keeps doing things for you, giving you things. The feeling has been building, especially over the past couple weeks since you’ve been messaging him, talking to him. You talk to him nearly every day. You’ve learned he prefers phone calls to texts—not surprising, considering how brief his messages usually are. He’s become part of your routine, and you find yourself feeling like something’s missing when a day passes without a snarky message from him or a phone call where you update him on the kittens, despite his claims of disinterest. 

You don’t want him to think that you only want him around because he gives you things and does stuff for you. You hope nothing about you gives that impression. 

You’re not sure how to tell him this. It makes your stomach swoop, just thinking about bringing it up. Because you know you’ll have to tell him what you just realized: that you like him for who he is. That you like him in your life. That he doesn’t have to earn your time or attention or—or forgiveness with things or by doing things. 

At work the next day, you sit and eat in the break room for the first time in several weeks, nearly crying over your first bite of a bento. It’s so good.

You figured out the numbers on the sticky notes indicate the order in which you should eat the bentos. Even though the ingredients are listed on the notes, you’d been tempted to crack open each bento to see what you’ll be eating later in the week. But so far, you’ve been able to control yourself. It’s kind of nice. Like a little surprise to look forward to each day. 

You finger today’s sticky note, taking in the words crossing it. For some reason, you’d assumed Bakugou would have messy, wild handwriting. But the kanji are precise, neat. You wonder what he’s doing right now.

The break room door opens, and you look up to see a colleague from a different department.

“Hey!” he greets you, crossing the room to fill his water bottle at the fill station. He turns to face you as he waits, and you panic internally, struggling to remember his name. Sato? Suzuki? 

“Surprised to see you in here,” he remarks. “Usually you eat in your office.”

“Yeah!” you say. You had no idea he took so much notice of where you ate. When were you first introduced? A couple months back? You feel worse about not remembering his name. 

You give him a smile, hoping the guilt isn’t on your face. “Just felt like a change of pace today.”

“That bento looks good! Do you like to cook?” he asks.

“Oh! No, a friend made it for me.” Your smile shifts into something more genuine. “He said I’ve been eating garbage, so. His attempt at trying to make sure I don’t die prematurely, I guess.”

“Oh, gotcha,” Sato or Suzuki or something else entirely says, tone shifting, and he picks up his now-full water bottle and twists the cap back on. 

“Well, enjoy your lunch!” he says, waving goodbye as he leaves the break room. 

You stare at the closing door for a brief moment before shaking your head. You need to find out that guy’s name before you see him again. He totally clocked you for not recognizing him, because what was that weird look on his face as he left? You decide to ask your team—discreetly!—what his name is after your lunch break.

When you’re finished eating, you snap a picture of the empty bento and send it to Bakugou.

You: Thank you for the food! 🙏

You: You know, if you ever change your mind about the hero thing, I think you’d get a job as a chef, easy

After a moment, you decide to send another message. You want to bring up the thoughts you’d had the other day, about how you don’t want him to feel compelled to keep doing things for you, but you feel like it’s a conversation better had in-person. Or on the phone, at least. 

It takes you several minutes of deleting and drafting before you settle on something inadequate. 

You: Sorry I was so weird about it yesterday 

Standing abruptly, too chicken to wait to see if he replies, you clean up your area and get back to work. 

It’s at the end of the work day, on the train, when you check your messages again. A text from Bakugou is waiting for you in your inbox, and you’re definitely not nervous when you tap on it to read it.

Bakugou: Better be sorry. Next time, don’t be a brat about it

You exhale, huffing a laugh, relieved. You type out a response.

You: Yes, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight sir 

He doesn’t reply. One thing about Bakugou is that he leaves his read receipts on—intentionally, you suspect, because it’s just like him to make sure you know he’s ignoring you, even through texts. It makes you grin.

The week passes, and you find yourself staring at a pile of empty bento boxes, hands on your hips.

You: Hey, when can I return the bento boxes? Washed them and everything!!

Bakugou: I’d fuckin’ hope so 

You: 😒

You: Should I drop them off at your agency? 

Bakugou: No, bring ‘em to my place

He sends you an address.

A part of you is a little relieved he’d suggested you not bring them to his agency. Thinking about it, going there to drop off a bag of empty bento boxes feels a little too… revealing. That people might see that you have the kind of relationship where he makes you lunch. You don’t want to cause trouble, especially since the pet store fiasco is just starting to fade from people’s memories. 

You: 👍

“Hi.” You feel a little out of place, standing in the hallway outside Bakugou’s apartment. You hold up the bag of bento boxes. “I brought the goods.”

Mentally, you’re kicking yourself. You’re always saying such dumb shit in front of him. 

Bakugou’s gives you a deadpan look, an I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that look. 

“Well don’t just stand there,” he says, and moves back to give you some room.

You step past the threshold, and he closes the door behind you. He grabs the bag from you and heads deeper into his apartment. Hurriedly, you toe off your shoes and follow him.

He’s gone into his kitchen, you realize, and he has a cabinet open, where he’s placing the bento boxes inside, one by one. He meets your gaze as he’s putting one away, and while maintaining eye contact with you, he opens one of them and makes a show of inspecting it for cleanliness.

“Very funny,” you say dryly. 

Bakugou barks out a laugh and you smile, despite yourself.

As he continues to put away the boxes, you take a moment to glance around his kitchen while he’s busy.

It’s big. It has some fancy-looking appliances you wouldn’t typically find in a home kitchen. The stove looks top-of-the-line, and you see an impressive-looking knife set displayed on the counter. There’s even a stand mixer in one corner. You wonder if Bakugou bakes. 

“Y’want water, tea?” he asks, closing the cabinet and turning to you.

“Oh, water’s fine, thanks,” you say. You’re chagrined; even Bakugou’s a better host than you are.

You lean your side against one of the counters, watching as he grabs a pair of glasses and fills them up. 

He’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen him, in a faded shirt and worn pants that he easily could’ve slept in. His hair is nearly flat, falling in relaxed strands, softening him. All his edges are blunted, here, in his apartment.

You murmur a thank you as he gives you your water, and you subtly study his face as he drains his glass. He leans a hip against the counter. 

He looks a little tired, slight bags under his eyes. The way he’s holding himself is relaxed, but his shoulders slant, droop in a way you haven’t seen before. When he leans over to place his cup in the sink, his shirt lifts a little, exposing a glimpse of skin and the lip of his boxers rising above the waistband of his pants. His lights are gentle swirls around him, bathing him in a soft glow. 

He’s handsome, it dawns on you. The thought flusters you, and heat begins to rise to your cheeks. 

What the hell? You’ve seen him in casual clothes; you’ve seen him in his hero suit. Objectively, people are more attractive when put together, right? Presentable. There’s nothing about him, now, that you should find attractive. He’s just some guy, standing in his kitchen.

But Bakugou in his off mode, at home, does something to you. It’s like wires rearrange in your head, and you can’t stop looking at him. 

“Hey,” you say—anything to leave this train of thought behind, because nope. “Thanks again for the food. This week was the best I’ve eaten, like ever.”

“You’re damn right it was,” he says, and you roll your eyes, smiling. 

“Alright, alright, Mr. Ego. I did want to talk about something else, too, while I’m here. If you have a minute.” By the time you’re finished talking, a serious note you’re unable to help has crept into your voice. 

An expression you’re unable to decipher flickers across his face. Bakugou crosses his arms. “Spit it out.”

You put your glass down on the counter, fiddling with it. Stalling, you realize. 

“I want you to know… you don’t have to do all this for me, okay?” you say, glancing up at him. 

His eyes narrow. 

You continue, hurriedly, to clarify. “I mean, like buying me the couch protectors, or making me lunches. I appreciate it all, I do.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Bakugou says, a little growl on the end of his sentence. 

“I just don’t want you thinking you need to do these things for me,” you say, voice faltering, quieting. “Even if you don’t cook me another meal, or buy me a single thing, ever, that’s fine with me.” 

Please understand, you will to him, watching him. Your thoughts feel clumsy, your words clumsier, like it’s a monumental effort just to string two sentences together. You can’t find the words to tell him what you mean: that you think he’s funny when he quips at you and that you know he’s observant, thoughtful. That you like talking to him, spending time with him. It’s enough.

Maybe you have found the words, but you can’t say them aloud just yet. Not yet.

“I know I don’t need to do shit. I only do shit I wanna do,” Bakugou says gruffly.

You open your mouth to argue, to try again to make sure he understands you, but he interrupts, puts a hand on your head. He’s a little rough, but his hand is warm. Reassuring. There’s a softness in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You could fall into them, like this. 

“You think too much,” he tells you, but peering into his face—you think he’s heard you, loud and clear. 

You do think too much, you acknowledge on the train ride home. 

You’d left his apartment soon after your conversation; he’d needed to get ready for work. But your thoughts still buzz with him. 

You think about how the shape of your life has changed with him in it, within just a couple weeks. You think about the fact that he’s your soulmate but you’re not his, how this is something that can’t be changed, no matter how well you get to know Bakugou and how well he gets to know you. It’s been a long time since this—that you can see his lights but he can’t see yours—bothered you. You thought you’d accepted it, moved on from it. 

It really, really bothers you.