#⭑ sleep on the floor — meta.

[oncillaphoenix]

extremely tempted to sketch out designs for a bunch of Team Plasma grunts for the Driftveil safehouse

[syrinq]

i haven't felt that "people of x fandom are interpreting character y wrong or reducing them to such a surface level" to a strong degree until like

well

now with baldur's gate 3

[hey-must-be-a-devilbetween-us]

the fact that we had the same thought about stede sleeping in the floor at the same time YEAH I SEE YOUR VISION OF COURSE YES

i was literally checking the reblogs like SHIT they already said it 🤣🤣

us fr

[originhl]

TAG DROP 1/?

[radiance1]

Tim, officially, does not have a new caretaker.

Tim, unofficially, does have a new caretaker.

A large, large man with long flaming purple hair that was capable of touching the floor if it didn't move like fire with sharp glowing green eyes and a neutral, if a bit of a resting bitch face, expression on his face.

Comparatively, he was not dressed oddly. Nothing but a white compression shirt, grey sweatpants and a pair of black sandals. The only thing odd about it was the sword constantly strapped to his waist, though Tim ignored it when he saw the man using it to chop ingredients.

Fright, he called himself, and Tim never asked if it was his actual name or not. He was just glad someone came over as constantly as he does.

He doesn't know where the man goes at night, after making sure he's tucked into bed and asleep, but he never pried. Mostly because he wasn't supposed to know that, and he doesn't want Fright to catch onto the fact that he was constantly sneaking out at night either.

So they'll both keep their secrets.

===

Fright Knight was at a loss with himself.

His master, Pariah Dark, had been once again released from the Sarcophagus of Forever Sleep and he wasted no time to return to his side. Even with his previous betrayl.

The events that followed were unexpected.

His master did not continue his eons long war with life. Though it had long since turned silent with his imprisonment, it was still brewing under the current of 'peace' that the Ghost Zone fell into.

Fright Knight knew that well.

So, what exactly was he supposed to do when his master returned to his time as naught but a humble farmer and started to rebuild the bridge he had long burnt with the Master of Time?

He felt... conflicted.

Of course, reconnecting with the Ghost of Time was a good thing, and he has been subject to witness just how much passion they had for each other during days long past.

But his master picking up a life that was not one honed through blood was always an odd thing for him to experience. Two peas in a pod, as some would say they were.

War and Fear.

Where War went, Fear followed. Rivers of flowing blood with storms of fear promised was something too tempting for him to resist.

Fear was a sword, and he was War's blade.

So it was not something easy for him to adjust to when War settled down into peace and sought prosperity instead of his namesake. Of course, he, as always, adjusted regardless of the situation and followed his master in his newest endeavor.

It was much harder to preserve a life, than it was to end it. They both came to realize. On his master's part, farming was something he pondered over and donned for a brief time eons ago, the new methods of today clashing wildly with what little he knew of the activity before War sung to him again. For Fright Knight, he had not a single nail's worth of experience in the act, never having had an interest like War did and as such, never learned.

It felt rather odd to use his blade to cut gifts from the land, but if he replaced them with images of enemies long since snuffed, it wasn't exactly hard.

He could not stay there for long; however, it was just too... different, from what he was used to. The Ghost King knew this and told him he was free to be left to his own devices so long as it did not affect the rules the Master of Time had set for them.

Or rather, War. But as Fear was in his service, he was not exactly exempt from said constraints, either.

So he wandered, keeping to his 'human' persona he was told to set for himself here. He was thankful that these beings called Meta's existed as no one gave him more than a second glance.

Though if that was more something to do with his height he did not know.

He came upon a city, one of shadows and filled with curses in numbers that even made him pause in slight bafflement. Lady Gotham, the city's spirit, brushed against him as soon as he stepped foot within her haunt, and it did not take long for them to reach and accord.

Fear was allowed to stay, so long as he did not do anything she did not permit. He was fine with said rules, after all, what was another constraint compared to those set by Time itself?

He had a favorable view of this city, just the ambient fear alone made it worth stepping inside. It was better than War's attempt at peace, though it was nothing due to the being itself he was just... used to being surrounded by fear.

Then he met a human child by the name of Timothy Drake. A meeting by chance and nothing else, but he did need something to do by Lady Gotham's suggestion.

So he became the boy's 'caretaker' though if he were a good one was something he could not comment on.

He did not need sleep, his new ward did, so when night fell, he always stepped out of the city to go back to his master and reappeared the next morning.

The thing about his new master's attempt at peace, was that he was quite willing to give away the gifts he received from the land. Which was helpful, considering he had no idea how to acquire money in this new age.

[sansnomp4]

Dialogues : Page 1: Tim : You've got to be kidding me! There's no right answer! Tim : He's just trying to drive me crazy! Kon: Or is it just because you haven't slept in three days, maybe? Page 2 : Tim : *Goblin noise* Kon : Remember your non-murder pact. *Time* Tim : I received a message from the Riddler three hours ago. Tim : He sent me a riddle because he was "bored". Tim : Every time I give an answer, the program gives me new information. Tim : And after three wrong answers, game over. Tim : You haven't tried it, MR. Sleep-is-important.

o Page 3: Riddle

A detective returns to his 7th-floor hotel room after a restaurant outing. The detective has come alone.

On entering his room, he finds an envelope with a note. However, there is only one key to enter the room.

How did the envelope get into the room? Tim : No sign of forced entry on the door. Tim : No meta-human in this riddle. Tim : Nor any related magic either. Tim : AND neither room service nor housekeeping have access to the room. Kon : Kon : Didn't someone just slip the letter under the door? Computer : Correct answer Kon : Eh.

[allpiesforourown]

I was thinking about the adventurering buddies bingyuan au and I think it would be so hilarious if the laws of PIDW just straight up didn’t apply to shen yuan bc of his technical status as an outsider in the world. The usual papapa plots are foiled, not bc of sheer skill on shen yuan’s part but sheer dumb luck and slight foresight. He trips over a root, accidentally dodging a lashing vine of some deadly aphrodisiac plant. It was cold that day so he picks up the curse artifact with his good leather gloves on. He spills the tea cup of poison, watching in shock as it eat through the floor boards.

I also think this power would apply to tropes. Oh there’s only one bed available at the inn? Don’t worry, Binghe, this one brought his sleeping roll 😌 (or another room is magically vacated yay!). There’s a snow storm outside this run down cabin they’re in?! Say no more, shen yuan reaches into his qiankun pouch and pulls out a fire talisman/artifact/plant that he just happens to have. Only married couples can enter this specific village that they need to get into? No problem, shen yuan actually knows a secret way to get in bc of his meta knowledge.

And at first I think that this would be a lowkey huge draw in for luo binghe. Bc maybe it’s kind of nice to chill out on an adventure with someone he already knows and who isn’t trying to get anything from him AND he doesn’t have to dual cultivate with shen yuan at the drop of a hat. But at some point, when the wife beam finally hits its target, it feels as if the entire universe is cockblocking luo binghe and he is Very Upset about it.

it's okay Binghe will simply bend the rules of reality to make shen yuan a part of these wife plots through sheer desire

the system: +400 bpoints for compensation

shen yuan: ...compensation for what

the system: the laws of this world apply to you know :)

shen yuan: what does that mean

*robe randomly rips apart to show his chest*

shen yuan: SYSTEM WHAT DID YOU DO

[cherryspider19]

jellyfish meta reader x yandere batfamily headcanons

bruce/batman- is very cautious on how reader stays in the mansion with them after their kidnapped. due to paranoia he would try to make sure you had everything you need to survive. also using using you poison to escape would be very. VERY. Hard. like he has a antidote and everything to work against your stings. last resort would be cutting off your stingers, but that's again that is a last resort. he is very gently with you, since he's afraid and hasher hands with you would hurt you badly. finds how you eat fascinating since your hair/tentacles bring the food to your moth to eat. does have to remind himself that you don't need a bath every time you eat. your room is right next to his. instead of a bed you sleep in a water tank, full of coral, soft sand, and rocks, and tech that alerts him to when ever you wake up.

dick- he constantly need bruce's antidote on hand cause he constantly getting stung trying to hug reader. personally he would have your stringers cut of instantly, if weren't for Damian and Tim. so he has to resort to head pats even though he wants to hug you so badly. your are grateful for Damian and Tim for letting your keep your stingers. not as gentle as bruce but does worry about hurting you if you guys play fight or rough house. finds how you eat odd. you have arms? why not use those? why let your hair grab your food and feed you. it confuses him. the others have to stop him from dragging you to bath after every meal. he is a little upset, that he cant cuddle you for family sleepovers (they have them in your room so you not left out)

jason- treats your head like a stress ball or toy. he likes to read to you as he squishes your head. ngl you find it a bit soothing like a head massage. doesn't mind your stingers. thinks their very cool, he's smart enough not to touch them unlike dick who wants constant physical contact. he also doesn't mind rough housing with you. doesn't think your fragile as bruce thinks. thinks the way you eat is cool and funny. cool cause it seems like you can control your hair at will. funny cause it unnerves dick. when its time for bed he throws you into your tank. bruce and dick constantly scold him telling him to be gentle. (he doesnt care)

tim- finds your very existences fascinating, he's studying you constantly. sometimes test you seeing if you could pick up bigger objects with your hair. so far you can only pick up tennis balls, forks, spoons, staplers, and 3 pieces of paper. he was the one that helped bruce make the antidote about your poison, vouched with damian for you to keep your stingers. he watches you eat before he even takes a bite of his food. he finds it amazing that you use your hair too eat. watches you sleep sometimes in your water tank, studies every twitch moment and breath you takes as your rest. sometimes hell fall asleep in your room on the floor because he studies you almost every night. unless one of the others pull him away from your room.

damian- he was the one that met you first and led you to getting kidnapped. you want to hold it against him but you don't. he did get stung a couple of times the first week you were in the manor, because you were still a little upset at him but stopped when he vouched for you to keep your stingers when dick wanted them removed. even if his family kidnapped you. you were grateful, he and Tim didn't let your stingers get removed. like Jason he doesnt treat you like glass, he lets you play with him and the pets, he braids your hair while wearing gloves to keep him from getting stung, and plays normal games with you. he has mixed feeling when you eat. on one hand how you eat is normal to you , you dont see the need to use your arms. on the other, he worries about your arms getting weak due to you not using them. but other than that he's just glad your eating. he does come in your bed room from time to time to watch you sleep. he just wants to make sure your safe in your tank in the manor, with your family. (notes: sorry if this isn't really well written, i'm not use to writing.)

[mayghosts]

Little Gold Top: (5) Kate Martin x Reader

Summary: late night dorm confrontations and impulsive decisions

(Previous) (TOC)

Warnings: sad confrontation, wtf, not proof read!

AN: guys i officially have a fanfic author life, like shits crazy!!

Practice was rough. Kate knew it was rough by the way the coaches were whispering on her way out of the gym and how Caitlin looked at her in the locker room. Kate was supposed to be the captain, the glue that holds the team together. With everything going on lately she couldn’t help but feel that she was loosing her skills. Not to mention, an incredibly talented teammate.

She couldn't decide if it was worth it to double text you. Flipping her phone over again, she was met with her unanswered text. Her attempt to fix whatever the fuck was wrong. Is anything even wrong? Flopping into her bed she stared out the window, watching the sun dip below the trees. The idea that at the end of the year she would be graduating, you two would probably never even live in the same city again. She couldn’t help but feel a bit existential.

Quickly this existentialism turned to fear. Wrapped in her comferter headphones pumping Frank Ocean she couldn't help but think about how different you were. Not in a pick me way, but in an emotional way. Kate was always a bit of a hopeless romantic. Plenty of times she's seen a girl in the hallway and planned their futures together. But when she thought about you, she saw everything. You were everything.

As the street lamps outside the dorm flicked on she felt the pit in her stomache return. You were so close, probably only two minutes away; but you've always been so far. Sure the two of you had been physically close, and physically you two knew eachother like a married couple. Emotionally, Kate had no fucking clue who you were. And it killed her. It would probably only take her three minutes to get to your appartement. A two minute run down the street, up two floors, about fourty steps off the elevator to the left, room 203. Kate could see it in all her head. She would knock and you would open the door with a big smile. You would pull her inside and you would watch UP! on the couch and you would tell her about your day. She would listen and love every second of it. The way your hair falls on your shoulders, the way the light from the tv refletcs off your face, the way you light up as you tell her about the dog you saw on your way to class. She would even love the chocolate on your face from the icecream you would eat and your really long monologues about subjects she dosen't really understand, all because she loves you. She really really loves you, and she is so fucking scared.

Kate could feel the panic building in her chest as she swung her feet over the side of her bed. Pulling her shoes on she slipped out of her suite into the kitchen and out into the hallway. Where she was going she wasn't sure, just somewhere, wherever her feet took her. Into the elevator, down two floors. Running through the chilly night air she could feel the tears biting at her cheeks. Into the lobby, scan the emergency key card shes kept since freshman year, into the elevator, up two floors, fourty steps to the left.

Your Pov

You hadn't slept yet. You were deffinately tired, exhausted actually, but whenever you closed your eyes you just saw the missed shots and then Kates face. Neither of these were the right mateiral to lull you to sleep. Sitting on your couch, you let the tears flow. nothing seemed to be going right so far. Fuck Kate for not being able to keep it in her pants. You don't think you've ever been so upset with someone before. You don't think you've ever had someone like Kate before. Techincally, you don't even have her.

The pounding at your door startled you from your haze. You contemplated just opening the door without looking and letting the serial killer in. Maybe he would watch UP! with you, or put you out of whatever meta hell this is. You walked towards the door, stopping to grab a knife in the kitchen. Just incase.

Looking out the peep hole you were met with none other than Kate Martin. You glanced at the clock on the stove. 2:05, late enough to pretend to be asleep. As she started banging again you heard stirring from the room down the hall. dammit shes gonna wake Gabbie up. You unlocked the chain and lock and flung the door open. Stepping outside and shutting the door behind yourself. Kate seemed shocked to see you, funny seeing that she was the one breaking your door down.

"Okay, what the actual fuck-" "I love you." You snapped your head back to look at her in the eyes. For once, everything was silent. You gently dropped the kitchen knife as you reached out to grab her shoulder "Kate what are you talking about?" She shrugged away from your touch, "please I just... I need to... I-" You could feel your heart tear a bit everytime she failed to find the words. You left your hand out like a statue and watched as the tears streamed down her face "God I don't know, I'm scared I've fucked us up. We can't be done yet we have so much left I-" She palmed at her damp cheeks, attempting to dry the tears. Her hair was frazzled, still in the ponytail from practice. It was far too cold for the PJ shorts she was wearing and you couldn't help but wonder if she was cold. "-and I'm sorry it's so late I was just thinking that we have never watched UP! together, and I don't even know your middle name and I have been such a shitty friend!" "Kate, its so late can we-" "No! because I need you to listen. What kind of friend fucks the girl she loves in the back of a toyota? What the fuck happened to us?" "Kate!" You didn't often raise your voice, so it caught her off gaurd. You were most actually speechless.

You felt the emotions of three years of unrequited love pressing behind your eyes. Pulling her by her arm, you dragged her inside. She followed you like a lost puppy. Locking the door behind you pulled her to the couch and threw her a blanket. "Just sit there, and don't say a fucking word." She looked over at you with big eyes, and you pretended not to watch her as she sat awkwardly on your couch. You turned the kettle on, staring at it waiting for the water to boil. Maybe you could just incinerate yourself in the oven? You peaked over your shoulder to see her passed out on the couch, curled up with her head on the arm rest. You poured yourself a cup of tea, turned off the kettle and gently padded over to the couch. Turning off the lights you found your way to a spot on the opposite end of the couch.

Through the darkness you could see the curve of her shoulders, her blonde hair falling over the fuzz of the blanket. Truly a sight you could never get sick of. She really was the prettiest girl you knew, probably the prettiest girl ever. Everything seemed so complicated, these past years with Kate seemed so simple in the moment. Now it just felt like a big mess. How do you even fix this? What even are we fixing? Maybe that was a tomorrow problem. For now you were just happy to have her here.

[0bticeo]

i just want you to stay (with me) | dabi x reader

night shifts are hell, you think. here your are, stumbling back to your flat, in the dead of the night, hands shaking with the exhaustion of hours of work at the ER.

so, when you close the door behind you and all but slide down its wooden surface, you’re not expecting anything but a good night’s worth of sleep.

“rough day at work, sweetheart?”

you barely startle. barely. there, sprawled on your couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table before him, is dabi. 

you let out a huff, a tired smile tugging at your lips.

“night shifts suck.”

he grins, a sharp flash of white in the dark. you don’t bother turning the lights on. too much and he’ll shy away, shadow slipping in the dark streets below.

“quit your job, sweetheart.”

“and lose easy access to quality medical supplies? hard pass.”

“giran probably knows a spot."

you step closer, feet quiet on the linoleum floor. 

“i’d rather not be branded as a criminal. my poor mother wouldn’t handle it.”

“shame. you’d make a cute villain.”

dabi’s skin stretches and pulls over the narrow bones of him, taut over his jaw as he grins. he’s watching you, eyes blazing like his flames, a predator ready to pounce to all.

but you know him.

you see the way his shoulders sag in quiet relief, feel the way his fingers - long, slender, deadly - curl around your wrist. he won’t ask you to stay. the words would hang too heavily in the air. they might choke you both. you, little civilian meddling in the muddy waters of crime. him, villain with thirty known victims under his belt.

yet… yet, here, in the quiet darkness of the little place you call a home, he melts. lets you unravel him, lets you pull down his coat, the leather smoke-heavy, ember-warm on your skin. lets you pull off his shirt and run your hands over his burns, the gnarled flesh, barely holding on. you’re careful, when you touch him.

“my nerves are burnt, sweetheart. i don’t feel a thing.”

“liar”, you whisper against the shell of his ear, lips brushing against the cold metal of his piercings. 

he feels too much, you know. quirkless you may be, but if there’s one thing you learned in your meager twenty-four years of existence, it’s that meta-abilites are always a reflection of their bearer. and dabi…

oh, dabi burns and burns.

you look at him, sitting on your couch, watching you, teal eyes like twin pyres in the dark, a siren’s song of fire. the moonlight is kind to him, you think, curling in the dips and crevices of him, nestling in the jutting collarbones, the sharp edge of his jaw, the stark metal of his staples.

you settle beside him, hand light on his shoulder, touch gentle on his skin, gaze critical. 

“i thought your burns would be in a worse state than that.”

he lets out a low rasp of a chuckle.

“what, disappointed you can’t get your hands all over me, doc?"

you let out a huff.

“you’re a menace.”

heat on your hips. he’s pulling you closer to him, broad hands encompassing your waist. his head fits on your chest. a low rumble.

“you love this menace.”

he’s leaning into your touch, dabi, a lick of heat warming your side. his hair brushes against your shoulder. your palm presses flat against his chest, against the unburnt planes of him.

his eyes are half-lidded, heavy blue drawing you in. a small smile tugs at your lips. your fingers thread through his hair.

“i love you.”

you feel his cheeks grow hot, even through the fabric of his your t-shirt.

“that’s a low blow, doc.”

you grin, lips soft against his heated forehead. he nuzzles in your chest, burying his face in the cradle of your arms, driving you closer to him.

if he could meld you together, cremation flashing blue, he would. keep you all to himself, away from the hustle and bustle of your ER job, away from the hero commission and its demands.

he settles for this instead. 

he stays.

[honeybuckin10]

Code Blue - a Hawks x fem!lawyer!reader One Shot

Summary: Pre-Meta Liberation Army Arc. A hero’s birthday party on a night off blurs the lines of professionalism between the Commission’s rising junior prosecutor and a certain winged hero when secrets are exchanged [wc 5.2k (I'm so sorry)].

Warnings (nsfw): swearing, drinking, workplace romance, mutual pining, angst and fluff, everyone’s a dummy, mature themes, smut-ish, heavy petting. Characters slightly aged up (mid-late 20’s).

a/n: first time writing for Hawks and/or MHA, would love feedback. please don't be a ghost reader!

Nights off for heroes were few and far between. So when they did happen, usually all Hawks wanted to do was catch up on much needed sleep. But it was Best Jeanist’s birthday, which was how he found himself begrudgingly ordering a round of drinks at the bar for the handful that had gathered to celebrate their friend and colleague.

For the sake of Best Jeanist, he did his best to hide the fact that he was in sensory overload. His feathers only amplified the already deafening bass of the live band, coupled with the loud conversations, and the clinking of dishes, glasses, and silverware.  

“Happy birthday! Sorry I’m late,” he heard the squeaky voice behind him. He turned around to see you giving the birthday boy a friendly hug before handing him a small gift bag with a card sticking out. You were a prosecutor for the Hero Public Safety Commission’s District Attorney's Office. Due to the nature of your work, you crossed paths frequently with heroes to gather evidence and build case files to justly put away villains.  

The first time Hawks met you, you bumped into him in line at the Public Records Department on the second floor of the courthouse. Literally. Your face was buried deep in a case file, the *click clack* of your heels echoing as they hit the linoleum floor. Not paying attention, you walked right into Hawks’ wings, causing you to drop the plethora of papers in your arms.

-

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention!” you said, not even realizing at first who exactly you had bumped into, though you did think it was odd that you had to spit out a feather.

The halls of the courthouse, like any government building, were unfriendly, bureaucratic and slow. Annoyed, he was going to tell you to watch it. The words began to form in his mouth, but fizzled when he turned around and saw you crouched down awkwardly trying to gather all your papers, your range of motion clearly limited by your stiff skirt suit and precariously balanced in your heels. At one point your hair was probably pulled back in a sleek bun, but more than a few strands were now falling out of place. He felt bad. So instead of telling you off, he knelt down to help you pick up whatever was left on the floor.

“It’s ok, these things can be hard to miss sometimes.”

Confused, you looked up to meet golden irises and a sly smirk. Your already rosy cheeks deepened from pink to red upon realizing who was in front of you.

“Oh my God. Mr. Hawks Sir. I’m so sorry.” You immediately got to your feet, straightening out your posture. Your eyes fell from his face to the very prominent crimson wings that hung majestically behind him. You grimaced. “Wow I guess I was really out of it.”

“No worries.” He handed you back the rest of the strewn files, your fingers just grazing. “So… come here often?”

He earned a small laugh from you, finally able to put you at ease somewhat even if only for a moment. “No… or yes? I’m not really sure yet. This is my first case.” A newbie lawyer, of course. You gave a strained smile, but the furrow in your brow gave your nerves away.

“Ah, welcome to hell. Prosecutor or public defender?”

“Prosecutor.” He smiled.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of each other, then.”

“I hope so.” Ever the professional, he was sure you didn’t mean for it to come off as anything more than introductory pleasantries. But he couldn’t help the little beat his heart skipped that caused his wings to flutter slightly. He hoped you didn’t notice.

“NEXT!” The voice of the elderly woman at the front desk boomed, hoarse from years of yelling and cigarettes. Hawks took one more look at you as your eyes kept darting to your watch.

“Why don’t you go ahead of me?” he offered. He could have introduced you to Beyonce and he was sure he wouldn’t have gotten the same reaction. You looked like a little kid on Christmas morning, but you did your best to hide your eagerness.

“Are you sure Mr. Hawks?”

“I’m in no rush, I insist. And please, just Hawks.”

“You’re holding up the line, you have five seconds to decide before I’m kicking you both to the back,” the old lady deadpanned. You looked at each other, eyes wide, both biting back shit-eating grins.

“You heard her,” he said. He took a step back, bowing slightly with an arm extended to motion you through.

“Thank you,” you mouthed wordlessly to him as you slid past.

“Good luck.”

-

That was almost two years ago. Since then, you picked up more high-profile cases, including the arrest and sentencing of Stain and had begun to make a name for yourself as a rising junior prosecutor. Two years of various long and agonizing depositions, witness prep, thousands of boxes of files combed through, late night arraignments. Almost two years of brushing elbows in the trenches, and this was his first time seeing you outside of a work setting. But for your voice, he wasn’t sure if he would have recognized you.

Your hair, free from its ordinary confines, fell effortlessly down your shoulders and framed your face perfectly. Sure, occasionally he thought about what your body might look like out of a suit, but the reality was better than anything else his imagination could concoct. Had you always had curves there?

Hawks had always thought you were pretty. But being the Number Two Hero with a predominantly female fan base, he wasn’t necessarily phased by looks. What did phase him was that big brain of yours. You wouldn’t be good at your job if you weren’t insanely intelligent with a work ethic to boot. Hawks realized he had a crush on you after the first time he saw you try a case in person. It was a trial for one of the villains he had taken down and you enlisted him as a witness. Seeing you in court charm every single juror in your opening and closing statements, expertly cross-examining hostile witnesses, keeping your cool in the face of a disrespectful opposing counsel – that’s what got his heart going a mile a minute.

So now here you were in the wild, not in a suit, saying hello to everyone like the social butterfly you were. Your exposed skin was like the answer to a riddle he didn’t know he was trying to solve. He tried not to stare, staring was rude. Staring was also causing his wings to have a mind of their own, puffing up and fluttering away ever so slightly. He turned his back again to hide them, and took a sip of beer trying very much to go unnoticed.

“Um, excuse me ma’am. I’m going to need to see some license and registration for the absolute dump truck you got behind you,” said a devilish Mirko after tapping your shoulder. Your laughter rang out, cutting through the other noise in the bar. Hawks tried to pretend he didn’t hear it, though the corners of his mouth threatened to tug a smile out of him. She’s not wrong.

“Hawks, doesn’t y/n look good in this ‘fit?” He didn’t know how or when, but he was going to kill Mirko. He blamed it on her sixth bunny sense that she’d somehow sniffed out his feelings for you - though it was probably the fact that she noticed he stopped entertaining one-night stands months ago.

“Mirko, have you considered that y/n would like to have a night out without being harassed?” Even in the dim lights of the bar, he could tell your cheeks were flushed. And despite the nonchalant act he was trying to put on, he was sure his face was about the same.

“Hey, I was just giving a compliment,” the bunny said mischievously. She gave Hawks a wink as she backed away, but not before mouthing “If you don’t fuck her, I will.”

“Hi,” you said cheekily, blissfully unaware of the chaos around you.

“Hi Counselor,” he said, no longer able to contain his smile. He dipped down to give you a hug, hoping the way he inhaled your perfume went undetected. His senses were permeated with vanilla and cedarwood, followed by the smell of your floral shampoo. The warmth of your body spread across his chest, and he tried to memorize the way your soft hands felt so small resting on his shoulders. Reluctantly he pulled away.

“So how much catching up do I have to do?” you asked. Hawks swirled around the last of his beer.

“This is my second, but I can’t speak for the rest of my – uh - colleagues,” he said as he glanced at Mirko who was now forcing Best Jeanist to take a shot.

“Ah, I see,” you said slowly, following his line of sight.

“So what can I get you to drink?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“You buying me a drink, Hawks?” He rolled his eyes as you elbowed him in his side wiggling your eyebrows.

“I needed a refill anyways and my tab’s already open. Don’t let it get to your head,” he teased back.

“Oh don’t you worry, I will.” The bartender placed two beers in front of you. You took a long sip, as you watched the hero swirl is drink. Something was off and you were going to get to the bottom of it.  

What Hawks was actually thinking as he stared at his beverage, was that he suddenly had no idea what to say or do with his hands.

“So are you going to spend the rest of the night cowering in the corner? Didn’t think you’d be the wet blanket of the bunch.” He nearly spat out his beer.

“I’m not a wet blanket,” he said defensively.

“Prove it.” You stuck out your hand. “Since you bought me a drink, I think I owe you a dance,” you said with a smirk. He looked at you thoughtfully.

“You owe me nothing except your friendship.”

“Oh we’re friends now? I thought we were colleagues,” poking fun at his earlier comment. He didn’t like the hole you were digging him into. He could flirt with a brick wall, yet for some reason the workplace flirtations that had escalated for two years between you two were not translating to the place where they would be most appropriate.

“I, uh, tend to get in the way. Better not.” He tilted his head towards his back where his wings hung lamely.

“Oh come on don’t be a party pooper,” you gave an encouraging smile. His eyes met yours only for moment, but looking at you was like looking directly into the sun. So he kept his eyes on your hand while he found himself uncharacteristically tongue tied. He took your extended palm, but didn’t budge when you tried pulling him off the barstool. He sensed your breath hitch as he held you in place. Your eyes traveled from your now interlocked hands to his face. “Hawks…?”

*beep* “We got a code red. I repeat, code red. Over.” *beep*

The noise came from your purse, pulling you both out of whatever trance you were in. He raised an eyebrow. Sure enough, you pulled out a walkie talkie and brought it to your mouth.

“Rescue effort deployed, over.” *beep*

His golden orbs finally met yours, your eyes swimming with sympathy.

“I’ve been summoned. I don’t know what’s going on here, but come find me when you’re done sulking, yeah?”

He released your hand and watched as you disappeared into the dance floor, but not before he saw you ward off an unwanted suitor leering over Mount Lady who was still gripping the sister walkie-talkie.

He settled back into the bar seat and chugged.  

“I thought you were fun at parties.” Best Jeanist saddled up beside him, dropping off his empty round. Hawks groaned.

“Not you too.”

“It’s my birthday, you’re obligated to be nice to me. Not that I thought it would be so difficult for you.”

“It’s my first night off in months man, I’m just a little tired.”

“We’re all tired, that’s no excuse.”

Hawks felt guilty, Best Jeanist was right. Embarrassment bubbled in his gut, though maybe that was just the beer.

“Relationships are like a new pair of high quality jeans –“

“Please stop.”

“At first, the fibers are stiff. They take a while to break in, may even feel uncomfortable at first. But after a few wears, the fabric relaxes and molds to the wearer. The perfect denim…”

“Are you done?”

“No. You knew she was going to be here tonight so what gives?”

Hawks ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

-

You and Hawks had been at it for hours. You let out a low groan.

“Can you grab that box for me? I can’t reach.”

Hawks couldn’t help himself. You looked so cute on your tip toes arms extended. The persona you exuded in court was bigger than life, but outside that you were quite ordinary. He liked that you weren’t so infallible that you were beyond the need for his assistance.

The boxes of evidence filled the office, floor to ceiling. You had gone through most of them, only one pile was left. Technically he didn’t have to be there, but he’d bumped into you in the halls of the HPSC long past most had left the building. You explained your plight that the other junior associate assigned to the case with you had bailed. It was for one of the villains he’d captured anyways, so he volunteered to help.

“Yeah, I got it Birdie.” He walked over to where you were, but you didn’t budge. Stubbornly you continued to wave your arms as though you’d be able to summon the box clearly out of reach through sheer will alone. It was, in a word, adorable. So he perched himself behind you, pressing against your backside to absolve you of your struggle. He was being mindful of space - was the story he told himself, which was a lie. It would also be a lie to say he didn’t enjoy it.

You inhaled sharply and instinctively closed your eyes, his cologne infiltrating your nose. It’s not that you and Hawks hadn’t made physical contact before, it’s just that it was mostly in the form of professional or friendly touches. Like handshakes or pats on the back or nudging arms. There had only been a handful of other times where there was accidental increased contact, and each time felt like an out of body experience. This was no different. You tried not to push your ass into him as he reached above you, relishing the warmth of his body against yours. Meekly, you let your arms drop to your sides as a shiver rolled down your spine.

You only turned around when you heard him drop the box on the ground. You let your back land on the stack of boxes against the wall. You drank in his form, mere inches away from you. Jacket and gloves long discarded, you admired the veins in his forearms and the contours of his muscles that shown through his shirt. You knew he caught you staring, but you didn’t mind.

Hawks stared right back at you, silently enjoying the way the collar of your blouse, now partially unbuttoned and lopsided, showed off your clavicle. Your hair once perfectly coiffed now fell in a loose bun, strays falling around your face. Your half-lidded eyes beckoned him to close the tiny gap between you.

Maybe it was sleep deprivation that he forgot who you were (his coworker) or where he was (inside your office in the building of the HPSC). All sense of rationality went out the window the moment Hawks decided to take a step forward. Your eyes followed as he placed a hand next to your head, then trailed up the length of his arm back to his face, finally focusing on his lush lips that were suddenly very close. You held your breath as you patiently waited for impact that never came. His beeper went off, startling you both and cutting the moment short.

-

That was last night.

You were a lawyer. You followed rules. You enforced rules. Not that sleeping/dating a coworker was illegal, but it felt like you were doing something wrong. You weren’t each other’s superiors or subordinates, you weren’t in the same department, you checked the Commission’s bylaws and there was nothing else explicitly prohibiting romantic relations between employees. But you were still scared to disrupt the status quo.

You didn’t think much of it at first. You knew Hawks flirted with anything with a pulse. So you didn’t see the harm in giving him a taste of his own medicine every now and then. You weren’t sure when you started having actual feelings for him. It might have been a few months ago when you got to your office in the morning after a long night of work, only to find a coffee and a crimson feather on your desk. When had you told him your coffee order? All you knew was that the exchanges that once felt like an inside joke now seemed like cruel and unusual punishment, a reminder that you were nothing special and that this was just how he acted with everyone.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out on the dancefloor. Your feet were starting to hurt. Mirko had fed you two shots and you were now nursing the remaining ice from your second gin and tonic. With clear liquor and cloudy eyes, you felt your confidence draining as the night wore on, no sign of The Winged Hero in sight. Did you go too far? Did you horribly misread last night’s events? Was he avoiding you?

You felt a pair of hands grip your hips, pulling you out of your daydream and realizing you had no idea where everyone else was. Your hand flew to your purse to grab your walkie-talkie.

“Don’t tell me you’re about to code-red me.” Your eyes immediately lit up as you turned around, too much alcohol in your system to play coy.

“You came!” Your hands excitedly drummed his chest. Your grin was infectious. He leaned in to make himself heard over the speakers.  

“Of course I did. Just took a while to find you, you’re pretty short.” His hot breath tickled your ear.

“You think I’m pretty?” you drawled, a lazy smile plastered on your face. The initial panic in his eyes softened as he realized your mistake. He didn’t have the heart to correct you, nor were you were wrong.

“That’s not what I – yeah… you’re pretty.” You pressed yourself up into him on tip toes, cupping a hand around his ear.

“Can I tell you a secret?” His heartbeat quickened, his own sobriety lacking along with his social filter. He should have shut it down, but instead he said:

“Always.”

“I – “

“Hey, watch it with those things.” His wings, again having a mind of their own, had inadvertently fluttered a drink out of a nearby patron’s hands - and he wasn’t happy about it. He was about to apologize, but you beat him to the response.

“Clearly it was an accident, why don’t you watch it you bitch-ass – ” On one hand, he thought it was very sexy how you tried to defend him. On the other, you were simply not threatening no matter how hard you tried and the last thing Hawks wanted right now was to ruin what felt like the most important moment of his life with a bar fight.

“I am very sorry sir, it was an accident. Feel free to use my tab the rest of the night,” he said to the man as he picked you up by your midsection and carried you away before you could finish the sentence. Even as you retreated, you continued your death glare towards the stranger who was left very confused.

Hawks placed you down in a corner where his wings and your sharp tongue hopefully wouldn’t cause any further disruptions. He leaned his back against the wall just to be safe.

“So do you usually go around starting bar fights?” he said with a smug smile.

“Me?! He started it and I was defending your honor,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “You’re welcome,” you said defiantly. To your dismay, the hero let out a hearty laugh. “Hey!”

“I’m sorry. You’re right, you were very scary,” he finally got out as his laughter slowed.  

“Don’t lie,” you pouted.

“It was really cute.” He was still laughing, but you were starting to sober up.

“I said don’t lie.” Your meek voice was barely audible in the still boisterous bar. His eyes softened at your hardened expression.

“I-I wasn’t.” He was suddenly very aware of your surroundings, which was next to the line starting to form by the bathrooms. Loud chit chatter and crying coming from the ladies’ room mixed with sound of someone audibly vomiting from the men’s room was not exactly how he pictured this going down. He took your hand and started walking again.

“Ugh, where are we going now? Our friends are still there,” you groaned. Friends. Why was that word so easy for you, yet rolled off his tongue like sand paper?

“We can go back inside in a minute, but I want to talk.” He’d led you out the backdoor of the bar. You looked around, clearly confused.

“Dude, what is happening?”

“I couldn’t hear you in there and we were next to the bathrooms.”

“So you dragged me out to an alleyway next to a literal dumpster. Got it.” He looked around just to check if you were correct, which unfortunately, you were.

You couldn’t be serious with each other if you tried. Snorts and stifled giggles filled the alley, overpowering the dull bass from inside.

“I guess I really know how to set the mood, huh.” He scratched the back of his head, admiring the scenery.

“I didn’t know there was a mood to be set.” Your tone was inquisitive, free of judgement. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on? You’ve been acting weird all night.”

Hawks took a deep breath, trying to gather his growing nerves. But he was a coward who’d rather fly into a burning building than share his feelings so he deflected.

“You said you were going to tell me a secret in there. What was it?”

Your felt your cheeks immediately burn. The liquid courage you had before was wearing off so you volleyed back.

“You have to tell me a secret first,” you said defensively. Hawks rolled his eyes.

“I’ve already told you two secrets tonight, you just weren’t paying attention.”

“Like wha- oh.” You brought a hand to your mouth to cover the audible gasp that left your lips. You wondered if Hawks was embarrassed. If he was, he hid it well under the guise of a knowing smirk. It was at that moment you noticed how his gilded eyes shone spectacularly under the dim glow of the nearby streetlamp. Perhaps the embarrassment, if any, was also pacified by how clearly flustered you were by the culmination of all that had transpired in the last 24 hours. You crossed your arms. “Well… I still need one more secret from you.”

“Wow, three for the price of one? Now you’re just overselling it.” He stopped teasing when he saw you pouting again. Not a playful pout, but the kind that made it look like you were about to break. He never thought of you as fragile before. He grabbed your hand, averting his gaze.

“You have to promise to keep it a secret, ok?” You nodded, squeezing his hand for reassurance.

“I promise.” He took a deep breath, finally gathering the courage to look you in the eyes again.

“Keigo.”

“What?”

“Keigo,” he said again. “Keigo Takami. That’s my real name.” Your eyes widened in horror realizing you’d made him compromise his own security. You frantically began scanning your surroundings for any unintentional witnesses. He grabbed your shoulders to steady you.

“Oh my god, Hawks, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to –“

“Shhhh it’s ok there’s no one else around. You didn’t force me, I want you to know. Please, call me Keigo.” He watched the rise and fall of your chest, trying to monitor your labored breathing. Again, this was not going as planned. Not that he really had a plan to begin with. But even if he did, causing you to go into cardiac arrest surely was not on the list. Your breath finally started to slow.

“Keigo,” you whispered, more to yourself than anyone else. You liked the way his name felt on your tongue, so you said it again. “Keigo.”

He tried to suppress a smile, watching how the corners of your lips tugged upwards. His hand, seemingly acting on its own, stroked your hair as he continued to sooth you.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” which was another way to say he’d never heard a more beautiful sound in his life than his real name falling from your lips.

He tried to lighten the mood, not wanting to cause you any more distress than he already had over the course of the night.

“Not to brag, but this better be one hell of a secret ‘cause–“

He didn’t get to finish the sentence. You grabbed him by the collar to bring his lips to yours in a messy, fervent kiss that took his breath away but was over in the blink of an eye before he could act or process.  

You pushed him away slightly as you caught your breath, looking just as surprised as he was about the whole ordeal.   

“I-I’m sorry I should’ve asked –“

He crashed into you as he held both sides of your face, afraid you may float away if that beautiful mind of yours started to overthink as it often did. The force knocked you into the building behind you, but you didn’t mind. Wandering hands traveled over each other’s bodies, both eager to explore foreign skin. Your tongues danced in unison as you body tingled under his erratic touch, grabbing your arms, back, hips, waist, hair, whatever he could hold onto unable to stay in one place for long.

You couldn’t stop your own hands from feeling the muscles you’d watched from afar for so long, enjoying the ripple of his abs, the sturdiness of his chest, finally landing around his neck. You pulled him impossibly closer, spiteful of the little space that still separated you. His wings protectively caged around you, shielding any prying eyes from your compromising position.

In an extraordinary display of restraint he kept a hand on your ribcage, his fingers delicately ghosting the band of your bra over your clothes, his intent clear but never crossing boundaries. You smiled into the kiss deciding to take advantage of the new privacy as you placed your hand over his to guide it to its true destination. He let out a groan that reverberated against your lips as he squeezed the soft flesh under him, still in disbelief that he should be so lucky to experience all that had only existed in his imagination. He swallowed the soft moan you let out when he grazed his thumb over your sensitive nipple that peaked through the fabric of your top. You rolled your hips forward desperate for friction, and he eagerly returned the favor. You gasped at the feeling of his bulge against your pelvis, which you realized was the first time you’d come up for air since you locked lips.   

His mouth traveled down your neck until he found a sweet spot that made you squirm. Your hand also made its way south, but your path was halted by his calloused hand when you reached the waistband of his pants. Hawks might fuck you in an alleyway outside a bar, but Keigo wanted to build you the softest nest to lay you on because you deserved nothing less.

He nuzzled his face into the crook of you neck as his other hand drew little circles on the small of your back.

“Technically… that wasn’t a secret,” he whispered into your skin. Your chests rattled against one another as laughter escaped your lungs.

“You’re an ass,” you said through fits of giggles. He nipped a little more at your neck, encouraging you on. “If you’re going to make me say it… I wanted to kiss you. Tonight. And last night. And the day before that. And the week before that. And –“

He kissed you once more to cut you off, but this time it was sweet and soft. It made you feel calm and centered. So when he pulled away, you decided to share more.

“Can I tell you another secret?”

“If it’s anything like the first one, absolutely.” He brought your captured wrist to his mouth, leaving a trail of small kisses over your hand. Your heartbeat that finally started to slow picked right back up.

“I’ve never flown before.” You not-so-subtly glanced at his wings before looking back at him, eyebrow raised. He gave you a wicked grin.

“Yeah I can give you a ride little bird. Not to be presumptuous, but uh… your place or mine?” You pretended to think hard about the proposition.

“Hmm. I’d say appropriately-sumptuous, and… dealer’s choice.” Hawks had found his way to your neck again which made thinking straight quite difficult, but you persisted nonetheless. “Though… maybe we go back inside and table this for another hour. I feel bad leaving without saying goodbye.”

Hawks moved up the column of you neck until his breath was in your ear.

“I’m gonna go on a limb and say, I think it would make the birthday boy very happy if we didn’t.” Despite the blush that crept to your cheeks knowing you may be the subject of workplace gossip tomorrow, your core clenched in anticipation at his words. The hero could tell from your dazed expression that it was time to go. That was, at least, until the walkie-talkie in your purse went off again.

*beep* “Code blue, y/n where are you? Over.” *beep*

You could see his sails deflate when you pulled out the device, assuming once again that his plans were foiled. Not one to put up a fight, he moved towards the door to reunite with everyone. But you didn’t budge, squeezing his hand to hold him in place. He watched closely as your other hand brought the walkie-talkie to your mouth. The playful twinkle in your eyes told him all he needed to know.

“The eagle has landed in the nest. Over.” *beep*

[brekitten]

Bruce doesn't dream.

He never has, really - at least, not that he can remember. He never even had nightmares from the night his parents died. Maybe that's why; maybe he just subconsciously trained himself to not dream after that night, in fear of the nightmares that were sure to come. But the point is that he does not dream.

And yet.

The dream always starts out the same, every night, every time he closes his eyes and slips into the embrace of sleep. He's in a pitch-black room, one so dark that he can't see his hands even when he raises them right in front of his face. He knows, somehow, that he can walk for hours without coming into contact with anything - walls, furniture, anything at all to indicate that he was even in a room. Yet he knows that he is, although he's not sure why, as there really is no reason for him to know that.

The dream changes, after a while of walking. He knows that he won't find anything, no matter how far or how long he walks. This place is empty, desolate even. It fills him with dread every time. The change is never consistent, always bringing him to a different place each night.

(Once, it was a dusty old bedroom, one that made his heart ache, although he didn't know why. He had taken notice of the various space-themed decorations, the model rockets and NASA posters and stars on the ceiling. It was clearly a child's bedroom, but it hadn't been used in a long time. Another time, it was a darkened lab, illuminated only by the strange vials of green liquid lined along the many, many shelves. Bruce had wondered, after he had awoken, if it was Lazarus Water, but that felt wrong. It was something else. Something more. It had made him uneasy, and he got the feeling that something terrible had happened there. He didn't get a chance to investigate the gaping hole in the wall before he had been whisked away to another part of the dream.)

This time, he is in a brightly-lit white lab, and he has to blink stars out of his eyes at the abrupt change in lighting and color. He looks around; it seems like a typical lab, but everything is pure white, except for a green stain on the table. He can feel bile rising in his throat at the sight of the cuffs on the table, and though he still doesn't know what the green substance is, he gets the horrible feeling that it's blood. A lot of it.

He uses what little time he has to investigate the lab. There is an abundance of medical supplies, but many look unused, with the exception of the scalpels. The pit in his stomach continues to grow. Why were there so many? He reaches toward a vial of red liquid, wrong wrong wrong this is wrong, when the dream changes again.

Now he's in what is clearly a cell, except even the cells in Arkham aren't this bare. The only thing it contains is a familiar white-haired teenager, who is chained to the floor with cuffs that glow the same green as the vials of Lazarus Water that he's seen before.

Though Bruce has never learned his name, he has been in every dream, the one constant (besides the empty room, of course) in each one. The kid has never spoken, never done more than watch, but Bruce has always gotten the feeling that he was the reason for these strange dreams.

He knows that he should be more worried. If some kind of meta has managed to get inside his head, there's no telling what could happen. But he can't bring himself to be. Something is wrong, and it's not the teenager.

He can't help but think of his own children.

Something feels . . . off this time. The kid isn't looking up, isn't even moving - he seems limp, almost, as he kneels on the ground, weighed down by the chains keeping him there. Green blood - Bruce knows it's blood now, it has to be - drips from his still figure, pooling on the ground underneath him.

Bruce can't move. He desperately wants to, what could he even do? but it's like he's frozen in place. He can only watch as the teenager slowly, agonizingly, looks up at him, his bright green eyes dull and filled with fear and desperation and hope and -

Bruce wakes.

[incorrect-star-allies]

Meta Knight: *standing at the top of the stairs* What are you all doing at the bottom of the staircase?

Captain Vul: I accidentally fell down.

Trident Knight: JAVELIN PUSHED ME down the stairs because I refuse to pay THEIR part of our rent!

Axe Knight: Vul bet me fifty bucks that I couldn't reach the bottom of the stairs faster than he did falling down it, so I slide down the banister to get my money.

Sailor Dee: I don't know how I got here. One moment, I was sleeping in my bed, three floors up, and then suddenly I was waking up here, just in time to get crushed by Axe Knight.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

au where the batkids just sort of,,,,,,invent a new batkid

it starts fairly innocuously, a cowl for someone’s costume ends up the wrong shape or the wrong colour. dick, having dropped by the cave to hand off some evidence or beg alfred for his new potato recipe (most likely both), sees it and his instant reaction is oh my god did bruce adopt another child vigilante? he’s colour-coding us now? fucking splendid

the confusion is cleared up quickly, but everyone got such a good laugh out of it that they keep the new helmet, insisting it belongs to bruce’s new kid ecurb. their vigilante name is Shadow The Dark Lad Blackwing Moron-With-An-Orange-Helmet Batbird. ever so creative.

(bruce doesn’t want to know.)

they collectively design a new costume for him. they convince oracle to help them get ecurb into the system, though it really doesn’t take much convincing, just a bit of dick’s puppy eyes and the utter ridiculousness of the situation that has her cackling. ecurb’s backstory is that he was part of travelling circus in america when he was kidnapped, held as a hostage, and tortured by the joker, during which he learned of batman’s true identity and also How To Fight Good, then was sent to kill bruce but was adopted by him instead. he’s a little older than damian but a little younger than duke, fights exclusively with brass knuckles, and his costume is black with orange polka dots.

(bruce really doesn’t want to know)

they talk about good old ecurb, or batbird depending on the company, amongst themselves all the time. good old ecurb, the only bat fast enough to get cass in rooftop tag. i heard ecurb took on bane with nothing but a water balloon and an empty laptop case and won. well i heard ecurb can get the gotham’s corrupt politicians to apologize to him. yeah, well i heard ecurb’s secretly a meta whose power is to neutralize other metahumans, and bruce keeps him as the ultimate contingency plan.

they talk about ecurb so much that the justice league believes bruce really did acquire a new child. other superhero teams are a little more skeptical, but after several select appearances in which different batkids donned batbird’s armour and were conveniently caught on camera, even they start to believe it. the titans really want to meet this new vigilante who can actually, consistently get dick to sleep. young justice want to fight him. but ecrub’s always undercover, or on a mission, or recovering because bruce trusts him so much, he’s already putting him in charge of the big stuff.

(bruce really really doesn’t want to know)

there are legends about ecurb. photos of him looking powerful yet mysterious, a carbon copy of batman but with orange polka dots. there are stories of the villains ecurb took on singlehandedly and won. apparently the green lantern corps contacted him and he turned them down. apparently he infiltrated the fortress of solitude and now is the leading expert on kryptonian tech. ecurb doesn’t fall off a cliff, he just changes the altitude of his fight. ecurb crashed a plane into a mountain and the mountain apologized to him.

they fake ecurb’s death as part of a plan to save the world. over a hundred heroes show up at the funeral. clark’s heart aches at bruce’s red-rimmed, watery eyes. bruce is two seconds away from collapsing on the floor in disbelieving laughter. ecurb rises from the dead a couple weeks later, no worse for the wear. his new costume now includes orange and pink polka dots.

the bats swear to take the secret to the grave.

[randomfoggytiger]

I mean, correct me if I'm wrong, but don't they sleep on the second floor of the Unremarkable House?

So... OP might have a point.

do you think mulder has a hard time staying on the first floor of places because headlights from cars driving by flashing on the window panes reminds him of the lights from when samantha was abducted and[GUNSHOT]

[bleachbleachbleach]

You've always been my go-to for all things Bleach lore and world-building! Do you think Shinigami all sleep in futons or beds? Or maybe it varies from character to character? We've seen the 4th division with beds in their wards, but I think every other character has slept in futons.

Haha, thank you! We do love a furniture deep-dive here, and people's headcanon speculations about shinigami life even more.

I started a list of any time we'd ever seen a character in some kind of bed (futon or frame), but it mostly just ended up being a long list of "_______ at the 4th," lol, so we'll see all those aside (almost all those aside). But canonically, there is a mixture! We see:

Hinamori in Aizen's futon

[Bleach 100]

Ukitake in his quarters

[Bleach e40]

Isane in her quarters

[Bleach 179]

Hisana at the Kuchiki house

[Bleach 179]

I think Rukia had a similar setup during the Bount Arc, as well.

Also, I'd like to note that for the record as I was retrieving *bed pictures* I got emotionally destroyed by my re-encounter with this panel. It is just SO deeply sad:

[Bleach 180]

The incredible, isolating vastness of the room, and the way the shadow cuts across the space. ToT <33333 It also reminds me of a really excellent meta piece done by afinepiece, where she analyzed the panels from Byakuya's story about Hisana and pointed out sections where the panel visuals might suggest Byakuya's memory/headspace more than physical reality. Her journal is deactivated but I know the reblog is on B3 somewhere! I'm inclined to go with that reading here, even though I also feel like the room probably just *looked like this* because every room in Soul Society is like this. (Maybe it's also for airflow, given her illness seemed partially respiratory and possibly contagious? ngl I'm basing this off that one anime elaboration scene and my co-blogger's post about Circus Hisana and Elephant TB).

In my mind Byakuya's convalescent setup was the same as Hisana's (is this the sad Seireitei equivalent of couples' outfits) but I was wrong:

[Bleach 180]

He's in a bed! But from the look of this building he's probably at the 4th and not at home. Put simply, this building is too brutish and workmanlike to be part of the Kuchiki complex:

[Bleach 180]

Hanatarou's quarters (implied)

[Bleach e259]

The tatami floor, layout, and big closet on the right-hand side seem to imply that Hanatarou uses a futon.

Abarai family quarters (implied)

[Bleach "No Breathes from Hell"]

This is probably not the only room in this house and they could put *anything* in those cabinets, but their sheer number and the style of the room suggests that this converts to a futon-filled bedroom, regardless of what might exist in other parts of the house.

Bonus 1: Renji in jail

[Bleach 118]

Is this at the 6th? Is this at the 4th? I always assumed the 6th, though obviously the 4th was involved. Idk, Byakuya left him on the ground. Maybe if you don't pick up your invalids the 4th just stashes them in their jail.

Bonus 2: Hitsugaya in Junrinan (non-shinigami, non-Seireitei)

[Bleach -16 (in between 286 and 287)]

These examples are pretty skewed in favor of futons, but if we think about this collection of characters, there is an overrepresentation of people who trend more traditional in terms of aesthetic, so they might not meaningfully represent the whole. Also, half the list is the same family.

We've seen a number of different offices and meeting rooms for each division, as well as some private residences, which have been a mix of Western and traditional styles in terms of the building itself and the furniture within it. Most of the offices seem to have Western furniture (or at least, the 10th, 6th, and 3rd), whereas Byakuya and Aizen, at least, seem to prefer the traditional at home.

Though, I don't know what this big-ass room is, but given its size and feeling of formal reception, this may well be the 5th's office?

[Bleach 100]

NB 1: I tried to look up what the office looks like under Shinji, but what is happening here:

[Bleach "No Breathes from Hell"]

NB 2: The 2nd also has traditional receiving rooms (used by both Yoruichi and Soi Fon, wherever the division between Shihouin and the 2nd is. But I assume Soi Fon's office is not the Shihouin Family Receiving room).

--

My feeling is that the differences are more regional/Division-based than personal preference-based, and *when*/by whom this design language was established depends on how much time and money the people in charge want to devote to furniture.

But that doesn't necessarily mean each Division is uniform, since we can see Isane and Hanatarou, both seated officers of the 4th, have different-style rooms! Maybe this is an effect of the 4th being an early bed adopter for their general professional purposes. Unohana is 100% a futon lady. I feel like Isane just accepted whatever was originally in the room, and that if there were no bed at all in the room she would sleep on the floor before asking to remodel. Does that mean a previous 4th VC wanted to modernize the VC quarters?

Was that previous 4th VC the original bedframe proselytizer, and got permission from Unohana to do up their quarters like a model home that gave examples of both types of room? Do Isane and Unohana live in an IKEA showroom?

What are the benefits of futons?

the room can be multi-use, a general common room by day and sleeping dorm by night

don't have to make a bunch of bedframes

Given what a big deal everyone makes out of transporting goods from the Living World, I feel like they probably make all their furniture and don't import particleboard from Nitori, so this would be expensive! Plus, given the amount of building reconstruction that needs to happen, I feel like there's probably a fairly small quota of wood released to civilians and/or divisions for non-essential use.

What are the benefits of bedframes?

BUNKBEDS

easier cleaning/long-term savings?

Yeah, you'd have to make the bedframes and have a whole separate common room, but having beds implies you've probably done away with the tatami in the room, since you're not really supposed to put heavy furniture on the mats. And I don't think in a barrack with heavy use you'd be able to rely on shinigami simply "being careful." Same logic as college dorms and their "IKEA, but completely indestructible" furniture.

So if you decide in the long-term that you don't want to do tatami maintenance/replacement and want wood furniture on wood floors, maybe the bed route is for you! ("You" here meaning "your division"!) At which point it'd be a matter of:

caring enough to do a cost/benefit analysis about this

whether or not you want to preserve the traditional aesthetic

whether you have the initial capital to invest in making the change

Some additional thoughts:

We know that at least a portion of the 2nd has heated floors, as financed by Oomaeda. I'm not a heated floors aficionado--though I stayed at an AirBnb once with a heated driveway--NUTS) but I feel like that would...not work with tatami? That over time the heat would dry them out too much and make them brittle? So maybe the 2nd has beds.

Despite the fact that the 10th office changes out their couch out a few times during the canon timeline, I feel like there's a 0% chance Hitsugaya has considered a bedding/architecture overhaul during his tenure at the 10th. He's spent the last 15 years developing a real filing system and an actual budget procedure. He didn't come in with extra money to put towards beds and the 46 doesn't generally approve that kind of line item. That's more of a "gift fund" expense.

Shinji is trying to get a Pod Hotel proposal approved, on the grounds that the idea would benefit more than just the 5th. They could implement it in the Tsumesho (Gotei WeWork)! And provide them in strategic outposts across Rukongai!

During what decade was the 11th briefly "HAMMOCK DIVISION" because it seemed like the cheapest, most low-maintenance option?