Just a ✨Girlie✨

She/her,19. I write fan-fiction. I draw, that’s cool. Plz don’t take, steal, or repost my art. I think that’s all… oh I love gorgeous men with issues… lol. This blog does have some 18+ topics on it…

[lowbatteryangel]

Masterlist

Started: 11/1/2023

Last Updated: 12/15/2023

Billy Hargrove

California Dreaming pt 1 pt 2 pt 3

It's Practically Magic ( On hiatus!) pt 1

Tip Toe

Where for art thou... Juliet?

Good Energy

Kiss the Chef

That's my Girlfriend!

Lipstick Stains

Robin Buckley

Boots and Trumpets pt 1 pt 2

[lowbatteryangel]

I just finished Sun rise on the reaping and I am not doing to well…

Maysilee Donner… you were the baddest bitch!😫

Once I watch this movie in theaters I will not recover. I will be so emotionally broken that I will not be the same person.

Haymitch did not deserve all of that! He deserves better 😭

[lowbatteryangel]

Hell yeah, Holly is now a walk ‘em down Wheeler!!

[silverlullabies]

Boys may be boys but hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Or, another Reader crash-out fic

The cake was on the floor.

You stared at it. Chocolate and cream splattered across the linoleum. Your fingers were still curled around the empty plate.

Someone was talking. You couldn’t hear them. There was a ringing in your ears, high pitched and constant, like tinnitus mixed with a tea kettle mixed with the sound your sanity made as it finally, finally gave up and died.

A tear rolled down your cheek.

Then another.

The mess hall had gone quiet. You could feel eyes on you. Sergeant MacTavish was saying something; apologizing, probably. His mouth was moving. You watched it move, disconnected, like you were underwater and he was on the surface.

The men probably thought they understood. Poor thing. She’s crying over cake. Women and their emotions, right? It came out of nowhere. She just snapped. Over cake.

You know what they say about adrenaline? How it makes you stronger?

Your head came up slowly. The tears stopped. Something in your expression must have changed because MacTavish took a step back.

“Ma’am- ” he tried.

You looked at him. Really looked at him. Six feet of muscle and mohawk and nervous energy.

Then you reached out, grabbed him by the front of his tactical vest, and lifted.

MacTavish made a sound like a squeaky toy.

You were five foot seven. MacTavish was six foot two and probably weighed two twenty soaking wet.

You held him in the air with one hand.

It was never about the cake.

It started at 0530- thirty minutes before your alarm- when the fire alarm went off because Private Jenkins had tried to make toast. Toast. The most basic form of cooking known to mankind. Bread. Heat. That’s it. But somehow, somehow, Jenkins had managed to not only burn the toast but actually catch the toaster on fire. You’d stood in the predawn cold in your pajamas for forty five minutes while the fire department cleared the building.

When you’d asked Jenkins, trying to understand the thought process on how he’d managed it, he’d said, “I dunno, ma’am, I just pushed it down and walked away.”

Walked away.

From a toaster.

This was a man was trusted with a firearm.

By 0615, you’d discovered that no one had bothered to replace the fire extinguishers after last week’s “incident” (someone had tried to deep fry something in the common room and had nearly burned down the building). The Fire Chief had shown up during the Toast Incident and had lost his absolute mind. You’d spent forty five minutes getting screamed at- actually screamed at, with the vein in his forehead pulsing and everything- about negligence and fire code violations and “what kind of chickenshit operation are you running here?”

You weren’t even in charge of fire safety. That was Morrison’s job. Morrison, who was conspicuously absent. Morrison, who’d somehow had a “dentist appointment” at 6 AM. But Captain Price had looked at you and said, “Handle it,” and then walked away, leaving you to take the fall for someone else’s incompetence. Again.

The Fire Chief had threatened to report the base. You’d had to grovel and promise it would never happen again and personally saw to it that they were all replaced.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

0700: Someone- you has suspects but couldn’t prove it- had made you the next victim in the base wide prank war that had been ongoing for weeks and replaced your shampoo with Nair. No doubt they thought they were pranking someone else and hadn’t bothered to confirm they had the right locker first. You’d caught it just in time, but only because you’d been paranoid enough to smell it first. You’d had to use dish soap to wash your hair. Dish soap.

0730: You’d found out that the weekly intelligence reports you’d specifically asked Corporal Davis to file were not, in fact, filed. When you’d asked why, he’d said- and you could not make this up even if you tried- “Oh, I thought you said you’d do it.” You’d literally watched him write it down in his little notebook. You’d watched him underline it. The reports were now late. Your ass was on the line. But sure, Davis thought you were doing it.

0800 briefing: You’d watched Lieutenant Riley drink tea through his mask. Not lift it. Not move it. Straight through the fabric like some kind of logic defying cryptid. When you’d stared at him in horrified confusion, he’d just stared back with those dead eyes. You’d had to continue the briefing while experiencing what could only be described as a dissociative episode. No one else seemed to think this was weird. You were surrounded by lunatics.

0845: The visiting Lieutenant Colonel called you “sweetheart” and asked if you’d “mind terribly” grabbing coffee for the room. You were running the briefing. You were running it. He’d then spent the next fifteen minutes explaining your own intelligence report back to you, incorrectly, while nodding like he was doing you a favor.

0900: You’d discovered that your meticulously prepared presentation for the brass- six hours of work- had been deleted. Just gone. You’d asked the IT specialist what happened. He’d said, “Oh yeah, I was cleaning up the shared drive and it looked like old stuff, so I deleted it.” It was dated from yesterday. It was very clearly labeled “BRIEF FOR VISITING BRASS - DO NOT DELETE.” He’d apparently not read that part. You’d recreated it from memory in forty five minutes while having what you were pretty sure was an aneurysm.

1000: Sergeant Garrick had crashed a drone- your personal drone, the one you’d bought with your own money- into the side of the barracks because he “wanted to see if he could do a barrel roll.” When you’d asked him why he’d used your drone instead of one of the fifty military grade drones on base, he’d said, “Yours was closer.” It was now in seven pieces. He’d apologized with those big sincere eyes like that somehow unsmashed your $800 drone.

1030: You’d had to break up a fight between two privates who were arguing about whether a hot dog was a sandwich. It had escalated to shoving. Grown men. Pushing each other. Over a hot dog. You’d had to file an incident report. You’d had to waste official military paperwork on the hot dog sandwich debate.

1100: The intelligence reports you needed for the 1300 meeting were being held up because the courier had accepted a dare to eat a carolina reaper and was now in medical “experiencing profound regret.” Your reports were locked in his bag. In his locked office. He was too busy “contemplating his mortality” to tell anyone the code. You’d had to get maintenance to literally drill the lock off.

1200: You’d confiscated a makeshift flamethrower that two privates had constructed from an aerosol can and a lighter because they “wanted to see if they could cook lunch faster.” There were scorch marks on the ceiling. When you’d asked them what they thought was going to happen, they’d both shrugged. No thoughts. Heads empty. Just vibes and arson.

1300 meeting: You’d had to present your recreated brief to the brass while the Lieutenant Colonel interrupted you every thirty seconds to add “valuable input” that was just… wrong. Factually incorrect. But you couldn’t correct him because he outranked you, despite being dumber than a bag of rocks.

1400: You’d returned to your office to find the door locked. Your office. Locked from the inside. You’d knocked. No answer. You’d used your key. It didn’t work- someone had engaged the interior lock. You’d had to get maintenance. Again. When they finally opened the door, you’d found Captain Price in there with Susan from admin. Susan’s lipstick was smeared. Captain Price’s hat was on your desk. They’d been using your office- your office- to fuck. On your desk. Your desk. Captain Price had the audacity to wink at you and say, “Thanks for the space, love,” as he walked out, adjusting his belt.

1430: You’d had to clean lipstick off your desk. And other things. You didn’t want to think about the other things. You’d used an entire container of disinfecting wipes. You were going to need therapy.

1445: Sergeant MacTavish had set off a smoke grenade in the women’s bathroom. You’d been in there. You’d been in a stall. He’d just opened the door, tossed it in without looking- because why would you look, apparently that’s too much to ask- and shut the door. You’d had to evacuate through a window. Second floor. You’d twisted your ankle. MacTavish had found you limping across the parking lot and had the absolute balls to ask if you were okay. You’d nearly murdered him with your bare hands.

1500: You’d discovered that someone had used your car- your personal vehicle- to make a beer run. Your car. They’d taken your keys from your desk (the desk that had been defiled) while you were in the building. There was a dent in the bumper now. No one would admit to it. When you’d asked around, everyone suddenly had amnesia. Thirty grown men and not one of them saw anything.

1530: Jenkins- fucking Jenkins- had been promoted to armory supervisor. The man who’d nearly burned down the building making toast. The man who’d assembled a rifle backwards last month. That Jenkins. You’d asked Captain Price if he was serious. He’d said, “He’s got initiative.” Initiative. Jenkins had initiative. You’d laughed. It was not a sane laugh.

1600: Someone had started a rumor that you and Ghost were dating. Three people had congratulated you. One had asked when the wedding was. Another had asked if Ghost was “good in bed” because “he seems like he’d be intense.” You’d had to stand there and explain that you were not, in fact, romantically involved with the base’s human shadow demon.

1630: The coffee maker in the officers’ lounge had finally, completely died. You’d gone to use the backup coffee maker. Also broken. The vending machine? Out of order. There was no coffee anywhere on this godforsaken base except for the instant coffee in the supply closet, which tasted like it had been brewed in the fires of hell using Satan’s bathwater.

1700: You’d found Garrick in the medical bay doing parkour. Parkour. Off the examination tables. There were muddy footprints on the ceiling. The ceiling. When you’d asked him what the hell he was doing, he’d said with a straight face “Conditioning, ma’am.” The medic had just shrugged like this was normal.

1745: You’d finally made it back to your office to find Ghost sitting at your desk. In the dark. When you’d turned on the light, he’d said, “You left these on the printer,” and held up a pack of paper like that explained any of this while you tried to make your heart rate return to a normal rate and rhythm. It did not explain why he was in the dark. It did not explain how he’d gotten into your office. It did not explain anything.

1800: You’d made it to the mess hall. You were running on four hours of sleep, no coffee, crunchy hair, a twisted ankle, and your will to live that was hanging on by a thread made of spite and denial.

And then you’d seen it.

The last piece of chocolate lava cake.

Your light. Your beacon. Your reason for continuing to exist.

You’d made it through the line in a daze. Mystery meat. Suspicious vegetables. Powdered mashed potatoes that had the consistency of paste.

But you had the cake.

You’d had the cake.

Past tense.

Because MacTavish, the man who’d already made your day a living hell, had come barreling through the mess hall like a drunk moose and knocked it out of your hands.

You’d watched it flip through the air.

Watched it land.

Face down.

And now you were here.

“Do you know- ” you snarled shaking MacTavish like a maraca, “- what kind of day I’ve had?”

The mess hall was dead silent except for your voice, which had gone somewhere between a scream and a primal roar.

“You’re supposed to be elite. Special forces. The best of the best. Do you know what that’s supposed to mean, MacTavish?”

MacTavish’s feet were dangling. You’d been holding him for a full minute now. Your arm wasn’t even shaking.

“It’s supposed to mean competence. Basic. Fucking. Competence.”

You shook him again.

“But you, all of you- you’re the stupidest bastards I’ve ever worked with. And I’ve worked with Marines. I’ve worked with Rangers. I’ve worked with private security contractors who showed more common sense than this entire unit combined.”

Your voice was rising, getting more unhinged with every word.

“You can’t make toast- ” you glanced at Jenkins, who’d gone pale, “- without committing arson. You can’t file a simple report. You can’t read a file name that says ‘do not delete’ in clear fucking English. You can’t look before you throw explosives into enclosed spaces.”

You turned your attention back to MacTavish.

“You threw a smoke grenade into the women’s bathroom. While I was in it. Didn’t check. Didn’t look. Just tossed it in like you were feeding ducks at a pond.”

“I didnae ken- ”

“You didn’t think!” Your voice cracked. “None of you think! That’s the problem! You just do things! Stupid, destructive, idiotic things! And then you look surprised when there are consequences!”

You started pacing, still holding MacTavish like he weighed nothing.

“I have a master’s degree. I speak four languages. I have eight years of experience and a spotless record. And what do I do with all that training and education?”

You looked around at the crowd.

“I clean up after you. I fix your mistakes. I file your paperwork. I take the fall for your incompetence because apparently I’m the only person on this base who can be trusted to actually do their fucking job.”

Your hands were shaking now. MacTavish had gone very still.

“Price- ” you found him in the crowd, “- you promoted Jenkins to the armory. Jenkins. The man who set a toaster on fire this morning is now in charge of weapons. Do you understand how insane that is? Do you?”

Price opened his mouth.

“That’s rhetorical, Captain. I don’t actually want to hear you try to justify it.”

Someone in the back made a nervous sound.

“And the rest of you- ” you looked around at the crowd, “- you’re no better. You fight about whether hot dogs are sandwiches. You make flamethrowers in your spare time. You use my car without permission. You put Nair in people’s shampoo bottles. You act like this is summer camp instead of a military base.”

Your voice had reached a pitch that was probably only audible to dogs.

“How- ” you could feel your face getting hot, “- how do they trust you with missions? With classified intelligence? With guns? You can’t even walk through a mess hall without destroying someone’s property!”

You stopped. Looked down at MacTavish, still dangling from your hand.

“All I wanted was one piece of cake. One. After spending the entire day keeping this operation from falling apart. After playing mother to a bunch of grown men who can’t be trusted with basic tasks. After being the only competent person in a building full of idiots who are supposed to be elite soldiers.”

Your voice dropped. Went quiet. Dangerous.

“And you took that from me.”

The silence was deafening.

You looked around at all of them. “You don’t even understand what you do. You don’t see it. You bumblefuck your way through every single day causing chaos and destruction and you think it’s fine because someone- because me- is always there to fix it. To smooth it over. To make excuses. To take the blame.”

You could feel something breaking. Some final thread of professionalism snapping.

You looked at MacTavish one more time.

Then you dropped him.

He hit the ground hard, stumbled backward, gasping.

“Outside,” you said quietly. Too quietly.

No one moved.

You looked at them. Your expression had gone completely flat. Empty.

“Get outside. By the count of zero.”

“Ma’am- “Price started, taking a step forward, hands up in that universal ‘let’s all calm down’ gesture. “Let’s just take a breath and- ”

You started taking off your earrings.

Price stopped talking.

You placed them carefully on the nearest table. Started on your watch.

“Ten,” you said calmly.

“Now hang on- ” Morrison tried.

“Nine.”

You unclasped your watch. Set it down next to the earrings.

“Ma’am, I really think we should all just- ” Garrick attempted.

“Eight.”

You shrugged off your jacket. Folded it. Placed it neatly on the table.

The mess hall had gone dead silent. Everyone was watching you with increasing horror.

“Seven.”

You bent down. Slipped off one heel. Then the other. Lined them up neatly.

“Listen, we can talk about this- ” Price tried again, but his voice had gone uncertain.

“Six.”

You rolled up your sleeves. Methodically. First the right. Then the left.

Ghost’s hand was definitely on his sidearm now.

“Please- ” someone in the back squeaked.

“Five.”

You tied your hair back. Smooth, practiced movements.

“Okay, everyone just stay calm- ” The visiting Lieutenant Colonel was backing toward the door.

“Four.”

You looked at the nearest table. Four people were sitting at it, frozen like deer in headlights.

“Ma’am- ” MacTavish’s voice was strangled.

“Three.”

You walked over to the table. Calmly. Slowly.

The four people scrambled away from it.

You grabbed the edge.

“Wait- ” Price started forward.

You ripped the table out of the floor.

The sound was catastrophic. Metal shrieking. Bolts shearing. Floor tiles cracking. The table came up like you were pulling a weed from soft earth. Several people shouted.

You held it above your head.

The mess hall had gone beyond silent into some kind of vacuum where sound didn’t exist anymore. Everyone had gone pale. Actually pale. Like they’d seen a ghost.

Someone whispered, “Aren’t those bolted to the ground?”

“…Yeah,” someone else breathed.

You looked at them. Made eye contact with as many as possible while holding a table over your head.

“Two.”

That broke the spell.

They moved.

Chairs screeched. Trays went flying. Someone definitely trampled someone else. There was shouting. Pushing. A full on stampede for the exits.

“Move move move- ”

“Go go go- ”

“Out of my way- ”

You stood there, still holding the table, and watched them flee like rats from a sinking ship.

When the last person had scrambled out- Jenkins, naturally, bringing up the rear- you set the table down carefully.

Then you walked out after them.

They were clustered on the grounds outside, a hundred and fifty people pressed together like a herd of prey animals, all watching the door you’d just exited.

You looked at them.

They looked at you.

The evening air was cool. Quiet. Peaceful.

“Run,” you said. It came out as a growl. Something primal and furious.

Nobody moved.

“Run. Laps. Now.”

They started moving, but not fast enough.

“I said run.”

They ran.

“How long, ma’am?” someone called out.

You smiled. It was not a kind smile.

“Until you die,” you said sweetly. “Or until I feel better. Whichever comes first.”

[lowbatteryangel]

I love me a good crash out fic 🤭

[lowbatteryangel]

Guys… season 5 is out…

My delusion ass still thinks Billy will be back… my college depression has somewhat gone away…

I’m feeling kind of inspired…

[lowbatteryangel]

Things that have happened in my DND campaign.

Fun Fact: The campaign us based on Aphmau's Minecraft diaries role play from YouTube. So if you see familiar names that is why!

Context: Here are the party members Nevari: Tiefling Bard that is quite flirty (but does not know how to) nonchalant, constantly drunk (6'2) Argyle: Human Wizard (with a face mutation) that is straight forward, aggressive, and awkward (6'0) Florence: Elven Rouge that is socially awkward, emotionally constipated, and nice (when she wants to be) (5'2) Bare: Half-elf Druid that is very hot, clueless, and independent(6'1) Tessera: Elven Cleric that is soft spoken and nervous (5'10)

(Set outside of a tavern in a village.) Vincent (A hot Tiefling Knight) So will you be staying in the town for long~? Nevari: Uhhh... (does not know how to react) maybe? Vincent: Maybe? I was hoping someone as lovely as yourself would be here longer~. Nevari: Uuuhhhh... suuure? (absolutly clueless) Vincent: Maybe you could join me later?~ We don't get many lovely creatures such as yourself in these parts~ Both Florence and Argyle eavesdropping by the window. Nevari literally sees them. 'these dumbasses' Vincent: Something the matter? Nevari: No, just saw two dumbasses... their nothing special... Vincent: Well then, I'll take my leave. (He takes her hand to kiss her knuckles) Hopefully I will see you again~ (He leaves to go into the tavern) Florence (from inside the tavern): You suck at flirting! Argyle (from inside the tavern): Is he your boyfriend now? Nevari: SHUT UP! DON'T SPEAK TO ME!

(Florence and Argyle snooping on Nevari with her man.)

Bare located in a suspicious alleyway in the middle of the night. He is currently with a clerk in a shop trying to buy some products. Clerk: Here ya go sir, some magic crack. Bare: thank you, how much? Clerk: 30 gold pieces. Bare: Hmm... how able I give you these berries instead. Clerk: Oooh wouldn't mind those, half the berries and 15 gold pieces. Bare:... How about all the berries and a kiss? Clerk: Well hotdog! I'll take that deal! The Clerk takes the berries from Bare tp put them away. Then grabs him by the very little cloth that covers his chest. Clerk: come here you hunk! the Clerk then proceeds to fully french kiss Bare in the middle of the store. Bare having not control over the situation and seeming not caring lets it happen. Later... Florence and Nevari see Bare come out of the alley as they are going to another tavern across town. They both see him; he is covered in bite marks, hickies , and his lips are swollen. they are both seeming stunned by his appearance when they see him. Nevari: You got a little something on your face there. Florence: What the fuck happened to you? Bare:... I bought crack.

Argyle is talking to a nice older woman who is holding a pie offering it to him. She is quite small and defenseless when she is talking to him. Nana: My husband Dante was telling me about you and your friends. Maybe you can join us for dinner, I just baked a nice pie for dessert! Argyle: ... I wanna roll for strength... Literally the entire party: WHY DO YOU WANNA ROLL FOR STRENGTH?! SHE 'S A GRANDMA! Argyle: I want to go to the armory. Everyone else: NO! Argyle: I will go find your husband now. Thank you. Argyle proceed to take the pie and thank Grandma Nana for her hospitality. He then proceeds to run off to find Dante and the others, pie in hand mind you. Nana waves at him goodbye. Nana: What a strange man...

Okay! that is all I'm gonna put so far, if y'all want to see more let me know. Hell if you want I can try to write scenes from our DND campaign so you all can see what the story is looking like.

Fun Fact: The campaign us based on Aphmau's Minecraft diaries roll play from YouTube. So if you see familiar names that is why!

[lowbatteryangel]

Question?! Has anyone ever seen the show detentionaire?? Cause it was actually a good show, like for real. Characters were well written and developed, the story was super interesting, plus in my opinion it’s one of the more accurate portrayals of teenage life, at least for the late 2010s.

Like I want more people to watch it!

Have you seen detentionaire???

Yes

No

Voting ended onSep 6, 2025

[parkjammys]

nothing but the truth

[lowbatteryangel]

100% agree!! MY MAAAAAN!

[stablefuse]

S3 Everyone lives nobody dies!AU. On the way to find out where Soviet spy is

🔪🔪🔪в вк не репостить🔪🔪🔪

[lowbatteryangel]

WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN!!!!! 😫😫😫

[shieldofiron]

Me when I see some ragebait about Billy Hargrove

[lowbatteryangel]

When you haven’t written anything in months but college is kicking your ass and you’re too tired to think of new fics…

I hate statistics…

[mostly-imagines]

La Vie En Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Whose was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie,”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

[lowbatteryangel]

I love this!!

[rayofsuunshiine]

And just like that.. I’m back on my Bucky Barnes bullshit.

[lowbatteryangel]

We back baby!!

My friends will not hear me shut up about him 😆

[lowbatteryangel]

An Exploding Star

Prologue:

Disclaimer: Not my art!! Credit to the original artist!

My name is Natsuki Hayashida...

From an early age I knew my place in this world. To be silent, never disobey, and never loose my temper. The rules have been instilled in me since childhood by my Mother and Father, Noa Hayashida and Yori Hayashida.

I was born into a family of wealth. From the moment I was born to when I was twelve I did not have to work a single minute or have to dirty my hands. With in the Hayashida Clan the women are taught to be dolls, mere objects to be looked at. We are not taught to defend ourselves or higher levels of education. To the elders of our clan it is important for the women to be obedient and beautiful so we can be married off to a male of another prestigious clan or family.

In my family I am one of six children; Junko my oldest sister, Shinju the second eldest, Masako the third, myself, and Arata. The only boy. My parents thought of him as a blessing after only having girls for so long. Since he was seen as more valuable my sisters and I were not allowed to interact with him since we are lesser then he.

The day I fled from my family is the day I gain my will. Gained my right to fight. The day I became a part of the demon slayer corps.

My name is Natsuki Hayashida... and I will choose my own future.

Hello! I just wanted to get a small prologue out before getting into the main story line of when Natsuki's story begins. I've been writing this for a while and now I am able to write her story.

Pls know I am a full time student with a part time job so I will try to get chapters out the best I can but other than that I hope you come back to read more about Natsuki Hayashida!

Thank you!

[lowbatteryangel]

Guys…

I JUST WANT TO MARRY A PRINCE AND BE A PRINCESS 😭😭😭

[lowbatteryangel]

Warm Sundays

Billy Hargrove x reader

Summary: Just a cuddle session with Billy, nothing but fluff. So sorry about my absence, stuff has been really tough for me for a while but I wanted to get something out while I'm trying to finish other fit I've been writing.

It was summer the season of relaxation and freedom.The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and you were right where you're supposed to be in Billy's arms. You could spend the rest of your summer like this in bed on a Sunday in his arms. The smell of his cologne brings comfort to you. You lay on his chest the warmth of his skin could put you back to sleep. You nuzzle your face into his chest tryin to be even more enveloped into him.

Billy giggled at your actions, " What are you doing?" he questioned squeezing you tighter in his hold.

"You're just so warm and comforting." You smiled. "You also smell great, so that's a plus."

Billy laughed at you," Good to know I smell good."

"Yeah... if ya didn't I wouldn't be dating you."

"Whoa harsh." He joked. "My good looks wouldn't win you over on the spot?"

"Nope." You stated. "You would just be in the sea of unclaimed lovers that I have." You laughed. You rest your chin on his chest to look at him. Taking in his relaxed state. His eyes were soft and kind when looking at you; he never looked at anyone else in such a way. His hair was all tossed and the dopy grin on his faced went along with it. Nothing like the ladies man that he is known to be. He was different now that he is with you. Someone that listens to him and cares for him. He shows you a side of him that no one but you is aloud to see.

"Well I would go through every single one of them to be with you." He declared. "I would fight for the chance to love you."

You giggled, "You're such a sap, I love it."

"And I love you."

You stared at him. Every time you hear him say that you get butterflies in your stomach all over again. The smile on your face widened even further.

You lay your head on his chest. "Can we stay like this a little longer."

"Baby, we could stay like this forever and I would not say a word."

. . . "Such a sap." You giggled cuddling deeper into Billy to not move for the next hour to stay warm.

[ibis-radish]

Literally how does anyone respect this guy