but the world is different now.

barbara gordon. 28. bat person, oracle & bird of prey. pretty good with a computer.

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 spoiledsteph:

@theoriginalbatgirl

Another day in the salt mines, Steph thought, stowing her gear in her bedroom. The studio she managed to swing when she left Gotham was about the size of a shoebox, but Steph didn’t mind, as long as she didn’t need a roommate. (Or a life.) When she wasn’t patrolling, she was working. Biking around the city was doing wonders for her endurance, even if it left Steph beaten and exhausted well before her nightly routes through the nearby blocks. 

After a quick shower, Steph pulled out her Spoiler gear from its hiding place and suited up, before crawling out of her window to the fire escape. Her place stood opposite an abandoned warehouse and an old garage, but Steph wasn’t taking any chances, not with Black Mask out there. He knew her name, had seen her face, and knew—knew stuff about her. Spoiler needed to be careful at all times if she wanted to stick around. Not even Battleworld could deter her fear. Sooner or later, New York City would be back on Earth, and Steph could fall right back into the crosshairs again.

No chances, she reminded herself, clambering onto the roof of the old garage. She could hardly be blamed for jumping a foot when her phone rang. Who the hell was calling Steph, anyway? Her dad was in jail, probably, her mom incommunicado, and she wasn’t exactly sure if Quicksilver had her number. She fished her cell out of her pocket, brow wrinkling in confusion when the hum of a computer met her ear. This dimension got weirder by the day.

“If this is a telemarketer, I’m not interested,” Steph informed them. “And you’re calling me way too late, pal.” Didn’t any of them know not to call after seven o’clock? She might as well do their job for them. “If this is a robocall, yes, I voted in the last election.”

There were more pros than cons to living alone in a spacious condo overlooking Central Park, she was no where near complaining. But the word alone, it implied loneliness. Barbara had no shortage of visitors, often unannounced, whether it was Dick or Tim dropping by with thin excuses that they all knew secretly amounted to checking in on her well-being, to Dinah and Helena popping in with questions or complaints (usually complaints, for the latter).

Barbara had picked out her home and office very carefully. She hadn’t wanted to live in just any apartment, or condo, or loft, etc. Her building needed privacy, security and excellent wifi capabilities. She also didn’t bother with a home that had seven bedrooms and five bathrooms. Her condo had two bedrooms, the master functioning as the home for her computers and other tech, and the smaller bedroom was where she slept. After living in a clock tower, it was something of an improvement. All of this was to say, Babs still had extra space to contend with. While every room served a purpose, the living room was vast, made even more pronounced in its vastness by how empty it often was. The bathroom was so ridiculously beautiful that sometimes it made her angry.

Babs, unlike most people, did her best work at night. And it wasn’t a fear of the dark or a hunch that her new place was haunted that made her antsy. When the Birds weren’t on a mission and she wasn’t inside a Bat’s ear, she didn’t know what to do with herself. Although it was well past sunset, it seemed as good a time as any to make contact with a girl she had been watching for months now. Babs hadn’t been entirely sure about what to make of her. Tim had actually met her and had good things to say, which counted for a lot. When she, too, left Gotham and turned up in New York, it seemed like a sign. If Barbara believed in such things.

For starters, Babs liked the way she answered the phone. Most people wouldn’t have talked to a blocked number. “Did you vote for Doom, Spoiler?” There was an audible smirk in her voice, a slight teasing. Nobody, as far as Barbara’s research could tell, had voted for their president. And of course, no telemarketer would know Spoiler by name. “I think this goes without saying, but this isn’t going to be that kind of phone call.”

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 arachnophiliad:

@theoriginalbatgirl

It was no secret that Oracle was one of the most successful and well connected superheroes in New York City. She had never divulged the secrets of her network, nor had Jessica asked, but it was always impressive when she got a ping from Oracle accompanied by pertinent information. As a superhero with a reputation of poorly thought out plans, it was much appreciated when she was warned about how many men were around the corner or whether or not the police were en route. Sure, the Avengers had a similar system and Jessica appreciated it just the same, but no one could deny that somehow, Oracle’s system was much more vast. None of that was relevant currently, Jessica had done her time darting throughout the city in red spandex, and for now, she was sat in her apartment with Oracle across from her. No life threatening injuries, no property damage, and now decent company with beer on the table made for an all around good night — her standards had gotten real low.

“So, you catch any of tonight’s motorcycle chase?” Jessica asked, cracking open her beer. It had gone on for exactly one block — some demons were ridiculously fast — before she was in the vicinity to spider-bite it, but hey, made for good conversation. Plus, she was a little curious just how vast Oracle’s sight truly was. “Looked like that demon had some kind of super-speed, but nothing can compare to Betsy,” she said, shrugging her shoulder. Betsy, of course, was Jessica’s motorcycle. “The takedown was pretty impressive, too. If you missed it, you really missed a good show.”

It was something in her character, more than anything, that made Barbara a natural born leader. She had become Batgirl entirely by accident and although she immediately aligned herself with Batman by doing so, the two of them and Robin had never been a trio. It was them, a dynamic duo, and her, sometimes working in tandem with them but just as often working alone. The gadgets, though, were a help and she had appreciated Bruce’s kindness back then. She wasn’t sure what to call it now. Becoming Oracle meant suddenly hiding herself away completely and shrouding her identity in mystery. With the things she knew, plenty of people wanted her dead, including many different governments. That was part of what set her aside from the bigger organized groups like the Justice League and the Avengers. Barbara had no qualms with breaking laws or hacking into top secret files if she could wield that knowledge for the greater good. It allowed her complete freedom and she knew well enough how to cover her tracks and plant traps to divert the hackers who looked for her.

Barbara still preferred secrecy and she was probably the most tight lipped about her true identity than anyone, but now that she planned to physically enter the field once again, she figured she might have to put herself out there. Just a little bit. The nice thing about being out of Gotham was that people didn’t automatically know who she was out of costume. “I think I caught the tail end of it. Flatter my ego by saying how brief it was?” She said with a smirk, though her tone conveyed that she was kind of being serious. There really wasn’t much action that Barbara didn’t at least glimpse. “I saw that part, thankfully. I learned a long time ago not to underestimate the performance capabilities of a good motorcycle -- or you.”

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 daemonlegacy:

it’s a common discrepancy, something damian has to forcibly handle, forcibly remind himself, forcible chime the bell that rings inside his head, bringing him back to himself, that despite the superior number of years that he’s been alive and aware, fully conscious and already training by the age of two, tiny, chubby hands already soaked in the blood of his mother’s assassins, already scarred and bruised from mishandling blades and gun handles, that the people here only care for outwards appearances. they only care that damian has been alive for eighteen years instead of twenty-one, even though should one ever attempt to write up the arithmetic for comparing damian’s and, say, barbara gordon’s number of years coherently able to make decisions for themselves, he’s consistently got her beat.

not that anything so profound has an affect on her or the rest of them however, too indoctrinated in their own set of moral alignments, strange decisions made by strange old men with their own set of obstacles, ignoring damian’s alternate themes of growing up, so he can do nothing except burn quietly against it. his teeth set themselves in a hard line, his arms crossing over his chest, the dissonant music and dialogue around the room coiling around his ears like sludge. if he can’t even take the edge off, he wants to return home, he wants to return to the streets, he wants to return to his job; the only viable actions he seems suited for, the only thing he’s really any good at.

it is, however, good to see barbara out and about, no crutches, no wheelchair, no lingering shadow of such a nasty, painted grin, green hair, pistol in hand– every time damian thinks about the joker, or what that psychopath has done to his family colleagues, it makes him want to find him and order a rematch of their last encounter, beat him to a bloody, breathless pulp all over again, finally put the world out of that particular misery. sometimes, in the blackened, secret corners of damian’s mind, he can still hear his mother’s and grandfather’s whispers, their disclosure of batman’s weakness, the inability to kill even that which should be long dead by now, and he can’t fully stop himself; he agrees.

but she’s here, she’s alive, and apparently recovering at such a decent rate, he can’t help wondering if that’s due to their time in new york or possibly just battleworld, if somehow the magics in the air might have aided her predicament, but then again, he knows how hard she’s been working to bring herself upright once more, regain control of her legs, her motor skills, become a bigger entity than just the girl in the center of the inter-webs. “if time is a social construct, wouldn’t age be one as well? what does it really matter?” his face contorts slightly darker as he watches her down the liquid in front of him, the snarl curling at his upper lip, setting down through his throat and into his stomach, tugging at his diaphragm uncomfortably. “you know i don’t normally debase myself to drinking, but i’m already on edge and frustrated and i don’t want to be here. desperate times, desperate measures.”

she regularly counts herself lucky for not being as big of a mess as she, statistically, probably ought to be. her IQ marks her an a genius, her computer literacy grants her access to secretive and terrible things that she has to live with the knowledge of, and her eidetic memory means she never forgets a single moment of any of it. geniuses are supposed to be miserable, right? and for the most part, she’s not. the worst part is consistently the fact that she will always have every awful memory burned into her mind forever, all of the embarrassing slip-ups, the mistakes she can never right, the look on dinah’s face whenever she says something mean just for the sake of pushing her away or the way dick crumpled when she told him she couldn’t do it anymore. all of that plagues her daily, and she’s pretty sure that whatever speech damian chooses to throw at her now will continue to annoy her for weeks to come.

still, she won’t regret it. babs probably wouldn’t have drank at all but as always, she’s willing to take one for the team. and whether damian likes it or not, they’re on the same team. barbara can’t even pretend to know what it’s like to be him and she understands the urges he must feel in environments like this, the desire to do something kind of stupid and teenager-y just because he rarely has the opportunity. parts of it, she does get. she never had a normal adolescence either. she went through all of the typical teenage stuff when she was too young to participate. and instead of being forced to kill, she was sheltered and protected by a father who knew exactly how dangerous the world was. and while she’s often reckless with her own life, she’s certainly jim gordon’s daughter when it comes to the people she cares about.

“you know what’s not a social construct? the awful effects of alcohol on the human body. your brain is under developed. and more young people are dying from liver diseases, likely caused by excessive drinking. so.” she stops there, because she hates sounding like the nagging older sister, even though...true. babs glances into the now empty glass with a wince. it didn’t go down smooth, but that might be a her thing. “on second thought, i should have just let you drink that. nasty.” she gets that people only drink alcohol for the feeling and not the taste. in her opinion, swinging from a building is one thousand times better -- she wouldn’t exactly recommend that, either, though. for her, the point is, there are other ways to feel drunk. and she hates feeling out of control, not when something terrible could happen at any moment. it’s her job to protect, whether anyone asked her to or not. “not to ask the obvious question, but why did you come?”

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 zatannaxannataz:

@theoriginalbatgirl

“So, the Tower of Fate, Shadowcrest, and the House of Mystery- and its twin, the House of Secrets, are all pocket dimensions, existing magically… adjacent to the dimension we inhabit. Or, they did.” Zatanna scribbled in a pretty leather bound journal as she spoke, drawing a large circle with several smaller symbols in it, her own personal denotations of the places she spoke of. Then she drew a smaller circle within the first, separate from the symbols. “But now we’re here. Possibly. It’s also possible we’re out here.” Another circle, outside all the others. “I can still access Shadowcrest, I just can’t leave to another dimension from it. I- haven’t tried getting into the House of Mystery yet, and honestly, I’d be happiest if Dr. Fate never showed his helmet here, so no Tower either. This-” She pulled over a little Valentino clutch, covered in studs and barely large enough to hold a phone, then reached her whole arm into it and arched her eyebrows before gently tossing it over to let Barbara inspect it if she wanted. Zee had a feeling she would. “Is also technically a pocket dimension, of my own design. Magically speaking… this is all a weird tangle, but maybe one I can work on unraveling. Scientifically speaking? I have no clue. That’s more your area than mine, Babs.”

Barbara was no stranger to alternate dimensions and she was able to more or less follow Zatanna’s explanation, but this wasn’t her area of expertise. Then again, that’s why she had Zatanna. Most of the Birds had been recruited for their hand-to-hand skills and even though she didn’t fully get magic, it was a nice trick to have up her sleeve (pun intended? was that a pun?). Babs furrowed her brows at the illustration, not because it was hard to grasp but because the situation was frustrating. She didn’t expect Zatanna or anyone else to have all of the answers, but she’d already looked at every angle from a technical standpoint. Babs opened her mouth to voice a theory before changing her mind and resuming her squinting. It seemed equally plausible that they could be either inside or outside of the bubble. She managed to catch the bag in surprise and turned it over in her hands. “It’s so…small. Whoever conjured up the dimension we’re in now must have a lot of power. And I’m inclined to credit magic with all this.” She was comfortable admitting she had a blindspot for magic. Oracle wasn’t supposed to solve these kinds of problems. “I hate to say it, but I don’t know, either. None of my other contacts have offered much of a scientific explanation, either. It would be one thing if we entered a kind of wormhole somehow, but for it to be just New York? It doesn’t fit. And I’ve never heard of a Boom Tube big enough to accomplish this feat, either.”

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 quecnofcrime:

Theoretically, Felicia didn’t solely beat up bad people for her own interests. If she came across a man trying to rob an innocent woman on the street, she stepped up. She wasn’t terrible, she had some morals, and there was a reason why she specifically stole from people in places of privilege that were far from decent. Ultimately, however, her interests came first. She had a legacy to fill and a legacy to better. Rather than continually risk her life for civilians that turned on superheroes, Felicia preferred to build her own empire, and who could blame her for that? She definitely wasn’t beloved by all, but Felicia never had to worry about the public demanding safety or protection from Black Cat.

“I am those things,” she agreed, her voice light. It was a fair assessment, Felicia worked endlessly to ensure that her operation was optimal and that all of her information was valid and useful. Oracle was a smart woman, she had clearly noticed that about her and in all honesty, it was flattering. “I worked hard to get here,” she said simply, and it was true. Felicia had even made a deal with Kingpin in order to better herself as a thief and give herself more confidence. “So, now that I have your attention, what would you theoretically like me to do with it?”

It was easier not to miss kicking ass in a literal sense when she kept herself locked up in her apartment with her computers. Now that she would soon have the ability to leap between buildings and throw various bat shaped objects at people again, she no longer felt that dull ache to fight. Instead, she felt something eerily similar to fear. Watching Black Cat in action, Barbara focused all of her energy on assessing her skill for what may have been the fifteenth time, not allowing her mind to drift to the idea of finally joining her fellow birds on missions. When she had been Batgirl, she didn’t have to divide her time between Bat duties and Bird duties. Birds of Prey was one of the best things that had ever happened to her, the best decision she had ever made, but Batgirl was her origin story. She wasn’t sure how her life would look when she tried to make the two converge.

Barbara was glad for the distraction, but mostly she was glad that Black Cat didn’t appear to be completely opposed to whatever Babs was offering. Her accepting the technological gifts had been a sign, though not a guarantee. They were high-tech, fancy gadgets, and Black Cat could have been curious for any number of reasons. “I’m not arguing with you there.” Barbara may have disagreed with some of her methods, but Babs herself was known to make decisions that didn’t seem entirely moral. It was all about risking the benefits against the harm and Black Cat never went too far. “Keep it,” she said simply. “My attention is easy to get but hard to hold onto. After all, I do have eyes everywhere. I’m hoping that if all goes well today, you might be interested in working with me under more difficult circumstances in the future.”

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 blxckcanarycry:

Dinah grins wolfishly when a punch is suddenly thrown in her direction, like a spark in the pit of her chest has just been lit. She loves this, it’s been a long time since they sparred like this and Babs has always been Dinah’s favorite partner–she approaches fighting with the same quiet intensity that she approaches everything else, always trying to stay three steps ahead. It’s different than Helena, who’s so intent on getting to her opponent that she telegraphs her movements more often than not, and Zinda who’s always been more of a brawler–even Laura who she’s never sparred with, but who she’s studied extensively in their fights together, with her animalistic movements. She parries the punch easily, wraps her hand around Barbara’s wrist and wrenches the arm behind her back. It makes something in her pang, but she pushes it aside–if she’s going to keep her best friend she needs to be honest. “I know it’s an impossible task, but you need to think like–way less, at least to begin with. Don’t think about all the possibilities, just react.” 

Babs frees herself from the hold easily and Dinah throws a punch of her own within seconds, throws a roundhouse kick. It’s a combination Ted used to throw at her to start their sessions all the time, a quick flurry of movements meant to disrupt the flow of thought, to be purely reactionary. “So,” She pants, grits her teeth. “Is the plan to go back to being Batgirl? It’s gonna be a royal pain in the ass keeping all of you bat people straight, even more than usual anyway.” She winces when a well timed punch hits just the right spot in her forearm to make pain radiate up through it all the way up to the hand. Apparently Babs still knows enough. “I guess it’s better than Oracle, which is otherworldly and mysterious but not really threatening.” 

It’s a distraction, and it works just enough for Dinah to get low and sweep her legs out from underneath her, sending her to the ground with an oof. She leans over her and offers a hand, chuckles. “Not bad, better than Helena by a mile without even trying.” 

She goes over the good things first. Somehow, Barbara thought that maybe she forgot how to do this. It’s her brain more than her body that pushed this off, otherwise she would asked Dinah to spar with her a week ago -- weeks, even, maybe. Oracle is a part of her now, just like Batgirl will always be a part of her, and she did a lot of good from the seat of her wheelchair. But Batgirl had always been partial to her lower body. There was something satisfying about kicking a thug in the face just after he said something skeevy about her legs. Dinah gets that kind of attention worse than almost anyone. Fishnets get a bad rap. Babs has been called fearless enough times to start believing it’s true, but truthfully fear has always been a weakness, a character flaw. She lashes out when she’s scared, hurts people to help them. Just another one of those things that makes people compare her to Batman. But, the good things: she has people like Dinah in her corner, who put up with way more than they should out of sheer trust. “That’s like...asking the cookie monster not to eat cookies. And I know that’s not the most sophisticated simile, but you told me not to think.”

Acting on instinct alone, she ducks and weaves, taking a millisecond too long to retaliate with a punch that she knows Dinah can spot from a mile away. The good thing is that most of her enemies would lose to Black Canary in a fight. She doesn’t have to be stronger than her best friend to be stronger than them. “Yeah,” she pauses to take a breath, more at the thought than at the mounting physical exhaustion. “I don’t think I could ever wear a different costume. Plus, three aliases? That’s overkill.” She’s only halfway through her last word before she strikes at Dinah again, feeling surprisingly giddy at her ability to land at least one punch. “I think that name put fear in the hearts of men more than Batgirl ever did.”

For a moment she freezes, more sensitive about her back than she is about her legs. Fear again, making her think that her implant is going to crack and render her paralyzed again. But then Dinah offers a hand and Babs grabs it with a smile. “Trust me, I was trying. And not so loud, I’m not entirely convinced that she won’t burst through a window right now and attempt to prove you wrong.”

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 daemonlegacy:

the sky lights up for an evening in the heart of new york city, not that it’s ever dull or dimly lit here, as though its residents ever sleep, ever calm, ever shut down their electric bulbs long enough to realize they barely need them with starlight this bright or with the moon still reflecting the sun, full and wide and pale like the sheen off a sword. everything is cut clean and crisp, sharp eyes, chic cuffs, suits and dresses and gold and jewels and photographers and reporters and people, people, people– and all damian can think about is how much time they’re all wasting attending this party when they should be out on the streets taking advantage of the distraction to find the edges of this dimension, or learn more about the demons, or doom’s suddenly quite impressive guard, or what the whole catastrophe is all about. there’s 14,400 seconds in four hours and damian is counting each and every one, giving himself only this allotment of time at maximum to stay here, without being discourteous.

eighteen years old now finally, the youngest wayne male knows he ought to look forward to something like this, he ought to bubble with brilliance, revel in the luminescence of social royalty and peasantry around him, but in truth, he finds this and everyone here exhausting; insipid conversations and awkward flirting, horrid dancing and he can hear a music being played from somewhere, frustratingly just a hair out of tune. his teeth click and lock together in an effort to keep himself from murdering someone just to relieve stress, so he ends up wandering away from all that, past tables and chairs and groupings of laughter and bedlam, the commotion coalescing into white noise rushing against his ears, and he finds himself trailing just past a carrier with drinks.

and he thinks, fuck it. the concept of getting drunk has never been overly appealing to someone like him, a war machine like him, a demon head boy like him, a robin like him, a weaponize half-clone, born in a bottle, bred for a worldwide kingdom he’ll never reach for now– he’s never gleaned any interest in the concept of killing off brain-cells, each one burning with enough potential to conquer any enemy he stands against. but he’s getting dizzy already, and the headache is beginning to throb at the base of his skull, and he has 13,843 seconds still left on his time-clock, and maybe he’s seen his father pick up a glass of champagne one too many times not to try and emulate him ( because who wouldn’t want to be just like bruce wayne? )

he snatches the glass off the tray as the carrier moves past him, quick enough that she doesn’t even notice, and manages to bring it just a breath above his lips, before someone quick plucks it from his fingers, swiping it away from him before he can taste or react. perhaps his brain-cells are already dying, but his fury boils and he rounds on them in disgruntlement. “tt! hey!”

for the most part, barbara had been able to enjoy a normal childhood, a luxury that the rest of the bats hadn’t likewise experienced. it wasn’t until she became batgirl that circumstances often turned from bad to worse. college wasn’t fun, at least not in the social department. she hadn’t turned to a life of vigilantism yet, but she was younger than all of her peers, making her something of a social pariah. she wasn’t old enough to enjoy parties and she was too much of a goody goody to put herself out there, not when it meant underage drinking and other activities that, even as a teenager, she had found immature.

barbara gordon is still not old, but she is an adult. she’s allowed, even encouraged, if dinah has anything to say about it, to enjoy alcohol and everything else that comes along with big parties. even so, she’s on alert, as she’s sure most of the attendees are. no doubt, the cities other heroes are all gathered in the same place, and that is enough reason for her to put on a dress and ditch her crutches for the first time in public. it’s nerve wracking, but she’s not well-known here, not like in gotham where everyone knew about the commissioner’s daughter, how she was rendered paralyzed from the waist down by the joker. here, she’s just another guest.

networking and caution drew her to tonight’s event. it’s all so suspicious and if she comes across another concerned do-gooder, maybe she can build some new partnerships, find another bird to add to her flock. she’s mostly keeping her head down, but when she glances up to take in her surroundings, they land immediately on damian and she barely even thinks before closing the gap and snatching the drink from his hand. for good measure, she downs it herself. “hey yourself. was the birthday card i sent you wrong? did you just turn twenty-one? time sure flies, huh?” she smirks, wondering if bruce is lurking somewhere nearby.

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 mistresscfmagnetism:

In a perfect world, things like demon attacks and New York exiting Earth against the will of its citizens would cause crime rates to fall. In a perfect world, the people of the city would band together, would make peace with one another at least temporarily, at least until they knew where they were and how to get home. This stranger in the coffee shop wouldn’t have to worry about leaving her things alone for long enough to go to the bathroom, and the idea of watching another stranger to watch them for her would be ridiculous. Unfortunately, they lived in the real world. People weren’t stealing things less just because they didn’t know where they were, weren’t attacking people with less frequency or ferocity just because there were demons out also attacking people. The world kind of sucked, and criminals would always be criminals. Luckily, Lorna didn’t mind watching the computer setup. She grinned and offered the girl a wave as she took off, content to ensure that her gear remained safe.

She nodded at the thanks, still smiling. When the stranger asked how one managed to mangle a Google search, Lorna couldn’t help but laugh. “He used to, like, Google how to get to Google. It was a total mess.” Her voice was almost wistful as she spoke. Her relationship with her foster parents was… complicated. They’d kicked her out the second her mutation was activated, and Lorna hadn’t spoken to them sense. It would have been simple to hate them, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. They’d raised her, after all, and there was no going back on that. “Oh, wow, that’s pretty cool. Was it weird growing up? Him being a cop?”

Barbara knew that most people didn’t know the shortcuts she did, but some people went really out of their way to take twice as many steps to get to a site than was actually needed. Bookmarks saved lives. Literally, sometimes, in her case. “My dad used to Google websites, to ‘make sure they weren’t fake.’ He probably still does. Even the ones you know are real, like Amazon.com.” It used to drive her a little nuts, but she’d gotten used to it. Getting annoyed at her dad over stupid little things was more a teenage Barbara problem. People, particularly these days, had mixed feelings about cops. Babs wasn’t immune to this herself. Of course she knew her own father was supremely ethical, but he’d had colleagues who weren’t. Being at Batman’s side meant she stood in direct opposition to the Gotham police for a long time, sometimes still did. Nobody understood or trusted where vigilantes were coming from like her father, and it had taken him a while to come around. She assumed she’d come up against the same resistance with the NYPD. “Not that weird. I actually wanted to be a cop, too, growing up, but he wouldn’t hear it. He’s Commissioner now, in Gotham.” It had already been hard leaving him before they were disconnected from the rest of the Earth. Now it was almost unbearable. More than her own concern for her father, she knew that she was all he had. But, like always, Babs would prove that she couldn’t be discouraged that easily.

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 quecnofcrime:

Maybe in New York City, it was a bad decision, but Felicia didn’t pay too much attention to the heroes that weren’t actively pursuing Black Cat. Thus far, that role was primarily dedicated to Spider-Man. Oracle’s interest in her was something that she was curious about, especially when Felicia was obvious a thief and certainly not a superhero, but as the saying went… curiosity killed the cat. In this case, it meant having open communication with Oracle, but it was at Felicia’s own selective intervals. If she had no desire to hear from the woman that allegedly saw all like Santa Claus, Felicia could (and mostly did) leave the device behind.

Normally, this wasn’t the kind of situation that Felicia would get involved in despite being able to nab their goods. She wasn’t a superhero, she didn’t feel morally compelled to defend the city, but it was obvious that this was a fight that she would win. She wasn’t as incredible as Daredevil or Elektra at hand-to-hand, but she had trained relentlessly for years and could easily hold her own. Besides, she could get some answers out of Oracle and a reward, both of which appealed to Felicia immensely.

“Thanks, Oracle,” she replied into the mic. In the middle of the fray, Felicia snapped her grapple hook back, and used it around one of the mens necks as she dodged an attack. She moved back quickly, ensuring she was out of hitting distance. The man being suffocated from lack of oxygen, and listening to Oracle’s demands, she kicked one against the wall, smashing his head in the process. They were largely untrained, relying on size and brute force rather than technique, making Felicia’s job simple and elegant, if she said so herself. “You got it,” she replied into the comm. “Mind telling me why you chose me to begin with?”

There was a lot of room for people in this world, in this business in particular, for people who didn’t fit neatly into the hero or villain categories. Some of these people were even acknowledged: they were called anti-heroes and not as deeply despised as the villains, or they received the vigilante title without being seen as a valiant protector. And still, between all of these names and qualifications, there was more. Not just grey, but a spectrum of colors. Knowing what she did, Barbara thought that Black Cat wasn’t evil or even mean spirited, just as she wasn’t going out of her way to save people. Her skills could be useful and she wasn’t morally reprehensible. Sometimes that was all Babs needed in an ally.

Any time, she almost said, but thought better of it and instead said, “No problem.” She wouldn’t have an issue helping Black Cat with matters more personal to her own interests. As long as those interests had to do with beating up baddies who crossed her and not theft. She did have an affinity for anyone who used a grappling hook, even if there weren’t little bats at the ends. “I’m sure you can guess. I mean, you’re seeing what I’m seeing right now. You’re talented and you’re methodical. I tend to surround myself with martial arts experts and you still caught my attention. That doesn’t happen every day.”

[wonder-deactivated20201119]

You know at the end of the day, when you close the door and you’re all alone. And you strip off your armor and lower your guard and peel away the mask. When there’s nobody watching and nothing to hide. And you no longer need to be strong or clever or pretty or brave. There’s just you. That’s it. That’s the soul.

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 diamondfrcst:

Emma knew that the grand majority of the X-Men trusted her about as far as they could throw her - which was to say, not at all. (During fights she didn’t even let herself be touched, and she wasn’t about to break that record with a bunch of snivelling pacifists.) She had been with the Hellfire Club before she joined their ranks. Not only had she been Sebastian Shaw’s second in command for many, many years, she had also succeeded in pushing him from the throne and taking the crown for herself, something that showed clearly she hadn’t been another one of the mutants that Shaw had manipulated. She believed in what the Club did, had found it necessary, and the same could be said of the Brotherhood. There were times, of course, when she felt moderately bad about the fact that the X-babies would one day realise she had been betraying them, but hopefully by that stage she would have had a big enough hand in teaching them for them to realise that it was necessary. War sucked for everyone, but it sucked for those who were killed the most, and Emma was damned if she was joining their ranks. She was a survivor, she always had been, and that would never change as long as she had anything to say about it.

“Perhaps if I rephrased ‘paranoia’ into ‘vigilance’ it would be something less unique,” Emma suggested, “but of course I do always strive to be different, darling.” There were people that were born to stand out, and there were people who were born to remain in the shadows. Emma was undoubtedly one of the former, no one could argue with that point. “Good. I do hate working with naivety. I never assumed for a second that you would subscribe to it. Your reputation is quite extensive, though I do prefer to reserve judgement until I have met someone. So far, you are far from a disappointment.” There was a part of Emma that wondered whether she should turn up the charm or not, but this girl seemed more than capable of seeing through things that were far from genuine, and that meant that Emma being … well, Emma, would most likely go down a hell of a lot better. “Maybe I would like to abstain from a tour around your subconscious, darling.” A little irony went a long way. “Appearances can be deceptive. Of course, merely plans for attacking the school is not where it ends. The demons’ ultimate goals, their fight patterns, where they meet, how they communicate. Who they have fought in the past. It is all relevant. I am sure you understand that.”

Barbara’s morals had been set in stone from a young age. Somehow she managed to break the law while considering herself a stickler for the rules. Jim Gordon’s influence had extended even further than he realized. Even if her father’s ideas about how crime in Gotham should be dealt with seemed to contradict Batman’s, eventually they found a way to work together. It was these two opposing ideologies that were constantly at battle within her. Of course, a cop could never pledge to do his job without taking a life, but this was the frame of mind that Babs had adopted the second she fought her first bad guy as Batgirl. There were times when she faltered, briefly, when it seemed more logical to take somebody out for good when they had proven themselves incapable of rehabilitation. But her self-restraint was made her who she was, it was how she could reasonably consider herself a good person, while she wasn’t sure what to make of someone like Emma. She seemed too self-interested to be part of a team, and yet, she was a member of the X-Men. Barbara had a feeling she had a lot to learn about the woman who had tracked her down for information.

“You’d think. But even vigilant people miss signs that don’t seem menacing. When you treat everything like a possible threat, not much slips through the cracks.” Barbara had a great track record up until this point. Sometimes, she was blind-sided, but she was so quick on her feet that it was only terrifying for a moment. Trying to catch the president covering his tracks simply because his last name was Doom hadn’t been boding too well. “I guess I should be flattered. The way I hear it, my reputation doesn’t offer much about who I am, just what I can do.” It was something of a gift that Oracle was often referred to as a man by those who didn’t know her true identity, but with her physical therapy progressing more and more each week, she had to wonder how Batgirl and Oracle might be tied to each other once she attempted pulling double duty. “Maybe,” she echoed, clearly not buying it. “If I knew all of that, don’t you think I would have dispersed that information by now?” This was an unfair question, since much of Oracle’s information would benefit others, and she didn’t pass much along through the Justice League or other means. But when it came to the demons and whoever controlled them, she knew it was bigger than her, more than what she or the rest of the Birds of Prey and the Bats combined could handle. She pursed her lips before continuing, almost positive that she would be telling Emma nothing new. “The demons seem to have a hive mind mentality, so I’d bet there’s one leader controlling them. And I don’t think it’s another demon.” She had a pretty substantial list of heroes they had targeted, but she wasn’t sure what to make of it yet, or what Emma might if she gave her access.

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 blxckcanarycry:

“Didn’t Batman teach you not to talk back to your sensei?” She laughs and rolls her eyes with utter fondness, tosses her stuff to the side. Dinah is determined to keep things light to try and balance out the nervous energy that’s coming off Babs in waves right now, to keep her best friend from drawing back to that chair she sees carefully stowed away in the corner. The streets will be safer if Barbara Gordon is on them with a bat on her chest, she knows that deep in her bones. “Cause if not then that is lesson one, Wildcat handed me my ass repeatedly until I got that one through my head. Well, I think he also genuinely enjoyed handing me my ass anyways.”

She’s never considered herself as much of a teacher as the people who taught her were–maybe it’s because there’s something intrinsic about it for her, that she needs the fight to help her feel connected to her body, to the work of the first Black Canary, to the unmoving world around her–that she could never explain to someone else but her teachers always understood. She never had to say a word to Ted about it, the older hero had always just understood in some unspeakable way. Roy had been young when she’d taught him, but she’d seen the same thing in his eyes and he’d been eager to learn. 

She’s hoping that she can be what Babs needs right now, even though during the whole process of her getting better Dinah has been unsure of what exactly that is. She grins wolfishly, bounces on the balls of her feet. “So how do you wanna do this? You wanna come at me and I’ll critique your form?” 

“Hm...no, must have missed that lesson,” she retorts with a grin. Batman was less of a sensei and more of another father figure, and Dinah is similarly family instead of a teacher. Barbara is, however, prepared to listen to everything she has to say about fighting. It has been years since Batgirl fought with her full body and she can admit that she’s out of practice. Plus, Dinah has always been better at martial arts than Babs. “Somehow I don’t think you’ll derive that same pleasure. Maybe I’m just flattering myself.” Barbara pulls the hem of her shirt down, even though it wasn’t riding up, just to busy herself. “That said, don’t go easy on me. We both know kid gloves never helped anyone protect themselves.” Or, like, an entire city. Sometimes the whole world. “I don’t just want to be as good as I was before, I want to be better.” Even without the chair, Barbara is getting older. But until she starts breaking her hips, she’ll be up to fighting.

Before Batgirl, Barbara had learned martial arts in the comfort and low-risk environment of run-of-the-mill classes. Her instructors had been skilled, but ill-equipped to prepare her for life as a vigilante. Babs is a blackbelt, but Dinah and Cass are some of the top martial artists on the planet and she knows her training can’t compare to theirs. She learned the most by being out in the field, by going up against those who were supposed to be stronger than she was. “We can start with that. Once I look good, you can take a crack at that ass-handing thing. Sensei,” she tacks on with a teasing tone. Without further warning, Barbara rears back before aiming a fist at her best friend’s abdomen.

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 flyboylantern:

Hal is a founding member of the Justice League, but he’s never truly felt like he belonged with people who were so fundamentally good like Clark or Diana, or with the level of commitment that Bruce has–his own best friend mistook him for Superman when they first met for crying out loud. He’s always had a hard time feeling like more than a flyboy who stumbled into something greater than himself, even though the Guardians have repeatedly trusted him with the wellbeing with large swaths of the galaxy, even though they’ve trusted him to train other Lanterns in the Corps. But he wouldn’t be Hal Jordan if he let any of that show, so he smiles easily and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s not terrible of you to say, that’s why the League exists, after all. And don’t tell Barry, but you’re pretty much the most brilliant person I know. Just because you don’t have anything right now, doesn’t mean you won’t.” 

“You just need a break from all that hard focusing, and I need a break because I’ve beens starting to miss Guy Gardner, which is a sentence I never thought I would say ever in my life.” He grins wolfishly and leans back in his chair, taking a languid sip of his drink. “So no more talking about this cosmic crap show, or whatever it is we’re living in, we’ll get enough of that later.” And maybe they should be talking strategy, maybe it’s another instance of Hal not taking things as seriously as he should, so sue him. Life is hard enough, and despite what the Bat thinks, people need to think about something besides the job every once in a while. 

“Y’know, I had a date before all of this went south. A handsome as hell professional surfer.” He smirks, shrugs his shoulders. “I’m kind of most pissed about that.” 

There are certain things that Barbara has come to expect from this life, things that she is used to and no longer dwells on. Coming up against the unanswerable is one of those things, but usually, not having the solution offers little more than a sense of frustration. In this case, she knows it’s vital to find answers sooner rather than later, even if she isn’t sure what the consequences will be if she fails. Like Gotham, New York is a city of millions and she can’t give up and potentially put all of those lives at risk. She’s far from the only person at work, though, a fact Hal immediately reminds her of. Barbara offers a smile, and it’s weak, but it’s sincere. “If Barry doesn’t know that by now, then he really isn’t the genius we've all believed him to be.” She’s confident in her intelligence, but she also knows that there’s all kinds of ways to be smart. Although, she and Barry are brainy in similar subjects. “I hope your trust in me isn’t misplaced.”

She surprises herself by laughing. “That is serious.” Being surrounded by the other Bats when she first donned a costume made her comfortable around stoicism and bad puns. Guy is...the kind of headstrong that she always knew logically some superheroes would have to be, but it rubs a lot of people the wrong way. “All right, fine. But only because I don’t have any new theories to run past you.” Out in public, while trying to catch up like normal people do, is never the best place to discuss game plans. Babs can pretend not to still be thinking about it in the back of her mind. “If he’s really that great, he will be just as happy to go out with you when we get back to Earth. And for all we know, this planet or dimension or whatever the case may be could operate on a different timeline than Earth. Maybe on Earth no time has passed at all.” She wishes for this to be the case, if only so her father doesn’t worry about her. Well, at least not any more than usual.

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 mistresscfmagnetism:

In a city like New York, promising to die for someone’s computer gear wasn’t as far-fetched as it might’ve been in someplace like Chicago. After all, New York was packed to the brim with heroes. Maybe this woman had gotten lucky, in a way, asking Lorna to watch over her stuff. After all, Lorna was more capable of actually protecting it than most, even if she doubted it would come down to something like that. “Well, I know a cause worth dying for when I see it,” she replied, still all mock seriousness. To really sell it, she offered the woman a salute as she rolled away, barely biting back a smile for what felt like the first time in ages. This, she figured, was what she’d left the mansion for this morning. Light conversations with people who knew nothing about her were so much simpler than trying to hide terrible secrets from the people she lived with.

She laughed at the woman’s joke, nodding her head. Maybe bladders weren’t the most comfortable subject to discuss with a stranger in a coffee shop, but they certainly weren’t the worst, either. Lorna had had far worse conversations with far worse people, so she was counting this one as a win. She could tell the woman was under-exaggerating her skills, and she smiled slightly. “That’s pretty awesome,” she said honestly. “I’m not really good with computers. I mean, I’m young enough to know the basics – you should’ve seen my foster dad try to use Google, it was a nightmare – but I don’t know anything about programming. Do you like it?”

When it came to being Oracle, she had racked up numerous enemies over the years but they usually didn’t come after her equipment. It was the person behind the monitors they wanted. If they found Oracle they would find the information, and if they destroyed Oracle then they could destroy the information later. Little did they know the many precautions she had in place should she ever be killed. Even with the many national and worldwide women movements, people not in the know still referred to Oracle as a him more often than not, but that suited her fine. The less likely Barbara Gordon seemed as a candidate, the better. The worst of it was how they always tried to get to her through Dinah. “Then I trust I’ve left my belongings in capable hands.” Barbara saluted back seriously before cracking a smile and making her way to the bathroom.

“Thanks.” As technology became more and more integral to everyday life, Barbara half-heartedly hoped to run into less technophobes or those who simply didn’t have a knack for it, but she understood. Okay...she didn’t understand, but she didn’t fault anyone, either. She took pride in the fact that she could do things that nobody else could, and that these things couldn’t be learned easily. Learning how to kicked an armed assailant’s butt in hand to hand combat when all you had was a belt full of tools to be used from a distance was a more attainable goal. “How--I’m, um, not to be rude, but how does one mess up the act of Googling?” She supposed a decade ago the search engine wasn’t as straight-forward, but. Still! “It’s tedious sometimes, but I think I love it.” Barbara was speaking about much more than programing, though that was part of her job. “My dad’s a cop so I basically veered completely in the other direction.” Jim Gordon wished.

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 blackhawkwings:

@theoriginalbatgirl

“Hey Skipper!” Zinda swept into the room, hair tousled from the helicopter. For a woman who spent months in the 21st century completely lost, unsure of where she could take up space and when, Zinda sure could make herself known in a room. In moments, little traces of Zinda were deposited all around the space Barbara was working: her booming voice echoing off the walls; the way she nudged some of the stacks of books on the floor out of her way with her foot; the plastic bag set on Barbara’s desk; the vial of nail polish that appeared as she sank into the sofa, preparing to give herself a fresh coat. 

“You eat anything yet? Eat something, I got you some tamales. There’s a lady right down the street who makes some incredible ones. She lets me hang around all day and calls me chica ruidosa. Says I remind her of her daughter,” she grinned. The woman was another member of her increasingly growing web of folks to protect from Doom’s guards and all the demon bullshit, but that wasn’t what she needed to talk to Barbara about today. 

“So I’ve been thinking,” she said, casual as anything, “Bout this little Doom situation we got ourselves,” she screwed open the nail polish and began to apply it, even with the awkward angle of her draped over the sofa with her leg thrown over the armrest. One thing she’d mastered during her years with the Hawks was doing the necessary primping while in flight, and could do her hair and nails and shoot down a couple nazis all at the same time thank you very much. Olaf had told her it was the first time he’d realized she was nuts. 

“Pretty damn obvious this man’s hiding something,” she said, preaching to the choir. “And I keep hearing all this buzz about people wanting to make their move. But I’m thinking, why don’t we find out what his deal is first? What does he actually know, what’s he in control of? I got a friend in the Panel, real top notch gal,” she hadn’t told Sharon about her idea yet, needing to clear it with Barbara first. But putting the best damn hacker with the best damn spy, and Zinda with her eyes on the sky, they had to come up with something. 

“She might be interested in helping us. So Babs, you ever spied on a president before?” 

Over the years, Barbara had learned that no matter how long she worked, no matter how much experience she racked up, there would still be problems that threw her for a loop. She’d been in hot water with the U.S government before, but that was personal. This was a delicate situation, and her ass wasn’t the only one on the line. She agreed that Doom made her highly suspicious and the Pentagon didn’t intimidate her, but there were only so many ways she could convince herself that hacking the president of the United States was actually the best course of action.

Zinda had yet to see Barbara out of her chair, but she didn’t want to make it into a big deal so she pointedly didn’t mention anything as she walked away from her makeshift office to inspect the tamales. “Thanks. If there were two Zindas in the world, I don’t know what I’d do with myself.” It was hard for anyone else to be like Zinda. Her personality was so distinctly her and few people could say they were involved in WWII yet still in their thirties in the year 2018.

She frowned as she walked into her kitchen and unwrapped a tamale, guessing exactly what Zinda was about to suggest. Barbara shoved her plate into the microwave just to be safe (a lukewarm tamale was far from the worst, but also not the best) and stepped away to hear Zinda over the noise. Although, she really doubted any microwave could be louder than her friend. Barbara grabbed a fork and brought her food into the living room, sitting down in a chair across from the sofa, unsurprised that the smell of nail polish had already filled the room.

Barbara herself was a little wary of what the others in their community were planning, though as far as she could tell, most of them were waiting for somebody else to call them all to action first. Oracle would never be that person, at least not the way things stood now. “She might,” Babs reiterated, though most of the people on the Panel definitely seemed to have their guards up when it came to the president, even if they seemed to be going along with his demands. “No...” Spied wasn’t the word she would use. “I’m not sure on this one, Zinda. If he senses anyone’s digging around, he might go into full on attack mode. Right now he’s just pretending to put out fires.”

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 blxckcanarycry:

@theoriginalbatgirl·

Dinah came to terms a long time ago with the fact that this life has few constants, few axis points. She’d seen her mother have and then eventually lose her father, have and eventually lose her team, have and then eventually lose Dinah herself, it was just a fact. A fact that really got thrown out the window when Dinah met Batgirl and in succession Barbara Gordon, and something inside of her had just decided that this was her person. That when everything went to hell as it was wont to do in their chosen line of work–she would always find Babs. 

Babs has been stoic throughout her physical therapy process, but Dinah knows her better than she even knows herself, she knows that it’s a stoicism born out of a desperation to make everyone think that she’s fine, to keep people from worrying about her. As if she could ever keep Dinah from worrying about her. So Dinah knows it’s a big deal when Babs casually mentions that she’s thinking that she’s ready to start combat training again, and Dinah’s the best fighter she knows, so maybe they could train together? 

She shows up to Babs’ place with her staff tucked under her arm, dressed in leggings and a Queen Industries t-shirt she’d long since cut the sleeves off of. She’s leaning against the doorframe when her best friend eventually answers, an easy smirk on her face. “Hey gorgeous, I heard you were looking for an ass kicking tutor.” 

When it comes to the lives of others, Barbara is always sure she knows best. In practice, doing what’s best for herself rarely comes easily. She has a way of pushing people away, insisting to herself that it’s all for their sake, though really this behavior stems from fear. Barbara manages not to be good at casual relationships, yet always runs when it gets too serious. When people prove they know her too well, if they know her for too long, somehow this makes her feel like she has less power over her own life. Someone who refuses to be pushed away is Dinah, and even if Babs acts like it’s a pain sometimes, she’s not sure how she could be Oracle or Batgirl without her.

Aside from medical professionals and physical therapists, Babs has gone through the long process of healing alone. Healing was one thing, an important thing, but learning how to fight with her whole body again is another. It’s much scarier, even if she’s proved that she can hold her own against five assailants while sitting in her chair. Sometimes she has dreams where she’s Batgirl again, where she’s twenty and has never seen death up close or felt anything less than invincible. It can’t be like that again.

Barbara sees her best friend through the security camera’s monitor and takes one last glance at the chair she has stowed in the corner of her living room. When she opens the door, she returns the smile, though the nerves are still there. “I believe the words used were ‘martial arts expert,’ but that title fits you, too.” She moves aside to allow Dinah inside, trying not to shift around awkwardly. Barbara has forgotten what to do with her hands when she can’t rest them in her lap or on the wheels of her chair.

[theoriginalbatgirl]

 sniktcd:

Anyone daring enough to investigate how New York City had seemingly been transported off of Earth was someone that Laura was interested in by proxy. Few seemed to be motivated to look into what had truly happened to their city, most likely out of fear — Laura had smelt it personally — but this woman was not among them. Perhaps her standards for intrigue were low, adjusted to those she ran into at Xavier’s, but she believed that her assessment was correct where this woman was concerned. Even the way she spoke about their predicament was assessing rather than terrified, an impressive response in comparison to what Laura had grown adjusted to with the public.

“Most people seem to be avoiding the truth,” Laura observed. “They’re afraid of where they are and afraid they may never return to Earth. It’s fair, of course, but it doesn’t help us return in the long run.” Her explanation was curt, to the point, but her attention quickly shifted to more important matters. “Have you made any progress?” No one had as far as Laura knew, but the X-Men weren’t as well informed as the Avengers or Justice League. Mutants always seemed to be on the outside looking in so to speak. “I think inter-dimensional travel is out of most people’s leagues,” Laura mused, though she did not sound pleased by the prospect. “Do you think we’re in another dimension? I always suspected another galaxy, but dimension… that could be difficult.” If not impossible.

The more time they spent somewhere Barbara couldn’t identify, admittedly the more concerned she became. Perhaps it was because she didn’t venture out of her home very often, but the demons were the least of her concerns. She cared about them as a symptom of what they were experiencing, they were a clue she couldn’t fit into the puzzle that seemed impossible to solve. She also cared that they hurt people, but at least, they seemed most concerned with the kind of people only Babs knew the real names of. Well, that was an exaggeration, but she would bet she knew more secret identities than anyone else. Trusting her was in everyone’s best interest, though she typically figured out who heroes were based on trails and clues they scattered where ever they went.

“And you’re not most people,” she guessed, knowing that this stranger was thinking the same of her. “I’m not sure I blame them. I’m not someone who’s used to feeling powerless and this is proving exceptionally mystifying.” When it came to mystical things, Barbara was not as comfortable, and she hadn’t ruled that out as a possibility. “Comparatively, I guess. No, though, mostly.” Digging into Doom’s election had led to more questions rather than offering any answers. She wasn’t sure which option would be worse, though a completely separate galaxy seemed more daunting. When it came to dimensional travel, typically there were easy solutions, something like a boom tube. That was for groups of people, though, not entire cities. “I’m in most leagues,” she said with the hint of a grin. “It’s kind of what I’m hoping for. Dimensional portals are tricky, but--” I’ve worked with them before? She wasn’t sure what to say instead. “Another galaxy feels farther, somehow.”