formerlybatgirl reblogged
formerlybatgirl reblogged
❛ i have slept in this flesh, dreamed these winter bones. ❜
new theme! i’ll be back around tomorrow to catch my replies. sorry for poofing, just got busy during the week!
formerlybatgirl reblogged
formerlybatgirl
It wasn’t difficult to spot his fellow first timers in the group; catch the hesitation in their expressions, the uncertainty, the way their shoulders hunched forward every time they were to talk. Tim found himself doing the same, after all; paranoia and distrust sowed so deep into his brain it was hard to remember he was among people who UNDERSTOOD.
( or at least understood how it felt to be powerless, useless; trapped in their broken bodies, strapped to that chair )
Fortunately, the session leader seemed to understand their need to simply watch, at first; slowly, but surely, as the hour progressed, Tim found himself unwinding just a little - the lump preventing words from being spoken abating. In the end, he’d not said more than his name, but the slightly haunted look had left his features; softening them down - and he actually felt like coming back.
Perhaps next time, he’d even speak up. Perhaps.
He should thank Bobbi, for giving him the idea. ( though wouldn’t it feel trite–? insincere? words always seemed to come out wrong around her ). Lips pursed, soft sigh escaping them, Tim turned, slow, sluggish. There was a reluctance to go back home; his gaze fell on one of the other attendees and in a swell of COURAGE, Tim found himself approaching her.
She’d been one of the more comfortable looking ones – it prompted him to say what he said.
“ This weren’t your first time ‘ere, was it?
in the beginning: the beginning is a popular turn of phrase here; it’s what they all discuss, the early days where they had still succumbed to phantom urges tickling down their piano key spines as if just a thought would be enough to unwind the empty space at the ends of their legs && wiggle their toes. barbara listens, attentive, to each story where it scrolls out from that first moment && remembers her own like a picture plastered in a photo album.
her fingers clutch crumbling styrofoam. watered tan --- thin, anemic --- coffee heats through to scorch her type-worn pads. && she pauses to pull a burnt, bitter, sip every few minutes, tempers it with the sweetness from an equally stale brick of doughnut pastry. her heartstrings pull, but she’s stronger now, made of harder stuff than the self-pity that buried her in the back room of her father’s apartment, lurking only in shadow as though she could have still sported the yellow boots stretched across her calves, as though she could still dance out to the edge of a rooftop && let her muscles fire like pistons to shoot her out into the night as
BATGIRL is no more.
( it isn’t her. )
but she’s found purpose.
she doesn’t give her testimony today. contentedness comes in the conversations after, where she can find a camaraderie with people who understand the aching loss ( that will never go away. the sooner she came to terms with the fact that there wouldn’t ever be a day where she’d wake up && not want to pull nubby carpet tresses into the arches of her feet or arch up high in a pirouette just to feel her vertebrae decompress, the sooner this all became a simpler reality. ).
instead, she wheels forward, hand balancing her paper plate along with her cooled cup.
&& she hears a brown sugar drawl from behind her that makes her turn.
❝ no, not today. do i look so seasoned? ❞ her tone is prickly but fond, like the spiny leaves from a favorite plant. ❝ but i’m guessing it’s yours. ❞
❝ was it as bad as you thought? ❞
formerlybatgirl reblogged
‘ It was something special, really, don’t think I could pull it off again. ’ Her mind is drawn back to the lazy days spent under the blankets, embracing the now estranged ex; days like that had been a girl’s day dream. However, homely amusement eases her into engaging in further conversation. Gossiping girls brought in by worn out rumours which were stored away in the recesses of their minds for such times; she was more than willing to speak about. She is drawn by the mundane and cherishes the ability to shed a crimson, ebony exterior to find herself as a person and not a battling soldier.
Her memory is not perfect; it recalls the perfect moments of serenity, where softened lips met in heated discussion and her mind was occupied by the thought of candied embraces – yet it remembers the pain and anguish tearing her down. Crimson crown moves side to side with little expression remaining on her face.
‘ No, we had a pretty big fight, she left me after that. ’ she draws strength up through patient breaths and a reassuring smile bringing attention front. ‘ But I don’t think she would speak bad of me, or she might’ve —— either way; I’m glad to hear that. ’
A pause in her speech, noting the similarities they shared in snooping about rumours. ‘ Same, actually, can’t help but looking into it. ’
❝ hm... ❞ she listens to a melancholy tale stitched together as ANY romance is: patchwork, lazy-loved haze quilted among the messy reams of thread bunched up until it’s left behind, unfinished but cared for. her own past has a heap of partially knitted pictures. some still sit, jagged, the others gain new piece from time to time... barbara hefts a sigh, tries to dig for who this newfound friend might mean among her contacts on the force. ❝ that’s the other downside of spending all your time around cops. ❞ dick, for all his good nature... it hadn’t worked out. ❝ aren’t too many sweethearts who make it through, i guess. they love hard. ❞ sometimes TOO much, she leaves unsaid, the twang in her chest aching both equal parts for the tattered end of what might have been && the poetry of it all.
it’s quick that she plasters over the flagging edge of her smile with her best mask: a sharp, attentive smirk.
❝ but when it starts like that? ❞ her hand points to exhibit A, climbing on an incline to represent that whirlwind, heartstring song of a fresh love. ❝ higher chance that it’ll come crashing down. && i know it’s landed me on my rear end enough times... ❞ a pause ticks && she thinks of dinah, whose nose scents out this kind of talk with the fortitude of a bloodhound. her index finger wags through the hastily air-sketched representation she’d made. ❝ if you happen to meet a tall blonde in fishnets, don’t tell her we talked about this. ❞
she sighs, breath fluttering a crimson tendril from her temple.
❝ i’ll never hear the end of it. ❞
Anonymous asked:
Would Babs play something like Minecraft to unwind?
along the watchtower: i definitely think she would! i mean, she’s a child of the early internet && fully entrenched in it. i think it’s to be fully expected that she would be heavily involved in non-traditional online communities ( by which i mean, obviously she has to be looking places where she’d be able to obtain underground intelligence not available to the public ). && i think she’d be a regular scroller of reddit && other forums like that. i don’t think that barbara would be a full-fledged gamer, though i think she would take interest in playing from time to time ----- && think of the kinds of mods she’d be able to code into some of them, plus amazing graphics from her home computer system. it’s important to me that barbara knows all the ins && outs of computers && online communication because she has to have contacts of all kinds.
formerlybatgirl reblogged
“ nineteen— eight, its all the same until you’re twenty, isn’t it? “ the joke was a sad attempt at playfulness in the present; she could see her best friend’s eyes dance with the reminiscences of her past life, something dinah still couldn’t grasp how she managed such a delightful && determined outlook— it was easily one of her most attractive traits.
“ not all of us are as quick on the puns as you, dearest. && i’m pretty certain if he’s being forced into pancakes, eggs && bacon are already in the forecast, but its p r o b a b l y worth mentioning…. “
❝ french press coffee, too ❞ her eyes flutter closed, the contented bend of her mouth stretching to provide a delighted HUM of anticipation. her shoulder bunches the headset closer to her ear. && the ringing starts, reverberating down into the shell. ❝ we have a maker here, but... ❞ her frown twists for a moment, focusing on the coppery stains && water deposits clouding up her carafe. ❝ alfred makes it best. ❞ && at least, a clipped english accent meets her, as stiff && yet warmly pleasant as always ( NOT unlike a strong cup of tea ), && she sweet talks her way into getting breakfast delivered.
she reaches over && gives dinah’s shoulder a gentle shove, smile tugging.
❝ not until you’re twenty, huh? so how does that work for you when you’re telling people it’s your twenty-first birthday for what? ----- the fifteenth time? ❞
Anonymous asked:
Wow, your chosen FC looks A LOT like Barbara on your theme
along the watchtower: doesn’t she, though? i love bridget regan because she’s such a flexible face claim! i’ve seen her chosen for any role from wonder woman out to natasha romanoff && poison ivy. she’s a real chameleon ( && a gorgeous one at that ).
formerlybatgirl reblogged
he isn’t expecting it - but part of him had been hoping for contact in some context. between being superman and clark kent he didn’t have as much time to make house calls as he’d like. not that he would just make house calls to barbara. but he smiles nonetheless.
“well seeing as i don’t have a bat signal i think it’s a pretty effective way. hello to you too.”
girlishness isn’t in her style, but she DOES have a wicked smile that bleeds through into the laughing bounce of her voice. her hands gather under her chin. && leaned forward, barbara’s lips dust the pom of her microphone. good, clean fun with the big blue boy scout. what could go wrong?
❝ have you ever considered that? or does the whole super hearing kind of CANCEL that out? ❞
❝ just like the song? call your name && you’ll be there? ❞
formerlybatgirl reblogged
HER NINETEENTH && FINAL crudely etched tally mark was the last image she had of that dank hole of a home she’d made for herself in that cargo ship; a memory which she planned on burying deep in a bottle of whiskey within the hour. a throb of pain in her abdomen resonated through her as she hauled herself onto the dock, finally free of the ship’s confines && it’s less than pleasant sailors. there were few things in her past that topped the misery of her last three weeks of existence.
how she managed onto the ship ( && undetected at that ) was a true mystery; she had no recollection beyond the assumption of an adrenaline-powered determination, or hell, maybe arthur was involved— the alternative couldn’t be anymore far-fetched. but the salvation she had thought she’d found had been short-lived once she’d realized she’d become a stowaway on-board the same organization that’d shot her in the first place.
gotham’s glowing high-rises greeted her like a warm smile; it was rare a sight like that filled her with such reassurance— but the bright, round, orange beacon of the clocktower …of her clocktower— it loomed in between the cracks of it’s taller steel brothers, calling her home.
her feet began to carry her on their own accord, dinah pulling up the borrowed shirt she’d managed to scavenge earlier in the week to check her poorly attended bullet wound. the shot had been clean through ( something she felt incredibly lucky for; just another scar to join her already plentiful collection ) so cleaning && dressing the thing hadn’t been as horrific as it could have been. she knew babs would force a proper doctor on her && she would oblige, though she felt could live without–
BABS.
her feet moved faster, closing the remaining blocks between her && goal in a trot; the motivation of the relief on the best friend’s face cancelled out every single jolt her wound sent her as a reminder. it’d been nearly three weeks && the bat symbol painted the overcast sky— there was no way to even tell if she would be there, but she wasn’t going to let that stop her.
she ascended the same way any other costumed street lackey would, slowly making her way through the lower roof’s trap door ( a little slower than normal; she never made note of how much twisting was involved before ) && closed her eyes as the smell of herbal tea && the hum of computer servers wrapped around her. following the promise of the cold glow of computer monitors around the corner, her heart leaping into her throat at the sight of red hair silhouetted like a halo.
‘ hey—- ’ her voices rasped out with barely a whisper, another reminder she hadn’t spoken or slept in nearly three weeks && a wave of exhaustion washed over her. she leaned into the doorway for support, clearly her throat && wetting her lips.
‘ —-please tell me some of that chicken fried rice is for me. ’
nineteen days... NINETEEN cycles of the sun ripping open the purple blanket of the sky && screaming bright flames onto the backs of her eyelids. raw nerves pinch, scrape over tender-touched membranes tucked away behind her glasses. instead, the night hangs its colors underneath in hammocked smudges that darken && grow thicker, swell up as though just waiting for the proper moment to burn wide && into tears for her loss. barbara counts by the hours like constellations tossed, freckling like the dust on her nose. she wonders if dinah is still out there
( she prays they’re watching the same, yellow-bellied moon. )
there’s no way. denial roots firmly, tugging tightly to the tops of her collar bone && hoisting her tall to sail ahead. stubbornness, which has always been a defining characteristic, keeps her afloat now.
it can’t be...
DINAH can’t be...
( but she remembers the coppery slick of red splashed across a familiar hand && the plummeting tunnel vision shrinking as dinah tumbled further && further away from the project. && it had all been her fault... again. the cradle of her pelvis, numb below her belly button’s notch, stopping past the feathered, pink opalescence of scar tissue, opens like a trapdoor && sends her stomach SHOOTING straight for the clocktower floor.
if dinah is dead...
NO.
she grits her jaw, picks up her flagging energy, && gets back to searching for her best friend. her best friend, who ALWAYS finds a way out, her best friend who can’t be gone because of her own negligence... )
&& it’s there, that her shoulders give way && her elbows lock. she falls forward onto the splay of her palms with her steaming tea && soy-rich dinner all but forgotten. too many hours of staring at that eerie green until it burns all the way to the cones of her vision && she can’t hold it back any more. a dry sob racks at her form because short of dick && his study arms, she hasn’t told a soul.
the tower defenses clang like alarm bells to rouse her from the broken back of her self-loathing, her self-pity...
( her MOURNING. )
she drags, hoists herself to look at the cameras && wonders briefly if it’s worth it anymore. what good is oracle if she loses her team?
but
like a ghost, standing starkly, illuminated by barbara’s hardware, strong form bent, listed off to one side ( favoring an edge of the door that she can match to a bullet wound ) && decidedly worse for wear, she recognizes her canary anywhere. barbara’s gaze sweeps up from the pins of her legs, still powerful after nineteen mornings && evenings counted down, to the hourglass of her waist.
&& her hands churn the wheels of her chair before she manages to get the words out of her own mouth.
❝ DINAH ❞ acid rushes the back of her throat; desperation crowds the lump welling up tall. she reaches out, arms open to accept her friend, to feel the weight of her presence underneath her touch. ❝ i thought you were... ❞ shattered laughter crumbles in her throat, gathering the other woman close, pulling her to where she can reach.
relief flushes cool && calming along with the pulse of her thundering heart. she frames dinah’s face, clutching her close. wonderment bounces off her tongue with so much brightness it could blind.
❝ you’re alive. ❞
formerlybatgirl reblogged
stephanie honestly doesn’t think her mentor makes mistakes but she does. she is human, just like herself (just like batman and nightwing and tim). soft chin comes to rest in calloused hands, eyes going halflidded as she watches skilled hands with tools work quick and efficiently. she wonders, again, if she’ll be as good at her mentor with the tech and gear, despite knowing she is best for outside work.
“ eh, you’re still pretty mistake-free most of the time.”
free hand works into blonde tangles, snagging and ripping with a wince as she comes to a particularly bad knot. tongue out, nose crinkled, she waves the hair that’s stuck between her fingers off onto the floor. stephanie puts her attention back at the task at hand as she sees the pouches finally click open.
she perks up as she fixes her position besides the red head. “ oh man… you’ll have to give me my own set of those little doo-dads.”
“ trust me the other guy was worse off than me last night. plus… i improvised. it’s what i do. ”
she reaches out to gently snag out a capsule - smoke - to roll about in her hand. she sighs.
“ but what i wouldn’t of done to have these with me last night. but, anyway, can you fix it? my belt, i mean. ”
❝ between you && me? ❞ barbara shades her mouth like she’s telling a secret, tool still balanced in the precarious pinch of thumb && forefinger. && leaning, conspiratorial, in stephanie’s direction && her eyes twinkling like a series of christmas lights STRETCHED across the city square once thanksgiving comes around, she dashes the answer to that teasing question. ❝ no mistakes up here to be heard of. &&... let’s just say i don’t mind if that little tidbit happens to finds itself as an ear worm for a certain man with an affinity for bats. ❞
she wedges the flat end of the screwdriver into the little pouches until they spout out, open. triumph twangs in barbara’s breast. she punches the air, handle still gripped.
❝ there we go! good as new. ❞ her fingertip catches a wriggling thread && barbara trades her utensil for something more within the wheelhouse of a sewing kit to fix it up. ❝ might go a little easier if you can. these things unravel at the drop of a hat. && while appearances aren’t everything ❞
she arcs a brow.
❝ it helps to look your best while kicking some major ass. ❞
❝ how’s that improvisation working out for you? ❞
formerlybatgirl reblogged
A breath of sigh escapes his lips. He could do untangling — that was a simple task. Teeth sinking into his bottom teeth in concentration, his fingers move slowly ( agonising, especially for a speedster ) to untangle the wires, making sure not to make them any worse. When it was done, he brushes his hands together. “All done. In record time too.”
“Now, about that pizza — will be large or extra large?”
❝ a + work. couldn’t have done it better myself && you saved me all the trouble of getting down there. ❞ she reaches down to fish the freshly untangled cords && all of their kinked edges, then threads them through the hole burrowed into her desk for just such an occasion. clapping her hands together, fingertips toying around the microphone at her mouth, barbara flashes him a friendly, relieved smile. ❝ easier way to keep things organized. stuff gets so convoluted up here... ❞
her lips purse, a hunger dancing through her own eyes.
❝ i did say helper’s choice... let’s go with extra. toppings? ❞
formerlybatgirl reblogged
gwen’s not about to argue with THAT. as enticed as she is by the human genome, of journals published by the head of this and the foremost voice of that, it’s been a long, long night. (or HAD been, she supposed.)
so excuse her when she settles back against cushions, head slipping comfortably against the smooth curve of babs’ waist. cheek still imprinted by worn leather lines presses against teeth — teeth that feel fuzzy and ache from a tense jaw — and she STRUGGLES to mumble out her next string of thoughts. it doesn’t matter that her companion has shifted, made to clean up the mess they’ve made; all that factors into her sleep-addled mind is that it’s late, terribly late, and she wants to go back to bed.
❛ LEAVE it, ❜ the blonde murmurs in a voice that echoes sand dust and deposits it into the quiet cracks of the night. breathing slips, trips over itself ONCE or TWICE & her heartbeat is a rhythm that barely registers, each thud driving her to fall to the hand of exhaustion yet again. she doesn’t though, forcing herself to stay focused just enough to speak. ❛ you can stay here. it’s pointless to get up at this point. ❜ thought to have been spoken coherently, but most likely nothing but a disjointed mess of childish MURMURS and sleepy slurs.
❝ as if i could get up. ❞ papers PILE up, clutched && disorganized, into her grasp. && barbara perks a knowing brow at where towheaded locks spill out to her lap. long blonde hair mingles with threaded crocheted lines from the throw blanket && her friend’s lashes flutter atop apple-rose cheeks in a way that draw slumber back into the bottoms of her own limbs. it’s tempting. a yawn tugs her jaw wide && open, arm stretched up high over her own head. rib cage pulls long && hikes the warm loops of her own sweater almost enough to show puckered pink where a scar splashes across her abdomen. she reaches down, though, FOND, fingertips pushing heavy bangs away from gwen’s brow. ❝ it seems someone has taken it upon herself to find a new residence. ❞
it takes a series of shifting && angling to put the pages back where they belong on the coffee table. dim lighting from the television titters, glowing pale in the carpet’s tresses.
❝ should i turn this off? ❞ blear crowds the blue in her eyes. cushions take her in willingly, wrapping soft, cotton-padded arms around her form. && she blinks, wanting so badly to give back into to the comfort of dreamland. already, its weightlessness bounces beneath her consciousness.
another taffy yawn JAMS the signal of conversation.
❝ or do you think you can wake just enough for a good, late night trashy movie? ❞ fletching deepens for the mischief rousing her smile. ❝ we could make coffee... && maybe some popcorn. ❞
formerlybatgirl reblogged
he laughs at her teasing, but it’s a gentle sort of sound — something that echoes from the heart of his chest and outwards. she’s being a good sport, particularly about his little technical fumble, which he’s grateful for.
❝ ah, well, i’ve done work in oil sciences and natural resources. energy efficiency, fuel — that sort of thing. ❞
❝ i’m guessing you have experience in computer sciences, though. am i wrong in that? ❞
❝ ding, ding, ding! ❞ she spins her fingertip through the air in a tight little circle. it holds a laughing chime. && she smiles, warm && open with him. he seems good, whole, like the kind of person you want to trust with your life’s secrets ( she knows better than this; her own mind is a lockbox of whispers && masks, the inner workings of the world’s darkest imaginings ). ❝ we have a winner. && here i thought i was being coy enough to fly under the radar. ❞ her voice dries, its usual evaporative humor catching.
❝ what gave it away? ❞
formerlybatgirl reblogged
IS SHE ALLOWED to feel smug? kara doesn’t know – but it twitches the corners of her mouth from false solemnity into a smile.
❝ he can still be a beacon of hope with a belly full of worms, can’t he? — you know, i haven’t asked him. maybe it’s his guilty pleasure. ❞
her expression sours, frown dragging at her lips. a chuckle busts free to undo the upside down curve of her mouth. && she leans forward. her curiosity scrabbles at her skin, restless && insatiable.
❝ hmm. i suppose it’s possible, even if it isn’t exactly posterboy material. do you know how swooning fangirls would react to that? ❞ her hand waves through the air as though painting a picture. ❝ WORMS would probably become the newest fad. && i can’t say that i’d be too interested to see how that one turns out. ❞
