#bastxrds

People underestimated the little droid all the time. He was very cheeky, very opinionated, and a lot to handle. BB-8 liked the work they did with the Resistance, he liked feeling important. He also liked working with Poe. That guy never treated him like just another piece of machinery, he treated him like any other fighter, and he appreciated that. 

Of course, the Resistance had plenty of droids, but it was obvious that pilots had their droids they preferred, and he was glad that Poe liked it. It was probably because he was outspoken, and sassy, but that was just a guess. 

Rolling over to his friend, he nudged against his leg to say hello, and moved to roll alongside him. 

@bastxrds (ventress), moved for beta.

It was strange seeing Red return night after night. Pandemonium wasn't the sort of club that mundanes visited. Not unless they were connected to downworlders. Of course, they had some mundanes that loved the atmosphere Magnus had created and he made certain the rules were followed, but for someone like Red it wasn't the sort of place she should be seen. And yet there she was again, back at the club, looking a little out of place and it had her wondering why. Of course, she knew the sort of temptations the club held. Even though Saj used it for relaxation and a time to pull her thoughts together, some of the others used it for other means. So what brought Red back? A part of her knew she was part of the reason, but what were the others? "Guess I'll have to talk with the bouncer about the frat boys that keep slipping in," she teased, smirking at the other. That was the downside to allowing mundanes into the club; there would always be the sorts who thought they were cooler than they really were. She' dealt with them before and they learned quickly that she didn't put up with them. Red wasn't her and she could imagine what hell she had to endure on her own. Unfortunately, she couldn't come every night. Not when she had a job to do. "Hrm, I don't know," she teased, looking like she was thinking about the question. Saj had missed her. It was nice coming to the club and seeing her. Better than dealing with the judgement she got at the Institute.

the place has a grip on her that she can't put into words. she'd tried but Simon just didn't get it, & this was decidedly not the sort of place she talked about with her coworkers. it wasn't just the mysterious date woman she kept running into, either; something about this place felt utterly correct to ever fibre of her being. it was almost like... not quite COMING HOME but maybe in the foyer of wherever it was she was supposed to call just that.

which made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

the club itself wasn't something she could ever really commit to paper either when she wanted to remember it. it was like it existed under a veil that shifted & obscured the details every time she sat down to put pen or pencil to paper. she could remember the other's face, though, & the strange tattoos that seemed to adorn her in varying stages of vibrancy.

she could remember her drink order, too, but that was also beside the point.

@bastxrds moved for beta editor

                          "MUSEUMSINSEL, HU?" he repeats, the German word a little weird in his mouth even if he knows what it means (thanks, World War II). He fishes out his phone to do a quick Google search just so he won't forget about it later – Steve won't actually do his research about it now, that would be impolite, and he hates it when people he's having conversations with do it. "It sounds familiar, but I'm gonna read up on that one, thanks!" About 80 % of strangers he meets don't think he's such a nerd – Captain America is always punching aliens or Nazis or robots on live TV, surely his hobbies include Parcours and shoot-'em-ups. And even if they don't realize he's Cap, his physical appearance tells them he's a jock that spends all his free time in the gym. Which, okay, he likes to go on runs and lift some weights. It's nice that his body finally works the way it's supposed to, and every day he wakes up without aches, and a lung free of fluid feels like a miracle. But nothing but sports and exercise would be boring, too, so he likes the more mentally-challenging side of art.

AS HER FEET CARRIED HER SHE FOCUSED ON THE OLDER WOMAN and her head tilted ever so slightly. she and talia were sisters but they did not always see eye to eye on situations. their father no doubt played a part in that. her gaze was searching over talia as if trying to decide exactly what to do here. she was her sister at the end of the day and all nyssa wished was to focus on that rather then to focus on something ... else. "talia .... to what do i owe this unexpected visit?" she spoke. together they could run this league, better than their father ever did but she had to admit she owed it to felicity and oliver to help mia, which is why she was spending so much time here of late.

Once upon a time she might have found it amusing,  being able to recognize his presence without even having to turn around,  and yet,  right now it only brought forth an ache deep in her chest,  as if her heart was being squeezed just a little too tight.    A reminder that she was still human after all.    “  Han. . .  ”    Oh,  how she wished the name falling from her red painted lips would have come out in a flat tone,  and yet,  the hint of exasperated fondness was hard to hide,  no matter how hard she could have tried.

“  You shouldn’t be here.  ”    A pointless thing to point out when she had no doubts he knew very well,  the trouble he would be in if he was to be found out.    “  You have such disregard for your own life,  don’t you  ?  ”    It was then that she finally turned,  sea green hues meeting familiar hazel ones,  and the corner of her mouth twitched,  an involuntary and yet fleeting smile gracing her features for only a moment.    “  What are you doing here  ?  ”

it’s been a shitty day.  harley’s curled up in a corner of the break room,  cup of coffee clutched in her hand. she’s struggling to make herself drink it,  even though her head pounds from the lack of caffeine. her scrubs are a couple sizes two big for her,  and are not the scrubs she brought to the hospital this morning. it’s not even the untimely retirement of her favorite scrubs that’s bothering her;  she’s used to similar losses in her prior career,  and it’s a small price to pay to save someone’s life.  

it’s just that she didn’t save someone’s life.  harley sniffles,  pressing her hands to her eyes as if that’ll stop the tears from coming.  she’s killed before.  she’s killed people she cared for,  but that was survival,  and this⸻ it’s failure.  

she hears the door open,  relieved when it’s @bastxrds​ who walks in.  the other residents hate that harley’s here.  most of the attending do too -- her victims have been their patients.  miranda may well be the only person in this place who talks to her ( and her arrival is sparing bruce wayne from one very miserable phone call. ) 

“ hey, ” she squeaks,  greeting the other woman with an awkward wave. “ hey,  do you have  a minute? ”

Half a coast away, Jim’s coffee went crashing to the ground. Cardboard crumpling as he leaned against the stone facade of the bodega, lights just flickering on as night enveloped. Crumpled half over as he was, even Jim could sense it; the malignant flare of something not crossing over but breaking out. An otherworldly bomb dropped that was rippling and thank god he hadn’t been in the epicenter. It gave him enough time to catch a breath, shivering despite the hot evening, cool skin dotted with goose bumps, before it was no longer a concern of simply Jim Corrigan. The coffee lay abandoned as the Spectre disappeared in a puff of green.

When he emerged, it was Spectre who stepped from the air, trailing green smoke that rose in wisps from the voluminous green cape around his shoulders. Sirens sounded in the distance, but it was the cacophony nearby that drew the the spirit’s attention. It was hard to miss the sight. Bloodied human face laughing into the night, clothes torn, pulsing with an unnatural strength that the Spectre knew was directly linked to the throbbing being within.

Spectre knew that outline. The smell alone was signal enough - the rot of a decaying mortal host and the acid feel in the air of power. Mixed with something the Spectre had not seen since days when the pyramids were the mightiest thing in the sky. The latter of which was...odd. What was an old god doing here?

What amazed the Spectre perhaps even more than what they were dealing with was the fact that someone had beat them here. A flash of white - stark against the grime of the back alley - and the wet THWOCK of fists that left blood arcing through the air against the walls. Fury and something more drove the figure, something that left the Spectre frowning; he was not the only higher power here. And while not nervous, it made him cautious.