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astroboots · 1 year ago

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Issue #11

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: Miguel brings you gifts.

Word count: 3,600

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Stark’s courier service arrives at your hotel the following day, a crew of four brawny looking men dressed in overalls, carrying in some 13 boxes of equipment, which take up the majority of the floor space of your luxury suite.

It finds residence in the seating area of the hotel room. Fancy looking gadgets of shiny chrome and colorful LED lights that look like they were stolen from the movie set of Back to the Future.

Miguel sets up shop, turning the pink girly vanity dressing table into an impromptu workbench. It’s where he’s been seated most of the last 36 hours, hunched over the tiny little table tinkering with the watch and various futuristic looking mechanical gears at all hours of the night.

The laser scalpel he’s using might be soundless, but Miguel sure isn’t. Last night, you’d been constantly woken up by his growling as he trashes another expensive looking tool with an angry growl. Pacing the room for a few minutes, mumbling and complaining about the cheap quality of Stark tech and how primitive this world is. Then he's right back at it, sitting back down on the little pink velvet ottoman to continue tinkering.

Tonight is no different. You’re in bed, scrolling your phone to unwind before going to sleep, when you hear him grumble again then stab the laser scalpel into the surface of the table.

Peeling off the fluffy comfortable quilt wrapped around you, you make your way over to him before he destroys any more fancy furniture you can never dream of affording to replace on your modest salary.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, as you stand behind him.

“Bastard’s tagged the thing with a receptor that feeds information about any modifications made back to him. It’s booby trapped so that if I try to remove it, the whole thing will disintegrate.”

You lean over to peer at the desk over his shoulder, observing the arc reactor that's pulsing like a beating heart with a glow of blue.

“Does it matter? Let him have your technology.”

In the reflection of the vanity mirror, you can see the small muscle in his jaw tic with irritation.

“No,” he says flatly, picking up the scalpel again from where it’s wedged into the table. “We can’t risk him getting a hold of inter-dimensional technology. I don’t want Stark to be able to locate and come after you.”

Oh Jesus, not this again.

“I already told you, I’m not interested in Tony Stark." You resist the urge to roll your eyes at part two of Miguel's unwarranted jealousy feud with Stark. Didn’t the two of you have a heartfelt conversation about this?

“That’s not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

He's grinding down on his jaw with irritated anger at whatever it is he’s thinking but not sharing with you. “We can’t trust him.”

“He’s a superhero, Miguel, just like you. If we can't trust him, then I don't know who we can trust.”

Miguel's mouth pulls into a grim and tight line at your words. For a brief moment, you think you catch a hint of fear on his face, before he breaks eye contact and turns away, back towards the bench. It takes you by surprise because you didn’t think Miguel was scared of anything.

“Tony Stark is one of the good guys,” you try again.

You rest a hand on the edge of his shoulder, trying to help placate his unease. “He’s an Avenger, remember? It's their job to protect the world.”

It dawns on you when you hear the words from your own mouth. The reason why he doesn’t want Tony Stark to be able to keep tabs on you and come after you.

The Avengers are meant to protect the world from any threats, and right now one of the greatest threats to this world is… you.

“Oh,” the tiny sound punches out of you as a yawning pit of uncertainty and fear opens up in your stomach.

One in every 40 New Yorkers will have a run-in with Superhero in their time in the city.

You've just always thought that, if your turn to encounter the Avengers came, it would be as a grateful civilian saved from the clutches of evil. You never thought it would be because you were the danger the world needed saving from.

Miguel must sense the moment the realization hits you, because he sets aside his tools and takes your hand, gently stroking the palm of it with his thumb.

"You have nothing to worry about, it’s just going to take some time," he murmurs, and he looks up at you with such warmth it makes the anxiety in you thaw slightly. "I'll be done with it soon.”

He eyes the arc reactor, not letting go of your hand. "Try to get some sleep."

You fall asleep to the white noise of tinkering metal and Miguel’s frustrated murmured curses. The noises should annoy you, but they don't. You find it oddly comforting, being able to hear Miguel move around in the same room as you when you’re in bed. Know with every fiber of your being that his presence means you're safe and easily drift fast asleep.

You don't know how long you stay asleep for or how much sleep you manage to catch before you feel the bed dip beside you.

"Hey," a voice softly cajoles you. There's a warm palm on your shoulder, gently nudging you awake. But you're not prepared to wake yet. Too comfortable in the haze of sleep to give it up.

You bury your head into the pillow, hoping to shut out any interference that's trying to keep you from your sleep.

"Cielito," the gentle voice tries again. "Wake up."

Grumpily and with great resistance, you strain to turn your head, squinting your eyes awake to see Miguel's face filling your vision.

It’s dark in here save for a small lamp left on in the far off corner. In this muted light, his scarlet eyes are illuminated with an otherworldly brilliance. If you had been more awake, you would have wanted to take a second or two to marvel at how beautiful they are.

"I got something for you," he says.

There’s a barely contained eagerness in his voice as he speaks, and sleepy as you are, it peaks your interest. You blink your eyes properly open, adjusting to the dim dark to see two small boxes set next to your pillow.

"Miguel, it's..." you flick your wrist towards you, when you remember the watch is no longer there. It’s odd how naked you feel without Lyla as your constant companion on your wrist.

You awkwardly prop yourself up on an elbow with great effort to figure out time the old fashioned way, glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

In a bright glaring LED, the digits announce: 01:00.

Past midnight?! Has he lost his mind?

"It's one in the morning! Why are you waking me up after midnight!?"

Unbothered by your outrage, he continues to lean across you to drag one of the boxes closer.

"I'm finally done modifying the parallel universe traversal device, so I got you something to celebrate."

You blink up at him in surprise. When he said he’d be done soon, you didn’t think he meant tonight.

“It’s from that place you wanted Stark to take you," he says, opening the box one-handed to reveal a gaudy looking golden donut waiting for you.

Then he drags the second box over, setting it next to the first and flips the lid open. Inside are half a dozen cinnamon-sugared donuts.

"And these are regular old donuts, from the Lower East Side for fifty cents each. We can do a comparison test. If that ugly golden donut is tastier, I’ll chop off my arm.”

You snort out a laugh. His one-sided feud with Tony Stark is alive and well you see. You don’t understand why this has become such a point of contention for him. Stark had never actually suggested he was going to get you golden donuts.

Before you have the chance to dig in, Miguel puts out his hand, palm up, on the mattress in invitation. "Give me your hand first," he instructs.

You oblige him, placing your hand in the middle of his, and he wraps the familiar watch around your wrist. Except it’s not as familiar as you remember it to be. It’s considerably chunkier now to accommodate Stark's arc reactor that sits in the middle and if anything it looks more like a cuff bracelet than a watch.

But you don’t mind, you’re glad to have the comforting weight of it back on your arm, wrist no longer feeling quite so naked.

“It’s bulkier than I would’ve liked. But there’s no helping how primitive Stark’s tech is,” Miguel snarks, clearly pleased with himself even though the man he’s bitching about isn’t even in the room to hear his clever insults.

In the gloomy light, the bright blue gem of the arc reactor shines back at you like a precious jewel. If you didn’t know better, you’d think you were wearing jewelry fit for royalty.

"I like this upgrade on the watch. It’s pretty.”

"Not a watch," Miguel corrects, but he's not scolding you. The fondness in his voice is plainly there.

Looking up you meet his eyes to see the open affection that's there for you. Your face warms under his unwavering attention, until you have to duck your head down, unable to hold his gaze anymore.

You reach over the bed, to busy yourself, bypassing the golden donut to pick up one of the plain cinnamon ones. In the corner of your eye, you catch his lips curve into a smile as you take a large bite of the regular-non-golden donut.

He would gloat about that, wouldn’t he, the overgrown childish brat. You grin around the mouthful, as the sugar melts onto the tip of your tongue and you moan loudly at the perfect warm cinnamon that floods your senses.

Miguel is still smiling at you warmly, face propped in his broad hand as he watches you eat, and the heat in your face reaches an almost feverish pitch under his gaze.

"So what's next?" you force yourself to ask him over a muffled mouthful to distract yourself.

"Get some rest, sleep in. We'll take this for a few test drives in the morning to make sure it works the way it's supposed to, and then I'll take you to my home world."

There's a jittery sensation. A mix of exhilaration, excitement and anxiety blending with the sugar in your stomach at the unknown that waits before you. Even though you knew this day was coming since your visit at Wong, now that the time has come you're nervous.

The only world you’ve ever known is your own. You’re hardly an intrepid traveler. During your gap year in Europe, the use of the metric system was a culture shock for you. You can't even begin to imagine what it'll be like to travel to another alternate reality.

But you’re going to have to do it—and keep doing it, if Wong is correct.

Will you need to get a whole new wardrobe to fit in with the fashion trends of each universe? Will you have to learn new languages? Will there be a thousand sets of unfamiliar customs and quirks you’ll have to learn to adapt to?

…Will Miguel be there for any of it?

Biting down on your lip, you try to stave off the tight knot in your stomach.

One thing that's become clear is that even if Miguel takes you to his world, you won’t be able to stay there for very long. You aren’t going to be able to stay anywhere for very long.

Even if he intends to give you Lyla for good or build you another device that allows you to jump from world to world... what then?

Will he come with you?

Or will you be left to travel by yourself from one unknown world to another?

The loneliness of that fate makes your stomach hurt. You’d be lying to yourself if you didn’t admit that you want him to come with you more than anything, but you have no right to ask that of him. Not after everything he’s already done for you.

Like he can read your mind, Miguel gives you an appraising look.

"Once we're in Nueva York, we'll stay there for as long as it's safe," Miguel says, leaning across your lap to snag a donut from the box next to you for himself, and you try to ignore the heat that goes skittering through your leg when his arm brushes past your knee. "Then we'll jump to the next location."

You watch him scarf the cinnamony treat down in two mouthfuls, barely chewing. Your heart leaps excitedly until it jumps all the way to your throat.

"We?"

He grins, crumbs of caramelized sugar dotted on the curve of his lips. "I can't leave you by yourself, can I?"

Your mouth opens and closes, then opens again and you leave it there, hanging in the air, probably looking incredibly dumb and speechless.

You don’t know what to say to him. Don’t think there are adequate words in the English dictionary capable of expressing how happy it makes you to know that you’ll have him by your side. 'Thank you' seems incredibly lacking.

Somehow despite that you are both sitting down, he still dwarfs you and from your seated position you barely come up to his shoulders. You don’t quite know why you do it, but you move before you think, getting to your knees to lean up and place a small kiss on his cheek.

A faint pink tinges his cheeks at the small contact. Then it’s his turn to duck down. He scoots over, bringing the smaller donut box closer to you.

"Eat your golden donut," he says.

You peer up at him. The way his mouth pulls into a tiny and almost shy smile, and happiness buzzes in your chest at the sight.

A dopey smile spreads across your cheeks as you watch him. The way he rubs one broad hand over his jaw to hide his reddening face from you.

Taking the box from him, you look down at the shiny pastry. If your words are failing you, maybe food can speak for you instead. You pick up the golden donut in your hand and hold it out to him.

“You go first,” you offer.

There’s not a second of hesitation from Miguel. He leans down and takes a large bite of the gilded pastry, fangs first, puncturing the soft, squishy dough.

The whole thing bursts, and you squeal with laughter as the champagne flavored jelly filling squirts across his bottom lip, onto your fingers and drips onto the sheets below.

“Miguel, you’re making a complete mess!”

You lick up the sticky jam from your fingers as you watch him. There’s dust of gold smudging against his cheeks and even on his nose as he takes another bite. You’re tittering with amusement at the sight of him.

“Here you got some–” you bring your thumb to help him wipe at the corner of his mouth.

For a man who doesn’t like casual touches, sneering even at the idea of handshakes as a greeting at work, he doesn’t seem to mind yours.

Miguel lets you rub off the flecks of gold from his cheek, eyes dropping half-closed in contentment. His jaw moves under your hand as his mouth drops open, then he presses his lips to the inside of your palm.

It’s a barely there touch, but it has warmth furl from the middle of your stomach and blooms outward, spreading to the rest of you.

In this gigantic Wyoming king-sized bed, Miguel is seated close enough to you that your knees touch. He’s close. So close that you can feel the heat rolling off of his big body.

Somehow that's not close enough, because you close the remaining distance between you, until your knee is pressed against the firm inside of his thigh, his broad shoulders brush against yours.

It wouldn’t take much now. If you leaned up at this moment. If you tilted your head upwards even slightly. Your lips would be on his.

You shouldn’t, the small voice in your head warns. Kissing him is probably not a good idea.

He might not feel the same. Kissing him might change something irreparably between you, and then who will you travel the outer limits of the universe with?

But... if you're going to die tomorrow or the next day or next week, then what does it all matter anyhow? What’s a little bit of rejection when the end of the world is hiding right behind the next corner.

You tilt up and press your lips to his top lip, then the full lower one. It’s chaste and brief, and only lasts for a second. But for a first time it’s familiar and intimate in a way that it can only be with you and Miguel.

His lips are warm and dry and slightly open under the press of yours and it sends a fluttering warmth from the tip of your nose to the end of your fingertips.

You pull back with the tiniest movement, nose still brushing against his, as you gather the courage to look up at his face and try to find out if you just made a terrible mistake.

Those scarlet eyes are staring down at you in that familiar way you catch him doing sometimes. When he thinks you're not paying attention to him and his eyes lingers on your face.

His thumb catches behind your ear, face inching closer, and then he’s kissing you back. It’s sweet and electric, the sensation surges through you with a giddiness that makes your toes curl.

Miguel presses his lips to yours and holds you there. Long consecutive kisses that don't let you pull up for air. His other hand gently cups your face, thumb stroking the apple of your cheeks like you’re the most precious thing his big hands has ever held.

You want this to last, that it could always be like this. You want it to be you and him.

This man who brings you cupcakes when you’re crying. Who saves you the best portion of the food that he likes even though he’s a glutton. Who folds you paper flowers and leaves them on your desk to make you smile when you’re having a bad day at work. A man who stays by your side through the end of the world and never asks you for anything in return.

You love him.

One large hand covers the back of your neck. He tilts you back, like he’s trying to shield and protect you as he holds you. Holds you like he’s never going to let go.

Then he stops.

Why is he stopping?

He stiffens above you, the whole of his back tensing. You chase his lips but he is already pulling back and away from you.

Your eyes open to the muted darkness of the room.

In front of you, Miguel is looking at you with an expression you can't pin down. Eyes wide, and distracted. For a terrifying moment, you think that the look on his face is one of regret.

Maybe he realized he doesn’t feel that way about you after all. Maybe he's trying to find a way to let you down gently.

You pull back and study his face.

No… it’s not that.

His expression is the same distant look he had two seconds before a helicopter crashed into your apartment. The same tension in his eyes that will have him hauling you into his arms to protect you from a rogue vehicle. The same pinch in his brow when he’ll stop a conversation with you mid-sentence because the ceiling is about to cave in and he needs to push you out of harm’s way.

Something is wrong.

A cold sliver of fear crawls up your spine as Miguel’s face turns, and he stares into the empty space of the room beyond the bed.

There’s speck of pink spilling onto the sheets on your lap like the color of the sun on stained glass from the outside.

You follow his gaze in the direction of the radiant dusk pouring in from the window.

It’s too bright for one A.M, enough to be blinding.

Pulling away the quilt from your body, you slide out of bed and walk towards the brightness pouring in from the outside until you’re standing in front of the wide glass panes of the balcony.

You look up at the sky, and it’s not the familiar calm midnight-blue. There are vivid streaks of fluorescent pink and glowing purple staining the sky. There are fractures in the sky like someone took a sledge hammer to it and cracked it wide open.

The cityscape looks like it is folding onto itself. Skyscrapers, bridges, and streets are contorted and warped like badly-folded origami. The impossible architecture reminds you of a M.C Escher painting you saw on a school trip at MoMA as a child.

Outside, the pavements of New York is mirrored where the sky is supposed to be. Silhouettes of skyscrapers spring out from below and above and the vast sky is wedged between. Up is down and down is up and nothing makes sense anymore.

You've seen this scene take place before, when you were under Wong's multidimensional spell.

Your universe is starting to collapse.

The end of the world is here. You’ve officially run out of time.

~ Next Issue

Dedications & Credits:

To @guruan for her endless kindness and incredibly talented. I cannot thank her enough for the art she gifts me with that constantly inspires my little squirrel brain and drives me to write like I am possessed.

And @thirstworldproblemss my babe, my bestie, my moose! Thank you for always being there with your pretty face!! I adore and love you, our friendship and time together brings me endless joy. Thank you for going on this ride with me.

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #marvel #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderverse fanfiction #marvel mcu #oscar isaac #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spiderverse #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you

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rideboomindia · 4 months ago

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racefortheironthrone · 10 months ago

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fantasy sometimes doesn't afford itself the ability to fantasize about a better world with many of the same problems of real life. thankfully ive found fantasy thatfantasize about things like gender roles, orientations, social status, etc. being more accepting, and the world kinder more often than not. question is, as hard as it is to find solid urban fantasy, are there anyworks you know of that use itself to imagine a optimal city for us urban nerds? magic public works, free dragon transit?

So there is a real problem in the fantasy and sci-fi genres that they often have a failure of revolutionary imagination, as I’ve termed it. We’re so used to not just the world as it is but also the public historical imagination of how change happens, that even in art that’s supposed to be about radically reimagining our world or new worlds, we often revert back to the familiar. (I find this tic particularly annoying in alternate history, which is supposed to be about imagining how the world could have evolved differently, but often reverts back to a retelling of (often bad) history with the numbers filed off.)

(A sadly rare counter-example.)

You raise a fascinating question about the potential for urbanist fantasy. This is often quite rare in urban fantasy, because often out of a desire to maintain the verisimilitude of urban life, they default to a masquerade scenario which renders it impossible to explore the impact of magic on transit, housing, and other aspects of urbanism because the central conceit is that people with magic are trying to hide and thus have no impact on the mundane world.

However, it does crop up sometimes in Magitech settings, because their central conceit is all about how magic would function in place of science and lead to new ways of organizing societies, urban and otherwise. For a popular example, look at how Arcane examines the social impacts of Hextech and Shimmer. My personal favorite example of urbanist fantasy is the plane of Ravnica from Magic the Gathering.

Ravnica is a ecumenopolis, a city-state that covers the whole planet. The city is governed by a guild council, each of whom are responsible for an aspect of the city’s physical and social infrastructure:

The Azorius Senate is responsible for running the courts and the legal system, and sometimes they run the police as well (although they have a jurisdictional dispute with the Boros Legion on that front).

House Dimir are couriers, messengers, journalists, private investigators, spies, assassins, thieves, and librarians, as well as the city’s clandestine intelligence service - if it deals with information in any way, the Dimir have a hand in it…or do they?

The Cult of Rakdos run the city’s entertainment, food service, retail, and labor recruitment (lots of shanghaing and press ganging goes on in Ravnica) - and they’re also a crazed juggalo bdsm blood cult who are responsible for keeping an ancient arch-demon entertained so he doesn’t try to destroy the city, again.

The Gruul Clans are an anarchist collective responsible for the planet’s wilderness areas, which they try to maximize by violent raids that tear down developed areas any chance they get - which also makes them Ravnica’s main demolition industry. The Boros Legion spends a lot of time defending built-up areas from Gruul rampages.

The Selesnya Conclave are a hippie nature cult commune who manage the city’s parks and other green spaces, as well as providing basic welfare services (food, “shelter,” clothing, etc.) to the city’s poor. They also use magic to do weird hivemind brainwashing in the name of harmony and unity, and they can raise giant Ent-Kaiju to defend the city in times of need.

The Orzhov Syndicate are a vampire banker mafia, and also one of the city’s biggest religions. They believe in debt on a spiritual level, and their religion fully embraces indulgences to their logical conclusion. The Orzhov preach that you can literally buy your way into heaven, and that debts to the (Catholic by way of Prosperity Gospel Evangelical) Church or its many front organizations and legitimate businesses will carry over into the next life; the Orzhov practice debt slavery on both living people and ghosts. And lest you think it’s all a cover for profit-making, they can summon dark angels to conduct rituals, lead services, and make war on their enemies. Something above is answering their prayers…

My personal favorite is the Izzet League, an institute of mad scientists and engineers and elementalist wizards who combine science and magic to research, build, and maintain the city’s infrastructure (as well as funding all tech R&D and theoretical and experimental research in physics, chemistry, and engineering) - the power grid, water and sewer systems, heating and gas lines, as well as the city’s mass transit and transportation/freight system, are all powered by their steam and fire and lightning and Magitech gadgets and robots and cyborgs made out of a magic metal named mizzium. Yes, a lot of their devices explode, and yes their golems and robots and elementals have a tendency to go rogue, but that’s the price of progress!

The Golgari Swarm are a subterranean necromantic cabal who run the city’s waste disposal, burial services, and do the bulk of the agricultural production for Ravnica’s hungry masses. All of Ravnica’s citizens are entitled to a food dole provided by the Golgari’s fungi farms as a form of basic income. Just don’t think too hard about what went into the compost heaps or what your rations might be made of…

The Boros Legion is Ravnica’s main police and military, led by a literal host of warrior angels. Imagine the combination of a police force entirely made up of noir detectives and loose cannon Dirty Harry-esque cops and an army with flying fortresses led by fiery angels who are all deeply dramatic lesbians. True believers one and all, the Boros are here to mete out justice and divine wroth upon evildoers wherever they hide. If they had their way, the Orzhov would all be in prison along with the Gruul and the Rakdos, but the damn bureaucrats in the Azorius Senate keep trying them up in knots with paperwork.

The Simic Combine are responsible for the city’s environmental quality, ensuring biodiversity and sustainability in a global metropolis; they are also the city’s universal health care providers. All Ravnicans have access to free health care, as long as they consent to the Combine’s biomantic research. See, the Simic are the other group of mad scientists/mages in the city, except they went into genetics, environmental science, and (marine) biology and they believe in individual and societal evolution through the use of augmentation, cloning, and splicing. After all, why stop at curing someone’s respiratory illness when you could also give them gills? Or giant crab claws? Or tentacles?

I love the world-building and the attention to urban systems and infrastructure in Ravnica. More than most, they’ve thought about what urban life needs to function and made it magical.

#fantasy genre #urban fantasy #revolutionary imagination #genre fiction #urbanism #alternate history #city-states #guilds #ravnica #mtg #arcane #magitech

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traveltimetaxihalifax · 7 months ago

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raghavintlggn · 2 months ago

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slothquisitor · 7 days ago

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Invisible String: Chapter Twelve

A Baldur’s Gate III Modern AU.

Chapter Summary: In which there is some good news and a very close call.

Read from the beginning.

Read on AO3.

_____________________________________________________________

“This is nice,” Liv says, stepping into the small apartment and looking around. It reminds her a bit of one of the places she lived in grad school. Petras hovers near the door, keys in hand looking a little like he can’t quite believe that this place belongs to him.

The outreach program Wyll had referred Petras to had finally come through with his own studio apartment. The place is furnished - sparsely. And there is enchanted film on the windows so he can move about without getting burned during the sunlight hours. It’s not fancy, but it will be his, and though she hasn’t minded his living on their couch, she knows he’s ready for this step.

“Do you like it?” she asks.

Petras walks into the kitchen and sets the keys on the counter. “Yeah, I do.”

The apartment is in an older building two blocks from her and Astarion’s place. There’s a shared stairwell with five other apartments and a pretty little courtyard in front of the place. The kitchen has seen better days, but that doesn’t matter much to someone who only drinks blood.

“We should make a list of everything you need, and if you need me to grab anything during the day tomorrow, I can do that,” Liv says and sets down the bag of Petras’s things she’s been carrying. He doesn’t have much, some clothes and toiletries and some of what they could buy in advance before seeing this place.

“You’d do that?” Petras asks, clearly surprised.

He’s clearly excited for this step, to be on his own, but ever since packing up his things and making their way here, he’s seemed so very young. So unsure. She gives him a smile. “Of course.”

Astarion steps inside the apartment, sliding his phone into his pocket. “Just got off the phone with the courier service, you’ve got blood coming Monday morning.”

That is Astarion’s parting gift to Petras. There’s something about it that makes her heart clench. She knows how difficult it is for Astarion to accept help and that he sees his own jagged past in Petras, but offering that help anyway, that kindness. It’s important.

“Thanks,” Petras says walking deeper into the apartment, looking over at the living room area. “I think I’ll need to buy a TV, and Karlach wants me to play Champion’s Call with her…so maybe a game system too when I can afford it.”

“Priorities,” Liv laughs, sharing a look with Astarion who looks rather exasperated.

“You should play with us too, Astarion.”

“I played with Karlach exactly one time and she yelled at me the entire time and then we lost. I’ll pass.”

Petras snorts. “She told me you also screamed in fear any time another player appeared on screen.”

Astarion mumbles something about killing Karlach, but Petras ignores it.

“Okay,” Petras glances around the space, still looking a little lost before turning to her. “What do I need?”

She and Petras spend the next half hour making a list of different things he’ll need to make his apartment a home while Astarion scrolls on his phone from the couch making offhand remarks and occasionally helpful suggestions. But there is something quietly familial about the whole thing, and Liv thinks again about what Brelia said about finding her people. Is this what that’s like? This being there for each other through the transitory periods of change?

In the end, Petras walks them back outside to the courtyard. “You’re still coming to the Elfsong tomorrow night, right?”

“Shadowheart and Karlach will hunt us down if we don’t,” Astarion replies without enthusiasm.

“I’m excited to meet them and see you in your element,” she says.

Petras grins. “It’ll be fun. And uh…even though I live here…we can…still hang out sometimes?”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Liv says, choosing not to remark on the clear relief on Petras’s face. Instead, she lets him pull her into a side hug.

“Just don’t swing by unannounced,” Astarion replies. “You have a phone for a reason.”

Petras rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it, brother.”

They bid him goodbye and start walking home. Astarion’s hand finds hers, slipping into a comfortable tangle. “You don’t have to be quite so nice to him. He’s fine.”

She wraps her other hand around his arm, leaning against his shoulder. “Like all of us, he needs people looking out for him. He needs to be on his own too, but he needs to know we’re here. He needs you like you needed Wyll.”

He sighs and pats her hand on his arm. “And I hated it.”

“Do you still?”

He doesn’t look at her, keeps his eyes trained ahead, but his voice is low enough for just her to hear. “Sometimes. I wish I hadn’t needed rescuing.”

“Sounds like you rescued yourself, Wyll just…gave you a push.”

Astarion glances down at her, eyes a little wide. “It is hard to see him sometimes…to be reminded of who I was.”

“I’m sure he understands.”

He sighs. “That’s what I’m afraid of. I should call him in the next day or two, give him the update on Petras. Especially now that he’s out of my hair.”

“And we’re going to see him tomorrow night.”

“Shhh…let me have this.”

She lightly pinches his side and he squirms away but comes right back smiling and laughing. She pulls him into a kiss as they walk, a quick and simple peck. It is the comfortability of it, the way he smiles as he pulls away and yet pulls her closer to his side. This is still so new, and yet it feels bright and promising.

***

When Astarion and Liv arrive at the Elfsong, Karlach and Shadowheart are already waiting. Petras converses with them in the VIP area, waving him and Liv over to the table set aside for them. Karlach looks great in a jumpsuit with strategically placed cut-outs, and Shadowheart is in a simple black mini-dress. Still, they’ve both clearly tried to look nice, which is sweet since the point of tonight is meeting Liv. It’s Saturday night, so the club could be busier, but not by much. Somehow the press of people doesn’t seem so bad with Liv’s hand firmly in his.

“You must be the famous roommate!” Shadowheart yells over the music as they slide into the booth.

“And you must be Shadowheart and Karlach,” Liv says, beaming at them both. Liv is more of a drinks at a small bar versus a nightclub person, but she’s been largely positive about this evening, even if her purple dress is still a little on the demure side. It fits her.

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” Karlach leans over the table to be heard. “You’re not what I expected at all.”

“I’ll get you some drinks,” Petras says before disappearing back towards the bar.

“And what did you expect?” Astarion asks shooting Karlach a warning look.

Shadowheart waves Karlach’s comment away. “It’s just that Astarion’s never brought anyone around for us to meet.”

Because there hasn’t ever been anyone worth meeting. “For good reason.”

“I suppose I should be thanking you Karlach, you’re sort of the reason this all happened in the first place,” Liv says.

Karlach grins. “Did Astarion tell you that it was also my idea that he get a roommate?”

Liv glances his way in surprise. “No, only that you and Gale know each other.”

“Which isn’t that surprising, I swear Karlach knows everyone,” Shadowheart says. “So, Liv, you’re an archivist at the university?”

Liv nods. “I am. And what do you do?”

“I’m currently with an animal rescue. It’s a small group of us so I get to do all the office admin work and still hang out with the animals.”

“That’s incredible. What sort of animals?”

“Mostly whatever manages to get in trouble in the city. Lots of birds and cats and dogs. We currently have a goat right now though.”

Astarion can’t help but grimace. “A goat? In the city?”

Karlach shakes her head. “People are stupid.”

“And you work here?” Liv asks shifting attention to Karlach.

“Yep. Not tonight though, wanted to meet you instead. The drink discount is nice though.”

Liv smiles. “Petras speaks really highly of you. Astarion not so much, but you know he never means it.”

Karlach and Shadowheart laugh and Astarion can’t help but join in. This is going well, and he’s not at all surprised. Liv has a way of asking questions and making jokes that make you feel immediately included like she’s known you so much longer than she has and already thinks you’re great.

“Petras is a good sort. Astarion not so much,” Karlach replies, echoing Liv’s words.

He teasingly glowers at them all but doesn’t mind the way the attention is focused on him. “I’m not the good sort, but I am the best sort. Besides, I think I’ve said at least one or two nice things about you two to Liv.”

“A new record,” Shadowheart deadpans before her phone chirps. She glances at it before putting it away. Astarion can’t help but glance at her phone screen.

“Was that a Weave notification I saw? Still talking to SomeSunnyBae?” he asks.

Shadowheart sighs. “Mostly. I finally suggested meeting up for coffee, but it’s been hard to sync up schedules, so I feel like she maybe doesn’t actually want to meet.”

“If she didn’t want to meet she’d just ghost you,” Karlach says reassuringly. “At least you have matches.”

“I keep telling you to change your handle,” Astarion replies.

“What’s your handle?” Liv asks.

“HotCliveMama34,” Karlach says proudly. “And no, Astarion, I am not going to change it any time soon.”

“Who is Clive?”

“My most precious baby,” Karlach replies, pulling out her phone and immediately shoving photo after photo of her dog in Liv’s face.

“I know that you two are happily coupled now, but did you try out the Weave, Liv?” Shadowheart asks.

Shit, shit, shit, shit. He should have steered the conversation away from this topic. Both Karlach and Shadowheart know his handle and have seen his account. All it will take for this to all be out in the open is Liv telling them about her matches. The music is somehow loud and muted all at once, and he doesn’t necessarily need to breathe, but he finds his breaths stuttering in his panic.

Liv laughs. “I did. Everyone at work convinced me. I talked to someone for a while, but they ended up cutting things off. They had a truly cringe-worthy handle, but the conversation was good so it didn’t matter. Yours is fine, Karlach. Besides, Clive is too cute not to mention.”

Shadowheart grins. “What was the handle? I’ve matched with some truly awful ones.”

“I don’t think we need to rehash our experiences on that ridiculous app,” Astarion breaks in, trying to keep his voice from sounding too panicked.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous,” Karlach replies. “You only just started dating Liv, she’s allowed to talk about her bad dating app experiences.”

“I’m not jealous,” Astarion says, but it doesn’t sound convincing in his panicked state.

Liv puts her hand on his knee and smiles teasingly. “Don’t worry, I like you more than any random internet stranger I’ve ever chatted with.”

That is…less comforting than intended. “The bar was likely in the hells, but thank you for that. Now where is Petras with the drinks?”

***

“Can you shift the page just a little to the right?” Liv asks Gale as she looks at the computer screen. She and Gale are working in the clean room today, snapping pictures of a recent acquisition for the digital archives.

“Absolutely,” Gale says, carefully making the slight adjustment with gloved hands.

The book is absolutely falling apart, the front cover entirely missing, but it is almost five hundred years old so that’s not unexpected. The book is an authentic first edition of Marlowe’s “Doctor Faustus”. The copy is too fragile for the enchanted imagery machine, so they’re working together to painstakingly take a picture of each and every page so even as time continues to ravage the copy they’ll at least have a digital version of it. Their job is to not put undue stress on the object as they preserve it. It’s easily a two person job, Gale gloved up and slowly turning the pages, setting the book beside the ruler and color card so that she can snap the picture from the computer. It’s a long and tedious job, so she’s glad she’s got Gale to do it with.

“I heard you met Karlach this weekend,” Gale says as he sets up the next page.

She labels the page, double-checking the image. Nothing sucks more than having to do reshoots with a book like this. “I did. She’s really great. Glad to finally meet the person responsible for both my living and dating situation.”

“I like to think I had a little to do with it,” Gale replies with a grin.

Liv laughs. “Are you going to put Mystra out of a job?”

Gale looks rather pleased by that. “Career pivot to matchmaker.”

“I don’t know, I think you could do both. Besides, I don’t want to do this job alone,” she says.

There’s a knock at the clean room door, and she stands to open it. Lae’zel is in the narrow hallway outside. “Florrick is here. She’s asking for both of you.”

“Both of us?” Liv asks a little doubtfully. Gale, sure. But her? She’s met Florrick exactly twice and one of those times was her interview for this position.

Lae’zel gives her a rather aggressive grin. “I think it’s about your proposals.”

Gale has already discarded his gloves. “Really?”

Lae’zel nods, and so Liv and Gale make their way to the hotel office that is only ever used for meetings with patrons and donors and apparently when Florrick arrives unannounced. The older elven woman smiles as she and Gale enter the office.

“Ah, Ms. Vires and Mr. Dekarios, I understand you were photographing the Marlowe acquisition. I apologize for interrupting,” she says. She’s dressed simply in a black pantsuit, and even though she’s apologizing for interrupting them Liv feels like she should be apologizing for being busy.

“Not a problem. Probably due for a short break anyway,” Gale replies smoothly.

Florrick smiles. “Well, I wanted to come and deliver the news personally on behalf of the board. We loved both of your exhibition proposals, and we’d like to host them both this next year.”

Liv was expecting an email reply to her proposal not a personally delivered acceptance, her heart seems to stutter over itself. “Seriously? We were both picked?”

“Yes. We considered many proposals from a wide range of departments across the university, but I’ll admit I was thrilled to see how well one of my departments showed out. Which actually brings me to the other reason why I’m here.

“Ms. Vires, your proposal uses only items already housed here at the library. Do you think the exhibit could be ready in a month? The current exhibit’s centerpiece is being pulled early by the donor, so we’ll need to pivot a bit earlier than expected.”

Liv considers that for a moment. She’s never put on an exhibit of this magnitude, but she’s confident her department will help her. “Yes, that should be doable.”

“Fantastic. Mr. Dekarios, please reach out to the institutions you’re looking to borrow Kafka pieces from and get me an estimated timeline of when your exhibit could run. We’ll install it later in the new year.”

“Absolutely, right away,” Gale says, nodding enthusiastically as he flashes Liv a disbelieving smile.

They both got picked. It’s the best outcome she could have hoped for. Florrick gives them a few more of the details and contacts and then dismisses them. Liv maintains her cool precisely long enough to be out of sight of the office before practically skipping to where Lae’zel and Rolan await them. She and Gale share the news, and then there’s cheering and congratulations and promises of help to get this exhibit out the door in a month, but she’s most excited to tell Astarion.

Liv: I just got the best news!

Astarion: Oh?

Liv: They loved my exhibit proposal, and the library wants to run it next month!

Several celebratory gifs immediately come through.

Astarion: That’s incredible! I’m not even a little bit surprised. Of course, they loved your proposal. We’ll have to celebrate this evening.

Liv: That sounds perfect.

***

Astarion has always enjoyed his evenings watching Crown of Shadows with Liv, but recent dating developments have made them even more enjoyable. Now, not only does he get to enjoy his favorite show with his favorite person, there is also cuddling involved.

He’s never considered himself much of a cuddler, never had much occasion for it, but Liv is warm and they share the softest blankets, and sometimes when he lays against her she plays with his hair. He loves these entirely unexpected moments with her. Almost nothing in his life is any different than before. He’s still frustrated by lack of brand deals for his accounts, and he still has threads that do well. He still misses the sun and drinks blood alone in his kitchen in the middle of the day.

And yet.

Every day he has something to look forward to, texts and conversations and laughter. The hours pass, and he doesn’t resent them. There’s a light feeling in his chest he doesn’t have a name for, but he never wants it to go away.

Tonight, they’re curled up on the couch, his head resting against her heart. Their legs are tangled together, and he’s warm and comfortable. The only drawback of this is that he can’t see Liv’s face when the dramatic plotlines go down. It’s a small price to pay.

But when the episode ends, she pauses rather than letting it roll into the next. He twists enough in her arms to look at her. “We’re not watching the next episode?”

“I have work in the morning,” she says with a yawn.

He doesn’t move. “You’re working too much.”

Liv gives him a quiet nod. “Yeah. I know. Hence going to bed. The exhibition opens in two weeks. I promise the work will go back to normal after that.”

“And then the Liv I know and love will make her return?” he says teasingly.

Liv blinks at him owlishly, and he has to rewind the words he’s just said to realize why. Oh. He starts moving away from her. “I mean, not that I…you know…it was just a phrase…and I…” They keep awkwardly detangling from one another.

“I know what you meant…it’s…don’t even worry about it…” her words are rushed and seem like they’re offering far too much comfort to him.

This whole thing is still so…new. And he’s managed to push it into this awkward space. He’s not sure what to say to make it better.

She kisses his cheek. “Goodnight. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Liv is making the retreat and giving them both an out, but he’s not sure he wants it. She’s halfway across the living room before he gets the courage to speak her name. “Liv?”

She turns, cheeks bright pink but still somehow as utterly unflappable as ever. “Yes?”

“I do care about you a great deal,” he says because he wants her to know it, even if he hadn’t meant that other word. Not quite yet. Right?

Liv’s eyes go wide with feigned surprise. “Really? Do you think we should date?”

He leans back on the couch. “Too complicated. Let’s just live together.” He’s so grateful for her, how she always knows the exact right thing to say.

“I’ve heard it’s impossible to find a good roommate these days. Vampires seem a dime a dozen though.”

He crosses his arms in disbelief. “I resent the implication; I’m anything but common.”

There is nothing but fond affection in her gaze as she disappears behind her door for the night, and he is left realizing what that light feeling in his chest is: happiness. He’s been telling himself that he’s happy for two years as he’s carved a life for himself, found moments of reassuring peace. And there have been moments of happiness, yes. But not like this.

And for a moment it is uncomplicated. And for a moment he can convince himself that he doesn’t have to tell Liv about their matching on the Weave. But he knows that if he keeps a secret like that, it will only fester. It will only taint what this could be.

But she’s so tired, so stressed out with this exhibition opening. He can’t tell her right now, so he will tell her. But he’ll just wait until after. That gives him two weeks to figure out the right words. To find the right moment.

And he can do that.

Probably.

#astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x liv #invisible string #modern au #slothquisitorwrites

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antibioware · 10 months ago

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It's why the discussion around disability and take out food pisses me off so much. Yeah, there's people who can't leave their house and will need people to bring them groceries directly at home or even pre-made meal plans to them, there's services for these situations and there are problems that can revolve around those services - availability, for example.

The conversation, though, always revolves around JustEat and co. and people screaming bloody murder about the poor underpaid, overworked courier of the day refusing to spoon their mcdonalds order directly into their mouth is ableism. You can afford to order out regularly, you live a privileged life. It's that simple. Your options are never JustEat or starve, fuck off.

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garbria · 10 months ago

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Helpless

For Febuwhump day 1

Cor punched the bag in a steady rhythm, wishing he could afford to pull his katana. Unfortunately, Clarus, and then Regis, had convinced him the level of destruction he was capable of would be ultimately unproductive. And taken out of his paycheck, though that threat was more effective during his pre-Marshal days.

Still, despite all their arguments to the contrary, he wished for the freedom to swing Kotetsu. The familiar patterns weren’t holding his attention without the edge of steel. The whirl of emotions churned in his chest unabated.

With a growl, he hit the bag one last time, ignoring the smattering of blood left on the bag. This wasn’t working. He knew better than try and spar in this mood. Clarus was too busy, as was Regis, and the only other person who could reliably handle him in this state was the reason he was in this state to begin with.

He stalked out of the gym, grabbed a light jacket from his locker, and snuck out one of the side entrances. Thankfully, he was a familiar enough presence that no one took note as he hit one of the jogging paths around the Citadel at a faster than usual jog. The fresh air and the impact of his feet on the pavement started to do what his previous workout had not.

He wasn’t that hotheaded kid who’d run off to fight the Blademaster anymore, no matter what Clarus insinuated. He’d grown into command, learned to pick his battles, and made a kind of peace with not being able to be everywhere he was needed. He would never quite be used to being helpless when his people were in the field, but he’d learned to cope.

None of that helped today.

He loved Nyx, he did. More than that, he respected him. He was the best in the glaive for a reason. He was swift, deadly, and more than capable of handling himself on the battlefield, even with his ridiculously noticeable battle dress. His lethal grace was one the first things that drew Cor to him. Then his sly sense of humor and genuine good heart finished capturing Cor’s heart.

Cor knew how skilled Nyx was. He’d seen him in action, sparred with him enough to know what a force he could be. He reminded himself of that every time Nyx went out into the field when Cor’s responsibilities kept him here in Insomnia. Nyx’s sense of duty rivaled his own, yet another reason he’d fallen so completely. So he’d come to terms with the risks inherent in Nyx’s job, more or less. Held tight to the knowledge of Nyx’s competence in the dark of the night, and breathed a sigh of relief every time he returned.

He’d thought he’d come to terms with it, anyway. Nothing had prepared him for the ransom video. Nyx had been gone longer than expected, but not quite long enough for concern. Until the plain brown envelope had been delivered to his desk. The courier service had been paid by anonymous money order, one not even Monica could track down.

The video, despite the poor lighting, showed what was clearly Nyx, bloodied and dazed. The ransom demands had been a pull back of forces and the return of a few prisoners. The damn Niffs were officially claiming ignorance, but everyone knew that was a polite fiction. It was political now, and Regis had barred him from any discussions.

His chest burned with anger and helplessness and a hundred other emotions he didn’t feel like naming. He wanted to yell and scream and destroy things. None of it would help.

His relationship with Nyx wasn’t supposed to put him in more danger.

Intellectually, he knew why Regis and Clarus had locked him out of the planning. It didn’t make him feel any better. He wanted to do something, anything to help the man he’d grown to care so much for.

He found himself back at the Citadel with no memory of the intervening time. He wasn’t even winded, despite taking the whole path at more of run than a jog. He stared at the door and its electronic keypad, debating turning around and running the path again. His mind was still a jumble of anger and despair, but maybe another circuit would work better.

His pocket buzzed, and he almost dropped his phone in his rush to dig it out of his pocket. He unlocked it to find a text from Clarus calling him to Regis’ office.

Finally. They’d found something he could do, some way he could actually help.

Just hold on, Nyx. He was coming.

#febuwhump #febuwhumpday1 #helpless #fic #cor leonis #ffxv #kingsglaive #implied cornyx #cor has a bad time #so does nyx #i'm doing snippets for febuwhump #this is part 1 #nyx shows up in part 2 #my fic

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