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cxnfidens reblogged
cxnfidens reblogged
Alaric grimaced. “Yeah, guess you didn’t. I’m the type to put two and two together and get five – but I guess I hit the mark, or near enough.” Though Alaric vowed not to make assumptions from here on out. Or… try, more likely.
“Not yet. But, ah, honestly, it’s not many of them, not yet. If I keep doin’ this work, it’ll be more, though, so trust me, I have plenty of time left to fuck up and regret everything. I mean, if I have a talent,” he said, self-deprecating. “It’s that. More than my share of regrets.” And it was true, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that if he could do everything over again, he’d probably make almost all of the same choices, down to marrying the evil Isobel.
Wicked. Whatever.
“Teaching doesn’t suit everyone, I guess. I mean… the hard part is letting them fuck up and knowing you gotta let them make their mistakes. I had a disaster or two early on and some of them will too, you know? But I’m sure you get that. You must have seen a thing or two.”
Eden chuckled wryly, humorlessly, and sipped his bourbon. “You always this optimistic?” He was no stranger to a healthy (or maybe not so healthy) bit of self-deprecation, but it seemed to him Alaric was a little ... hard on himself? “It’s good, what you’re doing. I mean, from what I can tell, at least. You’re helping people deal with things they couldn’t deal with on their own. That’s kinda admirable, y’know?”
Shit, he was really bad at this.
“Bad things happen to good people; I’ve seen plenty of that.” More than a thing or two. More than his share, it felt like, but it was what it was. He felt like Alaric understood that. After so long feeling different from people, divided by unique experiences (some good and some bad) and perspectives on the world, it was a strange sort of relief to find someone on similar ground. “It’s what we signed up for, though, one way or the other.”
Shrugging, he rose from his seat. “Get you a refill?” he asked. His glass was running low, and despite the warmth in his chest and the pleasantly dim hum in the back of his head, he could do with a little more. And maybe a part of him was afraid to let this conversation end, like if the bourbon ran out, that it would be over.
He didn’t know why the thought made his insides twist.
cxnfidens reblogged
Life of the party? “Depends. If the life of the party finds somewhere quiet to sit where no one’s gonna try to make them actually participate in the party, sure,” he said, with a small grin that met his eyes. “Yeah, I’m a serious guy. I’m happier at home with a bottle of bourbon and a book.”
Not an easy question to answer. Alaric shook his head. “Most of them don’t believe. The ones who hang around later, askin’ questions… I sound ’em out for a few weeks, see just how serious they are; and the cream of the crop… I train ’em. Fighting, crossbow. Forget the lore and start talking about what actually works and when it’s time to run. Because it’s a dangerous world, man. And there need to be a few people around who know the truth and are prepared to stand up to the bad guys.”
He shrugged. “You were in the military. You understand what I’m sayin’.”
He smiled wryly. “I never told you I was in the military.” He guessed it wasn’t that tough to do the math. Overseas, and he knew he still carried himself that way sometimes. Throw in the high and tight, and it was practically formulaic.
He really needed to change his image.
“You’re right, though. I understand.” It would be sorta hypocritical if he said he didn’t. Maybe he wasn’t fighting vampires and werewolves and whatnot, but he saw his share of monsters. The average person couldn’t handle that kind of darkness, that kind of cruelty. It was just better they didn’t know.
But for the ones that could ... “You ever regret it? Teachin’ them, I mean. Showing them the ropes. That’s gotta be a lot of pressure, right?” He’s been the soldier, never the recruiter. Never the instructor. “Sorry. Guess I’m just curious is all. Never really been the teaching kind, myself.”
“Stop struggling.”
Your muse has pinned mine down. Send me "Stop struggling." for their reaction.
“Get off!”
his voice is muffled by the floor his cheek is pressed against, but the message is plenty clear. he’s not fuckingaround. that fight or flight instinct is kicking in, that need to regain his feet, regain his position, regain his advantage, and he feels his muscles tensing in anticipation.
“I said get the fuck off!”
a jerk to test pietro’s hold. it’s strong, but so is eden.he grits his teeth.
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
he could. he could hurt pietro like this. maybe not badly, but enough. too much.
“Please.”
same as yesterday. 9 hours of soul-crushing tedium and frustration (AKA class), then I’m home, so like for a thing when I get back or mebbe send me things? memes or texts or random shit?
cxnfidens reblogged
withoutthepotatobrothers
Your muse has pinned mine down. Send me "Stop struggling." for their reaction.
cxnfidens reblogged
↖ has a nice butt
cxnfidens reblogged
if it wasn’t eden.
if it was anyone else he’d have recoiled away and gone somewhere quiet to lick his wounds. but it isn’t just anyone. it’s the boy — the man — he’d kissed with shy hesitance and found himself caring for with every aching breath in his body.
shaking fingers catch eden’s hand and he leans in. forehead to forehead, no matter how it hurts, no matter how his body knits and patches itself up, he stays pressed close.
crimson is painted across eden’s cheeks.
“I—“
where does he start?
“—I was helping a friend. Spider-Man. Because someone found a way to mess with senses in his brain and he was shot. But we needed them to not know so Natasha and I were hero.”
when did his accent come back so thickly?
“We don’t know who is behind it so I went tonight looking for answers and found nothing but ghosts. Everyone has same rumor for different story.”
when did he cave so hard under those gentle hands?
“…I don’t know what to do, E.”
the feeling of blood on his skin is far too familiar, but this is different. it’s pietro, and it’s wrong, no matter how many times he tells himself it’s only temporary. momentary pain is still pain.
hearing about spider-man isn’t as unnerving as hearing about pietro and natasha’s plan. the way pietro’s accent thickens, a telltale sign he’s uneasy too, only makes the clawing feeling in his chest that much sharper.
the admission (a plea, almost, small and nervous) just seals it.
“You’ll figure it out.”
because this is not the time for a lecture. that can wait until pietro’s not bloody and shaking.
“Just not tonight. For now, let’s get you cleaned up. Sorry to say, but red’s just not your color.”
he presses a chaste kiss to the corner of his split lip, gentle as he can, then guides pietro to lean back against the sink. he knows it’ll all heal, but there’s something reassuring about the process. about the proximity.
“So did they only go for the face, or should I be worried about the rest of my boyfriend, too?”
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“Don’t be dramatic.” Says the guy being dramatic.
A snort. “That’s cute comin’ from you, Stark.” He crosses the room and kneels by the fireplace to throw some more logs on. He’s just glad he thought to stock up before the storm hit. “You hungry?”
cxnfidens reblogged
“It— looks worse than it is.”
his pride won’t let him confess to how he’s been training on his own. and how a majority of this came from falling way too hard from way too high. the rest had come from getting into a scuffle and letting himself get too close, letting himself slow down thinking he was still peter.
which he still hasn’t told eden about the fact he was spider-man when natasha and peter couldn’t.
“…it’ll heal soon, E. It doesn’t matter.”
“Pietro.”
his voice is soft as he takes the wet cloth. it’s never fun cleaning your own cuts and bruises. and even if he knows pi’s lying, and even if he knows he’s avoiding the question, he doesn’t have it in him to watch him suffer.
still.
“It matters to me, Pi. This is ... bad. Even if it heals quick, it still hurts. I hurt just looking at you. So don’t tell me it’ll heal or that it doesn’t hurt. Just tell me what happened.”
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“I’m fine. Promise.”
“What the fresh fuck ?”
Pietro might be the speedster, but Eden’s damn quick crossing the room and pressing into Pi’s space so he can get a look at him. He cups his jaw gingerly, careful to avoid the bruises (at least as much as he can).
“What happened?”
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“And what useful skills do you bring to this party? Besides your stunning good looks and ability to use up my oxygen?”
“My sweet disposition and charming personality?”
“And five years SpecOp survival training, but hey, what do I know?”