#in case circumstances change enough that I'm put more than I can handle alone and need some backup

[eenasbabysmom]

Psssst..what if...post/mid canon lwj was the one to discover jiang cheng's sacrifice for wwx

Oh boy, I had to take a minute with this one. If you have the time, here it is:

I'm going to straight off the bat divide this into two responses, because a post canon discovery and a mid canon discovery are two very different beasts, in my opinion.

I think circumstances for a discovery would have to be similar in either case-it is not something that anybody other than Jiang Cheng knows and he's not willingly giving out that type of information. Personally I think it's a combination of trauma, understanding it reveals too many about the depths of his feelings for WWX, later regarding it as a moment of weakness-of giving up and having his mother's voice in his ear forever berating him about it, trauma, not wanting to reveal it because he doesn't want WWX's sympathy/guilt/pity triggering him into being what Jiang Cheng wants/needs/hopes he will be (which is, always, at home, in Lotus Pier, as his right-hand man), and TRAUMA that keeps Jiang Cheng from letting others know about it. He is prepared, even after the Golden Core Reveal, to fully go to his grave without letting this secret out (the motivations for keeping it a secret can arguably be seen as changing or evolving, if you will, after the Golden Core Reveal). So for anyone, let alone Lan Wangji, to discover this secret, it would not be with the conscious consent of Jiang Cheng.

And so, I am going to hypothesize that the Fanfic-Cave-of-strangely-arbitrary-curses-which-prompt-unwilling-unburdening-of-lifelong-secrets must make its appearance no matter where in the timeline this discovery happens. In a post canon reveal, I think this doesn't change too much the nature of the relationship between the reluctant brother in laws. Lan Wangji might experience a slight softening of opinions in regards to Jiang Cheng, he would most definitely not keep it a secret from Wei Ying, but would it be enough to put him in favour of a Yunmeng-bros reconciliation? Not without explicit agreement from Wei Ying-like, if Wei Ying finds out and immediately wants to spend months tagging behind his older-little brother to try and coax him into an emotional confrontation about their tendencies towards self-sacrifice, like Lan Wangji would help. If Wei Ying doesn't know how to cope with this new information, doesn't actively seek out Jiang Cheng for a resolution-Lan Wangji is staying with his husband and not pushing/prompting anything. He still doesn't like the way Jiang Cheng treats Wei Ying, the way he behaves towards Wei Ying's developing relationship with Jin Ling, his inability to not use his words to lash at Wei Ying when in close proximity. It would be more of a 'you loved him, but you lost him through neglect' type response and while Lan Wangji might no longer viscerally hate the very sight of Jiang Cheng, he definitely still doesn't like him and/or only cares about him in relation to how he affects Wei Ying.

MID-CANON-I have some thoughts . . .

So let's put in the caveat here that I'm basing this a lot on CQL, as that was my first and most beloved exposure to this fandom. Like, I have read pieces of the novel, but I don't have the time I used to finish reading novels like I used to (I barely have time to read fanfiction!). How I think Lan Wangji would handle a Jiang Cheng sacrificing himself to save Wei Ying in mid-canon (or, the 16 years of Wei Ying being dead, dead, dead)-this too also depends a lot on the timeline, like I think a Lan Wangji just out of seclusion versus a Lan Wangji who is ten years past the loss of Wei Ying would be different. So, let's not get into the spectrum of what I think different Lan Wangji reactions would be mid-canon. Let's settle on a Lan Wangji that is 8-10 years past the death of Wei Ying.

*Insert confrontation in the Fanfic-Cave-of-strangely-arbitrary-curses-which-prompt-unwilling-unburdening-of-lifelong-secrets here*

So, like Lan Wangji can fixate on things, huh? Especially Wei Ying related things. Lan Wangji, who plays Inquiry every night for a soul that won't answer? That Lan Wangji? The one who hates Jiang Cheng for failing to help him pull Wei Ying to safety, that Lan Wangji? The one who has been a fantastic bitch to Sect Leader Jiang because he blamed him for failing Wei Ying when he should have loved him? The one who sees Jiang Cheng, the bane of demonic cultivators everywhere, and refuses to even acknowledge him because of how much he let down Wei Ying in the later years? That Lan Wangji? How could that Lan Wangji not fixate on this revelation? To turn it over and over in his mind, trying to jam into someplace into his understanding of Jiang Cheng and Wei Ying and finding that it doesn't fit? How could he not hound Jiang Cheng for clarification, for demanding to know why then but not later? How could you be willing to die for someone once and then try to kill them the next?

(That sword glanced off the side of the cliff because Jiang Cheng couldn't bring himself to look. Lan Wangji didn't see how Jiang Cheng closed his eyes, but he knows that Jiang Cheng is a formidable cultivator, a skilled swordsman, and if he really wanted to, he would have struck true-he's ALWAYS known that, but he didn't care to poke at it because it was easier to hate and blame than try to form an understanding of something so complex and tangled. BUT NOW there is more complication, more details sharpening in this blurred image of Yunmeng's Twin Prides, but also NOT ENOUGH of it).

And they fight about it-Jiang Cheng yells and threatens while Lan Wangji glares back bitch-faced and obstinate. Zidian uncoils and Sandu strikes, but Wangji and Bichen meet them both blow for blow. Lotus Pier docks are covered in smudged soot marks and tiny nicks from deadly sharp swords. YMJ disciples become well versed in moving bystanders out of the way, but they don't interfere because SL will have their asses if they do because don't they trust that their SL can handle Hanguang Jun's latest temper tantrum? (And they do not make any commentary about SL Jiang derisively calling out others for their temper because SL lets them get away with a lot of shit, up to and including playing pranks on SL Yao to convince him that there is a ghost in Lotus Pier that is after him specifically)

And after a long period of this happening again and again, and Jiang Cheng so tired of seeing Lan Wangji's bitchy face wherever he turns that he lets out all of his trauma in a verbal vomit of accusations, insults, condemnations, and recriminations. That Jiang Cheng DID give himself up for Wei Ying, because yes he DID love him and he wanted him to live. But also because, THEN, there wasn't a person in the world that he trusted more than Wei Ying. That if Jiang Cheng died, he would be leaving the responsibility for his sister and the remains of his sect to Wei Ying-AND HE WAS OKAY WITH THAT BECAUSE HE DIDN'T THINK THERE WAS ANYONE OUT THERE WHO COULD DO IT BETTER THAN WEI YING. He trusted in Wei Ying's love for their sister and for their sect and his great ability/genius/cultivation on being enough to save the remnants of his sect and get revenge on the Wens for the ones who didn't make it. At that moment, it was a straight exchange-Jiang Cheng for Wei Ying, a moment when love and trust outweighed fear and Jiang Cheng made a choice that he thought was going to end in his own grisly death.

(They both have scars on their bodies for love of Wei Ying, but maybe it says something that Lan Wangji has more than Jiang Cheng.)

But (and before you come for me, this is my approximation of Jiang Cheng's POV) then Wei Ying changed, during the war but more so after. The demonic cultivation and the attitude and surliness during the war-so what? Hadn't they all been through hell? Didn't Wei Ying lose just as much as Jiang Cheng? Wasn't Lotus Pier his home? Wasn't the sect his family? Of course, Jiang Cheng understood where that darkness in the midst of war came from-and he didn't care because he had it too. But when the war was over, when they had to become less unhinged and more upright in order to raise YMJ, to carry on the sect and his family's legacy-Wei Ying wasn't interested. He didn't seem to care at all about YMJ or Jiang Cheng or rebuilding the sect. He still seemed to care about their sister, so there was that, but everything that Jiang Cheng had expected of Wei Ying, of what he had been banking on since the Wens had burnt his home and killed his parents, that didn't happen. Jiang Cheng couldn't rely on Wei Ying for anything to do with the sect; he couldn't count on Wei Ying for anything but being drunk and insubordinate.

And then he chooses Wens over Lotus Pier? Time and time again, when Jiang Cheng asked and begged and pleaded, Wei Ying continued to choose those remnants of the clan that nearly took everything away from them. Jiang Cheng didn't understand how repaying a debt involved giving away your whole damn life. And he didn't care to know! What about the people of Yunmeng and Lotus Pier? Weren't they also owed a debt, a promise of protection in return for their service and their loyalty? How as Jiang Cheng supposed to risk all of them in defense of a wayward brother over a handful of Wen dogs? Were those people worth Lotus Pier? Jiang Cheng didn't think so-Wei Ying apparently did.

But whatever that disconnect led to, defection and fights and arguments-whatever that Wei Ying didn't seem to care about YMJ or Jiang Cheng anymore. He still cared about their sister, Wei Ying still loved his shijie. And that last bit of love Jiang Cheng had for his brother lasted right up until Wei Ying stopped protecting his sister in favour of protecting those damned Wen dogs.

See? The brother he let die wasn't the brother that he was willing to die for-and maybe if Jiang Cheng had been smarter, Wei Ying would have died then and Jiang Cheng might still have his sister now, Jin Ling might still have both his parents and life might still be good instead of endless slough of memories of things Jiang Cheng could never get back. And let Lan Wangji hate him for that, let him scoff at Jiang Cheng for being stuck in the past and simmering in his own bitterness-what did Lan Wangji know of it? Lan Wangji has his brother, his uncle, most of the people of his sect that he grew up with. Lan Wangji hadn't had to hold the cooling body of his dead uncle, watching the guilty culprit-HIS OWN BROTHER-stumble away, bodies dropping in his wake. Lan Wangji didn't have to face that moment, of the last betrayal he ever thought possible, so Lan Wangji doesn't have the right to judge because he could never UNDERSTAND.

SO-what does that change, if anything? I would like to think that Lan Wangji has to accept that perhaps there is more blame to go around than he previously thought. I don't think that it would change the fundamentals of what Wei Ying is to Lan Wangji. I don't think Lan Wangji would ever be like-'you know what, fair SL Jiang. Let me also join you in your condemnation of the criminal Yiling Patriarch'-that is never going to happen. Lan Wangji is in love with Wei Ying, he sees the righteousness in what Wei Ying did-he is still firmly in Wei Ying's corner. BUT, perhaps he understands, a bit more, that there are more casualties from all this than he cared to think about before. That bad decisions were made all around and while he still finds fault and guilt within SL Jiang, the story there is not one of a superior man falling because of an inferior man. That Jiang Cheng is a mess of feelings and thoughts about his former shixiong, and none of those things are ever going to be clarified or detangled. That Jiang Cheng is dichotomy made man-that he hunts and kills demonic cultivators but maybe for a reason; that he is cruel and unrelenting because he thinks that before he wasn't and it cost him everything; that he loves and hates Wei Ying at the same time, in the same breath, and the hurt associated with Wei Ying for Jiang Cheng is like his own, an open wound. But for Lan Wangji, that wound emits a steady stream of red blood while for Jiang Cheng, the wound has become infected and inflamed.

Are they great friends after this? Nope-Jiang Cheng is irritated by every little thing that makes up Lan Wangji and Lan Wangji still finds Jiang Cheng bitter and acidic. But does he acknowledge Jiang Cheng at meetings from then on? Absolutely-they disagree about everything under the sun, and Lan Xichen suspects that fifty percent of the time it's just disagreement for the sake of disagreement (he KNOWS his little brother can be a fantastic little bitch-it's one of the many things that he loves about Lan Wangji). But Lan Wangji brings his hands together and greets Jiang Cheng with an appropriately respectful "Sect Leader Jiang" and Jiang Cheng will return the favour with an equally respectful "Hanguang Jun" and it is a moment of peace before they start metaphorically trying to claw each other's eyeballs out the second demonic cultivation is raised during the conference. It is the same when they meet on night hunts, where the way they strive to outdo one another might be construed as a friendly competition, but there's no friendliness involved and YMJ disciples usually have to distract and carry off their Sect Leader for medical attention before he tries using Zidian to rip Lan Wangji's obscenely decorative hairpiece of his hair in retaliation for a passing commentary on how time seems to be catching up to Sandu Shengshou when a ghost gets close enough to claw through Jiang Cheng's robes to cut up his arm (AND LAN WANGJI IS OLDER THAN JIANG CHENG SO WHO THE FUCK IS HE CALLING OLD?)

Wei Ying coming across a Dafan Mountain hunt scene that is almost not threatening to breakout into a catfight. Lan Wangji destroying 400 spirit nets but not baiting Jiang Cheng by punishing Jin Ling with the Silencing spell (and definitely making a bitchy comment about overcompensation that has Jiang Cheng sputtering sparks from Zidian and still stomping away in a huff). Lan Wangji still helping Wei Ying evade his brother's hold, because while Lan Wangji sees Jiang Cheng differently now, he's not sure he wants to see what will happen if he actually gets his hands on Wei Ying.

(There is will either be bloodshed or crying or both. Lan Wangji is not interested in seeing Jiang Cheng ugly cry-AGAIN.)

Every confrontation with Jiang Cheng at that Discussion Conference is now met with a bitchy thinning of the lips and an audible scoff or two. Wei Ying being wary of his brother while Lan Wangji is just 'don't worry-he's always cranky before a conference because he's been dieting to fit into his ludicrously tight conference robes. He'll be fine after a meal'.

(Jiang Cheng hears all this because Lan Wangji refuses to whisper it and responds by threatening to raise tariffs on Gusu silks again-which has Lan Xichen shaking his head and rushing to get Jiang Cheng inside and to some food because while Lan Wangji is baiting SL Jiang, he's also not wrong.)

And a Golden Core Reveal where Lan Wangji already knows all this? The ache in his heart goes both ways, because now things are clearer to him, but also to Jiang Cheng. He sees a man who thought his love and sacrifice wasted and weak learn that it was actually something that was returned. Two idiot boys who loved each other enough to cut themselves to pieces over it (literally and figuratively) and now there's only scar tissue and dried blood left between them.

AND, I'm cutting myself off before I go on and on and on for another 3000 words.

[missvifdor]

Alright, I share a quick thought like this, but imagine Bucky having the DID (be careful, I want to make it clear that I'm not an expert and any mistakes on my part are unintentional and I'm sorry for being so stupid The DID is not a joke, it is a real trouble and I would never allow myself to laugh or joke about it).

So I was saying, Bucky having DID:

Thinking back to all the traumatic moments in his life, it would be easy enough to think that he could have had it. Imagine that at one point his brain and mind say "STOP" and no longer able to cope with all these events, decide that in order to survive, he must create a "shield" (I don't know if I am speaking correctly, sorry if that doesn't make sense).

Because if I'm not saying bullshit, that's what the host's DID is for, to protect it and that's where the Alters come in. The basis of the DID is that the host not supposed to know he has it.

But all the time, there will be signs: amnesia, dissociative disorder, depersonalization, derealization,. Imagine, one day, everything is going well, you get ready to go to sleep and then when you wake up, the date, the time have completely changed, you are now dressed and you have no memory of having lived this. that happened after you last remembered.

Now imagine Bucky going through the same thing, he'd be pretty scared I think.

Bucky would have these symptoms, but not just that. For example, he might feel like he has feelings, thoughts, moods, or anything else that is not ... his but belongs to someone else. Or he would hear voices talking to him (Wait, this has nothing to do with schizophrenia, the voices heard cannot be suppressed with medication and to the host this is really heard as a person's voice real voice or an interlocutor. These are real voices).

You know when we think and hear a voice but it is that of our subconscious, and well that is still different.

(I won't procrastinate any longer, but if you are interested, I advise you to inform yourself to find out more. For example, there is a youtube channel that talks about it because the designer has DID, she and other affected people talk about it here: https://youtu.be/ek7JK6pattE ).

Back to our Super Soldier:

Bucky, like anyone with DID will have both good and bad triggers.

The good ones would be: Music from the 40s, his favorite food, something that reminds him of his sister or mother, etc.

The bad ones: Something or someone who could bring back bad memories, maybe the language Russian, the pain linked to his metal arm, the situations where he cannot feel comfortable or very anxious, a dangerous mission that has gone off the rails a bit.

Let's talk about his Alters: The Winter Soldier will have taken a big place in his life and I think he probably never left him because he is part of him.

So I would lean towards the fact that Winter (let's call him that) has become one of his Alters. It would have become this:

Alter Trauma Holder and Persecutor: some of his tasks are to hold traumatic memories ... especially so that other Alters are not not disturbed by these memories and that the system works more or less. And often, well, trauma holders do not voluntarily choose this role, they are there because the brain did it like that and it can seem very unfair!

It is common that in addition to h: And, even when they do, sometimes they just aren't able to pass it on to the rest of the system and, unfortunately, to the outside either. This is one of the reasons why it is very difficult for a system to find and manage trauma or to talk to a therapist, for example. This is one of the reasons why it is very difficult for a system to find and manage trauma or to talk to a therapist, for example.

Trauma holders are also It called “Secret Keepers / Secret Holders”.

Her Part Persecutor: To put it mildly, the "Persecutor" is an alter who is hostile to the system or the outside world . Well, obviously, it’s nowhere near that simple.

In general, persecutors are alters who have internalized hatred or rejection, either towards themselves, towards other members of the system, or towards the outside world. It is a traumatic response that follows physical abuse, toxic relationships and assaults experienced by the system. Like the protectors, the persecutors seek to prevent further attacks, attack in defense or suffer for the rest of the system. But they ... don't always do it the right way.

There are different kinds of persecutors, some tend to reject any outside person, others may have internal words and feelings of worthlessness, still others may sabotage a possible therapy for fear of the medical profession, then of others can re-experience their traumas, injure themselves, etc… They are very often hyperviligant and easily activated.

They are sometimes very withdrawn and influenced by feelings causing for example a strong anxiety or suicidal thoughts. But they can also be authoritarian and seek to impose behavior on the rest of the system, considering that the others are incapable of protecting themselves and are responsible for the abuses suffered. Finally, some persecutors are a representation of aggressors and persecute the system like these. The persecutors are above all persecuted by trauma and in particular they need to be secure. It is very common that, once appeased, they become essential protectors of the system.

Here's another Alter, James: It would be quite similar to the Bucky of the 40s but different at the same time.

He would be an Alter Internal Self Helper: The "Internal Self Helper" is an alter that helps the system internally. It is not uncommon for ISHs to serve as some sort of mediator to the rest of the system, as if they were "the voice of reason."

They often have a good knowledge of Alters and how the system works (but this does not mean that they easily share this information). They are also often discreet, facing little or not at all or only side by side with another alter.

Internal self helpers are often associated with the creation and management of the innerworld, especially when it was conceived unconsciously.

ISH is a frequent supporting role among gatekeepers, protectors and sometimes among trauma holders.

And Bucky would be the host: Host "refers to the alter who fronts most of the time ... when all is well. And this nuance is important!

Indeed, the “Host” is a bit like the basic Alter, the one who is there when there is no need for any other Alter, no triggers, and no Alter is needed wanted to face. In principle, he manages the day-to-day life, so you would think that it is indeed the alter that uses the body most often, yes. But no.

A system is frequently affected by all the little things in life, whether or not it requires the presence of another Alter at the front. And, especially when it is not conscious, it can be common for another alter (social or protective, for example) to be more present than the host. It all depends on the environment of the system and the awareness of its multiplicity as well as the choices and possibilities of each of its members.

For this reason, there are systems without a host (or with a sleeping host) as well as systems with multiple hosts (which are then called co-hosts), which handle different aspects of the day-to-day. good. Of course, the hosts can also have another role, such as caretaker or alter social.e for example. It may also happen that a new host appears and the system changes hosts.

The host is a role that can be difficult to take in at times, as it is often the first alter to become consciously aware (yes, consciously aware) of his multiplicity. And it's already not easy to realize that we "are not alone in your head", but it is also difficult to realize that you have shared your whole life with "these others people in his head ”. It is very common for the host to doubt his legitimacy, to be afraid of lying, etc. They are often influenced by the feelings, thoughts and feelings of other Alters.

On the other hand, the host can usually be an alter who allows for better communication, as he or she serves as a bit of a mediator, conciliatory and benevolent towards the system and the outside world, while being held to it 'deviation from the consequences (emotional for example) of traumas. A stable host is an important basis for functional multiplicity.

Be careful, it must be said: the host is not the original! Many systems don't have an original, and while you might think the host is some kind of original, it isn't. Of course, if there is an original in the system, it can be a host. But, whether host and / or original, all Alters should be considered equally. (Really, for this to work, it's important to understand this)

Otherwise, a person with DID may have other Alters, the number can vary and they are all different!

Now, how would it be if Bucky had a Y / N ? Would other people in the system agree with that? Would Y / N manage and understand this situation? That is the whole question.

But let's imagine that in the best-case scenario, Winter and James are ok with this relationship and even have feelings for Y / N, it will still be a job all the time.

The best would be someone who can differentiate the three and act with the three as if they were three different individuals (Who they are and this is very important because each Alter deserves to be recognized).

Being in a relationship with Bucky is a bit like being with a big teddy bear who could easily shoot you in the head with near-deadly precision. And a gentleman under all circumstances, of course.

Being with Winter is complicated enough, but not impossible. You just have to know how to do it and above all succeed in interpreting his looks, his silences. The man is not the biggest talker but know that he would be ready to kill for you and protect you.

As for James his Fronts are very rare but when he will be there, believe me when I tell you that he will not leave you alone with his affections! He is surely the one who is the most sociable of the three and who will take the greatest pleasure in teasing you or improvising a dance with you in the middle of your living room.

Well I have finished! Do not hesitate to tell me what you think of it in the comments, or if you want a part two to find out more in general or to know more about the romantic relationship side + ... SNFW.

[lennydaisy]

EPIPHANY // OUTER BANKS

The Outer Banks. Paradise on earth. Well, it is if you can afford it.

Figure 8, home of the portentous and intitled. So detached from reality that you'd have to use their private jets to bring them back down to the ground. If they're not lounging around on their secluded beaches in front of their White House sized mansions, then they're at the country club complaining that their ice-cold lemonade isn't ice-cold enough. We call them Kooks. Guess where I don't live?

Next up, The Cut, neutral habitat of, drum roll please ladies and gentleman... The Pogues. Lowest members of the food chain. You see, it's one island divided in two. You either have two houses or two jobs. I have two jobs and will still never be able to afford one house, let alone two, but that's life I guess. The Pogues are like those kids your parents tell you to stay away from when you visit the park. Well, now the park has stretched to all aspects of life warranting us to be unwanted and neglected which isn't such a bad thing, that just means we get to do whatever we want, whenever we want.

Right now, however, this is the last place I want to be. Save-A-Lot. One of my two jobs. See how this all ties in?

The continuous, subtly, beeping of the scanner, the bright overhead lights that the same moth has been flying into for a week now, that one cart that you can hear before you see, and this frustratingly itchy, red polo shirt that I'm wearing because it's 'oh-so mandatory'.

It's been reported that a storm is going to hit us in a couple of days, so naturally, the stores been busier than usual, with both Kooks and Pogues. It's like sacred land, all differences get put aside in this very store unless there's a two for one deal at the seafood counter. In that case, no one's safe, not even me, the poor, little employee. I've been slapped with a Tuna Fish before. I don't want to talk about it.

"Can I interest you in some... What are they again? Sea salted chocolate with a crushed Macadamia nut shell and a rich creamy filling, homemade by Mrs Adams?" I squint at the packaging before smiling at the man before me who peered at me, head tilted slightly. Nodding instantly, already knowing the answer, "I don't blame you, I wouldn't trust anything made by that lady."

Smashing my fingers on the scratch invested, touch screen register, slapping the side of the machine until it eventually rings up the total, "That'll be $148.98 however, you get the extended family discount, so that makes it..." twirling my finger around the air, attempting the mental math, "10% off $148," I utter, closing my eyes as if that's going to help me find the answer quicker. 'I knew I should have joined the math team with Pope.'

"$134," the man affirms looking at me sympathetically, halting my search for my calculator that is normally taped to the till. I take the mans money, squinting at him, "Okay, I'll take your word for it man but if I get fired, I want a job at The Wreck," handing him his receipt.

"We'll see," he said putting his packed bags back into his cart, "I'll get through to you one day. You can't deny I'm your favourite" I state in a matter of fact, waving him off as he pushes his cart away from the checkout, "Bye Mason."

"I don't hear you denying it," I shout, watching him hurridly pushing his cart towards the door, "Okay bye Mr Carrera, tell Kie I said hi!"

Twirling around in my chair a couple of times, I came to a stop at the sight of a pink calculator, my pink calculator, taped to Mrs Adams till. That Bitch. I sit patiently for her to be done with her customers, waving at the elderly couple as they pass, "See you later Mr and Mrs Graham, have a nice day," I smile.

"Oh you too Mason, you should stop by again, you and your friends were such a delight the last time," Mrs Graham praises tapping her ringed fingers on my counter. Nodding at her request as her husband began to drag her away from me, claiming he 'Wants to be home today not tomorrow,' knowing his wife to be quite the blether.

"What a pleasant young lady. Wouldn't you agree, Marty?"

"Oh yes, very well mannered."

"Listen here, sticky fingers, I know you stole my calculator" My smile instantly dropping as I look upon the thief that I have the pleasure of calling my co-worker.

Mrs Adams is your typical grandma. Tonged hair, thick-rimmed glasses and filled with opinions that are always unwarranted. She has had it out for as long as I can remember, once locking me in the walk-in freezer claiming to not know I was in there despite being in there with me moments before. At least I only have to deal with her a few days a week, I couldn't handle any more than that.

"What calculator?" she questions innocently. Pointing my finger accusingly at her till where low and behold, sits my calculator, "Oh really, what's that then?"

Sparing a glance at my calculator, she shakes her head, nose pointed up, "That's an anniversary gift from my husband. I, by no means, stole your calculator."

I can't believe I'm having this conversation.

Laughing at her alibi, "Are you aware of how much bullsh-", the clearing of a throat interrupts my tangent and I suddenly became aware of where I am again. Mrs Adams raises her eyebrows at me, is she mocking me? Glaring at her one last time as to say 'this conversation isn't over', I timidly spun my chair back around, plastering a smile on my face, getting ready to greet my next customer.

Oh no.

"Hi, Mr Cameron," I greet the man, scratching behind my ear hoping he didn't overhear me. Beginning to scan his items, another figure catches my eye.

Rafe.

Here, ladies and gentlemen, I present the biggest dickhead on the entire island. He thinks everybody owes him something just because his daddy is well known throughout the OBX and has no problem expressing his distaste for anyone who doesn't fit his agenda. He's a cocky, arrogant snob who needs to be knocked off his podium a few inches, or feet.

"Hello, Mason, and how many times have I told you to call me Ward?"

"Clearly not enough for me to listen," I mutter under my breath, passing the already packed bags towards a very accepting Rafe, who snatched them with a scrawl printed on his face, "Your face will stay like that if the winds change" I advise innocently, waving my fingers around my forehead area, "Don't want to get any wrinkles, but if you need some anti-ageing cream, I'm sure Mrs Adams can recommend a few of her favourites,"

"Maybe even get you a coupon," I suggest finishing to scan the last of their items, "Isn't that right, Mrs Adams," I called to the lady over my shoulder how instantly peeped up at the chance to chat with the boy.

"Oh, yes. Come here deary, I'll show you my collection,"

It's no secret throughout the OBX that Mrs Adams is a bit of a renowned cougar, having no problem expressing herself towards any sort of male attention. Mrs Adam doesn't discriminate, so even assholes like Rafe can't escape the clutches of her fondness, but she's harmless... most of the time.

Ward nudges his son in the direction of the lady, who is eagerly waiting for the boy with her creams placed in an orderly fashion before her. Rafe's eyes practically begging for his dad to have some mercy on him only to earn a point in her direction.

"I hate you," he huffs at me, feet dragging towards the ladies till.

Fluttering my eyes with a cheesy smile, "I know," I say before turning to finish Mr Cameron's groceries.

"That's $236 please," I state ringing up his total as he slides his card into the swipe machine, "It'll take a minute, a caveman has better technology than this place." He shakes his head at me, waving his hand slightly, understanding.

"Sea salted chocolate, uh?" he wonders picking up the bar, as I mentally slap myself for forgetting to ask if he was interested, "Would you like to buy one?" I questioned despite already knowing his answer. It's the same one that I've heard all day.

Placing the packet back in its place he shakes his head, "No thank you, I wouldn't trust anything made by that lady."

"That's what I'm saying," ripping off his receipt before handing it to him, "Thank you, Mason," he laughs before turning towards his son, who is still listening to Mrs Adams ramble on about why she prefers Olay over Caudlíne.

About to bid farewell to the man, he turns and asks, "I hate to be a bother and I know it's short notice, but would you mind babysitting Wheezie for me on Saturday morning, I know you don't normally work weekends, it's just this storm's going to cause a run-in with my properties and-"

"Of course I will, Mr Cameron," I interrupted his ramble. He looks at me relieved, nodding his head, "See you later, Mason."

"Bye Ward," gross, I'm sticking with Mr Cameron.

Watching as the pair walk past my till I can't help but laugh as I see Rafe slouching away with a tub of Olay Anti-ageing cream. Turning around at the sound, he flips me off, "I'll get you back for this," earning a shoving on the shoulder from his dad, but I can't help but wave cheerily, "Oh, I'm sure you will."

Mr Ward Cameron, my other boss. A few years ago I put up flyers with a tear-off of my phone number offering a babysitting service. Safe to say, I got my fair share of prank calls and when I got a call from someone claiming to be Mr Cameron I assumed it was someone messing with me again, but it turns out it wasn't. He genuinely needed someone to watch his youngest daughter Wheezie and I needed cash, and he does pay generously, especially now considering recent circumstances.

Glancing at the clock that is nailed above the exit I see that it's 2:00 P.M, the best time of my day, getting out of here. Grabbing the key from my pocket, I lock up the till before heading toward the poor excuse of a staff room.

Glancing around the room blue painted room, making sure no one is still on their lunch, I quickly grab my bag and dash over to the fridge. I never, and mean never, condone stealing, that's why I don't call it that. I prefer 'borrowing and then 'forgetting' to give it back'. Sure, I never asked if I could 'borrow' the alcohol that I am currently stuffing in my bag but, that's neither here nor there.

I throw my bag, which I can already tell is going to cause my back hell, over my shoulder. I grab Kie longboard, which I did ask for permission to use, and begin to make my way past the checkouts.

Before leaving, I pivot around, "Hey, Mrs Adams," I called out just to see that she was already glaring in my direction, a bit creepy if you ask me, "Don't worry, you've only got like what, another 6 hours?" acting like I didn't know as I pointed at the clock.

"Oh, and before I forget," I rush over to her counter and rip my calculator off her till. Smiling sweetly at the older lady, saluting her as I leave, "See you next week, Mrs Adams," I laugh, running out the door, jumping onto the longboard.

Let the fun begin.

Now there is something about my friends that you should know. As cheesy as its sounds, we're a group of misfits who happen to fit perfectly together, well almost perfectly, but no matter what we've got each other backs.

Now, where do we start?

JJ Maybank. We've been best friends since the third grade after he got into a fight with some kids who were making fun of me for having a 'boys name', and I haven't been able to get rid of him since. He's the guy who jokingly pushed me off the HMS Pogue only to quickly find out that I couldn't swim. I insisted that it was fine but JJ doesn't take no for an answer and took it upon himself to personally teach me.

He's the most loyal guy I know, willing to drop anything to help his friends. I most definitely developed my kleptomaniac tendencies from him and despite how much I deny it, I have a soft spot for him.

Next, Kiara Carrera or Kie, my best and only girl friend. I met Kie during her first year at the Kook Academy, I had seen her around before, passing out leaflets about how 'we're killing our planet' and that 'the turtles deserve better'.

I was about to go fishing with my dad when I saw someone sitting at the dock, feet dangling in the water. Long story short: she was supposed to meet up with some of her 'friends' but they had sailed away leaving her behind. So, I asked if she would like to come fishing with us, half expecting her to say no, being partly a Kook and all, but she said yes. And now she's one of us, the Pogues. Not sure how her parents feel about that, but there is no denying I'm their favourite. Right?

There's Pope Heyward. I met Pope in the first grade. We were sitting beside each other at assembly and he dared to tell me that my singing voice sounded like cats dying, not that he was any better mind you. I had seen him around the cut a few times, helping his dad with deliveries and after seeing him struggle to carry four bags of groceries, I offered him some help. Of course, being a stubborn 6-year old boy, he delined saying 'I don't need your help, I'm super strong'. Safe to say, two seconds later I was carrying two bags and helped Pope and Mr Heyward with the rest of the deliveries that day.

I got an earful from my dad when I got home, but I didn't care, I'd made a friend that wasn't my brother. They didn't believe me when I said I had a friend called Pope, just brushing it off as one of my imaginary friends. Let's just say they got a fright when my 'imaginary friend, Pope' showed up at the Château.

Speaking of, up next, John Booker Routledge, John B. My twin, fraternal twin. Is 12 minutes older than me and will never let me forget it. My favourite memory with John B was when he fought to the death with our triplet in the womb. Okay, maybe that didn't happen, but you weren't there so, where's your evidence that it didn't?

He's my other half, not my better half because we all know I'm the better twin, and I couldn't live with him and his optimism. He can be irrational at times, but he always has plan A-Z mapped out in his head. I'm currently trying to convince him that we psychic powers, and by currently I'm mean from the day we were born. It's a weird sensation like there's a pit in the bottom of my stomach, and once I get that feeling I know that something's not right. And with a brother like John B, I get that feeling at least 3 times a day.

Might as well introduce myself whilst I'm at it. I'm Mason, Mason Routledge. The better twin. Yes, I too, have a middle name but I will never tell it to anyone because of how utterly embarrassing it is. I have managed to swear John B to secrecy, but I know it's just a matter of time before he blurts it out.

Now I know what you're probably thinking, 'Mason? That's a boys name.' Well yes, you'd be right but really what is a boys or girls name? The reason why I'm called Mason is simple, mom and dad were expecting twins. Twin boys. They had the names planned out as soon as they heard the news. One would be named John B after our dad, Big John, and the other would be named Mason, after our mom's dad. Makes sense, right?. Well, it was until I popped out, y' know not being a boy. But I love my name and I wouldn't change it for the world. My unspoken middle name, however, yes, I would rather that just not be associated with me.

I like to believe that I can hold my own, maybe it's because I grow up in a predominantly male household or the fact that I'm a Pogue, but I don't take peoples shit. My friends and I seem to always have the world against us, but without a doubt, I'd ride or die for them. They're my family.

Seeing the all too familiar hippie van parked at the side off the road brings me out of my autopilot state. Jumping off the longboard, I hurriedly shoved it into the back of the van. Fun fact about John B's van, he never locks it. There would be the fear about someone stealing it, but honestly, it's trashed and smells like weed, no thanks to JJ.

Quickly scaling the fence and as quietly as possible I tip-toed into the under-construction house and up the cement stairs, dodging the dangling wires and leftover pots of plaster.

'I can't believe they got rid of the turtles for this'

I'd know that voice anywhere. Peering around the corner, I spot Kie, hunched over a table reading what I'm assuming is maps for the house. Coming up with an idea, I slowly start to creep towards her, raising my hands just to clasp them down on her shoulders, "And what do you think you're doing?" I say in the deepest voice I can muster.

Jumping out her skin with a squeal, she spins around, hand over her heart, breathing heavily, "Macy, what the fuck? Don't do that," she exclaims, slapping my arm after she realises it was only me.

Unable to stop myself from laughing at her shock, "God, Kie, didn't know you had such a girly scream," I wheeze, arms wrapped around my stomach in an attempt to stop the ache.

Nodding her head pettily, "Yeah okay, you got me," clicking her tongue, but against her best efforts, a small smile dances across her face.

Taking a few deep breaths to calm my giggles, "Once you're done with sad girl hours, come out back, I've got beer," making my way towards the open glass doors.

"Caring about the turtles doesn't make me a sad girl," she exclaims as I nod my head understandingly, "You keep telling yourself that," I wave stepping outside, breathing in the fresh ocean breeze.

From under the scaffolding, I see a pair of dangling legs, "Afternoon, boys," I announce, jumping up in an attempt to smack the dangling feet that I now know belong to JJ

"Did you get the goods?" asks John B causing me to hold my hand on my heart, mocking insult, "Do you have no faith in me Johnny boy," tosing him a beer, "Of course, I got the goods."

Holding one out for Pope, even though I knew he would decline, proving my point as he shook his head, "And where did you get said goods?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at me.

Grabbing two beers, I begin to climb up the scaffolding, plopping down next to JJ, handing him a beer which he greatly excepts, "Are you question my morals?" I ask, taking a big gulp of my beer instantly wincing at the lukewarm taste.

"No, no," I hear him say, turning around, occupying himself with the builder's tools.

It a pretty view from up here. The calm crashing of the waves. The way the cold ocean and the warm sky meet for a perfect kiss on the horizon. Imagine living here. Having no worries. Being full Kook.

Glancing at the boy beside me, I see that he was already looking at me. Lifting my eyebrows in question, "You look cute," he cheekily says, picking at the loose thread on my sleeve.

"Very funny JJ," I saying, looking back out at the water, "No, I'm serious. I love a woman in uniform," nudging his shoulder into mine and I nudge him right back, "Hey," he laughs, dramatically falling to his side, "Watch the sweet nectar," holding his can of beer dearly to his chest.

Shaking my head, I turn to see John B scaling the house, jumping up to the peak of the roof, "Hey, please be careful, Johnny B, we don't earn enough to cover a medical bill," I warn sitting my beer beside me, using my hands to block the blinding sun, staring questionably at the boy.

"Oh, but you'd catch me though, right?" he says, now taunting the idea of falling, balancing on one foot with outstretched arms, "And break your fall? Nope," I popped, reach over to grab my can only to grasp the air. Looking at where I know I placed it, my confusion vanishes when I hear the sounds of slurping beside me.

Blinking at the boy, who just peers back at me after tanning my can, crushing it, and letting out a pleasant burp which he so graciously blows in my direction, "Gross, JJ," attempting to swat away the smell. The boy just shrugs, "What were you not done with that?" faux concern covering his face but his eyes glistening with knowing mischief.

"Should I do it?"

"Yeah, jump. I'll shoot you on the way down," says Pope, aim a drill in my brother's direction, "You'll shoot me?" John B taunts, holding up a finger gun, "Pow," he laughs as Pope fall back onto the table pretending to be shot.

"They're going to have Japanese toilets with towel warmers," complains Kie, slugging her way onto the balcony, voicing her distaste for the future Kook's beach house.

"Didn't I tell you to come out when you were done being sad?", I direct, leaning my chin against the cold pole, feeling on top of the world as the fresh breeze blows through my hair.

That swiftly changes when Kie dashes towards my feet, tugging the laces on my converses loose as I hastily attempt to lift my feet away from her snapping fingers, "Go away!" I exclaim hugging my legs to my chest, tusking at her antics "God, you're annoying."

My comment doesn't affect her as she blows me a kiss which I can't help but catch, holding it to my heart sending a wink in her direction, "This used to be a turtle habitat, but who cares about the turtle I guess?"

"Well, I did, but since you've-" I start, but the feeling of my shoe gets tighter distracts me, "...What are you doing?" I question as JJ finishes up my shoes, "You should double knot your laces," he comments, tapping his fingers in a random beat on the toe of my shoes.

Lightly, I begin to flick his hand away only for him to grab my wrist, fiddling with the silver ladybug charm on my bracelet, "Can I have this?" He has asked me this multiple times in the past and the answer has always been the same, "No."

"Can you please not kill yourself?" Kie squints up at my brother, "And don't spill that beer, you're not getting another one," JJ adds just as a sudden gust of wind brushed past causing John B to lose his balance and drop his beer.

Jinx.

"Oh, shit. No!" cries John B, making grabby hands at his fallen beer.

"Of course you did, like right when I told you."

"Smooth."

"Well done, dumbass!"

"Hey!"

The sound of a car pull up to the driveway halts our attack on John B, yelling being heard, "Hey, uh, securities here. Let's wrap it up," confirms Pope, making JJ and I raise to our feet as John B slides off the roof, "Boys are here early today."

Rushing over to grab my bag once my feet are back on the balcony, I lean over the railing squinting, "Gary? Is that you?" I asked, "You know it's me, Mason."

Turning around to look at friends, "It's Gary guys," I smile, "Gary, good to see you, man!" JJ adds and quickly pulls the back of my bag when he sees Gary climb up the stairs, "JJ!"

"You two, are asking for it," Kie laughs as we all rush back through the house, all of us laughing and cheering, running down the stairs, "Go, go!" I giggled as I Gary's attempts to grab me but I duck under his swinging arms, running out to the garden.

"Not much of a hugger man," JJs joke echoing off the empty wall of the house.

Running up beside Pope, I urge him up over the fence, "Come on, Pope, go, go, go," landing on the other side, watching as he lands flat on his face, "Graceful as always Pope," I giggle pulling him back on his feet.

"Come on Pope, Fatso's coming" JJ encourages, suddenly landing beside us just barely missing the hot-headed security who is dangling over the fence, "Come here, you little pricks!"

"Bus is leaving," John B pulls up the van honking the horn, Kie opening the door for us, laughing as we shove each other in. John B wastes no time hitting the gas, driving away from the angry security.

"Check out Gary, gunnin' for a raise," Pope laughs as we watch a hopeless Gary chase after the van.

Having an idea, JJ unzips my bag and leans out of the open door, "Come on Gary," he taunts, waving the beer can in front of the man like you would a dog with a treat.

"You're going to give him a heart attack," Kie sympathises but still finds his actions amusing, "You're so close! You can do it. There you go," he tosses the can at the poor man who attempts to dodge it.

"God, they don't pay you enough, man" I laugh peering out the door, taking in the sight of Gray who is wheezing with his hands planted on his knees.

Seeing enough torture for one day, Kie tugs us back in, "That's enough," she says finally feeling sorry for the poor man, sliding the door close.

"Oh, come on. That sort of initiative is just begging to be punished," reasons JJ, plopping down in the back of the van, now finding interest fiddling with the blunt he pulled from his back pocket.

I lean my head on Kie's shoulder and sigh, "I love Gary," I confess, earning a flick on the head from Pope and a nudge on the leg from JJ

We're the Pogues, and our mission this summer is to have a good time, all the time.

Prologue: FIN!

What did you think?

I’m really excited to explore Mason’s character and her adventures with the Pogues. I have so much planned for her.

I hope you enjoyed this introduction <3

[searchingforstarss]

I'm playing the ultimate spiderman game and there's these guys with bats and now I can't get the idea out of my head. could you write irondad whump h/c with peter being beaten with a bat, maybe getting his jaw broken? Love all your fics so much!!!

i’m so sorry this took me a few days anon! i adored the prompt and i really wanted to make sure i did it justice. thank you so much for sending this in, i loved writing it so i hope you enjoy it x

–

“Look, kid, I’m listening to you, trust me, and I know things are getting bad but I’m not back in town until Thursday and I just need you to wait until then. Once I’m back we can come up with a game plan together.”

“I can handle it by myself, Mister Stark, we might not have until Thursday.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, I do not, under any circumstances at all, want you going anywhere near this guy without me there. You hear me?”

“Okay, fine. I hear you.”

–

For the last three months, women have been being attacked in the middle of the night, usually in alleyways or secluded areas of parks, the kinds that most people know not to go anywhere near at night. None of this is particularly new, per se, because New York is a dangerous city and that’s why Peter spends so much time out patrolling, trying to protect the people and the city that he loves.

But it’s the same man, tall, broad shoulders, dark clothing and masked every time. Rumours have been flitting about the city that he carries a baseball bat with him.

Peter’s been dreaming of finally achieving something important, being able to break a big case all by himself, to prove to the Avengers and the NYPD that he’s capable of much more than they give him credit for.

This seemed like exactly the right opportunity, even if Tony kept telling him to leave it the hell alone. Once Peter’s successfully caught the guy, he’ll change his tune, surely. Just like the Vulture all over again.

So, he mapped it all out as carefully as he possibly could. He tracked the masked man’s movements around New York using Karen to hack into the city’s security camera network (and a whole lot of bribing and convincing her not to tell FRIDAY about his efforts because that would have Mister Stark putting an end to everything before he would even have a chance to go after the guy.)

The man operates between midnight and three am, Peter noted, and then he catches a C line train back to a ramshackle apartment block on the outskirts of Brownsville.

Peter figured that would give him a three-hour window. It all seemed quite easy, really. Wait until Mister Stark was out of town, tell May he was spending the night at Ned’s to work on a physics project and sneak out the window in his Spider-Man suit to slip into the man’s home. He thought maybe he could rummage around a bit, look for come evidence while he waited for the man to come home, only to ambush him and call the police on him in his own home. Right where he’s not expecting it.

Peter was quite proud of himself, honestly. He was so sure that he was going to prove Tony wrong, show him that he can do things like this himself.

It all would have been fine if Peter didn’t miss one tiny little detail. The man always returns home earlier on a Saturday night.

(Maybe he’s religious; maybe he has to get up early for church in the morning, Peter thinks to himself slightly deliriously, later on, wouldn’t that just be wildly ironic.)

He was caught off guard, so engrossed in the pair of bloody gloves that he’d found just lying out on the couch that he hadn’t heard the masked man creep into the apartment behind him.

Then everything went horribly, horribly wrong and he ended up here.

Wrists shackled to the wall behind him, slumped up against the ratty wallpaper in what looks like a bedroom inside of the apartment that he’s spent the last few days monitoring security footage of so closely. He really didn’t mean for this to happen. He should have listened to Tony.

Now, he’s just sitting, arms aching and splinters poking through the suit into the backs of his thighs from the neglected wooden floor below him. But honestly, most of his worries stem from the fact that this masked man is just sitting across from him. He’s settled on the edge a threadbare looking mattress, unmoving. It’s dark in the room and the only light slipping through the windows is from the flickering streetlamps outside. Peter can barely see the man anyway, face shielded by the mask, but he can tell he’s being stared at.

He’s getting sick of it. Sure, maybe he’s in a little over his head and maybe this is all just the universe punishing him for deliberately going against what Tony told him to do, but he’s over it and he wants to go home.

“Nice place you got here, but would you mind, like letting me go? I have places to be, man.”

“You’ve been pissing me off, Spider, prancing around the city in those tights, trying to get in my way. I think I’ll keep you right here.”

So he does speak. It’s a little unnerving when Peter can’t see the lips move from behind the mask.

“First of all, they’re not tights. Plus, who are you to talk, anyway? Who’s your style icon, Jason Voorhees?”

The man stares at him. “Shut up.”

“Oh c’mon. Jason Voorhees from Friday the 13th? You really don’t know him? He’s kinda a psychopath, not to spoil the whole thing for you or anything. It really is a great movie, you really should sit down and give it a watch sometime.”

“I said, shut up.”

“Alright, alright. Just trying to be helpful, but clearly, I’m not here for my movie recommendations. That’s fine, I get it.”

More silence.

“Seriously, though, I’m getting kinda bored over here. What are we doing, exactly? Apart from the whole me sitting here and looking pretty while you stare at me like a serial killer thing. Now that I think about it, the resemblance between you and Jason really is uncanny. “

“I’m trying to figure out what to do with you.”

Kinda ominous, but whatever.

“Whatever you do, I’d like to be wined and dined first, preferably.”

“If you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to make you,” the man growls, voice low and ripping from the back of his throat.

“That sounds a little like an innuendo and I’d really rather you didn’t.”  

“That’s it,” he mutters, turning to leave the room. Peter is relieved to have a break from dark eyes boring into him when the man returns only a minute or so later, breaking Peter’s brief solitude far too soon and oh - shit, there’s a bat clutched in his grip and his blood runs cold through his veins because holy fuck, clearly the baseball bat rumours were true.

Peter swallows down his panic.

“We’re gonna go play baseball? I’m not exactly a great shot, and you might have to let me out of these first,” Peter rattles his wrists around in the metal chains and they clink together, echoing around the sparse room, “but sounds like fun.”

“We’re not playing baseball.”

“Shame, because I passed a park on my way here and I’m pretty sure that there’s only been like, six murders there this year so that could have been a fun spot.”

“I’m going to enjoy this, you fucked up little kid.”

“Hey, I’m not a little-” Peter starts, but he’s cut off by all the air being knocked out of his lungs as he sees the bat raised in front of him.

People - mostly Tony, really - have always told him that his big mouth in the worst situations will get him in trouble someday. Today’s the day, apparently. Tony will have a great time telling him ‘I told you so,’ over this one.

His thoughts are cut off when the baseball bat collides with his jaw and a searing, fiery pain consumes his entire being. He’s engulfed by it, bones crunching and splintering underneath the unforgiving wood of the bat as it returns, again and again and again. No matter how desperately Peter begs and pleads, his pride and smart quips surrendering to the raw agony, the bat doesn’t stop.

His mouth is awash with the metallic taste of his own blood, and he spits it out uselessly around the pulverised bones of his jaw. It only fills right back up, coating the inside of his mouth with red once more. A drop trickles down his chin.

His jaw radiates a throbbing pain that courses through his veins. Dark spots dance and blur in the edge of his vision as his consciousness ebbs. At least if he’s unconscious he won’t have to feel any of this.

“Finally, peace and quiet. Let’s see how easy it is for you to run that mouth of yours now.”

Peter tries to spit another lot of blood out of his mouth in one last show of defiance, but he can’t even open his mouth properly without feeling like the pain will quite literally tear his entire skull open, let alone get the muscles to function enough to propel the blood anywhere, anyway.

Everything hurts.

He tips his head back against the wall in defeat. His eyelids droop, feeling too heavy to keep open, but the pain is worse when he closes his eyes. It’s all he has to focus on.

There’s a thunk, something heavy landing on the floorboards in front of him. Heavy footsteps leave the room. When he chances cracking one eye open, the man is gone, but the baseball bat, decorated with smears of Peter’s own crimson blood, has been tossed onto the floor in front of him.

—

There’s a crash at the door and Peter flinches back into the wall behind him. He’s not sure how long he’s been drifting in and out of consciousness and his entire jaw screams at the sudden movement but he doesn’t care because the man is back and he can’t do it again, he can’t.

He screws his eyes shut in misery and tries to prepare himself to take it because this is his fault, after all, he was stupid and he didn’t listen to Tony.

Now he’s paying the price because maybe Tony’ll be mad, maybe he won’t even come to get Peter - or even worse, maybe no one will come at all, to teach him a lesson and he’ll be left curled up here forever, shackled to the wall, bleeding and broken with the constant threat of a bat to the face looming over him the second he steps out of line.

Footsteps stop in front of him.

His lungs burn as he holds his breath unsurely. He waits for the sound of the bat being picked up off the floor in front of him but it never comes. Instead, it sounds like it’s kicked away. Peter resists the urge to cringe away because god, that’s maybe that’s even worse. The man could be sick of the bat already, maybe it’s not enjoyable enough for him anymore - not that it was ever enjoyable for Peter but he thinks it was probably better than a knife to the chest or a bullet to the head.

Based on his research, Peter is pretty sure that this man hasn’t killed anyone yet, hasn’t gone quite that far, but there’s a first time for everything.

He can vaguely sense movement in front of him. Someone is getting closer and he doesn’t dare to move or breath, knowing that he’s completely unable to protect himself with his arms compromised behind him.

Then there’s a voice.

“Hey, kid. Wanna open those eyes for me?”

Tony.

He blinks his heavy eyes open, doing what the man asks because avoiding doing so was what got him in this whole mess in the first place. Sure enough, when he does, he finds Tony crouched in front of him. He’s in a three-piece suit, glasses hastily shoved down the front of his shirt, the Iron-Man armour standing sentry behind him.

He stares.

Tony came. He’s here. Even though he was stupid and he didn’t listen and he fucked things up. Tony only forgave him after the Vulture because he saved the day. He did what he was meant to do, as a superhero. Tonight he’s only managed to piss off a notorious serial-attacker and consequently screw up his jaw past even the best abilities of his healing.

He needs to apologise, he needs Tony to see how sorry he is for everything, because maybe if he does Tony might get him out of here. Try as he might, he can’t form proper words around his broken jaw. Instead, whines and mumbles slip past his lips incoherently, eyes blown wide with all the words he wants to say but can’t force out.

“Shh, no buddy, don’t strain yourself, it’s all okay, everything is okay.”

Tony is lowering himself onto the floor next to Peter, reaching up to undo his shackles from the wall with a small rusted key. Peter doesn’t know where he got it from, but he’d entirely forgotten about the ache in his arms from the restraints, anyway, too focused on his jaw. He shakes them out at his sides.

If Peter is being uncuffed, then surely that must mean that Tony is considering getting him out of here. Peter so desperately wants to get out of here. What if Tony won’t take him with him if he doesn’t know exactly how sorry Peter is?

“Pl’se. S…s-s’rry.”

“No, Pete, it’s okay.”

Peter shakes his head frantically, the movement irritating his jaw but he continues anyway. He needs to keep apologising. He doesn’t want Tony to leave him here, he’s already in an insurmountable amount of pain and he doesn’t think he can survive anymore if the man with the bat comes back.

He won’t argue with Tony ever again. He’d be willing to promise anything if he could form words around the stabbing pain and shattered bones of his jaw.

“W’nna go h’me. W’th you. Pl’se. Don’t l’ve me.”

“I’m taking you home, I promise,” Tony says, never taking his eyes away from Peter’s. He’s strong and steady in a way that Peter definitely isn’t right now. It’s reassuring. “I just don’t want to risk flying and irritating that nasty looking jaw of yours, buddy. You’re not bleeding out so we’re safe to just wait here, you’re fine. Brucie and the medics will be here soon and we’ll be home before you know it.”

“‘M’st’r St’rk.”

“I’m here. You’re okay,” Tony murmurs and Peter lets the gentle tone wash over him, settling over his ragged and aching body, soothing like a balm.

He reaches a hand out to tangle it in the stiff fabric of Tony’s suit jacket sleeve. It’s not the softened cotton of his lab outfits that Peter is so used to but it will do. It’s enough.

Tony leans over and as gently as he can, lowers Peter down so his head is resting in his lap. “Get comfy down there for a minute, Pete. Won’t be long ‘til we’re out of this dump.”

Peter nods weakly. Now that Tony’s here, this dump isn’t nearly half as bad as it was only half an hour ago. Home sounds good though. He’d kill for a warm bed and some painkillers. Maybe he can even bribe Tony to keep this from May for a day or two so he can avoid being violently chewed out for lying to her about his and Ned’s physics project - though, he’s sure there’s a very slim chance of convincing him of that. He and May are a formidable force when combined.

Hands find his shoulders and they rub slowly at the tenseness there and the back of his neck with the sort of tenderness that only comes out when Peter’s upset or in a considerable amount of pain. Right now probably counts as both.

Peter doesn’t want to talk anymore, doesn’t want to risk aggravating his broken bones further now that Tony’s comfort is giving him something to focus on rather than the never-ending pain. He just wants to lie here and listen to him talk until it’s time to go home.

“Gotta tell you, kid, you gave me a hell of a scare. Your vitals went all wonky. I couldn’t get the baby monitor footage without your mask on but I could still track you. I owe the Secretary of State another meeting since I crashed out of our last one. Maybe I’ll drag you out there with me to get you back for this little stunt, huh? It’ll bore you to death, that’s a promise,” Tony chuckles. There’s no malice to his words, and Peter lets himself relax further back against him.

He was stupid, but it’s okay because Tony is here and Tony is looking after him.

Tony won’t let anyone hurt him anymore.

—

When Peter can talk properly and form full sentences again two days later, after bone reconstruction surgery and lots of help from his accelerated healing, the first words out of his mouth, in true Peter Parker fashion, are, “I’m so, so sorry, Mister Stark.”

Tony shushes him almost immediately. “Nuh-uh, none of that. God, you’re a stupidly self-sacrificing kid, have I ever told you that?”

“Maybe once or twice.”

“You’re lucky I love you then, huh, bud?”

“Mmm. Guess I am.”

“If you ever pull something like this again, I might have to reconsider.”

“Nah, you won’t.”

Tony’s silent for a moment. “Yeah, you got me there. I won’t.”

[hellhound-wrangler]

So I sometimes feel a little guilty about getting Ripley (zero regrets! No take backs! Much like Claudius and his throne, I feel a little bad about circumstances, but would not give up what I gained and do not repent), because I kind of spotted and pounced on an opportunity in a small, emotionally volatile window in my household.

I have wanted a GSD since I was a teenager - there are a lot of breeds I think are cool and would not have minded having if it worked out that way. For example, I once fell madly in love with an adorable brown-and-white husky/malamute cross at an adoption fair, and cried when I left after 20 minutes. Like, I seriously would have taken him home and tried to convince my landlords after the fact that it would not be a problem had it not been for the ABSOLUTELY CANNOT LIVE IN A HOUSE WITH CATS warning he came with. OK, it was a reputable rescue so I couldn’t have gotten away with taking him home without proof of landlord permission, but OMG I so wanted to. And I’m not generally even a fan of sled dogs in general! I like malamutes better than huskies or Samoyeds, but I grew up in an area with a lot of dog racers and have hence met a lot of sled dogs and rejected sled dogs and sled dog crosses, and they are not anywhere in my “dream breed” list.

Anyhow, there are a lot of dog breeds I probably could have been happy with, but I’ve had a soft spot for GSDs for 20+ years, and my in-laws’/landlords’ last elderly dog had just been put down shortly before I got Ripley, leaving the house dogless, The primary reason they had a dog in the first place was because large dogs discourage burglars - they got Meg after a break-in, and Lola a year or so later. So while my in-laws winter in Florida and leave the house and left the dogs in our care, they still liked having big dogs on the property - even elderly, disabled, excessively friendly dogs. Meg had died a few years ago (three years ago this April, run over by a door-to-door salesperson), and Lola’s cancer had advanced to the point that we had to let her go early in the summer of 2016.

So the house was dogless, my in-laws were mourning Lola but also worrying about a dogless property, and I had been wanting a dog of my own for years (a no-go with socially-awkward disabled senior-citizen dog Lola), and I saw this ad on craigslist for GSD puppies. L and I had been haunting the local bully rescue groups for ages, but in over a year, not a single rescue bully mix in 250 miles of us was approved for a household with cats, so while we’d seen several we would otherwise have loved to meet and see about adopting, none of them would be safe options with Harley in our house. L would really love to have a bully breed dog, and I also like them - they’re adorable, usually v loving to humans, and tend to be snugglers. L and I also both agreed that we’d enjoy a Rottie, given our experiences to date with the breed. He wasn’t wild about the thought of a GSD because of the whole “slope back”/hip dysplasia thing (I know, I know, that’s not actually a thing and HD is an issue but not related to how a dog stacks. Neither of us knew that at the time). At least he didn’t dislike the dogs themselves the way I actively dislike standard poodles (it’s probably just bad breeding and lousy training, but literally EVERY standard poodle I’ve ever met has been a neurotic, aggressive, kid-chasing, low-bite-threshold complete asshole, and I will literally leave a park or pet store if I see one because I don’t trust them or their handlers at all), but he was concerned about potential health issues.

But there was this ad for adorable puppies, and I convinced my MiL to come and “just take a look” at them (to be fair, I really did think we could just take a look at them and then go meet some other puppies and young dogs, and make a calm and thoughtful decision). And I fell totally in love with Ripley, as did my MiL, and we wound up bringing her home. L knew we were going to go check out puppies (although he had work and couldn't join us), and he does love Ripley, but I basically picked our dog from a breed he was kind of “meh” about because I was the one who took point on Dog Search 2016 and I saw a shot for a dog from my dream breed and I fell in love.

So yeah, we got a BYB GSD, with no research or any real training experience among any of us, and we got PHENOMENALLY lucky - Ripley is a puppy and thus often a total pain in the ass, but she’s absurdly healthy (the vet comments admiringly every time she has a check-up on her physical condition - not just eyes/heart/teeth, but muscle and joint health), incredibly friendly, and (once her puppy fear period passed) utterly fearless. She’ll droop her ears and give me the Sad Face of Ultimate Pathos during the not-fun part of exams, but she’s never bitten/submissive-peed/behaved in a potentially dangerous fashion during any handling (she will mouth your wrist if you try to haul her by the collar, which is exactly why I don’t do that and tell other people to knock it off if they try it, and she did yelp and scramble/squirm when she was stabbed with the big-ass needle when she was micro-chipped, but has otherwise been a very accommodating - if bouncy - dog). I’ve spent a ridiculous amount of time researching dog behavior in general and GSD needs in particular, and a variety of training methods (some of which were terrible and ill-advised, so thank you non-Milan-esque trainers in general and @slashmarks especially for the advice about how NOT to handle puppy chomping!) since we brought her home.

But I know L would have really liked to have a bully mix, and honestly, I would have been happy with a bully rescue of pretty much any age, had we been able to find one that was OK to have in a house with cats. But I had the chance to get a GSD puppy, and I took it. And honestly, if we get a second dog, I’m OK with a bully as long as it a) is NOT dog or cat aggressive and b) L is willing to be the primary trainer and handler. Rip is already a lot of work, and she’s smart and interested in making me happy. I’m happy to be her trainer, but I still get frustrated and have to take a lot of breaks as is when she gets over-excited. Working with an adult/late-adolescent dog with ingrained habits that is probably not going to be as willing to try to figure out what I mean when I’m unclear is a challenge I don’t know if I’d be up to anytime soon, and most of the bullies up for adoption locally were surrendered at 9-18 months for behavioral issues/poor manners (and are generally in shelter/foster/kennels for a few months before being adopted out) - there are a lot of 12 month+ dogs who aren’t housebroken up for adoption, for example).

If we get a second dog that is also going to be primarily my responsibility, then it’ll be another GSD (or possibly a closely related breed), although next time I’ll probably go with the whole “research and apply to established reputable breeders who produce the kind of dog I’d like to live with” route rather than the “BYB/rescue and trust to luck” route. I suspect I used up 2-3 lifetimes worth of luck getting Ripley, so I want to stack the odds in my favor next time.