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inneedofsupervision · 1 month

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So, you got Detention

@berrys-hide-out Hey Berry, I hope reading this cheers you up a little, hope you like it <3. @cantsaythetword I didn't forget to tag you, here you go :)

Summary: Getting detention sucks. Getting detention for something you haven't done sucks even more. Getting detention and getting scolded through a Captain America PSA for something you haven't done and going home to have said man looking at you disappointedly is the bad-tasting cheery on top that Peter didn't need on this absolute disaster of a Monday. At least he gets the satisfaction of telling the rest of the team about Cap's PSAs. That's going to be fun.

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"Never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, never gonna run around and desert you," sings Peter softly before his face turns into a grimace. "I'm never getting this song out of my head now. Thanks for that, Ned," mutters the teen without any bite, stepping out of the subway station. Despite Rick Astley uninvitedly declaring his love inside Peter's head, his lip twitched upwards for the first time today. He was glad to be finally heading to the Avengers Tower. Peter was ready to lock himself into the lab with Mr. Stark and ask the man what they would work on today. Him needing to bring distance between himself and the rest of the world doesn't come off as much of a surprise, taking into account that today had sucked until now. Immensely. At least in Mr. Stark's lab, nothing could get on his nerves, breaking the continuation of a bleak day.

It began with oversleeping.

The shrill sound of the alarm had cruelly torn Peter out of a dreamless slumber, and with a soft moan, the still sleep-drunk teen had aimlessly patted for the clock to end the obnoxious sound. As soon as silence had fallen over the bedroom, Peter's eyelids dropped, and although telling himself that it would just be five more minutes of lying down, he promptly fell asleep again. If Spiderman had stuck to his curfew and not exploited his aunt working overtime, there might be a chance getting to school late could have been avoided. When Peter woke the second time, tiredly checking his mobile phone, he sprung up in shock as he caught the time. Twenty minutes before the bell would ring. With no time for breakfast, he had washed up as quickly as he could, shoved the next best sweater and jeans he could find into his backpack, and sprinted out of the apartment. Peter usually avoided swinging to school, but drastic times called for drastic measures. He just hoped there wouldn't be any posts or articles of people wondering what Spiderman was doing, swinging this early in the morning cause that always prompted a rather unwelcome interview with Mr. Stark, or worse, Aunt May.

In his hurry to get to school on time, the boy had packed the wrong folder, thus having to scribble the history homework onto a paper two minutes before classes started. MJ had caught him sitting on the floor before the classroom, rushing to copy Ned's answers as if his life depended on it. She had pulled up an eyebrow before rolling her eyes. The girl didn't have to say anything for Peter's ears to grow red, embarrassed to look this unprepared in front of their decathlon team captain. Classes were relatively uneventful. Well, apart from the Spanish vocabulary test that Peter might have forgotten. Luckily, he could answer everything, although the boy was sure he spelled at least two words wrong. At lunch, Peter had felt the aftereffect of not eating breakfast as his stomach was rebelling, threatening to start eating itself from the sounds of it. The teen swore he could eat at least three portions until he had seen what they served today. To clarify, Peter isn't a picky eater. At all. Living years with Aunt Mays cocking trained him into trying everything deemed edible, and the hunger did the rest. But today, out of all days, the cafeteria ladies decided to let their presumable hate for the students show in the manifestation of the most disgusting-looking meatballs the boy had ever seen.

"Are those capers?"

Ned had glanced from his fork, where a with sauce dripping green ball of something pierced on, over to Peter, who, in return, squinted down onto his plate. He pushed the greens covered in watered-down sauce with his fork around before looking at his best friend with a frown.

"Could be. But to be honest, I don't really wanna find out."

The food had tasted just as it looked, and Peter was glad he was enhanced because he was sure if that weren't the case, he would have gotten food poisoning. How Ned got the funny-tasting excuses for a meal down was still a mystery to him. Having no money to buy something else to eat and knowing that his metabolism wouldn't let him go on without eating, Peter hadn't had much of a choice other than to force the stuff down his throat.

"If I don't show up to school tomorrow, you know what has happened to me," Ned had said with a slightly pained expression as he pushed his empty plate away to put a safety distance between himself and his lunch.

"Same," agreed Peter as he stood up. He had thrown a look at the leftovers, suppressing a shudder as he collected the food tray. They quickly left the cafeteria and the traumatic lunch experience the place brought with it behind. On their way to biology class, Peter had hope that this was the point where his day would finally turn, where it would start getting better. But of course, no day at school could end without Flash strutting up to them, holding onto the need to be insufferable. Flash had been making a beeline for Peter. The intent to bump his shoulder into Peter had been painfully obvious. Flash's nearing presence had sent Peter's spider-sense off, and it took the vigilante some willpower to let the impact happen.

"What, not apologizing for blocking the hall with your stupid face, Parker?"

Not wanting the situation to escalate, Peter tried to overlook the provocation. He wasn't looking forward to a confrontation, minding his business and continuing walking away when Ned whispered. "Don't mind him. Flash probably ate one too many of those meatballs and now feels like crap." Peter was aware that his friend only meant to lighten up the mood. He couldn't help heaving a sigh when their classmate turned around with an icy glare. "What did you say about me, Fatty?"

Apparently, Neds whispering had not been as quiet as intended. Flash had snarled, hand reaching out to grab Ned's collar but grasped at nothing as Peter anticipated the action and pulled his friend out of reach. He had shoved himself between the two and tried to calm Flash down when the teen grabbed his arm roughly, pulling him closer.

"Listen, Parker, one more word from your friend and I-" The rest of his threat had gotten cut off by the booming voice of Mrs. Warren echoing through the hallway, causing the students standing near her to jump at the sound.

"Parker, Thompson! Detention!"

"Fuck you, Parker."

With a glare, Flash had let go of him and stomped away under the watchful eye of Mrs. Warren. Ned had turned wide-eyed to his friend, carefully laying his hand on Peter's arm where Flash had grabbed him.

"Are you hurt? Peter, I'm so sorry, you shouldn't get detention because of me. I'll talk to Mrs. Warren."

Peter had pulled Ned back with a tired sigh. "Don't bother, Ned. You know Mrs. Warren won't change her mind. She's not exactly my biggest fan. I'll message Mr. Stark that I'm going to be late."

Ned was quick to protest. " But you did nothing wrong! Dude, that's just not fair!"

"It's alright, Ned. It's only detention. It won't be too bad."

By the time Peter finally got to step out of the building, he felt the urge to shake his head at his naivety. Detention had been downright awful. The second the supervising teacher had rolled in the antic tube television, Peter had an odd foreboding of what would come. The old device had flickered to life, and the speaker began playing with a static noise that made Peter wince inwardly. Peter swears he could see Mr. Stark before his inner getting an aneurysm at the sight and sound of their school equipment. Peter had ignored the burning pair of eyes trying to bore into the back of his head, courtesy of Flash, the latter trying to get his attention by calling him names but got told off by their teacher quickly. Peter had also noticed the lack of MJ, who chose today out of all days, not bothering to sketch someone's questioning of their life choices, and maybe detention would have been a tiny bit less terrible with her in the classroom. His eyes had flipped back to the TV, where a star-spangled, all too familiar-looking man sat down on a chair and began talking.

"So, your body is changing. Believe me. I know how that feels."

Peter had sunk deeper into his chair with a groan, the need to bid his lunch goodbye stronger than ever. Sixty painful minutes of unwanted advice from America's most popular and still living icon later, Peter is on his way to the Tower when his mobile phone vibrates inside his jeans pocket, Ned's name greeting him on the display.

"Hey, Peter. I'm still really sorry for earlier. But look what I found! This article is about Spiderman!"

Peter was glad his headphones were on as he clicked on the link Ned had sent him, as Never Gonna Give You Up blasts into his ears. It took him a few seconds as he stared down at his mobile phone, where the singer cheerfully danced behind his microphone, only for him to realize what happened. A surprised chuckle makes it out of his mouth as Peter holds his mobile phone up and whispers, "Dude, did you just rickroll me?". The grin was evident in his voice before he sent the audio message. It doesn't take Ned a minute to answer with a series of laugh emojis. Peter continuously chats with Ned on his way, his Spidey sense keeping him from bumping into anyone during the bustle on Manhattan's sidewalks.

Despite being late, there is the hint of a smile tugging Peter's lips upwards as he steps out of the elevator, amused about something Ned had written. Someone clears their throat, and Peter startles at the sound, quickly using his stickiness to catch his phone. The device dangles from the tip of his ring finger while Peter wonders why he has not felt their presence when a pair of familiar black dress shoes comes into view. Realization washes over Peter at their sight, the owner the only other person apart from his aunt, that his spidey sense doesn't go off to.

"Hey, Mr. Stark," greets Peter and puts on a polite smile as he takes in the frown displayed on his mentor's face. Maybe he should have written more than, "Hi, Mr. Stark. I'm going to be late. Happy doesn't have to drive me."

Peter's smile must have looked as forced as it felt by the look Mr. Stark gave him in return. The man stays quiet as Peter walks past him towards the guest room to put his backpack away. Walking into the living room, the teen gets greeted by the rest of the Avengers lingering around. Peter makes a beeline towards the couch where Clint is sitting, hoping to avoid the confrontation with his mentor just a little longer.

"Hey, Pete. How was school?"

"Please don't ask," mumbles Peter, taking a pillow to hug it while he sinks further into the cushions, trying to be one with the furniture. He leans his head back and stares at the ceiling while Clint chuckles next to him. "That bad, huh?" asks the man, and Peter hums. He closes his eyes, relishing that he finally gets to rest when the sound of footsteps grows closer before halting in front of the couch. Peter suppresses a sigh.

"Care to explain why you happen to be late?" Mr. Stark doesn't sound too bothered, which Peter takes as a good sign. He ponders if he liked Mr. Stark better when the man had been more indifferent but quickly pushes that thought into the back of his mind. Mr. Stark is just worried. But still, Peter didn't like the curiosity and concern in the older man's voice, the tone making him feel like a little kid getting scolded. The boy hugs the pillow closer, successfully muffling his voice by pressing it against his face. He really wasn't in the mood for this kind of conversation. Pushing his face deeper into the pillow, he grumbles, "I had detention."

"What was that? I didn't quite catch that, Spiderling."

Peter is pretty sure Mr. Stark did catch that. Something cold presses against his forehead, the only part of his face not hidden behind the pillow. Peter peeks from under it up to Natasha, who holds a can of Coca-Cola above him, a tiny smile on her lips. She nodded toward Stark with a reassuring smile, and Peter felt a bit better, knowing someone was there to step in if Mr. Stark became too overbearing. Taking the drink from her, the teen sat up properly and put the pillow down, facing his mentor.

"I hung out with Deadpool after school," he deadpanned, his last attempt to stir away from the topic. Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow, sending a side eye at Clint, who dared to snicker at the kid's comment.

"Funny kid, but just to let you know, I have a pretty little monitor in the lab telling me that you haven't left the school building until twenty-five minutes ago. Oh, and I hope for my and your aunt's sanity that you haven't been around Deadpool without at least a ten-mile distance between you two. That man is a nutcase, Peter."

Ignoring the jab at the merc with a mouth and Peter's secret "Thursday is taco-day" partner, he raises an eyebrow. "Should I file a police report for stalking, Mr. Stark?"

"Kid, I don't need two spies and Snowflake around knowing you are deflecting. Now, out with it. Why were you late?"

Peter picked up on the silence around, aware that, by now, everyone in the room and the kitchen were probably listening in. A little embarrassed by the attention, the teen's eyes wander toward his lap, where he absentmindedly fiddles with his web shooters, a sense of shyness overcoming him.

"I had detention," he repeats, a little timid.

The silence only lasts a few seconds.

"Ouch, detention. I knew there had to be something about you, man. No one can be such a goody-two-shoes all the time," teases Sam with a smile, patting Peter's shoulder as he walks past to sit next to Bucky. Peter's lip twitched at the comment, relief flooding him when he looked around and saw no one looking disappointed. Catching Mr. Stark studying him, Peter fumbles with his web shooters again. Although the man didn't seem mad, the way he was looking at him made Peter nervous. Before the teen knew what was happening, he was already throwing a lengthy explanation the man's way, a sudden flood of words hastily chained together to form a somewhat coherent report of what had happened.

"Those meatballs were seriously bad, Mr. Stark. It reminded me of the time you made me try oysters. I'm not sure if I should ever forgive you for that, by the way. That had been kinda traumatic." Peter was painfully aware he was full-on rambling at this point, but Mr. Stark silently listening was unnerving him greatly, so he pushed on, eyes everywhere except Mr. Stark.

"Flash walked up to us and tried picking a fight. I just wanted to go and ignore him, seriously Mr. Stark, I didn't even look at him, but then Ned said something about Flash feeling crappy cause of those meatballs, and it was a joke, but Flash heard it, and he was going to grab Ned by the collar."

Peter goes on, and by the looks Bruce and Rhodey are throwing him, he should probably take a second to breathe before freaking out the adults in the room. But Peter couldn't waste time caring about who he was freaking out because he was going to freak if not managing to make Mr. Stark understand that he didn't get detention on purpose.

"I put myself between them when Flash grabbed me instead when Mrs. Warren came by. She saw us in the hallway and gave us detention."

"Hold on," says Sam, sitting up as he looks at Peter, wearing an incredulous expression. "You've got detention 'cause you avoided your friend getting roughed up by that Flash kid? Is that what I'm getting?"

Before Peter could answer him, Mr. Stark had already his Stark phone out. "I knew that Flash kid meant trouble. That's it. I'm going to get that gremlin expelled."

"Wait, you can't do that, Mr. Stark!"

The man raises an eyebrow, and Peter backpedals quickly. "Okay, you could, but please, you don't have to. He didn't hurt anyone, and it's only detention!"

"He was about to hit your friend, Peter," comments Clint, and Peter did not doubt if Mr. Stark wasn't about to call his school, then the archer would be the one to do it. Clint could get weirdly protective at the most random times.

"He does dumb stuff, yes, but if you expel him, it could get him in serious trouble. I know he has problems at home, and getting expelled isn't the solution." By the pointed look he's receiving from several of the Avengers, Peter had a hunch that his arguments weren't cutting it. He needs to pull out the big guns. The teen leaned forward and looked up to Mr. Stark with the saddest puppy dog eyes he could muster. "Please, Mr. Stark. Don't call the school."

If he hadn't been panicking about Mr. Stark trying to expel his classmate, Peter would have found it funny how quickly the hero calling himself Iron Man crumbled. Tony rolls his eyes with an excessive sigh passing his lips as he pockets his Stark Phone. "Next time that hooligan starts something, I will have him expelled faster than you can say, Mr. Stark, got it?"

Peter grins at his mentor. "Got it, Mr. Stark," he chirps back, leaning back into the couch and feeling content for the first time that day. He catches onto the amused glances the others send him and Mr. Starks way.

"So, how many pizzas should I order?" asks Rhodey, the man successfully breaking the silence. With the promise of Pizza and the knowledge that no one minded him getting detention, Peter takes out his phone to text Ned, the smile from before back on his lips. He looks up, feeling someone looking at him, and meets Bucky's eyes.

"Still can't believe they give you detention without clearing up the situation," says the man, crossing his arms over his chest, a sour expression on his face. Peter was about to tell Bucky that it was alright, honestly touched that the man got bothered on his behalf when Captain America chose that moment to walk in. A groan builds up in his throat as the man settles next to Bucky. Steve's brows are furrowed in concern as he glances around the room, lines on his forehead deepening before his eyes turn to the teen. It takes only a second for Peter to guess that Steve had only picked up the detention part of the conversation.

"You've got detention?"

Steve says it so seriously it makes Peter want to throw the pillow at something. Or someone. Too tired to retell the event, Peter merely shrugs his shoulders. "It wasn't that bad."

He had hoped they would leave it at that, but who was he kidding? He's talking about Steve Rogers, after all. Peter's good mood starts deflating when Steve puts on his disappointed Captain America face.

"You're a good kid, Peter. You shouldn't get in trouble."

The teen's expression turns sour at Steve's comment.

"Steve, leave him alone," begins Bucky, frowning at his friend and leaning forward to intervene when the teen sinks into his seat with a low groan. Tony shoots him a worried glance. "What's wrong, Pete?"

Peter ignores the question in favor of sending Steve a glare. Steve dared to look baffled by the look sent his way. If today hadn't been so bad, Peter wouldn't even consider rolling his eyes at Steve, but now he couldn't be bothered to be polite to Captain Popsicle. "I had to listen to your lectures for sixty minutes today, Steve. Sixty. Minutes. I think I had my fill, so please don't bother starting another lecture about what is right and wrong if you don't even know what happened!"

Mr. Stark looks highly amused, not bothering to stop Peter from throwing his sass at Steve, which the teen usually kept for being alone with him in the lab, not often showing it in front of the rest of the team. Bruce raises an eyebrow, head slightly tilted in question. "Peter, Steve had been here all day while you were in school. When should he have lectured you?"

"He wasn't, but I had to listen to his PSA during detention, and I don't feel like hearing more now," answers the teen with something that might, under some circumstances, resemble a pout. Not that Peter would be pouting in front of the Avengers.

"PSA?" asks Clint while Bucky carries a thoughtful look before glancing at the blond sitting next to him.

"You shot PSAs? They still do these?"

Taking in all the puzzled faces around them, Peter quickly realized something that filled his inside with nothing but delight. It was like someone turned a switch, the not-pout on the teen's face morphing into a grin bright enough to lighten the room while Steve's face darkened with every new question asked, their expression the complete opposite of each other.

"They don't know," whispered Peter under his breath, eyes locked on Steve. He lets out a surprised laugh, a grin wider than ever.

"Oh my god, Steve, they don't know!"

He sits upright, the tiredness completely wiped off him as he beams at the blond, eyes gleaming with mischief rivaling Loki.

"Peter," says Steve slowly, the warning heavy in the undertone of his voice. Said warning meets deaf ears, Peter not even thinking about stopping any time soon. He had felt like crap the whole day. Nothing went his way, and Peter knows that that's not on Steve. But having to listen to Captain America's lecture when he did nothing wrong only for the man himself to assume that he did something the second someone uses the word detention in context with Peter without giving him a chance to explain rubbed him the wrong way. The teen isn't a fan of revenge and retaliation and holding grudges, but today, Peter felt petty. If Steve thought he could spoil the rest of the day after school had been that bad already, then he could buckle up. Peter knows his behavior is childish and petty, traits no one would connect with Spiderman, but the teen isn't Spiderman right now. He is Peter Parker, a feeling wronged fifteen-year-old who holds the perfect blackmail material of the person who wronged him in his young, inhumanly sticky hands.

"So," begins Peter in the most serious voice he could muster, giving it his best Captain America impersonation. The way Steve's expression contorted into a grimace was worth it. "you got detention."

"I give you one chance to stop, Peter," warned Steve, eyes narrowed dangerously. Peter only grins wider at that, having way too much fun rilling the blond up while the others could only share confused glances.

"Something tells me this goes over my head," stage whispers Clint.

"Doesn't everything?" shoots Sam at him simultaneously as Tony throws a, "Nothing new, then."

"Harsh," says Clint, rubbing his chest in mock hurt, causing the others to chuckle. "But back to Spider-kid and Cap, does anyone know what those two are on about?"

Choruses of no clue and a beat from Rhodey are all he gets before all eyes are on the pair, who are now challenging in a silent stare-off. Peter leaned forward, openly enjoying teasing the older man. Steve is ready to jump at him by the looks of it, but Peter isn't intimidated in the slightest, knowing he could outrun the older man. "You screwed up. You know what you did was wrong. The question is, how are you gonna make things right?"

Peter's grin widens at the same time Steve narrows his eyes.

"Last warning, Pete."

The blond raises his eyebrows, caught off guard when the teen leans back into his seat. He watches with surprise how Peter fishes his phone out of his pocket, taking a short glance at it before calmly placing it on the coffee table.

"Okay, I'll stop here," says Peter mercifully, stretching as he stands up and walks towards the kitchen. The blond's eyes follow the teen's movement, and Sam snickers how his friend's body deflates at the tension vacating his shoulders, amused by the power a teenager holds over Steve's head.

"Oh, by the way, Steve," Steve's heads shoot up at the tone in Peter's voice. He locks eyes with the teen, who wears the cheekiest grin any of the Avengers ever had seen him carry as he beams at the man.

"Maybe you were trying to be cool. But take it from a guy who's been frozen for 65 years... The only way to be cool is to follow the rules."

Peter's grin was about to reach his eyes. He couldn't help himself.

"Are you following the rules, Steve?"

In hindsight, Peter should have anticipated that the super soldier wouldn't let go of it without some retaliation. It had been too much fun to watch the man's patience thinning than to think what the outcome of that scenario would mean for Peter. He ducks at the same time his Spidey sense peaks, blocking the pillow flung at him just in time. The low buzz had begun to surr in his ear since he started teasing Steve and was growing into a shrill ringing when the man got up from his seat incredibly fast. Peter turns around while stepping out of reach, avoiding the hands reaching for him by vaulting over the couch, including Clint.

"Hey, no jumping over my furniture!" scolds Mr. Stark, but the crinkling of skin around his eyes betrays the stern act as he watches his mentee chased by Cap, wearing a grin on his face.

"Sorry, Mr. Stark!"

The sincerity of the apology suffers under the smile lying in his voice.

Peter stands still, eyes not leaving Steve, who hovers on the other side of the couch, waiting for him to move. Despite focusing on the blond, Peter catches onto the excitement in the room, their little chase entertaining the others immensely, followed by the cheering they receive from the rest. The whole situation was so silly. Peter couldn't help but laugh when he feinted a step to the side, causing Steve to flinch as the man was ready to pounce but narrowing his eyes as he caught on Peter trying to fool him. He couldn't wait to tell Ned that he had teased Captain America, the thought alone bringing a grin about to split his face.

The excitement in the room only increases, so much that Peter doesn't notice the new presence of a person before nearly bumping into them. Thanks to his sixth sense, he barely keeps from barreling into Mrs. Potts. He comes to an abrupt halt despite wearing socks, only possible thanks to his stickiness. Pepper holds a hand over her heart, the surprise written all over her face when Steve takes the chance of Peter not paying attention. The last thing Peter catches is Pepper's green eyes widening, her mouth forming a silent o before something slams into him at full speed, turning the world upside down.

"Whoa, careful Steve. I don't want squished spiders on my clothes."

Clint scowls playfully at the blond, who ignores him in favor of wrestling with a laughing teen on the couch. The archer rolls his eyes at being ignored and points his thumb at the pair.

"Children. It's like herding cats." He snorts at the sight of Peter with his back pressed into the couch, one foot pressed against the super soldier's chest, and pushing the 240-pound weight off of him without much difficulty. "So, your body is changing," begins Peter, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face despite Steve looming above him, looking ready to throw him out of the next window. The blond reaches out to cover Peter's mouth to block more parts of his most embarrassing PSA coming out of the teen, the panic in his eyes causing Peter to break out into laughter. Steve narrows his eyes at the laughing teen, who half-heartedly shoves him off of him.

"Can someone please tell me what is going on here?"

Peter perks up at Mrs. Pott's question, glancing at Steve with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Oh, I was just about to tell the rest about Mr. Roger's PSAs, Mrs. Potts," he chirps, ever so helpful. He was about to elaborate when Steve finally managed to clap his hand over Peter's mouth, successfully shutting him up.

"Noo, why did you turn him off?" complains Sam with faked disappointment. "It was just about to get interesting."

"Since when do you believe anything Peter tells you?" counters Steve, struggling to hold the teen down and keep him from spilling another word. Despite Peter's small size, the teen was powerful. Steve needed to trap him in a hold, somewhat resembling an uncomfortable back hug, to keep a hand over his mouth, but the teen with his freaky flexibility didn't even seem too bothered.

"Well, the kid can be very persuasive. And he did sound like he had something important to tell us. Isn't that right, Peter?"

Peter nods vigorously despite the hand still covering his mouth. They watch the teen worming an arm out of Steve's bear hug, tugging on the hand that kept him from talking. Sam grinned as he observed Steve's face fall at the ease Peter pulled his hand away. The older man tried reclaiming the position, but the teen had it in a tight hold, successfully keeping him from putting his hand back on his mouth. Peter grabs Steve's other wrist and pushes the man's arms away, wriggling out of the hold. A bright grin adorns the teen's face as he pushes Steve away, who is back on his heels in a second. Peter jumped off the couch as a hand seized his leg, causing him to fall over. Several surprised gasps could be heard, along with a rather colorful curse directed at Steve from Tony as Peter catches himself, keeping from faceplanting into Mr. Stark's pristine white living room floor. In contrast to the glares Steve receives at the rash action, Peter openly cackles as Steve tries pulling him back by his leg.

"There is a perfectly equipped gym two floors down, and they decide to do this here?"

"Don't be harsh on them, Tony. They seem to be having fun," appeases Pepper, surprisingly one of the few people along with Bucky and Natasha who weren't shocked by seeing Peter fall.

"Where does that look like having fun?" He asks, but one look at his mentee's face tells him his fiance was right. The kid is enjoying himself.

Meanwhile, Peter plants his palms on the floor, his upper body hanging off the couch. He sticks onto the tiles, sticking one hand down at a time, and crawls away while Steve still holds onto one of his legs. He keeps moving forward, laughing at the strained huff Steve lets out as he avoids Peter's free foot from kicking him in the stomach. The super soldier bats the flailing limp away, shortly loosening his hold on the teen's leg, which the latter quickly uses as a chance to create some leeway.

He doesn't get very far.

"No!" shouts Peter as a hand wraps around his ankle and pulls him back half a meter. "Sam! Bucky! Help!" pleads the teen half-heartedly, reaching out for the two men sitting on the opposite couch.

"What do you say, Buck? Do we help the munchkin?"

"I know Steve long enough not to interfere when he gets like that. Punk is a mad dog when he throws a fit. Sorry, kid, you're on your own."

Peter is about to give the men a piece of his mind when he gets pulled another good amount of inches back before he gets back to stick on the floor. He crawls away again, but Steve has none of it and reaches for the teen's other ankle. Thanks to his spidey sense, Peter avoids the grip by turning on his side, but it causes him to roll further towards the couch than away from it. Steve quickly takes the opportunity to reach down and hook his hand under the teen's side, attempting to heave Peter off the ground. The teen twists in his hold, and Steve curls his fingers into Peter to keep a hold of him when an honest-to-good squeal escapes the teen.

An eerie silence hangs over the room, no one daring to speak as Steve stares at the frozen teen in his hold who avoids meeting his face as best as he can, but he catches onto the reddened tips of his ears. Steve's lip twitched knowingly. He knows that kind of reaction. He squeezes his hand abruptly, lips forming into a grin as the body on the floor jumps like a fish on land at the action.

"Oho," says Clint, sounding way too gleeful, the first to break the silence, having watched the silent realization come over Steve with amusement.

"What a way to reveal your secret, kid. At least I won't have to keep this to myself anymore," comments Tony with a grin.

Now was Steve's turn, carrying a mischievous grin.

"A secret? What kind of secret could that be, Peter? You like sharing information. How about you enlighten us about this, huh?"

Peter feels his heart jump at the tone in Steve's voice. He kind of regrets having made fun of the man. Peter begins crawling again, but this time with more vigor than before. He doesn't get very far as Steve instantly pulls him back but meets resistance as the teen sticks to the ground. The problem resolves itself quickly as Steve releases one of Peter's legs to reach forward and claw at the teen's ribs. With a shriek, Peter's left hand unsticks, arm shooting down to protect his side. Steve's hand darts to the teen's other side, repeating the procedure and efficiently getting the teen off the ground. From there on, it was easy to throw the already laughing boy back onto the couch.

Never one to back down quickly, Peter instantly tries climbing over the couch, but an arm sneaks around his middle and prevents him from escaping. He tries reaching for the backrest, but a hand worms its way into his underarm, and every attempt to reach his arm out to grasp something becomes futile. He quickly gets pushed down, back pressed into the couch cushion as Steve looms over him for a second time that day, but this time, Peter could crawl out of his skin at the grin on the older man's face.

"Dohon't do this," says Peter, voice void of any conviction as nervous giggles accompany his words. Not knowing what to do with his hands, the teen awkwardly holds them in front of him, half shielding his upper body and half waiting to catch any hands that were about to attack. Steve watches with growing amusement how the boy's eyes jump from his face to his hands and back as if he were unsure what was more important to keep track of. He had never seen such an amount of nervous energy radiating from the teen. It was adorable to see him this unnerved about something harmless as this.

"This? What do you mean, Peter? Is this about the secret Tony mentioned?"

"I don't know what you are talking about. I don't have any secrets. Apart from being Spiderman, I mean," Peter stumbles over his words, lips twitching upwards when Steve raises an eyebrow at him. "No secrets to share, no information to keep. I have nothing to hide, so you can let me go. Please?"

Steve turns towards Clint, who hasn't moved an inch, even with the literal wrestling match happening on the seats next to him. "What do you say, Clint? Does he tell the truth?"

Peter throws a pleading look towards the archer. Clint grins at the pair.

"You see that face," he asks, pointing at the teen. "As a spy and a father, I can tell you that's the face of a liar."

"That's not true!" protests Peter as Steve turns back to him. Catching onto the look the man bestows on him, Peter snatches the next best thing he can get his hands on, a decorative pillow, and uses it to shield himself, a giant grin about to split his face. Steve cracks his knuckles.

"Seems like I have to get the truth out of you."

"Noho!" shouts Peter with a laugh as Steve pulls at the pillow. Nervous giggles are pouring out of him as he tries to make himself as small as possible, and it is faint, but Steve's enhanced hearing could pick up on the wild pace of the kid's heart beating.

"Let go of the shield, Spiderman," commands Steve, eyes gleaming playfully at the boy.

"In your dreams," says Peter, only fastening his hold onto the pillow, the only thing keeping him safe from the fingers getting closer. Steve catches a movement out of the corner of his eyes, lips twitching ever so slightly. He focuses back on Peter, the boy watching him with his whole attention, unaware of the hands reaching for his feet. A shriek escapes the vigilante, eyes widening at the feel of blunt nails running over his socked soles, causing him to flinch and pull his legs up at the ticklish feeling. Steve uses the moment of surprise to tear the pillow out of Peter's hand, depriving him of the last thing to shield himself from his attack.

"Thanks, Clint."

"No problem, Cap."

Peter sends a glare Clint's way, but the archer only needs to reach for his feet for the teen to let the glare turn into a panicked grin, quickly tucking his legs close. "That's what I thought," says Clint with a smug grin. Steve uses the moment of inattention, poking the teen's stomach in quick succession. The reaction didn't disappoint.

"Hey! Stohop it!"

Peter tries glaring at the blond while his hand fails to catch the poking fingers, jumping when one poke lands dangerously close to his lower rip. The motion doesn't go unnoticed by the soldiers' trained eyes, a sly smirk forming on the man's face. "Why? Does it bother you?"

"Yehehehes! Stahahap pokehihing me!" complains Peter, but it was hard to take the teen seriously with the constant giggling. Steve does stop at that.

"Alright, I'll stop. Would you prefer this instead?"

He skitters his fingers over the teen's stomach, grinning at the squeal escaping Peter before he tries curling on himself, hysterical giggles pouring out of him, unaware that the sound causes amused smiles to appear on every face in the room.

"Nahaha, gehehet your hahahands of mehehe," Peter manages to bring out between his laughter as he twists on his side, addressing the others.

"Sohohomebody hehelp!"

"Anyone here knows who that somebody is he's talking about?" asks Sam, feigning ignorance.

"I hahahete you, Bihihirdman 2!"

"Yeah, I can't take anything you say seriously giggle-bug."

Peter is about to counter, but a set of fingers dug into the part where his ribs and upper back meet, sending a ticklish shock throughout his body. He jumps at the touch, and Steve latches onto the reaction, taking both hands to claw at his ribcage and digging his fingers in on the search for that spot. Peter's giggles had long ago turned into bright laughter, now accompanied by an occasional shriek and a whole-body jump as Steve found what he'd been searching for.

"Oh, what's this?" he asks, voice full of glee.

"NOHOHOTHING, IT'S NOTHINIHIN!"

"Something tells me you're onto something, Cap," comments Rhodey with a grin, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, amusement written all over his face.

Peter shakes his head at the words, chanting "Stopstopstopstohohooop," while trying to catch the hands that are way too skillful in sending ticklish sparks under his skin, leaving him in stitches. "Why? Is this the spot I have to go to to get you to tell me about your secret? Although I think I can already guess what it is."

Steve grins down at Peter who tries so hard to scowl at him but fails miserably. It leaves the man wondering where all the strength has gone, and while the idea of tickling being Spiderman's big-bad weakness sounds fun, Steve knows for the better that this couldn't be the reason for the teen's failure to escape.

"OH MY GOHOHOHOD, NOHOHO!" Peter kicks his legs, wriggling from side to side and throwing his head back when Steve finds a way to slip his hands into his underarms. He presses his arms down, quickly rendering Steve's fingers immobile, but the feeling of them simply touching his armpits tickled like mad.

"Peter, I kinda need my hands back, or we're stuck here until tomorrow," teases Steve, amused when the boy shakes his head with a giant grin.

"Buck, a little help here?"

The other man huffs a small laugh. "You're seriously stuck?"

Steve grins at him. "I can't move a single finger."

With a shake of his head, Bucky makes his way over to the couch. He assesses the situation before glancing at Peter, the latter trying to catch his breath. Without a word, Bucky clasps both hands on Peter's thighs just over the kneecap, squeezing and massaging his thumb into the muscle. Peter kicked like mad at the action, breaking into loud belly laughter, and Steve could pull his hands away as the teen was busy twisting and wriggling, trying anything to get Bucky's hands off his knees.

"How did you know that would work?" asks Sam, impressed, as Bucky walks back to sit on the couch as if nothing had happened. Bucky shrugs. "It works on Steve," he answers cooly, but with a smirk playing on his face. Steve glares at him but quickly focuses on Peter, who uses the moment to try crawling in the other direction of the couch. Clint only watches with amusement as he has a lap full of enhanced teen trying to crawl over him as if that was your normal Monday afternoon thing, only to get caught by the shoulder and get dragged back.

"We're not done yet, Queens."

"Steheheheve, pleaahahse. I cahanah't tahahake anymhohore!" whines Peter, but Steve catches onto the playful spark glinting in his eyes.

"Okay, I'll stop here," says Steve, mimicking Peter. "But there's one thing I'll have to tell you." The teen narrows his eyes at the blond, not trusting one word coming from Steve.

"What I tell you now is about one of the most valuable traits a student or soldier can have."

Peter's eyes widen comically. As soon as his brain registers the words, he gracelessly flails in his place. The teen tries to throw himself off the couch as he knows where this is going, but Steve, having anticipated the action, jumps forward and catches the teen around the waist. He keeps his arm wrapped around Peter's middle, hugging the teen against his chest and kneading his free hand into Peter's side without further ado.

"Nohohohot anohohother one! Steve pleahahahase! Dohohohon't do thihihhis! I-I'll goho insahahane!"

Steve keeps a stoic face despite the madly giggling and protesting fifteen-year-old half-sitting squirming in his lap, batting and pulling on the arm holding him in place. He continues his speech with his Captain America voice, causing several eyebrows to raise in amusement.

"Patience." he begins, while his hand slips under the teen's shirt, skittering his fingers over bare skin, "Sometimes, patience is the key to victory."

Peter doesn't know if it's the teasing or the fact that Steve keeps dragging his fingers over the bare skin of his sides, but he can't help kicking his legs into the air and throwing his head back into Steve's shoulder as his whole body shakes under the force of him laughing. Steve takes advantage of Peter's head being this close as he speaks the following words right into his ear, earning him the cutest giggle he had ever heard as the teen desperately tries to scrunch his shoulder up and shield his ear from the tickly air. "Sometimes, it leads to very little, and it seems like it's not worth it, and you wonder why you waited so long for something so disappointing."

At his last word, Steve changes his tactics and uses his free hand to poke every place he can find that Peter isn't poorly trying to protect. The boy can't do anything in his hold but giggle his head off, and Steve wonders once again why Peter doesn't escape since he certainly could until he realizes that, maybe, Peter doesn't want to escape. The thought sparks his interest, and he might as well test that theory while the opportunity's still there.

"STEHEHEHEHEHEVE! NO! Anywhere but there! Please please please, please not thihihis it's so bad. Seriously, dohon't do it! STEHEVE NOHOHO, WHY AREN'T YOHUHU LISTENIHIHIHN! AHAHAHAH NO STAHAHAHAP!"

Peter trashes in his hold as the super solider gets another chance to dig into that sweet spot between his back and rips, sending the kid into a laughing fit, face reddening as he squeezes his eyes shut, the corner wettening with tears of joy before his laughter turns silent.

"Steve, I'll think he got the message," interrupts Tony, having caught onto the change from silent laughter to coming out a tad bit breathless. Not wanting to overdo it, the blond stops the tickling but keeps his arm around the teen, afraid Peter will fall if he lets go of him. The boy hangs slack in his hold, trying to catch his breath.

"You good, Queens?" asks Steve, a little worried he might have overdone it as he carefully loosens his hold on Peter. The latter let himself slip to the side, landing with a groan on the couch. Feeling Steve's eyes on him, Peter turns his head but keeps lying on his side. He sends the man a tired grin.

"I think now I know the true meaning of patience. And ruthlessness."

With a smile, Steve reaches over and ruffles Peter's already messed-up hair.

"You need another lecture, and you know where to find me," he jokes, smirking at the dramatic groans it earns him.

"Yeah, no, I think I pass. You know what I would rather listen to?"

Steve raises an eyebrow in question.

Peter grins at him.

"Some Captain America PSAs."

#ticklish! peter parker #ticklish spiderman #lee peter parker #ler steve rogers #marvel tickle fic #peter parker #spiderman #captain america #steve rogers

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simp-ly-writes · 5 months

Text

A Shadow Company Visit (pt.4)

PSA: This can be read as a standalone.

Pairing: Commander Philip Graves x Reader & Shadows

Summary: What happens when you get kidnapped?

Warnings: 1500 words, ANGST with a HEA. a bit of overprotective themes, mentions of children.

A/N: We are in for a long one folks with this chapter, thank you @unicorngirly1, for the ideas!! it appear that this series just keeps on giving ahahaha; my asks are open as of the publication of this chapter for those with ideas as well!

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

A Shadow Company Visit Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) you are here

↳ Waving the driver goodbye, you enter the home and lock the door behind yourself, a beep sounds as the door opens and closes: signalling your entrance.

↳ Getting your child ready for bed, you curse underneath your breath as you notice a light left on in the bathroom. Thankfully Philip was not tonight home to see this since it was a major pet peeve of his

↳ Removing their little shoes and socks as they stir slightly when changing them into their nightwear, you flick the baby monitor on alongside some white noise before tip-toeing out of the room so you could bunker down for the night as well

↳ Placing your phone on to charge on your nightstand you undress, wash yourself up and place yourself into some home clothes before making your way downstairs. The security system beeps to your presence once more as you cross over the front door sensor and make your way towards the kitchen

↳ Feeding the dog alongside yourself, you finish your day by sneakily watching the next episode of some reality TV show you and your partner were addicted to before finding yourself falling asleep on the couch with the dog laying at your feet

↳ Yet unknowingly, as you were sleeping a group of masked figures triggered the alarm system that night- waking you up with an abrupt fright to the beeps as your dog roared to attack, their past training flooding their system before they fell to the floor and you heard yourself scream in tune with your child upstairs

↳ Your hands went to secure the gun taped underneath the coffee table, Philip had placed various weapons around the house for a moment like this yet he was not there that night as your limbs got tied together and a bag was placed over your head, the system beeped one last time upon your exit

↳ Philip was on a mission with task force 141, left unknowing as to the panic that had been brewing at the headquarters awaiting his return

↳ Shadows move around in a panicked state, preparing for a war; The night patrol that was supposed to secure the perimeter of the commanders home-lot had not returned alongside the assisting squad sent later in the night and as the higher-ranking unit appeared, the situation and the child kneeled over in grief from atop the stairs had spelled destruction and overwhelming grief amongst the Shadows

↳ Many of the high ranking shadows were already praying as they awaited the commanders outburst. Yet the mental torture of trying to stabilize the dog found in the home while sending the child to the hospital over their minor bruises was already taking a toll and would forever outweigh anything else coming their way

↳ The intelligence service teams were already working overtime as they called in a favour from the British SAS and to say that Laswell lost her shit on them was an understatement over her best friend...

↳ As Philip shook hands with Farah as another mission was completed successfully, smiling and giving his fellow Shadows each a pat on the back alongside some words of praise they all cheered while boarding the plane for the ride back

↳ Yet Graves stopped when he heard your name being yelled down the phone line by Laswell, he knew something had to be up and as she blew up on him for not protecting you better, the commanders eyes darkened as he took in Kates outburst while he strapped himself into communications while boarding the plane set for home

↳ "Shadow-01 how copy? Shadow-01? Commander? Commander Graves Sir?!" The voice yelled down the line, pure panic stricken in their vocal cords.

↳ "This is Shadow-01"

↳ The line goes silent as dread hangs in the air as Graves' mind floods with possibilities and images of pure horror flash to the surface as he grips the gun tighter to his chest

↳ "Commander... we have your child in recovery alongside the dog. Both are alive and breathing. Your partner... hasn't been located since 19:00..."

↳ The information laughs mockingly in Philips face as he cannot believe what he heard earlier to be true, looking around the plane, all shadows refuse to make eye-contact with their commander as they witness pure rage overcome his form

↳ "FUCK" is screamed in distain as the commander rips off the headset and breathing becomes laboured. His chest rig feels all too tight against his form as does the metal of the seat digging into his thighs and then coldness rushes over his entire being

↳ Placing the headset back on with a whiplash of emotional outburst to downright composure, the commander signals back to headquarters, "I want a full report as soon as I am off with god-damn plane, not one detail misplaced with Laswell and her crew waiting in the boardroom. Shadow-01 out."

↳ Once arriving back on base a hoard of members are awaiting for their Commander, papers in hand and speeches, they get Philip back up to date as he rallies squads together, addresses the intelligence services and suits up in angered silence waiting to strike

↳ They had to wait until night for the technical advantage, and to say that the commanders wait was restless would be an understatement, this man was pacing up and down the halls and punching walls, ripping apart his desk while sitting and silently crying at your own as he bandaged his shaking hands

↳ The watch you gifted him beeped as he stood up from his chair and hurriedly marched over to the awaiting vehicles. Slapping the roofs car thrice and wheels spun out the gate that he didn't have the heart to laugh fondly in remembrance at

↳ The cleaning of the alleged house was swift as was Graves deadly precision, their pleads for forgiveness fell on dead ears as he calmly made his way through the house, Shadows following his every order as task force 141 shook the place in search of the ringleader

↳ Entering the office space, Graves sees red as you have a guns barrel pointed into your skull as the grip your hair, moving your body into their compliance

↳ Your captor opens his mouth, showing the yellow teeth and chapped lips that were soon overridden with blood as a shot rang out in the room, another followed soon after through their heart as you partner didn't have the patience to hear any of it

↳ Your legs gave out for under you as the final shot was placed. Your skin being corrupted with blood as Philip shoved his gun into an awaiting Shadows hands as he knelt down beside you and signalled for the team to secure the perimeter of the house for evac

↳ You reached your hand up to his face, unlocking his helmet as it fell on to the floor, your bloodied hand rushed to settle his hair in comfort as his eyes closed and he moved to kiss your palm

↳ Taking some supplies from his vest, he cleaned your hands and wiped your face of the blood it held, apologizing softly as you winced from the bruising that had formed from the captors strong hold on you

↳ Helping you to stand, you wobbly made your way to the doorframe, holding it to steady yourself before becoming swept off your feet by the commander, the Shadows waiting by the door smiled brightly at you as you gave them a small thumbs up causing them to chuckle back at you

↳ Being placed in the back of the SUV, you saw Laswell with her arms wide open awaiting your presence. A tear falling softly down her cheek as she felt you in her arms, whispering how thankful she was that you were still in her life

↳ While being checked up on at the hospital, Philip refuses to leave your side as you pressure him into taking basic meals and a shower, guilt eating him alive as his memories flash back to those moments.

↳ In the meanwhile, task force 141 hand you a plethora of kind messages both through texts and letters for your speedy recovery, Laswell is happily taking over as godmother- watching over yours and Philips child and dog happily

↳ The Shadows place balloons, flowers and other small offering around your room as a couple stand watch outside and move on rotation even though their commander has asked them to take their leave many times by now, you feel loved by their devotion to protect

╰┈➤ A/N: thank you all for the support on this series!

A Shadow Company Visit Series (pt.1) (pt.2) (pt.3) (pt.4) you are here

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grippingbeskar · 1 year

Text

unearthed

chapter five - married

warnings: canon typical violence, swearing, mentions of death (?) um idk i think that’s it???

a/n: gah. one of my fav chapters so far hehehehe ALSO PSA YALL— i’m trying to tag some of you in the taglist but your names aren’t popping up, i think this has to do with your settings?? i’m not taking anyone off i’ll retry to tag you ever chapter, but just so ya know!! if there’s like a line through it or it’s white instead of highlighted just have a look, or if i need to be following you just msg me and i will :)

[series masterlist] [next chapter] [sign up to the taglist!]

Just walk up there.

It’s nothing.

Nothing you haven’t done before.

You’ve been in front of thousands— millions of people before. You’ve been in arenas of people screaming and applauding, crowds swarming you as soon as you step out the door. This, being in a moderate sized room where half the eyes on you are stuffed in a helmet, should be easy. Child’s play.

It was nothing.

So why the hell are you feeling so terrified?

You were practically shaking— staring up at the set of stairs in front of you, leading to the Armourer who stood next to the original Forge. The one where every Mandalorian in the golden age would have been brought into the creed. And now, you were going to march up there and add your name to the list. You felt like an imposter, out of place in a flowing dress while you were surrounded by hard plates of armour and dark colours.

The only reason you moved was Bo-Katan behind you, a soft hand on the back of your arm nudging you in the right direction. You were grateful for her kind eyes as she nodded you up to the podium, and then your feet remembered they were attached to your body.

You met Din’s blackened stare, and started to move.

Your dress was loud. A brush of the light yellow fabric along the smooth granite ground sounded deafening. Like an alarm going off, alerting every watchful eye of the Mandalorian ancestors to your betraying presence.

Stars— you were starting to think like them, too.

It was hard not to get caught up in it all. The darkened room, soft whispers through helmets, and as you took the last step up, he was there. Your breath caught in your throat.

He looked the same as always. Of course he did, but it knocked the wind out of you all the same. Once he was in your sight, you didn’t look away. You couldn’t. His presence didn’t allow it. The Armourer said something, and the only reason you acknowledged her was because he did.

“This is The Way.” He says, the words sticking to you like glue when he practically purrs them out like that. This was the way it was now. You— a fake Mandalorian, unable to stand without everyone around you holding you up.

Swallowing hard, you felt Bo-Katan move away, but you were too busy watching Din take three steps to your side. His arm wrapped around yours, sneaking it’s way under the bare skin of your wrist, cold gloves skittering electricity up your arm.

And… oh.

It was like everything just stopped.

You could feel the press of his fingers, light but meaningful, like most of his small touches of you. He was careful not to wander the expanse of exposed skin, which he easily could, even in front of all these people. People who you’d… you’d actually almost forgotten everyone was there.

You stared up at him as if it was your first time seeing a night sky— entranced and all encompassed by the inky black and shining silver, and all the whispering voices faded away until it was just his rough breathing and his gloved hand on your feverish skin.

He didn’t look at you, just at where your own hand was placed, holding for dear life on one of the many plates of his armour. He led you with him over to the half sphere that sat in the middle of the stage. You peered in, seeing the eternal flame fluttering a reliable blue, with the water from the mines floating calmly behind it.

You grab him tighter— either out of reflex or wanting, but he leans into it. Lets you use him to stand, to stay strong in the face of the Armourer. You hope he’s strong enough to keep you standing on his own, because now he’s here, you aren’t sure how you stood without him.

Din was speechless.

He was known as a man of well chosen words to most, so his silence wasn’t unexpected. He was grateful he’d built that reputation, because even if he had to, he wouldn’t of found words that described why he felt frozen at the top of the stairs.

When he’d see you walk in, he felt like time had… stopped. It was stupid of him. He was meant to be in control. He was a King. Standing in front of his people; leading. But… stars, you were the only thing in 20 years that had made him freeze.

You walked so easily, like you were made to be there. It was like that first day, watching you walk through the city like the ground was made to bear your weight. He couldn’t look away. Couldn’t tear his eyes away from your slow, swift steps or the way you gracefully floated across the hard floors. Neither could anyone else. Outside his direct view of you, he could see his people watching. Some eyes were evaluating; the hard faces and helmets looking you up and down like they were scanning the battlefield— precisely and with no mercy.

Others watched like he did. In awe. Some eyes were soft, some whispers drifted their compliments towards her, even though they wouldn’t be heard. That’s how he knew they were genuine. They fell on deaf ears, but they were supposed to.

When you crossed the stage to him, the only thing that snapped his attention away was the loud voice of the Armourer in his ear, telling him to move towards you.

He could tell you were nervous when he got closer— for once, your eyes betrayed you easily. He thought that he was the one that’s hard to read, considering you couldn’t see his face, but you had schooled yours to a point of contention. He knew if you could see him— really see him, you’d read right through him.

But your eyes now, even though they held his, were unsure. He was supposed to just stand next to you, walk with you to where you would touch where the mines water meets the flame, and then you’d be one of them.

But he couldn’t help himself. Your dress, draping over your skin like liquid sunshine, made something angry and foreign to him burn in his chest. He wanted to feel what it was to be that close to someone— someone, he had to tell himself. Anyone. Not just you. It was a lie, but it was one he’s going to have to believe himself.

He was jealous of your dress, gently grazing the skin of your hips, gliding against the softness of your thighs. You were covered, but he knew what was under there. What was in reaching distance for him. Instead, he settled for your arm. As soon as Bo-Katan released you, he took his chance, and for the first time in a while, he followed what his rapid beating heart was telling him to do.

When he reached for you, you answered in earnest. Your hands were nearly clawing at him, holding on to the thickest parts of his armour and pulling him close to you. He let you find purchase on his body— the line of yours tucking tightly into him, and he found himself hoping you held him harder. Dug your nails in so hard that he felt the lines being marked on his skin. He wanted you to need to lean on him— to need him like he found himself needing you up here.

You clung tightly through the whole ordeal, Din not being able to remember much about it other than how warm you were against him, and how close your skin was to his. Just a few inches of armour, feeling so heavy on his body, and he would be able to feel you. He hates that he thinks about that— a million eyes on him, and all he can think about is how soft you would be under the rough calloused palm of his hand.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s thought of feeling that. Let alone… longed for it.

The longer you held him, the more Din thought it wasn’t real. Maybe you were trying to sell it. As far as the rest of his people knew, you were supposed to be in love. You needed to be seen united and together, leaning on each other. This was just business to you— he knew that. It was to him, too.

It had to be.

The alternative… it was better to be buried than brought to light. Din wouldn’t handle that disappointment well.

The entire thing was a blur from the minute he touched you.

You remember the physical parts. Where he took you to the edge of the Forge, rested your hands on the edge of it. It was cold. Colder than he was, although he’d been pressed up against you so long his armour was as warm to the touch as your skin was. You wondered if he was that cold under that suit.

When you managed to shake that thought away, you remember him guiding your hand towards the flame. It was too hot, and you wanted to pull away for a second. You flinched, but Din kept you on the right path, guiding your hand and covering your reaction, and it ended up looking like a part of the carefully planned show.

The fire nearly licked the inside of your wrist— the water a sharp cold contrast. The Armourer spoke words, and you repeated them, but even they fade; pale in the shadow of the memory of how Din stood above you.

For the first time, he looked every bit the King you’d been told he was. He stood tall, watching as you knelt in front of him, never moving a fucking inch. Then, he reached out, gloved hand intertwining with yours as he led you down and out of the room, disappearing before you could speak again.

He didn’t have to do that.

He does everythin with purpose… and that little touch? That tiny extension of a person under all this? That was… well, it was enough to make you stumble out of the hall like an idiot.

It was mind numbing. How his fingers easily melted into the small gaps between yours, how eager he seemed to take your hand, how quickly he latched onto you and swept you out of the room, like he knew what you needed.

As you shuffled your way down and outside, you wanted to scold yourself. If anything, this was the part of the day you had to have a clear head about. You were left alone for this— it was just you, a short, isolated walkway, and a greenhouse in the middle of nowhere.

You’d asked about it. Why they had something like that out here— in an environment that seemed to harbour life well enough, despite the rumours of the toxic and cursed lands.

“It’s a symbol.” Din had replied, although when you’d asked him he’d just been The Mandalorian, the title feeling a little too official now.

“Of what?” He guided you with a hesitant hand, around the corner where the greenhouse came into view. It was small— modest, for the size of the population now. You could see the twisting vines and array of colours, though, and it was bursting with life.

“Of hope.” Din replied, and you chest tightened. “The Mandalorians that were left, after the Purge, they had nothing. Food reserves were scattered— the people were scattered. When a few banded together, this is was what came of it. It reminded them they were stronger together. Many think this was the place our true rebirth was born.”

The door was closed, but you could still see the colours bursting through it. You tried to look for him through the misted glass, but he was no where to be found. Your heart was racing— you had no idea what to truely expect in here. Would he say anything? Nothing? Would he whip out holochess to pass the time?

What made you the most afraid as you pushed the door open and stepped inside, would be that he was going to do exactly what that man said he would. That he’d share with you something you weren’t sure you wanted him to— something that would make you feel even less deserving than you already did.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to see. It just felt too… too big of a thing to take from him. Despite the small conversations, you’d begun to respect the silent presence of him. And after today, you couldn’t deny the effect he had on you. You didn’t want to take anything from him, not when he’d been so giving to you.

The air felt fresher in here, passing through you in easy breaths, like there was a calming effect inside the four walls. It was bigger than it seemed, or maybe the winding vines and tall bushes that hid you in every corner made it feel more like a maze.

You let your eyes wander, a mirage of purples and blues bursting in between the brightest of green leaves. It seemed to overtake the greenhouse— it was clear there was very little maintenance on the inside, like they’d prefer to just let it run wild. It added to the atmosphere. It was almost a little… romantic.

You swallowed the burning in your throat, and shut your eyes tightly.

“Hello?” You called out, and mentally slapped yourself. It felt stupid. He was in here.

Probably.

Oh, stars.

If he was the one that left you at the altar you think you’d just crawl into a hole and die—

“Around here.” The sound of his voice sends relief rushing through your veins. You followed the sound of it, the two words enough to set you on the right path. As you rounded the corner, you could see him nearly shining, and your chest didn’t feel as tight.

He was there. Looking exactly the same, but somehow completely different in the light of the greenhouse, compared to the dark hue of the Forge room.

The darkness suited him. He was more intimidating that way— a King head to toe. But here, he was more human to you. As far as you knew, he was human, but either way, he was more approachable. Simpler. Here, he was just a man in a pretty suit.

It was very, very pretty in this light.

“I have something to show you.” He says as soon as he sees you. He spits it out like it was a loaded gun in his hand, and the sight of you was enough to make him pull the trigger.

You don’t nod, or shake your head. You just freeze. Staring at him, he turns around, and there’s no words to mince for the feeling you get in your stomach. Fear, maybe, and a little bit of simmering curiosity. You don’t want to see him out of obligation, but for a fleeting second— just for a moment, you know what you want. That you’re curious. You want to see, and you let your eyes flutter—

“AH!” You hear it before you see it.

Two giant ears stick out the sides of the helmet, and then two clawed hands hand below them. When he turns around, you notice how Dins hands hold it gently. Whatever the hell it is.

Or rather, whoever.

All thoughts of the faceless man in front of you flood out for the first time in weeks. When two giant bug eyes whip around and stare at you, ears flapping with the movement, it’s impossible to have any thoughts other than—

“What… what is that?” You say before you stop yourself. “Fuck. Sorry— I didn’t mean that. I just—“

“It’s okay. He’s my—“ The little green thing wiggles around in his arms and then promptly drops to the floor like a sack of potatoes. “Foundling.”

“Oh. Oh!” You watch it stumble around, like it was formed out of proportion. The fast way it’s legs move seem out of alignment with its body, his head tipping forward, almost directing the rest of him, commanding it to follow.

With jagged movements, he ends up at your feet, where he promptly elevates upward, then plops back down again.

“Can he talk?” You say softly, not wanting to scare the little thing as you bend to his level. You look up to Din, who’s already watching you, and see him shake his head. “Well, that’s okay. I talk enough for the both of us.”

A metallic laugh echos from behind the small creature, and he babbles almost in response to it. The sound is infectious, making you grin as he waddles around, his ears tilting him to either side.

You reach out a hand, slowly, and instead of taking it he flies into you, resting in the crook of your arm. This angle gives you a better look, tiny hairs spiralling on his green head, a toothy smile and nearly wrinkled face. You’ve never seen anything like it before.

“He usually doesn’t take well to strangers.” Din says after a while, your body now curled half up on the floor to accomodate the tiny creature. “He likes you.”

“I can be very charming when I want to be.” You squint when you finally look up to him again, soft orange light pouring through the misted windows behind him. “He’s the little thing you were talking about, right? The found…”

“Foundling.”

“Right.” You stare down at it, watching its huge eyes blink at you, and the thing smiles. “Where the hell did you get him? I’ve never even seen… I’ve never seen anything like him.”

“He was a bounty.” You look up at Din, and clearly he can tell you’re horrified. “I didn’t know who, or what he was.”

You watch the little creature, who trusts you far too quickly for something that was clearly hunted by the likes of a Mandalorian. He yawns, speaking in little, incoherent mumbles before his eyes blink slower.

“Who would want to hurt a little guy like this?” His tiny hand wraps around one of your fingers, and you’re pretty sure you’re heart bursts.

“They’re dead.” His words are sharp and sure. It sends a cool shiver down your spine, but it’s definitely not fear.

You look back up at him, standing, and taking a step closer. Din holds your eyes for a moment, like he’s waiting for something.

You know he’s lethal. You aren’t surprised to hear he’s killed— he was a bounty hunter, and is a King. Neither of those titles are won by clean hands, not to mention the Darksaber at his side. If someone crossed him, or tried to take one of the few things he seemed to care about, you anything but surprised to hear they ended up dead.

“He’s sleeping.” You say to break the silence, and your voice drags Dins eyes away from your own.

“Here.” He reaches out, moving so close to you that you can feel the heat of his body. His real body— through the soft parts of him not covered by armour.

He scoops the sleeping form from you, and turns around, and it’s then that you notice the only other thing in the room. A hovering shape that opens on command, only to shut and float behind him once Din places his foundling in there. He’s so gentle with him. A man who just admitted to slaughtering what you can only assumed is dozens of people who got in his way, he’s surprisingly soft when he wants to be.

“Thank you. For letting me meet him.” You say, unsure of what to do next. Your hands go behind your back, eyes tracing the long vines wrapped around the frames of the greenhouse.

“I can never get him to sleep, but when I want him to stay awake, he passes out.” He stands in front of you, and even hidden under ten pounds of armour, he looks as awkward as ever. Your face splits into a grin, laughter softly shattering the careful barrier between you. “I wanted you to meet him. He’s… very important to me.”

“He’s very cute, too.”

“Grogu. That’s his name.” You try it out a few times, letting it familiarise itself in your accent.

“I like it. Nearly as much as Din Djarin. It has a nice ring to it.” You hum, and lean back against one of several wooden tables. It’s full of overgrown plants, some stretching onto the floor and splaying out under your feet.

Your hands dig into the wooden plank behind you, and the easy breathing from before is basically cut off the second he looks up at you again. It goes a little quiet, the whistle of soft wind floating over the top of the thin roof. You can’t stand the waiting around.

“Listen, you don’t… I don’t know exactly what you were planning; but I’ll say whatever you need me to when we leave here. The last thing I want to do is start this partnership off on the wrong foot.” He doesn’t say anything, conveniently finding the floor very interesting all of a sudden. “They told me about what you are meant to… do. And I don’t want you to— no, you don’t have to— can you say something so I can stop talking, please?”

Your heart was racing and you wanted to swallow your tongue if it would get you to stop throwing words around because yeah, maybe you did want him to take off that giant helmet because at the very least you’d be able to see if he was scowling or rolling his eyes or—

Laughing.

He was laughing at you.

Only a little, and you could only tell by the slight rise of his shoulders before he corrects himself and straigtens, but you catch it.

“Are you laughing at me.” You tilt your head, gaping slightly at him.

“No.”

“Asshole.” Rolling your eyes, you take a deep breath. An easier breath.

“It’s okay. We— no one’s coming.” You sigh and nod your head. “You did good today.”

“Seriously?” Now you’re the one who laughs. “I nearly froze the second I got up there! If you weren’t up there I would have fallen on my ass. It was like all those helmets were staring into my soul.”

“It’s an old tradition, but they were happy to see it revived. The Forge is special to my people. You being there— they were glad for it.”

“And this?” You ask tentatively, curiosity nipping at your heels and urging you off the wall a little closer to him. “Is this all an old tradition, too?”

He readjusts with your new closeness, but he doesn’t move away. Instead, he angles towards you, the crib his little baby was in only just visible behind his looming frame. He shrinks you with the long span of his shoulders, and you try not to let your eyes float lower.

“In the Old Ways, Mandalore observed very… reserved marriages.” He shifts again, nearly brushing you, and your heart beats audibly loud. “In most cases, a marriage was simply a well cooked meal and a question with an answer.”

“They just asked to be married. That was it?” He nods.

“Someone would present a gift, or a meal, some who were more intimate than others might try to make it special. But in most cases, nothing would change. They would just be. As they were before, but forever linked by the knowledge they shared. We would never know if anyone was married if they didn’t write it down, or share it with members of their clan. It wasn’t something that was shared in small groups, and no outsiders could ever tell the difference.”

“I’m guessing they weren’t fans of PDA back then, either.” He shrugs, the movement brushing your arm. “So, how’d they get to this whole thing, then?”

“As the Old Way shifted with time, so did their customs. Partners became more common, and they felt there was something missing from their relationship. Something that set them apart from the other members of their clan.” You go to answer, and bite your own tongue again before you can. “Physical touch. Intimacy. Simple touches, a kiss—“

“Partners didn’t kiss in the Old Way?”

“They never removed their helmets. Not to anyone.”

“So how did they…” He stares at you. He was really going to make you finish. “Or they didn’t…?”

“They did. At least, at some point, in some way probably. But mostly, The Way uses foundlings as a foundation for our people. Most Mandalorians’ don’t have any blood relatives in their clans, and if they did, they might not even know.” You make a small ‘huh’ sound. “But when the times shifted, it developed into the marriage system we have now, at least in the Old Way. The newer Mandalorians take on a more universal form of marriage, but the Old Way is still changed. A Mandalorian is to never remove their helmet in front of another living thing.”

“Yeah. I know that part.” You smile and gesture to him, and he stares back. He doesn’t move, his focus deadly and on you.

“When you become a partner of that Mandalorian, you are no longer another being. You become… one being. We remove our helmets, and all differences between us are bared. The things that keep us safe are torn away, and we rebuild to something new. Something connected— forever bound. You never take off your helmet in front of another living thing— but we are no longer seperate. They are a part of you until you take your last breath, and long past it.” You are spellbound. Mesmerised by his words— it’s the only way to describe it. He spoke so passionately about this, and it was hard not to feel the same. It was clear he took this very seriously, and although there was a bad taste in your mouth that you were taking this moment away from him, you couldn’t help but notice his word choice.

We are no longer seperate.

“You don’t have to show me.” You say softly, and he takes another step. He nods. “Ever. I wouldn’t take that from you.”

“This is The Way.” His hands hang by his sides.

“It’s not my way.” The slightest tilt of his head clues that you have his attention. “In my way of life, I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. And this— this is important to you. It should be something you share with someone special. Someone you care for.”

He says nothing, but his hands twitch just slightly, and for a second you think he’s going to go through with it.

“The only time I want you to take your helmet off, is when you want to. You’ve… you’ve been kind to me. Respectful of my wishes, and I want to do the same.”

“I’ve done nothing.”

“And it’s enough.” It was true. He had done nothing to make you feel out of place, or uncomfortable. He’d pushed none of your boundaries, and he’d offered to help secure a lead to search for your parents killers. This… it was the least you could do. “Besides. I’m traditional. If we’re going to do the whole ‘Way’ thing, we can do it the way those old dudes did. Helmet stays on. That’s the Way.”

“This.” He corrects.

“What?”

“This is The Way.”

“Stars. Okay, I’m going to whack you in the head with this olive branch I’m extending if you’re going to correct my grammar.” You raise your eyebrows, crossing your arms in front of you. “So… we’re good with this?”

He nods, and then says your name. His voice now is not wavering. It was full again, a brassy baritone surrounding the small space between you. “I had one more thing to say,”

You nod, and look down to your feet. He’d moved so close his beskar boots were nearly touching your toes. You didn’t move away.

“This is not how I saw myself getting married.”

“Great start.”

“I’m not— I’m saying it’s not what I imagined for myself. I’m not sure if I ever thought I would…” You nod. Wordlessly understanding. “When I agreed to this, I was still unsure. But, I I want you to know I have no doubts, now. Seeing you, hearing what my people think of you… your planet, your family— I will be what you need. I swear it on Mandalore herself. As long as it serves us, we will rule together, as equals.”

“Equals.” You blink at him, enthralled. It’s hard not to be. When someone as stoic as him speaks so passionately about you… it has an effect. Apparently, more of an effect than you were prepared for, because you find yourself having to think about the promises you made him yourself.

That this was just business. Just a professional contract.

“I want to rule with you. I won’t repeat my planets mistakes. I know an ally when I see one. A decent person. A good heart.” He faces you straight on, and it was the second time in the span of a few weeks you’d thought about how easy it would be for him to kiss you. If he was anyone else, you might have done it by now. “I want to do this with you by my side. And I want to be by yours.”

You didn’t have words. For a Queen that had an affinity for charm, to weave a web of intricate patterns of conversation and pull information out of the coolest of characters, Din Djarin left you utterly speechless. You couldn’t stop your hand as it reached for him.

He looked down instantly, watching the bare skin of your hand graze over the pauldron of his armour. The contrast did something to him. You know it. He locked onto it like a trained missile, tracking the light trace of your gentle fingers until they stopped just before his elbow. You shudder a breath, and whisper to him that you want that too.

His hand moves next, a calculated move that holds the wrist of your free arm. The shift means he has to step forward, bringing himself to press against you. Your eyelashes flutter, nearly brushing beskar, as he slowly tilts your arm up and intertwines your fingers. The melt of your hand in his rests between both your heaving chests, and he tries to speak. Whispers your name so lowly you wouldn’t hear it unless it was as deadly quiet as it is.

He raises your interlocked hands up higher, and there’s only one place they would be going. Only one destination that he’s chosen. When your knuckles bump lightly on the sharp edge of his helmet, you bite down your tongue. The cool beskar disappears as he moves your hands just a bit lower and dip them under… and he’s soft there. A soft, giving material hidden under the hardest metal known to the discovered universe, and then he pushes you up.

The whole thing probably takes less than a few seconds, but time nearly slows to a stop with his hands in yours. He was going to show you what equals meant. He was going to show you him. Your chest was tight, body locked in a way that only the parts he was touching were lose and mouldable. You want to… you want to see him. This is something you want, because he wants it.

Your own fingers stretch out, and the helmet moves half an inch upwards.

There’s a sliver of skin. A tanned, cut jaw that you catch, and you shuffle closer, entranced. It’s selfish and dangerous but you want to be closer, want to rip the helmet off him like a kid at christmas, impatient and shaking.

Just as you indulged your most selfish desire in the slightest, leaned forward so you could press the thin wave of your dress closer, an earth-shattering boom came from outside, and the sandy ash of the desert painted the entire world bright orange. You were thrown to the side, glass breaking under your weight as you went flying into the misted glass of the greenhouse. You heard him shout your name; something strong, something to cling to as your head slumped toward the concrete floors.

The last thing you saw was his gloved hands reaching for you before everything went black.

@jillybean0706 @sparechild @stankferrik @doniveatry @local-mr-frog @littlegrungegirlaf @ghoulishsleep @pintsizedsunshine @kit-kat1211 @chvoswxtch @saradika @milo-and-moony @dontletyourchildrenwatchthis @s-u-t @namchai @mandalxrivn @djarinslove @cinnabunsprincess @lilhoebagsstuff @riizea @notsosecretspy @bluegalaxyprime @sarahmichelle5 @babygirlrex0504 @zorosbiggbooba @wakaladjarin @sharin1806 @deanstielneedsaspinoff @alwaysdjarin @heyheyheygaypay @clear-your-mind-and-dream @the-anchored-sailor-girll @placecalledspace @vibin-tings @blockysheep @jreads @my-mind-isnt-intact @jb3ar08 @junielov @misbehavingfirefly @teehee-47 @stargurl28 @puffy-fluff @howhighwepose @bbyaj @lake-145 @darkerthanspace @fatima-marisa @icedcoffeeisbettertbh @killerglyphs @booksboysandbaklava @unxwxre @fxzys @bentfdhfunncfcgh @ktheunready @guiltywhore @northernbluess @sasakipsposts s @queenofthekill @madammarmalade @ray-rook k @leithatnight @datenshi666 @reginageorje @amatis-gray @vickie5446 @ssweetart42

#the mandalorian x y/n #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin fic #din djarin #mando xyou #mando x reader #mando x y/n #pedro pascal #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction

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starberry-cupcake · 3 months

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To add to the pile of questionable tumblr behavior as of late, and as a psa at large:

I searched a mental health related tag last week and I got immediately a message from a bot called Koko. It intended to put me through to "people who are interested in mental health topics". In this tumblr message format, they didn't immediately facilitate hotlines, specific mental health care services or professional help, just "people".

I didn't respond to it. It's a bot. I didn't block it because I was interested to see where it would lead, but I didn't talk back. In the following days, it kept sending me messages, trying to get me to use their service.

Among the messages, they told me how it works, not that I had asked:

So, it sounds like a recipe for disaster in the making to me. My personal mental health information being passed through random tumblr users and getting a reply from someone who, not only isn't a professional or part of any sort of mental health care group I could get informed about, but they also will provide unsupervised answers to topics of great importance to someone who was looking into related tags.

But, tumblr user thewindandthewolves seems to endorse it, so let's check them out and see what they have to say.

Well. I'm posting the responses in chronological order, but I guess the raving review from a tumblr user was actually a kid who didn't give them consent to use their words as endorsement. Great look.

Today, I got a new message. Again, unprompted.

Second review person has apparently deleted their blog, so no background information on that one. If that's you, let us know.

I decided to look at their blog and read people's comments on their posts. The tumblr userbase came through with the receipts and linked this very detailed article about not only the bot and its founder but the sketchy study it uses as a foundation:

Here's an important quote from this article regarding the study in which Koko is founded as a clear notion of what consent means to them:

Morris [Koko's founder] declined to say whether he thought the subjects had meaningfully consented to the study. He told Motherboard that his goal was to establish a new best practice, where he would be able to transparently show his results to social media platforms. However, when asked if he felt that the experiment was transparent to the participants involved, he said he’d needed more time to think about it.

It's not a tough one to respond to, Morris.

I suggest you to please read the whole article but the way in which these people perform verbal gymnastics to try to justify the lack of consent from people involved is alarming.

About Tumblr's involvement, the article didn't get comments from them on it:

Stony Brook's IRB [Institutional Review Board] and multiple people tasked with overseeing the IRB did not respond to multiple emails from Motherboard about the study or the process. Facebook, Discord, and Tumblr responded to Motherboard’s initial emails but did not provide comment. Telegram did not respond to Motherboard’s request for comment.

The article also read the fine print of the Terms of Service, the only thing they provide as any type of consent to users, and the previous situation of using tumblr user posts without them knowing is illuminated further:

The current dynamic between Koko and its users more closely parallels the relationship between most tech companies and their users than that between a mental health provider and patient. Its Terms of Service, for instance, state that, “You grant Koko a fully paid, royalty-free, perpetual, irrevocable, worldwide, royalty-free, non-exclusive, transferable and fully sublicensable right (including any moral rights) and license to use, license, distribute, reproduce, modify, adapt, prepare derivative works of, publicly perform, publicly display, and otherwise fully exploit Your Content.”

As an editor, that sounds more like a US release agreement form for intellectual property, which should not be used as any form of mediation for personal data. It also alarms me to no end that the "Content" in question, in the example we have was, according to OP, a post they had made on their own blog about Kokobot and not a response or quote provided to Kokobot itself which, in tow, signifies that the data collected could come from anywhere and not only what you actively provide them. But what do I know.

I did more digging by myself and found even more articles denouncing the behavior of this bot and company, this being another interesting one:

This one included the following thing about the peer-counseling aspect of it and the use of AI to craft the supposed "people" responses:

During the AI experiment—which applied to about 30,000 messages, according to Morris—volunteers providing assistance to others had the option to use a response automatically generated by OpenAI's GPT-3 large language model instead of writing one themselves (GPT-3 is the technology behind the recently popular ChatGPT chatbot).

Apparently, Koko has been around for a while, with articles discussing it as far as, at least, 2017. Still, I had never before received unprompted, unwanted, invasive messages from it on tumblr until now.

If you post or search tags related to mental health, it's very likely that you'll get this bot in your messages or you already have. There are many layers of breach of ethics in this situation, in my opinion, each one worse than the last one.

Before using it or sharing any information at all (with any bot ever), I'd advice you to look into it beforehand. I know we are the "trust no bots" website and the fake ladybots have taught us well on how to spot them and protect ourselves, but this one in particular seems very dangerous to me.

I can't talk about whether or not this has helped anybody, I'm not coming anywhere near it, but the sole concept of this sounds like a bad idea. The advice provided doesn't seem to come from selected professionals the platform is endorsing legally but by random people (and/or AI) who are not only not trained for it, they aren't being compensated for work made for a program, which is probably making good money out of all the social media platforms it's working with. It also allows them to not be responsible for the advice given, to some extent.

Even if people with mental health concerns can discuss things between them in very productive and helpful ways, there isn't genuinely transparent communication if it's anonymously mediated by a company and there isn't a proper professional care that can accompany them from someone who is trained to facilitate it. You can talk to a friend without having to provide data to a company that could identify you since, according to the first article:

There is, further, no easy way to wall the collection of such data off from actual subjects, as anonymized datasets can often still be traced back to specific individuals. (A 2019 study found that 99.98 percent of Americans could be correctly re-identified in any dataset using 15 demographic attributes.) This is why privacy experts have been vocal about the exploitation of data privacy and the unreliability of an anonymous dataset.

I'm not here to tell anyone what to do or not to do but I'm here to share this because I know that I would appreciate the information if someone else had come across it instead. Make decisions with all the information you can get.

Throwing a wild idea for the hellsite but maybe staff and ceo should be a little less occupied in persecuting trans folk and more into reading the fine print of the unethical companies they're signing with, who are exploiting their userbase's mental health, especially that of literal children whose quotes are being used to endorse their business without any legal consent, aside from a terribly worded TOS. But what do I know.

#long post #luly rambles #mental health #tumblr dot hell

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strawberrypinky · 9 months

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a short, but very important psa

I have debated for a while whether or not to make this post at all; however, given recent developments and various conversations on this very topic (including one with my main girl, @legacygirlingreen), I feel as if I have a moral responsibility as an adult and as a writer.

From where I stand, there has been an alarming rise in incredibly toxic and non-consensual/dubiously consensual untagged content, displaying disturbing and wrongful behaviour as romantic or even healthy - both within the Hogwarts Legacy Fandom and outside, and there are a few things I wish to say.

Let me start this by saying that authors and readers alike are entitled to enjoy non-con/dub-con in fiction. Fanfiction, in particular, is supposed to be self-indulgent and fun, and there are hardly any limits when it comes to writing and reading. I have voluntarily read transgressional content - that is if it has been adequately tagged and labelled as such.

Unfortunately, however, I have come across various fics which have lacked that explicit tagging. And that is not okay.

I will not drop any names or fics in particular here - it is not my job to publicly humiliate or 'expose' anyone. I will, however, give a small lesson on consent now, because I do feel it's necessary:

In real life, consent is the most crucial aspect of any sort of sexual relationship. It needs to be voluntary, informed, unambiguous and affirmatively conscious - both parties need to agree upon any sexual activity.

Consent can only be given between two adults when both are sound of mind, meaning that 'consent' can not be given when someone is drunk or unconscious. If any party is not fully conscious and thus able to offer consent, it is sexual assault — or, in simpler terms, rape.

Anyone engaging in sexual relations needs to agree upon anything freely.

Coercing, gaslighting, love bombing or manipulating someone into something is not consent.

Sentences that include any variation of 'If you truly love me' or 'You love me, right?' are coercion, perhaps even a threat.

Consent can be given and withdrawn at any point.

"No". Is. A. Sentence.

The absence of a 'No' is not a 'Yes', and regardless of the nature of a relationship, if any of the involved parties revoke their consent, any activity must be stopped immediately. No 'If', 'So', or 'Buts' about it.

If you, as an author, write a fic that fails to include explicit consent or incorporate scenes that clearly showcase non-consensual conduct, you have a moral responsibility to both yourself and especially to your readers to include proper warnings and tags. I want to make it very clear once again that I have no issues with transgressional or non-consensual content in fiction as long as it's tagged accordingly, as it serves as both a warning and a reminder that, no, this is not proper or healthy behaviour.

Write whatever you want. But when you do, ensure that you consider your responsibility towards yourself and others when displaying what a healthy relationship should and needs to look like.

“Silence does not mean yes. No can be thought and felt but never said. It can be screamed silently on the inside. It can be in the wordless stone of a clenched fist, fingernails digging into palm. Her lips sealed. Her eyes closed. His body just taking, never asking, never taught to question silence” ― Amy Reed, The Nowhere Girls

#hogwarts legacy #aesop sharp #professor sharp #hogwarts legacy fic #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #leander prewett #fanfiction #consent #sex ed #autonomy #communication #this has been a psa

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eightfifteen · 1 year

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PSA: if you don't want this clogging up your feed, block the tag 'season 4 rewrite'

Mike knocks on Max' window to wake her up.

After a few minutes, a disheveled Max appears at the window, her glare falling away into confusion as she notices Mike. She glances towards her bedroom door, before sliding open the window and hissing down at him.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Mike stumbles, it only now really hitting him that this is real, not just some weird dream he can't wake up from. The anxiety in his chest is starting to build.

It's the last Friday of school before Spring Break, and he's supposed to take a plane tonight.

If he tells Max the truth, he risks starting a chain reaction, setting off another hell week. If he tells Max the truth, she might think he's crazy.

Besides, they have to get to school - he can't risk his parents punishing him by not allowing him to go to California.

But Max can keep a secret, right? Max isn't like Dustin who'd immediately sound the alarm - Max would rationalize, try and find another explanation first. Mike would like there to be another explanation, something other than the Upside Down or insanity. The gates are closed after all, for real this time. El is gone.

He wishes Will were here - he could have told Will the truth. Will would have understood. Will would have believed him, would have followed his lead.

#byler #mike wheeler #stranger things #season 4 rewrite #choose your own adventure #max mayfield

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ofluminance-a · 7 months

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on my way home from work, my dad texted me that he drove himself to the emergency room because he's had chest pains and headaches for about a week now. he has a history of heart problems, so we try not to take chances. he's 73.

i'm just feeling a little anxious and worried about everything. i'm also upset he didn't say anything until now about it. he should have told me right away. but theres nothing that can be done now.

i asked him if he wanted me to come ( the hospital is over an hr away ), and he said not until he knows more details about what's going on. so. i'm here, but i'm not in any kind of headspace to write. --i think i'm going to just try to relax tonight and take it easy. but, if he does get admitted, there will definitely be a drop in my activity here. just a small heads up.

i'll be on discord if anyone needs me. thanks for taking the time to read this, when i find out more information, i'll be sure to post an update on what's going on.

#⋆ ― ✧ out of chocolate. / ooc.#tw: hospital #tw: illness #tw: family problems #⋆ ― ✧ candy is dandy but liquor is quicker. / dandi.#⋆ ― ✧ sound the alarm. / psa.

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hungergamesheadcanons · 17 days

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QUICK PSA - REMEMBER ITS BETTER TO EAT SOMETHING THAN NOT

Coming out of a bad mental health spiral right now and just wanted to remind my other depression (and other mental health problems) besties that it's better to eat something than nothing.

Can't handle a sandwich? Just eat some cheese and ham and buttered bread.

Can't handle making a salad? Get yourself a pot of dressing, take the bag of spinach and dip it.

Can't handle making a full on dinner? Microwave meals are a-ok.

I know people struggle with a lot more than food in a depression slump (trust me I know) but even eating something can help you feel a little more energetic and a little bit better. Just remember, it's not laziness, sometimes it's all you can manage. And if that means eating a lump of cheese with ham wrapped around it because even getting the bread out of the bread bin is too much for you, that's perfectly fine.

Some of my other tips for handling a depression slump:

Don't have the energy to shower or bathe?

Wet wipes. Obviously they're not going to make you smell fantastic, but even just a quick cursory wipe down can make you feel refreshed.

Don't have the energy to brush your teeth?

Swill some mouthwash around if you have it, and if you don't the next time you have a good mental health day pop out and grab some. It may not be great, but it's better than nothing.

Washing up is not manageable?

I know we're trying to get rid of this over consumption stuff, but trust me getting paper plates and disposable cutlery has saved me so much time in my really bad slumps. And if you're not really bad but the washing up is still a lot, try some one pan dishes! My go to tends to be fried rice - throw it all in a pan, and then eat it from the pan. Fuck it! It's fine!

Laundry is piling up and you don't have the energy to do it?

Slouch clothes. Take one pair of clothes that are your slouch clothes, and in your worst moments they're your best friend. When you feel good enough to do laundry, they go in. Your other clothes have the privilege of going outside, so laundry won't pile up so high.

Bedsheets need washing but also your bed is your best friend and you're barely out of it?

Blankets! I have a little stash of blankets and if some of them need to be washed I just swap it out for another until I'm good enough to do laundry again!

People are trying to talk to you and you'd rather not?

Don't feel bad for airing them! If you do just say 'sorry I'm not doing too well at the minute, I'll talk later' and just hold out until you're feeling better. I promise you, if you've got the right kind of friends (who I luckily have) they won't mind. In fact, they might be more likely to send you helpful reminders and stuff.

Just advice in general?

- Open a window. I know I sound like every parent ever but getting rid of the stagnant air does make you feel better. Same with blinds or curtains.

- If you're like me and forget to eat and drink, set alarms. Some people find them annoying, but actually having a set schedule can be good.

- Don't think that following this advice makes you lazy and a cheater. If you wouldn't say that to your best friend, why would you say it to yourself?

- And if you're feeling well enough to socialise, get on a call with someone who won't overwhelm you. My best friend is a dab hand at talking at me while I'm in a slump just so I don't feel like I'm alone.

- Keep a bin bag with you. In my depression I rarely left my room, and accumulated a good amount of rubbish. Having a binbag minimises the mess you'll have to clean up. All I need to deal with now is clothes.

- Remember that your slumps won't last forever. They suck, and they feel like they're gonna last, but they don't. Highs and lows are totally normal, and you're gonna get through this, even if you gotta drag yourself along kicking and screaming.

- Remember to ask yourself if you're really gonna let that little pit monster win? Your depression, the literal manifestation of a parasite sucking at your soul, and you're gonna let that fucker win? You're more stubborn than that piece of shit, I know you are. So eat the lump of cheese, eat the six pack of crisps, sleep from 4pm to 4am, and show that little gremlin that you're the boss here.

With love and understanding, you got this guys!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

#psa #mental health #tw mental health #depression #depression tips #you got this #you are far more stubborn than that leech i know you are #you got this bestie 🩷🩷

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dorianepin · 5 months

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crucial yense characterization 2 me is that he was a sensitive prost fanboy child raised by his mom and much older sisters and was like tf are u allowed 2 talk to me like this :( when he was getting chewed out by briatore every weekend... anyway lowkey the hypothetical judgmental yense/op dynamic is so good because jenson does respect oscar's talent and acknowledges his potential but he was also 1) part of the pundit group sounding the alarm on "backstabbing" alpine and being like hey psa maybe don't make the same mistakes as i did! back in 2022 and 2) he never knows how to respond when people joke about their inputs and style being similar... it's so much easier to affect a façade of Sincerity around young brits or some guy who's been given an absolute shit hand since you can self-deprecate enough to get on his level but oscar is a SELF-ASSURED ENIGMA WHO'S NEVER WAVERED IN THE FACE OF ADVERSITY!!! went through the crb debacle while advised by yense's good mate aka sebvettel alphacuck #2 teammate and emerged VICTORIOUS!!! most of all when there is no obvious basis for a toxic imbalance it must be constructed pointedly and consciously and that's why it would be good.

#anyway i'm normal.#logan texting oscar like hey i swearrr he's so nice and cool 🥰 and oscar is like Literally not you too. we fucking get it mate

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courtofmuses-archive · 2 years

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Just a reminder! Please do not hesitate to turn asks into threads! I encourage you to do it. I don’t care if we have 84 threads. Go for it! It may take me a bit of time to reply to it but I promise I will~

#experiment 626 speaking (ooc)#sound the alarm (psa)

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forbidding-souda · 2 years

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may i request, Mikan Tsumiki, Kazuichi Souda, Gundham Tanaka, Korekiyo Shinguuji and Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu findin' their wendigo S/O severly ingerd in the woods? Im sorry, im a sucker for wendigos!!!

Mikan Tsumiki, Kazuichi Souda, Gundham Tanaka, Korekiyo Shinguuji, and Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu finding their wendigo S/O injured in the woods

psa and for anyone new: i am native and this is my culture. if you're going to say something 'informative' in the inbox just know: i know what you're going to say and I ! do not ! care !. Talk to the wall.

anyway why is this website so fucking annoying to write on now jesus christ have ya'll noticed this or is it literally just mine - update I think it's literally just mine because my sideblog doesn't do the thing this blog does.

mod souda life update idk: me and my friends went to disney and I met loki and then I cried W.

currently watching: shrek forever after

-Mod Souda

✫✫✫✫✫

Mikan Tsumiki

✫ She worries about you very little. You're an entity, and therefore you are something greater than her. She has hardly even seen you in pain, the times in which she thought you were in pain ended up being a false alarm. Those times were triggered by the buckets of blood covering your body. Not your blood, of course, but she didn't realize that fast enough. Beyond using her nurse-experience to clean you up (you notice her slow movement when it comes to wiping you down as well as her soft tone) she really doesn't know much about how to treat you. You were once human, yes of course, but does your body still function like one?

It's a truly horrific sight: you curled up in the shade of a tree that seemed to have died many months ago. When Mikan came across it, she immediately held onto the straps of her tote as she raced over, her mouth releasing gasps of worry, sounds she didn't even hear. You unwound yourself, holding yourself up on your hands and feet and watching her approach.

"Oh no," she keeps repeating. "Oh no, oh no, oh no."

You want to wave it off, shaking your body hand at her, but she is crouching and assessing the wounds before you can even try to.

She asks if it hurts, her dull, purple eyes staring up at you with the brightness of an amethyst. You have never seen her this focused before. The steadiness of her hands and the furrowing of her brows is something new. You can hardly keep your eyes off of her.

It's a cut from a branch on your thigh, that's all it is. But it stings and hinders your movement. You don't like being in pain.

She bandages you up as if you were a child, kissing the gauze and looking up at you for approval. You ruffle her hair with your clawed hands.

✫ She trips all the time in that land of yours. She scrapes herself, gets leaves caught in her hair, and falls into spits of mud.

✫ ^ You have given up trying to catch her. You just watch her fall.

✫ She doesn't see you as something dangerous, and you found that out rather quickly. She always blushes when you look at her too deeply, and she stumbles whenever she refers to the things she feels about you. It's odd to be treated with such a care.

✫ You hardly get hurt so she hardly has to treat you, but still, she carries all of her instruments in her bag. She likes the thought of being the stronger person, especially considering you're the most dangerous one.

✫ You're an entity yet she gets to take care of you.

✫ It's like her dream come true.

Kazuichi Souda

✫ He is incredibly nervous when it comes to having to be to your assistance. He considers you something above him, so when he sees you sprawled out on the dirt, breathing slowly and eyes closed, his mind starts to race. What is there to do? He can't pick you up and drag you back into his home - he can't even do it if he tried. He thinks about running home and finding something. It reminds him of when he was just beginning to work on his self-driving motorcycle, and after awhile of fucking with the mechanics, to test if it would work he would grab the handles and run down the road, giving it energy before letting it go. He would be running too fast to stop immediately, and he'd be running alongside the bike, his lungs burning and his mouth open. Can he run like that again?

"H-Hey." His shaky hands travel your form, trying to find the source of the bleeding. He is too scared to touch you. He hovers like a ghost. "I'm here."

You can hear him but you can't find it within yourself to respond, instead you just wave a hand, putting in minimal effort to move. You can feel his eyes on you, the blanket he pulled from the house brushes against your cold flesh. Just get it over with, you think. Another part of you is curious - what is he going to do? How does he expect to treat a monster like yourself?

He presses his lips to the base of your skull. "You'll be okay."

Those are lines he's heard in movies, comforting things he knows he is supposed to say. You're not something that watches movies, and you're not something that even vaguely consumes media, so these are the words of an angel to you.

I'm going to be okay, you think. I'm going to be okay.

✫ He honestly has no idea what to use, he just knows that you're supposed to press something to the bleeding or whatever. He is too panicked to even think to look it up - he doesn't have time for that!

✫ His main goal is to try and use his words to make you feel better.

✫ He never realized how useless he can be in situations like this - of course he had a clue, but actually being there is so...

✫ He is neither good with his words nor steady enough to be good at his hands beyond repairing and upgrading machinery, and you are not a machine, far from it, which makes this ten times worse.

✫ The way he goes about it is just supporting you as you heal in a natural way.

Gundham Tanaka

✫ Even though he would never think of you like this directly, he cannot deny the fact that you are more animal than human. This has its benefits as well as its flaws. Truthfully, it helps him understand you better, yet at the same time it puts errors in the two of you's levels of communication. Some of the things you do radiant beast - the way your head cocks when you hear a sound, or the way you press your head closer to him when you want affection. He doesn't hang around humans, not too much, so he is personally unsure as to if this is something humans usually do. He heals you as if you were an animal.

He's calm as he does it as well. His hands do not waver, his eyes do not wander. You cannot determine if he thinks of you as his patient. Under the heavy bleeding and the lax muscles, he presses his shirt against the wound. His jacket is tossed, resting beside him, as he sits shirtless in the nights air.

It's the sound of your breaths, that's all that is there.

He tries to sit you up, but it all depends on your compliance. He's strong enough to rest your upper half on his body if he stands up tall enough.

He doesn't say a word. His lips are tight and his neck is stiff. His mind is too busy. You're going to live, he knows that much. You are the strongest creature he's ever encountered, both emotionally and physically. You're going to live.

✫ Imma be real I don't think he even knew you could bleed.

✫ He is definitely taking mental note in his head about how long it takes you to heal and such.

✫ He holds your hand: your big, bloodied hand. The wet blood seeps into the folds of his palm. He doesn't mind, he doesn't even wipe it away.

Shinguuji Korekiyo

✫ Your homely seclusion in the forest is a 43 minutes drive away from his ward. He has no problem traveling all that way, especially when it's to see you, but he does have a problem with the idea of driving all the way back just to get you somewhere safe. He didn't bring anything helpful with him, why would he? To him, you are this supernatural entity that can have no harm inflicted on it. Why, then, why are you laying in the dirt in a puddle of your own blood. There's a hospital just 14 minutes away. Maybe he can get some help, but what a stupid idea that is, as there is nobody except him that can help you.

He tries to communicate with you. "Where is it coming from?" He asks. You have to form words, you know it's the only way he can come up with a solution. He will not assume what is wrong nor assume the way you want him to fix it.

You have no issue with talking to him anyway. You love it when he acknowledges you.

He checks you gums, checks what color they are. "You're okay," he says in a bit of an off-put tone (does he truly believe what he is saying?).

What he does is try to clean you up. He grabs something and tries to wipe the blood away, will this make you more comfortable?

His bare hand runs up and down your chest, the bandages around his hands long discarded, as he tries to soothe you. "You're going to heal from this in a very quick manner, I can sense it already. The energy you contain goes beyond any pain you may be feeling."

You just hum, placing your head upon some leaves, basking in the feeling of his flesh.

✫ It's the trick of the light, it must be. You do heal rather fast, he knew it, he knew it would be true.

✫ You pass his expectations seemingly every time he sees you.

✫ He stays with you that entire night, by the way. He stays with you and makes sure you're fine.

✫ Even when the moon raises and he can't even see his own hands, he stays there with you. Whatever animal is out there, they must fear your presence, weak or otherwise.

✫ He hums songs to you as he waits for your strength to return.

✫ You truly have never felt more at peace then there with him.

Fuyuhiko Kuzuryuu

✫ There are forests all around city, and at this point, he can navigate them all. He recognizes the claw marks that you leave around when you walk, he recognizes your footsteps and your stench. What he doesn't recognize is the blood trail. A wild animal you killed? No, you never drag it away, you eat it where it lay. When he discovers your body, warm and still, he feels the most powerful wave of emotions come over him.

His hands start to tremble and his body starts to shake. He speaks out loud, whispering small no's to himself, his hands too scared to even touch you. Will trying to help just make it worse? What if he's the thing that ends up killing you? His breaths are fast and bothered.

"H-Hey now," he tries to speak. "Please talk to me."

It takes a second before your eyes even open. He doesn't notice, he is facing your back, and you wait before you even announce your conscious state. You like hearing him beg.

He notices the twitch of your finger, and immediately he sniffs and wipes his nose on his sleeve.

You turn your head. "You're crying."

The blood still pours from your body - it doesn't stop but you stop feeling it.

"Because I was so... fucking scared," his face is extremely red.

You put your claw to his cheek, touching the wetness, acting surprised as you lean closer to him. Every movement hurts but you deal with it just for him security.

✫ He worries so much about you. You live in a more dangerous lifestyle than he does. One day he can go into the woods to find you and you'll be gone forever - and he'll never know what happened.

✫ It's something he fears.

✫ So when he walked into the depths to find you alone in your own blood, he thought his life was over, he thought this would be it.

✫ He can't stand the thought of being away from you.

✫ He wants to protect you more than anything, though he recognizes that you will always be the one protecting him, even if you're bloodied and weak.

#mikan tsumiki x reader #monster lover #monster s/o #kazuichi souda x reader #kazuichi soda x reader #gundham tanaka #korekiyo shinguji x reader #fuyuhiko kuzuryu x reader

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