#AND it's also so funny honestly. i get so protective of our medics. we stumbled upon a demoknight in our sewers i mean me and the medic

[automatonknight]

me when i play the class that medics uber and i get. ubered

[katehuntington]

Title: Black Dog - part four Word count: 4475± words Episode summary: When  Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part four summary: Dean closes in on the location that the coordinates lead to, and soon begins to grasp the magnitude of this case. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only!  Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury   and  medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of   demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of  torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and   flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies,   depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09​​​​ & @deanwanddamons​​​​​. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

     Darrington, Washington      December 2nd, 2005 - Present Day

 ��   Two days later, Dean and his Impala roll down a two-lane highway through Stillaguamish Valley. Mountains rise from the earth as if they are still growing, overshadowing the villages beneath. Rays of sun pierce through the clouds, spotlights of the sky shining down on the land below.  

     It’s not nearly as warm as it was in Texas. In fact, Dean has the heaters on to cast out the cold. The radio started jamming some time ago, not because of the presence of a ghost or some other supernatural force, but simply because the high mountains are interfering with the radio signal. To break the silence, Dean threw in an old Metallica mixtape, one he used to listen to whenever he was on the road alone. Enter Sandman rages through the speakers as Dean taps his thumb on the steering wheel in the rhythm of the drums. 

     He needs his music right now. It’s the only thing that can keep him sane. The evident empty space next to him and the silence that filled the car before the screaming guitars did, had him almost turn around at least half a dozen times. The knot in his stomach hasn’t exactly loosened ever since he left Sam on the side of the road, but with his father’s orders in mind, he kept pushing north. You’re here now, Dean. Might as well solve this case.

     When he crossed the Texas - Oklahoma state border, he stopped at an internet cafe and traced the location of the coordinates. It turns out that 48°13’11.00”N 121°41’4045”W isn’t an abandoned factory building in the American wastelands or a graveyard which happens to be the final resting place of a not so peaceful spirit. These coordinates are those of a pass on the south side of a mountain range, west of a small town called Darrington, located in Washington State. 

     When he searched for articles on anything out of the ordinary in that area, he stumbled on a bunch of missing person reports and killings in the local newspapers. The growing population of grey wolves and bears, plus the city closing in on nature, are the causes of this unusual animal behavior, according to the wildlife services. Apparently Dean’s father doubts that the animals have anything to do with it. The missing people and casualties are random. Dean couldn’t find a link between any of them, so he went on and eventually got himself on Arlington-Darrington Road, heading for the small village. 

      As far as Dean knows, the last attack took place nine days ago. It happened at the exact location of the coordinates, where a family was hiking. The teenage daughter and the father were killed by God knows what, only the nineteen-year-old son survived. He expects the local police will know more about his state and current whereabouts. Having a word with the poor kid is on the hunter’s to-do list, once he finds him. 

     Dean looks over to the right, where a high peak stands out from the other mountains surrounding him. It seems ominous and beautiful at the same time, intimidating anyone who enters the valley as it reaches for the sky. That’s the place where it went down; Whitehorse Mountain. 

    The hunter carries on and passes a church and a short airstrip, then he enters the town of Darrington. Not quite sure where he’s supposed to go, he follows the main road, and soon spots the police department on his right. The Impala turns to the curb and through his windshield, the driver takes a look around. The benefits of a small town; everything is close by. Across from the police department he finds a diner and a small hotel, no need to drive around to find a place to stay and to eat. First things first, though, he has to figure out what he’s up against. 

     Somewhat carelessly, the hunter rummages through the several false ID’s and badges in the glove compartment, choosing one that his father printed a couple of months back. As he gets out of the car and walks around it, he checks out the ID as he mouths the false name.      “Glenn Frey. Brilliant, Dad,” he chuckles, instantly recognizing the name of one of the founders of the Eagles.

     Confident, Dean steps inside the governmental building.      The deputy, who’s reading a file by a large desk in the corner of the room, looks up from his work. “Can I help you?”      “Yeah, I’m Glenn Frey from Wildlife Services,” Dean flashes his identification as he walks up to the counter.      “Ah, you’re here for the attacks.” The officer stands up and walks over, after which he shakes Dean’s hand. “Deputy Steven Morson.”      “Is the sheriff in?” Dean wonders, getting straight to the point.      “Not at this moment, but he will be later on,” the young deputy replies.

     The hunter purses his lips, letting a sound of discontent slip past his teeth. “I was hoping to gather some more information about the Cleveland family.”      “Your colleague missed something?” deputy Morson assumes.      Oh oh, the real rangers got here first? Quickly, Dean improvises, the slight hesitation barely noticeable. “We just don’t want to miss any details, make sure we know what we’re up against.”      The deputy nods at that. “No problem. I’ll get the documents for you.”

     He moves over to the file cases against the back wall, opens one of the doors with a key, and leafs through the files. As he’s working, Dean takes his time to have a look around  the small police station. Pictures of officers decorate the bleak walls, together with a collection of medals and declarations. The sheriff’s office is separated from the main desk. A bit further in the back, Dean sees the door that leads to the holding cells. It looks pretty much like every small town’s department he’s been in; way too familiar. There have been several occasions that he saw places like this from behind bars.

     “Here you go.” The deputy interrupts his thoughts as he hands the file to Dean.      With a grateful nod, so-called Glenn Frey from Wildlife Services lays out the documents on the desk. Attentive, he scans the pages as he flips through them, but there isn’t much there.      Puzzled, Dean faces the policeman. “This is it? No imaging, death reports?”      “The remains haven’t been brought down the mountain yet. Three hunters went up to track them down, bring the bodies back and shoot the animals if they get the chance, but it snowed for quite a while a few days back, so I think they got delayed,” the deputy explains.      Dean hums at that, but doesn’t say anything. And I think they got killed, he ponders quietly.      “So all you have is an eyewitness report of ...?” Dean concludes, leaving the line open for the deputy to fill in.      “David, the oldest son. Poor guy,” he sighs.      “Got hurt bad?” Dean presumes.      “No, not at all. He didn’t have a scratch on him. But what he saw… Well, read for yourself,” The policeman nods at the page on the counter, and gives the ranger some space.

     Dean scans the eyewitness report intently, taking out the details that matter to him most. Tear wounds, bite marks, limbs shredded off, major blood loss. By the looks of it, the two victims were torn in pieces. The description of the suspected killer is rather poor, though. Apparently Deputy Morson notices the change in Dean’s facial expression, because he comments on it right away.

     “The kid lost his entire family, so I can imagine it was all a blur, but he said the animal was ‘invisible’. He also claimed he heard a wolf-like howl right before the incidents happened, but nothing like any grey he has ever heard, apparently. It seems unlikely, doesn’t it? One lone wolf attacking people? I think he kind of lost it, if I may speak honestly,” he says with a little chuckle. 

     Dean, however, doesn’t find it funny at all and keeps a straight face. “Why don’t we both stick to our fields of expertise, shall we? Is he still in town?”      The deputy clears his throat awkwardly. “He is, Sir. He refuses to go back home until his family is recovered from the mountain.” 

     The hunter nods, able to get behind that reasoning. Foolish, but understandable. Either way, for his investigation on this case it’s quite convenient that David is still here. The report doesn’t give him a lot to go on, and he really needs to know more before he sets foot onto the creature’s hunting grounds.      He straightens his back and looks the deputy in the eye before he exits the police department. “Tell me, where can I find David?”      “He has a room at the Inn, but I’ve seen him in church a lot,” the young officer says.      “Thank you, I’ll see if I can find him.” Dean knocks on the wooden counter before he turns away.

     When he exits the building, he halts on the doorstep, narrowing his eyes to shield them from the bright surroundings outside. Snowy mountain tops reflect the sun, a chilly wind rolling through the valley. The hunter adjusts the collar of his leather coat to protect himself from the cool breeze.

     “You’re a ranger, aren’t you?”      He glances aside, finding an older man on a bench by the grass. The grey-haired local glances at the badge in Dean’s hand, before he makes eye-contact.      “I am,” Dean confirms, despite it being a lie.      The elder nods at that, averting his gaze to the peak on their west. The deep wrinkles become more evident while he folds his boney hands around the handle of his cane. “That missing family? You won’t find them.”      Frowning at that, Dean watches him, curious if he knows more. “What makes you say that?”

     “Three of this town’s best hunters have gone up there, they should’ve been back by now,” the senior says with a voice raw from age. “If you’d ask me, I’d say they befell the same fate.”      Dean tilts his head slightly in agreement, beholding the menacing scenery as well. The wise man seems to know that there is more going on than meets the eye at the treacherous slopes.      “Have you seen anything up there?” he wonders.      The old local shakes his head, his stare turning to the icy pavement. “No one has seen anything. It moves too fast. I’ve heard it, though.”

      Intrigued, Dean turns his head to face the man on the bench again. There is a fear in his eyes that seems out of character for the old soul who has without a doubt seen so much in his long life.      “I’ve lived here for seventy years. Have protected my cattle from quite a few predators during that time. Grizzlies, mountain lions, coyotes, wolves. But what I’ve been hearing lately is unlike any animal I’ve ever heard,” he tells.

     Plenty might think the local has gone mad, but Dean has a growing respect for the senior. If he ever had any doubt that this was his kind of deal, it is taken away now.      “Well, whatever is up there, I’ll take care of it,” he claims, sure to succeed.      “You’re not the first one to say that, and yet no one has returned, but that boy,” The old farmer nods in the direction of the church. “If I were you, I would leave the mountain be.”      “Can’t do that,” Dean shakes his head. “More people will disappear.”      “So will you if you go to find that beast.” 

     The elder’s blue eyes surprise Dean when they meet his green ones. They are so piercing and weary, that it startles him, but he manages not to flinch. Instead, he tries to read the man of age, who has one last message for him.      “There is something evil in those woods.”

     The much younger hunter can’t stop himself from swallowing thickly at the intense stare that comes his way. The local is desperate to change the ranger’s opinion, pleading with him to reconsider. Dean won’t, however, although he takes the warning seriously. The hunter might not know what he will be up against once he heads up, but it’s beginning to dawn on him it’s something unlike he has ever faced before.

     On the corner of Commercial Avenue and Riddle Street, Dean halts in front of a small church. The sign in front of the house of God, which is called St. John Mary Vianney Catholic, has his stomach reacting in a way he didn’t expect it to. The fact that both his parents’ names stare back at him, gives this place a whole other meaning. A strange feeling comes to him as a chill runs down his spine. It bothers him, because he’s not one of those new-agey kids who believes in destiny. Of course, this is just an odd coincidence, but somehow it feels like he was meant to be here. 

     Cautiously, he steps up the porch and enters the building. The church seems deserted, even the priest is nowhere to be seen. Light from outside falls through the stained glass and brings color to the house of the Holy. Candles are lit by the altar and have been burning for a while, given the way the wax has dripped down the silver candleholders. Several smaller flames flicker at the sidewall, worshipping the statue of the Virgin Mary. 

     As Dean enters the small church and walks through the central aisle between the rows of wooden benches, he spots a figure on the front row. Although the hunter’s footsteps echo through the old building, the guy apparently doesn’t hear him coming in. He absently stares at the statue of Jesus, nailed to a cross. And so Dean halts at the end of the aisle, trying to judge the situation and how to approach. Either the young man on the bench is ignoring him, or he’s so trapped in his thoughts that he has shut himself out from the world around him. Dean decides to say something to break through to him.      “Are you David?”

     Slowly, the young man glances aside, but doesn’t look Dean in the eye. His gaze is empty and beholds immense devastation. As if he has cried so much over the last couple of days, that he’s unable to express himself any longer.      “Who are you?” he asks with a raspy voice.      For a moment there, the hunter considers taking out his ID, but then he changes his mind. Sam is always far better in these situations, so he tries to imagine how his little brother would approach David. He decides to be upfront.      “I’m Dean,” he answers.

     The introduction doesn’t trigger a response, though; the only living member of the Clevelands continues to stare into the nothingness absently. Dean exhales, pondering. How the fuck is he going to get through to this kid? It’s clear as day David doesn’t want company, and right about now, he could use Sam’s people’s skills. His little brother can work miracles with a few kind words and a pleading gaze.      A bit ill-at-ease, Dean looks down at his feet. “I heard about your family. I’m sorry.”      The silence that follows is even more evident under these high ceilings. The acoustics should allow every sound to be amplified, yet it remains eerily quiet.      “I know how you feel,” he continues carefully.      David scoffs. “No, you don’t.”

     His firm answer catches the hunter off guard. The young man is right, he doesn’t know how he feels, not entirely. Dean didn’t see his entire family die, but the sound of his mother’s horrifying scream still rips through his mind every now and then. 

     For a moment he goes back in time. He doesn’t remember much of his early childhood, just bits and pieces, stills taken from a movie. But what went down on November 2nd 1983, the one day he wishes he could erase from his memory, he can recall in detail. 

     He remembers how he was comfortably sitting in his mother's arms. She held him close, she always did. She carried him into Sam’s room and they wished his little brother goodnight. Dad was there too, it was the last time he remembers him truly smiling. He remembers being tucked in by both of them. ‘Angels are watching over you,’ Mom said, right before he drifted off. Then he was awoken by the chilling cry that would continue to haunt him until this day. He remembers rushing out of bed and into the hallway, where he froze to the ground. From Sam’s nursery, a rage of flames heated up the entire house. Then his father appeared from the fire, holding little Sam in his arms, handing him over.

     Take your brother outside as fast as you can, don’t look back! Now, Dean! Go!

     Even though the heat was unbearable, as was the toxic smoke that filled every room of the house, he ran downstairs as his father told him to and eventually found himself in the front yard, looking up at his burning home. Then Dad came out, snatched both his sons from the grass, and carried them away from the house, after which moments later the second floor exploded. As he looked over his Dad’s shoulder at the burning remains of their house, he knew: he would never see his mother again. 

     Dean swallows with difficulty, coming back to the present. “Believe me. I know.”      A bit surprised by that statement, David looks up into Dean’s eyes, holding his gaze for a few long seconds. “You’ve lost your family too?”      “My mother,” he replies. “She was murdered.”

     Dean looks away for a brief moment. His Mom’s death was hard on him then, it still is now. It might have happened twenty-two years ago, yet avenging her is what motivates him to keep going. She is the reason his father is willing to go to the edge of the earth and beyond to catch the son of a bitch that killed her. That defining moment kickstarted the hunt that would turn out to be his life’s work. That night, he lost so much more than just his mom. 

     Dad never recovered from her death, condemning his boys to a career of hunting. They are soldiers now, fighting a war of which they can’t grasp the magnitude. A crusade against the monster that tore the family apart. Ironically and sadly, that same crusade seems to have driven the Winchesters apart even further than Mary’s killer ever did. 

     Look at him; he has no idea where his father is and he got into a huge fight with Sam. He is truly on his own right now, unsure if his remaining family will return. What if right now, Sam walks into a trap? What if Dad gets killed by the same thing that killed Mom? 

     Suddenly it strikes him. David is what Dean is afraid to become; he’s alone.

     “What happened on that mountain?” Dean asks, trying to focus on the case again before his mind spirals out of control, but the only survivor cuts him off immediately.      “I don’t wanna talk about it.”      “I think you do, but you’ve given it up because no one believes what you are saying,” Dean replies, seeing right through it.

     Perplexed, David looks aside, eying the stranger who is still standing in the aisle, in the middle of the church.      “Like I said, I know how you feel,” Dean repeats, reading the question from his face. “Why don’t you tell me what happened?”      The young guy shakes his head, defeated. “You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”      “Try me,” Dean encourages.

     With a sigh, David looks down at his feet while the hunter observes him. His dark hair is a mess and he has a stubble growing. Blood and dirt has embedded in the prints of his fingers and around his nails, the blood of his family that seems impossible to wash off.

     “Dad, Ruth and I were hiking on the north side of Whitehorse Mountain. We started out early in the morning and everything went smoothly. We had about an hour of light left, when me and my sister reached the location where we planned to set up camp first. Then it started…” he tells as he folds his shaking hands together. “Ruth and I heard a cry of some sort of animal. For a moment we thought it was a grey wolf, but I’ve heard them before, this… this was different. It took Dad ages to get over the Lone Tree Pass, I thought he might have some equipment trouble or something, so I went back.”

     His jaw clenches and he takes a breath, now he has come to the hard part. Tears fill  his eyes, but he is able to hold them back.      “I found him, against a tree. There was blood everywhere, his chest was… he was torn into pieces. He - he had bite wounds and nail scratches all over him, so deep that I - I could see the bone, his - his intestines. His arm was s - severed,” David stammers.      “And your sister?” Dean asks sympathetically.

     A short pause and he can see in David’s eyes that he relives the haunting memory every time he talks about it.      “Same thing... I heard her scream, but by the time I got there, it - it was too late. There was barely anything left. She was only sixteen,” he reveals with a trembling voice.      David rubs his face and wipes away the tears, but he stays strong.      “Then I heard it, this deep growl. It felt like it was right behind me. When I turned around I didn’t see it, but I heard the call again. Then everything returned to normal,” he remembers.      “What do you mean, back to normal?” Dean questions, curious about his choice of words.

     The young guy looks up at him again from the bench. He hesitates, as if what he’s about to say will just confirm that he’s completely losing his mind. “The mountain came back to life. Birds started singing again, the wind blew through the trees. Right after the first cry, everything went dead. You could hear a penny drop in that forest,” David tells him. “I don’t know how to describe it. It… It was surreal.”      Intently, Dean listens to him and doesn’t give any sign of disbelief what so ever. “Then what happened?” he asks, intrigued.

     “I ran. I knew I needed help and the only place where I could find it was down in the valley. So I ran.” David drops his gaze again, ashamed. “I’m such a coward. I should’ve called it in with the satellite phone. I should’ve stayed by their side.”      “There’s nothing you could have done for your family. You would’ve ended up dead if you had stayed,” Dean says, trying to relieve him from his guilt.      Carelessly, the lone survivor shrugs. “Maybe that would have been better.”

     Dean keeps quiet, because he understands where he’s coming from. If your entire family ends up dead, what is there to live for? He wouldn’t want to stay behind either.

     “You - you know what the worst part is?” David stammers. “I have absolutely no idea how to explain what happened. It wasn’t an animal, I know that much. But if it wasn’t, what the hell was it? There’s just no explanation.”      “There is,” the hunter states.      “What? That it was bigfoot?” David scoffs sarcastically.      “There’s no such thing as bigfoot… I think,” Dean answers, doubting his own words the moment he says them.      “Then what killed my family?” the young Cleveland wants to know.      “I’m not sure yet, but I can tell you, it ain’t no wolf. It’s not from our world,” Dean states.      “I don’t care from what world it is. I want it dead,” David makes clear.

     “I’ll track it and get rid of it,” the man next to him promises.      Determined, the mourning teenager gets up from the bench. “Good. When are we heading out?” ��    But Dean holds out his hand in front of him, stopping him. “Whoa, dude. I don’t think it’s wise for you to come along.”      “Do you know anything about that mountain? Do you know anything about the trails? About hiking?” David questions.      “I’ll manage, that’s beside the point. This is gonna get ugly, David. You don’t want to be a part of this,” Dean makes clear, trying to discourage him.

     “Trust me, that mountain is one big monster by itself. If you don’t know her paths, you’ll get lost and die. I know these woods like the back of my hand. Together we’ll have a chance. I’m not gonna sit here while you go up there and get killed just like those three hunters,” he argues, his voice gaining strength.      Dean huffs. Smart kid. He’s got spunk, alright.      “Whatever it is, it killed my family. So don’t tell me I can’t be part of this,” the young guy insists firmly. “If you had the chance to face who killed your mother, wouldn’t you take it?”

     Dean doesn’t have an answer ready for that one, he wasn’t expecting a curveball. David is right. If he had even the smallest opportunity to have a share in the fight against the monster that killed Mom, he wouldn’t even have to think about it.      “Alright,” the hunter sighs. “But if anything happens to you--”      David doesn’t even let him finish and walks past him towards the exit. As he does, he looks over his shoulder. “What? Like I have anything to lose?”

     Dean watches him leave, the corner of his mouth pulling into a small smile. He recognizes himself in the kid; hands on, not cowering in the face of danger, willing to do everything for his family. He won’t be able to stop the only remaining Cleveland, and so he follows.

     As he descends down the steps of the church, he finds David standing on the sidewalk, staring up at the sky. Before them, Whitehorse Mountain stands tall, looking down on them like a dark, looming thunderstorm. That’s what they need to overcome, that’s their challenger. 

     It is going to be a difficult climb, but fighting a vicious creature along the way makes things a little more complicated. Dean wishes he had Sam to back him up on this one, because he’s sure his smart brother would have an idea what they are up against. Even though he’s not fond of having a civilian to worry about on a hunt, David does know this terrain. Dean has to face reality here; he’s going to need a guide. He only hopes that he can bring the kid back down, safe and sound. Enough people have died on that mountain already.

Story fact: the church mentioned in this chapter was the actual name of a church in Darrington in 2005. Came across in during research, and just had to use it!

Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate  every single one of you, but if you  do want to give me some extra love,  you are free to reblog my work or  buy me coffee (Link in bio at the  top of the page)

Read part 5 here

[some-dr-writings]

Kiibo takes care of sick reader

·       At the time you didn’t think much of it. Awaking that morning it just felt like any other bad, allergy season ridden day. Though you had not left your apartment for the last several days, cooped up trying to get your work done, it seemed the fresh autumn wind and pollen had gotten to you once again just as it had any other year. You simply took some pain medicine and kept a box of tissues by your side, making sure all windows were closed and fans turned off just as you had done every other year. You were simply thankful it was not spring, that, was a true nightmare… Or so you thought. The day carried on as usual really, some chores got done such as scrubbing down the bathroom, cooking your comfort food to cheer yourself up a bit, going through that final edit before submitting your work. By the time bedtime had rolled around you were actually feeling a little better and hoped by the next morning you’d be right as rain.

·       Through the night as you tried to sleep something inside you quickly morphed. From a dry, runny nose to this dull throbbing, stinging pain that seemed to course through you. At first you assumed your nose dried up so much it was in pain again so you simply took more pain medicine, but… it just wouldn’t go away. You heard and felt your every last breath grow heavier, quivering and quaking under some strange pressure. The quilts of your bed, unbearable, suffocating and drowning you in that oppressive heat, yet even when you kicked them off, that heat still just hung there. You just wanted to sleep. You hated this, you hated being awake so early in the morning, but. You. Just. Could. Not. Sleep. You tried sleeping. You really did. You laid there for hours with your eyes shut, but that dull throbbing pain just would not let you. You didn’t want to, but you caved into the temptation of doing… something! If you had to be awake, you could at least be productive, right? Yes, it stimulated your brain, certainly keeping you awake, but… You were exhausted and you hoped that pushing your body a little would be enough to get you to collapse so you could drift off and not be conscious of the pain for even a little while… But that hope was in vain. Try as you might, you couldn’t concentrate on anything, only making your frustrations increase just as rapidly as that stinging pain seemed to zap your muscles forcing them to endlessly tense up, causing them to become sore and tremble under the constant pressure of being so tight. This quickly evolved into the back of your neck killing you as well as forming a wretched headache.

·       You hated this.

·       You just wanted sleep. Was that truly so much to ask?

·       Laying back in bed you stared into that inky darkness as thoughts tried to form but were quickly cut off by that… everything.

·       You just couldn’t do anything, but were forced to stay awake through it all? Really? “That’s just cruel.” You mumbled that to yourself, rolling out of bed, and trudging into the living room. There you found your charging phone and mindlessly picked it up, fiddling with the messages, then some app you downloaded long ago but soon forgotten.

·       With that constant ringing in our head and ears muffled, hearing proved to be a challenge. Something you were normally rather fearful off, but in the moment, couldn’t care less about. At this point, you honestly couldn’t notice new symptoms in the ever-growing pile.

·       You mindlessly droned on, sliding fluffy puff balls to make them explode came to a stop when some text suddenly appeared at the top of your screen. ‘I’m at the door. If you’re not feeling up to unlocking it, would you tell me if anyone has a spare key so I could ask them to let me in?’

·       … huh?

·       Someone was at the door you guess.

·       On unsteady footing you stumbled to the door. Too bad you couldn’t hear the distinctive soft metal clicks you oh so enjoyed hearing when unlocking the door, it was one of the little things in life you loved so much, perhaps it would have put you at ease a little.

·       “Ah, Y/N! Here.” His voice was quiet, yet you could still make out the words, the concern seeping from his tone striking you the most. He held your shoulders in a firm grip, keeping you from wavering and toppling over right then and there. “Kiibo? What?... why are you here?” This momentarily caught him by surprise. “You texted me. Do you not remember? Is our condition worse than I thought?” He placed down the bags he had on hand and lead you back to bed. “Wait? I… I did look through my messages, but I texted you?” He sat beside you and placed his hand on your head. “Yes. I’ll show you.” Scrolling through the messages on his phone you saw you had indeed texted, Kiibo. It was semi-coherent with spaces missing or not where hey should be, capitalization seemingly popping up out of nowhere. You were listing off our many aches and pains. Last time Kiibo had sent you, other than saying he was at the door, was how he’d be over to your place right away. “oh, sorry. I don’t know what’s happening, I don’t want you to stay here and get this bug too if I’m sick and it’s not my allergies acting up again.” For a moment Kiibo simply stared at you quirking a brow up, smiling, amused by something. “… You must really be out of it. But it’s no wonder, you’re burning up. Lay down and leave the rest to me!” Before you could say another word, he had already left.

·       He soon returned with two small paper bags. “Have you taken any medicine?” “uh, just my prescribed pain meds.” “And when was that?” “Twenty-one, about an hour before I tried going to bed.” “It’s two now, can you take more?” “… Uh. I think so?” “Where is it?” “Ah, yeah, we can just check! Bathroom, lowest shelf on the right, behind the mirror, door, thing. That thing.” “Got it!” After placing the two small bags on the bedside table he sprinted away.

·       Being here, trying to care for you, it was a little funny to Kiibo. As he opened the mirror cabinet he recalled how when Shuichi was trying to help him find jobs and they tested out him being a nurse robot. A faulty endeavor since he only had the strength of an old man and could not carry Shuichi, but the main premise was not truly tested. Closing the cabinet with the pill bottle in hand something caught his gaze in the reflection. A small hand towel that hung on the shower door. Perfect! He turned on the faucet, setting it to as cold as it could go before placing the small hand towel under the water. Waiting for the towel to absorb the cold he thought more on the premise. Long ago Kiibo had accepted he was not human but a robot. But that did not mean he was not a person. It was also useful. As a robot he could do things humans cannot. Like care for a sick person and not get sick himself. He’d just need a thorough cleaning to make sure he didn’t spread anything which could easily be done. After wringing out the towel he swiftly made his way back to your room.

·       Entering the room, he found you with your hands on your face, breathing heavily, your voice lightly seeping out in quaking rasps. “You can take more pills. Time ran out.” “yay.” Taking a sip of water and the pills you hoped this would help, even if last time didn’t work, maybe it would this time. It was all you could do. “huh?” “Does this help?” He had placed the cold moist towel on your forehead, gently leaning you back onto the bed from sitting up. You sighed, placing your hands on his, pushing down on the towel a little more, adoring the cooling feeling. “Thank you.”

·       He gently retracted his hand much to your disappointment. You then noticed he was looking through one of the small paper bags. “… what’s in the bags you brought?” “Ah! Doctor Idabashi let me take some medical supplies from home. Pain medicine, some ingredients for a light meal, he even quickly wrote down the directions so I could make it for you.” “aw, he’s nice, just like you. Like father, like son I suppose.” For a moment, he froze, those words completely catching him off guard. He softly smiled, holding the folded-up paper, ‘best oatmeal recipe’ written on it in neat, albeit tiny writing. “… Yeah, he is. He said this should only take eight minutes. I’ll be right back.” “Wait, you don’t know where everything is in the kitchen. I’ll cook with you.” “No, you’re sick. You need to rest.” “W-we don’t know that.” “Fine. Clearly you are unwell.” Shakily you sat up. “at least let me rest on the living room couch so I can be nearby and tell you where I keep everything.” “Only if you don’t enter the kitchen and try to cook.” You grumbled as you used the bedside table for support. “Okay.” Holding onto Kiibo’s arm, he gently led you to the couch.

·       You flinched hearing a loud metal crash that was able to pierce through your muffled ears. “… Need help?” “N-no!” Though he found it to be rather silly, he was annoyed. “… Maybe.” You chuckled at the sheepish tone in his voice. “Where are the cups?” No matter where he looked, he could not find them. “And the tablespoons and teaspoons… And the knife block, and- HEY!!” He pointed at you taking on what you assumed to be a fighting stance. “No going into the kitchen!” “Just… getting the suff. I won’t cook.” Reluctantly he let you pass, standing in the middle of the kitchen with his arms crossed, watching as you shambled about. “Anything else?” “Uh… just a microwave safe bowl.” “okay.” “Then right after it’s straight back to the couch!” “uh-huh.”

·       Kiibo wondered what it felt like to be sick, for one’s body to be working to fight off something within yourself. Was it like when he didn’t maintain his vents and fans? It was odd and saddening how in trying to protect yourself, you were left so miserable. When letting you hold on to him he got a close look at you, seeing how your whole body trembled, pale skin slightly shiny and clammy from a thin layer of sweat, the bags under your eyes a deep dark purple, your cheeks and nose flushed a bright red. Once you were sat down, he went straight to work, a newfound determination coursing through him!

·       You were surprised at just how quick Kiibo was. You though he had just sat you down, but there he was sitting beside you, a hot, steaming bowl and spoon on the table before you as Kiibo held your shoulders looking absolutely worried. “Y/N, how are you feeling?” “Uh, dizzy, really dizzy.” “Wait right here.” He then dashed away. Suddenly there was pressure on your shoulders and head. It was cool. Your water bottle was held out to you. “Thanks.” As you were twisting off the cap you noticed what was placed atop you. “My towel? I see. Tha-thanks.” Your head felt so light suddenly, and you were terrified. That was till Kiibo leaned you against his shoulder. “What do you need? Can I get you anything? Should I take you to a hospital?” “… just pass me the oatmeal please.” “Uh… are you sure that’s all?” You simply nodded. It wasn’t hot, or was it? You weren’t sure you could tell, since almost everything felt hot right now. You huffed after taking a bite. “Is something wrong?” “… there’s apples, raisins, cranberries, but… I can’t tase any of it.” Solemnly you took another bite.

·       When finished you placed the bowl on the table before you. “I’ll cle- Y/N?” He was perplexed and a little flustered by how you wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling into his shoulder. “you’re cool.” Was all you muttered before falling silent. “… Okay.”

·       Through the night and day no words were exchanged. You simply slept as Kiibo held you close. On occasion he’d wriggle out of your grasp, taking the towel, placing it in ice water and wringing it out, finding you slowly awakening before draping the towel over you and holding you again. It was alright. He didn’t need to sleep or eat, and his batteries could last him for a week without rest, so he’d stay by you for as long as you needed. He simply wished he could do more, but… maybe this was enough. Though just to be sure of that Kiibo looked up your symptoms online, only to start internally panicking thinking you were dying, hurriedly texting Doctor Idabashi who despite having a difficult time, managed to calm Kiibo, convincing him the internet was not a good place to look up medical diagnoses much of the time before Kiibo had called an ambulance… Hopefully him being with you was enough, and eventually when you got better, he realized it was… and vowed to himself not to seek the internet’s advice when trying to diagnose something ever again.

[hymn2000]

Ideal Confusion - MCU AU Fanfic - C2

(Title subject to change)

Story summary: Giving into the constant pressure from the press, Tony decides to put a rest to the rumours that Peter is his biological son - once and for all.

Previous Chapter(s): 1

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: family, family stuff, adoption, DNA test(s), pressure, peer pressure, social issues, mentions of alcoholism, mental health problems, potentially some minor medical inaccuracies, mentions of corporal punishment

You can also find me on AO3

Chapter 2 - He’ll Get You In Trouble

-

Peter was glad it was Monday, because school was a good way to get his mind off what was going on at home. Or at least it would be, if it weren’t for Nigel.

Other people were talking about the big news story too, of course, but most of them had the sense to lower their voices or stop talking when they saw Peter. Brash as always, Nigel decided to take centre stage and keep the tabloids big talking point as the classes big talking point.

Peter tried to ignore him at first, aided by Millie and Flo, but it wasn’t easy. It soon proved impossible, however, because Nigel got fed up being ignored and got louder, and closer.

“Stop getting all up in our faces!” Millie hissed, giving him a little push.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Millicent” Nigel scowled. “I’m not talking to you: I’m talking to Peter”

“Peter doesn’t want to talk to you” Flo said, putting an arm round Peter’s waist.

Peter, of course, didn’t say anything. He stayed where he was, leaning back against the desk, arms over his chest, looking distastefully at his classmate.

“So why didn’t he take you in when you were a little kid?” Nigel asked. “Was it because he was still busy shagging around?”

Peter barely reacted, but his throat felt tight. There was so much he wanted to say but couldn’t, and Nigel knew it. And they both knew Peter wasn’t about to reach for his whiteboard and scribble out an argument.

“I think everyone’s surprised it lasted as long as it did, but they say the truth will out, right?”

“Of course it’s the truth” Wendy said, boldly leaving her corner to back up her cousin. 

Peter shot her a look. They’d never gotten along, not since Peter’s fountain pen had broken and splattered her book with ink on his first day at St Hendricks. She didn’t really get on with anyone else either, and usually kept to herself to such an extent that Peter often forget she was there.

So suddenly standing up and being in front of him, with her wartime housewife hairstyle and round spectacles and look of utter distaste - almost contempt - in her eyes, was very bold indeed - and very unwelcome.

“There’s no smoke without fire, you know” she said. “Channel six are a credible source - and it’s not as though it’s a far fetched story. I’m sure we all heard what they had to say last night”

Peter narrowed his eyes at her. She was standing a little too close for his liking.

“I don’t understand the big secrecy” Wendy continued. “Lots of celebrities have children born outside their current relationship. It’s plain to see the resemblance between you and your father. Why keep up the insistence that you’re not blood related? If you ask me-”

“No one is asking you” Flo snapped. “People can look alike without being related by blood, you know. If it were true, it would be common knowledge, and not a news scandal. People are just bored and trying to come up with something to get the masses - people like you - thick people, interested”

Wendy’s face darkened, and Peter raised a hand to give her a little push - but Nigel grabbed hold of his wrist.

“Don’t you dare touch my cousin!” he hissed.

Peter paused for a split second. He looked at Nigel, and his captive hand, and then his free hand - and then he punched him hard. Nigel let go of Peter, stumbling, tripping over someones bag and falling over. Peter stood where he was, giving Wendy an “I dare you” look. Wendy wisely stepped backwards, unsure how to react. 

“Right” Nigel growled, getting to his knees. “That’s it!”

He reached out and tripped Peter. Peter fell, but caught himself neatly on his finger tips. He snapped his head up, and Nigel went for him. Peter dodged, and grabbed Nigel’s fist. He wasn’t in the mood for this. 

“Even if Tony Stark didn’t birth you, I bet Loki had something to do with it” Nigel hissed.

Peter shoved him hard in the chest so that he fell backwards. Before Nigel had even a second to regain his composure, Peter pounced and sat on him, grabbing his wrists and pinning them by his head. It wasn’t a difficult thing to do, and in the back of his mind, Peter thanked his Spiderman abilities for being more than just a suit. 

“Why are you so strong?!” Nigel cursed, struggling helplessly. 

Peter, as always, kept his mouth closed. He bit the inside of his mouth, because he suddenly saw the funny side of being on the floor of his form room, straddling Nigel and holding him helpless to the carpet. He knew it would be fatal to laugh. He just had to wait until Nigel gave up.

“Boys!” Ms Hathersage cried, rushing into the form room. “What on Earth are you two doing?! Get up at once!”

She assisted them in doing so by way of grabbing each boy by the collar and hauling them to their feet. She gave them both a little shake, and glared at the rest of the form, who wisely slunk to their seats and sat down.

“It’s barely nine o’ clock and you’re already causing havoc! Is this really any way for two young gentlemen to behave?” Ms Hathersage chided. “What were you fighting about? Come on; out with it!”

“We weren’t” Nigel said. “We were just messing about”

“Is that so? What happened to your face?”

Nigel raised a hand to his cheek, which still hurt rather a lot. 

“Looks bad, does it?” he shook his head slightly. “Landed on Bernie’s PE bag. There’s football boots in there, you know”

Ms Hathersage looked at Bernie, who seemed to be trying his level best to turn invisible. Ms Hathersage looked at Nigel hard, and then looked at Peter.

“Is that right?”

Peter nodded slightly. Ms Hathersage seemed to accept it, because she sighed and released them.

“Sit down, now. You two need to learn to amuse yourselves in less destructive ways”

They took their seats. Flo grabbed Peter’s hand under the table, and Peter was happy to squeeze it. He flopped back in his seat while Ms Hathersage started taking the register. He was feeling dreadfully worked up. But at least it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Wendy had kept her mouth shut. And as much as Peter clashed with Nigel, at least Nigel never intentionally got Peter into trouble - in fact, he actively protected him from it. Peter had to give him credit for that.

-

Flo fixed Peter with a heavy stare at break time when they were sat at their usual round table by the coffee machine in the dining hall.

“Ok, I’m just going to say it” Flo said. “I know everything in the news is a rumour, and your dad’s not your dad by anything more than adoption”

Peter nodded.

“But I don’t really want to talk about that story. What I do want to talk about is your relationship with Nigel”

Peter was a little taken aback by that. He looked at Millie for help.

“I think that’s a good idea, Flo” Millie said. “I’ve got questions too”

Peter sunk in his seat. He sighed to himself. If only Macy were here: she would have been on his side on this one. 

“It doesn’t make any sense” Flo said. “A lot of the time it’s like you hate each other, but then he always picks you for his team in PE, or his group in drama when we’re 50/50, and-”

“And he never dobs you in for anything” Millie interrupted. “He’d let you get away with murder”

“Just like this morning. He protects you with his life, you know” Flo said. “And then, of course, there’s Wendy. He only got cross with you today because you went to push her”

“There’s a big family honour thing in their family, apparently” Millie said. “Still, you didn’t have to punch him like you did. It was a little extreme”

“But also kind of warranted” Flo said. “And then, of course, there’s the way he looks at you”

Peter pressed his lips together. He usually told Flo everything, but he hadn’t told her about the (many) occasions where Nigel had dragged him into a store cupboard (and once into the PE office when it was empty), and got off with him. Peter wasn’t exactly proud of letting that happen, especially more than once. The only person he’d told was May, but since she was dead and he was talking to her grave, it hardly counted.

“Do you like him, Peter? Because I honestly don’t know a lot of the time” Flo said.

“He winds you up, doesn’t he?” Millie said.

Peter nodded. He wasn’t going to reach for his whiteboard for this. It was far too awkward.

“So do you like him?”

Peter shrugged. He supposed Nigel could be good fun sometimes. He was quite funny and charismatic in his own way. But a lot of the time he was rude and defensive and annoying and liked winding him up. And sometimes he was downright cruel. So Peter wasn’t sure. 

“Talk, Peter!” Flo whined, pushing his whiteboard at him.

“How about we go over to the boarding house at lunch? You’ll be able to talk better in Macy’s room with just us three around, won’t you?” Millie suggested.

Peter didn’t really react, but he didn’t look happy.

“Right, that’s settled” Flo said, clapping her hands together. “At lunch, we’ll visit Macy and have a good heart to heart debate on her sick bed”

That seemed to make both girls happy, because they turned the conversation onto finishing their coffee and bagels in time for the next lesson. As much as it would be nice to see Macy, Peter definitely didn’t want to waste his lunchtime under a metaphorical spotlight, being quizzed about Nigel. He had a feeling he knew what he needed to do.

-

Peter couldn’t go over to the boarding house. He couldn’t face that conversation. He wouldn’t want to talk about it at the best of times, but much less today; after he’d had a fight and was still feeling a bit funny about the news segment on channel six the previous night. He could whine and bitch all he wanted, but there was no guarantee that two people as strong-willed and heavy-headed as Millie and Flo would let him weasel out of it easily. 

There was, however, one surefire way of getting out of it: getting a lunchtime detention. That wasn’t always as easy as it sounded, but if there was one person who was an expert on this state of affairs, Peter knew exactly who to go to. Someone he’d gotten into trouble with before. Someone who boarded despite his family living a mere twenty minutes from the school. Someone Tony Stark saw as a Bad Influence. And someone with a soft spot for Peter Parker-Stark.

-

Malaki grinned up at Peter when he approached his desk. 

“Hello, Curly, my darling” he said, taking Peter’s hand and kissing the back of it. “You ok?”

Peter looked over his shoulder. Millie was helping Flo change the needle on the sewing machine they were using, so they were both occupied and not paying attention to him. Peter sat down beside Malaki. Malaki put an arm round Peter’s shoulders, leaning into him.

“Well, isn’t this lovely?” he smiled. “You’re over here for a reason, aren’t you?”

Peter nodded. 

“Don’t worry; they’re still fighting with that bobbin” he said, keeping an eye on Millie and Flo. “What can I do for you?”

Peter scribbled a message on his whiteboard. Malaki read it carefully. He looked at Peter.

“Leave it to me, gorgeous~” he smiled. “We’ve got this lesson and next to sort you out - and I will, don’t you worry”

Peter let out a sigh of relief and gave him a hug by way of thanks. Malaki smiled at him.

“Just a second, curly” he said. “HEY, MS CASTLETON!”

“MALAKI! Don’t shout!” Ms Castleton shouted, coming over to his desk. “What is it?”

“Peter’s feeling a bit sick. Is it ok for me to take him to get a drink and some fresh air?”

Ms Castleton looked at Peter. 

“Hm... You do look a bit pale” she said, feeling his forehead. “You’re a little bit warm too” she nodded at Malaki. “Go and get a drink and some air. It’s quite hot in here; maybe that’s what’s making you feel unwell”

“I’ll look after him, miss, don’t worry”

“Don’t try your luck, Malaki Owens. You’ll stay after school if you don’t make progress on your project”

Malaki merely smiled at her. 

-

Peter wasn’t entirely sure why Malaki had come up with this fib, but he played along. He'd been feeling a bit funny anyway, and being out of the classroom helped. Malaki got them both a bottle of water from one of the vending machines, and they sat outside in the bandstand.

“She’s right about that classroom being hot” Malaki said. “I swear she’s got hidden heaters all over the place”

Peter nodded slightly, sipping his water.

“So... You’d tell me the truth if I asked you a question, right?”

Peter nodded.

“Tony Stark... You haven’t done a DNA test, have you? All the papers say they’re offering you them and stuff. But have you done one?”

Peter shook his head. 

“Didn’t think so... Hey, Peter? Do you... do you think he’s your dad? Like, biologically, I mean?”

Peter shook his head. He picked up his whiteboard.

There’s no way he could be. I had a mum and dad when I was a baby, before they died and I went to live with my aunt. I don’t think we look *that* similar, either

“Weeell... There’s definitely a resemblance” Malaki said. “You seem pretty sure about this”

I am sure. I can’t remember them anymore and I can’t remember much about them, but my first parents were just normal people, like, a normal couple living a normal life. As far as I know, there wasn’t even anything interesting about them. I think they were both civil servants. May never really talked about them much, actually. I think she tried when I was young but then I guess I got older and didn’t remember and stuff so maybe she gave up. Or maybe she thought I was better off just moving on. I don’t know.

He turned over his whiteboard and continued on the other side.

I know this sounds really bad, but I don’t really care. I used to, when I was younger and all my friends had parents and stuff, but now I’m just indifferent to it. I never really knew them so I guess I can’t care. Now I’ve got a different family, one I do actually know. Look, I love my dad, yknow, my actual Tony-Stark dad, but he’s definitely not my biological one

“Yeah... It doesn’t sound that bad, really. You can’t really have any emotional connection or proper feelings about people you don’t remember and probably didn’t really know. You were only little, right? They’re effectively strangers in that case then, don’t you think?” Malaki said. “For Tony Stark, I guess it’d be way too much of a coincidence, and if he was, he’d’ve been in touch with you when you were tiny, right? You’d know if you had a chance of making a baby, right?”

Peter nodded. 

Dad said even though he was a major slut, he always used protection. The papers are just after a good story

“Well, they’ve achieved that much” Malaki said. “I was home at the weekend, and even my parents were talking about it”

Oh. What do they think?

“Mum says if you were, you’d’ve been taken away from Queen’s and into billionaire town as soon as he knew about you. Like, she said he could’ve fought for custody and he would’ve won cos he’s rich” Malaki said. “Dad thinks you are, though. He said that when someone sleeps with that many people, and are that busy and stuff, that it could happen and it could’ve been years before he found out and found you. He said that your dad used to have loads of one night stands with people he’d never see again, so you’re probably from one of them, and they had no way to get in touch. But then mum was like, well, if someone had been carrying Tony Stark’s baby, they’d go straight to the papers and then he’d’ve ended up knowing pretty quickly even if she didn’t, like, have his phone number. So they’re on different sides of the table. They talked about it for a pretty long time”

That’s so weird. There’s probably been hundreds of people I’ve never met talking about me and my family because of this

“I can only really imagine. I mean, it was weird for me, because they were talking about my friend - my curly! - and it was like, they were talking about a news story, but also someone I know? It’s weird trying to explain it”

Peter nodded. He took a minute, thinking.

Do you think asking for a DNA test is weird? Because if the press have made up their minds, surely they should think that we know the answer for definite and are just hiding it? So what would a DNA test change for them? Is it to guilt trip my dad?

Malaki blinked at him, trying to comprehend it. “Uhh... I’ve not really thought about it, but I guess maybe it is a bit weird. I mean, even if you did do a DNA test, it’d only benefit them if the results went public, right? Why does it matter if you’re his or not anyway? What would it change?”

Peter shrugged.

“Do you think it’d be weird, like, if you were, and it changed who you thought you were or something?”

Peter thought for a minute before scribbling on his board again.

My parents were Richard and Mary Parker, they died and I lived with Ben and May Parker, and then Ben died, and then May died and I went to live with Loki and Tony Stark, and then they adopted me. I know where I came from but that doesn’t matter as much as knowing who I am. And I am Peter Benjamin Parker-Stark, and I live in a giant house and I go to a posh school with you and the bunnies and idiots like Nigel and Wendy, and most of the time, even though I’m kinda ill, I’m happy

Malaki laughed slightly. He put his arms round Peter, resting his cheek on his shoulder.

“At least you know who you are. Even people who have only ever had one set of parents don’t always know that”

Peter nodded slightly, cleaning his whiteboard. He hesitated and then wrote another message.

What do you think?

Malaki read the message a few times over, thinking. 

“Uhh...”

You’re not allowed to lie to me

Malaki swallowed. He lifted his head, looking at Peter.

“You know I believe everything you say” he said. “...My parents talked about it a lot, like I said. My sister talked about it a bit too. I listened mostly, but I said stuff too... You know, at first I thought it was rubbish, because we’ve seen all this kind of story before. But this one seems different. It’s like, it feels like it’s full of facts, and some of the stuff they say and point out and that, does make it sound like they actually know what they’re on about, even though they’re mainly tabloids and chat shows and stuff”

You’re being evasive

Malaki closed his mouth and rested his cheek back against Peter’s shoulder.

“...I agree with my dad”

-

Peter didn’t feel great. He went back to textiles with Malaki, and the rest of the lesson went by smoothly enough. But he didn’t want to be there. He wanted to go home so badly. He wanted to pull a sickie so they’d call his parents. But he knew it wasn’t the best idea.

Instead, after textiles, he let Malaki drag him to his locker.

“My plan is simple” he said, picking something up. “A couple of these should do”

Is that a party popper?

“Well, yes, but not a normal one. Look, I’ve got a normal one in here. I’ll show you. So, these do this” he pulled the popper, and little streamers of paper splattered over the contents of his locker. “They’re little, right? These things are big, and they don’t just have streamers: they have sequins and glitter too. They’re pretty impressive. I tested them in Mr Hardwoods study at the boarding house. Here, you take one, and I’ll take the other”

Peter took the large party popper he was given. He looked at it doubtfully. They’d probably get shouted at for firing them in the corridors, but Peter doubted it would end in a detention. 

“Ok, come with me” Malaki said, checking his smart watch as they walked along. “Ok, so Mr Pipe-Fowler should be finished with that meeting. There’s no one important in attendance so he won’t be lingering afterwards”

Peter glanced at Malaki’s watch. The screen was too small for him to make out everything he was flicking through, but it looked like he had all sorts of plans and blueprints on it. It was another one of those strange moments where Peter found himself agreeing with Tony’s opinion of this friend.

-

Malaki stopped outside Mr Pipe-Fowlers office.

“They work just the same as regular party poppers” he said. “Point it slightly upwards and pull the string when I do”

Before Peter knew what was happening, Malaki’s hand was on the door handle. Peter didn’t feel sure now, but there was no going back. Malaki flung the door open and sprung into the room. Peter had no choice but to do the same. Peter realised a second too late that the room was occupied. The big poppers were much louder than Peter had expected, and all in an instant, the whole room was covered in streamers, sequins, and glitter. There was a moment of silence, and then Malaki was shrieking with laughter, and Mr Pipe-Fowler was shouting, and it was all very overwhelming and confusing. 

Malaki was laughing entirely too much, once again refusing to grasp the gravity of the situation. Mr Pipe-Fowler was shouting more than Peter had ever heard from him before. Peter wasn’t really registering what was going on because it was all so loud, and all of a sudden the headmaster was in front of them. He grabbed hold of Malaki, but when he made a grab for Peter, the boy flinched. 

“Peter?”

Peter was surprised at himself for flinching so much. He looked at the old man warily, and slowly straightened. Mr Pipe-Fowler sighed. He glared at Malaki.

“Owens!” he snapped. “Be quiet!”

Malaki managed to calm down a bit, still pink in the face from laughing, and still giggling whenever he looked at Peter. Mr Pipe-Fowler looked at him distastefully, and turned to Peter.

“Master Parker, we’ve had this conversation before” he said. “We warned you that you’d only end up in bother staying so well acquainted with Owens. I will be writing to your parents about this”

Peter swallowed. He hoped it would be a letter and not an email, so that he could get to it first and make sure they never saw it. They had enough on their plates without another “To the parent/guardian of Peter Parker-Stark” letter.

“You might well look ashamed. You’re better than this, Parker” he looked at the two boys. “You’re going to be late for your next lesson. It’s Physical Education for you next, is it not?”

“Sure is!” Malaki grinned.

Mr Pipe-Fowler wasn’t amused. “Detention this lunch time, both of you. Parker, go off to your lesson. Owens, we’ve got a form to fill out”

-

Peter still wasn’t sure what to make of Mr Pipe-Fowler, he thought to himself as he got changed for PE. On the one hand, he looked like something out of the Victorian era (although, considering the school uniforms and the school itself looked likewise, maybe it was apt), and often acted like it too. On the other hand, he’d always been very understanding about Peter’s selective mutism, his situation right at the start, and any changes to his situation since. And, he was one of the only teachers who still called him Parker. After he was adopted and became Parker-Stark, most people very swiftly moved on to Peter Stark or Stark when addressing him, but Mr Pipe-Fowler still called him Parker, which Peter liked and appreciated. He was a bit of an enigma.

Malaki was an enigma too. He came waltzing into the changing rooms ten minutes after Peter, looking as though he didn’t have a care in the world. He ignored Mr Musgroves explanations of orienteering and showed off his black slip to Peter and everyone else who dared look. It was quite a nasty one by all accounts, and Peter didn’t understand how Malaki was taking it so well. Malaki took all his corporal punishment slips really well - almost as though it was an achievement to get one - and Peter had never really understood it. For a long time Peter though he didn’t understand it because he himself did not often take his slips well. 

There were two occasions that Peter was famed for in regards to cp slips. The first was quite early on at St Hendricks, when a substitute teacher had grabbed him by the wrist and smacked his palm much harder than strictly allowed with a wooden ruler, and he’d cried so much he’d been sent out of the room. The second famed occasion was the time Mr Tucker (Peter’s geography teacher, who had never really warmed to him) raised a ruler to him, and Peter, without thinking, had snatched it from him and snapped it in two. 

These were quite exceptional circumstances, and both had had an effect on the way teachers were with him - aside from the upper hand he already had from everyone being in awe of Tony Stark and slightly terrified on Loki Stark, and the fact he’d cried so easily when he first started at the school. Generally, if he was facing cp or a slip, Peter would either cry, kick off, or simply stare the teacher down in a way that said “do your best”, and then act as though nothing had happened as soon as it was over. It seemed to vary quite a lot.

So Malaki, who was known for laughing when threatened with a red slip, was on another plain of existence. 

“Malaki!” Mr Musgrove sighed. “Put that slip away and get changed”

Malaki shrugged in a care-free manner. “Sure thing, Mr M!”

Malaki sauntered off to one of the cubicles to get changed. Nigel caught Peter’s eye, and they exchanged a look. Peter had a feeling Malaki confused Nigel just as much as he confused everyone else in the school.

-

Peter was put in a group with Malaki, Nigel, and a boy called Percy for orienteering. It wasn’t a group Peter would have chosen. He didn’t like being in groups with Malaki, because he usually ruined everything, intentionally or otherwise. Nigel was usually good to work with, but considering their rocky relationship and the events of the morning, he would rather not have been with him. besides, he really clashed with Malaki, so why Mr Musgrove had put them in a group together was beyond him. As for Percy... 

Well, Peter didn’t know him very well. He was Percy Perkins, and everyone had called him Peck-Peck since he was about four years old. As Peter understood it, Peck-Peck had been trying to get rid of that nickname for years, but it had followed him when he started at St Hendricks, and no one would stop calling him it because it was such a habit. Peter felt a bit sorry for him, but he also thought it could have been worse. He also thought it was extra unfortunate to try to shake off a nickname like Peck-Peck when you looked quite like a bird.

After being pinned to the floor in front of the whole form, Nigel had wound his neck in, and didn’t mention the news story or Peter’s supposed parentage. Malaki was contented with his earlier conversation on the topic and didn’t say anything either. Peck-Peck wanted to say something about it, but, as much as he’d never admit it, he was a little bit scared of Peter, so he didn’t dare.

As expected, Malaki managed to ruin everything fairly quickly. 

“For god’s sake, Malaki!” Nigel shouted. “We’re all going to get into trouble because of you! Why can’t you be serious for once?!”

“Well, what would be the fun in that?” Malaki said. “Orienteering is rubbish. It’s not even a sport, and it’s hardly a challenge either. It’s essentially an outside Geography lesson - and not a very good one either”

“If you ever get stranded with nothing but a map and a compass, you’ll be buggered, Owens” Peck-Peck scowled. “We could’ve been finished already if you didn’t keep messing about”

Peter leant back against the fence, watching them argue. He always had to leave his white board in the changing rooms during PE, which was fair enough, but it did mean that he very much turned into a spectator during PE arguments. Funnily, they were quite a common occurrence. 

“Put it this way” Malaki was saying. “If we don’t go running about and getting all hot and sweaty, we don’t have to shower”

“You don’t really run about in orienteering anyway!” Peck-Peck said. “Besides, showers are hardly something you want to get out, surely? They’re not exactly a bad thing”

“They are when you’re in the big open shower with this one” Malaki said, elbowing Nigel in the ribs.

“Ow! Malaki! Keep your hands to yourself”

“Technically, it was my elbow”

“You’re ridiculous” Nigel growled. “What’s so intimidating about open showers anyway? You’re only in there to wash. I think you and Peter are the only people who have a problem with it”

“Peter doesn’t have a problem with it”

“He does!” Nigel insisted. “Why else would he always use the cubicle shower? He always uses a changing cubicle too”

“Maybe it’s because he knows you’d stare at him and try to start awkward conversations”

“You’re both being ridiculous” Peck-Peck said tiredly. “We’re not talking about Peter, anyway. We’re talking about you and your big problem with open showers”

“And having a wet head for the rest of the school day” Malaki pointed out.

“Don’t wash your hair then”

“I’d get hair dye everywhere anyway” Malaki said, running his hands through his newly-black hair. “Black is a bugger to work with”

“You’re an idiot” Nigel said. “There’s nothing wrong with open showers”

“Look, I’ll admit that the idea of being in a steamy room with eleven other naked guys should be a dream come true. But tragically I hate most of you, and those of you I don’t hate, I don’t want to ruin by seeing naked. Aside from maybe Peter here”

Peter scowled and smacked him one.

“Ow! Sorry, curly”

Peter rolled his eyes.

“Are we going to complete this course or not?” Peck-Peck said. “Mr Musgrove will go mad if we don’t get back with all our squares punched and our clues solved”

“Aww, we’ll just get Peter to look at him with that sad look in his eyes” Malaki said.

“How about we push you over instead? Then we can use your cut knees as a good excuse for being so far behind”

“OR we could just do the course” Peck-Peck said, snatching the map from Malaki. He looked at Peter. “We need to go north west”

Peter handed him the compass. He was happier sat back doing nothing. Besides, watching Malaki and Nigel argue was amusing. 

“Come on” Peck-Peck sighed.

“Why should we?” Malaki said.

“Because I’ll punch your lights out if you don’t!” Nigel threatened.

Malaki sighed. “You’re so violent, Nigel. So violent”

“I’ll show you violent!” 

Nigel went for him, but Malaki dodged and Nigel accidentally hit Peter instead. Peter knew it was an accident, but he hit back instinctively. 

“No one hits my Peter!” Malaki shouted, pouncing.

It was all a little bit mad. Peck-Peck intervened, grabbing Peter and pulling him back out of harms way. It was a little awkward - Peter wasn’t sure how he felt about having Peck-Pecks arm round his chest and a hand under his shirt, on his stomach.

“Would you two stop it?!” Peck-Peck shouted. “This is why no one ever wants to work with you, Owens! We’re going to get into so much trouble. AND you hurt Peter”

Malaki stopped, stepping back, and Nigel did too. They scowled at each other. Nigel cleared his throat and looked at Peter. 

“Are you ok?”

Peter nodded.

“...Good” he sighed. “Peck-Peck, let him go”

Peck-Peck did. 

“It’s Percy” he mumbled.

No one took any notice. Nigel glared at Malaki.

“Shut up. Let’s get going”

-

Malaki plonked himself down next to Peter in detention.

“Aww, don’t look at me like that” he said. 

Peter wasn’t happy with Malaki. As predicted, they’d gotten into trouble because of him, and then Malaki had started a fight with Nigel in the showers. Peter was in a cubicle and didn’t see, but he certainly heard it. Peter was too tired to deal with any more drama.

He’d had his lunch with Millie and Flo, but they were annoyed at him for getting a detention and even though they tried to hide it, Peter could still sense it.

So he wasn’t in the best of moods when he turned up to detention, and having Malaki plonk down beside him didn’t help, especially when he flopped against his shoulder.

“You’re welcome” Malaki said.

Peter gave him a little push.

“Aww, don’t be like that! I know you love me really~”

Peter gave him a proper push.

“STARK!” Mr Decade, the supervising teacher, shouted. 

“It’s alright, sir” Malaki said. “We’re just messing about”

“Well you shouldn’t be” Mr Decade shouted. “This is detention! Owens, move to the other side of the room”

Malaki shrugged and stood up, waltzing over to the other side of the room. Peter watched him, half zoning out. Mr Decade got up from his desk and marched over. He grabbed the back of Peter’s chair, turned it round, and shoved it under a desk facing away from Malaki.

“Don’t even think about turning around, Stark”

Peter scowled.

“You brought this on yourself. Do your homework or daydream; I don’t care. Just keep your mouth shut, and don’t look at Owens”

Peter raised an eyebrow at him. Mr Decade laughed slightly.

“You take after your parents, Stark”

He went back to his desk. Peter rested his elbow on the desk and his face on his hand, and stared out of the window. There wasn’t much to see, but at least it meant he didn’t have to look at Malaki.

-

"I’m not happy with you” Tony said in the car on the way back from school.

Peter didn’t say anything.

“I got an email this afternoon” Tony continued. “From Mr Pipe-Fowler”

Peter pressed his lips together. He’d hoped it would be a physical letter.

“I take it you know what it was about” Tony said. He went quiet, waiting. “Anything you have to say for yourself?”

Peter stayed quiet.

“Peter” Tony persisted. “Come on”

“It was Malaki’s idea!”

“I gathered that much” Tony said tightly.

“Look, it’s not a big deal!”

“Isn’t it? You’re being led astray. I’ve told you time and time again to keep away from Malaki. Why did you do it, kiddo? You’re better than this”

“...I needed a detention”

“What?! How could you possibly ‘need’ a detention?! You silly little-”

“I did! It was either that or pull a sickie. I needed to get out of lunch time”

“But why?”

“Because Millie and Flo were pressuring me and they were gonna make me go over to the boarding house so we were alone in Macy’s room so that I’d speak to them, and I didn’t want to speak to them, so-”

“Hey, hey, Peter, calm down” Tony said. “Why didn’t you want to talk to them? What is it?”

“They were going on about Nigel and trying to get me to talk about what I think of him and what kind of relationship we have and stuff, and I didn’t want to talk about but they did, and they weren’t gonna drop it, and the only way I could get out of it was to make sure I had to be somewhere else at lunchtime!”

Tony was quiet for half a minute.

“...Why? Why is talking about Nigel so bad? I know you two don’t get along, but still. Why did it get brought up?”

Peter looked down at his shoes. “...We had a bit of a fight this morning”

“What? Peter!”

“It was his fault! He was saying all this stuff about the whole news thing, and then that stupid bitch Wendy-”

“Peter!” Tony snapped.

“What?! She is a bitch. So she got involved, and basically Nigel took her side, obviously, cos they’re cousins, and he was defending her, so he grabbed me, and I hit him, and-”

“I get the general idea” Tony sighed. “What did your teachers say?”

“Ms Hathersage came in when I’d already won, and Nigel told her we were just messing about, and she believed us”

Tony sighed heavily. “You’re a menace, Peter. You need to have your backside smacked”

“You’re not funny”

“I’m not joking”

Peter scowled at him. 

“Enough of the face, Peter” Tony sighed. “I’ve had a hell of a day: I can’t be doing with your moods”

“I’ve had a hell of a day too” Peter grumbled.

“I know, kiddo... Well, when we get home, I’ve got stuff to do. Have you got any homework?”

“Only Science”

“Well, you can sit and do that when we get back. I need you out of the way for a while”

“Charming”

Tony couldn’t help laughing. “You’re so much like your dad sometimes. So much like your dad...”

-

Loki sat next to Peter in the reading nook.

“Excuse me, but you appear to have stolen my window seat”

“Mm...”

“What’s the matter, chick?”

Peter shrugged.

“Your father showed me the email from the school. You’re lucky you only got a detention”

“Everyone blamed Malaki”

“He’s a bad influence on you”

“Everyone says that”

“They’re all right to say it” Loki said. “Dad also told me what you said in the car”

“Mm... He said I needed my bum smacked”

“I see. And is that what you got?”

Peter shook his head. 

“I can’t say I’m surprised though. Your dad isn’t very happy”

“Are you just in here to have a go at me?”

“I’m not having a go at you”

“Then don’t”

“I’m not!” Loki sighed heavily. “I’m really not. I’m just seeing if you’re ok”

“Well, I’m not!” Peter snapped. “I’m sick of this! I’m sick of this whole news story and the way it’s making dad act, and the way it’s making everyone talk, and I’m sick of people at school talking about it, and I’m sick of the rumours being treated as fact”

“I understand that. It’s a less than ideal situation” Loki said. “I can see why it’s upsetting for you”

Peter looked at him. “Malaki believes the rumours too”

“I see”

“Why can’t people just mind their own business?”

“Humans are very bad at that” Loki said, putting an arm round Peter’s shoulders and pulling him close. “This won’t go on forever, you know. It will be over before you know it”

“You don’t know that” 

“No, I don’t. But I can hope. It’s having such a bad effect on your dad. It’s having a bad effect on all of us... No matter what they say, you know where you come from. I adore you, Peter. You’re my little boy”

“Nigel said he bets you had something to do with my conception”

Loki laughed. “Now there’s a thought! We might be cut from the same cloth, but I can assure you I am definitely not your biological father. I’m part of the jaffa club, remember?”

“That sounds kinda harsh” Peter said. “Still, it’s nice that you’re at a point where you can like, laugh about it”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that, exactly” Loki said. “But I’d say I’ve accepted it. I’ll never be able to make a baby, but I’ve already got you, and that’s more than I ever thought I’d have. And you mean the world to me”

“You’re a really good dad, you know”

Loki laughed slightly. “Thank you. Now, are you planning on moping in here all night?”

“Are you?”

“What do you think?”

Peter gave him a look, and Loki gave him a squeeze.

“Come on. Let’s go and annoy dad for a while. He’s had a bit of a day of it. Marco’s hit a dead end”

“I like Marco. He buys me Reese’s Pieces”

Loki laughed slightly. “So easily bought. Now, come on; let’s go and see dad”

-

Tony was sat on the sofa, looking at his phone with a pained look on his face. 

“Hello, darling” Loki said, sitting down beside him. “Are you ok?”

“Mm” 

Loki carefully took his phone from him. 

“That’s enough for one night” he said gently. 

Tony sighed. He didn’t say anything, but he made a funny little noise when Loki hugged him. Peter climbed into Tony’s lap, and Tony wound his arms round him.

“Hey, baby”

“Hey, dad”

Tony held Peter close and closed his eyes. He focused on the feeling of holding his son, and of Loki’s arms around him. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. All of this would blow over soon enough.

*

[whimsically-ominously-auspice]

Llitwrally stumbling after peeing half asleep

Saw JO lost her baby again before falling asleep. Miscarriages. I thought man how sad she had her baby girl all excited to be a sister

They're strong to try again before the Dr said. Probably for big sister

So matt... he wants kids like crazy. And we've lost like 4 or 5 already due to twin fetuses car wrecks and etc

So it's a big deal about babies and pregnancy and I'm sick and so pregnancy is a huge deal and I'll already have a high risk pregnancy due to my body. And it's extremely high risk especially due to my prescriptions according to the manufacturers.

So I just woke up. I have dreams..... locations mean something

It was mountains and we were talking time the dead in a safe place.

I'm on a plateau right now but we were in a different place. A place idk where it is. Except it's in my head. Idk.

Point is. You can't have sex after you get pregnant.

My cousin on my dad's side she did IVF treatment until she had no money left and then she got pregnant. BECAUSE they were fucking too much.

WHICH EXPLAINS WHY there's all those fertile kits. I was all dude just fuck and keep fucking why not. NOT that anyone asked for advice or I ever said it to people trying to get a baby it just didn't make sense to me

So dude. It kills the kid. It's not funny. To die by dick.

Seriously you can still fuck, just gentle. Likeness slow 45 seconds instead of 13.

Anyways that's what happened to her baby

I knew. I saw she was pregnant and i felt it. I said man I don't think she will keep it but I sure hope so. And I kept a distance so I didn't get anxiety and remained hopeful.

They're beautiful on their public media. But unlike others and despite their super rocky beginning. I know Jo needed some super heavy love. So I think they're pretty honest in the media about their relationship.

In most photos her man is looking handsome and of course she's beautiful. Everything seems too perfect so I worry that. .... mildly because she's a perfectionist. But I know a lot of people told me I had the perfect life due to my MySpace photos and etc. And I was in an abusive marriage. So I don't ever try to allow an assumption based on photos and I know when it looks perfect. . There's not time to put everything on the media.. BUT she is still a playful little kitten. So I believe her life is as perfect as it looks.

I only worry because I know the stress it is to be perfect wife and mom when it's not all working correctly and something is missing. But I think that Jo has her way to reduce stress.

But also I hope her man puts the dishes in the sink and runs the sweeper without asking every now and again (2x month)

So yeah. Less dick, more cleaning. That is what the girl needs more flowers probably too. Bubble baths with rose petals and bath bombs with sweet surprises

Hand holding and belly rubs while talking about the future in the dark bedroom. Snuggling.

So much. So much. Intimacy can strengthen a relationship better than sex and release brain hormones that are better than the ones released during sex.

Plus I have found that my daughter will only eat what I ate during my pregnancy. Which oh my god that's not enough of food nor healthy food..

So the baby will get what mommy gets as well and want that in their life and it actually forms their social and other aspects of their brain.

Me. I'm all my daughter is doing fine because she does all the same exact shit I do almost in the same way. Of course they say I'm a type of psychopath so it may not be so great. ....?

My cousin that had fertility issues that tried IVF and other pills and shots? 2 healthy teenage boys. But they gave up. And I'm thinking less sex. Less knocking an embryo in the head.

NOW ALL THAT NO SEX DURING PREGNANCY BUT HOLD ON NOW

They say you can have sex during pregnancy. The baby doesn't feel it.. but personally it creeps me out.

I had extreme nerve pain in my belly. I couldn't have ANY pressure. Onetime I was in such agony I dropped my pants in my parents house after walking thru the front door in desperate need of pants that didn't touch my belly. I spent a lot of time naked... so my ex and I just didn't. Have sex because the nerve pain overwhelmed the joy of sex. So i didn't have to deal with it. And before the nerve pain started I was super sick on tons of antibiotics and of course it was winter and our heater barely worked and I didn't want any of me exposed to freezing temps. Dude didn't turn the heater on early enough, he didn't get to touch me unless it was to warm me. And sex didn't warm. Just caused sweat to freeze on my face.

Oh and my point

During LABOR AND DELIVERY it is CRITUCAL that the girl is manually rubbed on her clit in a very pleasing way as soon as the contractions start. It will dilate the what ever the hell it's called so the baby can be born faster and easier. Believe me. I spent over a week in labor. Not fun. So I also know I gave birth to premies in a different time and we did a lot of not hitting the kid in the head with the dick but a lot of make mommy's body feel super good.

So I know the toll an orgasm takes on the body. Especially the way i do. Like my temper it is dramatic. So if it's possible. .. and I think it is scientifically possible..definitely strong orgasms can cause labor. The pulling down in an orgasm can cause whatever is there to be removed.

It is actually a natural way of birth control. To pull the cum down and away from the eggs.

I know the night I got pregnant with my daughter. I was tired so I didn't go on with the drama. My ex was alright but I had to finish and I didn't that night.

So definitely I recognize the patterns and I can see that the myth that you can't have sex when pregnant despite it being labeled a myth is actually not a myth.

I honestly believed it was a myth but I actually never thought about it until this morning. Just now.

Is it a conspiracy to keep down the rise in population to have this labeled as a myth? Overall it's not as harsh. As the Chinese but it's still tragically devastating emotionally to those that are in love and love sex and aren't always lazy about making sure they both get theirs. It's really painful. And it's absolutely horrible to say it's okay and then people have to seek counsel as to why and what happened and blame themselves when they may have a perfect life.

Most couples have sex when they're happy. And so for them to be happy they're pregnant and have sex to celebrate because it's just an embryo. No bigger than a grape. A literal grape.

It's the worst pain anyone can suffer. Emotionally and mentally it tops the pain of child birth which is the worst pain in the entire world.

So I'm glad I had that dream and I had to stumble with my eyes heavy and my ear hurts so so so so bad with an infection and i just stopped writing to take my 4th tramadol of the day. I've taken a God's dose of CBD and it still hurts. But still I'm glad I had the dream and had the time and ability to sit down and write this to protect happy loving couples.

I love Matt so much. I'm always flirting with him and complimenting. I'm so in love with him.

He talks about having kids and I don't really know what to say. I mean yeah I want them and yeah my body and my medications need to be priority before getting pregnant so as not to hurt the baby. Because he's not here and I don't believe him any more when he says he will be here. I don't go off my medications for him. Condoms. .m

Speaking of which. Leah does Gary break condoms when he fucks you or just when he's raping girls with you? Should I find it a compliment or his usual behavior which is absolutely disgusting in all aspects but I am wondering if I can point and laugh at you and tell you that you're no good. Because I hope I just have another reason to do so.

Flashbacks suck.

Back to me....

So. I lost my place .... I was just like in rambling mode anyways. So.

I guess I'm done writing. I'll go find Matt in AMS and drop some corny sexual harassment type lines on him and do the chores I need to have a successful time in the world of AMS.

Also I will go back to sleep.

😙😙

[mastiegirl-blog]

Let’s Get Started

Hello all, * waves. Im “Mimi.” Welcome to my blog “Mastie Girl” (Mastie being a cute little nickname my spouse and I have affectionately given to people like me, people who have some form of mastocytosis or mast cell disease) where my goal is to impower you with knowledge- to take all the things I’ve learned over the years from first hand experience (going on over a decade now- yeah that makes me feel old -laughs) and pass them onto you free of charge.

In short I’m here to help you navigate life after you've received your new allergy or mast cell diagnosis; to hold your hand and walk you thru those first trying weeks or months. I’d like to help you avoid making the same mistakes I did and also take some of the fear and confusion out it.

Why am I doing this? Well to put it bluntly because I’ve been asked to - so many times, by countless people- pretty much everyone I meet lol.

As soon as someone finds out I have a peanut allergy the first thing they do is ask me for a “list of safe products” because someone in their life (their child, nephew/niece, grandchild, a student in their class etc) was just recently disagnoised and their family literally has no idea what to feed them or what household products to throw out/keep using. Their overwhelmed - and I can relate.

I know when I was first diagnosed I stumbled out of my specialist‘s office in a fog. I received little to no guidance from them on the “what comes next” part of life - day to day living. It was literally a two minute conversation of “here’s your epipen, avoid your allergin & mast cell triggers, and see in six months for a check up.” What? I felt so cheated.

I turned to my spouse like “I paid $350 for this?” When I asked the dietician for a list of guaranteed nut free companies she literally told me “google it. Moms of peanut allergic children have to feed them something -shrug.” it was painfully obvious that she couldn’t care less - and I go to the supposively #1 ranked hospital in the USA so I can only image the kind of service other hospitals and clinics are doling out. It’s like if this is the best I hate to see the worst!

I want to save you the countless hours of researching that I frittered away (which let’s be honest no one has time to do when dealing with a sick family member or being sick themselves - our lives are already full. We’re juggling so much on top of this- full or part time work, all the responsibilities that come with maintaining/running a household & meeting social obligations with family and friends etc) & hopefully a lot of stress headaches.

What this blog is not: - a money making machine. If I recommend a product it’s because I love it and my family buys it and uses it regularly. I receive no free products, or discounts, or compensation of any kind from any of the companies you’ll find listed in this blog & I don’t want to- I want to stay objective. So if I say something is good- it’s good. I’ve got no incentive to lie. You can trust me.

If your saying - “but Mimi, I (either a company or a regular reader) love your blog so much and found it super helpful. I want to give you free swag or pay you for all your hard work. I insist -thrusts money at me.” Well then I insist you donate whatever $$ you wanted to give me to an anti bullying campaign like https://www.facebook.com/SuperheroIRL/

As a person with a peanut allergy and multiple chronic, incurable genetic disorders/diseases, I’ve encountered severe bullying all my life. Here are just some of the hateful things I heard/hear on a daily basis - “Your a freak.” - “Your worthless.” - “Your a waste of space and a drain on society.” - “We should just take you out back and shoot you in the head and be done with it.” - “Your allergy or disease is a sign that God hates you. That you or your family have done something sinful to bring his wrath down upon you.”

I’ve also had grown adults - once they found out about my allergy- try to rub peanut butter on me, leave open, unwrapped candy bars on my seat when I got up to leave and go to the restroom, or open bags of nuts that they had in their purse or bag, when we are trapped in a elevator together just to “see what will happen.” (The bullying was so bad that I had to switch the type of medical alert bracelet I wear to one that does not show I have a peanut allergy- I had one that had a picture of a peanut on it- to just a standard silver one that could literally be for anything. That has cut down a lot on random strangers tormenting me or “challenging” my diagnosis) 

My spouse has also had coworkers sneak nuts into their belongings that they bring home so my spouse would accidentally expose me to it. They thought that would be “funny” - to “see what happened.” Hilarious - rolls eyes. 

Why am sharing this with you? It’s not to get your sympathy or to have you type some kind, sweet response to me that would fan my ego. It’s because I’m smart enough to realize I’m not unique. Millions of kids are hearing these same things & being thrust into similar situations & it has to stop. Thankfully I have a very loving, & supportive family so I never let bullying get me down or affect me - but there are other kids who don’t have that support at home & that may become suicidal. We need to come together as a community and protect these kids (or adults - I think bullying adults is just as vile). Your money is far better spent giving it to an anti bullying campaign than to me - winks.

If you want to give back to me, because you enjoy my blog, but have no money to donate...that’s totally fine - believe me. I understand. Medical bills can be nightmares and suck up all your disposable income. I ask instead that you please “be kind.” Watch your words and actions when interacting with others and do your part to end bullying (for whatever reason- whether it’s because of someone’s race, religion, sexual orientation etc... allergies or being disabled is not the only reason people are bullied)

- A place of judgement. I don’t think you have to be exactly like me. Honestly, I don’t think my way of doing things is “the best way” or the “only way” - whatever works for you or your family is great *thumbs up. I’m just telling you how my family stays safe and what works for us- again I’m just giving you my opinion - no one says you have to take it *winks. 

Remember to please give that curtesy back to me well & not flame my blog with hate speech or nasty comments. Let’s keep this blog a PG, family friendly, loving, supportive environment - ok guys? 

I’m happy to answer any questions you have but I can tell you right now I’ll be ignoring all trolls. Don’t waste your time typing if it’s going to be mean. At this point in my life I’m so use to bullying, as sad as that is to say - It’s like water off a ducks back. It won’t phase or affect me. You won’t get the result you want.

- Most importantly this blog is not a substitution for medical care. It is a jumping off point for you. If you see something you like here- print it out, take it to your primary care doctor, allergist, mast cell specialist, dietician, cognitive behavioral psychologist, etc & get the green light from them before instituting anything I do. 

Just because my team of doctors think these tricks and techniques are fabulous for me (& give them a big two thumbs up) doesn’t mean your doctors will agree. We all have unique biochemistry. No two people, even those with the same disease/disorder, are exactly the same- even identical twins with mast cell activation disorder have different triggers and therefore may need different treatments or therapies.

Now that all of that is out of the way... Let’s Get Started * winks

[maciaslucymua-blog1]

Should Natural Parents Avoid Doctors?

New Post has been published on http://www.healthgoesfemale.com/should-natural-parents-avoid-doctors/

Should Natural Parents Avoid Doctors?

Whenever I share about my preference for alternative and natural remedies, I have a few supposed medical professionals (I find it hard to believe that a busy medical professional uses their free time to troll the internet, but I guess it takes all kinds) yell at me that if I prefer home birth, or to avoid vaccines, or use herbs, that I should just stop seeing doctors all together.  Apparently, if you feel that you should have the right to informed consent, and to choose which medical care you’d prefer to receive, you should be denied care.

Funny — I didn’t think Western medicine was a one-size-fits-all system to submit oneself to.  That it was all-or-nothing.  I thought it was a system of caring, compassionate individuals, who respected patients’ rights and cared about their very different needs and helped them to receive the care that is right for them, no more and no less.

Guess I was wrong.

Unfortunately, there is a very worrying trend of doctors who are speaking up and saying “My way or the highway.”  Basically, if they recommend particular care (drug, test, procedure, vaccine) and you refuse it, they will kick you out of their practice and refuse to provide care for you anymore.

While, sure, doctors can make the rules about who they want to care for — private business, after all — I think that this speaks volumes about the way doctors view patients, and themselves.  They are the experts; we are there to do what they say.  Or else.

Should Natural Parents Avoid Doctors?

Honestly, this leaves natural-minded parents in a bit of a predicament.

Many parents feel like they need to have a doctor.  They need to go to regular well-checks and establish a relationship.  The reason for this is generally two-fold:

One, they want to have a doctor around just in case anything really bad ever happened.  But, I ask you, if your doctor was one of the type above…would you even trust their recommendations in that case?  If not, no reason to see him/her now.

Two, to avoid being reported to CPS or similar services.  Many people are a little too authority-happy these days, all too eager to call on families who are “a little different” over seemingly nothing.  We’ve personally known families who were called on for homeschooling, not vaccinating, allowing their children to play in their own front yard, elementary-aged children playing outside without a jacket, and similarly ridiculous reasons.  Should CPS get involved, having a “paper trail” proving you get regular medical care, and are not medically neglecting your child, can be helpful.

Notice that in these two reasons, neither is because the family thinks that these visits protect the child’s health right now.  The first reason does deal with health, but parents need a doctor they actually can trust, and not just “someone” to see to prove a point.

Unfortunately, we’re seeing more and more of the type of doctors — often driven by insurance companies or new laws — who believe that patients exist to do what their doctors tell them, and who will be dismissed if they don’t toe the line.

What is that nonsense, anyway?  In what other industry would we accept that we have to do what we’re told, without question?  If an auto mechanic told us to replace the entire engine in our car, would we do it immediately?  Or would we get a second opinion?  I can’t imagine anyone would take the word of a single mechanic they did not know or did not trust on such an expensive fix, without question.

It’s just so odd.

We’re being asked, by some, to choose between doing what we’re told…without question…or be left with nothing. Because clearly, if we prefer not to get vaccines or to get a prescription for every sniffle, we don’t deserve any medical care at all.  Right?

It’s unbelievably arrogant to tell patients that.  To assume that just because they are cautious that they don’t need or want medical care, ever.  Of course, it’s also unbelievably arrogant to say, as some have, that “When you really get sick, you’ll come running back to us to save you.”  This is sometimes accompanied by “…and we won’t help you.”

Better to Avoid Doctors

I don’t think we should allow ourselves to be treated this way.

It’s cruel.

The very idea that we don’t have the right to decide what goes on or in our own bodies, in the form of medical care…that it’s “take it or leave it,” is cruel.  Everyone deserves the right to make their own decisions in these matters, hopefully with the help of an understanding and sympathetic doctor, who treats the person and not the illness.

If the choice we’re left with is doctors who will bully and mock us, and who will refuse to care for us if we do not toe the line they set out (be it vaccines, or statin drugs, or routine induction, or any other “standard of care”), then we would be better off avoiding them entirely.

There’s really no room for such doctors, or the “care” they provide.

This leaves patients in a predicament, one that many natural-leaning mamas face often.  When their child is ill…what do they do?  Do they risk taking them in, so they can be bullied over their choices and given a solution they don’t want?  Or do they stay home, and risk missing something that is truly serious and requires assistance?  It’s a very, very tough call for many families to make.

This means that some children, who do honestly need care, will slip through the cracks.  They will slip through the cracks because their parents are legitimately afraid of how they will be treated.  And worse, much worse, is not the fear that they, as adults, will be bullied. Most parents are willing to deal with that when they know their children honestly need help.  The real worse part is that if medical professionals disagree with the parent’s decisions or opinions, they can have custody taken away from them.

That in and of itself, drives many people away from doctors’ offices and hospitals.  They will avoid the system to keep custody of their children, or at least prevent a stressful and unnecessary intrusion in the form of an investigation of their family and parenting.

The medical system has set up and “us-vs-them” mentality.  Too many doctors think parents are brain-dead sheep, who ought to be just smart enough to know that they don’t know much, and ought to simply listen to the doctors.  (Obviously there are many exceptions to this, in the form of caring and compassionate doctors.  This is not about them.)  But, parents never know who they’ll get — will they find one who is open-minded and compassionate?  Or will they find one who thinks they are stupid and ought to fall in line with doctor’s protocol?

It’s nerve-wracking, and it’s easier to simply avoid the medical system than deal with all of this.

And yes — it does matter.  In my area, there are many doctors and hospitals, so if there’s a bad one, it’s easy to go to another.  But not all parents have that luxury. In some areas, there’s one option, or a small handful of options, and none are good.  They deserve better.

A Practical Solution

It’s not always possible, nor advisable, to always avoid the medical system.  There are times when care is needed, typically in emergency situations.

I propose that parents arm themselves with important information about what’s serious and what’s not, including warning signs of “when to call” so that unnecessary doctor’s visits are not made.  I’ve spoken to mainstream medical professionals who’ve told me that many of the cases that come in for sick visits do not need to be there.  Parents need to be informed about what truly constitutes a “need” to visit.

I further propose that parents learn how to treat the simple stuff at home.  Arm themselves with herbs and other natural remedies to treat the bumps, bruises, sniffles, and tummyaches.  These things rarely need medical attention.

Finally, when it comes to involving medical professionals, do not be bullied.  If any doctor becomes arrogant or tries to force something on you or your child, demand they back off and leave immediately.  “Fire” them if they are a primary care physician and do not go back.  Tell everyone who they are, by name and location.  If what they have done is egregious enough (if they actually force a procedure and not just verbally coerce), report them to the medical board.  Hold them accountable for this abysmal behavior.

If we, the people, refuse to allow doctors to treat us this way, then they will slowly stop.  Doctors keep bullying people because they think people will take — because most of them do!  Most feel like they “have” to listen to the doctors.

But hear me now.  Doctors have no authority over you.  They are no different than hiring any other professional.  You would not let a teacher bully you, or an electrician.  Doctors should not bully you either.  It stops when you say it stops.

Bottom line, the question isn’t, “Should doctors fire patients who refuse to vaccinate/comply,” it is, “Should patients allow doctors to force them to make medical decisions with which they are not comfortable,” and the answer is a resounding NO.

Should natural parents avoid doctors?  Do you avoid them?

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