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sirfrogsworth · 6 months

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Mounjaro's Revenge: The Inevitable Adventures of Froggie, Chapter Unknown

I keep saying I can't leave the house without having some kind of adventure. And I really thought I was going to have a quick, uneventful doctor's visit with my monthly checkup this past Wednesday. I'd go in, they'd check the box Medicare requires every month, and I'd come straight home.

But adventure seeks me out. I can't seem to escape its grasp. And, yes, sometimes I like having adventures. They give me something to write about. And sometimes they are fun memories. But sometimes adventures just make me tired. And not all adventures are positive.

For the past 3 weeks I have been on the second dosage amount of Mounjaro. Unlike the Ozempic, I have had a few issues with side effects. Roughly 48 hours after my injection, I get sick to my stomach and feel pukey. It lasts for about two hours. I either vomit and lose the urge or I hold it in and it fades. I am then compelled to take a nap.

Considering the weight loss and glucose control, getting sick for an hour or two per week isn't a huge deal. There is a good chance I will get used to the medication as time goes on, but even if I don't, I am okay with this consequence.

My injection day was Tuesday, and based on past experience, I figured I'd have until Thursday morning before I got sick. The past 2 episodes happened at almost identical times, so I figured Wednesday wouldn't be a problem.

But right before my doctor's appointment I started feeling extremely... rough.

Optimistic for no good reason, I was hopeful I could get through the appointment before the urge to vomit arrived.

I get to the office and there are 3 patients ahead of me. This was not a good sign. My doctor tends to overbook and I was probably going to have a bit of a wait. I arrived in the middle of a lively conversation about where to get a good steak in St. Louis. I'm used to waiting rooms being full of quiet and bored people staring at their phones so when I opened the door it felt like the conversation smacked me in the face.

The cast of characters were as follows...

There was an older black man who had the spirit of a kindly grandpa. He seemed nice and wise and was enjoying the steak conversation. Let's call him, Old Guy.

There was an older white fellow who was anxious about the wait time due to having another appointment soon. He was on hold with the other doctor's office trying to delay his appointment time. He was only mildly interested in steak due to that distraction. I already used Old Guy, so... Anxious Guy.

And then there was the steak expert who was leading the conversation. Actually, leading is not strong enough. He was *dominating* the conversation. As I sat down and his visage entered my field of view, I was a bit taken aback.

Do you know how in Star Trek everyone has a mirror universe doppelganger who may look the same, but they usually have personality traits that are reversed?

They are often identified by arch overacting or a change in facial hair.

The steak expert was my mirror universe counterpart. He was of similar age, height, and weight. Same color hair and eyes. He even wore similar clothing.

But he had a goatee instead of a beard. *gasp*

And he wore... sandals. *double gasp*

He had clearly been in a recent transporter mishap.

I mean, I could *never* wear sandals. The world is not ready to handle my nude foot and I find very few sandals have the load-bearing capacity necessary for people my size. You are asking for foot pain if you are over 300 pounds and wearing sandals.

Mirror Froggie was very outgoing and personable, but he had trouble filtering what he said and was often obliviously rude. He clearly thought himself to be hilarious but struggled to make even kindly Old Guy chuckle.

Old Guy said, "I think Longhorn makes a decent steak for the money."

And then Mirror Me's unfiltered response... "Longhorn is shit. You shouldn't eat there. You are wasting your money on shit steak."

"I don't know, I've always enjoyed..."

"I'm telling you, friend, it is shit steak. End of story."

You could tell that made Old Guy feel bad for suggesting what he liked. But he brushed it off and asked for a better suggestion. Mirror Froggie confidently told him of a restaurant called "Sam's" that had "the best steak in town."

Old Guy proceeded to ask Siri to look up Sam's and it took a few tries. He reminded me of my dad fighting with the iPhone and repeating things over and over with increasing volume. I think Old Guy wasn't specific enough as he got the wholesale club on the first few attempts. Finally he said, "SAMMM'S STEAKHOUSSSSE" and found success. Old Guy saw the reviews and some of them were... not great.

But Mirror Froggie was like, "You can't read reviews. They're all liars." And I was questioning why people would take the time to lie about a small St. Louis steakhouse, but whatever. He then said it was because the restaurant was in disrepair and needed new plumbing, but that's why they could sell such amazing steak at reasonable prices.

Theories are less logical in the Mirror Universe. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anxious Guy got off his phone call and cursed into the void. He missed his other appointment. He interjected with, "Is that Sam's place expensive?" And that sent Mirror Froggie into a long diatribe about the price of meat at different places and his annoyance at steak-related inflation. Soon after, Anxious Guy finally got in to see the doctor. Old Guy was keeping Mirror Froggie busy with conversation, so I just closed my eyes and rested as they discussed the price of oversized shrimp "as big as your fist". I guess they ran out of things to say about steak.

As they were talking I started to get a spidey-sense about Mirror Froggie.

He *needed* conversation.

He *needed* distraction.

His boredom abhors a vacuum.

Whenever there was a lull or silent moment, I could see him getting very antsy. And if Old Guy got called in before Mirror Froggie... I was going to have a problem.

I was feeling sicker by the moment and did not have the bandwidth to help some stranger with his inability to accept boredom.

And... Old Guy was next.

Because, of course he was.

I feel like sitting there with my eyes closed and also not having said a word the entire time was a pretty decent social cue that I was not interested in talking. But Mirror Me decided to poke that notion with a stick in order to find a way in.

He speaks barely above a whisper, "I wish I could sleep in a public waiting room. Not sure how you do that."

"Yeah, I'm not feeling well. Nothing contagious, just very tired."

"Well, if you're sick, I guess you're in the right place, am I right? *long pause* Cuz we're next to a hospital. *short pause* Right?"

Oh great, he's a joke explainer.

Mirror Froggie did not care about my desire to sit in peace while I waited. His foot was anxiously a-tappin' and he was vibrating with energy that needed someplace to go. He tried standing up and walking in circles. And I guess because my eyes were shut he decided to narrate his walking and stretching to keep me informed. That satisfied him for roughly 20 seconds. He sat back down and was clearly struggling to be alone with his own thoughts.

"Hey, friend."

I open my eyes slowly.

"Do you see that magazine next to you? Would you mind handing that to me?"

I thought, "This is good. He's seeking out an alternate source of stimulation. He can read the magazine and I can rest until my turn."

Seriously, brain... where is this optimism coming from? I've been a cynical misanthrope for like 4 years now.

He flips through a few pages. "Look at this. It's got Oprah on the cover. It's got to be good, right? They don't put Oprah on the cover unless it is good, ya know? Though she doesn't look right after losing all that weight. You know what I mean, friend?"

Well, shit.

I didn't give him a distraction, I gave him a conversation starter. Still, I kept my eyes closed in the hopes he would give up.

"Hey, friend."

Crap.

"You want to hear a joke?"

I open my eyes. I'm not getting out of this.

"Sure." as unenthusiastically as I can manage.

He proceeds to tell three jokes all strung together. All of them terrible and none of them coherent enough for me to remember. I gave him complimentary singular chuckles even though two of the punchlines didn't make sense. I think one was about accidentally eating cat food.

"Hey, friend... how'd you like my jokes?"

I jokingly replied back, "Well, you said *a* joke and that was *three* jokes. That wasn't what I agreed to."

He chuckles and I close my eyes again.

"Hey, friend."

Jesus Christ, would someone jingle their keys for this dude?

"Do you want to hear a 'locker room' joke?"

Oh fuck me.

"I... guess?"

There was no way out of this aside from unpleasant confrontation and my energy calculation of that was much higher than just suffering through a dirty joke.

Here it is, as best as I can remember...

"So there is a pirate ship. And the captain has a beautiful daughter who has come aboard. He tells her that the crew hasn't seen a woman in a long time and they aren't safe to be around, so she should keep a razor blade 'down there.' After the voyage he assembles all of his men and instructs them to pull down their pants. Every one of them has had their dick cut off... except for one. The captain goes up to the only one with their dick intact and says, 'Thank you for not deflowering my only daughter. You should be commended for your restraint. And as a reward, I will make you my first mate.'"

I literally cannot type the punchline because it was an unintelligible noise. Basically, Mirror Froggie imitated someone without a tongue trying to speak.

Yeah. That happened.

I could not hide my disdain for this joke and I was feeling too awful to muster up any kind of response. He seemed confused by the absence of laughter from his wonderful rapey body mutilation joke.

"You get it, friend? He lost his tongue because he ate her pussy."

Yes, explaining the joke always helps... friend.

In whatever the opposite of the nick of time is, moments after this stranger said "ate her pussy"... the nurse calls Mirror Froggie in for his appointment.

I would feel relieved, but the Mounjaro side effects were getting worse and the urge to lose the remaining nutritional value from last night's dinner was increasing by the moment. I was next in line, so I was hoping Mirror Froggie didn't take up too much of the doctor's time with horrible "locker room" jokes and dubious steakhouse suggestions.

Roughly 5 minutes later the nurse calls me in to get my vitals. She weighs me and I am down another 3 pounds. That reminded me of why I was suffering this tummy tantrum. My blood pressure was perfect but my pulse was quite high. I was very anxious holding in my stomach contents and I tried to explain, but she asked me to try and relax to lower my heart rate. We compromised when I got it down to 107.

The nurse keeps forgetting that I don't really have a family anymore. And I know she has a lot of patients in and out and they probably all blend together. But she always ends up asking me questions that require me to remind her my parents are dead.

"Did your mom put up the Christmas tree yet?"

I went with, "No tree this year. Too much work."

"Aw, that's too bad. I actually got mine up early this year. You gotta put up a tree for Christmas."

Thankfully her job was done at this point and she abruptly ended the conversation.

Next up, the pee guy.

He has never actually told me what his name is so that is just what I call him in my head.

Every month I have to sacrifice my urine to the gods of Medicare so they know I am taking my meds and not selling them on the mean streets of Spanish Lake. And the pee guy always comes in to collect my sample. The little cup is kept in a white paper bag for discretion. He used to just give you a clear ziplock, and that was a little embarrassing, as everyone in the waiting room could see your pee. I definitely prefer the new white paper bag system.

It could be my lunch or some cookies or a bunch of peanuts.

Who is to know?

The pee guy is a bit of a talker as well. But the nice thing about his conversational style is that you can't get in a word edgewise. If he asks you a question, he'll even answer it for you. This requires very little effort on my part.

"Hey there, Mr. Benjermin!"

(I have noticed Ben-jer-min is a common pronunciation among Black folks in the area. Not sure if that is just a St. Louis thing or not. Perhaps I have a dialectologist follower who knows.)

I wave hello.

"How's it going, Mr. Benjermin!? Good? Good. Just gotta get your sample. Still taking the same meds? (I nod yes.) Okay, just need you to sign here. New Year's is coming up. Gotta be careful not to party too hard. You'll be regretting that. Though you don't look like a drinker to me. (I nod no.) Yeah, you're a good one. You keep it clean. Okay then, Mr. Benjermin. You're all set. Here is your new sample cup for next time."

He replaces my white paper bag with a new white paper bag and leaves the room without me saying a word. And I'm just realizing he asks me if I am a drinker quite a lot. He must sense my teetotaler spirit or something because he always assumes (correctly) that I don't drink. He's just really concerned about me partying too hard.

Finally the doctor comes in.

My doctor is kind, compassionate, and competent. The almost 3 Cs. But he's got a touch of what I call "Boomer-itis." He's on the progressive side of most things but there are a few ingrained sensibilities from that generation he didn't escape. It's mostly harmless. Though he said something sexist in front of a nurse practitioner student during my last visit that made her roll her eyes behind him.

He greets me and I tell him I'm not feeling well from the Mounjaro and that I am still recovering from my trip to Florida. He tells me that a lot of people can get sick for days from these new drugs, so getting sick for an hour or two isn't so bad. I agree, though I really wish I had not gotten sick at the exact time of this appointment. I keep eyeballing the trash can in the corner just in case things go sideways in my tummy.

He asks about my trip to Florida and I predicted that—as I already had photos ready to go on my phone. I scroll through them, showing off amazing cityscapes and mountainous clouds and an orange sunset over a lake—hoping to impress him with my photography skills to no avail. And then he sees Katrina. Now, I am not blind to her attractiveness, but I do sometimes forget how people respond when they see her next to me.

"Oh, wow. She's beautiful!" he exclaims.

I almost felt flattered on her behalf. But then his Boomer-itis starts to kick in. And he repeats, "Yeah, she's *really* beautiful. Just a friend, you said?" His facial expression and tone of voice are like, "You poor thing, you have been friendzone'd." And probably a touch of, "She's out of your league, buddy." I don't know exactly how to describe it, but it is this familiar look of pity and worry. This is usually followed up with a probing question trying to figure out what our "deal" is. Why is it so odd to that generation that a man and woman can earnestly be just friends and perfectly content with that arrangement?

It would be the easiest thing in the world to just say, "She's gay" and that she isn't "out of my league" as she plays an entirely different sport. (Competitive Subaru Ownership?) But my friendship with Katrina is not some consolation prize due to her queerness. I shouldn't have to explain or justify why I'm "just friends" or why I'm not "being led on."

In a worried tone, "So, umm, how'd you two meet?"

There it is.

"She is an artist. I posted some of her work on my website and it was very popular and helped people find her work. She messaged me to say thank you and we were instant friends. 10 years later she's my best friend and very much like family."

Thankfully his pity face evaporated and he finally saw how long-lasting and meaningful this friendship was. But it is a weirdly common obstacle I have noticed whenever people see a fat guy has a conventionally attractive friend.

Friends are great. Friends have been more supportive and beneficial to me than any romantic entanglement I've ever had.

All of my friends are hot and queer and that's awesome.

Note to self: Put that on a t-shirt.

Knowing how difficult it was, he congratulated me on surviving the trip and we wrapped up our appointment quickly. All I have left to do is check in with his assistant, get my prescriptions sent in, and make my next appointment. I can see the finish line, but my tummy is rumbling and I am making contingency plans for the Great Upchuck of 2023™. I'm clocking trashcans with plastic liners. I'm trying to remember where the nearest restroom is. And then I look down at the little white paper bag containing my urine sample cup and think, "Last resort."

Trinica (the competence ninja and my favorite person in the office) is processing my meds and searching the calendar for next month's visit. Shelly is keeping quiet and working on her computer. I start pacing back and forth. I'm not sure what I think that will do, but I think desperation is taking over at this point.

Shelly sees me and asks, "How's that whole disability situation going for you?" She is acting like my best friend now after cursing at me on the phone. I have a feeling she had an unpleasant conversation with my doctor after that episode because she isn't this sweet and nice to anyone.

I give her the update, "Everything is submitted. My lawyer is happy with all of the records we were able to find. It's just a waiting game now. It could be a couple of months but if I have to see a judge it could be over a year."

She commiserates with me about how slow the process can be.

Then, out of fucking nowhere, Mirror Froggie reappears in the little sliding reception window like a jumpscare in a horror movie.

Are you fucking kidding me with this guy?

"Hey Trinica, do you have a business card for the doctor? I want to recommend him to Doug."

Who the fuck is Doug? Are we supposed to know Doug? Is Doug the tongueless pussy-eating pirate who needs medical attention?

Trinica looks in her desk and is unable to find a spare card. So she stops processing my stuff and starts hunting around the office. She has a bad leg so she is slowly limping while searching every desk. I have never wanted to strangle anyone before, but my doppeldouche was really pushing his luck.

At this point I am just staring at the little trash can in the blood-draw room. I can feel the scrambled eggs reversing course through my digestive system.

Trinica finds a fucking card for fucking Doug and fucking Mirror Froggie finally fucks off to bother people that are not me.

Trinica gets me all sorted, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and make to the car.

I sit in the driver's seat, and with that unearned optimism, say to myself, "I made it."

For all of you who are squeamish about bodily fluids, you can just pretend this is where the story ends. Everything was fine. I made it home and was happy and comfortable and nothing gross happened. The nausea faded away and I lived happily ever after.

The End.

Thank you for reading this and have a lovely day.

Just scroll on by to the next post!

Okay, so you all probably thought I was foreshadowing a monumental barf.

But foreshadowing is typically subtle. You don't want to give away the ending. Of course this was going to end in barf. The barfing was inevitable. The barf was not what I was *actually* foreshadowing at all.

Did anyone catch what it was?

You know that discrete white paper bag?

The one that could be for peanuts or maybe a sammich and definitely not my urine sample cup?

The last resort?

Look, it's all I had.

I was not going to make it home. I was not going to make it back into the bathroom. No trash bins on the horizon. Nothing in my car.

At first it was just an itty bitty baby barf. A perfect amount to be contained in a flimsy paper bag. I felt a relief wash over me.

"That's all?" still being stupidly optimistic.

But then I made that noise.

That... pre-retch noise.

That one where your head kinda juts forward and your lips make a giant O shape and you make a very specific grunting sound. That sound where if another person hears it, they involuntarily make the same specific grunting sound.

This was when I had one of those movie moments when a character knows they are about to die and they can't do anything about it. And I made this exact face as I waited for the impending doom of a vomitous explosion.

The Great Upchuck of 2023™ commenced.

And it was... intense.

Everything inside my stomach transferred rapidly, furiously, projectile-ly into the bag of foreshadowing.

I mean, I'm pretty much convinced my stomach is a TARDIS because I do not remember ingesting that much food. This sheer volume of barf had to be coming from another dimensional plane.

I could see it staining the sides of the bag as it was clearly not meant for this. When I finished it was barely intact—soggy, if you will. When I was absolutely sure I had ralph'd to completion, my only option was to gently place it on the passenger's side floor (sans floor mats). All I needed was for it to last 5 more minutes on the trip home and then I could dispose of it and pretend this never happened.

Physically I felt such a relief. Sometimes there is this post-puke euphoria where you just feel, well... lighter. Unburdened with no longer having that feeling. Happy it is over with.

I place the key in the ignition and head for home. As I'm driving I can't help but stare at the bag. I can see it mocking me as it changes colors. The exterior was getting... damp. If this were someone else's vomit, I would have been vomiting because of it. Just... so gross.

I get home and park the car. I walk around to the passenger side to begin the extraction process. I pull the trash can close and I have to psych myself up to deal with this horrible hurling happenstance.

And this next part, well... it would be hilarious if it weren't so damned disgusting.

I stare at the bag.

The bag stares back at me.

I take a deep breath and approach the bag.

The bag grins at me.

I gingerly grasp the very tippy-top in an effort to not touch any of the offending material.

I slowly lift up the bag.

And the very instant it reaches just enough height to do the most damage...

The bottom falls out.

If the bag had broken just as I was picking it up, the carnage would have been minimal. Only a small area to clean up. But clearly this bag read the Wikipedia page on air burst nuclear weapons. It knew you get a much more devastating blast radius if you detonate from an elevated position.

A TARDIS worth of partially digested scrambled eggs just pour and splatter and spray onto the floor of my car. It looked like the bag was puking out my puke.

The bag is now dead but I can feel its ghost laughing at me.

I stand there frozen holding the top of this evil deceased white paper bag trying and failing to process what just happened.

I realize I have no idea what to do with this situation. This is something that would usually be followed with, "MOoooOOOoooommmmm! How do I clean up vomit?"

And she would say, "You'll never do it right. I'll clean it up."

And I'd pretend to be like, "Oh no, it's my mess. I could never let you do that for me."

And she'd insist and break out her endless supply of very specific cleaning potions and magics and soon it would be as if the vomit didn't even exist.

So, I guess my question is... do I have to get my car detailed now?

The Actual End.

#long post #the inevitable adventures of froggie #trigger warning #vomit mention #rape mention

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funpuddle · 4 months

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#scrap art #TW rape mention #CW #general trigger warning #theyre addicted to drugs and also have ocd what more can i say

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star-trek-fandom-confessions · 4 months

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#419

"I don't understand why they came up with a cheating plot for T'Pring/Spock. Even if Spock didn't cheat, T'Pring is in her right to want a divorce whatever her reasons. In TOS, lot of people saw her as a villain because of the situation she put Kirk in (even if he agreed though) but she was dealing with a possible marital rape. She didn't love Spock and that's a good reasons enough to get a divorce. In SNW, it's sad how she put her energy on a worthless partner. It's funny how the writers avoided the topic of child marriage, pon farr and why Amanda put her son in this situation. Yes I know probably because of Sarek's influence..."

#confession 419 #star-trek-fandom-confessions #star trek #trigger warnings #tw rape mention #tw cheating mention #t'pring #spock #strange new worlds spoilers #strange new worlds #the original series #episode tag: Amok Time #tw child marriage mention #james t kirk #amanda grayson #sarek #critical confession

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antiendovents · 24 days

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Atlas duo's creator here, got called a dog rapist and told to slit due to believing in reality shifting so that's fun. (I'm debating on following through tonight.)

please don't do it. I know it's hard, harassment is the worst, it's horrible and you don't deserve it. Take a break, turn of anon on your blog and step away. It might seem hard but it can help to take breaks and just get away from it all. Don't follow through, don't listen to them, they don't know anything. You are not a dog rapist, it was not your fault and you should not hurt yourself, especially not because people don't like what you believe in. Your beliefs are your beliefs, you aren't hurting anyone and you don't deserve hate for them. Please go take care of yourself, take a break. We love you (platonically) and we love what you're doing, you don't deserve this.

I know I've said it a lot, but please step away and take care of yourself, especially if it's affecting you this much. If needed turn off the ask box entirely, block anyone who says bad things, if you have other mods on the blog maybe they can help you with blocking people? Either way please know we are here for you, you are loved and cared about. Don't listen to the people telling you these things, they're stupid and unreliable. You're an amazing person and you don't deserve this. No one deserves this.

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theeggoman · 8 months

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I am genuinely scared that once AI starts officially and somehow legally stealing art from artists on Twitter to feed into Elon Musk's AI company that there will be no more spaces for LGBT people to exist online. I'm talking about NSFW art, NSFW writing, discussions about kink and BDSM and leather, advice about transitioning and surgery and STD testing, resources for homeless LGBT youth, comics and animations and stories about queer love. The internet loves to hate gay sex. They demonize us, humiliate us, infantilize our bodily autonomy and choice and the moment you bring up anything relating to your own sexual experiences you're now a target for ridicule and shame. We are not profitable. We are not family friendly. We are "inappropriate" for normal people, and across every single social media platform we are banned. Our discussions about the basic human experience of sex expressed in ANY WAY are eventually banned. Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, Youtube, Tik Tok, Deviant art, the restrictions and requirements and borderline threats from Patreon. As much as we've all hated it, Twitter has been a final stand. It's a place for furry art and gay porn and weird kinky fanfiction and BDSM. There's a community of people who exist together online and nowhere else. And people don't care that we're losing it, yet again, because they want people to like us. They want people to approve of us, to accept us. They want to be palatable for a straight audience, for a heterosexual society that has only barely begun to tolerate us out of necessity and the turn of deemed popular opinion. It's the internet mob mentality that crucified trans youth as "transtrenders" out of fear that they themselves would be targeted next. It's the accusations against drag queens being inappropriate for children. It's the LGB without the T because they fear they will be next. If they could just package us into something respectable, maybe the rest of the world wouldn't hate them so much, right? Get rid of the "bad" gays and suddenly our parents will love us again. Show them they're wrong, we're not pedophiles and rapists and groomers like they've been accusing us of being for centuries, we're NORMAL and GOOD and PURE, we like Heartstopper, not Yaoi! We don't fetishize gay men, we don't sexualize our trauma! We don't even LIKE sex! See, we think sex is immoral and shameful and wrong just like you. Will you love us now?

The truth is they will never love us. They will never want us. They will never accept us. The more we fight for our rights, they more they will try to take them way. The more we fight amongst ourselves, the more they will try to divide us.

I probably sound insane talking about niche queer Fandom spaces like some kind of gay revolution, but the ability to be unapologetically gay and trans and gross and weird and find a community of people you can be with who are all like you, who are working through that trauma together, who you meet online and fly out to visit in real life, who you love: It matters. It matters so much that they keep trying to take it away from us. I don't really know what the future holds here, I'm just rambling my anger onto the only platform that actuslly gives a shit about the artists on it. I just want the young people in the community to understand that this IS a community. And it matters.

#trigger warning #tw #pedophillia mention #rape mention #just let gay people exsist??? just let us fucking exsist.

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dapperinsanity · 5 months

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Oh boy, I was waiting for Hazbin Hotel controversy to blow up again, mainly due to the fact of how Hazbin would portray AngelDust’s trauma. Am I going to make a post about it? Probably but not at the moment. I want to organize my thoughts first. I’m not an SA victim but I want to be educated to further my support for them and to see what SA victims have to say when it comes to representation in media. While I do know a few people who are close to me that are SA victims, I’m not here to claim authority on what’s right and wrong regarding this topic. I’d just like to share my thoughts from a “viewer” point of view concerning the show.

#sa mention #rape mention #tw sa #trigger warning #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel spoilers #Hazbin hotel leaks

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sirfrogsworth · 2 years

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Actually, I might have too many reasons.

I'm afraid it has been a really difficult few years for me and my family.

Our beloved corgi, Otis, developed a terrible condition (degenerative myelopathy) that made him lose the function of his back legs. Once his quality of life diminished passed the point where he could no longer experience joy as a dog and only had hardship and suffering to look forward to, we had to put him to sleep.

In February, despite taking painstaking measures to stay safe, my entire family contracted COVID and I also developed a kidney stone at the same time. Unfortunately, my mother was on medication that made her immune system pretty much useless. She died a horribly lonely death in the ICU. The last time I got to speak to her was over the telephone, with a nurse holding the phone up to her face. She was confused and scared and could not breathe despite being on two different breathing aids. All she could do was ask if my dad and I were okay. She was more worried about us than herself. Then they had to put her mask back on and she kept trying to talk even though I couldn't understand her. All I could hear was the fear in her voice. I tried to tell her how much I loved her one last time, but I have no idea if she could hear me.

She lost consciousness soon after and never woke up. Eventually her heart gave up and she passed. I only got to see her once briefly through a glass door. Her body was still alive, but she was already gone at that point. Just an unconscious vessel attached to machines.

My father has kidney failure and heart failure. He is being kept alive by dialysis 3 times per week. He hates going and it wipes him out every time. We hope he has a year or two left, but it's impossible to know for sure.

I am his caretaker even though I am also disabled with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Narcolepsy. I do my best to make sure his needs are met. My brother has been almost no help at all. A few friends and my aunt come by every once in a while to help with chores, but it's pretty much just me alone taking care of the both of us.

I have no idea where I am going to live if my dad passes away. I have no plan. I have no energy to make a plan. And that fear makes it hard to sleep many nights.

Then I was having these horrible stomach issues and lost nearly 30 pounds (in a bad way). The discomfort got so bad at one point I became suicidal. My dad feared for my life and so he called the police and EMTs. They admitted me into the hospital. After 2 days in the ER, being stuck in a small room because they had no other place to put me during COVID, I was finally admitted to a psychiatric ward for observation. Weirdly my stomach issues started improving and my suicidal thoughts passed.

I'm honestly not sure if I would have taken my own life if I had not been admitted. But I will say those two days in a tiny ER room did not do much to improve my mental health. It is sad that in this country with all its resources, there is no such thing as urgent mental healthcare. They just stick you in a room and make sure you can't hurt yourself as you wait in line to get the actual help you need.

Thankfully I was able to adjust some medication I was taking and resolve my stomach issues. That seemed to relieve me of my dangerous thoughts and I have been okay in that regard ever since.

My dad had a serious infection in July that placed him in the hospital. He lost the ability to walk, his heart stopped briefly, and he started having horrible hallucinations. At one point I wasn't sure if he would ever return to reality. Nothing he said made any sense. Thankfully once they treated the infection and he got decent sleep he returned to lucidity. But he had to go through brutal rehab in order to walk again (with a walker and only short distances).

He was in hospital and rehab for over a month. After what happened to my mom, I promised myself that my dad would not be alone in the hospital. So, no matter how bad I physically felt, I pushed myself to visit him and be at his bedside every day and all day until they kicked me out. It was grueling for both of us, but I don't know if he would have recovered if I hadn't been there. Partly because I kept his spirits up, but also because I was able to get him better care as an advocate. I had to push to make sure he got the tests and medication he needed and saw the doctors that could help him. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

The only bright side of his hospital stay is that we rediscovered our love for St. Louis Cardinals baseball. We bonded over it and ended up watching every game. We were very sad when they were quickly eliminated in the first round of the playoffs. But it was a magical season as two fan-favorite players were playing their final season and they had amazing and emotional sendoffs. (Albert Pujols and Yadier Molina) It is my hope that my dad has at least one more baseball season left in him.

My health took a serious downturn earlier this year. It happened on the very same day that my best friend Katrina came to visit from Florida. I got so sick I could barely appreciate her presence when she was here. I had been looking forward to seeing her for a very long time and my stupid chronic illness ruined it. I was counting on that visit to give me a mental health boost.

I recovered a few weeks later, but my health has never been the same. I had to adjust to a new normal and adapt and find ways to take care of my father despite being further impaired.

I also lost my last creative outlet--writing. I enjoy researching and writing long and humorous political essays, but since my health declined further, I have not been able to write like that ever since. I'm really hoping I can regain that ability, but I'm unsure if that will happen.

One of my best friends is trans and I have many trans friends and followers and I am just really scared for them right now. The laws that are being proposed and passed are unjust and cruel. I have never witnessed such an effective campaign of hatred in my lifetime. I mean, I know there has always been hatred of the marginalized in every era of modern human existence, but this seems to go beyond just the conservative hate-mongers. It is not couched in subtext and dog whistles. It is overt and very "out loud." And I'm seeing people who claim to be progressive join in this hatred.

They are suddenly super worried about sports they never used to pay attention to. They think bathrooms are suddenly dens of danger despite trans people existing long before this concentrated hate became popular and bathrooms being perfectly safe beforehand. And now people believe that helping trans kids with proper healthcare is akin to child abuse. They think accepting trans kids is "grooming."

I see Twitter and Reddit threads filled with transphobia and it often brings me to tears to see people openly and comfortably hate the people I love so much. They hate people who have no tangible effect on their lives. People who just want to exist and be respected.

I just don't know how people can hate my friends so much without even knowing them.

Also, I'm just... really really lonely. All the time. It feels like a constant punch in the gut. I miss seeing and hugging my friends. I miss romantic companionship. And I've got a 20+ year streak of being sexually frustrated and am completely unsure how in the world to address that.

And finally, I decided to watch The Handmaid's Tale which is just full of rape and sadness. I figured I'm already horribly depressed, so a show probably isn't going to do much more damage. But it is still a tough watch.

That's the major headlines of my depression.

I'm just trying to survive and find little ways to cope. Mostly I am leaning on my support system and amazing best friends to keep me propped up and functioning.

Best I can do right now.

#trigger warning #depression #sad things #transphobia #rape mention

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hadesisqueer · 1 year

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Just saw a rape joke and I got triggered so badly that I started kicking things.

You see, when I was a child, I was sexually abused.

The boy was older than me; not an adult, but but definitely a teenager, he was at least thirteen. I was very young, maybe four or five years old.

I don't think I knew him before that, but we were bored, and there was a ball, so he started playing soccer with me. And I think I got tired, and we sat down away from adults. And he started insisting. I remember being very uncomfortable and crying, not knowing what was going on, and he told me afterwards not to tell my parents because they'd be mad at me. So I didn't.

Being honest, I don't remember much of it. It's blurry. I blocked it out for years, and I think I still block some parts out. I can remember what color the soccer ball was but I can't remember the boy's face. Or even if it happened more than once: some memories differ from the other, so it might have happened more times. Or maybe I misremember things. I don't know.

Like I said, I entirely blocked it out for years. Until I was around sixteen, when I was watching a TV show, and they touched a similar topic. I started feeling bad, I didn't realize why. And I couldn't stop thinking about it. And then, a couple of days later, I had flashes of it, and I started remembering. And I had the worst panic attack of my life. My mother wanted to have me hospitalized, and I only started calming down when my sister came home and talked to me. And thus, my PTSD triggered 12 years later. I've been dealing with it for almost five years.

My parents were furious. Not at me, but at themselves for not realizing it at the time. I was so loving as a little girl, I loved hugging and being hugged, and then suddenly around that age, I started pushing people away when they touched me out of nowhere, and I became much more anxious, and lonelier, and much less talkative. That event, among other things, shaped who I was growing up to be. Why hadn't they noticed? They could have helped me sooner. They could have caught the boy and made sure he was punished.

I haven't told many people about this. The ones I did, had varied reactions. Most told me they were sorry for me, and that they were thankful I trusted them. One didn't believe me and thought I was faking it for attention. Another one questioned my sexual orientation, saying that maybe the reason I thought I didn't like boys was because one abused me as a child. I don't really talk to those two people anymore, as you can imagine.

And one paled because precisely, right before I told him, he had made a rape joke. He tried to explain the joke, but I just kept staring at him. He probably realized he had fucked up badly, because he ended up shutting up and leaving.

Rape jokes are disgusting. And when a victim confronts you about it, if you even try to explain yourself and why the joke is funny instead of immediately apologizing, you're just showing even more just how repulsive and miserable you are as a human being. Literally, go fuck yourselves.

#tw sex abuse #tw rape mention #trigger warnings #tw ptsd mention

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lostryu · 9 months

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The wild part about tr*ns*ndrophobia is how happy and quick people were to latch onto a term coined by a guy with a lesbian correctional r*pe fantasy who also loved the idea of r*ping butches into being trans men. Not to mention all of the perpetuators of tr*ns*ndrophobia all support Saint as well.

Like I dunno, maybe these guys do not have both lesbian's and women’s best interests at heart.

#lesbophobia #transphobia #serious trigger warnings on the callout post #tw rape mention #like seriously you guys support these people way too much #for men blogging about lesbian r*pe #actually this guy just loves the idea of r*pe in general #misspelled a word so i had to go back. Thanks autocorrect

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star-trek-fandom-confessions · 4 months

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#391

"I hate the Prophets. They're so smug and vague, and what they did to Sisko's mom (and dad!) was basically a form of r*pe, and it's never called out."

#confession 391 #star-trek-fandom-confessions #star trek #deep space nine #prophets #trigger warnings #tw rape mention #sarah sisko #joseph sisko #mature label for rape mention

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asherisawkward · 8 months

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Please note that this is very much a rant about their school system that deals with/mentions topics like grooming, sexual assault/abuse, pedophilia, and the sex education system as a whole.

If any of these topics are triggering or upsetting for you, do not read this post.

Considering a post I just reblogged on banned books and sex education, I figured I’m going to make a post explaining my stance on this, so I can point people here if I ever get asks about this kind of stuff.

I went to a middle of the country school when I was in middle school and my first year of high school, but it definitely was smaller and had a southern vibe. If that makes no sense, look up “Tornado Alley,” and that’s about where I was.

My school system did two years of middle school and four years of high school, and I had some sex education. Rather, I had one class period per year in middle school. I went through this class twice.

It did not teach anything substantial about sex. It did not explain what reproductive organs were or how they worked; it did not explain what sex was; it did not teach me about how to use a condom or even what one was. It did not teach me about consent or what rape and sexual abuse or assault. I didn’t even know what that was.

Do you want to know what I learned?

I learned about some STIs/STDs. The guy showed pictures of them in class and explained the symptoms entirely through sickening food comparisons that have left me having trouble eating/looking at any of those foods today (example: he compared syphilis to pepperoni) He did made no actual attempt to explain how they were contracted (beyond “I told [name] not to lick the pepperoni; he licked the pepperoni”) or where they originated from.

You know what else he taught me?

Apparently, sex felt good.

I had no understanding of what any sort of sexual assault/abuse was, and my basic reaction to the vague concept I was aware of was, “just run away.” (An incredibly toxic and victim-blaming mindset that I am ashamed of to this day.) If I had been in a situation where I was being raped or groomed or in a situation akin to that, I would not have known what was happening to me was wrong and needed to be reported. Fortunately, I wasn’t.

And, for the record, my boyfriend had to explain to me how sex works when I was sixteen, because I still didn’t know. And that supposedly helpful sex ed did nothing to help me.

About the same time my boyfriend explained to me how things actually worked in the bedroom, when I was still sixteen, I met a man who visited the neighborhood occasionally because he had a job in lawn maintenance. He was always friendly to me whenever we met. I didn’t know his name, but I saw him when I went on walks around the neighborhood, and we exchanged pleasantries. I thought he was nice.

He had the habit, whenever we saw each other from afar, of blowing kisses to me. I thought he was trying to be grandfatherly. I didn’t knew what it was, and I still don’t really know what to classify it as.

One day, he approached me in his truck and started speaking to me. He asked me my name and if I had a boyfriend. I gave my name and said yes. He told me I was pretty and he liked me. Then he asked me if I wanted to have sex. This man was in his fifties or sixties, and I’ve been mistaken by people for being a couple years younger than I am. There was no way he could have thought I was an adult. I had mentioned going to high school sometimes when we had taker before.

I walked back home, terrified that he would drive by me, throw me in the back of the car, and I’d end up assaulted and eventually dead in a ditch. He didn’t, but I was terrified the entire time.

I wish I had known this stuff sooner, and I didn’t even experience anything that bad. Knowing about It wouldn’t have stopped that from happening, but maybe I could have seen that a man in his fifties or sixties blowing kisses at a sixteen year old kid was not normal.

Imagine how it could have helped for people who go due experience trauma and weren’t lucky the way at I was. People could have figured out the signs of abusive partners or figured out that behaviors indicators of grooming or predatory behavior. It would allow people to know what to report to authorities.

To sum up the product of my ranting/venting; sex education is just as important aspect of of growing up as secular education, and it is vital for the prevention, report, and punishment of abuse and assault.

#Sex Education #The US’s sex education is pathetic #Trigger Warning: mentioned rape/sexual abuse/sexual assault #(Did not happen to me but I bring it up as a possibility)#Trigger Warning: mentioned adult asking a teenager if said teenager wants to have sex #Anti book bans #Rant #today is a bad day for anger management #Trigger Warning: syphilis #Mention of really disgusting food metaphors #Trigger Warning: explanation of an adult propositioning a minor for sex #Vent post as well I guess

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libraryidealist · 5 months

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I have a beautiful friend

I have a beautiful friend. Half a year younger than me, with almond eyes and skin maybe two to three shades darker than caramel. Dusty sunset. It reminds me of spices and the billowing fumes of a barista coffee machine.

She has Columbian heritage, with glossy, thick black hair and long eye lashes. Dark eyes, bright teeth. She laughs big, smiles wide. The slight figure of a doe. She gets excited about everything. She's naive. She's adorable. She wants to explore.

She's beautiful, everyone tells her. She's terrified.

My friend sees the eyes. Of course she does. They're not admiring. They're predatory. She wears who she is on her sleeve, and she's a wondering, easily amazed person. She wants to be happy. Oh, have you ever heard of a better rape victim.

She wants to kiss someone. She wants to be in a relationship, with cuddles and pinky finger promises. She wants to be desired.

We smile. We watch her drink. We make sure she gets home afterwards.

Beauty is a lot of things. But I'd wager to say that no matter if you've carefully cultivated it yourself, were born into it, want it, use it, hate it, are aware of it

Broken down, all social veneers and descriptors stripped away,

It attracts attention.

Oh, Silvia Plath was right.

#creative writing #original poem #original art #growing up female #modern poetry #feminism #poems and quotes #urban poetry #hope punk #poems on life #born female #beauty standarts #everyday sexism #tw rape mention #trigger warning rape mention

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anti--transid · 9 months

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If we're allowed to ask, what's the worst radqueer label you've seen?

OKAY I HAVE A LOT OF ONES

Trans'OMAP' (offending map), TransNazi, TransNeoNazi, Transrapist, Transracist, TransMurderer, Transaddict, Transtransphobic, Transhomophobic, Transabuser, and more that i can't remember

-Kismet/Esther/2eer, he/they/it

#tw pedophila mention #tw nazi mentions #tw neo nazi mentions #tw rape mentions #tw racism mentions #tw murder mentions #tw addiction mentions #tw transphobia mentions #tw homophobia mentions #tw abuse mentions #LOOK AT ALL THOSE TRIGGER WARNINGS

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angelmeateater · 3 days

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TW- MENTIONS OF RAPE

THAT WAS THE WORST HELLUVA EPISODE EVER WRITTEN OMGGGGG

CAME OUT OF NOWHERE, WHERE WAS THE BUILD UP? WHY DO THEY REFER TO CHARACTER MOMENTS THAT NEVER HAPPENED??? "U MADE ME REALIZE I COULD CHOOSE" BITCH WHEN, WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?

THIS EPISODE USES A LOT OF FANCY LANGUAGE TO GET AROUND THE FACT THAT STOLAS AND BLITZ' RELATIONSHIP IS BUILT ON RAPE "YOU ARE NO LONGER OBLIGATION TO SEE ME, TOUCH ME OR BED ME" BEING UNDER OBLIGATION TO FUCK SOMEONE IS RAPE, IT ADMITS THIS FACT YET AGAIN WITH "ALL I CAN SEE IS HOW ITS SO WRONG TO BE TETHERED TO SOMEONE IN SUCH AN UNFAIR WAY" YES. POWER IMBALANCE. RAPE. ITS DANGEROUS FOR A SHOW WITH SUCH A YOUNG AUDIENCE TO SKIM AROUND THIS TOPIC AND MAKE IT SEEM NORMAL. SO NO. JUST BECAUSE STOLAS SAYS HE CARES ABOUT BLITZ DOESN'T MAKE IT ANY LESS RAPE. IT WAS A GOOD THING WHEN HE WAS TELLING BLITZ HE DIDN'T HAVE TO FUCK HIM AND THEN THE SHOW WENT AND TREATED THIS LIKE A BAD THING. THIS IS DANGEROUS. (IF U WANT MORE ON THE SUBJECT U CAN WATCH THIS VIDEO ESSAY BY MADELINE MAYE)

BLITZ IS TOTALLY RIGHT AND ITS A BAD SIGN THAT THE FANDOM TREATS THIS LIKE HE'S WRONG. HELLUVA BOSS HAS A RACIAL HIERARCHY THAT IT HANDLES VERY BADLY, A) IT CAN BARELY DECIDE IF ITS REALLY THERE B) IT DOESN'T REALLY UNDERSTAND WHAT THIS MEANS FOR ITS WORLD, SO I WILL PLAINLY SAY IT MEANS THE WORLD OF HELL THAT VIZZIEPOP HAS CREATED HAS A SYSTEMIC PROBLEM, MUCH LIKE REAL RACIAL HIERARCHIES THERE IS NO REASON FOR IT TO EXIST AND IT IS NOT BASED ON SCIENCE OR ANYTHING, EVEN IF YOU GOT RID OF THIS SEEMINGLY EXPLICIT HIERARCHY, IT WOULD STILL BE THERE, MUCH AS IT IS STILL NOW. I FIND THE SHOW IS FALLING INTO THE SAME PROBLEM AS HARRY POTTER IN THAT IT WANTS TO HAVE A RACIAL HIERARCHY AND A SORT OF "SLAVE RACE" (IMPS MAINLY SEEM TO DO ALL THE SERVANT LIKE JOBS, AS WE CAN SEE IN STOLAS' PLACE, THIS ISN'T NECESSARILY SLAVERY, BUT HONESTLY WE DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT THE WORLD SO AT THE VERY LEAST WE CAN SAY THE SOCIAL POSITION OF IMPS MEANS THEY CAN'T BETTER JOBS FORCING THEM TO TAKE THE ONES THEY DO. LIKE THAT'S WHY I.M.P. IS SUPPOSED TO BE SO SIGNIFICANT BECAUSE THEY'RE DOING SOMETHING THAT ISN'T USUALLY DONE AND ITS WORKING (HOWEVER U COULD EASILY MISS THIS BECAUSE THEY NEVER FACE ANY PREJUDICE WHEN TRYING TO SET UP THEIR BUSINESS)) YET IT DOESN'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT, U SEE FOR MOST MEDIA SET IN A WORLD WITH AN EXPLICIT RACIAL HIERARCHY YOU WOULD EXPECT THAT TO BE THE MAIN FOCUS AND AT LEAST TACKLED IN SOMEWAY, AND MAYBE THERE IS A VERSION OF HELLUVA LIKE THAT IN VIZZIE'S MIND BUT SHES OBVIOUSLY BLINDSIDED BY HER AWFUL GAY SHIP TO CARE ABOUT THAT. INSTEAD WE GET A PIECE OF MEDIA WHERE INSTEAD OF TACKLING WHAT U WOULD EXPECT TO BE ITS MAIN ISSUE, IT ENFORCES IT, EITHER EXPLICITLY OR THROUGH IDEAS. I DON'T HAVE TO TELL U HOW SHITTY THIS IS. THIS IS NOT A PROGRESSIVE SHOW AND IF UR CRITERIA FOR SOMETHING PROGRESSIVE MEANS "HAVING GAY PEOPLE IN IT" THEN U REALLY NEED TO GET UR PRIORITIES IN CHECK MAN, U KNOW I REALLY DIDN'T THINK IT WAS POSSIBLE TO HAVE A SHOW WITH SO MUCH GAYNESS IN IT BUT SO MUCH CONSERVATISM IN IT, ACTUALLY WAIT I CAN BECAUSE THE GAYNESS IN THIS SHOW ISN'T ABOUT QUEERNESS ITS JUST MISOGYNY. ANYWAY BECAUSE OF THE POSITION THE SHOWS LANDED ITSELF IN IT HAS NO CHOICE BUT TO REVERT BACK TO INDIVIDUAL OPINION WHEN A SYSTEMIC ISSUE IS BEING DISCUSSED, THIS IS WHY WHEN BLITZ SAYS "TREAT ME LIKE ONE OF YOUR BUTLER IMPS. YOU ROYAL FUCKS THINK YOU CAN DO THIS EVERY TIME, PLAY WITH OUR FEELINGS BECAUSE WE'RE SMALLER AND NOT AS IMPORTANT", STOLAS HAS NO CHOICE BUT TO SAY " BLITZ I THINK SO VERY HIGHLY OF YOU, I DIDN'T THINK U THOUGHT SO LITTLE OF ME", LIKE OMG BLITZ WAS CLEARLY ADDRESSING THE LARGER SYSTEMIC ISSUES AS WELL AS HOW HE'S BEING TREATED BY STOLAS, AND HE'S TOTALLY FUCKING RIGHT, WE AS AN AUDIENCE HARDLY KNOW WHAT BLITZ EVEN THINKS ABOUT HIS RELATIONSHIP WITH STOLAS, IN FACT THE WHOLE THING, EVEN THROUGHOUT THE VERY EPISODE SEEMS VERY TRANSACTIONAL, BLITZ' FEELINGS ARE NOT CONSIDERED IN THIS RELATIONSHIP, THIS WHOLE INTERACTION IS ABOUT STOLAS' FEELINGS NOT BLITZ', THE AUDIENCE IS SUPPOSED TO THINK BLITZ IS WRONG IN WHAT HE SAYS BUT IN REALITY THE SHOW ITSELF TREATS BLITZ AND THE IMPS JUST AS BLITZ DESCRIBES, BLITZ IS NOT A CHARACTER IN THIS SHOW, HE IS A TOOL FOR A GAY RELATIONSHIP. STOLAS' RESPONSE READS VERY MUCH LIKE A "WHITE WOMAN BEING CONFRONTED BY HER RACIST ACTIONS, ESPECIALLY WHEN THOSE ACTIONS ARE SYSTEMIC" , IT IS TURNING THE SYSTEMIC INTO THE INDIVIDUAL, IT'S "HOW DARE YOU CONFRONT ME ABOUT MY POSITION IN SOCIETY AND THE PROBLEMS THAT I'VE NEVER ADDRESSED, YOU'VE MADE ME UPSET AND UR THE PROBLEM", ITS BAD, ITS SO BAD. THIS SHOW IS SO SHITTY, PLEASE STOP.

LISTEN IF U LIKE THE SHOW U HAVE TO RECOGNIZE ITS ISSUES, ITS NOT JUST BADLY WRITTEN BUT SPREADING SOME DANGEROUS AND CONSERVATIVE IDEAS, IDEAS THAT I KNOW A LOT OF THE YOUNG QUEER AUDIENCE WHO WATCHES IT, WOULDN'T ACTUALLY LIKE, STOP FALLING FOR THE SHOW JUST BECAUSE OF ITS GAY CHARACTERS, IT DOESN'T ACTUALLY LIKE YOU AND YOU SHOULD FIND SOMETHING THAT ACTUALLY CARES ABOUT QUEERNESS RATHER THAN JUST PROFITING OFF YOUR NAIVETY.

#thurscrowday.txt #helluva boss #helluva blitzo #helluva stolas #rape trigger warning #rape mentioned #helluva boss full moon

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braveclementine · 4 days

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Warnings: mentions of being buried alive, mentions of rape

Hours turned into Days.

Days turned into Weeks.

And Weeks, sadly, turned into Months.

There was no sign of Y/N. It was almost as though she had vanished into mid-air.

Tony did not take it well. When he wasn't searching for his daughter, he was locking himself away in the lab. He refused to drink, so he got himself lost in work instead.

Loki became more sullen and withdrawn, glaring at anyone within a ten foot radius of himself, mostly staying quiet and reading.

Bucky and Steve didn't give up, still following leads that were given to them, even after lead after lead ended up in a cold trail.

But there was nothing.

There weren't even any witnesses to tell them what had happened to her.

They thought their best bet was a HYDRA base. So Bucky was trying to remember where they all were, but all the ones they visited were always empty. Abandoned for what seemed like centuries with the amount of cobwebs that were in them.

The police declared her dead after four months. It was not a good day for the rest of the Avengers.

"She's not dead." Tony chanted, hugging his arms around his body while he sat on the couch. "She's not. She can't be. She's only twelve."

"Of course she's not." Natasha would say, but whenever Tony wasn't in the room, she would look over at everyone else and say, "We have to brace ourselves. We can hope all we want, but we all know deep down that she's not coming back alive."

They did know it. But if they continued to look for her, pretended that she was still alive, waiting for them to save her, then they could breathe just a little easier.

At six months, they were all dejected. They all sat in the living room and Natasha sighed, "Tony-"

"No." Tony snaped, eyes rimmed red. He wasn't the only one crying, of course. Bucky was pretending to be asleep, his face pressed into a pillow so that the others couldn't see he was crying. Wanda was weeping into Rhodey's shoulder. Nat on the other hand, just had tears streaming down her face, but she was silent about them, and her voice didn't shake when she poke.

"I'm sorry Tony. But HYDRA doesn't have her. And. . . Tony, God you know I don't want to believe this either, but we have-"

"No." Tony snapped. He stood up. "I'm going on a walk."

"You should take Spot with you." Sam said softly.

Tony glared at him. "You can't name him. He's Y/N's dog. She'll name him when she gets back."

Bruce just shook his head, standing up and going over to where Spot was laying down. "You want to go on a walk?"

Spot jumped up.

"We should all go on a walk." Stephen said, standing up as well, trying not to show how much Y/N's absence was affecting him. She had been showing so much promise as a magician and he missed her creative mind. "It'll clear our heads and the sunlight will do all of us some good."

"Just make sure you keep Spot on the leash." Rhodey warned, "Mr. Gates hates it when he tries digging in the flower beds.

Nat looked up suddenly, but didn't say anything. She turned to Bruce and held out her hand, "could I walk him?"

"Yeah, of course." Bruce said.

They all exited silently. Tony led the way mostly and they all sort've followed behind. Rhodey and Bruce caught up to Tony, walking with him silently. Natasha, Bucky, Steve, Sam, and Clint walked behind them. Pietro, Wanda, Stephen, Loki, and Thor walked behind them.

The walk did seem to help a lot of them. Soon, Sam was even making jokes with Clint to make Steve, Bucky, and Natasha laugh. But there was still a heaviness in their hearts.

"You think this'll ever go away?" Natasha asked sadly, even though she already knew the answer. "The avengers already knew lessons about loss. Like losing Y/N's mother. Or losing Vision to Thanos. Or losing Pepper when she snapped instead of Tony.

"No." Clint said, putting an arm around Nat's shoulders. "But eventually we'll bear it better."

Mr. Gates was tending to the flower bushes alongside the Compound wall. "Hey!" He called out with a friendly wave.

tony raised a hand and started to engage in conversation with him. Nat felt Spot pulling at his leash, wanting to go to the flower beds. She shrugged, letting him off the leash and Clint handed her a ball. She threw it and Spot bounded after it.

"Good boy." She murmured as he brought it back to her, wagging his tail happily.

"Nothing." Rhodey answered for Tony, who was to swept up in emotions to answer whatever question Mr. Gates had asked.

"I'm very sorry for you l-"

"She's not dead Anthony." Tony snapped at his gardener.

"Sorry." Bruce muttered quietly to the gardener. "It's not you, of course."

"No, it's completely understandable." Mr. Gates said, shaking his head in pity. "Believe me, I know, my own daughter went missing a long time ago."

"Really?" Natasha asked, feeling saddened by his news.

"She was eleven, turning twelve just like yer daughter." Mr. Gates nodded to Tony. "I didn't have much for her birthday, but I did what I could. 'Cept she just never came home. Waited and waited. Called the police and they said they couldn't report her missing for another sixteen hours cause they had to do this twenty-four hour wait period. Never found her. That was twenty years ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss." Natasha murmured at the same time was Brue.

Mr. Gates blinked tears from his eyes and nodded. "Not so bad now. Founds ways to cope. And- Hey!" He shouted angrily suddenly and they all spun to see Spot digging furiously in the flower bed. "Stop that!"

"I'm so sorry. I'll get him." Clint rushed across the yard and grabbed Spot's collar, trying to pull him away from the flower bed, "Bad-"

Clint cut off, seeing that the flowers were uprooted and thought he could see pink cloth under the soil. He frowned, letting go of Spot's collar, allowing the dog to continue to dig, until he was uncovering the torso of someone lying in the soil.

Clint swore he saw red. And Bucky, who had joined him, acted upon his red.

Bucky stormed over to Mr. Gates, his hand shooting out to grab him around the throat.

"Bucky!" Steve shouted, "Stop! What are you doing? Is Winter-"

"You killed Y/N." Bucky snarled, hand tightening around Mr. Gates throat. "And you buried her in the fucking flower bed."

Steve finally got Bucky away from Mr. Gates while Nat turned her gun on the gardener.

Steve rushed over to see that Rhodey had made Spot sit back, while Clint and Sam had finished uncovering the entire body.

Y/N had always been a small kid, but seeing her now in this makeshift grave really made them all realize just how small she had been.

Steve felt sick, trembling all over. The way he felt when he didn't have the serum and he got a bad asthma attack.

To be fair, most of the skin had rotted away. The only thing that really gave off the fact that she was Y/N was the shoes on her feet. White shoes with Captain America faces on them. And black ink that had all of the Avengers names signed on it. They'd all signed them for her.

And her hands, which were tied together with now broken and frayed rope, were on her chest so that her hand was clasped around a locket.

Steve knelt down, gently pulling the locket from between her fingers, lifting it over her head and opened it. Inside was a picture of the whole team, with Y/N sitting between Rhodey and Tony, a huge grin on her face.

Steve quickly moved the locket out of the way so his tears didn't stain the picture.

"Steve, they're going to kill him." Sam said in a broken voice, looking over at where Tony had jumped Mr. Gates, trying to beat him to death while Rhodey and Pietro tried to mediate it. But if they pulled Tony away, then Bucky was stepping in, trying to choke him out.

Suddenly, Levi floated over, wrapping itself around Y/N's body, gently floating her out to lay her on the ground.

"We'll give her a proper burial." Stephen said, waving his hands so that, though she didn't come back to life, she looked more human. At their expressions he said, "The way she should've looked if she'd gone through the mortuary."

They all rejoined the others and Steve handed the locket to Tony who was wiping tears off his face.

"Why?" Steve asked the question they all wanted to know the answer to. Steve knelt down, reaching out and grabbing the front of the gardeners jacket, lifting him off the ground, putting him back on his feet. He gave him a little shake. "WHY?"

"Because he's a serial killer." Loki's voice said from behind him. They all saw that Loki had just come from his house and he was holding a huge book.

"That's my prized possession!" Mr. Gates gasped, lunging for it. Pietro grabbed his collar, yanking him back into place.

"Look." Loki said, opening up the first page. The first two pages- side by side- were of a young girl. "It started with his daughter. She was the first one that he killed."

There were pictures, first of her life. His daughter smiling. There were some notes, about her favorite things or her eyes and what not. There were two pictures, right above each other on the last page. One was a picture of her looking terrified, duck tape across her mouth and her hands tied. It didn't show him, himself, but it showed his prick at least, inside of his own daughter.

The second picture was under that one, of her laying in the makeshift grave. Her eyes still open. He had buried his own daughter alive.

Loki flipped through the pages. There was at least thirty of them in here, the last one ending with Y/N.

"You." Tony said in a cold voice. "You raped my daughter. And then you buried her alive. I gave you a job! How could you do that to her? To me?"

"It wasn't anything you did Mr. Stark, you gotta understand that." Mr. Gates said sincerely, passionately. Steve felt sick with how this man didn't feel he'd done anything wrong. "But she was so nice and sweet. And so gorgeous. Her trim was so-"

Bucky's punch landed squarely on his cheek, causing his head to snap to the side, blood starting to flow from the gardeners' mouth.

"THAT WAS MY HONEY BEAR!" Bucky spun to look at Steve, Please let me kill him Stevie, please."

"Honey bear." Mr. Gates muttered, "Reminds me of her last words."

"What were they?" Tony snapped.

Mr. Gates smiled serenely. "I wrote 'em down."

Everyone looked at Loki, who scanned the last page. He swallowed. "I'm surprised you let her say so much."

"I like giving them a little peace. Makes 'em go easier." Mr. Gates grunted.

Loki put a finger on the words and said in a shaking voice that portrayed his emotions, "Daddy needs to know I love him. Mr. Rogers died being so brave, and I can be like him. Auntie Nat was like my second mum. Teddy gave me my favorite hugs. Uncle Strange taught me magic things. Uncle Sam gave me my favorite books. Bruce said I could call him by his first name. Hulk didn't scare me. Uncle Rhodey was supposed to take me flying. Uncle Thor was supposed to show me Asgard. Wanda gave me my favorite stuffed animal. Pietro was like an older brother. Uncle Clint was gonna teach me how to shoot. And Mr. Loki, told me that bad people go to jail. Like you."

Steve felt the tears falling down his face drop onto his shirt. In her final moments, knowing she was going to die, she remembered him. She remembered the stories that he had told her, of being brave. And she had held onto that, so she wasn't scared.

Loki had an almost smile on his face, like he was proud of what Y/N had said about him. Bucky was openly weeping along with Nat, Clint, and Wanda.

Bruce stumbled away from everyone, slowly turning green, trying to fight it down.

"You're going to jail for the rest of your life, that's for damn sure." Rhodey said angrily.

"Like hell." Bucky seethed, looking at everyone. "Surely there can't possibly be a problem for me killing him?"

"Bucky, we're better than him." Steve said, pulling Bucky away gently. The gentleness did the trick and Bucky buried his face into Steve's shoulder.

"But I want him to pay! I want him to hurt!"

"I know." Steve whispered, hugging Bucky tighter. "I know."

"I'm with Barnes." Tony said coldly. "You're dead Gates."

No one could stop him as he raised the Iron man blaster on his hand and blasted it straight through Anthony Gates chest.

He dropped at Lokis' feet. Loki wrinkled his nose, kicking him away.

"Tony." Rhodey muttered, but Tony had already walked away, kneeling next to Y/N's body.

Steve held Bucky tighter.

"C'mon." Clint said gently to Wanda as he wiped his own face, "Let's go inside."

"Bruce, is the Hulk okay?" Nat asked quietly.

"She remembered both of us." Bruce said hoarsely. "She could've screamed for help, but instead she rattled off both Hulk and me."

Nat pulled him into a hug, crying herself. "I know. She was the sweetest girl Bruce."

Rhodey called the police while Sam and Pietro helped to bring Y/N's body inside. A coroner and a mortician both fixed up Y/N's body for an open casket burial and put her in a coffin.

Tony had the funeral that day. It was to long awaited to put it off for any longer.

Police dug around on the Avengers Compound and found eight more bodies that Mr. gates had buried on the property. DNA tests were done, parents or siblings were contacted. The book that Loki had found was proof enough.

No charges were even pressed on the death of Mr. Gates. In fact, most regarded the entire incident as a 'non tragic accident'.

Case. Closed.

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