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wanderingsoul6261 · 7 months ago

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Believing a False Lie

Credit for gif goes to fabiolajyx

James Beaufort x Reader

Synopsis: James takes part in a nasty dare to try and get the get the nerdy and social outcast to date him. He never expected to fall in love though. When Reader hears the truth from some girls at Maxton, she wonders what is true and false, and ultimately begins to avoid James. Will the truth be told and will amends be made?

Warning: Might be some swear words. Bullying takes place. Nothing more than that. the scene with the invitation to Alistair's party is improvised. The pool scene is also improvised.

P.S I got carried away and this really long 😅 excuse any mistakes. I have a sinus headache currently stabbing my skull and I can't take anything yet because certain sinus/allergy meds can effect how well my thyroid meds work.

-----

Y/N was a quiet person. She didn't say much. She took her studies way more seriously than multiple others at Maxton Hall. Some would say that she also went above what she needed to, studying mythology and ancient civilizations. Dedicated her time to be well accustomed to not only national history, but international. If it was within her interest, it did not go unknown by her.

She didn't have many friends, but she did talk often with Ruby Bell and Lin. Y/N was a social outcast and many saw her as that. She knew it. Being quiet and on the sidelines and it was her game, in which she was playing it well. That was until a certain Beaufort stepped in.

He had been dared by Cyril, Alistair, and the others to ask her out on a date. They didn't really care how long that he dragged her along. They just wanted him to do it and then break her heart whenever he was ready.

A sick joke it was.

James was expecting that Y/N might have been smart enough not to go on a date with him, considering her nature and those that she hung out with. Ruby was pretty stubborn and didn't like many of the others that went to the school with them. So he had just about expected Y/N to be the same way.

But she wasn't. And so now the two of them had gone on a few dates, the news oh which spreading around Maxton Hall like a wildfire that was too far out of control to contain. And in the end, James was surprised. Dare he say, even shocked.

James had expected her to be just as everyone had assumed her to be. Nerdy. An outcast. But he only saw someone who was insanely smart and had more to say when you got to know her. She was herself. She didn't try to be someone she wasn't. He surprisingly enjoyed listening to her rambling of whatever topic was stuck on her mind on any given day. Y/N might not have been as beautiful as Elaine or any of the other girls within the school, but James thought that she was gorgeous, nonetheless. Her smile. Her laugh. He had become smitten with her, and every single minute he spent with her, the deeper he was digging his own grave. It was a grave he didn't want out of though.

And as the weeks drew on, his friends had consistently waited for him to dump her. In front of the entire school. But he refused to. James kept pushing and pushing it back until his friends started to tease him about actually liking her. Not that they were far from the truth.

It hurt him at first, that he never did defend her. He stayed silent, but his facial expression was neutral. Deep down he didn't like what they were saying about her. He just didn't know how to approach it. But he knew that he had fallen head over heels for her, and there was nothing he could do to stop his descent.

-----

Currently, the two sat outside the manor that Y/N called home with her parents. They rested sideways on a wooden cushioned swing, James' back against the arm of it and Y/N back against his chest. One of his arms was settled around her waist, while the other laced his fingers with her own. He watched as her other hand flew blindly throughout the air, the hand in his own sometimes joining in the fray before going back to his hand, their fingers interlocking once again.

Most people would have probably been disturbed by her insane knowledge of things that were not necessarily needed to be known. But as she sat against him, constantly having to take deep breaths as she forgot to breath during her explanation of the "The Odyssey", he could only look enamored. James watched her lips as she spoke, not really paying much attention to what was being said, a soft smile adorned his face.

"Are you listening?" James broke out of his stupor, his eyes moving from her lips to her own eyes.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"So, you weren't paying attention?" she asked.

"Oh, I was. About fifty percent of the time. I heard about Circe turning some of Odysseus' remaining men to pigs and then he technically got kidnapped, was it?" he asked, searching her face for approval. Y/N smiled, and his heart pounded. He smiled back at her. That smile was everything to him.

"Yea. She kept him for ten years. Then he was finally able to leave. Although, Poseidon still posed a threat because obviously Odysseus killed his son." And Y/N continued to ramble, and James went back to adoring her like she was the only woman on the planet. Elaine be damned. The arranged marriage wasn't anything. It wouldn't be anything. Not if he couldn't have the one currently in his arms.

James leaned his head down, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth, lingering for a few seconds, before pulling back. His gaze was met with a frozen Y/N, and a smug grin had adorned his face.

"While I know have your attention. I do apologize love, for interrupting your rambling, but Alistair is having a party in a few nights, if you'd like to attend with me."

"Oh, I don't know. My parents have that gala to host in a few nights and I don't know if they would want me around. I can talk to them though?" She suggested. Y/N eyes had widened slightly, growing nervous already at the thought of attending Alistair's party. She knew where she stood amongst the others at Maxton. James gave her a tiny nod, his thumb rubbing across her knuckles.

"Of course. Do what you have to. In the meantime, I should be going. Parents are expecting me home a bit early tonight."

Y/N nodded and stood up first, extending her hand to James as he followed. He looked down at their joined hands, before staring at her face, flashing her a smile as she looked up at him and flashed one back. Yea. He could get used to that.

On their way through the house, James politely bid her parents farewell, before the two walked out to the front where Percy waited for James. They came to a halt next to the vehicle, and as he turned to look at her, he bowed his head down to press his lips against hers. A soft lingering kiss in which she melted into.

"I will see you tomorrow. Let me know whenever you can if you can come to the party."

"Will do, pretty boy." Y/N flashed another smile. He pressed another kiss to her forehead, before turning around and climbing into the vehicle. James watched her in the window of the vehicle, all the way up until she was no longer visible. When he finally turned around in his seat, he caught Percy's gaze in the rearview mirror. James could only smile as he looked away. The two of them both knew he was head over heels for her.

"Not a word, Percy."

------

"James!" Y/N hurried her pace to catch up to James. He stopped briefly, turning around to look at her before he entered the main doors of Maxton, waiting for her.

"Good morning, Love." He grabbed her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

"Good morning, handsome. Oh, I talked to my parents about the party. They would like my help for an hour or two. But after that, I'm free to go. They were surprised that I asked. In fact, I think they were excited." James looked down at her with a smirk.

"You're a goody two shoes."

"Apparently they're hoping for a rebellious stage." Y/N shrugged, smiling back up at James.

"I wasn't sure if you'd get back to me in time about it." James said. His hand settled on the back of her back, guiding the two of them through groups of students.

"Parents have been busy. I wasn't able to talk to them until I left for school this morning. Sorry it's such a late notice."

"No need to be sorry, just glad you can make it." He answered. They appeared outside of her first class for the day. James stared at her with soft smile, receiving one back.

"Have a good day, gorgeous. I'll see you tonight at the party." He mumbled against her lips, before backing away, flashing her a smile. Y/N smiled back, before walking into the classroom.

----

The time for the party came and for Y/N to say that she was anxious, was an understatement. She would be over dramatic and claim that she was fatally anxious about it, even if that was not such a thing.

Heads turned to look at her as she ventured through the house. She cowered slightly, meeting some gazes and avoiding others. Most actually didn't seem to care, while others had glowered at her. Trying to find James through the crowd proved to be just as difficult as she expected. Y/N released a quiet sigh.

Across the room, where Elain was trying to get his attention, James got a glimpse of her as she walked into the room. He wasn't trying to be cliché, but as he stared at her as the array of colors filled and rotated around the room, the world paused for several seconds. She and everything that she was, was his. He couldn't let that go. No matter the dare he had taken apart in. He couldn't go through with it. Now now. Not ever.

His mouth parted slightly, and his cheeks heated up in a blush.

Y/N was a sight to behold and he knew he couldn't part with her, damned what his friends and the rest of Maxton would think.

He pushed past many in the crowd, slowly making his way to her. James kept his eyes attached to her face, drinking her in and drowning in her appearance. As he drew closer to her, his heart hammered faster against his rib cage.

She was his.

James came to a stop behind her at the same time she unexpectedly took a step back. Y/N collided with his chest and she immediately turned around, scared to see who it might have been.

"James" She let out a sigh of relief.

"Hello, love. Finally made it, I see." A teasing glint in his eye.

"Yea. Sorry. My parents held me back a few extra moments to finish something for their gala. But I'm here now."

"That you are." The two stared at each other for several moments, smiles on their faces, before James motioned to the dance floor, and grabbed her hand as he walked past her, dragging her along with him.

The two started dancing, their bodies almost moving at one. The pop song playing decided their moves for them. The two didn't have much finesse between the two of them, but their moves had complemented each other. They stayed pretty close together, never moving more than a foot away from each other at a time. They were smiling and never broke eye contact unless needed. The two of them were enamored in that moment, enjoying the moment as it came to them.

And then the pop song gave way to a slow song, and they stood in the middle of the dance floor, breathing heavily as they gazed upon each other. As the slow song continued, James edged closer, his arms wrapping her waist, pulling her closer as she wrapped her arms around his neck, playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. The two of them swayed together for several seconds, before James used his hands to twirled her around, now holding her with her back against his chest. Y/N turned her head to look at him as he laced his fingers through hers. They swayed for several seconds, before the moment was cut short by Elain, who thought to "accidentally" dump her drink on Y/N.

Y/N let out a gasp as Elain said a fake apology, catching a glare from James.

Y/N watched as Elain walked away, a pep in her step, tossing a smug look over her shoulder before she was out of sight. Embarrassed, she frowned, turning her head to look at James.

"I'm think I'm done for the night. I should probably get home and change out." James nodded, a hand still settled on her waist.

"I left my coat somewhere. I can go grab it and me and Percy can take you home." Y/N nodded.

"I'll wait for you outside by the pool." And how that was the bad idea, for the moment she got outside and began waiting for James, Cyril caught sight of her. He advanced on her, wrapped his arms around her to help prevent a fight, and begun tugging her towards the pool.

"Cyril! No please!" She begged.

"Aawww. The nerd doesn't know how to swim, does she?" James came back outside just as Cyril got to the edge of the pool with her, catching sight of the moment.

"Cyril! No!" But before James could act further, Y/N was in the pool. She didn't resurface, and others around them just watched. It was Jame's turn to start to panic.

James ran towards the edge of the pool, before diving in. Upon submerging, he could see Y/N panicking. She reached out a hand for him to grasp onto as he swam towards her, and within seconds, they resurfaced. Besides being already wet, steady tears rolled down Y/N's face as she continued to panic. James hushed her.

"It's okay. Breathe. Just breath. I got you."

And as he trudged out of the water with her, he sent a scowling glare towards Cyril, walking away from the party and towards the car.

On the car ride home, his hand settled on her thigh, her fingers finding homage in his hand, before explaining the story of her brother, who was killed in a boating accident years before she started to attend Maxton.

------

Y/N had though things were good and normal, especially between her and James. They were happy. They made each other happy. So when she walked by what she presumed to be an empty classroom and heard voices, she stopped momentarily.

And she wished that she didn't, for the voices were going on about the dare James had taken part in, trying to date her and how he hadn't broken up with her yet.

Her world shattered. Y/N stood in the hallway for several minutes, tears rolling down her face as she thought back to the last few weeks and how happy she was. Not only that, but how happy she was James and how much she thought he had been happy.

Was it a lie? Was everything he felt for her a lie? Was there any truth to any of it.

Y/N refused to go to school the second half of the week. She couldn't confront James, as she wasn't sure how to go about it, but he knew something was wrong. That much was evident from the numerous phone calls and texts messages gone unanswered. Even then, she could tell he was panicking. But she let him bask in it.

Other than her parents, who supported whatever she wanted to do in that moment, Ruby and Lin were the only ones who knew. And they had made it quite clear to James where he stood, and that although he was already an asshole, pretending to love someone was a dick move.

And that's how he found out.

James' heart had dropped into his stomach, wondering how she might have found out. He had texted the guys lately about it. He hadn't even talked to them in person about it for quite some time, although he did get subtle comments made when he and Y/N were seen together. So he had deduced that the only way she could have heard about it, was by overhearing about it from someone else. But in the end, it didn't matter hoe she found out. All that mattered was that he fucked up, and there was no telling if he'd be able to fix it. The thought of that alone sent his heart twisting into knots.

James had continuously tried and tried to reach out to Y/N. She hadn't blocked him, as his texts and calls still went through. He had almost thought she answered one call, but then had changed her mind and ended it before anything could be said.

His world was shattering around him, and he had no one else but himself to blame. James became distracted. Had even turned a bit bitter toward his friends. It wasn't their fault, he should have came clean to her. It still would have caused issues, but then they had more of a chance of being fixed than now.

To say he was scared was an understatement.

James Mortimer Beaufort was completely and utterly, terrified.

James was trying everything in his power to fix things. He sent letters to her humble abode. Voice messages left in her inbox on her voice were amongst these, and he was surprised when never he reached the limit.

What he didn't know was that if there was anything Y/N listened to during that week, it was those. She listened to his apologies as she laid in bed, her breakfast forgotten beside her and tears becoming a river on her cheeks.

She had several questions, still unanswered. All of his attempts to get back with her, even if she never called anything off in the first place, made her wonder if he truly did care. But if he did, why was he a part of the dare in the first place. Why didn't he come clean? Most importantly. Why was she such an idiot?

And when she finally went back to school?

She avoided him like the bubonic plague.

He tried many attempts to get her to stop and listen to him. Most times he was left alone as she avoided him. She would pull her wrist out of his grasp and carry on, as if he wasn't even there. Sometimes though, he hoped that she would listen, as she would stop, turn to look at him, and wait several seconds as tears began to swell in her eyes. Then she'd walk away, only leaving James to wish he had spoken a bit quicker.

And every time he saw her back disappear around the corner, he felt as if he was slowly losing her.

And as the Young Beaufort line was beginning to become a reality, he had less and less time to fight for her. Even without that, he knew he was running out of time, and James couldn't let that happen.

-----

"Is he still trying to talk to you?" Ruby's voice sounded from the speaker of Y/N's phone. She sat on her bed, picking at her nails, a book lying forgotten next to her.

"Yea, he is."

"Didn't you end things?" Ruby asked, and as Y/N sat there and thought about it. She realized that she technically didn't. Did she want to? Did he do it already? It didn't seem likely as he was still talking to her, but maybe it was still part of the ruse.

"Not technically. No." It was silent for several seconds and Y/N wondered if the phone call ended.

"You're serious?"

"Yup."

"Y/N-"

"Don't." She started. Y/N had already gotten enough shit from other students since being back. The bullying had heightened tenfold.

She had an interaction with two girls within the event committee. Y/N didn't care to know their names because she didn't like them anyways. But they had both dumped their drinks on her clothes, prompting her to leave classes early today.

And what made it worse, as she walked away from the situation? She locked her teary eyes with James. He glowered at the girls who had consistently belittled and bullied Y/N throughout the week. James had opted to give Y/N space, but this time, he couldn't.

He had followed Y/N out of the room and quickly caught up to her. He tried to initiate contact, but she could only turn around and shove him away, crying and screaming at him to leave her alone.

"I don't know what to believe." Y/N finally spoke again to Ruby, who continued to listen on her side of the call. "He's doing everything to fix things, but I don't know if it's apart of a ruse to further the rewards of the dare." She explained, her voice cracking slightly.

"Does he sound genuine?"

Y/N thought to herself for several moments.

"That's the confusing part. He sounds completely geuine."

------

And finally, it was the night of the Victorian donor gala. Y/N had stuck close to Ruby and Lin. She had stayed quiet, slowly drinking her champagne as she conversed with a few students and professors.

She would watch the couples down below slow dancing to songs, and her heart ached because even after everything, she had wished her and James were down there.

"Stop thinking about it." Ruby came up beside her. "Be free tonight." Y/N listened as Ruby talked to her, distracting her. Until it wasn't Ruby distracting her, but a certain someone else. Y/N stared past Ruby down to the ground floor, where she could see James looking around. What he was looking for, she wasn't quite sure. That was, until James looked up, caught her gaze, and held it. His facial expression softened as he looked at her, and that was when Y/N knew who he was here for her.

Her.

Ruby saw that she was distracted and turned to see what she was looking at. She looked down at James. James eyes never left Y/N though. Ruby finally turned back to Y/N eith a heavy sigh.

"I think it's finally time you go talk to him." The comment broke Y/N out of her stupor, in which she didn't hesitate much as she slowly started her descent down the stairs.

It felt like forever before she finally ended up front of James.

"Why are you here?" She asked.

"I came to apologize."

"What about the Young Beaufort line?" James was surprised that she cared enough to ask about it.

"It doesn't matter in this moment."

"Then if not that, then what does?" She asked.

"You." James barely let Y/N finished asking the question before he responded. Y/N stared at him for several seconds, tears swelling up in her eyes.

"Why?" She finally asked.

"Truth?" He asked. Y/N nodded. All she wanted was the truth.

"I didn't expect to fall in love with you." James explained.

"And how am I expected to believe you?"

"You don't have to. Just, please, let me explain myself. And then afterward, if you want nothing to do with me, then I'll leave you alone. I promise." Y/N pondered what he said, before she finally nodded.

A slow song started to play, and the two looked at each other.

"May I?" He asked. "If this is the last time we are to do anything together, I'd like one last dance." Y/N's heart swelled, although she hated to admit with the circumstance. She took a few steps closer him, allowing it be his cue. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she wrapped her around his neck. The two started to slow dance.

"I don't know where to begin."

"From the beginning." He nodded, in agreement.

"Okay. So, it was a dare." He confirmed. "Cyril, Alistair and the others dared me that I couldn't get you to go on a date with me. I was honestly surprised that you did."

"I don't see the bad in people. You're a good person, James, and that's what I saw. I saw your caring personality beneath everything else and I fell in love with it." James stared at her as she spoke.

"Right." He cleared his throat. "Well, I honestly didn't expect to fall in love with you."

"Genuinely?"

"Genuinely." He confirmed.

"Then why didn't you say something sooner? This could have been avoided." He nodded, agreeing.

"I know. I was just scared. I wasn't sure how you would react, so I went on, hoping you wouldn't find out because I didn't want to risk the potential of losing you."

"But you might lose me know." He heart fell. Was this it? James swallowed thickly before looking at the floor in between their feet as they continued to slowly dance. "Hey."

James looked back up at her and in his expression, she could see that he was terrified.

"I never did technically end the relationship." She gave him a small smile. "Sure, things will need to be worked on and trust reinstated, but I'm willing to work through-" James didn't let her finish what she was saying, enveloping her lips into a searing kiss, in which it only took her seconds to melt into it.

------

Tag list:

@honethatty12 @lifeonawhim @ashamedtobewhitemanswhore27 @maryvibess @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @imasimptoowth @sillyfreakfanparty

#james beaufort x reader #james beaufort #maxton hall

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icarusredwings · 3 months ago

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This has been on my mind for NO Fucking reason so to make it shut up, lets talk about it.

"Why doesn't Wade just do chemotherapy?"

In this essay, I will explain the answer to that question, looking at Germ cancer cells and testicular cancer rates to decide-

Can Wade have biological kids?

Let's start with the basic facts.

What a germ cell tumor?

A germ cell tumor is a mass made of reproductive cells, also called germ cells. “Germ” is short for “germinate,” which means to mature. For men and people assigned male at birth (AMAB), germ cells mature into sperm. Related, germ cell tumors most often form where eggs get made (ovaries) and where sperm gets made (testicles).

[ https://my.clevelandclinic.org/health/diseases/23505-germ-cell-tumor]

Testicular cancer.

Most testicular cancers start in cells known as germ cells and are called germ cell tumours. Germ cells in men produce sperm. Testicular germ cell tumours can develop from germ cell neoplasia in situ (GCNIS). GCNIS means that there are abnormal cells in the testicle.

[https://www.cancerresearchuk.org/about-cancer/testicular-cancer/types#:~:text=Most%20testicular%20cancers%20start%20in,abnormal%20cells%20in%20the%20testicle.]

More than 90% of testicular cancer start in the germ cells, which are cells in the testicles and develop into sperm. This type of cancer is known as testicular germ cell cancer. Testicular germ cell cancer can be classified as either seminomas or nonseminomas, which may be identified by microscopy.

[https://www.cancer.gov/ccg/research/genome-sequencing/tcga/studied-cancers/testicular-germ-cell-study ]

Treatments.

At the moment there is not a lot of options, the most common are:

Chemotherapy

Radiation

Surgery

Chemotherapy.

Chemotherapy works by stopping or slowing the growth of cancer cells, which grow and divide quickly. Because of his healing factor, this would probably not work and if anything cause Wade more illness seeing as Chemo causes

Fatigue

Hair loss

Easy bruising and bleeding

Infection

Anemia (low red blood cell counts)

Nausea and vomiting

Appetite changes

Constipation

Diarrhea

Mouth, tongue, and throat problems such as sores and pain with swallowing

Peripheral neuropathy or other nerve problems, such as numbness, tingling, and pain

Skin and nail changes such as dry skin and color change

Urine and bladder changes and kidney problems

Weight changes

Chemo brain, which can affect concentration and focus (serve mind fog)

Mood changes

Changes in libido and sexual function

And last but not least Fertility problems

[https://www.cancer.org/cancer/managing-cancer/treatment-types/chemotherapy/chemotherapy-side-effects.html ]

Radiation.

At high doses, radiation therapy kills cancer cells or slows their growth by damaging their DNA. Cancer cells whose DNA is damaged beyond repair stop dividing or die. When the damaged cells die, they are broken down and removed by the body. In theory this would work a little bit, for about 12 minutes and then he immediately would have all of those dead cells back because while the radiology killed one spot, cancer spreads. Quickly. With his healing factor its MUCH quicker too. All that pain for nothing.

Fatigue

Hair loss

Memory or concentration problems

Throat problems, such as trouble swallowing

Cough

Shortness of breath

Taste changes

Skin changes (such as burning and peeling)

Less active thyroid gland

Sexual problems

Fertility problems

Urinary and bladder problems

[https://www.cancer.gov/about-cancer/treatment/types/radiation-therapy]

Surgery.

I dont even need any sources for this. We saw what happened to his legs when ripped off. They just grew back. And if removing cancer cells makes newer cancer cells? That's useless.

Summary.

Wades entire body is cancerous. Yes. His ENTIRE body. Every arm, toe, and fingernail on this man is cancerous. His healing factor is literally just having rapid cancer growth (amongst other things)

Chemotherapy and radiation will not work on him. Chemotherapy works by killing cancerous cells in order to grow healtheir ones. Except Wade can only produce cancerous cells. Yes, while they are new and much more likely in the very early stages, it's still cancerous.

This being said, there is no cure or treatment for Wades Cancer (that we know of at this time) Its quite physically the only thing keeping him with super hero powers yet still remains even after his powers are taken.

Hate to say it.

I hate to say it but statistically removing older, more advanced cells to replace with newer, less progressive cells (aka removing or ripping off his limbs/ parts of his body so they can grow back as new and fresh) is probably the best 'treatment' Wade has right now. Radiology would work the same, right?

Yes, but A. Not as B. Too many side effects that he he'll have to deal with MORE making him even more crazy and sick. Why would he do that when he can just tease Logan into slicing a hurt leg off and go from there?

Will the treatment help him be fertile?

Realistically, without his powers, he probably would be dead in a week, perhaps less due to just HOW much cancer this man truly has.

Chemo would also make it worse. So much worse, in fact. Both pain wise and his chances at ever biologically having a child.

Result(s) Before the cancer was diagnosed, (66%) 79/120 couples who attempted to conceive succeeded within 1 year. After (Cancer) treatment, (43%) 38/88 couples conceived within 1 year.

[https://www.fertstert.org/article/S0015-0282(03)00335-2/fulltext]

Testical Germ Cell Tumors are associated with semen abnormalities before orchiectomy. This review shows an increase in abnormal semen parameters among men with TGCT even outside the treatment effects of orchiectomy, radiation, or chemotherapy.

[https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4270136/ ]

The way that TGCT affects the sperm is that it's very common for not only lower sperm count (obviously, it's hard to produce when you're fighting an entire body illness) but also changes the shape of the sperm which makes it very difficult to reach the egg. Sperm with crooked tails, double tails, double heads, or even broken sperm have a very hard time reaching the egg (think of it like natural selection) and die off before they get anywhere. If you already have low countage and most of them can't make it?

Well that's much lower chances of fertility.

In the comics.

In the comics, Wade has a daughter named Eleanor Camacho in which he was unaware of because her mother saw his face and ran away in terror. The entire thing is that her mother thought she was going to die and decided fuck it, if im gonna die Im gonna die happy so decided to spend these last moments with wade (who she literally just met- if that aint weird in itself idk what is).

She only ever found him to demand child support, and he refused to believe such a beautiful child could he his given his stance of insecurity and well- Just utter shock anyway, I think. He is right. Eleanor is gorgeous as a baby and as an adult.

(There's actually a whole comic where he's trying to fight death so his daughter doesn't die before him because he "couldn't bear the thought of living without her" so they activate a bomb "with the power of a black hole" and comit death together. It's very sweet)

TLDR

In conclusion.

Yes, Wade can have children, but he has a better chance at being successful if he removes his lower half and regrows it so that its *less* cancerous than before cells, therefore hes more likely to have normal shaped sperm and probably more of it during the process.

No, chemotherapy, radiation, and surgery would not be effective. Unfortunately, the most effective thing for him is ripping his limbs off sometimes.

"Forest- why the fuck did you write this?"

You know... I really don't know. I wanted to become a bio geneticist, and here I am. Writing about some bald guys' balls on the Internet. Siiigghh... anyway. Use this. however you want, I don't even care at this point.

#sources sited #fuck cancer #testicular cancer #deadpool and wolverine #poolverine #deadpool #wade wilson #deadpool 3 #deadclaws #wade has cancer #cancer awareness #what the fuck is wrong with me #in this essay i will #explain something NO ONE asked to know about #vanessa carlysle #wades daughter #eleanor camacho #for science!

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scientia-rex · 1 year ago

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Because my most popular post is about weight loss and how it's a crock, I get a lot of questions about various things, including bariatric surgery--just posted the link to the post I did about that--but also Ozempic/Wegovy, the once-weekly injectable semaglutide medication that was developed for diabetes but was found to have independent benefits on weight loss.

I always said that weight loss was like Viagra: when a medication came along that actually worked, it would explode. We'd all hear about it. Fen-phen in the 90s worked, but it was bad for your heart. Stimulants, like meth, may cause weight loss, but they do it at the cost of heart health, and raise your likelihood of dying young. Over the counter weight loss supplements often contain illegal and unlisted thyroid hormone, which is also dangerous for the heart if taken in the absence of a real deficiency. Orlistat, or "Alli," works the same way as the Olestra chips Lays made in the 1990s--it shuts off your ability to digest fats, and the problem with that is that fats irritate the gut, so then you end up with fatty diarrhea and probably sharts. Plus Alli only leads to 8-10lbs of weight loss in the best case scenario, and most people are not willing to endure sharts for the sake of 8lbs.

And then came the GLP-1 agonists. GLP stands for glucagon-like peptide. Your body uses insulin to make cells uptake sugar. You can't just have free-floating sugar and use it, it has to go into the cells to be used. So if your body sucks at moving sugar into the cells, you end up with a bunch of glucose hanging out in places where it shouldn't be, depositing on small vessels, damaging nerves and your retinas and kidneys and everywhere else that has a whole lot of sensitive small blood vessels, like your brain.

Glucagon makes your liver break down stored sugars and release them. You can think of it as part of insulin's supporting cast. If your body needs sugar and you aren't eating it, you aren't going to die of hypoglycemia, unless you've got some rare genetic conditions--your liver is going to go, whoops, here you go! and cough it up.

But glucagon-like peptide doesn't act quite the same way. What glucagon-like peptide does is actually stimulating your body to release insulin. It inhibits glucagon secretion. It says, we're okay, we're full, we just ate, we don't need more glucagon right now.

This has been enough for many people to both improve blood sugar and cause weight loss. Some patients find they think about food less, which can be a blessing if you have an abnormally active hunger drive, or if you have or had an eating disorder.

However, every patient I've started on semaglutide in any form (Ozempic, Wegovy, or Rybelsus) has had nausea to start with, probably because it slows the rate of stomach emptying. And that nausea sometimes improves, and sometimes it doesn't. There's some reports out now of possible gastroparesis associated with it, which is where the stomach just stops contracting in a way that lets it empty normally into the small intestine. That may not sound like a big deal, but it's a lifelong ticket to abdominal pain and nausea and vomiting, and we are not good at treating it. We're talking Reglan, a sedating anti-nausea but pro-motility agent, which makes many of my patients too sleepy to function, or a gastric pacemaker, which is a relatively new surgery. You can also try a macrolide antibiotic, like erythromycin, but I have had almost no success in getting insurance to cover those and also they have their own significant side effects.

Rapid weight loss from any cause, whether illness, medication, or surgery, comes with problems. Your skin is not able to contract quickly. It probably will, over long periods of time, but "Ozempic face" and "Ozempic butt" are not what people who want to lose weight are looking for. Your vision of your ideal body does not include loose, excess skin.

The data are also pretty clear that you can't "kick start" weight loss with Ozempic and then maintain it with behavioral mechanisms. If you want to maintain the weight loss, you need to stay on the medication. A dose that is high enough to cause weight loss is significantly higher than the minimum dose where we see improvements in blood sugar, and with a higher dose comes higher risk of side effects.

I would wait on semaglutide. I would wait because it's been out for a couple of years now but with the current explosion in popularity we're going to see more nuanced data on side effects emerging. When you go from Phase III human trials to actual use in the world, you get thousands or millions more data points, and rare side effects that weren't seen in the small human trials become apparent. It's why I always say my favorite things for a drug to be are old, safe, and cheap.

I also suspect the oral form, Rybelsus, is going to get more popular and be refined in some way. It's currently prohibitively expensive--all of these are; we're talking 1200 or so bucks a month before insurance, and insurance coverage varies widely. I have patients who pay anything from zero to thirty to three hundred bucks a month for injectable semaglutide. I don't think I currently have anyone whose insurance covers Rybelsus who could also tolerate the nausea. My panel right now is about a thousand patients.

There are also other GLP-1 agonists. Victoza, a twice-daily injection, and Trulicity, and anything else that ends in "-aglutide". But those aren't as popular, despite being cheaper, and they aren't specifically approved for weight loss.

Mounjaro is a newer one, tirzepatide, that acts on two receptors rather than one. In addition to stimulating GLP-1 receptors, it also stimulates glucose-dependent insulinotropic polypeptide (GIP) receptors. It may work better; I'm not sure whether that's going to come with a concomitantly increased risk of side effects. It's still only approved for diabetes treatment, but I suspect that will change soon and I suspect we'll see a lot of cross-over in terms of using it to treat obesity.

I don't think these medications are going away. I also don't think they're right for everyone. They can reactivate medullary thyroid carcinoma; they can fuck up digestion; they may lead to decreased quality of life. So while there may be people who do well with them, it is okay if those people are not you. You do not owe being thin to anyone. You most certainly do not owe being thin to the extent that you should risk your health for it. Being thin makes navigating a deeply fat-hating world easier, in many ways, so I never blame anyone for wanting to be thin; I just want to emphasize that it is okay if you stay fat forever.

#the attending dr. kristophine

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foldingfittedsheets · 5 months ago

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Hey! If you don't mind sharing, I'd be interested to hear more about your chronic illness diagnosis journey (I also get that it can be a private thing!).

I've been struggling for the last 5 or so years with chronic fatigue, muscle weakness, muscle pain and brain fog, and my doctors have checked a bunch of different things. EBV, thyroid, vitamin D, "are you sure you're not just depressed" and they've now gone for ME/CFS. A part of that just doesn't feel right to me because I feel like they should have done more tests or walked me through alternatives before settling! Especially because it fluctuates so much. Sometimes I can't leave the house, sometimes I have to borrow a wheelchair if I'm in a shop, sometimes I can walk 5000 steps??

Love and support for you and your gluten free adventure - potatoes, rice and polenta tend to be pretty good for me when I want something bready! (Doesn't quite hit the spot as well as buttered toast does though...)

My decline was really painfully gradual. I didn’t realize why things were getting so much harder. It manifested first with friction between my beloved because they were frustrated I was always too tired to run little errands myself. I went to the doctor and talked about my fatigue but was assured I was fine. I went on Chinese herbs and they buoyed up my reserves so I could keep functioning.

That went on for months, just getting more and more tired. I’d wake up sobbing because I wasn’t any more rested than I’d gone to bed. I went to a new doctor at that point. I got diagnosed with anemia until my blood work came back normal and then I was told I was fine.

Then I started fainting. My hair was falling out. I went to a different doctor. She ran my blood. I got told I was fine, but that maybe I had a food allergy. She slapped me with a full elimination diet that broke my spirit. I did feel some minor improvement but I wasn’t healthy by any means.

Finally, my good friend who is a doctor said that’s enough. She was in a different state but she was furious that I wasn’t getting any help. She ran my blood on a bunch of different ailment tests that were less well known. She tested for antibodies to EBV. If you have over 20 they consider you to have an active infection.

I had over 700 which is when they stop bothering to count.

I was so chock full of virus I was pound for pound virus by that point.

Then came the hard part. Knowing you’re bursting at the seams with a virus doesn’t make it easy to treat. The virus was living in me, in my cells. Too much of the medication and my body would start siccing it’s defenses against its own tissue.

I went on a bonanza of supplements. There was syrups to boost energy, pills to increase my immune system, antivirals, iron and vitamin D because those were kinda low. It was a three times a day regime of medicines.

My initial dose of antiviral was too high. I experienced a pain unlike what any mortal should bear as a result, dropping to the ground to writhe in agony when it hit. My dosage got lowered and my progress crept along.

I started school sometime in there and barely kept my head afloat above coursework. My stress load from school correlated to how much energy I had and I longed to finish my degree and just prioritize feeling better.

Then things got worse. My original doctor friend let her prescription rights for my state lapse, it didn’t make financial sense to keep them. A different friend from yet another state wrote my antivirals for a while but eventually I needed a new doctor.

I found another, this time a naturopathic doctor like my friends, hoping I’d keep receiving good care in that scope of practice. I didn’t. I had the most painful blood draw of my life in her office, writhing in agony, then didn’t hear back from her. I got ghosted by my doctor. When I pestered her for results she wrote me a script for antivirals but that was all.

I’d find out about eight months later when my health was declining and my friends demanded to see my blood work that my iron had been dangerously low but she hadn’t bothered to tell me. I got on iron supplements and staggered along.

Through precision time management I could budget my functional time into schoolwork then collapse to recuperate. It was working, but barely.

When my scrip on antivirals ran out I hunted once again for a doctor. This time I’d realized that any good care I’d gotten was when I’d made a personal connection with the doctor, a rare privilege not many people got. So I sought out a friend of a friend, someone I’d seen on occasion in the doctory social circle.

I have never been more happy with a doctor. She tested my viral numbers and pronounced herself satisfied that it was in check but was suspicious that although my thyroid numbers always looked normal that something was going on there. She ran more tests and lo. A thyroid imbalance.

Around that time I’d sunk into needing the chair. I stopped functioning, it was almost as bad as my first collapse. And yet again the fun part of getting my thyroid in balance was a delicate balance of making sure I wasn’t taking too much and hurting myself.

That balancing act took about a year to stabilize. I was still so weak from years of fatigue and inactivity. An able bodied person cannot imagine how hard it is to build up from ground zero on all your muscles. And the worst part was any time I felt tired I was terrified I was going to slip back down into the depths of exhaustion.

Then my beloved and I got Wyvern the puppy. And before we realized we had both somehow developed allergies to dogs and had to break our hearts giving him up, he saved me the last time.

Potty training meant I had to get up every two hours to take him out. I didn’t have to walk far but I had to do it consistently. Every single day I’d go to bed aching in every muscle, terrified to wake up. But every day I woke up with energy and was able to do it again.

It was like puppy boot camp, and I was able to go longer and farther every walk. By the time we realized we couldn’t keep him I was mobile again, I hadn’t needed my chair at all. When we said goodbye to him I promised I wouldn’t lose the progress he helped me make.

Now I finally, for the first time in six years, feel healthy again. I can go on long walks, I can run little errands for my beloved, I can fill my days with activity and wake up to do it again the next day. It’s the most amazing thing.

I hope you can stumble upon a doctor who can listen to you and help you. I know how hard things can get, but sometimes they can get better.

#ask ffs

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synbiosys · 2 months ago

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So, I’m not proud of it, but I’m back to ask for help again. Above is the link to my Ko-Fi account; I can accept donations via Stripe and Paypal; I don’t have a preference of which method you use. Below is a more detailed explanation of the events that have led to my current predicament; it’s not entirely necessary to understand, but it should make sense of why this happened to me.

I’m dealing with some health problems and a recent car accident and I need help paying my bills for the next few months while I use that time to finish incomplete coursework for classes I took last year. In case it’s not clear, an “Incomplete” is a grade that can be given by instructors at some schools in situations where a student wasn’t able to complete a major assignment for a class due to circumstances outside their control, and allows students a pre-determined amount of time to finish that work beyond the end of the course. I had a plan for covering my expenses with a summer job at the Oregon State University Arthropod Collection (OSAC) while I finished the incomplete work, but the nature of my health issues, an outbreak of fleas, and a car accident have all prevented me from making it work. Now I’m kind of trapped; the cost of living in Corvallis is too high for food stamps to last an entire month, I don’t have a car anymore, and I’ll probably end up homeless if I can’t pay October rent and also pay November rent on time. I’ve managed to find some work doing landscaping and yardwork in my neighborhood, but I’ve realized that it’s impossible to make enough money and also handle the incomplete coursework; focusing on the former will impact the completion of my degree in June, while focusing on the latter will likely result in homelessness. The loss of my car is exacerbating all of this, in part because I live further away from all of the stores/banks/etc. in Corvallis, and public transit here is not very good.

Since late 2022, I’ve been experiencing sleep apnea-like health problems arising from swollen turbinate glands. I have some known allergies, but they’ve never caused swollen turbinate glands. The impact on my sleep quality became so severe that I had to resort to nasal strips every night. I saw doctors about this problem as early as spring of 2022, but none of them were helpful; most of them didn’t listen to me, and none of them considered trying any kind of testing. This ineptitude continued even after directly asking my primary doctor about autoimmune conditions and how we could test for them. Despite how obviously informative blood samples can be, nobody suggested a blood test. I finally lost my patience and demanded they give me a blood test for hypothyroidism at the end of August. Lo and behold, my thyroid hormone levels were an order of magnitude out of the normal range. Autoimmune problems run in my mother’s family, and it’s likely that I have Hashimoto’s thyroiditis; this disease is rarer in men, and the symptoms appear very gradually. While I can understand how this would delay detection of the disease, there were FIVE different doctors who saw me in relation to the sleep/allergy problems and none of them considered a blood test. I started taking levothyroxine the same day as the test results, but before being treated, my symptoms became so severe that my ADHD medication stopped working, my OCD symptoms went out of control, and I was experiencing severe brain fog. This is what forced me to request incomplete grades for my courses; I was trying to complete coursework despite all of this, and I was barely able to keep up. Once treatment begins, it takes at least a month to take effect, so my symptoms didn’t start improving until early October. Most recently, I found out that I needed to increase my dosage, but thyroid problems often have complex consequences, and any changes to the dose of the medication will result in unwanted side effects.

My original plan for this summer was to work at OSAC to cover my expenses while I tackled the incomplete coursework. I calculated the gross income I’d need to meet my expenses, and working 30 hours a week at this position well exceeded that amount. My duties as a curatorial assistant change slightly depending on the tasks at hand, but because I am paid from grant money, I must work efficiently, accurately, and in an organized manner. Because I have ADHD, extra measures are necessary in order to meet these requirements. I’ve worked this job intermittently since 2018, so I know how prevent my ADHD symptoms from interfering with my work. Because of the failures by my doctors to address my health problems, I was already struggling to arrive at work on time by June. By July, my symptoms had worsened to the point that I was no longer able to focus on work consistently, voluntarily cutting some days short because I wasn’t accomplishing much, and continuing to work in that state was inherently a waste of grant money. By August I could only make it to work sporadically. As a result, I missed most of the income I could have earned for August and September of this year. I was able to make up for some of this impact by selling old trading cards and video games from childhood, but that money didn’t last very long.

I was also confronted with a flea infestation that suddenly appeared in August. I rent a bedroom in a house with housemates; we tried to eradicate them ourselves, but the landlord suddenly informed us in early September that he hired an exterminator, who was arriving in less than 24 hours. I have some pet reptiles and pet invertebrates I needed to protect from pesticide exposure, so I suddenly had to move my pets to a friend’s house. I also had to re-arrange my bedroom to accommodate the exterminators. Based on the chemicals that were used, the only way I could make room safe again for my pets was by mopping the floor in my bedroom and the adjacent hallway three times. This ultimately cost me four days, and then the exterminators came back in early October, which forced me to repeat the process.

As if this wasn’t enough, I had a serious car accident in late September that annihilated my car and left me with severe lacerations to my left arm and a fracture in my thumb. The car spun out and flipped in the process, landing in the opposite lane. If another car had been about to pass me, it would have caused a direct collision at around 55 mph, and I probably wouldn’t have survived that. I realized the danger immediately and crawled out of the car, but most of the other possible outcomes would have involved my demise. I’m very lucky, but it took almost a month for the lacerations to heal, and one of them was deep enough to cause nerve damage, which hasn’t completely healed yet. My left hand has healed enough for me to use it, but I’m still having some issues with my thumb.

I wish I could say that I had help from my family, but my parents were impacted by both of the recent hurricanes that made landfall in western Florida. Even before the hurricanes, my parents weren’t really willing to understand what I was dealing with. I grew up in an abusive household; my sister and I were neglected by our parents, and we experienced emotional abuse from them as young adults. This is particularly true of my father, who himself is the product of a highly abusive upbringing. Unfortunately, research on the dynamics of child abuse has shown that children from abusive households often suffer a lack of economic mobility relative to children from more supportive family backgrounds as a result of mental health impacts. This has absolutely been the case with my sister and I; both of us are well into our 30s, and neither of us is anywhere close to long-term financial stability. That’s why it was deeply hurtful to hear my father blame me for being unable to fly to Florida on a whim to help him clean up the house, blame me for paying $950 a month for rent, and shame me for being 35 years old without a “stable job”. Both of my parents visited me in Corvallis in late July; they could tell that I was struggling, they apologized for neglecting me, and they told me they’d be more supportive, but apparently everything they said to me then must have been an act.

Hopefully, this explanation sufficiently articulates the situation I’ve ended up in. I almost have enough money to pay my October rent, and I need to have my November rent paid by 11/5. I would have tried using Ko-Fi sooner, but in the interest of upholding my own responsibility, I wanted to exhaust my other options before resorting to donations again

#crowdfunding #financial assistance #car accident #hypothyroidism #degree completion

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cyber-dump-171 · 2 months ago

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Chapter 2: Do you believe?

The End is Near (Gravity Falls x Reader)

← Chapter 1 | Masterlist | Chapter 3 →

Word count: 5.5k.

WARNING: mentions of violence, blood, injuries, body horror, and animal mutation.

Note: sorry this took so long! had a few rough weeks and I'm nearing the end of my final year in uni, but it's all good! Thank you so much to everyone who left a like, reblog, or comment, it makes me so happy to see you're enjoying this fic!

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Fiddleford's sudden cry stops you dead in your tracks. One foot in the air, covered in the creature's dark blood, hands clenched tightly into fists, unaware that your nails are digging painfully into your palms as you stare directly into the lantern's light like a deer caught in the headlights.

His mouth moves, but you're too disoriented to pay attention to the worried string of words that leave his tongue. His eyebrows furrow, a hand reaching out in concern, but your vision swims as the adrenaline begins to subside, and your body screams at the injuries scarring your skin and muscles. “Fiddleford… When did you get here?”

Your ears buzz and pop painfully. However, as if a switch had been flipped, the forest around you suddenly returns to life instantly. In the distance, you can hear the rustling of branches, the crunching of leaves, and the hooting of night owls. Even the fog has lifted, allowing you to see beyond the clearing and further into the forest. Did the creature restrict your vision and hearing? No way. That should be impossible, right?

Your legs feel like jelly, the muscles burning in protest as they beg you to sit down. Unfortunately, as you step back from the mangled carcass, you land on your injured ankle, and combined with the sole of your shoe covered in the monster's slippery blood, your entire world is turned upside down as you land painfully on your back, the blades of grass nipping at your exposed skin.

“Sweet sarsaparilla! You alright!?” within seconds, Fiddleford's worried face comes into view, the moon framing his head beautifully, making him look like an angel. When did he get so pretty? You nod weakly and close your eyes, trying to rid yourself of the dizziness that makes it hard to breathe and even harder to swallow.

“M’fine,” your voice sounds so strange, hoarse, like you’ve got the worst cold in history. It sucks to breathe, worse to be alive right now, the pain on your ankle feels like fire, scorching the surrounding skin. ‘But it’ll pass… it always does.’ Lukewarm fingers suddenly but gently intertwine with yours as Fiddleford pulls you to sit up and you open your bleary eyes, dizzily watching the man rifle through his bag with determination.

“Hold steady, Sunflower. I’m gonna push down on ya neck, this might hurt,” he mutters as he slips on a pair of surgical gloves, the latex snapping close to his skin. You perk up when hearing the flower, was that supposed to be a nickname for you? An unfamiliar but not unwelcome heat swirls in your chest and your suspicion is confirmed when Fiddleford stares back, eyes wide at what has left his mouth, and that sweet blush is back on his cheeks.

A small smirk is plastered on your face, and for some strange reason, you feel giddy. “That’s a cute nickname… I quite like it. But, why sunflower?” you cough roughly and put a hand on his shoulder, watching him jump at the sound out of the corner of your eye. He carefully hides his face from you, stuttering as he whispers about you shutting up and “letting him do the medic's work.” You just chuckle in return.

You close your eyes again as you concentrate on listening to the now vibrant surroundings, taking your attention away from the pain. Soon, nimble fingers start poking and prodding at your neck, where you imagine a rather large purple bruise is beginning to form. You suck in a breath as he presses down on a particularly painful spot, and he quietly apologizes, muttering something about your thyroid gland.

“FIDDLEFORD!? WHERE ARE YOU!?” a voice suddenly shouts from beyond the nearby trees. As your eyes open, a flash of white light haphazardly cuts through the branches and foliage. Said man perks up at the mention of his name and leans away from your ear to shout his location, prompting a quizzical look from you in return. “Ah! Remember my college buddy? That’s him right there.”

As if summoned, the nearby bushes rustle harshly when a tall, broad man in a large tan trench coat steps through, leaves and twigs stuck in his fluffy brown hair. Your fingers involuntarily twitch; why do you have this sudden urge to run your hands through it? What is wrong with you today!? You zap the thought away, paying close attention to the new stranger who wipes away at the grime and debris caught in his clothing.

“Ah, there you are! The police are here, they’re asking for the new chief,” he explains rather breathlessly, lifting his head to finally face you both and offering a polite smile at you. “You must be her. I’m Dr. Stanford Pines, a pleasure to meet you,” you mumble your name to him, trying to ease the pain as much as possible.

He seems to understand your predicament, nodding before his attention is immediately enraptured by the beast’s carcass lying still on the ground. “I see, so this is what was causing all that ruckus,” he hums, crouching down near one of its twisted limbs as he digs through his coat pockets, pulling out a large burgundy notebook and fountain pen, and quickly jotting down a variety of notes at the speed of light.

His insatiable curiosity impresses you, especially when his attention is so focused on the macabre scene before him. But remembering Fiddleford's explanation during the car ride, you dismiss his behavior as the burning curiosity most scientists have. “Document all you want, but those notes won't see the light of day until we figure out what’s going on,” you warn, the pain in your throat slowly easing as you speak more clearly.

Stanford doesn't look up from his notes, but you can spot a small grin. “Do not worry; my research and discoveries are for my eyes only,” he pronounces proudly, even slightly puffing out his chest. However, Fiddleford rolls his eyes and scoffs, muttering a playful “unfortunately” as he signals to his pockets, implying a lack of money. You chuckle softly.

“Well now, looks like your neck’s holdin’ up alright, ‘cept for that bruise and temporary damage to your vocal cords. You feelin’ pain anywhere else ‘sides your ankle?” You’re about to point to the side of your torso, muscles still pulsating where the monster’s arm slammed into you when a loud thought crosses your mind: ‘You’ve bothered them enough, there’s no need to waste any more resources on you.’

You just shake your head, ignoring the searing pain that runs through a good chunk of your torso. This is nothing new, you've dealt with worse and you'll just push through when it gets unbearable, like always. Scanning you one last time for any other superficial injuries he might have missed due to the adrenaline, Fiddleford nods before moving quickly to your ankle, carefully gripping the limb to avoid causing more pain as he pulls your pant leg up to inspect the damage.

At the sight of the angry red marks cutting into your skin and oozing blood that has begun to coagulate, the man draws a rather loud breath, his eyebrows furrowed as he tries to remove the tattered pieces of black leather that stubbornly cling to your calf and once belong to your shoe.

“Thank the heavens, them cuts don’t seem too deep; no need for stitches. Your boot took most of the hit,” he comforts, rummaging through his bag as he takes out a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide and a few cotton balls. Damn it, you liked those shoes too, you got them in a Christmas sale as a personal gift with your first paycheck. “But I reckon you best not be walkin’ too much, and get a tetanus shot once we’re done.”

Dabbing the cotton, the cold, wet material touches your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as Fiddleford delicately cleans the area around the injury. With a quiet warning, he pours the icy liquid directly onto the cuts, causing you to jerk back slightly as you feel the hydrogen bubbles burn through the edges of your injury. Soon the sizzling stops and the man wipes away the dirty residue with a handkerchief before expertly bandaging the wound and gently patting your knee.

“All done! You took it like a champ. With some rest and painkillers, that pain oughta clear right up,” Fiddleford stumbles to his feet, removing the surgical gloves with a snap! and tossing them haphazardly into his bag before extending a bare hand to you. You thank him under your breath, feeling rather warm inside as your fingers wrap around his palm, and in one strong tug, you stand up but,

But as the sole of your tattered boot hits the ground, the world spins before your eyes, colors blurring, shapes moving like water as your legs lock, your body feeling like jelly, weak and wobbly, and without warning you stagger forward, your face slamming into the man's chest as your arms wrap limply around his torso, seeking stability. With your skin so close to Fiddleford's, you can feel his heart beating a mile an hour.

He yelps in surprise, his hands flailing around your body, unable to process what's happening or where to put them. “M’sorry, I feel like I have no control of my body,” your raspy voice is muffled, your nose buried deep in his green shirt where you inhale his earthy scent, a soothing yet intense mix of honey, lavender, and rosemary. And though you would like to stay buried there forever, this man is going to have a heart attack if you don't move soon.

And so your trembling palms loosen their grip on his shirt, creeping up to his shoulders before you push against them, lifting your body and coming face to face with reddened cheeks and crooked glasses. “I-It’s all g-good; it’s real… um… n-normal for someone to feel a bit… ah, s-shook up after somethin’ like that,” Fiddleford stumbles with his words, his eyes looking everywhere but at you.

You nod, eyes lidded, as the exhaustion of the night's events finally begins to take its stubborn toll on your body, but you push it away, knowing full well that you won't be able to sleep until the morning, or even the afternoon. Work comes first, and with the two injured boys telling you that a beast brutally murdered their friend, and its carcass lying a few feet away from you, it's going to be rather a fun night.

“Thank you, Fiddleford. You’re very sweet… I owe you a coffee,” you pat him affectionately on the right cheek before walking away, allowing the poor man to catch his breath as he immediately ducks down and hurriedly shoves his materials and trash into his bag, not caring if the products get wrinkled or crushed.

Meanwhile, your attention is drawn to the other man, Stanford, who is so engrossed in his research that he didn't seem to notice the commotion next to him. Or at least turned a blind eye to it. You wobble your way over to him, putting little force on your injury as you crane your neck to look at the yellowed page.

You're impressed by the craftsmanship, watching quietly as skilled and calloused fingers write in cursive, detailing the properties of the creature's skin and bones, adding the worryingly pale appearance of the monster and a burning question: “What even is this thing?”. He then rapidly focuses on the incomplete sketch that takes up a good part of the page, streaks of black ink filling in the blanks of what the monster may have looked like, as you destroyed its face, only leaving a crater with mushed insides.

You crouch down beside him, the movement finally alerting him to your presence. His head immediately jumps up, his eyes widening and his mouth agape as he slams the journal shut, hiding it behind his back under his trenchcoat. His surprise is then replaced by a look of annoyance on his face, and his lips tighten, shoving his hands harshly into his pockets.

“Weren't you ever taught that it's rude to poke around people's personal belongings?” He huffs, lowering his face. You simply shrug your shoulders, undisturbed by his actions and words. “Well, you are documenting my crime scene, so I think I have some right to be nosey,” you fire back.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, and while you can't detect any malice in his actions, you also don’t get a hint of playfulness either. He's put a barrier between you, and you can't really blame him. But oh well, now that the damage has been done, you're going to add insult to injury by poking your nose into his business. “I get that you're a scientist, but what is it that fascinates you about this thing?”

You reach out and touch the body lightly; it's cold as ice, and you're even more certain that whatever this thing is resembles a bat. Its skin is soft, wrinkled, and quite elastic, and it's covered in a very thin layer of spiky hair, almost invisible to the eye. Its claws are stained a strong, deep yellow, with dirt, moss, and grime accumulated under the protective plate.

Closer inspection of the body reveals that it appears to have no exposed reproductive system and, bizarrely, the appearance of the boy it was trying to emulate earlier has now disappeared, leaving behind an eerily milky skin with dark protruding veins. How in God’s name are you going to explain this creature to the families of the victims?

Next to you, Stanford perks up at your words, his body almost vibrating with the emotion of being able to pour out a sea of scientific theories and words to a stranger who may share the same interest. Sudden bright eyes look at you, and he reminds you of an eager child. “Ah! Well, to answer your question, I must ask one back. Tell me, do you believe in the supernatural?”

… Did you hear that right? You turn around, hoping that this is his way of bluffing or breaking the ice, but as you focus on his expression, noticing his furrowed eyebrows and sharp eyes, you realize he’s dead serious. You stare at him back, bewildered. “Huh?” Stanford is about to repeat the question when you lift a hand, cutting him off and your mouth falls slightly open.

Somebody was murdered, two boys were injured and this man is trying to tell you that this monster is a cryptid? What? That this creature falls in the same category as ghosts and vampires? You definitely hit your head too hard when you fell.

Look, it's not an unusual question. Thanks to the rise of horror films and TV shows, your colleagues have dragged you into several conversations about the same subject. And, to be honest, you have a firm opinion on the matter: they don't exist. You believe that aliens are real. Maybe they don't look like gray or green people, but humans can't be the only living organisms in the universe.

But things like ghosts, Mothman, and werewolves? Yeah, that stuff felt more like attention-grabbing ploys that could only provide fantastical stories and a conveniently blurry photo rather than real and concrete evidence of their existence. Besides, so many scientists and experts keep saying and proving that such creatures can't exist, no matter how much “mediums” claim they do.

Fucking hell, you and your close friend and college roommate, Paula, used to get play a game on Halloween, drinking every time a psychic came on TV and did something stupid or ridiculous to prove the existence of ghosts or poltergeists. You would end up blacked out, sprawled on the floor, giggling like idiots as the clock struck midnight.

Stanford gives a quizzical look yet his eyes are still twinkling, his hands shifting impatiently inside his pockets as you’re attempting to formulate a response, that’s not an insult, when the nearby bushes begin to shift. Leaves and twigs crunch under the pressure of someone's shoe, which causes you and Stanford to immediately move away from the sound, scurrying to stand up as you draw the taser that was still attached to your belt.

"Who's there?" your voice is strong, the hoarseness in your tone from the injury still fresh, but the pain is almost gone now, only pulsing slightly. The leaves are shaking violently and you can feel Stanford taking a step back, almost hiding behind you, using you as a shield, but he’s clutching something tightly in his left hand. His legs are slightly apart, his eyebrows furrowed as he assumes a fighting stance. Fiddleford is close behind, but far enough away that if anything dangerous jumps out, he can run away without too much trouble.

Seconds feel like minutes as your stomach twists into knots and your heart pounds against your chest. Sometime during the commotion, the lamp is shut off, plunging your surroundings into complete darkness. You silently pray to yourself that this isn't another one of nature's freaks, avenging its fallen sibling and taking your head back as a trophy. But as the branches clear and a beam of light cuts through, a short, chubby man with curly hair and sunglasses steps forward.

The man whistles a cheerful tune, bobbing his head to the beat as he struts nonchalantly, but stops when he sees the three of you standing in the dark. The four of you stare at each other, your eyes squinting and your bodies frozen in poses of attack or surprise.

Great, now a complete stranger has stumbled upon this bizarre crime scene; you're already worried about how relaxed and composed both Stanford and Fiddleford were at the sight of the monster’s corpse, and now you’re adding someone else to the mix. But as your eyes adjust to the powerful beam of the flashlight and you take a closer look at the new man, you notice his clothing, a rather plain police uniform and a forest ranger hat.

This must be one of the officers looking for you. Maybe he's a future colleague of yours.

“Ah, Officer Blubs, glad you could find us. " Your suspicions are confirmed as Stanford clears his throat and relaxes his pose. He quickly stores away whatever weapon he was holding inside his trench coat and shoves his hands back into his pockets. Behind you, Fiddleford breathes a sigh of relief as his shoulders slump and the wrinkle that had furrowed his forehead disappears.

The man, addressed as Blubs, playfully tips his hat to the scientist in a silent greeting, before turning his eyes, hidden behind his sunglasses (an odd fashion choice to wear at night), to focus on your figure. As if a light bulb had gone off in his head, he digs in his pockets and produces a crumpled Polaroid photograph, which he holds up to your face.

The cold air billows harshly as it ruffles your already-tangled hair and while your face doesn’t show it, you’re ready to fall asleep standing up if this man doesn’t hurry it up. An awkward pause placates the air before it’s interrupted by a deep laugh rumbles from within the chest of Blubs. “Well damn! If it isn’t my new boss! You got one hell of a welcome, didn’t ya?”

He puts a hand on your shoulder, gently squeezing the muscle as a sign of friendship. From the way his grip is rather loose and the playful grin on his mouth, you can tell that there's an easy, almost effortless quality to him as if he's never in a hurry to be anywhere. You hope he'll put his back into his work if he's going to operate alongside you.

Yet you push the thought away as a small smile breaks through your tired expression, an unknown weight that has been plaguing your mind easing away. “You’re damn right… we should start right away if we want to catch some much-needed sleep," you immediately go into work mode, but not before returning his gesture. You give the man your name and he asks you to call him by his first name, Daryl.

You nod, turn to the other two, and quickly point your thumb toward the makeshift exit. “Alright, get back to your house and lock the doors, we’ll phone you later to go to the station and take your statements,” you catch a glimpse of Stanford opening his mouth, probably wanting to stay and continue examining the creature, but he's promptly stopped by Fiddleford, who starts to drag him away.

“Thank ya, Sunflower. Give me a holler if that injury’s still botherin’ ya. We’ll be seein’ ya,” He waves his hand shyly but insistently, giving you a sweet smile before rapidly walking away, a confused scientist following close behind. As the figures of the two men become smaller and smaller, you turn to Blubs, who idly prods the creature's body with his foot, completely unfazed by the abomination.

“Daryl, radio the others and tell them to bring a body bag. The sooner we get this thing down to a lab, the better,” you instruct, letting out a tired sigh, mentally preparing yourself for the piles of paperwork you'll be filling out in the next few hours. The deputy perks up, and a hand shoots up to embarrassingly scratch his neck. Oh God, what now?

“My bad. Forgot to tell you that is just you and me, boss lady.”

… What?

══════════════════

You want to die. It’s been sixteen hours since you and Daryl somehow managed to drag the creature's body from four miles deep in the woods, stuff it in the tiny trunk of the police car, and drag your ass back to the dinky little station to start delivering bad news, sending the two kids to the hospital and trying to piece together what happened.

You were able to grab your briefcase, a pair of shoes, and a suitcase full of clothes and toiletries from your car so you could at least get a quick makeover and not look like you hadn't been mauled by a bear during interrogations. But as your eyes darted to your own vehicle, neatly parked right in front of the A-shaped house, a pit of shame welled up deep in your stomach for just leaving it there.

“Don't worry, Sunflower. We'll take care of it!” it was Fiddleford, who had just opened one of the windows of the house when observing your worry after passing by. The sweet man even offered to drive it to your house and you were two seconds away from grabbing his collar and kissing him senseless, but hey, have some class, you just met the guy. So, you simply shout a warm gratitude, before scurrying to the passenger’s side.

As the small police car speeds down the dirt road, Daryl fills you in on what happened while you were fighting the monster, but not before making sure the other two teenagers are not paying attention. Fortunately, they were both fast asleep, the exhaustion of the day's events having taken its toll on their minds.

You felt a pang of sadness as you observed the two of them holding each other tightly, their hands and fingers wrapped tightly around one another, their faces troubled as their dreams are unable to soothe their worries.

You also commented loudly on Dylan's missing tourniquet, wondering if the device had unraveled on its own, but your new associate noted that as soon as Stanford heard the commotion and opened the door, he immediately took the boy in and properly bandaged his injury.

You make a mental note of thanking the eccentric scientist when you see him next time.

As the car picks up speed and signs of civilization begin to appear, Daryl continues in a grave voice. “The other kid didn’t make it… died about four minutes after his friends called 911. We have at least three other missing cases and the boys at Roadkill County already found the body of Tabitha Roberts,” you sigh, scrubbing furiously at your face to remove some of the dirt stains. If you're getting help from another jurisdiction, the situation is dire.

“What do we tell ’em, boss lady?” is the heavy and burning question that hangs in the air. The uncomfortable one, especially when so many important details are clouded by uncertainty and so little evidence. But as the engine roars louder and a street of quaint suburban homes comes into view, you thank yourself for having gathered enough information about some of the conflicts that plague this sleepy town.

“We hypothesize that the creature that murdered your son was a mutated being,” is what you told everyone who took a seat in your new and bare office. Now clean after a hasty shower at the station, you presented the possible theory behind the inexplicable monster you had fought mere hours before.

You saw a variety of facial expressions after hearing this sentence: shock, confusion, anger, and one man was ready to curse you until you took a thick folder from your briefcase and quickly spread a variety of photographs and papers with graphs or testimonies written on them across the surface of the mahogany desk. You drew the following picture:

In 1963, just outside the small town of Gravity Falls, the Northwest family built a factory to mass-produce mud flaps. Soon after it opened, however, several townspeople began to complain that the river that ran alongside the building was polluted, adding that the water looked greenish or gray, and smelled of rotten food and burnt rubber.

Three years later, more complaints were received, this time about the appearance of deformed animals with two heads, having four eyes, or making strange noises such as screams wandering near the factory. To make matters worse, one of the workers was attacked by a deer with deformed hooves whose skin fell off easily, revealing that its muscles had turned completely white.

Soon after, a group of scientists from West Coast Tech University conducted a series of tests that confirmed the lake was contaminated with mercury and other chemicals that came from the factory. The report added that the mutations in the animals were not instantaneous, but were genetic mutations that came from generations of animals drinking water from the contaminated river.

People petitioned the county and the government to close the factory and clean up the river. However, to this day, the Northwest factory continues to operate and the contamination has spread, so the beast may be the result of generations of mutations.

Many of the victims' family members held onto the papers shakily, staring intently at the pictures of the mutated animals or the numbers showing the percentage of chemicals found in a sample of water taken from the river. You kept reminding them that this was only a hypothesis at the moment, a theory with no proof, but that you and Daryl were working to find out what was going on.

Most of them were upset but convinced by what you had told them. Others were more reluctant to believe, but couldn't refute much because they lacked vital information or were too emotionally drained to argue. They simply told you not to forget their loved ones... you replied, a sliver of emotion breaking through, that they would never be forgotten.

They seemed satisfied with that answer, as you awkwardly returned their hugs... you don't think you'll ever really get used to tokens of affection.

As the people left the precinct, you began to worry. About the panic, the fear-mongering, the speeches about hell, the devil, and divine redemption. Worse still, those idiots who call themselves paranormal hunters, who put themselves in danger by sneaking into the woods late at night, only to have their faces plastered on missing persons posters when they fall off cliffs or are mauled by wild animals.

“Eh, don’t sweat it. The information doesn’t spread too far, hell, this town’s been experiencing so much weird shit since centuries ago yet everyone’s accustomed to it. Believe me, once the eulogies pass and the bodies are buried… they’ll quickly forget about it. They always do… Well, welcome to the team, (Y/N)!”

This was what Roadkill County's Chief of Police, Harlan Farley, told you before he gave you a firm pat on the back and left the station with a few of his deputies. You, on the other hand, were left speechless, his words repeating in your head like a broken record as Daryl forced you to take a break and eat something.

So you find yourself sluggishly seated in a weathered booth at Greasy's Diner, an odd-looking eatery that seems to be a staple of the "Gravity Falls experience", as your co-worker puts it. Your calloused and bruised finger gently circles the rim of the worn ceramic mug, your weary gaze lost in the ripples of the now cold and cheap-tasting coffee, brain empty yet filled with incoherent thoughts.

You desperately need a long, uninterrupted nap.

You shrink further into your coat as you feel the shameless stares of customers and passers-by whispering about the new police chief. You've gotten used to the harsh and rude words thrown your way; it's not just part of your job, it's been a constant in your life for some time. Fortunately, you're far away from them now. But that doesn't mean you enjoy the feeling of being watched like a bacterium under a stethoscope.

Your sharp ears catch the unsavory words of a woman sitting in the booth behind you, commenting that you look sick and unhealthy. Her friends point out the bruises and cuts on your face, the way you wobble slightly when you walk, and stare uncomfortably at the back of your head. You don’t have a single moment of peace, do you?

Too tired to care, you push the mug further into the linoleum table, careful not to spill a drop as you unceremoniously rest your head on the unhygienic and cold surface. Your eyes are drooping, your meal is taking far too long, so you might as well have a quick power nap to regain some energy before eating a hearty, possibly cholesterol-laden meal and heading back to work.

Your muscles begin to relax, the mundane life and casual conversation of those around you acting as a lullaby as unseen hands gently pull you into your dreams. But the momentary relief is snatched away as something light jumps right next to you and... meows?

Your bleary eyes open, and in between the tears of sleep, you find yourself face-to-face with a cat. When did it get in? You didn't see it when you came into the diner. You examine the cat: its thick, fluffy coat is a beautiful shade of butterscotch, with highlights of white and lighter yellow and orange tones. There's a large patch of black fur on the crown of his head, which almost makes it look like he's wearing a hat. What's bizarre about him, though, are his eyes. The irises are completely white, making his black and thin pupils stand out even more. Is it a characteristic of the town that its animals look strange?

Annoyed by your curious yet sleepy gaze, the cat's eyes squint and it raises a paw in anger, clawing at your arm as it meows again. Is he asking you to pet him? No, it's actually demanding that you do it. You slowly reach out, afraid the cat will strike and claw at your skin, but when your palm lands on its head and it doesn't move, you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Hello, buddy. What are you doing here?” you coo softly, fingers gently scratching the cat's skull in a circular motion. As if in response, the feline meows back, head tilted to the side as if searching for your fingers, imploring you to scratch a particular spot. You laugh softly, obeying the cat's wishes as your nails rake through the fur, which is covered with a very thin layer of dirt and dust.

It almost feels like therapy, the stress of the earlier hours melting away as you hear his purr from deep within his chest as he closes his eyes and relaxes. It's so cute, you think, wondering why your mother never really wanted a pet. You would have loved to have one around the house, maybe now that you're independent you could adopt one. Although, with how busy you are at work, you feel bad about leaving it alone for most of the day.

The cat's head suddenly leaves your hand and a pang of disappointment runs through your body, hoping that the creature will return so that you can continue to chase that feeling of softness. But you're surprised when the cat slips into your lap and begins to walk awkwardly in circles, its body bumping against the table before settling comfortably on your thighs, its tail curled inwards and its head tucked neatly against your belt.

The cat lets out a deep sigh from his small and pink nose as if releasing all the stress that has built up over the week, and seconds later his eerie yet adorable eyes close, the warmth of your body and your pets lulling him into a deep sleep.

You chuckle, finding his position and actions adorable.

“What’s so funny?”

It was Stanford.

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