#I have a lotta body mass and a good amount of it is fat so it makes sense that I don’t get drunk or even tipsy from that

[lightblueminecraftorchid]

had two (2) drinks last night and my tummy hurt then and I’m having a bad day today so I think maybe I’m just not built for alcohol really

[asexual-means-no-attraction]

i dont know where else to do for thie but do you need to be on HRT to have ftm SRS ? i dont really want to get on hrt because i dont really feel dysphoric over many of the things it changes that i couldn't go to the gym or take voice lessons over so the risks aren't worth it plus im scared of needles BUT i desperately want top and bottom surgery and i dont know if its possible to get those without being on hrt… im pretty sure top surgery is but i don't know much about bottom surgery in general to begin with.. i just turned 18 and i didnt have supportive parents so it's only now that im in control of my own medical shit that i get to think about this stuff. sorry if this makes no sense

Stuff to know about medically transitioning to male:

-its not a race. You don't need to rush into anything. Take your time to feel comfortable with each choice towards your transition.

-its not a contest. You don't need to do every possible thing in order to be male. The important thing is becoming more happy and comfortable in your body.

Types of hormone replacement therapy (hrt):

-testosterone isn't a trans men exclusive thing. There's a lotta cis men and such who take it too.

-it is however, a controlled substance. You need to be careful about cross contamination.

-the most common method of taking hrt is through injections. These needles usually go in your thigh and you can do it every week or every other week. The effects occur more quickly than other types, however there is a bit more of a dip around the end of your cycle- especially if you do it every other week. This dip can be felt, but it poses no actual issues. It's just like a bit of a hormone drop, you'll be fine.

-if you don't like needles you can also do gel packs. I did these for 2 years and they're very easy to do. You simply rub the gel on your upper arm and let it dry. The medicine is absorbed through your skin. There is no dip with the gel medication, but it does take longer when you first start for effects to start being noticable. It also dries out your skin.

-there's also technically a patch thing that you can put under your tongue. But they don't suggest it cuz it fucks up your liver. If you don't like needles, just do the gel. It works just as well as needles.

What does HRT do for trans men:

-you're voice will lower (it'll get squeaky like a teenage boy first tho), you'll get a lot more hair, possible receding hair line on your head, a lot more sweaty, gain more muscle mass, a lot of hair (butt hair is no joke), acne (this dies down after a year or so), fat distribution, being unable to sing because your voice dropped and you're trying to hit pitches you can't anymore lol, facial hair (look at biologically related men in your family to get an idea of how it'll likely grow), taste buds might change, when you first start your emotions are gonna fluctuate (once your hormones balance out this will die down), increased sex drive, (trigger for nsfw) your clit will grow and become more sensitive, periods stop within 3-6 months normally (might take longer), reduced fertility, increased chance of certain medical conditions (ex: high blood pressure or heart attacks), easier to gain and lose weight, etc.

-always take ONLY the amount prescribed. Not enough testosterone and you won't see an effect, and too much testosterone will be changed into estrogen by your body. You can't take more because you missed a dose, or double up on anything.

How top surgery works:

-this surgery doesn't take long, but has a month long recovery minimum, with everything being completely done around the 6 months mark normally.

-in non medical terms, they take off your boobs, cut off excess skin, sew you back up in a way that looks like a male body, and put on nipple grafts that take a good long while to finally look ok.

-its actually not bad at all. I had no issues with my top surgery. Recovery was easy enough. And over a year later I look great.

-you do not need any HRT for top surgery. Testosterone has no effect on the results or actual procedure. So no worries there.

-downside is really just the lack of sensation around your chest for a while. It does come back. Some people report never feeling their nipples again, some report being able to after a year or so. It is dependent on the person, not the quality of the operation.

How bottom surgery works:

- this one is a lot more complicated involving multiple surgeries and much longer recovery processes.

-in non medical terms (trigger for nsfw), for the first surgery they extend your clit and urethra so you can pee out your clit like a dick. This is still smaller than the average dick and can't be used for penetration. You can get another surgery to make your dick bigger (involving a skin graft) as well as a surgery to get balls. Types and sizes of dick can vary.

-downsides are the recovery times and the time it can take to gain back sensation. Some people report never getting feeling back down there, or not as much as they had before surgery. However, the regret is very low for those who get it. Most people are very happy with the results.

-you do need to be on HRT in order to get bottom surgery. I believe it's for 2 years? You need to have your (trigger again) clit growth for a while in order for them to make it work.

How to start the medical process:

-research what's available in your area and talk to your doctor about getting a referral. It might be more complicated depending on where you live but that's really how you start.

-ask questions. Ask as many questions as you need to your doctor(s) about what everything will do.

-get a therapist. Most places will require a therapist letter in order to start medically transitioning.

-look up photos of results of everything.

-take your time

-take your time

-take your time

-you'll be ok. It's ok to be nervous, it's ok to be unsure. That's why you ask questions and you research to make sure you're comfortable with your choice. You'll be alright, it just takes time. You'll get there, I promise.

-good luck, and feel free to ask me for more info on anything.

[novantinuum]

The Time We Lost, the Time We Mended (Ch. 6)

Read and comment on AO3!

Fandom: Gravity Falls

Rating: T

Words: 3700~

Story Summary: Before the summer of 2012, Ford and Fiddleford never thought they’d get the opportunity to see each other again. Now… they have a second chance. A chance to rekindle the love they once shared, reconnect a family once lost, and to mend old wounds. But as they'll quickly discover, fixing the mistakes of the past, especially in the wake of inevitable apocalypse, doesn't always come easy. RP to fic.

A Fiddauthor reunion story written by @the-ill-doctor​ and I! 

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Chapter Summary:  In which Fiddleford leads Ford on a romantic walk through the woods, Ford has an unpleasant encounter with a townsfolk, and Tate discovers Ford's return.

Chapter 6: Universal Constant

Despite the long decades that had passed since he’d last set foot in this dimension, some features of Gravity Falls’ surrounding forest still retained a certain familiarity to Ford’s eyes. The trees and foliage had grown up, engulfing old cobbled paths and casting deep shadows in spots he once recognized as clearings, but even still he could notice details that, for all the area’s progression, hadn’t changed a bit: the deep clawed gouges in the bark of a tree that he always used as a landmark on his hikes, various large stone formations, a gaping pit in the ground he’d accidentally left behind after misfiring a spell he’d picked up from some wood nymphs. The difference now was that unlike thirty years ago— where he was Fiddleford’s guide through the untamed thickets of these magical woods— Fiddleford was now the expert, leading him along the dirt paths and between the thickets with practiced ease.

“I can tell you’ve journeyed through these woods quite a lot in the past few decades,” he said, walking alongside his dear companion.

“Oh, all the time!” Fiddleford chirped, swinging their hands as he led. “It’s the best place to look for nuts and fruits for munchin’! Jus’ gotta be sneaky when grabbin’ berries, ‘cause them pixies can get mighty noisome. Those critters have the nastiest bites.”

“Goodness yes, they do,” he agreed with a lopsided smile. He glanced down at their feet moving parallel, his clad in worn boots and the soles of Fidds’ feet swathed in thick bandages. (He offered him a pair of open toed sandals to wear before they left, but he vehemently refused, labeling them ‘feet prisons.’) “I must say, after all this time you must know your way around this valley more than I ever did.”

“Well, I ended camping out here a lot whenever it’d get dark. Gets pretty tough getting’ back to your shed when ya’ can’t see nothin’. But I reckon I’ve come a long way from wanting robo-legs for hiking, eh?” He nudged at his shoulder.

Ford chuckled, giving his hand an affectionate squeeze. “I honestly forgot about your joking obsession with robotic legs. Didn’t you always beg for me to carry you back home after our field studies?”

“Ya’ kept on takin’ me on day long hikes, Ford! I wasn’t used to walkin’ for that long back then,” he shrugged. “That, and it was a nice excuse to get a free piggyback from ya’!”

“Wait, wait, let me get this straight in my mind,” he began, pausing in the clearing, next to one of the rock formations he recognized from his researcher days. He pressed the fingers of his free hand against his temple. “Did you— in the early 80s, after your divorce— did you still have feelings for me? Even back then?”

Fiddleford turned bright red at his question, and started to softly laugh in embarrassment. “Well, ya’ see, they might’ve still been there even after we broke up.”

"Oh, Fiddleford," Ford sighed sadly, pulling him into a close embrace. "If only I'd known...”

“If only we could’ve been more honest with each other,” Fiddleford said, his voice slightly muffled through the thick fabric of his sweater. “But...” He gazed up at him, smile warm and steady despite it all. “I think we’ve done enough regrettin’, don’t ya’ agree?”

“I do,” he smiled in return. “As difficult as it may be to avoid dwelling on the past, what is most important is to enjoy the time we have to be together now.” Ford gently released him from his embrace, and took both of his hands in his own, folding all of his fingers tightly around his. “I’m so thankful we could find each other again. To be honest, when I returned to this dimension I never thought I’d see you again. It was... heh, it was actually Mabel early this morning who informed me that you still lived in town.”

“In that case, I’ll have ta’ thank her next time I see her,” Fidds said, beaming. He planted a kiss on each of his hands, sudden affection which caused the tips of Ford’s ears to go red. “She helped me reunite with my favorite pillow.”

When Fiddleford began to snicker— a sound which he reveled in hearing— his lips curved up in amusement. “Oh is that what I am to you?”

“Well, you’re strong, handsome, and very warm,” he said, and nestled into his side once more. “And ‘sides, anyone would be lucky to cuddle with that soft belly ya’ got!”

Ford swore he could feel the blood vessels in his face widening, increasing blood flow to the skin. “Th- thank you?” he stammered, glancing down at the, as Fidds put it, soft belly in question. He’d ran his body to its bitter limits beyond the portal, for sure— and had gained quite a bit of muscle mass for his troubles— but thankfully in the last handful of years he had access to enough food to retain an optimal, healthy amount of body fat as well. Which was nice, as there’d been a hard span of years early on where he was dangerously close to skin and bones.

Fiddleford let out a loud snort as he watched his dear friend’s face turn beet red. “You’re mighty welcome.”

“As flattered as I am though,” he laughed, “the only person lucky enough to cuddle with me as far as I’m concerned is you.”

“Then I suppose I must be the luckiest fella in the whole multiverse.”

“Actually, I might have to contest you with that one,” he replied, gently rubbing circles into the back of Fidds’ hands with his thumbs. “Because I happen to know another ‘fella,’ one who now gets to share his days with the kindest, most brilliant, forgiving, incredible man he knows.” Ford reached forward and tilted up his wide brimmed hat so he could see past the shadows cast on his face. “A man whose eyes are just as bright and beautiful as they were the day I first met you.”

Now it was Fiddleford’s turn to blush, not used to being showered in sincere compliments. Shyly, he glanced away, his knee bouncing. “Nah, I ain’t. I- I ain’t got those eyes no more, Ford.”

Hearing him brush aside his affection like this tore him apart. “You do to me,” he insisted, cupping his cheek in his hand, running his fingers through his beard. Apparently taken aback by his earnest words, Fiddleford sniffled, the corners of his eyes growing damp. He blinked, unable to keep the tears at bay. Gently, Ford wiped them away.

“G-Golly...” He let out a small, embarrassed chuckle. “Ya’ really mean it.”

“Of course I do,” Ford said, his soul swelling with a feeling he hadn’t experienced in this intensity for years, a feeling that— before today— he wasn’t sure he was still capable of experiencing. Although perhaps it wasn’t accurate classifying it as only a feeling, so much as it was a promise. A promise he’d forged within the deepest parts of himself to protect and care for and experience life alongside this man for as long as time would allow him. “All these years, all our experiences, the very shifting of our worlds... so much has changed, I admit this. Hell, I embrace this. And yet, even through the shadows of everything still unknown to me, through each unpredictable variable, there’s one universal constant I know in certainty to be true... and that’s that I love you. I’ve always loved you.”

For a moment, Fiddleford’s mind went blank, just like the confused, muddled fuzz he’d experience each time he used that dang memory gun on himself. Did he really hear those words? Was this real, and not merely a construct of his old, messed up mind? For years, despite his frazzled memory, the man had never truly left his deepest thoughts. Sometimes he’d even show up in front of him like a mirror to the past, an illusion only shattered when he tried to take his hand. But the hands holding his face now were solid and warm and fixed. This time, the Stanford Pines in front of him was real, and the promises he spoke were too.

The next moment was all but a blur to him. All he knew was that he suddenly found himself leaning closer... and giving him a sloppy, yearning kiss.

Ford fell into the rhythm of the kiss with ease, wrapping his arms tight around Fiddleford, allowing his hands to cradle the back of his head and his shoulder. His heart almost wanted to laugh in joy amid all of this at the gentle tickle of his beard against his lips and chin. For one very real, beautiful moment, the universe smiled down upon these two old men, and Ford experienced a sense of content like he never had before. When they finally pulled apart, he felt alight. Renewed. He beamed at Fidds with adoration, intertwining their hands once more.

In all these years Fiddleford never felt so much romantic love for another person. He gazed into Ford's eyes, the tiredness he had seen in them from last night having long melted away. “I love you too,” he replied, breathless in the wonder of it all.

Ford laughed softly, a sound that nearly blurred into something of a relieved cry. He pressed his forehead against Fidds, and allowed them to gently sway back and forth as a unit, their fingers still wrapped together. It was almost a dance, the two of them swathed in the privacy of nature and the heat of the late morning sun. Faint, but still noticeable all the same, the familiar scent of tackle filled his nose.

"Is the lake nearby?" he asked, still swaying with him.

"Hm?" Fiddleford said in a happy daze. "Oh! Yeah, I reckon' we're close! There's a lotta good spots for banjo practice n’ relaxin’ there! Wanna head on over?"

"Of course," Ford said, grinning as well. "The lake was always one of my favorite places in Gravity Falls..."

Fiddleford started to pull him along. "Well, come along then!”

The closer the two came to the lakeside, the more Fiddleford’s pace receded and slowed. He was trying to calm his anxieties, but he knew his son was working in the bait shop today, and not only that, but the townsfolk could be so cruel in their jeering sometimes. On any other occasion he’d shrug off these realities like water off a duck’s back, but along with his memory’s return came his long forgotten sense of shame. He prayed there wouldn’t be any problems, that he and Ford would be left to their leisure unbothered.

But he still wasn’t convinced.

Ford eventually must have noticed his incessant twitching and squirming, because he squeezed his hand to ground him. “What’s bothering you, dear?” he asked softly, the lakeside looming on the horizon.

“Hm?” he muttered, snapping out of whatever repetitive mental blockade he’d fallen into. Ford’s worried face greeted his gaze. “Oh, it’s nothin’! I’m just spacing out a little.” Not entirely a lie.

“Fiddleford... please know I’ll listen to anything you have to say, if you’re ready to say it. No matter what.”

His shoulders tensed for a moment, scrunching up beside his neck. He took his hand from his partner’s, twiddled his fingers together. “All- all right. I don’t, uh, I don’t exactly have the best reputation in town.”

Ford’s eyes softened. “I know the feeling,” he said. “From my time in the multiverse. I’m so sorry they’ve judged you so harshly. If you’re not up for walking around the lake with all the people who are here today, I’m more than willing to continue our trek through the woods instead.”

“Nah, nah, it’s fine,” he replied, breaking a small smile again. “There’s actually someone I wanna see.”

“Oh, you have a friend in town? Excellent! I’d love to meet them.”

He started to fidget with his beard again. “You already have. It’s my son, Tate! He’s the ranger at this here lake.”

Ford’s eyes shot open wide, for a split second flashing with an emotion Fiddleford could only hope to describe as something between hurt and dread. “Tate?” he exclaimed. “Tate lives here?”

“Yup, moved on up and started workin’ here right outta school.”

“Goodness, I... I haven’t seen that boy since the week he stayed with us in ’81,” he mused. Something about his demeanor as he spoke still seemed... unusual to Fiddleford, but too distracted by his own worries he chose not to bring it up.

“Well, I can guarantee he’s grown up a whole lot since then!”

“So I’m sure,” Ford said, the edges of his lips curving up.

As per every weekend, the lake was crowded with townsfolk enjoying themselves in the sun. Fiddleford clung to his partner’s side as they approached the shore, readying himself emotionally for all the misplaced attention his presence was sure to attract. He squeezed his hand, and Ford squeezed his back in an effort of comfort, three times.  

Where Ford himself was concerned, the glimpse of townsfolk he caught— some he vaguely recognized, and others who were all but strangers— spiked his heart rate up. This was the largest group of humans he’d been faced with since returning home. Hell, even a simple family breakfast alongside his brother, Fiddleford, and his new grandniece and grandnephew was nerve wracking enough. He dearly hoped he’d be able to act halfway normal around these strangers, to act as if he hadn’t been entirely detached from the customs of humanity for thirty years.

They reached the dock, and naught a breath after their feet touched the wooden planks, an older woman with a beehive of powder blue hair and caked eye shadow spotted them and made her sinister advance.

“Well hi, Stan!” she said nasally. “Haven’t seen ya’ in the diner for a while. And wow, what a nice sweater that is!”

Initially Ford was met with nothing but confusion, before he realized with frenzied frustration that his brother had lived here and build a rapport with these people for the past thirty years. They thought he was Stan. As much as he didn’t desire to have a conversation with this woman at all, however, he knew this was a great opportunity to set the records straight...

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve actually met?” he began. “I think you’ve confused me with my twin brother, Stan. My name is Ford.”

“Wait, whaaat?” she gasped, lifting up her lazy eyelid to gain a better view of him. “Well, I guess your hair is styled a lot different than I last saw it. And you do have more fingers than I remember...”

“Heh,” Ford laughed softly, nervously glancing between her and Fiddleford. “Indeed. It’s called polydactyly.” He raised his hand up so she could clearly see it. “A genetic mutation, resulting in extra digits. For future reference, between Stan and I, just check the number of fingers.”

“Oh, all right! My name’s Susan, by the way, Lazy Susan! ‘S nice to meet you.” They awkwardly shook in greeting. As they did so, she leaned closer to whisper in his ears. “Between you and me, I’d watch myself around that hillbilly fella you’re with. I’ve dealt with him in my diner for years, and he’s quite the pickpocket.”

Ford’s jaw clenched. Even ignoring the sheer level of ignorant judgement interwoven into her words, his blood boiled at the cavalier way she referred to him. That hillbilly. They lived in a town small enough that everyone could reasonably know everyone else’s name, and either she hadn’t made that tinniest effort with someone she perceived as lesser, or she knew his name and didn’t care.

“His name is Fiddleford, for the record, not ‘that hillbilly,’ and he’s my most dear friend. I assure you, the person I ought to watch myself around? It isn’t him,” he said, scowling deeply at her. “Now, if you’ll excuse us.”

With that, Ford took Fiddleford's hand and walked him away.

Fiddleford was stunned with how protective Ford had gotten. It was actually quite flattering. He never considered hillbilly the worst thing people could call him, but he had to admit it did sting the callous way a lot of the townsfolk would sling that word at him. He leaned closer to Ford and nuzzled his head against his side as a way of thanking him. As they neared the bait shop, they became aware of an almighty ruckus emanating from inside. Clearly whoever wandered inside had no concept of indoor voice.

"Welp, sounds like Dan and the kids are shoppin' again!" Fidds declared, a skip in his step.

"Dan?" Ford says, making a face as he tried to place the name. "Wait... do you mean that Dan? The lumberjack? Oh, what was his name... Corduroy!” he exclaimed, snapping. “Boyish Dan Corduroy? He still lives here too?"

"Yeah, he lives in a cabin down in the woods with his kids! But, uh..."

The three Corduroy boys piled out of the shop all at once, adorned in matching life preservers and each holding a pole. "FISHING! FISHING! FISHING!" they chanted.

"KEEP THE CHANGE, RANGER!" Dan yelled.

"He ain't exactly boyish, anymore.”

Ford watched, mouth agape, as the mountain of a man dutifully lead his sons to the shoreline, where he’d tied up their boat. Wow. That was perhaps the most hair he'd ever seen on a single person. That young Corduroy kid certainly grew up into one manly fellow.

“He had a bit of a growth spurt,” Fiddleford giggled as he walked him inside the shop.

Inside, Tate rubbed his sore neck. Just seconds previously, Dan put him in an affectionate chokehold as an unconventional way to thank him for a discount he'd given.

"One of these days he's gonna pop my head off like a grape," he grumbled, not yet paying attention who had just walked in.

Instantly Fiddleford's fatherly instincts overrode his initial nervousness. He let go of Ford's hand and lifted himself onto the counter, swinging his legs over the edge. "You all right there, Tater-tot?" he asked, voice unusually calm.

"Hm? Dad?" Immediately Tate noticed the difference in his voice. For one thing, he hadn't heard that nickname since he was a kid. Was this one of his more lucid days? He glanced up to speak, but froze when he noticed who stood beside him, decades of guilt written on his face plain as day.

Cleft chin, six fingers, a leaner body type than the so-called ‘Stanford Pines’ he'd neglected to get to know in town.

"I— it's you.”

“Greetings, Tate,” Ford said quietly. “It’s… been a while.”

"A while?!" Tate snapped then, clenching his fists tight against his side. "You have the nerve to waltz in here after 30 years, after the state you left my father in, and all you have to say for yourself is that it’s been a while?! No phone call! No letters! No way of contactin' ya! The rest of the town never noticed the difference when that other Stan acted as your cover all this time, but I did!” he shouted, advancing towards him in fury. “I genuinely thought you died!"

"Tate—" Fiddleford attempted to interrupt, jumping off the counter to stand between his son and his partner.

"Why did you leave him?!" Tate yelled, his voice starting to crack. "Why did you leave my father behind? He needed your help! I needed your help to save him!" he finished, bitter tears streaming down his face.

Ford backed away from him slightly as he watched him fall apart right in front of him, his throat suddenly feeling as tight as it did in the elevator this morning. "I didn't know," he whispered hoarsely. "Didn't know where he went, if he left town or not. I lost him, Tate- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know it's my fault. I was distracted, falling into madness... I-I failed to look, I didn't- didn't think to," he stammered. "You have every right to be upset with me for- for a multitude of reasons."

"Yer damn right I'm upset! You abandoned him!" He wrapped his arms around his father, almost protectively.

"Tate..." Fiddleford looked up at his son worriedly. "He didn't want to leave me! He was forced into a right pickle with no way back," he cried out. "You gotta believe me, he wouldn't knowingly abandon me!”

"Why... why are you defendin' him?"

"Same reason I'd defend you," Fiddleford whimpered, hugging him back.

"And why would you do that, either?!" Tate snapped, holding him tighter. "I'm a horrible son. I started givin' up on ya’..."

Ford watched them silently as he considered his words, their past, the sum of his mistakes. A lump formed in his throat. He wrung his hands together.

"Tate..." he began softly. "Tate. You're not a horrible son. You... you stayed here with him, for thirty years. You picked up your entire life, and moved it so you could keep an eye on him. Even if you started giving up, at least you tried. It's... more than I can say for myself." He turned towards Fiddleford, gently cupping his cheek in his hand. "Fidds, I'm afraid he's right about me. I had all but abandoned you, had given up all hope of seeing you again... until Mabel told me you were in town. Like I told you earlier, we only reunited because of her. But don't you both realize?" He opened himself to both the McGucket men. "Despite all of our past mistakes, despite lasting regrets. We're all together today. And we all have a chance to make tomorrow a happier memory."

Both the Mcgucket men stared at Ford for a moment before Tate broke the silence.

"Damn, you’re still as overly poetic as I remember," he snarked. He wiped the remainders of the tears off his face, letting out a stifled, low laugh. "Damnit... damnit, I knew it... I knew I couldn't hate ya’!" he lifted the brim of his hat, revealing tired eyes and faint scaring slashed over his eyelids. "You’re here admitting everythin' and..." He laughed again. "What's wrong with me? I'm already ready to give ya’ the benefit of the doubt..."

"Tate," Fiddleford took his son's hand.

"I'm fine, Dad."

“Would you… would you prefer if I gave you two some time alone to reconnect?” Ford asked, a slight frown crossing his lips.

"Nah, nah just—" Tate let go of his father’s hand and pulled himself to sit on the counter. He hung his head low, and gave a loud sigh. "Just tell me... what happened. I want the full story."