#just amab things

[moons-epiphany]

i am very aggressively protective over nonbinary people who look like they are amab/manly/masc because some of you are very quick to accept nonbinary people who look like they're afab/girly/fem but shit on anyone else.

and stop saying "afab nonbinary" and "amab nonbinary" because we all know you're just treating us like "female" and "male" which, yk is the exact opposite of what nonbinary is meant to be.

treat nonbinary people like nonbinary people, nothing else.

[geesecanon]

Fog

read on ao3 Rating: Explicit Type: One-shot, PWP Words: 5,240 Tags: Ford Pines/Reader; Vaginal Sex; Vaginal Fingering; Creampie; Overstimulation; AFAB reader (but no pronouns are used); Library Sex; Strangers to Friends (?) to Lovers Summary: ""It's a stone King classic," you had defended, and began counting off on your fingers. "It's got weird creatures; it's got a small boy; it's got an old woman who's a religious fanatic; it's got two characters unnecessarily having sex right in the middle of it — although, now, I kinda get it. What else is there to even do?" You had said it as a joke. Obviously. But then you had caught Ford's eye and you both stared at each other a few seconds too long. And then he had you up against the wall."

Dizzily, you try to remember how you ended up here: pressed against the wall, a hand that is not yours cupping your ass, the other getting rather adventurous under your shirt, with Stanford Pines groaning into your neck and grinding you against him.

It had been one of those inexplicable situations where you were the only two left in the library, no staff to be found, almost certainly after hours, and definitely alone. Oh, and the ominous fog. That is also a key factor as to why you had not left as soon as you realized you had overstayed your welcome.

With your hand on the door handle, Ford had grabbed you by the arm and said nervously, “I… wouldn’t go out there, if I were you.”

Right, so, if the expert on the strange and unusual was telling you to avoid something, you would heed his advice to the fucking letter.

And then, uh…

You gasp, sharp and breathy, head thunking back against the wall as he wedges a knee between your thighs and presses up. “Ford — shit —” Both your hands in his hair tighten as your entire body tries to curl in on itself with the sudden spike between your legs, almost completely involuntarily as the arousal shoots through you.

It has the interesting reaction of getting a low rumble from the back of his throat, as he uses his hand on your ass to grind you against him further, harder, almost bruising — the heat in you only boils hotter at the combination. There is something just so appealing about getting a man usually so composed into a panting mess. Well, at least to you.

Right, but again, what had happened between noticing the ominous fog and humping each other in the back of the library like horny teens? You and Ford are — well, you are friends, probably, in the way that two people who exist in the same place at the same time with enough occurrences eventually become friends. Both of you were known to haunt the science fiction section of Gravity Falls’s library with disturbing frequency, as your life and job had been in a lull, and Ford had been… doing whatever he does.

After enough awkwardly stepping around each other in the aisles, you caught him frowning at the back of The Tommyknockers one afternoon.

“Not to spoil it,” you had said quietly, sidling up to him and clearly spooking him with your interruption. He looked at you with wide, brown eyes behind slightly cracked glasses, before the expression shifted into one of vague recognition. “But, it’s an addiction metaphor.”

“…It is?”

You nodded. “Not that it makes it bad. It’s a good book. But, not for everyone.”

“So, you just saw fit to warn me?” he asked, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“You just looked so confused by the blurb,” you shrugged. “I thought I’d save you the hassle. It is kind of a doorstop.”

He had checked out the book that day. You had not gotten his name then.

In the present, Ford decides he is done attacking your neck like a fucking vampire and migrates the adventuring hand from under your shirt to tangling at the hair at the back of your neck, using the grip to angle you better for a kiss that makes you weak at the knees. He is a staggeringly good kisser — or maybe you are just desperate for it, his glasses are pressed between you which is kind of annoying — which you never would have quite guessed from the zealous professor vibes he had going on, always in knit turtlenecks and high-collared shirts.

Instead, his tongue counts your teeth, meeting yours, and you are left panting into his mouth.

After a few minutes of this, and after one particularly hard thrust against you, he breaks the kiss and presses his forehead hard against yours. “Ford…” you whine as you desperately try not to hump his thigh too vigorously, at least attempting to retain some composure. He chuckles, breath hot against your face, and you open your eyes to see his screwed shut, mouth slightly hanging open. Your hands travel down his sides and you tug at the hem of his sweater with some urgency. “Stop, hnngg, stop teasing.”

He rumbles a noise that you feel more than you hear, and he tilts his head down to murmur in your ear, “Needy, are we?”

It just makes you burn hotter; your eyes slip closed. “Come on.” It is hard to sound threatening when you are caught so breathless. For all his posturing, you know Ford is equally as ruffled as you are; you can feel the hard line of his dick in his jeans every time he grinds you against him. Your cunt has a heartbeat and the man seems stuck in some kind of feedback loop of, again, necking like horny teenagers. You could definitely come just from the dry humping, but you’d much rather —

Abruptly, his hands leaves you entirely, lifting his head… only to wrap both hands under your thighs and hoist you into the air, pressing you even harder against the wall. You gasp, “Jesus,” at the shock all the breath being crushed from your lungs and your feet no longer being on the ground, and instinctively you wrap both legs tight around his waist. Your eyes fly open to catch a front row view of his jaw clenched, an extremely dark and concentrated expression across his face. You are both extremely amused and extremely turned on by this.

Ford readjusts his grip, fingers digging painfully into the fleshy undersides of your glutes, before he steps back and actually carries you with him. You yelp, leaning your weight further against him, face buried in his shoulder and arms now tight around his neck for stability. The few steps from the wall to a nearby table seem to take a not insignificant amount of effort. But he still manages it.

“I could have — walked,” you complain as he functionally drops you on the edge of the table.

He pulls back, breathing a little heavier, and runs a quick hand through his hair to push it back. He grins down rakishly at you, clearly delighted by how flushed you are. “Too difficult.”

“Too — too difficult?” you laugh.

He hums an affirmative, smoothing some flyaway hairs from your face before leaning in and kissing you much more sweetly than before. You make yourself more comfortable on your perch and raise yourself up into it, wrapping an ankle around the back of his knee while one of his hands cups your jaw. It is an unexpected change of pace, but not an unpleasant one.

Anyway, it had taken roughly three or four more brief asides in the sci-fi aisles before coincidence brought you to the check-out counter together, while idly discussing the Catholic dogma in Book of the New Sun, when the librarian behind the counter said, “Find everything okay, Dr. Pines?”

“Yes, Mildred, thank you,” he said breezily, setting down his stack of books for her to begin scanning, then rifling through his pockets.

“Doctor?” you repeated.

In lieu of a response, he finally pulled out his library card and had flipped it up for you to read — Gravity Falls Public Library: Stanford Pines — then put it atop the stack to be scanned as well. “I suppose it is ill-mannered of me to not have asked your name already.” The line sounded smooth, especially in the low timbre of his voice, but the light pink tint to his ears gave him away.

When you realized you recognize the name, you ignored the expected polite reply of telling him your name in turn, and instead asked, “Are you that guy who lives in the woods? Er… or that guy who ran the Mystery Shack…?” You faltered, as you consistently got them mixed up in your mind, and were not entirely convinced they were two separate individuals.

“That would be my brother,” he said with a hint of snide disdain, “Stanley.”

“God, did your parents like, hate you or something?” you said without thinking.

“Or something,” he replied with a wry smile.

“Sorry, that was —” What the hell came over you to say that to a complete stranger? You readjusted your own stack under your arm, and held out a hand, introducing yourself by name. Thankfully, he shook it; your name sounded much nicer in his voice than it ever did in yours.

“You’re all set, Dr. Pines.” The librarian pushed his stack of books back to him.

You expected him to grab his books and bid you a polite goodbye, as you hoisted your own stack upon the counter. But he lingered and asked, “You’re new to town?”

“Ish,” you said, steadying your elbow on the counter to lean your weight there. “It’s been a year or so. Is it that obvious I’m a transplant?” you joked.

“No,” he reassured you with a bit of a smile. “Only in that you didn’t know who I was.”

You slid your library card across the counter as well, heard the beep of the scan, then grabbed your own stack. “If it helps, I’ve heard the name.”

“What else do you hear?” The amused twinkle was back, tone playful and — oh my god was he flirting with you?

Behind you both, the next person in line cleared their throat at a pointedly loud volume, and you scampered away, face burning. Ford held the door open for you as you slunk out them — how gentlemanly — and you waited for them to shut behind both of you.

Ford turned back to you, expectant of an answer. “Only weird things,” you had told him with a smile. “Promise.”

He had blinked, smiled again, much more genuine than it was flirty, then bid you a quick and polite goodbye.

Currently, your hands run up under his sweater, palms gentle over the surprising amount of muscle — or, maybe not surprising, since he had literally just picked you up off the ground. His stomach tenses under your touch. Is he ticklish? “Are you, like, secretly jacked or something?” you mumble against his lips.

He rears back with a bemused expression. “Secretly jacked?” he repeats, the words sounding extremely foreign in his mouth.

“You are hiding an unsuspecting amount of muscle under these dorky sweaters,” you tell him, settling both hands just above his hips.

He huffs, one hand steadying himself against the table, the other pressing his thumb gently against the underside of your jaw as he cups your face. “They are not dorky.”

“It’s fine that they’re dorky,” you laugh at his attitude. “If you had been showing up to the library in muscle shirts, then…”

“Who in the world is showing up to libraries in muscle shirts?” he asks, incredulous at the mere idea, and the hand not on your neck slides up your side, also under your shirt, rucking it up. His palm is large, spanning around your ribs.

“You’ve lost the plot,” you say, removing your hands to begin undoing his belt buckle. “It was a compliment.”

“The dorky sweaters or the secret muscles?”

“Either,” you reply, a little distracted as you try to keep eye contact while shoving his pants over his hips and slightly down his thighs. “Both.” You cup his dick through his briefs, feeling him hard and heavy through the fabric.

That, at least, distracts him too; Ford says something truly unintelligible that you take to be a swear and leans into your touch. Jesus, he feels — he feels big. You bite your tongue against that compliment, as he presses his forehead against yours again and puffs a hot breath across your face. You run your hand from the thick base to the head, the fabric there slightly damp.

“Stop — stop distracted me,” he huffs, and then his hands are also going for the button on your jeans, a little awkward around the angle of your hand still down his pants. You get with the program and remove it to instead help him get your pants off, kicking them off and to the floor. For a moment, you consider continuing the dry humping him here, you are getting desperate, but he tugs you even closer to the edge of the table. You have to lean your weight back on your hands as you just barely balance there, as he presses two fingers against the very clear damp spot in your own underwear, rubbing roughly against your clit.

You swear as well, but definitely in English.

For all that was good — how had you ended up with your pants off in the library, panting with sheer anticipation?

After several more months of only seeing each other in the stacks, catching up over recent reads, opinions on the subject matter and, yes, definitely flirting, you had started to consider Ford a friend. You even tried to keep a regular attendance schedule just to catch him on a consistent basis, since neither of you seemed to progress it further past the walls of the library.

Okay, so maybe you had developed a bit of a crush, also. So what if he was, at minimum, at least two decades your senior? The silver fox thing worked well on him, and you never saw him outside the library. It was harmless.

Which all led to today, when you spent longer than necessary chatting, not paying attention to the time until you realized that you two were the only ones left. Mildred wouldn’t just leave you locked in the library overnight, would she? Or maybe she was just tired of how you two kept holding up the checkout line on a biweekly basis.

Still, when you saw the fog, and then were warned not to go out in the fog, you had thought, well, fuck, what is this, The Mist? Considering some of the stories you heard from the locals, it might just be. Somewhat frustrated, somewhat fearful, you had said aloud, “What is this, The Mist?”

“The what?”

“You know, The Mist.” You led him farther into the library, where the desks and tables and chairs and beanbags resided. Turning to him and crossing your arms, you said, “I’m pretty sure I literally handed you Nightmares & Dreamscapes like, a month ago.”

Ford wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t quite care for that one.”

You laughed. “I know, you said The Jaunt was too unrealistic for long-distance teleportation.”

He huffed, apparently annoyed at the reminder. “Because it was. But, The Mist wasn’t that good, either.”

“It’s a stone cold King classic,” you had defended, and began counting off on your fingers. “It’s got weird creatures; it’s got a small boy; it’s got an old woman who’s a religious fanatic; it’s got two characters unnecessarily having sex right in the middle of it — although, now, I kinda get it. What else is there to even do?”

You had said it as a joke. Obviously. But then you had caught Ford’s eye and you both stared at each other a few seconds too long.

And then he had you up against the wall.

You whine again, a truly undignified sound, when he pushes the fabric of your underwear aside to slide one thick finger into you. “Oh, my god,” you mutter, as you realize this is actually happening to you, right here, right now.

Ford looms over you, leans in, so you are forced to lean back as well, until your back hits the table. His stare is extremely intent and heated.

…And he is just keeping his finger completely still, and you squirm against it, trying to — “Can you at least move?"

The intensity breaks as he grins coquettishly and draws it out slowly, before pushing two fingers back in. The stretch of it burns in the best way possible, and your eyes slip closed. “Needy,” he reiterates the sentiment from earlier, this time almost lightly scolding you. Which should not be as hot as it is, while he sets a slow pace. “You, my dear, are extremely impatient.”

You groan out half a laugh, clasping one hand tight around his bicep, feeling it flex under the knit fabric; on the out stroke, he curls his fingers, and your hips lift off the table as he drags over that particular spot. His unoccupied hand lands on your hip, pinning you there.

“You are doing this on purpose,” you accuse, heart positively hammering.

“Doing what?”

You open your eyes just to be able to roll them at him, and instead of verbally answering, you use your other hand to wrap around the back of his neck and drag him down into a heated kiss. Ford smiles against your lips, positively lecherous, as his pace speeds up. Your kissing loses its coordination as you get closer to the edge, turned on by the fact you can hear yourself get wetter and wetter, twitching around his fingers as the coil tightens and tightens in your stomach. Just when you are becoming accustomed to two fingers, he pushes three in without warning.

“Fuck,” you gasp, hand tight in his hair, struggling against his grip as you are unable to stay still. Your thighs tremble at the strain of trying to chase the sensation as he stretches you further, your feet kicking uselessly in the air at particularly rough strokes. He leans in more and puts one knee atop the table, steadying himself and keeping it from rocking so much. “Fuck, I, ah, Ford!”

He lifts his head to watch your face contort in pleasure. “Tell me what you want, darling.” He is drinking in every noise and involuntary motion you make, expression eager.

How is he this debonair? It feels wildly unfair how much this is turning you on — isn’t he supposed to be a shy nerd? “I — shit — please, I need, I need —!”

“You need,” he repeats, sounding close to deprecating, amused and acting utterly unruffled by the fact you are swiftly coming apart on his fingers alone. But there is a hunger in his eyes that gives him away. Then, he shoves all three fingers in as deep as possible, while grinding the heel of his palm against your clit.

“You are such,” you say through gritted teeth as your cunt clenches around him, “a fucking bastard.”

You get the most shit-eating grin in response. “Well, if that’s what you think…” he tuts, drawing his fingers out, slowly, slowly.

“No!” Your hand shoots out and grasps his wrist, the other tightening in his hair to keep him there. He wants to see you desperate? Fine, you can play along. “Please,” you plead, absolutely wrecked, and you should probably be feeling embarrassed at how quickly this man got you to beg. Usually you like to stretch it out longer, but — “Please, make me come, please, I —”

Looking satisfied, his speed picks up again, pressing roughly on your clit, and you are so, fucking, close, you are chanting his name in time with each thrust, and, and…!

Ford kisses you again as you peak, swallowing your moan as the pressure breaks and you come on his fingers, still grinding his hand against your clit as your hips buck against him. It is almost painfully tight, but he readily takes it, slowly dragging his fingers against the walls of your cunt and drawing it out.

Eventually, the intensity of the moment gently subsides, and you squirm against the overstimulation. “That’s — hah — that’s enough,” you gasp for breath, and open your eyes — when had they closed? — to see him smirking down at you again, this time with a sort of self-satisfied pride. Cheeky bastard.

You take a few seconds to catch your breath as he draws all three fingers out of you, which makes an obscene noise, and then you are pushing back on his shoulder so you can sit upright. Instantly, you are pulling him out of his briefs, and your mouth positively waters as you take in how thick his cock is. The tip is flushed pink, pre-come already beading there, and it twitches when you take him in hand.

You wrap your fist around him and stroke slowly from root to tip, then get the gut reaction of pure trepidation as you think, is this thing actually going to fit? His hips jerk at your drawn-out touch, and his hand that had just been inside you closes around yours to make your grip even tighter. It is definitely a little gross that you are getting your own arousal all over your hand, but it is also getting all over his dick, and it smooths out the process as you continue to stroke him.

“Fuck,” Ford mutters, staring down at you jacking him off, almost completely slack-jawed. A kind of headiness fills you — you understand his smug little looks now.

“Please fuck me, Dr. Pines,” you practically purr, and he positively shudders when you call him that. You smile, delighted, and the headiness only grows. “Please fill me up, make me…”

Ford chokes out something halfway between a laugh and a groan at your saccharine tone. You chortle as well, the act completely broken, as he closes the space between you two; you let go to steady yourself back on both hands. His belt jangles as he hastily pushes his pants and briefs farther down his thighs, then hooks his fingers into your underwear to pull it off. Gripping the base of his cock to line it up, he rubs the tip against you a few times, catching once or twice on your hole. Your cunt twitches at the anticipation. “You are such a menace,” he tells you, sounding almost disbelieving, still looking down.

“I’m a menace?” you can’t help but laugh. Trying to aim for the same tone as before, you coo, “Why, Dr. Pines, is it too mu— ahh…” but cut yourself off with a moan as he finally begins pushing inside you.

He grits his teeth, pulls out a little, then pushes in again, further this time. He continues to work you open with small thrusts, as you stretch to accommodate him, and no amount of preparation could have primed you for this particular feeling. All twelve fingers dig into your hips to keep you steady, and you slide onto your back again, hands gripping the edges of the table on either side of you as you focus on your breathing. Fucking Christ.

When he is fully seated, hips flush to yours, he lets out a low rumble from the back of his throat. The noise goes straight to your cunt. You are loose and wet from your earlier orgasm, but — “Fuck, you’re tight,” he mutters, hunching forward as he steadies both hands on either side of your torso. He hangs his head between his shoulders to look at where you are connected, practically hypnotized by the sight alone.

The complete stillness is killer, and you try not to squirm against him. He glances up at you, his glasses sunk well down his nose but sturdily hooked there. Some stray curls fall across his forehead, which you indulge yourself to gently comb them back with your fingertips. The disheveled look really does work on him, you think, as he closes his eyes and hums at the touch. Well, frankly, all looks seem to work on him for you.

“If you don’t move, I’m going to die,” you announce, breaking the tender reverie.

He snorts, then looks back down, draws out halfway, and slides back in smoothly. Somehow, it feels like he gets even deeper this time. You are definitely going to die just from this. Good way to go, you decide as you wrap your ankles around the back of his thighs.

Ford sets a leisurely pace, gliding in and out with measured thrusts that go from just the tip being settled in you to grinding his dick as deep as it can possibly go, like he is savoring the feel of you. It is not nearly enough, as he pushes up your shirt to press a wet kiss to the very base of your sternum. You fist the collar on the back of his shirt, enjoying the sensation of being filled, but…

“Please,” you beg, “please go faster.”

Without warning, the next thrust is so sharp, you let out a surprised, “Ah!” as even the table wobbles a little.

He somehow presses even farther into you — fucking hell you can practically feel him in your stomach — as he looms over you, staring down with a flushed expression, and yes, now you feel like you are on a level playing field. He looks completely wrecked just from being inside you. “Insatiable,” he breaths with a kind of reverence. “Utterly insatiable.”

Definitely the kind of guy to use ten-cent words while being inside someone. As established, it works, though. “Yeah, yeah,” you say blithely, trying to use your heels to press him in closer. “That’s me.”

He foregoes kissing entirely in favor of ramping up speed, panting hotly against your neck, and you wonder if his glasses are fogging up. Except, as you try to keep control of your moaning as pressure builds in you again, his thrusts are slowly pushing you up the table. So, he stands up straight again with a sore kind of groan, drags you back down by your thighs — fuck, that was hot — and then grips both large hands at your hips to hold you still. The sight of his concentrated expression at where you are connected as he absolutely rails you is enough to put you close to the edge; still sensitive, your pussy clenches around him uncontrollably. It just spurns him on, rocking your whole body with each thrust.

Desperate for the feeling of coming on his dick, you reach down and begin furiously rubbing at your clit, your wetness smoothing the entire way. Every so often your fingers overshoot, and you feel him entering you over, and over, and over —

You come again without much warning, just a gasp and an arch of your back off the table as you grasp blindly for anything to anchor you. Ford practically doubles over as your cunt squeezes around him. “Fuck,” he grits out, eyes glued to your face as you come, pounding into you faster and faster as he chases his own release. “Fuck — fuck — I’m not —”

“Ford,” you whine breathlessly, as the waves wash over you, your thighs twitching with oversensitivity as he somehow rams into you harder. “Please come in me, just —!”

His thrusts become uneven, sacrificing any coordination for the sheer attempt to drive deeper and deeper into you, punching staccato’ed breaths out of you with each thrust as your orgasm finally subsides. He moans your name, then bites out another string of unintelligible curses.

Finally, when it is almost too much, he presses his hips hard against you, hilting himself entirely as you feel his cock twitch in you; he moans, low and deep, as he comes. Ford’s eyes fall closed as he does a few more short, uncontrolled abortive jerks in to you, clenching his jaw so hard you can see a vein popping in his column of his neck when his head tilts back. When he has filled you, the tension in his body unravels all at once as he lets go of your hips and slams both palms on either side of your torso as he falls forward. Spent, he breaths heavily, head hanging between his shoulders.

Both of you take a few more seconds to come down from your respective highs, as your cunt continues to throb, and you reach down to card your fingers gently through his curls. As before, he leans into the touch and lowers himself to settle his forehead against your collarbone, breath slowly evening out. You relax your legs so he can pull out, and you feel his come drizzling out of you. Jesus fucking Christ.

Then, he chuckles, still resting his forehead against you. “I don’t think I have ever considered doing that before in my life.” Somehow, his voice is even deeper from all the exertion.

“What, really?” Surprised, you press your chin to your chest to peer down at him, and he raises his eyes to you as well. “No raunchy library fantasies?”

“Not for at least forty years.”

You laugh lightly, somehow feeling honored. Desperate we-could-die-any-moment fucks do that for a man, you suppose.

You both spend the next few minutes cleaning up in the bathroom, not really keen on being so tacky and sweaty if you have an undetermined amount of time left in the library. Ford emerges to find you sprawled out on a few bean bag chairs you have pushed together, as you feel extremely loose and well-fucked out.

He sits next to you on the edge of one, gingerly. The hesitancy is cute, but unnecessary since he literally just came inside you, and you tug at the back of his sweater until he gets the hint and lays down, too. Thankfully, he takes this as permission to wrap you in an embrace, which you settle comfortably into. Eventually you start to doze with your head on his chest, legs tangled, and a hand settled on his side. He has an arm curled around you, and his hand strokes gently where your shirt has rucked up, warm on your skin.

Not a bad way to die, all things considered.

“So, what’s in the fog?” you ask drowsily.

“Hmm?”

Dragging yourself out of the place where you had been floating, between part and meet, you elaborate, “The mysterious and deadly fog, that we can’t go out in.”

“Oh.” His hand stops its stroking. “There’s nothing special about the fog.”

You open your eyes, blink twice, then steady yourself on a hand to raise yourself to look down at him with a truly bewildered expression. “What?”

“The fog isn’t deadly,” Ford reiterates, with raised brows.

“You said not to go out there!” you argue.

“Right,” he confirms, “it just looked too thick to drive through.”

Is he serious right now? You had been under the assumption this had been an urgent, final fuck sort of deal — not that you were complaining about the extremely good lay, but — wait, does that mean he wanted you that much, that he was just willing to fuck you silly in a library without thinking there was death imminent in his future?

It’s kind of flattering, all in all.

Ford looks more nervous the longer you are silently staring down at him, as your brain puzzles this out, and he tries to reason, “Well, I suppose the fog could be a symptom of something more dangerous…”

“It — it’s fine,” you try to reassure him quickly. “Thank you for… being so concerned about my safety behind the wheel.” It is such a weird thing to say to a man who was railing you fifteen minutes ago. With that, you press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, downturned in a befuddled expression, before snuggling back in atop him.

He seems to breathe a sigh of relief. “Did you really think the fog was dangerous?”

“Yes,” you complain, closing your eyes again, enjoying the rumbling in his chest when he speaks. “I thought it was like The Mist.”

His hand resumes its stroking. “You, my dear, read too much.”

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Got any trans HCs for the amphibia trio? I love the many different interpretations I've seen from this fandom

I don't know about specific headcanons, I know I'm considering making Anne trans in RiAAU but I haven't decided yet.

In one hand: it would be interesting to think how she deals with her first periods because, well, amphibians don't have those, and Hop Pop assumes she's dying (she doesn't tell anyone else because she's so embarrassed). Not that he tells her that, but it really freaks him out. He thinks she has some sort of internal damage, and it's only after months of research that he finds out about some rare mammalian species, such as a few monkeys and rodents, that experience the same cycle Anne goes through. The whole point of this is that it makes Anne feel even more out-of-place. She doesn't remember her world or her parents, only that she came from "somewhere" (possibly another continent) full of people of her species, and she wonders if things would have been easier if she grew up with her biological family. I mean, surely this would be easier. It just serves as a reminder that she knows nothing about her species, not even its name, and she has no idea of how her biology works or what is good and bad for her or how long she'll live or what changes she'll go through.

.

BUT, on the other hand: Trans Anne. Let's start with the obvious: amphibians don't have penises or vaginas and they reproduce externally, meaning they like... release eggs and sperm in the water and they mix without the involvement of either parent, meaning no one knows what the cultural significance of a "penis" or a "vagina" tends to be in most human cultures. As a literaly 3yo, Anne probably didn't have an extensive understanding of s.ex and gender, and it wasn't like the clothes she showed up with told Hop Pop much. She just knew that, as time went on, she found herself relating more and more to the female frogs of Wartwood, and she almost subconsciously began to refer to herself as a girl. There wasn't any big coming out moment, more like a point in which, after months of ambiguity (this kid kept using different pronouns for herself) she just settled on some good ol' she/her and began picking somewhat girly clothes when Hop Pop took her to the market.

It's not like the concept of trans people doesn't exist in Amphibia, it's just that Anne didn't realize that was her situation until, at least, meeting Marcy, and noticing the differences between them. It's not like either of them had ever seen another human from up close, so they didn't know what to expect anyway. Anne's only encounters with Sasha beforehand had consisted on magical girl swordfighting in the sky and whatnot. Certainly not enough to discuss their unique biology, which is something Marcy is very excited to discuss, since she's never met anyone with her same "condition" before, and she wants to know everything, so she uses her as her little rat lab whenever she has the chance. Even then, since she also lacks all knowledge of human s.exual dimorphism and its cultural implications, she doesn't associate anything about either of their bodies to any specific gender that could possibly be asigned to anyone based on biological feautures. Since Sasha remembers the most from Earth, she's probably the only one who could maybe possibly remeber her mom or the kindergarden teacher saying something about "the difference between boys and girls", but by the point she's in speaking terms with Anne, and by the time she realizes their bodies are different, she doesn't really care.

That's not to say Anne doesn't experience dysphoria or that she never undergoes any kind of physical transition. It was probably around the time her voice started to change during puberty that she realized her case may be kinda unique: neither Marcy nor Sasha's voices have changed that much, she can tell even though she only sees Marcy in person like once every 3 years and all the words she exchanges with Sasha consist of death threats and insults. Plus, there's a clear difference between """male""" and """female""" voiced in frogs too. She doesn't want to sound like a man! She doesn't want to be anything like a man! Men are gross! Sorry Sprig, Hop Pop, but it's true. Men are icky icky yuck yuck and Anne is a girly girl. She doesn't want to turn into Stumpy! Or Buff Loggle! Oh, no, is that her future? She commits the triple mistake of 1) sending a letter to Marcy that same day, 2) knocking on Maddies' door promising her firstborn if she can save her from turning into Stumpy, and 3) she becomes obsessed researching mammalian biology in the archives. Bad decision. Bad bad. She's discovering things to feel dysphoric about she never even knew existed! Did you know mammalian mothers feed their offsprings with "milk" that comes from their "mammary glands"? Did Sasha and Marcy have those? She hates herself a little for checking out Marcy next time she sees her and she realizes that, indeed, in the past years she's grown a pair of those that Anne does NOT have. She notes that both she and Sasha are pretty much hairless. She used to think hair was a normal mammalian trait! That weasel that tries to eat the frogs every winter sure is covered in it!

Maddie shows up to her door with a bunch of new spells to try out, happy to have a willing subject. Most embarrassingly, Marcy starts doing her own research as soon as she gets Anne's letter and sends her all her discoveries, and now Anne feels mortified because Marcy knows about all the bad bad very bad changes she's going through (Marcy, for her part, is just fascinated by the nature of their "condition").

It takes a bit, but after a few very frenzied weeks, Anne comes to understad what's going on: her species had certain level of sexual dimorphism and she just happened to have been born with the supposed "sex" usually associated with "men" as a social category. When Hop Pop finds out, he burst into laughter. Oh, it was THAT all along! Anne made it sound so complicated, but it was just the same things he went through when he was younger, just the other way around ("Say what now Hop Pop?")! A few curses here and there and she won't have to worry about these so called "mammary glands" and "hair" anymore, though in the meantime, as Maddie perfects a human-friendly curse, she gets turned into all sort of different creatures. By the time it's done, she just wants to feel like... herself.

It's true that there are some things about her body that make her feel weird, like they don't quite fit in, but there are others she only worries about because she compared herself to Sasha and Marcy, which wasn't fair to anyone involved. Did she really want to fundamentally change parts of her body because of insecurities she developed last week over a book about lemurs? Then, a second set of fears come in: what will happen when she goes back to her place of origin? Because she does want to find her birth family. Will they recognize her, if they're looking for a boy? Will they think she's lying if she claims to be their daughter? If she changes only a few things but doesn't "go all the way", will people there think she's a freak? Will she ever be able to fit in with those of her species?

Does she really care so much about what other people think? She just wants to be herself. Some of the changes she's been going through are making her feel less like herself and more like she's being turned into a tax collector from Toad Tower. Those things have to go - her voice, for example. And she wants a more femenine silhouette (she may or may not show Maddie photos of young Mrs. Croaker as a reference). She wants a softer face. She's seeing her face changing in the mirror and she doesn't like it. She wants it to stay round and soft, not to grow hard and sharp or big and rough. She's not so sure she wants those "mammary glands". It's not like she ever thought about having kids, and the whole "breastfeeding" thing just seems gross, but after her research, and finding out she could have kids with, I don't know, maybe Marcy one day (a thought that makes her blush), she thinks it may be a good idea. She'll consider it. Maybe later. Her genitalia... well, she's used to what she has now. It already took her like 10 years to fully figure out what it was and how it worked and starting over with a whole new set just feels like too much work (also, the babies, the potential babies with Marcy). Frogs and toads have neither "penises" or "vaginas" so there's not a lot of information, and based on books about lemurs and her own empirical experience, comparing herself to other mammalian species isn't too useful. She'll leave it the way it is. She'll see if there's anything else she wants to change later, or if she wants to go back on something.

Marcy is surprised next time Anne visits Newtopia. In her letters, she described this strange transformation in excruciating detail, but seeing her in person now, holding her face in her hands, all she sees is the same Anne she's always loved.

A few more ideas:

HEADCANON: in Amphibia, two people of the same "s.ex" can reproduce through magic, which means there has to be a concious effort and intent. The external fertilization process there's no such thing as a pregnancy, and there's no such thing as s.ex. All reproduction is intentional, which means there's no need for abortion either. There are processes to destroy fertilized eggs and embryos, but they look completely different from human abortions.

Amphibians may perform acts resembling s.ex for pleasure or fun but they look different from human s.ex and have no relation to reproduction.

Andrias is the only person in Amphibia who knows enough about humans to know how they reproduce (a process he finds repulsive). He never tells Marcy, of course, though once she becomes queen, she finds his secret library and his hidden tomes on "alien biology", some of which talk about humans. He's also the only one who knows humans can have children on accident, and that Anne is the only human in Amphibia who could cause something like that to happen (he reads all of Marcy's correspondence). He knows his daughter is very close to this weird farm girl penpal of hers, and even though she's still a child, he worries for her future and the future of the crown. This new discovery could land the crown in the hands of a dynasty of aliens if he's not careful. Is it weird that he spends so much time worrying about his 12yo daughter getting pregnant from another 12yo? Yes, yes it is, but he already controls every aspect of her life, it's not like he's going to stop at her sexuality, future, real, or imaginary.

Man now that I wrote it all down, I think this option is more compelling than the first. Maybe I WILL go with this one.

[largemandrill]

I desperately need people to stop saying afab when they just mean cis women. I also (for separate reasons) need them to stop saying “afab trans people” when they just mean trans men they don’t agree with.

[hysokaz]

illumi is a cis man out of convenience. he does not care enough to think about it. gittarackur is the most genderfuck thing ever tho yas pinhead slay

[frmulcahy]

Worst part of having short hair is not the short hair itself but cishet women trying to complement me by constantly going “oh my god you’re sooooo lucky I wish I could pull off short hair but I can’t :(” You don’t need to lie to me and put yourself down. My face is as round as the moon emoji. If you want short hair you can just cut it.

[puckpocketed]

can i just say... as a canadian hockey fan, if that means anything (bc we don't own the sport, much as the uncles protest)... you know more abt hockey tactically than me full stop. you belong without question and you would even if you didn't have half a clue what icing is !! but you do and it's beautiful and hockey is so lucky to have *you*

HELD on to this ask a bit longer than originally intended, i hope you don't mind!! this was so lovely to read after my little crisis of faith <- many such cases <3 thank you for this, really. and you're completely right of course...! knowing and not knowing certain things doesn't dictate whether someone belongs in a space.

[xcherryerim]

clapton fic where hes just so so bisexual and also the reader is male and clapton is so so bisexual btw

I don’t write for male readers specifically BUT I wanna give MA BOYS 🗣️ a little something (inspired by uh something that happened to me a long time ago AH)

Clapton x amab reader

SMALL SMUT THING IDK | MDNI | +18 ONLY

tw: coming out (kinda) | Oral sex (male reader receiver) | inexperienced Clapton | soft dom reader x submissive clapton 🫶🏻

.

.

.

As Clapton played the song, the lyrics echoed through the room, and you couldn't help but feel a pang of anticipation as the words "I wanna ruin our friendship, we should be lovers instead" resonated within you.

The intense emotion behind those lyrics seemed to speak volumes about what he was trying to convey. Once the melody faded away, leaving only the lingering notes in the air, you locked eyes with him, your eyebrows slightly arched in curiosity.

With a calm yet firm tone, you posed the question, "Is this your way of coming out to me?" Your expression mirrored his, conveying both suspicion and concern for his well-being.

Clapton hesitated, his hands fidgeting nervously in his lap, before finally responding with a soft,

"Maybe..."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Fuck, you look absolutely adorable on your knees," you teased, as Clapton attempted to position himself comfortably to accommodate your length.

As he paused to catch his breath, you could see the determination and eagerness in his eyes. When he looked up at you, his face was flushed with embarrassment and nerves, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

"Shut up..." he stuttered softly, his voice barely audible.

With a smirk on your face, you countered, "Who told you to stop sucking?" Leaning forward, you gazed down at Clapton, taking in the sight that was both erotic and endearing all at once.

His cheeks reddened even further as he sighed, a mixture of irritation and embarrassment evident in his features. "Alright, alright... You're right," he conceded sheepishly. Gently kissing the tip of your erection, Clapton paused one last time before taking you back into his warm, wet mouth.

"Just give me a moment, please," he pleaded, his voice muffled but earnest. "This is my first time with a guy... at least like this.”

Clapton confessed, his voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and vulnerability. His eyes met yours, revealing the truth of his experience with guys - or lack thereof - in this intimate act. You felt a surge of understanding and empathy wash over you, knowing that this was uncharted territory for him.

Gently placing a hand on his shoulder, you offered reassurance and encouragement. "Take your time, I trust you," you whispered, giving him permission to proceed at his own pace.

Sensing your support, Clapton took a deep breath, his fingers tightening around your thigh as he prepared to resume his task. His lips glided slowly along the length of you, teasing and tasting as if savoring each sensation. The combination of his inexperience and genuine desire made the moment all the more intimate and special between the two of you.

[rottingbvnnyheart]

i cant decide if i should get the HPV vaccine while it's stille free bc it'll cost $400 later ://

[aroaceloverofgarlicbread]

naw mate, this is now apart of your CULTURE, EMBRACE ITTTT

🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

🫵

Oh no…

[bilesproblems]

is it okay to call myself a lesbian if I'm a man who likes men?? I just feel such a connection to the label and I think lesbians are really hot, I just want to be seen as a lesbian so bad

I'm not an idiot, I can detect troll language. You're not a man who likes men at all. You're an exclusionist coming up with the most outrageous idea you can.

This isn't what gaybians are. Gaybians are multigender and nonbinary people, almost always, and secondarily the label is used by trans people who feel a connection with their AGAB. They're also usually not just bisexual (though I support the usage of gay and lesbian in a nonexclusive context), but experience a split in their attraction. That can be sexually attracted to women and romantically attracted to men, or it could be within the same type but still feeling fundamentally different.

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

assigned male at walgreens (they printed m for “assigned gender at birth” on the form for me to get the flu and covid boosters)

[charmac]

i don't think people hcing charlie as transfem are trying to dismiss the transmasc charlie hc! i think it's more of a projection thing for a lot of people, since i know at least a few of the main people who enjoy the headcanon are transfem themselves!! i don't think you have much to worry about in terms of people dismissing the tmasc or other genderqueer charlie hc anyways, since it's already much more popular! i think you're perhaps being a bit too critical.

I've literally never said anything like this at all, I think you've either misinterpreted something else I've said or have the wrong blog.

All of my Charlie gender-based posts or reblogs I've stated/tagged that I think any interpretation of Charlie's gender can make sense, be it transmasculine, transfeminine, nonbinary, agender, whatever you want.

I am one of the ~3 blogs that has access to The Bathroom Problem script and who posted and pointed out that you can make out/slightly hear the Joyce cuts in the episode itself. I would not have excitedly shared that for open-interpretation if I was "worried" people are "dismissing" transmasc Charlie headcanons. (Which, again, I've literally never said, but in any case, I believe it's valid for anyone to dismiss a headcanon they don't agree with, fandom is a sandbox.)

What I personally don't care for are genderbends and, almost by extension, analysis/meta on canon scenes that rename/re-gender the characters with no basis (or, one that comes off wrong). Both topics I've literally never publicly spoken out against here, nor have I said anything bad/negative to everyone who personally enjoys these things, so there is no way for me to possibly be "too critical" in that regard. I keep most of my opinions to myself and my close mutuals, almost exactly for what you're saying: I personally don't want to harsh or dismiss anyone's headcanons.

I have never said, and have never meant to imply, that anyone interpreting Charlie as transfem is attempting to dismiss anyone else's headcanon (which again would be a non issue to me anyway).

[butchifiedcatfish]

Yk i think we should take away the terms afab and amab away from people until they realise it means what genitals the doctor saw when you were born because its now just become gender stereotypes 2.0

[schadenfreudich]

I don't trust people who say things like "afab experience" because in most cases they actually mean "white, perfectly perisex afab experience" and even then, it's too specific.

Because I'm not white, so I never got the "weak little girl" thing. I wasn't white feminine enough, even though I was quite feminine as a child.

And while I don't consider myself intersex, my body has produced more testosterone than would be the normal range for someone going through a "female" puberty ever since I was going through puberty. Definitely not enough for it to have strong masculinizing effects, it's just also quite androgynous in an additive way.

I do not feel represented by most things that people are talking about like it's "universal" for "afab" individuals, while both being "afab" and having gone through "female" puberty.

[mymreaderlibrary]

Male reader / Natasha Romanoff drabble

(Note: this focuses on stuff around pregnancy and infertility)

If you asked the average person if Natasha Romanoff wanted to be a mom you’d get a solid no. She’s a busy woman, one of the most revered assassins working for a group of world saving heroes, she doesn’t have time for kids. She’s got jobs to finish, people to kill, people to save, and having some bawling toddler would only ruin that.

Besides, Natasha never seemed all that interested in children. While some may become completely enamored by a newborn’s squishy face and joyful squeals, she always managed to simply smile and carry on. She wasn’t immune to giving them a good tickle, but most people aren’t and her motions always seemed drained. It was as if she was losing energy by just seeing a child.

So the consensus was pretty easy to come to, both her life and personal interests showed no signs of settling down. But if you asked those close to her, more specifically Clint, you’d get a far different response. Natasha adored being an aunt to Clint’s kids. Watching them grow and become tiny people with big personalities struck a warmth and desire within her. A desire she could never fulfill.

The Red Room took many things from her, but one that haunted her in particular was her hysterectomy. Originally she felt neither which way about it, but after joining SHIELD and meeting Clint’s family it struck her just how permanent the surgery really was. For a while a sense of bitterness would waft over her, anger, frustration, sadness not necessarily for the loss of her uterus but instead for the loss of her bodily autonomy. It was necessary she told herself it’s not like I had a choice. Still some odd part of her took the blame and the thought that she could never have a family to call her own hurt.

However life finds a way.

She met a man who came to adore her. Beyond just her face and body (though you couldn’t lie to yourself and say she wasn’t exceedingly physically attractive), beyond her job as an assassin, beyond her involvement with the Avengers, she found someone who just liked her. And well… as the months to years passed that feeling welled up inside her.

Natasha had brought you to meet Clint, or well Clint wanted to meet you and gauge what you were doing with his best friend. He’s well aware Natasha can take care of herself it’s just that with friendship comes a defensiveness and he wanted her to be happy. Luckily it seemed you passed whatever silent test he was running on you.

The three of you chatted away by the coffee table, drinking wine as the sun went down. You had an arm slung around Nat’s shoulders as she leaned lightly into your side. She’d never been much for PDA but it was clear she felt safe here. The sound of giggling interrupted your chat as Laura came home with Cooper and Lila. Clint stood up to go greet them and as you watched him go something else caught your eye.

Natasha was smiling but… it was a bit strained. She seemed excited to see the kids but it was clear something was hurting her while watching them. You gave her a little squeeze on the shoulder in hopes of grounding her but it seemed to make her just brush things off faster.

Eventually Clint came back and the two of you gave your goodbyes as the Barton’s prepared for dinner. While you and Nat walked back to the car you couldn’t help but ask her what was wrong. It took a moment, but she decided to trust you. You deserved the know.

Kids or no kids you knew you loved Natasha and you met her in a tight embrace. She just leaned quietly against your shoulder but she felt lighter.

-

Surrogacy was the first idea tossed around. While she might not be able to have a kid you were still capable.

(If AMAB) finding a surrogate mother seemed daunting but Pepper let you know that she was down to help you guys out. There would be no way for Natasha to donate an egg so the genes wouldn’t be hers but that wasn’t all too important. If you followed through with this Natasha would be overly grateful to Pepper and making sure to check in on her constantly.

Do you snacks? Want ice cream? Do your feet hurt? How’s the baby doing? Is everything okay?

Pepper ends up complaining more about Natasha taking up the role as HER mom than her own pregnancy symptoms. Still, no one can really blame Nat for her antsy-ness and Pepper far from hates getting attention, especially from a friend. With each passing day you both couldn’t help but get more and more excited to meet your baby. Though she didn’t say it out loud, Natasha was relieved to be allowed in the room during labor.

(If AFAB) it occurred to you while Natasha had no uterus, you did. However this wasn’t a decision that could be made lightly as the process would include stopping your T for almost a full year as well as the risk of complications. Nat didn’t want to put you through all of that especially if it would strike up dysphoria or distress.

if you decided to follow this route you two would just need to find a sperm donor. No offense to the men in her life but Natasha didn’t feel like asking them for DNA so instead you two chose anonymous. It was kinda bizarre watching and feeling the baby grow, but Nat was ready to mother hen you at every turn. She did her best to buy all the odd snacks you wanted, get you some baggy clothes which didn’t pinch your waist, and let you have rest, lots of rest. She had a habit of rubbing your bump and you watched the silent thrill in her eyes when the baby gave a kick to her hand.

The main downside was that the baby now took the place of Nat’s own spot during bed time. She loved holding you close and feeling your heart beat against hers but now there was a living road block in the way. She joked about having a rivalry with the baby for your attention, something she knew would be a bit more real once the baby was born. Still, she was happy and so were you.

(AMAB AND OR AFAB) if neither of the previous options worked there was always adoption. Neither of you were sure if you wanted a baby, a kid, or a teen so you decided to just see who were available and decide then. It felt a little odd wading through the papers and picking which child you would take in. It felt almost a lil disconnected from the reality of what you were doing.

So many different children seemed like a great match but one in particular caught Nat’s eye. A girl, no older than 7 with no known family members. She was a trouble maker, combative, rough around the edges, and struck a sense of nostalgia within Natasha. She couldn’t help but think of her own fake family back in Ohio as she looked at the girl. She was perfect.

It took a while for the girl to get used to your home and her rowdy nature didn’t just stop because she was adopted. However Nat expected as much, being torn from one home to the next was not an easy process. Eventually the girl slowly got accustomed in her own silent ways.

She may not call you mom and dad but her affection was a lot higher. She laughed more and made some friends at school. You and Nat got to watch as the world seemed to ease up on the girl’s shoulders. Looking at Nat’s tender smile made you think about how you wouldn’t have life any other way.