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katasstrophy · 1 year

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This and shidou and date night need i say more?

—𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓'𝐒

cw. SMUT. MDNI! fem! reader. exнιвιтισиιѕм (the tiddies are out). fιngєяιng. pet names (babydoll + baby). one (1) cheeky ass slap. implied nιρρℓe play. implied violence. window fυ¢кιng. it's shidou — he's horrible and fucked in the head! // this man does truly nasty delulu things to my brain chemistry.

oh my GOD you better hope and pray that shidou doesn’t find out how easily he could just have that sexy little dress off your figure in a matter of seconds with a clever twist of his fingers because he will use it to his advantage. shamelessly. in public. he does not care.

he distracts you thoroughly by pawing at the meat of your thighs with his greedy fingers where the silver chains dangle, only to untie the flimsy black straps resting at the back of your neck when you least except it, exposing your bare chest to the cool air outside and everyone else watching in your proximity, but most importantly, exposing you to him. he doesn’t get to leer at your gorgeous pair of tits for long, however, as you scramble to quickly cover some of your modesty with your hands, a horrified gasp falling from your lips as the front of your dress continues to uselessly pool around your waist.

and shidou, like the absolute scummy bastard he is, has the audacity to whine in protest, mind far away from thinking of how to help you cover up and more leaning towards prying your fingers away from your breasts so he can see your pretty, peddled nipples again, maybe lean down and even suck on them a lil’, he’s generous like that.

“ryusei, what the actual fuck? we’re in public, you fucking cockroach!” you snarl, your eyes blazing like the gates of hell. the sight makes shidou’s cock stir in his pants. how he adores it when you get mouthy with him.

“aw, c’mon, babydoll. i haven’t seen your tits since this mornin’, you can’t fault me for wanting another looksie. i even stood before ya so the others wouldn’t see. aren’t i a gentleman?”

his grin is sharp and feral like the slash of a scythe as shidou licks his lips, like the air tastes sugary just from soaking in your embarrassment and heated cheeks. he means every word he says.

you resist the urge to tell him you want to castrate him for sport. knowing him, it’d just make him hornier.

“you’re seriously fucked in the head,” you spit at him instead, squaring your shoulders and spinning around to locate the bathroom and fix yourself up with as much dignity as you can muster in your vulnerable state.

“babydollll,” he giggles after you, all lulls and foreboding. “don’t be like that! ya should’a double knotted.”

to stick it to him, you make sure to quadruple knot the straps of your dress lest he gets any more brilliant ideas of undressing you for everyone to fucking see — a decision shidou makes you regret a couple hours later when he drags you back to his sky-rise penthouse, shoving you up against his floor to ceiling, crystal clear windows, rucking your dress up to sink his thick, unforgiving fingers into your tight heat until your knees buckle from the onslaught of pleasure.

“ryu-seiii,” you hiccup, completely out of it but hungry for more of his punishing touch. “please, uh, i need more, touch me more.”

shidou has the tells of your body mapped out and committed to memory, knows that by now your cute, puffy nipples that you denied him from looking at and feeling up earlier to his twisted heart’s content must be sore and aching for his attention, so he coos at you, void of any sympathy, reminding you this could have all been avoided if you would have just showed your breasts to him earlier like the good little angel you usually were for him.

it’s not like he would’ve let anyone escape without two bulging black eyes if they dared to stare at what was his.

“you know i’d love to play with your tits, babydoll. but i just can’t reach ‘em ‘cause of y’re naughty—” shidou brings his palm down on your exposed asscheeks, your yelp at the sting of his slap drowned out by the lewd squelching of your arousal as he pumps three fingers in and out of you like he hates you. “—little dress of yours. shouldn’t’ve made so many knots, hm? if you untie your handy-work i might reconsider thoouugghh.”

your trembling fingers scramble to the back of your neck again, almost clawing at the neat, sturdy knots you made only hours before out of retaliation, desperate for your sadistic boyfriend to pinch and and abuse your nipples just the way you like it until the flesh is raw and tender.

but when the dress finally slips off you yet again, shidou only pushes you more harshly against the glass, squishing the fat of your breasts into the cold, hard planes, chuckling cruelly as you thrash helplessly in his iron hold while he shimmies out of his pants.

“no, ryu, please, you promised. you promised to play with me mmmf—”

as much as he adores you being mouthy, as shidou shoves his fingers coated with your slick into your mouth until he hears you gag, he thinks it’s time you learned a lesson.

“sshhh, baby. you’ve already been bad today, so be good f’me now, yeah? time to put on a real show.”

then he’s bottoming out in your sloppy cunt in one brutal thrust, fucking you within an inch if your life as you writhe and sob on his suffocating fingers until your mixed juices trickle down your legs and soak into the expensive carpet, putting on a show to any lucky by-walker who happens to peer up at your debauched lovemaking.

because shidou does love you. so much. just like the cockroach you called him — ugly, incessant, and indestructible.

#—ping! new message from (oh-miniso)#yeah i am NOT OKAY over this 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫#blue lock smut #shidou ryusei smut #shidou x reader #bllk smut #blue lock x reader #shidou smut #shidou ryusei x reader #—riv.fic!#—bllk.thirsts!

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voylitscope · 1 year

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Stucky Recs: Pride Edition

So, the original plan was to do dystopias and apocalypses as the next theme. I actually started that post. It's sitting in my drafts. But then between work, moving, and other real-life stuff, I sort of ran out of days in May. Now it's mid-June. And since it is mid-June -- and since part of the whole point of these rec lists is the theming -- I thought I'd go for Pride recs instead.

We'll do dystopias in July.

I could have done a lot of different rules/qualifiers with this theming, but, for this time/post I went with, "actively has sexuality themes as a decently large plot point." I ended up with 12 fics.

Note: As part of my personal campaign to combat the persistent idea that every great fic in this fandom was written in 2015, I'm now marking recs of fics written post-2016 and recs of fics written post-Endgame.

Canon

🏳️‍🌈 Tin Soldiers | idrilka | Teen | 19,743 words

You know what's great? Fake pop culture, fake academia, and fake social media. This fic makes such good use of all of those things and is so smart about it. I love that this fic narratively sandwiches CA:TWS. So a large part of the point here is the public perception of Steve, and of SteveandBucky right before, during, and then after the events of CA:TWS, in a world where all of that is real. The way it's done is brilliant and feels so true and accurate to life. There is live tweeting and live reactions. There are news headlines. There's fandom culture and blogging. There are social media arguments. It's just so well done. There are a lot of fics that look, at least briefly, at the public perception/use of Steve's legend in some way, and a lot of them are fantastic. I'm just so especially of fond of this fic. There's a hyper-realism to it. Plus, it includes a scene of people live reacting to Steve spontaneously and bluntly coming out on CNN. It's some beautiful stuff.

Quote:

As Michelle Mbatha argues in The Anatomy of a Sidekick, “Barnes’ transition from a partner to a sidekick marks the point at which the relationship between Barnes and Rogers becomes that of a mentor and pupil, thus effectively prohibiting any potentially »unsavoury« readings of their partnership” (121). In this sort of dynamic, one which emphasizes the much more prominent age difference, there is, indeed, no place for any assumptions of queerness or any sort of code similar to that which permeated cinematographic works of the time, signifying penalizable, “forbidden” practices falling under the censorship guidelines (see also: The Celluloid Closet, 1995). Bucky, then, in taking his place as Captain America’s teenage sidekick, becomes figuratively castrated in order to appear effectively sexless and thus avoid any possibility of coding their relationship as queer.

Moreover, the insistence upon heteronormative and ultimately exclusionary interpretations of Rogers’ relationships with Barnes and Carter respectively, both in the comics and in biographical writings, comes from the need to reaffirm the image created by the American propaganda, which constructed Captain America to reflect the intrinsically jingoistic policies of the United States, to propagate the myth of American machismo and uphold the wholesome image of the American everyman at the same time.

🏳️‍🌈Let me be buried under your name | tempestaurora | Teen | 50,669 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

Oh no. This one. So, sometimes, my notes on fics in my rec database have sensible things like comments about tropes or moments I definitely want to point out. Other times, well -- The notes on this one say, "DOG TAGS," and also, "OH GOD." Which is very helpful of me. To myself. But I will say more coherent words about it to all of you. I imagine that fics that have both wartime and post-TWS scenes are emotionally trying for us all, and this very painful, and very beautiful fic is certainly a good example of why. There is a heartbreaking quality to the wartime Bucky POV, the during Hydra captivity POV, and the post-TWS Bucky POV that has really stayed with me. Bucky's thought processes, and his descriptions of Steve at various points, especially, are so observant and vulnerable all at once. It's also all just -- Guttingly but wonderfully romantic.

Quote:

Maybe he’d read before the light died entirely. Steve had bought him a pulp novel at the market and Bucky had been working through it slowly, dragging out the story and making it last, to make the most of the pages. He’d likely read it three times over before trading it for something else, and even then he’d tell the story to himself – mythical, magical things he’d never even thought of existing; time travel and other worlds, aliens and laser guns and space ships, exploring the stars. His eyes fluttered shut, and he just listened to Steve’s breathing, to him drawing, to the birds outside the window. He’d more than once thought that he could live in this moment forever; that he’d be more than happy to live out the rest of his days just like this one, with Steve and a crummy apartment and a warm summer day. Screw marriage, kids, and a house in the suburbs – this was where Bucky pictured when he thought of home. This was what he’d be imagining on the cold nights in Europe. This was what he’d fight to come home to.

🏳️‍🌈We wear red so they don't see us bleed | unicornpoe | Teen | 2,161 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

This is the most beautifully tense little fic. A canon-divergent-before-canon-starts fic (I never know how to classify those. If it's AU, but Steve and Bucky still move in together by like, 1939-ish... is it fully AU? Like, yes because them as childhood friends is important, obviously, but also -- in the grand scheme of overall canon -- sort of no?) that has Steve and Bucky sitting in jail cell doing this dance of little cues about each other. This is all little words and gazes and touches; there is a conversation under a conversation in this fic. They're having this casual chat as strangers in jail, except they're also having this whole second secret dialogue underneath it where they're trying to make sure they speak each other's language. Also? I adore this characterization. I love it.

Quote:

Bucky stands up and crosses the cell in two long strides, draping himself in clean lines along the section of free bench next to Steve; he pulls one leg up beneath him and stretches the other out, so that their ankles almost touch. Turned toward Steve as Bucky is, he can watch fully the sharp, barely-there movement of Steve’s eyes flickering down to their legs, and then back up to the wall across from them. He doesn’t turn to Bucky. It’s mostly silent in here. There’s a faint murmur of voices somewhere down the hallway, the quiet, steady tick of a clock hidden from view, the various noises of the men locked up with them—but other than that, nothing. “Where’d a guy like you learn to throw a punch like that?” Bucky asks finally, when he’s spent too long staring at the delicate, fucked-up line of this man’s profile, spent too long raking his eyes over and over again down the line of his feather-soft lashes. The corner of Steve’s mouth ticks up, just slightly, just a little bit.

Shrunkyclunks

💗I just met you (and this is crazy) | littlesystems | Explicit | 41,784 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

This is one of those fics that surprised me with just how much I liked it. I certainly wasn't expecting to dislike it, but I was not expecting to love it so much, either. It's a joy, though, just a total feel-good joy. It's a fic that has Steve and Bucky pretty instantly head-over-heals for each other, something I never ever object to, and the instant attraction works so well here. I think, too, so much of what I love about this one, is that they make each other so happy in it -- like the two of them truly just get dumber and happier and more in love with every 100 or so words of this fic. So then I get happier and happier as I continue to read it. Seriously, this fic is a joy in part because Steve's POV is so damn giddy and joyful about Bucky. I love that. It's good stuff.

Quote:

“You’re a person, Steve. And if people hurt you or take advantage of you, that’s not your fault, either. You should be able to go to a bar. You should be able to hook up with some guy. There’s nothing wrong with any of that. The fact that someone took pictures is the photographer’s fault. And the fact that newspapers decided to print it is the editors’ fault. And the fact that some fuckwad decided to lie for a quick buck is his fault. You may regret it, and that’s fine. But I don’t want to hear you blame yourself again. Got that?” Steve nods. His throat feels tight enough that he’s not sure he can speak. Bucky tips their foreheads together and they sit in silence, until Steve has naturally matched his breathing to Bucky’s - slow, deliberate, relaxed, and not geared up for a fight. Bucky kisses him softly, then.

💗The Voyager | notlucy | Explicit | 76,740 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

I am a sucker for the Steve and Bucky road trip fic. A very recently arrived in 21st century Steve on a road trip with a modern Bucky? All that time alone? In those motels? That might or might not have the right number of beds? This is a good trope that we should very much use forever. This fic is such a classic sort of road trip fic. Honestly, I've never been on any sort of proper, real road trip, but I'd like to think this fic feels like a road trip -- what they must feel like, anyway. There's such freedom in the storytelling here. There's a suspended sense of time in this fic. There's a way this fic rolls along with a pace that makes sense here, in this story -- it's a pace that definitely wouldn't work in all stories, which is exactly why it does, in this one. It's lovely, it's a little bit surreal, and it stays with you long after you finish it.

Quote:

“Wow,” Bucky managed. Words were difficult when faced with something so spectacular, the canyon spread out before them lit with the slow, smoldering burn of that deep, ancient glow. “Awesome,” Steve murmured, the word incongruous in his mouth. Bucky nearly poked fun, until he realized Steve meant it literally - what they were seeing was awesome. Smiling, he leaned his head against Steve’s shoulder before entwining their fingers, not caring a whit who might see them. Who might care. At that moment, Bucky wanted to tell the entire world, because he was in love. Except it wasn’t love. Strong like, maybe. Effortlessly increasing affection, sure. But not love. You couldn’t fall in love that fast. He’d only known Steve since May, after all. It was at most infatuation. Appreciation. Fascination. Bucky was a very level-headed person. It wasn’t love. But it was something.

Modern

🌈On The Back of a Raindrop | musette22 @musette22 | Explicit | 52,215 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

Something I love to read in kid fics is any time that thing happens where it's not just Steve and Bucky acting like a couple without being together yet, but a group of people starting to act like a family unit in every single way -- except that no one has talked about that, or acknowledged it, and technically, someone is actually still the neighbor, or the babysitter, or, in this case, the gardener. I love that, and I love this fic, specifically. Featuring this sweetest and loveliest and healthiest family forming in a backyard garden over the months of a beautiful summer. It's so domestic, so intimate, and it happens so naturally over the course of this story. It makes everything feel so perfectly meant to be, so romantic, and so satisfying. Also! One of my database notes on this one is, "SARAH," because this is a fic with a very alive Sarah Rogers, and I love, love, love, Steve and Sarah's relationship in this fic.

Quote:

Now that he’s gotten to know him, seen him with the twins, has gradually watched Bucky’s tan deepening and bringing out the grey-blue of his eyes, Steve is so wildly attracted to him sometimes that it knocks the breath right out of him. It’s how he ends up sketching Bucky again on Wednesday, from his usual spot in the shade. He makes sure to make it a PG rendition this time, including Gracie and Miles as well, so that when later, Bucky asks him ‘Hey, whatcha drawin’?’, Steve can actually show him the sketch. Bucky is silent for the longest time when Steve hands over his sketchbook. For a moment, Steve almost panics, wondering if he accidentally forgot to draw Bucky’s jeans or something, but then Bucky looks up, a look in his eyes that Steve can’t quite pinpoint. “This is amazing, Steve. Could I… Would you mind if I hold on to it, maybe?” Steve blinks in surprise. “Of course, yeah. I mean, it’s not my best work. I could do you something better if you like.” “It’s perfect,” Bucky frowns, seeming almost offended Steve would suggest otherwise. “I love it.”

🌈One for Fiction | thepinupchemist | Explicit | 6,713 words |*Post-2016 Rec*

I very much enjoy a shrinkyclinky-ish modern fic where Bucky is a disaster about the fact that Steve, like, exists. I am just so here for this, and this very adorable fic is a top-tier demonstration of that. Featuring a Veteran-turned-librarian Bucky and a barista Steve, and a lot of awkward flirting. At a library! Also featuring a lot of Bucky being a disaster about Steve, but also a lot of Steve being like, "...have you? seen? or? met? yourself? You are definitely the catch here." It's cute. They're cute. This fic is cute.

Quote:

“Fun fact about the library,” Bucky went on, “As long as no one can see your computer screen, you’re allowed to look at porn. That’s protected under intellectual freedom.” Steve raised a brow. “Interesting.” They meandered back to Bucky’s display. The night, as far as nights went, was a quiet one for the library, and the cafe was a ghost town, but for the group of teenagers with bags of McDonald’s scattered across the table and AP History books open on their laps. “Where’d everyone get their pronoun pins?” asked Steve, as Bucky pushed his stepladder upright, collected his tape dispenser, and climbed back up to finish hanging the flag garland. “They make ‘em at one of our sister libraries,” Bucky said, “Have a pin press over there and everything. I’m picking up a couple of shifts for one of the ladies over there next week; you want me to grab you some?” See, Bucky used to be this smooth. He used to be this smooth all the time. Apparently, trauma and PTSD aside, he could still be smooth every once in a while. A pleased little smile tilted beautiful Steve’s beautiful lips. He said, “That would be awesome. Do they have pride ones, too? Like your rainbow?” Does Steve like men? Steve might like men. Be cool, Barnes. Don’t be weird.

🌈Wholesale Change | biblionerd07 | Mature | 83,320 words | *Post-2016 Rec*

You know how sometimes you're the captain of an NHL team, and you're very talented, but over the years you've gained a bad reputation? And so your people all but force you to do a The Bachelor-esq dating show? And you've been having a terrible few years and feel like your life is falling apart? And also you're bisexual and closeted because of the whole NHL thing? And also the camera guy on that dating show is your long-lost very attractive best friend? Who also used to play hockey? Look, this fic has a ridiculous premise. In the best possible way. It's a delightfully ridiculous premise. It's so much fun. There's literally a dating show. Steve gets mad about dating show manipulations and lies! And, you know, Steve definitely ends up selecting one of the dating show contestants. Steve definitely does not fall for Bucky instead! Steve definitely does not purposefully out himself on live TV. Steve absolutely follows the rules and sees the dating show contract through! Because as we all know, Steve Rogers follows rules and does what people with authority tell him to do. Always and at all times. So much fun. So delightful.

Quote:

“I’m so tired of lying,” Steve says. He almost sags with the weight of it all, now that’s admitted it. He was trying so hard to outrun it all. Outskate it all, maybe. But he’s been losing for a long time now. “I know,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m sorry. But I don’t think letting him tell the world is going to make you feel any better. You need to tell the truth on your own terms.” Steve sighs and leans his shoulder against Bucky’s. “I’ll talk to whoever I pick,” he says. They deserve that, at least. He doesn’t want to pick someone under false pretenses. Falser, anyway. “You won’t get much alone time,” Bucky warns. “But I’m sure you can find a way.” “Nothing gets in Captain America’s way when his mind’s made up,” Steve says in his cheesy commercial voice. It was a line from some ad campaign he did for a sports drink he didn’t even like. Bucky snorts. “I was thinking more about Steve Rogers,” Bucky says. “That asshole’s unstoppable.” And after a line like that? All Steve can do is kiss him.

🌈Songbird | chicklette | Explicit | 70,843 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

I am very fond of this fic. It's music industry closeting -- but then planned sexuality revealing. Through lies. This is a fic that starts off with what should have been a one-night stand -- a great one, as one-night stands go, but a one-night stand. Except, pictures are taken of them very early the next morning, hugging, in front of Steve's apartment. And Bucky is very famous and very not out. Bucky's already got a damaged reputation and a host of other problems, and so his team decides that, actually, Bucky pretending to date some non-famous, pretty-faced, nice boy for a couple months might do his reputation some good. So, then, as you can imagine, being Steve and Bucky, the two of them spend the fic doing a very excellent, really great, just super good job, at sticking to having a formal arrangement. A no sex, no feelings, totally-just-a-business-deal-smile-for-the-camera-thing. They're total pros at it, okay? It goes so well for them. They definitely succeed. Just because, whatever, they quickly become friends and get close, it's totally still fine. They're definitely still doing really amazing at this, alright? They've got it under control. They're not going to crack on any of this. No sex. No not-for-the-cameras-kissing. No feelings. No one will cry at any point. Nope. They're So Good at this. Like I said, I'm super fond of this one.

Quote:

Steve smiles, his face going all soft and sweet, and it’s like a knife to Bucky’s heart. Ten more weeks, and someone else gets all those smiles. It’s a Goddamned shame, is what it is. His thoughts are uncomfortable enough that Bucky gets up and goes to the railing, looking back out over Manhattan. All the people there, living their lives, day in and day out. How many broken hearts is he looking at right now? How many people starry-eyed with new love? How many people, he wonders, comfortable in an old love, one that’s solid and still growing, deeply rooted, secure enough to be safe, but fresh enough to still bloom? “Penny for your thoughts,” Steve says, and Bucky tilts his head to look at him. “There’s a million love songs happening right now, just waiting for someone to write them.” “That’s awful hopeful, coming from you.” Bucky chuckles. “Nah, I was just wondering how many people we’re looking at right now with broken hearts.”

🌈Strong Saftey | queenmab_scherzo | Mature | 23,043 words

As a first note here, I will point out that this fic is a sequel to Targeting, and it is probably most satisfying when read with full context. But I really do think it can absolutely be read on its own. I really, really appreciate and love the way this fic handles Bucky and trauma. (the Targeting 'verse mirrors canon very closely, re: bad things happening to Bucky. Except that it's about college football.) Bucky's headspace here, and the way that then translates to his actual dialogue/actions is so, so well done. Plus, Steve and Bucky are preestablished in this fic, and it's healthy and lovely and romantic and makes me emotional-- Bucky is so hard on himself about everything, all the time, but he's got Steve, who is wonderfully loving and supportive. Also! Bucky befriends a cat. Also! Bucky legitimately has Steve saved in his phone like this: "Punk ❤️."

Quote:

"Vanilla latte, no whip?" the barista calls. Steve goes to the counter for his drink, but keeps his ears open. "I just wanted to tell you—I came out to my high school team last week. And, um. It's gone really well actually." "Wow," Bucky croaks. "Yeah, it just, I've been scared about it for a long time, but then you told the whole NFL, so I thought—yeah. I just wanted to say … thanks." From the corner of his eye, Steve can see them shake hands. "Wow," Bucky says again. He clears his throat a little. "Thank you. I mean, thanks for telling me." "I'm headed out to visit Oregon now, actually." "Football?" "Yeah." "Holy shit," Bucky says, candid as ever. "That's legit, man. Good luck." "Thank you." The kid starts to turn away, then adds: "For everything." When Steve goes back to Bucky's side, Bucky is staring into the paper bag at his donut. He sniffs, audibly.

"Are you crying?" Steve asks quietly. "No." Steve can't see his eyes through the sunglasses, but his nose is really red. It makes Steve smile. He doesn't press the issue.

🌈Rough Edges | sparkagrace @sparkagrace | Mature | 33,278 words | **Post-Endgame Rec**

Showmances and Rivals-to-Lovers on the Stars on Ice Tour! There's a lot to be excited about here. This fic is such a delight, truly. I love it. You know that post that goes, "What is a rival other than a crush you're mad about having?" Steve spends the first chunk of this fic so disproportionately angry at Bucky for incredibly minor things. Like standing in rooms or... skating. It's amazing. But then there is bonding and heart-to-hearts. Often on skating benches! And, as it turns out, those two being around each other a lot is, as always, a very, very good thing, in the long run. One that helps them both. Also! Becca texts Bucky lots of pictures of Alpine -- pictures from Alpine. Also! Bucky and Nat have a somewhat frighteningly intense friendship/skating partnership and it's all just so, so great.

Quote:

Bucky continues on the corner edges while Steve sorts through one of the color groups. He thinks he has enough to make up branches of the tree that was displayed on the front of the box. He likes it when he finds the pieces that fit together, it’s like his brain fires little electrons of glee when they slot into place perfectly. He tries not to think about the fact it’s the same feeling he gets sometimes when he and Bucky execute their twizzles in perfect synchronicity. The same way he likes the sound of their prop swords clashing when they’re choreographing their throne number. Everything seems to feel matched when he’s around Bucky lately, like they’re synced partners as much as he is with Maria or Bucky is with Natasha. Puzzle pieces. Bucky seems to be enjoying it too. The quiet as they work together to put together this puzzle that neither of them would have looked twice at if they weren’t desperate for a distraction. A distraction from his heartache, from Bucky’s boredom… from the way that Bucky keeps looking over at him, from how he wishes they were doing this under different circumstances.

🌈Right where we are | steveandbucky | Teen | 10,395 words

This is actually the first fic in a whole 'verse, and they're all super sweet and super lovely. I really enjoy the way this Steve and Bucky build their relationship. I love seeing them get to have happier lives where they just get to be good for each other and good to each other, and this 'verse's Steve and Bucky, who do their best to communicate and who are so so cutely smitten from the gate, are great for that.

Quote:

“Hi,” Bucky smiles again, wider this time and the effect it has on Steve is embarrassing, since he can barely get out a greeting in response. Bucky looks ten times better in person. His now longer hair parted in the middle, and he has a two-day-old stubble, looking gorgeous in a navy blue shirt and dark form-fitting jeans. “Fancy running into you here,” he says as he leans closer to be heard above the music. Steve gets a waft of cologne, a sharp and somewhat sweet scent that draws him in as he briefly leans in to speak close to Bucky’s ear. “I’m just here with some friends, I swear I’m not stalking you.” Bucky laughs heartily, ducking his head and crinkling his nose as he does. It’s the cutest thing Steve’s ever seen, and fuck if he wouldn’t spend every minute of every day trying to get Bucky to laugh like that again. “Didn’t think you were stalking me. But what a coincidence, huh?” Bucky says, still grinning. “Nice to finally meet you, Steve Rogers.”

Bonus:

So, this is WIP, and I haven't started reading it yet. But! From everything I know about it, it absolutely fits what I'm going for on this rec list. Also, I've loved every other fic by @zenaidamacrouras1 that I've read. So while I can't actually rec something without reading it, I did feel like this should be in this post somewhere:

Unpredictable Synchronicity | Zenaidamacrouras1 | Mature | 106,788 words (WIP)

Second bonus:

These are fics that 100 percent should/would be on this list, except that I literally just rec'd them in my Brooklyn stories post. They are wonderful for all reasons described in the Brooklyn post:

Three White Horses | magdaliny | Mature | 16,601 words

Not In The Answer But The Question | aimmyarrowshigh @aimmyarrowshigh | Teen | 27,382 Words

Ill With Want | thedoubteriswise | Mature | 26,999 words

This turned into a very long post, but that feels fitting. Happy Pride! 🌈

Like I said, next up will be dystopias, apocalypses, etc.

More Recs

#SteveBucky #Stucky fic #Stucky Fic rec #Fic recs #Fic Rec Series #me rambling about other people's writing

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jinx-on-mars-19xx · 5 months

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Monsters Are People

🩸Previous Parts Here🩸

Dom x Colson (Yungblud x Machine Gun Kelly)

Warnings: ABO dynamics (knots, slick, heats, mpreg), alpha serial killer/hitman Dom, omega mob boss Kells, cursing, threats, night terrors, insomnia, overprotective Dom, underlings being idiots, mentions of murder, past abuse, past assault (SA), M being absolutely awful, attempting to out someone, guns, knives, mentions of castration, stalking, scared boys, Collette being sneaky, anxiety, enemies to lovers 💣 Rating: mature

All ideas helped by @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker 🖤

The couple didn't make it into work until a little late the next day. They'd spent the night and early morning showering off the mess they'd made of each other and cuddling in bed, too tired to continue their play. Though around dawn they'd had their first instance of a child banging on their door in fear. Blain had slept terribly and had a night terror he couldn't seem to escape from. They were happy to sit up with him in the living room watching tv until both he and Colson fell asleep, one leaning on Dom’s shoulder and the other in his lap. The Alpha didn't move until they woke but couldn't bring himself to rest. He didn't think he would be able to until Megan was taken care of.

Kells hadn't expected to click so well with the teen so quickly but Blain hadn't much left their side since his nightmare. He wouldn't talk about it but they could see the darkness behind his eyes and Col didn't mind having yet another shadow. The kid was small but they found a crop top that fit him like a tee. He barely came up to Col’s sternum so everything else was out but the clothes he wore over. When the young omega asked to go to work with them he promised to stop at a few stores along the way which got him a look and a plea for ‘only where Dom goes’. Rude but alright. His style wasn't that far off from his mate's but since he had to act professional he couldn't always show it. He could let kids be kids though. Especially since they were all getting along.

The boss could tell his lover was drained but the other man just kept pushing himself. It was his second night at least with no sleep and he was running on fumes, ADHD, and fucking Dr. Pepper. The taste on his lips made Colson’s nose wrinkle but whatever helped he supposed. After an impromptu shopping trip and a late breakfast they got to their basement building to find a mess. The underlings led by Pete were visiting and trying to apologize but they weren't supposed to fucking be there.

Most of the office was part of their cover, A PR company that controlled a good portion of the area's nightlife and funneled money to charities from rich assholes trying to get richer. Of course the only public relations they worked on were the side companies Kells actually owned but the cover still helped and the street boys knew not to fuck with it. Finding them outside his office was a middle finger to more of his rules than he could stand for after having Megan shit all over them. He knew he needed to put his foot down but fuck he was tired. He just wanted to make a plan about her and ignore everything else.

“Why they here?” Blain grumbled from behind him as Col led the way past the crowd. The kid had noticed two of the beta's who helped keep him hostage the day before.

“Because they're fucking idiots with a death wish. Come on, let's get you settled with Tom and Mod.” He sighed as he shut the door behind him, right in Pete’s face.

“But I want to see wha’ you do. Especially if you ripping them a new one. I'll be good. Won't even notice me.”

Colson shared a look with his mate over the boy's head but the killer just shrugged. He didn't exactly believe the kid but he wouldn't kick him out. They wanted him to feel welcome even if that meant he saw the gritty truth of their lives. He had to learn it sooner or later and he'd already watched them both commit murder- with his help. What was a bit of yelling and threats of violence after that?

The boy stayed mostly hidden between them until they were settled in the main meeting room, after getting introductions out of the way and seeing how comfortable the couple was he seemed to relax and gravitated to Tom and Mod anyway. The boss had thought his mother would love him but yet again she was missing. It was starting to worry him, especially since Tim was at the table. She'd been mostly absent since the break in and he really hoped she wasn't trying to take her own revenge. Sometimes she liked to be the matriarch but he was the leader of the family. Mostly. Normally. Well fuck he was supposed to be.

After making sure to get his jacket settled and his glasses fixed above his nose the omega allowed Pete to enter with his tail between his legs. He caught the way Blain watched him hide and for the first time he felt a little shame. He couldn't let everyone know but at the same time he didn't want to make the boy think he couldn't be himself. He had to push the worry away for the time being but he'd revisit it later with Dom. Maybe his closest men were fine with following an omega but everyone knowing? He'd be run out of town. It was a sweet thought hoping to change the world for the kids but it couldn't happen and he shouldn't be the example. He'd never even thought about it before.

“Boss, I'm sorry I went along with her without asking you first but she said it was a gift for you! She told me she searched all over and found your stolen shipment and she could guarantee a reward and that I'd finally get a seat at the table. I didn't even think! She's always been your second. Was she really stealing from you?” Pete was obviously terrified but completely confused. Colson hadn't even worked out how to explain without giving too much away. He'd been too busy the day before.

He sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose, he had a pounding headache already and just wanted a nap. He'd walked around too much while out shopping and he was really starting to second guess his want to be the boss. Where was the good again? “How long have you worked for me Pete? Have I ever allowed anyone to surprise me?”

“No boss. You fucking hate surprises. I've been with you a decade and I know better. She's just so-”

“What? Manipulative? Hot? Controlling? What are you about to call her? You gonna say she's an Alpha and you can't deny her? Did she fuck you to obey?” He wasn't normally so catty and he knew he was trying to catch the beta in a trap. It wasn't fair but he was overheated and his hormones were running amok.

“N-no! Of course not! I'd never fuck your girl, boss! Swear! I thought it was different because it was her! She said she'd be in charge soon and she'd make sure I got promoted. I figured it was a wedding gift or some shit. It's not my place to question your old lady.”

Colson felt like he'd been hit in the face and his shock was so strong his eye twitched behind his purple shades. His lover swallowed a growl beside him but it was Blain who laughed. “Wrong Alpha, dick bag!”

Someone must have given him a look because his next giggle was muffled but Pete still looked at the boss even more conflicted and ashamed. “So you aren't banging her? When she said she'd be in charge I just assumed…”

“Yeah and look at you making an ass out of yourself. Look… Ten years right? Maybe I should have promoted you already, maybe that's my bad. I think this proves it wasn't though. But at the same time if you were part of my circle you'd already know she's on the outs. What were her exact fucking words?” Colson asked as he leaned forward on his seat. It was hard to be intimidating when trying to hide a baby bump but he still saw the fear in the beta's eyes.

“She just said ‘I’ll be your boss soon, don't worry about Daddy, I'll take care of him. If you help me with this and bring your boys I swear you'll get a seat.’ and some shit about she knew how bad I wanted it. She said she planned to branch out and we'd be even bigger than just LA. Made it sound like she'd keep me in mind for some big shit in the future. She's damn good boss. A fucking snake.” All the energy seemed to go out of the man and he leaned against the wall. He seemed entirely defeated and probably thought he wasn't walking out alive. The thought of shooting him did go through the boss's mind, especially when he called him daddy in the mock girl voice but… he couldn't decide yet.

“Thank you for telling me. Whatever she meant… It wasn't about us getting married.” Kells shuddered at the thought. “I need you to check in with everyone outside and make sure they don't know anything extra. After that send them the fuck away and remind them of my rules. If they show up here again without invitation they're worse than fired.” He watched the man nod and swallow hard, probably thinking the same applied to himself. “Come back after to update me. I'll have a decision about you then.”

The go-between stumbled out, even saluting Colson in his fear. He was trying so hard to make up for his mistake and the boss knew that. He also knew the idiot had served him well for ten years. Maybe he needed to let new people in sometimes. “Tim, good to see you back. I hope you're planning to stay?” He asked the older man who was sat at the other end of the table. He looked like he belonged there because he had. Anyone who Travis trusted was good in his book.

“Thanks brother. I figured I might help out until this situation is resolved. Maybe longer. It's nice to be back.”

Kells looked around the room at his nearest and dearest, he wished his mother was among them but he supposed some decisions could be made without her. They couldn't keep putting shit off. “First, anyone have anything against bringing Pete in? He's been good before this.”

“You're actually asking? You're the boss bro. Pete's cool enough and he's got a good rep with our dealers and the other buyers and shit. I think it'd be good to keep him close.” Rook shrugged and they all went around the table agreeing.

“So that's that.” Col nodded, glancing to his mate next to him who just watched everything happening. He looked so tired the omega wanted to send him home for a nap. “So Megan…” He started the conversation instead and Dom sat up straighter automatically.

“I vote we kill her.” Blain spoke up and Kells fought not to roll his eyes.

“Does half pint get a vote?” Rook asked which got a glare from the kid.

“You got a mirror? Obviously not wiv tha' mop ya call hair.” Blain snarked back and Rook burst out laughing.

“I like this one. Can we keep him?”

“We're adopting him so yeah. I mean… as much as you can adopt without paperwork. We’ll get you new papers actually, Mod?” It hit the omega they should have thought of that already and his actual second in command nodded. He and Tom had been quiet and to themselves all day but whatever was up with them was too much for the boss. He had a lot on his plate already.

“You fucking wha’ mate?” The young boy asked, his spring green eyes wide as if he hadn't even dared to think about that.

“Yeah. What did you think we meant? We'll get you papers. If you want to talk about this at home though..?” It started to dawn on the man that it might be a little overwhelming. Especially since he'd only moved in the day before. He was so used to taking in people but deep down he knew this was different.

Dom laid a hand on his knee under the table and patted softly and he reached to twine their fingers. “Yeah um… later. Fanks.” Blain explained softly and sat back in his chair but didn't look away from them.

“So besides death, what are our options with Megan?” Tom brought the conversation back around thankfully and opened up the floor to suggestions. No matter how much she deserved it, it hurt the man to think about taking her out.

“You do it or I do.” The Alpha spoke up and though Colson already knew it still surprised him. Dom didn't normally speak up during work.

“I know.” Kells whispered, taking off his glasses and setting them on the table to rub his temples for a moment. He needed the world to pause it's spinning, he really didn't feel well.

Of course it didn't though and like the old adage when spoken about the devil appeared. Megan stalked her way into the office with Pete running behind her seemingly trying to stop her before she could. Her heels clacked on the marble floor and when she got to the table she glared down at Blain in her spot. Of course it was normally Collette’s now, Dom was on his other side. There wasn't a seat for the female Alpha because she no longer belonged. It felt final enough for Col but it obviously didn't say shit to her. Narcissism was hard to break through.

“Daddy-”

“I tried to stop her boss. I'm sorry!”

Colson held up his hand to them both and glared. A part of him said to put back on the glasses but there was no reason to hide. Not with her. He wanted her to know an omega ruled here and she had no place in his family. “How the fuck did you think you could waltz in here after the shit you pulled? Stealing from me? Trying to sell omegas I saved? Going to my fucking enemies? What part of the past few months has told you you're even allowed on the goddamned property?”

She tried to look contrite and pout but he saw through every fake look she'd ever given him. Her whole existence was starting to feel like a lie as she stood there and seemed to work through her options. Eventually she stood up straight and crossed her arms, dropping any mask of false familial love or respect. “I think you understand the gravity of your situation now Daddy. You know what I know. You can say yes to me and we share everything, I'll even let you keep your title- but not the pet. He's barely fucking housebroken and I want your devotion. Or I can tell everyone the truth and you lose everything. I think it's a simple question. Besides, you already know I know how to make you scream.”

She couldn't see the look on Dominic’s face because she was standing partially behind him but Kells could. Calling him a pet was one thing, the Alpha could handle that, but her last implication of the time she assaulted his mate was too far. His tired eyes were crimson and his lip was raised in a quiet snarl. If she moved to touch his partner he would kill her. Full stop.

“Oh and anything the mutt gave you, that's gone too but don't worry. If you want to be a real family we can be.” She cooed.

Dom had his blade out and was about to lunge before Kells stopped him. He didn't want more blood shed in the office. Thankfully his mate had only made it as far as pulling the knife and Megan hadn't even realized how close to death she was. Colson patted his lover's thigh under the table to soothe him before he sat back and arched a brow at her. “Yeah, I don't think so. I think instead you're fired. Cut off. Out on your ass and blacklisted. If you don't leave California I'll let him finish what he's desperate to start. Honestly, I'd leave the States if I were you. I can't keep him leashed all the time.” He gave her a faux pleasant smile.

“Fine! It's your funeral.” She huffed, stomping her way closer to the middle of the table. “Everyone! I know I should have told you sooner and I'm sorry I didn't but I thought Travis would want me to protect his dirty secret.” Her voice was that whiny pitch that meant she was trying to seem genuine. It hurt Col's head. “I'm ashamed to admit that as amazing as Travis was, he was lying to all of us and so is Colson. I thought he could be a good leader anyway but he's the same as they all are.”

Kells pushed himself to stand up as he let her keep rambling and he slowly started unbuttoning his jacket and laid it behind him on the chair. He was left in a shirt that obviously showed off his stomach but she didn't seem to notice. Too wrapped up in her pitiful tale.

“I found out when he was young and tried to sleep with me. You all know how much I loved Travis, we all did. But I always thought he and I had a special relationship. I can say that without Collette here, I'm just trying to be honest.” That made Colson chuckle but she just raised her voice and ignored him. “When she stopped my relationship with him I was heartbroken and thought Cols would be good for me. He was young but, you know why not? At least I could be part of the family.” It made the omega's stomach roll to think about, especially when he looked to Blain and knew he'd been about that age. It would be like Dom trying to sleep with him. Absolutely fucking not. “I should have told you all when he took Travis's place but I didn't think he'd let his designation run his life. But no, he just rolled over and presented for the first asshole Alpha he came across. Our boss is an omega and I think we all know I can take care of us better. Travis would want me to.”

Everyone stayed silent as they looked between her and Kells who was sitting back and holding Dom’s hand on top of the table. Eventually Rook spoke up, even raised his hand and the boss had to fight back a laugh. “Can I tell her?” He asked and Col nodded. “We know Megs. We know about boss and the baby and we like Dom.” He explained simply. “It's gross as shit you know what we do and would still talk about omegas like that.”

“Um I'm new ‘ere but wouldn't you ‘ave been the first asshole Alpha he saw? Seems like he didn't present for you.” Blain added his two cents and she glared at him. The boy wasn't wrong but the fact that she knew… he still wasn't sure who fucked who between them.

Tim spoke up next which kept Col from fully spiraling. “Travis wouldn't have touched you with a ten foot pole, he was head over heels for Collete and he loved Col like the good father he was. After all he did to keep your dad out of jail you should be more thankful. You're just lucky we don't deal with traitors like we used to. At least they might leave you with a pretty corpse.”

“I won't.” Dom growled softly and the room went quiet around them. When the Alpha stood up Kells let him. He could at least give him the respect of trusting he knew what he was doing. They'd taken a big step on trust the night before and he wanted to do better. Dom wasn't a slave to his instincts but she'd threatened his family one too many times. He knew there was a blade hidden in the boy's hand but he kept it from view and didn't even appear that threatening as he stared her down. “So you fucked Travis aye?” He hummed. She seemed confused by his change of tone but obviously tried not to show it.

“I- we wanted to. He had to act like I didn't matter but I know we wanted to.” For a moment there was almost something genuine in her voice and it made them start to wonder if she was mental.

“And because ya couldn't ya moved on to ‘is boy? Next best fing.” He asked, his tone almost conversational. Colson wasn't sure how his lover held his rage back.

“Colson and I were drawn to each other. Twin flames. He's supposed to be my omega.”

“But you fhought he were an Alpha when you took ‘im to bed?”

“Of course. I was just trying to give him birthday sex. I felt violated that he'd lied to all of us.”

“So he fucked you?”

“He was black out drunk, you really think he could get it up?”

“Course yeah. Omegas ‘ave trouble staying ‘ard anyway. Add booze-”

“Among other things.”

“Among over fings… So you topped?”

“Once I realized what he was, how could I not? What are you getting at here? Do you like hearing about his conquests? What kind of Alpha are you?”

“Oh jus' one wiv principles and a list of fings I ‘ate. You drugged and assaulted an underage omega under the old boss's protection. Armstrong, wha’ would ‘ave been done bout tha’?” Finally the Alpha flipped open his blade and even though she tried to act strong and was on the other side of the table she backed up a few steps.

“Oh-ho fuck. Before Trav made the streets a bit nicer? Castration. Alphas normally didn't live through it. Not that they'd want to.” Tim laughed, sitting back in his seat to cross his arms and enjoy the scent of her fear.

Dom didn't even seem to put effort into a jump; he just appeared to spring up onto the table. It irked Colson but watching his lover crouch with his feet flat always weirdly turned him on. That was how Dom normally blew him. “And Mr. Armstrong, wha’ about fhreatening an unborn baby of a mated omega?” The killer purred, resting the tip of his knife between his lips. Kells had to squeeze his thighs together. Why the fuck was he getting wet?

“Death.” The older beta said simply, shrugging as he watched the show play out.

“Maybe it's my child. You don't know when we last had sex. He was a mess before you showed up. I could have done anything I wanted.” She huffed.

“Aww, fanks Megs. I always ‘ope I'm good for ‘im but it's sweet of yas to say. Believe me, I know ya didn't fuck ‘im any time recent before me. I could tell. And I know tha's me baby. You should ‘ave played ya ‘and before I came around. Cause luv? He were already a badarse, I jus' made ‘im feel safe to do it as ‘imself. But I'm done playing wiv yas. By the way, did you ever guess who I was?” He asked, hopping off the table onto her side of it.

“Dominic don't play with your prey. It's unbecoming of you. At least not in front of the children.” Tom sighed, which had the Alpha throwing him a look. It was just enough time for her to reach the door.

“You'll regret this. All of you. I'm not going anywhere and you forget, I'm not the only person you fucked over recently. You boys had your chance but believe me, I can find better.” Dom moved to grab for her but Pete tried to as well and the beta fumbling at the door gave her freedom to escape.

“Stop. Let her go. Pete, send someone to follow her. She knows too many fucking people to do this in broad daylight. Fucks sake!” Colson was pissed and felt disgusting inside and out. He hated that his men knew what she did to him but none of them seemed to think any different. They all still waited on his word and looked to him with respect.

If he felt awful before he felt twenty times worse, more than anything he wanted to go home and curl up in his mate's hold. He wanted to make sure his family was safe and he wanted to forget the last hour. It hurt his heart but he knew… she couldn't live. Dom wouldn't stand for it. “Baby? You look… let's sit down yeah?” The Alpha looked worriedly at his lover and rushed around the table to his side. He helped ease his pale partner back into his seat but he wanted to take him straight to The Doctor. “I'm sorry I pushed so much. I know ya wanted to know but I should ‘ave waited. It felt like one of my kills and-”

“Shut up. I'm not upset with you dumbass. I'm tired. Exhausted really. Pissed at her and my-fucking-self.” Kells grumbled back, burying his face in his hands. He could feel his skin soaked in sweat and even his hands seemed pale. Adrenaline come-down could be a bitch. “You got caught up in the moment and you're right, I wanted to know. It's fucking sick what she did but I'm glad we know. It settles it. You're right. You're all fucking right. I have to kill her.”

“I can do it!” At least three different voices chimed in and Col knew one of them was far too young. They'd have to train their adoptive son just like Travis trained him.

“Let's not worry about it right now. ‘Ow about we go ‘ome?” Dom offered and Colson waved him off.

“Why don't you fuck off for a sec and let me piss? Unless you want to join me again so soon.” He tried to fix his anger before he hurt his mate. He knew the Alpha was just worried about him.

“While tha’ sounds lovely I fink I'll let ya go. I'll send some people to check the flat before we go. Good?” The psycho hummed, a soft smile on his face as he sat against the table and helped his partner stand.

Colson leaned forward enough to kiss him gently because he wasn't upset at him, he was pissed at the situation, he just didn't want to come off wrong. He could show affection even when enraged at something else. He had to learn to compartmentalize, especially before the baby came. He refused to be anything like his bio dad. He couldn't be the way he used to be where he ruled everything with an iron fist, even his personal life. He had to keep trusting and let people in. “Good. Thank you. Don't worry about checking the bathroom, remember before you I was still a badass.” He winked and patted the gun under his arm and got a gentle swat on his ass for using Dom’s words against him.

The Alpha watched his lover leave but he couldn't help poking his head out the door after he was gone to look around. The female Alpha’s scent was still in the air but dying down a bit. Blain came up beside him with his own blade in hand which he held tighter as he slipped out the door. “I gotta go too.” He winked and though the kid was small it reassured Dom that he cared to watch over Kells. He hoped it would be good for his mate to have a young omega around. If they helped him see the strength in what he was, maybe it could help the other man feel it.

“Dom? Can you come over here?” Mod interrupted his sentry duty and deep thought and with one last glance down the hall he turned back to head over to his roommates. They'd been acting odd all day but he wasn't sure why. He was scared he was about to find out though.

Both men looked nervously between each other and Dom but he stood by and waited for someone to speak up. Finally the beta elbowed the younger man as if whatever was about to be said should come from someone the killer would be less likely to hurt. Mod was a smart man. “What he's too much a pansy to explain and why we felt you shouldn't go after Megan tonight…” Even Tom seemed worried. It wasn't like him, he always felt safe talking to Dom.

“Yeah? Can't be worse ‘an ‘er.” He shrugged but the omega tilted his head like he wasn't so sure.

“So we realized… Megan wasn't the only one stealing from the company. Now, it may be absolutely nothing and just… Taking what's hers but we were worried about bringing this to Colson with everything else.” The photographer continued to speak without saying much.

“Collette is funneling a lot of cash somewhere. We can't track where. It could be something they've agreed on or something Travis set up but… With her being gone so much lately we were worried.” Mod finally helped out.

“We'll keep trying but we figured the easiest thing to do would be to tell you and you may ask her or Cols, whatever you believe is right.” Tom added and the Alpha nodded.

Dom wasn't actually sure how the fuck to handle something that felt so big. They were both right, it could be absolutely nothing, but it could also be catastrophic for his mate. If Col’s mother was working with Megan or hiding something huge… the man already had so much trouble trusting anyone. “Fanks I'll… I'll figure it out. Jus’ send me wha’ you got.”

The killer felt almost numb as he made his way to the door to wait for his partner to return. He couldn't bother with that right now, he had so much to focus on already. When Kells finally got back he still looked ill and it worried the boy even more. “You know, I think home actually sounds good. We can send a few ahead to check it out but I'm tired. Plus I want to check on mom. I don't know if she's sick or what.” The man sighed as he wrapped Dom in a hug and used him for physical support. After a moment he turned around to lean against the Alpha so he could text Pete and add to what he needed to do. Hopefully the beta could handle his new responsibility.

Dom sighed as he held his baby mumma close, his hands sliding under the bump to hold a little of the pressure for Col who moaned a bit louder than he meant to in relief. He almost hoped Collette was just sick or something, at least then she wouldn't be out sneaking around. The more he thought about it the more he realized he couldn't leave it alone. Killing Megan was important but their child was coming soon and more than anything but maybe him- Colson needed his mum. He just had to make sure they could still trust her. Bollocks, he was never getting to sleep again was he?

Author's Note/Tags: @iamnotanearthlingmotherfucker @hollywoodxwhore @jaxbreaker @fenoy7 @cole-way-iero28 if anyone wants tagged let me know 🖤

I told you the plot was about to start plotting. There might be a little more smut left but we're nearing the big ending. Don't worry, I already have plans for part 2 if you're loving these boys. We have to see how they handle family time! I hope you're all still enjoying it 🩸🖤

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uququ · 3 months

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put on my PUBLIC CASTRATION IS A GOOD IDEA tshirt & went outside & immediately ran into some sort of children's party

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leiawritesstories · 1 year

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illicit affairs, 2

PART ONE

Word count: ~2.2k

Warnings: angst, language, degrading terms, mentions of domestic violence

@rowanaelinn once again thank you for inspiring this au, i hope you love it ;)

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Aelin swore she didn't breathe for the next four or five days, half expecting to come home and find Chaol standing in the kitchen with that accusatory look of his on his face. He'd worn that look when he told her they didn't talk anymore--when he'd blamed that problem on her. He'd worn that look the last time she saw him.

Then he'd disappeared from the house.

She hadn't seen him in the weeks since he left. Which was odd, considering their workplaces were on the same city block, but she supposed she shouldn't be surprised. And thank all the gods he hadn't been out for a drink that night--that night.

The night she'd gone out for a girls' night and gone home dripping a stranger's cum down her thighs.

Days later, she was still thinking about it. The memory alone was enough to get her riled up, to have her core heating and warmth pooling deep in her stomach. She had to force herself away from those thoughts, especially when she was at work--she was far too professional to be taking a "bathroom break."

Hell. She was thinking about it.

Muttering a curse under her breath, Aelin turned back to her computer, pulling up the quarterly reports to drive her mind away from its traitorous fixation. As one of the head accountants, she and her partners split the report-checking duties, and this quarter was all Aelin's. She shook her head, tugged her reading glasses up her nose, and focused on the columns of numbers, scanning for any errors or anything that seemed off.

The distraction worked--the next time she glanced at the clock down in the bottom corner of her computer screen, nearly four hours had passed. And it was almost five o'clock, thank the gods. She closed the file, logged off, and shut down her computer, making sure to wait until it was past five before she clocked out. Damn picky boss. She grabbed her ridiculously expensive designer tote bag and slung it over her shoulder, heels clicking smartly against the smooth flooring of the office as she walked out.

Elide met her by the elevator. "Long day, Ae?"

"And then some," Aelin grumbled. "Hate quarterlies."

The petite woman huffed in agreement. "Don't know much about that myself, but HR's been a real bitch lately."

"I swear I've got no idea how you manage to stay in that job, Ells," Aelin returned. "I'd probably go stark raving mad after an hour."

"I just yell at people," Elide smirked.

Aelin chuckled and bumped her friend's shoulder. "Hey, want to grab a drink?"

"Gods, absolutely!"

"...and then I wake up and he's just fucking gone." Aelin hadn't expected the venom to slip into her tone. She took another sip of her vodka tonic, relishing the burn of the alcohol. Shit, Fenrys knew how to make a good drink.

"Asshole," was Elide's simple, emphatic reply. The brunette's dark eyes flashed dangerously. "Y'know, if you ever need anything..." She sipped on her Long Island. "I'm always here, babes."

"Not yet," was all that Aelin said. "But if it ever--oh, fucking hell!"

Elide followed Aelin's gaze, finding none other than Chaol Westfall himself at the receiving end of Aelin's fury. Before the blonde could get up and storm over to him, Elide grabbed her sleeve. "Hold on a fuckin' second, Ae."

"I'm going to fucking castrate him," Aelin growled, tugging free of Elide's grasp.

"Yeah, but wait a goddamn minute!" Elide hissed. Aelin stopped, raising a brow at her.

"Why?"

"Because we're in a public bar, and you don't need anyone trying to film you giving that jackass a piece of your mind. You know how horrific the internet is."

"Dammit," Aelin sighed, settling back down. "I hate it when you're right, Ells."

"It's my job, Ae." Elide clinked her glass to Aelin's. "Wait until you leave, then go rip his balls off."

Before she could snark a reply, Aelin froze with her drink halfway to her mouth, staring at the other figure who'd approached Chaol.

Where the hell had Rowan come from?

Rowan had decided to stop by Fen's bar for a quick drink before heading home, hoping to toss back a good strong drink and swap a few jokes with his friend before going back to his too-empty house and dreaming of Aelin. Probably with his cock in his hand. And that plan had been going flawlessly, until he spotted a certain someone.

There, over in a booth, was Aelin. She sat with a petite brunette Rowan vaguely recognized--her coworker, probably--and she was staring burning daggers across the bar. Following her gaze, Rowan located a brunette man of average height and build, who seemed to be doing his utter best to hide from Aelin's wrath.

Fuck, he wasn't sure how that man was related to Aelin, but he knew one thing--if she was glaring murder at him like that, he didn't deserve her.

Before his mind caught up with him, Rowan strode over to the brunette man, sticking his hand out to introduce himself. "Name's Whitethorn."

The other man shook Rowan's hand warily, his forehead creasing in confusion. "Chaol Westfall. Do I know you?"

Rowan shook his head. "Nah. I'm a friend of Fen's, he said something about how we have a mutual friend?"

Chaol frowned. "Not sure who that'd be; I've never seen you before."

Rowan flicked a covert glance at the shorter man, unable to help his detective's instincts. He was dressed in a normal suit, had a briefcase at his feet, and wore a plain gold wedding band on his left hand. Something about that ring looked familiar...well, shit.

Aelin hadn't been wearing a ring when he...met her, but on her left ring finger had been a band of paler skin just the right size for a wedding band, indicating that she typically wore a ring.

Rowan shrugged. "Hmm. Well, maybe someone you know comes to this bar often, and Fen knows them."

"Well, my wife likes this place," Chaol mused. "But I don't see why you'd know her; she doesn't tend to keep company with other men. She's taken."

"She wouldn't happen to be here now, would she?" Rowan deadpanned.

Chaol's glance darted over to Aelin, finding her burning gaze averted but no less furious. "Yeah, she's with her friend."

As much as his rational brain screamed at him to restrain himself, Rowan couldn't resist. "So you're Aelin's husband, then?" he asked with a slow, insolent smirk. "Wonder how she ever settled for someone like you."

"How the hell do you know my wife?" Chaol snarled, fists clenching.

"Didn't seem to be very interested in your marriage when I met her," Rowan shrugged, casually draining the rest of his drink.

"She what?" Chaol spat, incredulous and enraged all at once. "I--Aelin would never--"

"Seems like you don't know your 'wife' very well, Westfall."

Chaol's eyes narrowed. "I certainly didn't know she'd actually go and be a whore."

The only sound in the suddenly-silent bar was the crack of Rowan's fist smashing into Chaol's face. "Keep that fucking word out of your worthless mouth," he snarled, vicious rage coloring his tone.

The other man lifted his hand to his swelling cheek, furious. "It's the fucking truth," he growled.

Wordlessly, Rowan grabbed Chaol by the collar, shoving him up against the wall. "Don't you fucking dare speak like that--shit!" Fenrys and Lorcan appeared out of nowhere and dragged him away, hissing at him to back the hell off, goddammit! He shook himself free, glaring daggers at Westfall. "That piece of shit is Aelin's husband?"

"Yeah," Fen snapped, "and he's goddamn proud of it." He handed a plastic bag full of ice to another staff member, who rushed it over to Chaol. And Aelin, who for some impossible reason was by her husband's side, placing the ice pack on his bruised face.

Rowan suppressed a growl, his keen gaze noticing how Chaol allowed Aelin to help him up, draping his arm around her shoulders, and lead him out of the bar. Fen swatted him upside the head. "Get your raging ass out of my bar before you pull something even worse, Whitethorn."

"Sorry, Fen," Rowan muttered. He dropped some cash on the bartop and left, muscle memory leading him to mount his motorcycle and drive home. There, he grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey from his liquor cabinet and drained three or four shots, only stopping when his vision blurred.

He was so utterly screwed.

Aelin stared blankly at the door in front of her, twisting a ring around her right middle finger. The lettering on the glass stared her back in the face. Cadre Private Investigation. Elide had slipped her the address, saying that the firm was one of the best in its field, known for being as discreet as they were good.

She just hoped whoever worked here would be able to help her gather the evidence she needed for her divorce.

Steeling herself, Aelin entered the office. The reception area was small but cozy, paneled in warm-toned wood and smelling ever so faintly of evergreen forests. The redheaded woman sitting at the desk glanced up, offering Aelin a professional, polite smile.

"Welcome to Cadre Investigation. May I help you?"

"I--yes." Aelin laid her hands flat on the edge of the desk, willing her voice not to waver. "I'd like to speak with an investigator about a potential contract."

The receptionist clicked a few things on her computer. "Would this be an introduction, a consult, or...?"

"Just an introduction."

"Alright." The woman tapped a few more keys. "Come with me, then. I believe Agent Doranelle is available." She led Aelin through a set of doors and down a quiet hallway, stopping at one of the office doors. "Knock three times," she said. "I'll leave you to it--privacy rules and all that."

Exhaling deeply, Aelin knocked three times. The door swung open, revealing..."You?"

Rowan looked just as stunned to see Aelin standing there. "Aelin?" he whispered. Swiftly, he guided her into his office and closed the door, offering her a comfortable chair in front of his desk. He raked a hand through his pale hair, concern and confusion warring in his eyes.

"Forgive me, I--"

"I need--"

They spoke at the same time.

Rowan gestured to her. "Please."

Aelin took another deep, deep breath. "I need...your help. Ells recommended this place, said it's one of the best investigative firms in the city." She clutched her hands together. "I need help getting evidence for my--for my divorce case."

Rowan waited a few seconds before responding, forcing himself to be calm. "You've filed for divorce?"

She nodded. "I have, yes. It's a long story." Again, her gaze flicked downwards. "Chaol and I married young. Our marriage isn't working anymore." Such a simple, sanitized explanation.

Something dark, almost violent, crossed his face. "What kind of evidence are you needing, Aelin? We're a detective firm, not a law firm."

"I have a lawyer," she replied. "Chaol has decided to contest the divorce claim, so I need--" Her throat clogged, shame and pain choking her voice. "I need to prove he--he--hurt me." The last two words were a bare whisper.

Rage glittered deep in Rowan's emerald eyes. His gaze swept over her, cataloguing the sweater she wore--unusual for late spring--and the silk scarf draped around her neck. Also unusual, more of a fall fashion than a spring one. He stood, walked around to her, and leaned against the front of his desk. "May I?" he asked gently, touching the corner of her scarf.

Fear--terror--flashed bright and swift across her stunning face, but she masked it behind a blank look and nodded. He couldn't stop himself from softly caressing her shoulder as he reached for her scarf, carefully lifting the material from around her neck, relieved when she arched ever so imperceptibly into his touch. Nor could he keep his detective's mind from noticing the thickness of her makeup, enough to not quite match the color of her neck.

Before he looked at her, Rowan instinctively slid his hand down to wrap around hers. Aelin tucked her slender fingers into his and straightened her posture, her spine going steel-stiff. He brushed his thumb across the back of her hand, steadying her, steadying himself, and swept a probing look over her.

White-hot anger rippled across his features when his keen eyes landed on her collarbones and throat. When he saw the purple-blue patterns splotched across her skin. When the pieces clicked in his mind and he knew what those bruises meant.

"He did this to you?" The question was no more than a vehement, deadly whisper.

Not trusting her stone-faced façade, Aelin just nodded.

Rowan's expression settled into grim determination. "When we're done with that fucking bastard, he won't be able to come within fifty miles of you, Aelin."

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@morganofthewildfire

@backtobl4ck

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@chronicchthonic14

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@darling-im-the-queen-of-hell

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

#my writing #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin fanfic #with a side of protective bestie elide #rowaelin fanfiction #rowaelin angst #yes this is frederick #tw: mentions of domestic violence

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ocbsmokingraw · 6 days

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public castration is a good idea 💜

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 9 months

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By: Eliza Mondegreen

Published: Dec 14, 2023

This was no ordinary medical conference. Over the course of three days, I learned a great many things. That eunuchs are one of the world’s oldest gender identities and that doctors should not judge their strange desires for castration but fulfil them. That, “ideally, patients wouldn’t be actively psychotic” when they initiated testosterone, but that psychotic patients consent to take medication like stool softeners and statins all the time and “people don’t pay that much attention”. That it would be “ableist” to question an autistic girl’s insistence on a double mastectomy. That patients who claim to have multiple personalities that disagree about which irreversible steps to take toward transition can find consensus — or at least obtain a quorum — using a smartphone app.

It is hard to shock me these days — but as I moved around the World Professional Association for Transgender Health’s symposium in Montreal in September 2022, I often felt as if I’d slipped sideways into some strange universe that operated in accordance with other laws: where up is down and girls are boys and medicine has left its modest brief — healing — far behind in its breathless pursuit of transcendence.

I wasn’t really supposed to be there. I hadn’t misrepresented myself — I am what I claimed to be: a graduate student researching gender identity — but this was a convocation for believers and I’m a sceptic. When WPATH, the world’s most prestigious and influential gathering in transgender healthcare, came to Montreal, I couldn’t resist the opportunity to see up close the people and ideas I had pursued through so many articles and books.

I wanted to know what gender clinicians were saying behind closed doors. I wanted to see how they understand the work they do, the patients they serve, and the criticism they face. That’s why I began attending WPATH conferences, starting with the symposium in Montreal, followed by the European Professional Association for Transgender Health conference in Killarney, Ireland, in April, and the US Professional Association for Transgender Health conference in Denver, Colorado, just a few weeks ago.

After years of flying under the radar, the field of transgender health care is facing serious questions about whether minors can consent to life-altering interventions; what role factors like autism, sexual orientation, and social influence may play in the explosion of children and young people identifying as trans; and what to make of mounting evidence of medical harm, regret, and detransition. In response, the field of trans healthcare is becoming ever more secretive. There is a sharp demarcation between what gender clinicians say in public and what they say in private.

At these conferences, the big questions confronting transgender health care hardly feature. Instead, these conferences serve a different purpose: to shore up the faithful and cultivate a revolutionary vanguard within medicine. To this end, the proceedings revolve around a strange set of parables: that of the good gender clinician and the bad gender clinician.

In this world, being a good gender clinician means deferring to patients’ self-understandings and having the humility to serve even what one does not understand. The mark of a good gender clinician is her credulity in the face of brave new manifestations of gender.

“People outside this room get hung up on questions like ‘How can we make sure people are really trans and are not going to regret their transition later?’” one gender clinician in Denver mused. “I’m interested in giving the very best possible care to trans young people, the care that they need and deserve… it’s easy to roll down this pathway of ‘how do you know if somebody’s going to change their mind?’ or ‘how do you know if somebody’s really trans or not?’ and that’s not the conversation I’m really participating in.”

It’s difficult to imagine clinicians practising in other areas of medicine not asking such basic questions, especially when the basis for treatment is so murky. But a good gender clinician, looking at a patient, does not see what non-believers like you or I might see. A good clinician falls under the sway of the same fantasy as the patient and conspires with her to bring her transgender self into existence. Under this framework, there is no “really trans” or not. There is only what the patient says and the readiness of the clinician to put herself at the service of the patient’s vision.

A bad gender clinician, by contrast, feels an “entitlement to know” why a patient feels the way she does or why she seeks a particular intervention. She clings to a traditional conception of her role as a “gatekeeper” who evaluates and prescribes. She thinks she can “discern a ‘true’ gender identity beyond what is articulated by the patient”. She may believe she can “identify the ‘root cause’ of a transgender identity”, which is seen as pathologising. She may try to leave the door open to desistance — the most common outcome before gender clinicians started interfering with normal development by deploying puberty-blocking drugs — in which case she is guilty of “valuing cis lives over trans lives”.

A bad gender clinician is easily “intimidated” by complicated patients, while a good gender clinician knows how to secure consent even in the trickiest cases. Mental health difficulties become “mental health differences”. Severe autism or thinking you have multiple personalities living inside your head become empowering forms of “neurodiversity”. When it comes to assessment, “careful” and “comprehensive” have become dirty words: “The answer always seems to be more assessment and more time. That’s gatekeeping.”

During the Denver conference, presenters role-played how to secure informed consent for a hysterectomy and phalloplasty in the case of a schizophrenic, borderline autistic, intellectually disabled “demiboy” with a recent psychiatric hospitalisation. At no point do the role-players encounter any real barriers. Instead, they persevere. At first, the patient struggled to understand why a phalloplasty might require multiple surgeries, but then the clinicians “explained everything” and the patient understood. This is called “lean[ing] into the nuance of capacity”.

The moral of this story is clear: failure to achieve informed consent is a failure on the part of the clinician, a failure of imagination and flexibility, not a recognition that some patients — whether because of age or mental illness or intellectual disability — will simply not be able to consent.

On WPATH’s private forums, clinicians occasionally express reservations about what they’re being expected to do, such as the social worker who wondered whether she should write letters for surgery for “several trans clients with serious mental illness… Even though these clients have a well-established trans gender identity, their likely stability post initiation of HRT [hormone-replacement therapy] or surgery is difficult to predict. What criteria do other people use to determine whether or not they can write a letter supporting surgical transition for this population?”

Her colleagues quickly put her in her place: “My feeling is that, in general, mental illness is not a reason to withhold needed medical care from clients,” an “affirming, anti-oppressive” gender therapist responded. “My assumption is that you’re asking this question because you’re taking seriously your responsibility to care for and guide your clients. Unfortunately, though, I think the broader context in which this question even exists is one in which we, as mental health professionals, have been put inappropriately into gatekeeper roles. I’m not aware of any other medical procedure that requires the approval of a therapist. I think requiring this for trans clients is another way that our healthcare system positions gender-affirming care as ‘optional’ or only for those who can prove they deserve it.”

Another gender clinician referred dismissively to the recommendation that mental illness should be “well controlled” before initiating hormonal and surgical interventions: “I am personally not invested in the ‘well controlled’ criterion phrase unless absolutely necessary… in the last 15 years I had to regrettably decline writing only one letter, mainly [because] the person evaluated was in active psychosis and hallucinated during the assessment session. Other than that, everyone got their assessment letter, insurance approval, and are living [presumably] happily ever after.” Everything hinges on that “presumably”.

For years, gender clinicians have reassured patients and parents that the evidence would eventually bear out the lofty promises of transition: that transition is life-saving; that psychotherapeutic approaches to gender distress don’t work and instead constitute unethical “conversion therapy”. But as the data starts to come in, transition appears unlikely to live up to these high expectations.

During the Ireland conference, researchers bracketed discouraging findings with upbeat statements of belief such as: “We all know gender-affirming care is effective.” A Swedish researcher who found that psychiatric hospitalisation increased after patients initiated puberty blockers or cross-sex hormones told the audience that she was “really concerned”, not about the results themselves, but “about how results will be interpreted” because, “as you all know, there are improved mental health outcomes following puberty blockers and gender-affirming hormones” — even when the research can’t find those benefits.

“There’s an expectation that gender-affirming hormones will improve somebody’s mental health problems,” Johanna Olson-Kennedy, one of the leading US gender clinicians, said on the opening night of the Denver conference. Why? Because “they improve gender congruence”. In other words, if a patient doesn’t want breasts and a surgeon removes her breasts, the treatment was a success, even if her mental health deteriorates and even if she experiences regret down the road. Clinicians dismiss detransition as one of multiple possible “attenuations” of gender identity, alongside “elf”, “fairy”, and “friendly non-intimidating woman”. If a patient changes her mind later, clinicians can simply treat this new manifestation of gender incongruence by the same means: no harm, no foul.

Meanwhile, gender clinicians speak with remarkable frankness about overcoming their reservations, including the plastic surgeon who recounted the alarm he felt the first time a patient requested gender nullification surgery: an intervention that involves removing all external genitalia to create a “smooth” Ken doll-like appearance. But this surgeon soon conquered his hang-ups: he now performs “a lot” of these surgeries and promotes the procedure to his more cautious colleagues. These kinds of stories frame doubt as something to be vanquished, not investigated.

And if doubts persist, there’s always emotional blackmail. In Denver, an obese patient berated the plastic surgeons in the audience, telling them “you wouldn’t be hearing from me today” had the patient not found a surgeon willing to bend the rules and perform a double mastectomy: “I had contacted over a dozen plastic surgeons in the state of Colorado, all of them telling me they refused to do surgery on me. The surgery I so, so desperately needed so as to not kill myself. Only because of my BMI.”

So if a clinician dares to enforce standard medical practices or exercise her professional judgment, she may drive her desperate patients to suicide. The most questionable sessions end with no questions at all.

But what about the rest of us? What are we entitled to know about this bold new frontier in medicine? In Denver, public-relations specialists cautioned clinicians to spare reporters, policymakers, and parents the details of what “gender-affirming care” entails. In fact, even the use of the term “gender-affirming care” is discouraged: “When [people] hear it, they think ‘trans kids in the driver’s seat,’” health policy expert Kellan Baker said. “Many of us here, we all support trans kids in the driver’s seat because it’s their bodies, their lives. But when you think about folks who don’t know trans people, they are very scared by the idea that young people are making irreversible decisions and that nobody else has any oversight over these decisions. The term “medically-necessary care” is better, he said. “Essential medical care. Prescribed medical care.”

Presenters also recommended that gender clinicians avoid specifics. Avoid ages (“this care is highly individualised and age-appropriate”). Avoid giving information about the effects of puberty blockers and hormones. Avoid discussing the ins and outs of surgeries. In practice, “holding [the public’s] hands and helping [them] understand” looks more like covering their eyes and telling them whatever they need to hear to feel at ease. “The dinosaurs are scared,” Baker deadpanned.

This is how an entire field of medical practice became committed to virtuous obscurantism. Gender-affirming clinicians feel misunderstood by their critics. They don’t trust outsiders to put the work they do in the right light. There’s always a risk that someone will look at life-saving reconstructive chest surgeries for transmasculine minors and see the wrong thing: doctors performing breast amputations on troubled teen girls. Therefore, in order to defend the “life-saving” work they do, they must dissemble, obscure, or practise other forms of “heavenly deception”.

Critics of gender-affirming care fall somewhere along the spectrum of transphobia — with dinosaurs at one end, genocidaires at the other. In Ireland, a keynote speaker described “the gender-critical movement [as] a totalitarian and genocidal force that targets not just trans people but all institutions that uphold democracy and individual human rights”. In Denver, a state legislator announced that policymakers passing restrictions on youth gender transition “will kill children. Not with their own hands. But they will.”

The result of this Manichean worldview is that there is no possible dialogue with critics and no room for serious dissent within the movement itself: “If we are fighting amongst ourselves the forces of oppression have won,” as outgoing USPATH president Maddie Deutsch put it. No one, at any conference, discussed the risks and unknowns around puberty blockers and their possible effects on brain development, or the evidence that suggests blockers may change the course of a child’s life by turning what may have been a developmental phase into a permanent condition.

In one of the most extraordinary moments in Ireland, outgoing EPATH president Jan Motmans said: “We respect everyone’s freedom of speech, but we choose not to listen to it.” The auditorium burst into applause. But the speech they’re choosing not to listen to is the mounting evidence that something has gone wrong in the field of gender medicine.

The conviction of being on the right side of history is why criticism doesn’t stick. Clinicians don’t see themselves reflected in critiques. They are, for the most part, decent people, capable of feeling genuine horror when they accidentally say “hey guys” instead of “hey folks”. Their best impulses — their empathy, their humility in the face of what they don’t understand, their sincere desire to help distressed patients — have been hijacked by an ideological movement within medicine. In the process, they have lost sight of what they do.

This blindness sets in more or less the moment a patient sets foot in a gender clinic — when a distressed girl transforms into a “boy” in need of affirmation. Gender clinicians see empowerment in overlooking a patient’s limitations. They have come to believe that medical responsibility to their patients requires them to dismantle the guardrails that stand between vulnerable patients and life-altering interventions.

Nothing illustrates this more clearly than a session on “neurodiversity-affirming gender-affirming care” in Denver, which overflowed with suggestions for clinicians working with autistic patients to achieve their surgical goals. To make autistic patients more comfortable, clinicians should dim the lights, keep an assortment of fidget toys on hand, drop the small talk, don’t try to make eye contact, avoid open-ended questions. If a patient won’t — or can’t — speak, the clinician should ask for a thumbs up or thumbs down. A good gender clinician helps patients anticipate the sensory reactions they might have to injections, surgeries, stitches, blood, and pain.

Over and over again, I’m struck by the realisation that these clinicians have thought of everything. Everything, that is, except: what if they’re wrong?

This would be better described as a religious convention.

This is faith, not medicine. And the opposite of science.

#Eliza Mondegreen #WPATH #World Professional Association for Transgender Health #gender ideology #queer theory #medical corruption #medical scandal #medical transition #medical malpractice #gender affirming care #gender affirming healthcare #gender affirmation #affirmation model #religion is a mental illness

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