#the male physicians especially

[talkethtothehandeth]

It keeps me up at night wondering what kind of medical treatment I would’ve already received had I been been born amab. like would they have listened to me on the second ER visit, or would it have been the third? it couldn’t have been on the fifth time, right? would they have not told me my malnutrition was minor and nothing to be worried about? would they have not suggested it was because of my anxiety? would I have got the feeding tube I needed before my body broke down the way it did, or would they have let me continue to starve? would I already have a diagnosis by now and be able to have access to proper treatment??

last year I went to the er doubled over in pain from (what turned out to be) unbearable cramps. the doctor could barely even press on my abdomen to assess me for appendicitis, yet ordered me toradol for the pain. but a couple of weeks later my dad walked into same the er and received morphine because they thought it was his appendix, which turned out to be just constipation 

i don’t want to know if I would not be this bad, but I know I wouldn’t be this bad if I wasn’t born afab

[butch-reidentified]

Women are kicking ass compared to men

in emotional intelligence (shocking lol)

academically, in higher education (especially in STEM) - and contrary to popular belief, this has been true and isn't new! the "crisis" of boys' educations is bullshit

in business, especially management

as entrepreneurs

as investors

as CEOs (especially of hedge funds which is really cool imho)

in leadership skills in general

as doctors - “We estimate that approximately 32,000 fewer patients would die if male physicians could achieve the same outcomes as female physicians every year." and as surgeons

at driving. and parking. and navigating while driving. oh - and this is in spite of the fact that feeling stereotyped as a bad driver actually makes women worse drivers. still better than men.

feel free to send me more! I just came across these ones incidentally while making the previous post 🥰

[hiroshiii13]

I need Bingge yuan harem. Concubine SY, especially if he was bride napped. I want Bingge jealous of his own harem bcus it feels like punching cotton the way SY’s well adjusted and unbothered.

Bing: WDYM HE’S NOT ANGRY I HAVEN’T TURNED HIS NAME PLATE?? WHY IS HE NOT SCHEMING?

I want all the hallmarks of palace intrigue!!

SY getting sick from a lack of firewood in his palace. ZZL, his servant, stopping BH’s palanquin at the risk of death. Bowing to the emperor to ask for an imperial physician.

And Bingge trying to be nonchalant, but follows after the physician, asks the royal kitchen to make the most precious nourishing soup. ((He eventually cooks it himself after being so worried)).

Bingge’s interest starts to build. Secretly going (peeping) in the royal gardens as SY spends his time observing the flowers in full bloom. Trying his best to casually make an entrance.

Bingge’s bday banquet comes along, with priceless gifts stacked as far as the eye can see.

SY (w/ no powerful backing) procuring a small jade charm and medicinal sachet with hand embroidered details. Bingge directly asking for where SY’s gift is and keeping it on his person.

And every time after they meet Bingge thinks SY would invite him to stay the night, but he doesn’t. Bingge doesn’t need to ask, he knows. Taking SY as a concubine was a joke. But now he was getting serious about wanting him, to want it. For wanting SY to ask for it.

So he pulls his wild nature back and pretends to be soft and harmless. He always flips his name plate but never stays the night. Sometimes SY plays the qin for him, or sings, sometimes it’s just sending gifts or conversations during meals. Bingge wants his company the most.

Hell, maybe I can introduce a common enemy which allows the northern and southern kingdoms to unite (and get my moshang fix).

SY decides to follow Bingge in war while the rest of the harem stays back. He says he isn’t as delicate and he would follow Bingge through this hardship

Bingge doesn’t allow this but SY sneaks out anyway. With only the clothes on his back, some food and a dagger he travels up north to be w/ Bingge.

(Angst) Of course he’s captured along the way. And forced to become a courtesan. They meet again with SY under a new identity as a gift in the name of diplomacy.

Bingge feels betrayed, all this time? Was it all for this? Was he meant to fall in love and give away his kingdom?

After months of not seeing each other, all the hurt, confusion and longing was surmised in Bingge’s “is he good in bed?”

And he didn’t mean to say that. Especially seeing SY’s eyes glisten and his lips upturned in a sad smile. But the diplomat said how well behaved he is, how good he is.

SY bowed down and answered “my services have always been top notch.”

They fuck. Not in the way he imagined; Nothing of that sort of slow and careful lovemaking w soft whispers and laughter. There was no tenderness at all.

As SY expertly swallowed his dick, rather than bliss there was a feeling of loss in his heart. His most precious treasure, how did he become like this?

‘Was this your plan, all along?’

‘You can think what you want.’

And with that there were no more words between them. Only heavy pants and bruising bites and lots of kisses.

There were time when Bingge thought SY loved him. Maybe it was when he tried pulling out and SY locked his ankles around his hips begging him to stay inside. Maybe it was when he willingly put his arms above his head as Bingge restrained him roughly or maybe it was how he looked at him, tears falling, back arched trying to accommodate all that Bingge could give.

But Bingge would not think of that anymore. The peace talks commenced, the world condemned this stupid emperor. Honey trapped!! By a male courtesan at that!!

Most changed their mind and thought that they would be better off being a vassal state, cursing the emperor.

What the world didn’t know was the rivaling kingdom never meant to let them off. As drought became worse and tithes more absurd, the people only suffered.

Of course SY has had been slowly feeding the North intel with the help of ZZL. 🤩 He used his unique position to learn their schemes but did not tell Bingge.

At this time Bingge was essentially on house arrest, to ensure that they would push through with the treaty.

The Northern Consort schemed while his husband raised their joint army, readying to storm the rivaling kingdom.

They battle it out, and the forces of LBH and MBJ win decisively.

SY looks for Bingge, afraid of being left behind, of being disdained for the rest of his life.

In true palace intrigue fashion, he comes in time, just as someone was about to plunge a dagger into Bingge. He sacrifices himself instead.

There was no need I love yous or I’m sorrys. He knew he was loved. maybe it was a change of heart? Bingge thought.

But talking to MBJ, Bingge realized how wrong he had been. How painstakingly he helped, hiding in plain sight. And through it all, how he carried it all alone.

ZZL tended to his master choking back sobs. He could not help but feel aggrieved.

‘I should have stayed with him, this was all my fault. I should have never listened to him.’

‘What do you mean?’ Bingge arrived shortly after.

‘My master, told me to buy food in the city. I knew he was hiding something.

He left me a letter saying not to worry, that he’ll be running after the emperor’s envoy.’

‘I looked for him but only found his horse and drag marks in the soil. Later I heard he was taken by force.’

Bingge’s knees buckled from the weight of this revelation but he still crawled towards SY’s bed. How harsh had he treated him the first time they met again. How cruel were his words?

As Bingge grasped that gift SY painstakingly made for his birthday, he whispered, ‘SY, wake up, I will never wrong you again in this lifetime. Please wake up.’

But there was only a deafening silence in response.

SY woke up 5 days later, thank god that dagger was not poisoned or it would’ve been a different ending!!

Bingge tended to SY since then, practically a roundworm in his belly. The harem could NOT even visit him for long periods of time lest they draw the ire of a very jealous emperor!

Food was always prepared by Bingge. A truckload of new exquisite clothes was received. It was rumored that SY was so favoured that his palace was inlaid with gold, silver and precious stones.

But more than changes since then, they’ve decided to return to how they were. Bingge would visit him while SY played for him or sang. SY would frolic in the royal gardens, but this time Bingge would accompany him.

And when Bingge was invited to stay the night? They lay a white sheet on top of their bed rather quickly, yet spent the night in an almost torturous simmer. Getting reacquainted w e/o bodies between lots of hot kisses, bruising grips and soft laughter.

The outside world thought it was a truly ridiculous situation. A foolish emperor who surrendered it all for a male courtesan. And a male courtesan who was worth a whole kingdom, yet haphazardly threw his life for an impending puppet emperor.

But as the story was passed on, and the truth was revealed, the once absurd tale was changed to a story of an enduring love between the emperor and his favored male concubine.

(END)

[edmcmayonnaise]

Months ago, I wrote "biographies" for Edwin and Simon in the style of the Edwardian (Third Edition published in 1915) study on "Sexual Inversion" (medical phrasing that pre-dates the term "homosexuality") in the style of Studies in the Psychology of Sex by Havelock Ellis. This book can be found for free online and is a treasure trove due to the collection of biographies written by queer people.

Maybe against my better judgment, I will share them now for Simon Appreciation Week, as they capture to some extent how I perceive their interpersonal dynamics.

HISTORY E.P. - English, student at public boarding school, aged 16. His father, who comes from an unremarkable middle class lineage, is a physician. His father has been deployed to France since 1914 for wartime service. His mother’s family has a history notable for hysteria in his maternal grandmother, and his mother he describes as a high-strung and nervous woman who herself has been intermittently institutionalized for afflictions of mood. 

He has no siblings, and describes the relationship with his parents as distant. He lived most of his early childhood life in the care of a nanny. At age seven, was sent away to boarding school. 

He has never been attracted to girls or women, though had minimal contact with girls his age, He takes little interest in women or in their society. There is nothing markedly feminine in his general appearance, but he does believe that his general kinesthetic disposition is not viewed by others as manly. Specifically, he says that he is concerned that the animated way in which his hands is too recognizable as a symptom of what he considers to be his congenital condition. 

He is of average height and medium-slim build, but generally normatively developed and healthy. He considers himself to lack skill in athletic pursuits with the exception of fencing, but is an omnivorous reader and excels in academics. 

In his own words:

“I have always been very shy of showing any affectionate tendencies. Most of my acquaintances (and close friends, even) find me curiously cold. For obvious reasons I have been unable to speak as to why this is. I fear being cruelly misunderstood, and I have at times felt as if wrestling in the folds of the morally reprehensible python of inversion.

"I find myself cut off from others, feel myself to be an outcast, and, amongst others my age, am intensely withdrawn. Privately, I am miserable. The desire to love and be loved is hard to drown, especially when treading through a veritable pool of ‘what-ifs’ as I am surrounded by male virality in all aspects of my life at school.

“I am not sure entirely what it is for which I am longing. Certainly, my parents neglected to impart to me any sort of knowledge of the adult modus vivendi. The only thing I do know with confidence is that no bodily satisfaction should be sought at the cost of another person’s distress or degradation, including my own.

“At my school, I have heard rumor, and in fact been the subject of rumor, regarding attachments and gratifications with other boys, which are all untrue. As with any topic that is discussed only behind cupped hands and in whispers, the stories become more and more fantastical as they are shared from schoolmate to schoolmate. Upon my truest promise, I have never yielded to the temptation of any sort of intercrural connection. I have preserved strict chastity. I do not know how long my mind can hold back the instincts of my heart and body, but I am terrified that I will soon lose this seemingly never ending battle.”

Shortly after E.P. submitted his history for publication in this book, it was reported that he and several other boys at his school went missing in what the school is calling an Act of God. Any additional information about what may have happened to this youth and his friends is not forthcoming at this time. 

~

HISTORY S.M. - English, student at a public boarding school, aged 17. Father and mother both living; the latter is of a better social standing than the former. He is much attached to his mother, and she gives him some sympathy and companionship, when he is at home. He is the third of four siblings, all boys, and he suspects that his next elder brother is also inverted.

In early life, S.M. was of delicate constitution and his studies were often interrupted by illness. Though living under mostly happy conditions he was shy and nervous, often depressed. This he attributes to having been on several occasions mishandled by his next elder brother; concedes that his brother is prone to foul and violent moods. However, his brother is well-liked, by his father and other siblings, he says, because of his masculine character. His brother has many friends at school. Though S.M. does report that he does have some influence over some of his classmates, he has few close friends.

Of his inversion, he reports the following:

“There is a boy in my year who has become the absorbing thought of my school days, and who comes to me in my dreams almost nightly. I have absolutely no words to tell you how powerfully his beauty affects me. He is well-formed, lean, shy, and in my dream he sits beside me, allowing our legs to touch and for me to caress his thigh. He looks at me with desire in his eyes, green, but clouded over dark with his want for me to kiss him. And I do want to kiss him– on his wrist, and his palm, and into the gentle, milky curve of his neck, and to leave my lover’s mark on him, to say to anyone who might pursue him that he is mine and mine only. 

“I keep my feelings hidden, however, hardly daring to look at him for fear of being found out. His bed is next to mine, and the rest of the dormitory is boisterous and lewd, and there is a good deal of bullying, which I cannot bear to have directed my way.

“I have tried to tell myself that these dreams are not due to a moral failing of my own, but indeed this boy’s own influence upon me. I love him and I resent him. His seeming indifference towards my existence, as he has never responded well when I have plucked up my courage to speak with him, angers me. I want him to look towards me and love me, too.”

S.M. was involved in the same incident as E.P.,  where he and several other boys went missing from their school. It is reported that their last known whereabouts were their school dormitory rooms.

[ilovejeongintoo]

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕀𝕥 𝕋𝕒𝕜𝕖𝕤 𝕋𝕠 𝕎𝕚𝕟

!WARNING NSFW Content ahead! !MDNI!

Genre: Fantasy, Gladiator/Minotaur? Jongho x Reader, Warnings: murder, deaths, time accurate sexism, strength kink, touch-starved Jongho, size kink, pet names (Nymph, Doc), no condom(wrap it up), praise Wordcount: 3145 Not proofread

I need red haired Jongho back, desperately. Why did I spend more research on ancient roman practices than this story, I'm crying.

Summary: As a female physician in ancient Rome you're in charge of minor duties, getting a call to the gladiator arena wasn't what you expected, especially with the first ranked one requiring a little more than some of your gauze and bandages.

You absolutely hated this part of the job. Being a physician was great and all but the comments from men never ceased to exist. And you were always made to look like an assistant, making countless people die of things that you were sure were treatable, the male physicians always dismissed any ideas you had, no matter how much proof you gave them.

You got the message today that they would need you at the local gladiator arena, that place shouldn't even exist in your opinion, but that would get you to get called a lunatic. As if being a woman in a male dominated field wasn't bad enough.

Usually, they called you to have you confirm that they were dead, you were usually the bringer of bad news and made sure that the important items on the person were returned to the family. Either to be kept or to be buried later in the day with the body.

That was the only positive things about that gruesome place. It reeked of death; the high, white colosseum walls far more intimidating than your little healing hut.

The guards led you through the open walkways getting you into the room with the dead bodies, you grimaced at the sight slightly. This job really didn't get any easier through the years.

"You better make this quick, we want you to look at a few people that are worth more than that pile over there." The other guard laughed. These were people once too.

"Every day, I wonder how they let a woman do a job like this." They weren't saying this out of concern, not to protect your eyes from this view but to mock you from being the gender you were.

"I'll make it as fast as I can." You did mean it, you wanted to get this over with and leave this place.

"You women should just stay and look after the kids, you're not suited for this kind of work." God if you could, you'd punch his face for even uttering a single word to you. The way their gazes ran over your body, undressing you, it made you feel absolutely repulsed. Men, men like this disgusted you to no end, they deserved the pain that Thanatos would give them when they inevitably perish.

They quickly left you, not too keen on watching touching and examining the corpses. You gently cleaned them off, blood grime and sweat stuck to them even after death. They bodies were hard to move around to get to dirty areas because rigor mortis had them laying in the same position after a while. You closed open wounds so they wouldn't leak as much anymore, so that they at the very least didn't sully the burial clothing.

As the very last step you put them on a blanket and covered their naked bodies with a blanket, ready to be taken to the burial grounds outside of the city.

You took your dirty rags and ceramic bowl with you and the rest of your medical equipment. This was the only thing that healers would allow you to do alone. So, you would at least complete these mundane task to the fullest.

You headed back up to the more residential hospital room, here were some guards and gladiators that survived their fights but weren't supported enough to get their own rooms. Just minor injuries and cuts, making you have to cauterize some wounds and treating some with lint, animal grease, and honey. Depending on how deep and bad they looked.

All this work exhausted you to no end but after a few hours everyone was put to bed for rest or were sent off home. Just as you were about to leave yourself another guard walked up to you before you had the chance to go.

"There's still someone you need to take a look at." He started walking down another way, making you follow him, your white tunica being swooshed around. The hallway seemed to drag on for forever until you were stopped in front of a big set of wooden doors.

"This is as far as I'm going to take you, he tends to… get a little aggressive with us guards." He added that he was the number one gladiator right now, so he was basically a celebrity and that you should treat him as such. You pushed the doors open with a short glance back to the lone guard, he was looking at you almost with a sympathetic face, as if he was in pain. Hopefully he wasn't the violent type, you could deal with an aggressive patient, but you weren't built to fight a professional killer.

The first thing you were greeted by was a big room, with lots of dimmed lights, giving it a warm orangish tone in the bedroom. There was a big bed in the middle of the room, it looked as if it could hold at least 4 people.

There were lit candles and torches all around that emitted the warm glow. The next thing you noticed was the hulking figure in the far end of the room, situated in front of a lit fireplace. They must have not noticed you yet because they didn't turn around at all. The door clicked close, that’s when the person turned their head to the side calling out to you.

"I told everyone, that I didn't want to be bothered." Usually you would leave at that, but there must be a reason why they needed to have a healer look at him, so you wouldn't leave until you did just that.

He didn't sound angry, only exasperated that something like this was happening. You moved forward slightly, clutching your things to your body, nervous because you weren't normally in charge of patients of such high profile.

You didn't look at him, out of respect trying to organize your things on a small table to the side of the meridienne that he was sat on. You only saw his outfit for a moment, barely enough to take in the leather pants and boots, a white shirt accompanying it.

"Didn't you hear what I said, do not bother me." You didn't respond, not too sure if you saying you were going to stay regardless or staying quiet would make him more irritated.

He didn't seem to keen on your lack of a response even though he didn't lash out at you. You were done setting everything up and kept kneeling next to him, now finally speaking.

"I was sent here to take care of any wounds tha-."

"I don't need that"

You lifted your head at the rude interruption, quickly getting stunned by the sight of the man.

Fiery dark red hair and a… surprisingly soft face, he looked young barely older than you. Dark eyebrows and eyes that perfectly matched the rest of his face. He didn't look like a gladiator at all. You've been to countless of fights before as a child, too curious to understand the brutality. And all of them were muscly big dark men, they looked like they would fight anyone and anything.

This man looked nothing of the sort. While there was a good amount of muscle on him, judging by the muscles in his arms and thighs, it was like something from a roman statue. One you'd see at the local temples, worshipped for its beauty and perfection. You wouldn't mind doing exactly that.

What?

No, you were here to help, nothing more, no matter how good looking he was. He was dangerous, he is dangerous.

-do something specific doc?"

What? You looked at his eyes. Not properly hearing him.

"I said, do you need me to do something specific doc?" Oh, right, treatment.

"Any pain anywhere? Or any injuries that you sustained; I'd like to take a look at them." He sighed not really wanting to, but seemingly just wanting to get this over with.

"Just a few cuts, on my arms and back."

"Mhm" He wasn't being transparent with you, so you'd just have to take a look now.

You were waiting for him to take his shirt off, but he didn't move a single inch. You didn't know what man-pride was stopping him from just showing you. Hah, this was going to be an even longer day now. "Just take your top off and I'll see if anything needs further treatment, if you don't let me take a look, you'll get an infection and die." You were talking to him like you were scolding a child, patience wearing thin very quickly.

His shirt was off the very next second and you had to hold back a gasp at all the scars littering his skin. It looked pretty, hard work evident in the scar tissue. Evidence of his survival. You took your jug of saltwater stopping just before pouring over a few open wounds. Warning him about the pain that was going to be coming in a few seconds, he just nodded. No flinch, no whimper, no groan absolutely nothing came out of him.

You knew just how much that hurt, like a burning fire the skin would similarily turn a little red. You quickly moved on to put a small amount of herbal paste on the few cuts along his chest impressed by his anatomy again. Hard to the touch but pliable. You tried to be as gentle as possible, as a last step you brought out some honey using it to form a barrier to the wound and disinfecting it again.

Before wrapping him up you caught sight of something on his shoulder, or back? You couldn't quite see from your position in front of him. You reached for his shoulder and then he turned away, glaring at you now.

"That one's fine." Anyone in s 5 mile radius could tell he was full of bullshit right now."

"No it's not and I'm not gonna let you fucking die from a cut that's easily treatable. So turn around or I will sedate you and do it while you're asleep." Welp, now you did it. Now there was no way that he wouldn't get angry, that must have been his last straw.

Your mouth was closed shut tightly in realization of what you had said. Praying to the gods above to help you out of this mess right now.

He was oddly quiet, that made you look at him. He stared at you, up, down, and then turned around. Without any words. You'd rather not mess with his graciousness again, so you also stayed silent throughout the process of caring for his gash, that was a lot bigger than expected. It would most definitely scar but he wouldn't die from a nasty infection at the very least.

When you were done you put some gauze around it, the other smaller wounds had pieces of fabric on them. You let your hands linger a little on his back muscles not wanting to finish out of nervousness of what he would say next and another part of you because you would be able to continue tracing along his body.

That thought in your mind made you stop, today was not your day. You were usually very professional about all your patients. But something about this man pulled you in. Maybe it was the endless scars that ran across his figure or the rough hand that had calluses from hard work, or the dark eyes that were now trained on you.

Dark eyes that were now trained on you.

You hurried a little out of your half kneeling form, not even noticing how one of your legs was on the sofa, knee buried in the soft cushioning.

You were stepping away a little when his hand shot out to grab your wrist.

"You know I don’t hurt women, I have honor as a warrior, as a man." He caressed your hands a little, looking at them, admiring them as if he wanted to figure out how your hands performed the magic of healing his wounds.

Your heart skipped a little at the contact. "I know." You did, he wasn't the type to do such a thing, not with a touch that soft.

"Say doctor, you would help me from all ailments, isn't that right?" He questioned.

"Of course." Had you missed a spot?

He looked up at you, pulling you into him, his chin resting on your stomach as your hands carefully landed on his shoulder. His arms wrapped around you, warming you and caging you against him. He was breathing you in for a few moments, seeming to enjoy the comfort of your closeness.

You couldn't imagine how long he must have been without human touch that wasn't violent or deadly. Someone to hold, to search comfort in.

If he needed that, you'd provide, after all you're a doctor and you just hate leaving your patients untreated.

Your hands wandered up his hair pulling his head back and leaning down and clasping your lips together. Climbing on top of him. You could tell hom much he missed this, messy kisses turning rushed and touches exploring every curve of your body. He tugged at a few stings attaching the flowy fabric of your tunic drop with the help of gravity. His hands finding their place on your waist. And yours making quick work of his pants.

"I missed this so much, you're so pretty, so good to me." You could honestly come from his words alone, your explorative touches from before had you thinking a little dirty before, now this was really happening.

"A true goddess sent down to heal me." His kisses just kept going. "Praise Venus for making you so desirable."

You'd never heard words like this from a man, only familiar with the degrading voice of men. He hiked you up slightly, easily lifting you. Getting you closer, your bodies touching in all places.

Your loincloth and breast covering were the next things to go, he was attaching himself immediately to suck onto your exposed boobs. Taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking, and letting go, looking up at you in pure mesmerism dripping from his orbs.

One hand moved down the curve of your back, over your butt and massaged your pussy. Massaging a few fingers over the sensitive slit.

"Jongho, my name, please, call for me." He paused each time, barely getting the words out over him working you up to your peak.

Your noises were unbelievably loud, you would have been embarrassed but you were too much in the moment to care. Moans and groans coming out of you without an ounce of control, Jongho stimulating you so well that you were praying that no gods above were watching this act between you two.

You were barely keeping yourself steadied, your arms slowly giving out. Jongho seemed to notice and flipped you onto the headrest of the couch, having placed himself between your legs. His fingers were now thrusting into you, you hadn't even notice him pumping them in until you really took a look. His big fingers took up so much space inside you, feeling like the biggest dick that you've had before.

He was still looking at you in that concentrated stare, fully intent on having you cum on his fingers. Which he did, only a moment later. Your teeth clenching muffling the loud moan that threatened to escape out of you. Your legs shaking and clamping against his hand, which was stimulating your clit in slow circles now.

It took you a few seconds to get back to earth and you noticed yourself being turned around, your knees propped up a little, stomach over the headrest now. Comfortable after tingles pouring through your nerves, leaving you sensitive.

You felt your entrance being touched with something wet, round, and big. You knew what it was, pushing slightly back to get him in you. You would be damned if you didn't get his cock in you today. Your prayers were answered at a moment’s notice, in the form of a stretching feeling, it burned a little despite the extensive amount of prep. You felt so full when you hear him mutter a little.

"Just a little more, you can take me." He wasn't even fully in and you felt like he was poking at your organs from the inside, brushing onto all the spots in you.

When he bottomed out you truly felt like you were being pushed to your limits, never having felt like this before.

He touched your stomach, pushing in slightly in amazement that you took him, praises falling from his lips, healing away the burn. When he started moving it felt like your insides were being pulled out, dragging long unfiltered moans out of you. Each thrust had him smacking a little harder against your ass, the skin-on-skin noises becoming almost as loud as you. He groaned and moaned when you clenched down especially hard.

"I could live like this, every day have you here spread on my cock. You'd like that wouldn't you little Nymph?" You fit him like a goddamn glove, he couldn’t even remember how sex felt like before this. Before this heavenly sensation.

"Just look at you." He pressed your back down a little, curving it slightly. And angled his thrusts, hitting even harder, knocking your breath out of you on occasion, not quite catching up on the pleasure and your breath.

You reached your hand back, calling his name, needing something to ground you and he obeyed, grabbing onto yours holding on. When his thrusts grew sloppier more desperate you knew he was close and you were too, screaming his name at the top of your lungs you came a second time.

He spilled himself into you at that, liquid filling you up just as much as his cock did. He carefully pulled out, grabbing a blanket that had been thrown down onto the ground and throwing it over you.

You must absolutely look like a mess but he leans down to press a kiss to your lips connecting you two for a few seconds, stopping himself to not have you cumming and bent over in the next few minutes again, as much as he enjoyed to do that. He pulled you into his arms, your head resting on his sweaty chest.

"Let's sleep or you're gonna be the death of me little Nymph." He kissed your head.

That made you remember, his wounds, making you sit up in his arms and checking him over.

"Jongho! you're bleeding."

He grumbled. Not bothered in the slightest. He pulled you down again, keeping you secured along his body. Not letting you leave his embrace and acess the damage properly.

"You can check on those anytime from now on, don't worry."

[secular-jew]

While there were periods of coexistence with Jews in the Levant, let this brief history disavow you of the notion, being promulgated all over the internet (and especially my inbox) that Jews were treated "well" by Muslims.

Similar in many ways to the dehumanization and murder at the hands of European Christianity, the Jews in Muslim-controlled lands, starting with Muhammad (exemplified in Islam as not just a prophet, but the "perfect example of human being") suffered continuous waves of ethnic-cleansing pogroms and massacres, culminating in the Massacres in southern Israel on October 7th.

This is a short list:

622 - 627: Ethnic cleansing of Jews literally from Mecca and Medina, (Jewish boys with pubic hair were executed along with the men). Over 800 adult males were killed by beheading. Women were forced into sexual slavery, and the children were given to Islamic Jihadis as slaves. Mohammad force-married Safiyyah, after murdering her husband and father.

629: 1st Alexandria Massacres of Jews, Egypt.

622 - 634: Exterminations of Arabian Jewish tribes.

1106: Ali Ibn Yousef Ibn Tashifin of Marrakesh decrees death penalty for any local Jew, including his Jewish Physician, and as well as his Jewish military general.

1033: 1st massacre of Jews in Fez, Morocco.

1148: Almohadin of Morocco gives Jews the choice of converting to Islam, or expulsion.

1066: Granada Massacre of Jews, Muslim-occupied Spain.

1165 - 1178: Jews of Yemen given the choice (under new constitution) to either convert to Islam or die.

1165: Chief Rabbi of the Maghreb was publicly burnt alive. The Rambam (Maimonides, Moses ben Maimon), forced to flee Spain to Egypt.

1220: Tens of thousands of Jews massacred by Muslims Turkey, Iraq, Syria, and Egypt, after being blamed for Mongol invasion.

1270: Sultan Baibars of Egypt resolved to burn all the Jews, a ditch having been dug for that purpose; but at the last moment he repented, and instead exacted a heavy tribute, during the collection of which many perished.

1276: 2nd Fez Pogrom (massacre) against Jews in Morocco

1385: Khorasan Massacres against Jews in Iran

1438: 1st Mellah Ghetto massacres against Jews in Morocco.

1465: 3rd Fez Pogrom against Jews in Morocco, leaving only 11 Jews left alive.

1517: 1st Safed Pogrom in Muslim Ottoman controlled Judea

1517: 1st Hebron Pogrom in Muslim-controlled Judea, by occupying Ottomans.

1517: Marsa ibn Ghazi Massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Libya.

1577: Passover Massacre throughout the Ottoman Empire.

1588 - 1629: Mahalay Pogroms of Jews in Iran.

1630 - 1700: Yemenite Jews considered 2nd class citizens and subjugated under strict Shi'ite 'dhimmi' rules.

1660: 2nd Judean Pogrom, in Safed Israel (Ottoman-controlled Palestine).

1670: Expulsion of Mawza Jews in Yemen.

1679 - 1680: Massacres of Jews in Sanaa, Yemen.

1747: Massacres of the Jews of Mashhad, Iran.

1785: Pogrom of Libyan Jews in Ottoman-controlled Tripoli, Libya.

1790 - 92: Tetuan Pogrom. Morocco (Jews of Tetuuan stripped naked, and lined up for Muslim perverts).

1800: Decree passed in Yemen, criminalizing Jews from wearing clothing that is new or good, or from riding mules or donkeys. Jews were also rounded up for long marches naked through the Roob al Khali dessert.

1805: 1st Algiers Massacre/Pogrom of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Algeria.

1808: 2nd Ghetto Massacres in Mellah, Morocco.

1815: 2nd Algiers massacres/pogroms of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Algeria.

1820: Sahalu Lobiant Massacres of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Syria.

1828: Baghdad massacres/pogroms of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Iraq.

1830: 3rd massacre/pogrom of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Algiers, Algeria.

1830: Ethnic cleansing of Jews in Tabriz, Iran.

1834: 2nd massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Hebron, Judea.

1834: Massacre/pogrom of Safed Jews in Ottoman-controlled Palestine/Judea.

1839: Massacre of the Mashadi Jews in Iran.

1840: Damascus Affair following first of many blood libels against Jews in Ottoman-controlled Syria.

1844: 1st Cairo Massacres of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Egypt.

1847: Dayr al-Qamar massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Lebanon.

1847: Ethnic cleansing of the Jews in Jerusalem, Ottoman-controlled Palestine.

1848: 1st Damascus massacre/pogrom, in Ottoman-controlled Syria.

1850: 1st Aleppo massacre/pogrom of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Syria.

1860: 2nd Damascus massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Syria.

1862: 1st Beirut massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Lebanon.

1866: Massacre of Jews by Ottomans Kuzguncuk, Turkey.

1867: Massacre of Jews by Ottomans in Barfurush, Turkey.

1868: Massacre of Jews by Ottomans in Eyub, Turkey.

1869: Massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Tunis, Tunisia.

1869: Massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Sfax, Tunisia.

1864 - 1880: Massacres of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Marrakesh, Morocco.

1870: 2nd Alexandria Massacres of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Egypt.

1870: 1st Istanbul massacre of Jews in Ottoman Turkey.

1871: 1st Damanhur Massacres of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Egypt.

1872: Massacre of Jews by Ottomans in Edirne, Turkey.

1872: 1st Massacre of Jews by Ottomans in Izmir, Turkey.

1873: 2nd Damanhur Massacres of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Egypt.

1874: 2nd Izmir massacre of Jews in Turkey.

1874: 2nd massacre of Jews in Istanbul Turkey.

1874: 2nd massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Beirut, Lebanon.

1875: 2nd massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Aleppo, Syria.

1875: Massacre of Jews in Djerba Island, Ottoman-controlled Tunisia.

1877: 3rd massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Damanhur, Egypt.

1877: Masaacres of Jews in Mansura, Ottoman-controlled Egypt

1882: Masacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Homs, Syria.

1882: 3rd Massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Alexandria, Egypt.

1890: 2nd massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Cairo, Egypt.

1890: 3rd massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Damascus, Syria.

1890: 2nd massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Tunis, Tunisia

1891: 4th massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Damanahur, Egypt.

1897: Targeted murder of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Tripolitania, Libya.

1903 &1907: Masaacres of Hews in Ottoman-controlled Taza & Settat, Morocco.

1901 - 1902: 3rd set of massacres of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Cairo, Egypt.

1901 - 1907: 4th set of Massacres of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Alexandria, Egypt.

1903: 1st massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Port Sa'id, Egypt.

1903 - 1940: Series of massacres in Taza and Settat, Morocco.

1907: Massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Casablanca, Morocco.

1908: 2nd Massacre of Jews in Ottoman-controlled Port Said, Egypt.

1910: Blood libel against Jews in Shiraz, Iran.

1911: Masaacre of Jews by Muslims in Shiraz, Iran.

1912: 4th massacre in Ottoman-controlled Fez, Morocco.

1917: Baghdad Iraq Jews murdered by Ottomans.

1918 - 1948: Yemen passes a law criminalizing the raising of a Jewish orphan in Yemen.

1920: Massacres of Jews in Irbid Jordan (British mandate Palestine).

1920 - 1930: Arab riots resulting in hundreds of Jewish deaths, British mandate Palestine.

1921: 1st Jaffa (Israel) riots, British mandate Palestine.

1922: Massacres of Jews in Djerba, Tunisia.

1928: Jewish orphans sold into slavery, and forced toonvert to Islam by Muslim Brotherhood, Yemen.

1929: 3rd Hebron (Israel) massacre of Jews by Arabs in British mandate Palestine.

1929 3rd massacre of Jews by Arabs in Safed (Israel), British mandate Palestine.

1933: 2nd Jaffa (Israel) riots, British mandate Palestine.

1934: Massacre of Jews in Thrace, Turkey.

1936: 3rd riots by Arabs against Jews in Jaffa (Israel), British mandate Palestine.

1941: Masaacres of Jews in Farhud, Iraq.

1942: Muslim leader Grand Mufti collaboration with the Nazis, playing a major role in the final solution.

1938 - 1945: Full alliance and collaboration by Arabs with the Nazis in attacking and murdering Jews in the Middle East and Africa.

1945: 4th massacre of Jews by Muslims in Cairo, Egypt.

1945: Masaacre of Jews in Tripolitania, Libya.

1947: Masaacre of Jews by Muslims in Aden, Yemen.

2023: Massacre, rape, torture and kidnapping of ~1,500 Israelis (mostly Jews) by Muslims in numerous towns throughout southern Israel.

[sodasa-was-taken]

How subtle is the romance of G-Witch really: The language of romance and the bias in interpretation

First of all, I want to express my gratitude for all the feedback I've received. You guys are awesome. When I posted my first analysis, I had no idea how it would be perceived. Throughout my life, I've mostly been met with confusion, if not a bit of curiosity, when I've told people about my fascination with the romance genre. Even people who like the genre don't treat it with the respect I do but rather see it as something they can turn their brains off to. I was scared that people who saw my analysis would think that G-Witch, I dunno, had too much else going on to be considered a romance. I can't tell you all how validating it's been to get this much praise for writing about one of my biggest passions. Thank you so much.

This post is less an analysis of G-Witch as it's an exploration of the hypocrisy in how straight and gay romances are interpreted even by the queer community. I've engaged with a lot of female/male romances, especially when I was younger and thought I was straight, so it's quite surreal seeing similar stories being interpreted vastly differently based only on whether the main characters are queer or not.

There's been a lot of discussion about how explicit same-sex relationships in fiction should be. Many agree that the minimum for the characters to be unambiguously into each other is for them to kiss. That would be an ideal metric if the same applied to a man and a woman being into each other. It does not. For the vast majority of history, since people first started portraying characters in romantic relationships, explicit depictions of physical affection between those characters haven't been a thing. Depicting that sort of thing didn't become commonplace until the 20th century. For example, you would be hard-pressed to find any of the somewhat indecent positions Miorine and Suletta get into in a Jean Austin novel. Like, usually in a platonic hug, you lay your head on someone's shoulder or clavicle, and Miorine's burying her face in the upper part of Suletta's cleavage. How scandalous!

Of course, these views are centuries old, and the expectations of what should be included in a story about people getting together have changed drastically since then. Except in a lot of ways, it hasn't. Especially in manga, light novels, and anime, it can take real-life years for two characters to show affection through physician touch. Still, it’s expected that the characters are or will become attracted to one another and that they’ll end up together before the end of the story. Unless they’re the same gender, where not only is that not an expectation, but due to tropes such as Bury Your Gays, people are more likely to think one of them is going to die. That’s messed up. Being a main character in a romance or something adjacent shouldn’t be a death sentence for any character. Then there’s the fact that same-sex couples-to-be in fiction can be as forward as they want in their physical and verbal affections. Still, a straight couple-to-be that does nothing but bigger or just be the most prominent characters in their respective genders will still be perceived as less ambiguous. A man and a woman who get a bit flustered around each other are hopelessly in love. Yet, two girls sharing an intimate hug after a conversation about how neither wants their engagement to just be a transaction; that’s “totally platonic.”

Better yet, Hollywood has fine-tuned this to the point that the male and female leads only need to look at each other for about five seconds, and it’s enough to infer that they’re attracted to each other. This has become so ubiquitous that people have gotten confused when the leads are implied not to have gotten together despite having shown zero romantic intent. Having the character show romantic intent isn’t generally considered a requirement for them to end up together in a Hollywood film. No, seriously. All this is to say that literary and visual shorthand have always been and continue to be a major part of romances. Yet, the bar is much higher when it comes to the confirmation that two characters of the same gender are into each other. An author can use the exact same narrative tools that have become a staple of female/male romances/romantic subplots, and someone will tell you you're being led on for picking up on them.

The main reason for the high standards placed on same-sex couples is the desire for representation. If straight couples are allowed to or even expected to kiss at some point in the story, the same should be the case for same-sex couples. That said, kissing neither is nor should be the be-all and end-all of good representation. Yeah, straight couples get to kiss and have sexual relationships, but by all accounts, a significant amount of straight representation is absolutely abysmal. Lots of straight romances reek of sexism, outdated gender roles, and stereotyping, are toxic, and straight-up have a reputation for romanticizing abuse. If kissing or an “I love you” is the metric to which good representation is judged, two straight people who have zero chemistry or are downright abusive would be better representation than a same-sex couple whose relationship is built on mutual respect and support but who doesn't get to kiss or say “I love you” and that's ridiculous.

It’s also worth noting how people who tell others they’re crazy for seeing a queer story where according to them, there aren’t any, get characterized as needing to see something explicit to pick up that a story is or even just be interpreted as a queer romance. The thing is, most of these people aren’t dense; they’re willfully ignorant. They can pick up on the signs just as easily as they can in male/female romances; they’re choosing not to, even if it’s likely an unconscious decision. There seems to be a need among queer people to have depictions in media that even bigots can’t deny are queer. Why though? Representation is vital in helping to normalize the existence of various types of people, but for so many queer people, it just doesn’t seem to be enough. So what if some people wouldn’t get it unless the characters kiss? Those people will just start complaining about how they’re having queerness forced down their throats, and that’s their problem. There’s so much more to the queer experience than displays of physical affection, and this representation gatekeeping isn’t helping anyone. Normalizing same-sex couple kissing is important, but normalizing people of the same gender kissing is only going to normalize the kissing itself. If, for example, two people of the same gender get to kiss and then one of them gets killed off, that's the opposite of normalizing same-sex relationships.

Pulling from my own experiences, I've never been told that there was anything wrong with two people of the same gender kissing. Still, I saw same-sex relationships as inferior and believed being in one couldn't give me the life I wanted. I tried so hard to convince myself that I was straight and was only attracted to someone with a different gender presentation than me – because I was also an egg who told myself I was wrong for feeling uncomfortable for being referred to as my assigned gender at birth. Honestly, I thought that I would be happier if I didn’t even entertain the idea of getting together with someone with the same gender presentation as me. So, imagine how much it meant to me to see a show about two girls where one of them didn’t even think that getting engaged to another girl was an option, both of them having young men interested in them but asking each other to spend their life with them, and ending the show being married and being all the happier for being with the other. That's the kind of representation I've been looking for.

On a less serious note, I’d like to share an antidote from when I watched episode one for the first time. When Suletta sees someone floating around in space who appears to be in danger I didn’t initially consider that the person in question might be Miorine. The visuals planted the idea in my mind and the thing that confirmed it was the framing of the two inside Aerial’s cockpit. I couldn’t explain what I was picking up on, but to me, it was a dead giveaway.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

In ancient Greece, women were forbidden to study medicine for several years until someone broke the law. Born in 300 BCE, Agnodice cut her hair and entered Alexandria medical school dressed as a man. While walking the streets of Athens after completing her medical education, she heard the cries of a woman in labour. However, the woman did not want Agnodice to touch her although she was in severe pain, because she thought Agnodice was a man. Agnodice proved that she was a woman by removing her clothes without anyone seeing and helped the woman deliver her baby.

The story would soon spread among the women and all the women who were sick began to go to Agnodice. The male doctors grew envious and accused Agnodice, whom they thought was male, of seducing female patients. At her trial, Agnodice, stood before the court and proved that she was a woman but this time, she was sentenced to death for studying medicine and practicing medicine as a woman.

Women revolted at the sentence, especially the wives of the judges who had given the death penalty. Some said that if Agnodice was killed, they would go to their deaths with her. Unable to withstand the pressures of their wives and other women, the judges lifted Agnodice's sentence, and from then on, women were allowed to practice medicine, provided they only looked after women.

Thus, Agnodice made her mark in history as the first female doctor, physician and gynecologist. This plaque depicting Agnodice at work was excavated at Ostia, Italy and is now on display at the British Museum.

[Scott Horton]

[ibarkatpeoplewoofwoofbitch]

So I'm pretty sure lucifers real name was Samael. His original name before he left Heaven.

"Samael, from the amoraic period onward the major name of Satan in Judaism. The name first appears in the account of the theory of angels in the Ethiopic Book of Enoch 6, which includes the name, although not in the most important place, in the list of the leaders of the angels who rebelled against God."

Who knows I could be 1000% wrong but like imagine if the other archangels especially michael call him samael to rub it in his face(he's always the one that's seen as the asshole in a lot of media privacy because he's the angel of "an angelic warrior, fully armed with helmet, sword, and shield, " "He is considered a champion of justice, a healer of the sick, and the guardian of the Church." "mentions of his name are in third- and second-century-BC Jewish works, often but not always apocalyptic, where he is the chief of the angels and archangels")

And if michael is the "mentions of his name are in third- and second-century-BC Jewish works, often but not always apocalyptic, where he is the chief of the angels and archangels"

Adam was the leader of Exorcist. But was it michael who taught them how to attack?. Because as much a warrior adam in most media represent him as head strong. And impulsive, also very arrogant.

The Exorcists' fighting styles pointed out by Carmella carmine "out for blood" and NEVER focus on getting hurt only on hurting others.

And "Gabriel is the herald of visions, messenger of God and one of the angels of higher rank."

Even the seraphim who are the "in the highest rank in Christian angelology and in the fifth rank of ten in the Jewish angelic hierarchy." Are powerful, and yet NEITHER of them knew how someone got into heaven. Is it gabriel that tells Sera to not question it. Especially when she was younger so she wouldn't fall?

And Sera carried that to Emily?

(Im sorry I know most of this don't male any sense I just saw six angels point angelic weapons at lucifer and I wanna know which ones)

These are all archangels I am certain. And I looked up how many arch angels are there and it says Michael, Gabriel, Uriel, Chamuel (Camael), Raphael, Jophiel, and Zadkiel

We all know the first two.

Michael- He is considered a champion of justice, a healer of the sick, and the guardian of the Church.

Gabriel-Gabriel is the herald of visions, messenger of God and one of the angels of higher rank.

Now the others

Uriel- archangel of wisdom, light, and the truth of God.

Chamuel (camael)-Archangel Chamuel's mission is to help bring peace to the world. The Archangel of Love

Raphael- Archangel Raphael is often called upon to help with physical healing. travelers, the blind, happy meetings, nurses, physicians, medical workers, matchmakers, Christian marriage, and Catholic studies.

Jophiel-Widely known as the angel of beauty, Jophiel represents the beauty of God, and he plays a great role in helping you see your inner beauty

Zadkiel- In Jewish mysticism and Christian Kabbalah, Zadkiel is associated with the classical planet Jupiter. The angel's position in the sephirot is fourth, which corresponds to Chesed "Kindness".

Are we gonna see this? Because their gods main seven angels. Maybe we'd see Azrael the angel of death?

(Sorry tho when I'm into something I do research for hours)

[astriiformes]

hi! Sorry to bother--I am also graduating soon and I'm scouring my university library--I LOVED the list you made, do you have any other recommendations you wouldn't mind sharing? frankly you could throw a works cited page at me and I'd be happy

I've certainly got more papers I could recommend, though I can't claim they're all directly monster-related. My actual academic field is the history of science, with an emphasis on the early modern period and early print culture -- I just try to tie it to my other special interests however I can!

If you're interested in monster theory, I definitely recommend various readings on witchcraft and the occult as well -- there are significant links between the early modern witch trials/folkloric beliefs about witchcraft and some of our "modern" monsters like werewolves. Try:

Wolves, Witches, and Werewolves: Witchcraft and Lycanthropy from 1423 to 1700 by Jane P. Davidson and Bob Canino

The Saturnine History of Jews and Witches by Yvonne Owens

From Sorcery to Witchcraft: Clerical Conceptions of Magic in the Later Middle Ages by Michael D. Bailey

Witchcraft and Magic in the Nordic Middle Ages by Stephen A. Mitchell

The Specific Rationality of Medieval Magic by Richard Kieckhefer (who has written a LOT on magic and witchcraft in general)

Male Witches in Early Modern Europe by Laura Apps and Andrew Gow

If you're interested in monster studies from more of a sci-fi/fantasy angle and like reading about speculative fiction, consider:

On the Poetics of the Science Fiction Genre by Darko Suvin (really anything by Darko Suvin is a solid bet, he's a hugely influential scholar in the study of science fiction)

The journal Science Fiction Studies which has a lot of great articles and special issues (including a great one on Frankenstein!)

Colonialism and the Emergence of Science Fiction by John Rieder

For a grab-bag of odd and unconventional papers and books I've found interesting recently, have a look at:

The Soul, Evil Spirits, and the Undead: Vampires, Death, and Burial in Jewish Folklore and Law by Saul Epstein and Sara Libby Robinson

Melancholy as a Disease: Learning About Depression as a Disease from Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy by Jennifer Radden

A Case for a Trans Studies Turn in Victorian Studies: “Female Husbands” of the Nineteenth Century by Lisa Hager

Battling Demons With Medical Authority: Werewolves, Physicians, and Rationalization by Nadine Metzger

And, last but not least, I've only skimmed these last few, but as I'm currently on a huge Dracula research kick, here's a couple articles that have caught my eye:

Rethinking the New Woman in Dracula by Jordan Kistler (this one was especially refreshing to see, given the fact that many academic takes on the subject are.... bad)

Masculine Spatial Embodiment in Dracula by Julie Smith

Information in the 1890s: Technological, Journalistic, Imperial, Occult by Richard Menke

A ‘Ghastly Operation’: Transfusing Blood, Science and the Supernatural in Vampire Texts by Aspasia Stephanou

[sarahowritesostucky]

Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 3

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas are intersex (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist

3. Bucky

Steve unexpectedly switches from being Bucky's attending physician, to his dedicated heat Support.

It’s funny: the stereotype of alphas is that they’re always these domineering, bossy, even selfish people who walk all over other designations to get whatever they want. But Steve’s whole life pretty much revolves around doing for omegas. Meeting their needs.

There’s his volunteer work at the shelter and at ASHDOM, there are the single omega neighbors in his building who all know he’s a pushover and who come to him first whenever they need furniture moved or can’t get out to the store because they’re in heat. And there’s his job, which usually sees him working a bare minimum of sixty hours a week, often many more.

He does nothing but cater to omegas.

Of course, he’s paid well for it. Nursing is a chronically underfilled field to begin with, and omega specialized healthcare is even worse. Especially when it comes to staffing alpha practitioners. Steve knows for a fact that his salary is several grand higher than any of his his beta coworkers doing the same job, simply because of the additional therapeutic value that his designation can offer.

He’s a federally licensed heat partner, is certified in trauma and crisis intervention, and he’s one of the only alpha nurse practitioners providing omega reproductive healthcare in the borough. It makes his days long and his caseloads heavy, but that’s okay because it’s more than a job to him, it’s a moral imperative, something that’s been drilled into him since he was six years old and play-dominating all the other kids in his kindergarten class: you must take care of those who are weaker than you.

Steve’s been working on the OOBGYN ward around trauma patients for more than five years now. He knows the protocols, he knows how to keep himself under control and keep his patients safe. So it’s not exactly the shining pinnacle of his career when he has to page his subordinates—the nurses he trained for Chrissakes—to come and help him the fuck out with a patient he’s mishandled.

Steve would’ve highly preferred it be Hope (she’d give him less crap about it), but it’s Sharon who shows up first at the door. She comes into the room, no nonsense, holding a 1cc syringe at the ready. She’s unseen by Bucky, who’s still keening and purring where he’s got his teeth buried in Steve’s shoulder. Steve gives her a terse nod, and Sharon brusquely walks over and shoots the sedative up Bucky’s nose before the omega even knows what’s happening.

Ninety seconds later, he’s out like a light. “Midazolam,” Sharon says.

Steve nods. That buys them at least thirty minutes to get everything set up right. Bucky’s mouth has detached from his skin, and Steve carefully lowers his limp form back down onto the bed. There’s blood smeared on his lips and chin—Steve’s blood. Steve swallows hard and ignores the answering pulse of blood in his dick. He’s all keyed up, body thrumming, primed to fuck or fight.

Sharon’s a professional, so she doesn’t look at his crotch, but she does wrinkle her nose and give him an unimpressed look. “What the hell, Rogers?”

Steve avoids answering, embarrassed. “Come on. Help me transfer him. Clock’s ticking now.” He climbs off the bed and Sharon undoes Bucky’s IV. They bring up the bed’s side rails and unlock the wheels, then begin the slow process of pushing him out of the room and down to one of the on-ward heat suites. “Don’t lecture me,” Steve warns, not in the mood to have his rookie mistakes pointed out. There are plenty of them.

He forgot blockers. He intoned. He scented. Fuck, did he posture? He probably postured. He certainly got too close, let the omega get his fucking mouth on him. Christ. Steve shakes his head at himself. He’d let his soft spot for Bucky put him in a vulnerable position, and now a traumatized patient has latched onto him right at the onset of the first heat he’s had in years.

Those are not the things the hospital pays Steve thousand of dollars extra for.

Well … actually they are, but they weren’t supposed to be in Bucky’s case. Steve is his attending. He’s not supposed to take on the role of alpha support, too. It’s not allowed.

“Who should I be paging?” Sharon asks as they wheel the bed down the hall and around a corner.

“Get Banner,” Steve grunts, not happy with it. He doesn’t want to give up the case to another doctor. All his instincts are screaming at him to keep Bucky as his, to keep the control and authority he has over the omega’s medical care. But he’ll get in big trouble if he doesn’t sign this off to another physician before they seal themselves up in a heat suite.

“Is he on call tonight?”

“Yeah.” Banner is a good doctor, a beta, and a great human being. Steve trusts him more than almost anyone to do what’s right for Bucky as his attending. “Give him my case notes and Bucky’s treatment plan,” he tells Sharon as they arrive at a heavy door with a small, shuttered window. “And get a hold of Sam if he’s around. Tell him I have questions. Tell him the kid latched onto me.”

Sharon raises an eyebrow. “You mean … your neck?”

“No, not my neck,” Steve snaps meanly. “I mean physiologically.”

Sharon shoots him a peeved look from her side of Bucky’s bed, but she doesn’t say anything. She knows that Steve’s not mad at her.

He’s furious with himself for letting it happen. It’s embarrassing. Steve’s supposed to be experienced. The second that Bucky started posturing and losing language complexity and calling Steve ‘Alpha’ over and over like that, the second he’d started keening like that, Steve should’ve put distance between them. He should’ve been well out of the room by the time the kid began scenting and slicking, not still sitting right on the damn bed, letting him do it all over his scrub pants.

They wheel into the suite and Steve looks from Bucky’s lax body over to the suite’s low bed. It’s just an institutional grade mattress on a box platform, large and durable and easy to clean. It’s sterile and standard, just like the rest of the room. Nobody’s brought up any nesting materials yet.

If Steve had done his job right, Bucky probably wouldn’t have hit heat until tomorrow. The hospital staff would have already received the requisition forms and prepared the suite especially for Bucky’s stay. Instead, it’s empty and stripped bare, sterilized from the last omega who used it.

There’s a fridge stocked with water and calorie dense snacks, a four piece handicap-accessible bathroom with a walk-in tub. There’s the large platform bed, and there’s a breeding bench over in the corner. Steve glowers at Sharon when he sees it. “Why is that in here?” he snaps. “Jesus, Sharon, get it out.” He glances at Bucky, irrationally afraid of the kid waking up and seeing it.

“The last patient booked into the room was Ace,” Sharon says, unamused. “You sure you want it out?” She nods at Bucky’s prone body. “He’s dynamic dysphoric. You might need it. I can fill out a req for the seeding machine if you—”

“No,” Steve bites out, trying hard to remain professional and not yell at his head nurse. “No. I’m not doing that to him.”

Steve knows what Sharon’s thinking: light sedation and heavy restraint, complete mechanization of Bucky’s heat. It’s what a lot of doctors would do, once they got a look at Bucky’s case file and issues. Just to get the whole process over with in less time, with less effort.

But Steve can’t stand the thought of forcing Bucky through his treatment like that. It would terrify and humiliate him. Steve would rather work through every step with Bucky than force him onto that bench. “Get it out of here,” he orders.

Sharon doesn’t argue, just removes the bench and herself from the room. When she returns, Steve is staring at the naked vinyl mattress with distaste. There’s nothing soft or safe or warm here. He doesn’t want Bucky to wake up to that. “Stay with him,” he tells Sharon. “I’m gonna run down to supply and get room prep.”

He leaves her there with strict instructions not to touch Bucky. Now that the kid’s latched onto Steve as his heat partner, he won’t take well to physical contact with anyone else. “Fucking stupid, Rogers,” Steve berates himself again as he takes the elevator down to the supply room.

He grabs a pushcart and loads it up with an assortment of blankets that the hospital offers. He throws in a bunch of squishy pillows too, then heads over to grab a presenting form from the selection of different mounting pillows. He chooses one in a forgiving foam material. It has detachable cuffs in front, which after a moment’s hesitation he decides to bring along, just in case. He grabs a soft microfiber cover for the form so that it’ll feel warm and comforting against Bucky’s body. Steve doesn’t want to leave a single hard fucking edge in the entire heat suite, if he can help it.

He does spare the sex toys a glance, but it feels wrong to select anything now. If Bucky needs it later Steve can talk to him about it, have one of the nurses req whatever items Bucky wants.

He moves fast, anxious to get back to the suite and make sure that he's right there by Bucky's side when he wakes. He stops at the pharmacy and swipes his ID badge against the dispensary that stores samples of all the heat technicians’ scents. He scans his fingerprint when it prompts him, then types into the keypad that he wants to withdraw two vials. The machine whirs and delivers the manufactured amounts of Steve’s own pheromones. Steve swipes them up out of the slot without any patience and starts shoving the cart back towards the elevators.

Sharon raises her eyebrows at the heaping amount of supplies that Steve rolls in with. “O-kay,” she says, and heads for the door. “I’ll fill Hope in. Banner’s on his way. He said maybe twenty minutes. Sam’ll be on morning shift and I left him a message that he should come by.”

“Good.”

“Steve?” She turns and looks back at him once she’s out in the hall. “This is also part of your job. Don’t beat yourself up too hard, kay?”

It’s on the nicer end of the spectrum of things Sharon would say, and Steve forces his face into a grateful sort of wince. “Thanks, Share.” He shuts the door behind her and flicks the switch on the wall that locks the door and lights up the red occupied light outside of the suite. He presses the intercom button. “Check.”

“Check,” Sharon confirms from her side. “I requisitioned you guys’ meals for the next seventy-two hours. Banner will call in once he’s here. … Hope’s paging me. Good luck.”

“Bye.” Steve releases the button and turns back around. He looks at Bucky, who’s still unconscious on the hospital bed. Steve walks over and chews his lip, regretful that they’d had to use a sedative. He knows the boy probably won’t be appreciative of that when he wakes.

Steve is aware that he’s got dried blood on him. He can feel it, tacky and starting to crust, pulling uncomfortably whenever he turns his head. He grabs the first aid kit from the room’s small supply cabinet and takes it into the bathroom. The mirror over the sink shows it all, and Steve winces at the mess. It looks worse than it is, probably.

He wets a gauze with antiseptic and bites the bullet and slaps it onto the spot where the skin is broken. He clenches his teeth and hisses at the sting, cursing quietly. A few, careful wipes and it’s mostly cleaned off and he’s able to see the individual teeth marks. Steve’s lips quirk despite himself. Kid had gotten him good.

It’s close to his glands, and Steve wonders if Bucky was consciously aiming for it. Probably not. Steve knows the boy was probably raised to try to force himself into sexually desiring omegas and betas only, probably females, and never alphas. Guiltily, Steve feels a little bit of a thrill at the idea of getting to be Bucky’s first sexual encounter with an alpha. He’ll be the first partner Bucky’s ever had to help satisfy his needs in a natural way.

He doesn’t count the people who assaulted Bucky. Even if they were alpha (and he has reasons to believe they were), they don’t count. They’re dirt, less than nothing to Steve. He’s going to make sure he wipes them out of existence from Bucky’s mind. He’ll make them less than nothing for the omega too, given enough time to take care of him the way he deserves.

Sighing, he gives his bloodied neck a few more careful wipes. It’s not bleeding anymore and he doesn't bandage it. He needs to leave that part of himself open and available to Bucky. If it’s something the omega wants, then Steve isn’t going to keep it from him. Steve’s been bonded a few times over the years, usually in sessions with his neediest patients. Detoxing off the high when he discharges them from care is never fun, but he knows how to get himself through it. If Bucky wants that connection with him, he’ll be more than happy to allow it.

Steve just wants to make him feel safe and good.

He puts the first aid kit away and starts making up the bed. He puts sheets on it, then roughly dumps all the blankets out into a kind of spread out pile. Still open for rearrangement, though. He doesn’t know if Bucky will want to nest it himself when he comes to. He lays all the various pillows out around the perimeter of the mattress. The mounting pillow gets set up by the head of the bed, out of the way. Steve doesn’t want to do anything that Bucky might interpret as demanding or coercive. Not right off the bat, at least. This is all going to go according to what Bucky wants and needs, not Steve.

Sharon buzzes through the intercom, announcing that she’s leaving bath towels outside the door. Steve retrieves them and sticks them in the bathroom for later. He checks the fridge, which is indeed stocked with water bottles, high-sugar fruit juice and cups of peaches packed in syrup, little portions of cheese and two ounce packets of almond butter—all good things for an omega to nibble on through a cycle. He pulls out the almond butters and sets them on the counter to warm up. He roots through the supply cabinet until he finds a box of the little spray caps that fit to the pheromone vials. He opens one, pops the cap on, then goes about spritzing it on various places on the bed. He doesn’t go too nuts, not wanting to overwhelm the omega when he—

“Steve?”

Steve whips around so fast, he almost trips over his own clogs. He sees Bucky, pushing up to sitting in the hospital bed and looking confused. “What happen’d?” he asks groggily, rubbing his face.

Steve sticks the vials in the fridge and hurries over to Bucky’s side. “Hey,” he says soothingly. “You got a little frantic back there, buddy. The nurse gave you something to calm down so we could get this room ready for you.”

Bucky seems to become more aware of his surroundings, and that he’s no longer in his hospital room. He looks past Steve, all around the heat suite. Then his attention fixes on the large bed. Steve sees his nostrils flare and his pupils shrink to pinpoints. He begins to shake his head a little. “No,” he whispers. “Please. Steve, please don’t make me.” He whimpers and his hands fly to his stomach, a cramp clearly passing through him. “Oh man,” he whines, distressed.

Steve had expected this. He’d wanted to have Bucky on the larger bed by the time he woke up, all snuggled and safe in a cocoon of soft things. He reaches out and touches the bed instead of Bucky, fingers stroking the boxy weave of the hospital blanket that covers Bucky’s leg only inches away. “It’s going to be just fine,” he tells him. “We’re in a private suite. It’s like your own little hotel room, see? You’ve got everything you need right here.” He points out different things. “There’s snacks in the fridge and the tv’s got all the streaming apps you could want.” He smiles. “Hell, the bathtub has jets.”

Bucky’s eyes do flick over to the bathroom’s open door, if only for a moment. But he’s quickly back to whimpering and wrapping his arms around himself. “No,” he says, staring at his knees instead of Steve. “S’wrong.” He shakes his head and mumbles quiet words to himself: gross, pathetic, unnatural. Horrible, wrong words that break Steve’s heart.

Steve feels that familiar flash of anger zip through him at the reminder of how horribly Bucky’s been treated his whole life. But that’s not productive, so he squashes the anger down and instead tries to think calming, soothing alpha thoughts. He long ago learned in his training that when helping an omega through their heat, an alpha’s thoughts influence their physiology, and their physiology influences their actions. Everything Steve does in this room now has to be geared towards helping Bucky feel safe and taken care of. Everything.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down on the very edge of the bed. Bucky seems hyper aware of his proximity but he doesn’t tense up or try to move away at all, which is a good sign. Steve lets his hand drift closer over the blanket, towards Bucky’s knee. “When you met with the counselor, with Clint? Did you guys talk about it? About being male omegas, your cycles?”

Bucky’s face looks pained and he still won’t look at Steve, but he nods smally. “Yeah.”

“I’d bet money that Clint didn’t use any of those words you just said, when he talked about it. Do you think those things about Clint?” This, at least, seems to get through to the kid. He peeks up at Steve, and Steve gives him a gentle smile. “I’m friends with him, ya know. He’s a cool guy. I actually think you two would get along.”

Bucky shrugs, unwilling to engage. He’s pouting still and Steve wants so badly to pull him in against his body and surround him with the pressure and reassurance of a hug, but he knows he has to do this on Bucky’s timetable. The omega is calmed out of the frenzy he was having when Sharon sedated him, but a cc of Midazolam up the nose tends to do that.

“I’m alpha,” Steve says gently. “So of course I can’t know what it’s like to go through a heat, not personally. But I’ve helped a lot of people through theirs. They’ve told me all kinds of things. Some sort of dislike it. Most enjoy it to some extent. But nobody has ever told me it’s wrong or unnatural.”

It’s a lie. Steve has had one or two other patients who felt the way that Bucky feels, dysphoric patients who were traumatized by abusers in similar ways, but Steve also knows that that’s not what Bucky needs to hear right now.

“Hey,” he says, finally sliding his hand far enough over the blanket that his fingertips brush Bucky’s lax ones on the bed. Bucky’s eyes fly up to him. “I know you can’t just change your viewpoint overnight. I get it. But it’s important that you understand that nobody else shares those negative thoughts about your body or about heats. I’m certainly not thinking them.” He tilts his head forward and asks, “What did Clint say about it, when you guys talked?”

Bucky is reluctant to tell him, but eventually he murmurs, “He said it’s intense, but it’s just our bodies’ way of feeling good. … He said it’s better when you’ve got somebody with you to help.” His cheeks are getting flushed, probably a combination of embarrassment and the effects of his heat. “He said he’s married to his husband and they love each other. That makes him like his heats.”

Steve nods. “Yeah, Phil. He’s a sweet guy. He’s actually one of the hospital administrators. We all go out for drinks together sometimes.” He’s trying to normalize everything, trying to make Bucky see that being omega and having heats is just another part of life that people go through, either on their own or through someone they know. “I have to say, I’ve always been a little bit jealous of the week of heat leave you guys get every month. It seems pretty awesome.”

Bucky looks at him like the words ‘heat’ and ‘awesome’ being used together don’t compute. His face flushes darker, and this time it’s almost certainly from embarrassment. “It’s gross,” he mumbles, looking away from Steve with a little scowl. He pulls his hand away from Steve’s on the bed and tucks his legs up under the blanket, hugging his arms around them. “Being like that, needing sex and having no control over yourself,” he says, spitting the words out like they’re bad, contemptable things. “Like an animal. S’pathetic.”

Steve sighs. Bucky’s got a long road of therapy ahead of him, that much is obvious. “It’s okay for you to think that, Honey, but you gotta know I’m gonna keep telling you how wrong you are.” Bucky looks back up at him at his assertive tone, and Steve nods. “I’m alpha, so I think omegas are lovely. And I’ve always thought it’s amazing what your bodies can do. It’s primal, sure. It’s powerful. Beautiful.”

Bucky pfts air between his teeth, disagreeing.

Steve lets his hand cover one of Bucky’s where he’s gripping his knees. “Especially to somebody like me. Seeing an omega in heat is a beautiful, natural thing. And every time I get to be with someone, when they let me help them feel good, it’s just the best thing.” There’s reverence in his voice instead of lust, and he can see the emotions passing over Bucky’s face as he takes that in. The disbelief starts to morph into a sort of cautious acceptance. Or at least that’s what Steve hopes it is. “I’m sorry you had people telling you otherwise for so long,” he says. He dares to curl his fingers over Bucky’s hand, and something loosens in his chest as the omega lets him. “Now you’re in the real world, though. Now you get to see how much everybody thinks you’re normal. Just another part of life. A great part of it, in fact.” He gives Bucky’s hand a squeeze. “So, will you let me spend your heat with you, Omega?”

Bucky’s irises flare and his lips part. Steve would be willing to bet the kid has never been called ‘omega’ with anything other than vitriol. And now Steve has said it like a title of honor. Bucky swallows thickly. “... Okay,” he says, voice barely there. Afraid maybe, but trusting. He’s trusting Steve, and that makes something golden and warm flare deep in Steve’s chest. “If it’s you,” Bucky adds meekly. “Only you.”

Steve smiles sadly. He’s not sure if Bucky fully remembers everything that’d happened in his hospital room earlier. “Yeah, Honey,” he reassures him. “I’m gonna stay with you the whole time. Just you and me.” He squeezes their fingers together. “It’s gonna be nice. I promise.”

Bucky blushes and squirms and won’t meet his eyes again, but he’s clearly pleased. He turns to look back over at the large, low bed. “Can I …” he starts, hesitant. “Can I go over there?”

“Of course, Sweetheart. It’s yours.” Steve pats the back of his hand comfortingly and then pulls away, getting up to go over and root around the fridge and make himself seem unobtrusive. “Why don’t you nest around a little bit? Make the blankets how you like.”

Behind him, Bucky is silent. Then Steve hears him get off the hospital bed, followed by the soft rustle of him climbing onto the suite’s bed. “... I don’t know how to nest,” comes quietly from behind.

Oh god. Steve lets his eyes slip shut for the barest second, at that heartbreakingly vulnerable admission. Once again, he’s struck by the intense urge to squeeze Bucky up in his arms, tight and secure and possessive forever. Focus, Rogers. He inhales deeply and fixes his face back to a cheerful neutral. He turns. Bucky is sitting in the very middle of the bed, legs folded under himself, looking like a lost little duckling in a sea of blankets. “Sure you do,” Steve says encouragingly. “It’s whatever makes you feel good. Whatever feels right.” He gestures to the various blankets and pillows. “Just start moving ‘em around. You’ll find what works.” He watches hopefully as Bucky bites his lip and considers his advice. He tentatively reaches for one of the pillows and switches it with another, fluffing it. Steve’s chest warms. “That’s it,” he encourages. “See? You know what to do.”

Bucky’s cheeks get more flushed and he tucks his lips in at the praise. There’s more confidence to him as he starts to pick up different pillows and move them, stuffing the edges of blankets around in various places.

“Rogers,”

Steve whips around towards the door at the sound of the intercom. He glances back at Bucky, who has tensed up at the interruption. “Keep working on it,” he urges kindly. “I have to step out for a second and talk with your new attending. I’ll be right back to see what you’ve done.” Bucky whines low in his throat, displeased at hearing that his heat partner is leaving him. But he obeys and goes back to arranging the blankets, and Steve is so proud of him. “Good boy,” he praises, then goes to step out into the hallway.

“Doctor,” he says respectfully once he’s out in the hallway with Banner. “Thanks for coming in. I’m sorry about this.”

Bruce smiles benevolently, if somewhat sleepily. “Happy to help. I gave his chart a look and read through your notes. It sounds like you made the right call to switch to his support.”

Steve shifts uncomfortably. “Yeah.” He knows that Banner could very well scold him over his mistakes, but instead he’s just letting it be. It’s a relief. “He just woke up from the sedatives a few minutes ago. I’m talking him through some nesting now, getting him settled in.”

Banner nods and brings his clipboard up to look at it as they talk. He scans Bucky’s chart, flipping between the pages. “Acute symptoms started about forty minutes ago?”

“Yeah.”

“What symptoms did you observe?”

Steve feels his neck get hot, and he brings a hand up to rub at it. “Um, well he slicked all over my pants.”

Bruce’s gaze falls assessingly to the large wet patch on Steve’s right thigh. He nods and writes on the clipboard. “Anything else?”

“Aggression, impulsive sexual touching, scenting, verbal regression, posturing,”

“The whole nine yards,” Bruce murmurs, nodding and finishing up with his writing. He looks back up at Steve. “Nothing to cause concern though?”

Steve shakes his head. “No. He rated his pain for me earlier. Just seems to be experiencing a typical level of cramping.”

“That’s good. Given the state of his infection days ago, I’dve been worried of something more severe.”

“That’s really cleared up,” Steve says. “A lot of the inflammation we saw there was actually his body rejecting the hormonal implants. Once we removed his suppressant and IUD, things really calmed down.”

Bruce nods, still flipping through the pages. “Okay. Still make sure to palpate his stomach. And conduct an internal before things get too wild in there.”

Steve fights back a wince. “Doc, he’s a very recent rape victim. I don’t think he’ll tolerate the speculum.”

“Then don’t use one,” Bruce says plainly. “If he can’t accept your fingers and you need a script written for benzos, we can do that.”

Steve tenses at the reminder that he’s no longer Bucky’s attending. He’s not the one who gets to make the decisions for Bucky’s care anymore. “Okay,” he agrees, anxious to get back into the suite and back to Bucky. “Not yet. But I’ll let you know.”

Bruce agrees and they part ways, and when Steve has locked himself back into the room, he turns and is met with the sight of Bucky working away at what’s quickly becoming a textbook nest. Steve beams. “Hey! look at you.”

Bucky spares him a glance, but then he huffs and he’s back to working away at getting the blankets just how he needs them. He’s like a cat: focused, satisfied and then frustrated and then satisfied again as he tries to get everything just right. It’s adorable. “They smell like you,” he mumbles, not looking up from where he’s working away. He means the blankets.

“Oh. Yeah. Yeah I scented them. Is that okay?” Steve waits for Bucky’s approval. When he gets a quick, silent nod, he’s satisfied. “This looks real good, omega” he approves, watching Bucky nitpick the final little details of the nest. Steve doesn’t miss how the mounting pillow hasn’t been moved from its spot at the far end of the bed. He bites his lip, thrilled that Bucky hasn’t rejected it. He could’ve tossed it from the nest entirely, but instead he’s kept it. Steve’s under no illusions that the kid doesn’t recognize the item for exactly what it is. When Bucky stops nesting and starts squirming, Steve holds his breath and asks, “Omega?” He waits for Bucky to look him in the eyes. “Can I come into your den with you?”

Bucky’s eyes go a little fuzzy at the request, dazed and pleased at being pursued by an alpha when he’s ripe like this. “Alpha,” he says plaintively, in lieu of an answer.

Steve hums and steps forward. “So good,” he praises. “Bucky, can I take my clothes off?”

“I …” Bucky’s eyes flick over him nervously. They land on the wet patch on his scrub pants and hold there. “Oh,” he breathes, face going slack.

“Yeah,” Steve touches the spot where Bucky had slicked all over him. “You remember that?” he asks. “Rubbing your bottom on me?” Bucky emits a high keening sound, distressed, but Steve shushes him and tuts. “No, baby. It was so amazing. You made me really happy when you did that.”

Bucky’s eyes flick up nervously. He looks like he can’t believe it. “I did?” he asks.

“Of course. It’s what your body’s supposed to do. It means you're healthy and aroused. That’s completely normal.” Bucky frowns a little, clearly still having intrusive thoughts about his nature. He whines and shakes his head, displeased, and Steve hurries to take a step closer to the low mattress. “Hey. Look at me, Honey. Please?”

Bucky squirms in place, rocking his hips in little unconscious movements. He looks up at him, and there’s awareness in his eyes. Awareness and fear. Steve can see how Bucky is perfectly aware of how differently he’s acting now, because of his heat. And it’s scaring him. “Steve,” he says, voice trembling. “Please. … I don’t think I can do this.”

“I’m right here, Buck. It’s okay. This is safe, remember?”

His lips tremble and a single tear falls down his cheek. “What’re you gonna do?”

Steve tries to give him the most reassuring look he knows how. “I’m gonna undress,” he says gently. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to have sex with you. We’re just gonna have some skin contact to start. Is that okay?” He waits for Bucky’s unsure nod before he pulls his scrub top over his head and tosses it aside. He’s wearing a white tee shirt underneath and he quickly removes that as well. Then Bucky’s inhale sounds, sharp and audible, his lips parting as he sees Steve’s body bared to him for the first time. Steve hums, pleased at the reaction, and pushes his chest out. He lets Bucky look his fill. The way the omega is sitting there, breathing open-mouthed and rocking faintly in place as his need builds, makes Steve’s balls feel heavy and full. He toes off his clogs and socks, then hooks his thumbs in the elastic waistband of his scrub pants. “You can undress too, if it’s what feels good,” he tells him. “I only want you to do what feels good for you.” Bucky just sits there and stares as Steve's scrub pants fall and his cock is revealed, half hard and obvious underneath his briefs. He rubs himself once from over the fabric, watching how Bucky's eyes track the movement. "Gonna take these off," he warns, not wanting anything he does to feel like a surprise to the omega. When he straightens back up from taking off his briefs, his cock hangs thickly between his legs.

And Bucky's eyes are riveted. “Oh,” he breathes quietly, all modesty and shame momentarily forgotten as he stares at Steve’s alpha body. “Steve,” he whispers.

Steve smiles, feeling incredibly tender towards the young omega. Bucky won’t be the first virgin he’s ever supported, but he might be the most vulnerable. Steve puts one knee up on the mattress, carefully cataloging Bucky’s reactions with every move he makes. He lowers his hands down into the mess of blankets, brings his other knee up, crawls forward slowly. “I’m coming into your nest with you, omega,” he says softly. “Your den. Where you decide what happens, right?”

“... right,” Bucky breathes, distracted.

Steve’s lips curl. “Can you undress for me now?” Bucky makes a small, hurt sound in his throat, but he listens and pulls off his hospital gown. Steve’s dick jumps against his thigh as he finally gets to see the boy’s naked body. “Oh, Sweetheart.”

Steve saw him that night in the ER, of course, but he’d been bloodied and bruised, wracked with seizures and burning up from infection. Steve hadn’t been able to look at him as anything other than an emergency that night. Bucky had been a body, broken and hurt and needing to be repaired, and Steve had done his job. Now, it’s amazing how much of a difference there is. Bucky is clean and healed and Steve can really look at him.

He has a natural tan to his skin. He's toned, with long, lithe limbs and muscles that are still partially hidden by a layer of baby fat. His chest and arms are strong, especially for an omega, but his hips round out nicely like they should, and his thighs are thick and welcoming. His belly is slightly distended, swollen from his heat. Everything about him makes Steve’s mouth water and his pulse thrum hard in his veins, pleased.

Bucky’s body is that of a fully-matured omega male, already having prepared itself for pregnancy and childbirth despite the years he was forced to take suppressants. Steve breathes a sigh of relief to see it. “Bucky,” he says honestly, wanting him to hear the arousal in his voice this time. “You’re so beautiful. Look at you.” He reaches out as if he’ll touch, but he doesn’t. “You’re perfect.”

Bucky flushes deeply at the praise and at being so closely scrutinized. There’s still a tension in him that’s unnatural, a wariness that serves to remind Steve that the omega was violated barely more than a week ago. Steve knees up closer to him and mirrors his position, sitting back on his heels, maintaining that small distance that reminds Bucky that this is his choice. He reaches out and puts a hand on Bucky’s hip, sliding it up his side.

Bucky flinches, and then he keens in distress when he sees the hurt that flashes on Steve’s face. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking ashamed. “Alpha,”

“Hey, no.” Steve tuts and curls his fingers in at the soft give of Bucky’s waist. “No, baby. Don’t apologize for this. You got hurt, and it’s scary. You don’t have to hide any of that from me. I want to know how you’re really feeling.” He reaches with his other hand and cups Bucky’s neck. He feels around and pushes in when he finds the glands there, hot and tight and swollen beneath the skin. The scent of fresh slick hits the air when he pinches down on it, and Bucky whines loudly. “Shhh sh sh,” Steve hushes. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Bucky whimpers and trembles, but calms down quickly with Steve’s hand massaging at his glands so pointedly. His eyes slip shut for the briefest of seconds, showing his trust in Steve, and something very close to a moan leaves his lips. It’s quiet, barely there, but Steve hears it. “Steve,” he murmurs, eyes still closed. “Oh …”

“What do you want to do, Honey?” Steve asks. “You want to get on your back? Why don’t you do that and feel those soft blankets against your body, huh?” He encourages Bucky to lie back and is incredibly relieved when the omega goes without a fuss. “Good boy,” he coos. “That’s just right. Yeah, isn’t that nice? Did such a good job on making this nest, Omega,” he praises. He sits back and crosses his legs and gives Bucky a moment to settle in. “There you go. Mmhm. Bet that feels real good on your skin, doesn’t it? Don’t worry now. I’m not going to touch you for a little bit. Just want you to get comfy in your nest. You gonna do that for me, Sweetheart?”

Bucky nods, scent calming more and more as he realizes that Steve isn’t lying, that he’s really not going to fall on top of him and force anything on him. His eyes open and flick over Steve’s face uncertainly. “What do I have to do?” he asks, emotionally vulnerable now but still with a degree of lucidity in his voice. It lets Steve know that he’s still dealing with his patient: a trauma victim. Bucky isn’t lost to his heat just yet.

Steve starts up a low, comforting rumble in his chest and keeps his hands on the tops of his own thighs. “Nothing you don’t want to,” he reassures him. “We’re here for you, Bucky. To make you feel good, and safe, and pleasured. I’m not going to do anything to you if it doesn’t make you feel all of those things, okay?”

Bucky almost looks like he’s going to cry at hearing Steve’s kind promises. He looks like a child who’s afraid to trust, who’s had promises that they’ve believed in yanked away before, many times. “Are you sure?” he asks, fearful.

Steve smiles sadly and grips his own thighs to keep himself from reaching out. “So sure,” he says. “Let’s just sit here together for a minute, okay?” He looks up at the ceiling and speaks to the StarkPhone assistant, “Hey Jarvis: play ‘sexual healing’ playlist.”

“Playing ‘sexual healing’ playlist.”

Steve looks back down to Bucky just in time to catch him wincing at the stupid name of the playlist. They share a chuckle over it, and then the music that Steve uses for people like Bucky starts to fill the room. There’s not actually any Marvin Gaye on it. Far from that, the instrumental music is somewhere between ethereal and sensual. It’s enticing, soothing, and Steve has always found it to be a good fit for patients who need help relaxing into their heats. “How’s that?” he asks Bucky, smiling down at him.

“Nice,” he says, inhaling slowly and letting his eyes slip closed as he relaxes, and exhales.

Something deep in Steve’s chest unspools at that huge sign of trust. This is good. This is going really well. “Okay,” he murmurs. More quietly than last time, he says, “Jarvis: dim lights to thirty percent, soft orange glow. Adjust room temperature to patient’s basal body temp, minus twenty degrees.”

This time Jarvis follows the commands without replying. The room becomes warm and glowing and comforting, like the inside of a womb. Steve sits still and allows Bucky to take time to relax fully. The omega’s scent is improving, softening and ripening into a healthy tone. Steve’s body responds to it, but he ignores his own reactions and watches Bucky intently. In the low light, his body gleams beautifully. The faint sheen of perspiration that coats his skin makes him look delectable. Steve wants to taste him so badly.

“I’m gonna get something,” he says quietly, not wanting to disturb Bucky from how he’s relaxing. “Not going anywhere, just a second.” Bucky makes a vague noise of assent, eyes staying closed. It makes Steve smile fondly.

He goes to the supply cabinet and gets a bottle of unscented oil. There’s a pin valve on the bottom of the container that he locks onto one of the pheromone vials. He squeezes in some of his pheromones then pops the vial back off, giving the oil bottle a good shake to properly emulsify everything. Having Steve’s alpha scent rubbed all over his skin will help relax Bucky, and it’ll help calm some of his body’s inflammatory heat reactions down.

Steve climbs back into the nest and sits next to Bucky’s prone body. He lets his eyes rake over the rise and fall of his chest and the smooth planes of his belly. He stares at what’s visible lower down; a small thatch of dark pubic hair just above his penis, everything else naturally bare and smooth. Steve can’t see his actual sex from here, but he can see the shine of slick that’s leaked out of it, smeared onto his inner thighs and gleaming in the room’s low light. It’s enticing to say the least.

Steve knows he’s not supposed to judge his patients’ bodies, but there’s no denying that Bucky is ideally attractive, right down to what’s between his legs. His little cocklet is short and soft. It’s fattened up thick but not erect. That’s to be expected. It’s rare that Steve sees a male omega who is able to get fully hard. Their bodies don’t produce the right hormones for it, especially during their heats. Bucky’s uncircumcised, the head of his little dick fat and flush beneath the foreskin. Steve knew all of this already, but somehow it all still feels novel. He’s looking at him differently now. Not as a doctor but as his alpha support, as someone who’s going to make love to his body, if Bucky wants it.

When he looks back up to his face, Bucky’s eyes are open and he’s watching him with an inscrutable expression. “Are you okay?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods silently. “I …” his eyes flash down to his dick and then away. “Um…” He squirms and presses his thighs together, ashamed. “It’s not, um, I’m not …”

“No,” Steve says firmly. “Bucky, no. You’re so perfect, Honey. You literally look like the classical sculptures of male omegas.” Bucky seems to be slightly reassured by this, which Steve knows is a minor miracle. He can imagine the sorts of things Bucky’s been insulted with over the years, all the ways his so-called family has told him his omega body is wrong. “Can I touch you a little, Sweetheart? Are you gonna let me touch this gorgeous body?”

Bucky shivers, eyes wide. He seems stunned that Steve likes the way he looks. “Okay,” he whispers.

“Good boy,” Steve praises. He squeezes out some of the oil and rubs it between his hands. It’s a dry massage oil, designed for omegas who’re in heat, their skin overly sensitive to stimulation. Steve reaches out slowly, telegraphing his intentions. He lets his hand sink down to rest on the top of Bucky’s thigh. He feels the omega shiver from the touch. He squeezes, digging slow and deep into the muscle, then releases the pressure and rubs firmly up and down, over and over. “Is this okay?” he asks. “Me massaging you?” It’s one of the most common techniques he uses for trauma victims, and Bucky seems to be responding to it favorably, if the lazy, pleasured look on his face is anything to go by. “Mm? Good?”

Bucky nods, staring at him through heavy lidded eyes. “Yeah,” he croaks. “It’s nice.” Between his legs, his little cocklet is just barely peeking out, a thin bead of moisture pearling at the slit . Steve notices with a slight smile, but of course he says nothing.

He brings up his other hand to deepen the massage. “That’s good,” he praises. “That’s what we want.” He keeps up the massage, doing one thigh and then the other, then moving down to his shins. Bucky makes a painfully erotic sound once Steve has pulled his foot into his lap and is digging fingers into his arch. Steve hums, continuing on.

Eventually Bucky seems calm enough that Steve sets his feet aside and encourages him to spread his legs so that Steve can move to sit between them. Bucky seems to know what’s coming, keeping his eyes pointedly closed as Steve eases his hands back up his legs, over his knees, and then up to the tension in his inner thighs. “Shh,��� Steve soothes, rubbing back and forth. “Relax, honey. I’m just gonna examine you. Eyes and hands only, I promise. Take deep breaths.”

Bucky tries to listen, it’s obvious. But his breath still hitches when Steve brings both hands to his lower stomach and begins palpating the area. He peeks down at Steve, “What’re you doing?”

“Just checking,” Steve murmurs, focused on what he’s feeling underneath his fingers. “It’s normal for your uterus to swell during heat, but I don’t want to feel any hard spots.” He hears Bucky grunt in embarrassment, probably at being reminded of his own anatomy. “Shh, you’re okay. Everything seems fine.”

“... Steve?” Steve looks up and sees Bucky’s pinched expression. “Um, remember when you said I might not be able to have children?”

His heart squeezes at the obvious vulnerability in Bucky’s voice, how brave he’s being by asking. “We were worried about that, before,” Steve admits. “But your body’s been responding well to the treatment.” He notches his thumbs in at Bucky’s hipbones and strokes him softly there. “We still have to get your cycles regulated, but I don’t see any reason why you shouldn’t be able to carry a pregnancy just fine one day.”

Bucky’s cheeks flush and he looks a little overwhelmed at the words. “... one day,” he repeats meekly, and Steve smiles gently at him.

“Yeah Honey, one day. Not today. Not until you’re ready.” This seems to ease Bucky's fears, and his scent sweetens into something even richer than before. He smells like he feels safe, and that makes Steve preen in satisfaction. He’s making his omega feel safe. He rumbles low in his chest and watches how Bucky reacts to the sound. He slides his hands down to Bucky’s knees and encourages him to bed his legs up. “Can I see the rest of you?” he asks.

Bucky trembles and tenses, but he nods, shifting the tilt of his hips as he draws his knees up for him.

“Good boy,” Steve praises, knowing how hard it must be for Bucky to reveal this part of himself to anyone, let alone Steve. “That’s so good, Bucky. Thank you.” He strokes Bucky’s calves, soothing him. “Close your eyes if you need to. I want you relaxed for this.”

Bucky whimpers but he does let his eyes slip closed. He’s trying. He’s being so brave and strong and it melts Steve’s heart. Steve takes a moment to get some more of the massage oil on his hands. He leans over Bucky and smears the oil on either side of his neck, right over the glands, giving him his scent. He puts some just below his nostrils as well and Bucky moans softly. Steve sits back. He looks down.

Bucky is pink and healthy looking, swollen from the heat and soaked with a healthy amount of slick. Steve pushes gently on his shins to get him to bend his legs more. This tilts his pelvis up and exposes him to Steve’s view.

Bucky looks like any young male omega should. He lacks a clitoris because his body developed that part of his anatomy into a penis when he was in utero. His sex is fairly similar to a female's, with pronounced outer lips where he would’ve formed his testicles, if he hadn’t developed ovaries instead. Steve’s breath catches a little when he sees the boy's muscles clench, a thick gush of slick seeping out of his cunt. Jesus wept. Bucky whimpers and squirms, but Steve hushes him, telling him that he’s good, he’s fine, his body’s doing what it’s supposed to. “I’m going to touch you, okay?” he says softly, giving Bucky the chance to refuse. “I’m going to put my fingers inside to feel you.”

While it’s clear that this is very upsetting and hard for Bucky, he still seeks comfort in Steve, trying to be good for him. “Alpha,” he breathes, eyes clenched shut and face screwed up. He reaches down, searching for Steve’s hand.

Steve gives him his left one and squeezes their fingers together. “Right here, Honey. It’s just you and me, in private, taking care of each other. Nothing bad, right?”

Bucky nods tightly. “Y-yeah. Right.”

Steve smiles up at him, pained but so, so proud of how well he’s doing. “C’mere,” he coaxes, scooting up in the sheets and pulling on Bucky until he has the boy’s hips up in his lap. “There you go. That’s so good, Omega. You know just what to do. So smart.” Bucky responds to the nonsensical praise, his whines losing some of their stress and instead becoming more seeking, questioning things. Steve makes it his mission to soothe those sounds with his own. “I’m going to touch you now, Buck. Two fingers. It shouldn’t hurt, but if it feels uncomfortable at all, you tell me right away and I’ll stop.” He waits for Bucky’s nod before continuing, then traces the edges of his folds, gathering slick on his fingertips. Everything externally looks good, and the little Steve can see of his delicate entrance looks normal, if a bit heat swollen. The remains of his recently-torn hymen are still there, healed but jagged edges of soft tissue that evil, vile rapists created. Steve grits his teeth and forces his thoughts away from that, not wanting to think about what they took from Bucky, not wanting Bucky to become upset from an unpleasant shift in his scent.

Any physical trauma to the vaginal tissues will have healed in an omega his age by now, Steve knows, but that’s just the physical. Physical wounds always heal the fastest, and hurt the least. There are other, deeper hurts that Steve needs to help him with.

“Okay,” he whispers, setting his fingers to Bucky’s entrance. “A little pressure, no pain. Remember what you do if there’s pain?”

Bucky’s face pinches where he’s lying with his eyes firmly closed. “Tell you,” he murmurs, and Steve praises him with a deep rumble of approval.

“That’s right. Good boy. Okay now, deep breath.” He waits for Bucky’s chest to rise in an inhale before he applies pressure, and slips into his body.

Bucky’s lips part and he gasps, but it’s just reflex. He lets his breath out and sighs, making a little sound in his throat like he’s surprised that it actually didn’t hurt. “Oh,” he says.

Steve hums, pleased. “Nothing bad,” he repeats. He crooks his fingers, feeling with purpose along the omega’s walls. It’s tight inside, incredibly hot and tight like a virgin omega’s cunt should be. Steve keeps his arousal to himself as best he can, though he knows his scent will give some of it away. At least Bucky is keeping his eyes closed to relax, so Steve doesn’t have to worry about the boy seeing the undoubtedly devastated expressions of arousal that flash across his own face.

He’s alpha, and even though he’s undergone extensive training, there’s no helping certain things. Steve’s cock is hard and it’s not going down any time soon. He swallows thickly, focusing on the exam he needs to be conducting. Carefully, watching Bucky’s body and face for any flinches, he strokes and feels along his internal walls. Nothing abnormal stands out to him, though when he uses a different technique to feel closer to the entrance, he does notice the enlarged slick glands that he’d known were there.

They’re much better than they’d been on that night in the ER, at least. No longer raging with infection, able to be touched without causing extreme pain. Steve feels and identifies the structures, impacted from years and years of illegal suppressant use. Carefully, he eases into using more pressure, rubbing firmly.

Bucky groans and presses his hips down. “Oh god,” he complains, brow scrunching a little. “What is that?”

“Pain?” Steve asks, but Bucky shakes his head.

“Sore. Oh. Like a bruise.”

Steve hums knowingly. “You have four glands here, two on either side. They’re how your body gets wet, but right now they’re probably impacted.” Bucky makes a hurt little sound in his throat and asks what that means. Steve explains it to him. “There was a lot of old infection in them and that all needs depressed now that your body’s producing slick again. I’m gonna massage them to try and get the bad stuff out, okay?”

Bucky’s chewing his lip, making it red and swollen and very tempting for Steve to just crawl back up his body and kiss the abused flesh. “... okay.”

Steve decides to do the anterior two first, as they feel harder. “Here we go,” he murmurs. “If it hurts more than slightly pressing on a bruise, tell me. Don’t ignore pain. I’ll stop if we need to.”

Bucky nods tightly, expression strained. But he whispers, “I trust you, Alpha,” and Steve’s heart swells two sizes bigger in his chest.

A few minutes of firm, focused touching on the glands is all it takes to have them releasing. Liquid gushes over the back of Steve’s hand as the pressure gives and Bucky moans in relief. The smell of old, stale infection hits the air, sour for a moment before it dissipates. Steve uses his free hand to rub soothingly over Bucky’s lower belly. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Against the sheets, Bucky nods his head blearily. Steve turns his hand and finds the posterior glands, and works those until they release as well. The amount of slick is incredible, and Steve knows that it must feel so much better for the omega now that all that poison is out of him. There’s immediately more room inside his channel, the glands back to being soft and spongy like they should be. Steve gives them a few more gentle strokes to be sure that all that backed up slick is out. “Good,” he rumbles low in his chest, proud of how well Bucky handled that. “That’s just lovely, Honey. Good job.”

Bucky peeks his eyes open, looking down to where Steve still has his fingers buried inside his body. His entire face is flushed and he’s breathing open-mouthed. “S-steve,” he slurs, searching Steve’s eyes out with his own. He’s a little wild, a little needy, and Steve responds, removing his fingers from the drenched clutch of his cunt and coming up to lay over his body instead. He puts his face close, giving Bucky eye contact and reassurance and an open invitation to scent him. “I’m here, Buck. I’m right here with you. What do you need?”

Bucky grunts with discomfort and hides himself against Steve’s neck, which of course Steve allows, turning his head to the side to give him better access to his glands. He cups Bucky’s head with his clean hand, encouraging him with deep, soothing sounds. “That’s good, that’s just right, Honey. Do what feels good. Whatever you need.”

Bucky keens, embarrassed but clearly loving the reassurance Steve’s giving him. He latches onto Steve, mouth on his glands and legs around his waist. He humps up against him and sucks needily on his glands. “Mmph, mm…”

Steve can’t help the guttural moan that escapes him at such contact. It feels so good. “Okay, Sweetheart, okay,” he pants, eyes squeezed shut as his dick throbs and blurts out precum against Bucky’s stomach. “Yeah, okay.” He loses control for a few seconds as his hips press down on Bucky’s soft body, but he reigns it in after a few thrusts.

Bucky complains with a noise, humping up for more as he mouths over Steve's neck. His teeth scrape and then catch, and then he bites down on Steve’s glands. Hard.

Steve grunts loudly at the flare of pain. The skin breaks and his scent wafts into the air, strong and different from before as Bucky’s saliva gets mixed into the wound. He hears Bucky’s muffled sound of enjoyment as his mouth fills with the taste, eagerly suckling for more. “... oh, fuck,” Steve moans. He digs his fingers in against Bucky’s shoulders and pants, trying to hold on, to stay calm.

He knew this might happen. Patients with needs as complex as Bucky’s are prone to biting. They naturally seek out the connection and pleasure of a bond, instincts overriding their minds as they seek the comfort they so desperately need. Bucky chirps happily at the burst of pheromones that he’s gotten, rubbing his face back and forth in the blood. “Alpha, Alpha,” he breathes, clinging onto him and humping up, getting his slick all over Steve.

Steve practices his breathing to try and stay calm. He pets Bucky’s shoulders and his hair, taking deep, grounding breaths. He’s careful not to pull away, not to deny Bucky access to any part of him. The pain from the bite is gone and the euphoria is setting in, making his skin tingle, his balls throb. He can feel his knot becoming erect. Bucky is rubbing his cunt along the length of his cock, and even with his training and his certifications and his long-practiced self control, even Steve has limits.

“Hang on, Honey. Hang on now,” he says, voice low with forced calm. He shifts on his arms over Bucky so that he can get a hand at the back of the omega’s neck. He squeezes. Bucky instantly goes limp, mouth releasing from Steve’s skin with a moan as he goes slack against the blankets. Steve pants for a moment, just calming himself down. “Okay,” he says, eyes closed. “Okay baby. Just ... just gimme a minute ..."

He's been bonded to seven people in his life. It never gets easier.

The euphoria is wonderful, all-consuming, an intense physical pleasure that’s different from pure sex and is very emotional—like doing narcotics and molly at the same time. It makes it very hard not to lose his control and simply fuck into the nearest available orifice. Which right now is Bucky’s soaking wet cunt. Grunting, he forces himself to pull back. He rolls off of Bucky and gets off the bed.

Bucky’s keening protest is near-instantaneous. “Alpha!”

Steve rumbles loudly to calm him down. “Stop. Omega. Be still.” Bucky whimpers but listens, and Steve sits down on the edge of the bed. He reaches out and grabs Bucky’s hand, giving him a comforting squeeze. “Talk to me,” he coaxes, waiting for Bucky to calm down enough to communicate. “How you doing, Sweetheart?”

Bucky looks pleadingly up at him, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes. “S-steve, I’m—I need…”

Steve’s heart clenches in sympathy. It’s not easy for an assault victim to say that they need to be fucked, especially when they have as much shame and dysphoria surrounding their gender as Bucky does. “Hey,” he says lowly, leaning over and sliding his hand up Bucky’s chest. “It’s okay to ask for what you need. What do you need, Baby? Tell me.” Bucky trembles and shakes his head, upset, so Steve cups the front of his throat and presses slightly, just enough to be dominating. “Tell me now, Omega,” he says, using his Voice to make it easier for him. “Tell Alpha what you need to feel right.”

Bucky moans and thrusts his hips up uselessly. He looks to Steve, relief in his eyes. “Alpha,” he croaks. “You, please. Want you.”

“Want me how?” Steve presses, not in his Voice but still domineering. He lets his fingers dig into Bucky’s glands, sees Bucky’s blood-stained lips part in a sigh of pleasure. “You have choices,” Steve says. He’s regained some of his control now, is more clear headed as he tells him, “We don’t have to have sex if it’s not what you want. You can use my hands, or my mouth. There are toys. I can have the hospital staff bring—”

“No!” Bucky whines loudly and squirms against the hold on his neck. Both of his hands fly up and grasp at Steve’s wrist. “No, no, Alpha, please. I need… I–I n-need it.”

Steve frowns, debating whether he should push and make him say it. After a moment of watching Bucky struggle and plead uselessly, he decides that no, he’s not going to force him to voice what it is he wants so badly. They both know what it is, and the last thing Steve wants is for Bucky to feel any sort of shame right now.

Only pleasure. That’s what he’d promised.

So, taking a deep breath, Steve gives himself over to his role a little more. He’s got Bucky’s consent, or as much of it he’s able to, given the state he’s in, and now he needs to be what Bucky needs him to be. He needs to be his Alpha. “Stay still,” he orders firmly, giving a little jostle to Bucky’s neck where he’s holding him. “I’m gonna get something. Don’t move until I come back.”

Bucky whines in complaint the entire time that it takes Steve to pad over to the fridge and back, but when Steve returns, he still hasn’t moved. Steve rumbles approval in his chest for Bucky to hear. “Good boy,” he praises, sitting down on the bed and helping Bucky to prop himself up, too. “Here. Drink.” He guides the water bottle to Bucky’s lips, helping him even when the omega brings his own hands up to hold it. Steve doesn’t trust the poor thing not to spill it all over himself. Steve gulps down what Bucky doesn’t finish, tossing the bottle off to the side somewhere. His eyes stay on Bucky, trailing up and down his naked body. “You’re so beautiful, Buck,” he murmurs, reaching up to trace the side of his cheek, his temple.

It’s true. Bucky’s whole body is flushed and tense. He’s sweaty, trembling with his need for touch and stimulation. When Steve cups the front of his throat again, the omega’s eyes slip shut and stay shut. He purrs. Steve rumbles in response and uses the moment that Bucky has his eyes closed, relaxed, to stare selfishly at his body.

His little cock is thickened, a perfect, fat little nub that’s almost thicker than it is long, chubbed up and leaking little droplets. But that’s nothing compared to the mess that’s coming from his cunt. He’s soaking wet down there, a combination of shiny clear slick coating his thighs and the sheets, and thicker arousal creaming right at his entrance.

Steve growls as he’s slammed with the hot urge to stick his face down there, tongue deep inside his cunt and swallow everything the omega has to give. He looks away for a second to get himself under control. When he looks back, Bucky’s eyes are fixed on him. “Omega,” Steve grits, forced control darkening his tone. “I want to try something. Something to make you feel good. But I need you to tell me if you want it.” He watches Bucky carefully, watches his mouth and his eyes, feels the thrum of his pulse underneath his hand. He scents the air to gauge his reaction as he says, “I want to put my mouth on you. I want to eat you out. I want to make you cum that way.”

Every sign that Bucky could possibly give him that he wants it, he does. He jerks in Steve’s hold and keens, hands grappling all over Steve’s hand at his throat, up his wrist and his forearm. “Yes!” he gasps, crying a little bit in shame. Steve scents the smokey tint of it in his scent, polluting what should be nothing but pleasure and acceptance. Bucky is ashamed that he wants an alpha to touch him this way. “Sweetheart,” Steve coos, thumbing away one of the tears. But he leaves it at that. More tears follow. Steve knows he can’t expect miracles today. Bucky can cry about it if he needs. He can squirm and flush and cry while Steve pleasures him with his mouth, so long as he comes.

That’s what therapy’s for.

Steve pushes him back to lie flat on the bed. He bends over and kisses him, keeping it shallow and gentle even when Bucky gets a little bit desperate and tries to get more. Steve tuts and pushes him back into the blankets. “Be still, ‘mega,” he commands gently. “Alpha’s gonna make it better, you’ll see.” He pulls some of the soft things in from the edges of the nest, rucking them up close around Bucky’s head and shoulders, making a tight little barrier where he can feel held, safe and snug. “Okay,” he says, satisfied by how Bucky goes a little lax in the cradle of the blankets. “Yeah, there we go.”

“Alpha,” Bucky says softly, looking lost. He’s completely dependent at this point, so incredibly vulnerable that it makes Steve's cock ache.

“Sweet boy,” he murmurs. “It’s gonna be okay. Alpha’s gonna make you feel good now, okay?” He waits for Bucky to give him a slow little nod. He pecks one more kiss to his bitten-red lips, then starts trailing down his body, one kiss at a time. He’s sorely tempted to waste some time sucking at the omega’s chest. His little pink nipples are so perky and flushed, and Steve just knows he could get his breast buds to swell up so beautifully if he only paid them some attention.

But Bucky hasn’t consented to that, and Steve hasn’t asked, and he has to be very careful of treating Bucky’s body in only the ways he gives consent for and can tolerate. Bucky’s been through so much pain and he’s been forced into things no omega should ever be forced into. His experience now has to be positive. It has to.

Steve sinks down between his legs and stares at his wet cunt. He’s pulsing with arousal, his entrance contracting rhythmically, pushing out more of that cream. Steve releases a guttural moan at the intense smell of it. “Fuck,” he breathes. There’s no amount of training that could help him resist this.

He covers Bucky’s cunt with his mouth, lapping across his slit. The taste of his arousal is sharp and amazing, made even more so by the fresh effects of the bite to Steve’s bonding gland. He groans against his mound and holds him down roughly at the hips when Bucky jerks wildly.

He’s crying out, sobbing wordlessly and thrashing up against Steve’s mouth. “A—Alpha!” he gasps, sounding like he’s protesting as much as he is begging. “Oh, oh, oh!”

Steve tongues into his hole furiously, over and over again, fucking him with the muscle. He can feel Bucky fluttering around him, his body trying so hard to clamp down onto something. Steve hears the growing displeasure and desperation in the boy’s keening cries, so he reaches to push his little cocklet down flat and starts thumbing rapidly back and forth under the head.

Bucky screams and starts to come.

As soon as Steve realizes what’s happening, he moves his mouth up and takes his cock in his mouth, replacing his tongue with fingers in Bucky’s cunt. It throbs and pulses around them, milking him, drawing out the orgasm. Bucky’s hips grind up against Steve’s face and hands, and Steve can only work him through it, listening to his desperate sobs and wishing he could be kissing his face, too, whispering encouragements into his mouth as he falls apart so sweetly.

“That’s it,” he says when he’s finally let Bucky’s cocklet slip from his mouth. He’s speaking against the swell of his belly, still rocking fingers inside him as the boy twitches through the waning pleasure of his climax. “That’s it, Omega. Take it, take it. Just feel it.”

Bucky’s sobbing quietly and shaking from his core as Steve finishes guiding him through it. “S-steeve,” he keens, upset and needing reassurance. He pulls at Steve’s shoulders, urging him back up his body. Steve goes obediently, eager to calm him down now.

“Shh sh sh,” he soothes, kissing all over his face and then down to his neck. He sucks his glands on one side, pinches with his fingers on the other. “Good, you’re so good Omega. That was perfect. Alpha’s so proud of you.”

The scent of Bucky’s shame is stronger now than it was before, but it eases up the longer Steve goes on, reassuring him with touches and words and chest-deep rumbles that he’s done exactly what he’s supposed to, that he was good to take his pleasure that way and that his Alpha is so, so happy with him now.

“So good,” he kisses into his skin, scraping his teeth over the swollen glands but restraining himself from anything more. “So good for me, Bucky.” He comes up to lie over him and look down at his face. He’s beet red and tear stained, and he’s never looked more beautiful to Steve. Steve smiles softly as they both calm down, and he thumbs at his wet cheeks. “Did that feel so good, Sweetheart?”

Bucky’s lips tremble and he nods and cries a little bit more. “Yeah.”

Steve coos. He kisses him, calming him down. When Bucky’s scent is almost free from that shame and embarrassment, he pulls back and smiles down at him. “Do you have any idea how perfect you are like this?” he asks softly. “Any idea how much I want you right now?”

Beneath his body, Bucky shudders. He looks wonderingly up at Steve and whispers, “No.”

Steve hums, then lets the sound develop into a mature rumble deep in his chest. He gets off of Bucky, pulling back and getting up on his knees, sitting back on his heels. He watches Bucky, keenly aware of how the omega’s attention drops right to the proud jut of his cock between his thighs.

Taking a deep breath and trying his very best to wipe any trace of an opinion out of his voice, Steve asks, “What do you want now, Omega?”

Art: @hopelessartgeek

A.N. This ended in a stupid spot because it was getting too long. More to come!

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Tags: @scottishrosefury, @not-that-syndrigast, @lolitsbuckybarnes, @kathy-2005, @stuckysgal, @thenewmissescullen, @sapphirebarnes, @Yoruse, @autumnrose40, @alexakeyloveloki, @gretasimp, @kandismom, @ivoryangel1290, @mrs-rogers-barnes1, @iloveshawnieboi, @m0k0k0, @sousydive, @sapphirebarnes, @kandis-mom, @juicyfruit-22, @bloodrosefuryao3

[mxtxfanatic]

Book of the Week: Married Thrice to Salted Fish

Author: Bikabi (比卡比)

Genre: transmigration, ancient setting, danmei

Rating: M (for fade-to-black sexy times)

My Synopsis: Are you ready to cry your eyes out over a plot point you can guess from the literal title? Well grab your tissues and step right up to meet our main character: Lin Qingyu, a man who thinks the worst thing that can happen to him is being forced to marry a terminally ill young master who claims to be from another world and also to have the ability to be reborn into different people. Journey with him as he wades through court and courtyard politics, wielding his genius in medicine in order to protect himself from remaining a pawn of the royal family—and struggles with the practical knowledge that all the power and medical expertise in the world cannot stop death.

My Actual Review: Yes it’s literally in the title and official synopsis that the LI is gonna die a few times. Yes I cried every time, anyways; what of it? The story can be split into two interweaving plots: 1) Lin Qingyu fighting his way into becoming a physician against the interference of multiple royal family members and 2) the main couple falling in love as the LI works in between deaths to help Lin Qingyu achieve his dream instead of meeting his end as some book’s minor cannon fodder villain. This feels like a lot, but it works really well because Lin Qingyu, who the story focal point sticks with, still has things to do while the LI is… indisposed, so to speak. He’s not just waiting around for the LI to be reborn, and the story doesn’t stop or skip around to the LI’s return since the romance is not the only story focus. However, that doesn’t mean that the romance takes a backseat or is unimportant: each death brings the main characters closer as a couple, and each new life gives them new ways to work together as a well-oiled machine—which also makes the deaths hit especially hard despite readers knowing it’s coming.

On another note, this book has a lot of extras, to the point where they almost start to feel like too much of nothing? Especially since it just takes our cast and punts them into the modern world with no rhyme or reason (or sending them back), but they’re cute if you just mentally think of it as a modern au of the main story, for all intents and purposes.

Translation: complete

[beardedmrbean]

Is there like a cultural reason why male circumcision is so popular in the US? I'm from Brazil where it's just seen as the treatment for phimosis, and when I hear about babies getting it I think "oh so they're jewish". But apparently non-jews do that frequently in your country?

Gonna start out with this so that the people that already know can get a laugh first.

I promise you it's relevant too. found a couple infographics that will cover it in a much less drawn out way than I would

Admittedly he was not advocating for infant genital mutilation, not that that makes it any better especially since he specifically stated no anesthesia, but people figured why not when they're infants I'd guess.

There's a bit of a different take on it here.

First, it helps to know a bit of history. Although religious practitioners have been snipping foreskins for thousands of years, the medical practice dates from the late 19th century—a time when the causes of most diseases were poorly understood. Mystified by everything from epilepsy to madness, some physicians in both America and England began to suspect that the real trouble was phimosis, a condition when an overly tight foreskin hinders normal function. By removing the foreskin, surgeons believed they could heal all sorts of maladies, from hernias to lunacy.

Around the turn of the 20th century, American epidemiologists were also trying to explain why Jews lived longer than other groups of people. Jews tended to have lower rates of infectious diseases, such as syphilis and tuberculosis, in part because they had little sexual contact with non-Jews. But some scientists began to suspect their rude health was a product of circumcision.

At the time, surgical interventions of all kinds were becoming more popular, owing to better anesthesia and greater concern over cleanliness, which reduced hospital contagion. Doctors began recommending the operation as part of the neonatal routine. Not only did the procedure prevent phimosis, but it was also believed to make the penis more hygienic and less tempting for wayward masturbating boys (a notion that might have been quashed by something known as the scientific method). As David Gollaher explains in his book Circumcision: A History of the World’s Most Controversial Surgery, a circumcised penis swiftly became a mark of distinction, a sign of good breeding, sound hygiene and the best medicine money could buy.

In Britain, too, circumcision became a habit of the upper classes, including the royal family. Anyone who could afford to have a child delivered by a doctor rather than a midwife was keen to heed the latest scientific advice.

But this changed in the UK with the launch of the publicly funded National Health Service in 1948. Because British doctors could not agree that circumcision was necessary, the practice was not covered. At a time when most Brits were financially strapped, few cared to pay for something that suddenly seemed frivolous. Circumcision rates swiftly dropped.

In America, however, the postwar boom years created a glut of jobs, and employers often wooed workers with plush health benefits, which typically covered circumcision. A growing number of Americans could suddenly afford to give birth in hospitals, and routine infant circumcisions spiked.

This helped entrench an elective medical practice, creating generations of foreskinless fathers and doctors who were inclined to believe it was best for their sons, too. It is a trend that America’s unwieldy fee-for-service health-care handily reinforces, as doctors and hospitals have incentives for offering interventions deemed unnecessary most everywhere else.

___________

not sure how much I agree with the greed section, but this one also looks to reinforce that Kellogg has some responsibility for it as well.

There's similar weirdness when it comes to graham crackers too, trying to stop masturbation and all.

[0junemeatcleaver0]

ℑ𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔡𝔲𝔠𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

Muta Cupido; An examination of Roman sexual morality, what makes a man a vir, the practice of oratorical celibacy, and the appetites of both a mortal man and monster. 

Ages ago, I wrote a quick-n-dirty meta (which I will link to later in this post). At the time, I was quite proud of it. But after having done my last Marius deep dive, all of my previous metas now look lackluster to me. Consider this to be the updated version of the original meta. It is not necessary to have read the previous meta before this one, though those of you who have (and even those of you who haven’t) should be able to pick up what I’m putting down before I even link to the original. 

That being said, I would suggest that you do read this companion piece I wrote about what (in the mind of a Roman) made a man, a man. It’s a relatively short read, and will help add more context to the short discussion on the same topic later in this post. 

A quick note before anyone tries to jump up my ass (again): I view meta as serving the same purpose as fic, just via a different methodology. Where in fic you dream up scenarios to put the characters through to see how they might act in those situations, I feel meta is a way of taking what we know canonically about the character and attempting to recontextualize the facts with additional information. Just as there are nearly infinite equations one can use to reach a sum, so too are there different ways a single character might end up the person we read on the page. In short: This post is meant to be a thought experiment and you’d have to be some kind of fool to think its author is proclaiming herself some kind of authority on the subject.  

𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 ℌ𝔢𝔞𝔩𝔱𝔥 𝔦𝔫 𝔄𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔢

The time of Pliny the Elder and the four humors; a time when medical theories that seem ignorant to the modern mind were rife. And while I could spend quite a long time dunking on the science of yesteryear, I’ll keep things brief by only focusing on ideas surrounding sexual health–especially where it pertains to the sexual health of men. 

As pictured above, one very important aspect of health for a male was the regulation of semen. Semen was a very important bodily fluid, as it was thought to be made via a mix of (the humor) blood and pneuma (“vital air”) and was believed to be the fuel on which internal organs ran. 

Blood and semen, in fact, were so inextricably linked in the Roman mind that the two would be even poetically coupled throughout different texts in oft times violent ways. Aya Betensky says in Lucretius and Love: 

“Let us begin with Lucretius’ Venus in De Rerum Natura 4. He introduces her as a physiologically as possible, moving from a discussion of dreams to wet dreams and then to the mechanics of ejaculation, which he shows mockingly to be the body’s enactment of the romantic expression ‘wound of love’. Semen is equated with blood spurting out of a wound. (4. 1049-1056)”. 

Greek physician Galen warns in his treatise On Semen that exorbitant sexual activity would result in a loss of pneuma and thus, vitality:

“It is not at all surprising that those who are less moderate sexually turn out  to be weaker, since the whole body loses the purest part of both substances, and there is besides an accession of pleasure, which by itself is enough to dissolve the vital tone, so that before now some persons have died from excess of pleasure.” 

As detailed further in this post’s companion piece, the rules for manhood were highly prescriptive to the Romans. Every man of good moral standing concerned with their own virtus would have also been weary of losing too much semen–whether through promiscuity or nocturnal emissions. 

As Catharine Edwards states in The Politics of Immorality in Ancient Rome:

“Morality and manliness [were considered] the distinguishing features of Rome.”

And while Rome’s mos maiorum were such a public affair (indeed, these customs and social norms functioned almost as some sort of morality play each citizen was expected to participate in while in public), these expectations leaked into even the most private sectors of citizen’s lives–including the bedroom. 

Robert Sharp speaking about how censores regulated the public in Incontinentia, Licentia et Libedo: The Juxtaposition of Morality and Sexuality during the Roman Republic. 

Indeed, a lack of control over the self (which included being able to appropriately manage one’s sex life) indicated that a man was incapable of governing others–a highly detrimental accusation in the heyday of the Paterfamilias. As per Catharine Edwards in Unspeakable Professions: Public Performance and Prostitution in Ancient Rome:

“The enjoyment of ‘low sensual pleasure’ threatened to erode the elite male’s identity as a cultured person”. 

Still yet, there were some men for whom this fear of loss of masculine potency loomed larger than most. 

Because a loss of pneuma was thought to cause a whole host of physical ailments–but most importantly to this discussion slow mindedness, an ‘effeminate’ voice, and general weakness of character–the men perhaps most concerned with keeping hold of their pneuma were orators. 

One such orator was C. Licinius Calvus (born 82 BCE, died possibly in 47 BCE). In Natural History, Pliny the Elder name checks Calvus during a discussion of medical uses for lead. Because Calvus took to putting lead plates on his kidneys to combat having wet dreams. John Dugan says in Preventing Ciceronianis: C. Licinius Calvus’ Regimens for Sexual and Oratorical Self-Mastery: 

“Pliny, moreover, connects this therapy with Calvus’ literary activity, stipulating that the orator’s treatment was designed to ‘preserve the strength of his body for the labor of his studies’.”

The oratorial obsession with preventing wet dreams isn’t where the scholarly preoccupation with keeping one’s seminal fluid to one’s self ended, either. As per the Encyclopedia Britannica: 

“As classical civilization developed, two ideals of masculine celibacy appeared, that of the ascetic philosopher and that of the priest of the mystery religions. [...] Pythagoras (c. 580 BC - c. 500) established a small community that emphasized study, vegetarianism, and sexual restraint or abstinence. Many later philosophers believed that celibacy is conducive to the detachment and equilibrium required by the philosopher’s calling. The Stoic philosopher Epictetus (AD 55- C. 135) for example, held that the ideal teacher would be unmarried and that his task would require freedom from the cares of family life.” 

𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔫𝔦𝔰𝔪, 𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔦𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔪, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶 𝔦𝔫 𝔄𝔫𝔠𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱 ℜ𝔬𝔪𝔢

Now that we’ve gotten a taste of how physicians viewed sexual activity, we’ll move on to what the philosophers thought on the subject. 

There were two major schools of philosophy in Ancient Rome–Epicureanism and Stoicism. Epicureanism was a philosophy that taught that pleasure was the highest good and the thing through which you could attain tranquility and freedom from fear and physical pain. Stoicism was the philosophy that taught that life was best lived in harmony with reason, was based in knowledge, and showed a complete indifference to pain and pleasure. 

𝔈𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔲𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔫 𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶

Within Epicurean thought, pleasure was believed to be the highest good. According to the Internet Encyclopedia of Philosophy:

“Epicurus’ ethics is a form of egoistic hedonism; i,e., he says that the only thing that is intrinsically valuable is one’s own pleasure; anything that has value is valuable merely as a means to securing pleasure for oneself.”

To Epicurus, pleasure simply meant satisfying one’s desires. He believed there to be two types of desire, “moving” and “static”. Moving desire happens when one is actively fulfilling the desire, such as eating when you feel hungry. Static desire occurs after fulfillment, i.e. feeling comfortably full after eating. He goes on to state he believes that static pleasure is the best form of pleasure. From IEoP:

“If pleasure results from getting what you want (desire-satisfaction) and pain from not getting what you want (desire-frustration), then there are two strategies you can pursue with respect to any given desire: you can either strive to fulfill the desire, or you can try to eliminate the desire. For the most part, Epicurus advocates the second strategy, that of paring your desires down to a minimum core, which are then easily satisfied.”

Epicurus divided desire into three categories:

Natural and necessary (food, drink, shelter, and personal safety)

Natural and unnecessary (things which will give you pleasure but lacking these things will not make your life impossible and/or unbearable)

Unnatural and unnecessary (desire for social standing, political power, fame, and glory)

He places sex in this second category. 

Later thinkers in this school of thought–namely Lucretius–would take harsher stances on sexual desire. Male desire, specifically, being viewed as pathological, frustrating, and violent (at least according to Robert D. Brown in Lucretius on Love and Sex [1987])–which is perhaps why Lucretius preached an ambivalent view of sex. 

Lucretius treated the sex drive as muta cupido, comparing the physiological response of ejaculation to blood spurting from a wound (again, via Brown in Lucretius on Love and Sex [1987]). 

𝔖𝔱𝔬𝔦𝔠 𝔖𝔢𝔵𝔲𝔞𝔩 𝔐𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔱𝔶

This school of thought emphasized sex within marriage as a way of fortifying an institution that helped to sustain social order. Such was this emphasis that by modern standards, we might consider these fathers of this philosophy to be homophobic (though that would be looking at things through a rather narrow and myopic lens)--Musonius disapproved of same-sex relations due to their lack of ability to create offspring. Seneca and Epictetus, meanwhile, merely favored male-female pairings over same sex couplings due to their ability to procreate. 

While these views surrounding same sex relations could be considered problematic by modern minds, the Stoics were more egalitarian in their thoughts surrounding highly gendered rules and how they opened people (mainly men) to hypocrisy–at least for the time. 

Indeed, both Musonius and Seneca believed if men wanted to exercise authority over women because they believed themselves to be in possession of greater self control, then those men ought to be able to manage their sex drives. 

This, of course, is not akin to the sex positivity movement of today, but rather a call for all good citizens–male and female–to control their baser urges so as not to embarrass the Republic. The (for lack of a better term) proto-feminism only went so far, as Seneca–staunchly against adultery–believed it was worse for a wife to cheat on her husband than for a husband to cheat on his wife. 

Kathy L. Gaca in her book The Making of Fornication: Eros, Ethics and Political Reform in Greek Philosophy and Early Christianity states that Seneca also believed that a wise man should make love to his wife by exercising good judgment (iudicium) and not emotion (affectus). Though this is a much stricter stance than taken by other Stoics, who largely saw sex as a means of promoting affection between married couples. 

But while Stoicism at least at first glance seems to take a more even keeled approach to the topic, it was not above fear mongering about the perils of the human sex drive. In her book, Gaca cites Ad Helviam (13:3), stating: 

“To Seneca, sexual desire for pleasure (libido) is a ‘destructive force (exitium) insidiously fixed in the innards’. Unregulated, it becomes cupiditas (lust).”

And here is where I risk losing those of you who didn’t put two and two together until this moment. AKA: I think Marius died a virgin and in this essay I will…

Or, more accurately, since this theory relies on a blending of canon and my research, let us make a melange of sorts.

ℑ𝔫𝔤𝔯𝔢𝔡𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱

For the purpose of keeping things contained to this post, here is a quick summary of the original post: 

Marius never mentions taking a shine to anyone while still a mortal

When speaking of his time as a mortal, he never alludes to being a part of any hedonistic activity, though he does admit to documenting the indiscretions of others

He’s only known to have been attracted to one person (Pandora) as a mortal, who he never got with romantically or sexually 

And before it gets brought up, I’ll address the passage in Prince Lestat where Teskhamen speaks to Marius and says: 

“[...] I saw your libraries, I saw and heard your quick-witted and curious companions, I saw the full blooming power of your experience, the life of a cultured Roman, the life that had made you what you were. I saw the beauty of Italy. I saw the beauty of fleshly love. I saw the beauty of ideas. I saw the beauty of the sea.[...]” 

This passage was pointed out to me on my original post. Before we continue, I want to make something clear: I don’t think anyone is wrong for reading this passage as meaning that Marius was party to that ‘fleshly love’. I think it’s ambiguous enough that it could go either way. 

My whole reasoning for personally not buying this as evidence against my current theory is a matter of language. Teskhamen front-loads this passage with language that focuses on Marius’ experience. It’s Marius’ library, Marius’s companions, Marius’ life as a cultured Roman. The second half of the passage removes possessive language from the equation entirely and instead focuses solely on the beauty of all he saw–Italy, pleasure, ideas, the sea. 

The remoteness of this language coming directly after the language that detailed Marius’ specific lived experience reads as a line of delineation to me. The things Marius did, and then the things Marius witnessed. 

This, of course, is in no way meant to be an argument about authorial intent. If I had to guess, Anne wasn’t focused on the preciseness of language here, but rather catching the flow of Teskhamen’s speech patterns. In short, it’s not that deep–it’s just a peculiarity of the writing that stuck out to me and I think lends itself to being read one of two ways. After all, Marius is not responsible for how beautiful the sea or Italy is, nor is he the sole thinker who had every beautiful idea and–it stands to reason, in my opinion, due to these things being grouped together–not necessarily the one participating in the fleshly love. 

Moving on. 

I’d like to continue my summation by detailing what it is we know (canonically) of Marius’ personality: 

Marius (whether he intends to or not) carries his Roman ideals about what makes a good man into the modern age, as called out by Pandora on page 57 of Blood Communion. 

Mortal Marius was noticeably odd and aloof. Pandora (again) calls this out on page 54 of Pandora, saying: 

“In the crowd, I saw Marius. He looked at me, then back to his book. So strange. I saw him standing against a tree trunk and writing. No one did this–stand against a tree, hold a book in one hand and write with the other. The slave stood beside him with a bottle of ink.” 

Showcasing yet again how Marius was still–at around thirty years of age–more invested in documenting fun instead of having any himself (this scene  was, after all, set during Saturnalia). 

I say ‘still’ because Marius himself says this on page 397 in The Vampire Lestat: 

“I’d come to Massilia after a long and studious journey that had taken me through all the great cities of the Empire. TO Alexandria, Pergamon, Athens I’d traveled, observing and writing about the people, and now I was making my way through the cities of Roman Gaul.” 

And again in TVL (page 397), the rowdiest he admits to getting is this: 

“By the age of twenty, I'd become the scholar and the chronicler, the one who raised his voice at drunken banquets to settle historical and military arguments.”

This identity as a chronicler–while cemented in his twentieth year–carried on into his fortieth year, as we see him still writing his own chronicles when approached by Mael in the tavern from which he was kidnapped (TVL, page 398).

This all, of course, is a rough sketch of Marius as a character and I am obviously relying on you to fill in any gaps with your own understanding of him as he appears on page. After all, it would take quite a while to transcribe every moment where Marius was particularly Roman, weird, scholarly, or restrained. Keep your own favorite instances in mind as we move on to the next bit: 

𝔏𝔢𝔱'𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔞 𝔖𝔬𝔲𝔭

It is my belief that it makes a lot of sense that Marius (especially if you buy into the “Marius was never a senator” theory) being a man who values his identity as a Roman man and an intellectual, would buy fully into practicing celibacy as a way to protect his mental acuity. 

It was a common enough medical practice in his day, he obviously highly values his intellect, he was very serious about and dedicated to his scholarly undertakings, if ineligible for a political position he might want to win the respect of his fellow men of good standing by becoming something of a historian/philosopher, he’d only been very attracted to a woman he couldn’t marry anyway, and he was a bit of an off putting weirdo (affectionate) to boot. 

Marius has been shown to exhibit respect for the great thinkers of his time (name checking Xenophon, Herodotus and Poseidonius on page 399 of TVL alone) and it’s not much of a stretch (especially when paired with his habit of loudly and forcefully arguing at banquets) to assume he had a great deal of respect for orators and their craft. 

Whether Marius were ever a fan of Calvus is up to debate–Calvus died one to two decades before Marius was born (there is no record of Calvus’ exact year of death), he would have been recent history for Marius. Calvus’ poems would have still existed (in more than the fragments we have now), his speeches would have been spoken about, and was fairly well known in his time. My point is, orators were well respected as men and intellectuals and it wouldn’t shock me if Marius was a fan of any of them in specific or in general and that respect could have been the thing that kicked off any possible decision to remain celibate. 

In short, I believe there are many plausible  reasons why Marius may have died a virgin and I think all of these in combination would make a very fun space to play in, character-wise. 

ℜ𝔢𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔯𝔠𝔢𝔰

https://www.jstor.org/stable/4349696?read-now=1&seq=10#page_scan_tab_contents

https://www.jstor.org/stable/1215514?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

https://www.jstor.org/stable/4349198?read-now=1&seq=2#page_scan_tab_contents

https://www.jstor.org/stable/270440?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents

[scotianostra]

3rd September 1918 saw the death of author and pioneering woman doctor, Margaret Todd.

For a woman who accomplished so much Margaret Todd is still relatively unknown by most people in her native Scotland. Born Margaret Georgina Todd on 23rd April 1859 in Kilrenny, a wee village just north of Anstruther on the East Neuk of Fife. Todd was educated in Edinburgh, Glasgow and Berlin.

A Glaswegian schoolteacher, in 1886 Todd became one of the first students at the Edinburgh School of Medicine for Women after hearing that the Scottish Royal College of Physicians and Surgeons had opened their exams to women. She took eight years to complete the four-year course because, using the pseudonym Graham Travers, during her studies she wrote a novel, Mona Maclean, Medical Student. This was described by Punch magazine as “a novel with a purpose — no recommendation for a novel, more especially when the purpose selected is that of demonstrating the indispensability of women-doctors”.

After graduating in 1894 she took her MD in Brussels and was appointed Assistant Medical Officer at Edinburgh Hospital and Dispensary for Women and Children but retired after five years.Her first book having been exceptionally well received and into further editions, she published Fellow Travellers and Kirsty O’ The Mill Toun in 1896, followed by Windyhaugh in 1898, always using her male pen name, although by 1896 reviewers were calling her “Miss Travers”. By 1906 even her publishers added “Margaret Todd, MD” in parentheses after her pseudonym. In addition to six novels she wrote short stories for magazines.

Despite their nineteen-year age difference, Todd was the romantic partner of Dr Sophia Jex-Blake, founder of Dr Todd’s university and place of employment. Upon Jex-Blake’s retirement in 1899, they moved to Windydene, in Rotherfield, where she wrote further two novels. When her partner died she wrote, under own name, The Life of Dr Sophia Jex-Blake, a book described as ‘almost too laboriously minute for the general reader’.

Margaret Todd’s other claim to fame results from circumstances that are rather elusive. It seems she was a family friend of the chemist Frederick Soddy. At some point he described to her his work on radioactive elements that have more than one atomic mass, although the chemical properties are identical and they share the same place in the periodic table. He was apparently having trouble coming up with a satisfactory name. It is said that Margaret told him he needed a good Greek term: perhaps, she suggested, he should try “isotope” from the Green for “same place”. Frederick Soddy went on to win the Nobel Prize for Chemistry in 1921, and has a (small) crater on the Moon named after him. He would doubtless have achieved these honours using a different name for the subject of his work, but it is good that the long-standing assumption that he coined the work “isotope” has been corrected in recent years.

Margaret Todd died at the age of 59, just three months after her biography on her partner Sophia Jex-Blake was published. According to one source, she died by suicide; her Times obituary states only that she died in a nursing home in London. After her death, a scholarship was created in her name at the LSMW. She left £3,000 in her will (equivalent to £279,000 in 2019) to be used to promote the advancement of women in medicine.

Read more on Doctor Margaret Todd here https://conscicom.web.ox.ac.uk/article/margaret-todd-1859-1918-medical-woman-and-author

[amphibious-thing]

Hi! I just found your blog via your post about lord Hervey and I love all your insights about 1700s gender and sexuality!

I'd be curious to know if you've ever came across Diderot's d'Alambert's Dream trilogy? It's not often discussed but I feel like there are some really interesting things going on in regards to 18th century gender and sexuality – in the second and especially in the third dialogue.

I can't fully wrap my head around it but I thought it was fascinating (and also really odd at times). I'd love to hear your thoughts!

anyway, have a great day ~

I hadn’t read it but I have now and I do have thoughts.

The Second Dialogue: d'Alembert's Dream and the One-Sex Model

The second dialogue includes a discussion about the nature of biological sex. Bordeu says to Mlle de Lespinasse:

Ill swear, Mademoiselle, you thought that as you were at the age of twelve a woman half your present size, at the age of four half the size again, as foetus a small woman, in the ovaries of your mother a very small woman, you thought you had always been a woman in your present shape, so that it was only your successive increases in size which have made the difference between what you were originally and what you are to-day. (Dialogues by Denis Diderot, translated by Francis Birrell, p63)

Here Diderot is referring to the theory of preformation. Proponents of preformation believed that organisms developed from miniature versions of themselves. There was two competing theories of preformation; Ovism in which the fetus was thought to come fully formed from the egg and Animalculism in which the fetus was thought to come fully formed from the sperm.

(for an overview on preformation theory see The Weaker Seed. The Sexist Bias of Reproductive Theory by Nancy Tuana)

[Illustration of a fetus fully formed in the sperm from Essai de Diotropique (1694) by Nicolaas Hartsoeker]

Bordeu dismisses the theory of preformation:

Nothing, however, is falser than this notion. First you were nothing. You were, to begin with, an imperceptible point, formed of smaller molecules, scattered in the blood, the lymph of your father and mother. (Dialogues, p63)

Mlle de Lespinasse didn't just think she was, in the ovaries of her mother, a fully formed person but a fully formed woman.

Historian and sexologist Thomas W. Laqueur argued that historically there were two models for understanding sex: the one-sex model and the two-sex model.

The two-sex model posits that sex is binary. That male and female are two distinct groups with no overlap. In this model intersex people are understood to be either disordered males or disordered females. In 1741 the physician James Parsons wrote that those who are reported to be "hermaphrodites" were "either perfect Men or Women, having only some Deformity or Disease in the Parts of Generation." (A Letter from James Parsons, M. D. F. R. S. to the Royal Society) Its important to note that the two-sex model has been, and still is, used to justify the medical abuse of intersex people.

Diderot seems to have believed in what Laqueur calls the one-sex model. The one-sex model posits that there was only really one sex: male. The female was seen as a "mutilated" or "less perfect" male.

Proponents of the one-sex model believed that male and female sexual characteristics were homogeneous. Ancient Greek physician Galen believed that the female sexual organs were an inversion of the male. He asks his readers to imagine the "uterus turned outward and projecting":

Would not the testes [ovaries] then necessarily be inside it? Would it not contain them like a scrotum? Would not the neck [the cervix and vagina], hitherto concealed inside the perineum but now pendant, be made into the male member?

Galen concluded that “you could not find a single male part left over that had not simply changed its position.” (Making Sex by Thomas W. Laqueur, p26)

Galen believed that "the female is less perfect than the male for one, principle reason because she is colder". He theorised that sex determination was caused by heat and that woman's genitals "were formed within her when she was still a fetus, but could not because of the defect in the heat emerge and project on the outside".

The theory of heat causing sex determination dates back to Aristotle who believed that "the female is, as it were, a mutilated male". He theorised that the lack of heat prevents the embryo developing into it's "proper form" (i.e. male).

(for Galen and Aristotle's theories on sex determination see The Weaker Seed. The Sexist Bias of Reproductive Theory by Nancy Tuana)

Diderot interestingly has Mlle de Lespinasse flip the sexist assumptions of Galen and Aristotle suggesting that "Man is perhaps only the freak of a woman". (Dialogues p69)

Much like Galen, Diderot highlights the homogeneous nature of sex:

the womb is nothing else than a scrotum turned outside in, a movement in the course of which the testicles have been thrown out of the bag which shut them in and dispersed right and left in the cavity of the body: that the clitoris is the male organ on a small scale. (Dialogues p70-71)

Diderot is not completely off the mark, modern science shows that sex is homogeneous. However modern scientists do not consider the uterus to be homogeneous to the scrotum. Whats interesting is that Diderot differs from Galen on the point of what is homogeneous to the penis. Galen believes that the vagina is the penis inverted while Diderot states that the clitoris is penis on a small scale.

[Anatomical illustrations of a vagina from De Humani Corporis Fabrica (1543) by Andreas Vesalius. Note that the vagina resembles a penis.]

Nathaniel Wanley in The Wonders of the Little World (1678) follows the Galenian model telling sex-change stories in which the vagina inverts and turns into a penis. In one story a woman changes sex on her wedding night. Wanley explains "those parts which were inverted on and conceal'd, began to appear, and she rose in in the Morning of a contrary Sex." In another story a girl is "wantoning in bed with a Maid" when "it fell out". When her parents were informed her name was changed to John "and from thenceforth she wore the habit of a man."

In contrast Giles Jacob in Tractus de Hermaphrodites (1718) writes that "the Clitoris in Women suffers erection and falling in the same manner as the Penis in Men" and that in cases of an enlarged clitoris women "may divert themselves with their Companions, to whom for the most part they can give as much Pleasure as Men do."

The 1725 edition of the popular 18th century anti-masturbation pamphlet Onania: or, the heinous sin of self-pollution claimed that in "Vigorous and Lustful" woman who had "given up themselves to the Practice of Self-Pollation" the clitoris could become "Inflated to the exact likeness and size of a human Penis erect".

In the one-sex model it's understood that there is a spectrum between male and female. Giles Jacob in Tractus de Hermaphrodites posits that there are five kinds of "Hermaphrodites". Diderot cites women with large clitorises and eunuchs as examples of sex being a spectrum:

women with the clitoris overdeveloped grow beards: that eunuchs do not have any: that their thighs grow broader, their haunches larger, their knees rounder: that, in losing the characteristic organism of one sex, they seem to hark back to the characteristic conformation of the other. (Dialogues, p70)

Laqueur believed there was a shift from the one-sex model to the two-sex model during the early 18th century. Laqueur's theories have been subject to criticism by those who believe it to be over-simplified. Laqueur's critics point to evidence that suggests both models existed concurrently throughout history rather that one completely supplanting the other. (for an overview on the one-sex/two-sex theory see The Century of Sex? Gender, Bodies, and Sexuality in the Long Eighteenth Century by Karen Harvey)

The Third Dialogue: the Conversation Continued and Sexual Pleasure

The third dialogue deals with the topic of sexual pleasure. In this dialogue Diderot is argues that there is no benefit to chastity and that pleasure is both positive and natural.

Bordeu argues in favour of masturbation; "these actions are not so unprofitable. It is a need and, even if one were not driven on by the need, the thing is always agreeable." He also argues that masturbation is natural:

Nature tolerates nothing useless. And then can I be blameworthy in helping her, when she calls for my help by the least equivocal of symptoms? Let us never provoke her, but occasionally lend her a hand: in refusal and idleness I see nothing but stupidity and loss of pleasure. “Live simply,” I shall be told, and “tire yourself out.” I understand. I must inflict on myself pain in order to ward off pleasure. A very happy notion! (Dialogues, p105)

This is notable for a period when anti-masturbation rhetoric was prevalent. Onania: or, the heinous sin of self-pollution not only argued that masturbation was sinful but that it had adverse health effects including epilepsy, hysteria and impotence. Even Jeremy Bentham writing in defense of same-sex sexual acts repeats the notion that masturbation has averse health effects:

Compared in this respect with the solitary mode, whatsoever difference there is, is clearly and eminently in favour of the social. That to their attachment to the solitary mode victims in large numbers, and of both sexes, are continually self-sacrificed is a proposition of which the practice of medical men, and even their advertisements, bear but too ample testimony.

Bentham even argues that one of the benefits of same-sex sexual acts is they lessen masturbation:

Beneficial effect the second. - Prevention of the injury liable to be done to health and strength by solitary gratification. Under a foregoing head the danger to health and strength by the social unprolific mode had been shwen to be comparatively at least, if not absolutely, nothing, while mischief in the same shapes from the solitary mode is notoriously but too abundant.

(Of Sexual Irregularities - or, Irregularities of the Sexual Appetite)

Bordeu also defends same-sex sexual acts on the same basis of his defense of masturbation. Both acts give pleasure:

Two actions are equally confined to the realm of pleasure; they can afford pleasure only, nothing useful; but one of these actions gives pleasure only to the person who practices it: the other enables the pleasure to be shared with a similar person either male or female, for here neither sex nor even the use of sex is relevant.

But Mlle de Lespinasse is stuck on "those combinations, which all seem to me contrary to nature."

Bordeu argues:

Nothing which is can be against or outside nature. I make no exception even for voluntary chastity and continence, which would be the first crimes against nature if one could sin against nature, and the first of crimes against social laws in a country where actions were weighed in any other balance than that of fanaticism and prejudice.

Diderot is arguing that the crime against nature (i.e. sodomy) isn't actually unnatural. He was not the only one to make this argument.

At his 1776 sodomy trial Gerrit van Amerongen stated that men who engaged in sodomy were "born with it and they can be as amorous to each other as man and wife can be." (The Chevalier d'Eon, Rousseau, and New Ideas of Gender, Sex and the Self in the Late Eighteenth Century by Anna Clark)

On the 13th of November 1816 Anne Lister records in her diary a conversation with one of her lovers where she defends her sexual interest in women:

I urged in my own defense the strength of natural feeling & instinct, for so I might call it, as I had always had the same turn from infancy. That it had been known to me, as it were, by inclination. That I had never varied & no effort on my part had been able to counteract it.

In his 1749 defense of sodomy Thomas Cannon writes:

Unnatural Desire is a Contradiction in Terms; downright Nonsense. Desire is an amatory Impulse of the inmost human Parts: Are not they, however constructed, and consequently impelling, Nature?

However the crime against nature also referred to bestiality which is the focus of the third dialogue. Diderot really only briefly touches on the topic of same-sex sexual acts seemingly more interested in discussing bestiality and the merits of breeding half-goat half-human slaves. I haven’t seen this topic mentioned anywhere else and have no particular insights into it.