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utilitycaster · 2 months ago

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Not the same anon, but I would be extremely interested in more book recs for fantasy/sci-fi that contain queer romance on the side. Cozy, romance-heavy novels aren't really my jam either, but I do enjoy a romantic subplot in an otherwise non-romantic, intriguing main story.

Sure! This is going to have a bunch of stuff I've almost certainly talked about before because I am on an ongoing quest to read more regularly and don't read as much as I'd like.

If you haven't heard about The Locked Tomb (Tamsyn Muir) somehow, I personally recommend it. It is queer, and there are necromancers and at least some of said necromancers are lesbian and sometimes in space but also it's about resentment, grief, failure, and impossible expectations. I also know the meme-y language in parts puts some people off but I don't mind it, and the later two books have far less of it. Anyway moving on the rest is literally just "stuff from my Goodreads (not sharing, it is under my real-ass name) with a brief note about it." Also I have read the first two books of Dungeon Meshi but getting them out one by one from the library as the series blew up proved tedious so I am stalled out at the moment, but I am aware it gets gay.

Also a couple not SF books that are queer and I still recommend: And Then the Gray Heaven by R. E. Katz is about the surviving half of a nb couple in Florida on a road trip to scatter the ashes of their deceased partner, who worked on museum dioramas. It's short and it's a great read for people like me, who love works about grief and the juxtaposition of humor and absurdity with it, everyone go read it. I also read Fried Green Tomatoes by Fannie Flagg for the first time last year, somehow? Go read that too. I did not try the recipes for myself but I do recommend you obtain fried green tomatoes the food in some form although probably wait until May or June when they're in season. Finally, I've read the first two books of the Amberlough Dossier by Lara Elena Donnelly which are alternate universe vaguely Weimar inspired but not explicitly fantasy; major gay characters; I need to read the third and it is on a long list of "I've read the first X books of this series and need to finish it bc I liked it." Amberlough especially was incredible imo if uh, a little real at the Present Political Moment.

Queer speculative fiction books:

Freya Marske's The Last Binding trilogy. Edwardian England where there are magic users; cool leyline stuff; each book follows a different interconnected queer couple (first and last books are M/M, middle book is F/F). These are properly romantasy and the sex is explicit, which I am okay with but if you're not be aware, but also there's a lot of plot going on. I had a great time with these and read all three back to back pretty quickly.

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner is book one of a series and I enjoyed it but haven't gotten to the next one (it is on my list); main character is a bisexual woman and hooks up with women, though the main romance is M/F, at least in this book. Also fun if you like books with interesting takes on divinity and killing god.

The Woods All Black by Lee Mandolo - Transmasc Appalachian gothic horror set in the 1920s.

The Daevabad Trilogy and The Adventures of Amina Al-Sirafi by S.A. Chakraborty have incidental but thoughtfully portrayed queer romance among some secondary characters but more crucially the clerk of an indie bookstore I love dearly shouted across the store for 5 minutes about how good the latter was and she was right; also, again, not primarily queer but yes primarily mythology of the SWANA region if you would like to shake up the very European/American skew of much of the rest of this.

Starless by Jacqueline Carey. Jacqueline Carey is better known for the Kushiel books, in which she is horny and into Divinely Inspired BDSM on main, and you know what they are super Of Their Time (2001) but they fucking rule and you should read those too. Starless is standalone, in a different world, with a transmasc protagonist and a thoughtful take on disability in fantasy and one of my favorite books I've read in the past few years. The three first books about Phèdre nó Delaunay (starting with Kushiel's Dart) are about a bisexual courtesan in vaguely renaissance alternate universe Europe and I enjoyed them and while the main romance is M/F, the protagonist is, again, a courtesan with partners of various genders.

Lina Rather's Our Lady of Endless Worlds books are novellas and have F/F romance in them; they are about nuns in space and are generally very thoughtful and subtle sci fi.

I've recommended A Memory Called Empire/A Desolation Called Peace by Arkady Martine multiple times and I'll do it again, the first book especially; incredibly well done political science fiction with a focus on cultural exchange and a side of F/F romance; beautifully written.

Terra Ignota series by Ada Palmer, also incredibly done political science fiction (this set on Earth a few centuries from now), some queer romance but also this series does absolutely incredible stuff re: discussion of gender, also wonderfully written, has stuck in my mind since I read it and I want to purchase the books (I am a library-goer due to Have A Lot of Books In A 1 BR Condo situation but I want to have these on hand).

Winter Tide and Deep Roots by Ruthanna Emrys; Lovecraft-inspired but with fascinating commentary on the Japanese internment camps of WWII; set in the late 40s/early 50s in the US, some queer side romances (both gay and lesbian).

Machineries of Empire trilogy by Yoon Ha Lee. It's been a couple years and I recall loving these but also they are DENSE and at times, confusing (positive). Military SF, does not hold your hand (I legit would have to look up the plot but I DID enjoy myself, I do remember that), many queer characters, author is a trans man.

Cannot recall if the Southern Reach Trilogy is textually queer? you should still read it, queer people love this book about the fucked up nature place. I haven't read Absolution yet so do not @ me.

Finally, a couple books I didn't super care for but I know have some degree of following that maybe you will like, idk your life:

Light From Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki. Main character is a trans woman violin prodigy; there are aliens and a pact with the devil involved; the problem is the plot is kind of eh and a lot of characters are very one note Good or Evil in a way I found not very interesting.

The Traitor Baru Cormorant by Seth Dickinson. This book has an incredible premise, and the writing style is so goddamn dry and cold and fails to give any characters any interiority such that I felt like I was reading the phone book. I literally wish someone who was good at writing had come up with the same idea; I am mad at how poorly this awesome concept (girl ripped from her queer family by homophobic colonists, decides to rise to prominence politically particularly through economics in order to eventually overthrow the government) was executed. anyway Baru is a lesbian and again I want to be clear I have a HIGH tolerance for fantasy/sf with mid prose, but this is uniquely dead on arrival in terms of writing style.

#answered #anonymous #book recs

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acediscowlng · 2 months ago

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You are the reason I got into Dead Boy Detectives, but also you are the reason Supernatural is back in the year 2025, so I would like to hear your thoughts on how a crossover between the shows would go.

(not me getting blamed for spn coming back in 2025 😭😭😭)

Anyway, this ask is actually pretty funny because I have been trying to wrangle my brain to write an spn/dbda crossover since December, and it just never worked out. Here's some of my notes lmao:

sam and dean catch with of a pattern of children disappearing in port townsend, and go, wow yeah this is a case. so they roll into a town expecting like a simple salt and burn or a random god or something and holy shit why is this place teeming with so many ghosts oh my fucking god there are also minor gods hanging around and a fucking witch and holy shit what do you mean there's a demon too

so from sam and dean's pov, port townsend is so monumentally fucked as a place and they don't even know where to start

at some point, they do encounter Charles and edwin, and edwin "I will be playing trauma olympics at every given opportunity" payne drops the "I spent seventy years in hell" bombshell like 5 mins into the conversation

sam and dean are momentarily stunned. they simply do not know how to deal with this edwardian school child somehow simultaneously beating them both in the trauma olympics department and being infinitely more well adjusted than they are

Charles at some point: "yeah, but it was just a clerical error, edwin wasn't bad or anything"

sam and dean whose only reference is about a hundred different people, them included, being in denial about the demon deals they've made: yeah, I'm sure.

they also try to get the boys to move on, and charles is like, yeah good luck with that, my bones are all the way in England, and edwin goes, I don't even have a body because it's in Hell

anyway, sam and dean being there sort of solve the whole plot of dbda ngl. they will just kill esther. they find out what's going on and dean's gonna get out the witch-killing bullets and esther is going to have a hole in her brain by the end of episode 1

they find out that crystal is being harassed by a demon, and it will also take sam and dean all of five minutes to retrieve her memories and also stab david the demon

also this is set in season 7 in my heart, but also jack and niko would get along so well!!! that is an autism for autism vibe right there!!!

she would think jack is so cool and jack finally has someone to match his energy. it'll be great

((also sidenote, there is also an alternate universe where the cat king is also played by alexander calvert instead of lukas gage and the potential for shenanigans in this area is unparalleled

honestly just based on that jack and the cat king should have an unexplained beef that goes throughout the episode because it would be funny to me personally))

there's also some notes in there about the differences in canon, because canonically in spn, there's no monster activity in the UK because the British men of letters managed to wipe them out, and Charles and edwin go, yeah that's what we want them to think

#answered #ara rambles #mirellapryce #spn #dead boy detectives

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portrait-paintings · 3 months ago

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Sir James Jebusa Shannon

Artist: Sir James Jebusa Shannon (Anglo-American, 1862-1923)

Date: c. 1919

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: National Portrait Gallery, London, United Kingdom

Sir James Jebusa Shannon

Painter; born in the United States and moved to England in 1878 where he trained at South Kensington. Shannon enjoyed early success and, under the influence of Sargent, developed a bravura portrait style which made him one of the most sought after society portraitists of the Edwardian period; elected RA, 1909, and President of the Royal Society of Portrait Painters, 1910-23.

#self portrait #painting #male #half length #sir james jebusa shannon #anglo-american #oil on canvas #english culture #english art #artwork #oil painting #fine art #canvas #20th century painting #european art #national portrait gallery

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inky-duchess · 8 days ago

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how would custody of a child be decided in Edwardian England? I have a situation where a character's father and brother both die unexpectedly (her mother is already dead) and am trying to figure out who she would live with. She does have two older sisters, only one of whom is married, so that's who I'm assuming she'd live with but they don't get along at all. She does have other relatives but they're fairly estranged and she doesn't really know them that much.

Would the child (from a noble background, btw, and she's about ~13) be able to choose who she lives with? Or would she be allowed to continue living at her father's residence with a nanny or governess or other sort of guardian?

For plot reasons, she does need to be able to travel later on (when she's like, 16-17) but at her current age I just need her living situation sorted out.

She wouldn't be able to chose. She would live with her nearest male relative or become a ward of her brother in law snf live with her sister. She would not live alone at all.

#ask answered

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merinsedai · 1 year ago

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Dreamling Abbey

My fic for the @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang !!

No lie, guys: I decided to do this after coming out of a heart scan at the hospital on the sign up deadline. The thinking being: I could have a dicky ticker here, why not try something new? And this was perfect because if there's one thing I know about myself, it's that I need a deadline.

And so here we are.

I am MOST affronted by how hard this was?! And how bloody long it took me (mostly because I spent a lot of time staring into space or relentlessly googling 'did they have xyz in Edwardian England) All you wonderful, talented writers have made it look so easy that all that effort came as somewhat of a shock. Honestly, I am deeply saddened that the copious amount of Dreamling fic I have voraciously consumed in the past 18 months has not magically made a fantastic author out of me. Why does osmosis not work for writing?

If you read, I hope you enjoy!

(The ticker's fine, by the way. Not dicky at all.)

Art by the fabulous @lalaithquetzallicaresi Thanks for squeezing me in there, lovely! ❤

Pairing: Dream/Hob

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 50k

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con elements

Tags: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Downton Abbey Fusion, look it's Downton Abbey but Dreamling omegaverse. Sorta. If you squint, I'm not sure Julian Fellowes would approve, If you haven't seen Downton it definitely won't matter, because I've unashamedly just stolen bits and pieces and thrown the rest to the wind, Attempted Sexual Assault, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Consensual Kissing, Pining, period typical attitudes to gender. If you reframe gender to include alpha beta omega dynamics, omega rights paralleling the suffragette movement in England, Minor Violence, lots of vague references to classic cars, mention of unethical medical procedures, Time and Night are bad parents, Omega Dream of the Endless, Alpha Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Dream of the Endless│Morpheus Needs a Hug, Unbeta'd

Read chapter 1 on ao3

Fic Summary: Lord Morpheus is the eldest child of the Earl and Countess of Endless, an ancient family hiding huge debts behind a fine name. As an omega, Morpheus cannot inherit his father's title or the family's ancestral home. His function is simple: secure a match that is both socially advantageous and financially viable, thus securing the future of the estate and the title of Earl of Endless for his offspring. The family believe that their troubles are solved when Morpheus dutifully (if reluctantly) becomes engaged to his wealthy cousin, Patrick. However, all their carefully laid plans are thrown into chaos when Patrick drowns on the ill-fated Titianic.

Now Morpheus is navigating treacherous waters of his own and discovering how tight the ties of family loyalty bind him. Will the charming and handsome Duke of Crowborough prove his saviour? Or will the wealthy yet odious Sir Roderick Burgess ensnare Morpheus in plans of his own?

Meanwhile, the family’s new chauffeur, one Robert Gadling, is muddying the waters of Morpheus’s existence even further- where is the line between a servant and a friend? Can Hob help Morpheus see that life exists beyond the confines of family and function?

Chapters below the cuts and in subsequent reblogs, should you wish to read it here on tumblr.

Chapter 1: Complications with the Great Matter.

April 1912.

The papers had been late this morning. Not that Morpheus notices their tardiness. Serious daily newspapers are the preserve of his father and since Morpheus has little interest in the society gossip that proliferated on the pages of The Daily Sketch, the only periodical he is allowed in his room, he rarely bothers to glance at it. However, the large photograph blazing across the front page is so arresting that he finds his eyes drawn to it immediately, ignoring all else on his vanity to take the paper and read. It is bad news of course, the papers rarely print anything but. ‘DISASTER TO TITANIC ON HER MAIDEN VOYAGE’ boldly proclaims the headline, beneath which is black and white image of the doomed liner, adjoined by one of her seemingly also doomed captain, John Smith. Morpheus’s eyebrows draw down as he reads the brief article: so many presumed dead, so few saved. They would know people, of course. His mother knew the Astors, and they had dined with Lady Rothes only last month. Still, the privilege of first class likely meant they would be amongst the survivors. Those below decks… on their way to a better life, well they would not have been so fortunate. What a tragedy, Morpheus sighs and closes the paper. This news rather put his own woes into perspective-

The door bangs open and Desire flounces in without so much as a by your leave, as is their way.

“Dream!” they shout without preamble, then glance at the newspaper in his hands with a slight moue of disappointment. Being the bearer of bad news is something Desire takes a measure of delight in, “Oh, you’ve seen already, Huh,” They shake their head, before bending over Morpheus to look more closely at his paper, hand gripping his shoulder. This close, the smell of the perfume Desire favours- a rich and spicy aroma deliberately chosen to overwhelm their natural omega scent- makes him wrinkle his nose and move his head away. Desire’s fingers tighten on his shoulder and they huff in amusement. They are not strictly allowed to wear perfumes but Desire goes their own way with everything. “When Jessamy told me, I thought she must have dreamt it!” Desire continues in a low tone, meeting Morpheus’s eyes in the mirror. “To think, we were just talking about that ship the other week. Remember how excited old Lucy Rothes was? Supposed to be unsinkable- ha!”

“Every mountain is unclimbable until they climb, so every ship is unsinkable until it sinks,” Morpheus responds neutrally, putting the paper down and shrugging Desire’s hand off to stand. Desire moves with him, smoothing their hands over the non-existent wrinkles on the shoulder of his jacket before adjusting his already meticulously placed tie pin. Morpheus endures the attention for a moment before once again moving away. He does not enjoy this close scrutiny and Desire knows it, but it is always a delight of theirs to make him feel uncomfortable.

“Hm” Desire hums then shrugs, “Come on, now you’re all sorted, lets go to breakfast. Aponoia said she saw the telegram boy come by. I want to find out if there’s any more news. Won’t it be something if someone truly important drowned? Gossip for weeks.”

***

The papers always print bad news. Of course they do. But that news is viewed through a detached lens. Shocking, of course, but not too close to home. Telegrams though- that’s different. They take that news and make it personal.

Breakfast had proven to be a fraught affair. Their father had been away from the room when they first arrived, speaking with their mother so they were to learn, but he had soon been back and imparted the news of their family’s misfortune to his children with unusual brevity. Then he had left without saying anything further, leaving the three of them to process the news alone: the news that Patrick Endless, their wealthy cousin and Morpheus’s fiance, had been aboard the Titanic with his father, James and neither were listed among the names of the survivors. Morpheus had not felt like eating further and had removed himself back to his rooms with his siblings following uninvited (though not strictly unwanted). He had wanted to think but he also knew the danger of getting lost so deeply in his mind, so Desire’s sniping and Aponoia’s quiet presence would be… grounding.

The stupid thing was that Patrick was not even meant to be on that cursed ship; he and his father weren’t expected in New York until May. Why? He thought Why did they go? And without saying anything? Perhaps Patrick had planned to telegram from New York- a boast and a surprise.

“Turns out that the lure of the Titanic’s maiden voyage was too strong.” Desire says as if reading his mind, and with a hint of mischief in their golden eyes. They lounge dramatically against the doorframe whilst Morpheus stands and stares out of his window, gazing at the grounds below. It all looks so quiet, so normal. Why doesn’t he feel sad? Desire continues, “They wanted to be part of history and now they are history.”

“Desire,” Morpheus chides half heartedly. It is a crass statement but he can’t find it in himself to react more strongly. Maybe they are looking for a reaction from him, or maybe this is now how his sibling processes strong emotions. It certainly seems in character. Aponoia has not yet spoken. She just sits unmoving, staring vacantly ahead, toying with the ring on her finger, turning it over and over. He himself feels oddly disconnected from the news. How is one meant to react upon learning that their intended had been so suddenly and shockingly killed- drowned in the icy waters of the North Atlantic, their frozen corpse not even recovered, just left to sink and rot in the sea. Dream blinks slowly, probably not like this, he thinks vaguely. He feels there should be some weeping and wailing involved at the very least.

But there is only numbness.

***

“Uh, I detest black,” Desire flounces into the room the next morning whilst Morpheus is busy writing in his journal. He enjoys writing, it helps to order his often scattered and rebellious thoughts.

Jessamy, the maid he shares with his siblings, has just finished fixing his hair and is busily setting his bed to rights, plumping the pillows and smoothing the coverlets. Desire regards themself critically in Morpheus’ tall mirror, turning this way and that. Aponoia trails after them silently. She is also dressed in black and it makes her look even more wan and washed out than usual. As for Desire, their outfit may have been the requisite black, but it still looked to Morpheus to be sufficiently rakish as to raise their parents’ blood pressure. Hardly proper mourning material. “At least going into mourning won’t ruin your aesthetic, Dream dear,” Desire stretches languidly and collapses back on the just-made bed, smiling thinly. “Always a silver lining somewhere.”

“Full mourning still seems a lot for a cousin,” Morpheus replies vaguely. He tries to pay little attention to his siblings, bent over his journal and writing quickly. The habit of diary writing was born of necessity: a strategy to help quiet his mind, he’d been told, but now it is a pleasure.

“But not for a fiance,” Aponoia’s voice is quiet. There is no accusation in her tone, only the retelling of fact.

Morpheus huffs slightly. “He was not really a fiance.”

“No? I thought that was what you call a man you’re going to marry?”

“I was only going to marry him if nothing better turned up,” he turns the page and continues writing.

“Morpheus! What a dreadful thing to say!” Desire looks simply delighted. “Poor dear Patrick was absolutely besotted with you. It was quite pathetic to witness really- your indifference and his lovelorn obsessiveness,” they shudder theatrically. “Perhaps it’s a good thing he drowned; saved him from a miserable life with you as husband.”

“You dare suggest I would have been a poor husband to him?” Morpheus demands, slamming his diary closed and rounding on his sibling. Desire shrugs insouciantly, fiddling with a diamond earring.

‘“Well you didn’t love him. Barely liked him. And he wasn’t the cleverest where you were concerned, but he would have seen it sooner or later, and hated you for it. Of course, I could wish an unhappy marriage upon you, dearest brother. But Patrick? He deserved better.”

‘Better?’ Morpheus raises his eyebrows. Desire’s words were often full of spite towards him but this was such a quick switch around from mocking Patrick to defending him. Was there something here he had never seen? Never bothered to look for, in truth. “You would have considered yourself a better prospect, my sibling? Taken what I would have discarded?” He raises his eyebrows in challenge and they glare at each other for a moment, then Desire drops their gaze.

‘Yes,’ they say softly, vulnerability etching their features momentarily. “Would that I were eldest and not… as I am. Then I would have taken him like a shot.”

They stand, shields quickly going back up. “Well,” they sniff pointedly, looking away from Morpheus and towards the door, “It’s not so bad I suppose. Mama says we can go into half mourning next month, then full colour by September. A shame we have to spend the summer so drab- and miss the season down in London!- but at least we’ll be ready for shooting parties in the autumn. Come on Appy, let’s leave his lordship alone. He clearly craves solitude. To think,” they sneer, “and write in his stupid diary.” They flow out the room without a backwards glance, Aponoia dutifully trailing in their wake.

Morpheus sighs and turns back to his journal, opening it and staring at the blank page but not picking his pen back up. Desire and Patrick… not that he thought Patrick had returned any sort of affection to his younger sibling but still, had he really been so blind?

“I was so terribly sorry to hear the news, my lord,” Jessamy offers quietly into the silence of the room as she finishes adjusting his bed again. “You say these things but I know you are sad. Whatever you say.” “You are a dear,” Morpheus murmurs. “But I do not feel as badly as I should. I do not really know… what I feel.” That is probably a bad reflection upon me, he thinks. The truth was that beyond the normal amount of grief that came with the sudden and untimely passing of an acquaintance, Dream felt nothing. Patrick had hardly been a grand passion. They had known each other since childhood but had been thrown together through circumstance rather than any actual attraction and they had barely anything in common. So no, he was not as sad as he should be and that was what was really making him sad. This marriage would have been a thing of duty. Their family was old, old enough indeed to have had plenty of time to rack up considerable debts. A lack of money hidden behind a fine name. Morpheus’ marriage to Patrick would have secured the estate’s future, shored up its ailing finances and kept the title very much in the family. As an omega, Morpheus would never have been able to inherit his father’s title but his children could, if they were alphas. And now, there was no marriage, no money and a very uncertain future ahead of them. Morpheus’s one duty, his one function in society, was to secure a good match and that duty lay so heavily upon his shoulders. If only Olly had stayed- but no, there was no use in dealing in ‘if onlies’. Practicalities only, and practicalities meant marriage. And soon.

#centennial husbands big bang #centennial husbands big bang 2023 #centennialhusbandsbigbang #mr sadman #centennial husbands #dreamling #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #the sandman fanart #a thing I wrote

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commander--wake · 5 months ago

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hyping myself tae fuck imagining the dominican imperial apparatus thru the lens of edwardian england and its colonized holdings

lemme see the rhodes institute of tropical-planet medicine. (WAIT OMG ... RHODES SCHOLARS... a scholarship for academics from all houses to come study on the seventh and learn how to more effectively spend their diamond mine slave-labor money on elegantly lovely silk sheath dresses and a greenhouse filled with temperamental orchids)

lemme see the dominican geologists and pest-insect scientists landing in teeny "friendly" exploration missions on a new potential planet before the first cohort wave comes in, to evaluate it for the potential mineral resources and biological hazards they would present to cohort troops and colonial governors

lemme see the koniortos agroeconomic botanists transplanting cash crop species from one planet to another where it's never grown before and now waves in vasty fields of monoculture

lemme see the eighth-house governor of a shepherd planet artificially dividing the mixed-ethnicity, mixed-religion, etc population into segregated cities or housing factions on the resettlement planet for the sake of "purity" and then instrumentalizing members of the minority groups as petty bureaucrats to exacerbate inter-group tensions

#tlt meta #nine houses #empire #i forget my tag for them lol if one exists #worldbuilding

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camisoledadparis · 6 months ago

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THIS DAY IN GAY HISTORY

based on: The White Crane Institute's 'Gay Wisdom', Gay Birthdays, Gay For Today, Famous GLBT, glbt-Gay Encylopedia, Today in Gay History, Wikipedia, and more … November 27

National Craft Jerky Day, on November 27th, recognizes that craft jerky is the standard by which all other jerky is measured. It awakens the taste buds and ignites the opinions of jerky fans the world over.

c. 111 A.D – Antinous born (d.130 A.D.); If there was an All Time Beautiful Men contest, this man would have been a contender if he didn't just walk away with the cup. And like most beauties, be married well.

Antinous was a famous beauty of the ancient world who became the beloved of the emperor Hadrian. He may have been a male prostitute when Hadrian met him, but his origins are obscure. All that is known is that Hadrian was immediately and utterly smitten with the beautiful 15-year-old. From that time on, Antinous was with the emperor constantly until a journey to Egypt where he was drowned in the Nile. Some say that Antinous, knowing that a prophecy had declared the death of Hadrian unless a living sacrifice were to be offered in his place, died so that his lover might live. Others believe that Antinous, growing into young manhood, was ashamed of playing mistress to the emperor.

The most poignant story is that the boy killed himself because he couldn't bear the idea of growing old. What we know for certain is that Hadrian's grief at the death of Antinous was uncontained and nothing short of monumental. He deified him and founded the city of Antinopolis in Egypt in his honor (and many other Antinopolises elsewhere in the Roman world) and renamed the boy's birthplace Antinopolis as well. A cult was inaugurated in his honor. Coins were minted with his likeness and numerous busts and shatteringly beautiful statues were erected to commemorate the beauty of this youth and the love the emperor felt for him.

After deification, Antinous was associated with and depicted as the Egyptian god Osiris, associated with the rebirth of the Nile. Antinous was also often depicted as the Roman Bacchus, a god related to fertility. Antinous is one of the best-preserved faces from the ancient world. Many busts, gems and coins represent Antinous as the ideal type of youthful beauty.

1700 – A new law concerning sodomy was passed by the Pennsylvania assembly. If committed by a white man, sodomy was punishable by life in prison and, at the discretion of the judge, a whipping every three months for the first year. If married, the man was castrated and his wife was granted a divorce. If committed by a black man, the punishment for sodomy was death.

1883 – The English Uranian poet Edmund John was born on this date (d.1917). Poet John came of age in the decade after the trial of Oscar Wilde and illustrates the fact that far from disappearing off the face of the globe, homosexuality simply retreated a bit further underground. A letter to one of John's young friends provides us with a very good idea of the "tone" of Gay life in Edwardian England: "I have received your adorable illustrated letter this morning and loved it so much I immediately made an altar before it, lit by amber candles in copper candlsticks, burnt incense before it and kissed its extreme beautifulness."

Much of his work was condemned by critics for being overly decadent and unfashionable. He fought in the First World War, but was invalided out in 1916 and died at Taormina, in Sicily, a year later. His books include The Flute of Sardonyx: Poems (1913), The Wind in the Temple: Poems (1915), and Symphonie Symbolique (1919).

Following what was almost a fashion in the first two decades of the century, the objects of the emotion in many of the poems are young boys but, unlike most of the 'Uranian' poets, John's sincerity gives the poems a white-hot purity.

1922 – Born: James Lord (d.2009), expatriate British writer in France, Giacometti scholar and art historian.

Lord was born to Albert Lord, a New York stock broker and Louise Bennett . He attended Wesleyan University, but a self-admitted poor student, he enlisted in the United States army after the attack on Pearl Harbor in 1941. His facility with French qualified him for Military Intelligence Service after the invasion of Normandy; he was stationed in France.

While there, Lord searched out Pablo Picasso in 1944 locating him in his studio on the Rue des Grands-Augustins. Following the war, Lord left Wesleyan without graduating, returning to Paris in 1947, perhaps because his homosexuality might be better accepted there.

Despite his sexual proclivities, he entered into an affair with Picasso's mistress, Dora Maar after she and the artist were split.

He kept meticulous journals of the conversations that he had with nearly all the litterati of post-war Paris. His intention was to become a writer, but excessive socializing kept him from production.

Lord met the Swiss sculptor Alberto Giacometti in 1952 at the Café aux Deux Magots, and frequently visited his studio in Montparnasse. The two remained friends throughout the artist's life.

After two unsuccessful novels, Lord was asked to write a book on Giacometti by the Museum of Modern Art to accompany the 1965 retrospective exhibition on the artist.

A Giacometti Portrait was hailed a success and is today valued as a source for information and insight on the artist. In 1970 Lord began a full-length treatment of the scultpor, completed only in 1985 and published as Giacometti: A Biography. The book's frank description of Giacometti's sadistic tendencies and mental problems drew the ire of many of the sculptor's friends, who signed a public protest letter against the book.

Lord set out to write a series of memoirs based upon personalisties. Picasso and Dora: A Personal Memoir appeared in 1993 followed by Six Exceptional Women the following year and Some Remarkable Men in 1996. A Gift for Admiration was published in 1998.

He adopted his life-companion, Gilles Foy-Lord, officially as his son. While working on a book of his experiences as a gay man in the army, My Queer War, he suffered a heart attack at his home in Paris and died at age 86.

Lord's style is that of a raconteur and witness to the event itself. All of his writing weaves autobiography, reportage, and gossip. HIs portraits of his experiences with Gertrude Stein, Jean Cocteau, Balthus, Peggy Guggenheim and the art historian Douglas Cooper provide rich documentary evidence on these personalities.

1964 – Adam Shankman is an American film director, producer, dancer, actor, and choreographer. He has been a judge on the television program So You Think You Can Dance since Season 3. He began his professional career in musical theater, and was a dancer in music videos for Paula Abdul and Janet Jackson. Shankman has choreographed numerous films as well as one of the Spice Girls' tours. He has directed several feature-length films, including A Walk to Remember, Bringing Down the House, and the 2007 remake of Hairspray. Shankman is openly gay.

Shankman was born in Los Angeles, California to an upper middle class family. He has said that he had a "traditional Jewish upbringing" in Brentwood. He attended The Juilliard School, but dropped out to dance in musical theater.

Prior to directing Hairspray, Shankman was known in Hollywood primarily as a script doctor. His trademarks in his films often features a singing/dancing sequence and a character getting sent to do community service. "I've done so many things I'm not super-proud of," he admitted in an interview with the Los Angeles Times. In August 2008, Box office Mojo reported that Hairspray had become the fourth-largest grossing American movie musical within the previous 30 years. He has also directed the 2012 film adaptation of the Broadway musical Rock of Ages for New Line Cinema. Shankman has also directed and choreographed multiple episodes of Fox's Glee.

1967 – On this date Craig Rodwell opened Oscar Wilde Bookshop, the world's first Gay and Lesbian bookstore, in Greenwich Village, New York City. The small bookstore remained open over 40 years until it closed in 2009.

1978 – The Moscone-Milk assassinations were the killings of San Francisco Mayor George Moscone and San Francisco Supervisor Harvey Milk, who were shot and killed in San Francisco City Hall by former Supervisor Dan White on November 27, 1978. White was angry that Moscone had refused to re-appoint him to his seat on the Board of Supervisors, which White had just resigned, and that Milk had lobbied heavily against his re-appointment. Because Milk was openly gay, some consider his murder a hate crime. These events helped bring national notice to then-Board President Dianne Feinstein, who became mayor of San Francisco and eventually U.S. Senator for California.

White was subsequently convicted of voluntary manslaughter, rather than of first degree murder. The verdict sparked the "White Night riots" in San Francisco, and led to the state of California abolishing the diminished capacity criminal defense. It also led to the urban legend of the "Twinkie defense", as many media reports had incorrectly described the defense as having attributed White's diminished capacity to the effects of sugar-laden junk food. White committed suicide in 1985, a little more than a year after his release from prison.

1998 – Former Zimbabwean President Canaan Banana was convicted of eleven counts of sodomy and indecent assault.

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sarahowritesostucky · 11 months ago

Text

📖"Alpha, Beta (& Omega)"

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Teen

Word Count: 5616

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap, domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, go to the story's masterlist

18. A Settling In

This Chapter: “Give me time, Beta. One way or another, I’m going to change the way you see things, I promise. I’m going to show you just what you are to me.”

Returning to New York is a relief. Ever since being thrown into this marriage with Steve, the two of them have been constantly traveling, first overseas and then back again. Being back on the familiar streets of New York City feels to Bucky like the first time he’s had his feet on solid ground since the cruise liner departed for England nearly a month ago. Finally, he might be able to gain his bearings. Or at least begin to.

“This is it,” Steve says, while he’s got a hand at the small of Bucky’s back and is guiding him up the front steps of the brownstone. “Home sweet home.” There’s an air of eagerness to him, as if he’s anxious for Bucky to approve of the place they’ll be living together.

Bucky lets himself be led inside, too busy taking it all in to bother saying anything about being led around like some dimwit housewife. The house’s air is a warm relief as they enter the front foyer with Sharon and Pietro at their backs, the latter shutting out the fall weather and the former setting down only some of their considerable amount of luggage. The rest will have to be brought in from the car in subsequent trips.

Steve thanks the butler who appears to take their jackets, and Bucky mutters a quiet thanks as well. He glances to Steve, looking for direction. There are more than a few other servants gathered down the hall, back by the kitchen. Bucky catches sight of a couple of them peeking around the door. He feels a blush creep up his neck at the obvious way they’re all staring at him, some even whispering excitedly. “Steve?” he asks.

“I’ll get them sorted,” Steve says, patting him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you look around, huh? Get comfortable. I’ll catch up with you in a bit.”

“Okay.” Bucky watches him go. A man like Steve will of course have a Household staff of no less than a dozen. He watches Steve’s back disappear into the kitchen, the uniforms of the servants moving out of sight as the few that were peeking out at Bucky go back to assemble for Steve’s instructions. Someone unseen swings the kitchen door closed from the other side. Bucky turns away, heading for the main parlor.

Left to explore on his own, he pokes around the first floor, learning the house like a new acquaintance. Dark wood, fine carpets, hearths in every room. The fires aren’t lit, but he can see how this place has the potential for warmth. This is likely where they’re going to live for the rest of their marriage, Bucky realizes. Egging Steve into a divorce seems less and less a realistic possibility these days, and the more Bucky tours the house and realizes what a home it really is—and how much more it could be, if he lets Steve make a life with him here—the more he starts to imagine himself maybe finding some sort of … contentment, in that life.

On the second level of the house, the master bedroom and two additional spousal bedrooms are all immaculately furnished, but Steve’s bed is the only one that’s been made up, the other two mattresses left naked. Bucky wonders if Steve left that direction for the servants. Does his husband expect them to sleep together every night?

The thought makes Bucky feel warm despite himself. Most spouses of Society use separate bedrooms. Sharing a room is really something more common among, well, commoners. Or love matches.

Steve had said he loved him the other night. Twice.

Biting his lip, Bucky trails up the stairs to the third floor, finding guest quarters and what he knows would most likely be utilized as a nursery, once such a space was needed. Not ready to think about a house full of children, he closes the nursery door and bypasses the chance to examine the servants’ quarters on the attic level. He goes back downstairs and finds Steve in the kitchen, the staff having just been dismissed. Jarvis affords a polite greeting as he passes, and Bucky is glad to see a familiar face. “Hi, Jarvis,” he says.

“Sir.” Somehow, the driver seems to smile without really moving his mouth much. “Off to park the car.”

Steve turns to Bucky once they’re alone. “So? What do you think of the place?”

“I can see why it’s your favorite residence,” Bucky says. He looks about the kitchen. Even this room is nice. Finely appointed, but still homey. The kitchen is arranged around a long central work table, with a thick wooden top that looks like it’s been in such service for a century. The house’s original cooking hearth is still there, side by side with the modern ovens. Windows above the sinks let in light from the street level, and somewhere along the line, someone has painted the icebox blue. “I like it,” Bucky says. “It’s very comfortable and homey. Not at all like your parents’—” he cuts himself off, realizing his mistake. “Oh—I mean…”

Steve chuckles. “It’s okay, you can say it: It’s not at all like my parents’ stuffy mansion, hm?”

Bucky nods, remembering the silk wallpaper and hard-stuffed settees from the small wedding reception Steve’s fathers had hosted; how the marble floors had gleamed and the crystal chandeliers had been without a speck of dust. “That’s not to say that their Household isn’t beautiful. It is,” he hedges, not wanting to insult Steve’s childhood home. Lord knows he’s probably attached to the place. But Steve only smiles at him.

“It’s a display of our status, I know. The requisite main residence with all the appropriate finishings.” He sighs and steps closer to Bucky, holding him at the waist and pecking a kiss to his forehead. “But certainly not my style. I bought this house after the war.”

“When you were still single?” Bucky asks. “That’s not a very common thing to do, buy a great big house when it’s just you.”

He watches as something tightens in Steve’s expression. The alpha nods. “Yes, I know. Coming home was … hard. I just wanted to go back to normal life. Family life held more appeal than ever.” He twists his lips. “But then my mother died.”

“Oh.”

“So I figured I should take steps toward forming my own Household. I threw myself into searching for a property, curated a staff, started paying closer attention to the families of Society and their … inquiries.”

‘Inquiries’, Bucky knows, is Steve’s polite way of referencing other people’s romantic pursuits. “You had many?” he asks, trying to sound nonchalant instead of jealous or overly interested.

Steve’s faint smile shows that he sees right through him. “Yes. I’m sure my parents had been fielding requests since before I even came of age.”

“I’m sure.” Bucky refrains from rolling his eyes. Logically, he’s always known that Steve was one of the nation’s most eligible bachelors. Before their marriage, he would’ve undoubtedly gotten dozens upon dozens of young men and women scrambling to secure a courtship with him. He’dve had his pick of some of the most beautiful, wealthy, and influential betas and omegas in American Society, plus standouts from the bourgeoisie and the elected, and perhaps even European nobility. All of them clamoring to make themselves the most attractive match for Captain Lord Steven Grant of House Rogers, Senator of New York.

All that choice, and look what he’s settled for. Bucky can’t understand it. “So what made you pick me, then?” he asks, eyes diverted to somewhere down around the level of Steve’s tie. “My mother’s letters couldn’t have held more persuasion than the next person’s?”

Steve hooks a finger under his chin and uses it to tip his face up. He eyes Bucky kindly, if somewhat patronizingly. “Your situation was unique,” he says.

“Ah, yes.” Bucky purses his lips. “Our ‘situation’. You felt sorry for me.”

“Yes, but I certainly wouldn’t have married you just for that,” Steve says, surprising Bucky. He looks pleased with himself when Bucky gapes. “What?” he says. “Did you think you were merely a charity case?”

“Well then what else?” Bucky blurts. “I mean marrying me was the farthest thing from a shrewd political move, and my looks haven’t exactly stood the test of time.”

He regrets it as soon as the words are past his lips, because Steve’s entire countenance darkens. He presses even closer to Bucky, crowding him against the kitchen’s countertop. “Hey. I told you I don’t like to hear talk like that,” he scolds, tone displeased and hands firm on Bucky’s body.

“Yeah,” Bucky murmurs. “Sure.”

“I mean it Buck. Look at me.” Steve waits until he has Bucky’s attention before he continues. “It hurts me. A lot.”

“What? The truth?” Bucky’s pushing it, he knows he is. But he can’t help himself from turning up a defiant chin at Steve. “It is.”

“Not to me it isn’t. And you know I hate hearing you talk about yourself that way. Your body is scarred. That doesn’t make you ugly.”

“I’m crippled,” Bucky sneers. “It is ugly.”

Steve’s hand appears at his face, lightning fast, gripping his jaw. “You’re not to talk about yourself this way,” he says, voice full of authority, a Headship’s voice. “And since you can’t seem to heed my requests on the matter, I’m making it a new rule in our marriage.”

Bucky’s eyes widen. “I—”

“You will not talk disparagingly about your arm, or your scars, or your abilities. Understand?”

Steve is so stern and adamant, it's out of character for him. Bucky frowns, taken aback. “I can if I want to.”

But Steve shakes his head. “No. It’s an order, Bucky. From your Alpha. Your Headship. If you disobey me, I’ll discipline you.” His eyes are imploring as they search Bucky’s face. “Do you understand?”

Bucky gulps, feeling trapped. “How?”

“What?”

“How will you discipline me?”

Steve releases his face and takes a step back from him, looking as if he’s mulling it over, not having thought this far ahead. Bucky waits, honestly wanting to know. All he can think about is why the heck Steve seems so freakishly invested in his injuries and insisting they aren't as bad as they are. “I suppose it depends on how willful you are,” he finally says. "But for most things, I'd spank you."

Bucky's belly swoops at that, and he can't help but think of that night in the hotel room in Turkey. "With your hand, though," he checks. "Right?"

Steve softens and steps close again. "Yes, Buck. Usually just my hand."

Bucky nods, unwilling to argue about it. He feels oddly mollified by Steve’s threat of punishment, and he wishes that he hadn’t pushed the issue with him. "Kay," he says quietly.

"So you understand the rule?" Steve checks. "No more being disparaging about your injuries."

Bucky winces. “I ... can’t help how I feel about it."

"Bucky,"

"But I’ll try not to talk that way. Around you.”

Steve’s eyes get sad, but he doesn’t admonish him any further. “That’s all I ask,” he says, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Thank you, Sweetheart.”

Bucky tucks his lips in, shy. “Mhm.”

“Hey,” Steve thumbs his nose playfully. “You gonna be mad at me now?”

“No.”

“Good.” Outside on the street, a passing car horn blares loudly, and then several other horns sound, followed by colorful shouting. Steve’s eyebrows rise and Bucky snorts. The thin-paned windows over the kitchen sink face the city street. “Brooklyn,” Steve says. “Gotta love it.”

“How do your fathers feel about it?”

“Oh they were proud to see me starting off on my own. Sad to have me go, but that’s normal enough. I think my mother might have objected to the neighborhood and lack of grandeur, but she’d passed by then so …” he shrugs. “This is home.”

Bucky hums, thinking about that. He’s reminded all over again how young Steve was when he assumed the full responsibility of his position. “Well,” he says. “I do like it.”

“That’s good.” Steve kisses his hair, looking pleased. “I want you to be happy here. This is your house too, now.”

“Mm.” Bucky knows that’s not really true. Everything is Steve’s under the law. Even Bucky himself is now property of House Rogers. But he’s in a good enough mood to ignore that reality and tease Steve, “Does that mean I get to decorate however I want?”

"Oh dear. What are you planning for my house?" The corners of Steve’s eyes crinkle in that attractive way that forebodes future wrinkles. “Of course, Buck. However you like. I trust you."

"You do?"

He smiles. "Sure. You’re the Lady of the manor, as it were, until further notice.” Bucky scowls and pinches him, though they both know Steve only said it to push his buttons. “I’ve hardly spent time here at all since assuming the seat. It’ll be nice to settle in together.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Steve pecks a kiss to his forehead and steps away. “Don’t be grumpy at me now. You know I was just teasing. You’re Lord of the manor, same as me. We’ll leave all the frip and frill to whatever poor dame winds up getting stuck with us, yeah?” Bucky watches as Steve leaves the kitchen nonchalantly, calling back from out in the hall, “I’m going upstairs to put my clothes away. I’m too picky to let the servants do it.”

Bucky knows that’s an invitation for him to come up and do the same with his own belongings, but he lingers in the kitchen for a few moments longer, running Steve’s words through his head.

‘Dame,’ Steve had said. It isn’t the slang that’s caught Bucky’s attention. He’s just now realizing that Steve has never really expressed a preference for their future omega in any fashion, let alone one for what sex they might be.

Bucky pushes off the counter and sets off to follow after Steve—since in all honesty, he’d like to be the one to unpack his personal things as well. He enters the master bedroom and finds Steve taking hats out of their hat boxes and tucking them away. He brightens when he sees Bucky. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Bucky goes over to start on his own things, but pauses, unable to keep from asking, “So, when you picture us with our Third …” He waits. Steve glances up in surprise. “Do you imagine a woman?” Bucky asks. “Or a man?”

Steve sets down the next hat he’d picked up, coming around to the same side of the bed as Bucky. He’s watching him carefully. “I’ve … avoided talking about this with you,” he says. “I didn’t think it was something you cared to think about right now.”

Bucky averts his eyes, embarrassed because Steve is right: he’s been incredibly hostile, if not downright immature, about the topic of bringing a third into their marriage. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s not that I think it’s bad. I mean, everybody wants a complete marriage.”

Steve sighs. He pushes Bucky’s suitcase aside on the bed and sits down, reaching to pull Bucky forward by both wrists. Bucky steps into the vee of his legs, staring down at the tops of his thighs, rather than meet his gaze. “But you didn’t want this marriage at all,” Steve says, voicing what Bucky has told him in the past. Oddly, Bucky can barely bring himself to nod at Steve’s words. “Are your feelings changing at all, now?” Steve asks. His thumbs stroke gently over the backs of Bucky’s hands. “Hm?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says softly. “A little.”

Steve makes a noise of understanding. “And now here we are talking about our Third? About complete marriages?” He chuckles. “You move fast, husband.”

Bucky’s eyes flick up to Steve’s, peevish. “Just asking your preference,” he mutters. “No harm in that.”

The teasing slips from Steve’s eyes. “No,” he agrees. “No harm in that.” He pulls Bucky even closer, holding him by the middle and running his hands absently over the silk backing of his waistcoat. “Tell me then,” he says. “What did you imagine for yourself, when you were a little boy?”

Bucky falters. “W-what?”

Steve grins teasingly again, and damn him, but it’s a good look on him. “Come on, you know: when you were very small. Before you matured and let the world make you into such an ornery, uncrackable nut.” He knocks painlessly at Bucky’s temple, eliciting another scowl. “Did you play with dolls?”

“Dolls are for omegas.” It’s a statement, not a denial. Bucky grew up with three omega sisters and was often roped into their games. Steve has probably figured as much.

“What did you imagine?” he presses, not to be put off. He leans in and kisses Bucky’s cheek placatingly, one side and then the other. “Come on, tell me.” He kisses his temple, the spot just in front of his ear. “Were there two boy dolls in your triads, hm? Or were there three?” He kisses the other side of Bucky’s face, and Bucky, just because he’s getting so flustered from Steve’s light touches and even lighter words, throws out a breathy,

“What if I said there were two girl dolls? Huh?”

Steve sits back, eyebrow raised. “Well? Were there?”

The insinuation is, of course, that Bucky could’ve grown up imagining himself with a female omega and a female alpha. But he folds quickly under Steve’s attention, shaking his head and admitting, “No. I … I usually imagined three boy dolls, I guess.”

Steve hums. “Is that what you’d prefer, then? A young man joining our marriage one day?”

Bucky shrugs. “I dunno.”

“I’m not pressuring you Bucky. Just asking.”

“I know.” Bucky huffs, embarrassed at himself. He’s the one who brought this up, after all. He forces himself to meet Steve’s eyes once again. “What about you?” he asks. “What do you prefer?” Bucky knows that as Headship to their marriage, Steve will be the one to get the final say on who they bring in as their Third.

“I like both,” Steve says. “Though I suppose my imagination tends towards men, since I grew up with my father in that role.”

Bucky nods, remembering Steve’s more outgoing omega father, how kind and welcoming he’d been at their wedding reception. “I see.” He thinks back to that day on the ship when he caught Steve looking at a young omega man over breakfast. He’d been jealous at the time, but now he tries to imagine the omega here with them, a part of their marriage. He imagines Steve giving him his attention, imagines the three of them in bed together. He feels his face heat as he thinks of what it would be like, to get his chance with the omega.

“Buck?” Steve is smiling a little at him. “You like the idea?”

“Maybe,” Bucky admits. “But I also …” he trails off.

“What?” Steve pulls him closer. Bucky’s knees hit the bed and he has the urge to climb up on Steve’s lap. “Tell me,” Steve says. “But you also what?”

Bucky sighs and figures, why not just be honest? It isn’t like he hasn’t told Steve too much already. “I dunno. I guess maybe it makes me a little jealous, too.” He peeks at Steve, trying to gauge his reaction. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “It’s stupid.”

“Oh, Honey. No, it’s not.” Steve does pull him up on the bed, then, scooting back and pulling Bucky along with him until they’re both laid out on their sides facing each other. He holds Bucky close by the lower back, one leg hooking over his. “Why should you be jealous, huh?”

“I … it’s stupid, but I think about you having an omega and how maybe then … maybe then you wouldn’t want me or … or at least not need me as much.” Bucky pushes his face into the covers, trying to escape Steve’s scrutiny.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve says solemnly. “You’re right.”

Bucky tenses up.

“That is stupid.” Steve’s fingers dig in harder at his sides, pulling him against his body. He slots a leg forward; firm, thick thigh muscle pressing against Bucky’s crotch possessively. “Open your eyes and look at me,” he Voices, no nonsense. “Stop avoiding me.”

Bucky opens his eyes, not having realized that he’d shut them in the first place. Steve looks … determined. “M’sorry,” Bucky mumbles.

“Stop saying that,” Steve commands. “Bucky, I want to know where on earth you got these ideas put in your head that Betas are somehow inferior, or unimportant.”

Bucky squirms. “I dunno.”

“I mean your parents are an Alpha–Beta pair. They never took a third and they’ve had a long marriage, so what gives?”

Bucky frowns. “My father never stopped looking. I think he and my mother courted several engagements, but nothing ever came of them.”

“I see.”

“My father …” He hesitates. “Well he um, he kept other Households.” Bucky sees how Steve’s face sets to stone in understanding. He remembers how Steve had once told him over a heated game of chess, that he wasn’t the sort to take lovers on the side. “All with omegas,” he admits quietly. “Outside of Society, but even still. It was like once he found them, he didn’t want my mother anymore. They weren’t the same.”

“How old were you when this was going on?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Thirteen maybe? Or at least, that’s when I was old enough to notice.”

Steve sighs. He looks disappointed. “So right when you were hitting puberty then.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Bucky.” Steve looks at him meaningfully. “Right when you were maturing as a Beta? What kind of message do you think that sent you?” Bucky’s lips part, but he doesn’t answer. He’s never thought of this before, but Steve’s words make sense. Steve must see him mulling it over, because he huffs and turns them, rolling over top of Bucky and looking down at him from the new position. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But you’re wrong. Your feelings about what it means to be Beta are all wrong.” He kisses him once, softly, then pulls back. “I want to show you that. I … I need to show you that.”

Bucky feels his chest squeeze a little tighter at Steve’s earnestness. “How are you gonna do that?” he asks.

Steve lowers down to rest their foreheads together, sighing. On either side of Bucky, he finds his hands and twines their fingers together. “I don’t know,” he admits. “But I’m going to.” He kisses him again, this time longer and deeper, a kiss with real intent. He doesn’t pull back until Bucky parts for him on a sigh. He skims their lips together, the barest touch, his breath warm against Bucky’s skin. “Give me time, Beta. One way or another, I’m going to change the way you see things, I promise. I’m going to show you just what you are to me.”

They christen their marriage bed that afternoon, and in Bucky’s opinion it’s a very good start.

Over the course of the next few weeks, life settles into a sort of normalcy. Steve is out and about the city for work most days, and Bucky is kept busy by the servants—namely Sharon, who is the housekeeper. She presents Bucky with a list of duties that, as Steve’s only spouse, now fall on him. There’s far more to do than Bucky would have expected, and plenty to keep his mind off of any real desire to leave the house himself. At least for a little while.

Steve’s brownstone is a fine, handsome house, but it hasn’t been furnished properly. Too many corners and drawers have been neglected and left empty. Bucky’s first task, Sharon informs him, is to select the silver and china that the Household will use. The expense is daunting, but once he brings it up to Steve on their third night in bed and the alpha laughs and gives him permission to buy whatever he finds suitable for their home, Bucky feels better about it.

Houses of Society need personalized stationery, Sharon says, so Bucky orders some. He approves menus from the head Household cook (Steve has four kitchen staff, imagine!). He touches base with the gardener and is told to think about what he might want planted in the back garden and the front platers in the spring. Furniture must be bought, and Bucky has a rushed education on all the sorts of tables there are—console and high tables, coffee and end, sofa and side, card, dining, banquet, bedside, occasional, atrium. Too many types.

One room in the house that is already furnished to completion is the house’s second drawing room. It’s smaller than the main one, tucked away in a less trafficked part of the house. Bucky can tell by the cramped, comfortable layout of the room that it is probably intended only for family use, not for receiving guests. He likes it instantly. There are no windows, making it feel even more like a private hideaway. There’s a silver parlor stove instead of a hearth, and a spinet piano tucked into one corner.

Bucky’s attention is drawn to the piano despite himself, the urge to play coming unbidden. It’s only an upright piano, nothing like the grand instrument Bucky used to practice on back home. He hasn’t sat at one in years …

Quickly glancing back at the room’s door, he thinks about how Steve is out of the house. And Sharon was the only domestic home earlier, but Bucky remembers she said she was leaving for the day. So he’s alone. It wouldn’t hurt to give it a try, would it?

Scoffing at his own hesitance, he makes up his mind and strides over to the bench, seating himself and folding up the fall to reveal the keys. Bucky traces his hands over them, eyes the fingers of his right hand, and then his left. Relaxed like this, he can hardly see a difference. But he knows that if he tries to play, the fingers of his left hand won’t work properly. He frowns, tries to squeeze and flex that hand. It’s infuriating to watch the weak display, and he grunts in frustration. Suddenly, he feels very silly for sitting down at the piano. He dares to slide his fingers over the keys; not pressing, just ghosting over the tops. He imagines the opening notes to a song…

“I didn’t know you played.”

Bucky’s hands press down jarringly on the keys. He whips to the side in alarm at Steve’s voice, his heart lurching more than it should. “Shit,” he hisses.

Steve is wincing from the harsh clang of the keyboard. “Sorry,” he apologizes. "I didn't mean to startle you."

“It’s fine.” Bucky hurries to slide the fall back out to cover up the keys.

“Hey, no. Wait.” Steve is smiling, coming over and sitting on the bench next to Bucky. “My mother made me take lessons for a few years in primary school,” he says. He catches Bucky’s eye, wryness evident, and Bucky can't help but to guess,

“Didn’t like it?”

“Suffice it to say I wasn’t exactly a savant.”

“Mm.”

“How about you?” Steve asks. He uses one of the tiny knobs to lift the fall again. “Any good?”

Bucky grinds his teeth. “I was.”

“Play something for me.”

“I said I was. It’s been a long time.”

Steve chuckles quietly, scooting closer and pressing a kiss to Bucky’s neck. He seems oblivious to his mood. “Come on, it’s just me. Let me hear you play something.”

Bucky shrugs him off with an annoyed twitch. “No. I don’t play anymore. Not since the accident.” He can practically feel the change in his husband, at the admission and as Steve realizes that this isn’t simple bashfulness on his part. Bucky avoids his eyes as he says, “With my hand the way it is, my fingers ... I just can’t.”

“Oh. I see.” For a long moment Steve says nothing. “But have you tried?”

Bucky blows air through his teeth. “Of course I have. What? Do you think I’m stupid or something?”

“Buck, come on.”

Steve sounds hurt, and it makes Bucky feel bad despite himself. He shouldn’t be snapping at Steve when all the alpha is trying to do is help. “Sorry,” he mumbles, moving to get up from the bench. “Don’t know why I sat down here in the first place.”

“Wait.” Steve grabs him by the forearm, keeping him from getting up. “If you won’t play, I will.”

“What?”

Steve grins. “I’ll play something for you.” He shifts to the side, forcing Bucky to scoot down the bench several inches as he centers himself and orients his fingers to the keys.

Bucky scowls. “I thought you said you were crap?”

“Oh, I am.” Steve laughs, pressing out a hesitant chord. “But maybe you could teach me to be better, hm?” He moves his fingers, the next notes incorrectly placed.

Bucky winces and moves to stand up. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

“Hm, well I guess I’ll just have to grace you with my musical stylings until you change your mind," Steve says airily, moving into another indecent chord, and then a string of jarring notes.

Bucky thinks he halfway recognizes the child’s piece that Steve is attempting to produce. But it is so bad. Blushing, and more than a little consternated, he actually does shove up from the bench then. “I told you: my gimp hand can’t play,” he snaps, mad at Steve for pushing the point. “Hire a tutor if you want to learn.”

“Oh no,” Steve drawls, continuing on in his playing. “I think I’ve got it now. It’s coming back to me.”

Bucky scowls at his back, unable to keep from wincing every time Steve bangs out a too-strong chord, the keys tangling in wrong notes and out of time combinations. Jesus, it’s bad. Bucky’s hands twitch at his sides, his inner musician wanting to stop Steve from the abuse he’s inflicting on the poor instrument. Ugh.

“Oh, here we go, here we go,” Steve says excitedly. “You know, I think I actually remember some of the words to this one.” He opens his mouth to start singing almost as badly as he’s playing, and that’s when Bucky cracks.

“Wait, wait, stop! Just … stop. Stoppit.” He hurries back to Steve, physically removing his hands from the keys.

Steve looks up at him with twinkling eyes, damn him. “What?” he grins. “I was just getting the hang of it.”

“Someone’s going to call the police, you keep playing like that.”

“Sit down and teach me, then.”

Even though he's obviously laughing about the situation, there’s still something so earnest in the way he asks for it, that Bucky finds himself giving in. “I hate you, you know that?”

Steve hums happily and repositions his hands over the keys, waiting. Bucky sighs loudly again and stands just behind and to the side of him, bending and placing his hands atop Steve’s own. This close, he can feel the warmth of Steve’s cheek near his, can smell the cologne that hasn’t yet faded from his skin. Resisting the urge to press his face closer, he focuses on readjusting the way Steve’s wrists are poised. “Hold ‘em like this,” he says, watching as Steve follows along. “Yeah, like that. You can’t play right if you don’t even know the basics of posture."

Steve turns his head just the tiniest bit, and Bucky knows he’s being side eyed. “I’ll bet you were a good student, huh? Bet you never got your knuckles rapped as much as I did.”

Bucky snorts, and Steve bumps their heads together, ending it by turning and pecking him on the cheek. The gesture is stupidly sweet and really shouldn’t make Bucky heat up as much as it does. “I—I really can’t, anymore,” he stutters. “I have tried, in the past. But the nerve damage is just ..." he cuts himself off with a sigh. "How can I teach you to play when I can’t even—”

“Come on,” Steve interrupts. “We can help each other, can’t we? Practice together?"

"It's a nice idea Steve, but I—”

"I want you to show me, Buck. Please. I want to learn this from you. … I want to learn this about you.”

It catches Bucky off guard, that last. He wants to shake his head, pull away, stammer excuses about how this isn’t him anymore, he can’t play. But something about Steve’s presence beside him, large and calm and honest, so obviously trying to forge a connection that Bucky just doesn’t understand, makes him unable to say no. So instead he huffs out a breath and forms his fingers more resolutely over Steve’s. “Alright,” he gripes. “If for nothing else than to spare the servants’ ears.”

“I want to learn Christmas carols for the holidays,” Steve proclaims cheerfully.

Bucky groans. “We’ve got our work cut out for us.”

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