#but in the end I can't have... any of this. because I'm too utterly averse to having children

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

😭💔

[suzannahnatters]

A while back I realised that there's one specific fictional thing that is catnip to me, and that is vulnerability. People accuse me of liking dire things in stories, but it's not so much that I love it when fictional people are suffering. It's that I kind of crave vulnerability in my protagonists.

I would define vulnerability as the opposite of agency. At its core, it involves a denial or a willing sacrifice of agency, and while writers talk about agency a lot, I don't think we spend anywhere near enough time discussing vulnerability.

Vulnerability is incredibly powerful in building empathy with a character, but it also forces the character into dire choices that reveal their true nature, and it makes the antagonistic forces seem a lot more powerful and scary. Vulnerability is why whump is appealing. It's one of the reasons we all care so much about out good fried Jonathan Harker, utterly at Dracula's mercy. It's why the myth of the voluntarily dying god is so powerful, even if you aren't a Christian.

More recently, I've been thinking a whole lot about how important vulnerability is in constructing a believable romance. In a believable romance, the characters will be emotionally vulnerable to, and on behalf of, one another. The "if you dare touch her" trope where the love interest comes unhinged at the sight of a loved one's suffering is vulnerability. Enemies to lovers is delicious because it asks what might happen if the person to whom you're most vulnerable was also the one with the greatest interest in exploiting that vulnerability. As I've written before, romance is about trust; and the corollary is that no romance can live without that heartstopping moment when one character takes the risk of putting themselves helplessly into the power of the other.

But I think that a lot of storytellers these days are prioritising agency at the cost of vulnerability. Disney's attempts at feminism are a great example of this. While the animated MULAN is outed as a woman in a moment of vulnerability that was the most powerful thing in the movie for me, in the live action Mulan's unmasking becomes a expression of agency that in my opinion guts the story of feeling. On the other hand, in the cdrama I'm currently watching (GOODBYE, MY PRINCESS) the male lead is SO averse to letting himself be vulnerable in any way at all that I simply can't find any romance in his interactions with the heroine. I love to see stories that foreground marginalised people, but too often those stories focus on giving the protagonist agency at the cost of letting the antagonist land any hits at all. The result, imo, is a perfectly soulless story.

Of course, agency is a sine qua non of a good protagonist. But so is vulnerability, and there are so many amazing stories you can write about a vulnerable protagonist. W R Gingell's CITY BETWEEN series, for instance, is the story of a desperately vulnerable protagonist fighting to claim some agency in her own life and it's GLORIOUS. And beyond that, I would say that moments of vulnerability are indispensable even to very strong protagonists. One of the reasons FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST worked so gorgeously as a story for me, for instance, was the gutpunch moments of vulnerability that happened both at the very start and then with increasing tempo toward the end.

Vulnerability can be something a protagonist constantly struggles with, or something that unexpectedly blindsides someone who seemed to be invincible, or something a character does willingly for the sake of the people they love. It can be romantic, or not at all. But either way it's the interplay of agency and vulnerability that really MAKES a story for me. You HAVE to have both.

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter twelve - “it’s hovercraft time, bucky barnes”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2.4k

synopsis: neither bucky nor y/n can sleep... until they do. and the next day brings them an unexpected, but pleasant surprise.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

It was four in the morning when the psychologist and the super soldier got in their respective beds after the nightmare. Y/N laid on her side in the bunk across from Bucky, facing away from him and staring at the wall. Her body wanted to sleep but her mind kept whirring on and on, worrying about him.

It wouldn't be that bad if she could just ignore it. It wouldn't be so bad if she wasn't wide awake also thinking about how it would be utterly impossible for him to have any eye color other than blue.

She sighed. Christ almighty, just go to sleep.

About twenty minutes passed before she heard it.

"Why are you still up?" he mumbled.

She turned over to her other side, dramatically, staring at his silhouette in the dark.

"How could you possibly know that?"

"I'm a trained assassin," he said, as a matter of fact. "I can recognize breath patterns."

"Yeah, well I know for a fact that you aren't even trying to fall back asleep."

"How could you possibly know that?" he repeated her question.

"I just do," she stated before turning on her back and staring straight up.

He scoffed playfully.

"What?" she asked.

Her tone wasn't as playful. It wasn't angry or annoyed; she could never be with him. But, it was void of emotion and her usual sarcastic cadence. She didn't enjoy people reading her like that. She knew he wasn't, but it felt like she was being called out for caring so much. She wanted to rein in her own compassion, but she couldn't help the way he softened her.

"That's just code for 'I'm a trained psychologist and I know how you're gonna react to nightmares.'"

She replied with silence, desperately trying to end the conversation so she could try to sleep and leave this night behind.

"Sorry, did I- did I say something?" he asked.

"No, you're good."

Part of her felt bad for being short with him, but she needed it to be over. She needed to somehow distance herself from her own feelings.

"I'm sorry if I woke you up with the nightmare and messed with you being able to fall back asleep. I know it's... a lot."

He's sorry. He's sorry?

"Don't you dare apologize. It's not your fault, and it's not even why I can't fall back asleep."

"What's the problem then?"

"It's nothing. Just try and get some sleep."

"Yeah... about that..."

"Will you have another?"

"Not  sure. I don't wanna find out."

"I know. And I'm sorry. Sleep shouldn't be this menacing, but you should still try anyway. Your body needs it."

"So does yours."

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh. There she went caring again and he kept deflecting. Her frustrations about her own emotions came out in stubborn defiance.

"I'm not sleeping until you do."

"Guess we're both stayin' up then."

"Bucky," she gently admonished.

"Y/N I can't- that... was the worst one I've had in a while."

That was it. Any and all aggravation faded to nothing, and her cheeks were hot with guilt. To hell with it; she refused to leave him to pain. She then got out of her bunk. Carefully, she maneuvered out and kneeled on the floor, facing him. She felt bad; she didn't mean to push him.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I should know better."

He mirrored her actions, slipping out of his own bunk and kneeling on the floor in front of her

"It's okay," he didn't miss a beat. His voice was as soft of hers. "Thank you."

He was closer now, so she could see a more detailed outline of him. She never really noticed just how large he was. Just his arm looked as big as her head. He was supposed to look frightening, but... she just couldn't see it.

"If you don't wanna sleep that's okay. I'll stay up with you so you don't have to be alone."

"Y/N..."

"I'm already up, I don't mind," she countered. "Seriously. I'm wide awake now. Honestly, I don't even know if I could fall back asleep if I tried."

"I can't ask you to stay up and babysit just 'cause you feel bad."

She scooted forward, determined not to lose to deflection again. Babysit? and Cause you feel bad? How could he truly think so little of himself?

"I am definitely not babysitting. I just happened to be awake at the same time you are... and not because I feel bad."

He scooted forward a couple inches, squinting, trying to decipher her facial expressions. "I can't tell if you're joking or not just from your tone of voice."

In the very back of her head it returned: that hazy enchantment feeling that swelled from her lungs through her brain stem every time she was this close to him. It is important to note - it was in the very back of her brain, and if you ignore something long enough, you can convince yourself it's not there.

"James Buchanan, I am awake and there's not a thing you can do about it."

"Alright," he sighed. "I don't know if you're expecting some kind of entertainment, but I can't really juggle with one arm..."

"I can't juggle with two."

"Ever been to the circus?"

"No."

He laughed. "Oh man, you're missin' out."

"No, I got the clown right here."

"Wow, is that how it is?"

"Depends. You got face paint and a rainbow wig?"

"Smartass."

The air was quiet after their breathy laughs fizzled out. A few moments of awkwardness quietly passed, both unsure of what to say next.

"You know when you're in the dark, your pupils dilate to take in as much light as they can in order to see better?" Y/N asked.

"I think I knew that? I'm not sure, I might've heard it somewhere. Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. I can't see your face super well, so it made me think of it. I can barely even see your eyes."

"Maybe that's better," he chuckled. "I don't know if they're still blood shot from earlier."

"Like I'd care."

"Why wouldn't you?"

"What?"

"Why wouldn't you care? I feel like seeing someone's puffy face and post-cry eyes would be kinda gross."

"You really think I care if your eyes are red or puffy?" she questioned. "Buck, I know I'm probably not supposed to say this because technically I'm your doctor, but I honestly consider you a really good friend. I'd be more worried to see that you've been crying than be aversive to it."

He scoffed in honest disbelief.

"What?"

"I just can't wrap my head around the fact that you think that way about me..."

"What do you mean?"

"...the person I am, the things I've done, the..." he shook his head, "the horrors I've committed..."

"The horrors you've committed are not who you are. I know you see yourself in a lot of different ways because it's hard to un-learn what other people have decided you are: a monster, a ghost, an asset, a machine, an assassin, a weapon, whatever. But have you ever considered that you're just human after all? You're a man who got dealt a shit hand in life. But there is still light in him... light that never left, no matter how hard they tried to beat it out of you. You're a survivor, Buck."

Bucky took a deep breath in, contemplating, before turning and laying on his back. They both remained on the floor, Y/N kneeling a few inches away from the side of Bucky's supine figure. He stared straight up at the ceiling.

"Sometimes I think I'm a better 'ghost' than I am a human being. My mind's a mess, and even though I'm trying, I still can't help but feel like I've lost who I am."

"You haven't lost who you are. You're just different now, and that's okay."

He looked up at her. "How do you always know what to say?"

"I know everything."

Y/N smiled, following Bucky's laugh, allowing the somber atmosphere to lighten up a bit. They so easily slipped in and out of the therapy dynamic, but now it seemed more like a heartfelt conversation between friends rather than treatment between doctor and patient.

"I consider you a really good friend too by the way - closest one I've had since Steve."

"Wow, really? That's an honor."

"Not really," he chuckled. "Steve's a punk."

And there she went laughing again. In one way or another she always found herself laughing around him.

However, she found it more confusing than funny when she woke up the following morning to find herself sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the beds with Bucky's head in her lap. She found her hands resting on his head protectively, fingers slightly carded through his long hair. She woke up before him... That's a first.

Y/N looked down at him. He was fast asleep; he looked peaceful and so relaxed. It was such a rare state to see him in, so she gave herself a few more seconds to study how his face looked when it was completely tranquil before she smoothed her hand along the back of his head and replaced her lap with a pillow.

-

"Hey," a raspy voice called out.

Y/N turned around from her seat at the table, hands still wrapped around the cup of tea she made herself a few minutes prior.

Bucky was awake, sitting up, but still in his previous spot on the floor.

"Hey. You want some tea?"

He stood up, nodding and stretching his back. "Did I fall back asleep?"

"You did," she smiled. "I'm pleased. I told you you needed the rest."

He seemed pleasantly surprised. "And on the floor too. Very classy."

She raised her mug to him, as if to make a toast. "Classiest man I know."

He laughed before grabbing the kettle and realizing it was empty.

"Shoot. We're outta water."

"It's alright. We know where to find the waterfall. You want to go get more?"

"Mm hm."

"Alright, I'll just finish my tea and go out in a few minutes."

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm coming too."

"You sure? You just woke up. You can take some time to just relax if you want."

"No. I'm going."

"Stubborn. I can go myself, you know. I know the way."

"Would you let me go by myself?"

Y/N was silent for a moment before sighing.

"Get your shoes."

-

"You know, there was really no reason to almost push me into the water," Bucky commented as they were making their way back to the shelter after restocking their water supply.

"I wasn't actually going to!"

"You might as well have! My life flashed before my eyes!"

"Bet that took forever. You wanna backtrack? I can do it for real this time."

"I'm throwin' you in next time."

"You couldn't throw me," she challenged.

"Like a football," he countered, smirking.

"I don't wanna test that theory."

Their banter continued as they continued walking, making sure they were in the tree line and not out in the open. Bucky was always cautious. He was able to laugh with her while still making sure they were safe. That was until his arm was suddenly around the front of her shoulders, and holding her against his chest as his back was flush against a tree, effectively hiding them both from sight. She just stared forward, barely registering how fast he swiveled both of them around.

"There's someone at the bunker. I'm sorry- didn't want us to be seen."

He removed his arm, but her feet were stuck. She had never been close to him like this before; she didn't know what to think of it. She stepped forward a bit, breaking the contact but still facing away from him. She was hyperaware of their proximity but that quickly dissipated as she registered what he said.

"What did you see?"

"There were a couple people, but I didn't get a great look 'cause I moved out of sight fast. One woman, two men? I think."

His tone and demeanor reminded her of that day Shuri told them they had to go in hiding. He was so calm and collected. She forgot situations like these were practically muscle memory to him.

"Do you think someone found us? What were they doing?"

"I only saw 'em for a second, I'm not sure. Stay still, I'm gonna look."

As soon as his head peaked around the tree, so did Y/N's, ignoring his order.

"Wait, I think that's Shuri."

"Are you sure?"

"Pretty sure. I don't know if I'd bet my life on it."

"What's that other thing?"

"The hovercraft?"

"Hovercraft? God, I love this place."

"Wait, see the crest on the hovercraft - that's the one only Shuri can unlock."

"Alright, just... stay behind me. Okay?"

"Okay."

The two slowly made their way towards the three Wakandans. Y/N actually listened this time and stayed behind Bucky. As soon as they were in sight, Shuri came running up to them.

"Y/N!" she exclaimed, immediately throwing herself into the psychologist, embracing her.

She was startled at first, arms awkwardly hanging by her sides before her brain finally caught up to her and she brought her arms up lightly, returning the hug.

"Shuri! What happened?"

"We won!" Shuri grinned. "It's a long and complicated story, but the rightful King never died. My brother has reclaimed his place on the throne. Wakanda is ours once again!"

A monumental weight was lifted from Y/N's shoulders. She sighed in relief, knowing she was no longer in danger, knowing Bucky was no longer in danger.

"That's incredible. I'm so glad everything's okay, and I'm so glad to see you."

"I'm glad to see you too, my partner," Shuri hugged her once more before addressing Bucky. "Sergeant Barnes. I'm sorry for all the trouble. I hope everything was alright?"

"We've been getting along just fine," he nodded. "Thank you."

Shuri called over the two other men - royal guards that came with her - before turning back to Y/N and Bucky.

"You've been camped out here in hiding long enough. Let us go home."

As they walked behind the Wakandan princess, Y/N nudged Bucky with her elbow.

"It's hovercraft time, Bucky Barnes," she managed to say through a face numbing smile.

delicate taglist: @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance

[northisnotup]

So, what about The Final Resting Place fic where Nureyev is the one to leave?

Imagine Juno waking up - intending to leave but there is no one to leave. Just cool space on the mattress occupied by a note. (Bc Nureyev is not Juno and of course he leaves a note scented with his cologne)

And Juno starts laughing, bitterly, until he's sobbing, helplessly.

Of course Nureyev leaves a note - its the same jumbled but legible writing, like he was stressed, like he was in a hurry, and Juno reads it and reads it and reads it.

How could two broken people love eachother so damn much?

Bc thats what Nureyev’s note condenses to:

I love you and I'm sorry

I love you and I'll ruin you

I love you and it terrifies me utterly

I love you, but i don't know who i am - how can i expect you to love me when i don't even know the person you're in love with

Its so bittersweet. Because they love and trust eachother. They don't trust or love themselves

It cements this irony in Juno's brain of 'i may hate myself but I love Peter Nureyev, for whatever that's worth'

It can't be much.

Without the guilt of leaving Nureyev he is a much more directionless Juno then we see at the start of s2 - he's just going through the motions until Ramses starts the ball rolling of 'you can be better, i can make you better'

And hell - if Nureyev left to 'find himself' maybe Juno can too?

Which is why Ramses betrayal hits so very hard.

...

The Time Gone By goes about the same, if a little more bittersweet because here are two people who love eachother through years and trauma and want to make it work again and Juno...wants that

He feels like he's taking his first deep breath after being submerged. Like - if they can do it, why can't he? What was he afraid of? Nureyev had already seen the absolute worst parts of him, the piece that said he was useless and wanted to give up and he loved Juno anyway.

(Meanwhile - Nureyev is hurling himself through the stars, through heists and plans and personae's, trying to find who he is - trying to find a Nureyev who is worthy of Juno Steel's love. He honestly does just miss the flight to Mars. He has high hopes for the legend that is Buddy Aurinko and who he could be at her side)

...

Nureyev is not posing seductively on the hood of the Ruby 7 when Juno stumbles into the belly of the Carte Blanche. He is barely in the room at all, standing half in the shadows.

He's gazing at Juno's face with all the longing of a left lover and all the guilt of the one who did the leaving and it's all Juno needs to see. (Bc he knows Nureyev. Knows his tics under pressure and through pain. Knows his most horrible secret and the gift of his name. Passively his mind notes all the little signs and signals that Nureyev would hide if he could.)

He throws himself forward, marching like a man on a mission and its a good thing Nureyev braces himself for a punch because that is what he gets

He doesn't brace for the kiss that follows it, wouldn't have even if he could. Juno fists his hands, one in Nureyev's shirt and one in his hair and crashes them together, not letting Rita's squeal or Buddy's laugh or Vespa's derision or his own aversion to the blood from where he just split Nureyev's lip stop him.

And Nureyev melts into him, hands so soft and so hesitant as they cradle his face in turn. He's whispering Juno's name against his lips, near chanting it like it can replace all the words he wants to say:

I'm sorry/Juno

I made a mistake/Juno

I'm still in love with you/oh, Juno

"Are you going to do it again?" Juno pants when the kiss ends - he feels the shudder roll through Nureyev as he prepares to scramble himself together, to make an excuse or do something that draws attention away to how stripped bare vulnerable he just was - Juno refuses to give an inch.

"Juno," Nureyev keeps saying his name like its the only word that matters. His lips twitch, parting on air and without any tumor or chip Juno knows the mental hoops he is jumping through - the urge to laugh it off, to make it lighter, to feign ignorance.

Juno leans up on the tip toes of his boots, pulling Nureyev down until they're eye to eye. "Are you going to do it again?" He demands roughly.

Nureyev's hands never left his face and he feels gentle thumbs sweep along his cheekbones. "No, i suppose not," he says, softly.

"Good. Me neither."

(Later, after Nova and after several 'conversations' both verbal and physical, Nureyev will pout at the mirror "Really Juno, did you have to punch me?"

And Juno will lean over his shoulder and press a kiss to the bruise on his chin, uncovered by makeup, "if I'm not firm with you, you'll never learn.")

[seimsisk]

This week we decided to donate our spare towels and bedsheets that weren't getting any use. Keep just what we can resonably expect to use. The same week, I had a talk with my mom where she complained she had too many towels, but she couldn't donate them, because if she did, then fice years from now she would have to buy new towels.

And I keep thinking about that. This is how my parents raised me: always keep everything you might one day maybe want to use. Never get rid of anything you might want in the distant future. Offering things to close frienda and family is accepted though, so I keep getting gifts I don't really want.

I think I'm getting to a fundamental difference in perspective. I'm sure and secure in my knowlege that I will always have basic necessities. If my towels get too old to wear, I will either have enough to buy new ones, or I will have enough of a support network to get used ones. I might even buy cheap used towels from a charity bazar, like the one I donated my towels to. I do not fear running out of money and basic necessities.

But mom does, regardless of how much more money than me she makes. My mom grew up in a poorer world and family than mine, so to her, planning to get new towels five years from now is... exuberance. Rich people do that. Normal people use things until they tear apart, and keep things to use ten years from now, and fix what can be fixed, and use the parts of what can't be fixed to fix or make other things. And I think that must come from a feeling of being utterly alone, incapable of trusting that someone else will be able to come to your aid when you need it. You need to be able to supply everything yourself, all the time.

Idk. It's complicated, but that's what I've been thinking about. I never really understood why mom was so averse to donating things we don't use anymore, and at the end of the day I think it's that she sees donating as throwing something in the trash. She can't really see a community that will find use for the stuff.