#do you need someone

[drabbles-mc]

Do You Need Someone?

Bucky Barnes x F!Soldier!Reader

Summary: In the aftermath of finally getting control over his own mind, Bucky tries to start building a normal life for himself. Just like any soldier coming back from the war, he needs a helping hand with it all.

Warnings: 18+, angst, language, PTSD, mentions of war/violence, hospitals

For the Alternate June-iverse Event Prompt: therapist

Word Count: 4.9k

A/N: I love the idea of instead of Bucky getting funneled right into Avengers things when he gets his mind back, he just gets to be a "normal" vet. This AU was so much fun to write but I was a fool to think that I could pack everything that I wanted to do with it into one story, so there will definitely be more installments of this as time goes on. However, I feel like this is a good kickstart to it and could be a standalone if I let it be. It's also my first Bucky readerfic! What a time! Hope you enjoy! Also, shout-out to @buckybarnesevents for hosting this event! xo

MCU Taglist: @garbinge @artemiseamoon (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

Bucky stared up at the towering concrete walls that made up the outside of the hospital. It felt so strange to show up here after everything. It felt too normal after all that he’d been through. But, if he was going to try and scrape together any semblance of a normal life, he supposed that this wasn’t the worst place to start. This hospital was one of the few in the area that worked directly with the VA, so that’s where Sam had sent him.

He looked down at the screen of his phone, looking over all of the information for his initial appointment here. Today was just supposed to be about getting set up with a doctor, specifically one who knew a good deal about prosthetics. What he had was going to be above most people’s paygrades, but he tried to be optimistic about it all.

Once he was inside and made his way to the elevator, he hit the button for the floor the woman at the front desk had given him. It was only a few floors up but the trip up felt like it took much longer than it should’ve. Finally, there was the singular ding that let Bucky know he had finally gotten to his destination. He strode off the elevator, trying his best to weave through the people getting on without bumping into them. He fought the urge to pull his baseball cap farther down over his face—old habits die hard.

“How can I help you today?” the woman at the desk greeted him

He cleared his throat, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I’m supposed to have an appointment?”

She nodded, fingers flying across the keyboard. “Name?”

“Buc—” he stopped himself short, “James. Barnes.”

He could’ve sworn he saw something flicker across her face, but it was gone before he could think too much on it. Looking up from her screen and back at him, she smiled and nodded before handing him a clipboard. “Fill this out for me, please. Feel free to take a seat in the waiting area. Your doctor will be with you shortly.”

Bucky found a chair towards the back of the waiting room, one that situated him without anyone sitting right next to him. No one there really seemed to be paying him any mind, but he still felt like all eyes were on him. He tapped the pen against the edge of the clipboard in his lap as he read over the sheet in front of him.

It didn’t take him long to fill out the form. Most of his information had been sent to the hospital already. But all of the questions wanting to get into more details of the reason for his visits, any symptoms or things that he was struggling with that he wanted to discuss more in depth with his doctor, felt like they were trick questions at worst, essay questions at best. He did his best to keep it short and sweet—part of him had to assume that whatever doctor landed his case had to know what they were getting into. If nothing else, he knew that Sam would’ve at least made sure of that.

When he was done filling it out, he brought it back up to the front desk before promptly going and finding his seat again. He took the time to study everyone around him a little closer. He’d taken vague note of everyone when he first arrived, that was a habit he didn’t think that he would ever shake, but now he really tried to study them all.

There was such a range of people. There were a lot of younger people, people that were fighting wards that Bucky hadn’t even really had the time to fully learn about yet. He also noticed the few older people who were in the waiting room too, people who looked the way that Bucky would if he’d had any sort of a normal trajectory in life after the war. He tried not to think too hard about it—he had enough things clogging up his mind for the time being.

Like a saving grace, the sound of his name put a stop to his spiraling thoughts. “Barnes?”

“Yea,” the word came out before he thought better of it. He was instantly standing up out of his seat, grabbing his backpack off the floor as he went.

The appointment wasn’t as daunting as Bucky had been making it out to be in his head. The doctor gave him a general checkup, but most of what they did was talk. They talked about treatment plans for old injuries that never really healed properly, about what the strategy was going to be for care when it came to his arm.

“I think,” his doctor said as she set her clipboard off to the side, “the thing that’s going to be most helpful for you, though, is finding someone that you can talk to.” She saw the slight panic on Bucky’s face at the mere thought of it. “I can help you with all of the physical things, but I’m not the most qualified to help coach you through coping with everything that you’ve been through. We have some great psychiatrists here and—”

“I don’t wanna be catatonic because someone decided I need to be on a bunch of meds,” he said, cutting her off with a tone that wasn’t loud, but it was firm.

She took it in stride, simply giving an understanding nod. “I completely understand that. We also have a really great team of counselors who do group and individual therapy sessions. I think that you would benefit a lot from shopping around and finding someone that you feel comfortable talking with.” She paused, seeing the hesitation still on his face. “I can’t make you book an appointment with someone, James, but I really think that you should consider it. Getting your body working well is all fine and good, but your brain has undergone just as much trauma as your body.”

He shifted uncomfortably on the bed in the exam room, the paper crinkling beneath him. “Right.”

The doctor stood up and went to the wall where they had rows of pamphlets. Trailing her fingers along a few of them, she scanned until she found the one she’d been looking for. Plucking it from the holder, she stepped back over and handed it to Bucky.

“Like I said, I’m not here to force you. But here are the doctors here and the services they provide. The front desk can also give you an updated schedule for group therapy sessions that are held here.”

He took the pamphlet from her, still unsure of whether or not he planned on even looking at all of the names let alone calling any of the people to schedule an appointment. Still, he nodded and tucked it into his backpack. “Thank you.”

She gave a nod and took a step towards the door, a silent signal for Bucky that he was now free to go. His body relaxed a little bit as he stood up from the bed and slung his bag onto his shoulders again. She pulled the door open and allowed him to walk through first, letting him know to stop by the front desk to schedule their next appointment before he left.

Once he stopped by the desk to make his next appointment, he started to make his way back towards the elevator. He was looking down, pulling his phone out of his pocket when he felt someone accidentally bump against his shoulder. He tensed up, caught off-guard, but when he saw the frazzled and apologetic look on your face, his annoyance faded a little bit.

“Sorry,” you said, shaking your head at yourself. “Wasn’t looking where I was going…obviously.” You offered a tiny, awkward smile.

He shrugged, tone neutral as he said, “It’s okay.”

“Was running late for group and then I got off on the wrong floor before I got here. So, you know,” you reached up and dragged your hands down your face in exasperation, “just having one of those days.”

“Group?” he asked, noticing the dog tags that were hanging around your neck.

“Yea. Oh,” you paused, looking him over, trying to figure out if you’d seen him before and forgotten, “is that where you’re heading too?”

His eyes widened and he shook his head. “N-no. I just, um,” he motioned back towards the hall with the exam rooms, causing you to see the silver metal of his hand and arm, “just had an appointment. Doc mentioned something about groups here though.”

“You wanna come check it out?” Your smile grew a little warmer. “They might take it easy on me for being late if I bring a friend.”

His brows furrowed for a moment. “I don’t think I can just, I don’t have an appointment. Or a therapist.”

You shook your head at him. “It’s fine. They won’t turn you away.”

Bucky didn’t believe much in fate, but this felt fate-adjacent. He knew that if he walked out of the hospital, there was no way that he was going to look into things and find his own therapist and go through that hassle.

You could see him debating it all in his head. “If you’re not feeling it, you can just get up and leave. No harm, no foul.”

He hesitated for a moment longer before finally giving a small nod. “Okay.”

You nodded, not wanting to make a big deal over it and make him more uncomfortable. “Great! Follow me.” The two of you fell into stride with each other. You were a few doors away from the room you needed to be in when you asked him, “Sorry, what’s your name? Forgot to ask before I wrangled you into going to therapy with me.”

The sound of your laugh got him to give a hint of a smile. “I’m James.”

You nodded, giving your name in return. “Nice to meet you, James.”

When the two of you walked into the room, all eyes went to you for a moment. It was only fair, since you did show up late. No one looked annoyed. You being a few minutes late was the least of anyone’s problems.

Your counselor, the one who ran the group, was a man who was about ten years older than you. He’d been the therapist you’d been working with ever since you came back from your second deployment. You considered yourself to be extremely lucky that you got along with one of the first therapists you’d seen, because you knew that a lot of people didn’t have that experience.

However, because of your good rapport with him, he was the first and only one to give you grief about being late. “Nice of you to join us,” he said it with a smile, no malice in his voice.

“I know I’m late, Doc,” you didn’t even try to argue, “but I did pick up a straggler.”

There was a moment of silence as Bucky and your counselor both looked at each other. It was clear that Bucky was sizing the man up, and your doctor was content to let him. He broke the silence. “Happy to have you.” He gestured to the few empty chairs that were left. “There are no bad seats, so pick any one you want.”

Since you were the one who had essentially talked him into coming to group in the first place, you made sure that the two of you at least managed to get seats that were right next to each other. It didn’t take someone with a doctorate to see that Bucky didn’t really want to talk. So, thankfully, no one tried to make him.

As the minutes ticked by, part of you was waiting for him to just get up and leave. You were pleasantly surprised when he didn’t, though. It was evident that he wasn’t fully comfortable, and no one could really blame him for that. But he was watching and listening intently as different people spoke up and shared what they’d been struggling with, what they had going on. He sat, his backpack between his feet and one elbow propped against each knee as he took it all in.

You felt his eyes on you when you took a turn to speak. You talked about how you had trouble sleeping, that your nightmares weren’t as frequent as they used to be but they would still happen every now and again and make it impossible for you to even attempt to fall back to sleep after the fact. You mentioned that you didn’t take your sleeping meds anymore because you figured out that they were making your nightmares worse. You were looking at the tile floor as you spoke, but you could hear your counselor taking notes on what you were saying. He did it for everyone in group, stuff to circle back to or bring up in individual sessions.

It wasn’t long after that, that group came to a close. You didn’t know why, but you were glad to see that the man beside you had stayed for the whole thing. Sure, you didn’t know him, but you didn’t have to know him to know that everyone needed a bit of help when it came to stuff like this. Group was a decent place to start.

People were starting to filter out when you and Bucky stood up from your seats. You turned to look over at him, watching as he put his backpack back on. “Not horrible, right?” you said with a laugh.

The tiny smile he gave didn’t quite reach his eyes, but it was still something. “Not horrible. Thanks, um, you know, for the invite.”

You shook your head. “Don’t gotta thank me.”

Before either of you could say anything else, your counselor materialized beside the two of you. He looked back and forth between the two of you, a content smile on his face. He addressed you first, thanking you for coming and sharing, before turning to Bucky. He held out his hand. “Sorry I didn’t get a real chance to introduce myself earlier. I’m Dr. Anderson.”

Bucky nodded as he firmly shook the man’s hand. “I’m James. Sorry for just showing up.”

“No need to apologize—that’s how a lot of people start off here. I hope to see you back again if you can make it.”

Bucky brought his hands up to his chest, holding the straps of his backpack, clearly not sure how to navigate the rest of the interaction. “Thanks.”

Dr. Anderson turned to you as he started to walk away. “And I’ll see you…”

“Friday, yes.” You laughed. “On time.”

He chuckled. “On time.”

It was just you and Bucky now as you started to walk towards the door that would land you back out in the hallway of the hospital. You both seemed content to walk next to each other, neither of you saying anything about the group session, or anything else. You walked side by side all the way to the elevator.

“First floor?”

He nodded. “Yea.”

As the elevator started to go down, you said, “If I didn’t already hijack most of your evening, I would say we could go grab food or coffee or something and talk if you wanted. But I get it if you want to just get home, or do whatever it was you were planning on doing before I ran you over.”

Bucky huffed out a quiet chuckle. “Thanks.”

The elevator doors opened up and you both walked towards the main entrance and exit of the hospital. You didn’t know what to say at this point. It wasn’t like you were friends—there wasn’t even a guarantee that you would ever even see him again. You figured that telling him to have a good one would have to suffice.

Right as you stepped out onto the sidewalk, you were going to say just that, but he beat you to the punch with a completely different statement. “Are these every week? Or…?”

Your face brightened at the question. “Yea! I mean, Anderson holds his every Wednesday, and usually he’ll do one extra evening at some point during the week as well in case people can’t make the Wednesday one. But other doctors hold them at different times on different days.”

“Right,” he said with a nod.

“Wanna come back next week?” you offered.

“Uh, yea, yea okay.”

“Great!” You paused. “Oh, would you, um, do you want my number? In case you have any questions or anything?”

His eyes widened a bit at your question, clearly not having expected that to be the next thing you said. Still, he nodded, if out of bewilderment than anything else. “Okay.”

He dug his phone out of his pocket and handed it over to you. You quickly added your name and number to his contacts and handed the phone back to him. “Anything comes up, feel free to text or call or whatever.”

“Thank you.” He said, eyes looking at your contact listing in his phone.

“No problem! I’ll see you next week.”

“See you.”

The week went by faster than Bucky had thought it would. Trying to figure out what it was like to just be a regular person after everything that happened was more time consuming than he thought it was going to be. He didn’t know how he simultaneously felt like he wasn’t doing anything at all, while also being so busy all the time. If it hadn’t been for the alarm on his phone, he would’ve completely forgotten that it was already time for group again.

His second session went by much like his first. He didn’t really talk. At least this time he got the chance to introduce himself. Still, he did more listening than anything else. He sat next to you again, the two of you making small talk before and after the group session.

And that was how it went for the next couple weeks. He’d say a few words here and there during sessions sometimes, but he was never one to have much of a monologue. You could tell that he was still fighting to get comfortable with the idea of sharing, but at least he was still showing up. That meant something—you of all people would know. Each week that went by, you always offered to grab a bite or some coffee when group was over, and every week he always found a kind way to say no. You didn’t take it personally—he didn’t seem like the type to be much of a social butterfly.

That was why, when the fourth week rolled around and you didn’t see Bucky there, you were a little worried but not too much. No one was held to the standard of having to show up every week. You just did it because you knew that you needed it. He was probably just busy.

When group ended and you checked your phone, you saw a text from an unknown number. Normally, your automatic reaction was just to delete them. But when you read the preview of the message in your notification bar, you had a pretty good idea of who it was.

“Sorry I didn’t make it tonight. Can I still cash in on the offer to get coffee?” You were about to start typing out a response when a second text came in. “This is James btw”

For some reason that caused more concern than him not showing up did. You instantly replied, “Of course. Got a place in mind?”

A few texts later the two of you had settled on a spot. It was within walking distance of the hospital, and it had you wondering if it was also within walking distance of his apartment, or maybe he was coming from somewhere else entirely.

When you walked through the door of the diner, the first thing that you did was look around to see if he was already there. Sure enough, he was sitting at one of the booths in the back of the restaurant. He had the same baseball cap as usual on, pulled down so that it was covering most of his face. He still had his hoodie and jacket on, so either he hadn’t been there long or he just hadn’t been comfortable enough to take them off.

You made your way back to the booth where he was sitting, sliding in across from him. When his eyes snapped up to yours, you could see the exhaustion all over his face. You tried not to let your expression falter too much as you got situated. “Hey, James.” You paused for a moment. “Everything, um, everything okay?”

The answer seemed obvious but you figured that he wasn’t going to come right out and say anything without asking. He nodded, picking at the edge of the napkin in front of him. “Long day.”

You nodded slowly. “I get that. Do you…do you wanna talk about it?”

He shook his head. “Not really.”

That was about what you had expected. “Okay.” There was a brief pause in your conversation as the waitress stopped at your table, asking for your order and taking right off again when you asked for two coffees. When she was gone, you picked right back up where you’d left off. “Want to listen to me talk?”

He looked up at you at the sound of that question. It wasn’t what he had been expecting. Still, he found himself nodding.

You gave a warm smile as you leaned forward, bracing your arms against the edge of the table between you. “Want me to talk about group stuff? Or not group stuff?”

He gnawed at his bottom lip, considering the question for a moment before finally answering, “Group stuff.”

“So, let me think.” You lightly drummed your fingers on the tabletop. “You already know about my rampant insomnia and occasional night terrors,” you made light of your own struggles to cope with it, and if nothing else you hoped that he would at least find you to be an amusing distraction from whatever was bothering him, “but I’ve never actually talked about what landed me in group with Dr. Anderson, have I?”

Bucky shook his head. “No.”

“It’s not, you know,” you hesitated for a moment, “it’s not like what you’ve been through per se.” There was no point in pretending that you hadn’t learned about who he was in the last month of seeing him at the hospital every week. “But, I was getting towards the end of my second tour. I was thinking about extending it, coming back for a third. You know how it goes. Can’t…can’t leave the war once you’re in it. I only had a couple weeks left, which felt like no time at all and also the longest fourteen days possible. We were on our way back to base one night when our vehicle got hit. Came outta fucking nowhere.” You shook your head. “There were six of us packed in there, only two of us made it out. It was…it was a mess.”

The words, “I’m sorry,” were on the tip of Bucky’s tongue, but if anyone knew how useless apologies were, it was him.

You pushed up the sleeve of your hoodie that was covering your right arm, revealing a pattern of scarring that Bucky instantly recognized as burn scars. “Not quite as cool as a metal arm,” you joked despite the tears starting to sting at your eyes, “but you know, some chicks still dig it.”

The conversation was halted again when your waitress reappeared with coffees for both of you. She was about to ask if you were ready to order anything else when she saw the looks on both of your faces. Reading the room, she said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes for your orders.”

Sniffling and blinking the tears away, you reached for a few packets of sugar to tear and pour into your coffee. “So, as you can imagine, I was a little unwell after all of that. Didn’t even finish out my last two weeks. Got sent home, and got funneled right into the VA hospital. I’ve worked with Dr. Anderson ever since. He now has me on a strict regimen of three sessions a week—one group, two individual.”

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly at that. “Wow.”

You shrugged, taking a sip of your coffee. “It’s a lot, but I need it. It’s, you know, it’s good for me.”

“It helps?” he asked.

You nodded with no hesitation. “It does. I know I still talk about having trouble sleeping and stuff, but when I first came home they pretty much had to sedate me. It was,” you let out a hollow laugh, “it was not good. If I didn’t have him, and some other really good doctors with good meds to level me out, I don’t think I’d still be here.”

The two of you sat in silence for a minute, letting the weight of your words hang in the air between you. Bucky had wondered in passing what had happened, the same way anyone would. If you hadn’t offered it up, though, he never would’ve asked.

Clearing your throat, you said, “You should eat something.” You took another sip of your coffee. “I know I’m going to.”

A small smile tried to curl the ends of his mouth. He knew that at this point you were probably assuming that he hadn’t eaten all day, and you were right. When the waitress came back over, you each placed an order before getting back to your conversation.

“I know it’s hard to think that things are gonna get better,” you told him honestly, “especially after everything you went through, but it will.”

“This your way of telling me not to miss group next week?” he asked before taking a sip of his coffee.

You laughed and shook your head. “No, no. I mean, I enjoy having you in group. I just,” you paused for a moment, “I’m not gonna pretend to know what happened today, or what you’ve gone through, but I’d hate to see anyone give up.”

“I don’t think that I can just tell everyone about everything. How do you get comfortable with that?”

You shook your head. “I don’t tell everyone everything. There’s a lot of shit that I only discuss one-on-one with Anderson. Some stuff I only talk about with my friend who went through it with me. The stuff I talk about in group is just what I’m comfortable discussing there.”

He nodded, the furrow in his brow deepening as he mulled over what you said. “Right.”

The waitress brought your orders over setting them down and promptly walking away again, realizing that the two of you were still very much involved in an intense conversation.

“You just need to find one person to start with,” you told him.

“Like a therapist?” he said, a bit of a joking sarcastic lilt to his voice.

You laughed, shrugging. “Yea. Or a friend.”

You noticed the way that those last three words gave him pause as he stared across the table at you. You gave him the illusion of privacy as you kept your eyes fixed on your plate. When a few more seconds of silence went by, you looked back up at him, only to find him still looking at you with an expression that you couldn’t quite figure out. Regardless, there was a smile on your face that was warm enough to let him know that you were alright as long as he was.

After a few more minutes of silence with the two of you eating, he said, “I didn’t recognize where I was when I woke up this morning.” He waited to see your reaction, but when you didn’t flinch at his statement, he continued. “It was my apartment, but I didn’t…at first…I thought…”

“And then once you realized, you didn’t want to leave.”

He nodded once. “Yea.”

“That…that happen a lot?”

“Not a lot. More than it should.”

“You made it here, though.”

He scoffed, frustrated with himself. “Only took me—”

You cut him off, “But you did it. That’s progress.”

Some of the tension melted out of his shoulders as he conceded with a nod. The two of you went back to eating after that, exchanging an occasional remark here and there, but for the most part just soaking up the comfort between you.

You tried to pay for the meal, but Bucky insisted, so you let him have that. The two of you walked out together, lingering on the sidewalk once you were outside.

“I’m glad you reached out,” you told him with a nod as you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jeans.

Embarrassment flashed across his face for a moment but he agreed, “Me too. Thanks, you know, for this.”

You smiled. “Any time.” There was a pause and then you asked, “I’ll see you next Wednesday?”

He chuckled and nodded. “Next Wednesday, yea.”

“Good. Take care of yourself, alright?”

“You too.”

You laughed. “I will. Goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight.” He watched as you turned and went to walk down the sidewalk towards your own apartment. You got a couple steps away before he finally got himself to say your name and get your attention. When you turned back around to face him, he hesitated for a moment before saying, “Bucky. My, my friends call me Bucky.”

A warm feeling washed over you as you took in the weight of what he’d just said. You smiled as you amended your previous statement, “Goodnight, Bucky.”

[batcavescolony]

Katniss is such an unreliable narrator. She says "Then something unexpected happens. At least, I don't expect it because I don't think of District 12 as a place that cares about me" girl you deliver strawberries to the Mayor, you hunt and trade for the district, when you fell at Prim being chosen someone caught you, when you went to Prim people parted for you, when you volunteered EVERYONE stopped. Idk how to tell you but I think you're a pillar of the community.

[ochibrochi]

bok bok bok bok baaawk 🐔

[stil-lindigo]

lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)

if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.

--

no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.

I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.

I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.

If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.

[gerrykeay]

did you know there's a day-by-day timeline of the plot in the dungeon meshi adventurer's bible and TODAY is when it all kicks off

happy falin gets eaten and the gang starts eatin' day :)

[sergle]

ALSO IMPORTANT TO NOTE, people dropping mad mad sums of money on gfms and charities and stuff are extremely impressive but that DOES NOT MEAN that putting like $5 towards someone's fund or any good cause is any less valuable, a lot of crowdfunding is about momentum and those single digits add up super fast, you do not need to be Rolling In The Dough to make someone's day!! moving the dial at all is extremely positive!!

[bookshelfpassageway]

yknow i dont go here but sometimes i gotta go: seriously respect clowns. they have the worst pop culture representation in the world and also the best most thorough honor code. they're just here to be silly little guys who bring joy and are very conscientious about doing so responsibly. let them to their merriment in peace you dont hafta take potshots. i dont go here but like maybe i should, you all seem super chill

[cozylittleartblog]

"content creator" is a corporate word.

we are artists.

[saixria]

Somewhere in Apollo’s hospital on Olympus

[flagellant]

yeah we might be brothers in christ but so were cain and abel so shut the fuck up before i decide to find a rock about it

[bean-spring]

Hot take and not to be a killjoy or the shipping police but people treating Viktor or Jinx's aroace headcanons as if they were canon is not the revolutionary take people think it is.

Headcanons are always all right but we have to acknowledge that they are somehow damaging when they apply to stereotypes. It might not be the case for everyone but most of the time people unconsciously assume that disability/mental illness=asexuality. These headcanons erase the freedom of attraction from people who are already seen as unable to have sexual/romantic experiences/desires, when it's completely untrue and harmful.

You can headcanon Viktor and Jinx as aroace, but I have seen people changing their minds once Viktor is no longer disabled (s2 with all of his other forms) and Jinx is no longer as mentally ill (alternate universe Powder). And it speaks wonders of how people see these characters.

"I never thought about Jinx being able to feel romantic/sexual attraction until s2!" To believe she's actually only capable of that when she's not "damaged" is incredibly disturbing. Especially since Jinx has always had a bit of a flirty personality too.

"I've always seen Viktor as asexual, I don't know why!" That's fine. You can headcanon him as ace. But I believe there is a reason behind it, most of the time, if for some inexplicable reason the "vibes" of the disabled character are making you think he's ace.

I say all of this being aroaspec myself, by the way. Headcanon all you want but going to people's posts commenting how "it's weird for you that they have romantic/sexual plots when they're clearly aroace" is not a win at all. It's a headcanon, after all, and it should be treated as such, and that's fine. But it also is damaging to spread stereotypes like these.

Of course the disabled character is asexual. Of course the mentally ill character is aromantic. It's not as revolutionary as you might think, tbh.

Fandom is not activism and it's all right to have any headcanons you want BUT some of them are filled with damaging stuff and perhaps we should look into ourselves more before treating these assumptions as something canon.

[kensatou]

if nothing else can save america this zero-year-old fairy baby otter with no gender can. chiitan's platform is love. and chaos.

[inkskinned]

the thing about some men is that they want you to remember, at all times, that you are underneath them. that with one word or look or "joke", you will stay beneath them. that even "exceptions" to the rule are not true exceptions - the commonly cited statistic that one in eight men believe they could win against serena williams.

women's gymnastics is often not seen as real gymnastics. whatever the fuck non-euclidian horrors rhythmic gymnasts are capable of, it's often tamped down as being not a sport. some of the most dominant athletes in the world are women. nobody watches women's soccer. despite years of dancing and being built like a fucking brick, men always assume they're faster and stronger than i am. you wouldn't like what happens when they are incorrect. once while drunk at a guy's house i won a held-plank challenge by a solid minute. the party was over after that - he became exceedingly violent.

what i mean is that you can be perfect, and they still think you're ... lacking, somehow. i hope you understand i'm trying to express a neutral statement when i say: taylor swift was the possibly the most patriarchy-palatable, straight-down-the-line woman we could churn out. she is white, conventionally attractive, usually pretty mild in personality. say what you will about her (and you should, she's a billionaire, she can handle it), but a few things seem to be true about her: 1. she can write a damn catchy song, and 2. the eras tour truly was a massive commercial success and was also genuinely an impressive feat of human athleticism and performance.

i don't know if she deserves the title of "woman of the year," i'm not debating that in this post. what i am saying is that she was named Woman of The Year, and then an untalented man got onstage at the golden globes and made fun of her for attending her boyfriend's football games. what i am saying is that this woman altered local economies - and her dating life is still being made into a "harmless" punchline. the camera panned, greedy, over to her downing a full glass of champagne. congratulations taylor! you are woman of the year! but you are a woman. even her.

fuck, man. write better material.

a guy gets onstage at a college graduation and despite the fact like half the crowd is made up of women, he spends a significant proportion of it warning these people - who spent possibly hundreds of thousands of dollars on their education - that they were lied to. that the "real" meaning of femininity is motherhood. that they shouldn't rest on the laurels of that education-they-paid-for but instead throw it away to kneel at a man's heel. imagine that. sweating in your godawful polyester gown (that you also had to pay for!), fresh out of 4 years of pushing yourself ever-harder: and some guy you've never met - who knows nothing about you - he reminds you this "win" is a pyrrhic one at best. you really shouldn't consider yourself that extraordinary. you're still a woman, even after years of study.

god forbid you are not a pretty woman, but if you are pretty, you must be dumb. god forbid you are not ablebodied or white or cis or straight or good at swallowing. you must be beneath a man, or else they are not a man. the equation for masculinity seems to just be: that which is not a woman or womanly (god forbid). anything "feminine" is thereby anathema. to engage in "feminine" things such as therapy, getting a hug from a friend, or crying - it is giving up ones manhood. therefore women need to be put in their place to ensure that masculinity is protected.

this is something i have struggled to explain to terfs - they are not doing the work of feminism, but rather the patriarchy. by asserting that women and men must be (on some secret level) oppositional and in conflict, they also assume that being a woman is akin to being another species. but bigotry does not stem from observational truths or clarity - that is what makes it bigotry. there was nothing in my childhood that made me fundamentally different from my brother. we are treated differently nonetheless. to assert there is some biological drive that enforces my gender role is to assert that women have a gendered role. men do not see women as equal to them not because of biological reality - but instead because the core tenant of the patriarchy is that women aren't full, realized people.

we are told from a very young age to excuse misbehavior as a single man's choice - not all men. it is not all men, just that one guy. all women are gold-digging bitches who belong in the kitchen - but if a man is mean, bigoted, or violent to you, it's just that particular guy, and that means nothing about men-as-a-whole. it is only one guy who got mad when you gently rejected him. it is only one guy who warns her this trophy is heavy, are you sure you can hold it? it is only one guy who smashes her face into the cake. it is only one guy talking into a mic about hating our bodily autonomy.

i have just found that they often wait until the moment we actually seem to be upstaging them. you sit in a meeting where you're presenting your own findings and he says get me a coffee? or you run to the end of the marathon and are about to finish first and he pushes your kids out in front of you. you win the chess game and they make some comment akin to well, you're ugly away. we can be the billionaire and get the dream life and finally fucking do it and yet! still! they have this strange, visceral urge to say well actually, if you think you're so great -

it's not one just one guy. it's one in eight.

[caliburn-the-sword]

"hur hur gabe wasn't as abusive as he was in the books" people can all shut up. percy's jaw TREMBLED when ares yelled at him, which had nothing at all to do with his god status - percy backtalks gods just fine. he had trauma response to ares yelling. ares didn't so much as lift a finger. that goes to speak volumes about what percy was experiencing at home

[mythicalcoolkid]

You don't wish your disability was worse or more visible, you wish your disability was taken seriously. Please stop confusing the two, I guarantee you would not get the support you need JUST by being more severe or more visible. Please listen to visibly disabled people when we tell you it isn't better on our side