Name A Better Feeling Than Getting The First Comment On A Fic You Were Uncertain About And Knowing That

Unforeseen Events (Part 2)

Summary: Things change a lot after the Battle of New York.

Warnings/tags: Mention of injuries, probably OOC Tony Stark, Bruce is a sweetheart, mention of violence, SHIELD is a terrible employer, probable medical inaccuracies

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Pain.

That's all you know.

Pure, pulsing pain.

And noise.

Your head's full of it.

There's voices, but you can't hear what they're saying over the noise inside your head.

As the noise slowly fades, and you begin to realise that you're not dead, you force yourself to open your eyes. The light burns, but you stubbornly keep them open, determined to find out where you are, and what has happened.

Once your eyes adjust to the light, you see Steve sitting by your bed.

"Hey, Y/N. How are you feeling?"

"Sore."

"Well, that checks out, considering you've got several broken ribs, a concussion, a broken arm, and a broken leg."

Oh - that's why my arm and leg feel so heavy. A wave of panic suddenly washes over you. "Wait - how am I going to pay for all this? I don't have insurance."

There's a knock at the door, and Mr Stark pops his head in. "Hey, kid. This a good time to visit?"

You suddenly feel very tired. But you don't want to be rude, and kick him out, so you just nod.

Mr Stark hovers rather awkwardly at the side of your bed. "So - how are you feeling?"

"Sore. And tired. And I have no idea how I'm going to pay for this."

"I'm paying," says Mr Stark. "And don't protest, kid - this is the least I can do."

You don't really have the strength to argue, but even if you did, you wouldn't. After all, Mr Stark's a billionaire. He can afford to pay someone's medical bills - and you could definitely do without more debt.

"Dr Banner feels pretty bad about the whole thing," says Steve. "He looked like he was going to be sick when he found out that Hulk beat you up."

But it wasn't his fault. He tried to warn me. It was my own fault. Why does he feel bad about that?

Agent Romanoff suddenly pokes her head in. "Hey, Y/N. Good to see you're awake."

You give her a small smile and a nod.

"Guys, does Bruce know she's awake?"

Judging from the awkward looks Steve and Mr Stark give each other, he doesn't.

Agent Romanoff sighs. "You guys know better than anyone that he's been asking after her ever since he found out she was hurt."

Steve gets up. "Are you sure he's okay to?"

That's when you suddenly sink into oblivion once again. You've been fighting it ever since you woke up, but - well, you've lost.

****************************************************

When you wake up again, you feel a bit stronger, although you're still pretty tired - and you're still in pain.

As you look around the room, you see Dr Banner sitting by your bed, his head in his hands.

Your heart leaps, causing your monitor to beep.

Dr Banner jumps up, but the alarm on his face fades to relief when he sees that you're awake.

As he sits down, his shoulders slump. He looks absolutely exhausted, like he hasn't slept in days. "I'm so sorry," he says softly. "The other guy… he just - I couldn't control it…"

His voice cracks, and he stops, fighting to keep his composure. You feel a jolt when you notice how red and swollen his eyes are. He looks like he was crying for hours.

He takes a deep breath, still trying to regain his composure. "How are you feeling?"

You think for a moment. You don't want to lie to him, but you also don't want to make him feel any worse than he already does. "Sore," you finally say.

"I'm so sorry," repeats Dr Banner.

"It wasn't your fault. You tried to warn me."

"I wasn't fast enough. I just…"

You reach out with your good hand, and touch his arm. "It's fine. I didn't die."

"But you could have."

"I didn't," you repeat. Feeling like it might be better to change the subject, you add, "Where are the others?"

"They went to go get lunch," says Dr Banner. "Do you want anything?"

You pause for a moment. You're kind of hungry, but you don't want to make Dr Banner go out of his way.

He must have guessed what you're thinking, because he hastily adds, "I was gonna get something anyway, so…"

You nod. "Okay."

"What would you like?"

Once you've told him, he nods, and then almost runs out of the room.

He's back only a few minutes later, with the lunch - and Mr Stark.

"Hey, kid," says Mr Stark. "Mind if I join you?"

You glance at Dr Banner. He seems okay with it, so you nod. "You can join us."

Dr Banner sits down by your bed again, while Mr Stark stands.

"So," he says, "what do you think you're gonna do, once you're better?"

"I don't really know," you admit. "I don't really want to work for SHIELD anymore, but I can't really quit-"

"What do you mean, you can't?"

"I don't have anywhere else to go. And after the whole weapons thing, I don't really think I trust them any more."

Mr Stark raises an eyebrow. "You didn't question them before?"

"Well, no, I do - I did question stuff. But I just didn't care enough about that job, really. I joined because I wanted to be a spy, like a gadget-master, or something. But the job isn't terrible. I mean, it pays the bills."

"I thought you said you were behind on rent?"

"SHIELD isn't very regular with hiring me. Sometimes I can go months without being hired. This was my second assignment this year. That's why I'm behind on rent."

Mr Stark frowns. "So this is a regular thing?"

You nod. "Yeah."

"Well, that's not fair," says Dr Banner. "That's not right. SHIELD shouldn't be treating you like that."

You sigh. "Well, I don't really have a choice, do I?"

Mr Stark steps forward. "No. You do."

You stare at him. "What do you mean?"

"You can come work for me. Before you come for me, I know Stark Industries has kind of a shady past-"

"But at least you're being honest about it. To me, anyway."

Mr Stark pauses for a moment. "You said your dream job was to be a gadget-master. Do you still want that?"

You bite your lip. "I don't really know, to be honest. I actually don't mind being a lab assistant most of the time. It really just depends on who I'm working for - what they're like. Their personality, I mean."

"Who was the worst person you ever had to work for?"

"Well, there was one guy who lost his temper and threw a flask at me. But that was my own fault. I wasn't paying attention."

"What did SHIELD do?" asks Mr Stark.

"They told him off."

Dr Banner looks horrified. "They didn't fire him?"

You shake your head.

"That's - that's not okay. They should have fired him."

"I would have fired him," adds Mr Stark. "On the spot."

"He did apologise-" you begin, but Mr Stark cuts you off.

"I don't care if he apologised. He shouldn't have done that. And SHIELD shouldn't have let him stay on." He sighs. "Look, kid, I get it if you don't want to work for me. But I'm not letting you stay in SHIELD. I can pull a few strings, and get you a job someplace else, where you'll be treated right. I can get you another job as a lab assistant, if that's what you want."

"You'd really do that?" you ask.

"Of course."

You take a deep breath. "I'll think about it. About what job I want, I mean."

Mr Stark nods. "Sure. Take all the time you need."

****************************************************

You sigh as you put your book aside. You've been trying to read, but your mind's elsewhere.

There's a knock at the door.

Dr Banner pokes his head in. "Hey, Y/N," he says. "Can I come in?"

You nod "Okay."

He moves to sit by your bed. "I heard the hospital's - uh, kicking you out."

You sigh. "Yeah."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I'm so behind on rent, I probably don't even have my apartment any more."

"I'm sorry," he says softly. "I… I wish there was something I could do."

"Um - actually…" You turn to him as well as your cracked ribs allow you. "Could you fetch Mr Stark, please?"

He gets up. "Yeah - sure. I can do that."

It's only a few minutes before he's back with Mr Stark.

"Hey, kid," says Mr Stark. "You wanted to see me?"

You nod, suddenly feeling rather nervous. "I was wondering - is that job opportunity still open?"

He gives you a funny look. "Of course it's still open."

You take a deep breath. "Well - in that case, I'd like to keep on being a lab assistant."

He smiles. "Great! I'm assuming you want a permanent position, so - is there anyone you'd want to work with? In other words, who was your favourite?"

"Dr Banner."

His smile grows wider. "Are you just saying that because he's in the room?"

You shake your head. "Of course not! I'm saying that he's my favourite, because he is. He's polite, and he's professional, and he's overall just a really nice person."

"You hear that, Bruce?"

You look over, and smile. It's pretty obvious that he did hear, considering how red his face is, and how he's staring at the floor and fiddling with his glasses.

"I'm not that nice," he mutters.

You suppress the urge to tell him he is, mainly because you don't want to embarrass him any further.

"You know, that actually works out pretty well," says Mr Stark. "You see, Pepper and I are rebranding Stark Tower as Avengers Tower. We're putting in rooms - well, floors - for each of the Avengers. We've got more than enough floors for everyone, so you could come live at Avengers Tower. Then you wouldn't have to pay rent, or worry about bills, or anything. You could just - you know, work and live life. How about it, kid?"

Your jaw drops. "You're joking, right?"

"Actually, I'm deadly serious."

"You're serious? I mean - I'll take it! Thank you! I - I mean-"

He just chuckles. "No need to thank me, kid. I know it's not quite the least I can do, but believe me, this isn't exactly what I'd call generous."

You pause. "Hang on - what's the catch?"

"Catch? What, you don't like living with Earth's mightiest superheroes, working your dream job with your favourite scientist, and never having to worry about money again?"

"Well, no - I was just wondering about - well, you said you weren't being generous."

"Well, I could give you a mansion anywhere in the world, give you a million dollars a month, all expenses paid for…"

You laugh. "To be honest, I don't know what I'd do with myself if I had that."

"So you'll take my first offer?"

You nod.

"Great! I'll send a moving team to your old apartment to get your stuff."

You smile shyly. "Thanks. It's very kind of you. Oh - do you need a key?"

He shrugs. "It'd help."

"I think there's one in my old uniform - wherever that is. And there's one under the doorstep."

"Thanks!" Mr Stark steps towards the door. "I'll go tell them now, and stop bothering you lovebirds."

You and Dr Banner both stare at him in shock as he leaves the room.

"I - uh - I should go," says Dr Banner, his face even redder than before, fiddling with his glasses so violently that he's in danger of breaking them. "Uh - see you around."

And just like that, you're left alone, completely stunned, and completely unable to make sense of what just happened.

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Part 3

As always, I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work, repost it elsewhere, etc.

THIS THIS THIS!

a comic about fix-it fanfics

i want to talk about my ocs but im literally this image. i got nothing

the only excuse I see from people who think it's okay to give fanfic writers unsolicited criticism is "if writers can't handle criticism, they should not be posting their works online" and tbh I think it's such a weak, pathetic excuse to be entitled.

someone not wanting unsolicited criticism on something they do for themself — for fun, as a form of self-care — out of love and passion has nothing to do with whether or not they can handle criticism. because we're not talking about a job they get paid to do. we're talking about a damn fanfiction. a hobby. something writers do in their free time as their source of comfort and getaway.

it's their art. not yours. it can be whatever and however an author wants it to be.

instead of trying to justify your action by gaslighting writers — whose works you read for free — that they "should be able to handle unsolicited criticism", ask yourself why you feel the need to go to someone's fic, read it, and then complain about things you don't like when you can always quietly leave if you don't have anything nice to say.

"can fanfic writers handle unsolicited criticism?" "can you learn basic manners and how not to be entitled?"

either respect artists or shut the fuck up forever.

Let Me Help (Part 2)

Part 1

Pairing: Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Autistic!Fem!Shy!Reader

Summary: You're pretty sure you imagined last night. After all, why would someone like Rooster care about someone like you? (Well, that's what you ask yourself, anyway...)

Warnings/tags: Super soft Bradley, a little bit of angst, mentions of autism, mentions of sensory issues, mentions of social awkwardness (I think?), mentions of injuries, one mention of painkillers (Tylenol), so so self-indulgent

A/N: Sorry, the writing's probably kind of clunky.

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As you wake up, the memories of the night before come back to you.

It was probably all a dream, you decide. It feels devastating, but it's the only reasonable explanation you can come up with as to why Rooster, of all people, would actually care enough to go knocking on your door to check up on you.

I probably just went straight to bed the minute I got home, and just imagined all that other stuff.

Trying to suppress the sting of disappointment, you carefully lever yourself out of bed, and try to stand on your ankle.

You're unsuccessful, of course, and you have to bite back a yell of pain when it nearly gives way beneath you.

After hopping to the door, and opening it, you take a quick breather, before starting towards the kitchen. Maybe some food will help me feel better.

"Sweetheart?"

You don't quite jump, but you do lose your balance in your shock at hearing Rooster's voice.

Fortunately, he manages to catch you before you can fall.

"Hey, whoa, what are you doing out of bed?"

He looks so worried that you can't help but feel a little guilty, despite the fact that you hadn't even known he was in the house.

"S-sorry…"

"Don't." Rooster takes a good look at you. "Did you put any weight on your ankle?"

Your cheeks burn as you nod. "Just for a second."

"Did you fall?"

You shake your head, staring miserably at the floor.

Rooster sighs softly, before lifting you in his arms. "You shouldn't be trying to walk. You could really hurt yourself."

"I'm sorry," you mumble. "I didn't realise - I thought you would have gone home by now."

"Why would I do that, sweetie?"

"I don't have another bedroom..."

"I slept on the sofa."

"You could have just gone home."

"Yeah, but what if you'd needed something during the night?"

You bite your lip, trying hard to hold back the tears. "Thanks, Rooster."

He smiles. "How about we use first names, sweetheart? Mine's Bradley."

You smile shyly. "Mine's Y/N."

Bradley smiles. "I like that. Now, do you want me to take you to the living room, or your bedroom?"

"Living room, I guess? But I was - um, I was actually going to the kitchen, to make myself some breakfast…"

Bradley shakes his head. "It's okay, I'll take care of that."

You stare at him. "Are you sure?"

Bradley's lips turn up slightly. "Of course. You need to rest, honey. Just leave everything to me."

"It's a lot of work…"

"Hey." Bradley gently sets you down on the sofa, tucking a blanket around you as he talks. "I don't think this is gonna be as hard as the work I'm used to. And - I know this'll sound weird to you, but I really do want to take care of you."

You mumble something in reply, your eyes fixed on a point just over his shoulder.

"What's that, sweetie?"

The whole of your face and neck burns. "It's nothing."

"Y/N." Bradley's voice is still soft, but there's an undercurrent of steel.

There's a long silence. You really, really don't want to repeat what you just said, but judging from the look on his face, he's not going to let this slide.

"I'm-" you take a deep breath. "I'm - autistic."

Bradley's eyebrows pinch together in confusion. "Why would that be an issue, sweetheart?"

You take another deep breath, feeling really stupid. "It's going to be harder than taking care of a neurotypical."

"Well, I know it's going to be different, but - can you give me some examples?"

You pause, trying to gather the courage you need. "Well, there's certain foods I can't eat, because of the texture, or the taste, or even the smell. There's certain clothes I can't wear - although that doesn't really apply to - this."

Bradley listens carefully as you tell him the specifics, never once interrupting, just allowing you to talk until you stop, feeling rather miserable.

"I suppose I've ruined it now," you mumble, staring at the floor once again.

"Ruined what?"

"We were finally getting a rapport, and now I've ruined it."

"Oh, sweetie…" Bradley rests a hand on your shoulder. "You haven't ruined anything. If anything, I'm glad you told me, because now I know how to help you better."

You're silent for a while, trying to hold back tears. He's being so kind and understanding that all you want to do is collapse against him and cry.

"I've never had that reaction from someone before," you mumble.

"How do you mean?"

"The last time I told someone I was autistic, it was when I was applying to join the Navy. They almost didn't let me in because of it."

"Oh, sweetheart…"

His tone makes you look up suddenly. Your heart jumps when you see that he looks like he's about to cry.

You give his arm a small squeeze. "It's - it's really not that big of a deal. It was years ago."

Bradley shakes his head. "It is a big deal."

You frown. "How?"

Finding your hand, Bradley gently rests his on top. "Because - you've never felt able to tell anyone else, because-" He sighs, shaking his head. "I really wish you had felt able to tell us sooner, sweetie."

"What difference would it make?" you mumble.

"Well-" Bradley gently takes your hand, stroking along the back with his thumb. "I don't know about the others, but I wish I would've known sooner, because then I would've been able to help you better. I mean, I've noticed you don't like crowds, or loud places, that you leave early whenever we're all at the bar…"

For some reason, you suddenly feel a stab of guilt in your stomach. "Sorry," you mumble, staring at the floor. "I guess I am kind of rude…"

"No." Bradley's voice is suddenly stern. "Don't ever talk about yourself that way. Leaving early because you're overwhelmed, tired, or you just don't like crowds is not a bad thing. You were not being rude."

He pauses, taking a breath. When he speaks again, his voice is softer. "Y'know, sometimes I want to leave the bar early, and I kind of feel jealous that you can just - slip out."

"Why don't you just slip out?" you ask. It seems simple enough to you.

Bradley sighs. "I've kind of gained a reputation for being the life of the party. Most people think I'm an extrovert, 'cause I'm pretty outgoing. There's not many people who know that I'm actually an introvert."

He chuckles at your surprised look. "Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I like socialising, but - it's pretty tiring. I'm usually ready to go home about halfway through a night out. That's why I usually sit at the piano. It's kind of like a way that I can find my place in a social situation, without actually having to talk all the time. And I also just enjoy singing."

You smile shyly. "I get that. Except for me, it's a bit earlier. I just hang on a bit so I don't seem too rude."

"How much earlier, honey?"

You think for a moment. "About ten, fifteen minutes in. Sometimes twenty, if I'm feeling a bit more energetic."

Feeling like you have to explain a bit better, you add, "It's because the bar's super crowded and things. I can socialise longer in quieter environments."

Bradley smiles. "Good to know."

A silence settles over the room, but it's not awkward. In fact, you quite like it. Normally, when you're socialising, you feel like you have to constantly be chatting, or something's wrong with you, but - this feels much nicer.

It's just unfortunate that your stomach growling is what breaks the silence.

Bradley just smiles. "You hungry, sweetie?"

You nod, wishing your face wouldn't burn so much.

"What do you want to eat?"

"Uh, there should be something in the freezer. I prepped a load of my safe foods, and froze them. There should be one portion per bag, and I think I wrote the cook times on, too. Or they might be on the fridge, I'm not really sure."

"I'm on it." Bradley pats your shoulder before standing up. "I'll get you another ice pack for that ankle, too. Do you want a drink or anything? Maybe some Tylenol?"

"Can I have some water, please?"

He smiles. "Sure."

After he's left the room, you switch on the TV, and turn it back to the show you were watching last night.

Stepping back into the room, Bradley hands you a glass. "Here's your water, sweetie. You need anything else?"

"Do you - um, would you mind getting me my phone, please?"

It seems like the words are barely out of your mouth before he's back with your phone.

"Thanks." You open it to see a message from Bob.

To Y/N: Do you want to meet up today? Bob.

"Oh, um - Bradley?" It's weird how using his name makes your heart jump.

"Yeah?"

"I, um - Bob wants to meet up with me - 'cause, you know - um, anyway, would you mind if I invited him around here?"

Bradley chuckles. "Why would I mind? It's your place."

"Yeah, but - you're taking care of me, so…"

"Hey, I'm fine having him around, if you feel up to it. Like I said, this is your place. Just because I'm taking care of you doesn't suddenly make it my place. What time were you thinking of inviting him?"

"Maybe early afternoon?"

He smiles. "That works for me."

After he's left the room, you reply to Bob's text, and then turn up the volume on the TV. As you watch, you can hear Bradley moving about in the kitchen. It feels weirdly familiar. Like something you could get used to.

It feels like home.

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Part 3

As always, I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work, repost it, etc.