Passionatefanficgirl - Welcome To My Overactive Imagination

There’s no such thing as work-life balance for neurodivergent & chronically ill people.

This is because everything in my life requires work:

maintaining friendships

keeping up with my hygiene

managing bills

making money

remembering my basic needs

sleeping regularly

outputting creatively

All requires some aspect of work for me.

And when everything in your life requires work, your balance goes out the window.

If you're neurodivergent and overwhelmed — I see you.

If you're chronically ill and overwhelmed — I see you.

You're not dysfunctional.

You're not incapable.

You're doing your best.

Probably pasta, tomato sauce, and cheese

Hey guys be cool and normal but reblog this with the homemade meal that would get you the most hyped as a child. I need it for reasons.

This is an appreciation post for the fanfic authors who aren’t included on rec lists

For the fanfic authors who don’t get art of their fics

For the fanfic authors who can’t get to 1000/500/100 hits

For the fanfic authors who don’t get comments/reviews

For the fanfic authors who write for small fandoms

For the fanfic authors who write rarepairs or gen fics

For the fanfic authors who get hate for the ships/characters/fandoms they write

For the fanfic authors who write in English despite it not being their first language

For the fanfic authors who don’t write in English

For the fanfic authors who don’t think anyone reads or likes their work

For the fanfic authors who aren’t big name fans

For the fanfic authors who don’t get requests in their inboxes

For the fanfic authors who can’t write stories that are more than a thousand words

For the fanfic authors who only write one ship

For the fanfic authors who are just starting

For the fanfic authors who have been writing fic for years

For the fanfic authors who use fanfic to practice writing

For the fanfic authors who write self-insert fics

For the fanfic authors who write about their OCs

For the fanfic authors who write to vent or cope

For the fanfic authors who are just waiting for their big break

Keep creating, I love you ❤️

I'm putting together a small fandom event, the first ever:

Bruce Banner Appreciation Day!

It'll be on December 18, which is Bruce's canonical birthday in the MCU (but this is open to Bruce fans of all media) and we'll be celebrating with fanworks! Art, writing, GIFs, you name it.

There's really no rules besides creating something Bruce-centric and you can definiely include friends, family, ships, etc. On December 18, post your creation and tag it #bruce banner appreciation day.

💜 Please spread the word! 💚

what abled ppl think is a massive problem for disabled folks: 13 year old on the internet faking something

what is actually a massive problem for disabled folks: "well you don't LOOK disabled, are you sure you're not faking? I'm not giving you accommodations until you PROVE you're not faking. Please give me, a stranger, your medical info and explain your condition to me in detail so I know you're not faking and only then will I respect or take you seriously"

Let Me Help (Part 1)

A/N: I've been writing a lot of Jake recently, so I figured I'd switch it up a little, and write some Bradley for a change. Hope you enjoy. (Sorry the writing's a little clunky.)

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

Summary: You're injured, but you don't want to be seen as weak or incapable. Well, until you fall into the arms of a certain aviator.

Warnings/tags: Soft Bradley, lots and lots of fluff, some angst, reader is written as a WSO, crying, pining, mention of injuries, insecure reader

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

You don't see the step until you miss it, falling heavily to the ground.

Groaning softly, you roll over onto your back, trying to collect your thoughts. Your ankle's throbbing, and your hands are grazed, but fortunately, you don't feel any pain or swelling on your head.

Dragging yourself off the ground, you try and put some weight on your ankle. It hurts a lot, but it's not unbearable, and your ankle feels fairly stable, so you decide you'll just try and walk it off for now.

You're not going to tell anyone you're injured, of course.

Sure, the Dagger Squad all seem like nice people, for the most part (apart from Hangman, of course), but you don't know them that well, and you've no idea how they'll react to you being injured. You don't want to know how they'd react.

Especially Rooster.

You've been telling yourself for ages now that you do not have a crush on him. No, you just look up to him. After all, he's handsome, and nice, and you want to be friends with him. Just friends.

And you definitely do not have dreams about him taking care of you in this sort of situation. About him cuddling you while you cry on his shoulder. About him carrying you in his arms…

The thought of him finding you like this is enough to make you shudder.

What would he think of me? What would he say? Would he think I'm a weakling who can't take care of herself? Would he-

"Hey, C/S!"

You jump in fright at the sound of Bob's voice. "Oh! You scared me."

He gives you a funny look. "What are you doing hanging around the stairs? It's almost time for training."

"Oh, I - I must have lost track of time…" It's not a complete lie.

Bob doesn't look convinced. "I heard a crash a few minutes ago. Did you fall down the stairs?"

"No!" Seeing the look on Bob's face, you hastily amend your statement. "Well, yes. But I only grazed my hands. I'll be fine. Look, the skin isn't even broken."

You even hold out your hands for Bob to inspect, which he does with an extremely serious, focused look on his face.

Once he's satisfied that you're telling the truth, he lets your hands go. "Okay. Well, we'd better go to training."

You regretfully pull yourself away from the daydream you were having of Rooster inspecting your hands for grazes. "Oh. Yeah. Training. Right…"

"You sure you're okay?" asks Bob, as you walk down to the briefing room. "Sure you didn't hit your head or anything?"

"No. I - um - I guess falling down the stairs kind of rattled me. You know, it's just been so long since it last happened…"

You're still aimlessly rambling as you both enter the briefing room, but you fall silent the minute you notice Fanboy give you a funny look.

Looking around, you notice that most of the seats are taken.

Except for the one next to Rooster.

When he sees you, he smiles at you, and pats the seat next to him.

Blushing, you take it, sitting rather stiffly, partly because you're in such close proximity to him, and partly because your ankle really is throbbing now.

It seems like no time at all before you have to be back on your feet.

They're mixing things up a little, having the pilots choose different WSOs, presumably as some sort of teambuilding exercise (you weren't really paying attention).

You're disappointed that Rooster didn't pick you, but Payback beat him to it. And it's not as if he flies like Hangman. He's more inclined to go a bit slower, which suits you just fine, especially because you don't want to jar your ankle any more than necessary.

It's difficult to walk out to the hangar with your ankle feeling like it's going to buckle any second, but you somehow manage it, which makes you feel rather pleased with yourself.

You manage to get through training without telling anyone about your ankle. Of course, it helps that you've been sitting down most of the time, which gave you a chance to rest your ankle.

Unfortunately, you didn't realise that means your ankle's gone stiff. You very nearly fall when you get out of the plane, but Payback manages to catch you just in time.

"You okay, C/S?" he asks as he helps you stand.

You nod. "Just a bit stiff."

Payback doesn't look completely convinced, but he doesn't argue, fortunately.

Not that he would, anyway. You two aren't really close enough for that.

Neither are you and Rooster, as a matter of fact.

It's very difficult for you not to limp as you walk back to the building. Your ankle's getting more and more painful with every step, but you're determined to at least get through today.

Once you're in the briefing room, though, it's impossible to not let out a sigh of relief as you sit down, which prompts funny looks from the others, but you pretend not to notice.

"So, we're meeting at The Hard Deck tonight, then?" asks Phoenix.

She's answered by sounds of assent from the others.

You curse silently. You'd forgotten about the meet-up at the bar after work.

And you've already promised Bob that you'll be there tonight.

Wonderful. Just what I wanted.

It's not just because of your sprained ankle, though. You're already tired from work, and the last thing you need is more socialising in a noisy, crowded bar.

"Can't we do something different?" asks Hangman. "We're always at the bar."

Phoenix shrugs. "What were you thinking?"

"Dogfight football."

Fortunately, the protests at this shuts him up very quickly.

"Okay, okay!" Jake holds his hands up in surrender. "Geez…"

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

Sighing, you collapse on your sofa almost immediately after entering your house. You're really not looking forward to tonight.

For one thing, you've still got to hide your injury. For another, you just don't like loud, rowdy places - like bars.

What if I just didn't go? you wonder suddenly. What if I stayed home and watched a movie or something?

At first, you try to dismiss the thought, but the more you think about what you'd do if you stayed home, the more you realise that you'd actually prefer to stay home.

So you end up deciding to stay home, and order some food.

Normally, the only time you have is when you're rushing around trying to get ready for work, so it's nice to finally be able to have some quality time with yourself.

By the time you finish dinner, you're pretty tired, and you don't want to risk falling asleep on the sofa, so you decide to skip on the movie, and just go straight to bed.

As you're getting ready for bed, you suddenly remember that you should probably ice your ankle, so after rummaging through the freezer to find something to wrap around your ankle, you go to bed.

But despite your exhaustion, it still takes you ages to fall asleep.

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

The next morning, judging by the way the others are buzzing, it sounds like some crazy stuff went on at the bar yesterday, and you're very, very glad that you didn't go.

Rooster smiles when he sees you, and pats the seat next to him. "Hey, C/S."

As you sit down, you try desperately not to wince. The ice did help some, but your ankle's definitely feeling worse than yesterday.

"Missed you last night," says Rooster. "Were you okay?" Is it your imagination, or is his voice just a little softer than usual?

You nod, wishing your face wouldn't go so red. "Just - just tired."

Rooster doesn't look convinced, but nods.

He looks like he's about to say something else, but just then, Maverick calls for everyone's attention, and you've got no more time to chat.

"Well, as it so happens, Cyclone happened to be in a good mood today," he begins.

Oh no. Chills run over your body. You already know what Maverick's got in mind.

"So, since he's given everyone the afternoon off, I was thinking we play some dogfight football at the beach."

The room erupts into cheers.

Except for you.

You feel sick to your stomach. Sports were never really your thing, although you don't usually mind playing with the squad, but - you can't possibly play with an injury, and if you hide it, you won't be able to duck out of the match.

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

What am I supposed to do? you wonder, as you try not to limp on your way to the beach.

Training's gone pretty badly. You were so distracted by your throbbing ankle, and trying to think of ways to get out of the game this afternoon that you ended up getting 'killed' at least twice (you lost count).

You were flying with Phoenix today, who isn't too impressed with you, but she's not as annoyed as you thought you'd be, although that might be because you didn't get 'killed' by Hangman.

But Phoenix's annoyance at you is the last thing on your mind.

Your ankle's feeling less and less stable the further you walk, and the pain's so bad that you're giving yourself a headache trying to bite back the groans and winces that you'd usually let out.

But you're still determined to not tell anyone.

You're not really sure why you're so bent on being independent. Maybe it stems back to the fact that you're autistic, and you've always felt like you've had to work twice as hard as your neurotypical peers to prove your worth…

Of course, it doesn't help that when you first applied to be a Naval aviator, the military didn't want to let you in, on account of you being autistic, and you had to fight to prove that you were worth taking on.

But your problems didn't end there. No, even while training to become an aviator, there was still the horrible cliquey situation that you thought you'd left behind in high school. All the other women seemed to know each other, and you didn't really feel comfortable trying to make friends with the men.

Except for Bob, of course. But then, you've both been friends since you were in high school. And Bob's always been a very kind, accepting person.

But you're not even going to tell him about your ankle. He's too conscientious to be able to help you hide an injury, and he'd have you in the sickbay in no time, which is the last thing you need when you're with the Dagger Squad

Everyone else seems happy and excited, pretty much the opposite of how you're feeling right now, and you really don't want to put a damper on their afternoon.

I wish I could just go home, you think. It's not like anyone would really miss me. And we'd be an odd number anyway, if Mav wanted to play.

You pause for a moment, turning the idea over in your head.

After all, why not? Why shouldn't I go home? It's my afternoon off. And anyway, what if my ankle played up, and they all noticed? Isn't that what I was worried about in the first place?

But I told Bob I'd be there.

You didn't promise.

Yeah, but bailing on him twice in two days? Isn't that a bit much?

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

Hi, Bob. Sorry for the short notice, but I'm going to have to bail on the football game.

You pause for a moment, before hitting send. Well, no going back now.

Bob's reply comes up almost immediately. To Y/N: Oh, no. Why? Bob.

You manage a small smile as you reply. I'm just feeling kind of tired.

To Y/N: Do you want me to come over? Bob.

No, it's ok. I'll be fine by myself. Maybe tomorrow?

To Y/N: Okay. Hope you feel better soon. Bob.

Sighing, you put your phone aside, before immediately picking it up again so you can order some food. You feel bad bailing on Bob twice in quick succession, but you weren't lying. You are really tired, not least because of this stupid injury.

Maybe I'll take a sick day tomorrow, you wonder, before quickly dismissing the idea. You've only got a finite amount of sick leave, and you want to save it for - well, for a very rainy day, i.e. when you're really sick.

Which, if truth be told, hasn't happened this year. And you're past flu season, so…

There's a knock at the door.

You nearly jump out of your skin in fright, before groaning, and dragging yourself up to go and see who it is. It won't be the delivery guy, because you haven't even finished your order yet.

Your heart nearly stops when you open the door.

It's Rooster.

"Hey, C/S," he says. "Just came by to see how you're doing."

Him just being alone with you is enough to render your brain mush, and you have absolutely no idea how to reply, so you try stepping back as a way of inviting him in.

It's just bad luck that you completely forget about your ankle, which gives out beneath you, sending you to the floor.

Rooster catches you just in time.

Lifting you in his arms, he carries you to the living room, where he sets you down on the sofa.

"Where'd you hurt yourself?" he demands.

You stare at the floor. "My ankle," you whisper, wishing your cheeks wouldn't burn so much.

Very gently, Rooster takes your sock off. Judging by his soft gasp, he doesn't even need to touch your ankle to know that it's badly swollen.

"Is it broken or sprained?" he asks at last, his voice surprisingly thick.

"Sprained."

"Okay." Rooster takes a deep breath. "I'm gonna go get some ice for this. I'll only be a minute, so just stay put, okay?"

Once he's left the room, you scrub at your eyes, trying hard to keep the tears away. You expected him to yell at you for hiding an injury, but his quiet concern somehow makes you feel much, much worse.

And it doesn't help that your brain keeps replaying what happened over and over again.

That look on his face when you fell…

You don't even realise that you've started to cry until you feel a pair of strong arms around you, and a large hand cradling your head.

"Oh, sweetheart," murmurs Rooster. "I'm so sorry, I know it hurts…"

Sniffling, you lean into him as he strokes your hair, and murmurs sweet nothings in an attempt to calm you down. Despite how awkward you feel, you'd be lying if you said that a small part of you doesn't enjoy his fussing just a little bit.

It takes you a while to calm down, because every time your crying subsides, you see that look on Rooster's face again, and another wave of guilt washes over you, which makes you cry even more.

But once you're calm, you immediately pull away from him, feeling horribly embarrassed.

"Sorry," you mumble, staring at the floor once again.

"It's okay." Rooster moves to put the now partially melted ice pack on your ankle. "That better?"

You nod, feeling your throat go tight.

"Good."

There's a long, awkward silence. Not that you're complaining. You're still feeling a little fragile, and like you might cry any minute, so you don't really feel much like talking anyway.

"Hey, C/S?"

You look up.

"Do you - uh, need anything?"

You shake your head. "I'm fine. You should go back to the game."

Rooster shakes his head. "I'm not leaving you here."

"You should," you mumble.

"I don't want to leave you like this. You're tired, you're hurt, and you're in pain. Please let me help."

You can feel tears welling up again. "Okay," you whisper. "Thank you. And - I'm sorry about ruining your afternoon off."

"Don't be sorry." Rooster gives you a soft smile, although his eyes look suspiciously glassy. "I was worried about you, and this was the least I could do."

"You were worried?"

Rooster nods. "And it turns out I was right to be worried."

"What do you-"

Rooster suddenly takes your hand in his, holding it so tightly that you're worried he might break it. "You're very lucky that your ankle didn't give out when you were by yourself, and that you weren't more hurt when you fell. Please, never hide an injury like this again."

You nod. "Okay."

"Promise me."

"I promise."

Rooster lets go of your hand, although the worried expression doesn't fully leave his face.

You take a deep breath, feeling you should probably turn the conversation in a different direction. "Um, I was just about to order some food. Do you want any?"

Rooster smiles, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "Sure. But I'm paying."

You shake your head. "I'll pay. It's the least I can do."

Rooster looks like he's about to argue, but thinks better of it. "You sure you're comfortable?" he asks. "I could go and get you a blanket if you want…"

"A blanket sounds good," you say, smiling shyly. "Oh, and could you hand me the TV remote, please?"

Smiling, Rooster hands you the TV remote, before going upstairs.

You let out a soft sigh of relief as you relax into the sofa cushions, and turn on one of your favourite comfort shows. You're exhausted from today, so you decide to rest your eyes a bit.

Just for a few minutes…

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

It seems like only a few seconds later when you suddenly wake up to feel Rooster tucking you into bed.

You let out a soft grunt. "Mm. What're you doing?"

Rooster smiles softly. "You fell asleep on the couch, sweetie. I figured you'd be more comfortable sleeping in bed. You still up for dinner?"

You shake your head. "Too tired. Can you just stay with me until I sleep?"

"Of course." Rooster's very gentle as he props your ankle up, and carefully wraps it in a fresh ice pack.

The slight shock from the cold wakes you up for a brief moment, but exhaustion soon takes over again, and you have to fight to try and keep your eyes open.

You feel the bed shift, and then Rooster's hand tenderly stroking your hair.

The last thing you remember before sinking into oblivion is his soft voice.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll be here when you wake up, I promise."

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

Part 2

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

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

despite what canon says, if a fanfic writer’s in love with a blorbo, they can never die

Holy moly dude.

The feeling you feel when you finally break free of a writers block. When you finally finish that paragraph that you had no idea how to complete. When you finally find a way to fix that story that always felt incomplete. That amazing feeling that makes you feel like ur on top of the world and untouchable.

I live for it.