What Abled Ppl Think Is A Massive Problem For Disabled Folks: 13 Year Old On The Internet Faking Something

no outlining, we struggle with the plot halfway through like real men /j

Masterpost

I do not give permission for my work to be published without my approval. If you see my work published under another name, that means someone stole it. (That should really go without saying, but…)

Please be gentle, I’m pretty new to the whole fanfiction posting game. In other words, if you have something mean to say, don’t say it or I will block you.

Fem!Shy!Reader for Y/N fics unless otherwise specified

I will not write smut, I will mostly write fluff and comedy. You can ask for angst if you want, but I will usually make it pretty mild, and write a happy ending for it.

Sorry to anyone who supports popular ships like Dramione and Hangster, I do not write for those or any other ships, I only write ships that are either established in canon (ones that I like, e.g. I will write for Goose x Carole, but not for Upstead), or are between a canon character and an OC or the reader. (There might be a few exceptions, but the ship will then be listed on the fanfic warnings. I also might write comedy for Wolfstar and Ben Daniels & Yassen if you ask nicely!)

All ages welcome, but I mostly post from a younger person (aka under 30s) point of view.

Pretty much all my fics will have some a lot of self-indulgent fluff in, you have been warned.

The character names I have in the masterlist are the ones I write ReaderxCharacter fics for, I will sometimes write a fanfiction for one of the fandoms listed that does not have the reader as a character.

Characters that have their names in italics are OCs from another fanfic (published or not) of the fandom the character is listed under that I think would be good to write a ReaderxCharacter fic about (if you think an unlisted OC would be good on the list, request by all means). There are some quick character summaries you can read to get a picture of them before you request any fics.

Fandoms and Characters I write for (this is a masterlist, and it will grow, I promise!):

Marvel (MCU):

Peter Parker (Avenger)

Loki (not TVA Loki)

Unintentional (Part 2)

Miles Morales (Spiderverse)

Bruce Banner

Unforeseen Events (Part 2) (Part 3)

Pietro Maximoff (MCU)

Top Gun + Top Gun: Maverick:

Top Gun Guys (as a group, headcanons only):

What the Top Gun guys would be like in the kitchen

Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell

Nick ‘Goose’ Bradshaw

Bradley 'Rooster’ Bradshaw

It's Funny How Things Can Turn Out

Let Me Help (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Maybe Things Are Looking Up

Jake 'Hangman’ Seresin

Maybe We Can Be Friends (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3)

Robert 'Bob’ Floyd

Lord of the Rings (books and movies only, do NOT mention the atrocity that is Rings of Power, I refuse to acknowledge that show as canon):

Aragorn

Faramir

Boromir

Legolas

Eomer

The Fellowship as a whole unit

Pippin (maybe)

Merry (maybe)

Frodo (maybe)

Sam (maybe)

Elladan and Elrohir (either as a unit or separately)

Mergil

Mardil

Cirion

Alex Rider (books only):

Ben 'Fox’ Daniels

Yassen Gregorovich

Alex 'Cub’ Rider

K Unit (either as a unit or separately)

Tom Harris

Seb Ferguson-Daniels

Archie Ferguson-Daniels

Harry Potter (NOT Cursed Child, movies only):

Draco Malfoy

Tom Riddle (young obvs)

Ron Weasley (possibly)

Neville Longbottom (possibly)

Pride and Prejudice (1995 version only, the 2005 version is not recognised here):

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Charles Bingley

Colonel Fitzwilliam

Lieutenant Denny

Corporal James Ashwood

Pokemon (Gen III HOENN games only right now, maybe more if I ever get my hands on more of the games):

Brendan Birch

Archie

Maxie

House MD (maybe, we'll see):

Gregory House

James Wilson

Robert Chase

Eric Foreman

Chicago PD (again, possibly):

Jay Halstead

Kevin Atwater (possibly)

Chicago Med (maybe)

Ethan Choi

Connor Rhodes

Will Halstead

The Rookie

Tim Bradford

John Nolan

Hi!! I loved your Jake x autistic!reader fic!! I was wondering if you'd be open to writing a Bradley x autistic!read fic next? Maybe reader goes out with the dagger squad and ends up getting a little overwhelmed/goes nonverbal but Bradley helps calm them down? No pressure if your not into the idea

Stay safe and stay hydrated <3

It's Funny How Things Can Turn Out

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw x Autistic!Fem!Shy!Reader

Warnings: A bit of angst, lots of fluff at the end, soft Bradley, sensory overload and consequent meltdown, mentions of autism, mild cursing, Naval inaccuracies, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drink spiking

Summary: You decide to break out of your shell for once, and go to the bar with the Dagger Squad. Things don't quite turn out how you expected them to.

"Y/N, please," begs Nat. "It's going to be fun."

You've got a very different idea of fun to her, but you don't really want to say that.

"I know Bob can't go, but Coyote can. You know Coyote."

Yeah, but not well enough to be able to cling to him like a limpet.

For that matter, you don't really know Nat that well, either, but since she's Bob's friend, you feel a bit more comfortable around her than most strangers.

You've known Bob pretty much all your life. Your mums were friends, you two were friends in school, and even though you're not an aviator, you've always tended to stick around Bob.

He's the type who'll let you cling to him like a limpet in a social situation, but unfortunately, he's got a cold tonight, and can't go to the bar. You were fine with that, partly because it would give you an excuse to miss the Friday night torture get-together at The Hard Deck.

Nat means well, of course. She knows you're shy, and that you're pretty introverted, but she just doesn't seem to understand that your social battery isn't up to coping with strangers today, and that you'd rather take care of Bob than socialise with a load of strangers.

"Bob's not that sick, you know. He just doesn't want to spread it on to the rest of us."

"I know," you mutter. "I guess I'd just feel better if-"

Nat shakes her head. "You need to get out of your shell a bit, Y/N. You'll be fine, okay? It'll be fun."

Your brain is screaming at you. Don't do it, Y/N! Don't!

But you don't want to disappoint Nat, so you nod. "I guess so."

Nat smiles. "Great! We'll go to the bar in about forty-five minutes."

Wait, what?

But Nat's already let herself out before you can say anything.

This is not good.

The bar is so crowded that you're convinced there's more carbon dioxide than oxygen in the air - which could explain why you're finding it difficult to breathe.

It's so boiling hot that you're already sweating, and the noise is starting to get to you - already.

Nat doesn't seem to notice as she pulls you through the crowd, towards the pool table.

"Hey, Phoenix!" calls a guy - Coyote, you remember. You've met him a couple of times, and he's always been nice to you.

Coyote smiles when he sees you. "Hey, Y/N. How's it going?"

You want to reply, but your mouth's too dry, so you just nod, force a smile, and hope that he doesn't think you're being rude.

"Who's this?" Another guy's come up to Coyote.

Wait, is he talking to Coyote, or me? you wonder. You don't want to appear rude, but your mouth feels like sandpaper, and it's impossible to even try to form words, let alone say them.

To add to it all, your social battery is on the verge of dying, which has lowered your sensory tolerance considerably.

Fortunately, Nat comes to your rescue. "This is Y/N," she says. "Y/N, this is Bagman."

"Hangman," protests the other guy.

A few other aviators arrive, Nat makes some more introductions - and then abandons you to go and get some drinks for everyone.

Where am I supposed to go? you wonder.

Normally, you and Bob would sit in a little niche near the pool table. As luck would have it, that little niche is empty, but there are people blocking your way, who you'd have to push past to get there.

The bar's getting more and more crowded by the second. People are squeezed so close together that they're touching. You can feel strangers brushing past you as they go to get their drinks.

Normally, it would just annoy you, but tonight, you have to physically force yourself to hold it together every time you feel the light tickling touch of a stranger brushing past you.

Everything's becoming too much to handle. The noise, which bothered you even at first, is now a deafening roar that drowns out individual sounds, the smell of alcohol is giving you a headache, the lights are hurting your eyes…

You need out. Right now.

Somewhere over the roar, you hear a yell. "Bradshaw! Over here!"

In desperation, you clamp your hands over your ears. It helps a little, being able to block out most of the noise, but the light's still hurting your eyes, the smell of alcohol is still giving you a headache, and people are still touching you as they walk past.

Fortunately, you're still in the vicinity of Bob's friends, so you watch them to try and calm yourself.

You should go over and say hi, you know, you tell yourself.

But there are too many people blocking the way, and anyway, you're too shy to go over. The thing is, you can put a name to his face, but you've never actually been introduced.

Another person pushes past you, more roughly than the rest, which makes one of your hands slip off your ear.

All the noise comes pouring back in, and it's all you can do not to make a run for it.

You back into the wall, hands clamped over your ears again, looking desperately for an escape.

But the only way out is the door you came in, and that's blocked by loads of strangers, all so close together that you'd have to push past.

Your heart's pounding in your ears. You can still hear some of the roar, but at least it's somewhat muted now that your hands are blocking it. You shut your eyes, trying desperately to hold it together.

Then you feel a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you open your eyes to see Bradley standing in front of you, looking worried.

You don't hear what he says, but you know it's something along the lines of, "Are you okay?"

You shake your head.

Bradley's face softens. He says something else, and then points to the door.

You nod, hoping he's asking if you want to leave.

Bradley wraps a protective arm around you as he walks you out. Somehow, he manages to shield you from being too jostled as he pushes through the crowd.

Once you're outside, Bradley takes you to a bench a little way outside the bar. Even with your hands over your ears, you notice how nice and quiet it is outside.

Slowly, you take your hands off your ears, before turning to Bradley, who's sitting next to you.

"You okay, sweetie?" he asks softly. "You seemed pretty overwhelmed back there."

You want to give him a rational answer, explain calmly and clearly that you're autistic, that it was sensory overload, and that you just need time to recharge.

But instead, you start to cry. Today's just been too much for you to handle, and now that you're suddenly in a safe space, you just can't keep it together.

"Hey, it's okay." Bradley puts his hand on your arm, gently stroking up and down. "You're safe."

You want to lean into his touch, and allow yourself to cry, but you suddenly realise just how awkward this situation must be for him. As soon as you realise, you try hard to choke back your sobs.

You idiot! you scream at yourself. You're crying in front of one of Bob's aviator friends. Do you know how humiliating this will be for him if he finds out? And how awkward this is for his other friends?

You're so busy berating yourself, and trying to choke back your sobs that you don't realise you've started picking at your hands. It's a habit you've gotten into, to try and stop yourself from getting emotional in public.

Bradley notices what you're doing. He doesn't say anything about it, but gently takes your hands in his.

"Do you need anything, sweetie?" he asks softly.

You bite your lip. What you really want is a hug, but when you try to speak, nothing comes out.

You've gone nonverbal.

This isn't the first time it's happened, but it's the first time it's happened in public without either your mum or Bob to help you.

You hastily dig in your pocket for your phone, before opening a text app, and typing something out before handing it to Bradley.

Bradley's face softens when he sees what you've typed.

Can I have a hug?

"Oh, sweetheart. Come here."

You shuffle closer to him on the bench, letting him wrap his arms around you, and hold you close.

It's been so long since you've had a proper hug that you've almost forgotten what it feels like. Some more tears trickle down your cheeks, but you let them fall this time.

It takes a while, but you do manage to calm down. Pulling away, you sniffle, wipe your eyes - and then a wave of embarrassment hits you.

I'm sorry that had to be so awkward for you, you type. Dragging you away from your friends and all. Please don't tell Bob - or the others. They'll probably never forgive me.

Bradley frowns, and shakes his head. "It's okay, sweetheart. I just wanted to help. And the others weren't mad at you, you know. They were just worried."

You sit in silence for a bit, wondering whether to go back in or not, before finally saying, "If you, um, if I go back in, can I - um - stay with you? Just, like, while we're in the bar?"

Bradley smiles. "That's fine." He pauses for a moment before adding, "You're Bob's friend, right?"

You nod. "My name's Y/N L/N."

"Mine's Bradley Bradshaw. My callsign's Rooster, but you can call me either."

You smile shyly. "Okay."

"You feel ready to go back in?" asks Bradley.

You nod. "Yeah, I guess…"

Bradley raises an eyebrow. "You sure? I don't want to force you."

"No, it's - it's fine. The 'I guess', is just kind of what I say, if you get what I mean."

"Right." Bradley stands up, and holds out a hand to help you up.

You take it, and stand up.

As you both head back to the bar, you suddenly realise that maybe the Friday night get-together at the bar didn't have to be torture.

After all, Bradley was kind to you, even though he only knew you through Bob, so maybe the others won't be so bad either.

You smile as you glance up at Bradley. You'd have never guessed that this evening, which started so badly, could get better just because of someone's kindness. It looks like being a good night after all.

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

Love this!! I'm more of a quiet, grumpy person myself, so this was great reading. ❤️❤️❤️

how it could grow

thank you for voting in this poll! here we have grumpy!reader and sunshine!rooster going to the farmer's market | fluff, 1.7k

It's early.

Bradley gets up early and probably will forever. You've always considered yourself able to get up in the morning, but he's so...cheery. So damn chipper.

Being up early on a Saturday means the local farmer's market. It's so early that it's not even close to crowded, so you and your boyfriend stroll down the rolls of stalls, checking your combined list as you to to make sure you hit the right vendors.

Bradley waves at many of them, dragging you over to get some pickles and compliment Carlota's hat, to the bee farm stand to ask Steve about new candle scents, to get some iced tea and to hear about Lu's new puppy.

"This is delicious, Lu," he says. "What do you think, babe?" He nudges your shoulder with his.

He's not teasing you, not really, but he is trying to make you talk. You're usually very content to let Bradley be the talker, the friendly face. He's like the sun and for a long time you had no idea what he was doing spending his time with you. You're quieter, rougher around the edges. But he's practically drilled it into you by this point: he loves you. So you let him prod you a little because you do like these people and they always have a smile and kind word for you, even if Bradley does all the chatting.

"It's lovely," you tell the vendor, and mean it. It's no surprise Bradley knows him and his dog's name and everything about the business. He beams at you.

"Thank you!" he says. "Bradley's told me you're particular about your tea. Here, you take some of this new blend to try and let me know next week what you think."

So ensues a small battle over paying that ends with Bradley convincing Lu to come to the Hard Deck for a free drink this weekend in exchange for your sample blend.

"That was nice of him," you mumble, tucking into Bradley's side. He holds the iced tea you're sharing between you so you can take sips from the straw, his other arm slung over your shoulder.

"You're his favorite customer," he says. You look at him. Yeah, right, you say with your eyebrows. Seriously, his say back. You roll your eyes.

"I think that's you."

He winks. "Alright, beautiful." You scowl but he ignores it. "I think it's time to divide and conquer. You take fruits, I'll take veggies? And then we can hit the bakery on the way home and eat on the porch."

"Okay," you tell him. He gives you the rest of the tea and you tilt your cheek up. Bradley recognizes what you're asking for immedietly, surging forward to press his lips to your cheek tenderly.

"I'll find you," he says, and heads to the farm stand, whistling as he goes.

You head to the fruit stand. Bradley asked for strawberries, so you'll get some of those. And some apples for snacking on and blackberries, if she has them. When you get there, there's a small child and her mother in front of you. The little girl looks at you and you crack a smile at her and wiggle your fingers in hello. She giggles before burying her face in her mother's leg.

Yeah, okay, so a few things can crack your exterior. Your cheery, handsome aviator boyfriend and cute kids. And dogs, obviously.

The mom and kid leave and it's your turn. "Hi, honey!" the vendor says.

"Hi, Thalia," you say. Bradley comes here almost every week and when you tag along you love to visit this woman especially and her colorful piles of fruit.

"What's it for you today?" she says. Before you can answer, she holds up her hand. "Wait, I forgot!" She bends down under her stall table and reemerges with the most perfect carton of raspberries you've ever seen. You gasp softly. This is the first time she's had them all summer.

"Those are gorgeous," you say. She grins.

"That tall boyfriend of yours came by last week and I didn't have any yet." She chuckles at the memory. "He looked downright heartbroken and asked me to save some for you special once I picked 'em. So here we are! First and only carton before we bring a full load next week."

You gently take the berries from her and find that words won't come. "Oh," you say softly, looking down at them in your hands. "Thank you."

"Not a problem, dear," Thalia says softly. "Anything else for you?" You snap out of it and smile at her, rattling off your list. She bags up your things into your tote after you pay and you carry them over your shoulder while cradling the carton in your hands like precious cargo. Because it is.

The market is a little more crowded as you scan the veg stalls for Bradley. He does things like this -- the berries -- all the time, really. He looks out for you, makes sure your water bottle has ice in it, buys you more shampoo when he notices you're low, resets the car seat when he knows you'll be driving. You know that he likes taking care of you, that it makes him feel useful and like he's loving you properly, but you wonder if maybe you don't show him the same courtesy.

You know you can be sullen, you can be quiet, you can be prickly. It's not proved too much for him thus far and you're sure it won't drive him away, but you worry that he just doesn't know that he deserves to be loved with the same care and concern that he loves you. He deserves someone who makes sure he has the very first carton of the season of his favorite fruit.

You spot him standing by the kombucha stand and admire him as you walk over, tossing out the empty iced tea cup as you go. Highlighted hair, golden skin, tote bag of veg over his broad shoulders. He's so beautiful and he's yours. You love him, you really do. Right before you call his name he looks up and finds you, almost as if he felt you coming. He breaks into a smile so genuine you can't help but return it.

"Hi, gorgeous," he says, loudly. Beautiful, gorgeous. Bradley is always calling you something that makes your cheeks heat and your stomach swoop. You duck your head and step close to him. "Oh, hell yeah, the raspberries! Are they alright?"

"They're perfect," you tell him. You're perfect. "Thank you."

"Good," he says, like you being pleased by some raspberries is the best thing he's heard today. "Ready for breakfast?" You nod and he grabs your free hand and you head out of the market and down the street.

"Bradley," you say quietly, once you're clear of the stands. It's your serious tone and he picks up on it right away, giving your hand a squeeze.

"You okay?"

You hum. You are, but you need to get this out. "It was really nice of you to ask Thalia for these," you say, looking at your raspberries. "And I...I feel like I don't do things for you like that. And I wanted to say I'm sorry and that I'm going to try to do more because --"

"Woah, woah, woah," Bradley says, tugging you to a stop and making sure you're facing each other. "What's all this?" His brows are creased in concern, the furrow between them annoyingly adorable.

You take a deep breath and keep your eyes on his, determined. You want to be sure he hears this because you mean it.

"I know that I'm...prickly. And you're like the sun, Bradley." He looks like he wants to say something but you keep going before he can interrupt. "And you do nice things for me all the time and I know it's because you love me but also because it's just how you love, and because you're good. And I just want to do more to make sure you know that I love you and that you deserve to be treated like you're...like you're the best person in the world because you are."

His eyes get wider and wider as you speak, his lips parting. Yeah, maybe this is a little intense for like, 8:30 in the morning, but you two are honest with each other. It's how you got this far.

"Sweetheart," he says. "Baby, god, I--" He cups your face with one hand, eyes darting back and forth between yours. "But you do."

It's your turn to furrow your brows. What does he mean?

"You iron my uniform and you make sure I get dinner with Maverick every few weeks and you put gas in the Bronco and you stay up late to call me when I'm halfway across the world and you never let me forget my watch and you tell me you love me and that I'm brave and..." Bradley trails off and his thumb gently strokes your cheek. He starts again, quieter this time. "You're quiet in the mornings but you don't mind when I whistle and you're grumpy when it's too hot but you go outside with me anyway and you let me do the talking because I can't shut up and you only smile when you mean it and you're you. You do love me like that. You do."

Good god, you're blinking away tears at his words. "Okay," you say. "I guess we...I guess we love each other alright." Maybe it's just hard to see yourself the way he sees you. Maybe he finds it hard to see himself the way you see him. Maybe this is just how it is -- you have to remind each other you're doing your best.

Bradley leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. "You fucking bet we do," he whispers.

"Don't crush my berries," you say, eyes fluttering closed. He shifts and you feel his breath on your lips.

"I'd never."

And then he kisses you on the empty boardwalk on another gorgeous morning in your lovely, wonderful life.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here! (also did anyone catch the easter egg in this fic :))

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! 💚

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.

The inconsistency of writing is fucking with me right now.

Sometimes I write for eight hours straight, then I can't type a single word for a month.

Sometimes I write as though I have been possessed by some kind of divine being, sometimes I literally become illiterate and have to look up every second word.

One day I love my characters, the next I decide how to kill them off — which gives my writing motivation only a temporary boost, but I'll take what I can get.

In the distance, my readers sob for updates and my heart bleeds for them... meh, I still can't be bothered to write right now. I'm kinda bored, though.

Quotes from Authors on Writing

“You can, you should, and if you’re brave enough to start, you will.” — Stephen King

“Start writing, no matter what. The water does not flow until the faucet is turned on.” — Louis L’Amour

“Substitute ‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very.’ Your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.” — Mark Twain

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” — Anton Chekhov

“A professional writer is an amateur who didn’t quit.” — Richard Bach

“You fail only if you stop writing.” — Ray Bradbury

“I hate writing, I love having written.” — Dorothy Parker

“No tears in the writer, no tears in the reader. No surprise in the writer, no surprise in the reader.” — Robert Frost

“The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself.” — Albert Camus

“Write what should not be forgotten.” — Isabel Allende

“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” — Ernest Hemingway

“Find a subject you care about and which you in your heart feel others should care about. It is this genuine caring, not your games with language, which will be the most compelling and seductive element in your style.” — Kurt Vonnegut

“The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.” — Gustave Flaubert

“I’m not a very good writer, but I’m an excellent rewriter.” — James Michener

“Write what you know. Write what you want to know more about. Write what makes you feel. Write because you have to. Write because you want to. Just write.” — Cecelia Ahern

“You should write because you love the shape of stories and sentences and the creation of different words on a page. Writing comes from reading, and reading is the finest teacher of how to write.” — Annie Proulx

Writers on a random Tuesday: Sits down, locks in, giggles, writes 10k, does not sleep

Also writers on a random Tuesday: writes one sentence and then stares into the abyss for five fours