#wycftq

[comfortmarvelimagines]

Hi! So I really love your "When You Can't Find The Quiet" series and I think it's amazing how well you write! If you're still taking requests I'd love to see another part with maybe like Bucky and Steve helping the reader through a meltdown. Like Peter's ill or something so couldn't be there and Tony's away on some kind of business but like Happy picked the reader up and took them to the tower and Tony contacted Bucky to help. And like Steve's confused and just draws for the reader or something?

(Can be read as standalone or as (the much delayed) WYCFTQ pt 6)

There weren’t many people you interacted with on a regular basis, and that was just the way you preferred it.

People are scary. Unpredictable. Deceit hidden behind curtains of seemingly genuine intent, gauzy and constantly shifting and impossible to focus on what lies beyond. It didn’t make sense. All your life you had been exactly as you were, no lies, no acting unless instructed to. The masking kind, only, as you tried to keep up in the neurotypical social game. Frankly, it all seemed rather put on and pointless and by the time you reached high school you’d all but given up on it. Given up on trying to decode other people as well. There was too much shit going on, and it was the path of least resistance to settle on your small group of friends and leave it at that. Minimal masking, minimal need for interpretation. You trusted your friends to be who they said they were, and you showed up with no pretences held.

That being said, entering Peter’s world was terrifying. Here were adults that seemed to have true intentions; adults with the time and resources to make your life easier in a way you’d never before had access to. Adults- Tony, Nat, Bucky, Pepper- who said they wanted to help. Who did help, and not in the way you were used to adults ‘helping’, with social rules and short reprimands and sad sighs when you just didn’t get it. You had to trust them. Because without that help, trying to manage being a generally functioning human that left the apartment and did homework and went to school and didn’t punch randoms on the subway on instinct for standing too close, felt impossible. Part of you felt shame for having grown so reliant, but you knew the alternative all too well. Complete shutdown. Burnout. Months of being so hazy and out of it nothing felt real and nothing got done. So, reluctantly, you accepted the status quo.

Meltdowns happen. They suck ass. At this point you felt like you’d experienced every possible way that they could happen, the growing Big Bad Feeling in the pit of your guts almost familiar. They honestly didn’t get any easier with time (or, to phrase it kinda weirdly, with practice). The humiliation stung just as harshly after every one when you had nothing left to give. The Post-Meltdown Energy Drain leaving you collapsed on the floor like some kind of deflated beanbag, letting everyone else take over. You could cry over the mortification later when you had the spoons.

This last meltdown was no different. It had grown over a few days, the general unrest of the student body headed towards summer break doing nothing to help, nor did the constant stickiness of late-May humidity. It made sense, in a weird parallel way- humidity inevitable breaks with a storm, and the growing sense of badness broke in a meltdown. It was only too bad you couldn’t have waited until school was out to have it in the privacy of your bedroom. The floor probably would’ve been less gross as well, but even the thought of high school corridor germs wasn’t enough to get you up as you waited for Happy.

It wasn’t usually Happy who picked you up. Tony typically did it himself, and as selfish as it felt you preferred it that way. He knew what to do, and he hadn’t belittled you for it yet so there was a growing sense of trust that it was an unlikely scenario. Alas, being an avenger and owning a multi-billion dollar company is no casual business, and there was just no way he was able to come and get you, so Happy was enlisted. You weren’t sure what to make of Happy. He never really said much to you (not that you would’ve said much in return) but he seemed to like Peter. Only problem was, Peter wasn’t even at school today. Probably hurt himself patrolling, given that it was probably impossible for his genetically enhanced ass to get sick. Lucky.

The slapping of Happy’s shoes on the worn linoleum broke your train of thought. The corridor was being kept clear by Ned and the new school nurse, who probably volunteered just to not have to figure out what else to do. You could’ve sworn none of these people had ever met another goddamn autistic person out in the wild before. Which, their loss, honestly. You hoisted yourself up on a locker and followed Happy on autopilot, eyes glazed over by the time you reached the distinctive black car. You felt like absolute shit. But every part of your brain was yelling at you to act fine, act normal, like nothing had ever happened.

Unsurprisingly, Happy didn’t say a word the entire drive back. You felt like every atom in your body had been drained of energy and you collapsed against the window of the car, too viscerally exhausted to care about the vibration of the car against your skull. Somewhere deep in your brain you tried to remember all the steps to the sensory room- the elevator, the right level, FRIDAY, the security pass- but each thought was too much effort to complete, and trailed off part way through. You kept trying over and over and over and over to remember how to do it, how to get to safety, with each attempt fizzling out sooner and sooner and never eventuating. You were too preoccupied with forcing the repetitive thought loop to recognise pulling into a driveway, down to the garage, half closed eyes seeing nothing, and the bone-tiredness letting your head just hang when the pressure of the door dropped as someone opened it from outside. Cool metal pushed hair back from your forehead and held you up as the restraint of the seatbelt rescinded and you realised it was Bucky.

He didn’t even ask before transferring most of your weight to his shoulder, and picking you up and out of the car. Somewhere in the haze you considered that maybe, this treatment was embarrassing; after all, you’d only met Bucky like, twice, and this was the second time he’d seen you in at some point in the meltdown life-cycle. But your body felt simultaneously numb and tingly and not there at all, and you didn’t even have the energy to cry despite desperately wanting to be able to, and all you could do was sink into his shoulder and try and keep your eyelids open.

You could feel when Bucky spoke. “Hey, can you grab that blanket over there? It’s weighted.”

Still feeling devoid of any capacity, you almost imperceptibly shook your head. Bucky rubbed your shoulder. “It’s okay, I wasn’t asking you, doll. We’re up in the sensory room. Steve is here. He wants to help, and I’m gonna get him to grab the weighted blanket so we can rest on that big comfy beanbag. You can sleep if you want, or we can just ride this out until you’re feeling a bit better. Nice and easy,” he lowered himself to slowly fall back into the memory foam. It only just occurred to you that you were gripping onto Bucky’s shirt for dear life, that the only way he would’ve been able to put you down would be to pry himself from your entangled hands. An honestly, you didn’t even fucking care. Humiliation aside, Bucky felt steady and calm and reassuring and you still felt so unsafe in your mind and body, an unrest that could easily spiral into meltdown round two. Which, ya know, you’d rather not do. Fighting sleep, you felt the air shift next to you and Steve returned, draping the grounding weight of the blanket over your jittery bones. He had something else with him too; as he sat on the ground beside you and Bucky, you registered that it was a sketchbook, and without a word he started to draw. First a landscape, a sunset, some birds, etched in grey then filled in pastels of colour. Mesmerised, you watched as your consciousness dripped away, sleeping in the way you only ever did when you were safe

#wycftq #Bucky barnes #Steve Rogers #autistic!reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes hurt/comfort #tony stark #peter parker #winter soldier #captain america #iron man #spiderman #meltdown #sensory overload #Mcu autistic reader #avengers imagine #avengers one shot #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #when you can't find the quiet

[comfortmarvelimagines]

hi friends ! I miss you ! how’s things, what’s the vibe, what’re your fave fics recently, send me your fave stimmy things, got any reqs, idk ? I miss having people in my inbox come hang out xx

#Charlie talks #wycftq #anonymous #or not come vibe

[comfortmarvelimagines]

okay so i don't know if you still write or not, but i just keep coming back and re-reading everything you write since you posted. like i am absolutely obsessed with your writing and you write so eloquently and i've never related to a fanfic as much as i relate to wycftq and all the accompanying oneshots. i love mama nat and dad tony. its so difficult to find representation and i just want to say thank you so much. i hope you do still write cause i would love to read many many more chapters and oneshots of mama nat or dad tony. i hope you're doing well and stay safe! :)

Hi friend ! 

I took a break for 2-ish years bc i was going through some shit (like, lost a close family member, escaped my abusive parents’ house, dropped out of uni kinda shit), but I’m doin a bit better ! Still got that sweet CPTSD but we tryin our best out here to use healthy coping mechanisms haha. I’m so, so glad that the fics i’ve written to give myself the representation i couldn’t find have given that to you. 

Also ! I posted a new wycftq part yesterday w bucky hehehehe here it is enjoy :)

#charlie answers #wycftq

[comfortmarvelimagines]

Headcanons request for Tony Stark’s daughter and tony being overprotective when someone says something mean in public when you stim. Thank you

(Except I liked this so much it became a full fic. Can be read standalone or as WYCFTQ)

You truly never understood the value neurotypicals placed on spontaneity. Its opposite, routine was everything that kept you grounded; safe, predictable, generally within your scope of capacity. Your worst days were the ones that were shoved off kilter by a change in plans, a cancellation, a meltdown that threw your timetable for a loop. You went to school, went to the tower, went home. That was your world. Small, but anything bigger felt unmanageable. Even that was barely manageable. So when Tony announced a surprise for you and Peter on an afternoon where school let off early, you felt unbalanced.

“Mr Stark, pleaaaaaseeeee tell us I literally can’t wait. I might die,” Peter, ever-impatient and fuelled by ADHD after his meds had worn off for the day, was literally vibrating with suspense. As opposed to your drained stillness, feeling like the floor had collapsed under you.

“You’ll like it, that’s all I’m giving you. Patience is a virtue, young one,” Tony raised an eyebrow at Peter, feigning a lecture. “And you’ll be fine,” he turned to you. “We’ve practiced using your strategies. We’ll bring stim toys, your headphones, and I’ve asked where we’re going to turn the lights down and music off to make it accessible. And they listened, because I’m me. We can leave as soon as you need, and you’ve got your communication device to tell us if you’re non-verbal. You’ve got this. It’ll be good for you, and for this hyped one over here,“ he ruffled Peter’s hair. “Capische? Good. Let’s go.”

Tony drove, but kept the music fairly low key. Peter was bouncing in the front seat, animatedly keeping a running list of all the possibilities that got increasingly far-fetched as Tony refused even the slightest hint. You had to admit, even through the snowdrift of anxiety that felt like it was building by the second, it was pretty funny. Amusing, even. Eventually, the Audi pulled into the parking lot of a mall and as he swung it in to park in the electric vehicle charging station, Tony pulled a baseball cap on low over his eyes.

“Alright, you ready?”

Peter was already halfway out of the car before the engine had been cut off. Tony turned to you. “Well, clearly someone is”, he gestured to Peter. “You doin’ okay?” At your nod, he continued in a near-whisper. “We’re going to a toy store. There’s Lego and sensory stuff for days, and I promise you’ll like it. But if it’s too much, I’m right here, and you’ve got your device to communicate. You say the word and we leave, no hesitation, okay?” At the mention of where you were going, you started happy flapping and bounced in your seat. Sensory stuff AND lego? Fuck yeah!!!! Some of the anxiety snowdrift melted back down and you got out to join Peter, who still had no idea where you were going and looked like the fact was making him positively implode. It was funny just how different you were, yet how you were both going to love this place.

At some point between the car and the store, you grabbed Tony’s hand. It was grounding, which you needed when the sensory overload of the general mall walkthrough got disorienting. You stopped, fluorescent lights searing into your brain and the beginning of the meltdown urge to run crept up your spine. Peter, miles ahead and oblivious to just about everything except the mystery destination, kept going, but Tony pulled your noise canceling headphones out of his jacket pocket. “You left these in the car,” he said by way of explanation, “And we’re nearly there. You’ve got this.” Resolve strengthened, you pulled the headphones over your ears, pressing the button on the side, hoodie pulled up, determined. If nothing else, you were going to get there for Peter’s sake- he might explode from excitement if it wasn’t soon.

In line with Tony’s promise, the toy store was bliss. The lights were dimmed and corporate music absent (thank Thor, and whatever other gods are out there), and the Lego. Oh my god, the LEGO. Rows of Star Wars and flowers and little city buildings and a huge tub of loose pieces, next to a free play table in the centre of the display. Sticking your hands deep into the cool plastic pieces felt positively heavenly, and in forgetting anyone else was around you were stimming freely in unfiltered joy. Vocal stimming, too.

“Surely you’re too old to be making those sorts of noises. I mean, I’d expect them from my 2 year old grandchild, not at your big age.”

The admonishment came from a woman, somewhere between middle- and old-age, making her way over to you from the baby doll section. You froze. She meant you? You were so happy you hadn’t been masking, not forcing the happy stimmy noises down the way you typically did when in the presence of others.

“Yes, you, don’t look at me all stunned. What are you doing in here anyway? You look too old to be playing, with Lego or with anything else.”

Fear felt like it was shutting down your access to comprehensible thought. Like moving through jelly, you pulled the lanyard around your neck forward to show the woman the pin. It was a green sunflower lanyard, the hidden disabilities awareness kind, and the button read “Please do not touch me. I’m Autistic.” You felt a distressed sound come from the back of you throat, whining, that you just couldn’t push down. Tony Tony whERE IS TONY?

“Hey y/n, have you seen-“

“Oh, so you’re special. That’s nice of your… people… to bring you out like this. You know, into the community.”

“What the fuck did you just say to my kid.”

The baseball cap was off. Tony had come from the back of the store, from the sensory section with Peter, and stepped straight into the middle of the degrading, one-sided conversation you were now trying to practice your breathing exercises through. You’d practiced them a million times, with Tony, Peter, Nat, Bucky, everyone said to practice because when the time came you needed them to work but right now you weren’t sure they were enough because you felt like you were drowning. Special. You weren’t fucking special, not in the way she meant it, you were just Autistic and Autistic is fine, Autistic isn’t bad, you had as much right to be here as anyone else but that word was making your ears ring, and you felt like your head was underwater and you couldn’t breathe and your hands were flapping but not in the good way in the too much bad energy need to get it out way. You needed weight, pressure, grounding, to be crushed, and, no longer paying attention to the conversation between Tony and the stranger, you pulled your AAC forward from its crossbody strap.

“Squeeze. Tony.”

“Okay, kid, yes, squeeze. I hear you.” You basically body slammed him as he crouched down to your level, and you hummed in relief as the hug was all the input your nervous system was craving. He turned to speak over the top of you.

“I need you to leave. Now. You had no right to say what you did. This is a public place, and my kid deserves access in the way that works for them. That includes stimming, and playing, in the way that brings them joy. I hope you learn from this.”

You assumed she left, because he didn’t say anything else. You stayed, tightly held, until you pulled back from the hug cautiously.

“Do you want to leave?” You shook your head. No. As awful as that whole interaction had been, getting here was a task and you didn’t feel you had made it worth it yet. “Want to see the sensory toys?” Yes yes yes a million times yes. Nodding wasn’t enough; with trepidation, a little of the flappy happy hands broke through. Not fully, though. The word ‘special’ still echoed in the back of your mind, unwanted and uncomfortably present.

The sensory toy section was pure magic. There were bubble tubes, tactile fidgets, bouncy seats, spinners, lights, glitter bottles, projectors, a reversible sequin dinosaur, acupressure rings, a cocoon swing hanging from a frame… It was like a goldmine of sensory wonder. As you joined Peter in discovery, little by little the mask you put up melted away and you were spinning, joyfully bouncing on the balls of your feet, happy vocal stims free and unjudged. And if Tony was putting aside one of everything you showed interest in to purchase and bring home with you, well, of course he was. If he couldn’t make the ableist public go away, the least he could do was provide you with the safest, most inclusive and loving home possible.

Tag list

@peggycarter-steverogers

#Autistic!reader #autistic reader #tony stark x daughter!reader #mcu #tony stark #marvel #peter parker #iron man #spiderman #actually autistic #actuallyautistic #marvel imagines #avengers #irondad #stimming #tony stark one shot #adhd peter parker #autistic peter Parker #how many times can i tag autism in one post #bc fuck yeah AUTISM WRITING #autistic hurt comfort #ableism #AAC #nonverbal!reader #nonverbal #wycftq #when you can’t find the quiet #standalone #standalone fic

[comfortmarvelimagines]

wycftq important info !

oh ! and, if/ when i do post the next instalments of what is currently called wycftq, i don’t think i’ll be continuing under that title. i think that part of the reason why my post interactions and notes have been progressively worse with each part is that people don’t necessarily realise they’re standalones that i basically just categorised with that specific title. seeing as this blog has evolved to become predominantly autistic!reader, i don’t feel like there’s a need to separate it from any other content (there’s been barely any of it after wycftq pt1 got kinda big) and it’d be really nice to get some more engagement with my posts. its rough writing and posting things that feel really personal and get less and less positive engagement, but keep the consistent levels of hate and slurs in my asks. i hope that’s all okay ? 

#charlie talks #when you can't find the quiet #wycftq #actuallyautistic #autistic!reader

[comfortmarvelimagines]

Hi!! I can’t find the third part of when you can’t find the quiet for some reason? Would you mind linking it for me? Thank you so much, I really really love the series💜💚

sure thing my love ! here it is

#charlie answers #wycftq #Anonymous

[comfortmarvelimagines]

You are Home, and Home is Safe

heyhey ! deciding to just get it over with and post this tonight (for those of you who don’t know what i’m talking about, a post explaining can be found here. side note, please be nice in my inbox, its been rough getting some of those comments). i am, however, going to continue to tag autistic!reader fics with #whenyoucantfindthequiet and #wycftq, so they’re easier to find. hope it’s what you’re after, nonnie, and i’m so so sorry it took so long !!

features : autistic!reader x mama!nat, lowkey asshole Tony Stark (it’s okay i didn’t make him really mean, just kinda well-meaning but misplaced/ mistimed) 

warnings : uhhh i guess meltdowns, some self-injurious behaviour

Words are hard. Always have been, always will be. 

You haven't always had a family. For years you were passed from foster home to foster home, with a consistent message: you were too much. Your needs were too high, your behaviour too confusing, your struggles too much to deal with. It got to a point where you began to question yourself, your diagnoses and trauma, wondering if it was all in your head or for attention like you were told over and over. 

That changed when you met Nat. 

It wasn’t immediate of course. There was the initial period of complete and total distrust, of another stranger whose life you were thrust into the middle of, floundering and drowning with no support. There was shutdown after shutdown. The trauma of being ignored and punished for meltdowns meant that you’d learned to internalise. You barely ate, and didn’t speak. But Nat met you where you were, unwaveringly. Was always calm, composed, voice level. Kept food out on the kitchen bench at all times, figuring out your safe foods and keeping them stocked. Realised you liked small enclosed spaces and stocked your bedroom with beanbags, pillows, stuffies and blankets, a permanent blanket fort taking up residence in the living space. Perhaps the most wonderful was her commitment to listening to you, with or without words. The superspy was quick to recognise your shutdown states from body language alone and responded quickly, with two option questions and the request to tap the hand of the answer you wanted. 

You almost wanted to feel embarrassed, humiliated, of the accommodations she made so immediately. But she always spoke to you conversationally and never in an infantilizing tone, like so many before her, and the trust you held for her grew. It didn’t always grow in a way that you felt was positive, though. As weeks passed you felt your shutdowns turn into meltdowns and silence into frustrated screams. You didn’t want to hurt her. You didn’t want to feel ungrateful or angry or like any of this was on purpose but somehow she knew. As she held you close after each one she reminded you that your body was unlearning trauma, that you were safe, that you were loved so fully and unconditionally and nothing, including meltdowns, would change that. The way she held you felt like home. 

But no one else was like Nat. Social workers were condescending, school was overwhelming, nowhere was safe. So you stuck to Nat. It wasn’t long after you were placed with her that she pulled you out of school, realising that they were doing more harm than good, and she was always there for homeschool. Not looking over your shoulder, but present. You could hear her humming through the walls, or swearing as she dropped a spoon into a pot of soup on the stove again, and it was comforting. It wasn’t the apartment that was home, per say, but having a parent made it feel like one. If she went to the grocery store or a walk in the park you came with, ear defenders on, clinging to her sleeve for safety. She told you that she loved you a million times a day, until one day you said it back. 

Words came easier after that. Simple things, like asking what’s for breakfast, became routine. It wasn’t just Nat softly illuminating the cramped space with hummed melodies and occasionally vulgar language but you as well, asking for help with homework or explaining a meme. It felt normal, comfortable, okay. The outside world was too much, but inside your home, the anxiety all but melted from your throat. 

You never wanted to leave safety. You wanted to feel it all the time. It was warm and sweet and heavy but in a calm way, like a weighted blanket sinking into your joints. It started as a one-time-thing, after a particularly rough meltdown, but you started sleeping in Nat’s bed. It just felt… right. The panic that set in when Nat left the room and you didn’t know where she was going or what she was doing or if she was ever going to come back was so all-consuming and nauseating that going to sleep alone, in another room, unable to hear her was torturous. What if she abandoned you, gone in the night, social worker beckoning you on to the next uncaring couple, crowded foster family or group home? This way, when you woke at 2am from a nightmare, the first thing you heard was her even breathing. Home. Safe. 

***

Tony Stark was something else. Nat eventually started to transition back to work, and, as being homeschooled permitted, brought you with her. Even in classified meetings where you weren’t allowed in you sat in corridors and made sure you could see her red braid through the frosted glass, glancing up from your laptop every few seconds to make sure she didn’t disappear while you wrote your English critique. The rest of Nat’s colleagues (it felt too weird to just casually refer to them as the Avengers and co) didn’t mention your presence, at least in front of you; it was as if they didn’t know what to say or how to say it. Not that you’d say anything back. Outside of the safety of home it was like the anxiety disconnected your brain from your throat, anything you wanted to say cut off before it reached your tongue. It was frustrating. The first few days ended in meltdowns when you reached the apartment and it felt weird and strange and almost like you were two different people but an all-round embarrassment of a child. It was weeks before things settled into a routine and a pattern of acknowledged non-acknowledgement. A pattern Stark ignored. 

You were sitting at the island bench in the communal kitchen, drinking chocolate milk and typing out an assignment, when you heard both Nat and Tony heading down the hall towards you. They’d just come out of a meeting, you sitting watch outside the whole time, and Nat had sent you to the kitchen to wait for her while she headed upstairs with Tony to drop off some paperwork to an intern. You hadn’t thought much of it. Sure, you didn’t like being away from Nat at all, but if she was clear in where she was going and how long she was going for (provided it was only a short period), you did okay. It was okay, until you heard the discussion from down the hall. 

“Damn, Nat, is that the longest you’ve been away from the kid?” 

“No.” 

“C’mon, Nat. I know the kid’s been through some shit, but this isn’t healthy. For either of you. What happens if you can’t get out of the mission next time? They’re gonna have to be away from you at some point. You can’t be in this line of work with a barnacle of a kid.” 

You’d heard enough. As the topic changed and they entered the kitchen, you didn’t look up from your laptop in greeting.  

*** 

Too much. Too clingy. Too anxious, too needy, too autistic, too much. You needed separation. Give Nat space. Of course she needed to work. The world needed her, and they didn’t need you tagging along. When you got home that night, you headed straight to your room. Buried yourself in the mountain of blankets and stuffies and waited until Nat came to check on you, facing the wall, feigning sleep. You doubt you fooled the former spy but nonetheless, she left you be, a whispered “I love you” hanging in the air as she creaked the door close behind her. 

It was seconds before you broke. It felt like choking. All of the fear that was slowly reduced to an ebbing tide through months of living in a caring environment crashed on you like the mother of all tsunamis, saltwater running down your cheeks and into your mouth as if smothering all the words you wished you could scream. It lasted for hours and hours and it was relentless, painful, as if your heart was being ripped out and an empty throbbing numbness was expanding in its place. You were too much. Too much. Too much. 

Nat stood outside your door at the time when she’d usually be gently waking you up, watching you unfurl and stretch yourself out of the cocoon of blankets you slept in every night. She knew something was wrong from lunch yesterday, and your isolation from her was concerning. She figured you needed space, but the sleep she knew was an act sat at the back of her mind and bugged her all night long. Even with that nagging suspicion that something was up, nothing prepared her for the way her heart sank when she came in and saw your body curled up, eyes red and barely open from exhaustion, pillow and face damp from tears. 

She was at your side in seconds. Your resolve to cut yourself off melted at the sight of her open arms, safe, warm, home. And immediately your body melted. Hands running through your hair, the promise that you were safe, loved, worthy of support, the request to “tell me next time, please, you don’t need to deal with this on your own.” 

For some reason, those were the words that broke out the first sounding sob in the 12 hours of silent crying. It was so loud and gut-wrenching and it almost didn’t feel like it came from you at all and it was such a weird feeling, and all of a sudden you were scratching at your arms to try and re-embody yourself and Nat was breathing calmly and deeply and gently rubbing your shoulders until you found yourself easing back into your physicality.  

“Did you hear what Stark said yesterday?” 

And just like that she figured it out, of course she did, because she’s a trained spy and that’s her job, to put the pieces together and slot the narrative into place. And god, were you grateful, because you couldn’t see yourself stringing sentences together to accuse none other than Iron Man himself of triggering waves of hurt just by stating what you’d convinced yourself was the truth. She was quick to reassure. You are loved, you are wanted, you are always welcome and will always be her child and what you need will always come first. The warm safety settled itself in your belly and you let the tiredness wash over you, drifting on a life raft of whispered Russian lullabies and Nat’s hand rubbing circles on your back. At peace.

Of course, you’d never tell Nat, but hearing her whisper-yell at Tony over the phone for being an insensitive dick was possibly one of the best moments of your life.

#actuallyautistic #autistic!reader #natasha romanoff #black widow #tony stark #iron man #the avengers #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #mama!nat #marvel imagine #marvel one shot #mcu autistic reader #natasha romanoff one shot #black widow one shot #tony stark one shot #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #platonic #avengers one shot #avengers imagine #wycftq #when you can't find the quiet

[comfortmarvelimagines]

Hello! How are you? i just wanted to stop by and say that i just finished part 1 of wycftq and ima make my way thru the other parts as well. also its really nice that there are writers like you that make fics for people who are on the spectrum, and even tho i dont have autism, it makes me happy that by writing fics like wycftq you can help spread awareness abt autism as well as educate other ppl abt it❤️❤️❤️ ilyyy and im also wondering if i can have a link to your masterlist teehee❤️❤️❤️❤️

thank you so so so much. you’re too kind xx

here’s my masterlist ! https://comfortmarvelimagines.tumblr.com/masterlist

#charlie answers

[comfortmarvelimagines]

follower anon here- umm, what?!? Not that follower count is the most important thing, but you deserve WAY more! Your writing is awesome and I can't believe that so few people know about it!! (theyre missing out!) sincerely, always looking forward to the next instalment of WYCFTQ

thank you for that !! i’m glad you enjoy it. 

honestly, i’m not surprised. most of the big marvel writers write irondad, and even in that category autistic! peter parker is rare. there aren’t many people that are specifically after my content (marvel reader insert, let alone non-smutty reader insert, then add specifically autistic experiences into that). i’d also guess that some people might be reading my work in tags or from a web search (my page comes up around the third response if you google search “my most common character/s x autistic reader”) rather than actually following. makes sense, i guess people might not want to be seen following me. i get quite a few anons telling me that my content is cringey, so i guess that’s probably the majority of people reading my stuff. i’m also not in the sort of circle of mcu authors that always seem to be interacting on my dash? i guess i really just don’t fit into the ~genre~

anyways, i’m fine with it. i write for myself, and other autistic people that want this kind of content but are never able to find it. that will always be why i do it, and that’s okay :)

#charlie answers #Anonymous

[comfortmarvelimagines]

masterlist link

hey hey my dudes ! for whatever reason, there’s  been a bunch of activity here over the past 24 hours, and a lot of notes on the first wycftq fic. i’ve had a few messages n comments asking about new parts n where to find things, so i figured i’d upload the masterlist again ! 

now that im on uni break im gonna try and figure out an upload schedule for the next month n get out some new parts, so keep an eye out for that ! until then, all existing work can be found here

#charlie talks #masterlist #autistic!reader #actuallyautistic #marvel imagines #marvel one shot #marvel comics #mcu #irondad #tony stark #iron man #spiderman #peter parker #black widow #natasha romanoff

[comfortmarvelimagines]

i’ve just gone through and answered all the (not-mean) asks in my inbox !!!!! some of the fic reqs i’ve asked if there are any specific things you want mentioned, so if i haven’t answered your req yet maybe go check out the asks i’ve just answered and see if yours is there (if its not there i haven’t received it). 

hc reqs are still in my inbox bc i post them as an answer rather than as a separate post! some more hcs are scheduled to be posted in the next few days and hopefully another full fic by the end of the week 

(side note : i think i made the right decision to retitle wycftq. i got nearly triple the engagement w the one i just posted compared to the one before it and sdjhjfaashsdal)

#charlie talks #reqs

[comfortmarvelimagines]

i may be having multiple meltdowns daily bc My Routine Doesnt Exist Anymore but u can bet ur ass im working on the next wycftq part yeeeeee

side note im not exactly coping with quarantine n i feel stupid asking but id really like if people could just send random things to my ask box like ? how are you guys ? what cool birds have you seen recently ? what did you eat for breakfast ? I Love You All 

#in all honesty #things have been rough #would appreciate any interaction whatsoever #please i am so lonely #charlie talks

[comfortmarvelimagines]

do you have any headcanons about mama nat and an autistic reader? i need some mama nat content and i’m so excited for the next part of wycftq, the thought of it has made me happy stim for a while and when i have a bad day i remember mama nat is in the next part!! anyway i think mama nat would literally be the best presence

oh my gosh i think you saying that my writing + happy stim is one of the nicest things someone has ever said about my writing. i’m just a sad autistic kid bein sad on the internet i don’t deserve this !! but thank you !!!

on to better n more important things: mama!nat n autistic!reader headcanons fuck yeah 

- wouldn’t even need to be explicitly told that you were autistic. she’d just pick up on things, and go out of her way to make things easier 

-she wouldn’t do it in an obvious or embarrassing way though. more things like leaving a stim toy near where you always sit to study, and making sure whatever movie you’re watching has subs (bc let’s be real, it’s always awkward to ask for subs)

-if she ever noticed that you were holding back or stopping from stimming in front of her, she’d softly tell you it was okay and go back to conversation, not making a big deal out of it but also wanting you to be comfortable and okay

-for a while after she met you, she’d make sure she was looking at something else while she was talking to you, so that you wouldn’t feel like you were obligated to make/ hold eye contact 

-she’d always make sure your samefoods were available 

-she also picked up on your patterns of organisation, to the point where if anyone else moved your stuff she’d put it back where it should be so you wouldn’t panic 

-you mentioned offhand how much the ceiling lights were painful and annoying sometimes. when you came home the next day, there were two new soft lighting lamps and tiny lights along the edge of your room. when you realised you could adjust the brightness and colour, you threw yourself at nat in a hug of thanks. neither of you needed words.

-you realised that telling nat about your routine was actually really helpful, because she’d do everything she could to make sure things were kept as consistent as possible, and you had as much information available as early as possible if things were to change 

-you had a whiteboard calendar hung up in the pantry so that you could easily communicate schedule changes. she also synced your phone calendars, so she could keep tabs on what you’re going through and what might be stressing you out and help if need be

-anytime you needed to go somewhere new or do something different, nat would spend hours with you going over your route in google streetview, talking about what’s gonna happen and planning strategies on how to cope if things don’t go strictly according to the plan you’d come up with together

-if anyone was ever mean, rude or horrible to you, especially in regards to autistic thingss, she’d calmly tell them off (but in a way that would scare the offender shitless. no one messes with nat’s family twice and get away with it.)

-even if you were out in public and nowhere near home, if you were struggling with noise/light/input mama nat would immediately produce headphones/sunglasses/stim toys to try and help, at least until you can leave the situation. where is she storing these items ? who knows, she’s s super spy. let her keep her secrets. 

- during a meltdown, nat would be so calm. she would never raise her voice. if she was out of her depth, she’d never show it. her priority is making sure you’re safe, always

-she’d always ask after a meltdown if you wanted a hug, and she’d always make sure the hug was the right amount of tight

- on those nights where your body was vibrating and nothing seemed to be able to ease the tension, nat would casually put on a movie, hand you a weighted blanket and rest her legs over yours (so you could get a break from the constant bouncing). she’d easily pick up on how uncomfy you were, but actions speak louder than words in this case 

-basically, mama nat is intuitive as fuck and amazing and making sure you know you’re safe, loved and always have a place to come back to i love mama nat with my entire soul

#charlie answers #mama nat #actually autistic #Anonymous

[comfortmarvelimagines]

hiyaaa!! i was wondering if you were still writing? i love wycftq and all the one shots. representation is so hard to find so thank you.

yeeeeeeesssss well. i wasnt went you sent this ask, and i know that was quite a while ago and im so so so so sorry. ive been dealign with a lot of really hard shit recently, and im not doin so well. that being said, i did pull my ass together to finish part 6, and im hoping to get back on track and get through the reqs list and remaining hcs. 

and you’re right, representation is near impossible to find. i could count on one hand the amount of autistic representation written by autistic authors ive managed to find. i guess autistic writers dont write about being autistic because they dont think the audience exists for it?? ill be honest, i stumbled across writing about it on accident, when i was so fed up with not finding anything written about my experiences that i decided to create it myself. im so glad that maybe its fulfilling something similar for you as its original purpose was for myself

#i dont think this makes sense but its 1am #and i feel like absolute shit #so yeah #charlie answers #Anonymous

[comfortmarvelimagines]

can you please do an autistic!reader where they have sensory overload or a meltdown bc i’m post meltdown and not feelin good

hey bud, i’m so so so sorry you’re not doin too great. meltdowns suck ass. please try and look after yourself as best you can for me, yeah? drink water, safely stim + regulate, don’t beat yourself up, take your time. 

i’m guessing if you’re here, you’ve read them, but wycftq 1, 2, and 4 deal with sensory overloads and meltdowns. there will be more of that in the coming requests, but if there’s a more specific setting/circumstance/ type of meltdown + overload that you’ve experienced and would like me to write, feel free to send me through another ask. i’m more than happy to write this stuff; there just isn’t enough representation n writing in any fandom, let alone mcu. 

#charlie answers #Anonymous

[comfortmarvelimagines]

i just wanna say, thank you for writing autistic!readers!! i love ur writing so much it makes me super happy. i always happy flap when you post hcs or update wycftq!!

thank you so much for reading !! and for sending this ask. funnily enough, my response to reading that you happy flap made me happy flap ! contagious happy flap ! but im glad you’re enjoying it 

#charlie answers #Anonymous