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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

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New Ways of Turning Into Stone

A/N Another long drive, another Outlander fanfic idea that dropped into my brain out of nowhere, shoving aside the historical AU I have been wrestling with for months. Here’s the pitch: Claire Beauchamp is a psychiatrist specializing in grief counselling. Jamie Fraser is referred to her by his sister, who is worried for his well-being after a series of family tragedies. You can probably guess the rest, but I’m going to write it anyway. The title is taken from a song by the amazing Phantogram that was playing as the story idea came to me.

After losing my WIP virginity posting Ginger Snap, I’m going out on that limb again and posting this first chapter with only a rough outline mapped out in my head. You people are a terrible influence! Also, there will be some trigger warnings on future chapters, so please watch out for those. And now, on with our show.

Claire Beauchamp glanced down at the leather-bound calendar open on her desk. The ivory page for Thursday was packed to the margins, each hourly block filled with the name of a patient followed by a series of cuneiform symbols she used to remind herself of the last session, course of treatment, overall progress, all while maintaining strict confidentiality. Not even Geillis Duncan, her office administrator and very good friend, knew how to decode the script.

Geillis liked to laugh at the old-fashioned day planner, reminding Claire that their practice utilized software that could perform the same function electronically, but she enjoyed the act of physically logging each session. The solid heft of her Mont Blanc pen in her hand, a medical school graduation gift from her Uncle Lamb. The scratch and grab of the nub as it bled black ink over virgin paper. It was a tactile ceremony in a detached world. Geillis would nod and then tell her she needed to get laid.

Speak of the devil, a sharp rap on her office door was followed by the appearance of her strawberry blonde head. blue eyes alight with mischief.

“Yer two o’clock is here. Did ye need more time tae finish bolting down tha’ chaff ye call a salad, or can I show him in?”

“It’s kale,” she defended. “It’s full of anti-oxidants.”

A disdainful scoff was the only response.

“Yes, Geil, please show Mister...” she glanced down at her planner, “...Fraser in, thank you.”

The tiny rectangle contained only a name, which meant this was their first appointment. Geillis vetted all prospective patients, but Claire preferred to go into the first meeting blind, with no assumptions or pre-conceptions.

She wondered what misfortune had caused Mr. Fraser to seek out her psychiatric services. The death of a child, perhaps, or the end of an extra-marital affair. People grieved for very different reasons and worked through or around that grief with a surprising variety of coping mechanisms. Most called upon her practice in much the same way they would a breakdown truck when their car’s engine failed. They simply wanted to get back on the road to happiness.

Despite the degrees and accreditations that decorated her office wall, Claire wasn’t certain such a thing was possible. In her experience, grief was a phantom limb that never really went away. The best one could hope for was to learn healthier ways of living with it.

The sound of Geillis clearing her throat snapped her back to the present.

“Was there something else, Geil?”

“Och, no’ really. Just, when yer considerin’ how tae thank me later on, remember tha’ my favourite stone is an emerald, that I prefer gold tae silver, but platinum is ne’er amiss.”

“What are you on about, Duncan?” But her friend had already disappeared back into the reception area, leaving behind only the glow of her Cheshire smile. Claire was shaking her head, bemused, when another knock rang out, this one considerably heavier than the first.

“Come in,” she called as she looked up. And up. And up some more.

The man who now practically filled her office door had to be at least six foot four, with powerful shoulders and a broad torso encased in a blue henley. His nearly endless legs were likewise muscular, as testified by the stretch of his jeans across each thigh. As if his physique wasn’t remarkable enough, he had a head of outrageously wavy red hair, worn long enough to graze the tops of his ears and the nape of his neck, but swept back from a high brow by a judicious use of product. His face was angular in a pleasingly unique way, with a day or two’s growth of beard counter-balancing an almost youthful, earnest appearance. But his most striking feature by far were his aquamarine eyes that shimmered like a tropical sea. Eyes that were currently observing her with perplexity.

“Dr. Beauchamp?” a deep Scottish brogue inquired. He pronounced it as though she were French.

“Yes,” she startled. “That’s me. And it’s pronounced Beecham. Please, come in Mister Fraser.” She shuffled a few items around her desk needlessly as she tried to compose herself. Damn Geillis for not giving her a bit more warning that her newest client was some sort of fitness model.

“Thank ye,” he replied. “An’ it’s pronounced Jamie, if ye please.” She added wit to the growing list of the man’s attributes.

If anything, he grew even more impressive as he approached. She could see he was nervous, although hiding it well. His striking eyes darted about the room, trying to get a sense of his environment. She indicated the well-upholstered armchair that sat to one side of her desk.

“Have a seat,” she invited.

With a surprising amount of grace for one so tall, he eased into the chair but didn’t lean back. The fingers of his left hand tapped restlessly against his thigh. She watched him quietly, waiting for him to speak. This was a trick she had learned when she first started practicing psychiatry, but in this case it also allowed her to continue her appraisal. He was, she concluded, the most attractive man she’d ever seen in the flesh.

“No couch,” he finally observed.

“No. That’s a bit of a Hollywood trope, I’m afraid. Lying prone in front of a stranger is hardly conducive to feeling at ease.”

He nodded his acceptance of her logic, but was otherwise silent.

“So,” she spoke at last, unable to wait him out, “what caused you to seek out counselling, Jamie?” His name suited him, she thought as she spoke it for the first time. Both boyish and imposing at once.

“I didna. Twas my sister, Jenny, who insisted I see a doctor.” His mobile mouth twisted into a grimace. She could imagine the sibling discord that such a demand would have caused. Whoever this Jenny was, she was made of strong stuff. Unfortunately for her, a hostile patient would receive no benefit from merely visiting her office. Counselling was a participatory process, and she could tell from the stubborn set of Jamie’s shoulders that he had no intention of participating.

“I see,” she said carefully. “Well, it’s your time and your dime, Mr. Fraser. This session lasts for forty-five minutes, and you’ve not been here for five. There’s a carafe of hot water on the table over there, if you care for some tea. Or you’re welcome to just enjoy that comfortable chair for another forty minutes. I’ll be working on some administrative necessities.”

She turned her chair away from him, but from the corner of her eye she could see his gobsmacked expression. He had clearly expected her to cajole and manipulate him into co-operating, but that simply wasn’t her style.

“I meant no offence, doctor. I’m certain ye’re verra good at what ye do. Tis only... well, Jenny is my older sister, ye ken. She practically raised me. And so ofttimes she treats me like a muckle-sized bairn, and no’ a man who’s capable of lookin’ after himself.”

As he spoke, Jamie leaned forward until his elbows rested on his knees, expressive hands gesturing in front of his face. Hostile to the notion of counselling he might be, but he clearly wanted her to understand it wasn’t a slight. As a physician, she had been trained to never take a patient’s reactions personally, but it didn’t mean she didn’t appreciate the effort.

“No offence taken, Jamie. If you don’t need my assistance, I’m happy for you. That’s one less person hurting in the world.”

“I didna say I wasna hurting. But I can handle it my own way. I am handling it, that is,” he hurried to add.

Unable to sit still any longer, he rose and walked over to the small table where she kept an assortment of herbal teas and a tray of Geillis’ homemade biscuits. Bending over, Jamie set about making himself some; chamomile by the smell of it. The sound of spoon ringing off porcelain as he stirred in some honey made her smile, reminding her of Lamb and his obsession with the lost art of afternoon tea.

“Can I make ye a cup?”

The question was so unexpected, it took her a moment to process it. The tea was there as a distraction for her patients, to give them something to do with their bodies as they worked through difficult emotions. None of them had ever thought to offer her a reprieve as well.

“No, thank you. I just finished lunch.”

He dipped a shortbread into the steaming tea, then ate it in a single bite. Instead of sitting back down, he began to browse the framed certificates and photographs along the far wall as he sipped his tea. With his back turned, her eyes dipped to admire his ass, which filled out his jeans perfectly. When she caught herself, she gave her head a shake, appalled at her lack of professional detachment. Maybe Geillis was right. Maybe she really did need to get laid.

“How long have ye been a doctor?” Jamie asked without turning around.

“Ten years,” she replied. “But I’ve only been a psychiatrist for the last two.”

It was a dangerous topic, and she blamed his ass for letting the words slip out. Fortunately, his inquisitiveness took him in an entirely different direction.

“Were ye some kind of prodigy, then? Ye hardly seem old enough tae have yer own practice, let alone fer a decade. If ye dinna mind me sayin’ so,” he added quickly, as though realizing what he’d just said.

“Not at all. And you hardly seem young enough to be a, what was it? A muckle-sized bairn?”

As he turned to look her way, she understood the expression ‘shot-gun smile’ for the first time. It spread across his face like a sunbeam, transforming what was already remarkable into a work of art. If she hadn’t been sitting, she likely would have stumbled backward from the force of the blow. Scrambling for something familiar to keep her from making a very grave fool of herself in front of this man, she clasped her clinical training with both hands.

“Are you and your sister close?”

“Aye, when we’re no’ tryin’ not tae kill the other. Our Mam died when I was only four, and with Da workin’ dawn til dark on the farm, Jenny was parent, teacher an’ playmate all rolled inta one.”

“You’re not from Edinburgh, then?” Although what that had to do with his counselling, she hadn’t a clue.

“Nah, I hail from a wee village in the Highlands ye’ve likely ne’er heard of called Broch Mordha.” She shook her head to indicate she was indeed unfamiliar with it. Jamie launched into a detailed description of the place, his hands sculpting the landscape out of thin air. He obviously cared very deeply for his home, and she felt a twinge of jealousy, having never known that feeling of deep belonging herself.

“And what brought you to Old Smoky?” she asked as he wound down, her interest piqued. It was like slamming a lead door on his previously sunny disposition.

“Family obligations.” Said in such a way as to make it clear that no further words would be forthcoming on the topic. She regretted her nosiness immediately, despite what it revealed about his emotional state. Jamie was most certainly grieving something, but handling it he was not.

Before she could find a way back to the easy flow of conversation, a chime from her laptop indicated that the session was up. She couldn’t bear to dismiss him without trying to set things right.

“Listen, Jamie, I understand that you only came here today to humour your sister, but I want you to consider something. Whether we’re grieving or angry or jealous, or any destabilizing feeling, we’re often the worst surveyors of our own landscape. Just like you can’t know your place on the sea without referencing the stars, it takes something external to ourselves to measure how far adrift we have become. Your sister obviously loves you. Ask yourself, what has she seen in you that prompted her to force you to seek help?”

They parted with cordial but muted goodbyes. The door closed behind him, leaving Claire to stare at the blank rectangle in her planner that bore his name. No coded symbols flowed from her pen. When the door re-opened, it was Geillis, closing it firmly behind her.

“Weel, did I no’ tell ye? Wee fox, tha’ one. And he told me he liked my shortbread!” Geillis said this as though it was some kind of sexual euphemism, which for all Claire knew, it was.

“Yes,” she replied distractedly. “He’s very nice.”

“Nice! Nice? Tha’ man is tae nice what Wagyu is tae beef jerky. Have ye completely lost yer senses, woman?”

“Yes, well, he’s a patient, Geillis, as you well know. And not one I’m likely to see again,�� she added, acknowledging out loud what she already knew.

“Oh, no?” Geillis sing-songed. “Thas’ strange, as he just made an appointment fer the same time next week.”

Claire’s eyes flew to where her friend looked on, smug as could be.

“Yer three o’clock called tae say she was runnin’ five minutes late. I’ll leave ye tae think about yer... patient.”

Claire picked up her pen, trying to pull together something resembling a professional summary of her first appointment with Jamie. Her mind replayed their interaction, but all she could remember was the way his eyes crinkled when he was listening attentively, the tidy half-moons of his fingernails, the seam of his jeans as it contoured his thigh, and the cymbal-crash in her chest that accompanied his smile.

Patient, she reminded herself. Jamie Fraser is your patient.

#my writing #outlander

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starstruck-xavier · 4 years

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Panicking Stranger

ao3 || wattpad || fanfic masterpost || main masterpost || inspired by this post <3

words: 1647 ships: prinxiety (no romance implied / they just met), background logicality, background dukeceit characters: roman, virgil, everyone else mentioned warnings: panic attack extra: thank you to @coconut-cluster for giving me the idea! i may write a follow-up involving those tags where they keep running into each other also loll

summary: “Can you tell me your name?” He’s confused and moderately concerned when he’s met with a shake of the head. “No? You don’t know your name?” The stranger nods, puzzling him even more. “Yes… Yes, like you do or yes you don’t?” He’s met with a frustrated huff of air. “You know your name but can’t tell me?” Roman feels like he’s reached a little for that last question, but then he receives a nod. Upon tilting his head with curiosity, the stranger pulls his hands away and holds them up. Can you sign?

The city is beautiful on these days. Waves of laughter rise above the base of chatter and the chitter of the birds in the trees while various groups of people mill about the public garden. Photographers, high schoolers ditching, adorable old couples, you name it. The spring weather is perfectly pleasant, not uncomfortably hot but not particularly chilly either, and the sun is framed by the distant terraces beautifully from the angle where the artist sits cross-legged by the bushes with his sketchpad, which has the name ‘Roman’ embellished into it in elegant cursive. He brandishes a variety of pencils and has colourful little paperweights scattered about him, protecting his drawing references from the gentle breeze. Everything is serene, calm, almost perfect.

The only thing that could possibly bring Roman out of his wistful trance is the sound of heavy footsteps, accompanied by equally heavy breathing. There’s a small thud some distance away, and he looks over to see someone about ten feet away on the grass. He looks visibly upset and shaky, with smudged makeup under his eyes and faded purple hair. His arms are secured tightly around his own middle as if he’s trying to cut off circulation to the lower half of his body.

“Hey, are you okay, buddy?” Roman calls out softly with his eyebrows furrowed in concern. It’s not often that he sees someone so distraught; perhaps at the college library during exam season, but never so out in the open. The stranger turns his head sharply towards Roman and pauses, then nods with a grimace that’s so obviously forced that Roman nearly ignores the yes and moves over anyway, but he decides to only press, just once. “Are you sure?” Another forceful nod.

Roman watches for a moment longer as the stranger goes back to hunching over himself and shakily breathing, wondering if he should ask again, but decides against it. If he doesn’t want to spill his brains to a stranger, that should be respected, he tells himself as he turns back to his sketches.

About ten minutes go by, in which he’s back to being fully immersed in his art. He has a pretty good light outline of the terraces and has even added in some birds and flowers for extra embellishment. As long as he can get this done on time, he’s confident he’ll get a top grade for this project. Just thinking about it makes him excited. He takes a short break, fishing around in his backpack for a water bottle when he catches a glimpse of that mysterious stranger again, and he looks more upset than ever, tears streaming almost passively out of his eyes and his body rocking back and forth. In fact, Roman instantly notices the telltale signs of a panic attack and feels a pang of guilt in his heart. Then, he hears a soft whimpering over the breeze and he decides he can’t just ignore him.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He makes an agile movement over to the stranger and sits down in front of him. “Can you hear me?” The stranger looks up at him. He has one of his hoodie sleeves pressed over his nose and mouth and an awful, gut-wrenching sob escapes his throat, but there’s a glint of human recognition in his eyes, so Roman continues. “Take a deep breath in for me. C’mon, in…” He inhales with exaggeration and watches the stranger drag the air into his lungs like trying to breathe tarmac, just barely, the fabric of his sleeve hindering him. “Can I take your hand away from your face, sweetheart?”

There’s a moment when Roman suddenly regrets letting the nickname slip, unsure if it’d even be received well, but eventually, he’s holding a tearstained hand to his chest so that the stranger can feel his lungs expand and contract. They spend the next few minutes just breathing together, forgetting that they don’t even know each other, oblivious to everything else going on around them. The chitter of the birds and the chatter of the city dwellers go ignored because all that matters to Roman right now is calming this ball of nerves in front of him.

Once the stranger seems calm enough despite the tears and little hiccoughs, Roman reaches out to take his other hand and moves onto grounding exercises. “Can you tell me your name?” He’s confused and moderately concerned when he’s met with a shake of the head. “No? You don’t know your name?” The stranger nods, puzzling him even more. “Yes… Yes, like you do or yes you don’t?” He’s met with a frustrated huff of air. “You know your name but can’t tell me?” Roman feels like he’s reached a little for that last question, but then he receives a nod. Upon tilting his head with curiosity, the stranger pulls his hands away and holds them up.

Can you sign?

Oh. “Why, yes.” Roman speaks out loud but starts to sign with his hands while he talks out of habit. “I’m fluent in sign. Would you like to talk to me that way?”

The stranger nods and briefly swipes his hand across his teary face before signing again. My name is Virgil. I can speak but being overwhelmed makes me unable to for a while.

Roman nods understandingly. “Ah, you’re overwhelmed. Is there anything that usually helps you that I can do, Virgil?”

Just grounding techniques, I guess. Virgil makes a flicker of eye contact with Roman before looking down at the grass, but he seems to be trusting him.

“I was just trying grounding techniques by asking your name,” A playful smile tugs at the corners of Roman’s lips. “but I’ll continue. Do you know where you are?”

The public garden.

“Good. Are you in college or anything?”

Yes, I'm in English Literature. Virgil cracks a tiny smile. Sanders University.

“Hey, that’s where I go!” Roman claps his hands together excitedly, forgetting that he's supposed to be asking grounding questions yet again. “You might know my brother, Remus. He’s in English Lit too.”

The breathy laugh that leaves Virgil’s mouth is enough to fill Roman’s heart with warmth. Virgil’s smile reaches his eyes, and he looks almost ethereal suddenly, and on top of that, he then starts to speak. “Oh my god, that’s your brother?” His voice is quiet and a little hoarse, but Roman falls in love with it nonetheless.

“You know him?” Roman beams. He’s filled with a multitude of emotions, happiness being the main one as he’s successfully brought Virgil out of that awful looking panicked state and then made him smile.

“Yeah, you must be Roman, then.” Virgil says, then Roman suddenly remembers he never even told him his name.

“Ah yes, I’m Roman. I never told you, my bad.” He hums bashfully, but Virgil smiles again.

“It’s alright. Remus kinda rubbed me the wrong way when I met him, but he’s my good friend now. He’s talked about you a few times.”

Now it’s Roman’s turn to laugh. “Hopefully he’s not besmirching my reputation. However, I’m not surprised he conflicted with you. He does that with a lot of people. I'm glad you get along though.”

Virgil hums in agreement. “He told me you’re really loud and boisterous, but you’ve been rather calm with me.”

“I am quite loud usually,” Roman muses. “but I know when I need to be calm for someone else. When I saw you panicking, you were reminding me of a friend of mine, Logan. Last year he had a series of nervous breakdowns from work overload and I learned to help him through each one. The first time, I kinda panicked with him because I didn’t know what was going on and the noise made him worse, so I was quieter with him for the rest of them. I guess I saw him in you.”

“Aw,” Virgil wears a kind expression. “You’re a real good friend.”

The compliment only causes Roman’s heart to melt even more to the point where he’s not sure he’ll recover, smiling so widely his face begins to hurt. “Thank you so much, Virge. I really do try.”

“And, it’s a small world, isn’t it?” His voice starting to strengthen again, Virgil turns the questions onto Roman. “I’m sure my friend Patton has a boyfriend called Logan who had a massive mental break last year. He was telling me about it.”

Roman gasps with awe. “Oh, wow. We really should’ve been introduced sooner, huh? Anyone else we both know?”

Virgil thinks for a moment, then smirks playfully. “Remus’ boyfriend, Janus?”

“Boyfriend?! Ooh, he never told me he and Jan finally got together!” The two share a laugh, talking the hours away and forgetting about the circumstance that had them interacting in the first place. Virgil’s eyeshadow has smeared across his face after crying, but he’s unexpectedly enjoying himself today when he’d previously thought that today was going to be a bad day. Meanwhile, Roman had been enjoying today already, even if he’d only describe it as ‘almost perfect’. Almost. Then, it appeared to worsen when he saw that stranger having such a hard time, but now the stranger’s become a friend. Unknowingly, a friend of many other friends. And this means they’ll most definitely be hanging out much more often. And neither of them reject that idea.

Even after such an emotional rollercoaster, they can both still hear the usual waves of laughter rising above the base of chatter and the chitter of the birds in the trees. The weather is still pleasant, neither of them are too hot or cold, even with Virgil in that thick hoodie of his, and Roman suddenly remembers that his sketchpad and paperweights are still sat just ten feet away by the bushes, his drawing references protected by the gentle breeze. Gentle.

And it’s all gonna be okay.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #virgil x roman #roman x virgil #roman sanders #virgil sanders #ts roman #ts virgil #logan mention #patton mention #remus mention #janus mention #sanders sides fanfiction #xavier's fanfiction #sanders sides au #background logicality #background dukeceit

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boyfriend-kisser · 5 years

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“Stark’s Shadow” Fanfic/Oneshot/Headcanon thing I wrote?

Characters: Tony Stark and a daughter character I made up ‘cause Morgan didn’t exist yet. JARVIS is also there.

Summary: Tony Stark and his daughter Avery have the dream father-daughter relationship. After starting early at MIT, just like her father, Tony notices that something seems wrong with Avery, and the answer surprises him a little. Avery’s birthday’s in a few days, so Tony decides to show her present early to cheer her up.

Warnings: Nothing super intense - there’s a bit of angst. Mentions of Tony being promiscuous in the past.

Important notes about this Marvel AU I have in my brain: - IW/Endgame haven’t and won’t happen. - Pepper and Tony got together, but not for a very long time. Pepper left Tony completely shortly after the events of Ironman 3 - Tony didn’t destroy his Iron legion nor did he have his arc reactor heart removed - I made up something called the “New Avengers” project just for the hell of it but I feel like it’s explained well enough

Author’s Note: Idk this was just an idea dump that I kinda fell in love with so I hope you guys enjoy? Lmk if you want me to write more? Feedback’s appreciated? ALSO - I WROTE THIS BEFORE ENDGAME HIT. THAT’S WHY I DIDN’T JUST USE AN OLDER VERSION OF MORGAN OR WHATEVER. I WROTE THIS TO HELP MYSELF SUFFER THROUGH THE EVENTS OF INFINITY WAR AND I’Ve evidently picked it up again to help myself through Endgame so enjoy?

Tony sat in his living room, tinkering with a new, prototype helmet as he waited for the door to open. The house was quiet, nothing but the sound of the fountain in the entrance hall, metallic clicks and clangs from the project Tony was working on, and the constant quiet whirring of the thousands of machines in the Stark building was to be heard. Soon enough, Tony heard a new sound, a modern doorbell and JARVIS’s voice alerting him that his daughter had arrived home, just on time. Tony stood up with a huge smile, and went into the entrance hall, welcoming his child home with a small “Hey, kid.”

Avery glanced up at her father and gave him a small smile. Still, Tony noticed that her green eyes were missing their normal sparkle, and her usually confident stride was replaced with that of a heartbroken child.

“Hey, dad,” she replied in a voice near silence, before trying to casually trudge away. Tony stopped her by quickly stepping into her path and putting a hand on her shoulder.

“Wait, what’s up?” he asked in a calmer tone, suddenly worried for his young prodigy. He knelt down as to look up into her eyes. Avery took a long breath in, and was silent for a second, before grinning and shrugging.

“Nothing, dad. I’m tired is all – first month at MIT is way different from what I’m used to, y’know?” she laughed.

Tony knew his daughter was lying, but he still gave her shoulder a squeeze and smiled back, saying “You worried me there for a second, thought you were about to tell me it’s too easy for you... Or that you miss my lectures.”

“It’s not too easy,” Avery said, blushing embarrassedly and wiping her dad’s hand from her shoulder, “and I’m having a great time in real lectures with other... People.”

Tony laughed and stood up, “It’s okay to admit it, it was easy for me too.”

She seemed to falter for a minute, and looked like she was about to say something but stopped. She shook it off and gave him one last grin before starting back off to her room.

“I’ll be working so if you need me, just let JARVIS know!” Tony called as he went toward the stairs down to his lab, picking up the helmet he’d been working on on his way down.

Once he got down there, he collapsed into one of his seats. Something was VERY wrong with Avery, and for once – Tony didn’t know how to fix it. He looked at a series of pictures on his desk – one was from last year, a thirteen-year-old Avery wearing a party hat posing with the Avengers (also wearing party hats on top of their costumes) and a poster in the background with the words “HAPPY BIRTHDAY AVERY!” written across it in huge letters. Beside it was a picture of Tony and his daughter dancing at one of the many red carpet events they went to together. She was only ten and standing on her dad’s feet as they danced among all the adults. Another photo showed a seven-year-old Avery wearing an extremely oversized Iron-man helmet while sitting on Tony’s shoulders, Tony being in a full Iron-man suit, save the helmet. The final photo was of him holding his newborn baby with none other than Pepper Potts holding the child’s hand. Pepper had left when Avery was incredibly young, and Tony had been left to raise his daughter alone. Avery was the only girl in his life – and Tony discovered that that’s all he really needed. The pair were inseparable. Recently, however, Avery’s been different. She’s been more distant ever since she started her early scholarship at MIT. Tony had just been assuming it was a boy and that she’d tell him when she was ready, but he’d been getting more and more unsure as days turned to weeks. What had happened?

He slammed the photo of Pepper's face down on the table as JARVIS’s voice cut through his reminiscing.

“Sorry sir, but Avery’s having something of a breakdown – one to rival even your worst moments. Most of the smashing has calmed down, but the crying has not subsided no matter how much consolation I offer – she has also requested that I not tell you any of this, but I feel that you’re the only one who can fix her emotional state.”

Tony rolled his eyes, “What makes you think that?”

“Well, bec-” JARVIS started, but Tony was already standing up.

“Save it. Just give us some privacy for a second, would you?”

JARVIS fell silent, and Tony began the slow walk upstairs to his daughter’s room.

Tony stood outside of Avery’s door and took a deep breath before knocking.

“Avery?” he asked. There was no response.

He slowly opened the door to see Avery laying on her bed facing the ceiling, with one hand draped across her waist and the other by her side. She took no notice of her dad. School supplies and various other items lay scattered and broken around the room. Tony carefully stepped over everything and gently lay down beside his daughter, facing the ceiling with his hands clasped together over his waist. Avery made no objection.

The pair lay in silence for a while, before Tony sighed.

“What’s his name?” he asked, turning his head to look at Avery. Avery continued to stare at the ceiling, but Tony saw a puzzled look cross her face.

“Whose name?” she murmured.

“The boy,” Tony replied.

“Which boy?”

Tony sighed again, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes as he tried to think of the best way to approach this. He accidentally whispered his private thoughts aloud, saying:

“This was meant to be Pepper’s job.”

“Well Pepper isn’t here,” Avery shot back, bitterly.

“That’s MOM to you,” Tony responded sharply without thinking, before quickly relaxing again.

“That’s Miss Potts to you.”

Tony was quiet for a second, before trying again.

“Look, just tell me which boy is giving you trouble – I want to help you, you know I do but-”

“Anthony,” Avery suddenly said, “his name’s Anthony. Anthony Stark.”

Tony was taken aback.

“You’re mad at me?” he asked, quietly. Avery sat up and hugged her knees into her chest, Tony rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one elbow. His daughter still refused to make eye contact with him, but he didn’t look away from her.

“I don’t know,” she started, “I’m not MAD I’m just... tired. I’m smart, I know I am, but it’s getting harder and harder to fill your shoes, dad,” Avery finally confided. She threw her hands in the air and slumped back down to her original position.

“Everywhere I go on campus, there’ll be a plaque or a trophy or an awards board with your name or picture on it! Everybody holds even higher expectations from me because I’m YOUR daughter. Hell, half of the teachers there remember when you were their student and the other half were students that you banged back when you were there and now they’re PROFESSORS! And if that’s not the case, they WANT to be someone who was in that position. Even some of the students in my class have huge crushes on you.”

“Ew,” Tony murmured.

“I know,” Avery said, looking across at her dad for the first time since he came in, “and now I’m questioning my own abilities! Like, if I can’t be just as good as you then I feel like everyone will judge me and I’ll be a huge failure and you’ll... and... and...”

Avery curled up in a ball again without bothering to sit up, and Tony knew she was about to cry.

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he began, putting his free arm around the girl, “I get that you’re probably feeling the pressure, and I’m sorry you had to grow up more or less in my shadow. And I’m sorry that it seems like everyone only knows you through me. I know that it’s scary enough having to get into college before you’re even sixteen, and having everyone be so much older than you and dumber than you is probably tough, but you have to remember that you’re one of the smartest people I know, and in no time at all, you’ll probably surpass even the likes of me.”

“You’re my daughter, Avery. Not only that, you’re my best friend. I want you to know that...” Tony picked his next words very carefully. The words that he’d never heard from his own father.

“I’m proud of you, Avery. I’m so proud to be Tony Stark, father of Avery Stark. I love you so much, and I know you’re going to do great things. So great that one day I’ll be a footnote in your successes. First, you just need to get through this, and you’ll be on your way.”

Avery was sobbing at this point. She let go of her knees and wrapped her arms around her dad, burying her face in his chest and resting her head against the softly glowing arc reactor. Tony hugged her tightly with one arm, before slowly laying himself down properly and wrapping his other arm around the small girl as well. Memories flooded back of all the times she’d cried over the years and Tony would have to hold her till she felt better. Memories of him coming back after fighting and her clinging to him like she hadn’t seen him for years. He took a deep breath and let his eyes close, drowning himself in those memories. He thought back to when Pepper had first left and he was alone with a tiny Avery, her childish innocence and happiness contrasting to his immeasurable pain. Her obliviousness to their situation had helped Tony pull himself back together and become the father she needed. He tightened his grip, fragments of memories of him soothing her nightmares, her laughing and giggling and lighting up even his worst days played through his mind. He was so grateful for her. She meant the entire world to him and more.

Slowly but surely, she was calming down. Sure, she still hiding her face in his chest, but he could tell.

“Hey, you want to go for a trip?” Tony asked quietly after Avery’s sobs had turned to sniffles.

“Wh-where?” Avery asked, looking up at her dad with tear-stained eyes.

Tony bit his lip, before gently unravelling himself from the hug and standing up.

“Flying,” he said, nonchalantly.

“But, isn’t 48 damaged?” Avery muttered, confused.

Because Tony’s newest suit, mark XLVIII, was made of nanobot technology, it was the only suit he had that could fit Avery due to her height and figure. Normally when they went out, he’d use an older suit and let her use Bleeding Edge – but today he had a better plan. Instead of making more nanobots for his broken armour, he’d been busy setting up something else.

Tony bit his lip before grinning excitedly

“I’ve got to show you something,” he said, holding his hand out to Avery. Avery sat up on the bed and swung her legs over the edge. She looked at her dad’s outstretched hand, then at him, and snorted. She lightly bat his hand away. And he quickly straightened his jacket, clearing his throat.

“That’s not the first time I’ve been horribly rejected by a woman,” he said, looking away and pretending to sniffle. Avery rolled her eyes and stood up.

“What do you want to show me?” she asked slyly.

“It’s in the lab,” Tony said. Avery nodded, before bolting to the door.

“LAST ONE TO THE LAB IS DOCTOR STRANGE!” she laughed.

Tony immediately chased her out of the room and down the hall, but he was no match for her, as she’d already hit the staircase before he had even made it to the living room.

“JARVIS! STOP AVERY FROM GETTING INTO THE LAB BEFORE ME!” he yelled, loud enough for Avery to hear.

“Certainly, sir,” JARVIS replied, and almost immediately, Tony heard Avery screaming. He laughed as he slowed to a walk, and as he got to the bottom of the stairs, he saw his Mark XLVI suit of armour, hovering above the ground.

“Sorry, kid. It’s called parenting,” he grinned at the armour.

“Screw you, dad. You just didn’t want to be Doctor Stephen,” came Avery’s voice from inside, “also, you’ve really got to clean this suit. It smells like blood, sweat, tears and piss.”

“Guess what it’s full of, kid. And hey – language.”

Tony knocked on the chest and the suit opened up, a slightly startled Avery fell out, but Tony caught her, and set her down.

“That’s disgusting, Uncle Steve.” Avery rolled her eyes at her dad, who snorted.

The suit dropped to the ground and walked itself back into its display case, where it powered down.

"Look at you, not letting Cap forget dumb things he said that you didn't even witness. You really are my daughter," Tony murmured.

"Judging by your history, I'd be less surprised to find out Pepper Potts isn't my mother," Avery shot back with a small smile, “you got around so much that I’m sure the laws of biology could’ve been broken.”

"Hey," Tony began, trying to hide his smile as he held up a disapproving finger, "first of all, your mother is absolutely Pepper Potts. I witnessed your birth in horrible detail. Besides, nobody else would be crazy enough to insist your second name be 'Justice.' Second of all, you know nothing about my past. At all. Too young. I'll tell you when you're 45."

"Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. That was your self-officiated title, wasn't it?" Avery said, dragging out the word 'playboy'.

Tony cleared his throat, dropped his hands to his sides and stared his daughter in the eye for a moment. She stared back with an evil smirk.

"You know far too much," Tony said, straightening his suit jacket again and shaking his head. Avery simply giggled. Tony quickly moved and stood behind Avery, covering her eyes. She groaned annoyedly.

“Really, dad?”

“It’s a surprise, honey. Relax.”

Tony lead his daughter into the lab, and noticed that the “surprise” wasn’t assembled. He let out a sharp whistle.

“JARVIS, please could you assemble the uh, birthday present?” he muttered.

“But sir, Avery’s birthday isn’t for another two days.”

“A birthday present?” Avery murmured.

“Just assemble it, bud,” Tony said to the AI, ignoring Avery’s confusion.

All Avery heard was whirring, whooshing, clicking and clanging.

“You ready?” Tony asked Avery, bending down so he could whisper it in her ear.

“You know I am,” she responded eagerly.

“Happy birthday,” Tony said, moving his hands. Avery clasped her hand over her mouth and gasped. Tears sprung to her eyes as she moved toward the Iron suit in front of her.

It was an exact replica of her father’s Mark XLVIII, but smaller and more feminine.

“It’s the newest nanobot tech, even better than mine – for now. I’ve called it the AVS-I,” Tony smiled as his daughter examined the suit, “stands for Avery Stark – of course.”

Avery was stunned. Never did she think she’d be a REAL part of this aspect of her dad’s life, though she’d always wanted to be.

She tore her eyes away from the armour to look back at her father, who was beaming at her. She wiped a few happy tears and ran at Tony, jumping on him, throwing her arms around his neck and holding on tightly. Tony stumbled a little, but managed to keep his balance as he held his little girl close.

“Thank you so much, dad,” she whispered.

“You’re getting a little bit big for this, you know that?” he murmured, but truthfully he didn’t mind. He laughed as she gripped him tighter. Slowly, he put her back down, Avery’s grip loosened, but something was wrong, so Tony continued to hold her close by the shoulders, looking into her eyes as she stared at the ground looking puzzled for a moment.

“Wait, but what about Riri?” Avery asked, looking back up at her dad.

“Who?” Tony asked, confused. He let go of his daughter and looked around his lab as if it’d give him a hint.

“Riri Williams, sir,” JARVIS cut in, “a brilliant seventeen-year-old girl who was enlisted in the Ironheart program three years ago.”

“Oh, she’s been fired. She failed her final test,” Tony said dismissively, looking back at the armour.

“What’s the Ironheart project? And what was the final test?” Avery asked, shoving her hands in her hoodie pockets and turning her attention back to the armour as well.

“The Ironheart program was SHIELD’s idea,” Tony began, gazing at the suit, “a subdivision of a ‘New Avengers’ project. A type of “gifted youths” thing. Taking kids with abnormal abilities and sort of testing their skills to see if they should take SHIELD classes. Riri Williams, fifteen at the time, was above average brilliant. She was enlisted in my subdivision of the program where I’d test her mental capacities to see how good of a mechanic, engineer and scientist she was. She was incredible, true, but she failed to recreate a full suit of functioning Iron-man armour. Plus, she failed in the fact that I didn’t like her much.”

Avery nodded, “I always thought she was meant to be a replacement for me.”

Tony’s gaze didn’t shift from the armour, but he put an arm around her shoulders.

“Never. I didn’t want to use you because I didn’t want you to be in danger.”

Avery looked up at her dad for a second, before looking back at the armour and leaning her head against him.

“I love it,” she whispered, “thank you so much.”

Tony spent a moment in comfortable silence with his daughter. He could tell how happy she was with the gift, and that made him smile.

“Try it on, I want to make sure it doesn’t implode on the wearer,” he grinned, tapping her on the back and nodding towards the armour. Avery smiled widely at him before moving towards the armour.

“JARVIS, enable embarrassing parent mode,” Tony said nonchalantly. Avery shot him a passive-aggressive grin and he simply waved back.

“Cameras are recording, sir,” JARVIS responded immediately.

Avery gingerly touched the armour, before looking back at her dad. He motioned for her to go on, before tapping the centre of his own arc reactor. Avery nodded, took two fingers and double-tapped the dark arc reactor in the centre of the suit. It immediately began to glow and the suit began to dematerialise until only the back half remained. Grinning widely, Avery got into position before stepping backwards into the armour. The nanobots began re-materialising around her, and soon enough she was covered head to toe in her own armour.

The helmet clamped shut over her face and the eyes glowed blue as Avery squealed. Tony felt himself beaming – he was so proud. Avery looked down at her hands, clenched them into fists, twisted them about. Then her feet, she stomped around a little, jumped up and down. She slammed her hands down on her stomach and chest and ran her hands down her shoulders and arms.

She looked up at her dad.

“This is SO cool,” she said – her voice sounded slightly digitalised as it came out.

“Oh, by the way,” Tony began, looking at his nails with a smirk as Avery gazed up at him, curious, “did I mention you can change the colours?”

Avery let out another squeal which quickly turned to laughter.

Tony was looking forward to their first flight.

#Tony Stark #Stark #Avengers #Fanfic #Headcanon #Hc #Oneshot #Dad!Tony X Daughter!OC #Is she an OC if I just made her up on the spot for the purpose of this story?#Pre-Endgame #IN MY OWN LITTLE MARVEL UNIVERSE WHERE THINGS ARE HAPPIER OK #marvel #Pre-infinity war #Father-daughter

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misspeterparker · 6 years

Text

Paper Cut (Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: Ever since Peter Parker was inflicted with the infamous spider bite, he has had trouble adjusting to the changes that come with adopting the superhero life. The stress is getting to him, and (Y/N) is noticing. Big time.

Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, minor swearing, minor mentions of blood, angst

A/N: So, this is the first fanfic I’m uploading to this site. Hope it’s alright! feel free to message me with tips ‘n stuff ‘cause trust me, I need all the help i can get. Hope you enjoy! (Also please request stuff, I love you) (... I kinda... I’m... eh... @peeterparkr tips pls?)

Genre: Mainly Angst, Little Fluff

(Gif: https://th.blogcrib.com/2017/10/07/damnsebstom-holland-as-peter-parker-in-spider-man-homecoming/)

You feel a sharp pinch on the tip of your smallest finger followed by the warm feeling and metallic smell of blood dripping down onto your psychology textbook. In that moment, the slight tingling was the only sensation that drew you from your trance; You had spent hours studying, not once even bothering to look up towards Peter who was seated at the desk beside your bed, books sprawled out on the wooden surface around him. It wasn’t a big deal; just a small slit which was practically invisible and extremely superficial. At least, that was your train of thought, contrary to that of your best friend, Peter Parker’s.

“Oh my god, (Y/N) a-are you okay? You’re bleeding!” He stood up from his position at your desk and rushed over to you on the bed, taking ahold of your injured appendage and examining it thoroughly. The look of concern on his face was immediately visible. You laughed tenderly, gazing at his disheartened expression. The way his eyebrows pulled together forming a deep set of wrinkles tugged at your heartstrings. He was so adorable sometimes.

“Peter, I’m fine. It’s just a paper cut.” His feelings refused to dissipate, his head lifting up to look into your eyes. His gaze held only one emotion: pure fear.

Your eyebrows furrowed at his expression. Peter’s ever growing anxiety hadn’t been something you’d overlooked and it seemed to be getting worse as time went on.

You began to notice Peter’s prominent paranoia a few months back, at the beginning of the second semester. It was a normal Tuesday, like any other. Peter had seemed a little more on edge than usual, but you didn’t question it. It was all in the hormones. His new found six pack and sudden lack of glasses were a strange addition to the boy’s identity. But, you didn’t question it too much. Puberty does wonders. After all, it turned you from a flat chested child into a woman with a new set of “friends”.

Just as it was a normal Tuesday, the time came for you and your friends to have a normal lunch period spent studying and debating whether Harry really belonged in Gryffindor to begin with. As the debate got heated, Ned, one of your best friends, had dropped one of his many AP textbooks onto the epoxy cafeteria floor, triggering a violent clatter at his feet earning a small squeal from your lips, but an even bigger reaction from the boy across from you.

The large clamor set Peter off in a way neither you nor Ned had ever witnessed before. The boy jumped up from his seat, his eyes growing large and wide, and let out an animalistic noise of terror - one that you couldn’t compare to any sound you’ve heard before. It felt as though the world had stopped for that moment, as the lunchroom grew violently quiet, and all eyes were on Peter. You remembered every detail like a scene of a movie; The trickling sweat down the back of Peter’s neck, the tears that pricked at the corners of his exhausted, brown eyes, how his fists clenched so tight that his knuckles were in danger of splitting, and the paleness of his fear-struck face as he stared down at the fallen book. He was a deer in the headlights - absolutely terrified to the core.

And the whole lunchroom witnessed his moment of weakness.

The moment seemed to drag on for a lifetime, each second becoming agonizingly long. Quiet murmurs begin to spread throughout the room, all about Peter. It was evident by the judging stares of the upperclassmen and the snickers from the mouths of the chatty freshman.

“Jesus, someone put that thing out of its misery.”

“I would’ve thought someone was dying. A little over dramatic much?”

“Penis Parker’s more of a chicken than I thought.”

The constant whispers were the cherry on top - talk about adding insult to injury. You looked up at Peter who was still standing, his eyes never leaving the fallen book. The tears that threatened to fall finally fulfilled their promises and were stained on his now red cheeks.

“Peter…” You tried to reach out and touch his hand, but he reeled back, not missing a beat, and ran out of the cafeteria.

You didn’t see him for the rest of that day.

“I-I’m sorry…” Defeated, Peter fell to his knees. He held your hand and rested his forehead against it.

“Hey… Peter…” you began. Your words were cut short by the sounds of sobbing; The wetness of his tears fell into your lap, dotting your grey colored jeans. “Peter! Hey! Don’t cry!” It was a stupid thing to say and you regretted it immediately, but you didn’t know what else to do. You've never had seen your best friend like this before; his fragile state created a pang in your chest, the feeling of helplessness took over your mind - what could you possibly do? You were never good at this sort of thing, and you preferred to cry in the comfort of your own room; You didn’t have this sort of experience with others. How does one comfort a crying friend? “Peter, it’s going to be okay,” you say, not expecting him to believe it.

His arms found their way around your waist, pulling your body close with his face buried into the fabric of your hoodie. You stiffened at the action, but when he didn’t pull away you tangled your fingers into his curly locks of hair. “Shhhhh… It’s all going to be alright… look, I’m fine… see?” You placed the palm of your hand under his chin and lifted until his head craned up to look at you. You kissed your finger right where the paper made its mark, the split skin already beginning to scab over, and you smiled. “It’s already healing… it doesn’t even hurt anymore! I’m fine, Pete… I really am.” He remained silent as he gazed upon your finger. The streets of New York were busy, being the only ambience provided in the dimly lit room. His eyes closed, taking in the sound of an ambulance rushing by, sirens blazing in the evening air.

In the silence between you, your mind wandered back to another memory, the time you walked in on Peter stressing about an upcoming chemistry test. His hand raked through his hair, creating a fluffy mess upon his head as he paced back and forth in his room, mumbling to himself about “stupid formulas” and how he could “never learn all this shit in one week.” Chemistry was his best subject. It was extremely odd for him to be stressing over an exam in that class - usually he was quite excited for them. He loved to put everything he had learned in the past few weeks to good use as he had described to you many times in the past. However, this time was different. For whatever reason, the room reeked of sweat, clothes littered the floor, and a pile of red bull cans were cramped into the tiny trash bin by his bed, some threatening to spill out onto the space beside it due to the can’s overflowed state.

“Peter, what’s going on?” You asked. He turned to look at you. His face appeared as though he had aged ten years and the dark bags under his eyes weren’t serving him any justice. He looked horrible.

“It’s this st-stupid formula! No matter what I try, the results just come out all the same! This is dumb! I’m dumb…” He punctuated his declaration with a flop onto his bed which creaked under the sudden weight. His eyes fluttered closed as a groan escaped from his lips, as he took a deep breath, making a great effort to calm his nerves. It was worrying.

“What do you mean, Pete? You’re not dumb!” You crossed the room and took a seat beside him on the bed. “You’re so good at chem! It’s just one problem. I’m sure with a little grit and elbow grease, we can figure this one out together. What do ya say?”

Silence.

“Peter?”

Still, no response.

Frustrated, you looked at the boy, about to go off on his annoying ass attitude when you heard a soft snore sneak it’s way out.

Oh.

He fell asleep. This was odd, not to mention sudden, considering the fact that he was on the verge of a mental breakdown just moments before. Your breathing soon fell into rhythm with the relaxed rise and fall of his chest. Giving up, you took a look at the papers on his desk.

“Super Secret Fluid Formula”

Super secret what? Whatever that was, it was a concept you had never learned in class before. Crap. If Peter was having a difficult time grasping the concept, then you definitely knew that you would bomb it. With that note, you frantically made your way home to study the new found information.

It never appeared on the test. Your teacher cut it out last minute. Great news for Peter, right?

The heat on your stomach left as soon as the boy rose from his spot.

“Yeah… I’m… Im sorry, (Y/N)... I overreacted…”

“It’s alright, Peter, I understand,” You lied. The reality was you didn’t understand, not in the slightest, and you weren’t sure you ever would. But you most definitely weren’t about to tell him that. It would most likely add salt to the wound which you were not at all looking to do.

“Thank you…” His eyes found yours. “I’m just… I’m so afraid… that one day I’m gonna lose you…” Another silent tear fell down his face. Looking deep into his gaze, you knew. He was broken.

“Peter, listen,” your hands found his face instinctively, and they cupped his cheeks. “I don’t know what’s going on with you - and maybe I never will - but just know that I’m always here to talk. No matter what. As long as I’m still breathin’, I’m never going to leave you. Do you hear me? You’re not gonna lose me. Ever. I’m your best friend, my guy… I love you and I will never let anything hurt you. And I’m pretty damn good at protecting myself too. Got it? Now, I don’t know what’s gotten into you… You've been acting off for so many weeks now. Just know, that whenever you’re ready to talk, tell me what’s bothering you and I’ll be sure to kick it in the ass for ya! Scare it right outta town!” This drew a small chuckle out of him. Peter looked at you, slightly amused.

“Thank you… I’m sure you’re intimidating enough to… kick it in the ass? What?”

“Well, ‘kick its ass’ is overused and boring. Plus, the alternative got a laugh outta ya, didn’t it? That was the goal.”

“Yeah, I guess…” He stared at you. The broken brown eyes, red and bloodshot from tears, pierced yours. Your (E/C) eyes met his. “You’re never going to leave me, right..? No matter what…?” He leaned closer to your lips, his gaze never breaking and your breath hitched in your throat, cheeks dusted with a brilliant shade of pink at his proximity.

“Never…” he smiled. He leaned in even closer, his breath landing on your lips, your body aching with anticipation.

“Is this okay…?” He asked. You nodded. All of your feelings that have built up over the past months rushed to your chest - feelings of love and admiration, fear and denial, worry and longing all flooded your heart pounding in your ears, rhythmically like the beat of a drum. His lips brushed over yours, daring to touch. Your eyes fluttered close. “Can I…?” And with that, your lips crashed into his, an eruption of pure bliss exploded in your chests, craving and wanting to taste the other, deeper and fuller and seemingly bursting with light. His hands found your waist and yours found his hair and the colliding of embraces was all too perfect. It was astonishing. It was breathtaking. It was amazing. With one final kiss, his lips separated from yours, your eyes opening to meet his soft gaze, no longer full of fear, but instead full of awestucking love. Your hand found his. His lips curled upwards.

And for once, after a very long time,

all was calm.

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notwhelmedyet · 7 years

Text

IDW Character + Relationship Spectacular (1/2) - tf fanfic census 2017 (pt 5)

Okay. Oh boy. This is a big one. Are you a person who’s ever wondered how much fanfic there is about various IDW characters or pairings? Because if so, this post (and part 2 once I finish it) is the thing for you.

(So so many graphs ahead)

Initial Caveats

If you have a hard time reading any graphs, there’s a separate image post of just the graphs: pt 1 & pt 2

I can only query what people have tagged on ao3, not what they’ve actually written! So throughout this piece I’ll be given counts of works tagged with a character or a relationship that also are tagged with ‘IDW Generation One’. There may well be more of that relationship/character that aren’t under the IDW fandom tag, but I can’t distinguish them from works for other series.

Also, like, I found all this data by searching the database and sometimes counting works by hand. Numbers may be wrong and characters/pairings may be missed. Sorry if I forgot about your favorites!

Who Shows Up

Okay, so I tried to find the number of works that tagged each character...but there are too many characters. So instead we’re going to look at any characters tagged in >50 works. (Sorry to Nightbeat (47), Pipes (30), Lug (10) etc.)

I’m sure there’s something in here to surprise everyone and I don’t want to belabor the point by bothering you with all my observations but:

Drift : Wow.

Swerve : Is listed before Optimus Prime, which is impressive

Somebody needs to go and write some more fics about Anode and Lug, they’ve only got 10 each and it’s sad. :(

What stood out to you?

So...What Kind of Fics Did People Write About Them?

Gathering full ratings breakdowns for all of these folks would have been really time consuming. Instead, I found you the percentage of fics that are explicit (to find the percentage of works that are probably smut) and the percent that are Gen (the category, not the rating. Thus, works that do and do not have relationships).

There are a heckin lot of characters and that makes for crowded graphs, so let’s look at the outliers. In aggregate, 29% of IDW fic is rated explicit. Purple is percent explicit, red is percent otherwise.

Well, I guess evil is sexy, y’all.

And being married (or a cat) (or a dinosaur) (or a gangly bird with claws) is less sexy.

Okay, now let’s look at Gen (theoretically works with no relationships) versus non-Gen works. This isn’t going to tell us who’s more likely to be in a relationship precisely - it might tell us who’s more likely to be a background character in shipping versus nonshipping works. But interesting nonetheless. In aggregate, 19% of IDW works are Gen and 81% are otherwise.

Let’s look at who’s most likely to be in a fic with shipping. Red is Gen, purple is otherwise.

...this is not a very surprising chart, on the most part. Or maybe I’ve looked at too many ao3 tags while data gathering and I’ve lost all capacity to be surprised.

Looking at the outliers on the other end, there’s a lot of the same names as bots who were infrequently in E rated fics. We’ve lost some of the romantics, though: Rewind, Chromedome, Chromia and Skids were all low in E rated fics but are higher in Gen works.

Okay. But I’m Here for the Relationships.

cool, cool, that’s fair. Let’s start out by looking at the ‘top 10′ most popular relationships, the ones AO3 lists in the side bar.

Far and away, there’s more Dratchet fic than any other pairing. Which is a surprise is probably nobody. Let’s see how the ratings shake out for these ten. (I’ve swapped some pairs to abbreviations because they were getting cut off otherwise)

Here we can see that Cyclonus/Tailgate and Chromedome/Rewind are the only pairings that have more than 50% gen or teen works. On the other hand, Megatron/Optimus and Drift/Rodimus are both about 47% explicit.

If we look at median fic length we get some really weird data. Specifically, Megatron/Optimus and Jazz/Prowl are both twice as long on average than any of the other top ten pairings.

But maybe you’re curious about the outliers - what’s the longest/most popular fic focusing on each of these pairings? I’ve excluded from this search works that don’t list the pairing first and any sort of short story collection. Numbers are rounded to the nearest 50.

Well, um, there’s a bit of an outlier in our outliers chart here. Simpatico has the shortest longest fic, at under 25K, while MegOp’s longest fic is over 300K words.

But when we look by hits, that extra length for MegOp and Jazz/Prowl doesn’t seem to have made much of a difference. (The longest, most hits and most kudos fics may or may not be the same story, I honestly didn’t write it down and don’t know)

This chart is just weird as heck, honestly. CDRW is very popular in terms of number of stories and number of hits, but is the bottom of the kudos list when we look at top fics. We could theorize but I generally try not to get too deep into trying to psychoanalyze readers as a collective. (tis a dangerous road)

Let’s instead take a sharp right turn and look at when these fics were posted. If you find the median update time for a pairing, you’ll know the date which divides the most recent 50% of fics from the older 50% of fics. From here we can see which pairings gained popularity relatively recently.

...and probably nobody can read that timeline cause it’s tiny. Let’s look at the left half first.

These are the pairings that gained popularity fairly early - 50% of all Drift/Wind, Drift/Perceptor and Chromedome/Rewind fics were published before June ~15 of 2015. Those mostly make sense, but I admit I was surprised that Cygate, Simpatico and Drift/Rodimus had their halfway points so early.

On the other hand we’ve got the median dates that are relatively later. Megatron/Rodimus is apparently a fairly recently popular ship - 50% of fics were updated after October of 2016. Drift/Ratchet is similarly recently popular. Megatron/Optimus is kinda middling, falling about in the center of the chart.

Prowl/Jazz is a weird one. I’m told that Prowl/Jazz shippers are often folks who’ve come from other iterations still holding onto that ship, but in that case I’d have expected the median date to be earlier? But y’all do your thing, Prowl/Jazz shippers.

Okay, but what if Lynn (me) was really stupid and counted how many writers wrote each individual pairing? What kind of data would we get out of that?

Well, if that stupid eventuality were to come to pass we might see that...

There are a ton of people writing Dratchet, Cygate and CDRW (you know, for a tiny community. 100 is relatively large.) On the other hand, Megatron/Rodimus is a real niche writing crowd. Numbers may be slightly off! I literally counted these by hand!

But, of course, the top three have a lot more fics. So, if every writer had written an equal number of stories, how many would each have had to write? Well, in the case of Drift/Wing, Drift/Percy and Megatron/Rodimus, more than 3. Dratchet is also up there.

But, probably that’s not what happened. Probably most people wrote one or two fics and a very select few people wrote a hecking ton of them. So...how much of each pairing was written by the most prolific writer in the pairing?

The height of the bars indicates the count, the number indicates the percentage and holy Primus some of y’all are devoted as fuck. (of course, many of these fics are very short blahblahblah, we’re looking at numbers I can quantify, there’s no easy way to add up word count for individual writers)

Okay, that’s going to be it for today. Next up we’re going to look at every pairing (with more than 10 fics) involving a character with more than 50 fics. But this post is already way super long, so we had to split it up.