If anybody could help me find a detroit become human fic, I would super appreciate it. It’s a post-revolution thing where connor is wroking with the police department and jericho. There’s a murder but when connor tries to investigate, markus cuts him from the jericho database. He’s mad but ends up getting help from the other former police androids. I thought i faved it on ao3 but i can’t find it :C
Fic archive: 7500 works
Fic archive filtered by hurt/comfort: 12 works
Isn’t it funny how the last thing I wrote can almost be like, Étienne, 40 million years later, returns the favour? :)
Étienne rolled over to his side and frowned. He reached out for the warm body that was supposed to be there, but the bed was empty. He knew that Edward had gone to bed with him and thus, he really wanted to snuggle up to him for a while. However, his lover was not there.
Swelling of the Tide - scene
“Somehow we need to fix all of their stupid issues ‘cause that plant thing will probably prey on everyone and everything.” Shinri said with a hand wave “We’ll what? Be therapists for the ninja world? Honestly…”
“Or we could just intermarry them to non-existence.” Jun slurred through his fifth drink. “I mean if we raise every Uzu nin with some sort of common sense and problem solving then just marry into every possible over-powered ninja family- well that’s would solve it wouldn’t it?”
There was some silence.
“So individual therapy?” Shinri picked his train of thought again.
Jun’s words stayed with everyone though.
6. Jolting awake after a nightmare and being comforted
Tommy woke with a gasp, choking on his nightmare. His body was drenched with a cold sweat, shivers wracking his spine making the hand on his throat shake with each suffocated inhale. There wasn’t any air, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see –
He shot out of the bed, his legs catching on the covers and his breathing hitched again – he was trapped, there was nowhere to go, the tunnel was too small to move, his legs were against the wall, his head hit the ceiling and they were coming, he couldn’t get out quick enough, he couldn’t move. Why had he frozen? He couldn’t breathe. It was so dark.
It was just a dream, it wasn’t happening. Tommy stood, his head against the wallpaper, hands scraping along the wall – digging, he had to dig, he had to get out –
“You got somewhere to be at this hour?” Alfie. Alfie was awake. His voice was calm, steady which Tommy needed right now. He tried to take a deep breath and choked on the answer that never formed, too many questions of his own. Why was Alfie here? Where was here? Where was he going?
“Tommy?” There was something like concern in Alfie’s tone now, which was fucking embarrassing. He was a grown man, he didn’t need Alfie’s fucking pity, he didn’t need his concern. Except he did, because suddenly he wasn’t alone against the wall, there was a hand on the back of his neck and it was so heavy that Tommy sank right through the ground and then he was fighting it off, someone was pulling him down when he was already drowning. His own hands came up automatically, pushing himself off of a broad shoulder, pulling himself higher and his knee came up to hit the person holding him down – it was smacked to the side, so he tried again but then there was no one there, knee connecting with the wall.
“Fucking hell, alright. It’s one of those nights, yeah?” It was Alfie’s voice again, ringing out somewhere from the blackness that swam in Tommy’s vision. Calm. Steady. Tommy inhaled, holding it for a few seconds. Exhaled.
“Yeah, that’s it, love. Let’s get out of the dark, been spending too much time there lately, you have.” Tommy didn’t focus on the words themselves, but they were keeping his head from going under. Inhale, exhale. Back against the wall. It was solid. Covered in wallpaper – it was smooth, nothing like dirt and clay.
Then the lights switched on and Tommy’s head rose out of the mud completely. Alfie was across the room because they were in their bedroom. He had a nightmare. A bad one. Alfie was standing by the light switch, hands spread like he was trying to coax a cornered animal. And that was when Tommy realised, he was behaving like a fucking scared animal, spitting, and hissing against the bedroom wall, and the fight in his muscles left all at once until his knees almost buckled underneath him. Almost.
“Alfie,” Tommy whispered, his fingers twitching towards the man. It was fucking embarrassing, this whole thing. It was embarrassing how his breath hitched when Alfie stopped a few inches from him, how he leant in but Alfie pulled away again, trying to get Tommy to meet his eyes.
“Am I alright to touch you now, Tom? You back with me?” It looked like it was paining Alfie to stay back, to not crowd into his space and keep Tommy’s nightmares away with careful touches and force of will.
But he didn’t need to stay back anymore, Tommy wasn’t stuck underground, wasn’t drowning. He was just tired, like his bones had been hollowed out.
“I’m with you,” Tommy breathed and then he was being pulled off of the wall and into Alfie’s arms, his head being pushed into the junction of Alfie’s neck, clenched jaw resting on taut shoulders. Alfie’s thumb brushed against the nape of his neck, gently like stroking the wing of a butterfly, ever so worried that it would fly out of your hands if you pushed too hard. Tommy pressed himself closer. The touch wasn’t pulling him down as much as it was keeping him anchored now, like his only tether to the world was the ghost of Alfie’s breath on his neck and his hand on Tommy’s hip.
He could fall asleep like this, Tommy thought as Alfie shifted his weight from foot to foot, almost rocking together in some music-less dance. His eyes drifted shut and let out a hum. Alfie’s hand tightened on his hip and the movements became a little more deliberate, a little more to soothe rather than to fidget. With each small step, each brush of a warm ring against his skin, Tommy came back to himself and the shovels against the wall faded into a distant memory. He pressed his lips against the tendon in Alfie’s neck, as close to a kiss or a thanks as Tommy could manage.
Alfie hummed, spinning them slowly. “That was a fucking bad one, huh?”
“Think you can make it down the stairs? Or you need me to carry you? I mean I’ll offer but I don’t know if I can manage it with that fucking knee of mine.”
“Fuck off.” Tommy swatted him in the arm, just hard enough for it to sting for a few seconds.
Alfie chuckled, the feeling reverberating into Tommy’s own chest. “Yeah, you’re back aren’t you,” he squeezed Tommy’s neck lightly before detaching himself. The air between them felt cold and Tommy ached to fill it, to fall back against the man and never let go – but he had embarrassed himself enough for one night, so he stepped back as well and tried not to let his emotions show on his face before he made more of a mess.
Apparently, he failed because Alfie’s hand wrapping itself around his, fingers entwined, and his gaze was unbearably soft. “You sure you’re alright, Tommy?”
“Fuck off,” Tommy scoffed, not letting go.
The ship is cold, unwelcoming, and exactly where Wolffe does not want to be sans blaster, vibroblade, or other assorted weaponry. He groans as he pushes himself up off the ground into sitting position. The new knock-out darts pack one hell of a wallop. He wishes he had some of Helix’s special hangover cure.
What was he - Oh, right. Prisoner transfer, since the Courageous was already headed towards the Core. Of course they wouldn’t mind an extra stop. Of course they have a spare shuttle. Of course, Admiral Yularen, and fuck you very much too. Not an hour after leaving ship, they were beset upon by pirates looking for their buddy to pay back some inane debt, and now he’s getting mailed to who-knows-where as collateral.
Plo is going to die laughing. So is the rest of the Pack. Serial murder is looking more and more appealing, the more Wolffe thinks about it.
More backstory from That Clone Thing
He’s not sure where he is.
He’s never sure where he is anymore.
Or who he is anymore.
But the air is warm - hot, even - and the sand beneath him feels even hotter as his face - already bruised and scraped - is pressed down into it by a heavy boot.
He wants to struggle, but he’s so weak that there’s no way to -
Bodies drop around him, including the man the boot on his head belonged to.
He rolls over and gazes up, dazedly at the man in the white armor.
“There’s a settlement not far from here,” he says. “If you hurry, you can make it by nightfall.”
“Why…” he croaks out. “Why help me?”
“Because you were our General,” the man tells him. “And you would have given your life for us in a heartbeat. And you were one of the only ones who would.”
He sits up slowly, watching the man lift his blaster to his own head.
The shot goes off, the man’s eyes rolls back, and he and the blaster drop to the sand.
He - what’s his name again? He still doesn’t know his own name, or why this man thought he was some sort of general - slowly but surely gets to his feet. He grabs the blaster and limps off.
“The guy was hammered, okay?” Richie pleaded as Eddie poured himself another (considerably large) glass of champagne, “There’s no way you look like Bill’s child,”
“Then why would he say it?” Already slightly tipsy, Eddie replied. Richie was lost for words. How could he put this without revealing his overwhelming infatuation for the man in front of him?
“Because he’s crazy, okay?” He finally replied, “He came up to me earlier and thanked me for my very moving performance in Titanic!”
The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitched a little but his brows remained furrowed.
“My mother’s right,” He finally sighed, “I’m never going to get married,”
Richie almost spat his drink right there and then.
“Ah, you know that is - who wouldn’t want you?” He said gently, his hand raising to rest upon Eddie’s shoulder.
“Please,” Eddie sighed, “I’m a single, twenty-seven year old child,”
It seemed as though nothing would reason with him. An idea sprung upon Richie’s mind. A chaotic, drunken idea - but it would all end well.
The next morning, Richie was woken with a loud opening of his hotel room door.
“I’m getting married today, woo!” Bill screamed as he entered the room. Richie held down his duvet cover with dear life.
“Mornin’ Bill,” He replied slyly.
“I’m getting married today!” Bill said again, his fists flailing in the air. Richie found himself laughing.
“Yeah you are!” He replied as Bill began to leave the room.
“Woo hoo!” Was all he heard from down the hall. Then came a slight scrambling from beneath the covers as Eddie popped out - his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed, his hair slightly skewiff.
“Do you think he knew I was here?” He asked Richie blindly. The two stayed in silence for a few awkwardly long minutes.
“Well,” Richie finally said, desperate for words to spill from his mouth, “I’ve - I’ve never done that with you before!”
“Nope,” Eddie replied, his nose crinkling at the awkwardness of the conversation.
“So.. uh - how are you?” Richie spluttered, “How - how.. you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. You?” Eddie laughed slightly.
“Oh yes, yes, uh huh,” Richie nodded, keeping a tight hold of the sheets around him, “You..?”
Eddie stared at him.
“We did you,”
“Well, I better get going,” Eddie said briskly.
“Oh yeah, yeah. Absolutely,”
Eddie peered toward the edge of the bed before turning back to Richie, his cheeks rosy pink.
“Could you not look?”
Richie’s eyes widened as his face began to warm.
“I don’t wanna look,” He spat out, turning his eyes away from his best friend next to him.
With that, Eddie got out of the bed. Who knew, that the two would end up married. Who knew that the two would end up adopting two beautiful children. Who in the hell would have guessed that Richard Tozier and Edward Kaspbrak had done it, on the night of Bill and Stan’s wedding.
Elizabeth once tells Betty Ross (they bonded over a shared name, among other things) that she’s never been sure how much she actually remembers of the whole 1500s life and how much is stories or research or something else.
“I know the research now says kids can remember a lot earlier back but that most of those vivid memories start fading by age ten” she says, stirring her tea that the waitress at the Dandelion & Driftwood bought over. Elizabeth is so glad she’s in a world with tea. Among other things.
“But there are complications?” Betty remarks to her with a smile.
“Just…there are vivid narratives. I remember Mom & Papa Thomas showing me fishes. I could find that pond in my sleep, I swear. I can see playing at, I guess it must be Hatfield, I can even tell you how my fathers doublet felt when he held me.”
(A little Anne Times Travels AU OT3 AU in which Elizabeth also travelled through time. The Dandelion & Driftwood belongs to @findingfeather as does the YBEB Verse this AU stubbornly decided it lived in)
“Thomas forgive me but, why do you love him? The Queen, yes I understand but why…”
Audley trails off, worried he has offended but Thomas only smiles at him.
“My friend, you know something of His Majesty, do you not?”
“I suppose I do, perhaps but truth be told it is hard to know a King but I think perhaps…”
“He is like the sun, my Henry” Thomas says with a soft note in his voice that Audley has never heard before.
“He is charm and warmth and truly, truly Audley he is thoughtful and…imagine that warmth is turned towards you always. It never burns”
Here Thomas smiles a little sadly “perhaps before he had singed Anne & I a little but truly, he has been nothing but a balm since and I tell you my friend, it is a special joy to see his delight in the world, the fact that he will always wish to learn.”
So I received a comment this morning on multiple works (including one that didn’t have anything to do with it) telling me that I shouldn’t be writing about Covid-19 in a story and this bothered me enough to need to rant for a moment.
First of all, the work was clearly tagged. I understand if you don’t want to read about it, I myself am trying to avoid it, but just look at the tag and move on. I am not forcing you to read it.
Second, there is nothing in the story mentioning the virus by name, or details about it. The character, an empath, is simply under quarantine and dealing with being trapped with other people’s emotions while they look for a cure.
Third, I am personally trying to make sense of my own emotions regarding this disease. I live in NYC and hear sirens continually day and night. Multiple friends are sick. The emotions of the people I live with are a constant barrage on my senses that make dealing with my own anxiety more difficult. The story was my way of working through those feeling, expressing them in a safe way that wouldn’t infringe on my husband or our roommate’s space.
I am sorry if anyone was offended by my choosing to write on this topic. I know emotions are running high all over the world. You are entitled to your opinion, but if you don’t want to read about it, don’t read it. Don’t make other people feel shame or guilt over writing something that helps them to heal by imagining wish fulfillment, and sharing it so that others may enjoy it as well if they choose.
Anyway, thank you for letting me rant, and if you made it this far bless you! I hope you are all coping with the stress and uncertainty as best as possible. Love you all.
Pairing: Eileen Prince & Severus Snape
Summary: Lee is used to winning his Gobstones matches, and he thinks he can come out ahead in the game of life. If only things were as simple as when he first met Tobias at that pub in Cokeworth. In a perfect world, he sure as hell wouldn’t be pregnant and learning his way around a Muggle kitchen, but it’s 1959, and he is all bones and weary mind, weighed down by the flesh that doesn’t feel like his own.
Author’s Notes: Written for the HP Trans Fest to the following prompt: Who would have thought it would be a game of Gobstones that got Character A to realise they were trans? (Also inspired by: Character A is a trans man and is pregnant. It’s hard, but so worth it.)
Eternal thanks to Hippocrates450 and Kit Granger for beta-reading. Your attention and questions have made it a thousand times better.
Pairing: Remus Lupin/Severus Snape
Summary: Prompt 48: Why trans male character keeps his hair long
One night, Remus asks Severus why he keeps his hair long.
Author’s Notes: Trans fest time! I initially was gonna contribute a lot more than just a 1k word fic, but I’m split between a lot of responsibilities at the moment, so I just don’t have the spell slots to finish it all. Unfortunately, my ability to be creative and complete projects is a lot like those stamina/energy systems in mobile games–there’s not a lot of it, it runs out fast, and you have to wait a long time or pay money for it to hurry up.
Okay, autocorrect, I don’t know where you got the idea that when I type cock I actually mean Coco, but knock it off. Nobody is hungrily attacking Coco. Not in this fic anyway 😂