#g rating

[scdfacedgirl]

New fic out!

Likes/Reblogs/Kudos/Comments welcome and appreciated!

[sivan325]

Something Special - Sterek Drabbles

@sterekdrabbles - May 13/2024: cave, warm, earn

Something Special - G

Stiles woke up warm, seeming to forget that he fell asleep as he explored the cave.

Stiles was surprised to see his boyfriend and his son in their alpha form next to him.

The duo in return licked his shocked face, and Stiles knew in that moment that he earned something special, knowing what he wants in his life beside being a cave explorer.

Stiles hugs the wolves as he said with admiration and love in his voice, “I love you so much.”

On the next day, Stiles goes shopping with his dad.

Stiles couldn’t wait to pop the question.

[altumvidetur]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Trek Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Miles O'Brien, Quark (Star Trek), Odo (Star Trek), Rom (Star Trek), Original Random Ensign Additional Tags: featuring a little bit of Rom/Leeta and just a dash of Quodo, First Kiss, Star Trek Potluck 2024, Mutual Pining, Mostly Fluff Summary:

Every year on what would be Bajor’s winter solstice, Bajorans everywhere present their loved ones with gifts of homemade food, baked or cooked without using replicated ingredients. The exact scope of the festival is subject to discussion — some Bajorans argue that close family and friends should receive some sort of token, others believe these bonds are best acknowledged during the Gratitude Festival — but there’s one strong point of agreement: if you have a significant other, you must prepare them their favorite food as a love offering. It’s about as important as one’s wedding anniversary day.

Of course, if you want to declare your romantic intentions for someone, there isn’t a more perfect occasion, and to accept a person’s love offering during Tem’en’mara is virtually the same as saying yes to a committed relationship.

Julian makes a gesture.

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Written for the @startrekpotluck! Thank you so much to the mods for organizing this beautiful event ♡ ～('▽^人)

[qsmpficsarchive]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Burning Orange and Blue by InsomniWillow

Oneshot | G | 3,196

Wing Grooming | Pre-Relationship | Sharing a Bed

Missa froze when Techno's eyes found his, still absentmindedly working his way through Phil's feathers, even as Phil himself had grown drowsy and limp at some point, breaths even. They didn't speak for a moment, Missa at a loss for words and Techno... well, he'd always been a little hard to read. Harder now that he wasn't saying anything at all. Missa could feel the heat of panic and embarrassment burning his cheeks and neck, but still he couldn't force himself to look away.

Techno wrinkled his snout before heaving a sigh, eyes skating over to the wall, the fireplace, the door, before settling on Missa again.

"Alright, talkin' ain't exactly my strong suit, but do you wanna.... Help me do this?"

[9-1-1-fic-archive]

The Family You Make by Fanficcrazy93

15/15 | G | 65,038

At the age of three, Evan was left at the front door of a hospital with only a blanket, a backpack and a letter which only entailed his name and date of birth. No parents to be found, no reason as to why he was left there.

OR

What if Buck begins went completely differently?

Tags: Buck Begins AU, Foster Care, U.S. Navy SEAL Evan "Buck" Buckley, Protective Bravo Team (SEAL Team TV), Buck Foster Brother, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Firehouse 118 Crew as Family (9-1-1 TV), Badass Buck!!!, Buddie!!!, Super slow burn!

[shehungthemoon]

coda 2: lupus in fabula

@fictober-event Jumped around and did day 31: "it's not your fault." Fanfiction for The Exorcist (TV), tomarcus, warnings for source-level religious imagery and exorcisms. Read on ao3! Part 1 <- -> Part 3

Having a stranger in his home should be violating.

The gruesome photos of those people—those children—bloody and abused dance vividly behind his eyelids. Marcus has witnessed that, played a hand in it. Tomas doesn’t believe that there are demons in his head. But he has never heard God's voice before. How was he to know what His will sounds like?

He almost tripped over the too-large shoes by the front door. His DVD collection is in disarray atop his tables.

Marcus turns his stomach. The man knows too much about him, knows too many secrets about the world that Tomas was supposed to be an authority in. He paints sacrilege in his Bibles and recites scripture as though he understands it more than those that wrote it.

He'll blame God for why the sound of the kettle, never used before today, whistling in his kitchen was so sweet to his ears, or for why the sight of eggs he never bought sitting on the fridge shelf made him smile.

(Tomas wonders if Marcus had been dreaming about him too. It was impossible that he could have captured his likeness in charcoal so well just from the scant hours he’d known him.)

Marcus tells him about his father and mother. Marcus tells him of a childhood purpose and how it bled into decades. They preach together, but it feels more like prayer.

So Tomas grabs a spare pillow and comforter from the linen closet in the corner of his room. Jessica’s letters are buried underneath tea towels he’ll never use on the bottom shelf.

He thinks of the boy, Gabriel. Blood and boils and broken teeth. Corrosion a sheen on his yellowed skin, life placed in the hands of a stranger. Violated, failed. He can still hear Marcus’ tears, the man’s own voice saying that he wasn’t fit.

Tomas holds out the bedding like a peace offering. “It’s not your fault,” he murmurs, “the boy in Mexico City.”

Marcus looks up at him, eyes searching. It isn’t the impish once-overs that Marcus had given him when Tomas first found him in his apartment, the ones that had burned Tomas’ skin warm like fire. It isn’t either the pitying glares he’d thrown at him on the streets earlier, disappointed about Jessica and relentless on his high-horse. The way he was looking at Tomas now meant something new, something he couldn’t yet translate.

Marcus swallows. He accepts the linens with the shadowed lines of a small smile. Tomas wants to know everything about him.

Sad-eyed blue, Tomas thinks, and walks away.

He sleeps easy and gentle, without dreams.

[saioumaarchive]

Amidst the chaos, there’s only one person in the room—lying face-down on the bed with the open trunk by it. “O-Ouma-kun?!” The boy on the bed raises one hand without looking up in an uncharacteristically half-hearted greeting, then flops it back down on the bed lethargically. Saihara sighs, relieved, and walks over to the other side of the bed, sitting down carefully. It’s a difficult task, considering the bed is just as disordered as the rest of the room, but he manages to find a spot not already occupied by robes, books, or his eccentric boyfriend currently face-planting there. “So, uh… I take it packing isn’t going well.”

~ kokichiouma, “Sentimental Value”

Kokichiouma’s better known for “Reaching”, but it’d be a shame to overlook this fic. “Sentimental Value” is a Hogwarts AU, set at the end of Shuichi and Kokichi’s final year at the school. Kokichi’s decided he’d like to stay there forever, so the two of them reminisce about their adventures through the years while Shuichi tries to help him pack his bags. It’s a wonderfully lighthearted story, and the author fits the Danganronpa characters seamlessly into the Harry Potter universe, mischief and eccentricities included. Definitely worth the read, and it's got a hefty word count that’ll keep you satisfied for a long time.

Rated G 17,766 words, one-shot Published 21 June 2017

~Mod Ice

[coolpapyton95]

Calm in the Storm

Series: Undertale LGBT Pride Month 2017, Part 1 Rating: G Words: 549 Warnings: none Relationship: Papyrus x Mettaton Read on AO3

Thunderstorms are one of Papyrus's worst fears. Fortunately, he doesn't have to face them alone. 

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Papyrus shuddered as harsh rain beat against the windows. He was cocooned in all the blankets on Mettaton’s bed, trying to shield himself from the howling midnight thunderstorm outside. He flinched at every flash of lightning and curled up more tightly at every crack of thunder.

Since moving to the surface, Papyrus had figured out one of his worst fears. He had never experienced a weather system so loud and overwhelmingly large in the Underground, and every sound was murder on his overly-sensitive hearing. Normally he would retreat to the basement of his house and put on his headphones until it was over, but Mettaton’s penthouse didn’t have a basement, and Papyrus hadn’t brought his headphones.

Mettaton was asleep next to him. Papyrus wanted so badly to wake him for comfort, but he didn’t want to disturb his boyfriend so late at night.

That ended up not mattering, however, since the next crash of thunder shook the entire apartment complex, scaring the robot right out of sleep mode.

He blinked, staring around confusedly until he saw Papyrus sobbing with anxiety. “Papy, dearest, what’s wrong? Is it the storm? Why didn’t you wake me up?” he demanded alarmedly, sitting up and taking the skeleton’s face in his hands.

Papyrus wiped his eyes fruitlessly. “I-I’m sorry, Metta, I just—it’s all too much and I didn’t want to bother you when you had a long day at work today and needed rest—”

“Oh, darling, please, it isn’t a bother at all to help you.” Mettaton kissed his forehead. “I’ll fix this for you somehow, baby. Hold on.”

Mettaton turned on the bedside table lamp and looked around hurriedly for a solution to the problem. He spotted his walk-in closet door. What was it Alphys had once said about fabrics and clothes? That they could help deaden noise, that was it! “Come here, honey,” he whispered soothingly as he pulled Papyrus out of the blankets. He kept his arms around his boyfriend as he led him into the closet and sat him in the corner amongst his clothing. “Stay here a minute.”

Papyrus was perplexed and frightened, but he listened. He watched as Mettaton dragged in the pillows and sheets from their bed and made some sort of nest out of them on the floor. Then the robot brought in his computer and turned on some gentle jazz music.

Papyrus crawled into the blanket nest as Mettaton shut the door tight and dimmed the lights so the room was softly illuminated.

“How is this, Papy?” Mettaton asked as he dropped down next to him.

“S’lovely,” Papyrus murmured faintly, his fear already fading away. The clothes in the closet really did help to cushion the sounds outside, and he could no longer see the cruel bolts of lightning that forewarned of torture to his eardrums.

“Would you like to watch something, or talk, or just sleep?”

“Just—just sleep, I think.”

Mettaton scooted under the blankets and pulled Papyrus flush against him, the skeleton’s head resting on his chest. Papyrus focused on the gentle hum and soothing vibration of the robot’s metal body until he could hear nor feel anything else.

“Thank you for everything, Mettaton,” he whispered.

Mettaton kissed his skull once more. “Anything for you, dearest. I’m always here for you.”