#rating t

[elthadriel]

Codex Week Day 2: Shelter From The Storm

Summary: Sometimes Cody doesn’t know what to do with the weight of his feelings towards Rex. Rating: T Tags: Non-Sexual Intimacy, Established Relationship, Slice of Life, Kissing For @codex-week day 2: Hands and Heart

The durasteel bars across the windows survived the Separatist’s assault and even the 212th and 501st’s counter-assaTult to reclaim the building, but the glass hadn’t been as lucky. After they’d put metal sheets over them, but the fit isn’t perfect and the wind is icy cold where it whips through the gaps. Cody walks quickly, hands curled into fists to protect his fingers, fighting down a shiver. His dress greys are damp from the humidity and a days worth of sweat and struggle to keep the wind out as successful as they had when dry that morning.

The building was a barracks long before they arrived, even if there’s little of the local army left to live in it. The 212th have gratefully taken over the unused space, revelling in the luxury of having a dedicated building without having to build it themselves. The corridor Cody has been housed at the end of is lined with dim orange lights, each struggling to make do with the meager share of the power they’ve been allowed.

Cody stops outside his door, rubbing at his face, pulling himself straight until he feels the stretch up his legs and over his shoulders. Whatever illusion of alertness it gives him fades the moment he relaxes again, weariness seeping back into his limbs and settling like a heavy fog over his mind. He knocks, even though it’s his room, and lets himself in. 

Rex looks up from Cody’s desk, the furrow of his brow smoothing out as the hard line of his frown softens. Cody’s own mouth smiles back before he fully considers the action. Rex looks away again, back to the datapad on the desk in front of him. Cody rubs at his face again. The room is tidier than when he left that morning, Rex having cleared some space on his desk, abandoned mugs gathered in one place if not removed entirely. Half of Cody’s kit is still scattered across his bed, but the stuff on the floor has been moved. 

Read the rest on Ao3

#codex #cody x rex #rex x cody #cody/rex #codyrex #cloneshipping #cloneship #my fic #codex week #codexweek2024 #rating T

[stilesdemonbaby]

Try, try, try again by TheSubtextIs

Summary:

Peter wakes up from his coma a few months early, and isn't sure what to make of the person who helped him. He’s learned better than to trust easily. Stiles, on the other hand, is just tired of the two of them dying. He’s willing to pay just about any price if it gets them another shot at a happy ending.

Tags: Time Travel Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Hopeful Ending, Spark Stiles Stilinski

Published: 2021-12-22

Words: 6,121

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: T

#complete #2021 #words <5k #fic rec #steter #rating t #time travel #Try try try again

[merlinbingo]

No reason to leave (a million to stay) by Sage_Owl Ship: Merlin/Arthur Main Characters: Merlin, Arthur Rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Arthur Pendragon Returns, Teasing, Fluff, Modern wtih magic, Established Relationship Summary: Merlin convinces Arthur he isn't really a morning person after all.

#bbc merlin #merlin bingo #participant reblog #sage_owl #rating t #merlin/arthur #format: fic

[wrenderart]

I’m very passionate about the price of the Costco hotdog

#my art #graphic design #artists on tumblr #im thinking about putting this on a t shirt or tote bag? #also fun fact costco is so committed to the hotdog being 1.50 that its 1.50 in canada as well #the price hasnt been adjusted for the exchange rate #so technically its even CHEAPER here which is insane #anyways i love u costco hot dog. beloved

[waveridden]

balls

#mcsos #sos smp #minecraft sos #solidaritygaming #mythicalsausage #theorionsound #i'm going to transcribe this it's just that every time i watch this video (many times today) i end up crying for real #why did you just read it like a teleprompter you IDIOT #note for the kids out there this one is rated T for Teen. and B for Balls

[josketches]

not to be dramatic but David Tennant sprinting around the TARDIS laughing with joy cured my depression

#doctor who #david tennant #the star beast #10th doctor #14th doctor #donna noble #doctor donna #Catherine rate #russel t davies

[ao3-crack]

(x)

#archive of our own #ao3 quotes #ao3 stuff #archive of our own quotes #fanfic #fanfic quotes #funny #ao3 #ao3 tags #reccommended #darubyprincxx #rated t for trauma #honestly that’s fair #most of my fics #i love my characters #but I also must traumatize them #it’s for the DEVELOPMENT #(and also the drama but whatever)

[theillegalpundealer]

Rating podcast men based on how likely i'd be able to beat them in a fight

Jonathan Sims tma: rat man. he's 90 pounds sopping wet. an angry weasel could easily beat him. i feel like one good punch would do him in he only survived the podcast through sheer stubbornness

Cecil Palmer wtnv: he'd trip on his own feather boa and manage to knock himself out before a single punch was thrown. and if he somehow managed not to do that i feel like he could hold his own for like thirty seconds and then get folded

Arthur Lester malevolent: do you think i have a death wish i would die immediately. it wouldnt even be a fight to the death and i would die within five seconds. this man has killed before and will kill again and i am so so afraid of him

Obituary Writer death by dying: i feel like he could hold his own. like i think it'd genuinely be a pretty equal fight. there is a 50/50 chance id die in some entirely unrelated and mysterious way but he'd write me a great obituary and be a great sport about it

Warren Godby red valley: seeing as warren literally killed a man and went to prison i dont think i could rate my chances all that great here. like he's nice and chill now (mostly) but still. like i dont think id die but he would totally kick my ass

Gordon Porlock red valley: okay i know warrens already there and i might not stand a chance against warren but gordon? he would flake apart like a wet napkin. mans is jon sims levels of pathetic. probably worse. i feel like if you bumped into him too hard he'd disintegrate or something

Sydney Sargent ch&t: i would feel soso bad but sydney is going down. like i would hate it. i would want to give him a piece of bread and butter and send him on his merry way but if i had to fight him there is no way in hell he could win

#these were all the ones i could think of on the fly #but if anyone has more feel free to send them over and ill rate em too #tma #wtnv #malevolent #death by dying #red valley #ch&t #sof speaks

[desceros]

tries to sleep, fails, gets melancholy, copes by writing purple turtle fic donatello/reader, gn!reader, rated t, 1.6k. insomnia, friends to.... friends, (were you ever just friends? are you something more? what is love if not friendship shifted an inch to the left?), yearning, yearning, yearning, yearning—

Donatello is sleeping.

Hefting a fatigued sigh, you hover in the doorway to his bedroom for a moment. Staring at his face, taking it in. He’s gotten unfairly handsome as the years have gone by. Beautiful, even. Pretty angles, sharp defined lines, dark seductive eyes. Like this, unmasked, slack in sleep, it’s free for you to look as much as you want. More than you can during the day. A little secret thing just for your own heart’s keeping.

…Best friends shouldn’t want to stare at each other like this, you think with an ache.

It’s late. You can’t sleep. Lying down has provided nothing but racing thoughts you can’t quiet. Things to do tomorrow. Things to say when you see someone. Things to write down if you can hold them until the morning. Things, things, things. So many things in your head, ten thousand little voices like little snowflakes in your skull. Each small, powerless; but together, a force too mighty to outrun.

And Donnie is sleeping. Normally he’s awake. Fiddling, poking, prodding, studying, twisting, cracking, bending. Available to draw you into sleep. Always soothing, petting your hair, cooing at you until you drift off at last to the dulcet sounds of his low rumbles.

But not tonight. Tonight he sleeps, pretty in his sheets even as he’s all sprawled out and drooling. Cute. He’s cute. He’s cute and close enough to touch but so, so far away that you know you never will. Not like that. Not like that. 

It’s late. You can’t sleep. 

Slowly, not wanting to wake him, infuriated with yourself just at the thought that you’d risked it by lingering as long as you have, you peel away from his door frame and sneak into the living room. The couch greets you again. Inviting, soft. It smells like turtle ass. Popcorn. Movie night. It smells like family, like home. Scratchy beneath your cheek. You’ve been meaning to get them some new pillows. The way Mikey had laughed so hard he’d snorted his drink. Leo’s squawk when it got all over him. The weight of Donnie’s arm on your shoulder when he’d leaned on you while laughing until he got the hiccups. His cologne, new, smells nice. You should tell him tomorrow.

(You can’t tell him. There’s no way for a best friend to look at the other with pupils shaped like hearts and be the same. You can’t tell him.)

Heavily, you sigh. It’s late. You can’t sleep.

You sit up. Get up off the couch. Stretch a little before exhaling and walking around a bit to try and work off some of this excess energy. The darkness of the living room isn’t so much, anymore, what with how your eyes have adjusted. You can see the pieces of the evening strewn about. A pizza box that Splinter’s going to find in the morning and yell at the lot of you for not throwing out. Raph’s teddy bear, leaning against the other couch where he’d been pretending he hadn’t been using it to hide his face in the scary parts. Mikey’s cup, half-full, forgotten in Leo’s panic to find paper towels. And—

—Donnie, standing in the doorway, bleary-eyed, arms folded. 

“Why are you awake?” he asks, voice tumbling over your ears like rocks on a riverbed. Guilt strikes you like a blow. He’s exhausted. You’ve woken him up.

“I’m sorry,” you say as an answer, tangling your fingers in the shirt you’d borrowed out of his closet. The shirt you always borrow. The shirt that’s half yours, now. 

Donnie’s quiet. You sink your teeth into your lower lip and hope he’ll shrug and go back to bed. Maybe, if he’s lucky, he’s got enough sleep juice in him that he’ll drift right back off and forget this happened. 

He doesn’t. “…Can’t sleep?”

The guilt burns your skin like sand in the wind. You smile and pretend. “I’ll be okay. Go back to bed, Don. You need it more than I do.”

He doesn’t. 

“…Please?” you try again. 

You’re met, instead, with a sigh. He rubs the back of his head where his mask would tie if he were wearing it. Lets his arm fall to his side—ah, except no. He’s holding out his hand, palm outstretched, inviting you to come close. When you don’t, his beak wrinkles. “Come here.” 

You take a few steps closer, but don’t take his hand just yet. “What are you doing?”

“Just come here,” he says again, curling his fingers a few times in an imperious grabby command. You come closer. He opens his tired eyes in a squint, mouth dipped into a frown, and his gesture gets more demanding. “Come here.” 

Stepping closer, closer, closer, finally you get within range. You realize he wants your hand the moment he loses patience with you, watching as he rolls his eyes and reaches out to encircle your wrist with strong fingers. They eclipse the bones there easily, tugging as he turns, pulling you out of the living room. 

“Don—” you start to protest, but he stops you with a breath.

“Stubborn,” he accuses, though there’s no heat to the word. The scoff is thick on the back of your tongue—Donnie of all people calling you stubborn—but you don’t let it out, knowing it’ll be too-loud in the pitch night. 

He pulls you into his room, the very room that had been such a sweet siren song to you earlier. He pulls you towards his bed. He pulls you in behind him when he settles in. He pulls you beneath his blanket. He pulls, pulls, pulls, until your chest is flush to his plastron and his arm is around your waist and his breath is in your face and your heart is in your throat.

It’s late. You’re not going to be able to sleep.

“…Go to sleep,” he says after a few seconds, doubtless able to feel the way your pulse is like a hummingbird against his skin. 

“Sorry,” you say in lieu of—anything else. You don’t dare try to say another word, unsure of what exactly would tumble out instead. Perhaps a sweet poem about the texture of his skin against yours. Maybe a lament that he feels the need to tuck his thigh between yours so so so close to where you wake in a pool of sweat dreaming of his touch. Or possibly a whispered confession that tastes like lightning and blood and sugar all at the same time; that you want this but not this, you want this but more. 

Gently, a forehead bonks against yours. Dark eyes open and meet yours, centimeters away. He studies you, and you watch the gears turn. More slowly than usual, lethargic even, because of his slumber. 

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs. Dumbly, you nod. “Need to talk about it?”

“…Yeah,” you admit, then, “…but I won’t.”

He doesn’t like that. A frown mars his beautiful, beautiful face. 

“Why?”

You swallow the incredulous laugh, the kaleidoscope of responses. They’re all irrelevant, impossible to share, save for one. “You should sleep.”

Donnie’s hand tightens, fingers curling in his—your—shirt in the small of your back. “So should you.”

“Yeah.”

“…”

“…”

“…I don’t understand.” The confession, rare, makes you sigh. 

“…I don’t either,” you tell him. And you don’t. Why did you have to feel this way for him? Why couldn’t it be someone easier that stole your heart? Why does it have to be the one person you can’t stand to lose? Why does he have to be so comfortable touching you like this and making it hurt even worse? Why can’t you stop feeling this way?

Why can’t you sleep? Why can’t you sleep? 

His fingers unfurl from your shirt. His hand dips beneath the hem, finding the skin of your back. Slow shivers spread like little earthquakes as he strokes along your spine, tectonic caresses that ripple and destroy. It's familiar enough a touch that you don't stop him; unfamiliar enough that it rends you inside out.

Donnie leans in. Ghosts his lips along your jaw. It’s not a kiss; you’re just friends, after all. But it’s a sweet caress that feels good, all the way to where he lingers at your ear, whispering there, quivering at the touch that's too close to something else to be fair. “Close your eyes.”

You have one rule: listen to Donatello. So you do; you close your eyes, let his nails drag down your back, let his mouth press warm into your pulse, let his chest rumble with churrs that fill the night air with something akin to a lullaby. His legs curl around yours, mixing, confusing, making the separation of you disappear. 

It’s… maddening. You hate this. You love him. You love him so much. You hate that he can do this so easily. 

“Shhh,” comes the gentle coo against your skin, like he can tell you’re pulling away from his intent. You obey that, too. Donnie says to be quiet, so you quiet. Thoughts, movements, words; all of them fall away at his beckoning. “Just like that. Good.”

Good, you think, feeling a little fuzzy. It feels good to be good for him. God. You’d be so good for him—but no. None of that, now. Not when you can pretend that these little presses of his lips are kisses. That the thickness of his thigh pressed to your shorts means something. That his hand scratching lines in your skin is something meant to claim as much as it is to calm.

“Making me work for it tonight,” you hear him mumble, half-conscious of the words, not sure if they’re real or part of a dream he’s built for you. “Good job, sweetheart. Just like that.” 

More brushes of his mouth. A slow glide of tongue. A lovely dream, you think, finally letting your muscles go slack. A dream of a Donatello who would hold you like this, talk to you like this. A Donatello who is more than just your best friend.

It’s late. Finally, warm and held and pulled into a sweet dream, finally, you sleep.

#me slurring with a voice thick with sleep: two best friends that are in love but too close to tell and so they dance like leaves in the wind #forever brushing close. darting about like little butterflies. gossamer wings catching the light and enchanting one another w each breath #but too close. too close. you can't see the scope of a painting when it's the single strokes that catch your eye. #.....................it's almost four in the morning. im sure there are errors but i shan't be fixing them now. have it as it comes #tmnt #rise #donatello/reader #my fic #rating: t

[eyesofshinigami]

You, Here With Me

Rating: T

CW: None

Tags: Established relationship, fluff, mentions of past violence, slight implication of sex

Prompt: From @steddieas-shegoes "Love is protection :heart: :wink:"

WC: 468

Written for @steddielovemonth Day 2

-*-

Steve has never had someone hold him before.

He’s always the one out in front, always the one standing between everyone else and whatever danger they’re facing. He’s the shield, the tank, the buffer.

It’s not like he minds. It makes him feel useful, like he matters. For so long he was wrapped up in himself, if only to protect the soft parts of himself from the rest of the world. It was easy to be an arrogant asshole who thought the world owed him something.

It was easier than admitting he’s a scared little boy who just wants someone to hold him, to put their body between him and the rest of the world.

Steve’s never had someone hold him. Not like that. Not until Eddie.

They’re laying in their bed, in their little apartment across town. It’s not much, but it’s theirs, and Steve wouldn’t trade it for all the mansions in the world. He can hear the crickets chirping, feel the warm beginnings of summer creeping through the space where the window doesn’t meet the pane.

And Eddie is pressed along his back, solid and warm and there.

They’re in that hazy place between awake and asleep, tired from work and sex and lazy from the feeling that comes with sharing space with another person. Eddie is slurring into his ear about his plans for when the kids come over the next day and Steve feels the warmth of his boyfriend’s hands against his stomach. Callused, big, real. Fingers dance along the scars on his belly and Steve can’t think of a reason to flinch away from the touch. They share these scars, proof they lived and protected each other to lay in this bed, together.

Eddie’s body is curved around his, bracketing him. It’s a weight that he lets sink into his bones, helping him drift off to sleep. He’s comforted knowing that when he wakes later, head filled with blood and death and too many images about all the times he’s been put between someone else and whatever is coming for them, Eddie will be there. Eddie will be the buffer, pressed up against him and reminding him he’s safe. He’s loved. He’s kept and cared for.

Eddie will keep him safe. Safe from the dark corners of his mind, from the nightmares he’s lived and the blood-soaked memories he can’t outrun most nights.

“I got you, baby. And you got me,” Eddie whispers, smearing kisses against Steve’s neck. His arms wrap around Steve and hold him tight, and only then does Steve let himself finally fall asleep.

He does. He’ll stand between Eddie and the world, if he has to. But here, in the quiet of their room, he knows he’s safe. And there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

#les writes things #steddielovemonth #steddie #fluff #rating: t

[elthadriel]

Codex Week Day 5: Who We've Been Dying To Become

Summary: Rex makes himself walk closer, but stops still out of reach. He tries to tell himself it's his fear of heights that held him back and not that he’s on Cody’s right side. He could go around to his left, but then Cody will know the tattoo bothers him, and he doesn’t want that. It’s a stupid game. Cody already knows. “Sit down or fuck off,” Cody says, conversationally. “I’ve had enough Rebels looming threateningly over me this week.” Rating: T Tags: Rebellion Era, Clone Trooper Inhibitor Chips, Chip Removal, Purge Trooper Cody, Recovery, Melancholy, Anxiety For @codex-week day 5: Alt prompt The Storm on the Sea of Galilee by Rembrandt, 1633 / Good Morning, Captain by Slint, 1991

They’d stuck Cody in a private room at the far end of one of the corridors of the medbay. It’s almost quiet—a rarity for such a busy base—but that just makes Rex’s footsteps seem offensively loud. He knocks, pauses and then quietly cracks open the door. 

Cody’s room is lit by a single, glaring bulb. The harsh light bounces back off the white walls and floor, chasing away any shadows that might have sought refuge there. It’s unnervingly familiar. 

The bed is empty. 

Rex pushes the rest of the door the rest of the way open, stepping into the room. His heart thuds ominously. It had only been two days since he’d convinced Draven that the pair of guards stationed outside Cody’s room was as unnecessary as it was insulting. If Cody’s gone— If he’s— 

The chip is gone. Cody promised Rex he’d play nice with the Rebellion. There will be an explanation.

Cody doesn’t have much—his black armour had been confiscated along with his weapons—but he’s managed to leave a mark on the room anyway. His sheets are kicked down to the end of the bed, twisted into a tangled mess, dirty clothes falling off the chair in the corner, filmsi struggling to share space with mugs on the table by the bed.  

One of the mugs is new since this morning. 

Rex checks the fresher. It’s as empty as Cody’s room.

Maybe he’d had the chip in too long. Maybe he’d gone back to the Empire. Maybe he couldn’t forgive Rex for taking so long to find him. Maybe he’d—

“He’s on the roof.”

Rex jerks around.

Read the rest on Ao3

#codex #cody x rex #rex x cody #cody/rex #codyrex #cloneshipping #cloneship #my fic #codex week #codexweek2024 #rating T

[stilesdemonbaby]

When it needs fixing by kiranightshade

Summary:

Stiles notices. And then Stiles cares.

Tags: Touch-Starved Peter, Post-Season 2

Published: 2017-02-07

Words: 1,762

Chapters: 1/1

Rating: T

#complete #2017 #words <40k #fic rec #steter #rating t #touch-starved peter #When it needs fixing

[hexiewrites]

sticks, stones, and beavers

happy birthday @thefreakandthehair! this one is for you and our shared highly inadvisable crush on captain ratman himself.

(find it on ao3)

Eddie’s first problem is that he’s at a gay sports bar. It’s not the gay part that’s the problem, though god knows he never wants to drink in a room full of straight people again. It’s not even the sports that’s necessarily an issue, though usually they come for women’s night, and he fucking loves to see the place absolutely packed with ladies who’re so goddamn hype about professional women’s sports. No, it’s not the gay bar and it’s not the sports bar that are the actual issues. (Though, he does want a word with whoever decided to call the place Sticks, Stones, and Beavers because, fucking yikes.) The actual issue is that Chrissy hadn’t realized it was hockey night. And maybe that might have been okay too, except she’d immediately spotted a tall woman with a short cropped brunette bob and went “oh my god, she could snap me in half any day,” glanced back to Eddie to say, “her friend looks fucking hot too, you should get in on that,” and then she’d promptly followed the brunette into the bathroom.  So the problem is that Eddie is in a gay sports bar on fucking hockey night and he’s alone. And even then, that might have been fine. Maybe. It at least wouldn’t have been the first time it had happened. So, he probably would have been alright. If it hadn’t been for the gorgeous man with the perfect hair.

(keep reading on ao3)

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #hockey fan steve harrington #reluctant hockey fan eddie munson #pick up lines #flirting #sports bar pick ups #rated t #my stuff #hex is writing

[cmdrhn]

Ambling by ポッケにコペポーダ

In the office she has freshly inherited, Hange finds a treasure map.

Shingeki no Kyojin・Levi/Hange・37 pages・T

* Please do not remove the source from the caption. * Please do not download, distribute, edit or repost.

#ポッケにコペポーダ #levihan #-rating: T

[loveletterworm]

Words that are allowed to say in Fortnite (Fortnite Festival specifically) (It's like guitar hero but in Fortnite):

Damn

Whore

Bitch

Bimbo

Words that are not allowed to say in Fortnite, and are censored from songs that they are in:

Sodomy

Bitches

The entire phrase "Take the skin and peel it back" for some reason

Ass

This is still being researched

#Also of note is that several songs are not allowed to be played in areas of Fortnite that are marked as rated E or E10+ #but like the normal mode of Fortnite is still rated T and the only reason you can't play songs is because its disabled due to a bug. #I hope it comes back soon. I can't weezer anyone anymore. #mypost

[mppmaraudergirl]

Prologue

James had never lived in a world not torn apart by war. His mother once told him his first cry was like that of a battle cry, that he’d somehow grown used to the sounds while in her womb and come into the world ready to join in the fight. He’d believed her as a child, in the way all young boys were quick to believe, but aging brought him skepticism. Aging brought him many things.

Read on AO3

#jily fic #jily fanfic #jily fanfiction #james potter #lily evans #jple #jily #to bring down a kingdom #rated m #t+i but make it jily #forbidden lovers #betrayal #lets go