#Writing with Splash

[zarawest]

Enrich Your Writing with Onomatopoeia

Has anyone ever told you to add more sound-based sensory language to your writing . . . AND then said, but don’t use the words hear or sound because they are overused? Well, it has happened to me, and here’s the solution I came up with. I discovered that many verbs not only describe a motion, but also indicate the associated sound. These verbs are called onomatopoeia. There are plenty of them to…

[splashesdarling]

[milky-fixx]

toshiro hitsugaya + "beach"

900 words. fluff. adult!toshiro just being a Mom at the beach, but also a simp. idk he’s just sassy.

Toshiro hates the heat, but he likes you. That's how the two of you end up at a beach getaway in the World of the Living. While he had his protests—

(“I have paperwork to catch up on.”

“Let your Lieutenant do it for you!”

“Rangiku? Actually doing her work? Hilarious.”

“You need a break!”)

—you were dead-set on your vacation and had your sales pitch ready.

(“We can eat watermelon shaved ice and build sandcastles, or use your zanpakto to make ice sculptures, or whatever you want! We can walk along the beach when it’s cooler in the evenings."

Not entirely convinced, he opened his mouth to retort when you pulled out your ace card. Your last resort.

“Plus… I may know a way to get Matsumoto to finish her tasks for a few days.”

“…Fine.”)

He was sold.

Truthfully, he did need a vacation. His sense of duty just made him a hardass about accepting one.

Plus... it meant he got to spend more time with you.

Pressing the back of his hand to his brow—it's sticky, with sweat, he notices sourly—he follows just a few paces behind you as you flit about the beach. Despite himself, he feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips at your childlike wonder.

"Look, 'Shiro! It's a crab."

"We should catch one and cook it for dinner."

“Ahh, look how many pretty shells washed ashore.”

They were pretty, but he could think of someone with more beauty.

"Hm. They're nice."

"Do you want to build a sandcastle?”

"You'll get burnt," he says as he eyes your exposed skin.

Of course he slathered on as much sunscreen as he could before stepping onto the beach. Yet you denied his offer to rub some onto you with a wave of your palm, a simple boast of how you simply tan in the sun.

How opposite the two of you are, yet how well you mesh together.

He's been told he’s cold, like the winter personified, like the reiatsu that constantly shrouds him. You're warm, almost burning in intensity, like the summer heat that threatens to melt through him. You're in your element here.

Nonetheless he’s watching you intently to make sure your skin doesn't burn.

Maybe he also just likes looking at you, so carefree. He could just reach out and press his lips against your sun-kissed complexion—

He shakes his head to rid himself of the urge. The heat seems to be seeping into his thoughts. He crouches down, picking up the bucket that you discarded. He takes a moment to note your height difference. Gone are the days when he was considered too young, where you towered over him. Now he can revel in the fact that you have to tip toe just to reach his chin.

"You're doing it wrong," he says as he observes your sand creation. “That kind of castle would never survive the tide."

He helps you, rolling his eyes good-naturedly as you fleck some sand at him in response to his critique. When you look away, he does the same, a sludge of sand slapping your knee. You gasp and he raises a brow.

He used to hate doing things that made him seem too childish, all too aware of how people saw him—as the young, inexperienced prodigy.

Yet with you... he finds your laughter infectious. Whether it's you giggling at the way a crab burrows its way into your castle, or even at how he gripes about the heat.

He finds he doesn’t mind indulging in these juvenile activities. When it’s with you.

You venture towards the shore in search of seashells as Toshiro pats more wet sand onto the base of your castle. It's only when you call his name triumphantly that he looks up.

His eyes widen.

Not because you're proudly holding up a conch, but because the tide is hurtling towards the shore behind you, threatening to engulf you.

You don't seem to notice.

"Watch out!” He’s moving before he can even speak, managing to grab you before water crashes onto the shore.

In a flurry of waves and movement, the both of you fall onto the sand, his arms cradling you to him. Water threatens to invade his nostrils but he exhales roughly. He nearly swallows a mouthful of it before the tide recedes.

And then he’s propped over you, on his hands and knees, water dripping from his hair onto you, the both of you sopping wet. You cough up some seawater, but you're fine. Toshiro's brows furrow.

"What were you thinking?" he says tersely.

You could've died. You worry him sick. He takes his eyes off of you for a few seconds and you nearly die.

"Were you even looking? You could've drowned—”

He's not sure who leaned in first, but the kiss interrupts him. Despite himself, he can't refuse, clutching you closer to him, pressing his lips against yours insistently.

You taste like salt and the sun and he wants you so badly.

But he also wants to keep you safe.

The two of you break apart with flushed cheeks and short breaths, and Toshiro huffs, pressing his forehead against yours.

"You're ridiculous, you know that."

"Yeah, but I'm your type of ridiculous."

Your giggle breaks off into a gasp as another tide washes over your bodies, this time gentler.

"That's it." He grumbles, jerking back his slicked hair as you cough up more water. He gets to his feet, reaching out a hand for you. "We're drying off."

[s0fter-sin]

retired ghoap going on a renovation competition show

ghost takes over the budget and he's ruthless with it; tracking every paint swatch and piece of lumber down to the last cent, haggling for every purchase and making the most of their coupons. soap's in charge of design; he can visualise floor plans better than anyone, seeing the completed spaces in his mind when they’re little more than a steel shell

they run their site like a military base, treating their builders like rookies; expecting them to follow orders but also waiting for them to inevitably mess up so they can fix it

they're an immediate shock to the judges; they fully expected them to have no idea what they're doing, to have no understanding of style or trends, but they didn't sign up just for shits and giggles

they know how to hit a brief and can do physical labour faster than the actual builders. with soap's discerning eye and ghost's practically, they design gorgeous rooms and become a real threat for the prize money. they handle the stress and sleepless nights like it's second nature bc really, it is; a few all nighters painting are nothing compared to being shot at

they also take great joy in messing with the other couples

it takes a while for them to figure out they're even married; they argue like it's going out of fashion, never holding their opinions or frustrations back but it's their love language as much as their banter. you can hear them barking at each other from across the site; callsigns and “It” and “sergeant” thrown around just like in the field

the challenges are where they have the most fun

the day to day? that's work; they're strict, both with themselves and the schedule, never letting anything fall behind or go incompleted. but the challenges? that's play time. they love pushing the brief, toeing the line of the rules purely bc they can

they get to a two part art challenge and ghost's scheming before before the host even opens their mouth. part one? one half of the couple has to design some kind of art piece that will feature in their house. part two? the other person has to gather supplies and tools and make the art

there's a time limit for how long they can take to gather the supplies; once it's up, they can't go back for more and they can only use what they can carry themselves to their station. they're in a warehouse filled with scrap and paint and tools, the choices almost overwhelming

ghost politely interrupts the host to ask for a clarification; absolutely anything in the warehouse can be used so long as they can carry it?

the host confirms; anything under the roof is their's to use

ghost thanks them and steps back in line, standing at attention and waiting for round one to start

ghost volunteers to be the one to do the art, shocking everyone since soap is well known as the artist of the two of them. but soap sees the mischief in his eyes; he knows he's up to something and can't wait to see where it goes

the timer starts and ghost immediately shucks his hoodie and gets to grabbing; stuffing the impromptu bag with everything he recognises from soap's own supplies. there's seconds to go when he bolts for soap, throwing him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry

the other couples are pissed and call it cheating, trying to get them disqualified

ghost just shrugs, soap still over his shoulder, "they said we can use anything we can carry. i followed the brief"

soap just laughs like a mad man

they win the challenge by a landslide

everything's going smoothly, they've won enough room reveals that they’re in a good financial position, they’re ahead in their current room and in a great headspace

then soap gets injured

it's an honest mistake, a part of the roof they thought was stable collapsing and hitting soap

and ghost, always calm and in control, panics

he's on the other side of the site when he hears soap cry out and goes running; shoving past cameramen and builders, screaming to know what happened before he even sees him. he finds soap on the ground, blood dripping from his temple and it's too familiar; a thing he sees in his nightmares

he doesn't know what to do with all his fear so instead, he channels it into anger

he goes off on all his builders, demanding to know how they could be so useless and careless as to miss the unstable roof; screaming at them in a way he hasn't done since he was on active duty, tearing down a rookie for poor trigger management

all the while, his gentle hands tend to soap; checking the wound, if he's concussed, soothing him before he can slip into a flashback of his own. he growls at the cameras, doesn't let the onsite medics anywhere near him; he doesn't know them, doesn't trust them with his johnny. it's only soap's gentle convincing that makes him step back, that forces him to stop and breathe; glaring the medics down from soap's side as they check him and come to the same conclusion soap already reached

he'll be iust fine; a few stitches and he'll be right back in it

ghost goes with him to the hospital to get the stitches laid, abandoning the site to their terrified builders to look after. it takes a few days before he can handle them being separated again, can't even handle one of them going shopping while the other site manages

but soap doesn't begrudge him for his clinginess, not when he knows it's rooted in the fear of losing him. he just keeps him close and calls him his good luck charm when they win the room reveal that week

[missingn000]

hey all! i wrote a what-if character study & action fic for if king fought sanji instead of zoro during the raid on onigashima. i'd really love if you gave it a read! thanks so much!

link

playlist

happy reading!

[ndostairlyrium]

[x]

[no-where-new-hero]

omg I need your thoughts on the terminally o line author culture bc ngl it makes my eye TWITCH, there are authors I deliberately avoid even tho I've heard their stuff is good bc they're like that 🙈

HHHHH oh good lord, okay, from how I see it, there are two angles on this, both aggravating and sad: the official decree one and the spontaneous ecosystem one.

The officious one is that the nature of publishing nowadays demands an author have an online presence. You need Twitter/X. You need to let every potential reader know your book is coming out. You need engagement through reviews and pre-orders incentives (if you buy now you’ll get a special keychain!!) and word of mouth assurances from your peers that yes your book is as cool as you say it is. You need a newsletter with links (more buying! more voting on lists that are simply popularity contests!) and promises you’re still working on the next thing, don’t forget about me in the morass of everyone else doing the same thing. You need an Instagram and TikTok now to post pretty pictures and videos because one or two authors made it big off this kind of promotion and now everyone thinks it’s the ticket to the bestseller list (sadly, it seems to be working). You need an OnlyFans (a joke but I do recall a twt spat that was a joke/not joke about how rupi kaur will always be more beautiful than her critics and people who took issue with the conflation of beauty with talent). At the end of all this, you’re basically an influencer, a content creator creating content for the content you should be focusing on creating, the finished novel. And the novel itself seems to be disappearing behind the masks used to promote it (fanfic-style tropes, moodboards, playlists, memes) until I now no longer trust the book that I’ll pick up to have any resemblance to the enticements that brought me here. I’ve seen an author or two complain about the stress all this self-promotion generates, but it’s become such an entrenched part of the industry, I think people just accept it. And thus spend too much time online hoping that if they tweet just a little more, produce just one more reel, maybe that’ll be the difference between a sale and no sale.

The other side of this, distinct but obviously connected, is the ecosystem created by this panic of being perpetually visible coupled with the fact that so many of the new authors came of age during the rise of internet fandom culture. That opinionated community mindset that blurs the line between anonymity and friendship is the lens they bring to their own work. I mean, it makes sense I suppose—if you love yelling about characters and words, why wouldn’t you do that once you start to produce your own? This really came home to me hearing about that reviewbombgate “scandal” and how people involved were in reylo circles and that was used to provide receipts. You’re interacting with your readers and peers about your intimate work but they are also all strangers. They will not always give you the benefit of the doubt, and now—as opposed to the past when maybe the worst that could happen was a handful of bad reviews in newspapers—you will either be tagged in hate reviews, sub-tweeted, explicitly called out, demanded to atone for your sins. It’s no longer the morality of consumption but the morality of production. Of course, the easy answer is just log-off, touch some grass. But that can work only when you and everyone else are separated by anonymous accounts or when you have no platform to maintain. As an author trying to make your livelihood from this, suddenly it’s do or die. We’re in a strange moment of authorship bringing the Internet’s echo-chamber and claustrophobic into the real world (this is a lie: publishing now is no longer the real world. But it looks like it) and thus you can kind of no longer escape things.

Will the average reader who isn’t aware of all these machinations care about reviewbombgate? Would a reader browsing at Target think about the controversies around Lightlark? Very likely not. But the impression I’m getting more and more is that the average reader isn’t the one buying all the books. Or shall we say—a bestseller’s status relies on bookstore stock. Bookstore stock is only huge when they know a book will be a good investment. They’ll only know a book is a good investment if it and its author has street cred based on booktokkers, bookstagram, bloggers and reviewers (have you noticed how many books out these last maybe 1-3 years have these kinds of accounts thanked in the acknowledgments? Yeah), and THESE are also chronically online people who will Know. And decide the cast of fate.

Honestly, @batrachised, I see why you avoid these kinds of writers, though I wonder how long it’ll be before the disease becomes epidemic.

[ohimtherebabey]

big day for people who never developed new interests after 2008. frank iero reverb store. fall out boy single (that mentions the black parade). petekey amazing new mexico sunsets anniversary.

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

y'know what else i'm thinkin about?

splash! au steddie where steve meets the merman that he would swear up and down was real when he was little; the little merman he'd see every time his family would visit the coast.

steve, who moves permanently to that (now much bigger, touristy-adjacent) town and runs into (no, literally, smack into) a fully naked (very handsome, holy shit!) man when he's on his way to the little shop he runs on the coast early one morning.

steve gives him his sweater and shuffles the softly smiling (vaugely familiar???) man to the shop and gives him a spare set of clothes that he'd had there from the remodels he did a couple years ago.

the man follows steve around the shop all day, poking around the books and tchotchkes the shop sells, listening to the tourist stories steve tells him, never speaking, until steve closes up early, taking him just outside town to get him some more clothes and such.

at one point while at the store, the man wanders away and steve panics, eventually finding him gazing wonderously at all the screens in the 'home entertainment' section, completely entranced by the multiple screens playing MTV and blaring music through the speakers for sale as well.

He tries to explain the non-speaking-ness of his new friend to the employee trying to close up their part of the store when the man suddenly speaks, "Hi Steve, how was your day?"

The employee ushers them out and the pair leave, walking back into town. Steve asks, "So what's your name, anyway? Did you learn it from the TV?"

The man rolls his eyes, "I had a name before today, sweetheart."

Steve's stomach flips at the term of endearment, assuming it's just a product of whatever commercials he may have seen today, maybe he thought it was a normal thing to call your friend..they are friends, right?

"O-okay, what is it?"

"It's kinda hard to pronounce in english,"

"Try me, I wanna know."

The man gives him a look, but does, squealing out something more suited for something living in the tanks at Sea World than for a person.

He grimaces at Steve's bewildered look, "I told you."

"Uh.. yeah. Well hey! That's okay, we just need to find something else to call you."

"Like what?"

"Well lets see.. There's Andrew?"

"No.."

"Joseph?"

Another no.

"James? Isaac? Brad? Seymour? John?" more and more names and 'no's until they're nearly home (and no closer to a decision). "Wayne maybe? Where are we... Ah! Edmonton." Steve mutters to himself. Only a couple more streets to go.

The name 'Pablo' is on the tip of his tongue when he's stopped by "Edmonton! I like that one."

Steve snorts out a laugh, "Edmonton isn't really a name, it's--" he cuts himself off this time, seeing the horrible kicked puppy look on the other man's face. "Hey, no, okay, Edmonton it is! We'll call you Eddie for short!"

Eddie grins at him so bright and sincere in that moment, that Steve can feel it hit him, and snap something into place inside him.

He's going to fall in love with this man.

He can feel it.

[biteofcherry]

Getting caught in a downpour with Bucky, by the time you guys make it to shelter your little sundress is clinging to every curve and your nipples are showing and you're soaked

Meanwhile Bucky is like 👀👀

This may have turned not the way you expected, sorry 🙈

A splash of courage

Bucky Barnes x female reader

warnings: none! 😱 a tiny dose of nudity and a hint at smut, but overall it's just pure, sweet fluff

word count: 2.1k

Though the day started sunny, hence your choice of a sweet, flower-patterned sundress, the sky bore strokes of gray clouds when you exited the library. 

It was still warm, the slight breeze tickling your skin with a lick of early summer heat. You hoped the wind would chase the clouds away, too. At least until you get home. You needed this day to go as least catastrophic as it could.

It would be the first time Bucky visits your place. 

To ease your anxiety and make both of you feel more comfortable, you agreed on spending the afternoon together. Bucky wanted to cook lunch together and maybe watch something. Keeping it in the broad daylight meant less stress at the prospect of spending time in the intimacy of your apartment. 

Though you craved intimacy with Bucky. 

He was sweet and caring, flirtatious enough to have your heart racing and your fingers helping you out at night as you thought of him; but he was never too pushy. When you visited his place - which he shared with his best friend, Steve - Bucky kept himself close enough that his warmth accelerated your pulse, but made no move to push your boundaries. 

Oh, he made no secret of the fact he was into you. That he wanted the kisses to lead to more. That he wanted to kiss not only your lips, but other spots on your body. 

“Mhm, doll, I wonder if you’re as sweet all over.” He murmured after parting from your swollen, kiss-reddened lips, his hand stroking your upper thigh.

That need grew in you as well. The first few dates he took you on were a dizzying rush of excitement and romanticism. The more you met casually, on a daily basis, the closer you drifted to each other. Your touches became bolder.

You were still shy about making the first move, however.

Compared to Bucky, you had very little experience. It made you feel awkward at times, especially when Bucky seemed so smooth and confident in sexual matters. 

Asking him over to your place was your first step of your own courage to someday (soon, you hoped) ask him to touch you all over. To ask him to make you come. Just like you imagined when you used your fingers, or your small, cute vibrator. 

For now, you focused on the sweet afternoon you were about to spend together. However mundane the things you did were, Bucky’s company never failed to improve your mood.  

You trotted down the library steps and looked around, searching for him. Bucky was supposed to meet you in front of the library, on his way back from the gym. 

You looked for him among the colorful crowd of people that passed by, some students mingling around the stairs, a few tourists taking pictures. Your head jerked up when you heard Bucky calling your name. 

A smile instantly beamed on your face upon seeing him. Your step gained a little bounce to it as you walked towards him. 

“Hey, doll.” Bucky’s broad smile radiated sunshine that was currently seeping through thickening layers of clouds. 

He put a hand on your waist as he leaned down to give you a greeting kiss. A soft, lingering peck that evoked butterflies in your stomach.

His hand found yours when you pulled apart, fingers intertwining in a gesture that became easy and natural for you over the past weeks. Bucky readjusted his gym bag over his other shoulder and playfully tugged on your hand.

“Ready?” It melted your heart that he checked in with you every step of the way, making sure you were comfortable with things even as simple as spending a day cooking and being lazy on the couch. 

“Yes, Bucky.” You replied, matching his steps as you walked across the street. 

A rumble of thunder boomed over the treetops when you were strolling through the park, interrupting your conversation about a book you were currently reading and which Bucky already finished a few weeks ago. 

“Crap, we better walk faster.” You laughed nervously as you glanced up at the dark sky peeking through the branches. 

“Don’t lose your sandals as you try to match my steps.” Bucky teased, but his hand tightened its hold and he pulled you closer to him. 

Rain poured down less than three minutes later, catching you in the middle of the park. You squeaked as cold, heavy drops splashed across your body. Water trickled between your joined hands, making your palms slippery. Bucky squeezed your hand tighter, but didn’t let go. 

“Come on, let’s hide in the gazebo!” He pulled you with him, the both of you now running across the grass toward a round, roofed shelter.

A few people already hid there, shaking and muttering quiet curses at the weather. You and Bucky jumped inside with laughter; yours more breathless than Bucky’s. Perhaps you should join him at the gym in the future, to improve your fitness a bit.

“Hopefully it’s one of those rapid summer storms.” You said, watching the downpour cascade just a few inches from your faces. 

The air still held some warmth, but being soaked head to toe made you shiver. 

You glanced down at your feet, pink nail polish on your toenails chipped in a few spots. Your sandals were drenched, leather turning darker and a bit abrasive against your skin. Your sundress clung to your body, delicate fabric becoming close to see-through as it stuck to your curves. 

Bucky’s gaze, always so attentive, turned darker as he looked at you. 

Drops of water were sliding down your neck, dipping into the valley between your breasts. Your nipples hardened, two vivid points drawing attention to your chest as you caught your breath. Pretty sundress, which was short enough it gave him a stroke as you bounced down the library steps, now seemed even shorter - the fabric clinging to your ass and hips, sticking between your thighs. 

His hands itched to run up your legs, roll the sodden fabric off your body and lick the water from your skin. 

Bucky noticed your shiver. As well the way you wrapped your arms around yourself, somehow curling in on yourself.

He suspected it may not be from the cold alone, but from the stares you were receiving from the two men who were also hiding in the gazebo. A flare of anger snapped him to attention. He dropped his gym bag down and crouched to rummage through it. 

“Here, doll,” Bucky offered you his hoodie. “It may be a bit stinky, but it’s dry and-”

You took it from Bucky’s hand without hesitation. It was thick, but so soft you nearly moaned in delight as you put it on. The sleeves were too long and the size of it swallowed you, but it provided instant warmth.

And it smelled of Bucky.

“Thank you.” You sighed, smiling up at him. 

You went on your tiptoes to give him a kiss; one of your hands resting on his chest, the other weaving into wet ringlets of his hair at the back of his head. 

When fifteen minutes later the storm passed, Bucky took your hand again and you raced toward your place. It was better not to risk another rainfall to catch you.

You were both giggling at the squishy sounds Bucky’s shoes were making as he walked up the stairs to your apartment. 

“I hope we don’t catch a cold.” You ushered Bucky inside the warmth of your apartment. 

“It would be best if you take a hot shower.” Bucky dropped his bag by the door, to not bring more water further inside. He took off his water-filled shoes, his socks were completely soaked. 

“I have a dry set of clothes in my bag, so I can change here.” He offered. “I’ll make us some tea, too.”

“Yeah?” You looked at him, melting from his thoughtfulness all over. 

From the way Bucky looked, too.

His shirt was already tight on his broad chest, water made it cling to him, underlining muscles that rippled beneath the fabric. The hem of his tee rolled up on his belly, exposing a stripe of skin right above his jeans. 

A single drop trailed slowly from his navel, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants. 

A few times you had the opportunity to feel what was hidden behind his zipper. When you made out and your thighs spread, and Bucky grinded into you just right, you felt the hardness. Sometimes, afterwards, you laid in your bed and tried to draw the outline of it in your mind, assess its size and girth…

You quickly shifted your gaze back to Bucky's face, feeling embarrassed for staring. Bucky’s mouth was curved in an amused, quite pleased smile, but he made no comment about your moment of daze. 

Like you, when Bucky’s eyes roamed over you in the gazebo; his gaze undressing, betraying dirty, hot thoughts. Which you wouldn't mind coming true.

“Okay, yeah.” You cleared your throat, turning on your heel to save yourself from further embarrassment with an escape. “I’ll bring you a towel!” You called over your shoulder as you opened the door to your bedroom.

With fingers still on the knob, barely a full step inside, you stopped. A thought crossed your mind. Impulsive, a little reckless perhaps, but you couldn’t shake it off as it unfurled along with heat in your belly. 

You swallowed nervously and slowly turned back around. 

You walked up to Bucky, holding his gaze. Toe to toe, you stood there in front of him. With surprisingly sure fingers, you pulled the hoodie off of your body and tossed it aside. Leaving you standing in a soaked dress, with every line of your body visible to Bucky’s hungry gaze. 

“I think-” you started shyly, but adamant on not cowering- “we should take a hot shower together.”

Bucky’s eyes glinted with cold fire. His gaze remained on your face as he moved his feet wider apart, standing so much closer to you that you felt the heat of him graze your skin. 

“Are you sure, babe?” With how low his voice dropped, you knew it took a lot of his willpower to not be touching you already.

As an answer, you took the drenched sundress off in one smooth motion. 

Letting it drop to the floor with a wet splash, you tilted your chin up and arched your chest forward, boldly displaying yourself in front of Bucky. Pink lace of your bra and panties was equally soaked. 

You were becoming wet, too. Especially at the prospect of being naked with Bucky. 

His eyes remained trained on your face a moment longer, before he slowly dragged them down your body. It felt as if every inch of your skin was burning up just from his gaze swiping over you. 

“You’re beautiful.” Bucky murmured and reached out his hand to touch you. “So fucking gorgeous.”

His hand caressed your side, his other arm wrapping around you, hand dipping to spread over your ass. Bucky leaned down. His mouth ghosted across your cheek, warm breath chasing off tiny drops that lingered there. 

When his lips pushed against yours, you arched with a gasp. Mouth parting willingly, allowing Bucky’s tongue in. The way his tongue rubbed against yours urged you to rock your hips against his thigh in a needy rhythm. 

“How about-” Bucky pulled merely an inch from your lips, hot breath mingling with yours. “We take a shower and then dry off in your bed?” 

He kneaded your ass and you groaned, your fingers slipping beneath Bucky’s wet t-shirt. 

“It’s our first time together, I wanna enjoy it thoroughly.” He nipped your lip as his other hand ventured up, fingers teasing the lace of your bra. “Shower sex can be fun, but not practical for a long session I plan for you.” 

“Now you’re just bragging.” You chuckled, pulling his t-shirt up.

“Wait and see, doll.” Bucky snapped the strap of your bra against your shoulder, grinning at your little yip. 

He complied to your unspoken demand when you started tugging his tee upwards, lifting his arms and taking it off completely. Your palms instantly splayed on his chest, fingers tracing lines of his muscles. 

“Come on, baby. Let’s warm up in that shower first.” Bucky grasped your wrists gently, lifting each to his mouth to kiss it. “There’ll be plenty of discovering and touching involved there, too.” 

Bucky picked you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his hips. A surprised laugh bubbled on your lips, shifting into a soft moan as your breasts pressed into Bucky’s naked chest. 

Outside, another thunder rumbled.    

[pyrepostings]

Dangle your tiny whumpee with tongs over a deep fryer. Watch it squirm!

Lightly dip it in, look how quickly it turns red all over!

Flick in water to show how hot the oil is!

If it's immortal or immune to heat, just hold it under! Its screams are silent over the sizzle of the oil searing its flesh!

[hippolotamus]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday 🐝

tagged by the always lovely and talented (and a tad ouchy) @bucksbiawakening @theotherbuckley @underwaterninja13 @wikiangela @jesuisici33

@spotsandsocks @bidisasterevankinard @diazsdimples @elvensorceress @tizniz

@thewolvesof1998 (be sure to check out their snippets and fics if you haven't) (p.s. shameless plug that I'm updating my tag list for tag days, fics, etc.)

SO, James gave me this wonderful gift of a ballet au snippet after I bullied him into suggested it. In return (and since I was already toying with it) I made him some Bridgerton sentences. Follows this snippet. Master list here.

Henrietta and Karen Wilson, along with their son, Denny, are a staple of the Ton. They’re said to be closely connected to Robert Nash and his wife, Athena, though Eddie isn’t sure exactly how. He’s familiar with both families, but hasn’t had much opportunity to mingle with them. If mingling was something Eddie engaged in.  “Hen!” Chimney opens his arms wide to embrace her and then Karen. “How are my favorite hostesses tonight?” Hen and Karen share a skeptical look before Hen turns toward Chimney, raising an eyebrow. “Delighted, Howard. What do you need?”  “Henrietta!” He holds one hand to his chest in mock offense. “Can I not say hello to my two dearest friends?” “No,” Karen and Hen answer in unison.  Eddie stifles a chuckle, drawing Karen’s attention.  “Oh, hello,” she says politely, extending her hand to him. “I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m-” “Karen and Henrietta Wilson,” Eddie interjects, taking Karen’s hand and placing a kiss there before releasing it. “Edmundo Diaz. But you can call me Eddie.”  “I could’ve done all that,” Chimney mumbles under his breath.  “And you can call me Hen.” She offers him a mischievous smirk, nodding towards Chimney. “I’ll forgive you for keeping company with this one. So, what brings you over, Eddie?” “I was hoping you could help me. Or, I suppose, my mother is hoping you can help me.” “Oh?” He gives both women an abbreviated summary of his situation, explaining his ‘need’ to find a wife.  “Well,” Hen taps her chin. “I don’t suppose…” She trails off, glancing at her wife. They share small nods as if they’re having a silent conversation.  Eddie begins to fidget, looking between Hen, Karen and Chimney. Finally, Hen looks at Eddie again.  “Does it need to be a wife? Or a spouse?” “I-” The world around him seems to go quiet, replaced by a loud buzzing that drowns it all out. What would make her think- “A wife. It has to be- a wife,” he stutters.  Karen gives him an almost sympathetic look, like she knows something he doesn’t, then grasps her wife’s hand. “I may have one suggestion,” Hen says, carefully. “Bobby and Athena are hosting someone this season. A... widow. No children of her own. But she is being accompanied by her younger brother who I understand is a bit- protective.” “And persnickety,” Karen adds.  Eddie breathes an internal sigh of relief. A widow could be ideal. Someone who might be able to understand his complicated grief. And it’s not as if Eddie has any liabilities, beyond his mother of course. Charming one sibling should be simple enough.

np tagging @stereopticons @shortsighted-owl @eddiebabygirldiaz @actuallyitsellie @filet-o-feelings

@queerbuckleys @bi-buckrights @chaosandwolves @epicbuddieficrecs @eowon

@fortheloveofbuddie @giddyupbuck @saybiwithme @honestlydarkprincess @hoodie-buck

@indestructibleheart @kitteneddiediaz @thekristen999 @ladydorian05 @lemonzestywrites

@lizzie-bennetdarcy @loserdiaz @loveyouanyway @monsterrae1 @rmd-writes

@shipperqueen6 @spaceprincessem @statueinthestone @slightlyobsessedwitheverything @steadfastsaturnsrings

@the-likesofus @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming @vanillahigh00 @watchyourbuck @weewootruck

@welcometololaland @wildlife4life @your-catfish-friend @a-noble-dragon @mrs-f-darcy

@drowsy-quill and anyone else who wants to 😘

[v1ntagecassette]

Chapters: 3/3 Relationships: Bill Cipher/Ford Pines, Bill Cipher & His Parents Characters: Bill Cipher, Bill Cipher's Mother, Bill Cipher's Father, Axolotl (Gravity Falls), Ford Pines Summary:

Fussy eater, baby Billy / wouldn't drink unless it's silly.

In Euclydia, everything was perfect. Bill Cipher wasn't born the kind of perfect they were looking for. Seeing the stars up above him in a world where Up Above Him didn't exist meant he was in for a lifetime of doctors, medicine, and keeping-quiet-or-else. But what if he could show everybody what they were missing? The stars were Up there. He knew they were. Maybe he could make everyone else know it, too.

Just fit in just fit in just fit in just fit in j

(In which Bill 1.) learns that doctors are talent-suppressing authoritarian jerks, 2.) accidentally commits genocide, and 3.) takes the train to Denial Town in the Theraprism, with a special cameo from a certain Sixer.)

[writergeek]

@batfam-big-bang Chapters: 6/19 Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, Batman (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), New Teen Titans Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Batfamily Members & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & The Titans Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain/Wayne, Stephanie Brown, Duke Thomas, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Kory Anders, Donna Troy, Roy Harper, Gothamites Additional Tags: Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Fic as Social Commentary, Social Media, Mixed Media, Acid Attack, bar brawl, bar violence, First Aid, Field Aid, Permanent Injury, Injury Recovery, injury aftermath, PTSD, Unreliable Narrator, stalkers, (but in the not fun way not in the Tim Drake way), Police procedures, Medical Procedures, (but I am neither a cop nor a doctor nor a nurse - I do my best but I’ll get things wrong), Medical Inaccuracies, Handwaving, Hurt Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson Whump, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, sibling shenanigans, The batkids are siblings and I will die on this hill, mediocre parent Bruce, (he get's better? maybe?), Awesome Alfred, aftermath of Spyral, discussion of past trauma, Implied/Referenced Non-con, (its Mirage and maybe Tarantula), discussions of ableism/racism, do not copy to another site, Angst with a Happy Ending, Batfam Big Bang, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Chapter Summary: Friends and family start to gather, and the real wait begins.

[frokkie21]

yeehaw

[splish--splash--minecraft]

Guardian Angel Grian 👀👀👀

SOOO this is a fun one. Mainly bc while planning/writing I intended it to be a little silly lmao

Basically, Grian is Scar's Guardian Angel. One whom Scar desperately needs, because the amount of times he's come close to death...well. If it weren't for Grian, he'd have died by now.

Which is why Grian decides to go against rule #1 of being a Guardian Angel (never show yourself to the one you're guarding) purely because this cannot keep going. He needs to say SOMETHING.

So here, have a snippet. It's a little silly.

Grian could not believe he was actually doing this. It went against everything he was taught. Rule #1 of being a guardian angel: You do not show yourself to the one you’re assigned to. But he was tired. Scar had had too many close calls in the past week alone. Really, it was only thanks to Grian’s quick thinking that Scar was still alive.  He peeked in on Scar for a moment, making sure he was still in his apartment and alone. If anyone else saw him…it was bad enough he was letting Scar see him. If anyone found out he was doing this… He shook his head. No one would know. Scar would, but he’d make sure he didn’t tell anyone.  With a breath - not that he really needed to breathe, but it helped calm him - he let himself step into the mortal world. He stayed hidden for a bit, watching Scar as he played with his cat, Jellie. After making sure he was in a mostly human-form, albeit with wings, he let himself show to Scar. It took a bit for the man to notice there was someone else in the room, so preoccupied with Jellie he was. But when he did, he jumped, nearly falling off of the couch. Before he had a chance to say anything, Grian spoke. “Do not be afraid. I am Grian, your Guardian Angel.” He paused to see if Scar would say anything, and as he only blinked up at him, continued speaking. “I’m coming here to you because, well…” He frowned. “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you’ve come rather close to dying a few times. Many times, actually. All throughout your life. It’s kind of tiring, honestly, so I’m here to ask you to please be more careful. Look both ways, make sure your oven is off when you leave the house, and so on. Please. You’re running me ragged, here.” Scar still didn’t say anything, and Grian shifted. He knew it might be a little odd to say the least to suddenly see an Angel in your home, but surely he could at least say something. “Oh and, please don’t tell anyone you saw me.” Right, had to make sure he said that. He didn’t know how well it’d work but it was worth a shot.  He shifted again, about to speak some more when Scar finally opened his mouth. “Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven? ‘Cause you’re an angel,” he said, and then winked at him, and… What? “I - yes? I just told you I’m your Guardian Angel.” Surely Scar wasn’t…flirting with him.  “Hmm okay, that one didn’t work. How about…did you fall from Heaven? ‘Cause I can’t help but think you’re an angel sent just for me.” This time, along with the wink, he fired a pair of finger guns at him. Grian blinked at him before raising an eyebrow. “Are you really - flirting with me?” He could feel his feathers puffing slightly and forced them flat. This was…why was Scar doing this? He showed himself to Scar and he immediately started flirting with him. Actually, maybe he should have seen this coming. He’d been watching over Scar since he was born, he knew what Scar is like. He just hadn’t expected Scar to turn it on him.

Scar is so silly I love him