#prompt: boat

[iron-sparrow]

JUNELEZEN 【第 7 天】 BOAT

darling, just look beside you oh, I'll go with you anywhere ♪

feat. @ahollowgrave and @this-is-ris

[kyuyua]

I mean what else should I have drawn for this one?

Seven Holy Nights of Jeremy (Joel Week) Day 2: Obsessions

[hypewinter]

With the GIW hot on his heels, Danny decides the best course of action is to take to the water. Only one problem, he's fresh out of money. Guess it's time to resort to theft. He finds a nice little house boat that doesn't look like anyone's currently living in it and sets to work untethering it. Only to be immediately caught by the presumed owner.

"I was gonna give it back!" He blurted. "....Eventually."

Tim Drake was having such a long night that for once, all he wanted to do was sleep. Unfortunately for him, life has other plans as he gets back just in time to see a boy trying to steal his boat.

[whump-in-the-closet]

the flinch that betrays a defiant whumpee’s terror

the curse that’s broken off by a plea

a small shudder that they fail to suppress

the choked breathing in between the sarcastic comments

what good is their defiance when whumper kicks their legs out from under them, leaving them on their hands and knees?

The blood on the concrete is their own and whumper kicks them when they’re down.

“Do you think I’d forgotten?” Whumper smiles and leans down. “Do you think I’d forgotten how to make you bleed?”

[paperultra]

the liminal space.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 1,575 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol use [A/N: written with the cooper!reader from mise en rose in mind. i don't know where in the timeline this occurs, though. lol.]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms

Living in close quarters can really change how you see a person.

Roronoa Zoro, for instance, had always struck you as rather aloof, having traveled alone for some time before you joined him, and unused to physical affection. He never gave any indication that he was one to enjoy it, and he never sought it out from anyone. That certainly wasn’t odd. You respected his tendency towards personal space, subsequently believing that it extended to his sleeping habits as well.

So when you wake up, hardly able to breathe underneath the hulking mass of a snoring swordsman, you are more surprised than anything.

“Zoro,” you wheeze, patting his back with the hand that isn’t crushed between his chest and yours. Nothing happens, so you swat harder. “Zoro. You’re crushing me.”

His arms squeeze around you as he stirs, inhaling sharply next to your ear. You stop moving as he lifts his head and opens his eyes just wide enough to register you beneath him.

He pauses.

Good morning, sunshine is what you want to say in a cheeky tone. You want to prove that you’re unaffected by the warmth of his body pressing yours into the mattress, the sensation of his breath across your cheekbone and the way his gaze transitions from something bleary into something sharp.

The greeting refuses to leave your mouth. All you can do is blink.

The next thing you know, Zoro’s rolling off of you and out of bed with nary an apology, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

You hum distantly in response and stare up at the ceiling as he shuffles to the door. Once he closes it behind him, you reach up and fold your hands over your eyes, cheeks hot.

Great.

—

It all started because you and Zoro could only afford a single bed at the inn.

(You use the term “afford” loosely here. The truth of the matter is that you grossly underestimated how much a room would cost, and the owner of the one place willing to lend you a room for half the usual rate demanded physical labor to make up for the rest. Given that Zoro would be spending most of his time hunting down a bounty, the majority of the unpaid labor fell on your shoulders.)

(But you digress.)

The room is small and bare, which is fine, because you and Zoro don’t have much between the two of you anyway. The only problem is that there is only one bed. Zoro had expressed no qualms about sharing so long as you didn’t disturb his sleep, and you had readily agreed, not wanting either of you to sleep on the floor.

After the first morning, you’re not sure if that was a lapse of judgement on your part or not.

Zoro doesn’t mention it at all before he leaves for the day, and you don’t, either. However, when he comes back in the middle of the night and you’re already in bed, squinting and shielding yourself from the bright hallway light as he takes his slippers off and walks in, he sits on the carpet just a few feet away from your side.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he proceeds to lay down.

“Sleeping.”

He closes his eyes and folds his arms behind his head. You frown.

“Why aren’t you sleeping up here?” No answer. You lift your head from your pillow, indignant. “Hey, don’t ignore me! I know you’re still awake.”

“I’ve had a long day,” he grumbles, “so I’d like some quiet so I can sleep. Thanks.”

You huff.

The thought that Zoro might actually be just as embarrassed flits briefly through your mind, but you extinguish it just as quickly. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy to be self-conscious about those kinds of things. A more likely reason is that he’s decided that he wants his own separate space after all and can’t be bothered to kick you off the bed.

So, you kick yourself off instead.

“What are you doing?” The phrase now comes from Zoro as you throw the covers off and grab your pillow, kneeling on the ground beside him. His eyes open and his brow furrows.

“Take the bed. I feel guilty.”

“I don’t want the bed.”

“Everybody wants the bed.” You lie down on the carpet and cross your arms over your chest, stubborn. “I’ve already slept in it. Now it’s your turn.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zoro says.

Neither of you budge.

The next morning, you decide that the first morning was in fact not a fluke, as you awake with your face smushed against his chest and the smell of steel in your nose once again. He’s not on top of you, at least, but the way he clutches you while you’re lying on your side, one ankle hooked over yours, is somehow ten times more mortifying. You wake him up in the midst of untangling yourself and pretend like nothing happened.

Who’s the idiot now? (The answer is both of you. Both of you are idiots.)

—

The third night, you and Zoro flop onto the hard mattress with twin groans, heads spinning and feeling overall miserable.

“That was the shittiest booze I’ve ever had,” Zoro slurs next to you, face down in his pillow.

“But you got a lead, right?” you mumble.

“Yeah …”

You had been there in the bar when he’d gotten that lead, but you can’t remember what it was for the life of you. Another inn? Another bar? Ugh, you’re never drinking there again.

“I’m cold.”

There are blankets on the bed. Unfortunately, getting underneath them would require a lot of moving, and you are physically incapable of exerting yourself that much right now.

You shiver and turn onto your side to curl up. You’ll fall asleep at some point, anyway.

Zoro murmurs your name.

“Hm,” you groan, eyes screwed shut.

He doesn’t say anything in reply. But you hear the mattress squeak, the bedsheets rustle as he shifts closer, and your breath catches when the small distance between you closes. He does not wrap his arms around you, no, but your knees touch, and the heat from his skin melds into yours. You hear his breathing slow to a crawl.

Through your drunken haze breaks through a sudden need to draw him into you, to tuck your face into his neck and keep it there forever. You want – you want. But you’re exhausted, and your head aches, so you find yourself slipping into a deep slumber instead.

He’s already gone when you wake up.

—

A suspiciously lumpy gunnysack in the corner of the room catches your eye once you enter, hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Eight million beri,” Zoro says from his seat on the bed. Cleaning supplies for his swords are strewn around him, and he sheathes the Wado Ichimonji as you close the door. “I ran into another bounty on the way back.”

“Eight mill –” You clear your throat. “Wow. That was pretty lucky.” Eight million beri. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever get used to how much bounty hunters can make. (God, that would’ve been more than enough to pay for the room.) “We’re heading out to a marine base tomorrow morning, then?”

“That’s the plan.”

He puts away his supplies, setting them and his swords against the wall near his pillow before standing up to pull down the sheets on his side. You turn off the bedside lamp and do the same, crawling in with a sigh.

The two of you simply lie side-by-side until you decide to break the silence with your big mouth again.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask.

“No.” The plainness of Zoro’s tone is a small comfort, you suppose. “Why are you asking?”

“Well …” You already regret bringing this topic up as you trail off, biting your bottom lip. “I feel like I haven’t really done much. I mean, I help with navigating and searching crowds and stuff, and I’ve been getting better at fighting, but I can’t help you, you know?” You fiddle with your fingers. “You don’t actually need me.”

There’s a gap between you and Zoro that you’ll likely never be able to close. You had always known that, and so had Zoro; in fact, he had told you at the start that going with him was a bad idea, given your inexperience in bounty hunting and traveling in general. And although you’d like to think that your ability to read a map and fix things convinced him of your usefulness, there are times when you think Zoro regrets bringing you along. Like now.

Zoro grunts, turning to lay on his back. His shoulder nearly lands on your hands, and you draw them to yourself as you wait for his answer.

It is brief and straightforward.

“I’m not forcing you to go with me,” he says. “And if you were a burden, I would’ve told you a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

It is brief and straightforward, and yet, there’s a strange lump in your throat. You swallow it and nod, even though he cannot see you do so.

Nothing more is said. However, as the night goes on, you reach out, and you find him, and Zoro finds you, and the space between your arms fills up with warmth and an unspoken promise. And you sleep very well.

[deepwaterwritingprompts]

Text: Everyone in town avoids the beach, from which you can see the ferryboat on the horizon, the one that must not reach land. We perform rituals three times a year, but still it inches closer.

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

we really need more ship whump. ocean whump. stuck on a boat. whumpee going outside at night because there's not really a reason they should be restrained. because all the can see around them is the pitch black ocean stretching into infinity

[babykittenteach]

If you aren't driven to despair by the thought of drawing boats, Ed and Stede cuddled up in the crows nest

Anon, I feel slightly too Seen with that "driven to despair by drawing boats" thing.

[star2stop]

no idea what to do for this prompt so u get the first and probable last jashtober shitpost art lmao

[jiveyuncle]

Thought the fish-cat dynamic would be fun for this one. Plus cats notoriously love water.

So, have a Mer!Lance and Galra!Keith

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 278

You know what I’ve gotten obsessed with and inspired by? Dredge. 

You know what is also fun? Merfolk. What’s even better? Lovecraftian corrupted merfolk. Especially if say, one goes with the Lazarus Waters being a form of ectoplasm. So, in this? Lazarus waters are like lakes, while Amity Park, thanks to the Portal, and the barriers? It is an entire sea. 

There are islands, small areas that were once the tips of buildings that have gathered more landmass around them. There are mangroves, trees not like anything on earth or anywhere else stretching up in canopies dark enough to block out the sun, yet lit by the green waters. 

It goes deep. Mariana Trench deep, despite it being impossible. The GIW have explored for caves or tunnels, they’ve tried to find some sort of explanation, but there isn’t one. 

Now all that ecto? That has an effect on people. They mutate, they change, they adapt. Anywhere else would have been a slow death- something the GIW might have even been counting on. But Amity Park? It was founded by witches, it was the hotspot for the supernatural, even before the Fentonwork Portal. They’ve been dealing with this sort of energy in microdoses from the moment they first began to live in the city in any generation. 

But they begin to adapt. Shift into something… other. Some stay contaminated, clinging to human forms as they form homes on the tiny islands, fishing and farming what they can. Others become Liminal, almost seeming to meld with fish, some similar to ones of the Living and others something just to the left. Similar yes, but not quite… right. And then there are those that have truly melded with the energy of the dead, forms torn asunder by it, ripped apart and made anew by it. 

The first sign back when the barrier was activated, when they could no longer leave and were trapped were the fish in the lake. And now they are the same, with gazes of something Else, with gnashing teeth and a hunger gnawing at where hearts once were. 

But they aren’t monsters. They’re still themselves. Just a little… Other now. 

[tanglepelt]

Dp x dc idea 35

Amity park is a town with an info blackout. They are fed lies regarding the government, the Giw is just apart of the scheme.

When the fentons open the portal. There is fear that citizens will try to leave hence the GIW. They are there to make it seem like they have outside help.

Vlad is fully aware of it. He doesn’t care all he wants is Maddie. The Fenton parents are also aware. They don’t care they just want to hunt ghost. No one expected the Fentons to succeed.

The group planned on doing something with amity. Not to sure what. Something nefarious.

One day Danny overhears this. Him not having the brain cell for the day. Hides in the random persons trunk and leaves amity behind. Literally didn’t tell anyone. Just went for it.

Thus enters a world with hero’s. Dudes shell shocked.

He gets caught up in a fight between a villain and hero actually on accident. Ends up panicking and knocks out said villain.

Hence how he meets a hero and finds out humans are a lot more squishy then ghost. He wasn’t even using his ghostly strength.

He gets help for amity. And whatever the scheme is gets stopped.

[floralcyanide]

Hii, how are you? I was wondering if I could order Joe Rantz's smut? with the prompt marathon session. Thank you so much!!

PS: I love your writing. 💘

𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫!

find this prompt and more, here!

Joe Rantz x Fem!Reader

prompt: marathon session (they just fucking keep going, babyyyy)

a/n: thank you!! I'm glad you enjoy my work (:

If there’s anything you love about your boyfriend Joe, it’s his strive to keep going and persevere despite whatever comes his way. So you waste no time saving to go to the Olympics in Berlin when Joe and his rowing team secure their spot there. You reach your monetary goal and go along with the boys, enjoying every moment. When the team wins the gold medal, everyone is extremely proud, especially you. And you want nothing more than to celebrate with Joe. You don’t expect what Joe has in mind for celebrating, though.

He is beyond hyper from the adrenaline of the win, riding it all day long until he can finally get a moment alone with you. Joe asks if he can stay in your hotel with you instead of the athlete quarters, and you agree, of course. You and Joe have had sex a few times here and there when you’re able to (when he isn’t busy training or practicing.) However, you aren’t expecting how the night is going to unfold with Joe’s sexual appetite. 

The first round is mind-blowing, and you cum quickly. You ask Joe for another round, and he obliges, still pent up with energy. He flips you over into a different position, taking you from behind this time. And God, you could do this all night. Joe is like a feral, unhinged animal with the way he’s snapping his hips forward against your ass as he pounds into you. He reaches his peak, filling you up with his hot seed. You’ve yet to finish, so Joe keeps going despite the overstimulation. The feeling of your wetness and his cum around his cock makes him turned on again, making it easier for him to fuck into you without restraint. You both orgasm together this time, and you’re nearly seeing stars with how powerful the waves of pleasure are. 

But you’re still not done.

When Joe pulls out of you, you immediately shove him onto the bed where you were once positioned and hover over him.

“Time for the Olympic gold medalist to get the ride of his life,” you smirk, running your hands along his chest as you sit on his thighs.

“God, you’re gonna kill me,” Joe runs a hand through his now slightly sweaty hair, a grin on his face.

You hum in response as you slowly sink down onto him, fully seating yourself and remaining still as Joe adjusts to the feeling of you pulsing around his sensitive length. He grips your hips harshly, hissing when you move just slightly.

“Can you take it?” you ask, making sure you aren’t hurting Joe or pushing his limits too much.

“Keep going, baby,” he slides his hands from your hips up to your breasts, palming your sensitive nipples, “I can take it.”

You test the waters by slowly raising yourself off of Joe before slamming back down in a quick motion, and Joe lets out a guttural moan at the feeling of his tip brushing your cervix. You gasp, deciding you want to feel it again, so you repeat the action. Now, you’re freely bouncing on Joe’s cock, not being subtle about how good it feels. Joe drinks in your moans, growing harder inside you. A few more pumps, and you’re shaking as your arousal slips down your thighs. The feeling of you tightening around him sends Joe over the edge, filling you with his cum again. You both decide this is the last round and clean up before settling into sleep. 

Joe may have won the best competition there is today, but he scored the absolute most when you came into his life.

[winterspiderpurrs]

Sam: Why do we only have 2 forks but 15 spoons?

Bucky: Cause of Peter

Sam: What?

Peter: I like spoons better! And I've hurt myself more times then I can count with a fork

Sam: on a fork?

Bucky: I've killed a man with a fork once back in '85

[ikiprian]

Tim Drake’s got a history with cloning. So does Vlad Masters.

Tim is past his “cloning-deceased-best-friends-in-the-basement” phase. Really, he is. But back when he wasn’t, he’d had all sorts of research compiled, on every type of cloning tech ever recorded.

One company, VladCo, had negotiated itself an amount of Cadmus’ exclusive resources to study the interactions between cloned tissue and recently-discovered ectoplasm. The quasi-sentient abilities of ectoplasm, in theory, might help fill a host body with a real soul.

The contract Tim had dug up is frankly insane. VladCo is in no way beholden to share the results of its study, nor does it need to return any of the equipment, and VladCo’s relationship with Cadmus is under a strictly worded gag order. Nobody in their right mind would’ve signed it. Cadmus did, and aside from a few million dollars, Vlad Masters got his machines gratis.

And now, a couple years after the contract was signed, fulfilled, and buried away, VladCo has done a grand total of nothing with it.

The guy’s rich. And a genius. There’s no way all that tech’s been left to collect dust in storage with how aggressively it was acquired. Masters was going to do something with it, and it was going to be revolutionary. (Tim had actually planned to steal into VladCo for notes, before the thing with the Brain, and Cassie finding out, and the intervention that followed… yeah. He’s over it.)

It’s suspicious as all get out. Eventually, though, the whole Masters deal took a back burner to a crisis (followed by a crisis… followed by a crisis).

But now with Kon and Bart back, and a few less things on his plate, Tim thinks the responsible thing to do is finally head a classic Team investigation to Master’s Manor, Wisconsin.

[tunastime]

if you’re still doing the comfort prompts, maybe knowing each other’s tells with boat boys or ranchers? :]

knowing each others' tells (681 words) (x)

Etho isn't used to the Relation being silent. It's the kind of quiet that holds tension in the hollows of it, one he's always been afraid to step too loudly into. He's used to sound, Joel rustling and pacing, talking to the air as they weaved plans, speaking to Etho from across the deck of the ship like he could hear him from below. But as Etho climbs the ladder and swings himself onto the deck, the ship is quiet, save for the steady thud of his pulse in one ear, and the quickening beat of Joel's behind his other ear. He runs his tongue over his teeth as he makes his way down into the belly of the ship. 

Joel is pacing where he usually does, making his track across the wooden floors like he might wear a dent into it. Etho watches the tight line of his shoulders for a beat, eyes tracking the huff of his breathing as he folds his arms over his chest. It takes a moment of surveying for Etho to make his conclusions, and by the time he's stepped forward, Joel has stopped to track him with his eyes. If they knew each other any less, if Etho were any less, strangely, fond of him, it might be scary, the way Joel freezes, dark eyes tracking his movements with a precision only known by predators hunting prey. Something could be said about persistence and hunger and teeth that could bite, but Etho isn't worried about Joel. He knows trapped animals well enough. So he picks his way around the room and starts to piece the problem together. 

"It was Scar, wasn't it?" Etho asks. He's not looking at Joel—he's busy digging through a chest, looking for the other axe he'd made. Joel makes some kind of choppy noise. "You had a good trap idea for later, said it too loud around Grian, and now you're worried Scar might try it just for fun and get them killed?"

"I'm not worried about Grian," Joel says. Joel lies. His voice squeaks. Etho stifles a laugh.

"Okay," he says. Joel makes another noise, and Etho ignores him. "Why don't we make the plan before they get to?"

"I thought you said traps were a waste of time,” Joel says pointedly, dragging his tongue over his teeth. He tries to contort his face into one of disbelief before Etho can catch the fact that Joel is into his plan whole-heartedly.

Etho holds up his hands, still not looking at him.

"I think you're misinterpreting."

“No,” Joel argues. “I’m pretty sure that’s what you said.”

When Etho looks over, there’s a light in Joel’s eye that Etho takes as his hint that he’s been successful in convincing him, despite attempting an argument. A tiny spark of excitement. That slight flicker of recognition, of understanding. Seeing a little of himself in Etho. A tell.

They sit together in the bright afternoon sun, mostly quiet, partially humming and nodding and pointing. Joel follows Etho’s rough sketches with his eyes, mouth curled down. It’s not in disregard, but quiet contemplation. Etho pauses halfway, listening to the double beating of hearts in his ears, waiting for any dissent from his partner. Joel doesn’t say anything, though. He shifts closer, folding his legs. The little shimmer of recognition and pride has grown flame-bright in Joel’s eyes as excitement and anticipation takes over. He feels the phantom tug of unclaimed emotions in his chest—Joel’s, not his—as Joel nods. Their hearts thump away excitedly in Etho’s ears, now in sync.

The only other time Etho sees that flicker of something in Joel's eyes is when he follows him through that nether portal. He feels Joel's grip on his hand grow to a fierce, painful thing as he turns, breath caught in his throat as he tries to shove them both back through. The words are muddled in Etho's memory, but the guilt is clear in his eyes. Guilt, fear, and that flicker.

Maybe it wasn’t just understanding.

Etho doesn’t forget that look for a long time.