#visual writing prompt

[visualwritingprompts2]

Visual Writing Prompt #555

[les-toupies-h]

---> Seule passait la lumière d'août

> Proposition visuelle d'écriture - Photofiction > Photographie de Marguerite Bornhauser

[s-n-arly]

Visual Writing Prompt

While I really like writing prompts, most of those have been text based. Some writers may benefit from a visual and aural prompt.

Here is the same video clip of a light rail train from inside a bar with different music that promotes three different vibes. Use the one that you like best, or write something for all three to see how different they turn out.

Your writing is your own - I have no claim to it.

[visualwritingprompts]

[heywriters]

Everyone who was/is dedicated to tagging Goncharov as "unreality" pls do the same with AI images.

Untagged fake photos are permeating the art, interior design, and now writing prompt areas of tumblr. It gives me uncanny valley ick, so there's probably others who it stresses out more.

Please tag your auto-generated images!

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Whump Vibe/Visual

Caretaker rescuing injured Whumpee from Whumper’s facility. Henchmen combing the halls as they try to sneak their way out. Caretaker pressing Whumpee up against a wall for a moment to hide.

Their injuries jostled in just the wrong way or another wave of pain hits them and Whumpee almost lets out a groan. Caretaker notices and clamps a hand over their mouth muffling the sound as much as they can — apologizing through their eyes.

After a moment Caretaker lets go and Whumpee pants silently. Before they can get moving another wave hits Whumpee and they pull themself close to Caretaker, tucking their face into their shoulder. A hand clutches their wounded side and the other reaches up to grab a fistful of Caretaker’s jacket holding on for dear life as they bury their pained gasps in the fabric.

[eloquent-edits]

🗡️ Analogies for the poetic

similes for describing characters and their behaviors 🗡️ character inspiration

like the sun, radiant and raging against the far horizon, a clear beacon for others to follow

like a panther in the night, patiently stalking its unsuspecting prey

like a trapped bird flitting about, calling out for any help while nipping the hands that try

like a staircase in the woods, worn away by time, building up to something—somewhere—that not even you know

like a tree felled in a creek, uprooted from your home but still holding up to those who walk over you

like the static on old TVs, ever-present and ever-moving, fading to the background

like a cabin in a snowstorm, a comforting mirage as the world clutches me to its icy heart

like the antique vanity resting in the corner, stable in the dizzying array of things that come and go

like a stained glass window, taking the light you see in others and showing them all the colors within

like the glint of a knife, only there when you look from the right perspective

like a cat lounging in a garden, at peace with watching the world pass on

like reflections in a pond, serene yet obscuring what lies below

like a wound that won’t heal, annoying and a reminder of what happened

like syrup wafting through the air, sweet with a touch of familiarity

like the air after rain, fresh with the stench of earth and dew

like my favorite song, an unmistakable tune of nostalgia and hope to dance to

like the nebulae above, a fusion of stardust and the unknown

like a miasma of sulfur and rot, oozing death and corruption wherever you step

like summer, in all it’s stormy fury and welcome firelight

[stealingyourbones]

(No clue if I ever sent this)

While Bruce Wayne was traveling the world, training to become Batman, he meets a young man named Danny Fenton who, after seeing his skill in modern martial arts, he decides to train under him. A few months later and Bruce has improved by leaps and bounds, while Danny is still many leagues ahead of him. Fast forward some years and Batman has been active for many years and his routine is interrupted when his old teacher comes to Gotham on business.

I have heard of so so many versions of how Bruce knows Danny but having Danny be his old instructor is genuinely an incredible angle I haven't seen before.

[exotic-inquiry]

Day seven: Swords

[cuubism]

the better to see you with, my dear | spy hob/king dream au

canon-adjacent, spy!hob, post-character death, blood & violence, king & loyal knight dynamic, slow burn, developing relationship, loyalty devotion and sacrifice, power dynamics, hob gadling - royal spy of the dreaming

Hob escapes from Death and finds himself in the Dreaming. Instead of sending him back, the King of Dreams makes him an offer: will you be my spy?

[cover image from Arthur Rackham's illustration for Little Red Riding Hood]

--

The... person? creature? that dragged Hob from his hiding place in the forest had six arms, and three sets of eyes.

Though that seemed to be on the more normal end of things that went on around here, so Hob wasn’t too fazed.

It caught him by luck, followed him when Hob had made the—foolish in retrospect—decision to sneak into the nearby town to try to learn something about this strange realm he’d found himself in. Curiosity had done him in. His mum had always said it would, when he’d fallen in streams chasing minnows and gotten sick from eating berries picked in the woods. Touch with your eyes, Hob, not with your hands. Hob had never been very good at that.

Up ’til then, Hob had sequestered himself in the forest, keeping to himself and scavenging for plants to eat. He hadn’t seemed to need much food, didn’t get hungry often or lose weight when he didn’t eat, which he supposed made sense considering— well. Considering. But it kept him occupied. Kept him from thinking about it too much.

And he explored the fantastical forest. Its trees broader than he could wrap his arms around, reaching up into the sky higher than he could see. Its grassy dells, with wildflowers in detail and variety he’d never seen, its bird and insect life, its towering waterfalls and quiet brooks. Hob loved the forest. There was something truly ancient about it, something wilder than he could comprehend.

It was almost enough to distract him from why he was there.

But he got too curious. He wanted to know more, he wanted to understand the rest of this world, what realm he was in— so he’d gone searching for people.

And drawn something back with him.

Inevitable, really. Hob couldn’t hide in some place he didn’t belong forever.

The six-legged thing that had caught him was now dragging him across a wide, grassy field, traveling faster than Hob would have thought possible. Its claws dug into his arm, nearly drawing blood. Hob didn’t bother fighting back. He’d tried, once along the way, and gotten what felt like a sack of bricks to the face from the creature’s fist. No use trying to take it in a fight; better to keep his wits about him and look for a chance to escape. Nor did he bother asking it any questions. He’d tried that, too, and gotten only stony silence.

In any case, he was too preoccupied with taking in the scene around him.

Hob had been aware that this place, this… realm, he supposed, had a castle. He had seen the strange silhouette of it in the distance whenever he was at the forest’s edge, had heard occasional gossip by eavesdropping on actual denizens of the realm. But despite his curiosity, he’d steered far clear; the last thing he’d needed was to attract powerful attention.

Now, they were approaching said castle, and Hob let his curiosity run free, gaping up at the towering marble spires. The seemingly endless wings, the intricate carvings, hell, the elevated bridge that crossed the river to the front gates… he had never seen nor even heard of anything approaching its like back in his world. It was like something out of a children’s story, a fairy tale.

Was that where he was? The land of faerie? That couldn’t possibly be good.

Better than death, though, had to be. Hell, Hob would join ranks with the bloody fey if it kept him alive, what did he care where his loyalty lay? 

The palace gates creaked open at their approach, and the creature pulled Hob through into the chill, shadowed rooms within. They stepped into a hall so massive Hob couldn’t see the ceiling or the end of it, but he had barely a moment to take any of it in before his captor was flinging him down onto the marble floor. 

Hob just barely managed to catch himself on his bound hands. He panted, trying to catch his breath from the forced uphill march to get there, hair hanging in his eyes.

"There is no need for the dramatics," said a voice. A voice that seemed to come from the sky above and the shadows beneath his body and from within his own chest, resounding like the perpetual hum of the heavens turning. “Leave him to me.”

In his peripheral vision, the creature bowed jerkily and scurried off, leaving Hob alone with the owner of that voice.

He wrenched his tired head up. He was in an immense throne room, grander than anything he could have imagined, pillars reaching up to a ceiling that faded away into starlight, massive stained-glass windows that cast triangles of red light down on Hob’s face. How there could be sunlight and a night sky up above at once, Hob didn't know, but then, he still didn’t know what this place was. What kingdom he had found himself in. He had been too preoccupied with not getting caught to risk asking.

The owner of that voice was seated at the top of a long, winding staircase, the windows at his back, sprawled on one of the top steps rather than on the throne that was presumably there for that purpose. From a distance, Hob could only really make out the shape of him – the sweeping black lines of his cloak, the sharp angles of his limbs, his dark hair, his unnaturally bright eyes. 

He didn't look like a king as Hob was used to seeing them depicted, with all their gold and finery. But he felt like one, in the way Hob stood at the altar of a church and felt the presence of the Lord.

The King stood, a slow, fluid motion like the rising of the moon. He strode down the steps toward Hob, cloak dragging at his ankles.

Hob could have run for it. There was nobody else in the room, nobody holding him captive, no guards, no retinue. 

It was precisely because of that that he did not. No guards meant the King was absolutely confident in his ability to restrain Hob himself if need be, and more besides.

What the hell kind of kingdom was this?

“Robert Gadling.” The King stopped before Hob, close enough that Hob had to tilt his head up to look at him from where he was still kneeling on the floor. He had a beautiful face, a regal face, imperious tilt to it and all. Eyes like moonlight on winter’s first snowfall.

“Hob, if you please,” said Hob, because he had never known when to shut the fuck up. 

The King’s lips twitched, and Hob had no way of knowing but he would have sworn it was amusement. “Hob, then.” Despite the stone walls, the empty space, his voice did not echo. It was simply there. Hob felt it inside his head, inside his heart. “Would you care to explain to me what you are doing in the Dreaming?”

“The Dreaming?” Hob asked.

The King raised an eyebrow. “You stand in the Kingdom of Dreams, my kingdom. You do not know this?”

“Uh.” Hob ducked his head, abashed. “No? I kind of just... found myself here,” he hedged.

Then there was a hand in his hair, tugging his head back. His grip was strong, and Hob winced. He met the King of Dreams’s eyes again and found the impression of very sharp teeth deep within them. The moment Hob presented as even somewhat of a real threat, he would find those teeth in his throat, he was sure.

He supposed he’d have to try not to be a real threat.

“Only living souls find themselves in the Dreaming,” said the King of Dreams, voice the rumbling growl of shifting ice. “Perhaps you would like to try for a different answer.”

“Alright, alright!” Hob relented, and the King's grip on his hair eased, just a smidge. “Alright. I escaped from Death.”

“Escaped,” repeated the King of Dreams. “From Death.”

“I swear,” said Hob. He would have raised his arms in surrender if they weren’t bound. “That’s the truth.”

“One cannot escape from Death’s grasp.”

"Guess I’m just really determined?”

The King's jaw clenched. “Very well. I will call her, then, and we shall see.”

Dread pitted Hob's stomach, but then the King of Dreams paused in thought, head tilting. He looked Hob up and down, calculating, cleverness spinning in those eyes.

“It takes quite a bit of skill to hide from me in my own realm,” he observed. 

Hob didn't know what answer to this would prevent him getting chucked into the void, and for once in his life, wisely remained silent. 

The King released him, and Hob swayed forward in the wake of his grip, nearly falling. “Walk with me,” he said, and turned and strode away across the throne room, leaving Hob scrambling to catch up. 

He followed at the King’s side, just a step behind, as they turned into a side hall that seemed to unfold from nowhere as they walked. Hob looked at the man—being?—beside him. He was smaller than he seemed, slighter than Hob and almost delicate, but still Hob didn't fancy his chances in a fight. Not here, at the seat of his power. He'd be better off trying to wrestle the sun.

He just kept following.

“I have read the book of your life, Hob Gadling,” said the King of Dreams. It was said casually, like this was a usual occurrence, but a shiver ran up Hob’s spine nonetheless. Unnerving, to think his story was just accessible like that, and so easily summarized. “I did so as soon as my subject caught you to bring you before me. Your life was cut short by violence, but before that, it involved a rather interesting occupation.”

“I… suppose you could say so, my lord,” Hob agreed. The hall they strode down was infinitely long, lined by columns that let in streams of moonlight. Again, with the time of day shifting from room to room. Maybe this really was the land of dreams.

The King hummed. “Relations between the Dreaming and several other realms have been tense, of late,” he told Hob. “I would prefer to avoid war, but to do so requires inside knowledge that I am currently lacking.” He looked at Hob out of the corner of his eye. “For any man who could get me that information, perhaps making use of certain hidden talents—I could be persuaded to make an exception to my usual rule of sending stowaway souls back where they belong.”

Wait.

So Hob wasn’t going to be killed?

“You don’t—” his head was reeling— “you don’t already... have spies?”

The King sighed. “Dreams cannot leave the Dreaming. My ravens can, but they are known across the realms as my messengers, and I would not put them at such risk, besides.”

He did not have to say, I would easily put you at such risk, for it to be heard.

“I did, you know…” Hob said, though he wasn’t sure why he was arguing with salvation, “die in my role, you’re aware. I’m not sure you want a failed spy working for you.”

The King made a dismissive noise. “Your skills were solid. Your commanders were reckless and wasteful. Sending you scurrying back and forth like a courier and wasting your better expertise. The Kingdom of Dreams is not like the kingdoms of men. I do not wage war on petty whims, and I do not waste my resources.”

Something in Hob coiled tight at the thought of being a resource, a tool of this man. Or entity. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves, or anticipation. 

“Before you answer,” continued the King, “it is only fair that you know the risks. The realms that span this universe are myriad, with a variety of dangers. While you would not die, you could be hurt, captured, tortured, imprisoned. Especially if your purpose were to be found out.

“Should you be caught—” the King studied Hob’s face, “you would be utterly disavowed. You are not one of my creations, and I would risk nothing for you, nor claim you; I would deny any association between you and the Dreaming. You may find yourself trapped eternally in Hell. Or somewhere worse.” 

There was somewhere worse? Hob thought.

Still, perhaps it was the reckless brigand in him, but he hadn’t yet heard anything that made him want to pick death instead. If anything, it was all sounding like a rather grand adventure.

“What say you, Hob Gadling?” asked the King of Dreams, with a tiny smirk. He clearly didn’t think Hob was going to say yes. “How far will you go to avoid death? Would you be my spy? My agent in the dark?”

Hob thought it might be worth being trapped eternally in Hell just to see the surprise on the King’s face when he said, “Oh, hell yes.”

[visualwritingprompts2]

Visual Writing Prompt #556

[les-toupies-h]

---> C'était un type très spécial

> Proposition visuelle d'écriture - Photofiction > Photographie de Chris Alleaume

[iphigeniacomplex]

selections from natalie baxter's 2017-2019 "alt caps" series.

Alt Caps explores the culture of online commenting and gender.  Pulling text from reactions to a negative article written about me and my work on Glenn Beck's website, The Blaze, I use sewing and quilting techniques to turn the numerous reactions that question my gender, sexuality and sanity into banners that echo those made by suffragettes or recent protest signs. 

[visualwritingprompts]

[winterspiderpurrs]

" Get the car now!"

More gunshots rang out. Three men were running down an alley, the tall blonde pausing to snatch up and lift the older gentleman to carry him bridal style to protect him from the stray shots. The older man made a growling sound out of frustration.

" Fuck you Rogers! I don't need to be carried!"

A man behind the pair fires off another shot, the sound of glass breaking. The driver in the car slumped over, the car was turning and crashing into the wall once it spun out. The other men in the back of the car scrambled to get out.

Another car speeds up the alley facing the men running toward it and stops just long enough for the trio to get in. The blonde practically toss the older man in.

" Happy get us out of here!"

Tires screeching as the car goes into reverse and backs out onto the street.

" What happened? We need the doc?"

Tony is fuming. It's been a while since someone has tired to double cross Him. And in such a sloppy and public way.

" Friday, scan all signals, any video ctv radio transmission nionitnin the bud, file away for my eyes online so I can analyze late"

He throws his phone at the blonde " What is your problem? I had it handled! You know it will be seen as a weakness when word gets out. Fucking bridal style? I ain't a princess Steve."

Sighing the blonde picks up the phone and tosses it lightly on the empty seat next to Tony. " Boss. I know but you didn't see the blinking green light on your forehead from the sniper. This... was an unexpected move... thank God for Bucky"

Bucky snorts from his seat next to Steve as he types away on his phone. " Clint took out the sniper on the roof. Natasha is going to find out who set this up as we lay low. Best to hide away for a few since this was so public... only going to the Gala tomorrow night and back on lock down."

Happy makes several more turns. Driving away but to no certain destination. " Lake house?" He questions.

Adjusting the cuffs on his jacket, Tony looks out the window. " To far away.. I'm not hiding but we need to lay low.... take us to Warehouse B."

If you were paying attention you would have noticed Happy's eyes widen be he nods his head. He puts up the privacy partition. Steve stares at Tony for a moment, glances over at Bucky then back to Tony. " I trust Bucky... but are you sure.."

That causes Bucky to pause and look up and glance between the two before eyeing Tony. Tony was fidgeting with his watch and his wedding band before nodding. " It's fine. If it gets out we will know why. " Tony raises an eyebrow as he stares Bucky down.

Bucky was newer to the group. Only in the sense of actually all three of them working a deal. Bucky had a civilian life. He was the owner of half the gun ranges and pawn shops in the state. Sometimes, he lets Steve, and by extension, Tony's "group" borrows guns from the shop. He just happens to be with them this time when a meeting went wrong. They wanted Bucky's opinion on the guns that might have been purchased.

It wasn't log til they ended up at a huge warehouse. You can tell that the neighborhood has gone under a major renovation. Happy drops them off down a side alley. Tony stands at the door, pushing a bunch of buttons on the key pad before a door slides open.

Bucky was pleasantly surprised with the layout. The warehouse was converted into a loft. He was still taking everything in when he appeared. He stepped down from what it looked like a roof access point covered in plants, a look of worry on his face. Bucky feels like he has seen him somewhere before. But where?

"Tony? May's cooking still bad?"

" Yeah, kiddo. May's getting more flowers delivered, maybe 2 or 3 bouquets"

You could see the relief on the young man's face before he smiles over at them. It's obvious to Bucky those were code for everything being alright.

" I start dinner then.... How's. ..a.. Pepper and Morgan"

" Fine. Great. Morgan started Kindergarten."

The man nods, finally making his way down the steps to the living room area, turning to smile at Steve and opens his arm for a hug. " Steve! It's great to see you. It's been too long! You should visit more! " Steve laughs and walks over and gives the man a hug.

" I know. Missed you to Pete. I'll try you know Tony keeps me busy"

Bucky glances at Tony and can see his jaw click, a penvise expression on his face. Clearly irritated.

There is definitely a story to tell here.

The man let's Steve go from the hug before tilting his head at Bucky and offers him a smile. He holds his hand out to shake.

" It's nice to meet you. I'm Peter Parker and don't worry I'm not as half as much trouble as this pair" Bucky smirks a little shaking his hand. " Bucky... and don't worry I know this Punk takes all the stupid with him wherever he goes" Nodding his head towards Steve.

"Hey!"

Peter laughs.

Bucky squint for a moment " Hey.. aren't you that..."

Tony rolls his eyes and walks between them to separate them to head to the kitchen. " Yeah yeah he is that singer"

Bucky remembers seeing his photo online as the paparazzi stopped him while he was signing autographs.

"Wow..."

....

Tbc....

Maybe...

[whumpdaydreamerx]

Whump Visual

Whumpee’s mouth falling open after getting injured. Eyes squeezed shut, brows furrowed, subconsciously holding their breath. Time almost seems to slow as they try to process the pain. Finally gasping as the realization and agonizing sensation hits them.