Generic Picture prompt (Play how you want)

[thelongcon]

[format inclusive] picture prompt meme

— Comment with your character and any preferences.
— Others will leave a picture (or two, or three...)
— Reply to them with a setting or text thread based on the picture.
— Link to any pictures that are NSFW, please.
— Be aware that this meme will be image-heavy.

Comments

hana song (d.va) | overwatch

[omeka]

Karen Page (Marveltvu Daredevil/The Punisher/The Defenders) OTA

[apenandsomebullets]

*

byleth eisner (♀) | fire emblem: three houses

[hegemonwings]

[ crimson flower compliant by default, open to crosscanon or aus. f/f for anything shippy ]

Sanae Kochiya | Touhou

[deifiedhumanofthewind]

[ OTA Gen, F/F shippy/smutty. ]

Requiem 🧛‍♂️ Requiem Vampire Knight

[enjoyinghell]

[ Open to all, gen, action, NSFW, horror, it’s all good. Feel free to ask for reverse prompts. ]

peter parker, marvel 616

[webshoots]

( ota! )

sutton brady / the bold type

[nobra]

alec lightwood | shadowhunters (tv)

[flatly]

lisa țepeș of lupu (castlevania)

[sideplaited]

[ platonic/familial & romantic both totally welcome. also happy to provide reverse prompts! ]

Rex Arany 🐕 OC

[heromedal]

By default, the latest in a long line of chosen ones meant to save the world, but the first in the post-apocalypse after the last guy failed. He chooses to be a shadowy figure that uses methods more suitable for the sort of Demon Lord the hero would normally be opposing, mostly due to low self-esteem. But open to AUing!

Some reverse prompts, but feel free to ignore them, provide your own or ask for others.

1 2 3 4 5

helena bertinelli | dceu

[shooter]

conner | titans

[konceived]

crowley | good omens

[goodtobebad]

Yennefer | The Witcher (Netflix) | OTA

[chaoticpiglet]

[ castmates or crosscanon's cool. ]

Mary Walker | Iron Fist [OTA]

[mornin]

Colleen Malley | Werewolf: The Apocalypse | ota, crosscanon is lovely

[fightingboston]

(( Link images please. Let's keep this neat. ))

[stormfinder]

Here also bonus (and I realize that this is a quote prompt, but shush): Here.

Gosh it's late and my concentration is shot. But I just realized that we've threaded before, ages ago. If you'd like to continue in that universe, I'd be happy to. If you'd like to start over I'd rather play a younger version of Colin, though.

Erin White | DC comics OC | ota, cross canon is lovely

[notsharkbait]

(( Link images please. Let's keep this neat. ))

Chief Miles O'Brien | Star Trek: DS9 | ota

[24thcenturymechanic]

(( Link images. No shipping. Not my thing with Miles. ))

Grand Admiral Thrawn | Star Wars | OTA

[admiralchiss]

Bob Laughs-at-the-Storm | Werewolf: The Apocalypse | ota, crosscanon welcome

[finalizes]

[info in journal.

Happy to reverse prompt, just hit me up.]

Jean Strider | OC | closed to withfriendlycare

[ouijean]

BEYOND THE VEIL Lindsey Stirling this is where / lyrics would be / if there were any

[It's a wretched night for this, but then, it was wretched the night they found the little, human bones beneath the linden tree here in Shady Park. Even now, in the sheeting rain and lightning, nearly two weeks since specialists failed to identify the girl, people are still holding vigils by the tree. They huddle together under its foliage, using cell phones for candles that won't stay lit in this downpour, arms around waists and fingers laced tight and white-knuckled together as they seek solace.

The little girl seeks something, too, but it isn't solace. Jean felt her as he passed by with Lise the week before; her desperation was like icewater, grabbing, numbing, and resentful. It stopped him cold, literally, and Lise had to reach back and take his hand.

"Jean?"

He told her it was nothing, and she probably didn't believe him, but then they went to their meeting with a possible turntabling venue and Lise has been busy enough with that he thinks she might have forgotten his pause. Tonight, while she has her hands full working the tables and the crowd, Jean shakes off the hood of his raincoat so he can hear himself better and puts his violin under his chin.

This won't do the instrument any good, but he can't do without it tonight.

He plays, slow and longing at first, then climbing into agony, into rage. Soon, his whole body moves with what he's playing. It has to. With each scrape of the bow across the wet strings, with every tortured note, he can feel the dead girl's emotion rise and peak and break over him, over the whole park, like the bands of windswept rain crashing through the leaves.

Jean clenches his jaw and plays to match her pain--to give her, if not a name, then a voice. A howl; a screech. The high notes shriek close to his fingers, snap at him like teeth or like wind. Like this, they hold a conversation, he and the girl. Back and forth, he saws out a space in sound for the ghost.

It feels like it takes hours to calm her. Jean's putting his all into the song, and the cold little girl gets to snatch at the black heat inside him with each note. But that's all she gets. He's not a child anymore, and he can sustain this, control what he gives the dead, until it's enough. Until she can rest, and he can, too. The lulls between crescendos grow long, begin to take on eddying patterns of their own. Comfort and recognition find their way into the music. The dedicated few holding vigil across the way have turned towards him by now, spellbound by the violinist in the rain.

Finally, the spirit calms. Something of her story, her feelings, have been heard. Jean sustains the last, quiet, deliberate note, and then drops insensate into the sodden mulch at his feet.




Oops. Maybe he should have let Lise know what was up after all. He's not too worried for his physical well-being, at least; there were people around, and they'll get him to a hospital or at least somewhere dry. For now, Jean looks around the half-conscious, metaphysical space in which he finds himself--a rainy cityscape not unlike his usual reality--and packs up his violin.

He's not sure he'll be welcome here. He breaks an awful lot of the rules, as far as he understands them. But there's one home that draws him up the street with familiarity, like he's known it his whole life. Like it's almost as much his place as his sister's is. In a way, this one's been with him as long as she has, he supposes.

It's musings like that that make him smile, kind of sheepishly, as he tucks his violin case under his arm and knocks at Death's door.]

Um, hey. Don't think I'll be staying long, but would you mind if I came in out of the weather for a bit?

[withfriendlycare]

[The thing people don't always realize about Death is that he doesn't actually have to be present for every person who passes over into the afterlife; just his existence in the world is enough to facilitate them making the leap on their own. It's a bit like breathing, he explained to Life once, because of course Life understands the concept of breathing even if she'd also gotten pissed off at him for using it as an analogy to make his point.

It is like breathing, though, which he doesn't do, but the same can't be said for other people. You don't have to think about breathing in order to breathe; the body will just do it for you. But if you consciously choose to, you can take control of your breathing, and then it becomes a thing you're aware of, a thing you exercise command over.

General "you", again. You meaning them, all the people who aren't him.

He didn't have to show up for the little girl as she was carried and buried to the linden tree, but he did, because someone should have. Someone should have been there for her, and no one was, so he was. He was the only one; that's how it is a lot of the time.

He asked Life once why it happens, why things are the way they are. Why a little girl's bones end up buried beneath a linden tree when they ought to be jangling around in her body, growing and changing with her as she lives and learns and winds up being an astrophysicist or a celebrity pharmacist or an alpaca farmer. And Life told him when he asked that she hates it, too, that the evil in the world is as much a part of her as the good is.

He tries not to take it so hard, but it always bothers him when it's a child. He'd held out his hand to her, offered to show her the way to where she'd needed to go next and even take her there as far as the threshold to cross over, but she'd refused to go. The coils of limbo had wrapped themselves around her like a trapper's snare, and that had been that, as far as he'd been concerned.

Of course, that hadn't mattered to this guy, now had it.

They all have their tricks, these mediums and savants, that they use when they steal the dead out of the afterlife and reel them back for a time into the land of the living. It's impossible not to notice; he's attuned to these things in the way that a person who's harmlessly minding their own business is attuned to the fact that their house is full of priceless china perched perilously on high ledges and come to think of it, the house is suspiciously silent and they haven't seen their little bastard fucker of a cat in a while.

...Okay, so not all of his analogies are great ones.

So yeah, he knows this one. The one with the violin. The one with the mother who makes his stomach do a somersault every time he even thinks of her. The one with the parents who'd practically forced him to install a revolving fucking door at the threshold between the planes of existence, with how many times they couldn't make up their damn minds already.]

Had an accident, huh?

[Death stands in his doorway wearing bunny rabbit slippers and a bathrobe with Hello Kitty printed all over it, engaged in various activities like cooking and knitting and operating a large hadron collider. Life got it for him as a joke, but the only joke is on her because it means he has the bathrobe and she doesn't.]

Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Fiddles.

dimitri alexandre blaiddyd | fe:3h.

[taste]

esther denham | sanditon

[aequanimis]

[ voicetesting! ]

Milla Silent-Death | Werewolf: The apocalypse | ota, crosscanon welcome

[untailed]

mia fey | ace attorney

[feyt]