fluffnstuff | Give me some shipping pictures!

Give me some shipping pictures!

the shipping picture prompt meme
SIMILAR TO THE PICTURE PROMPT MEME & THE SMUT PICTURE PROMPT MEME ONLY FOR SHIPPING.

i. COMMENT WITH CHARACTER
ii. OTHERS LEAVE A PICTURE (OR TWO OR THREE....)
iii. REPLY TO THEM WITH A SETTING BASED ON THE IMAGES.

THIS POST WILL BE IMAGE HEAVY.

Link to an image:

Embed an image in your reply:

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Please link images, pretty open to a lot]

[I know this is last weeks, hope you don't mind?]

1.
2.
3.

[Not at all]

Christmas in London meant... a wide barrage of lights and shouting and a slough of people blocking one's way this way and that way, and going to get any sort of supply meant being assaulted with cold and more people. Not always snow. Maybe Sherlock would like it better if it snowed.

As it was he only really wants a cup of spiked hot cocoa - and sit in front of the fire and maybe appear to brood, but in all honesty he was rather content with the way things had turned out. It was lucky. Luck like this didn't happen more than once to a person, let alone twice, let alone three times.

So he's treading carefully, lest he spoil something again.
He's made John his own cup of the stuff - not wanting to reveal where he'd found the idea, or how good it currently was and that he was contemplating another only with more rum this time. It was rather cold even without the snow.

[[[ooc: akfldsj;ladjf the spoilers I've found we won't survive this without a fuckload of alcohol.]]

[Well, I know before I quit Tumblr before S3, people were saying that, and apparently everyone got through just fine... -shrugs-I've been reading the novels for so long, I'm sorta used to heartbreak via Sherlock Holmes]

John had run out to pick something up. He had spent all day decorating the flat, and cleaning, there was a small tree in one corner, and fairy lights hung throughout the flat. He thought it was quite festive, and not too much for Sherlock.

He stepped into the flat and shook the fresh snow off him. "It just started snowing, and there's what feels like hundreds of people out." He hung up his coat and crossed the room to the chair across from Sherlock's.

[[ooc: well, we got through S3 barely. I don't know if they're gonna survive S4]]

Sherlock almost spills his cocoa jumping up to get to the window to see the flakes falling so fast.
"There's um," he clutches his own cup, gesturing to John's near his chair, knowing it doesn't look so pretty anymore and the marshmallows and caramel have melted into the cup of warmth.

"It's ... cocoa, though I think it's not quite so warm."
It's his attempt at a favour, really, he does get distracted and doesn't always work. He thought John would be home sooner, that he'd timed it better...

John smiled at that. "Thank you Sherlock, that's... It's very thoughtful." He had tried to find the right word. He picked up the cup and just held it for a moment. After taking a sip, he smiled. Watching how Sherlock seemed to light up at the mention of snow.

"Perhaps when it accumulates a little, we can go over to Regent's Park for a walk?" He suggested cautiously.

Sherlock nods and gives a smile, though he's more distracted with watching John enjoy his cocoa then thinking about tracing tracks in the snow.

"That would be ... fine." As long as there isn't too many people about to overwhelm every sense of reality. He can't leave London, though sometimes he finds all of the crowds milling about overwhelming. Fine. He doesn't know if that's the right word, for it either?

Nice seems like he's placating or appeasing John.

John gave a soft sigh and then finally sat down. He looked at Sherlock, watching him. There was so much he wanted to say, to admit. But none of it seemed important. For now, it was just the two of them here.

Sherlock turns towards the window watching the snow. John seemed to have something to say. But...he wasn't saying it, he was staring instead.

Sherlock wasn't sure if that was more or less comforting. Did John think he wouldn't like what he had to say?

He took another sip of his cocoa, closing his eyes for a moment. When were things last this peaceful? He didn't know. Everything was... It was so hectic anymore. They never had a moment to enjoy each other's company.

Sherlock smiles behind his cup, watching John enjoy it. "Could I make you another? More rum in it this time, if you want. And without the marshmellows melted so much."

"I would like that." He answered, "Thank you for this." John set his cup down.

Sherlock nods and goes to recreate what he made originally. The only thing is John's watching. Observing, probably looking for flaws.

01. | 02. | 03. | 04.

[ galdin quay is gorgeous. the first salty breeze and shimmer of crystal blue waters had awed him, left his stomach twisting with just how lovely it was. totally romantic. and like the sap he is, he'd stared at noct's back and silently thought soppy things he would rather die than fess up. like how sometimes he looks at noct and feels like he's going to run right out of breath. noct against the background of blue waters is one of those moments. he looks away, embarrassed by himself. where the heck does stuff like that even come from? probably from the sad thought that his friend is about to be married. he's only had a crush since forever.

the moment passes. they go to sleep that night and then wake up to the news of insomnia's fall, his dad's death. days have passed. miles there and miles back and then even more miles, on and off the road constantly. he has no idea how ignis hasn't wrecked out of sheer boredom. their breaks are spent chasing monsters and chasing rumors of royal arms between the road and camp. for how bad things are, no one talks too much about the elephant in the room.

today, they've spent more time on chocobo back than in the car and prompto can't seem to shake all the tiny down feathers off from it. ignis is cooking and prompto has done good to follow noct's example and scram before he gets roped into helping.

they still have time before sundown, but the sky is dull and gray and dark. the clouds are threatening rain. it isn't far to walk before he finds noct. out of sight from the camp, but in earshot. stood at the river and something in the image stills prompto, makes him quiet and hesitant. careful with the reminder that his friend has had it so incredibly hard. his eyes follow the line of his shoulders down to his shoulder blades, reminded that his friend stands there has to take the throne his father died on and somehow desperately take back the home ripped away from him.

prompto approaches him gently, his voice trying to get stuck in his throat. ]

...Hey, buddy. [ a throwaway greeting, but there's always a little fondness in the word buddy. ] You hanging in there?