Shipping Picture Prompts

[hufflefluffhouse]

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:   <a href=IMAGEURL>TEXT</a>

Embed an image in your reply:   <img src=IMAGEURL>

You can control width and height of your pictures:   <img src=IMAGEURL width=500> OR <img src=IMAGEURL height=INSERT>

Comments

[dirth]

"No. Some might think it rudeness, to question them when they are trying to guide you. Others might simply think you brainless." Solas, of course, knows both of those are untrue - Lasulahn would likely not be rude if he could help it and he had a far greater mind than anyone he had met had ever presented before. He was wise and brilliant like a beautiful storm and it was an echo of something incredible that he wanted to cherish, to watch to see it grow and become something all the more amazing as a result.

His love, his tenderness, his feelings, they were all built up to be something amazing. They burn inside of him like veilfire, something unnatural and amazing and beyond the credibility of man. He had not imagined love like this - a tenderness, a warmth, that belayed all the intent and instruction he had given himself before taking part in the foundations of the Inquisition. He was not meant for this sort of feeling, this sort of intensity and greatness, and yet here he lay, desperate for it, wanting to accept it even though he knows it will hurt less if he doesn't.

Reaching out to touch, to taste, to tease... It feels immoral and wrong, considering the nature of his life and position. May the Dread Wolf take you so many said and yet... Perhaps he shall be the one taken. He is caught in Lasulahn's trap, rather than his own, like a wolf with it's hind legs twisted up in metal, and there's no escape for him. He will continue to be captivated, to be torn, to be broken and bruised in the most intimate of ways because there is no other option for him, no other escape, nothing but his own want and desire overpowering the knowledge of what he must do.

Straddled, now, Solas watches Lasulahn with lidded eyes, his intent unavoidable. Hands move along his tunic, against his body, and a soft flush colours his skin - desire and a new kind of shyness all rolled into one. Oh, Solas knows he has experience, enough to measure against Lasulahn's lack, but this is still new to him, a new kind of intimacy that he never wishes to flee from. His hand moves, covering the other man's, and he nods, once.

"As I am yours, vhenan. Please, continue."

Do as you like, he thinks. Own me.

[varhellathen]

Lasulahn hums idly at that thought, a dry sort of humour colouring his tone. "That would not be so different from usual," he muses, and though it is a jest, there is truth behind it that they both know. Humans have disdain for their kind, and though that perception has shifted for some with a knife ear at the head of their religious army, for many it has not.

But enough of that. They, both of them, deal with prejudice enough in the day to day. Lasulahn is grateful that he has these moments away from all of that, stolen whether or not he deserves them, whether others think he deserves them. Solas knew so much, shared his knowledge freely and, in moments like this, more of himself than he shares with anyone else. It is special, more than Lasulahn could ever put into words.

He bites at his own lower lip, an idle sort of fidget that betrays his inexperience, the undercurrent of nervousness that runs along excitement and he is unsure where one begins and the other ends.

A breath drawn in, shaking but meant to be steadying, and he leans suddenly forward. He captures Solas's mouth with his own, lips parted and inviting. He hasn't the experience to lead, not really, his only guide the whispered words of other conversations, and silly romance novels. But there is passion, the desire to please. His hand draws beneath the soft, plain fabric of his shirt, and fingertips brush the bare skin of his side. The touch is light, tentative, like a woodland creature ready to dart at the first sound. Slowly, he grows a bit more bold. The caress becomes firmer, palm against warm skin, and he holds himself closer as they kiss.

[dirth]

"You are proving them wrong, with constant determination." One of Lasulahn's most admirable traits, in Solas' opinion. It seems as though no matter how hard he fights, no matter how hard he pushes, he will always have naysayers that consider him weak or useless. The fact is, however, that the Inquisitor shows a determination and a kindness that fights back against all of those things, to never let anyone get the best of him. It is inspirational, in a way, and Solas appreciates it for all that it is worth.

The two of them can understand each other on some levels, but Solas knows that he is also beyond anything that Lasulahn could possibly imagine. Solas has thoughts and dreams that go beyond thought and dreams and transcend to a realm beyond the histories of man, and he hopes to keep that from the Inquisitor for as long as possible. He cannot bring him down to this level, and he must keep his strength held close to his chest. No one must know, and he must keep it that way, despite how all his walls falter and fall when he spends more and more time with the man in his arms.

He is distracted, of course, by teeth on lip, and he feels a flush colour his cheeks. If Lasulahn knew how devastatingly attractive he was, how distracting he was, how constantly Solas is drawn to him like a moth to a flame... The power he would have would be overwhelming. It is good, then, that he is a little naive, that he does not quite understand his own power over Solas himself. It makes some things easier.

Leaning into the kiss is easy, but Solas is gently startled by the hand that explores his chest. He had urged the other man on, however, so he cannot complain too much - or at all, if he is being frank and honest. He leans into the familiar press of mouth on mouth, a softness that he can't deny, and there's a warmth that floods him before he tilts his head. His own fingers move to brush gently against Lasulahn's cheek, to draw him closer, to bask in his boldness by asking more of his kisses. Solas wants this - more, too - and he is willing to urge and lead to get what he desires.

[varhellathen]

As though Lasulahn would ever take advantage of such a thing, to lord some power over another— especially one so precious to him as Solas. There were nobles he could exert the Inquisition's reach over, because it was required, because they expected it to negotiate. Posturing was necessary. But he could not, would never, treat Solas as though he were anything other than precious and dear, a man to be loved and respected, almost revered.

Not that he would likely ever truly believe his looks or his person alone could have any sort of true sway over someone.

He hums a soft, content noise into their press of mouths, smiling against the kiss despite the nerves fluttering beneath his skin. His fingers skate across skin lightly, caressing and memorising the lines of his body. He turns his head, brushing kisses across his fingers and then the corner of his mouth, his lips, tongue running across tentatively. His palm runs flat along his stomach, up and across his chest, and Lasulahn wonders if Solas might grow tired of his curiosity, the time he's taking, and yet the idea of pressing further— he wants it, knows he does, but that desire tangles with the worry he'll do something wrong in his inexperience, and stays his hand.

The kisses, at least, are comfortable, something he can anchor himself in for a time. It is easier to be bolder in that, lips parted invitingly.

Finally he draws just far enough away to speak.

"Would you mind leading?" he asks, voice barely a murmur. "You can tell me what to do if you'd rather just—" he huffs out a soft laugh, self-deprecating to belay his nervousness, and nuzzles against Solas's cheek, kisses along the shell of his ear instead.