shipping picture promts

[sarabi]

shipping picture prompts

o1. comment with your character and prefs in a top level. o2. reply to others, complete with pictures and gifs! o3. cook up something shippy from those inspirational ingredients.

link 'em: <a href=IMAGEURL>TEXT</a> embed 'em: <img src=IMAGEURL> shrink 'em: <img src=IMAGEURL width=500> OR <img src=IMAGEURL height=INSERT>

Comments

[illithidnapped]

Funny, isn't it. The ability to feign also translates into the ability to grant what one can't ever truly give: merciful kindness in regards to their own existence. Their own needs. Even greedy as Astarion is, there's too much about himself that only exists as the imprint of where Cazador once tread.

The change in subject is, to that extent, uniquely welcome.

He's careful when he takes up a nearby brush, working the ends of her hair through water and soap— a touch of oil— before pulling soft bristles against them to distribute it more evenly without strain.

"In my life before being...altered, it's possible," Astarion confesses, letting not even the smallest variation of his tone slip. "But I can't remember any of it. The byproduct of centuries of torture, I'm afraid. Not readily recommended."

Nothing he can alter now, unfortunately.

"But since then, no. Not even when I was sent out to hunt in the city I once called home. Not here in Thedas, either."

[versigny]

Her hair may have been her pride and joy, but Margaery's pondered cutting it more than once since her arrival in Thedas. Apart from the occasional noble who expresses interest in how capable she is at keeping it soft and appealing, its only use is in her inability to recognize herself without it.

But now, as she's allowed to bask in the gentle way Astarion brushes at her ends, she finds herself grateful that she hasn't given into any impulsive decisions just yet, because nothing makes her feel more cared for than the mindful handling of her most identifiable feature.

And nothing feels more uncomfortably at odds with the life that Astarion has seemingly led. She pauses in her movements, weighing the question before she asks it, wishing she could see his expression. He has smoothly bypassed her second question, but she won't be deterred from asking what she wants.

"Would you like for me to?"