#perfectmetaphore.

[theirmadness]

asoiaf starters / daenerys ♡ @perfectmetaphore.

the first thing she noticed was how handsome he is. that was the most obvious thing. sharp jaw, blue eyes, dark hair. but his silver tongue was the thing that made him stand out over the rest—he was smart, and dangerously cunning. it was a dangerous combination, to be beautiful and smart. daenerys knew that, for she was both herself.

“ —how often does the talking get you out of trouble, john silver? ”

she's genuinely curious. in the short time she has known him, he has talked himself into her small council, and she isn't even sure how or when that had happened. it simply had. and now, here he was, and she was finally studying him with the attention that he deserved. the charm and the smarts eventually caught up to him, and in the fire of her gaze, everything melts away. “ what is truth, and what is a mummer's farce with you, i wonder? ” would he even tell her? or would she come to find out, eventually, when he betrayed her? was she simply paranoid?

[theirmadness]

❗❗❗- for El cause I have no self control

your muse suddenly kisses mine / eleanor ♡ @perfectmetaphore.

the words, obviously, die in her throat. eleanor doesn't remember what she had even started to say. “ —no one should spend their birthday alone, john. ” that's what she had said. that, plus the pocket watch she'd gifted him had been too much, apparently. for a minute, she thought she had done, or said, the wrong thing. and then, john silver was on her, and her brain completely stopped working.

john silver tasted like summer breeze and childhood innocence. he tasted like first kisses under oak trees and strawberry tarts between laughter so hard your stomach hurt. she gave herself into him, into the kiss, without thought. she's all instinct, all buried memory and a decade of quiet longing and loneliness that he ignites like kindle to flame. trembling hands, soft and unburned by manual labour, the fingertips slightly stained with ink, cups his face, and for a moment she pulls back so she can lose herself in his blue eyes. those eyes that she had drowned in when she was just a girl. and still, as a grown woman, she finds herself unable to come up for air as she kisses him again, her fingers tangling in his dark curls and pulling him in, closer, her body pressing flush into his. more, more, more. eleanor guthrie has always been greedy. and she'll eat john silver to the fucking bone.