#fleshoffire

Put "kiss" in my ask box and my muse will kiss yours regardless of who your muse is.

The Rose was helping The Queen change for bed,gentle fingers running through her silvery blondehair as she braided each piece into the other.

She finished and sat by Dany's side her fingerstangling with Dany's free hand. "Do you wishfor me to stay, Your Grace?" She whisperedlips brushing over the back of her hand.

Dany said nothing, just raised her violet eyesto meet Margaery's brown. Carefully, Margaeryleaned forward, pressing her lips against, Dany'sgently.

It was only when she heard a knock did she move away.

( SMS TO: hot beard guy ) literally my phone went off and woke me up for this? ( SMS TO: hot beard guy ) it’s three am and i am NOT in the mood for dick pics ( SMS TO: hot beard guy ) for god’s sake go to bed daario

Send me ❀ and my muse will respond to getting a flower crown from yours

The Rose and The Queen were curledaround one another as they watchedthe sun high in the sky. Margaery wasweaving a chain with flowers.

She was nearly asleep against the otherwoman when she felt flowers droponto her brow.

Send me a ❖, and my Muse will kiss yours.

Send "✖" If you think that I'm playing my character properly

Lead-laced lids fluttered to a shut as darkness cloaked the Earl's body. Muscles would ache, whimpering slightly as she rolled onto her side, but scarcely quivered under fur blankets. Winters in Kattegat were biting—winds would whistle and hiss and growl through golden snakes that struck her cheeks and coiled around her neck, and the snow would fall, pellets of nefarious laughter from Ullr's grip. Ashen knuckles tugged at the thick blankets that smothered her: assorted skins lying languidly, draped over the shieldmaiden's small build, and tickling the underside of her chin.

Winter had never felt so cold. The ache in her limbs had only been heightened, its groaning only fusing into a cacophonous clamour, when Ragnar's lips coiled into smugness, when Ragnar laid in a bed of feathers alongside his princess- now queen- wife. The thump in her chest had never been so bated when snow-struck fingers tucked a small blade beneath a thick pillow. Though she was home, alongside those she cared for most, discontent gnawed in her chest, climbing the rungs of her ribs and clawing into crevices of flesh that clung to her heart——

Sleep would come as sheer exhaustion—mental, physical, emotional— tugged her eyelids shut. And when it did, all the Earl would do, was pray to whichever God would listen, that the dreams that plagued her were no more than griping nostalgia, shudders that curled around her spine and squeezed until single, stray tears tracked a single, pallid cheek.

She was hazy, as the weight of another sunk the bed beside her. Even so, body stiffening and taut beneath blanketed confusion and sudden fear, Lagertha would croak out a quiet, "Ragnar?" A whisper, barely heard over the cawing crows that coursed through the wind, was all that rolled from a hoarse throat, and all that she could muster.

But this was not Ragnar. The body was too light. Silently, she cursed herself, for coaxing the wistful word from between her chapped lips. And so, as a neck craned back, eyes clattering onto the curled ball that huddled in the furs, a frown tugged her blonde brows together. The peaks of silver would speak another story—the queen with dragons in need of warriors. Lagertha was a warrior. She held respect for the woman- Daenerys, she remembered- and now, tucked tightly in the fleeting warmth of animal pelts, a different warmth would strike the Earl. This nostalgia was different—it did not harrow her or growl when her eyes sprung open, but only comforted her.

                                                Gyda. Ragnar

For but a second, that was all she'd see. A ghost in bundles of fabric. It was tentative, then, when she shuffled, closer, closer, a quivering hand tracing a trail of silver down the girl's back. This may not be Gyda, but comfort would wreak from her body, and soon, when protesting muscles lazily strained, an arm draped over her waist, and she slotted in, close behind the smaller's body, the sweet perfumes of the silver queen's hair tickling her nose.

Fluffy Starter