#penumbred

                 💓 for kisses! // Accepting! ( selective )

                LITTLE DOSES OF AFFECTION went a long way for the two of them, as he was not one that craved the doses that she usually gave. which, was fine by her; the moments where he allowed her to give him little by little of the heart on her sleeve made her smile much more than she usually did. so when he ( in his own way ) asked for a different type of affection, she’s momentarily speechless, frozen in place as she takes a moment to process it. beating loudly in her ears was her heart, bright eyes gaze with surprise at the now blushing wyvern rider as warmth of her own spreads on her cheeks. 

                 then, her feet does the moving for her– now, she’s merely inches from him, little space to close the distance, and her gaze is locked with his. the first thing she does is reach for his mask, which she feels him tense up. by now, it isn’t the first time that she’s taken it off of him, but she understands his hesitation as gentle fingers lower it from his face. suddenly, it’s like she can see galaxies in his eyes, of stories and sights that he’s seen, and her gaze softens at the sight. mask cradled gently in one hand, the other then reaches to hold his now warm cheek and, lifting her delicate frame on tiptoes, she presses gentle lips upon his forehead, lingering for a moment before her own forehead leans against his. it’s as if time had stopped, to bask in the moment, and she can’t resist the smile that blooms on her face that contained the warmth of a thousand suns. 

                                  this was nice. 

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy when skies are grey.

You'll never know, dear, how much I love you.

     with every passing day, it seemed, there were reports of casualties. some familiar, some not, and some close enough and dear enough to her heart to make it feel like it might seize when she hears them. 

     gerome’s tone seems to be level as always, impressively so – but lucina knows better than that, knows better than to believe in the solidarity of his vocals when, just in his out stretched hand, was a gold piece of jewelry, not even yet cleaned from when it had laid upon his mother’s finger.

                ❝   this must be lady cherche’s ring.   ❞

     mumbled under her breath, but it’s so quiet (eerily so, as if the risen know better than bandits that they stand on hallowed ground, now) she doesn’t worry whether or not he can hear her. moving closer, lucina closes his hand (she finds she can’t stop staring at it, disbelief that even miss cherche could fall) then places the other over top of it.

              ❝   my deepest condolences. if there is anything you need -- anything at all -- please do not hesitate to ask. we may be comrades in arms now, but above all, you are still one of my most dearest friends. if there’s anything i can do to lessen the weight on you now, please allow me to do so.   ❞