Blood Dragoon

We’ll be here when you get back. Just focus on your needs and whatnot.

Between now and the first I’ll be moving out of my current apartment and (if this last last-ditch shot falls through,) into an RV with very limited power and therefore limited internet access.

It won’t be permanent, probably, but who knows. I may end up starting a permanent hippie convoy of other people who can’t afford housing l mao (this is gallows humor the situation is pretty dire let me live).

@silverromanticism​

“My Lor-- Ser?” A jumble of titles, anything to make the moment seem a little more formal and like it was perfectly and surely normal-- definitely happening, not some strange fever dream--

The dragoon blinked dumbly, as though he was not used to being so very present and undoubtedly emotive-- especially without the barrier of his helmet’s visor. Ah-- yes, mistletoe. He almost rolled his eyes as though Haruchefant expecting him to not know of it is insulting. He watched the man for a moment, trying to swallow his pounding heart thrumming in his throat.

A kiss on the cheek? It was sweet, but he could sense some sort of trepidation; one that he did not much like. The idea of Haurchefant holding back around him in any sense wasn’t one that he relished. 

With most of his plate mail still in-tact and his helm hitched under his arm, he leaned in and despite his better judgment-- brushed his lips against the commander’s as though he were afraid he’d lose the nerve if he waited even for a moment. Then, blinking owlishly, he looked away as a blush painted his face.