chevalier sable;

closed ares rp blog. blue lions student at toa.

[hezulion]

blue lions pegasisters, assemble!

With winter in full swing, every pegasus in Garreg Mach rejoices in the cold, crisp mountain air, playing and racing during their time outside. This is the season where pegasi perform at their peak, a perfect time for a racing tournament! The students have come together with the “White Heron Derby” to determine which pegasus is the fastest in the school. Grab your winged mount and get ready for a wild flight around campus. There’s a twist though: all riders are decked out in absurd hats and if you lose your hat, you lose the race! [Grants Flying +1]

Outside the ground is blanketed in a layer of thick snow. Ares wraps the saddle blanket he’d be given after the night at the ball around Ebony, making sure she’s snug and warm before they leave. Certain she’s relaxed and comfortable, he guides her gently out of the stables, coaxing her step by step with freshly sliced pieces of apple.

He puts off wearing that ridiculous hat as long as possible.

They take a serene stroll around the monastery, unhurried and peaceful. Both of them shy away from the crowds of students throwing snow at one another, sticking instead to the treescapes that lined the mountaintop. A short while later they reach the gathering of students and Ebony starts to lag behind, resisting and hiding behind him.

“It’s alright, Bonbon. You’re safe, no one’s going to hurt you.” Ares keeps his voice low and steady, urging her forward one foot after the next. She’s obviously nervous so he takes things slowly, careful to reassure her and praise her bravery. “Good girl. I’m with you, there’s nothing to fear.”

Turning his attention back to the small crowd of students assembled for the White Heron Derby. He spots a now familiar pair of blondes and waves over to them.

“Dimitri, Ingrid! Good to see you both.” Bonbon shyly follows him, ducking her head as if to cower behind his shoulder. He sighs, not with exasperation but affection and turns to scratch her in her favourite spot, just behind her ears. “These are friends, I promise. The lady is Ingrid and Dimitri here is our house leader. Don’t be shy, they’re good people.”

@elegiac-boar or @damegalantea

[hezulion]

between pages left unread

Literature aficionados might recognize the title Memory of the Hills, and they might know that it sold terribly in the brief time that it was stocked in bookstores due to its stagnant plot whose setting never goes beyond the walls of the “the village.” If they managed to even read the book, then they know that the first few pages open to the description of a nameless yet dutiful Knight who stands guard at the front gates day in and day out. Although dressed head to toe in armor, a cloud-shaped birth mark stains her left cheek. She’s the one who greets you with no little amount of surprise, but invites you to spar to test your mettle. [Grants Lance +1]

He had believed the rumours to be false.

Students falling into storybooks left behind by the projectionist? Preposterous. Utter nonsense. The library was still as busy as ever; proving he isn’t alone in his scepticism of such fairytales. He’s browsing the shelves idly, flicking through titles of chivalrous knights and their daring epics for a bit of a light reading when a younger student accidentally sends as tack of books crashing to the floor.

The clumsy redhead scrambles to pick them up, as do a few other student and staff about. It’s the least Ares can do to reach down and pick up one or two. Yet when his fingertips graze the cover of ‘Memory of the Hills’, the world falls out from under him. Spiralling further and further into a blur of light and sound, echoes of voices that were never heard, hearts that never beat. Further and further down, not into an abyss of darkness but further and further into a radiant, purging light.

It stops with a loud thump as Ares crashes ceremoniously to the ground unceremoniously, landing in a heap of tangled limbs. He isn’t alone, either. Extracting his own arms and legs, his face darkens, skipping pink and diving head first into crimson.

“Forgive me!” Ares cannot bear to look the woman, one of the Knights of Seiros, in the eyes. In fact he searches for anything else in the surroundings to distract him. What he finds is perhaps as unexpected as the situation he has landed in.

A lady knight stands near them with a look of mild surprise. Her armour gleams in the sunlight and her hand tightens around the lance she holds. Ares reaches for Mystletainn’s hilt, thinking she’s about to attack them.

“Hail, travellers. It’s rare that we get such esteemed visitors,” her voice is deep and resonant, commanding even. Getting to his feet Ares notices a large mark on her face, shaded red and shaped like the clouds above. “Care to test your mettle in a sparring contest?”

@ofdusk

[hezulion]

beach episode

divinetyrfing​:

‘dont blame yourself.’ he says. sigurd’s gaze turns to the ground, lips pursed tight in a strangely bitter feeling that he is unable to label himself.

“i know that.” he murmurs after a few beats of silence. he sighs as he looks back up at ares, refusing to hide from his feelings. he was never one to bottle them up for too long and that wouldn’t change here and now.

“this isn’t a job for me.” sigurd takes a deep deliberate breath here, knowing he’s broaching a terribly sensitive subject that ares would probably rather not talk about. “the bonds between me and your father were deep… even if it may not seem that way at first glance. because of that you’re like family to me. is it not natural to want to protect my kin?”

sigurd’s grip tightens on his glass, thinking about eldigan. “i’ll try not to blame myself but…i just want to be there for you when i can be, ares. and i couldn’t be in that forest.” another moment of silence before the knight slams the rest of his glass, trying to cope with the feelings coming to the surface of his heart.

does it work? not really. sigurd cough and hacks as he sets down the now empty glass. “fuck.” he mutters instinctually. “i am not doing that again.” he tries to laugh but it only tastes and sounds bitter in his mouth; and no doubt ares can sense that as well.

The oppressive weight of their situation is alleviated instantaneously. Sigurd coughs and splutters, choking out profanity between his struggles for breath. He had never expected the older man to even be capable of such foul language. There’s a small, swift moment of panic before Ares claps Sigurd’s back between his shoulder blades, unable to hide a low, rumbling chuckle.

“Don’t try that again,” he warns Sigurd  once the knight stops choking. “You’re like an embarrassing old man. No good to anyone if you choke, are you?”

Despite the edge to his words it’s clear that there is no malice behind them. Ares smiles ever so slightly, shaking his head at Sigurd’s antics. It feels as though a wall between the two of them has crumbled. Ares no longer feels the urge to run, distance himself from Sigurd’s smothering kindness. He lets out a rather broad yawn that he hadn’t known he was holding back. Feeling his eyelids growing heavier, Ares stands and put the bottle away in the kitchen. There’s a sense of peace he feels, knowing Sigurd understands him a little better now. That Sigurd is not and never will be his father but that does not preclude him from caring for Ares’ wellbeing.

Family is complex, jagged and at times uncomfortable but it’s everything Ares has ever truly craved.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, heading to the stairs. There’s no longer any pressure to escape Sigurd’s presence - come morning light he’ll greet the knight as a friend and ally. For now, Ares longs to greet the plump, soft pillows waiting patiently for him in the bedroom. “I really am tired this time though. Tomorrow?”

-fin.

[hezulion]

-may activity check; passed!

total skill points: 15 -> 16 lance rank up: C+ -> C+(+1) from monthly activity class accessed: dancer item received: starry saddle blanket 

[hezulion]

[ Improvise ] - The sender doesn’t know how this dance goes and tries to improvise, dragging the receiver along the way.

Soren didn't know what to call the dance that was going on around him, but he had one goal and one goal only.

"Don't trip," he commanded Ares. And then, internally as his own skirt swished around his feet, don't trip, he begged himself.

"Worry about yourself first," Ares smirks, standing his ground and practically dragging Soren in the opposite direction. It’s obvious what Soren wants - for him to fall flat on his face. It seems in his eagerness to embarrass Ares that Soren forgot two very important things. Ares has been taught by the greatest danced Jugdral has ever seen and thanks to his build and holy blood, Ares is also exceptionally strong. “it’s a lovely song, don’t you think?”

He decides to be a little merciful. Ares knows so little of Soren that he has no real reason to be malicious or hold a grudge. That said, he still isn’t someone to be trifled with. Ares turns them swiftly around a corner, with such speed that Soren stumbles just slightly over the skirt of his dress.

“If you wish to drag me across the dancefloor, I suggest you devote more time to physical training.” That alone may not be enough, admittedly. Ares is well away that Hoðr’s bloodline sings through his veins. Not unlike it does for Nanna and Diarmuid but it’s even more potent in himself. Even his sparring partners have often complained of his excessive strength, despite Ares attempts to hold back. Soren on the other hand is petite and about ten inches shorter than he is. Years of harsh training may not be enough to make up the difference but right now? His attempts to overcome Ares strength are downright laughable. “I might be willing to humour you, if you put in the effort.”

[ephemeralove]

Ares takes the pen and scribbles on the white arrow before reaching into his pocket and pulling out Samson. The odd present had become a good luck charm of sorts over the past few months and Ares finally thinks he's figured out who gifted it to him. He sticks a red, paper bowtie beneath Samson's googly eyes and calls after Katarina.

"Hey, Kat. Wait up," Ares' hand falls on her shoulder, the corners of his lips pulling ever so slightly skyward. "I uh... like you suit a lot. Let's take a picture together."

Into the booth they go and after settling Samson on his lap, he pulls out the arrow and points it at Katarina.

"Best Rock Buddy."

The call of a familiar voice catches her at the same time that the weight of a hand falls upon her shoulder, but rather than pulling away from it, Katarina finds herself settling into place, a faint smile twisting her lips. Mention of her suit dusts her cheeks a rosy pink, but even as her gaze dips shyly toward the ground, she seems... pleased, if not a bit embarrassed.

"...Hehe." She settles mostly on pleased. "Thank you, Ares. I really like your outfit, too. You look nice." The silver accents are a sharp contrast to the gold she so often sees him in, but it's like she said: he looks nice. Ares of Nordion who wears black may be well suited to dark colors, but she thinks he's just as suited to bright ones, too.

Only when they take their seats in the booth does she spot Samson sat quite properly on his lap, paper bowtie and all. What's more, sharp eyes glimpse the words on the arrow he's pointed at her mere moments before the shutter snaps. 'Best Rock Buddy'...?

Ah. He's figured her out, hasn't he? The photo-artifex catches her with a hand drawn to her mouth, a smile pressed against her thumbnail and eyes narrowed in quiet laughter. Later, she will marvel at the image seared onto paper, that she could look so... normal. For now, however, she looks to her friend, the line of her lips pulling into a gentle upward arc.

"You found me... Sorry. I don't have a prize or anything, unless you want a stamp?" The signet twists awkwardly from her finger. "It's not much, but I could sign twice...? So he has one, too."

[hezulion]

Ares chuckles at her suggestion. There’s always a quiet warmth that emanates from Katarina, soft and kind but easy to overlook if one isn’t already aware of it. He finds himself basking in it though with naught but a half-smile to offer in return.

“We’re friends, so you’re the prize here,” Ares scratches his head sheepishly, hoping that didn’t come off too badly. He twists the signet ring on his own finger, offering it as an exchange. “I do think I’ll have to ask for one for Samson too though. He hasn’t got any - been having a hard time speaking to people this evening.”

“I guess he must be really shy, huh?”

[hezulion]

a pride of lions

His jaw drops almost to the floor as he sees her cross the ballroom floor. A face he would recognise anywhere and anytime. It’s surreal how little her visage has changed since he last laid eyes upon her. It has been the best part of twenty years but Nordion’s princess looks as though she was frozen in time. Nary a day older than when she used to take him to tea whilst mother rested and father fought on Agustria’s frontier.

Ares is anxious to approach her. Surely she would not recognise him as he is now. Yet perhaps one of the few people in this world who would not, could not mistake him for his lord father, Eldigan. A man whose grace and chivalry were always far out of his grasp.

The thought is almost enough to hold him back.

But not quite. He steps forwards and in front of her, taking her hand and placing a kiss on the back of her hand. Acting the gentleman his mother tried to raise.

“My lady, would you do me the honour of the next dance?” Ares asks, letting go of her hand and bowing at the waist. He thinks he sees a hint of surprise - maybe even recognition in her eyes as he stands straight and to attention. A lazy half smile spreads across his face and he leans in, whispering so only she can hear. “I think I’ve grown tall enough to lead this time, Auntie Lachesis?”

@lionheartedsunflower​

[hezulion]

Seeing him is oddly like looking into the full-length mirror as she had done just before the ball, but this time without the slight bit of blush to accentuate the shaking smile on her face. Its her reflection every other day – just standing, arm readied for a weapon, stance alert.

It is not that he does not look the part of a noble but that his ideals and motivations lay elsewhere. She understands this well. In her years, small as they may be, Ingrid has met many warriors and standing in their shadows – well, it leaves its mark.

“You may not hate it here, but it’s not very enjoyable is it?” She says, placing her glass of water on the table next to him. “I can relate. Perhaps if I stamp that card of yours it might make the night more bearable.”

She comes to stand beside him, not pushing the issue. Her own eyes scan the room for the faces of her loved ones. There – Dimitri by the artifex, Sylvain on the dance floor, and she too feels alert, feels herself as she watches them.

“My name is Ingrid, by the way,” she says after awhile. “Ingird Brandl Galatea.”

"It's not really my favourite place to be although I must confess, it’s been more enjoyable than I anticipated,” Ares responds quietly, tearing his gaze away from Lene and Coirpre on the dancefloor. In the past he would have dismissed evenings of revelry like this as frivolous and a waste of time. The joy on his friends faces made everything worth it though. Perhaps everyone needed to let their hair down once in a while. “Still, I’m not well used to occasions like this. I’d rather be in the training grounds, personally.”

He turns to look at her and feels a sense of familiarity almost instantaneously. This woman too looks like she’d rather be honing her skills, studying in the library or preparing to face whatever dangers may lurk around them. Ares bows his head to her in acknowledgement.

“I’m Ares. It’s good to meet you.” He pulls out the card and ring from his pocket. An exchange of stamps would be nice. He’s always been the type to focus on tasks and goals. He notices the way Ingrid’s gaze keeps flitting between himself and the dancefloor, despite her words and deeds suggesting she hasn’t too much interest in dancing. “Is something on your mind?”

[hezulion]

continued from here;

Admittedly, he is a little curious.

Ares keeps his expression tight and controlled as he leads Lewyn through the steps. It’s a simple, basic waltz. Something he’s truly grateful for. The things that drip from the man’s tongue would have his head spinning if the choreography was any more complex. Lewyn’s tone promises something salacious. Things that would contradict the noble, knightly image of his father he has always held dear.

Baseless rumours are just that though. Gossip, hearsay, facts weren’t important to telling a good story. And who tells more scandalous tales than a bard?

“No, thank you. I’ll have to decline,” Ares’ tone is curt and clipped. He turns them around and hopes his palms aren’t sweating. Prays that Lewyn can’t read any of his tells. Not that he knows his own but Lene has always been able to read him like an open book. Something he’s comfortable with but he’d rather not be quite so simple a challenge for Lewyn. “I’ve heard plenty of stories about my father. From my mother, Lord Sigurd, people in Agustria. People who knew him personally.”

“I’ll take their word... and what precious few memories I have in mind to be my truth.”

@concealedbybreeze 

[hezulion]

"Pardon me. Ares, was it?" Smiling lightly, Merric bows in greeting as he approaches. "Apologies for interrupting your pause. I've come to realize recently that we share Houses, yet I've never introduced myself. I'm trying to use today's occasion to rectify such mistakes."

"My name is Merric, I am a Mage of Altea. I hope your evening has been enjoyable thus far. Once tonight is over, we'll be sharing classes," he continues, his expression serene, betraying that the thought of studying is not a daunting one to him, "and, well, I am always happy to be of assistance, if there is ever anything I can help with."

"Apologies for being so direct, but... Do you happen to be collecting stamps, by any chance? I am looking for a few more people to exchange with, if you'd be inclined."

The man who approaches him is so stiff and formal it's disarming. Uncomfortable, even. Ares shuffles his feet awkwardly, not knowing what to do with himself. It’s a personal flaw though, one he has to resolve before he can even think about returning to his duties in Agustria. So he clears his throat and offers out a hand for the other to shake, trying his best to be polite.

“I’m Ares of House Nordion,” he begins. “Ki-- from Agustria in Jugdral. It’s a pleasure.”

He cringes at his own introduction, realising how much he still seems to be running away from his own responsibilities. It’s not so much that he wishes to hide his title and especially not his lineage. Words like ‘King’ and ‘nobility’ simply feel foreign in his mouth; most of his life was spent on the battlefield, fighting for survival. The mere thought of holding court has him breaking into a cold sweat. 

Ares does however chortle when Merric offers him an apology for being direct. His question is far from brusque or impolite by any means. If anything, Ares feels a sense of relief.

“No need to apologise. I like direct,” he informs Merric, offering his card out. “We’re going to be in the same classes? It’s nice to put a name to a face then.” He isn’t sure what else to say after that. It’s not that he doesn’t want to speak to the mage but he really has no idea where to start.

“This is probably going to sound weird but how do you talk to people naturally?” Merric did say he’d be happy to assist with anything.

[hezulion]

What is the Ethereal Ball if not the most recent chance to make as many new friends as possible? So of course she turns her eyes to every corner of the ballroom, and when she spies an awkward man occupying an innocuous corner, of course she thinks that he could be a new friend, too!

His eyes are warm and his hair is sunny and golden, though the expression on his face says nothing about any need for socialization. Perhaps he doesn't need any, then, but it doesn't hurt to try! Taking a glass of fruit punch with her (it's red; she thinks he would look good with red! and it's tasty, too), she trots up to him, gingerly holding the drink out and beaming all the while.

"Hello!" Maria greets him, free hand waving with a wiggle of her fingers. "My name's Maria! And this is fruit punch, hee hee. Do you want to trade stamps?"

"Oh, hello." It's rare people he isn't already acquainted with dare to approach Ares. It's quite a nice feeling, really. Especially with the way the young girl smiles at him, as if he’s an old friend rather than someone to be feared. He reaches out, cautiously so as not to startle her, and takes hold of the drink offered. “Thank you.”

They’re quiet for a moment as he sips the punch but it’s a companionable sort of silence. It really is delicious, drawing a hint of a smile from Ares. He finds himself relaxing, letting his guard drop in a way he rarely does around strangers. There’s just something about Maria’s bubbly grin and cheerful voice that feels more gentle than the rest of the world around them.

“It’s really good. Thanks, Maria.” He makes a point of using her name, the way he does with those closest to him. Welcoming her into his inner circle so quickly and easily it’s a little alarming. “I’d like that very much. Let me grab my card and it’s all yours.”

His is practically empty whilst hers is decorated with many, many stamps. Far more than the required five. She still beams at him as she hands it to him, eager for one more. And who is he to deny her?

[hezulion]

"The son of Lord Eldigan, I presume? Fancy meetin' you here."

This guessing game of who-was-who's-kid had become a staple of Lewyn's time at the academy, and so for the Ethereal Ball he finally felt confident in walking up to people to offer that sort of opening.

"Knowing him I'd have expected you to be brooding in a corner. But here you are, lookin' sharp as a blade. Care to join me for a dance?" An arm is offered to Ares, inviting him to join the bard. If he looked closely, he'd be able to notice Lewyn's card tucked neatly in his sleeve. The top of it peeked out, as if to tell the Nordian that he'd get his stamp after they hung out. Lewyn was coy when it came to interacting with people like this, but he considered it just part of the fun for the night.

"I can lead, if you ain't comfortable."

Ah, the most fool-proof way to grab Ares' attention.

“You knew my father?” Ares blurts out without even thinking. He hadn’t known Lewyn to be acquainted with either of his parents. That said, he had known precious little of the man during the war. He’d behaved very differently, something that’s a little confusing right now. Ares decides not to dwell on it too much. He himself is far more relaxed and sociable than he usually is. “No, brooding in a corner is definitely more my thing than my father’s.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable leading. I learned from the best, after all.” Under his best friends instruction, he’d risen from having two left feet to being a fairly competent dancer. Hopefully good enough to make her proud. “I never said I’d dance with you though, did I?” Ares smirks.

“Is that the price for your stamp? If so I suppose I can spare you a few minutes.”

[theofficersacademy]

prompt 2. groovin’ & movin’

After some time mingling with friends and discovering the new photo-artifexes, the students find their rhythm and eagerly wait for the music to start. The school’s orchestra briefly fills the room with a melodic cacophony of string instruments, deep clarinets and high flutes practicing important sections. Then, silence, before beginning the first of many pieces of the night.

The tune may be unfamiliar to most of you, even to the Fódlan students. Those from Archanea, however, may recognize the familiar melody of a timeless minuet from their continent. With the Officers Academy welcoming in students from all over the world, they have expanded their musical repertoire to include familiar dances for their international students to enjoy!

All prompts are under the cut!

Keep reading

[hezulion]

[ Meow ] - Headbands adorned with two cat ears, perfect for hissy felines in human suits.

Would Ares actually wear the props she'd picked out? Katarina wasn't quite sure, but as she rifled through the small assortment of various colors of cat eared headbands, a faint smile sprung to her face. In one hand she held a pair of black cat ears; in the other, a much more notably golden one. Not unlike the stuffed animals they'd won back then...

"What do you think about these?" The headband fits snugly on her head, and though she feels distinctly silly wearing it, silly is... nice. Compared to the other memories they share, precious as they are, it's moments like these that she enjoys most.

"We match," Katarina says, this time more quietly as she hopefully hands him the other pair. The alleycat and the lionheart; the black cat and the knight who wears black. It's warm, having friends, and she laughs softly beneath her friends. She likes it.

"We do indeed," Ares replies softly, trying to adjust the band on his head so it sits comfortably. It’s a little small for him and he eventually gives up trying. He only needs to wear it long enough for a photo. “It’s a little tight but they’re cute. I think they suit you far more than they do I.”

Katarina’s smile is like the first snowfall of the year, delicate and lovely. He returns it with one of his own, likely more jagged, but a smile nonetheless. The pair of them look ridiculous, there is no denying that. Had he been alone, he would throw these ears to the ground in an instant. Being silly is something he doesn’t really mind when he’s with her though. It’s... a feeling of friendship and camaraderie that he’s had precious little of in life so far. Something to cherish, even if it’s at the expense of his dignity.

“Let’s get these photos done quickly though, the headband is a little uncomfortable.” The sit together in the booth, facing the lens. Tentatively, he brings his hands to his face, curled into ‘paws’.

“Meow?”

[hezulion]

[ Muscle ] - For the photo, the sender and receiver pull back their sleeves to show off their rippling biceps.

It's a unique request, to say the least. One he really is under no duress to oblige, either. It’s not as if he knows her and he generally isn’t in the business of posing provocatively for anyone. There’s something about her though, as if they’ve met before or something? Surely he’d remember something like that.

He’s already pulling back his sleeve and posing when it hits him. It’s the twinkle in her eye, the way she swings her hips as she walks and even her appearance - she reminds him of Lene so much it’s downright uncanny. Flexing his bicep, he allows the machine to take their picture and hands her a copy.

“Are you satisfied with that? If it’s wrong, we can take another,” he tells her as he looks over her, finding more and more comparisons to his best friend. Ares really hopes he isn’t gawking or making her uncomfortable with his gaze, it’s just surreal to him how complementary she is to Lene. “Forgive me, I know it’s rude to stare. It’s just that you remind me so much of a person I hold very dear.”

[hezulion]

[ Laugh ] - Laughing makes for a natural smile, and so the sender tries to make the receiver laugh for the photo.

Rhys wasn't sure he could get anyone to laugh naturally on the spot, but he'd try his best for a photo.

"If a warrior wanted to bring a date to the dance, he'd have to axe his partner out, huh?" Rhys smiled, eyes bright as he began to pray that he would get a laugh and not a stomp to his foot.

The joke isn't funny.

It’s really not funny at all, which might be why Ares has to strain to hold back laughter. It’s so bad it’s almost good. The man, a priest or bard he presumes, is one he doesn’t know. Ares tends to be guarded around strangers but there’s something about the man’s demeanour, his smile, posture and the way he carries himself that puts him immediately at ease. 

The man looks up at him expectantly, joyful smile still plastered on his face. Something in Ares snaps and a snicker or two escapes his lips. One after another, the giggles devolve into a chuckle and suddenly, Ares is in peals of laughter.

He swipes away the moisture from the corner’s of his eyes, still guffawing but with less gusto. It really isn’t that funny but Ares finds himself tickled regardless.

“Alright, alright... that was so bad I want a stamp on my card. He’d have to axe-- ahahaha.”

[hezulion]

[ Bunny ears ] - for a second he thinks about kissing ares for the photo, for he'd seen plenty of other couples to do it, but he finds he can't muster up the courage to do so. instead, arthur settles for the bunny ears behind the head prank with a slightly flushed grin.

He knows what's happening, but doesn't bother moving to stop it.

If he wanted to, he could. It’s a pretty childish prank in his own opinion anyway. Out of the corner of his eyes though, he catches sight of Arthur beaming and Ares is glad he’ll have a copy to keep forever. It doesn’t compare to the real deal but the last thing he feels like doing is ruining Arthur’s fun.

Click!

“You’re lucky you’re cute enough to get away with that.” Ares chuckles as he watches the way Arthur the delicate rosy flush on his cheeks deepens. They should go collect their photos, but Ares has other ideas in mind.

He leans in, facing Arthur and truly drinking in his chiselled, handsome face. The way his lavender eyes avert their gaze as he leans closer. Ares smirks as he closes the distance between them, although his own face burns scarlet too. He presses their lips together, softly at first and is about to deepen the kiss when--

Click!

He pulls back Steam is probably erupting from his ears as his heart pounds in his chest. It’s almost pleasant though, and he finds himself laughing despite his discomfort.

“We uh-- better get those before someone else does.”