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[dekuneho]

prohero!katsuki x reader — suggestive, mdni

Walking home alone at this hour is dangerous. Reckless, stupid. You'll get swallowed up by all kinds of creeps, your boyfriend told you once.

That’s why you need a hero to take care of you when this happens.

Pro Hero Dynamight — first in the official Chart, the bastard that makes all the villains shriek and the girls scream — makes this clear as he presses up against your back, thigh peeking between your legs, mouth to the shell of your ear — all for security, of course. He slides a heated hand from your hip to the curve of your thigh, his gloves rough on skin if it weren’t for the barrier of your jeans.

“What’s a pretty little thing like you doin’ out here all alone?” Dynamight rasps to your neck.

You gasp at the heat of his body towering over you, feeling a little weak in the knees. A big, strong Pro Hero cornering you like this… It’s a little scandalous. Your heart pounds for all the wrong reasons. “My— My boyfriend's working overtime. He’s a Pro, too, you see. A little too busy for me sometimes, Dynamight, sir.”

His big hand spans across your thigh, a steady weight that twitches at your formal address. It explores boldly. “A Pro, huh,” he echoes, gripping your chin to press his mouth against your jaw. “Looks like he ain’t doin’ his job to me.”

You shudder, and he follows it with a finger trailing up your spine near possessively, a dragon to his newly-found treasure. You tilt your head to meet the pierce of his red eyes, too helpless to not draw closer to the mouth that’s putting you in a trance with each filthy word. A handsome man like him, so eager to touch you... Who is to blame you, really? Your boyfriend’s left you a little needy.

“Ah, but — it’s okay.” You squirm and look up at him through your lashes. Coy and easy. “I’m used to taking care of myself. He’s busy enough.”

“He’s a jackass,” Dynamight says fiercely, half-distracted by your mouth.

You nearly break character, a little laugh slipping out. And with the way he grins, he knows what he’s doing wrong.

“Ahem. Dynamight, sir,” you return seamlessly, with the grace of a professional. Your back arches willingly as he drags you impossibly close, hip to hip. “We can’t… not like this. Someone might see.”

“Who gives a shit,” he says, then grips one whole thigh and squeezes appreciatively. “You’re already ruttin’ against me like a horndog, anyway.”

“Like a—” Incensed, you slap his chest, then hit it a few times more out of frustration. “Katsuki, gross! Stop ruining the scene, dammit.”

“What?” Katsuki’s frowns rather theatrically. The picture of innocence that doesn’t quite fit with his growing smug grin. “I didn’t ruin anything. Look, I’m still har—”

“Okay.” You exhale sharply, pushing away from him. Katsuki laughs, trying to pull you back to him, cooing. “You know what? Just skip the foreplay and take me home.”

[koipudding]

jing yuan, who loves when you’re wearing his clothes, and you return them to him. it’s so domestic and simple but he craves it. (gn reader, not a serious drabble.) reader is characterized as smaller than jy, interpret as you wish.

wc: 470

The clothes smell like you, of course. The laundry detergent you bought, your shampoo and the little scent beads you like to put in the washing machine. He doesn’t mind the musk that lingers on his old shirts after you clean the whole house, no of course not. Jing Yuan adores smelling your musk, lotion and conditioner melding together and melting into his shirt.

You go out to buy new scent beads every other month, a tiny little jar of them. Jing Yuan swears to anyone who listens that you’re doing this on purpose. Mixing your shampoo and lotion to match with the scent beads, changing the fabric softener to mess with his head (and laundry). He laments this to Fu Xuan, Qingzu, and Yanqing, who all beg you to stick to one routine before the General loses his sanity (of course, everyone groans and ignores him. they’ve had enough of his marital escapades, and they just tell him to marry you again if he’s this smitten. Thus, after a decade of marriage, Jing Yuan has rewritten his vows.) He likes these little variances in his routine, the little harmless surprise that keeps him on his toes.

(He swears it's just because you picked it out. You know it's because it reminds him that there's finally a home for him to return to.)

"I'm back, do you know what the others said during the meeting, they were planning on handing off more paperwork, but I insisted mimi and you would--" He stops in his tracks. This must be unfair. Divine Punishment? Did he anger Lan? his ancestors?

Jing Yuan sees you wearing nothing but some socks, his shorts and t-shirt (both of which hang off of your smaller frame). He runs over, pace quickening.

You yelp quietly, backing away before he pounces onto you, bearing all of his weight onto you. He can't help it, you're so cute wearing his outfit, doing laundry and making dinner.

“You smell so good.” he buries his face into your neck, inhaling the sun on your skin, lotion he bought for you, and the conditioner you've taken from his stash.

“And you smell icky.” You push him off gently, but his arms only tighten. He just got back from work, and he reeks of sweat. But you can’t ignore how your heart races whenever he gets up to these antics, and you can’t help but indulge in his whims. 

This is a regular habit. He barely removes his armor before running to you, and clings to you like a sullen child, asking about dinner and how his darling and mimi have been. You can only sigh and pat his head while he recharges in your lap (or, in Yanqing’s words: naps.) 

"thank you, for everything," He whispers into your ear, "You're doing great, sweetheart."

a/n: I was talking to a coworker abt how the only thing that brings me joy now is a 2d man (jy) and buying new scent beads/laundry scent boosters or sample perfume. then I had this idea. also that ending bit :,) sending good vibes to all with my first fic of the new yr!

[the-exiled-comic]

page 500

previous < > next

[krethes]

Prompt: Stargazing

Word Count: 500 (told you)

“You should not be here.” “And you shouldn’t be outside. It’s below freezing.” Regulus waves his gloved hand in a way that, on a more common person, might be interpreted as careless, and fire roars to life in the stone basin in front of him. “Satisfied?” “Hardly.” “Dissatisfaction was always a character flaw of yours. That and existing where you are not meant to be.” “Only two flaws? Seems rather charitable, from you.” Regulus resists the urge to face him. He knows if he does, he’ll lose the steel in his spine and the metaphoric ice in his veins will thaw and he’ll - well, he’s not entirely sure what he’ll do, but it can’t be good. He keeps his eyes firmly fixed on the night sky, tracing invisible lines over and over again as he’s been for the past three hours. “Well, it is Christmas.” “It is, that.” Regulus feels the heat of his body like a furnace, far warmer than the literal fire he’s conjured, and he’s not even touching him. He’s standing scant inches away, the crisp notes of his cologne all but lost to Regulus’s cold-numbed nose but recognizable, even still. “You should not be here,” he repeats, begrudgingly. Because he hates repeating himself, not because he hates why he’s here, why he can’t be. “It’s Christmas.” Regulus doesn’t grant him the courtesy of a reply, not to something so idiotic. They’d already established that. Worse, he fears there’s more to this. “Have you joined the centaur, staring at the sky for answers that worldly options cannot offer?” Regulus blinks, and grimaces when he does, his eyes dry and aching as they’re torn from the constellation and the brightest, unwavering star on the dog’s chest. “No one will tell me where he is.” “He’s on a mission, you know-” “Don’t-” “Dumbledore-” Regulus whirls on his heel and shoves him with both hands on his chest, for all the good it does. Kingsley is built like a mountain, and as immovable, as impassive. “Do not utter that madman’s name in my house,” he hisses, hardly recognizing his own voice, the anger twisting it. “We’re outside.” Regulus shoves him again, rage and bitterness welling up and mixing with the fear. Tears bite at his eyes and sting them, but he won’t let them fall. Kingsley catches his wrists in his big, ungloved hands and holds him fast like he’s nothing. He lets Regulus fight and struggle until there’s nothing left but the ache, and he draws Regulus to his broad chest and holds him, holds him tight so he won’t break and then brings him inside where he does break, where he shatters like ice from the roof, driven half-mad with worry and self-loathing because he doesn’t even like his foolish, reckless brother but for some gods-forsaken reason he loves him still and no one will tell Regulus where he’s been for weeks now. “He’s alive,” is all Kingsley tells him. It’s not enough, but it has to be.

[merthurglompfest]

Title: Earthly Delight By: wistfulVulpine Gift for: Violetcarson Rating: Mature Word Count/Medium: Digital art; 227 words Warning(s): None Creator Notes (Optional): Summary: Gift for Violetcarson for the 2025 Merthur Glompfest. Merlin as a cambion, as he was sometimes thought of in early medieval writing. AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63881908

[billystorm]

i've won, i've won, they told me that i've won

[transhetanybodys]

I just got hit with a flash of inspiration for another story involving Jay, an AU of my already existing AU where Russetpaw doesn't die and instead grows up to experience the same amount of hardship and adversity for her belief in bringing groups together and working against xenophobia but instead of that all eventually culminating in her snapping and becoming really mean and narcissistic and no longer believing in extending an olive branch to other cultures like what happened to Jay she simply becomes wiser about how she's going to accomplish her goals and what exact form they'll take, no longer having this truly out there and not even really good to accomplish goal of actually bringing Shadowclan and the cats of the Twolegplace into one united society with one blended culture instead of two but rather wanting them to be allies instead of being at war. She and Jay have some juicy mother daughter conflict a la the Baroness and Cruella. Jay thought that her daughter would either keep being someone she sees as a hopeless romantic idiot forever or eventually snap and become a second her and then rise to become a truly formidable leader of the Twolegplace cats' rival group Shadowclan. She didn't foresee this third option of Russetpaw maturing into a more intelligent revolutionary and she kind of resents her even more now. Now she's not just a mirror of her younger self who she sees as way too naive, she's a better path that she herself could have taken, but she can't face that because she thinks she's the best the way she is already.

[dogrocks]

into the incinerator

[troutfur]

prompt if you still need: fernkit/paw wondering if she'll ever become a warrior and wondering why she's still in the nursery/just starting her apprenticeship while cloudpaw gets apprenticed first and becomes a warrior before the other cats that are older than him -- brightpaw and swiftpaw.

[according to canon, she's born in the summer at the end-ish of into the wild. she's not even an apprentice until the following summer of rising storm. her and ashkit/paw are full adults in the nursery.]

I just HAD to do this one since it's so goddamn funny. The Erins did my favorite timeline fuckup TWICE. GOD. Knowing them it's probably many more, actually. Diversity win! Due to authorial incompetence this character is now adult in primary education representation!

For the unaware, it's an important plot point that The Sight takes place towards the end of winter/beginning of spring, since the whole of the plot can be tracked almost day by day pretty accurately and only takes up about a single moon, with the climax at the Daylight Gathering which explicitly happens during the first full moon of the spring.

However, in Sunrise during the subplot in which Jayfeather goes snooping in Leafpool's business, it is established him and his siblings were born in... winter! Leafpool's Wish later on doubles down on this nonsense which has forever ruined my ability to take the parentage reveal investigation seriously. CLEARLY such a basic timeline fuckup must mean Jayfeather's memory is shit and not to be trusted.

Typically I ignore this when creating timelines for my work, but I do have the jokey headcanon that Firestar was so furious about the fox kits incident that he refused to apprentice them until they were grown-ass adults. lmao.

Anyway, enough of my ramblings! Let's go!

(Want to submit your own scenario for me to turn into 500 words of crack? Check out my guidelines and submit a prompt! Recently I did an askbox cleanup so I'm very much in need for a good few more to get to November 30th.)

“Ashkit, don’t you feel like there’s something just... wrong about all this?” Fernkit asked with her squeaky kit voice from where she was observing just at the entrance to the nursery.

Her twin brother looked to her from where he was batting at a mossball, his head tilted to the side with confussion. “What do you mean?”

She frowned. “It’s just that, you know...” she looked out. “Cloudpaw is getting his apprentice ceremony, but wasn’t he smaller than us? And didn’t he get bigger just now?”

“When we woke up we were the same size,” Ashkit replied with a shrug.

“Maybe but shouldnt’ that mean we should be apprenticed as well?” Fernkit asked.

“Well, Bluestar didn’t say it was our turn to be appentices yet,” Ashkit said. “And mom says that we must obey everything she says. So if she hasn’t said we should be apprenticed we should just obey.”

Fernkit took in a deep breath as she tried to think how to explain the situation. “But aren’t we supposed to become apprentices when we reach 6 moons old? Didn’t we reach that a while ago?”

“I’unno,” Ashkit replied.

“We were already here by the time Cloudpaw joined the Clan,” Fernkit pointed out. “Shouldn’t we at least be becoming apprentices alongside Cloudpaw?”

“I don’t know what you’re worrying so much about,” Ashkit finally said as he turned around. “Cloudpaw’s going to have to do chores around camp all day now and we get to play instead. What do you miss so much about becoming an apprentice?”

As her brother tossed out his mossball and walked off, Fernkit was left alone with her thoughts on the matter. She couldn’t deny that there was some truth to what her brother was saying but it still left her a tad... unsettled. Wasn’t he ever excited about the idea of finally leaving the nursery? Of getting to know the territory and the world outside of camp? Of doing all of the things their adopted littermate would get to do?

Fernpaw shook her head, refusing to keep dwelling on these thoughts. Perhaps Ashkit was right and it wasn’t their time just yet. Perhaps being in the nursery would be for the best.

And so she followed in his lead.

[apollosgiftofprophecy]

SPITTAKES

HOLY SHIT DID NOT SEE THAT COMING

[darkisucksanditwrites]

close

Cyno’s palm cups his cheek suddenly and he stirs looking up at the General who leans over his desk, peering down at him curiously.

“What’s wrong.” He asks when Cyno doesn’t remove his hand. Normally Alhaitham would swat it away since he’s not very partial to others touching him without his consent or touching him at all.

If it was anyone other than Cyno of course.

Somewhere along, among the many meetings, debates, document reviews, lunches, late coffees, drinks and card games and bad jokes he realized that he let Cyno in, so close, like no other person before.

The testament to that is the way Cyno can invade Haitham’s personal space like this without him perceiving his presence as something threatening but instead as a part of their natural state of being.

And even the touch, despite being gentle could turn lethal any moment. That hand cupping his cheek could slide down his throat and squeeze depriving him of breath if Cyno wished to, but it does not alarm him or causes discomfort for being touched like this.

If anything, it only startled him because Cyno’s hand is warm.

“You have an eyelash here.” He says finally, swiping his thumb over the high bone of his cheek.

“Ah.” Haitham says and closes his eyes, another display of trust and vulnerability, which surprises even him, given away so easily as if it means nothing.

“Can I?” Cyno asks and Haitham nods.

There’s another gentle brush, rough thumb tracing thin skin under his eye, the pad grazing the tips of his eyelashes.

Then he stops and just holds Haitham’s face in his hand.

“Is that all?” Haitham asks with a huff, eyes still closed as he arches an eyebrow.

The General shifts, moving closer, closer still. Their knees bump against each other and then Haitham feels warm breath on his face.

“No.” Cyno says against his lips. “It’s not.”

[yameoto]

Hey so what happened to the 'Your wifes a supe' Victoria bot, I mean, the prompt just changed one day (not sure when) and was just wondering what the meaning was behind the change

i am completely clueless as to what you’re talking about because i just checked the bot and. well. no it hasn’t

[kstrucknet]

surprise !! please check out { @slytherinshua } new post !! 

─ ⊹ please reblog and leave feedback for the creator. 

୧　SLICE OF CAKE　( 전원우 )

genre fluff , established marriage , husband!wonwoo x wife!reader   cw food mention (cake) , teasing , they're in love and make me feel single , not proofread   wc 490   request @k1eev for wonwoo + arms clasped around one's waist for the 3k event   note man i haven't written for svt in a while but this reminded me how insane i am for wonwoo ever since i wrote fire lord wonwoo. that fic truly changed me and my bias line. i hope you enjoy kie!!!   net @kstrucknet

“Stop trying to run away. Come here.” Wonwoo’s voice was gentle and steady as always, but there was a subtle hint of amusement in his tone that only you would pick up. His words made your body relax almost immediately and a small smile crept on your lips.

“Why should I? You ate the last piece of cake,” you reminded him yet again, as if there was any possibility he would forget the fact with you reminding him every ten minutes the past hour.

“I’d buy you fifty cakes if that’s what you wanted. Just come here,” he told you, holding out his arms, waiting for you to consider the offer. You were only dawdling to tease him. He looked awfully cute with his glasses perched on his nose and his slightly messy hair from his gaming headphones. He hadn’t known you wanted the last piece of cake and had already apologized for it. He knew you were teasing him too, for just last week you had stolen food he had his eyes on as well. 

So you relented, and padded over to him, allowing his arms to find their home on your waist. His touch was firm, portraying his clear intentions. He wasn’t going to let you go until he had his fill. He hugged you close, lips right by your ear.

“Do you want me to buy you another cake?” he asked, and you giggled. He treated you too well.

“No, love. It’s okay. I don’t want another cake— just want you to keep holding me.” 

“Keep holding you? I think I can do that,” he said, smiling wider now. His grip on your tightened ever so slightly, the comforting hug welcome. Feeling Wonwoo so close to you was everything you could ever want, and infinitely better than a slice of cake.

You snaked your arms around his waist as well to mirror the gesture, looking up at him with pure love in your eyes. He looked back down at you with nothing but the same feeling, and another gentle squeeze to your waist told you everything. 

Your husband was a simple man, and it seemed like his only priority in life was to make sure you were happy. He did an excellent job at it, and you reminded him every day just how lucky you felt to have met him, fallen in love, and now be able to spend the rest of your life together. There was no better man you could have found, nor a better match for you than Wonwoo. Your perfect equal, even if he ate the last slice of cake sometimes. 

“How long do you want me to hold you?” he asked after a while. You looked like the last thing you wanted to do is make any moves to remove yourself from his arms.

“Forever.”

“I’m afraid I’m not so confident I can do that. But I can certainly try. Whatever my wife desires.”

svt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @ddeonudepressions,, @hannahsophie0103,, @cham3li,,

@shuabby1994,, @icyminghao,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,,

@wonwooz1,, @blossominghunnie,, @haecien,, @amara-mars,, @okshu,,

@parkjennykim,, @wootify,, @svtoose,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,,

@sobun1est,, @bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @thesunsfullmoon,, @talking-saxy,,

@nicholasluvbot,, @cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @gong-fourz,,

@nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @starshuas,, @raevyng,, @loserlvrss,,

@lexeees

[troutfur]

Adding a CalmMo prompt: the au where Jay is Dove and Ivy's dad and some cute father/daughter moment(s)

Ah Jaydad! A favorite fluff and angst subject! 💚​ I have something in the works that is still getting the kinks ironed out and may just have some Jaydad content in an unorthodox way. We'll see. I still have to get through rebuilding the habit as November goes on.

(Wanna get in on the ficlet fun? Check out my guidelines and hit me up for your one-scene ficlet request. I still have lots of space open.)

For this one I took something someone said onceto me about how there could be some kind of point of connection between Jay and his daughters as newborns, how at the beginning of their lives they experience the world in a manner similar to him.

Enjoy!

“Still enraptured by them?” Poppyfrost asked mid-yawn as she brought her front leg down her mate’s chest.

Jaywhisker whined in protest and half-heartedly tried to elbow her away to no avail as the larger queen easily pinned him down. Such was the price of sharing a nest with her. He could’ve taken a break, quite easily, and yet he had insisted in moving in with Poppyfrost and help take care of the two small bundles they now had under their care.

“If anyone ever told me you’d be this eager to stay inside of camp for any reason,” Poppyfrost said, punctuating it with a lick behind his ear, “I’d never believe them.”

From under her Jaywhisker gave a huff as he began trying to wriggle out.

“They’re hardly half a moon old,” Poppyfrost continued. “I don’t think you’re missing out on anything particularly exciting. They’re just kits afterall.”

“Just kits? It’s our litter,” Jaywhisker spoke up with a tone of indignancy. “Our first litter in fact. I don’t really think you can really speak much to what I am or am not missing.”

She rolled her eyes, wiggling to maintain him pinned under her. “Well~” she chirped before grooming a little more behind her mate’s ears and then shuffling off him in order to her paws. “Since I have someone so gracefully voluntering to keep looking after them then I suppose I can go get some sunshine and catch up with the goings on in camp can’t I?”

“Have fun,” he said with a flick of his tail as he began to stretch. They were lucky that they had the nursery mostly to themselves in the end like that. Jaywhisker still remembered enough of his kithood to shudder at the thought of being so cramped once again.

Jaywhisker kept an ear twisted to the entrance, not letting his guard down until he knew his queen had gone far away enough already to not be able to try any more of her games. With her outside the nursery he gave a yawn and began looking for the little bundles that were toddling around.

When his whiskers brushed over one of them --if he had to guess by the developing scent Dovekit, but he still got it wrong more than he wanted to admit-- he heard her mewl in protest and turn around to paw at his muzzle.

“Does that tickle?” he asked, a purr beginning to rise on his throat as he began rubbing them a little more vigorously against the tiny form.

The kit continued to mewl in protest and paw at her father’s nose, prompting the purr to deepen. She only stopped as her sister clumsily walked into her, called by the commotion, and the two rolled into each other as a tangle of limbs.

“Careful, careful,” Jaywhisker said as he went to pick up the kit he’d been playing with by the scruff and then deposited here away from her sister. Then he went up to the other one and with a careful prod from his face he redirected her attention away.

As the two little curious bundles continued their clumsy exploration of their living space, Jaywhisker kept always close, listening intently and trying to follow along. It reminded him of himself, whether exploring camp for the first time or being drilled in the layout of the territory by Brightheart. He almost wished he could have more time with them like that, but from what Leafpool said brightness was beginning to bother them and it wouldn’t be long after that they would come into light like their clanmates.

[darkisucksanditwrites]

larger than life

Sometimes when they're just resting together at home, Haitham with a book and Cyno with his TCG cards, on his lap, at some point Haitham will pull away from his reading and be seized by the sudden realization just how tiny The General really is.

It’s not like Cyno’s height is some sort of secret, guarded by shadowy forces of the Temple of Silence or the Matra.

It’s just there, out in the open with his whole, proud, full 161.9 centimeters of height (without the headpiece).

Haitham doesn't ways remember that small (heh) detail, because to him Cyno is The General Mahamatra; larger than life persona of Sumeru politics, so the fact that he's short or shorter than him doesn't register much even when he's looking up at Haitham when they're talking or sparring with him and he has to use his height disadvantage creatively.

To him, he might as well be two meters tall, towering over everyone with his authority and strength, both physical and mental.

But then it hits him when he's sitting on his lap like that, when he's moving around him in his kitchen, arms wrapped around his waist, when he holds Cyno’s hand in his or when they're settling to sleep and on rare occasions Cyno will let Haitham hold him in his arms, tuck him under his chin, tangle their legs together and engulf him in is embrace that Cyno all but disappears.

Haitham puts the book away for a moment, sneaks one arm around Cyno’s small, so small waist and brings him closer, chest pressing against his back and chin hooking over his shoulder to look at the cards in his hands and offer his own pointers about the game which Cyno comments merely with a thoughtful hum.

And Haitham will notice when looking at the clock that it has been an hour already of him not reading but just holding Cyno, memorizing his curves and angles and dips and bumps as they press wonderfully against his own bigger body, slotting so nicely and neatly as if Cyno was made for him – all his 161.9 proud centimeters.

“What are you smiling about.”

Cyno asks suddenly and Haitham realizes that yes, he has been hiding the tiniest of smiles against Cyno’s shoulder.

“Nothing.” He murmurs against his skin and Cyno doesn’t press, too absorbed by his precious cards.

He’s so small and so perfect.

Just for him.

fic on AO3

[luvuomi]

✎ . . . ❝ [ amethos but, epic au! ]❞ .ೃ࿐

dedicated tracks: “the horse and the infant” & “just a man”

though strategic in his battle tactics and a master in the art of war, sethos is not one who particularly enjoys the bloodshed and adrenaline that comes along with it. unfortunately in this day in age, not many would agree. for them, to harbor such skilled yet deathly attributes, should thus be carried with pride. only then, can a man ever wish to become that which is greater than himself. this is how many view the reigning king of tulaytullah.

an adversary that is neither man nor mythical, but one’s darkest moment.

but would his fellow comrades still think the same of him now if they saw him hesitating on striking down his greatest foe? granted.. said foe was nothing more than a mere infant.

a fragile, defenseless being he now cradled in his arms, a familiar gesture that brought forth memories of his own child as he looked into their eyes. how could such innocence be deemed a threat by the gods? to be the bearer of such great calamity?

he couldn’t do it. how can when all he sees as he carries this child are fleeting images of his own son and wife.

where as he stands out on the balcony overseeing a once prosperous nation now set ablaze and ringing with battle cries from his invasion, he imagines for a moment that he’s back home in tulaytullah. even after all the years, away from everything he’s known, he can still see the image of the streets below bustling with vendors as they open up shops and prepare for the day ahead. instead of the smoky air, he imagines the mellow summer breeze that travels through the air of his kingdom, greeting him a pleasant morning.

in this daydream, sethos continues to hold the infant in his arms, having decidedly taken him in to raise as his own. at his right, his own son tugs at him, eagerly wanting to meet his new little brother and on his left, is his wife — amélie . her head resting upon his shoulder while tender eyes gaze upon the infant that she of course welcomed with open arms. it’s a distant future but one that is so picturesque, he almost believes it to be true.

but as the infant’s cries suddenly echo out, everything vanishes as quickly as it came, reduced to nothing more than the ashes that fill the darkened skies.

the world he desires is not awaiting him should he go against the will of the gods.

to have sympathy now would come at too much of a cost. one he can’t afford to lose as a man who’s just trying.. begging to go home.