#suncap

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[sleepyangelkami]

WITHOUT HESITATION j.todd

 ☆ WORD COUNT - 3K

JASON TODD X FEM!READER

 ☆ SUMMARY - jason, almost too late, realises that you're in immediate danger. when he finds you and your sister in a flipped car rigged to blow, he makes the impending decision to save you and not her, without hesitation.

 ☆ WARNINGS - blood, gore, injury, explosions, car crash, arguing, worry/anxiety, the joker, mention of alcohol consumption, main character death (not j. or r.), grief, crying, (6) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

jason had realised much too late what was going on.

his head had been torn while working on the case with dick. what was joker going to do next, who was the target? after all, he never did go out without a bang. and he was getting closer and closer to the people they loved.

it was just a matter of time.

he had to admit, during all of this he'd managed to push you away. unintentionally, of course. you two were getting into it almost every day now. though he had to agree that it was his own doing and not yours. he'd snap, you'd merely stare, wondering what was wrong with him.

didn't you see? by the end of the week, joker would have gotham painted red if they didn't figure out his next move soon enough.

this was why jason was thankful your sister had come for the weekend to take you away. your sister, ashley, worked a long while away from gotham and it wasn't often that she came to see you. when she did, she turned her nose up at the sight. she never was a lover of gotham.

jason supposed, neither were you.

but as much as you hated the crime that circled gotham, the dirt on the street, the injustice of the entire city, you still loved it dearly. it was where you'd grown up and you just couldn't bring yourself to leave. so, you got a paying job, lived in the smallest of apartments where you spent most of your time with your lover. and if you and jason weren't there, you were spending time at the manor, wrapped up in jason's black sheets while he recited the books that lay on his night stand.

the trip ashley was taking you to would last a total of two days, the friday she came and the saturday after. you wouldn't be heading home until that sunday evening.

he hoped by then that he would have the case sorted out and it was safe enough for you to come home.

often times, he wondered what he was doing as red hood. perhaps it wasn't worth it anymore, would it be better to just let it all go? batman and nightwing could save gotham. he and you could live a normal, mundane, happy life. then he'd look at you in the midst of reading, glancing down at your closed eyes and pretty pouty lips. then, he'd be reminded of why he did what he did. to make gotham a better place for you and one day, for his family.

"you all set?" he questioned, shutting the trunk after lifting all your bags into the car. you'd told him you could do it yourself but he only insisted. he'd done enough to you in the past few days, you deserved this at least.

"yes." you grinned up at him, sweet as ever. even in he midst of chaos, you were the sweetest he'd ever seen. "apex grove awaits us!" you glanced to your sister who was sat in the car, leaning out the window with an ugly green suncap on her head apex grove written in yellow writing.

"it's gonna be the best weekend ever!" she was whooping in the car causing you to giggle at her antics. it would be the best weekend ever, for her, that was if she remembered any of it after she got shitfaced two nights in a row.

jason was not unfamilliar to your sister's drinking habits. but he thought what harm, it wasn't as if you were stupid enough to get dragged into it too. "you have fun, okay? not too much fun."

you listened to him huff out a laugh. "i will." before moving forward to let your head fall on his chest. hugging jason was what you assumed hugging clouds felt like. though you'd never experience it, you could still dream. "'m gonna miss you." you mumbled, only loud enough for the man to hear.

even during arguments, you were the only one that truly saw him.

you never blamed him for his short temper or his aggrivation he felt during cases like these. you only moved with caution, letting him know you were there. you were something he would be eternally grateful for.

"i'll miss you too, sweetheart." he mumbled back, pretty eyes glowing in the little sunlight that gotham got.

"bleh!" your sister yelled, rolling her eyes. "come on, y/n! we're gonna be late for the dinner reservation!"

"okay, bye." you reached up, kissing him on the lips ever so gently. "love you."

"love you too." watching as you made your way towards the passenger seat giddily. "take care of her!" placing his hands on his hips as though he were a mother.

"bye jason!" your sister only yelled back in response causing his brows to crease even further. was she trying to make him go grey in his prime? nevertheless, he waved towards your window until your sister's range rover left through the wayne manor's gates.

while watching them close on the way out, he felt a certain tightness in his chest. worry. he worried for you, worried that something would happen to you while you were gone. then he reassured himself that here was where the trouble was. if anything, he should be thankful you were anywhere but here.

you'd given jason a key to your apartment. you'd always insisted he'd take one anyway but he never did, you soon learned that was because he sort of liked coming through your window, grin on his face as you jumped sheepishly with a fright.

now, however, the key was forced into his back pocket.

you'd told him he'd better stay at yours for at least the nights, reassuring him that this whole joker business would get sorted out as it always did. you told him that whatever he was to do, he was at least to get sleep in your apartment and not stay cooped up in the manor wondering where joker will land next.

and he really wanted to make you happy, truly.

but it was now sunday and they were no closer than they were before.

bruce was injured, heavily so, from the joker's last attack. alfred had all but bedbound him, forcing him onto the lush mattress that costs more than your apartment complex put together.

so for the most part, it was just dick and jason on this one. tim was away and damian wasn't trusted on something so severe without the guidance of bruce.

alfred popped in once or twice to deliver food and assure that they were getting the rest and nutrition that they needed.

however, all the brothers could do was think the entire events over and look for clues. "three wheels on fire." dick's hands were clasped in his lap while he sat by the computers. "that's what he said, why didn't he show?"

the men had thought for sure that the joker would have struck at the fun fair. gotham was throwing one and there happened to be exactly three ferris wheels. "i don't know." leaning his face onto his hand that was propped onto the table. a map lay atop it. "maybe it was to throw us off his trail?"

"no chance!" dick quickly shut him down as he stood, pacing the cave. "maybe something went wrong. maybe he messed up. three wheels on fire, i mean, that was his chance! what else could he have been talking about." seconds passed before dick practically had a light bulb appear over his head. "a car? three cars?"

"that could be any three cars." jason waved him off. "how on earth would we figure out who? besides, three random civilians? don't you think it's a little too.... theatrical for three civilians?"

dick slumped back into his chair. "the joker does love his theatrics."

and jason had to agree with that. his eyes glanced down to the map, scanning it, until... "dick." his head turned. "hand me that red marker?" doing as he was told, dick handed jason the red marker that he used to scribble little dots against the page.

in confusion, the older boy watched him. he watched as fear suddenly took over his face, draining him to a ghostly while colour. dick hadn't seen jason scared of many things but whatever he had just uncovered... that was enough fear for a lifetime. "talk to me jaybird."

he swallowed thickly, already standing. "everywhere the joker's hit has been in pathway's through towns. every dot on the page is where he hit."

dick shook his head. "no, no, he didn't hit there." bulky finger lingering on the last spot on the page.

"no." he shook his head. "but it's the only dot that would connect the full circle. apex grove. it's where y/n is." the words came out sort of like a whisper, a whisper of pure fear.

"no, no, okay? you can't go off of some silly circle drawing, i mean, how do you know she's even in a car right now?" his hands were on jay's shoulders, trying to keep him steady in all his attempts. but jason's mind had already been clouded by fear and that enough had it made up.

"she's coming home tonight."

"that still doesn't prove anything!"

"dick." his face stern and steady. "if anything happens to her," voice cracking ever so softly. "if anything happens to her, i won't forgive myself."

dick swallowed too, realising perhaps jason was right. and even if he wasn't, was it a situation he was willing to put your life on the line for? "okay, let's go."

"it's so dark." you giggled, glancing out the window. you were... tispy, you could say. thing is, you'd been the sober one for friday and saturday night so ashley decided you were going to drink at least one night so she decided why not now, it wasn't as if you had to drive back to gotham, she had that handled.

"yeah." she chuckled. "tends to happen when the sun goes down." you hummed, sitting back up. you weren't exactly drunk, everything was just buzzing a little. "i didn't wanna ask because i didn't wanna ruin the whole night or anything but what was going on with you and jason?"

"what do you mean?" you questioned, turning your head to her while laying it against the seat. tiredness consumed you whole and while you'd loved this little getaway with your sister, you were thankful to be sleeping in your apartment bed tonight.

she shrugged her shoulders, eyes set on the dark road ahead. "i don't know, thought there was a little tension or something."

"we had a little fight." you admitted, absentmindedly gazing out the window. "but it's okay, all couples fight, right?" you couldn't tell her why you'd fought because that would include telling her about the fact that he worked with batman against the joker and that didn't seem like a great way to tell her.

"oh yeah, you should see me and theo." theo was her husband, the father to her kid, teddy, it was supposed to be sort of like theo but you didn't know if that was how it actually sounded. "we fight all the time."

"but you love him." you added.

"oh yeah, to bits." grinning and for a split second, glancing at you. "and as a girl in love, i can tell when other people are in love. and you and jason are just... soulmates." you huffed out a little laugh. "no, seriously, i've never seen two people so in love. i mean, all through highschool, i really thought you were gonna end up a crazy old cat lady."

"i do like cats."

"mm, always did."

BANG !

jason swore he broke every speed limit known to man, he didn't care. he couldn't care. dick waited until the motorbike slowed to a stop.

the men discarded the vehicles before stepping onto the road, staring in shock.

in the darkness of the night, a range rover could be made out, lights still on, though it appeared only one was working. it had been flipped on it's backside, one wheel discarded on the other side of the road. what had hit them? jason had no idea but what he did know was that there was a kind of ringing in his ear, fear.

"is that them, jason?!" it wasn't the first time dick had yelled out the question.

though his voice suddenly brought him back to life, his brows knitted. "the car's not on fire." he mumbled, confused. "dick, the car isn't on fire."

"oh shit." instinctively taking a step back. "it's gonna blow up."

the words should have registered in jason's mind to get the fuck out of there. instead, he ran towards the car.

he heard the faint yell of "jason!" from behind him. but there was only one thing on jason's mind as of now. and that was you.

he found you quick enough, popping off the door with his strength instead of wasting any more time. he could see you flipped in the passenger seat, your sister next to you. even when blood dripped from your forehead and your nose, gash against your hairline, you looked almost peaceful, as if you were only sleeping.

it caused genuine fear in him. jason swore he'd never been so scared.

knowing that at any moment the car could explode, he grabbed your limp body with ease, carrying it until you were a safe enough distance from the car and setting you down on the ground.

"y/n? baby, can you hear me?" dick watched as his baby brother held his limp girlfriend in his arms. "y/n, wake up. wake up!" as if in some distant world, you'd heard him, your eyes slowly peeled themselves awake. "there you are, there you are, huh?" though a laugh emitted his mouth, there were tears in the corner of your boyfriends eyes.

confusion washed over you, eyes hazy. "where am i?" but before you could receive an answer, everything came flooding back and you began sitting up, turning your head. "where's ashley?"

you were leaning on your arm, the other had a wound soaking through your shirt.

the men didn't respond, glancing to one another. going in there meant risking their lives. and sure, they risked their lives every day for the people of gotham but that car could blow at any minute. "where is she?" you practically cried, eyes turning to the flipped car behind jason. "she's still in there?!"

"y/n, listen―"

you cut dick off, trying to stand. "no! no! i have to get her!"

jason held you though it didn't take much, your body already weak. "sweetheart, the car is gonna blow, we can't risk you―"

"i have to save her! get off!" as much as you tried to writhe against him, it worked at no avail. "jason, get off me! jason!" dick's heart pained as jason's hand soothed the back of your head, pushing it against his shoulder.

BANG !

you swore you screamed, you heard a scream, you think. it was all really hard to remember. you clawed at jason, crying into his redhood suit shoulder, sobbing horrendously as you watched the car that held your sister burst into flames.

jason held you, not uttering a word and watching dick flee the scene, most likely in suit of finding the joker. he could only hold you close, listening you scream the word 'no' on repeat.

"i know, i know." he swore he could feel his own eyes muddling with the same glassy tears that yours were covered with. "i'm sorry, i'm so sorry."

at some point, you turned your eyes away from the explosion, face in jason's chest. you no longer fought against him, crying so loudly as he held your wrists against him, trying everything in his will to pick the pieces of you up. but in some way, he felt as though he'd caused them.

"she's gone." you sobbed out violently against him. "she's gone." the words repeated in your brain. you'd lost many people to gotham but never did you think you'd lose her, anyone but her.

"baby, you're bleeding." blood covered your hands and his, practically dripping down your face. "we need to get you to a hospital."

but you were beyond the point of caring, blubbering with few whimpers between. all you could think was your pretty sister, a husband and a kid, burned away in an explosion. she was gone and she was not coming back. "i- i can't." hyperventilating out the words. "i can't l-leave."

"i got you." you felt him help you off the stone ground, your knees weak. though nothing really registered, a ringing in your ears. even hours later, he kept repeating the same words. "i got you. i got you." sitting on the hospital bed next to you while you sat with a sullen look in your eyes. you were far away, that much was obvious but no longer stained with the vicious blood.

"she's gone." it came out much calmer now, though tears still coated your glassy red eyes. "why didn't you take her and not me?" though it was a stupid question.

even in your clouded mind you knew that if he could do it all over again, he wouldn't change a thing.

"i had to save you." he answered.

when he saw you were in that flipped over car, knowing there was a chance he could have blown up with you, he took it anyway, grabbing your limp body without hesitation.

he'd rather die than let something happen to you.

and in this case, he'd rather let someone else die than any harm to come to you. and that was simply something he wasn't afraid to admit.

he could lose. he had lost. he lost almost everything from his family to the world around him. but he couldn't lose you. no, anything but you.

main masterlist/jason's masterlist

[mooo-oood]

[SIMS4/TS4] MoooD Hair N74

New mesh

66 Swatches

HQ Compatible

👻TOU

Feel free to re-texture or convert my creations. (not include mesh)

Do not edit my work source. (etc. alpha map, mesh)

You can edit my creation(+source) for personal use only, no sharing

I don't take any request

☠ Don't steal to the GTA, ZEPETO.

☠ Don't share the download link.

​Download(Early Access/6.30)

📢RONA Suncap Link(Early Access/6.30)  *선캡 호환을 위해 일부 모자는 착용하지 못할 수 있습니다.

[webxgal]

[Ⅶ] aegri somnia

a sick man's dreams.

You had a dream that night. There were many things wrong with it.

You were still the same age as you are now, sitting in the backseat of a car. Your head was pressed against the cool glass of the window, the sky washed in gold and beige. You instinctively reach for your camera, only to find it missing. Your parents sit on the front seats, saying nothing. They have the radio on, though, and the voice of some English singer fills the quiet ambience of the car. They were alive, you could see your father’s veiny hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. You can see your mother’s dyed hair, tied up messily and you can’t help but feel uncomfortable. She never tied up her hair. You say absolutely nothing to them, gazing out the window and listening to music none of you cared for.

You three make a pitstop. The rest stop is more old and country than you were used to, with only a singular picnic bench outside a diner. The setting didn’t look like it belonged to Japan and more like the ones you’ve seen in those old American films you used to rent out. Only one woman is sitting on the bench, cross-legged with her shoes missing. She’s wearing shorts and a navy tank top, a brimmed suncap on her head. She seemed like a foreigner, and when she looked up your suspicions were confirmed. Her skin is tan, with some obvious sun damage. Her blonde hair is in a loose ponytail, split ends fraying in the breeze. She spies the both of you alone, with your father having gone to fill up the gas. You both must have looked lost, standing together in silence. You tried to remember if your interactions with your mother had always been like this; or if it’s something new that came with being seventeen and no longer in love with the idea of her.

The stranger waves at you both, friendly and a little awkward, and you spy a cat on her lap. Its fur was a dark slate grey, green eyes were beady and beautiful. A Russian Blue cat. It seemed to love the woman’s embrace, cuddled nicely into her toned arms. Your mother stands stationary, even when you go to sit at the picnic table, and you ignore her. The blonde woman greets you happily, never tells you her name, but treats you like you’re an old friend. You feel very endeared to her, and it hasn’t even been three minutes. She tells you she’s something of a nomad.

“Grew up in Canada. I started travelling after high school. I met my husband in Guatemala, and we started exploring together. Just came from Australia, that’s where all the sunburns came from. You can’t underestimate the heat there, that’s for sure!”

She speaks in quick Japanese, and her sentences are jumbled, messy, and unnatural. However, her tone is hearty and you liked listening to her. She doesn’t ask anything about you, and you don’t mind. At one point the cat eventually climbs into your arms, purring contently. You feel a sharp pain. The Russian Blue digs its tiny claws into the exposed skin of your arm. It’s not supposed to hurt much, but it does. You don’t say anything, continuing to listen to the older woman patiently without even as much as flinching. She stops mid-sentence into her time in Guangzhou just to gasp at the sight of your bleeding arm. She shooed away the cat without a second thought and cradled your arm gently, cooing at you comfortingly. The action felt almost motherly. You glance behind you, to your mother who stands like a statue. She only stares back at you blankly. She looks like a confused child, looking at something she doesn’t understand. You don’t get it. What is confusing about her child being hurt?

“Ayame?”

You still can’t tear your eyes away from your mother, as much as you want to. You wait for her to do something, but she stays frozen. You wonder why the nice foreign lady keeps calling you your mother’s name.

Your dream ends in a haze, but you’re startled by the firm knocking on your door. Takeba’s voice is muffled behind the slab of wood, but the urgency still rings clear. You mumble something to let her know to give you a second, but you don’t care if she hears you. You shrug on a cardigan hanging over your bedpost, clicking open the lock of your room. Takeba, donned in a cute pink sweater dress, stands outside your door and looks over your slovenly appearance that is a sharp contrast to her own, but quickly snaps out of it when you shoot her a miffed look.

“Good morn—er, afternoon,” She greets you, but she’s barely looking at you as she shifts her weight onto her other leg. “Kirijo-senpai asked me to check up on you. It’s noon.”

As if to cement her point, Takeba holds up her flip phone screen and the time is printed clearly on the top. You curse instinctively, running a hand through your unkempt hair.

“Sorry… it’s been a busy week,” And it’s not much of an excuse, but thankfully the brunette looks sympathetic as she nods in understanding. She reminds you that in the evening Ikutsuki will be paying a visit to give you an official induction into the team, and that already puts a damper on your mood. You still haven’t quite forgiven him for lying about his visit to you in the hospital, and instead sending the most intimidating girl you’ve ever known in his stead.

Takeba leaves you to your own devices, and you try to freshen up as best as possible with the oddly placed sink in your room. Even with cold water splashing on your face, your mind still fixates back on your incongruous dream. It was a peculiar experience, feeling the cool glass of the car window and the heat of the sun on your back, knowing the sensation belonged to you. Yet, it was undeniable that for that moment you weren’t you. The silky black tresses on your head weren’t yours, nor was the iron-pressed sailor uniform you wore. This was all your mother, and it made your skin crawl. Even five years after her being gone, your mother is still hauntingly alive and you can’t help the vexation it fills you with. The dead should stay dead.

In your haste, you miss the buzzing of your phone and only later will you come back to the notification, disappointed it’s not a concerned email from Yuko.

Don’t pick up: Missed call.

[mistresslrigtar]

WIP Wednesday - final chapter of I Belong to You - Chapter Twelve: Guiding Light

excerpt:

“What did you call this thing again?” Link asked. He studied the glowing reddish-orange mushrooms in a plexiglass container about the size of a full-size refrigerator in the corner of her lab.

“It’s a Controlled Environment Agricultural Scenario - CEAS for short. It’s similar to a greenhouse on a smaller scale.” Placing her journals in her bookbag, Zelda zipped it up and set it on her desk. They were graduating today and attending a garden reception with their families afterward. Zelda needed to make sure everything in her lab was in order before they left for the summer. 

“I’ve never seen a luminescent mushroom before. Are they edible?” Link had that faraway look when he was mulling something over. 

Zelda’s silk magenta sundress swished softly about her legs when she walked over to where he stood. “They are… why?” She hooked her arm around his waist and leaned against him. 

“I bet they taste like a sunset.” He draped an arm loosely about her shoulders, fingers playing with the spaghetti strap.

“What’s a sunset taste like?” Zelda pictured the explosion of color that graced the sky when the sun dipped to the horizon and licked her lips. She imagined a sunset tasting salty.

“Warm and earthy, with undertones of sweet pepper. I could make a risotto.” Link’s imagination was far better than hers.

Wait a minute. Link wanted to cook Zelda’s research project that had taken her two years of sweat, tears, and sleepless nights? The spores that had helped save his best friend’s life? “With my suncaps?”

“Yeah, why not? You said they were edible.” 

“They were bred for their medicinal effects, not to be chopped up and sauteed with goat butter, white wine, and mixed with rice.”

“Aw, come on. Aren’t you least bit curious what they taste like?” Link turned her so she faced him, his arms encircling her waist, pulling her closer… and pouted. “I wrote you a song. Two songs. The least you could do is give me a couple of mushrooms in return. It’s not like I wouldn’t make the risotto for you.”

Read the first 8 chapters HERE on AO3. Rated E for mature content.

TY to @zeldaelmo and @hyylia for beta reading!

[atlasarcana]

ATLAS HI

one out-of-context sentence from a scene you're particularly excited about people getting to read or really enjoyed writing! (or a few scenes, or a lot of scenes, or just post the entire thing, I'm nor complaining!)

here's the opening passage to fic 2 of echo bren which i really enjoy re-reading, because i'm weirdly affectionate about hobbyist fishing when it's done by people who aren't good at it

The house itself is not much larger than the average family home in the center of the Candles, but it is made massive by the optical illusion of being set in the middle of the forest instead. Fifteen minutes’ walk away, a sizeable lake of foaming teal water froths and stills and froths again under the beating wind, all of the suds scumming on the surface from the soapbark trees around. On a lucky day, they have caught fish in that lake: iridescent-scaled, cranky little things that pop out of the water with a temper, snapping and cracking around on the soil until Caleb throws them in the bin to make a lethally good sashimi out of later. 

Today, they stand in front of the lake, Caleb in his unflattering fisherman’s hat, Essek in his massive swathe of an injurious-looking suncape, and together they fish and fish and catch absolutely nothing.

“We’re fools,” huffs Caleb. “It’s Da’leysen.”

“The fish are not any less active on the weekend, Caleb.”

“No,” says Caleb. He turns to Essek in the eye-sizzling sunlight, shaded so sharply by the hat that his face looks small and dark as a hole underneath a dome of yellow. “We told him Da’leysen. We should have told him that we would summon him Miresen. I have an outing later today to chaperone. I won’t be getting home in time.”

[sokimyork]

J.Jane Pearl Line Ribbon Suncap - White & Black

SokimNewYork's J.Jane Pearl Line Ribbon Suncap. Elevate your style with its chic design and versatile detachable ribbon. Crafted for sophistication and comfort, it's your must-have accessory for any occasion. Redefine elegance with SokimNewYork.

[jocrudedispatches]

Bush-faced lefty

White stone upon a suncapped hill.

That I even try to lead you on is foolish

Who me? I'm nobody.

Barry White pissed his drawers

I seen it happen

then it gets to me

self psychoanalysis

free association

a song against itself

big black black flag

I attack the page

Uboa in my ear

I eat Mayakovsky's bloated corpse in a pimp hotel

until there's nothing left.

Nothing left to chew

And with a laugh I gnaw on hunger alone.

[k-star-holic]

"Suncap is 120,000 won?"...."Vic-Fezensac"

Source: k-star-holic.blogspot.com

[sketchonista]

Dior SS22 shot at Paris Fashionweek

[adererror]

Summer is coming and there's Piping Sun visor cap in blue/noir colors

www.adererror.com

[onauratoutvuparos]

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[vanle23]

CAP AT WORK: Summer Edition - @columbia1938 Omni Shade Sun Hat I got a couple of years ago from @lids #capatwork #crewera13 #hats #caps #headwear #osfa #suncap #omnishade #Columbia #outdoors #lids #momentum #tipofthecap #vanle23 #1lastdance https://www.instagram.com/p/B0pSmnoFsBR/?igshid=1x515i0l1b041

[kettlequills]

au where laat joins alduin. vyrthur is there. tw for wilful starvation from a vampire, death ment and brief mentions of molag bal.

In the bowels of Skuldafn, Vyrthur tended the dead. With the steady patience of a dead elf, he drew a neat line of stitches in black thread through the tattered edges of grey, shrunken skin. The horrible rent that had carved the draugr’s embalmed, empty chest open and flapping as loose lips disappeared under his care, smoothed along by the brace of ice he had worked around its old, brittle bones. The dead here were almost as old as he was, and the tiredness he saw in their guttering blue eyes reminded him of the hearts of glaciers, shimmering in a sun that had once loved him.

The dragons that flew the skies above were as living as a tree was bloody, and they were old, beyond mortal. He heard their great hearts beat like drums, hollow cannon booms that rattled through his chest and did not stir the hair that had not grown an inch in centuries around his pointed ears. Their blood burned like lines of fire to his eyes, like galaxies, like sunbeams. Like the touch of Auri-El, in his mind and heart so long ago, when Vyrthur called upon his holy powers to offer healing and salvation to the suffering at the Chantry.

Like most things, Molag Bal’s mockery had turned his power to draw upon the succour of the sun to ash and shadow. Where once he had strode proud as a prince of his loyal people over suncapped icefields and shone with a raiment of diamonds, now Vyrthur worked in the dark and crept about in catacombs of human dead like a rat. He avoided the dragons – the sons of Auri-El’s least sentimental aspect – with the flinching scurry of a thrall, and he kept away even from the twin moonlight pale and forgiving through the slits in the walls where death would pour as pitch in the higher levels of the temple complex.

When he had dead to mend, he waited for the draugr to drag themselves to the narrow corridors where Vyrthur placed bowls of dehydrated ice to mark his domain. He liked it when the stone fogged white with hoarfrost, when the very air trembled against his too-slow, too-measured movements, and he could fool himself that the plumes he saw were from the breaths he no longer needed to take, warmed in a chest by a heart that would never again beat.

He lusted for the dragons’ blood, with the same, absent longing he had held for warm breezes, as a living man. Nowadays, Vyrthur devoted more energy to keeping his soft leather shoes buffed clean then he did making his air breathable. A dead man did not need air, except when he had to speak. And Vyrthur did not speak to many.

There was one dragon, however, whose blood he did truly crave, and they were, coincidentally, the only one with whom he spoke. He needed to speak with them again, soon. They had brought him a gift. Vyrthur heard it through the stone floors, sensed it on the stagnant air that wafted around the temple, carried by the shuffling patrols of the dead guards. He needed more thread, for mending the dead. He needed – what they had brought him. But he did not want it. He had not wanted anything he needed, for such a very long time that the concept of such harmony was as faded as the taste of snowberries on his tongue.

He had loved snowberries, when he was alive. Young Vyrthur had scrambled and scrapped with Gelebor among the ditches of cultivated bushes, stuffing leaves into each other’s flushed faces and yanking on hair strong and silky with life. Like most things, those bushes were ash now.

Vyrthur, with the patience of a dead elf, dithered. He fixed shrouds, cleaned eyesockets, refreshed spellweaves. He leant his power and his twisted, shadowy deathmagic to healing the wounds on the draugr from battles unremembered and unwatched, and when he had run out of loitering bodies he washed the tools he had used, in a tub so big he had to break the ice with his fist.

His knuckles split. Dispassionately, Vyrthur picked the ice shards out of the wound and forced himself not to stare at the lack of blood. His body begged his will to crack; Vyrthur refused it.

With a silent slump, he turned towards the stairs.

Skuldafn was mostly stairs. Dragons loved heat, and stone trapped it well. The catacombs carved beneath the sky hold were labyrinthine and stocked liberally with runes and fireplaces that would stir smoke and heat through the underbelly of stone like blood through veins until the very heart of Skuldafn was as warm as dragonfire. Ash dusted the stony sloops where wrapped bodies in the hollows of the stairways took place of wood and coal, fallen defenders that had grown too numerous and too great for the temple’s living days to find true places to bury them.

Vyrthur watched his shiny shoes dim with dust, and did not breathe, and did not sigh.

Sometimes he thought about opening his mouth and letting all the dust accumulate on his tongue, like it did the unwakened draugr who slept with overwhelming soundless stillness. He was curious about whether it would taste like stone or bones. But Laataaz would tease him, if he did. They always teased him.

He did not mind.

The doors to Skuldafn’s ramparts were never closed, these days. Draugr wandered in and out, guarding the premises and searching for a hint of warmth to chase through the day. Dragons sometimes slept curled up in the great porch, but there was no one here today. Vyrthur skirted the pale glow of the moonlight striking strips of stone to pure pearl and clung close to the shadowy wall. He followed the sense of blood in his thirsty body, the thumping of a mortal heart.

Laataaz waited for him at the portal to the death-realm. It was silent, today, still as the grave, and the immense nebulous coils of its master wreathed the platform in glittering rings of darkest black. Even from a distance, Alduin the Devourer burned Vyrthur’s eyes, the impossible iridescence of his scales seeming to show glimpses, flashes, of a thousand futures and a thousand pasts, and all of them washed in a suffering beyond what his mortal mind could comprehend. The world slid like a sinking buoy towards him, and though Vyrthur knew not to look directly at the dark dragon his mind still shied away from attempting to grasp the true shape of him, offering instead disjointed jumbles of a wing, taller than a mountain, a claw the size of a battering ram, a single ruby eye, greater than the whole of Nirn and glowing with all the force of the Aetherial nether.

Right before the titanic muzzle Vyrthur’s mind refused to ascribe any shape to other than threat,Laataaz sat on the topmost step, legs hanging over the maw of the closed portal. He made out the sketch of their shoulders, the incline of their head, and all the rest was lost in the blazing of their blood, brighter than the sun and twice as lovely. He heard the rhythm of their heartbeat and unconsciously matched his steps to it as he approached, cautiously wending his way through the maze of pillars forming glyphs that could only be understood from above.

“Qah- naar – in,” rumbled Alduin in a lecturing tone, and one of Laataaz’s legs kicked rebelliously like scattered disc of stars.

“Qahnaarin,” they repeated.

“Niid.”

“Qahnaarin.”

“Better.”

Vyrthur’s ear flicked as he tried to discern the difference. He knew some little of the dragon tongue, half-remembered and hazy as all knowledge gained in his mortal life was now. He could not claim to understand the subtle shades of power that underlaid their thrumming Voices when they spoke to each other, but he was a student once, and he knew a lesson when he saw one.

Leaning a hip against a pillar, Vyrthur settled in to wait.

“You still hesitate,” Alduin said. “You know our tongue better than this, Dovahkiin.”

Laataaz’s fingers streaked the sky like comets when they touched the dark dragon’s snout, as brilliant as a perfect sun in a perfect night. “Yes,” they admitted, guiltily. “I… don’t want to destroy the temple.”

Alduin made a sound for which there was no mortal translation, something between a growl and a purr that Vyrthur took to mean vague remonstrance tinged with an element of icy fondness. He did not know the exact nature of the relationship between the devourer and the dragon meant to slay him. If they had been normal creatures, Vyrthur would have supposed they were friends.

“Your night-walker awaits,”Alduin said, and gathered his wings under himself. There was a trembling moment when the world seemed to collapse under its own weight, and then Vyrthur blinked bloody eyes and saw a dark shape eclipse the moon, and nothing but shadow where the dragon had lain.

“Vyrthur!”

His name throbbed through his earbones, but Vyrthur did not wince. Slowly, carefully, he breathed.

“Laat,” he allowed. His voice creaked out of his dry throat like a rusty gate. It was always a difficulty to speak around the fangs, and his words were slowly formed offerings to avoid slicing out his own tongue.

He heard the scuff of their feet on the steps, coming closer. Their brightness stunned his eyes, it was like trying to look into the sun. White bloomed in the centre of his vision; the edges crept with black. He had never seen Alduin beat his wings, only hang there in the sky like a ghost, moving with the weight of a glacier and the speed of a peregrine. Laataaz reminded him of that, for all their mortal heart thudded with excitement, for all their blood rushed and flushed about their skin, for all their copper shriek-and-fury scent seared like inhaling a noseful of flames.

They were the closest thing to Auri-El he had felt in millennia, and how they burned.

“Would you like to be Rahgot, Vyrthur?”

“No,” he said, as he had said every other time they had offered him a mask scrounged from a dead priest. He already bore a monument, he already was his own grave, the ash of a different elf.

The incandescence he had roughly judged to be their shoulders shrugged. “I brought you someone,” they said, “his name is Valmir. Apparently.”

Vyrthur exhaled his breath in one slow, controlled rush. He did not want the name. He never wanted the names of… what Laataaz brought him. He hoped this one did not know any of the cobbled together mash he had managed to approximate of the languages Laataaz spoke. He did not want to hear them speak.

Laataaz always told him the names. He did not know why they did it; they, after all, were not afflicted by the inability to perceive his face through what Molag Bal had done to him, the senseless, unending thirst and torment Auri-El had allowed him, and though Vyrthur did not permit himself to breathe he still could not control his expressions quick enough to smother away a frown.

Gelebor had told him once that he wore his heart on his sleeve.

The muscles in his chest flexed when he inhaled again, steadily as the creep of decay. His heart did not. “I need more thread.”

Laataaz hummed, and he felt the buzz pleasant in his sternum. “I will make a supply run soon. You could come with me. Venfokest will take two.”

“No,” said Vyrthur. He wanted to see the cities of the living even less than he wanted the names.

They touched him, and Vyrthur’s breath jerked. The curve of their palm was tremendously warm and faintly damp with living sweat where it curled around his arm, as radiant as a pool of sunlight. He felt their heat down to his bones, down to his cold and aching soul. Their pulse hammered under his jaw.

His mouth wept with thirst.

Cupping his cheek, Laataaz laid their thumbprint over his lower lip. Vyrthur’s hands clenched into such tight fists he felt the split skin of his knuckles shred even further. His jaw throbbed fiercely, both from the heat of the aedric blood and the unrelenting pressure of his fangs forcing their way further out of his mouth.

“You hunger, Vyrthur.”

He did not dare speak for fear of tasting their skin. He did not dare risk Auri-El’s vengeance; their closeness boiled at him, he swore he felt their breath on the skin of his neck, tricking him into feeling – for a moment, a moment only – a shiver of living nerves. Laataaz’s thumb swept his lip, drawing the chapped skin aside to peer at the hard thrust of his fangs.

The judder of their voice moving through him rubbed his sharp teeth against their skin. He sensed the slightest wear in the tough callus that protected the pads of their fingers and fought the urge to bite. He knew more than Laataaz’s name. But how Auri-El’s blessings radiated from them, how selfishly Vyrthur craved to be in the seat of that warm wellspring of brightness and life.

Among dragons, a named thing was a known thing. They roared their essences into the sky to challenge each other, to meet death that did not stick to creatures that were never made to die. Only Laataaz could wring their immortal souls onto the coil which all mortals walked, only Laataaz shredded their names beneath the jaws of the dragonborn soul and turned meaning into memory. Perhaps it did not matter to them.

Perhaps Laataaz thought he needed the names of his victims to kill them.

Their teeth scraped his neck, then they laughed, and bit him. It was not a kind laugh, it never was. It was a bitter thing, full of grief and a twisted kind of madness, and when he arched into the painful, blistering swipe of their tongue against the bloodless wound that should have had him dying in their arms they slammed him against the stone. He had no breath to lose, but he moaned, in agony, fear, hatred’s pleasure. They would let him, but he could not bear to touch them.

Instead, he lunged forward and bit where the nexus of their neck met their shoulder and lost himself in starfire that tore at his dead flesh like acid.

It would take all of Valmir’s blood to fix the scars Laataaz’s blood burned into his throat as he drank, when Vyrthur later trapped the screaming elf against his chest and wrenched his neck up with a fist in his summer-blonde hair, hating himself all the while. But for now, there was nothing but liquid sunlight spilling honeyed ruby over his starved tongue, washing away the shadow of ash, and above it all, the salt and iron tang of Laataaz’s tears running down Vyrthur’s cheeks.

It wasn't enough. Nothing ever would be again.

[thehypercutstudios]

If Weather Report has a omnitrix

Ok, so anyway I got bored and decided to whop up this strange idea, I hope you like it. Credits for @sundove88 for the names of some alien forms.

Pyronite Form - Sundrop

Vulpimancer Form - Wild Wind

Petrosapien Form - Sleetman

Kineceleran Form - Jet Streamer

Galvan Form - Fog Frog

Tetramand Form - Storm Arms

Lepidopterran Form - Monswarm

Piscciss Volann Form - Showerfish

Galvanic Mechamorph Form - Raindar

Ectonurite Form - Poltergust

Arburian Pelarota Form - Thunderstriker

Flourana Form - Rainforesteer

Sphoeroid Form - Snail Face

Nosedeenian Form - Lil Lightning

Polar Manzardill Form - Wintertile

Loboan Form - Windhowler

Thep Khufan Form - Sun-Ra

Transylian Form - Lightningstein

Perk/Murk Gourmand Form - Hurlicane

Splixson Form - Cyclone

Opticoid Form - Eyes of Storm

To'Kustar Form - El Meteorólogo

Methanosian Form - Sunflower

Sonorosian Form - Breeze Scream

Vaxasaurian Form - Superstormus Rex

Aerophibian Form - Wind Rider

Necrofriggian Form - Snow Moth

Crystalsapien Form - Sunstone

Cerebrocrustacean Form - Smartshell

Arachnichimp Form - Chimprainzee

Polymorph Form - Dew Goo

Celestialsapien Form - Mr. Night Sky

Biosavartian Form - Magnet Bolt

Appoplexian Form - Temperatiger

Nanomechian Form - Lightningbug

Orishan Form - Rainmaker

Amperi Form - Man O’ Storms

Talpaedan Form - Cloud Driller

Geochelone Aerio Form - Tornadotoise

Prypiatosian-B Form - Suncap

Citrakayah Form - Turbulent Toes

Chronosapien Form - Sun-Duel

Merlinisapien Form - Sunnymander

Gimlinopithecus Form - Stormrilla

Oryctini Form - Sunarab

Planchakule Form - Troublestorm

Conductoid Form - Chattercloud

Segmentasapien Form - Foreman-cast

Galilean Form - Rockglide

Crashhopper’s Species Form - Cricket Shock

Ball Weevil’s Species Form - Thundercrawler

Ickthyperambuloid Form - Cloudswimmer

Nemuina Form - Dream Report

Molestache’s Species Form - Fuzz Overcast

Atrocian Form - Storm-Headed

Kickin Hawk’s Species Form - Xe-Knock-Xeu Out

Toepick’s Species Form - Thunder Troll

Astrodactyl’s Species Form - Pterophoon

Incursean Form - Frogcast

Atomix’s Species Form - Solar Flare

Gutrot’s Species Form - Smog Fog

Vladat Form - Count Shocula

And here is some little bonuses for you all 😉

Stand Form - Cloudy Forecast

Foo Fighters’s Stand Form - The Planktender

[howlingday]

Ironwood: So, which of you is the Team Daddy?

Jaune: The what?

Qrow: It ain't gonna be me.

Ruby: Good, because I don't feel comfortable calling my uncle, "daddy."

Winter: I believe Mr. Arc should be the Team Daddy.

Jaune: Wait, fuck no! I... (Sighs) Alright, I guess I'm the Team Daddy.

Jaune: (Holding a "#1 Dad" mug) Yang, stop being the best and worst character at the same damn time!

Jaune: (Holding mug and wearing a Menagerie Island shirt) Weiss, stop being one sad story away from shopping at Hot Topic! I swear to Dust, I will turn this Volume around!

Jaune: (Holding mug and wearing shirt and wearing a "I Love Fishing" suncap) Penny, stop being a precious cinnamon bun, too good and pure for this fucking world!

Jaune: (Wearing hat and shirt and holding mug and standing in front of a grill) And Ruby... Fuck, Ruby, just keep doing you. Just don't kill our teams because they're fucking morons.