#part of her aesthetic is getting lost in the clouds ten thousand feet in the air with someone else apparently

[gcrifin]

The flight up wasn’t the most perilous experience in his life by far, but the ridiculous amount of loops and sudden dives she took through the skies just to hear him yowl had Zoro wishing he hadn’t put the notion to travel up here in the first place. Still, he’d probably do it again, watching Lulubelle running around and exploring the sights on Sky Island with a content smile --though he wouldn’t remark on that sentiment openly. 1/2

“They’ve changed some things,” he says, pointedly ignoring the southbirds glaring down at him, feathers ruffled, as he attempts to read the stone map in front of him. “That old hag told us to go south but I ain’t seein’ a road to there.” Dismissing the map, Zoro heads towards a direction he feels is right. THe complete opposite way the southbirds are pointing. 2/2 // @autumnswordsman

     There was nothing to compare that exhilaration to. Soaring up, falling down, coursing through the clouds like rivers of plush cotton. Lulubelle took immense satisfaction in the upwards travel. The sky had become a second home to her by nature. Jerking about in jest, enough to threaten a death drop but without any intention of letting it be. It takes an unnatural amount of focus for the griffin to abandon the opportunity to mess with Zoro. This was her domain, her field of battle. How concerning it would be for an enemy to be caught within the massive talons of a giant beast thousands of feet in the air without escape. The possibilities of a disastrous outcome neared an impossible number. How fortunate, then, that she cared for the swordsman. Not that she was ever in the mind of making anything more than hollow threats involving alcohol. Though no witness to sincere swordplay, she feared the prowess .

     Perhaps “feared” had not been the proper term. It intrigued her ── but not enough to provoke an earnest demonstration .

     How long had she stood there the moment her feet hit the shifting floor of clouds? The awe-stricken silence had since then passed but it lingered for an eternity. A dream did not compare to the delight of people existing right within heaven’s grasp. It takes what feels like forever simply for the blissful shine to clear from her eyes. Though she had heard of it countless times, not once had she the headstrong hope to push her way that far into the sky to hunt for it. A push and a guide, it seemed, was all she needed .

     Unfortunately for her, it seemed as though she managed to pick the worst one. Zoro was already questioning his directions. The low bellowing of the south birds amidst themselves made it all the more clear he had been here in the past. They weren’t very happy to see him again. At least, one of them wasn’t. How very much like a flock all meant to point south to agree on a similar opinion of someone doubting their directional ability .

     ❝ When did you say you were here last? ❞ she tries not to, but the inquiry rolls off her tongue in an amused half-chuckle. ❝ I don’t think the birds here like you very much. But, at least you have one that does. ❞ Half-bird, but a bird nonetheless. Her ears perk, staring off to the south with them as she continues to listen to the peculiar sound of the south birds bellowing. It was much different than the usual chirping of sea birds. Deeper, more harsh. One could tell just how fed up they were with most people. Mischievous, a hint of malice. But somehow, despite being unfamiliar with it, she could vaguely understand it. ❝ I think they’re calling you an idiot. Hard-headed, easy to provoke, look like you have a grass nest of hair and… oh my. That’s not very nice. What in the world did you do to piss off ── ?? ❞

     Lulubelle turns around, the lack of the man behind her now finally catching her attention. Her attention darts about the scenery behind her until that familiar patch of green hits her vision. A rushed apology to the animals is all she leaves behind before she bolts her way right up to his side, ignoring any sense of personal space. Fingers curl around the fabric of his clothes in an attempt to stop him from walking. ❝ Oi!! Where do you think you’re going? The birds always point south! Remember?? Didn’t she tell us to go south? If there’s no path, we can just fly in that direction. ❞ With a small purse of the lips, she adds, ❝ Are you sure you know where you’re going ? ❞

     If this was going to be a common occurrence, maybe she was better off just letting him take her wherever he wanted to go. He was the reason she was here in the first place, after all. She did want to see everything. But at this rate, she was going to be stuck with him on this island for the rest of her life .

     Maybe she didn’t mind that so much, either .

[alleiradayne]

Cowboys and Angels

A COCKLES X READER RPF SERIES

Filming for the last season of Supernatural is underway and Y/N, long-time set photographer, finds herself the center of attention for two of her co-workers, Misha Collins and Jensen Ackles. A roller-coaster of emotions ensues over the year as the three of them attempt to balance work, the end of an era, and experimental love.

Part II - Co-workers

Summary: Misha and Jensen chat before Jensen propositions Y/N. Warnings/Tags: Fluff, flirting Characters/Pairings: Misha Collins, Jensen Ackles, Female Reader Word Count: 1,288 A/N: Once again, please assume everyone involved is consenting and polyamorous. No spouse hate. No wife hate. No Cockles hate. No Misha hate. No hate whatsoever. If you don’t like RPF, don’t read it, and don’t complain to me about it. Update: The oh-so-lovely @atc74​ made this stellar aesthetic for me in hopes that it wouldn’t get the Tumblr Ban Hammer™. Let’s test it.

The days blurred together at the start of every new season. A whirlwind of ramp-up preceded the first week of filming as per usually, but an uneasy fervor buzzed in the air on the first day of coverage. Though no one mentioned it, the thought lingered at the back of everyone’s minds: Last season.

While she had known the end would soon arrive, Y/N had never imagined what it might feel like for her life's work to finally end. And though they had started with the fourth episode to give Jensen enough time to prepare for directing again, Y/N positively tasted his anxiety the entire week.

Most days past in that hazy whirlwind of work. Y/N kept herself busy as possible, but the second week of shooting caught her flat-footed and completely unaware. Coverage turned to the season premier, bringing the entire cast and crew back to the graveyard where the previous season had ended, which meant facing Misha again. After their moment in the clothing store, Y/N had attempted to put it out of her mind, but there on set, she felt as though she were under a microscope again every time his piercing blue stare caught hers.

But it was lunch on the final day of shooting for the week that truly did her in.

“Are you breaking soon?”

Jensen's smooth baritone pulled her attention from her camera and she found him talking with Misha not ten feet away from her. The closeness with which they stood, not only in space but in posture, comfortable so near one another, reminded her of their short time together at the clothing store. Any closer and they might as well wrap their arms around one another.

“I’ll be a little late,” Misha started. “Probably not for another hour yet, need to finish some coverage back on the set without the gorilla around to fuck it up again.”

When Misha looked in her direction, Y/N never anticipated he might spot her milling about with her camera, but his gaze snapped directly to hers. “I think I know someone who might enjoy your company while you wait for me.”

Jensen followed his gaze and a crooked brow quirked toward his hairline. “Y/N? You sure?”

They had to be kidding. It had to be some sort of prank; they were pulling out all the stops for the final season, pranking anyone and everyone on set.

Except Misha’s serious stare suggested nothing of the sort. And if she were to be honest with herself, a prank wherein he and Jensen faked interest in her seemed far too cruel for the likes of them. They played practical jokes on people. They did not toy with their co-worker’s emotions.

With a suggestive nod, Misha backed away towards the row of SUVs waiting to take them back to the soundstages. “I'll catch up with you in a little while.”

And just like that, they were alone. Sure, crew members roamed as they tore down equipment, but they paid Jensen and she no mind. Ten feet apart, they stared at one another like some sort of dueling standoff, both waiting for the other to make the first move. Y/N did her best to smile with the confidence befit her experience; she knew Jensen, had known him for years. She wasn't some starstruck girl stunned in the presence of a celebrity.

Except if that were true, then what in the hell fluttered so violently in her stomach?

Then, without warning, Jensen’s rolling gait closed the space between them until he stood within a foot of her. His entire presence encroached on her every sense, warm and inviting as his dazzling smile spread across his too pretty lips. “Hey, Y/N.”

Her mouth opened but too many thoughts crowded her head. After an uncomfortable second, she said, “Hey, Jensen. Season starting well?”

He shrugged with a smirk. “Yeah. Glad I’m done directing though,” he stated. “I enjoy it while I’m in the middle of it, but prep is… terrifying.”

An uncharacteristically girlish giggle bubbled up in her throat. “It’ll be a great episode.”

“Yeah, I’m excited to see it.” His smile widened as his eyes listed from hers and gazed into the distance. For a moment, Y/N thought she had lost him, but then his bright green stare snapped back to hers and he said, “So, Misha mentioned you could keep me company over lunch. You got time?”

“Where’s... don’t you normally eat with the cast?” she asked as she watched Misha’s SUV roll away.

“Yeah, well, Misha’s still working, and Jared was kicked off set after his coverage was finished, so I’m not sure where he is,” Jensen said as he shrugged. He turned for the row of SUVs, regarded them a moment, then turned back to her with an inquisitive stare. Long, so long his gaze poured into hers, and Y/N swore on her life she counted a thousand freckles across his nose and cheeks.

Under his scrutinizing stare, time did that funny little thing where it moved painfully slow and terrifyingly fast. But then the moment passed, and Jensen shook his head as he said, “I’m sorry. I interrupted you while you were working, you’re probably b—”

“Wait!” When Jensen startled at her outburst, she cursed. “Son of a bitch, sorry.”

He smiled, thank God. “Yes, Y/N?”

She hesitated. Dammit all to hell, she knew what she wanted to say. And, something held her back. Mouth agape and jaw working, words poised on the tip of her tongue, Y/N hesitated for reasons unknown to her. When Jensen said nothing and instead quirked an eyebrow skyward, she blurted, “I’ll come with you. To lunch. I can definitely keep you company.”

“Great,” he started as he withdrew his phone from his pocket. “I’ll have them send some food to my trailer, that way we can eat in—Y/N? You okay?”

The sharp sting of embarrassment tingled on her cheeks. “You want to have lunch with me in your trailer?”

His shrug faltered as understanding blossomed on his face. “Oh, wow, I’m sorry. That was… damn, honey, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that.”

Bullshit. She eyed him through a narrowed squint as she asked, “Did Misha plan this whole thing out? Fake the conversation within earshot, get me to believe it was all a random chance you’d be alone. He put you up to flirting with me.”

Jensen held up his hands. “Guilty.” He returned his phone to his pocket. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to get lunch with you. Or that the flirting is insincere.”

Y/N checked over her shoulder. “So, this isn’t some sort of prank?”

“Oh, lord, no,” he declared. “That would be a terrible prank. Pranks are for fucking with people’s trailers, not tricking them onto a date.”

She startled at that. “A date?”

Flat-footed, Jensen stuttered his response. “I… it’s a lunch date.” His gaze tipped skyward as though searching for answers in the clouds. “You know. It’s… a thing… that people do…”

Maybe Misha’s scheme had backfired on them both. “You actually wanted to ask me out?”

“I did,” he started as his eyes fell to his boots. “I still do. God dammit, Misha, I'm—” His anger quelled when he looked back to Y/N. “Yes, I would like to go out with you. Lunch, dinner, whatever you’re up for.”

She turned her camera over in her hands, stalling, but for what, she hadn't a clue. “You staying in town this weekend?”

Jensen grinned again. “I am now.”

“What about Misha?” she asked.

His barking laughter echoed through the graveyard. When his laughter subsided, he spoke.

“I think I’ve got an idea that’ll get him to stay.”

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COWBOYS AND ANGELS MASTER LIST ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[charismastaticarchive]

hubert hc

“fearing great heights, bow down at the waist. servitude suits you. defy your fate only by bloodying the path so carefully paved and tread before you. if the goddess will not love you, if your father will not love you, if your mother cannot be reached or touched or felt, then love the anti-christ, and put her on a pedestal no man, especially you, cannot reach.”

people forget.

the holy kingdom of faerghus was once a part of the andrestian empire, and the andrestian empire was once the place considered ‘holy.’ it was blessed by seiros herself---seiros’s blood, her very crest, ran through each royal’s veins starting from wilhem himself, its first emperor. seiros loved the empire as she loved her husband and her children. the andrestian empire was loved by sothis herself, and they were her faithful children. 

that was a thousand years ago. wars have rocked fodlan since. the empire has lost ground and power, and propserity. even the religion which once lavished itself upon them has divided itself away---the andrestians, who once wrote the rules to which every devout person lived, is now relegated to being called ‘the western church.’ their traditions and rules deemed old or wrong or un-righteous or warped by time by the kingdom, always vetoed by the archbishop at the center of a new world.

but a vestra does not forget anything---least of all their storied traditions.

house vestra, at first glance, would not seem to be an important house. and in many ways it is not. it does not conrol the military, the economy, religious affairs, or any sort of public ruling. house vestra is viewed by many to be little more than a glorified house of servants---little more than butlers or secretaries in charge of servants, public and private meetings. their official duty is titled ‘household affairs.’

but only the master of the house can control what goes on in it. and the vestras run a tight, meticulous ship.

the vestras know every contact every emperor has ever come in contact with. the vestras know every known poison, every known common courtesy and tradition and proper forms of ettiquette in dagda, brigid, duscur, the kingdom AND the alliance (pity it is, that the kingdom and the alliance would be different, but their children learn anyway, before they learn to tie their boots or read). hubert is fluent in sixteen dialects of a total of eleven langauges and speaks them with perfect pronunciation. hubert memorized every known assassination in the history of fodlan (and how to prevent it from happening in the future) before he turned six.

but the power of house vestra does not come from their many talents. it comes from their Superior breeding and Superior Child Rearing and impressive arsenal of information dating back a thousand years (that they, again, never forget) meaning they are the perfect family, the only family, that can control every aspect of the royal family’s life. 

and they do so. with vigor.

how the emperor stands and sits and how he chews his food and wears his crown and how he waves, who he talks to (if he talks to anyone at all, some emperors are far too stupid, not that a von vestra would ever say such out loud), how he talks to them. the vestras control strategy, the vestras control the emperor’s goals, and they control these goals before the emperor even makes their own, so in tune are they with their lords, who they worship as holy beings---pharoahs more than emperors, rulers with divine holy right living in their veins, a power that must be tended to with tradition, with order, with meticulous guidance and knowledge no one but a von vestra could ever hope to possess all at once.

hubert, an only child, had impossible expectations on his shoulders.

hubert’s father was a devout man. his mother was a quiet woman, who never talked. his father liked it that way. when hubert would try to get affection from his mother, her hands would go limp, and his father would glare. hubert was raised on the bottle by nurses---an oddity for the time period, but one the vestra’s saw necessary. they needed their child to be tough---to be solitary. they did not want to spoil him. he was too important a servant to the cause.

hubert was born four years after the empire’s firstborn son. this already put him at a disadvantage. he would have to catch up. hubert’s father had meticulously planned to have a child every time the emperor and patricia did---but unfortunately all hubert’s siblings had died in childbirth or worse. a disappointment to be sure, but one that could be rectified with the proper discipline instilled in hubert. they would try to have more children over the years---to match the emperor and patricia. but hubert’s mother would die from birthing complications when he was only four.

thankfully, a vestra never forgets. so hubert can still remember his mother’s limp hands, her pale face, muscles not even strong enough to pull her mouth into a frown. she was not beautiful, nor ugly. but she looked like hubert, weak-limbed with hard, dangerous eyes, even though she never spoke in the little time he had with her in between study sessions and time spent with him.

‘him’ is tybalt. edelgard’s oldest brother, the boy everyone assumed would one day become emperor, if luck permitted and he produced his crest.

tybalt was an older boy, (four years older, remember?) with auburn hair, and a smile that could melt gold into embers, a particular talent with horses. hubert was told to worship him. but instead he loved him like apollo loved the sun. when hubert’s father beat him, he pictured a glorious future, dragging the sun behind him on a chariot, racing through the clouds. when his tutors spoke of sin and hell and the wife hubert would one day have to take in order to continue his household---hubert pictured heaven instead, side by side, serving his first, most secret love.

but tybalt did not produce a crest, not at eight, and not at nine, not at ten, or eleven, or twelve.

but edelgard did. just a minor crest of course---but that was enough to make her a viable heir, where tybalt was not. 

she was five. and where hubert could have resented being pulled away from his crush---he was falling deeper and deeper into depression as his future, and his father’s religious fixations---became more real and terrifying to him. edelgard was five years old, three years younger than hubert. and while hubert loved tybalt---and always would, because a vestra does not forget---spending time with edelgard did something that time with tybalt did not. it made him ignore his whole terrible life.

tybalt was a kind boy, a prince among princes, but edelgard was boisterous and rambunctious, an adorable bouncy little girl who was both bratty and a self-assured know-it-all in the adorable way only girls can be. with tybalt, hubert had begun picturing his father’s hell every time he saw him. no more clouds. only dirt&disease, bone-rotting flesh and eternal damnation.

but edelgard never forced him to see the clouds in the first place. she was high maintenance. to a fault. she was silly, and ridiculous, and sharp as a tack. she did not make him picture heaven or the sun---though she had grand beliefs about the future of the empire, goals far beyond what tybalt ever held.

instead she brought him down to her world, as only a child can. for the first time, with edelgard, hubert knew family, and he knew requited, platonic love, as edelgard made no secret of her affections with hugs and cheek kisses that hubert did not care that he would be punished for later. edelgard made him feel like a person, instead of an object or a servant.

and all that would change, for the worse, by hubert’s own hand. but hubert would never forget how special that little girl was.

edelgard and tybalt both left one night no more than three years later. his father had something to do with it, hubert knew.

and as hubert attacked every branch member of his house---his own father, who attempted to kill him in turn for disobeying him, as he stood his ground running outside the house to try to find edelgard (somehow tybalt started to fall by the wayside. surely the angel could protect himself. surely only the child needed him.). only to be attacked for three days straight. he did not eat, or sleep, he let himself soil himself if it meant another yard off the grounds of the von vestra estate to find her. but eventually he was taken down. and tortured. he did not beg for the goddess’s forgiveness as he was told to. he knew she would not listen. (she never had before. a vestra remembers.)

in his father’s dungeons, in which he realized some lessons he had learned from his house were not really just in case of emergencies... he stopped fearing the goddess. he stopped fearing hell. he began to crave it---a sadomasochism working its way into his heart.

he would attend lessons, repeat the motions, learn, and learn, and learn, paying special attention now, with spite bit into his tongue. but he would not be whole again until he saw edelgard and she explained everything, until the hate in his heart had a name and his vengeance worthy opponents.

he would follow the path he was given, the path he had always wanted, to be by the emperor’s side. he would make her dreams come true---and make everyone, even the goddess herself pay with blood. sothis forgot her children---turned her backs on the empire. but hubert remembers everything, and he’s here to burn it all to the ground.

despite his vitriol and his passion. hubert is ruled by fear, like a snaked coiled in a corner. he does not feel he can stand on his own two feet. he relies on edelgard for purpose, for clarity. he is most comfortable when treated as a servant of her will, as a mere extension of edelgard and nothing more. he no longer wants to be human. despite his fascination/aesthetic of the dark and occult, hubert still remembers those clouds, that chariot, flying through the air, being in love and holding that love tight to his chest. he wishes sometimes, to be a pegasus rider. but such roles are reserved for women. he’s better suited for groveling at their feet---not in prayer for the goddess, but digging himself deeper into the dirt & blood, to protect his emperor from things a child should not see.