#on the set of the lion in winter

[myfavoritepeterotoole]

Katharine Hepburn and Peter O'Toole on the set of The Lion in Winter

The Lion in Winter(1968) directed by Anthony Harvey

Peter O'Toole as Henry II

Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine

*** https://myfavoritepeterotoole.tumblr.com/post/678948316066807808/katharine-hepburn-and-peter-otoole-on-the-set-of

[angevinyaoiz]

That being said, "King Henry has no sons" has incredible transgender potentials

[acourtofquestions]

"Fenrys ... You know, I don't actually know your family name."

Fenrys threw a roguish wink at the queen.

"Moonbeam."

"It is not," Aelin hissed, choking on a laugh.

Fenrys laid a hand on his heart. "I am blood-sworn to you. Would I lie?"

Aelin gave Fenrys a vulgar gesture that set Hasar chuckling, and faced the royals.

[sonjabysonjamorgan]

should i try and watch a pre-1955 katharine hepburn movie

[milo-is-rambling]

Now why the hell do I have such intensely realistic dreams I had to wake up and stare at the ceiling for like ten minutes to make sure I was alive.

[reasonsforhope]

"In 2021, scientists in Guelph, Ontario set out to accomplish something that had never been done before: open a lab specifically designed for raising bumble bees in captivity. 

Now, three years later, the scientists at the Bumble Bee Conservation Lab are celebrating a huge milestone. Over the course of 2024, they successfully pulled off what was once deemed impossible and raised a generation of yellow-banded bumble bees. 

The Bumble Bee Conservation Lab, which operates under the nonprofit Wildlife Preservation Canada, is the culmination of a decade-long mission to save the bee species, which is listed as endangered under the Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation...

Although the efforts have been in motion for over a decade, the lab itself is a recent development that has rapidly accelerated conservation efforts. 

For bee scientists, the urgency was necessary. 

“We could see the major declines happening rapidly in Canada’s native bumble bees and knew we had to act, not just talk about the problem, but do something practical and immediate,” Woolaver said. 

Yellow-banded bumble bees, which live in southern Canada and across a huge swatch of the United States, were once a common species.

However, like many other bee species, their populations declined sharply in the mid-1990s from a litany of threats, including pathogens, pesticides, and dramatic habitat loss. 

Since the turn of the century, scientists have plunged in to give bees a helping hand. But it was only in the last decade that Woolaver and his team “identified a major gap” in bumble bee conservation and set out to solve it. 

“No one knew how to breed threatened species in captivity,” he explained. “This is critically important if assurance populations are needed to keep a species from going extinct and to assist with future reintroductions.”

To start their experiment, scientists hand-selected wild queen bees throughout Ontario and brought them to the temperature-controlled lab, where they were “treated like queens” and fed tiny balls of nectar and pollen. 

Then, with the help of Ontario’s African Lion Safari theme park, the queens were brought out to small, outdoor enclosures and paired with other bees with the hope that mating would occur. 

For some pairs, they had to play around with different environments to “set the mood,” swapping out spacious flight cages for cozier colony boxes. 

And it worked. 

“The two biggest success stories of 2024 were that we successfully bred our focal species, yellow-banded bumble bees, through their entire lifecycle for the first time,” Woolaver said. 

“[And] the first successful overwintering of yellow-banded bumble bees last winter allowed us to establish our first lab generation, doubling our mating successes and significantly increasing the number of young queens for overwintering to wake early spring and start their own colonies for future generations and future reintroductions.”

Although the first-of-its-kind experiment required careful planning, consideration, resources, and a decade of research, Woolaver hopes that their efforts inspire others to help bees in backyards across North America. 

“Be aware that our native bumble bees really are in serious decline,” Woolaver noted, “so when cottagers see bumble bees pollinating plants in their gardens, they really are seeing something special.”"

-via GoodGoodGood, December 9, 2024

[munefille]

𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑-

yandere!false angel x gn.reader

cw: gore, death, attempted sa (not by yandere)

2.2k; not proofread bc I believe in myself. based on this imagine.

what were you expecting, venturing this far into the woods at night? there's something stalking you from behind the trees. a terrible beast watches and you are powerless to its mercy. luckily, your prayers are answered; not by god, but by the angel covered in red.

The wind was the first thing you noticed. It was still, not even a breeze licked at your skin, nor a sudden chill digging into your bones. Cold, yes, the cold remained even without the slashing wind. The sun dipped farther and farther below the skyline as you walked, taking with it the last remnants of warmth. You tugged your shawl tighter around your form.

Regret began to seep into you. What were you doing in these dark woods? There could be packs of wolves, or bears, or mountain lions, or another predator searching for a meal out there, you being a prime target. A shudder raced down your spine. As terrifying as the thought of being ripped apart by wild creatures was, you were almost certain it would be worse to be caught by him.

You glanced behind you, into the maw of dark trees and snow covered ground from which you came. Threats of what he promised to do to you should you be found echoed through your mind, motivating you to ignore the weariness in your muscles and push forward.

You chided yourself at your predicament- the huntsman seemed so kind. He promised you a warm bed and a meal for the night while you waited out the snow, mentioning how he understood the difficulty of traveling during the winter months. He made good conversation, although he spoke little of himself. You doubted he would present to be a threat towards you. How wrong you were.

Oh yes, he provided a meal and a bed for you, but neither were out of the kindness of his heart. No, apparently there was an expectation that you were going to service him in some way- to which you promptly refused. It was then that his true nature began to reveal itself. The huntsman grabbed one of his weapons, threatening to get his rightful payment since nothing comes for free. He wasn't going to let you leave otherwise.

You were lucky to have made it out of the door. You booked it, running in whatever direction you were facing, which happened to be the thick, untamed forest. He was searching for you, that much you knew. You could hear the howls of his hunting dogs somewhere behind you, sniffing you out.

Panic was starting to set in. What were you going to do? It was cold, you were running out of stamina, and you had no clue where you were or how long it would take to reach another village. These woods seemed to stretch for hundreds of acres, completely uninhabited by people. It was easy to get lost here you imagined, the tall trees melded into each other at some point. You could be going in one big circle for all you knew.

Besides the clearly psychotic man on your trail, the woods itself concerned you. There was a distinct feeling that said you aren't supposed to be here. As if the trees were going to wrap around your limbs and pull you apart on their own. You knew that was unlikely, but still- something in the back of your mind remained aware of the fact that you were bordering territory that would not welcome you. Maybe it was because you recalled the horror stories of people who entered and never came out- or they returned with not all of them attached.

Another howl cut through the air, snapping you out of your rumination. It was much closer this time. Frighteningly close. Close enough that you wouldn't be able to outrun it from where you were. There was only one other choice- hide. You scanned your surroundings, searching for something that would cover you. There was a small clearing up ahead and woods on both sides of you. The trees were too thin, but there were a couple of fallen ones and an uprooted trunk that created an opening just large enough for you to crawl into and hide behind. It would have to work.

You tucked yourself in, heart hammering frantically in your chest. He was so close now that you could hear his boots crunching against the freshly fallen snow. The chuffs of his dogs resounded in your ears like deafening booms, each one ready to rat you out.

"We could've done this the easy way, you know." The huntsman spoke into the silence, voice dripping with malice. Your heart dropped. Did he know you were nearby?

Your hands covered your mouth, trying to prevent yourself from breathing too loud. You could see him now, he was a couple feet ahead of you in the clearing. A large hunting knife glistened in the moonlight. Heavy realization set in, he was going to kill you.

And there was nothing you could do to stop him.

If you ran, one of his dogs would surely chase after you. You had no weapons to fight him with nor the strength to go against his much more well prepared form. The cold sapped at your energy, making it a chore just to keep yourself alert. The adrenaline helped, but it wouldn't last forever.

You did the only thing you could do. Pray.

You clasped your hands together as you waited, shutting your eyes and mouthing pleas to whoever would answer. Even if you had never been one to pray before, the imminent threat of your mortality was enough to make you chant feverishly for mercy.

And an answer you got.

The huntsman paused, shushing his mutts while sticking his nose up to the sky. Then it happened.

It was almost too quick for you to catch- one minute he was standing in the clearing, the next he was dangling above the trees. A white flash of feathers came down upon him, plucking his form like a mouse caught by a vicious hawk. With a powerful beat of the creature's wings he disappeared out of sight, far above the canopy of the trees. His dogs cried out for their master, but even they retreated into the safety of the brush for fear of being snatched.

One long, haunting death screech pierced the once still air for just a few seconds before abruptly quieting. There was barely any time to process what you saw or what had happened when splatters of red rained down from the sky, staining the white snow like paint on a canvas. Something round and fleshy dropped and landed on the snowy floor with a cracking sound, almost similar to a coconut.

You strained your eyes to see what it was.

A... head.

Not long after the creature swooped back down with the remaining parts of the huntsman, holding his corpse up to its mouth like a cat with a large rat. You shifted ever so slightly from your hidden position where you could get a proper look at it while it seemed distracted.

The scene was horrible, but you couldn't stop the awe that crossed your mind as you gazed at it. Two large, white wings speckled with blood emerged from the pale being's back. So pale it was that it practically blended into the snow.

The more you looked, the more you thought it seemed to appear more humanoid than creature, so reminiscent of the angelic sculptures you would see watching over graveyards. From the great wings, to the long white hair, it was nearly exact to how you would picture heaven's inhabitants to appear. Except, they couldn't capture how overwhelming the presence of it was. Utterly magnetic in a way you couldn't describe, a kind of beauty not defined by humanity.

you've been rescued by an angel.

It came right when you called, in your greatest time of need, like it had already been watching. Like a guardian angel.

Distracted by your realization, you didn't notice eyes locking onto your hiding form.

-

He missed one.

Warm blood trailed down his lips, dripping onto the white ground below. A human thing was hiding in the foliage, behind the broken trees.

He focused back on the body in his grasp. So loud and annoying, parading about his territory, hunting his prey. The deer were already scarce this winter, but the human had scared off the remaining few. Other prey were not as abundant. Humans he did not often approach, but everything was fair game in his domain.

He took a bite of the neck, the flesh tearing apart like filled dough. The metallic taste caused his wings to rustle in delight. He almost forgot the tenderness of human meat, rich with fat and underdeveloped muscles from a life of comfort. As of late, there had been less and less willing to enter the deep woods where he roamed, most likely due to what ends up being leftover of those who do.

His attention is drawn back to the one who tried to hide. Amusing, it hasn't run yet. Maybe it knows that it has no chance if it runs, even in the crowded trees his form is lithe enough to maneuver around the branches much better than the human can. It must've thought that the only viable option is to wait for him to finish and leave. Such a plan might've worked, if he was a much less vigilant predator.

The body is dropped onto the snow with a thud, entrails spilling out of the half eaten man. He was in a good mood, not only was the problematic creature dead but he had just gotten a meal along with it. Maybe he would decide to do something else with the remaining one.

Slowly, he turns his head in the human's direction.

-

The angel is approaching you.

It's now crouched, no longer standing on two legs; instead slinking towards you like a cat. You would be terrified by the sight of this massive creature covered in blood targeting you had you not already made up your mind that is must be your guardian angel.

When it is close enough to reach out to you, it pauses. It cocks its head, temporarily parting the hair covering its face to reveal pale, blanched purple eyes. Its- his- face was decidedly masculine, you thought. The wings on his back are folded close to his form, reducing any drag they could've caused.

Your heart is pumping, but this time not out of fear- no, you're enthralled by this opportunity.

The angel opened his mouth, uttering words that made you freeze.

"Be not afraid."

You think your pulse stopped for a solid moment. The voice was somehow quiet, yet cold and not quite reassuring. It surprised you that he could even speak in the first place. The smell of metallic blood and pine was noticeable. You reach out shakily, just slightly touching his hair. Your fingers meet the white threads, long and thin, like spider webs. The creature flinched in surprise at your boldness, but didn't move away.

The question tumbled out of your mouth before you could regret saying it. "Are you... are you my guardian angel?"

The angel fixed you with an unreadable expression. You thought he was confused for a second, before he stood up to his full height, no longer face to face with your form curled up in the branches. You couldn't help the raw unease that came to you then, he must've been nearly twice your height, taller than any man you had ever seen.

"Angel?" it repeated, looking down at you. "Your angel?"

Your mouth felt dry. The wind started picking up again, gliding through his feathers and into your bones. There were two options being presented to you; either you were right, and this being was an angel, or you were wrong. You didn't want to imagine what was standing before you if you were wrong, especially not after witnessing what became of the huntsman.

He seemed to consider this, staring down at you with strange intensity. His eyes were once again covered by hair, making his expression even more difficult to decipher.

A tense few moments passed before he spoke again. "Would an angel show you mercy? Lead you out of the woods to run back home?"

You nodded your head, still not daring to move. He bends down to pet your head, lips curling up subtly at your reaction.

True to his word, the angel did lead you out of the forest- although you lagged behind significantly and weren't nearly as swift navigating through it. It was a wonder how something so large moved as fast as he did. You were beyond grateful, thanking whatever higher power had listened to you. It was unlikely you would've made it out yourself, even with the huntsman gone. The woods were not friendly to outsiders.

You didn't say a word as you followed, too busy keeping up to ask any more questions. Tiredness overcame you as well now that your survival mode was beginning to wear off, leaving you sluggish and inattentive.

When you reached the treeline outside of the huntsman's cabin, you looked back up at your savior to thank him, only to be met with nothing but the breeze.

"Thank you." You whispered, regardless of whether or not you would be heard. The thought of your experience being a trauma induced hallucination crossed your mind, one you would consider if it wasn't for the fact that there was a large white feather caught by a tree limb beside you.

It was now almost morning. The sun was preparing to rise over the horizon soon.

You trekked your way back home, unaware of the new pair of eyes following you from the sky.

[msmaple]

Eleanor of Aquitaine and King Henry II tomb effigies, Fontevraud Abbey, Loire Valley, France

Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine and Peter O'Toole as Henry II on the set of The Lion in Winter

[angelicgirlmj]

an angels guide: january media recommendations

hey angels, here are my favourite media pieces for what can feel like the rainiest, dreariest month (sorry january…). in order to cheer myself up and beat the end of winter blues here are some of my most beloved pieces of media!

books

my year of rest and relaxation, ottessa moshfegh - for those days when you also feel the desire to sleep for as long as you can.

murder on the orient express, agatha christie - i love a cozy wintery murder mystery!! especially by agatha.

before the coffee gets cold, toshikazu kawaguchi - i read this when im craving connection (and also a good cup of coffee).

small things like these, claire keegan- beautiful religious imagery, gorgeous setting full of intriguing characters. historically relevant.

poems

sonnet 97: how like a winter hath my absence been, shakespeare - i love the sonnet form and this poem encapsulates that winter feeling for me, the fertility and feminine images are so so interesting.

the snow fairy, claude mckay - may be my favourite poem that ive found this year! definitely going to check out some more of her work.

white eyes, mary oliver - nature and mary oliver go together like a cute mug and hot chocolate, total perfection!

dust of snow, robert frost - short and sweet, gives me winter chills!!

films

the holdovers - christmas film maybe, but still relevant and lovely for miserable januaries!

the lion, the witch and the wardrobe - one of my childhood favourites, this film is so cozy and comforting, just what is tvneeded.

notting hill - unrealistic and silly? 100% but it’s still so funny and cute, helps me stay optimistic and hopeful in the winter.

the shining - some days i go a little stir crazy and need some old horror to snap me out of it!

albums

diamonds & rust, joan baez - this album is so beautiful and a fairly new discovery for me, im still letting it sink in. my favourites probably blue sky!

blue, joni mitchell - my perfect winter album. listen to river. always makes me cry.

bury me at make out creek, mitski - some days you just have to sink into those winter blues. i love the last words of a shooting star.

evermore, taylor swift - an underrated taylor album! my go to from november till at least march. marjorie is hitting so hard right now and im not fully sure why!

we’ve made it this far through winter angels! we can make it a little further. stay cozy, safe and most importantly keep romanticising your days in even the little ways.

love, m.

[icarusredwings]

Some things to remember:

-Wolverines are extremely territorial solitary creatures that often have huge chunks of territory. If someone enters said territory, they're very quick to scare them away.

They lack the social instincts and pack-hunting adaptations that have developed in other predators like wolves through natural selection.

-Wolverines actually aren't even agressive rather then forced to over protect themsleves, their family, and food sources from living and adapting in such rugged and harsh environments.

But at the same time, Wolverines have been said to be "realitivy easy to tame" are "just about one of the most unique companions" and "quite enjoy harnesses"

-Domesticated Wolverines love bite their handler fingers, swat at them like curious cats, hold their legs while they walk on their own hind legs, and become very attached to one person. They enjoyed being stroked as well as tolerates being picked up by their trusted handlers.

-Female Wolverines mate May to August, nest deep in the snow, and have a thing called delayed implantation, which means their eggs don't become feralitized until winter. Most Wolverine kits (sets of 6) are born in February (around the 14th) and are born with no teeth and pure white soft fur.

-Male Wolverines are Polygamous and will mate with multiple females, but usually the same throughout their lifetime regarding location. Male Wolverines mate like wolves and often will hold the females' hips with claws and bite their neck.

Males also have what is called a Baculum, which is quite literally a penis bone. It's thin and curves upwards towards the end to help the male mate.

(This is probably why Wade called Logan a Needle dick, but no, he most likely doesn't have a Baculum bone, so stop that)

-It is very common for Wolverines mating rituals to involve some time of constant fighting, playing, and only mating after the female becomes confident in the males fighting etiquette. It's been said that males who back off yet retun are more likely to mate than males who are too rough or only engage once or twice in the play fighting. This playfighting can (and often does) include biting ears, scratching, TONS of hissing, teeth baring, swatting, snarling, and tackling.

-Wolverines are SCAVENGERs and opportunity eaters, meaning they'll eat whatever they can find or kill with their strong jaws. They also have thick neck muscles.

-No 2 Wolverines have the same chest pattern, and their feet are where they hold their territory sweat glands.

-Wolverines are said to stink because of their excessive scent glands for marking territory and mate luring. They were given the name "Gulo gulo" and "skunkcat"

-Wolverines have been known for going up against things 50x their weight and still winning, such as grizzly bears, timber wolves, moutian lions and bobcats.

Do with this information what you will :)

[myfavoritepeterotoole]

Katharine Hepburn and Peter O'Toole on the set of The Lion in Winter

The Lion in Winter (1968) directed by Anthony Harvey

Peter O'Toole as Henry II

Katharine Hepburn as Eleanor of Aquitaine

*** https://myfavoritepeterotoole.tumblr.com/post/129144465242/katharine-hepburn-and-peter-otoole-on-the-set-of

https://myfavoritepeterotoole.tumblr.com/post/106584736817/peter-otoole-katharine-hepburn-on-the-set-of

[novaursa]

A Lion's Folly (to mend)

- Summary: A story where a lion falls for the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, you.

- Pairing: stark!reader/Jaime Lannister

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: the fool

- Next part: to break

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @butterflygxril @lordofthunderthr

The road was uneven, its stones worn down by years of travel and war. The crisp morning air carried the faint scent of pine, mingled with the dampness of the previous night’s rain. Jaime shifted uncomfortably in his saddle, his body still aching from the fever and the relentless pace of their journey. Roose’s men rode in silence, their gazes darting toward him occasionally, as if wary of his every move.

Qyburn rode just ahead, his gaunt figure hunched slightly as he muttered to himself, likely plotting or scheming. The man unnerved Jaime in ways few could, but he’d become accustomed to his presence by now.

Jaime’s eyes drifted toward the forest lining the road, the dense trees casting shadows that danced in the morning light. It was there, just beyond the edge of the treeline, that he saw it—a flash of pale silver moving silently through the underbrush.

His heart jolted, his hand tightening on the reins as he squinted to get a better look. For a fleeting moment, he was certain it was Winter. The direwolf’s massive frame moved with ghostly grace.

But then it was gone, swallowed by the forest.

“You’re imagining things,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head.

Qyburn glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Something troubling you, Ser Jaime?”

“Nothing,” Jaime said curtly, his gaze returning to the road ahead. “Just tired.”

Qyburn’s lips curled into a faint smile, but he said nothing, turning his attention back to the path.

Jaime exhaled slowly, forcing himself to focus. She’s with her brother by now, he told himself. Safe, and far from here. The thought should have been reassuring, but it brought him little comfort.

As the hours dragged on, Jaime’s mind began to wander, his thoughts slipping into dangerous territory. The rhythm of the horse’s hooves and the monotonous pace of their journey lulled him into a trance-like state, memories and fantasies blurring together in his fevered mind.

He pictured a different life, one he had never allowed himself to imagine. A life where he wasn’t a Kingsguard, where he wasn’t bound by oaths and duty to protect a mad king—or a selfish queen. A life where Cersei wasn’t the center of his world, her manipulations and ambitions no longer dictating his every move.

The image came unbidden, startling him with its clarity. You, lying beside him in a bed of soft furs, your hair spilling over the pillows like dark rivers. Your gaze was softer than he’d ever seen it, your expression free of the anger and defiance that had become so familiar. There was a warmth in your smile, a quiet intimacy that made his chest ache in ways he couldn’t explain.

The vision startled him so much he nearly pulled his horse to a stop.

“Seven hells,” he muttered under his breath, his hand clenching the reins tightly.

He’d never imagined a life beyond Cersei. Not once. She had been his constant, his anchor, his everything—until now. The thought of someone else—of you—filling that void was as unsettling as it was… intriguing.

But it was impossible. You hated him. Despised him for what he was, for what he had done to your brother. And yet, the image lingered, refusing to fade.

The party came to a halt as Qyburn called for a rest, his sharp voice breaking through Jaime’s spiraling thoughts. The guards dismounted with gruff efficiency, their movements quick and practiced as they began setting up a small camp.

Jaime swung himself off his horse with some difficulty, his body protesting the motion. He moved to the edge of the camp, leaning against a tree as he tried to steady himself.

“You’re unusually quiet, Ser Jaime,” Qyburn said as he approached, his tone deceptively polite.

Jaime shot him a glare. “Don’t get used to it.”

Qyburn’s smile widened slightly, though it lacked warmth. “Perhaps the journey is taking a greater toll than you anticipated. Or perhaps your thoughts are… elsewhere.”

Jaime didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the treeline where he had seen the flash of silver. The weight of his thoughts pressed heavily on his chest, but he refused to let Qyburn see it.

“Rest while you can,” Qyburn said after a moment, his tone turning clinical. “You’ll need your strength for what lies ahead.”

Jaime watched him retreat, his fists clenching at his sides. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Qyburn knew more than he let on, that the man saw through the cracks in his armor.

But it didn’t matter.

What mattered was keeping his focus. What mattered was surviving.

And yet, as Jaime closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree, the image of you refused to leave him. It lingered in the darkness of his thoughts, a tantalizing glimpse of something he knew he could never have.

Jaime Lannister didn’t know what he wanted anymore—or who he was without the chains that bound him.

The quiet of the night was broken by the sound of panicked shouts and the unmistakable growl of a wolf. Jaime’s eyes snapped open, his body tensing instinctively as his surroundings came into focus. The camp was in chaos, the faint glow of the dying fire casting jagged shadows over the scene. Men scrambled for their weapons, their movements frantic as a low, menacing growl echoed through the trees.

Jaime pushed himself up, his heart racing. His gaze darted around the camp, landing on a figure he hadn’t expected to see again.

You stood near the fire, your bow drawn, an arrow notched and aimed directly at the leader of the escort. Your hair was windswept, your expression stern and commanding, illuminated by the flickering firelight. Beside you, Winter stood with bared teeth, his growls deep and guttural, sending shivers through even the bravest of men.

Brienne was a few steps away, her broad frame towering over another guard she had pinned to the ground, her sword pressed against his neck. Her face was set with determination, her usually calm demeanor replaced by a fierceness Jaime hadn’t seen since Harrenhal.

“Stand down!” you barked, your voice cutting through the chaos. The strength in your tone was enough to give even seasoned soldiers pause.

Jaime rose slowly, brushing the dirt off his tunic as he stepped forward, his good hand raised in a gesture of calm. “You have a habit of showing up at the most inconvenient times, Stark,” he said, his tone dry despite the tension.

Your eyes flicked to him briefly, your bow not wavering. “And you have a habit of being where you shouldn’t be, Lannister.”

Before Jaime could retort, the leader of the escort, a grizzled man with a scar running down his cheek, took a cautious step back, his hands raised. “We don’t want trouble,” he said, his voice strained. “We’re just doing our job.”

“You’ll put down your weapons,” you commanded, your arrow still trained on him. “Now.”

The man hesitated, glancing at his comrades, who were clearly unsure whether to fight or flee. Winter growled again, the sound low and threatening, and Jaime could see the fear in the escort’s eyes. Slowly, the leader nodded, motioning for his men to lower their weapons. One by one, swords and axes clattered to the ground.

Brienne eased up slightly, though she didn’t let her guard down. “We’re not here to kill anyone,” she said, her tone firm. “But we won’t hesitate if you give us a reason.”

Jaime stepped closer, his gaze flicking between you and Brienne. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice quieter now, though the edge of curiosity was impossible to miss.

Brienne was the one to answer, her voice steady and calm. “I made a vow to Lady Catelyn,” she said simply, her grip on her sword tightening. “To ensure Lady Sansa and Lady Arya are returned safely to their family.”

Jaime’s brow furrowed. “And you think taking me back with you is going to help with that?”

Brienne’s gaze was unwavering. “You’re the only leverage we have. Tywin Lannister won’t listen to reason, but he will listen to the value of his son.”

Before Jaime could respond, you spoke, your voice cold and sharp. “Are we done with the questions, or do we need another demonstration of what happens when you cross a Stark?”

The leader of the escort glanced nervously between you and Winter, his resolve clearly shaken. “We’ll stand down,” he muttered reluctantly. “Just… call off the wolf.”

You nodded curtly, lowering your bow. “Winter,” you said firmly. The massive wolf growled one last time before retreating to your side, his eyes never leaving the men.

Jaime exhaled, his smirk returning faintly as he crossed his arms. “I must admit,” he said, his tone teasing, “I didn’t expect to see you again so soon. You must have missed me.”

Your eyes narrowed, though a flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossed your face. “Don’t flatter yourself, Lannister. This isn’t about you.”

Jaime chuckled, the sound low and dry. “Of course not. You’re just here for the greater good.”

Brienne shot him a sharp look, clearly unamused by his tone. “Enough,” she said curtly, motioning toward the now-disarmed escort. “We need to move before anyone changes their mind.”

Jaime nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. Despite your irritation, despite your biting words, there was something about your presence that steadied him in a way he couldn’t explain.

And as the group began to gather their things and prepare for the journey ahead, Jaime found himself smirking again. You were back, and whether you liked it or not, that meant this journey was about to get far more interesting.

The air was crisp in the morning, carrying the earthy scent of moss and damp leaves. The group had been moving steadily since dawn, the animosity between the escorts and your party never fully vanished. Winter padded silently beside you, his blue eyes scanning the surroundings, ever watchful.

Jaime rode in relative silence, his arm throbbing beneath the crude bandages. He didn’t complain—he wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction—but the discomfort gnawed at him. When Qyburn finally called for a halt to tend to Jaime’s wound, Jaime was almost relieved, though he hid it behind a faint smirk.

The group dismounted near a clearing, and Qyburn wasted no time setting up his tools. Jaime sat on a rock, his good hand resting on his knee as Qyburn carefully unwrapped the soiled bandages. The foul odor of infection hit the air, making even Jaime grimace.

“You’ve been lucky,” Qyburn said, his tone clinical as he examined the wound. “The fever has subsided, and the infection hasn’t spread further. My methods are effective, as always.”

“Your bedside manner could use some work,” Jaime muttered dryly.

Qyburn ignored him, reaching into his satchel to retrieve a jar of some foul-smelling paste. As he began to apply it to the wound, you approached, your brow furrowed as you watched with a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“What exactly are you doing to him?” you asked, your tone terse.

Qyburn glanced up, his expression calm but faintly irritated. “Treating the wound. My concoctions have kept him alive thus far, have they not?”

You crossed your arms, your eyes narrowing. “Who taught you to tend to wounds like that?”

A faint smile curled Qyburn’s lips, and he straightened slightly, as though preparing for a lecture. “The Citadel taught me much, my lady, but my true education came later. The art of healing requires… creativity. Innovation. The willingness to go beyond conventional methods.”

You snorted, cutting him off before he could continue. “It’s all wrong.”

Qyburn’s smile faltered, and he raised an eyebrow. “Wrong? My methods saved his life.”

“Pure luck,” you shot back, your voice cold. “And your methods are abhorrent. You’re not treating him—you’re prolonging his suffering.”

Qyburn’s expression darkened, though his tone remained calm. “If you believe you can do better, my lady, then by all means. Try.”

You stepped closer, your gaze hard. “I will.”

Turning to Jaime, you spoke sharply, “Don’t move. I’ll be back.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow, his smirk faint despite the pain. “I don’t think I’m in any position to run, Stark.”

You ignored his sarcasm, striding purposefully toward the nearby woods. Winter followed at your heels, his silver-white fur shining in the sunlight.

Jaime watched you disappear into the trees, his smirk fading as his mind churned. He wasn’t entirely sure what to make of you.

“She’s determined, I’ll give her that,” Qyburn muttered as he resumed his work, his movements brisk and efficient.

“Determined to prove you wrong,” Jaime said, unable to resist a jab.

Qyburn’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “We’ll see if her stubbornness yields better results than my skill. Though I wouldn’t place any wagers.”

Jaime chuckled softly, though the motion sent a jolt of pain through his arm. “You might want to watch your tongue, Qyburn. She’s not the type to take criticism lightly.”

The conversation faded into silence as Jaime leaned back, his gaze drifting toward the treeline. He found himself wondering what you were searching for, what drove you to challenge Qyburn so fiercely.

And, despite himself, he realized he was looking forward to finding out.

The crunch of footsteps on dried leaves drew Jaime’s attention to the treeline. You emerged from the woods, your arms laden with a bundle of plants and herbs. Winter padded beside you, his blue eyes scanning the surroundings as if daring anyone to challenge you.

“Well, look who’s returned,” Jaime said, his smirk faint but present. “Should I be worried, or are you actually planning to help me?”

You ignored his remark, dropping the bundle of plants onto the flat surface of a nearby rock. Kneeling beside him, you began sorting through the foliage with practiced precision. Your hands moved deftly, separating leaves, roots, and stems, your focus steady and unyielding.

Qyburn watched from a distance, his arms crossed and his expression skeptical. “I hope you realize this is hardly the time for experiments, my lady.”

You shot him a glare that could have frozen a wildfire. “This isn’t an experiment. It’s called proper treatment. Something you clearly know nothing about.”

Jaime chuckled softly, though the motion made his arm throb. “Play nice, Stark. We’re all friends here.”

You turned your glare on him, your brow furrowing. “I’m not your friend, Lannister. Now sit still.”

You dipped a handful of crushed leaves into a bowl of water, mixing them into a thick paste. Kneeling closer, you gently unwrapped the filthy bandages from Jaime’s arm, revealing the raw, inflamed wound beneath. The sight made your jaw tighten, though you said nothing.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Jaime said, his voice laced with dry humor. “A true masterpiece of battlefield medicine.”

“Quiet,” you snapped, your tone sharp. “You’re lucky this hasn’t gone worse. Now, hold still.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening. “You’re awfully bossy, Stark.”

You dipped a cloth into the herbal mixture and pressed it against the wound. Jaime flinched instinctively, a hiss escaping his lips.

“Stay still,” you ordered, your eyes narrowing.

“It burns,” Jaime protested, his tone bordering on petulant.

“It’s supposed to burn,” you shot back, your voice firm but not unkind. “That means it’s working. Now stop squirming, or I’ll tie you down.”

Jaime let out a low chuckle, his good hand resting on his knee. “Careful, my lady. Talk like that might give me ideas.”

You glared at him, though the faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of your lips. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re surprisingly gentle for someone who hates me,” Jaime replied, his smirk softening slightly.

Your hands faltered for a moment before you resumed your work, carefully applying the paste to the wound. “Don’t mistake necessity for kindness, Lannister. If it weren’t for my sisters, I wouldn’t waste my time on you.”

Jaime tilted his head, his gaze lingering on you as you worked. “You’ve got quite the additude. Remind me to recommend you to the next maester I meet.”

“You’re lucky I don’t leave you to Qyburn,” you muttered, wrapping a fresh bandage around his arm with practiced ease. “Though I doubt even he could make you any worse than you already are.”

As you tied off the bandage, Jaime leaned back slightly, his smirk returning. “I must admit, Stark, you have a certain charm. Like an old washerwoman scolding her lazy husband.”

You shot him a pointed look, your hands moving to clean up the leftover herbs. “If we were married, you wouldn’t last a day.”

Jaime chuckled, the sound low and surprisingly genuine. “You’re probably right. I imagine you’d smother me in my sleep.”

“Tempting,” you replied dryly, though there was a faint glimmer of amusement in your eyes.

The two of you fell into a brief silence, the tension between you replaced by something lighter, almost comfortable. It unnerved Jaime more than he cared to admit.

As you stood and brushed off your hands, you glanced down at him, your expression softening ever so slightly. “Try not to ruin my work,” you said, your tone less biting now.

Jaime met your gaze, his smirk fading into something quieter. “I’ll do my best, my lady.”

You turned away, gathering the remaining herbs and placing them into a pouch. Winter followed you closely, his piercing blue eyes watching Jaime as if to warn him not to push his luck.

Jaime leaned back against the tree, his arm throbbing but the burning pain replaced by a dull ache. He couldn’t help but watch you as you moved, your determination and fire both infuriating and captivating.

And as the group prepared to continue their journey, Jaime found himself wondering—despite himself—what it would take to make you smile.

The golden light of dusk bathed the horizon. In the distance, the towering walls and spires of King’s Landing came into view, the city gleaming faintly against the darkening sky. The Red Keep loomed above it all, a symbol of power and treachery, its sharp edges silhouetted against the setting sun.

Jaime rode at the front of the group, his gaze fixed on the capital. His heart was heavy with a mix of anticipation and unease. King’s Landing had always been a place of contradictions—his home and his prison, his triumphs and his failures. And now, it would become the stage for yet another anxiety filled reunion with his father.

Behind him, you and Brienne rode side by side, Winter padding silently beside your horse. The wolf’s pale silver-and-white fur caught the fading light, its eyes scanning the surroundings with unrelenting vigilance.

Jaime slowed his horse as they neared a small clearing by the road, motioning for the group to stop. “We’ll rest here for the night,” he announced. “The city can wait until morning.”

The group dismounted, the air filled with the sounds of clinking armor and the rustle of saddlebags. Jaime stretched his legs, wincing slightly as his still-healing arm reminded him of its presence.

As the group settled around a small fire, Jaime found himself glancing at you. You sat across from him, your posture stiff, your gaze fixed on the distant lights of King’s Landing. There was something in your expression—curiosity, perhaps, mingled with disdain.

“First time seeing the capital, isn’t it?” Jaime asked, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, your brow furrowing slightly. “It looks… crowded,” you said carefully, though your tone carried a faint edge.

Jaime smirked, leaning back slightly. “Wait until you’re inside. It’s even worse than it looks from here.”

You hesitated, your nose wrinkling as the faint breeze carried the city’s scent to your camp. “It stinks,” you said bluntly, your voice laced with disdain. “Like shit and rot.”

Jaime chuckled, the sound low and genuine. “That’s King’s Landing for you—a city of gold cloaks and gutter rats, power and filth, all packed together. Charming, isn’t it?”

You gave him a pointed look, unimpressed. “If this is your idea of charm, Lannister, I’d hate to see what you consider a dump.”

Jaime grinned, but his expression grew more serious as he leaned forward slightly. “All jokes aside, Stark, you’ll need to stay close to me once we’re inside the walls. The capital doesn’t take kindly to your kind these days.”

Your eyes narrowed, your jaw tightening. “My kind?”

“Starks,” Jaime clarified, his tone calm but firm. “After your brother raised his banners and what your father did, the name Stark became synonymous with rebellion in King’s Landing. The wrong word to the wrong person, and…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

Before you could respond, Brienne spoke, her voice steady and resolute. “Nothing will happen to her,” she said, her gaze fixed on Jaime. “I won’t allow it.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning faintly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Brienne. But this isn’t Tarth. The capital plays by its own rules.”

“I don’t care about their rules,” Brienne replied sharply, her tone brooking no argument. “I made a vow to Lady Catelyn. I’ll keep all her daughters safe.”

You glanced at Brienne, your expression softening slightly, though your shoulders remained stiff. “I can take care of myself,” you muttered, though the defiance in your voice was weaker than usual.

Jaime tilted his head, studying you with an unreadable expression. “Maybe,” he said after a moment. “But even the strongest need allies in a place like King’s Landing.”

The fire crackled between you, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You didn’t respond, your gaze drifting back to the distant lights of the city.

As the camp quieted, Jaime found himself watching you. There was something about the way you carried yourself—stubborn, unyielding, and yet undeniably vulnerable. It was infuriating, the way you seemed to occupy his thoughts without permission.

He shook his head, leaning back against a log as he stared at the fire. The capital awaited them, with all its dangers and schemes. Whatever happened next, he couldn’t deny the flicker of unease that stirred in his chest at the thought of you walking into the lion’s den.

“Stay close,” he muttered to himself, echoing his own words.

And for once, Jaime Lannister meant them.

The night was still, the faint crackle of the dying fire the only sound breaking the silence. The chill of the air seeped into Jaime’s bones, but he didn’t move. He sat leaning against a log, his good hand resting on his knee, his gaze fixed on the stars above. Sleep refused to come, as it often did, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His arm, or what was left of it, throbbed faintly, though it was no longer the searing pain that had once consumed him. Whatever concoction you had applied seemed to be working, much to his reluctant admiration. The bandages were clean and snug, the herbal paste cooling and soothing the wound. He couldn’t deny that you had saved him from far worse.

He glanced toward the others, all of whom were asleep now. Even Qyburn, who always seemed to hover on the edge of wakefulness, had succumbed to exhaustion, his wiry frame slumped against a tree. Brienne had been the last to fall asleep, her large form curled awkwardly on the ground, her sword resting within arm’s reach.

You lay near the fire, your breathing steady, your face peaceful in sleep. Winter was curled up beside you, his massive body a barrier between you and the rest of the world. The direwolf’s blue eyes opened every so often, fixing on Jaime whenever his gaze lingered too long.

Jaime smirked faintly, though the expression lacked its usual edge. “Protective, aren’t you?” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Winter’s gaze didn’t waver, his head resting on your shoulder, his presence a silent warning. Jaime let out a low sigh, leaning back against the log as his thoughts began to swirl.

The city wasn’t far now—its distant lights had been a constant reminder all evening. King’s Landing, the heart of power, corruption, and intrigue. Jaime’s chest tightened at the thought of returning. He had left as the golden lion, a knight of the Kingsguard, proud and unbroken. Now, he was a shadow of that man, his honor tarnished and his body maimed.

He thought of his father, the ever-looming presence of Tywin Lannister. What would the great Lord of Casterly Rock say when he saw Jaime like this? Would there be anger, disappointment, or, worse, indifference? Jaime couldn’t decide which he dreaded more.

And then there was Cersei.

Cersei, who had always demanded perfection, who had looked at him with such fierce pride. What would she see now? Would she still see the man she had once whispered to in the dark, or would she see only the failure—the Kingslayer who had been humbled?

Jaime’s smirk faltered as his thoughts turned to Tyrion. The Imp had always been quick with his wit, but there was a sharpness beneath it, a keen understanding of the world. Tyrion wouldn’t mock him—not for this—but Jaime wasn’t sure he could stomach the pity he might see in his brother’s eyes.

His gaze drifted back to where you lay, your face serene despite the turmoil surrounding you. You were fierce, unyielding, and maddening in every way. Yet, he found himself thinking of you more than he should—more than was safe.

The capital would not be kind to you. The Starks were seen as traitors now, rebels who had dared to defy the crown. You would be a pawn at best, a threat at worst.

What will they do to her?

The thought gnawed at him, his chest tightening as he considered the possibilities. He had seen what King’s Landing did to those who weren’t prepared for its games, and he knew the danger that awaited you there.

How do I protect her?

The question lingered, unanswered, as Jaime stared into the dying fire. He had no power left, no leverage. And yet, the thought of you being used, hurt, or broken by the city’s machinations filled him with a rage he hadn’t felt in years.

Winter’s eyes flicked open again, locking onto Jaime with an intensity that made him smirk despite himself. “Don’t worry,” Jaime murmured, his voice quiet. “I’m not foolish enough to cross you. She’s in good hands.”

The wolf huffed softly, his head settling back on your shoulder as his eyes closed once more.

Jaime leaned his head back, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily on him. The city awaited, with all its dangers and promises, and Jaime knew the path ahead would be treacherous.

But as his gaze drifted back to you, he felt the faintest flicker of resolve. Whatever it took, he would find a way to protect you. Even if it meant standing against the city he once called home.

[serpentface]

Four (relatively) distinct types of livestock guardian dogs in the Imperial Wardi region. (Left to right: hnorai dam, chin-tsimouna, dírgrahdain, and chin na Hittsanaedi)

Dog breeds in the modern sense of the word in which a dog is selected for highly specific physical traits and carefully bred to retain 'purity' is virtually nonexistent in this setting (and where similar practices occur, it's usually as an outlier situation surrounding a single dog rather than as a standard practice). Most working dogs first develop out of landraces via natural selection, and are bred according to their function above all else. Their forms are the results of natural pressures from their environments, the demands of their jobs, genetic isolation (or lack thereof), and often some degree of selectivity or preference for coloration or features.

These are the four types that occur within the region, all derived from a progenitor landrace guard dog (the last common ancestor of all four contemporary types probably existed about 950-1000 years before present). All share commonalities of a large size, rain-resistant hair, notably dense winter coats, a loud and deep bark, thick muzzles, and strongly sloping chests. They must be able to hold their own (usually through intimidation but occasionally in fights) against large predators that often physically outmatch them- lions, king hyena, hyenas, and wild dogs being most threatening to livestock. They also may have additional functions in dissuading theft and poaching of livestock by humans, and they may sometimes double as basic guard dogs of homes or villages.

Dogs here are bred almost entirely according to their function (you breed LGDs with LGDs, it doesn't usually matter if they look different or come from different stock), with the main exceptions being 'breeds' that are aspects of important cultural heritage or that have specific culturally/regionally preferred aesthetic traits. The chin-tsimouna is the most common of the three and is the result of minimally selective breeding (though some populations form unique strains or have a selective local status), while the other three are semi-isolated heritage types (the hnorai dam for some North Wardi groups, the dírgrahdain for most of the Hill Tribes, and the chin na Hittsanaedi among Ephenni Riverlanders).

---

Hnorai dam: Very rare in the contemporary, with undiluted animals of this stock surviving in some of the most isolated parts of the region's north. This type is distinct for typically having a somewhat stockier build than the others, solid coats, pointed ears, and a tail held upright and curved when relaxed. Most are solid white, gray, or black, and will often be assigned to horses of matching color. This is also the most 'basal' of the regional LGDs, a dog close to this in form (but probably not with solid coloration) was the common progenitor of all other livestock guardian breeds in the region. Variants on 'hnorai dam' are the common name, simply meaning 'guard dog' in the North Wardi language (as they are often used as village/household guards as well as livestock guardians).

Chin-tsimouna: This is the most ubiquitous type, occurring region-wide (and beyond) and used by a variety of peoples (throughout the core Imperial Wardi sphere and among the Cholemdinae, with some usage among the North Wardi, Hill Tribes, and Wogan). They have the most significant foreign ancestry (largely from Burri and Yuroma dogs) and most frequent 'crossbreedings' with feral populations. Due to these factors, the look of these dogs is highly variable (with the 'chin-tsimouna' name functionally being a catchall for any LGDs not of an otherwise specified type). There ARE some broad commonalities (beyond strictly the underlying features common to all these LGD types). The ears are rarely pointed, and usually are bent or lay flat. Fawn coloration with a melanistic mask is by far the most common, with white, gray, and black dogs coming in second (often semi-selectively bred or chosen to match the coats of their charges). Solid colored chin-tsimouna are very rare. There are numerous regional names for type-variants, but 'chin-tsimouna' is the most common descriptor for the overall type, meaning 'horse-dog' (in reference to their typical charges, who they uniquely live among).

Dírgrahdain: This is the native livestock guardian dog of the Highlands. They are the most physically distinctive from their counterparts, and their traits are among the most consistent (due to rarity of feral dog populations in their native range and their status in shared cultural heritage encouraging maintenance of their distinctive traits and discouraging crossbreeding). The most distinctive features are a dense mane, pointed ears, and tightly curled tail. An extended melanistic mask is highly common, and very pale 'evil eyes' are favored in this population, believed to be the most frightening to predators and evil spirits. The name dírgrahdain means 'liondog', mostly referring to their mane. [Extended dírgrahdain post here]

Chin na Hittsanaedi: This is the 'youngest' of the distinct types, and derives from a period of significant crossing between dírgrahdain and chin-tsimouna within the Ephenni riverlands (region south of the soutwestern Highlands, between and around the convergence of the Erubin and Nedachemi rivers) due to significant interaction and overlap of territory between the Ephenni and the West Rivers Hill Tribes under Imperial Burri occupation. The curled tail and pale eyes of the dírgrahdain is common in this population, though the pointed ears are rare and the 'mane' is less developed or absent. Most other traits are typical of the chin-tsimouna type. Dogs of this stock are mainly used in rural parts of the province of Ephennos, and their significance to aspects of modern era Ephenni cultural identity dissuades intentional breeding with both of their progenitor types. The name chin na Hittsanaedi means 'Riverlands dog' (more literally 'dog of the Riverlands').

[sweetbunpura]

Christmas party at NRC with students and staffs and special guests

Yuu's dress

Kassie's dress (Snowy Night)

It must've been a Christmas miracle because that was the only way to describe it. Crowley had actually done everything himself while setting up the party, of course he had help from the staff so that everything wouldn't go completely wrong. The cafeteria was all decked out in holiday decorations as everyone started filtering into the room. Many of them wore a basic suit and tie combo, with colors that matches the dorms they were in. Others went all out with the winter outfits and easily stuck out among everyone in the crowd.

Ace sighed as he leaned against the cocktail table. "Where are they?"

"She said they'd be here soon." Rollo answered as he eyed the Heartslabyul student. "And why, might I ask, are you so eager for her to be here?"

"One, I wanna ditch but I promised Yuu I'd stay until she got here and I fear for my life if I break that. Two, I wanna see what she has on."

"...Why?"

"Cause we all know Crowley didn't pay her enough to get her a proper winter party outfit." Ace glanced over at him. "Wait a second, why didn't you come with them?"

"Because I had to babysit them." Rollo gestured to where Fellow, Gidel, and Grim were basically raiding the buffet while Skully was talking to Sebek. "....Wait a moment, were you going to make fun of her?"

"Not fully, maybe tease a little." Ace smirked.

"While her mother and I are here?"

"....Okay, so maybe just a tiny bit."

Deuce shook his head. "Everyday, you seemly test the limits of your own survival."

"That's rich coming from you, Juice."

"It's never on purpose like what you do!"

"I don't wanna another fight between the two of ya!" Epel broke it up before they could start. "Last time Y'all did this, you split the punch all over Vil's white outfit."

They shuddered as they remembered the whole event and how terrifying Vil looked. Rollo muttered something behind his handkerchief while Jack sighed as his ears turned towards the entrance.

"They're-"

"What? Why so quiet-Holy."

Yuu and Kassie walked through the entrance, the Homuras were sporting a pair of cute, beautiful, and mature dresses. Yuu had on short black sweater dress with a single leg slit and a star pattern etched into the bottom of the dress and it's sleeves. It also had adjustable yellow lace as part of it. Kassie wore a dark blue cocktail dress with a snow pattern on it, the top of the dress was mesh. Anyone who had been talking stopped and looked at the pair as they made their way down the stairs. Crewel stepped forward and helped Kassie down the remaining steps while Leona, smugly, did the same to Yuu.

"Thank you, Divus."

"Of course."

"I didn't take you as a gentleman, Leona."

"Only for you, Herbivore."

Divus led Kassie to where the rest of the staff was while Yuu made her way over to the group with Leona lingering behind her.

"Thank you for taking the troublemakers, Rolls." She hugged him. "They weren't too bad, were they?

"You're welcome and no, they weren't."

"They knew better?"

"They knew better."

Yuu laughed and looked at the first years. "Cat got your tongue, fellas?"

"Holy shit." Ace muttered. "W-Why are you dressed like?"

"Like what?"

"Like a cute girl!"

The guys winced and looked between Yuu and Ace, waiting for the inevitable punch, but it didn't come as the girl shook her head.

"Cause I'm adorable as hell, Acey, and every now and then, I wanna show it off." She smirked and placed her hands on her hips. "Besides, it caught your attention, didn't it?"

"And everyone else's."

Yuu pats Leona's chest. "They know better. They can look, but they can't touch."

"Unless they want a broken hand." Leona placed his hand on her hip. "C'mon, I waited to eat for you."

"Aw, is the lion hungry~?"

Leona smirked as he whispered in her ear, which set her face a light and caused her to push him. Jack, thankfully, had lowered his ears before he could hear anything.

"Oh, Rolls, did you eat?"

"....I did not."

She pointed at the buffet with a sharp glint in her eye. "Go eat."

Rollo flinched and hurried off to the food, Leona watched him as he went before turning back to Yuu.

"You taming knows no bounds, Herbivore."

"Beast Master, remember?"

Leona's ear turned towards where Kassie was and he looked over to see the woman wrangling Crowley for something he said.

"Must be hereditary."

[karlachismylife]

A Spot of Lunch || The Queen of the Clan pt.4

CW: fem!chubby!reader, stalking, animal aggression (no violence)

Paranoia wasn't something you have ever associated with the vast grassy planes of sunlit savanna. An unsettling feeling of being constantly watched, followed, stalked seemed more suitable for the claustrophobic confines of a big city with its tall concrete walls and sleepless eyes of neon signs and late night windows peering blindly into the darkness - or maybe even a cold, isolated cabin among winter woods, with howling wind and creaking floorboards eerily masking the steps of whatever was looking through the frosty glass planes from the other side.

An open space full of busy with their own survival wildlife and sun burning every little patch of shadow anyone could hide in never crossed your mind as a place for a worry of unwanted following.

And yet you felt it.

You've learnt to distinguish this creepy sensation of being watched by something from the constant presense of your crew's cameras and curious looks of the animals. Even coming face to face (from afar, obviously) with the lion pride that was your main target for the documentary and attracting their attention left a different aftertaste - sure, you did feel like prey looking into the big eyes, adorned with a nature-given eyeliner, twinkling predatorily at you from the muzzle of a huge feline partially covered by the tall grass, but it still was just an animal watching you and gauging if you and your weird pack of two-legged companions were a better dinner option than an antilope.

What watched your back when you were sorting through your footage in camp or unloading the rover for another static filming, didn't feel like an animal.

"Well, we didn't even have that much visitors in camp for the last few days, so I'd say we're pretty safe," Kir, the shoulder you're used to rely on at this point, listens to your concerns carefully as he accepts heavy equipment from your arms - you reached a suitable place to have some food, so a temporary camp is being prepared. "Besides, we're always staying together out here, right? I'll look after you for now. Let's see if you still feel this shadow of yours when we get back to homebase, and then we'll look for a solution again. Maybe it's just the savanna getting to you, city cookie."

You scoff and roll your eyes at him, but his reassurance helps shake the unpleasant feeling from your scruff a bit - Kir has a point, the crew is being careful about animals and it's not like there are any other humans in these parts nearby, so you'll probably be alright. Definitely feels nice to have someone who doesn't simply dismiss your concerns and is ready to take more precautions if the initial ones fail to work.

"Maybe it's a heatstroke or something," you mutter awkwardly, now almost ashamed of how serious you make it all sound when no one else is having such problems. Kir immediately turns around, a big duffelbag on his shoulder, skin glistening with sweat, and gives you a disapproving look.

"I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. This isn't a hike outside your hometown, every concern you have is worth looking into. Better be overcautious than become someone's dinner, especially when you're already a total snack," finally having gotten you to smile, he winks and hurries to the main camp. When you reach the others to set up your lunch break, a hat lands on your head - you lift your eyes, almost covered by it, and of course, it's still Kir, wiping his forehead with a smile. "No heatstroke for you, cookie. Go have some water."

The hat is a bit sweaty on the inside, but it keeps the sun away better than the scarf you couldn't tie properly this morning.

As you all sit around in the shadow created by a lone acacia and chew on your not so bad meals - apparently, veteran participants of these trips have experience not only in getting close to animals unnoticed or navigating vehicles through uneven sandy terrain, but also in making quite the unappealing looking canned food taste good - quiet human chatter mixes together with the birds calling each other out and little chirping mice sneaking around your camp in timid curiosity. A fit of laughter bursts here and there. Your worry melts into nothingness in the heat, you feel safe as you look at your crew.

These people are doing what they love, and you notice that the dull apathy that was eating at you to the point of taking a break in your studies slowly steps away. Surprisingly, your impulsive idea turned out to be not so bad - maybe you'll take additional courses when you return, to be able to move here, work at the sanctuary, watch-

"Psst, look," a gentle nudge makes you stop digging into the little bowl you have with your mighty fancy teal spork (your 100% recycled plastic pride and joy), and you look up to where Kir points with his chin and puckered lips. "Even I recognize that snout already."

So do you, of course.

A wide, happily grinning, sniffing vigorously at the direction of your temporary camp, round-eared snout with a thick mohawk of a lush mane.

"Finally brought a friend," chuckles Kir next to you - and he's right, shoulder to shoulder with your old pal Stinky stands another hyena, spotted so generously that its fur seems almost brown, as does its shorter, but even thicker than Stinky's mane. Pure elegance shines through the stance of its long legs and the whole form, especially compared to its bulky mate.

And there they are - the most enchanting, heart-stealing, soul-charming dark eyes you've ever seen an animal have.

"Shit," you nearly choke on the corn you forgot you had in your mouth before swallowing anxiously, and try to muffle your coughing, afraid it might scare the animals away; but instead they only tilt their heads in an adorable way and watch as you scramble to shove your food bowl into Kir's hands and grab your camera.

It takes you less than two minutes to sneak to your bag (not the one that was sprayed - that one is banished to lay alone next to a rover far, far away from where you eat, God) and grab the camera, but when you turn back, both hyenas seem to have lost all interest in you and your camp, rolling around together in the patchy grass and partaking in a ritualistic play.

Subtle breaths of warm wind bring over quiet growls and occasional sassy cackles from the scuffle, nips and paw slaps exchanged in equal amounts. The sight is nothing short of adorable: two members of one of the most dangerous species on Earth tossing each other around like playful cubs, almost as if they're fighting over-

"Hey, look, they've got something!" One of the other camera operators points out gleefully with her spoon and you close one eye, focusing your camera on the pair. They definitely are fighting over some scrap, and just as you zoom in on their scowling mouths, Stinky jumps to its feet, yanking something that looks like a piece of hide in attempt to wrestle their toy from the other one's maw. "Hey, can you see what it's about?"

You hum, squinting as you meddle with the settings - it's quite hard to make out what it is, some brown-ish rug, stretching between two pairs of powerful jaws, clenched and pulling in a simple game of tug-of-war. Just as you take a series of quick shots, that dark, lean hyena also gets up and twists its neck, trying to snatch that thing from his broader mate - and it rips.

In your lense you see loose strings hanging from the ripped edges of the torn toy.

"Huh, looks like a piece of cloth!" Curious, you zoom in some more, taking several fine portrait pictures of Stinky's big, displeased-looking snout. Its ears flatten a bit as it shakes its head, sand flying off the fluffy mane and landing on the dark hide of its buddy. The latter seems to be much more content with the end result of the playfight, already lying back on the warm ground comfortably, long frong legs crossed in an effortlessly graceful way and half of the desired prise being chewed enthusiastically before it's dropped with a yawn. "Maybe someone lost a scarf? No pattern though..."

You point your camera at the unbelievably stunning dark-furred hyena and take more photos, almost holding your breath at the beauty of the animal resting on the dusty ground. Its slightly lazy gaze slowly trails over the surroundings and then lands on you.

And then, you swear, it winks at you.

You press the button on your camera automatically, capturing this moment for you to stare at later, when you'll start doubting your own sanity. A lopsided smirk stays on the hyena's muzzle for a second longer - and then it's gone.

"What the hell..." you mutter under your nose, lowering your camera with a dumbfounded look and stare at the embodiment of innocence the cheeky fluffball is now. Almost as if they both heard you, Stinky perks up too, and you finally notice that whatever they were playing with is now hanging off its pleased snout shoved through a neat round opening in the material. So it's definitely something man-made. A shirt that's been shredded by predators' teeth until only the collar or a short sleeve remained?..

You shudder at the thought about how the hyenas got their sock-clad paws on the thing and what happened to the owner. Maybe it's just been discarded after researchers used it to wrap a hyena's head when they darted and collared one of them. Or it just fell out of someone's backpack on the bumpy road. Or...

A loud whoop interrupts your heavy thoughts and your eyes snap back to the furry menace, only to find it clearly posing for you, slumped over its pal's back and resting its chin between the other's fluttering ears. Surprisingly, the darker - maybe you'll call it Chocolate, it seems almost toothrottingly sweet from afar - hyena doesn't seem to mind much, waving its tail with a black brush on end languidly and laying still until you take a few pictures. Even though the rag Stinky can't seem to let go clearly gets in its eyes no matter how many times it tries to brush it away with an endearing ear movement.

Of course Stinky just drops its toy altogether on Chocolate's head the second something else attracts its attention - the way it perks up and loses that trickster grin, looking directly behind you, startles you, but almost twisting your neck to look over your shoulder proves futile. It's just Kir.

"Sorry to ruin your fun, cookie, but we'll have to get moving in a few, thought you'd want to finish your meal," he sighs with an apologetic smile, clearly not immune to the cuteness of the hyenas himself, and hands you your bowl, immedietely earning a growl.

A growl much closer than you'd expect from where your visitors stayed.

You jump, nearly dropping both your camera and food, and quickly turn back to see both hyenas, tails and manes belligerently fluffed up, just a few meters away. Kir steps in front of you immediately, shielding from the animals, but it seems only to aggravate them more.

Maybe it's not the brightest idea you get, but your adrenaline-high brain offers you a memory of Stinky obeying when you raised your voice at it.

"Stay down you two! Shoo! Get back!" Leaning around Kir's muscular shoulder, you wave with your spork at the unfriendly couple.

Somehow, it works.

They almost look upset, tails slowly hanging down and ears lowered - they even lean their whole bodies to the ground as they back away. Stinky is clearly more reluctant, and you would be melting at the sight if your heart wasn't still racing after the scare.

"You get back too, Stinky. Or I'll sign every picture of you with your nickname in all the wildlife magazines!" Perhaps it's your tone making the animals nervous, but Chocolate suddenly lets out a short giggle. Still feels nice to have someone appreciate your humor, especially when it earns him a nip at the scruff from Stinky, finally distracting him from you. "And you don't laugh at Stinky! What, you think there won't be enough of me for the both of you? I'll make fun of every fucking four-legged menace if you keep growling like that!"

An barely started new scuffle between the two stops abruptly, two pairs of huge wet eyes looking at you with almost human perspicacity. Remembering too late that a direct stare can provoke an animal, you avert your gaze, but it's unnecessary: even from the corner of your eye you see both hunched figures slowly gaining speed as they further away from the camp.

"What, you a hyena whisperer now?" Kir lets out a subtle relieved breath and you par his back gratefully, exhaling yourself. "Probably got scared of me because of my size... well, now that's you've proven your dominance, how about you finish your food? I'll pack everything for you, so don't rush."

Still glancing over your shoulder in case the predators come back, you mutter your thanks to Kir and nod at the other members of the crew who praise you for keeping your cool against the animals again.

"Didn't know they teach you that in school nowadays," jokes one of the older scientists with some canned food juice staining grey stubble around the corners of his mouth. "Good job, kid. Hyenas are all about hierarchy, if you show them you're more dominant, there's little they can do. Just maybe don't get into actual fights with them, you know?"

"Not planning to," you chuckle and finally get back to your food. While you chew absentmindedly, wandering around the camp being taken down, your legs bring you to where your slightly rough (and fluffy too, to be fair) around the edges neighbours left their tattered toy.

Just a weird shaped brown cloth, punctured in several places with the deadly weapon hyenas carry in their mouths and with clearly manufactured seams. That round hole Stinky utilized also has neatly finished edge, like clothing would have.

Huh. Weird. Somehow that chewed up and slobbered snippet looks familiar. Can't really quite put your finger on it though.

Part 3 | Part 3.5 | Part 5

Series masterlist | Main masterlist

A/N: Please, don't use any of this story as a guide to handling any animals, wild or not. Although I try to use real documentaries and stories of hyena whisperers as a reference to how hyena-human interactions can look like, it's still fiction. Use actual guidelines provided by authorities as to how to behave in contact with stranger animals.

Tagging:@elaineiswithyou-blog @creepingeva @my-halo-is-a-little-broken @sillymanjaro @ihatethinkingofnames10 @ravensfeatheruniverse @yaminax @ljh861 @darkangel4121 @ginger-n-coco @grey-shadow6475 @cryingpages @mothsdrabbles @mc-glare-is-king @vixxie22 @aldis-nuts

[vviipers]

930 words. (twst) cheka kingscholar & fem! reader. (twst) leona kingscholar/fem! reader.

The apartment next door was finally leased out.

It was a man and his son, both lion beastmen and from the capital of Afterglow Savanna if their accents were anything to go by.

It wasn't uncommon to run into the boy (literally), Cheka, when leaving your appointment in the morning. You'd sit on the stairs of the complex with him as he waited for his bus to show, just to make sure he wasn't completely alone.

You hadn't meant to get as attached to him as you did.

He was a sweetheart, hugging you before running off to join his friends on the school bus. It was always a short ten minutes that you spent with him, mostly filled with him telling you what he did the day prior or watching Mousey-Toons on your phone.

Cheka had even taken to adding missus in front of your name whenever calling your attention, even after the dozens of times you've corrected him. He'd especially loved to tack it on whenever you let him inside during the colder months with his enthusiastic thank yous, kicking his legs back and forth as he nursed on a cup of pink lemonade once settled.

You'd asked about his father one day. You're curious about why you've only ever seen him once in a blue moon and the only thing he responds with is furrowed brows and flattened ears.

"The man you live with," you clarify, hands moving around your head as you describe him. "Scar over his eye? Long hair? A little mean looking?"

That makes Cheka laugh and you have to take glass from him so it doesn't slip out of his hands. "That's Unca Leona! He's my unca! He sleeps a lot." He scrunches his hands once he's finished speaking, gulping down the remaining drink with a self-satisfying sigh as he sets the cup down with a clink.

"Your uncle?"

He doesn't look at you like you're stupid when you ask, nodding enthusiastically while reaching for his hazelnut spread sandwich. "Yeah," he answers with a cheek full of it.

The alarm on your phone goes off and Cheka is getting up from his chair as per your routine. You put his bag on one shoulder and your own on the other, following him out the door while he continues to bite at his sandwich. He hugs your legs once you're close enough to the bus, running halfway up the steps before he remembers his bookbag and runs back to retrieve it with a giggle.

When he gets home from school, he visits and stays over for a few hours until his uncle knocks either on your door or your shared living room wall. Sometimes he doesn't leave, only opening the door and returning with a bag full of takeout.

You always return the favor by sending Cheka over with the amount printed on the receipt. Eventually, they start coming without them and you have to do the extra work to find the approximate price.

(You've started ignoring the envelopes of money Cheka tries giving you in the mornings too. He always lights up after you tell him to put whatever's inside in his piggy bank and save up for that block set he wants for his birthday.)

(You'll ignore that same set you have sitting in the back of your closet.)

It's not a shock when he— Leona— comes knocking on your door during winter break. He's shoving an envelope in your hand and turning away before you can quite keep up.

"Stop," he starts after you grab onto his wrist. He doesn't snatch it away, but you do drop it. His voice is raspy, but you don't know if it's natural or from him just waking up. "Payin' me back."

You squint and force the envelope back into his hand. You don't like how thick it feels. "If you're not taking the money, then at least put it towards Cheka."

In the few months you've known the boy, you've taken enough notes to recognize his more subtle body language, even if he wore his emotions openly on his face.

His uncle is no different regardless of his subtlety.

"His parents 'n' I already give 'im more than enough."

"Then a little more wouldn't hurt."

Leona closes his eyes. Whether it's because he's growing frustrated at your stubbornness or trying to come up with another argument, you also don't know. "He's gonna get spoiled. I don't wanna have'ta raise a brat."

"He's fine so far." You step away when he holds the envelope out, giving him your sweetest smile when he extends his arm further. "Maybe a rainy day fund then?"

"Don't need it."

"Neither do I."

Whatever game of hot potato and cat-and-mouse is ended by a gasp from Cheka. "Unca!" He's running his way up to Leona and has jumped into his arms, practically purring. "Are we going out today? Is missus," he mispronounces your name again and you've given up on correcting him, "coming?"

Leona closes his eyes again and lets out a heaving breath. You don't say anything in case it ruins the rest of his day.

"If," he yawns, cutting himself off while he shifts Cheka to his hip, "she wants. We'll use what's in here."

When Cheka turns to look at you, his big eyes make it impossible to say no.

"If you'll have me," you hum, huffing out a laugh when he practically jumps into your arms.

You ignore the hand Leona swipes down his face, squeezing Cheka back equally as tight when he throws his arms around your neck.