#shae

[coffeeco001]

Neil: I want you to admit there's an us.

Andrew, reaching to unbutton Neil's pants: Shut up, I hate you. You're nothing. There is no us.

------

Nicky: (looks at Neil for more than 2 seconds)

Andrew, in german: Fuck off he's mine, don't you dare touch him.

[sunfyer]

[adorkastock]

Hi! I was wondering if you had more sharable posts with references for drawing fat people. I managed to find two posts and then a few with a single photo of a fat model. It's very difficult to find representation of fat people in general, most of my attempts on this website feeling like an hour long treasure hunt, so I'd love to share more posts of yours with those reference photos if possible!

Sure thing! Here's a collection of refs. Also on DeviantArt, Patreon, and my site gallery you can search by model name and there's a guide on DA for who is who. (The site gallery will also let you sort by body type, this is kind of a WIP). My Tumblr is usually tagged with the model names too so if you don't want to endless scroll that might help narrow it down. I also use the fat model tag usually, too. If you aren't familiar yet with FatPhotoRef.com def check that out! @fugitiverabbit runs it and it's a fantastic resource for artists. Happy drawing!

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Content Warnings: tiny whump, faerie whump, caught in a storm, injury, broken bones, rescue (seen as capture from his POV), caretaking

Author's Notes: based on this idea!

----

Strong gusts of wind and rain toss Shae about like a leaf. It is dizzying, and happens too quickly for him to get his bearings or try grasping to hold onto something. He has no way to steer himself away from the human property he is being carried toward.

The wind whips Shae's body into the side of a shed, with a whistling sound that drowns out the sound of his startled scream when his shoulder hits solid wood hard enough to snap bone. His vision fades in and out of inky darkness while he remains pinned to the wall by the force of the wind.

After several long minutes suspended like that, the wind settles momentarily. Shae drops heavily and lands on a pile of chopped wood inside. He hits the topmost log and slides off, tumbling down the pile and racking up a collection of scrapes and splinters, and onto the muddy ground. He hurts terribly, but at least he is still. At least he can breathe. The pile provides some shield from the wind, and the mud keeps him anchored to the ground. Shae closes his eyes and gives into the pull of unconsciousness.

-

Overnight it is dry, and the strong sun in the morning helps dry up most of last night's rain. Shae still lies where he fell on the ground beside a shed. He has been drifting in and out of sleep since dawn, resisting returning to whatever awaits him. But once pain creeps into his senses he can no avoid the truth.

Groaning, the faerie tries to sit up, but can't. He tries again, and when he still meets resistance, he tries just wiggling a bit...and also can't do that. The mud beneath him has dried and hardened. He is stuck.

Panic grips his little heart. While he is not exactly eager to move his aching body, being vulnerable like this so close to humans - and their pets - can't possibly end well. And even if he isn't discovered, the weather grows colder every day, and - and how is he supposed to get food, water?!

He is pulled from his thoughts when not far away a door slams and booted footsteps approach. Shae can feel the ground vibrate as they get dangerously close. Pulse pounding, eyes shut tight, he only hopes the mud camouflages him and he will go unseen.

There are dull clunking sounds, the human removing logs from the pile. One slips and falls from the top and rolls a little, landing by Shae's arm. Shae hears the rustling of the human's clothes and his slow breaths as he crouches to pick it up. Try as he may, he can't stop shaking. It gives him away.

"What the-?"

The human recoils and nearly drops the wood. He sets it down carefully in front of the larger pile and gets onto his hands and knees, peering closer.

"Well I'll be damned," he mumbles. "I've heard of you, but never seen one in person..." He reaches out a finger and pokes one of Shae's tiny feet. It twitches and the human recoils. "You're alive!"

Not for long, Shae can't help but think miserably. Just from the darkness cast over him by the human's shadow and what little Shae can see of him with half his face pressed to the ground, this human is huge, his hands massive. In the faerie's experience, hands like that tend to squeeze and crush, whether they mean to or not.

With the fingernails of one of those hands, the human starts to chip away at the dry mud caked on and around him. Shae goes tense, fearing he will be nicked by the nail or pressed by the fingers, but other than a few brushes, they avoid him. Once enough of the dirt is loosened, he finds he can breathe more easily and even turn onto his side. If there was ever a time to flee, it would be now, but he feels tired and heavy and even the threat of capture can't get his stiff limbs to move.

"Alright...here we go..." The man lays one hand flat, palm up, and uses his other to roll Shae onto it. As Shae rolls onto the side that slammed into the shed, pain shoots down his shoulder and he feebly cries out.

"Ow, ow," he whimpers, holding his shoulder to find it at an odd angle and something jutting beneath his skin that shouldn't be, the skin itself darkly bruised. He bites his lip to stop from speaking. Tears pour down his cheeks onto the human's palm.

"You must have been caught in that storm last night. It did a number on you, huh?" The human stands and holds the faerie in his open hand, gently rolling him onto his back, relieving the pressure on his broken shoulder. Shae is battered all over, but the break is the worst of it, the pain that distracts from all other pains. "Poor little guy." With both hands, the human cups Shae's limp body and holds it to his sturdy, flannel-covered chest.

He smells like pine and mint and campfires. It's almost pleasant, but Shae has also learned that humans' pleasant features rarely prevent them from doing harm. Still...the air is cold, but the man is warm, and Shae curls against him despite his better instincts. The human's thumb strokes up and down his back with an unexpectedly light touch. He carries Shae into his house.

Inside it's warm and pleasant-smelling, too. Some of the tension in his body eases just from being in out of the cold air. Still, he's terrified. Shae hides his tearstained face in the fabric of the human's shirt, mumbling pleas for...for he doesn't even know what. Gentleness? Mercy? A quick death?

The man brings him to a dining room, the table of which is covered in various half-finished projects. He does his woodworking out in the shed, but brings his work in here to paint or build things, a bad habit that leaves his place a mess, but he doesn't get enough visitors to care much.

He lays the faerie on a folded kitchen towel, a soft surface Shae did not expect. Shae groans and holds his shoulder, finally blinking his eyes open to stare at the ceiling. His vision is blurry and his stomach churns, a mix of pain and fear and lingering dizziness after being the wind's plaything the day before.

The human moves around the table, clearing a space on which to work. His heavy steps rattle the table and Shae is reminded just how vulnerable he is right now. The man could kill him in a single blow if he chose to, though if that is the plan, why hasn't he done it already?

Shae remains still and waits. For a few minutes, the man is gone, and he tries to relax, to sleep, even. But returning footsteps startle him awake. Shae coughs a few times and groans again. The man sets some things on the table and stands over him.

"What are - are you-" he tries to ask what the man will do to him, but is trembling so hard he can barely get the words out. A massive hand reaches for him and Shae is powerless to stop it. But it does not grab or hit or press or any of the other horrible things Shae anticipates. It slips beneath him and sits him up, and remains there, providing a warm nook for Shae to sink back into when he is too weak to stay sitting up without help.

With his other hand, the human removes Shae's shirt so he can examine his injured shoulder. That hurts, no matter how careful he is. His calloused fingertips brush the bruised skin and Shae sobs and covers his face with his hand so he doesn't have to watch. The human mutters to himself, fingers closing on either side of the shoulder, and he gives the slightest squeeze.

The bone pops back into place. Shae's whole body spasm's once and pain knocks his breath away, mouth open in a silent scream behind his hand. His breath returns and he sobs raggedly.

"Shh...it's alright...the worst part is over..." The soothing words wash over him but don't stick. Shae can't stop crying, can't stop shaking, he hurts so much, he's so, so scared...

Something brushes his cheek and he gasps, eyes flying open. It is the human's thumb, the warm pad of it brushing against Shae's face, again with such surprising gentleness. The man gingerly wipes at his tears and pets his hair and Shae is stunned calm. He hiccups and rubs at his eyes.

"I need you to stay still for me, okay?"

Shae doesn't have much choice. He closes his eyes while the man dabs something cool onto his shoulder. Whatever it is, it takes effect in seconds, numbing the area. Shae gasps again, this time with relief. More tension eases from him, if involuntarily. He bites his lip, trying to remain calm as the human wraps something around his arm and shoulder. That part hurts, but once it is secured it actually feels...not good, maybe, but better. It feels like it could heal.

But why?

He is too afraid to ask. The man continues to dote on him - plucking splinters from his skin and bandaging the bleeding spots, cleaning up scrapes, cleaning the dirt from him, giving him water with a dropper. His movements are patient and skilled. He handles Shae with care. When he's done, the human lowers him back onto the towel and drapes another over him like a blanket. Shae has calmed enough to become drowsy. Even if this is some precursor to worse things, for now he gives in to fragile hope. He falls asleep to the feeling of a fingertip stroking his cheek.

[artist-ellen]

There were also plenty of characters I did one-design for.

I am the artist! Do not post without permission & credit! Thank you! Come visit me over on: instagram, tiktok or check out my coloring book available now \ („• ֊ •„) /

https://linktr.ee/ellen.artistic

[coldraindropsss]

Chataya, Alayaya, Shae

[ladyofthehightower]

i will my burn flesh and from, screaming the words, it will never be yours - last woman on earth, paris paloma

full edit below the cut <3

:D

[georgescitadel]

Fan: Which character would you bring to life for one day?

George: If it's me hanging with them, maybe Dany. She's really cute. That might be fun... Actually, I could just go straight to Shae. I don't know... Tyrion, if I wanted to go drinking. If I was riding through a dangerous area and wanted protection, the Hound or Jaime.

- George R.R. Martin, Slovenia (2011)

Fan: If you could have dinner with 3 of your characters from the series, which characters would you choose and why?

George: Certainly Tyrion, because he would be witty and charming. I think he'd be a really good choice to start with. Maybe Maester Aemon, because he's wise and knows all these things about history. The third one, I don't know. I could say Arya, but she might misbehave and hit me with some food. Maybe Dany, because, you know, she's really hot. Especially if she wore that Qartheen gown.

- George R.R. Martin, TIFF In Conversation With George R.R. Martin (2012)

[the-key-five]

Tyrion's Seasons of Love ❀ Tyrion and Arya

In the original outline, Tyrion was supposed to fall in love with Arya. Obviously that didn't end up happening in the published series. However, Arya does have links to each of Tyrion's love interests. Arya's sister Sansa is forced to marry Tyrion in A Storm of Swords. She is close with the Sailor's Wife (theorized to be Tyrion's first wife Tysha) when she is Cat of the Canals. And in the Mercy chapter of The Winds of Winter Arya plays a version of Shae in The Bloody Hand.

[asa-do-your-thing]

my entry for Fan Frankentober by @fandomeventcenter <3

from left to right:

Sansa Stark, Elia Martell, Arya Stark, Myranda Royce, Olenna Tyrell, Cersei Lannister, Ygritte, Margaery Tyrell, Jeyne Poole

Val, Pretty Pia, Obara Sand, Tyene Sand, Myrcella Baratheon, Shae, Gilly, Ros, Lysa Tully, Ashara Dayne, Melisandre

Catelyn Tully, Nymeria Sand, Missandei, Daenerys Targaryen, Mya Stone, Roslin Frey, Shireen Baratheon, Asha Greyjoy, 'Fat' Walda Frey, Dacey Mormont

Disclaimer: I know I must've still forgotten so many women! I tried to fit everyone. <3

[coffeeco001]

Neil, doing something that mildly inconveniences Andrew: *puts the sweets on top of the fridge*

Andrew: A pox on your household.

Neil: You are my household.

Andrew: Cough cough, tell coach I can't make it to practice today, I'm deathly sick.

Neil: *move the sweets onto the counter*

[vampirepirates]

THE LONG WINTER — SANDOR CLEGANE.

Masterlist

CHAPTER FOURTEEN – BLACKWATER.

you're coming back.                                 and it's the end of  the world. we're starting over.                                     and i

love you, darling.

"Remember wait until the ships-"

"The ships are in the bay."

"They must be far enough in so they won't be-"

"I know what 'in' means. D'you know how to use that?"

"I chopped wood once. No, I watched my brother chopping wood."

"I saw you kill a man with a shield. You'll be unstoppable with an axe."

Tyrion shot forward to grab Bronn's hand in his, pulling the man towards him ever so slightly. All at once, Lyarra felt as if she were intruding — quickly moving to lean back behind one of the columns of the hall to look for Sansa. It was expected of Sansa to see her husband, the king, off to war — and seeing as Lyarra had no intention of leaving her niece alone for the remainder of the night, there they were.

"Don't get killed," Bronn remarked, shaking his head as he spat the words out. For all his lackluster attitude accomplished, it was evident that he cared for Tyrion. He turned to Lyarra then, reaching out with his other hand to clasp her arm. "You either, for that matter."

"Nor you, my friend." Tyrion rushed, his stare still lingering on their clasped hands. Lyarra held her grin at the sight, forcing herself to think of the events to come. This was no moment to find joy in the repressed nature of the two friends she had left.

"Oh, are we friends now?"

"Of course we are. Just because I pay you for your services doesn't diminish our friendship."

"Enhances it, really."

"Oh, enhances. Fancy word for a sellsword." Lyarra retorted, holding in another snort at the unimpressed look Bronn shot her.

"Been spending time with fancy folks."

Bronn stepped away then, bowing as Sansa moved into the center of the room — with Shae and Aianna at her side. Aianna had yet to say a word the entire evening, though that hadn't been altogether surprising. She had a duty. Lyarra knew that well enough. Yet the thought that she'd expected differently of the girl even still, never once failed her. Lyarra moved to her niece's side, with Tyrion quick to follow.

"Lady Sansa, Aianna, and .. Sheila?" He dragged the name out as if he couldn't properly recall the woman's face. Shae almost snarled, biting her true new name out.

"Shae," He corrected at once. "Surely my sister has asked you to join the other highborn ladies," He remarked, this time directing his point towards Lyarra as well. She only shrugged as her niece began to explain.

"She has, my lord, but King Joffrey sent for me to see him off. Aunt Lyarra felt it best to remain at my side."

"Sansa!" The boy in question called, beckoning the girl over to him. Sandor stomped after him, pausing in the slightest as he took in the sight of her. He expected her to be in Maegor's Holdfast with the rest of the highborn ladies, just as Tyrion had, no doubt.

"Always been a great romantic, my nephew."

"I will pray for your safe return, my lord. Just as I pray for the king's." Sansa claimed, before turning on her heel to march towards the king. Lyarra watched the interaction from a distance, assuming that the king would likely not take her presence welcomingly. Sandor never once pulled his gaze from her, despite her forcing herself to look away.

Tyrion winced at Sansa's words, as Lyarra only shrugged. Sansa had no reason to trust Tyrion. Not after all his family had done. Despite her growing care for the man, she couldn't expect her niece to feel differently about him. She could faintly make out the hushed whispers of Shae and Tyrion sharing words between themselves before he turned defiantly back to Lyarra. She halted in her step for a moment, thinking over her words. Tyrion was a beacon of light in the keep, in her eyes. She had Ros, at times. Aianna, at others. But Tyrion was something different. He was always there.

"Don't die out there, Lannister. I'll bring you back, and kill you myself." Tyrion tilted his head as if he believed that she was being entirely sincere, nodding quickly in agreement.

"If all goes well, I'll rent us out an entire brothel. All night. Drinks on me."

Lyarra scoffed, shoving the man away as he made his way out of the hall — Podrick hot on his heels. She stepped to Shae's side once more, linking her arm with the girl in the hope that the motion would be comforting. Aianna stepped forward as well, resting her hand on Lyarra's shoulder. After another moment, Sansa stepped back to the group — Joffrey and his men stomping out of the hall. Sandor shot Lyarra one last look, one filled with too many emotions to properly decipher, as he moved past her.

"Some of those boys will never come back," Shae whispered.

"Joffrey will." Sansa argued. "The worst ones always live."

"I don't know why she wants me here," Sansa stated as Cersei flitted into the room. They were surrounded by highborn women, children, and servants alike. At the moment, they were perched on a set of bunk-beds. Shae and Aianna sat on one side, while Sansa and Lyarra sat on the other. "She's always saying how stupid I am. She hates me."

"Maybe she hates you less than she hates everyone else," Shae retorted, sitting forward to make sure the words carried their desired distance in the hushed room.

"I doubt it."

"Maybe she's jealous of you?" Lyarra chimed in.

"Why would she be jealous?"

Cersei chose that moment to call the girl over, beckoning her to her side with one word alone. Lyarra sat back, once again taking note of the fact that she was not invited. She may be a woman of higher standing, a lady of Winterfell — but she held no birthright, not really. Winterfell would only go to her if each of her nieces and nephews fell, alongside her sister-by-law — and Benjen, for that matter. She was the last in line. The least important figure they had left.

After a while, Lyarra wasn't certain how much time had passed. The queen had gone through at least three cups of wine already, even calling for Sansa to be poured one as well — though the girl hadn't so much as taken a sip of it. Lyarra sat mostly silent, curled into her seat while Aianna and Shae maintained an almost-decent conversation. Shae evidently held a grudge against the girl for running to the queen before, and yet she seemed almost civil throughout their talk.

Eventually, Sansa was able to peel herself away from the queen's side. At once, she collected a group of girls from the room to sit together in prayer. Ser Dontos sat in the corner, juggling as a few of the girls watch. Lyarra took note of the way that Cersei watched Sansa, something akin to interest in her stare.

"Sansa, come here, little dove," The queen called, at once breaking the girl from her prayer. Lyarra sighed, leaning back as Shae continued to watch their conversation from a distance. Aianna hadn't said a word in what felt like hours, instead staring down at the ground almost solemnly. Lyarra, thinking only of the battle transpiring outside, reached forward to take Aianna's hands into hers in comfort.

"Lyarra, you as well. Come here," Cersei called after her. Lyarra paused for a moment, before taking a seat on the pillow across from her niece. The queen had been coaxing Sansa into another glass of wine, nudging for Lyarra to be poured one as well.

"I should have been born a man," Cersei claimed as Sansa downed another glass. "I'd rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside with this flock of frightened hens."

"They are your guests under your protection," Sansa argued, seemingly in disbelief at the queen's callousness.

"You did, admittedly, ask them here," Lyarra chimed in. Cersei scoffed, leaning back to take another swig of wine.

"It was expected of me, as it will be of you if you ever become Joffrey's queen. Despite how much the two of you try to prevent it,"

"If my wretched brother should somehow prevail," The queen continued, meeting Lyarra's stare with an almost amused glance. She knew something, Lyarra surmised. She had some sort of plan. "these hens will return to their cocks and crow of how my courage inspired them, lifted their spirits."

"And if the city should fall?" Sansa inquired. Cersei paused, her grin contorting itself into a scowl as the words hit her.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? The both of you." After a moment of silence stretched through the room, she continued, "The Red Keep should hold for a time, long enough for me to go to the walls and yield to Lord Stannis in person. If it were anyone else outside those gates, I might have hoped for a private audience, but this is Stannis Baratheon. I'd have a better chance of seducing his whores."

The pair went silent at that, Sansa seemingly taking the words in with wonder — as Lyarra continued to think of what would happen if Stannis beat Tyrion's forces back.

"Have I shocked you, little dove? Ask your aunt, tears aren't a woman's only weapon. The best one's between your legs. Learn how to use it."

Lyarra wasn't certain how long the queen continued to ramble on, telling Sansa of whatever it appeared she could think of. Whether it was the wine reaching her system, or the ongoing battle, the queen seemed almost loose at the moment.

"Jaime was taught to fight with sword and lance and mace, and I was taught to smile and sing and please," Cersei stated, and at once understanding flooded through Lyarra. She longed to be taught to fight as her brothers were. To live the life of a man. Only, she was raised to be a lady. She didn't have the freedom of a choice. "He was heir to Casterly Rock, and I was sold to some stranger like a horse to be ridden whenever he desired."

"You were Robert's queen," Sansa argued.

"And you will be Joffrey's. Enjoy."

At once, one of the Lannister guards swung open the doors — dashing forward as he grunted. Lancel, she recalled. Lancel Lannister.

"What news?"

"The Imp has set the river on fire," He started. Lyarra paused as she took in the thought. He'd used the wildfire, then. Pride threatened to bleed through her, as another thought of horror reached up to meet it. Fire. Sandor wouldn't take the flames well, no doubt. Worry tugged on her heart for a minute longer, before the boy continued, "Hundreds of ships are burning, maybe more. Stannis' fleet destroyed, but... But his troops have landed outside the city walls."

"Where is Joffrey?"

"On the battlements with Lord Tyrion,"

"Bring him back inside at once,"

Lancel argued for only a moment longer before begrudgingly agreeing, stomping out of the room with haste. Lyarra longed for nothing more than the king to die in battle, to be slain by one of Stannis' nameless warriors. And yet, she understood the woman before her then better than she ever had. Cersei knew what her son was. In truth, she likely couldn't stomach the sight of the boy. But he was her son. There is nothing in the world that one loves more than their children. Lyarra would give her life for Jon, for Reyne. Even now, she would stand in front of a blade for Sansa if she needed it.

"The battle is lost, Your Grace. Stannis' troops are at the gates. When the gold cloaks saw the king leaving, they lost all heart."

"Where is my son?"

"I want to escort him back to the battle."

"Why do I care what you want?"

Cersei pushed Lancel to the ground, taking her son Tommen in hand as she marched out of the door. Sansa jumped to placate the women in the room as quickly as she could manage, coaxing them all into humming a hymn. Aianna dashed to Lyarra's side, clasping her hand in hers.

"You must go. Both of you. Run to your chambers and bar your door," Shae whispered, pushing them in the direction of the door. She nodded to Aianna, signaling the girl to pull it open. "Stannis won't hurt you."

"Come with us,"

"I need to say goodbye to someone,"

Shae all but pushed them out of the door. Lyarra clutched onto Sansa's hand as she dragged her through the hall. Once they'd reached Sansa's quarters, she nudged the girl in. She thought then of the dagger Tyrion had given her just nights before. If she had to protect herself and Sansa, she'd need it more than ever. Lyarra patted her sides for a second, searching for the blade. She had it on her just before they'd gone up to Maegor's Holdfast. It had to be in her quarters, then. Just as Lyarra turned, Sansa reached for her wrist.

"You're not going to stay with me?"

"I need to grab something. Bolt the door. I'll knock twice, so you know it's me,"

Lyarra turned on her heel as the door was shut, Aianna quick to follow. Just as they'd reached her quarters, Aianna called out for her.

"Lyarra," She called, dropping any hint of formalities. She halted in her tracks, turning to the girl in concern. Aianna was shaking with terror, each limb trembling. Lyarra shot to her side, grasping her hands in hers as she attempted to meet her gaze.

"It's alright, Aianna. I'll keep us safe. Stannis' men won't hurt you,"

Tears began to cascade down Aianna's cheeks, building as each second passed. Lyarra shot forward, pulling the girl against her as she attempted to soothe her. Her heart all but shattered as she continued to bawl in her arms, pulling Lyarra closer to her. Despite what she'd done, the girl was still a sister to her. She needed her family, now more than ever. As Lyarra pulled back, a sharp pain speared her through the gut, twisting as nausea bubbled through her to meet it.

Blood began to pour down her, pooling at her core. She reared back, meeting Aianna head-on, as the girl only fell into another pit of sobs. She was overcome with the need to comfort her, even now. To keep her safe. As she should have with Lyanna. Aianna wrenched the knife from her gut, forcing a cry from Lyarra's lips. She fell to the ground, Aianna sliding down to meet her.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. She told me to. I didn't want to. Please, please believe me. I'm so sorry, Lyarra. I'm so sorry," Aianna reached to grab Lyarra's face, coating her cheeks with blood. Lyarra rasped, piercing cold flooding through her as she grasped onto her remaining force of life. At once, Aianna pulled back, and just before Lyarra could do so much as blink — shoved her dagger into her own gut, collapsing at her side.

A sharp cry left Lyarra's lips, as she dragged herself to the girl's body. Aianna was choking, blood dribbling from her lips as she convulsed. Ragged breaths fell from Lyarra's lips as she attempted to cover the girl's wounds. However, it was no use. The light fled from Aianna's eyes just as quickly, as Lyarra let out a harsh roar.

Within a moment, her own door swang open, a large figure collapsing at her feet. She recognized Sandor's touch at once, though her eyes drooped ever so slightly. Her vision was fading, the blood on her hands becoming thicker with every growing moment. For once, she found nothing but fear in Sandor's gaze. She paused, thinking of the battle itself. He shouldn't be here, she thought blearily. He left the battlefield. They'll be looking for him. She swatted him away once, before ultimately leaning into the warmth of his touch — as he raised her head to face him.

She could faintly make out the fact that he was speaking to her, though his voice was muffled. The sound, hardly recognizable.

"Sandor, Sandor," She called, reaching out to grasp onto his chainmail. "You need to go. They'll find you. You can't stay here,"

"What the fuck are you talking about? You think I'd just leave you here?"

"You have to. Take Sansa. She's in her chambers. Knock twice. Take her, and go. I'm just going to slow you down. I'm not.." She trailed off, choking on the thick blood that now coated her throat. Sandor let out a sound almost reminsicent of a whine, as he rubbed her cheeks with his thumbs in desperation. "Sandor, please. Please, just take her and go."

Before she could properly realize it, his lips were on hers — claiming them as his own. The last, and only, man she had kissed before was Gogni. Where Gogni was gentle and soft, Sandor was desperate and harsh. Her blood soaked hands pulled him closer, tugging on the strands of his hair that she could capture.

"I was waiting for you," He growled as he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, "like a fucking idiot. I sat there, waiting for you. I've got a horse, we could've left. Could've taken the little bird. I'd keep you both safe,"

"You can keep her safe. For me, for both of us. But you need to go. Now."

Lyarra wasn't certain how long the two laid there, wrapped up in one another, Sandor pressing his temple against hers. He cursed as he stepped to his feet, scowling down at her. Lyarra did her best to force a smile to her lips, waving the man off. In truth, she had never been more afraid than she was in that very moment. She was afraid of facing Lyanna, of seeing Eddard again — knowing she'd failed to protect Sansa as long as she could. She was afraid of seeing Gogni after all this time. Of leaving Petyr on his own, knowing what he could become. Of leaving Arya alone, never certain of where she ended up. Of not seeing her children grow, not knowing if Jon would make it on the wall — how Reyne fared in Winterfell. Of finding love, only to lose it just as quickly.

"Sandor?" She called, just as he began to retreat. He paused, turning after a harsh sigh. His eyes were wide, his cheeks marred not only by his burns — but stray tears. Even in this light he was beautiful, she thought.

"Promise me that you'll protect her."

"I promise, Little Wolf."

Lyarra hacked out another puddle of blood, leaning into her hands as a wail fell from her lips. By the time she was able to look up again, Sandor was gone. She leaned into Aianna's side, gazing into the lifeless orbs. She only hoped, as her eyes fell shut, that Stannis' men would find her before the Lannisters did. Before Tyrion could find her body. If she was to die tonight, at the very least — the reign of the Lannisters could as well.

So. Um. Hey guys. Bit awkward of a moment I guess. Maybe. So. Sandor and Lyarra finally kissed! Yay! Go team! Um. Admittedly Sandor now believes Lyarra is dead. So, that's a little .. awko taco.

Then.. the whole Aianna bit. This was admittedly my plan from the beginning. I tried to make the fact that Aianna was progressively pulling away a bit obvious? But. That's life. Is she really dead? Who knows. Well. I know. I do in fact know. I guess you'll have to stick around to find out ... Anyways. I know this chapter moved a bit fast, and some of it .. kinda lacked logic. But that's the point. There's a lot going on. I hope you enjoyed (shakes). And as always, feel free to leave a comment below!

Thank you,

Zevran.

[adorkastock]

omnomnom

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Content Warnings: tiny whump, faerie whump, recovery, foot injury, broken bones, rescue/caretaking perceived as capture by whumpee, accidental whump

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The human moves Shae's shoebox bed into the living room, where he sets it on the coffee table. It's warmer in here, a fire going in the fireplace nearly every minute the human is home. Like before, food and water are left out on the table for Shae to access if he needs.

Shae is cold and weak from blood loss, and the pain and stress have not been kind to his thoughts. He can't help worrying about why he is here or what will happen next. Some days he drags himself out of bed to limp down a staircase of stacked books and have some food and water, but more often than not the human comes home to find it untouched, and has to coax the faerie into eating and drinking.

Pain is constant, sometimes sharp, sometimes dull. The worst is when the human cleans and rebandages his foot or checks on his shoulder. But this is always followed by a dropper of medicine mixed with water, and that at least brings some relief. Shae soon learns that any time the pain gets to be too much and he starts groaning, the human will appear with more medicine, more relief. He never turns it away, welcoming the numbing feeling and the sleep that follows so he can escape his fears.

As he heals, though, Shae gets restless. He gets up more often, takes more of the food and water, wanders more of the table. He never tries to get down, doesn't even think about it. Not when he still walks with a limp and can barely use one of his arms. But he takes full advantage of all the moments the human isn't home to learn his surroundings better in case he needs to flee in a hurry.

One morning Shae is sitting on the table eating while the human, who has been home all day today, works outside. Eventually the man returns, removes his boots, coat and hat and makes his way over to check on Shae. "You look better today," he remarks.

Shae's stomach drops; he should have tried harder to look unwell. He avoids the man's gaze by looking down at the piece of fruit in his hands.

"How about a change of scenery?" He holds his hand out. It seems safest to just go along with him. Resisting will only get him hurt. So Shae sits in his hand and allows the man to lift him and carry him from the room.

He brings the faerie into the kitchen and sets him on the windowsill, where he can see outside into the yard and the woods beyond it. Cold seeps in through the glass, but the human offers Shae a large dishcloth to wrap around himself like a blanket. He mumbles thank you, which puts a smile on the human's face. Maybe I'm worth more if I can talk, Shae thinks glumly.

The man gets to work cooking something. Shae watches him, but turns often to look outside again. It even looks cold, the ground dry and cracked, a wind rustling the bare trees. Shae shivers and pulls the towel tighter around himself. At least he isn't out there. If the human hadn't found him that first day, he probably wouldn't have made it long...

By the time the man cooks and eats his meal, Shae is curled up, bundled head to toe in the blanket, dozing off a little. Used to the man's movements by now, he barely notices him enter the kitchen and start doing dishes.

And then, a hand closes around the towel, bunching it up in a fist and in the process, enveloping Shae within it. He feels himself being lifted from the windowsill and moved. Suddenly a surge of water hits his back, thoroughly soaking both the towel and Shae, who coughs and sputters. His shouts are drowned out by the roar of the water and when he tries to struggle, the hand's grip tightens. A finger presses against his shoulder and Shae whines and tries to squirm away from it, with no luck.

From there it only gets worse. The hand gripping the towel with Shae in it plunges into hot, soapy water. Shae barely holds onto consciousness, his body growing heavy, his vision blurring. Then all at once he's pulled back up, squeezed again, pressed into a hard surface and dragged over it in circles...pulled away only to be slammed belly-first onto the edge of the plate. Shae doubles over, gasping for air as the plate turns in the man's hands, cleaned by the soapy towel.

Back under the rushing faucet, squeezed, back into the hot water, squeezed, shoved into whatever the cloth is cleaning. Shae continues crying out for help through his coughs and gasps, but his cries grow weaker every time. Eventually he just curls in on himself and tries to shield his existing injuries from further harm.

Fortunately, there aren't that many dishes, and he is only made to endure this a few more times. The man rinses out the towel, squeezes one final time, and shakes it open over the sink. Shae comes tumbling out and lands on his back with a thud, arms splayed out on either side of him. He stares blearily up at the lights a moment before turning onto his side to cough up more water. A shadow falls over him as the human finally sees him there.

"Oh, shit," he hears the man mutter. "How did you -" he holds up the towel and it dawns on him what happened. "Oh my god...I'm so sorry, I forgot you were there," he says, sounding quite upset about it. "I'm sorry, buddy, I swear it was an accident...come here..." His fingers pluck Shae up from inside the sink. With his other hand he grabs a fresh, dry towel and holds it in his open palm, setting the trembling faerie into it and bundling him up.

Shae doesn't bother struggling. He continues catching his breath while the human brings him back to the living room and sets the towel on the table, opening it back up with Shae lying in the middle of it. "Sorry," he says again, "I hope I didn't hurt you too bad..."

His fingers move over the tiny faerie, carefully examining him for injury. Shae's foot will need rebandaged, his shoulder re-iced, but he thinks he is fine...until he tries to sit up and a pang shoots through his stomach. He drops back with a gasp and a whimpered ow, ow, ow, an arm wrapped around his belly.

"What's this?" The human eases Shae's arm away and draws in a breath. "Oof...you have some bad bruising here..." His fingertip grazes over Shae's skin. "I don't think anything is broken..."

"Don't hurt m-me," is all Shae can think to say, a pointless plea but one he makes all the same.

The man's face saddens. "I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you...I'll make it right, okay?"

Shae is suddenly so tired, his defenses crumbling. Tears fill his eyes. He wants to believe the human, he wants to feel safe, not in a constant state of fight or flight, pain or numbness, terror or apathy. Everything hurts, his heart won't rest, his breathing won't even. Shae lies back and lets the human go through the now familiar motions of treating him, the routine now including his aching stomach. When he is finished, the man offers him some food, which Shae declines, though he takes some sips of water just to clear the taste of dish soap from his mouth.

"I'm sorry," the man repeats every so often. He occasionally rubs Shae's back or pets his hair with his thumb, attempts to soothe him that do little to help anymore. Eventually he settles Shae back into bed under plenty of soft layers and leaves him alone. The room goes dark except for the fire. Shae curls up on his side and stares at it until his eyes droop.

I'm never getting out of here...

[elycetellsall]

woman’s rage

[fionacreates]

Today’s sketches, a little fun with Green Bone Saga vibes. Shae and Hilo. Siblings you do not want to piss off…