#âel pastel promedio tiene tres lechesâ es en realidad un error estadĂstico. El pastel promedio tiene 0 leches. Leches Georg#quien vive en una cueva y absorbe 10.000 leches al dĂa#es un valor atĂpico qeu no deberĂa haberse contado (via @deathbycoldopen)
easy to forget but book jon snow is great actually. he gets so drunk he cries in his first chapter. he's 16 years old and laser focused on loan negotiation. he keeps getting promoted against his will. he's the chosen fantasy protagonist with the worst genre awareness ever. he implements pro immigration social reforms. he has a giant albino pet wolf. he cuts a guy's head off. he thinks he invented cunnilingus. he's been dead for 15 years.
There is no greater bond on this earth than when you all despise and carry untold righteous anger about one person and then when youâre all together someone is like âso about that dead horseâ and everyone starts sounding like Michael Jackson with the way theyâre chanting beat it
âEridians dislike earth because they abandoned Grace.â *Incorrect Buzzer Sound* ya missed the point of the story buddy! Itâs not about someone being âbadâ itâs about the incredible power of love and that love being worth dying for!
Gimmie Eridians who are absolutely heartbroken to hear that humans where so desperate and so scared that they where willing to part with not just one Grace, there were three of them! Gimmie Eridians touched to find that the humans planned a way for their sacrifices to be as comfortable as possible. Gimmie Eridians who send earth a message saying âWe know it must have hurt to send your heroes to die, but one made it and heâs safe here. We lost 22 good Eridians on the journey we would have lost 23 if not for your Grace.â
Give me humans sitting on Earth slowly coming to the conclusion that when we look up not only are we not alone, someone out there is alive because of one of us. That no matter what we think of ourselves a whole species thinks highly of us because we helped save the galaxy. Give me humans who figure out how to send a probe to Erid filled to the brim with messages for Grace and footage of a monument being raised that reads his name, his crews names, and then âin memory of the 22 Eridians who lost their lives on the journey to save the stars.â
Do Eridians know they are different colours. I bet Grace's alien kids love finding out what colour they are. It means absolutely nothing to them but they're like :O :O
Some of them think he's making this whole 'colour' thing up to mess with them and try to catch him out by asking again on a different day to prove he's just saying random noises but he's like you are still blue buddy and they're like :O :O
Like if we met an alien species who had extra senses & they said that some humans felt spingly and some humans felt spoingly I bet we'd all want to know if we were spingly or spoingly humans
One of the best things about being a writer is thinking of something small you can add to your work thatâs just. Devastating. Like youâre sitting there going. Oh. That would be diabolical. People would get really riled up about that. Exquisite. Letâs do it.
I don't care if they're the highest grossing movies on planet freakin Earth, you say "Avatar" and everyone and their mom still thinks that bald little bitch and his magic cow. Soggy James can keep his millions, he'll never have the streets.
i just discovered this account and i am OBSESSED with your writing!! if youâre feeling crazy im craving an azriel one shot where the reader is fae (bonus points if sheâs an archeron sister and his mate but they donât know it yet) and she gets kidnapped by an enemy to try and lure azriel out, but of course he saves the day and they figure out theyâre mates :) and extra bonus points if thereâs just enough angst to make us nervous he wonât get there in time and then they accept and celebrate the mating bond at the end accordingly đââď¸
Straight to you- Azriel x fem!reader
Summary: Kidnapped and alone, she didnât know he was already hers.
Warnings: angst, violence, mentions injuries, blood, happy end
A/N: wow! what an emotional yet beautiful ride this was. Thank you anon for the request, I hope it's to your likingđŤś
See masterlist
The first blow stole the air from her lungs.
Before she could scream, a rough hand clamped over her mouth, the tang of dirt and sweat filling her senses. The world tilted--boots skidding across cobblestones, her shoulder slamming into a wall hard enough to spark white behind her eyes. She kicked, twisted, but there were too many hands, too much strength.
A strip of coarse cloth yanked over her eyes, knot biting at her skull. Darkness swallowed her whole.
Her wrists were bound before she could form a coherent thought, rope scratching the skin raw. The only sounds were her ragged breaths and the heavy boots dragging her forward, etc step echoing off stone as if the walls themselves were closing in.
Cold. Gods, it was cold. The damp air smelled of mold and rust--of places no one came back from.
She fought to keep track of turns, to memorise the path, but every jolt and shove blurred together until time itself seemed to vanish.
A door groaned open. She was pushed inside, the floor beneath her knees wet and sticky. The blindfold didn't come off.
A voice slithered out of the dark, low and grating. "We need to get to the Shadowsinger," it said, and she could hear the rotting smirk in the words. "Seems capturing one of the Archeron sisters will do just fine."
The pieces clicked with sickening ease.
Of course. She wasn't the prize--she was the bait.
But the revelation didn't stop there--it pulled her backward, years and years, to where this all began.
Azriel had been the only one she could truly call a close friend.
From the moment the Cauldron had dragged her under, lungs burning, bones stretching, senses sharpening into something new, sheâd been reborn alongside her two sisters. Elainâs sobs had been soft, Nestaâs silence sharp, but Y/N⌠sheâd stared at her hands, her reflection, her glowing, strange eyes, and felt a thrill deep in her chest. She was immortal now. She had centuries ahead of her to do, see, and be everything sheâd once thought impossible.
Being reunited with Feyre, her high lady older sister, had only added to the joy. There had been so much to catch up on, so many moments stolen by months of separation. And after the war--their war--thereâd been peace. There had been laughter and dinners in Velaris, quiet mornings watching the city stir awake.
It was in those months after the fighting that she and Azriel had found friendship in each other--not in some grand moment, but through small, consistent ones. A nod across the River House dining room. A conversation on a balcony that stretched until dawn. Training sessions where he corrected her stance with the faintest touch, shadows curling lazily around her. Somewhere between the first sparring match and the first time she made him laugh--really laugh--heâd become her confidant.
For a while, she'd been happy. Truly, blindingly happy. Until her two sisters also found their mates.
It had started subtly: Nesta canceling their weekly sister sleepovers, Elain showing up late and distracted. Then came the excuses, the absences, the drifting away until those nights vanished altogether. No one suggested reinstating them Not even Feyre. No one seemed to notice their absence but her.
Y/N wouldn't lie...it hurt.
One night, sheâd confided in Azriel, words spilling out in the quiet of his private balcony. She told him about her fear of never finding her mate, of always being the odd one out. That she felt invisible in her own family, the forgotten sister standing in the shadow of brighter flames.
Azriel had tried to make her laugh--murmuring something about how she was hardly alone, seeing as poor old him had gone 538 years without a mate. But when her voice broke on the next joke, heâd simply sat there with her, shadows curling close, listening as the night turned into morning.
They'd become closer after that.
That was, up until now.
Because now, all she felt was like a burden.
Because of her, her family--and especially Azriel--would be in danger. Or maybe...maybe no one would come for her at all. She was the overlooked one, the forgotten Archeron sister. The one whose absence barely made a ripple.
Y/N smiled sadly beneath the blindfold. At least being an outcast would work in her favor for once.
Azriel rolled the stiffness from his shoulders as he made his way toward the River House dining room. Another long day of hunting down leads and extracting information had left him with the familiar ache in his muscles, the metallic tang of blood still faint on his gloves. Dinner with the others wasn't exactly his idea of unwinding, but Rhys and Feyre insisted on having everyone together tonight.
He slowed without meaning to as he reached the last bend in the hallway. The sound of raised voices spilled toward him--urgent, sharp. The loudest was Feyre's. "...it's not like her- "
Then her name.
Y/N.
Azriel's pulse jumped.
He was moving before the thought fully formed, shadows coiling tighter around him as he burst into the room. Chaos met him on the other side. Feyre stood at the head of the table, eyes bright with worry, Rhys at her shoulder with a hand on her arm as if to keep her steady. Elain's voice broke from where she sat, fingers wringing in her lap.
"She promised she'd be back by the afternoon," Elain said, looking from face to face as though someone might have an answer. "It's well past sunset now--hours past--and she's still not here."
Nesta was pacing near the hearth, arms crossed, her jaw tight. Mor leaned against the wall, uncharacteristically silent, while Amren's sharp gaze cut between them all. Cassian sat forward on his chair, elbows on his knees, tension rolling off him.
"You're certain she went to the market?" Feyre pressed.
"Yes," Elain said, nodding quickly. "She told me this morning. Just to pick up a few things."
"Maybe she got lost on the way back," Rhys said, though his tone hel little conviction. "We should send someone to check- "
Azriel's voice through, cut steel-edged. "Where exactly did she say she'd be in the market?"
The room stilled. Nesta stopped pacing, turning to face him. "Near the fountain. At the far end by the spice vendors. That's her favourite place to visit."
Azriel's eyes went to Rhys. The High Lord's answering nod was all the permission he needed.
He was moving before anyone could say another word, shadows streaming after him, wings flaring in the tight hall. His mind was already spiralling into places he didn't want it to go--every sick, twisted possibility clawing to the surface.
Please be fine, Y/N. Please be fine.
he streets near the fountain were nearly empty now, lamplight spilling in golden puddles across the cobblestones. Azriel's shadows slithered ahead, searching every dark corner, every rooftop. His gaze swept over the crowd, sharp and searching--until a faint thread of scent brushed past him.
Y/N.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears as he followed it, the shadows pulling him down a narrower street. The scent grew stronger--until it stopped.
There, in the middle of the cold, damp road, lay a basket.
Her basket.
He recognized it instantly--woven with pale wood and lined with soft cream cloth, the one Elain had given her last Winter Solstice. Its contents were scattered across the stones as though dropped mid-step: a loaf of crusty bread, two small jars of honey, and a folded length of deep-blue silk that caught faint moonlight.
People had walked past it without pause, stepping over the mess. To them, it was nothing.
But to Azriel, it was everything.
He knelt beside it, the world narrowing to the sight of those familiar items strewn where she must've stood. His shadows darted out, seeking more of her trail, but came back empty. No scents but hers lingered--not a whiff of the ones who had taken her.
His stomach turned cold. They'd masked their scents. Professional. Deliberate.
Azriel's vision blurred for a moment as his jaw clenched. Slowly, carefully, he gathered the items and set them back into the basket, fingers brushing over the worn handle. His hands were steady only because he forced them to be.
In his mind, the faces of her captors--whoever they were--were already being built from shadows and rage. He would find them. He would destroy them Piece by piece.
It was certain now. She'd been taken.
Azriel straightened, the basket in his hand, and let the rage settle into something colder. Sharper.
Hold strong, Y/N.
Because he would find her.
No matter what.
She had no idea how long it had been.
Minutes, hours--it all bled together in the suffocating dark. Every second felt like an eternity, yet Y/N guessed it had only been a few hours since they'd dragged her here.
The blindfold had stayed on.
They hadn't wasted any time before the pain had began.
A blow to her ribs that stole her breath. The sharp sting of something--metal?--raking across her arm. A boot pressed cruelly into her back when she fell to her knees. Questions hurled at her in voices dripping with malice, each one sharper than the last.
âTell us about Rhysand.â
âI donât know anything- â
A fist to her jaw.
âWhere is the Illyrian commander? Where is Cassian?â
âI- please, I donât- â
A sharp twist of her hair, forcing her head back.
âWhat about the Shadowsinger?â A pause, a hiss in her ear. âWe know youâre close. Tell us where he is.â
She bit down on her lip hard enough to taste blood. "I don't know anything!"
The blows kept coming, punctuated by jeers that cut deeper than any strike. "Not so high and mighty now, are you?"
"You think you're important, little Archeron? You're nothing but a pretty face playing at power."
"You're right, I'm not the High Lady. Not the Lady of Death. Not even the Seer. So please, let me go!"
She begged. Gods, she begged. Tried to make them see she wasn't what they thought she was. She wasn't Feyre, the High Lady with raw, untamed power. She wasn't Nesta, forged from fire and steel, death in a woman's skin. She wasn't Elain, with visions that could alter the course of war.
She didn't even know what she was.
Whatever 'gift' the Cauldron had given her, if any, had remained silent all this time. And yet they didn't care.
"Your sisters would've fought by now," one sneered. "You? You'll break like glass."
"Maybe we should start taking pieces of you. Send them to Rhysand or Azriel one by one until they answer."
Her chest heaved under the weight of their words, the pain thrumming through every inch of her body. For the first time, she truly began to wonder if she'd make it out alive.
"They want to lure us in," Rhysand said, voice cold enough to frost the air.
Azriel set the basket down on the table. The cream lining was smudged with dirt, the blue silk stained from where it had fallen to the road. âThis was hers. I found it near the market fountain. Her trail stops thereâno scents but hers.â His jaw tightened. âWhoever took her masked themselves. They knew what they were doing.â
Elainâs hands flew to her mouth, a choked sob breaking loose. She shook her head over and over, whispering, âNo, no, not Y/NâŚâ The sound cut through the room like a blade. Mor was at her side in an instant, guiding her toward the door as Elainâs sobs grew ragged, the sound fading only when the door shut behind them.
Nestaâs eyes were sharp and burning, her fists clenching at her sides. Feyre stood stiff, eyes twitching in restrained fury, while Cassian cursed low and vicious under his breath. Amren leaned back in her chair, silver eyes glittering like sharpened steel.
"We don't know who has her, or where," Rhys said, scanning the room. "But if they took her in broad daylight and masked their scents, it's calculated. And if they've gone after her specifically..." His gaze flicked to Feyre.
Feyre's voice trembled, just slightly. "Poor Y/N. The Mother knows what they're doing to her right now."
Azriel's hands curled into fists before he could stop himself. The thought alone--the idea of her in pain, in fear--sent a hot, slicing fury through his chest. His shadows rippled sharply, betraying what he didn't say aloud.
"We can't waste time," he said, each word clipped. "Every second we sit here, they get further."
Rhys gave a single nod. "Agreed. Azriel, Cassian--you'll take the skies. Amren and Nesta, start running the perimeter with anyone available. Also inform Mor. Feyre and I will reach out to our contacts in the city."
Cassian was already halfway to the door. Nesta moved toward him, but her gaze lingered on Azriel. "Find her," she said. It wasn't a request.
"I will," Azriel promised, the vow low and lethal.
As the others moved into motion, his mind was already a map of possibilities--every dark corner, every smuggler's route, every enemy who might dare to try this. But under it all was one clear, unwavering thought:
Hold on, Y/N. I'm coming.
If only he'd known how hard it would be to track her.
Two whole days had passed since Y/N vanished without a trace. In all his long centuries, Azriel had never faced such a challenge as finding her. The bastards who'd taken her were professionals--silent, careful, leaving not so much as a footprint to follow.
His shadows were gone, every last one, under his orders. They were scattered across the Night Court and beyond, creeping through the other courts, combing alleys, forests, docks, tunnels.
And still, nothing.
Azriel hadnât slept. Not truly. Every hour was spent searching--questioning informants in the slums, scouring every black market and smugglerâs den, slipping through enemy borders without permission. His patience, honed over centuries, frayed more with each dead end. Fury ate at him from the inside out, each passing moment sharpening into the same relentless thought: what if he was too late?
The others were no better. Feyre spent her hours in council and in the skies, her expression hardening more each day. Rhysand was gaunt from exhaustion, spending countless hours raking through the minds of anyone even remotely suspicious...only to find walls or emptiness.
Elain sat for hours in her garden or the quietest corners of the River House, clutching Y/Nâs scarf as though it could tether her to a vision. But whatever she tried, the threads remained dark, unspooling into nothing.
Nesta had taken to constant movement: searching the city, flying with Cassian, stalking into every place that might offer a whisper of information. Cassian rarely left her side, his own worry showing in the way he watched her when she wasnât looking.
Mor and Amren hunted leads in their own ways--Mor slipping into dangerous places where her name still carried weight, Amren leaning over maps and sending out messages through her own web of contacts.
The River House had become a place of hushed voices and quick glances, everyone bracing for news that never came.
Azriel was in Rhysandâs office with Cassian when the door slammed open hard enough to rattle the shelves. Nesta stalked in, eyes bright and dangerous.
âI think I have a plan,â she said, voice low but sharp. âOne that might work.â
Time had become a cruel, shapeless thing.
The interrogations didn't stop. Not once. Every few hours--though it could've been minutes or days--they came for her again. Always the same questions.
About Azriel's job.
His secrets that they were so sure he'd shared with her.
"We've been tracking you for a long time, little mouse," one whispered in her ear, the smell of alcohol and something else--something disgusting--blocking her nose. "So we know how close you've been with him. Close enough for him to share his secrets with you."
Then came other types of questions:
His missions.
Where he went when the rest of the Inner Circle didn't see him.
His every move.
She told them the truth. Over and over. I don't know. But the answer never changed their methods.
With each passing minute, the fragile thread of hope sheâd been clinging to frayed thinner. At first, sheâd tried to hold on--imagining Feyreâs wings blotting out the sun as she landed, Nestaâs steel gaze cutting through chains, Azrielâs shadows spilling into the room before he cut down her captors. But those images came less and less.
Now her mind wandered into darker places.
What if no one was coming?
What if they couldnât find her?
What if she simply⌠disappeared?
At some point, theyâd torn the blindfold from her eyes. The light in the room had been dim, but it still burned after so long in darkness. And then sheâd seen them.
Three faces--if they could be called that. All warped, ugly, monstrous. Their skin looked stretched too tight, their eyes too small for their skulls. She didnât know them, didnât recognize anything in them except hunger.
The questions had kept coming. Her begging had stopped.
"I do not know," she murmured again, her voice a rasp. She barely flinched when the slap came, her head snapping to the side.
Her wrists and ankles were bound in heavy chains that dug into her skin, the weight pulling at her shoulders and hips. Every breath was a reminder of the bruises painting her ribs. One shoulder hung at an odd angle, dislocated from when theyâd slammed her into the wall earlier.
The pain had dulled to something constant, almost background noise.
It was the anger that burned brighter.
At herself--for being careless.
At her captors--for thinking they could break her.
At life--for making her the one who always seemed easiest to take.
She swallowed, straightened as much as the chains allowed. If this was the end, they would not see her beg again.
Not now. Not ever.
"No."
"No!"
Azriel blinked, and Nesta's shocked, furious glare was met with identical expressions from Rhysand and Cassian.
"What?!" Nesta barked. "But- "
Rhys cut her off, his voice sharp. "You cannot just use the Mask to call the dead to you and command them to search for Y/N!"
"Well, why the hell not?" Nesta snapped. "The Dread Trove is mine! I can do whatever I fucking please with it, can't I?"
Rhysand let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Look...I know you're desperate to find Y/N before it's too late- "
"Watch it, Rhysand," Nesta shot back, eyes flashing.
He didnât stop. â-we all are. But summoning the dead is extremely dangerous. I understood it during the war, but now? You canât just summon thousands, if not millions, of dead skeletons, to one place. Itâs not just about control. Youâd risk catastrophic collateral damage. The dead might not stay contained. The laws of life and death arenât forgiving.â
Cassian crossed his arms, voice low and steady, though edged with worry. âHeâs right, Nesta. Itâs too dangerous. The risk to everyone--even to the Night Court--is enormous.â
Azrielâs fists clenched so tightly his knuckles whitened. Heat pooled in his chest, sharp and relentless.
âAre you two even hearing yourselves?!â he barked, voice booming over the office. Both Nesta and the others froze mid-gesture. âY/N IS LOST! GONE! And yet here you are, rejecting a perfectly logical plan because of what? Too many dead roaming our court?!â
He stepped forward, the shadows around him pulsing like living things. âWe should be doing EVERYTHING we can to find her. Every possible path, every option! And youâre sitting here squabbling over what could happen if we take a chance? Do you even understand whatâs at stake? Sheâs not just missing--sheâs in the hands of monsters who are professionals at keeping her hidden, and we are running out of time!â
His voice dropped to a low, trembling growl, fury mingling with fear. âDo you even hear me? Do you even hear what Iâm saying?!â
Cassian opened his mouth, but Azriel didnât wait. He spun on his heel, shadows curling tight around him as he stormed toward the balcony.
âYou can argue all you want!â he snarled over his shoulder. âI donât care about âtoo dangerousâ! Sheâs all that matters right now!â
With a powerful leap, he vaulted over the balcony railing, wings unfurling and catching the wind in a rush of motion. In an instant, he was gone, streaking into the night, the city lights blurring beneath him as every ounce of his being focused on one truth:Â he would find her. No matter what.
The nights were endless, the city below him a blur of streets and rooftops, shadows stretching and curling with every step. He hunted tirelessly, gliding from court to court, village to village, through forests and along cliffs where smugglers and thieves might hide. The wind tore at his cloak, the stars offering no comfort. Each street corner, each dark alley, was a potential lead, and yet, every time he followed one, it dissolved into nothing.
Sleep had abandoned him. Food, water--he barely noticed. The only thing that mattered was finding her.
And with every failed attempt, every lead that came to a dead end, the anger at himself grew. He should have seen it coming. He should have been faster. How could I have let this happen? The questions clawed at him relentlessly.
Her face came unbidden to his mind--the tilt of her head when she laughed, that spark in her eyes when sheâd figured something out before anyone else. The way sheâd lean slightly into him during training, a silent trust he hadnât been sure he deserved. The quiet moments at the River House, the way she had confided in him, sharing her fears and her hopes.
He remembered one night after the war, sitting on a balcony with her, her voice barely above a whisper as she told him she felt forgotten. He had laughed softly then, hiding the weight of his own solitude behind teasing words, shadows coiling around them like silent guardians. That had been a simpler time.
Now, those memories were knives in his chest, reminders of everything at stake--and everything he might fail to save.
Every whisper of movement, every trace of scent, every shadow that shifted in the corner of his vision became a possibility. He followed them all, tortured by the thought that maybe, just maybe, he was too late.
Yet he refused to stop. He couldnât. She was out there somewhere, and he would not rest until he had her safe, until he had torn her from whatever hell she had been thrown into.
Azrielâs wings beat the cold night air, and his shadow stretched long and furious across the land. Every heartbeat, every pulse, every whispered memory of Y/N drove him onward.
No matter how long it took.
No matter what it cost.
Time blurred. Hours felt like days. She had no sense of the sun, no clue whether it was night or morning. The only constants were the pain and the voices.
The interrogations never stopped. Questions spat at her again and again--about Rhysandâs power, about Cassianâs defenses, about Azrielâs missions. What does he do when he disappears? Where does he go? Who does he kill?
Every time her answer was the same, low and rasped from exhaustion: "I don't know."
The slap would come before she could even draw her next breath. Or the punch. Or the boot to her ribs. Her body was already a map of bruises and bleeding welts. She wanted to cry, but even her tears had run dry. Instead, her silence only made them crueler.
One of them leaned close, his breath rancid as he snarled, "Useless little sister. No wonder your family barely remembers you exist." Then he turned toward his companions and sighed frustratedly. "We should've taken a more useful sister. It's been four fucking days and Azriel still isn't within our reach. Nor do we have any intel on them."
Another male, the one without his left eye, looked at Y/N in disgust and then back at him. "So...what should we do with her?"
All four heads turned towards her as their 'leader' spoke with a smirk. "We kill her and send her body back in pieces."
Her chains rattled as she shifted, her body aching from the cold stone beneath her. Every inhale was a battle, every exhale a reminder of how fragile she felt. Hope had begun to slip through her fingers like sand.
Her lips trembled, but she forced the corners upward into a bitter smile. Maybe being forgotten would work in her favor, just this once. If her family wasnât dragged into this because of her--if Azriel wasnât dragged into this--then perhaps it wouldnât be so terrible to simply⌠fade away.
The thought twisted like a knife in her chest. And still, she sat there in the dark, body broken, voice hoarse, bracing herself for her death. The next reminder that she was prey, caught and waiting.
The war room was drowning in silence. Four days. Four days without a trace, without a whisper of her, and every passing hour scraped Azriel raw. His shadows hissed and clawed, restless, angry, unable to find what he needed most. He stood by the window, fists clenched so tight his knuckles burned, his gaze fixed on nothing.
And then-
A choked sound tore through the room.
"Elain?" Feyre's voice was sharp, alarmed.
Azriel turned just in time to see her collapse to her knees, a strangled cry ripping from her throat as her hands clutched at her chest. Her eyes glazed--gone white, pupils swallowed by a light that was not of this world.
"Elain!" Nesta was already there, gripping her sister's shoulders. Cassian crouched low beside her, panic flashing in his eyes.
But Rhys's face went deadly still. "No one touch her."
"She's- she's- " Feyre's words faltered as she looked at her sister.
Azriel's heart slammed against his ribs. His shadows went utterly silent, curling tight against him like they knew. A vision.
Elain's body trembled, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She muttered something no one could understand--fragmented words, broken syllables. Then her head snapped back, a cry ripping from her lips that sounded like pure agony.
Nesta shook her again, desperate. "Elain, damn it, tell us what you see!"
Azriel's chest was a cage, every inhale sharp and shallow. He forced the words out, steel and prayer entwined. "Please...let it be about Y/N."
Rhys' eyes narrowed, already reaching out with his power, steady but tense. "It has to be."
And then Elain's voice broke through the storm of fear--ragged, trembling, but clear enough to freeze the blood in Azriel's veins.
"I see her."
The room erupted, voices overlapping--Nesta demanding where, Feyre begging how, Cassian and Mor swearing--but Azrielâs vision tunneled. His heart thundered as he moved closer, every muscle taut.
âWhere is she, Elain?â His voice was low, lethal, but underneath--pleading. Tell me. Give me something. Save her.
Elainâs eyes flicked toward him, though she couldnât possibly see him. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as her lips trembled, shaping words that would seal their path.
"They're going to kill her."
Her mind was slipping. Threads of memory and hallucination weaving together until she could no longer tell which was which. Her motherâs soft humming. The way sunlight used to filter through the trees when she was small. Azrielâs unreadable hazel eyes watching her too closely. Cassianâs booming laugh. Elainâs gentle hands brushing flour from her cheek.
It all bled together, comforting and cruel, reminders of a world she wasnât sure she belonged to anymore.
Her body had long since given up screaming at her--numbness had taken over, the ache buried so deep it was almost easier than fighting. It was a miracle she had lasted this long without food, without water. Another cruel gift of being High Fae. Endurance meant only a longer stretch of torment.
Her head lolled to the side, breath shallow, vision blurred with shadows and stars she couldnât quite blink away. Maybe--maybe if she closed her eyes, she would see her mother again. Maybe she would be waiting. Y/N had always been her motherâs shadow, her little echo. Out of all three sisters, she was the one who had clung to her motherâs warmth the most.
At least think of nice things before it ends.
Her thoughts were severed by the cold bite of iron, the sound of chains scraping against stone as they fastened her to something solid--a boulder, jagged against her spine.
Through the haze she caught the sight of them. The males. Her captors. Standing before her now, blades glinting in the dim light. Predators circling the inevitable end.
Her chest rose once, twice, on a deep inhale that tasted like blood and metal. Slowly, she let her eyes fall shut, surrendering to the darkness. If this was her last moment, she would meet it with calm, not tears.
The scrape of boots drew nearer. The hiss of steel raised.
And then-
The first blow came. A sharp, tearing agony as the sword plunged into her lower stomach.
Her body arched against the stone with the impact, a choked sound strangled in her throat. The pain was fire, white-hot, merciless.
But she did not scream.
Not this time.
The cave was filled with screams before the soldiers even realized what had descended upon them. Shadows erupted like a living storm, snuffing out light, searing fear into every corner. And at the center of it--Azriel. His siphons flared blue, his wings slicing the air, each movement a promise of death.
He had thought, in those endless nights searching, that maybe heâd hold back when he found them. That maybe heâd just incapacitate the bastards so he could take his time later, wring every secret out of them with a blade. But then⌠he saw her.
Y/N.
Chained, bleeding, body too still. A sword protruding from her lower stomach, crimson staining the stone. Her eyes were half-lidded as if she had already started to drift away.
And Azriel snapped.
He didnât fight. He slaughtered. Silent, efficient, merciless. Every male who had laid a hand on her was cut down before they could even lift a weapon. Shadows pinned one against the wall as Azriel drove Truth-Teller through his chest. Another tried to flee--his wings were torn from his body before Azriel slit his throat. Not even screams had time to form
Nestaâs fire flared cold and deadly as she ripped through two more, her blade singing with death. Cassian was a whirlwind of brute force, slamming one into the rock hard enough that bones cracked like twigs.
And then--silence.
The three of them stood amidst the carnage, blood dripping, shadows hissing low and restless around Azriel. His siphons pulsed like a heartbeat gone wild. But none of it mattered. None of it compared to the sight of Y/N, broken and barely breathing.
âCauldron damn them,â Nesta breathed, her voice shaking with rage as she dropped to her knees beside her sister. Her hands hovered uselessly, trembling as she whispered, âWhat did they do to you, Y/NâŚâ
Cassianâs eyes were burning, fists clenched, chest heaving with fury. âMonsters,â he spat. âFucking monsters. Theyâll never touch you again, I swear- â His voice cracked.
Azriel didnât hear the rest. He was already moving, already kneeling, already sliding trembling hands beneath Y/Nâs limp body. Blood--her blood--soaked his leathers instantly, hot and suffocating, and he thought he might vomit from the sheer terror choking him.
âStay with me,â he whispered harshly, pulling her against his chest as carefully as he could. His shadows curled around her, frantic and protective, as if they could hold her soul tethered to her body. âY/N. Please. Stay with me.â
Her lashes fluttered weakly, her lips parting. A broken breath escaped before she whispered, barely audible, "Azriel...is that you?"
His heart stopped.
And then-
The snap.
It ripped through him like lightning, a tether locking tight around his very core. A bond. A truth. His mate.
Azriel froze, staring down at her in shock, even as her faint, disbelieving gasp echoed the same realization. His mate. His mate.
A thousand emotions warred in him a once: fury at fate for making this moment their beginning, guilt so sharp it could tear him apart, and desperate, desperate hope that she would not leave him now. Not when he had just found her.
He had never had a mate. Had never thought he would. And now--now the Cauldron had given him Y/N, only to try to rip her away on the very same day.
Her trembling hand rose weakly, brushing his chest before her lips moved again, shaping two soft, broken words.
"My mate."
And then her body went limp in his arms.
Two days.
Two entire days since they had dragged her broken, bleeding body back through the wards of Velaris. Two days since she had slipped into a deep, unmoving unconsciousness. Two days that had stretched longer than any of the centuries Azriel had endured before them.
The memory of that return still clawed at him. Feyreâs scream as she caught sight of Y/N in his arms, raw and keening, enough to shake the walls. Rhysandâs immediate roar of command, summoning every healer in the city. Elain stumbling ahead of them, pale and trembling, whispering prayers under her breath as she guided them through rooms. Morâs sobs, her hands slick with Y/Nâs blood as she tried to help stanch wounds that would not stop bleeding. Amren, uncharacteristically silent, her ancient eyes glittering like steel as she barked orders no one dared disobey.
And him, Azriel, who had refused to let anyone pry her from his arms until the healers forced him to. Who had not left her side since. Not once.
Heâd braced himself for it, the words he dreaded most. Too late. Nothing we can do. She wonât wake. Every time the healers stepped out of her chamber, he expected it. Every time they sighed, every time they whispered, his heart split further, until he was sure there was nothing left to shatter.
But the words never came.
Still, the silence was its own torment. Her breathing shallow but steady. Her pulse faint but there. He should have felt hope. Instead, Azriel felt only self-loathing.
He had failed her. He had let them take her. He had spent days chasing shadows while she had been chained, beaten, stabbed. He had let himself believe that she would be safe, that he had time. Stupid. Blind. Weak. He had promised himself long ago he would never let someone in only to fail them. And now, the Cauldron had cursed him with a mate he did not deserve.
Maybe he never should have had one at all.
Azriel sat in the dim chamber, shadows curling around him like mourning veils, head in his hands. The scent of her blood still clung to his leathers, even after scrubbing until his skin was raw. It lived in his lungs, choking him, each inhale a reminder of how easily he could lose her.
And if she never woke? If she slipped away before he could ever tell her--before she could even truly know--what she was to him? His chest caved with the thought. He wouldnât survive it. Not this.
The door burst open.
He shot to his feet instantly, siphons flaring, shadows hissing.
Mor stood in the doorway, breathless, wide-eyed. âSheâs awake,â she blurted, not sparing another word before she spun and dashed down the hall.
For a heartbeat, Azriel just stared, the words refusing to register. Awake. Alive. Moving.
Then it hit.
His shadows shrieked with a sound like wind snapping through trees, and he was already moving, heart hammering so hard it hurt, thoughts a blur. Awake. Sheâs awake. Please, Cauldron, let it be true. Please let me not be too late. Please-
He ran, faster than heâd ever run without flight, hope so sharp it was painful, tearing through the fog of despair that had bound him for two endless days.
The room was packed. The entire Inner Circle crowded around the bed, voices hushed, faces taut with relief and fear alike. Feyre sat perched on the edge, both of Y/N's hands held tightly in hers, her High Lady composure cracked by the tears streaming freely down her face.
Azriel barely saw them. He pushed past bodies, ignoring Cassianâs hand on his shoulder, ignoring Amrenâs sharp look, ignoring Elainâs soft sob. His entire world narrowed to the small, fragile figure lying beneath layers of blankets.
Her.
Y/Nâs eyes were half-lidded, her skin far too thin, but they were open. Open, and finding him, and--Cauldron help him--she smiled. It was faint, pained, but it was there.
She didnât move much; every shift made her wince. One arm was tightly bound against her side in a sling, her dislocated shoulder still healing. The bruises had not yet faded from her throat, her cheek, her temple. She looked broken. And still, she looked radiant to him. Alive.
Feyre was whispering something, voice trembling with joy and relief, but Y/Nâs gaze didnât leave his. Slowly, weakly, she slipped one hand from Feyreâs grasp, her fingers trembling with the effort. She lifted it slightly, beckoning him forward.
Azrielâs knees nearly gave out. He moved to her without thinking, sinking down at her side, so close now that he could see every flutter of her lashes, every shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Her hand brushed his jaw, then settled against his cheek. Her skin was fever-warm, her touch barely there, but it undid him.
âMy mate,â she whispered, so soft it was almost a breath.
And Azriel...Azriel broke. Centuries of restraint shattered in an instant. His head bowed, his shoulders shaking as tears burned and spilled, as his hand rose to cover hers against his cheek. He didnât care about the audience, about the Inner Circle watching in stunned silence. He didnât care that they were seeing him unravel, seeing him feel. All he cared about was her.
He forced himself to lift his head, to meet her gaze through the blur of his tears. âNo,â he choked, voice breaking. âNo, not yet. Donât- donât accept it yet. Youâre not well enough. Not like this.â
But she shook her head, slow, weak, stubborn as ever. Her lips curved faintly in a smile that was both fragile and defiant. âPlease,â she breathed, voice rough with pain, âIâm⌠well enough.â
The bond between them snapped taut, a golden thread pulling tight, and Azriel felt it--the certainty, the recognition, the eternity. His soul locked with hers, and there was no undoing it now. Not that he would ever want to.
He pressed his forehead gently to hers, shadows curling protectively around them both. âIâll always be by your side,â he swore, voice low, steady despite the tremor in his chest. âIâll never leave you again. This will never happen again. Do you hear me, Y/N? Never.â
Her lashes fluttered, a tear slipping free. Her hand squeezed faintly against his cheek, and her lips curved once more.
âI hear you.â
And though her voice was faint, though her body was weak, the bond between them thrummed with strength, with promise, with the beginning of something Azriel had never dared hope for.
For the first time in his life, he let himself believe.
steve harrington is a really good fake crier. like scarily good. he learned as a kid that if he makes his eyes shine and lets one tear fall, adults panic and give him what he wants. he still uses it as a grown man to get out of trouble and to bully eddie into doing things for him.
eddie spends weeks thinking he made steve cry that one time he snapped at him and feels sick about it. then one day he watches steve turn the shiny eyes + single tear on some random authority figure to get out of trouble and realizes itâs a BIT. meanwhile steveâs over there like đ and eddie is reevaluating his entire life and relationship choices.
eddie: âdude, Iâm not mad, I just said you were being annoying.â
steve, eyes going glassy immediately: âno, itâs fine, I get it.â
eddie: âwait, hey, I didnâtâ are you seriously crying?â
steve, one single tear: âjust⌠give me a second.â
Eddie, guilt ridden, thinks about this for weeks.
Months laterâŚ
cop: âyou were going fifteen over, son.â
steve, same exact shiny eyes + lone tear: âIâm so sorry, officer, itâs just been a really hard weekââ
eddie watching from the passenger seat, connecting the dots in real time: ââŚâ
cop: âIâll let you off with a warning.â
eddie, as they drive away: you manipulative little theater kid, I cannot believe I FELL FOR THAT.
Later that night
eddie: âno. uh-uh. do it again.â
steve: âdo what again?â
eddie: âthe thing. the eyes. I watched you with your little Bambi routine, Harrington. Youâre not slick.â
steve: âitâs not a routine, Iâm just sensitiveđĽşâ
eddie: âyou turned them on like a faucet.â
steve, already dialing up the shine: âeddie, that really hurts my feelingsââ
eddie: âSEE? THERE IT IS. YOU HEAR YOURSELF??â đ
Ok.... How do you think Ryland would react to a s/o jealous/protective of him? Like some single mom's shooting their shot with him at an event or something
hes so oblivious AGH and heâs so in love with you he doesnât realise at all
It had been a nice day so far, you always enjoyed the yearly barbecue the school hosted, it was nice to see Ry talking with the other teachers and all his students coming up to you asking about him. But one thing was ruining your good mood.
There was one mom who seemed to never leave his side.
Everywhere he went, she seemed to be there.
You didnât know her name. You didnât need to know her name, who she was, who her kid was. All you needed to know is that she was definitely, without a doubt, trying to flirt with Ryland.
The jealousy brewed slowly but surely. You had seen as soon as she entered how she beelined towards him and since then, youâd not been able to get a single word in with him. No matter how many conversations you kept getting involved in, your eyes couldnât leave her.
You watched as she laughed at everything he said, nodded at his words, twirled her hair.
Oh, it made you feel sick.
A woman was talking at you, a teacher maybe. It didnât matter, youâd had enough, âIâm sorry,â you interrupted her spiel that you werenât listening to, âIâll be back in two minutes, just gotta go do something.â Your words were trailing off as you started walking away from her and straight towards your boyfriend.
As you got closer behind him, you could see the womanâs eyes flicking to you every few seconds with..possessiveness? Like she was trying to tell you to back off.
By this point you were beyond pissed and didnât even think when you reached him before pulling on his shoulder to turn him around, the almost shocked expression on his face disappearing as you kissed him, a hand going to the back of his head.
It didnât last long, maybe five seconds at most, but when you pulled away you could feel the eyes of surrounding people staring at you. The one pair that you knew werenât on you, however, were those of that mom who was now walking away and towards who you assumed was her child.
âHi,â Rylandâs cheeks were red and his mouth slightly open.
âHey,â you replied with a small smile playing on your lips, âI missed you.â
âMm, I was just talking to, uh, to Katie, sheâs Jakeâs mom and was just,â he took a breath, âjust wondering how heâs doing in class.â
You started to walk away from him but you could hear him follow behind you, âRy, she was flirting with you.â
When you sat down on a bench, you looked up at him and were met with a confused look and a breathy laugh, âOh, no no I donât think so, she was just, yeah, just being nice.
He truly didnât see it.
âShe was flirting. I didnât like it,â it was honesty, not anger at him, it was you expressing your feelings.
You could see him register this through his tiny nods.
âOkay.â It wasnât dismissive, he waited to see if you had anything else to say, he wanted to hear you.
âRy, she wanted you..bad,â you were saying this with a smile now, a laugh beneath your words.
âYou sure about that?â
âMhm, who wouldnât want a piece of this?â Now you were properly playing into this. You looked him up and down as you spoke, your hands holding your weight on the bench as you rested on them.
He bent down, wrapped a hand around your waist, and guided you up to stand, âWell thereâll only be one person getting a piece of this.â The distance between you was small enough that the volume he said this at wouldnât be heard by anyone else.
You hummed in thought before laying a peck on his lips and making your way to the table with the food on it. You picked up a paper plate and two burgers, putting mayo on one of them and ketchup on the other.
Ryland was now watching as you walked back over to him. When you made it back, he picked up the burger with ketchup and gave you a smile of pure love.
You knew he wouldnât make a move on someone else but the thought of someone trying to make a move on him left a bad taste in your mouth. That taste was quickly forgotten though when you took a bite of your own burger and heard your boyfriend tell you about the other chats heâd had with the teachers and the drama heâd found out on that day alone.
The mom didnât so much as look in his direction for the rest of the afternoon. Ry was constantly looking over to you with a cheesy grin when he found you.
