#Sawyer shattered

[galacii-gallery]

had a random thought after reading @zu-is-here's continuation of their Studio AU-

The thought was mainly 'What if 'Cross' had to cool down, however someone was passing by and was concerned for 'Dream' after seeing him in that state.

[doctorharleysawyer]

I now offer my service for nothing but the utmost care for the dearest doctor !! much love!! 🙏 💪💪🔥🔥

(Looked up some reference for the insides of computers and tvs, just for it to turn crappy but thats okay i got the idea down)

He grumbled a bit, muttering something like a begrudging thank you.

[tyra-altavilla]

Rest of animation frames

Enjoy

[personallysunny]

Shattered can probably start fake crying really easily with all the built up emotions he has and manipulates other into doing whatever he wants

He's he eh

[slut4megantheestallion]

"Broken strings: A Mother's Desperation"

-Pairings: Yandere! Harley sawyer x Ex- Wife! Reader.

Genre: angst, thriller (minor bittersweet moments.)

Summary: After your son mysteriously disappears, your desperate search leads you to Playtime Co., where you uncover the horrific truth—your ex-husband, Harley Sawyer, was behind it all.

ִֶָ. ..𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ🦇་༘࿐

The factory was colder than you expected. Even after all these years of abandonment, the stench of metal, oil, and something rancid clung to the air. Your fingers trembled as they traced the rusted Plsytime Co. Logo on the wall, memories of brightly colored commercials flashing in your mind.

You shouldn't be here. You knew that. But what choice did you have?

Your son was missing.

He had been gone for months, vanished without a trace. No police leads, no ransom notes - just a gaping hole in your chest where your little boy used to be. And deep down, you knew. You knew where he had gone.

Playtime Co.

The flashlight trembled in your hand flickered slightly as you maneuvered through the ruined factory, heart pounding with every creak and groan of the once-bustling toy company Her breath was unsteady, her mind racing. Every inch of this place reeked of something sinister, something that made her stomach churn violently.

Hatred burned deep in your chest, fueling every step. You despised your ex-husband with every fiber in you. One upon a time, you loved him. Your relationship had been good - full of laughter, warmth, and late-night conversations that made you feel safe it was perfect, but then something changed. He became distant obsession with his work, always locked away in his office, muttering above his "studies", he barely had time with his son, even for you. At first, you tried to understand to support his ambitions, but it wasn't long before the distance became unbearable. Arguments erupted between the two of you like a violent storm, and neither of you backed down. Harley had become a stranger to you - a man obsessed with his studies that she couldn’t understand, something so dark and sadistic.

You filed for a divorce. You tried hard to take your son with you. You fought tooth a d nail in the courtroom, desperate to keep your little boy safe. But Harley had won. He had the money, resources, and the manipulative charm to twist the system in his favor. And in the end, you had lost everything, your husband, your son, your sanity.

Now, you were here, hoping praying that the rumors weren't true. That Playtime Co wasn't the graveyard of human experiments she had begun to fear it was.

You ventured deeper into the heart of the facility. You realized the truth was far worse than any nightmare she had ever conjured. You explored deeper in the factory, eyes scanning the abandoned walls, dried blood on the wall, searching for any sign of her son. But she wasn't- alone she felt it. A presence lingering in the shadows, watching her every move. You tightened your grip on the flashlight, shivering despite yourself. Someone was here. Someone who didn't want her to leave.

Then she found it.

A small critter toy, it's fur soft and familiar. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached the small toy. Her breath caught in her throat as she approached, something in her heart screaming at her that this was different. And then, it spoke.

"M-Mommy?"

The voice was small, uncertain, and it shattered you, a voice that you remembered.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you dropped to your knees, hands trembling as you reached out to touch the tiny, furry creature that still bore the sound of the little boy she had carried in her womb, nursed, and loved more than life itself.

"Oh, my baby, what has he done to you?" You sobbed, stroking the soft fur. "I'm so sorry, I should've never - I should've fought harder, I should've -"

You couldn't breathe. The room spun around her as reality came crashing down like a tidal wave. Her baby. Her precise little boy. No longer humans.

You weren't sure how long you sat on the ground, rocking your son back and forth, whispering apologies and promises of safety. But it wasn't just him. There were others. So many others. The children, the lost souls, the failed experiments who clung to warmth like abandoned children searching for a mother's love. She welcomed them all, pressing gentle kisses to the synthetic skin, whispering words of comfort to creatures long forgotten by the world.

Even Kissy Missy, a gentle soul who was once a small child turned to a toy in this horrific nightmare of a toy factory. She had treated her like a child of her own, only to realize she too had become nothing more than another twisted creation of this helish factory.

Then, a voice emerged from the shadows - a voice she once loved, now tainted with the venom of betrayal and hatred.

"I was wondering when you'd come back, sweetheart."

Your blood ran cold. You stood up quickly, shielding the small critter behind her. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you turned to face the man you had once called your husband.

Harley had aged, but the spark in his eyes was still the same - calculating, obsessed, dangerous. The moment he laid eyes on you, something in him clicked. His smirk was lazy, confident, as if he had been expecting this reunion all along.

"You came back to us," he murmured, stepping closer.

Your stomach twisted in revulsion as he reached for you, but you recoiled, shielding your son in your arms. "You did this to him," you hissed, voice shaking with rage. "To all of them."

He tilted his head amused. "I saved them."

Your vision blurred with fury. "You stole everything from me!"

Harely exhaled slowly, stepping back as if he could sense the fury teetering on the edge of violence. Then, with a sickening grin, he whispered, "We can still be a family again."

You wasted to scream, tear him apart the way he did to your son, kill him with your bare hands, destroy the monster who had ruined her son's life. But she couldn't - not yet. You have to get out of here. You have to save them. Have to put an end to this nightmare, even if it meant facing the devil himself.

You turned on your heel, holding your son tightly, your heart hammering. You needed a plan. You need to escape this hellhole. And you needed help.

Navigating the factory, you found yourself in what appeared to be a safe heaven - a room filled with toys, yet there were different. They were aware. Sentient. Watching you with wary yet hopeful eyes.

Before any more words could be exchanged, an alarm blared. The factory roared to life, machinery, grinding, shadows shifting. Harley wasn't going to you leave.

You ran, dodging every mechanical arm reaching for you, her son clinging to your chest. The once- broken factory had become a labyrinth of horror, but you refused to give up. Not now.

Then, just as you thought you had a chance, he was there again. Harley, watching from the control room, eyes dark and hungry with obsession.

"You can run, but you can't leave," his voice echoed through the speakers. "You're still mine."

"Like hell I am," you growled, gripping a rusted pipe. You wouldn't go down without a fight.

And so, the battle began. A desperate mother against the monster who had stolen everything from you. If you had to burn Playtime Co to the ground, you would - because nothing mattered more than saving your son and the lost souls who deserved freedom.

Even if it cost your life.

(I hope you like this @oyasumimosura)

[bumblehoneybee]

Imagine The Doctor Frankensteined himself a kid, and Angel finds it out the hard way via tapes and notes, or The Doctor just tells them.

I mean, no human could survive what they have.

How Do You Make A Soul?

Waste not, want not, as they say. I have so many spare parts, so why not use them?

It's. . . hard to think through. Because you know the curve of the letters, know the tone of the voice, but the words confuse you. Waste not, want not, he says. Waste what? Spare parts, but what use would spare parts be if they're coming from the likes of. . . of children?

You set the note aside, unable to read the rest. Instead, you look for something easier to digest amongst the various files, schematics, the equations and formulas.

You find photos.

Each of a different body part.

Each with a little note. A name. A time. A date.

You recognize the birthmark. The one your fath- Dr. Sawyer would scold you for itching at until it bled.

There's too many photos. Too many pieces. There's a scar on one, the one that aches when it rains.

You snap your gaze up, staring into the dark monitor.

You're not sure who stares back, but their collar glimmers in a line when the light above you shifts.

"You were my greatest achievement." The gentle voice lies to you. "Not one piece gone to waste."

Your thoughts shatter, replaced by the sound of so many voices, all screaming at you to wake up.

[spr1ngbunnypvrin]

Can I ask what you think would happen if pre-doctor Harley Sawyer had an S/O who has been with him for so long to the point of marriage being the next goal, but some kind of accident happens and they lose their memories of him? I was curious to see what you thought he'd react like, shading this "bond" with someone who worked so hard to gain his trust and love only to forget everything they had with him.

And maybe if you're up for it cause it could mix with the scenario, what's he like as a husband of he for some reason got to that point?

He’s already a man who struggles with trust, with connection, with letting himself have something good. And then to have that ripped away?

Yeah. He wouldn't take it well.

💔 Harley Sawyer & an S/O Who Lost Their Memories 💫

Initial Reaction – Shock, Denial, & a Deep, Ugly Fear

Harley isn’t a man who loves easily. If he got to the point of marriage? That means you had to fight, push, and tear down every wall he built around himself. You were different. You got through to him.

And then, just like that, it’s gone. You don’t know him. You don’t remember him.

At first, he thinks he can handle it. He’s logical, right? He can fix this.

But when he looks at you—when he sees the blank stare, the way you flinch when he reaches for you, the way his name means nothing to you anymore—

That’s when it really hits. That bond you both built, the one thing he let himself trust, it’s shattered.

How He Handles It – Badly, But He Won’t Show It

On the surface? He’s calm. Composed. Maybe even a little cold. He won’t let you see how deep the damage goes.

But behind closed doors? It wrecks him.

He stays up at night, replaying memories that you no longer have.

He clenches his fists hard enough to leave marks, fights the urge to force the memories back—because logic tells him he can’t.

He stares at old pictures, whispers your name like it’s a prayer, like saying it enough times will bring you back.

Would he try to make you remember?

Yes. But not by pushing you. Harley is methodical—he’ll watch, wait, test small things. He’ll see if old habits stick.

He’ll leave your favorite coffee on the table, just to see if you reach for it the way you used to.

He won’t tell you who he is to you. But his actions will.

And if you never remember? If he has to live with the fact that you’ll never look at him the same way again?

He’d rather you be safe, even if it means losing you completely.

Would He Stay? Would He Let Go?

Harley Sawyer does not let go easily.

But he’s also a man who knows what it means to lose everything. And if he thinks staying will hurt you more than it’ll hurt him?

He’d leave. He’d walk away before you could reject him—because that’s a pain he doesn’t think he could survive.

Maybe he disappears from your life entirely, watching from a distance, never interfering.

Or maybe, just maybe—he stays in the background. A shadow of what he used to be to you. Someone important, but no longer in the way he once was.

Harley Sawyer as a Husband – If He Ever Got That Far

"Husband" is just a word. What matters is that you’re mine. And I don’t let go."

He’s not a conventional husband. Marriage isn’t something he dreams about—it’s a risk. A vulnerability.

But if he got there? He’d take it seriously. You would be the only person who’s ever gotten that far, and that means something.

Protective as hell. He doesn’t get jealous, but he does get possessive. The kind where he doesn’t need to say anything—just a look is enough.

Acts of service > words of love. You won’t get flowery speeches, but you’ll find a knife at your bedside if he thinks you need protection. He’ll know you’re stressed before you say anything. He’ll have already handled it.

Physicality matters. He’s not one for PDA, but behind closed doors? His touches are grounding. Steady. Not always gentle, but always intentional.

He’s in it for life. Divorce? Not an option. If you get into a fight? He’s not leaving the house until it’s resolved. If something threatens you? It’s already handled before you even know about it.

What If You Started Falling for Him Again?

Would he let it happen?

At first, he wouldn’t believe it.

But if you started looking at him the way you used to? If your body remembered what your mind forgot—if you reached for him in your sleep, if his voice became a comfort again?

He’d try to stay distant. Try to convince himself it’s not real.

But the moment you tell him, even hesitantly, “I think I love you”—

That’s when he breaks.

That’s when he exhales the breath he’s been holding since he lost you.

And that’s when he finally, finally lets himself believe he hasn’t lost you after all.

[theseinfernalangels]

Fragile — Sawyer Henrick

Synopsis: Mender!Reader comes back from RSC worse off than the rest of your squad. Sawyer is heartbroken and takes care of you.

A/N: I pumped this one out surprisingly fast! I may post my OC reference sheet after this for more context, since there are references to characters you haven’t met yet, such as Reader’s dragon, Cridhe, and Eden (Liam’s girl!). We’ll see how it turns out! I might even do a part two for this hehe.

Warning for mentions of blood, injuries, insecurities, and anxiety. Oh, yeah; don’t forget the dragon telepathy.

Sawyer knew something was up when you didn’t meet him outside the Gathering Hall. 

It wasn’t like you to be late for…Well, anything, much less seeing him. He certainly wasn’t an anxious person, but it made his fingers twitch with nervousness when he didn’t spot your cautious frame lingering close to the sides of the hall. He waited anyway. He’d always wait for you.

At the ten-minute mark, his thoughts began to race. He could understand if you stayed behind for a word with one of your professors – you were a genius, anyway. Perhaps you could have gone off-track to help another cadet in need of extra notes. That was just in your nature (even though Sawyer and Ridoc had tried to convince you to charge a couple coins for it – you’d be swimming in gold by now). Maybe you were in the infirmary with your friend…Eden, was it? Emily? He could barely remember.

But no. Another fifteen minutes slowly ticked by, and his reasonable side began to veer off a little. Maybe you’d been injured somehow. Maybe the other cadets had finally taken advantage of your anxious, gentle nature and were in the middle of ganging up on you. Maybe they’d finally gotten you – the Marked cadets who weren’t too fond of you for what your parents, Navarrian military legends, had done to them.

He heard Sliseag’s chiding voice resound in the back of his mind. Easy there, Ashling, he soothed. Do not worry too much. She is exactly where she is meant to be.

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. I would beg to differ, he replied, trying to calm his racing heart. If she was in the right place, I wouldn’t be talking to you right now.

The dragon snorted. Really, now? he mused. Look up.

Sawyer had just turned, his palms sweaty, when he saw a figure moving sluggishly in his peripherals. He squinted, then froze, the sight making his blood run cold.

You finally showed up…But you looked awful.

Damaged was the best word to describe it. Your hair was messy, your bangs falling in your face in a way it only looked after an intense flight. One of your eyes was swollen shut, and the rest of your face was battered. Your bottom lip was split and bleeding, the blood oozing out sluggishly and staining your chin crimson. That was only your face; the rest of your body was probably just as bruised and injured.

Go, he heard Sliseag urge. Go to her now. She needs you, Ashling.

He broke out of his trance; he couldn’t run fast enough to get to you, his legs moving on what felt like autopilot. Gods. What did they do to you?

You held up a hand when he neared you. “I’m fine,” you whispered hoarsely. “I…It looks worse than it feels.”

Sliseag made a noise of disapproval in his mind. I doubt that.

Sawyer, in that moment, felt almost scared to touch you, as if putting his fingers anywhere would shatter you like glass.

Finally, he found his voice. “What the hell happened to you?” he murmured, wincing at how sick he sounded. His eyes traced your face; you still looked gorgeous as ever, but just looking at your good eye made his heart wrench.

“We,” you began, faltering as you fell forward a bit. Sawyer caught you with ease, splaying a hand on your back as you leaned into him. “We had RSC. I…I didn’t expect for it to be so…awful.”

You looked down, and Sawyer made a soft sound of protest as he lifted your chin back up to face his. Skies above, he thought. He’d seen you injured before, obviously – there was no avoiding that at Basgiath. But this…

“Oh, darling,” he murmured, ghosting a kiss on your forehead. “I’m so sorry. You…You haven’t been to the infirmary yet?”

You shook your head. “No. I saw a clock and remembered we agreed to meet up. Wanted to see you first.”

Oh, he thought. Damn you, you sweet, sweet girl. Damn you and your loveliness. 

He sighed quietly, glancing at the sky. It was getting close to dusk, which meant that the infirmary was probably winding down for the day. His gaze flitted back down to your trembling form, his heart aching.

“Do you want to go?” he asked, hoping he didn’t sound pushy. “I’m sure your friend is still there; she’d be willing–”

His voice trailed off when you vehemently shook your head. “No,” you said softly. “Not now. Can we…Can we just go to yours?”

At that moment, with you looking up at him hopefully, your good eye wide but exhausted, Sawyer would have given you just about anything. 

He nodded, perhaps a little too hard. “Of course, darling. Just hold on to me. I don’t trust your legs right now.”

The pained smile you gave him twists his heart. “I don’t, either.”

It took a little while, but the two of you finally made it to his dorm in relative silence, save for the pained gasps and whimpers that occasionally fell from your swollen lips. The whole time, Sawyer was clenching his teeth. It didn’t matter that RSC was something that happened to everyone – not even his injuries hadn’t looked this rough.

He sat you down gently on his bed. He didn’t want to leave you, not when you looked that beat up, but he pushed that aside to grab the little box of medical supplies you kept in his room for when he was beat up after sparring. If you weren’t huddled beside him looking more fragile than he’d ever seen you, he would have made a joke about it.

You’d already removed your jacket and shirt, leaving your torso bare save for the bindings you always wore. Sawyer relaxed for a moment before he took note of your ribs, black and blue bruising rippling up both sides. Save for that, though, and other bruising and – Gods forbid, handprints – you honestly didn’t look too terrible.

He brushed your bangs away from your face, tilting your chin up so he could assess the damage. “Have you tried mending yourself?”

You sighed, sounding almost disappointed in yourself. “No. I’ve never tried that, but it won’t work, anyway. I tried to mend Anya’s arm after it got dislocated, but it didn’t work. I’m either terrible with my signet, or the injury was too bad, or–”

He cut you off before you could delve deeper into self-doubt. “No,” he assured you, taking a wet rag and wiping the blood on your chin. “They tampered with your water. It’s supposed to dull your signet and cut you off from your dragon to feel more realistic.”

Your lips formed an O in realization. “So that’s why I couldn’t feel Cridhe,” you mumbled, hissing in pain once he actually touched your lip. “I got worried there for a while.”

He nodded, ducking his head lower to check the area around your neck. There was an angry red line around your throat; someone had tried to choke you, he assumed. Bastard.

“I know,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your collarbone. “When they took me, the serum didn’t wear off for about a day. I thought Sliseag randomly chose to hate me or something.”

The aforementioned scoffed softly. As if, Ashling, he muttered. I didn’t choose you just to leave you behind.

The words warmed Sawyer’s heart long enough that your silence didn’t bother him for the next few minutes while he looked you over.

He only paused when you spoke softly, your voice faint. “I…think I have a concussion,” you mumble. “The light hurts, and I’m dizzy.”

A tight-lipped smile fought its way onto Sawyer’s face. “Trust you to diagnose yourself barely an hour after it happens.”

You don’t respond, prompting Sawyer to lean back up and look into your eyes. Sure enough, your pupils were unfocused and exhausted. Smart girl.

He opened his mouth to make another little quip, only for it to die on his tongue once you leaned into his side.

“Tired?” he prompted you gently. A soft hum from you confirmed his suspicions, and he hesitated for a moment before relenting. He could carry you to Nolan or a healer in the morning, after you slept the night away.

He looked away for a moment, and you had somehow managed to snag a random shirt off his floor and slip it on. His eyes softened, and he reached over to help you out of your pants and under his covers. You looked so…unusually small in his bed, curled in on yourself like a flower without the sun to warm it. He didn’t even bother to change out of his uniform, opting to kick off his boots and leave himself in his undershirt as he settled next to you. You slowly unfurled from your tense position and rested your head on his chest. Pure bliss.

You both lay there in silence for what seemed like hours before Sawyer found his voice again, feeling weirdly sentimental. “I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you don’t want to talk about it.”

Your silence was an answer enough.

“Thought so,” he murmured. “That’s okay. We don’t have to. Just…I hope you know that I’ll never let that happen to you when the time comes. Whoever it was, they’d have to kill me first to get to you.”

More silence from you. Sawyer thought for a moment that you fell asleep, but his eyes popped back open once he heard your weary voice.

“Sawyer?”

“Yes, darling?”

A beat. Two beats.

“Thank you for this. I didn’t want to be anywhere besides here.”

…You don’t have to thank me, he thinks, a pained smile tugging at his mouth. I’d do anything and more for you, anyway.

[onlybeeewrites]

Easy to Blame

Request: Darling....can I request a fic of xaden ....where the reader is her sister and he and other marked ones don't like her due to some reason...but then she's a goddamn badass and yeah make it angsty as hell(I don't know if this makes sense)

Pairings: Xaden Riorson x sister!reader, Marked ones x Reader, sort of Sawyer x fem!Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: IRON FLAME SPOILERS, cannon accurate violence, targeted hated, cursing, life threats, past deaths, misdirected hatred and grief, bad parenting.

A/N: This is where my mind went with this request! Hopefully you all enjoy it ❤️

~~~~~~~~~~~

The weight of the guilt clung to you like a second skin, thick and suffocating. A burden and weight that seems to be placed rather unfairly onto your shoulders. As each and every step through the halls of Basgiath War College was met with narrowed eyes, cold glares, and the ever-present whispers that followed like a specter.

It didn’t matter who you passed in the halls. It didn’t matter when. Didn’t matter who you sat with in class or in the dining hall. The other cadets in your year would see the swirling dark tattoo on your left arm and lift their noses at you. While other marked ones would do the very same thing.

They didn’t trust you.

No one trusted you.

He didn’t trust you.

Xaden Riorson had made sure of that.

Your older brother—the only family you had left—had turned his back on you the moment you arrived at the college when you were old enough. His expression carved from stone, his voice sharp enough to cut. You had known it would be difficult. You had expected anger, the frustration, even the resentment.

But this? This was something worse.

You wasn’t just unwanted. You were avoided. You were the enemy. To everyone.

“Stay the hell out of my way.”

His voice was ice, cutting through the tension between them like a blade. And cut through you like shards.

You had found him in the training yard, surrounded by the Marked Ones in his squad, his second-in-command Garrick, your old friend, leaning against a post while Bodhi, your cousin, didn’t even look at you. While Imogen crossed her arms, regarding her with a mixture of distrust and disdain.

But ever so determined, you lifted your chin. It had been almost two months since you had gotten there. Almost two months and he still refused to even give you two minutes of his time. And yet you refusing to shrink under their scrutiny. “I’m not your enemy, Xaden. I’m your sister. You’d think after six years you’d know that. I’m not here to cause trouble, I’m here to,”

He scoffed. “A little late for that, don’t you think?” Interrupting your sentence

That had hurt. Had it been too late? You could feel your stomach twisted. You had prepared herself for hostility, but hearing it aloud—from him—still hurt. Hurt more than expected. That was your brother.

But in that moment you had never more like a stranger.

Garrick sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Look, it’s not personal—”

“Like hell it isn’t,” Xaden cut in, his jaw clenched. He took a step toward you, his voice lowering to something dangerous. “Because of you, our father is dead. Because of you, our mother walked away from us. Had you just been a little more helpful, things wouldn’t be this fucking difficult,” he said. His voice filled with pure distain, pure hatred and anger.

His words hit like a punch to the ribs.

You had only been fourteen years old, just barely understanding what was even happening when their father was executed for his rebellion along with the other leaders. You had stood there, frozen, tears streaming down her face while Xaden held her hand so tightly it hurt.

But it was your mother who shattered everything.

It had been before the rebellion. Years before. Right after Xaden’s birthday. She had tucked you both in at bed that night. Told you both how much she loved you. Kissed you both so lovingly and softly. And the next morning?

Gone.

No note. No explanation. Just a home that felt empty and wrong.

Xaden had never forgiven her for that. Neither had you.

And now, surrounded by the people who would die for him, who would follow him into battle without hesitation, he made sure they all knew where she stood.

“She can’t be trusted,” he had told them. “Keep your distance.”

And they had listened.

The isolation was suffocating.

It was a permanent weight in you chest that was always threatening your mind constantly.

You were used to whispers, but the silence was worse. The Marked Ones didn’t speak to you unless necessary. They didn’t train with you. If you tried to spar, they found someone else. If you sat down at a table, they left.

Even the others followed their lead.

Even your squad. They put up with you when they had to. But that was it.

Sawyer was the only one who seemed indifferent, watching her with something like curiosity rather than outright hatred. At least she had him. Sawyer was sweet.

But Xaden?

Xaden didn’t look at you at all.

And that was worse than all of it.

It was months past, presentation and threshing was just around the corner—or just over the gauntlet.

The Gauntlet loomed in the distance above them, an unforgiving structure of swinging beams, crumbling platforms, and gaps that seemed impossible to cross.

Failure meant death.

And you weren’t about to fail.

The morning of the run, whispers followed her as she strapped on her training leathers. Echoed whispers surrounded them around the dining hall and through the halls out side.

“She’ll fall.”

“She won’t even make it halfway.”

“She should’ve never been allowed here in the first place.”

“She won’t make it past threshing.”

“Let’s hope not.”

You ignored them.

You had to.

You couldn’t allow those thoughts to take over. You couldn’t let them be right.

All the odds were against you. Abandoned and ignored by your brother. Ignored and shunned by your family from a decision that you truly had no part of. It wasn’t your fault. In the big grand scheme of things, it was not your fault. But that didn’t matter.

Because in their minds, and in Xaden’s, it was your fault. Everything. Was. Your. Fault.

And that guilt? That unfair burden? That would always remain as long as Xaden blamed you for everything.

It had been months now after parapet. Threshing was in a few weeks. Presentation. But first was the Gauntlet.

Xaden stood at the top with Garrick, arms crossed as he surveyed the cadets. If he heard the murmurs, he didn’t acknowledge them. His dark eyes narrowing down the course at his wing as the other sections and squads prepared to do their practice runs before the timed trials.

Practicing for when threshing was finally around. The test for a chance to prove themselves worthy. Worthy enough to make it past presentation, they’d need all these skills. To ride your dragons. If you made it that far, at least.

The course was grueling. Designed to push cadets past their limits. Designed with dragons in mind for each obstacle. Designed to weed out the weak ones.

And so here you were. Standing in the front of the line for your squad, just behind Sawyer. First squad was finishing up ahead of you. The first few competitors barely made it over the first swinging bridge before slipping to their deaths. Others hesitated at the crumbling stones, losing precious time.

Then it was time for your squad. Sawyer went first, his agility unmatched as he maneuvered through the course with a speed no one could match. It was probably because he had done this before.

Sawyer was a repeat, as you had learned. He had gone through all this last year.

Then it was your turn.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, but you shoved the nerves down. You didn’t have the luxury of fear. You couldn’t afford to feel. Not now. Not in front of the rest of your Squad, the

As the signal to begin echoed through the training grounds, you launched yourself forward with unwavering resolve.

The first obstacle, a towering vertical wall, stood as an imposing sentinel. Without hesitation, you sprinted toward it, you steps light and measured. Utilizing your momentum, you leaped, you fingers gripping the edge with practiced precision. With a controlled pull, she swung her leg over and descended smoothly, barely pausing before advancing to the next challenge.

The rotating wheel loomed ahead, a notorious obstacle that had bested many cadets. Timing her approach, you synchronized your movements with the wheel’s rotations. With a swift, calculated jump, you grasped a handle and swung yourself to the other side, landing in a crouch before springing forward without losing momentum.

A series of balance beams awaited, each narrowing mean. You navigated the beams with grace. Your arms subtly adjusting to maintain equilibrium. Your focus was absolute, gaze fixed ahead, blocking out the murmurs of onlookers and the weight of expectations.

Next came the rope climb. Seizing the coarse rope, you ascended hand over hand, you movements fluid and efficient. Reaching the summit, you tapped the marker and descended in controlled slides, your feet touching the ground with barely a sound.

The next challenge, the chimney climb, required both strength and strategy. Positioning yourself between the narrow walls, you used opposing pressure to “walk” upward, your movements steady and controlled.

The final challenge was the huge steep wall. The one to run up, the challenge that simulates climbing up the dragon leg to ride. And just above it was where your brother was.

Taking a deep breath, you backed up. Backing up as far as she possibly could. This was where she proved them all wrong. And then. Suddenly, you bolted forward. Using all the strength she had, she spent it into and bolted up the wall. Your feet pressed against the wall as you pushed yourself up and up and up until your hand reached the lip of the curve.

With all the strength you had left, you pulled yourself over the edge. Your body was pulled over with the last bit of your strength as finally your right leg got pulled over. And a soft click of the stop watch sounded in your ears.

A stunned silence fell over the crowd as you finished hauling yourself over the edge.

Garrick’s voiced cleared before he read your time aloud.

Second place.

Second place.

Only second to Sawyer.

The silence stretched, heavy and stunned, before someone let out a low whistle. And then some hushed mumbling.

You got to your feet before you turned, locking eyes with Xaden. Onyx eyes, locking with onyx eyes. Sweat dripping down your skin.

For the first time since you had arrived, he was looking at you.

Really looking at you.

And for a moment—a single, fleeting moment—you saw something crack in his expression. Something uncertain. Looking like you big brother again. But there was something else.

Something like doubt.

But then he turned away, jaw tightening.

He didn’t congratulate you.

Didn’t acknowledge what you had done.

But he couldn’t ignore it, either.

You weren’t weak.

Just like Xaden, you were a Riorson.

And you were a goddamn force to be reckoned with.

[galacii-gallery]

I couldn't stop thinking what if Sawyer! Shattered was in "Dreams" situation and I just had to draw it👀 ( they're so opposites ghrhgjfjt )

Og Comic strip belongs to @zu-is-here

[mellowwdann]

Harley Sawyer x a forgotten toy? Just think of Shelly from dandy’s world! >:3

-Anon from the beginning

Ok!! First time doing Harley Sawyer so please tell me if there is anything incorrect!! I’m guessing this is platonic, right?

[PLATONIC] DOCTOR HARLEY SAWYER X A FORGOTTEN TOY

◆At first, he didn’t even know you existed. ◆Probably because you ARE the forgotten toy. ◆When you found you, somehow he felt…pity. ◆I mean, it’s not his fault. The only reason why he’s still alive is because Playtime.Co needed him ◆He thought you had autophobia(fear of being forgotten) ◆Somehow it’s like his heart shattered once he realized you did have autophobia. ◆It’s not like your design was terrible or anything. The kids just forgot about you. ◆And that’s how he took you and cared for you.

[emo-gremlin]

what if Harley got emotional in front of his s/o?? Like tears and angst?? Head canons for that?? (FEED ME)

Imma lump these two together since they're basically the same.

The Doctor's emotional outburst! + Reader

💻 Adjusting to his new form was...difficult to say the least. Leith was no help, if anything, it seemed to make it worse.

💻 You tried your best to be a mediator between the two, but today...Leith went too far.

💻 "WELL IF YOU WERE ACTUALLY THINKING LIKE A FUCKING HUMAN BEING AND NOT SOME KIND OF COLD BLOODED REPTILE MAYBE YOU WOULD HAVE STAYED IN THE YOUNG GENUIS PROGRAM AND AWAY FROM YOUR SHIT HEAD FAMILY!"

💻 A scream rang out through the room, several monitors burst, and the lights went out.

💻 "H-how DA-DARE YOU?! I-I DID EVERY T-THING I CO-COULD FO-FOR THAT MAN!" You could hear The Doctor's agony in his voice, almost as if...he was crying.

💻 "You....you ha-have no i-idea what my-My chi-childhood was li-like. Wh-what i-i had to g-go back t-to. To ha-have yo-your dre-dreams taken a-away by the o-only one you t-thought understood y-you..."

💻 What screens were left glowed bright red, forming the shape of an eye. The static on the screens made it seem as if it was dripping with tears.

💻 "Y-you have n-no r-right to speak l-like-"

💻 "I own you, Sawyer. I own the technology you're connected to." Leith wasn't backing down. You heard a door open, a heavy, steel door. "And you are gonna do what you're told, if you know what's best for you."

💻 You heard claws softly tap against the floor. You knew who that was.

💻 "Th-this...Yo-you will p-pay for t-this. I'll m-make sure of it."

💻 You thought about warning him. You thought about jumping in the way of the beast and your boss.

💻 Harley was not a good man. He never said he was. The man was a brilliant scientist, and a cold blooded one at that.

💻 But no one deserves to have their past brought up like this, in front of complete strangers. You didn't know much about his past either, you just knew that it was harder, and harder still after being let go from Ludwig's program.

💻 You decided not to say anything, stepping aside to let Harley's guard beast through.

💻 Harley noticed this, but said nothing.

💻 "Maybe Yarnaby can teach you how to hold your tongue."

💻 The yarn lion pounced on Lieth's back, slamming him to the floor as Dr. White and the other scientists ran out of the room.

💻 Leith's screams echoed as you walked out, a security squad coming in to disable Yarnaby.

💻 "He isn't dead, I presume?" Harley asked as you quietly swept up the shattered remains of multiple screens.

💻 "Nope. But he will be in a wheelchair for a while. So he won't be able to come down here for sometime." You replied, looking up at one of the screens. "Will you be alright?"

💻 Harley stayed silent for a moment. "....Yes. Thank you."

Maybe not as angsty as I originally planned, but I hope you still enjoy.

[xoxochb]

— they are the hunters, we are the foxes!

mooties: @iliketopgun (💍💍) / @ask-lilith-sawyer / @childofthewargod / @lovely-waves / @azure-drag0ness / @cupidsremedy / @childofserpents / @fooooooxie / @fearsomeandwrong / @graciebrams / @gh0st-king-nic0 / @hazzzelly / @just-some-demigod / @komoriyui55lover / @moonlightfoxs-cantina / @on-my-vigilante-sht / @ohhheloise / @queen0fdisater / @touchstarvedromantic / @x-infernhoes-x / @nymphfever / @folkwhoreberry / @sixatrocities / @v3n1ce-bxtch / @whatisnureotypical / @somesimpformen / @eviev097 / @shattered-glass-roses / @elliot-rambles / @percyjcksonss / @immisswor1d / @wish-i-were-heather / @aangelicano / @1-800-tacomuncher / @sellmysoulforamap

emoji anons: 🤍, 🍇, ☘️, 🌊, 💓, ��️, 🍓, 🪩, 🪼, 💤, 🌙, 🐦‍⬛, 💕, ✨, 🐸, 🌠, 🐬, 🌷, 🌟

[help-im-a-gay-fish]

@zu-is-here I contributed! I wasn't planning on posting anything till darkcream week, but leave it to this to inspire me. You can't tell me that if he's British, this wouldn't come up.

Original shattered dream and Sawyer belongs to @galacii

And zudio by @zu-is-here

P.s if anyone doesn't know this meme, it's about how the British accent can twinge when we say bottle of water

[nomie-11]

Chapter 8 - Resilience, Lexicon, and Coincidences

<- previous chapter | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter ->

“This isn’t right,” Sawyer mutters, refolding the homework map for RSC. “I can’t get number four no matter how many times I count the little elevation lines.” 

“That’s north,” Violet tells him, tapping the bottom of the folded monstrosity. “You’re looking at the wrong sector for the question. Trust me, I had to ask Genevieve for help last night.” 

“Ugh. This is some infantry bullshit.” He shoves the map into his pocket. 

“You asked Genevieve for help?” Ridco quipped, raising a brow. “Isn’t it normally flipped?”

Violet grimaced slightly at the prospect of her needing academic help, but nodded. “She’s freakishly good at the survival stuff.” 

“What can I say, maybe being abandoned by my mother did have a positive effect on me after all.” Genevieve grinned, crossing her arms over her chest with a smug look in her eyes. 

The group exchanged glances at Genevieve’s remark. Ridoc shifted uncomfortably but Sawyer snorted a laugh, breaking the tension. 

“You might be the only person alive who can spin ‘childhood trauma’ into a brag,” he said, shaking his head. 

Genevieve smirked. “It’s called resilience, Sawyer. Look it up.” 

And then Genevieve turned around, her own map unfolded in front of her. Random circles and lines were scribbled down onto it, her new and messy handwriting scrawling her little survival notes all around the edges. With Genevieve’s attention shifted, Violet smiled and leaned in to Ridoc and Sawyer. 

“I taught her the word resilience last night,” She grinned. 

“Hey!” Genevieve whipped back around, glaring at Violet. “I heard that!” she said, pointing an accusatory finger. 

Not long after Violet had learned about Genevieve’s lack of schooling, she encouraged Genevieve to tell the rest of the squad. Which she did solely because she was grateful that Violet was talking with her again. Not because she needed more than just Violet could provide. Definitely not.

Violet raised her hands in surrender, but her grin only widened. “You’re welcome for the vocabulary expansion. Use it wisely.” 

“Whatever.” Genevieve rolled her eyes, though the faint smile tugging at her lips betrayed her amusement. “Next time, I’ll keep my newfound lexicon to myself.” 

Violet nodded her head at Genevieve’s subtle questioning gaze, wondering whether or not she had used ‘lexicon’ correctly, and Genevieve grinned. 

Before Ridoc or Sawyer could quip back, Rhiannon approached, slightly breathless. 

“Finally! You’d think leadership would be on time.” Ridoc said, feigning annoyance by puffing a stream of air to a stray curl on his forehead. 

“Leadership was in a meeting,” Rhiannon replies, holding up a collection of missives. “And leadership was given the mail!” 

Genevieve feels the hope leap up in her chest for a moment, before she quickly squashes it. 

“Ridoc,” Sawyer says, handing over a letter. “Sawyer.” She turns, giving him the next one. “Me.” She flips that one to the back. “And Violet.” 

“Anything for me?” The hope flickers up again for half a breath. 

Rhiannon glances down at the single letter left in the pile, clearly addressed to a Ms. Rhiannon Matthias, and not a Ms. Genevieve Hale. “No, nothing. I’m sorry.” 

Genevieve keeps her face impassive, the flicker of hope dying so quickly it almost hurts worse than if it hadn’t been there at all. She shrugs, trying to seem nonchalant. “Figures. No one’s got my address, anyway.”

The lie is easy to say, but Violet’s watchful eye peels every layer of Genevieve’s facade until she’s looking directly at the shattered pieces of Genevieve’s heart that she’s been working so desperately to repair. 

Genevieve knows that her mother couldn’t write. It would expose the entire rebellion, and it wasn’t like she even wanted a letter from her mother. She wanted nothing to do with her mother, but Xaden? 

Her shoulders drop just slightly, which is just… pathetic.

“No letter from Xaden?” Rhiannon asks softly, not paying any attention to Ridoc reading a record of his father’s gripes out loud to Sawyer. 

She shrugs, but it’s hard to keep the dejection and frustration out of her voice. “I know better.” 

“You miss him, don’t you?” Rhiannon’s voice drops further as they shuffle closer to the steps up to the Vale.

“Not really.” She shakes her head no. But Violet mouths ‘she does!’ over to Rhiannon, who shakes her head yes. 

Genevieve shoots Violet a sharp look. “I don’t.” 

Violet doesn’t even bother humoring Genevieve as she folds her own letter and tucks it into her jacket. “Sure, you don’t. That’s why you stare at the sky every night like it owes you answers.” 

Genevieve crosses her arms, a small scowl on her lips. “I thought you were sleeping.” 

“That’s besides the point,” Rhiannon waves off Violet before leaning in towards Genevieve. “Are you two together? I mean, everyone knows you're sleeping together, and gods know you have some weird attachment to him, but something’s off with you.” 

Genevieve glances ahead, making sure Sawyer and Ridoc are engrossed in their letters. This is a truth Genevieve doesn’t have to dance around. “Not anymore.” She scoffs. 

“Why?” she asks, confusion etching into her forehead. “What happened?” 

Genevieve opens her mouth, then shuts it. Maybe the truth isn’t that easy, because she can’t exactly tell Rhiannon Xaden hid an entire rebellion from her, and hid the truth about her sister’s life, and her sister’s death, and lied about her mother’s existence. 

“You can tell me, you know.” She forces a smile, and the hurt Genevieve can see behind it makes her feel like total and complete shit. “I know you already tell Violet everything, but I care about you too.” 

“I know.” 

They reach the top of the stairs, walking into the boxy canyon of the flight field, and her heart swells at the sight of the dragons organized in the same formation as they stand in the courtyard. It’s a beautiful, terrifying, humbling kaleidoscope (new vocabulary word, bonus points for Genevieve!) of power that steals the breath from her lungs. 

“This is never going to get old, is it?” Violet says as they follow Ridoc and Sawyer across formation, a smile taking over Rhiannon’s face. 

“I don’t think so.” Genevieve says, and her, Violet, and Rhiannon share a look, and she breaks. “Xaden wasn’t honest with me about a lot of things.” She says quietly, feeling like she owes Rhiannon something true. “I don’t talk to people who won't talk to me.” 

Her eyes flare. “He lied?’ 

“No.” Her hands clenched into fists. “Stupid bastard didn’t tell me the entire truth. He still won’t.” 

“Another woman?” her brows rise. “Because I will absolutely annihilate that shadow-wielding asshole if you guys were exclusive and he—”

“No, gods no,” Genevieve snorts. “Nothing like that.” The group passes by Second Wing’s dragons. “It’s… it’s just complicated. Anyways, how are you and Tara? I feel like I haven’t seen her around.” 

She sighs. “Neither of us has enough time for the other. It sucks, but maybe it will ease up next year when neither of us are squad leaders anymore.” 

“Or maybe you’ll be wingleaders.” Genevieve offers with a small smile, the thought of Rhiannon as a wingleader made perfect sense. She would be fantastic. 

“Maybe,” There’s a bounce to her step. “But in the meantime, we’re free to see whoever we want. What about you? Because if you’re single, I have to say that a couple of the guys in Second Wing somehow got hotter after War Games.” Her eyes sparkle, and Genevieve feels the heat creep up her face. 

“Or, you guys could secretly visit Chantra this weekend and hook up with some infantry cadets,” Violet offers with a teasing smile. “Healers might be all right, too, but I have the feeling you guys draw the line at scribes. I’m just saying, we’re second years, no need to be hung up on a guy who lied to you.” 

Genevieve shot Violet an exasperated look, and Violet just shrugged with a smile. Genevideve knows that a random stranger might be what she needs to flush Xaden clean out of her system, but she doesn’t want that. She wants him. 

Rhiannon studies her face like she’s a puzzle that needs to be solved as they continue down the field. “Shit. You are hung up on him.” 

“I’m…” she runs a hand through her hair. “It’s complicated.” 

“You said that already.” She tries to school her expression, but she catches the flash of disappointment when Genevieve doesn’t elaborate. Quickly, her gaze flickers over to Violet, and the conversation shifts. “Mira have anything to say about the front?” 

“Not sure.” Violet glances through the letter, skimming over it. “She’s been reassigned to Athebyne—oh, and Genevieve, she says thank you for saving my life—and she say’s the food is only a step above our mother’s cooking.” Violet snorts, but as she flips the page over, the laughter dies quickly on her throat. “What the…” she flips to the next page, finding more of the same before she signs off. 

“What’s wrong?” Rhiannon looks up from her own letter at Genevieve’s question. The group passes by the Third Wing dragons as they continue down the rows. 

“I think it’s been redacted.” She flashes the letter and the two girls so they can see the lines, and then looks around to make sure no one else notices. 

“Someone censored your letter?” She looks surprised. 

“And,” Genevieve continued. “Someone read your letter?” 

“It was unsealed.” She stuffs it back into the envelope. 

“Who would do that?” Rhiannon presses. 

Genevieve immediately pulls up a mental list. Melgren. Markham. General Sorrengail. Varrish. Anyone under Aetos’ order. There’s an endless list of option, and Genevieve knows Violet has the same list swimming around her head. “I’m not sure,” Violet says softly. 

They continue down the rows, Train’s head far above the other dragons on the field as he huffs at Astrape for bothering him over Dunne knows what. He looks completely and utterly bored as he waits for her, and Genevieve takes immediate notice of the lack of a saddle on Astrape’s back. 

She passes a glance at Violet who is deep in conversation with Ridoc, brows drawn as they talk about something she’s not catching. 

And then, all of a sudden, Tairn straightens. “On your left,” he warns as a shape approaches from behind. 

Genevieve whips around quickly to face the threat, making sure her shields are securely slammed down and shut tight. Varrish saunters toward her, and she immediately tenses. 

“Ah, Hale, there you are.” 

As if Tairn is hard to miss. 

“Major Varrish.” She leaves her hand at her thigh, where she can easily grab hold of a dagger. She has no clue what his signet is, and she’s not about to take chances, watching as dark vines break the surface of the field and slowly creep around the ground. 

“Quite the necklace you have there.” He points to the greenish bruises on her throat. 

“Thank you.” She clips her words. Would you like one, too? “It was expensive. Cost someone their life.” 

“Ah, that’s right. I recall hearing you were nearly done in by a first-year. Good to see that the embarrassment didn’t finish the job he started. I assume you didn’t life weave him immediately so as to not show the first year your signet?” 

She clenches her jaw. 

“Actually,” Genevieve interrupts sharply, her eyes narrowing, “unlike some people, I don’t kill just to show off.” Her voice is cold and clipped, every word a dagger aimed at his smug expression. She plants her feet, arms crossed, daring him to push her further as the vines creep higher and higher on her legs.

The Major smirks, unaffected by her barbed reply. “Is that so? Interesting philosophy, Hale, but don’t let it make you soft. This isn’t a game; this is war.” He takes a deliberate step closer, his gaze flickering to the dragons behind her. “I want to see your signet. So maybe you should be showing off. Or perhaps you prefer to rely on others to fight your battles?” His gaze flickers upwards, catching the sun on Tairn’s scales. 

A growl rumbles up Tairn’s throat, and he angles his head over her. Saliva drips in giant globs, hitting the ground in front of Varrish. He tenses, but maintains a perfect mask of amusement as he steps back. “Always had a temper, this one.” 

“He likes his space.” 

“I’ve noticed he likes you to have yours, too,” he comments. “Tell me, Hale, how do you feel about the way he gives you… oh, shall we say, an easier path to take than your fellow cadets?” 

“If you mean to ask how I feel about how he stopped the needless execution of bonded riders by your dragon after Parapet, then I’d have to say that I feel very good about it. I guess it takes one bad-tempered dragon to keep another civil.” 

“Remind him that I threatened to digest him alive.” Tairn snarks, growling deeper. 

“I think he would stick me on a skewer and toss me off the roof, but thanks.” 

Varrish’s eyes narrow momentarily on hers, and then smiles, a sick, familiar smile. “About your signet—”

“I’m not running tests for you, sorry.” 

“Is that so?” Varrish tilts his head, the sick smile widening into something predatory. “You misunderstand, Hale. This isn’t a request. You will show me what you can do.” 

Genevieve’s heart hammers in her chest, but her voice stays steady. “And if I refuse?” 

He leans closer, his voice dropping to a chilling whisper. “Then I’ll have no choice but to make a formal inquiry into what really happened to that dungeon they kept you in. I assume it wasn’t renovated, and who would miss an orphan with no ties, no prospects, and a questionable attitude?” 

Her fists clench, nails biting into her palms, but she doesn’t speak. Any word she says now will betray her, because she wants nothing more than to curse him out and cry. 

“It’s ironic, don’t you think?” Varrish asks, retreating one step at a time. “Your father kept all those journals, all on his studies of signets and what they really mean and do, and now you end up with one of the rarest signets ever.” 

“Coincidental,” she corrects him, somewhat of a smug grin on her face at the fact that she was correcting him. “The word you meant to say is ‘coincidental.’” 

“Is it?” He seems to ponder, backing away and passing by Bodhi. Her head pounds and her stomach flips. 

“Is it?” 

“Your signet manifested on its own, I had no say in whatever powers you gained,” Tairn promises. 

She huffs, confused and stressed out of her mind as her head pulses in pain. 

“Riders!” Kaori projects his voice across the field as Bodhi reaches her side. “Third-years have joined us today for a very special reason. They’ll be demonstrating a running landing.” he gestures to the sky. 

Cath is on approach from the west, the Red Swordtail blocking out the sun for a second as he dives for the field. 

“He’s not slowing down,” Genevieve murmurs, and a part of her hopes Dain will just fall off of Cath’s back. 

“He will,” Bodhi reassures her. “Just not by much.” 

A slow grin spreads across Genevieve’s lips as she watches Dain crouch on Cath’s shoulder, his arms flying out for balance as Cath drops to fly level with the field. The beats of Cath’s wings slow only slighter the closer he gets, and Genevieve holds her breath when Dain slides down Cath’s leg to perch on his claw while his dragon is still flying. 

Holy shit. This looks so fun!

“This is inadvisable for you,” Tairn says. 

“You’re such a buzzkill.” She grumbles in return. 

Cath flares his wings subtly, enough to drop speed, and Dain jumps as he passes by the professors. He hits the sunburned grass at a run, dispelling the momentum from Cath’s flight within a few yards, and comes to a stop. 

The third-years cheer, but Bodhi remains silent at her side. 

“And that is why Aetos is a wingleader,” Kaori calls out. “Perfect execution. This approach is the most efficient landing for when we need to engage in ground combat. By the time this year is over, you’ll be able to land like this on any outpost wall. Pay close attention, and you’ll be able to complete this safely. Try your own method, and you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.” 

“Adaptation will be necessary,” Tairn decrees. 

“At least let me try it!” 

“Not a chance, little soldier.” 

“For today, we’re going to practice the basics of moving from the seat to the shoulder,” Kaori instructs. 

“And how are we adapting to that exactly?” Her tone is nothing short of sarcastic. 

“I didn’t say we would be adjusting.” He chuffs. “The dragon-watcher will adapt his request, or I’ll have an early lunch.” 

“You suck.” 

But a dragon over, her and Violet share a glance. This maneuver is totally and completely pointless in the kind of war they need to be fighting. 

“Kaori doesn’t know what’s out there,” She says softly to Bodhi. 

“What makes you so sure?” He glances her way. 

“If he did, he’d be teaching us faster ways to get off the damned ground, not land on it.” 

—--------------------------------------------------

“Tell him that we’re still working on the next shipment,” Bodhi tells Genevieve as they walk through the moonlight flight field a little before midnight. 

“Shipment of what?” Genevieve prompts, adjusting the brace on her wrist slightly with a small wince. 

“He’ll know what I’m talking about,” he promises, and Genevieve notices as his fingers graze the dark bruise on his jaw. “And tell him it’s raw. They’ve had the forge burning night and day, so we haven’t been able to—” He flinches. “Nevermind. Just tell him it’s raw.” 

“I’m starting to feel a lot like a letter.” She shoots a glare at him for half a second before she looks back at the uneven terrain. Violet had given her the prompt advice that she would need to keep her eyes forward when walking in the dark, because the last time they were out at night together, she took a tumble down a set of stairs and ended up with more than a bruised ego. 

“You’re the best way of getting information to him,” he admits. 

“Without actually knowing anything, right?” 

“Precisely.” he nods. “It’s safer that way until you're capable of shielding from Aetos at all times. Xaden was supposed to continue teaching you last visit, but then…” 

“I killed a cadet and got strangled.” 

“Yeah. It kind of fucked with his head.” 

“I imagine that dropping dead randomly would have been inconvenient to him,” She mutters, half listening. Ever since that incident, Genevieve had been increasingly worried about challenges that were steadily approaching, especially since the only reason Violet survived last year was because she was poisoning people, and now Genevieve was dealing with her body.

“You know it’s not like that for him,” he says in a lecturing tone that reminds her of Xaden. “I’ve never seen him—”

“Bodhi, be quiet.” 

“--care like this—”

“Shut up.” 

“---and that includes Catriona.” 

Her gaze whips towards him. “Who the fuck is Catriona?”

He winces and presses his lips in a thin line. “What are the chances that you’ll forget I said that between here and Samara?” 

“Absolutely none.” She stumbles on a rock, or her feelings, but she manages to catch her footing, cursing under her breath. Who the hell is Catriona? 

“Right.” he rubs the back of his neck and sighs deeply. “Not even the tiniest bit of a chance? Because the thing about the deal you two have with your dragons is that he’ll be back here next week, and I’m not remotely in the mood to have my ass kicked after fending off another assassination attempt.” 

Genevieve halts, her eyes narrowing. “Another assassination attempt?” 

He sighs. “Yeah. Second time someone tried to jump me in the bathing chamber this week.” 

Her eyes widen as she lets out a slow breath of air. “Are you okay?” 

He has the gall to grin. “I completely eviscerated some asshole out of Second Wing while naked and only got a bruise. I’m fine. But back to why you shouldn’t mention that comment to my rather moody cousin you’re sleeping with—”

“You know what?” Genevieve interrupts, walking to the middle of the field again. If he doesn’t want to talk about the assassination attempts, fine, but she will not be talking about her sexual relations with Xaden’s cousin. “I don’t talk about my love life with my best friend, I’m certainly not talking about my love life with you, Bodhi.” 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and leans back on his heels. “You make a fair point.” 

“I made the only point.” She huffs, and Tairn’s silhouette blocks the moon for a heartbeat before he lands promptly in front of her. 

Bodhi grins sheepishly. “Your dragon has arrived in time to save us from the awkwardness of this conversation.” 

“Come, let's get going.” Tairn all but snap, and Genevieve shrugs it off. He’s been insufferable for days now, but she can’t blame him. She hasn’t exactly been the nicest either, and she can feel the physical pain like a knife to her own chest when his emotions overpower hers. 

“He’s in a rush,” She tells Bodhi. “See you later and—”

“Humans!” 

“Gods, sorry,”

“Well, fuck,” Bodhi swears under his breath as mage lights flicker on behind them, lighting up the field the sam way they had the night they flew for War Games. 

“Cadet Hale, you will delay your launch.” Varrish amplifies his voice across the field. 

They turn and see him flanked by two other riders, walking their way. Tairn growls in answer, and the two humans exchange a glance in silence as the trio approaches. 

“What do we do if they try to stop us?” Genevieve asks Tairn. 

“Feast.” 

“Sick.” 

“I didn’t expect you to leave until morning,” Varrish says, flashing an oily smile as the other riders flank them. The stripes on their uniform declare them as first lieutenants, one rank above Xaden.

“It’s been a fortnight. I’m on leave.” 

“So you are.” Varrish blinks, before turning to the female lieutenant on her left. “Nora, search her bag.” 

“I’m sorry?” Genevieve asks incredulously, taking a step back between her and the woman. 

“Your bag,” Varrish repeats. “Article Four, Section One of the Codex states—”

“That all cadet belongings are subject to search at the discretion of command,” She finishes for him, grateful for the fact that not even three nights ago Violet had forced her to finally read and memorize the codex. 

“Ah, you know your Codex. Good. Your bag.” 

She swallows back the urge to roll her eyes, then drops her pack from her shoulders and holds it out to her left, never taking her eyes off of Varrish. 

“You may leave, Cadet Durran,” Varrish dismisses. 

Bodhi only makes a move closer to Genevieve’s side, and the male lieutenant takes a step closer as well, the mage lights catching the signet patch—fire wielding—on his uniform. “As Cadet Hale’s section leader, I am the next in her chain of command. And as Article Four, Section Two of the Codex states, her discipline falls to her chain of command before being brought to the cadre. I would be negligent in my duty were I to leave her in potential possession of… whatever it is you’re looking for.” 

Varrish narrows his eyes as Nora empties her bag onto the ground, watching as her fresh set of clothes tumble out of the opening and onto the dirty floor. So much for a set of clean clothes. 

Tairn lowers his head behind her, angling slightly to the side and growling deeply in his throat. At this angle, he can scorch two of them without touching Bodhi or Genevieve, which would only leave them with one to dispatch if they had to. Anger prickles along Genevieve’s spine, and she clenches her hands into fists as if that will stop the vines that slowly creep up her legs from making their presence known. 

“Was that really necessary?” the other lieutenant asks. 

“He said search,” Nora replies before looking up at Varrish. “Clothing,” she says, flipping the pieces over. Her hands tremble when she glances in Tairn’s direction. “A hairbrush… and what looks like secondary school grammar and vocabulary practices.” 

Genevieve fights to shift her gaze from the overwhelming shame of exposure.

“Rudimentary grammar?” Varrish comments with a smirk. “This quadrant really has gone soft, letting in cadets who are borderline illiterate. Give me the book.” 

Genevieve’s scowl deepens on her face. “Need a refresher?” 

Varrish doesn’t respond as he flips through the pages of terrible handwriting, no doubt looking for secrets scrawled into the margins. His jaw flexes when all he finds are rules on how to use a semicolon, and how to spell ‘ambidextrous.’ 

“Satisfied?” She drums her fingers along the sheaths at her thighs. 

“We’re done here.” He tosses the book onto a pile of clothing. “See you in forty-eight hours, Cadet Hale. And don’t forget, since you dodged signet testing last time, I will be pondering your punishment for dereliction of duty while you are gone.” 

And with that threat, the trio walks away, the mage lights winking off one by one as they pass, leaving the two of them in the dark again, except for the circle of light directly above us. 

“You knew that was going to happen,” She glares at Bodhi, before crouching in front of her discarded things, and packing them into the bag. “That’s why you insisted on walking me out.” 

“In addition to the very real attempts on all of our lives—Imogen and Eya were attacked today, too, coming out of a briefing for third-years—we suspected they’d search you but wanted to confirm,” he admits, dropping down to help. 

Immediately Genevieve scrambles to grab her books before he can really see how far behind she is, and he doesn’t press when her hands curl protectively around the book on the floor between them. 

“You used me as a test?” She jerks the fastener on the pack closed and shoves her arms through the straps, hoisting it to her shoulders. “Without even telling me? Let me guess–it was Xaden’s idea?” 

“It was an experiment.” He grimaces. “You were the control.” 

“Aren’t experiments supposed to also have a variable?” 

The bells ring out, the sound faint from the field. 

“Check Tairn. It’s midnight. You should get going,” Bodhi says. “Every minute you stay is one fewer that Tairn gets with Sgaeyl.” 

“Agreed.” 

“Stop using me like I’m some kind of game piece, Bodhi.” Each word is sharper than the last. “You two want my help? Ask for it. And there was no reason for you to send me out here tonight unprepared, it’s not like Varrish needs any more leverage over me, and I didn’t ask to be humiliated in front of him.” 

He looks abashed. “Fair point.” 

She grumbles out a nod, then mounts the ramp that Tairn has insisted on creating everytime they need to fly now. Moonlight and what little mage light reaches his height is more than sufficient for her to find that what looks like Astrape’s saddle is now securely strapped to Tairn’s back, and two packs twice the size of her’s are securely strapped behind the saddle. 

“A saddle?” She asks, distaste dancing on her tongue. 

“Blame Violet,” He shrugs.

“Good thing they didn’t search me,” Tairn says. 

“Are we carrying…” She blinks twice. 

“We are,” He confirms. “Now get in the saddle before they change their minds and I’m forced to incinerate your leadership. Later I’ll have more than a few words for the wingleader about not preparing you, trust me.” 

Taking a second to secure her pack, too, she settles into the flight, dragging the leather across her thighs and strapping in. 

“Let’s get to them,” She says once she’s buckled. 

Tairn backs up a few steps, no doubt to keep Bodhi clear of his giant wingspan, and then launches into the night, every wingbeat taking them closer to the front lines… and to Xaden. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey everyone! Merry Christmas and happy hannukah! Also—happy new years! This is my last update of 2024 which is kinda crazy to me (lol). Anyways, not much to say really about this one, it’s mostly filler.

I do like writing Genevieve being a little bit happier. She deserves that, and she’s genuinely enjoying her tutoring sessions with violet and now studying with the rest of the squad, as well as being leagues ahead of them for once in RSC. As I said before—RSC will be a class Genevieve can pass with flying colors.

On another note, I just watched arcane, and fun fact about me—I am bi! I think Vi from arcane has taken the title for my favorite Vi (sorry Violet, you’re Genevieve’s favorite).

As always, that’s it from me! If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, or kudo, and I’ll see you all next Saturday (in 2025!) with chapter 9!

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Taglist: @awkardnerd , @hannraumari , @minjix , @glaciuswduo , @wolfbc97 , @heeseungthel0ml , @acourtofsmutandstarlight , @kylaisra

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

So after Team Jnpr found out what happened with Playtime Co how many toys would they kill because some of them are beyond saving. Actually this could be it's own story. But anyway Yarnby, Catnap, and Miss Delight I think are to far gone. The Doctor would probably be no moral issue with killing. Mommy Long Legs, Dogday, and Doey would probably be willing to help them.

So not gonna lie didn't think too deeply on said concept, I was just commissioned to make the model and send it to them. I literally thought of it as I posted it...

But that is a interesting point, after all a good amount of the toys tragically aren't rehabilitate anymore... Just about any small one for sure as they all are basically feral.

I actually wonder if the smaller bodies can think beyond animalistic thoughts. It was mentioned several times that bigger bodies were failures that resulted in animal like natures like with Yarnby and Pianosarus.

So I imagine most the smaller toys are the same though Mommy does seem to be able to control the Mini-Huggies so some are... Trainable. Which is just another level of fucked up.

Ultimately I'd have to say JNPR would kill a good amount, their first kill would be Huggy, and they would be shocked when they do so cuz they don't understand what it is at first thinking it's a Grimm... Until it doesn't disappear and then a monster and once they learn they range in reaction.

Ironically I see Ren reacting the worst as this would break his semblance from emotional overload and since he rarely deals with emotions it would utterly devastate him... Nora wouldn't be much better realizing it's a child who was probably a lot like her.

Pyrrha would be inconsolable and like she was with Penny, Jaune would also be in a horrible state. But as we've seen in the series he is the best at pulling himself together.

And ultimately for his team he would shove his mental issues down to deal with later knowing something just died in him... They'd talk to Poppy and all four would be disgusted, horrified and angry...

As for which toys, yeah... Yarnby, Catnap, and Miss Delight would all be killed. I do kinda also see this situation where they hesitate to kill them, but Jaune would force himself forward to do it, so his teammates wouldn't.

They Would HATE Sawyer, things would not play out like in the game, they'd tear his robotic army apart shatter his container and drag him out piece by piece already being far past their initial innocence at that point.

Jaune would unlock his semblance from the sheer tragedy of seeing all this horror. Probably when he see's Dogday, desperate to heal him, to heal someone who suffered so much, he's had to kill so many victim already. They didn't deserve this! they weren't monsters, they were people, children who'd been twisted, used, turned into playthings for Playtime.

He'd activate his semblance as he rushed forward, grabbing the little critters rushing into Dogday, pulling them out of his flesh, ignoring them biting, scratching, trying to eat him as he did. He couldn't let him die, not another kid, not one who could still think, who still had a soul, and even now was tortured. Jaune would pass out waking up to see Dogday alive... The mini critters dead, torn apart, his team looking more spiritually worn out then ever.

Jaune would apologize, regretting that he passed out, that he didn't kill the small toys... The Feral children... that his team had to, that he couldn't protect them.

Yeah... this would be a emotionally fucked AU... Bright side I can see them saving Mommy Long Legs and by extension, Bunzo Bunny, PJ Pug-a-Pillar and the Mini-Huggies that she controls.

With Catnap I think Jaune more then anyone would understand... Loyalty is one of the core tennent of the Arcs after all... he would try but when his teams in danger he decides.

Doey, and all the toys in the sanctuary would be saved, because to put it simply the Prototype would die before Sawyer (The Doctor does) when he attacks the sanctuary Jaune and Pyrrha would go with Doey to fight him while Ren and Nora would follow Poppy's plan.