GUIDE.

SMUT:

i am below legal age. smut will not happen under any circumstances. fading to black is fine.

SELECTIVITY:

this is a highly selective blog. i only write with mutual followers, and open starters/starter calls/memes are meant for those people. however, do feel free to IM me or send me a message if you’d like to talk about plotting or even if you just need someone to talk to. don’t be intimidated by the selectivity!

PASSCODES:

if you have a password in your rules, i will most likely not send it. it tends to be awkward for me, but this does not mean i haven’t read your rules! i read everyone’s rules before following.

RULE FOLLOWING:

this part is important: if i ever happen to break your rules, please pop into my ask and kindly tell me. i’ll be guaranteed to feel absolutely awful about it, but i’m sure you can understand that when i’m following so many blogs, it’s hard to remember every single rule.

SHIPPING:

honestly, i love ships. so very much. but when it comes to shipping, CHEMISTRY is what matters to me. i will not force ships, and i really really hope you won’t try to push them on me either.

IMPORTANT:

please be sure to tag posts that include vague blogging, self harm, suicide mentions, body dysphoria, or anxiety. these things tend to make my anxiety worse. and once again, if you have any triggers you would like me to tag, just pop into my inbox, on or off anon. i’ll do my best to immediately tag anything that might make you uncomfortable.

• ARC 1.
  follows the events previous to the book unwind.
• ARC 2.
  follows the events of the book unwind.
• ARC 3.
  follows the events of the book unwholly.
• ARC 4.
  follows the events of the book unsouled.

ABOUT

FILE: LASSITER, CONNOR MICHAEL.

FULL NAME: connor michael lassiter

ALIAS: akron awol

AGE: verse dependent, spanning from 16 to 18

GENDER: male ( he / him )

ORIENTATION: demisexual / demiromantic

RELIGION: agnostic

KNOWN FOR: kicking awol, tranquing a juvie cop with his own gun, being opposed to unwinding

WEAPON OF CHOICE: whatever he can find

NOTE: connor’s bio contains triggering subjects such as general body horror, abandonment, murder and death. please proceed with caution.

( UNBOTHERED. )

in the days before, life is a haze. you’d call it hard, but that’s because you’re an expert at feeling sorry for yourself. smoking away the moments you’re not fighting and yelling over the sound of the tv, you can wallow in your own injustice. being a kid who’s uncomfortable in his own skin is something, but the fact that you do nothing about it is another. your parents get sad when they look you in the eyes; you’re unable to decide if it’s pity or concern, but it doesn’t matter. you hate both options equally. the not-quite-life goes on as normal until you stick your nose again where it is not wanted and find three plane tickets - it’s strange, because, including your little brother ( which you try not to do often ), there are four in your family. opening the top drawer to look for yours, you come across something entirely different. something that solidifies the look in your parents’ eyes as pity, but not for you. they are pitying themselves - so distraught with the fact that they are having a son unwound.

( UNBELIEVABLE. )

for a few hours you try and convince yourself that they won’t go through with it - but there it is in black and white. unwind orders are final - a fact that everyone knows - and there’s no begging or pleading to be done. so you turn, let that hot anger bubble up inside your chest, and spite them in ways only you know how. actually put effort into your class: pull up your grades to show your father the intellectual value of the brain he is giving away. bring home flowers for your mother and make sure she looks into your eyes as you hand them over, silently asking her what she’d do if she were to see them in someone else’s face. it’s a petty practice, one that brings you little joy, but it’s an impulse, and you have always given into those. it’s not until a day or so later that your plan comes to fruition. you’d heard about kicking awol on the news all the time - but back then, you didn’t care, too wrapped up in yourself to notice the desperate kids who stopped coming to school. never had you entertained the notion that it could be you.

( UNSAFE. )

it’s not glamorous, but it’s what you expected, and you find you can’t ask for more than that. the others were never art of the plan - the legacy was never part of the plan - but the plan was poor at best, so maybe it’s best to differentiate somewhat. it isn’t often you’re faced with a fight you cannot win, but the boy with the shark tattoo poses a problem that is much stronger than your solutions. ignore him, the gentle voice of the girl you don’t hate chides, and you try. you try harder than you’ve ever tried before, and it may just kill you yet. being tossed from place to place is easy for you - you’re awful at being a kid. moving constantly is fine; it quells the itch in your chest, calms the ants beneath your skin. if you keep your eyes forward, keep your feet moving, you cannot feel the way they pull, the constant discomfort of having to live with yourself. upon getting to the safe place disguised as a resting place, you are determined not to fall flat this time. maybe you’ll find home in a graveyard after all. ( you don’t, and you’re caught, and you lose and eye and an arm. while unconscious, they fit you with new ones, ones you don’t consent to. the shark tattoo that is now on your body seems to wink when you express your utter disgust. )

( UNQUALIFIED. )

at least, that’s how you feel. it’s almost funny that you of all people had been groomed to take over once the admiral found that leading hundreds of fugitive awol kids was taking too much of a strain on him - in crowds, you see fire, and people can get under your skin in an instant, so how can you lead? - but to others, you aren’t the same boy you were when you became the akron awol. he was flighty and impulsive and almost dangerous, wild and desperate. now you are still desperate, but fair. unselfish. it is a good quality in a leader to stay humble, and you accomplish this by self hatred. despite this, you make mistakes; big ones. allowing one boy to get as powerful as he did results in the loss of so many lives - too many, a huge setback on what you are trying to accomplish. letting the stork go is one of the greatest errors you will ever make, and you will never forgive yourself for it, even when, years later, you crush his windpipe with your birth arm to prevent his own unwinding.

( UNSURE. )

on the run again with the tithe-turned-clapper-turned-shell, it feels like the old days; something you are indescribably scared of. you have changed so much you see it in the mirror, even in the eye that isn’t yours - you don’t want to revert back to who you were before the unwind order, the arrogant boy who thought he was rebelling. this time, it’s different, and you both know it - you’re running towards something, answers from a woman who the world had tried to erase. if you can find her, understand why those in charge of unwinding are so afraid of her, maybe you can really make a change. maybe you can bring the whole system crashing down for good. maybe you can live up to the large shadow cast by the legend of the akron awol, the legend that lives in your chest where your heart beats.

( UNWOUND. )

it’s like breathing out and never stopping.

i’m still here… i’m still here… i’m still…

how do you fill it? the space?

i’m still… i’m… i…

( UNDESERVING. )

you remember every second of it. every twitch and pull against every part of your body, even if you’re smoothly stitched back together. you feel like a ragdoll, a monster - even if it is all your parts, aside from the arm and eye. while extremely lucky, you are still apprehensive - why you? thousands of kids have been unwound, ones smarter than and superior to you, and yet you are rewound. there are spaces now, ones that should not exist, between your heart and soul and mind and memories. it will get worse before it gets better, someone had told you once - you’d like to think you’d seen your worst.