she’s never known the feeling of true comfort. in all her years, there had only ever been conflict, fighting for respect as all the kids in the staho just assumed they could walk all over her. even now, she was fighting for her life ( or running ). it couldn’t be said that she trusted connor, but neither that she distrusted him. he simply was, and she couldn’t seem to know what to make of him. the smirk that always hinted at his lips reminded her of predatory faces that had been all too familiar in her younger years, but he was smart. he knew how to survive, that she couldn’t deny. she appeases herself by calling him an asset rather than a friend. ❛ — old trick. ❜
even now, he feels it beneath his skin – the strong discomfort that accompanies being still, the slow and deliberate itch that he can’t seem to ever get at. silence falls once more as he drags his fingers over the flames before him, deep brown eyes more expressive then the rest of him would ever be. all the wild desperation had been dropped, and now there was nothing threatening about his face.
❛ figured.
❜ yet another silence, and then, strategy. dangerous formalities suit him better than the quiet ever could.
❛ i’ve been thinking about where to go next. thing is, cities are filled with cops, and i bet that they’ve got every empty barn trapped up to catch idiots. but, right now, moving is our best friend.
❜ he throws a glance at lev, and what it means is clear – connor has never dealt with dead weights efficiently.
I went to a diner in a tiny little off-the-map sort of town over the weekend and tbh all I could think of was the end of Unwholly lol Lev and Connor’s friendship is one of my favs
anonymous asked:
( break my muse meme ) lucky you, being rewound – what about the other kids, the ones who didn’t get that chance? you’re only here because people think you’re special. what makes you more worthy than the thousands of other teens?
i will cover myself in gasoline to prove that i can burn brighter than anyone else.
at least, that’s how it used to be. it was so simple back then, connor lassiter. you were so good at looking after yourself. even the more impulsive decisions were made with self preservation in mind, because who could be more important than you ?
but that’s not how it works anymore. the story is written all over him, along the lines of his neatly dottedseams. now, they’re invisible unless you’re looking, but connor is always looking. the disdain never comes from outside; no one is anything but supportive. but, then again, no one can truly see what he has to live with. no, the only one who does is camus comprix, and even he is ultimately different.
no, the worst punishment is the voices in his head.
sometimes he wishes he were camus comprix.
because then, he’d have an excuse for the endless berating. however, when his brain unites to sing the negatives, all he has to blame is himself. guilt closes like a steel vice, like a cargo container, like anunwinding chamber, and he often feels the sheer pain and panic of it will kill him right then and there, and everyone’s efforts will have been for nothing.
bryce barlow. he hasn’t forgotten, nor will he ever forget, the boy who they had masqueraded as him. that name belongs to him, just as the names that adorn lev’s skin are his. connor doesn’t go a day without thinking of bryce, of roland, of those he could not save. the teens unwound before him were not his fault - he is told this every day in what the others enjoy calling group therapy. he calls it torture. in a way, everyprevious unwind is his fault - it was his duty to put an end to it all, and he had not done it quickly enough to save those kids.
connor sits, running his fingers along the seams of his stolen right arm, and the words ricochet inside his head in his own voice. before he knows what he’s doing, he’s tracing the tiger shark anxiously, as if it will vanish should he not touch it. the guilt will never fade, and connor will always doubt his worth. why him, when there were so many others more worthy ? why him, when he had wanted to die in the first place ?
what makes you more worthy than the thousands of other teens?
❛ nothing. ❜ the answer is so sincere it takes all of the wind from connor’s chest, and he realises he’s spoken aloud, as if his thoughts were in the room with him. ❛ nothing makes me more worthy. it was just luck. if you can call this luck. ❜ he laughs very softly, but he isn’t amused. none of it is real - there’s a hole somewhere in his chest. something has been stolen from him, and the spot will never heal. ❛ it should’ve been them over me, but it wasn’t. it was me. and i’m alive. i’m still here. i’m still here. ❜ with each cycle, his voice gets stronger, his thoughts clearer. this time, it isn’t a desperate search for validation - it’s a triumphant declaration. ❛ i’m. still. here. ❜
god , he was hoping she wouldn’t say that . risa seems to catch him at never-ending bad times . right now , it’s the hour of the day in which he battles with his new arm ; the appendage despises him , wants to be cut away just as much as he wants to pull it off . it’s a constant war of muscle and mind - connor just hopes that he can continue winning , as he had done before his rival had been unwound . does he feel guilty ? yes . is that new ? no . putting on a brave face , he pulls his thoughts quickly into order . how can he protect her from this - from him ? the answer is something he doesn’t want to come to terms with .
sucking in a devastatingly harsh breath , connor turns away from the window and stares into the eyes of the tiger shark . choke on your misery , it tells him , and he can only crack a grin , a dismissive smile that isn’t meant for her . his eyes go soft . they had always given him away ; even now , when only one belonged to him , expression was easy . ❛ yeah , you and every other unwind in the vicinity . ❜ he hates himself for saying it , but it has to be said - she has to be pushed away so she isn’t hurt instead . he raises his arm to push away his overgrown hair and it knocks clumsily against his temple ; he would’ve rather died than got an unwind part . ❛ you’ve never been a girl that needs a knight in shining armour , risa . these kids are different , alright ? it’s different now . ❜
You now have my permission to break my muse right here right now. Tear them apart. Find their weak point and make them suffer. Break them and make them snap
DISCLAIMER. this blog is not affiliated with unwind or neal shusterman. it is purely for fun. hello ! my name is riley, i use she/her pronouns, and i am a sophomore in american highschool.
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.
verses
1.
2.
3.
4.
ARC 1.
follows the events previous to the book unwind.
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.
INDEPENDENT && SELECTIVE
CONNOR LASSITER
OF THE UNWIND DYSTOLOGY.
HIGHLY SELECTIVE
SEMI-EXCLUSIVE
SLOW-REPLY
WRITTEN BY RILEY
tracking: KINGUNWINDALL ICONS AND GRAPHICS ON THIS BLOG ARE MADE BY ANDROMEDA UNLESS STATED OTHERWISE. DO NOT USE OR REDISTRIBUTE THEM WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.
