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heliads · 8 months

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love is stored in the sonata

Connor Lassiter thought he'd stop hearing the Graveyard's piano once Risa Ward left. Y/N L/N may prove him wrong. It does not hurt him as much as he thought it would. Far from it, actually.

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Connor Lassiter almost thinks he’s hallucinating when he first hears the piano.

It’s not that he’s so far removed from any semblance of humanity that the possibility of culture and art is obscene; despite what Proactive Citizenry would like to argue, AWOLs aren’t gremlins nor creatures of destruction only. Connor can stand to hear a melody. He just isn’t used to it. Not here.

Certainly not since Risa was abducted. The piano did not desiccate into ash and dust when she left, and the fact that she’s being held hostage somewhere unknown to Connor does not glue all the keys in place nor stop them from being played. Every Unwind here has the capability to bang out a tune if they so desire. They just don’t, either out of respect to Risa’s memory or perhaps a lingering fear that someone will see a prodigy in their fingers and try to carve the skill out of their digits themselves.

Connor stands motionless in the shadow of a grounded jet, listening to the chords echo off of the rusting metal. It kind of feels like he’s being haunted by the Ghost of AWOL Girlfriends Past, even though he and Risa never agreed on anything of the sort. However, referring to the lingering feeling of wrongness nestled between his lungs and ribs as just, like, the Ghost of Crushes He Thought He Had but Maybe That’s Just What Happens When The Only People You See On A Daily Basis Are A Tithe, Roland, And One Token Girl, is way too many words.

So, Girlfriends Past works. Kind of. Not really. What does work properly around here, though? The Graveyard lives up to its name. Kids come here carrying with them only the memories of when they understood what was going on around them. You can find a job to do, and you can like it enough to make the days pass by until you survive to seventeen, but it’ll never fit you like anything did before you came here. Functionality is best. It doesn’t have to be perfect, it just has to keep you alive.

Connor thinks this mysterious piano player might have to agree. He can hear occasional slip ups in the music, nothing too jarring but still there if you care to listen. He is, of course, hanging onto every note like it’ll save him from all of the Juvey-cops combined, so he listens.

This, if nothing more, is how he knows it isn’t Risa. Risa always stopped when she made a mistake, every single time. Even if it was something as simple as a skipped rest or one forgotten flat. It was like she was looking for excuses to point out her imperfections, subconsciously proving that StaHo Ohio 23 was right to kick her out.

By contrast, this latest would-be maestro just doesn’t care. They could actually be flawless, or they could just be human. Either way, the melody keeps going. Connor decides that he likes it better that way, which is pointless, because the music doesn’t need his approval. It’s also kind of mean to Risa’s legacy, but Connor’s mind is still Connor’s with or without Risa there, and he likes the melody with accidental sharps instead of flats regardless.

Impulsively, Connor slips out from his hiding place underneath the jet, searching around for the distant sound of chords until they get louder. It reminds him of being at a public pool when he was younger, playing a game with his brother. Marco. His footsteps seem to crash through the relative quiet of the Graveyard; everyone else has ceased work for the evening, but he’s here anyway. Polo. The piano sounds out a path for him to follow.

He takes one last turn and then it’s there right in front of him. The piano has gotten a little dustier since it first appeared out of nowhere in the airplane junkyard, but they’ve all attempted to clean it off every now and then. A figure is seated at the bench, and after a moment of squinting, Connor recognizes them. Y/N, Y/N L/N. They’d arrived recently, all things considered. They never knew Risa but they know him. Isn’t that better?

They lay off playing abruptly when Connor steals too close. “Sorry,” they murmur, eyes wide, “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Connor shakes his head quickly. “No, no. Keep going.” He realizes belatedly that sounds a little harsh. “If you want to, of course.”

They crack a cautious smile. “You sure? I can pick up another time if it’s disturbing people’s work or sleep.”

Connor glances back at the slumbering hulks of metal and flight machinery behind him. “No, I think they’ll be glad for it. It’s been a while since we’ve heard someone play.”

Y/N’s expression turns bleak. “Yeah, I heard about that. Risa Ward used to play this piano, right?”

They start to draw their hands back from the keys. Connor reaches out an arm, as if to physically drag them to the ivories once more. “She used to, but you do now, right? Don’t let her stop you.”

Y/N blinks up at him, and Connor is starting to wonder if he can perhaps call a parts pirate to just take him away now forever when they smile again, cautious and sweet, and put their fingers back on the keys. Good.

Connor leans against the curve of the piano, and he lets the music vibrate through the instrument and into him. If he tries, he thinks he can feel it pressing against his bones, his blood, his organs, invisible surgeon’s hands not trying to dissect him, just to remind him that he is still alive. This is almost the opposite of unwinding. It feels as if he is being put back together.

A few minutes, or perhaps centuries of unadulterated time, later, Connor registers that the music has ceased. He’s not sure how long ago Y/N stopped playing, nor when his eyes closed, but perhaps everything has always just been in his head, anyway.

He looks over at Y/N, who is looking at him, and he is struck by the magnitude of all the things he wants to say. He should compliment them on their skill, or at least appreciate their courage for playing when people like him could hear, but instead of anything good or at least neutral, he coughs once, and asks, “Am I being weird?”

Y/N laughs, easy and clear. “No, you’re not. Really, you’re not,” they add, upon Connor’s face twisting doubtfully. “I’m glad to know someone likes it. It would be more weird if everyone thought I was terrible but they were all too afraid to say something about it.”

Connor chuckles. “Well, there’s no chance of that, trust me. If they try to complain, I’ll fight them off.”

Y/N grins. “Well, if you’re going to be my guard, you might as well stay. You can sit, if you want,” and they gesture to the empty space next to them on the piano bench.

Connor stares uncomprehendingly at the open spot, and then moves cautiously to sit down by their side. They almost touch, and the ghost of that would-be contact makes him feel far more alive than if their shoulders were pressed all the more firmly together.

“Another song?” They ask him.

“Please,” he answers, and the fingers are placed upon the keys once more.

Connor tilts his head back, staring up at the sky. He imagines what it would feel like to leave this body, this world, behind, and soar all the way up to the sky. He could leave these fears and dangers behind, these rumors of parts pirates and Juvey-cops and parents who did not want him enough to keep him. Listening to Y/N’s music, he thinks he is halfway there already.

unwind tag list: @schroedingers-kater, @locke-writes

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luckytidbit · 2 months

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Babs

Hehe

#unwind #unwind dystology #sequel fic #unwind fanfic #unwind series #art #character art #roland taggart #connor lassiter #cam comprix #hayden upchurch #the admiral #unwind oc #risa ward #lev tashi'ne #mason starkey #argent skinner #grace skinner #cyrus finch

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mybrainisrottingat3am · 2 months

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Unwind Au?

Should I start posting my Unwind AU on here?

Like, please, someone tell me before I do it

#unwind dystology #unwind #unwind fanfic #unwind oc #connor lassiter #risa ward #lev tashi'ne #hayden upchurch #argent skinner #grace skinner #mahpee kinkajou #una jacali #camus comprix

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sirofreak · 3 months

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Serial Killer au art for the one and only @nealshustermanbrainrot !!

(dude pls keep writing i love this and ill keep making art for it i promise)

Close ups under the cut

#unwind dystology #connor lassiter #risa ward #hayden upchurch #jasper t nelson #unwind fanfic #been a while since i drew any of these guys #theyre fun to draw :D

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bopeisdope · 3 months

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I posted an Unwind AU fic! It's from a Ghost!Roland au I made up. Read on Ao3 here

Connor wakes up in a haze, unsure of where he is. His whole body has a dull ache and there is pressure over his right eye. A bandage. The smell of bleach penetrates his nose. A soft and constant beep comes from his left.

He peels his left eye open to reveal a hospital room. His right shoulder aches as he moves his hand over the bed. The sheets are soft and feel as cottony as his brain does at the moment. Blinking the cobwebs from his mind he recalls what he can remember last.

The chop shop. The doors closing on him for what felt like the last time. An explosion. A revolt. And Lev, standing over him. That's all he can remember.

A nurse walks in carrying a chart, "So you're finally awake! How are you feeling?"

"Good," he croaks, then tries again. "How long?"

She glances down, "You've been in a medically induced coma for a little over two weeks."

Two weeks? The way his life has been going over the past year, where everyday feels like an uphill battle, two weeks seems like an eternity.

His mind is slowly catching up to him.

Risa... what about Risa?

He's too tired to mask his desperation. "There was a girl," he says, "She was on the roof of the Chop- the harvest clinic. Does anyone know what happened to her?

"That can all be sorted out later," the nurse dotes.

"But-"

"No buts. Right now you need time to heal-and I have to say, you're doing better than anyone expected, Mr. Mullard."

Connor's brain stutters, he must've misheard. "Excuse me?"

The nurse shuffles things around, "Just relax now, Mr. Mullard. Let us handle everything."

His first thought is that he's actually been unwound. He was unwound and his brain was put in another body. But realistically he knows that's not right. The voice he hears is his. He can feel his teeth as he moves his tongue across his gums. He can feel his unkempt hair on his head.

"My name is Connor," he tells her. "Connor Lassiter."

The nurse gives him a mysterious look. One filled with kindness and a deep sense of knowing. It's calculating- disturbingly so. "Well," she says, "as it so happens, an ID with the picture charred off was found in the wreckage. It belonged to a nineteen-year-old guard by the name of Elvis Robert Mullard. With all the confusion after the blast there really was no telling who was who, and many of us agreed that it would be a shame to let that ID go to waste, don't you agree?" She changes the angle of Connor's bed until he's in a more comfortable sitting position and looks into his eye. "Now tell me," she asks carefully, "What was your name again?"

Connor gets it. He closes his eye, takes a deep breath, and opens it again.

"My name is E. Robert Mullard."

The nurse smiles widely and reaches out her hand to shake his. "A pleasure to meet you, Robert."

Instinctively Connor reaches his right hand to reciprocate and gets that same ache in his shoulder.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "My fault." She shakes his left hand instead. "Your shoulder will feel a bit sore until the graft is completely healed."

"What did you just say?"

The nurse looks like she's been caught saying something she shouldn't. "Well, the bad news is that we weren't able to save your arm, or your right eye. The good news is that, as E. Robert Mullard, you qualified for emergency transplants."

Connor rotates this in his mind, letting it sink in. Eye. Arm. Emergency transplants.

She sighs, "I know it's a lot to get used to. I'll let you be alone while I get your lunch." She heads for the door.

"Yeah," Connor replies absently, having focused all of his attention to the arm. "Lunch. That's good."

The arm has a slightly darker complexion than his skin tone and the nails need to be trimmed. It is more muscular than his left; he recalls reading about physical therapy for this type of thing. He touches all of the fingers to his thumb. His sense of feeling is the same. He flexes the fingers. They flex. He twists his wrist. It twists. When he rotates it a bit farther he sees something that makes him stop. His stomach plummets and he feels a surging wave of panic. He doesn't want to believe it. Connor refuses to even acknowledge it. On his arm is the unmistakable tattoo of a tiger shark.

Still reeling from shock, Connor hears a voice he thought he would never hear again. A voice that, given the arm surgically grafted onto Connor, couldn’t possibly be here at all.

"So," the figure sneers, "the Akron AWOL goes into the Chop Shop and lives to tell the tale.”

Roland is leaning against the wall, looking hatefully down on Connor. But once what used to be a whole boy is now a nightmarish apparition covered in stitches. He could almost be real if it weren’t for the gaping hole where his arm used to be. While there is no blood, the wound seems to emit an inky blackness that Connor cannot tear his eye away from.

“H-how…”

“You did this to me, Connor.” Roland’s glare shoots daggers as he moves closer. Suddenly, Connor is acutely aware of his vulnerability, his logical mind is telling him this ghost can’t hurt him, but his heart doesn’t get the message. The monitor to his left starts screaming.

His mouth opens and closes like a fish, “No! You- you should be dead!”

Roland stops at the side of his bed, remaining hand toying with the cord of Connor’s IV. “Don’t you remember Connor?” A malicious grin spreads across his face, “Unwinding isn’t death.”

Paralyzed Connor watches as Roland silently reaches for his arm. “Weren’t you ever taught to share?”

A nurse rushes into Connor’s room, finally coming to investigate the shrill noise coming from the machine beside him. “Your heart rate is through the roof! Are you all right Mr. Mullard?”

Connor turns to where Roland had been mere seconds ago to find him gone. What just happened? Was that… real?

“Oh, I see you took your IV out! You really have to be more careful next time.” His heart rate slows but his mind fires at full speed. When did he take his IV out?

The nurse pats his hand satisfied that he’s all fixed again and goes to leave. “Wait,” he has to make sure he’s not going crazy, “has anyone been in my room since you left?”

Her smile never falters, “No, hun, just me. If you want to see any of your friends you’ll have to wait till after lunch.”

“What drugs did they give me? Would any, um, cause hallucinations?” Her picture-perfect smile wavers, probably rethinking her decision to save some kid who turned out to be a nutcase. “It could be a side-effect from your coma. The brain often tries to fill in gaps or create its own explanations when recovering from a trauma like this. It should wear off after a good sleep.”

Connor is doubtful more sleep could do him any good. He just slept for two weeks straight after all, but he doesn’t want to be here any longer than he needs to be by convincing people he’s insane. He returns a smile to the nurse, “You’re right Doc, thank you.”

—--------

After a hearty lunch of jello and chicken soup, Connor is finally allowed to leave his room to see Risa.

The nurse leads him to her room, most likely glad to be rid of him for a few minutes, and he lingers in the doorway. Risa is in a bed that reminds him more of a dentist’s chair. There are pins and rods supporting her up that Connor recognizes as signs of paralysis, something he’s only read about in textbooks heralding unwinding as the solution to all of your problems. His gut swirls with guilt. Risa didn’t accept unwind parts and she’s much worse off than what he would have been if he hadn’t either. How will he face her like this?

“You have a visitor.” The nurse steps aside and he can see Risa’s face. Her eyes fill with tears and she holds back a sob. “I knew they were lying,” she says. “They said you died in the explosion–that you were trapped in the building–but I saw you outside, I knew they were lying.”

“I probably would have died,” Connor says, “but Lev stopped the bleeding. He saved me.”

They talk of the victory at Happy Jack and the losses taken to get there. He tells her of his coma and new identity. In his happiness of seeing Risa he almost forgets his arm and the demon that came with it until he spots Risa looking at it. He flinches and the bandage shifts, revealing the tattoo. Her breath catches in her throat and Connor turns his head. She’s going to hate me. I mean, how could she not? This arm will always carry him with it.

“Connor…?”

“I promise,” he breathes, “I promise I will never touch you with this hand.”

Risa looks at Connor and he looks back, a broken soul. Connor takes her in, for this might be the last time she will ever want to see him.

“Let me see it,” she says, giving nothing away.

He hesitates, so Risa gently takes it from the sling. “Does it hurt?”

“A little.”

She brushes her fingers across the knuckles of that hand, and her voice is quiet, “Can you feel that?”

He nods. He watches her lift the hand to her face, the palm against her cheek, and she holds it there. When she lets go he decides. He decides what this hand will do. He decides its pressure, its direction, and its intent. And he tells himself he always will have that choice, not his parents, not Proactive Citizenry, and certainly not Roland. His hand brushes a tear from her face, moving down her cheek, across her lips. He takes his hand away and Risa opens her eyes and tightly clasps the hand in hers. “I know this is your hand now.” When she speaks, there is not a single thread of doubt, “Roland would never have touched me like that.”

She pulls him into a hug and he closes his eyes, sinking into her embrace. This moment is for them, after two eternal weeks of not knowing, after surviving the Chop Shop, after escaping the PC’s grasp, they can finally be teens again. There is still much more to do, but at least they will have each other to rely on.

However, a twitch in his arm shatters the peace, and he opens his eyes. Roland peers back at him from the doorway, watching them silently.Doctors and nurses shuffle about, unconcerned about the boy standing in the doorway, for this is not their fight. Connor realizes he’s the only one who can see him, because whether he likes it or not, they are now connected. He suddenly remembers what Roland said before he disappeared as he feels another uninvited twitch in his arm—Weren’t you ever taught to share?

A/n: I hope you guys enjoyed it! Feedback is always appreciated. Also I have a LOT of thoughts about this AU so let me know if you want me to spill lol

#unwind #unwind dystology #connor lassiter #risa ward #roland taggart #fanfic #fanfiction #conrisa

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korokeea · 26 days

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what I have so far on the splatoon au

Connor will be one of the Agents (any previous agents in splatoon do not exist). I’ll have him be Agent 3–which u guessed it— means he’ll be an Inkling.

Risa will be a fellow Agent although she’ll be an Octoling raised in the Octo army and the schools of the Octolings underground who managed to escape and was found by the Admiral.

The Admiral will be the Captain Cuttlefish of the au and will obviously be an Inkling.

Lev I haven’t decided, I think I’ll either make him a sub species or an Inkling.

Roland will be a fellow Agent BUT I’ll make him a Sharkling (get it??? cuz of the tattoo???)

Roberta will be in charge of Kamabo Co and Cam will be one of the test subjects (thank u @luckytidbit).

SIDE CHARACTERS:

*I cannot guarantee I’ll included some of these characters because of I’m not a professional writer and cannot remember to include the characters <3

#still working #rewrote this twice #unwind au #connor lassiter #risa ward #unwind fanfic #unwind dystology #unwind #unwind fic #au

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julysn · 2 months

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scary? my god, you’re divine!

ship: connor lassiter x reader

includes: pre-unwholly post-unwind, friends to lovers, pov second person, it’s CORNY. it’s HORRENDOUS. but i’m starving. so here u go fuckers. not beta’d

song rec: diet mountain dew (demo) - lana del rey

wc: 1150

a/n: yeah he might be slightly ooc dunno who cares i felt motivated to write be proud 😔

a lil rushed bc all of my writing tends to be.. was listening to the dt mt dew demo and felt inspired so here we go

also its not mentioned but connor didnt date risa in my fic. because I SAID SO

It was a quiet yet peaceful evening in the deserts of Southwest Arizona, the blazing heat contrasting the softly-lit moon raised high in the glittery night sky.

Life had truly taken a wild turn for you—in just under a year, you were no longer under your parents’ watchful eyes, checking for deceit and harm, but you had landed up in an isolated airplane graveyard with a new life ahead of you (mainly because your parents wanted to toss you away once they had signed the unwind order).

Throughout your rough and stressful escape from the juvey-cops, you also had your best friend, Connor Lassiter.

From the moment you met, the connection between you both was like lightning. He became your closest friend; your partner in crime. He was one of the only people you felt like you could truly be yourself with, and your walls of facade would immediately crumble once he was around.

As time passed, you witnessed Connor's transformation firsthand—his short temper and impulsiveness guided into rationality and intelligence. Though others saw him as merely the legend of the 'Akron AWOL,' you knew the true Connor. He wasn’t like the rumors, no, he was different. He was special.

Throughout the chaos and drama, you stood by his side, no matter what. He was your light in the darkness, the blossoming flower to your stem. You could never admit it to him, but your heart knew; he meant everything to you.

You were with him every second of the journey, no matter how tough and complicated it was. He meant the world to you, even if he was unaware of how you felt.

Completely lost in thought, you were sitting on the grass near the planes, stargazing and letting the peaceful silence fill your ears when a familiar pair of footsteps approached. You yawned and looked up, seeing Connor sit beside you and tilt his head upwards to look at the sky.

The both of you sat in peaceful silence, just watching the stars glimmer in the dark sky, until Connor spoke his thoughts.

“Do I look scary?”

His question caught you completely off guard. Scary? Why would he ask that? You glanced over and scanned his appearance, and oh god.

Connor Lassiter was absolutely perfect.

His soft, caramel-tinted skin looked beautiful underneath the moonlight, and you saw freckles scattered across his bare arms and cheeks like the stars blanketing the night sky. He had deep, tired brown eyes that made him look as attractive as ever. His tousled and messy curls sat prettily on his head, the tangled and sleepy mess more adorable than you’d like to admit. You could see why all of the other ‘whollies’ (as Hayden would call them) would throw themselves at Connor’s feet, because you would too. You’d do anything for him.

And the best part? His ass was fat. Massive. Colossal. Astronomically huge.

I’m gonna forget I even thought about that last part, you mused as you looked back up at the stars and let a soft sigh escape your lips, the warm breeze tickling your cheeks. “You look fine. Why?”

“I feel like people are scared of me.” Connor confided, leaning back on his hands as his eyes wandered across the clear night sky. “Not just because I'm the Akron AWOL, but.. I think it’s because I have all of these scars from the explosion.”

“You don’t look scary to me.” You shrugged, looking up at him and catching his gaze before the both of you looked away and back up to the star-filled canvas in front of you. You felt his hand come down to absentmindedly play with your hair, and your breath hitched. You weren’t.. falling in love, right?

Right?

“I mean, you’ve seen the way people look at me.” Connor sighed gently, his other hand coming up to ruffle his curls. As his fingers ran through his hair, you noticed the light scarring around his cheeks and temple, and it made him look more adorable.

He wasn’t frightening in your eyes, no, he looked divine. But he didn’t know that yet.

“From what I’ve seen, the kids here worship you.” You shrugged once again, yawning and stretching your arms out. The peaceful quiet of the night was almost eerie, and you shook away the thoughts of potentially getting caught. It wouldn’t happen. Not now, at least.

“I know, but some of them look at me like I’d shoot them with a tranq too.” Connor muttered, his other hand coming down to play with your hair too. He was no longer admiring the night sky or gazing at the glimmering stars, his attention was purely on you now. You felt your heart flutter as you felt those cold, calloused fingers stroke your hair with a gentleness you've never felt before.

“Seriously? You don’t look that scary.” You chuckled quietly, leaning your head into his hands as your eyes met his. You noticed a spark of something unfamiliar in his star-filled gaze, and you had to fight the urge to not pull him into a tight hug. There’s something special about him. You just didn’t know what.

“.. You know, I had a dream about you last night.” Connor blurted out absentmindedly, his rosy cheeks flaring up as his eyes darted away from you. You looked up at him in shock, eyes widening as your vision laid upon his features. His expression was no longer relaxed, it was more nervous and embarrassed. You had never seen him like this before, and it was quite endearing to see.

“Really?” You asked, your smile almost giddy as you slowly sat up from the grass, propping your hands behind you and leaning back slightly. You felt Connor’s smooth, cold hands continue to run through and play with your locs, and it was a comforting sensation. You were feeling head over heels, and there was a flame of hope burning within you that he would reciprocate.

“No, I-” Connor stammered out, avoiding your eyes. “Alright, fine. I think I’ve fallen for you.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments, unaware of what to do or say. The situation was extremely delicate and fragile, and you were worried you’d ruin everything by letting your thoughts escape your lips.

So, instead, you gently raised a hand to cup his cheek, as his hand laid on the back of your neck, and you both leaned in to close the distance between your lips. The kiss was soft and gentle, nothing too passionate as having sex in an airplane in the middle of a southwestern Arizona desert didn’t sound too enticing.

He pulled away first with a grin, his smile melting your heart as his hands gripped your shoulders gently. “Does that mean you love me back?”

“No.” You replied, although the bright smile and the pure happiness in your eyes said otherwise.

#julysn #julia’s fics .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚#i loev him #hes so silly #connor lassiter #connor lassiter x reader #unwind dystology #unwind #unwind fanfic #unwind fanfiction #fanfiction #x reader #friends to lovers

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robotstrategy · 2 months

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Recalled • Part 5 • 38 - Lev

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 5 Masterlist • Next

Lev sits out on the front porch, spreading his arms wide so that Lawu may crawl on them. By now, it seems like Connor has been radio silent for a year. There’s no secret internet stuff dumb enough for him to figure out, no letters from cousin Carl. At this point, Lev would have actually forgotten about Connor if Elina hadn’t been there to ask him if he’d heard anything.

“Do you think he died?” Lev asks his Kinkajou, Lawu lays himself down, nestling into Lev’s arm.

“I don’t want to think about it either.”

A gust of wind comes in, it smacks Lev’s earpiece against his cheek, and he winces a little before the pain disappears. Many of the qualities he had to learn on the Rez were humility, forgiveness, and patience. Yet it seems like his patience might be running out soon. Before, he would have stayed here peacefully, spending the rest of his days with Kele and the others. But after a while, it seemed like he would always end up in Connor's net somehow. So why not now? Why won’t something come along and face him back in Connor’s direction? Lev sets the sleeping Lawu back in his little house before heading back inside. Every once in a while Lev opens the door to Wil’s room, wondering if somehow his spirit is still in there. Lev thinks Wil would’ve had something to tell him, maybe even Una, but both of them are gone now. Lev always found it funny that Una went to Molokaï with Cam, he supposes it takes two non-clinical minds to help raise 50 Rewinds.

Lev sits down in his room, beading together an ornate necklace for Elina. Somedays Lev likes to think he was born a Tashi’ne, to imagine himself as a young boy running around the Rez. But that’s not how the story goes, unfortunately, Lev was raised for death and had to escape it. Many times he doesn’t think he did, but here he is, breathing, hearing, sitting, and beading together a necklace. After a while, Lev turns to his alarm clock and plays around with it until he finds the radio button. It always first tunes into Arápache’s own radio station before Lev can start upping or lowering the signal. Today Lev looks for a certain radio station, he starts cranking the knob on the back of the radio. It’s a flutter of static between the radio from the Arápache to the Hopi and any other tribe in the surrounding area. Advertisements about upcoming Powwows, they’re quite fun actually, seeing all the Chancefolk’s interesting regalia as they all dance competitively.

Lev knows he’ll get the right radio station, he’s done it before, Hayden’s radio show somehow can get to almost anyone in the world. Even in dictatorships, it will somehow sneak in.

After a while, he hits a radio station playing ‘I’ve Got You Under My Skin.’ By Frank Sinatra, a clear sign he’s tuned the radio correctly.

Lev puts the clock back down, continuing his beading, soon enough the music dies down into Hayden’s radio jingle.

“Good afternoon everyone, welcome back! And if you’re new here, Hi! I’m Hayden! Here we talk about information about unwinding around the world. Today we have big news! I’ve just gotten info that Mexico and Hawaii have vetoed the Unwind Bill, and South America is currently considering if they’ll vote back in the bill, I hope they don’t. Unfortunately, we’re still seeing a big influx of American parents travelling with juveniles to Canada. It seems like until we cut off that hydra head it’ll keep swallowing kids.”

Lev pauses what he’s doing for a moment, people are still travelling to Canada to get their children unwound. Lev wonders if even when Canada vetoes the bill will people even stop? Maybe they’ll just find another place to keep the process going. Seems like all that protesting, all that self-immolation, it does nothing. Even when unwinding is over, people will find ways to get it done. If parents aren’t the ones paying shady people, then there’ll be millions of folktales teaching not to go out at night or a part pirate might steal you away.

Lev has been mostly drowning in his thoughts until something Hayden says piques his interest.

“So, there’s this kid Connor knew who now lives on a reservation, his name is Lev? I’ve met him once in the graveyard, he’s the clapper who didn’t clap, there you go! That’s a better idea of him! Anyway, if someone can get in contact with him, or if he’s listening right now, I’d like to talk to him. I’ve got good news.” You can hear a smile in Hayden’s voice as the jingle drowns it out back into music.

Is this it? Did somebody finally find Connor? Lev picks up his phone, careful not to put any typos into the search bar. He rapidly goes through Hayden’s website and dials up the phone number. There are a few empty rings before someone picks up.

“Hello, you’ve reached Hayden Upchurch, h-” “DO YOU KNOW WHERE CONNOR IS?”

There’s a giggle on the other end of the line. “You’re Lev aren’t you?”

Lev blushes out of embarrassment, “Yes, this is about Connor right?”

“Yup, tried to keep it vague enough. I’d hoped you’d be more interested in the news than the first person I told.”

“Who was that?”

“I don’t think you’d know him, but he knew Connor, maybe a little too much. They say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer!”

Lev cringes. “So do you know where Connor is or are you just going to do this?”

“Not the small talker? I get it. I’ve found Connor in Marseille, France, he goes by Robert Saltries now.”

“Have you been talking to him?”

“No, I’d get charged for that, and by the looks of it Robert is running an unwind safe house, I wouldn’t want to pull any attention towards him.”

“Right, it’s just, that I feel abandoned, like I’m his friend, and I wasn’t told anything about where he was going.”

“I feel that too, I’m as much of Robert’s friend as you are, and I was never told anything either.”

“You hacked into something to find him didn’t you?”

“A school’s system, it felt wrong, really wrong.”

“I guess he hid himself very well.”

“I guess he did.”

Lev pauses, “If anything ever comes up, you’ll tell me about it, won’t you?”

“Of course!”

“Goodbye, Hayden.”

“Goodbye, Lev.”

And that’s it, that’s all, Lev is no closer to seeing Connor, but at least he knows he’s alive under a different name. Lev gets back to beading the necklace for Elina like nothing ever happened.

#unwind #unwind dystology #unwind fanfic #unwind series #sequel fic #hayden upchurch #lev tashi'ne #lev calder #lev garrity #connor lassiter

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the-thunderhead · 6 months

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Leadership

Hayden ponders the concept of a leader.

Hayden wasn't a leader.

Oh god was he not. He could manage in a small group, but he had no enjoyment for it. Those weeks he had run the graveyard had been proof to him.

He doesn't like to think back to those times. But he was still somewhat proud of himself for managing to calm nearly 400 angry AWOLS and keep them alive enough for Connor to step in.

Being a messenger certainly helped too. Hayden was never a runner but people liked and trusted him. Which was good. They shouldn't trust Hayden though. A snake is never something you should turn your back on.

Well a snake might not be the most accurate description.

Hayden was manipulative. He was honest with himself about that. But he was manipulative in the way a hostage negotiator was. Rather than the terrorist holding hostages. Same tactics, different motives.

Managing to redirect a bunch of hormonal teenager's anger into something that wouldn't destroy the graveyard was perhaps his finest con yet. It was harder to do, since he was in charge everyone kept their scrutiny on him. But he did manage to cool the flames a good amount.

He managed the minutiae well enough but where he really shined was talking the others down. Controlling the conversation through jabs and snipes. It was almost drunkening to be able to cool a crowd through a few well placed words.

Which is why Hayden isn't a leader. He's too manipulative. Caring more about control of a crowd then anything long term. He knew that. He recognized that that was a really bad trait for any good leader to have.

Humorously , when in captivity of the Stork Brigade, Hayden noticed the same tendencies in Starkey. Which he found amusing to no end.

What was also amusing was Starkey not even realizing how similar they were. He saw Hayden as a braggadocious idiot. Which was his mistake. And then he gave Hayden control of the food. Like an idiot.

Starkey must know how useful food is for morale. For trust. Give someone control of your food and they have control over everyone there. He was in charge of the food for the graveyard after all. Maybe Starkey just didn't think Hayden could pull off the same trick.

He was an idiot that way.

Connor was a pretty good leader. But his earnestness and pervasive teenage angst left him easy to move around. Hayden knew that. He had moved Connor around a lot. Mostly out of the way of incoming trouble.

Connor…

Hayden never asked Connor about the shark on his arm. But when he saw it, He knew immediately.

Hayden never will say to anyone that he liked Roland. If he knew what he almost did to Risa, then he would definitely never say it.

But he didn't know.

And deep down, he liked the guy. A lot of people liked him. He was a natural born leader, even with the insane amount of testosterone induced fury and angst. And Hayden respected that.

And when Connor had come back, his not acquaintance but not quite friend- he had went in for a hug.

And saw the shark.

Blood had drained from his face, and he had stepped back.

He wasn't a leader. He saw what happened to leaders.

Leaders were blown up. Leaders were unwound. Leaders were permanently disabled. Leaders were captured. Leaders were unwound.

So Hayden, who had too much self preservation to save his life, had backed away.

A year later. He had made a similar decision.

To be selfish. To be self preserving.

And now. As Hayden travels the country, Radio Free Hayden airing from various unwilling radio stations, he thinks for a few seconds.

He is not a leader.

He is content however to push the right people in the right direction.

#unwind #unwind dystology #hayden upchurch #neal shusterman #spoilers #unwind dystology spoilers #roland taggart #mason starkey #mason Michael starkey #connor lassiter #fanfic #avis's writing

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trulybetty · 7 months

Text

Sunday | Week In Review VIII

This week's Sunday in review is sponsored by your local Farmer's Market sugared doughnuts, proudly provided by @secretelephanttattoo IYKYK 🍩

Hope everyone had a good week this week! 🙌 Tumblr is still doing it's thing with it's notifications in my activity tab. It's mostly just full of likes and some mentions (I still come across a couple on my dash I wasn't notified of), but mostly it's affecting reblogs. Anyway, if you have something you think I'd be interested in seeing or want to share - feel free to send me an Ask/DM or tag me!

Light reading week again, but it's not to say it wasn't filled with some gems!

T R U L Y U P D A T E S . . .

Happy Birthday (Joel)

W H A T I R E A D . . .

Grocery List (Frankie) by @frenchiereading I'm a sucker for domestic fluff and even more so when it stems from the Shared Breaths universe 💕 - not going to spoil this one if you haven't read the main series (which I will always shout out) - but there's a broccoli recipe here that still makes my mouth water when I think about it and I really want to try making it (if only I could conjure Frankie just as easily)

You’re Perfect for Me (Marcus P.) by @boliv-jenta The Marcus Pike thots were out in full effect this week and it started for me with this little one shot. Marcus needing some help unwinding from a tough day? Sign me up!

machine wash warm (Marcus P.) by @idolatrybarbie some more domesticity, this time from our boy Marcus (he's made for it really) and while short, it doesn't skimp on the feelings and a man who will wash your bedding and deal with the fitted sheet? Yes please!

Delta Landscaping | Chapter 6: Jeeps, Texts, and Sliders (Triple Frontier) by @rhoorl This series has be in a permanent choke hold and I'll eat up anything Jess puts out (have you checked out her Dieter series and her Frankie one shot, because you should!) and this series is the gift that keeps on giving and helps satisfy my Will Miller thots. This weeks installment is no different - we've got tensions building with Will and Katie, Benny and his big brother relationship with Connor, Santiago being Santiago and David living his best life (I want to be his bestie). Hands down one of the best things to come from thots over the Delta boys clearing Reader's garden in @goodwithcheese's 'Layover Series' (which you should read too)

The House (Jack) by @gemmahale I was so happy to get started on this series this week! The week took a left turn and I couldn't devour the rest of it as I wanted, but this is on the docket to catch with this week! It's full of intrigue and mystery and that's just the first chapter! I can't wait to see how this plays out with Andrea getting reacquainted with her grandfathers property and the history it holds.

glass (Marcus P.) by @idolatrybarbie I could be bias because this was written based on the prompts I sent over for Bea's fifty follower celebration, but it doesn't need that, because it's so good all in on it's own! We've got fluff, we've got Marcus (did I mention it's Marcus?), we've got some spice and we've got action! I'm never one to pressure authors to write fanfics, but if Bea were ever to expand on this I'd be all over it.

Butter (Joel) by fuckyeahdindjardin A happy birthday celebration for our main man Joel Miller was more of a gift to us I think. This is so incredibly sweet (pun fully intended) and was just a delight to read that had me squealing all the way through with it's toe curling pure fluff at it's best. In need of a birthday cake to bring home Joel comes across Reader closing up for the night and in exchange for fixing her shutter, she bakes him a cake. Don't sleep on this one!

What Do We Have Here (Javier P.) by @secretelephanttattoo El treated us twice this week! Now I'm still behind on Narcos (hey, I managed an extra episode this week, now a staggering five and a half episodes in!), but even if you didn't have a clue who Elisa was, the spiciness of this fic would soon make up for it! I also learnt a new word, epaulettes. Smut and education in one fanfic? What more can you ask for?

Headshots (Marcus P.) by @secretelephanttattoo Okay, the second of El's offerings this week? Not only has she been bringing the Marcus thots this week, but the fluff too! Imagine showing up to the FBI headquarters to take head shots for the agents and running into Marcus Pike multiple times over the course of a week? Wait, you don't have to! El has crafted it for us and I hear there may be a second part (series?) in the works!

Hypothermia (Joel) by @morallyinept I am the worst camper, so much so Joel Miller would probably leave my sorry ass for the clickers after the grief he'd have with me. But I hope that would be after I get to snuggle up to him for just warmth...

M E M O R A B L E P O S T S . . .

I had some interesting confessions in my Ask Inbox: Joel Thots + Oscar's Cupcakes

All of @penaonthestreets-javiinthesheets's mood boards, because they are all a mooood and a delicious delight for the eyes

The Gif™️ thots were out in full force

Maggie getting the Marcus Pike Puddles going with pancakes and cuddles visuals

Will Miller visual thots, I don't need an excuse to enjoy this over and over again.

B R O U G H T T H E J O Y . . .

How well and truly this community is so lovely - I had a really shitty day at work yesterday and by time I logged in later that night I had some wonderful messages, tags and mentions from absolutely amazing people. I can't even remember how I stumbled back onto Tumblr, but I'm so glad I did. This space really can feel like you're shouting into the abyss sometimes, but sometimes you get a response back with a 'my thots too' and you start to build your own little community.

I think I mentioned it the other day, but likes and numbers really won't hold their value. It's the reblogs with the comments, the thousand gifs/emojis or the back and forth discussions of WIP's in DM's that really make this all the worthwhile.

And also a Costco sized container of pico de gallo... it's about balance friends. But seriously, I've pushed the limits of what I can put it on this week.

T H I S W E E K ' S J A M . . .

This week's song is brought to us by my Chiffon feels as I got back into writing for Dieter x Bryony and this song is very them coded...

Hope everyone is having a fabulous Sunday, whatever it is you're doing and I wish you all a great week ahead! 💕

#betty's sunday in review #sunday week in review #Spotify

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heliads · 6 months

Note

Your fics are amazing!! I especially love the Unwind ones! :) Can I request an angsty what-if fic where Connor doesn't go deliver his letter and is there when Nelson finds the antique shop? I don't know how specific you want me to be in my request, but a fight scene between Connor and Nelson would be cool (Nelson deserves to be punched). Thank you!

yes...YESSSSS

'guess that's growing up' - connor lassiter

masterlist

warnings: blood, violence, death

Five years ago, if you had asked Connor Lassiter where he thought he’d end up in life, he wouldn’t have said the basement of an antique shop. He certainly wouldn’t have expected to be in that same basement twice in the span of a few years. Life has a way of throwing you a few curveballs. It isn’t Connor’s fault if he can’t help but follow their winding paths until he ends up exactly where he started.

It isn’t like he’s back to square one. It can’t be, after all the friends he’s made and lost. Still, it’s hard to shake the feeling that he keeps getting dragged back home. As a kid, he’d always dreamed of running away and making it big, and then he’d actually had to run away when he found out he was going to be unwound. Now he’s back in Ohio, and although Connor finally has a hope for the end of unwinding thanks to the Rheinschild organ printer, he knows as surely as anyone that if this doesn’t work, the last of his luck might finally have run out. He was born here almost eighteen years ago, and he might just die here too.

Connor tries to keep his emotions light, but it’s hard, especially after being stuck in Sonia’s basement for far too many days. It took forever for them to leave the first time, and now he’s wondering how long they’ll spend trapped inside the lightless cellar now. Maybe someone will come down here decades in the future and find his old, brittle bones propped up in a corner someplace, the Akron AWOL reduced to a skeleton with a white, wiry beard like in the cartoons he used to watch as a kid.

So no, he’s not exactly doing a great job of staying optimistic, but it’s hard to get up the energy to converse with the other scared unwinds down here when he knows how this is going to end. It’s not his first rodeo. Nothing gets better before it gets worse again. Why take the time to memorize everyone’s name and favorite color if they’re just going to get ripped apart again in a matter of months? Connor might as well spare himself the heartache. If they do get unwound after all, some future client would probably appreciate it if Connor’s heartstrings were tugged as little as possible.

It’s not a funny thing to think about, but Connor’s sense of humor has gotten increasingly jagged and sarcastic as of late, if it wasn’t already bitter in the first place. When he tries to be funny, he just ends up cutting to the bone. He’s not Hayden. He’s never been good at making the jokes land when he needs them the most.

Hell, maybe that’s what’s unsettling him the most about being back here. If it weren’t enough to see the same familiar shadowy walls and low ceiling (look, there’s the place he gouged his initials in the corner two years ago), Connor has to do all of it not only with new faces but with the ghosts of the former ones.

Thinking about who had been here with him before makes his stomach roil with guilt and regret. Roland is unwound now; Connor has his arm and is starting to understand his surly temperament, his gut reaction to snap at everything around him instead of smiling. Mai became a clapper and blew up Happy Jack; Lev was there with her, chemicals in his veins, but saved himself when she didn’t. Hayden is still alive, hopefully, although Connor hasn’t seen him in ages; he misses Hayden’s sense of humor most of all.

The only repeated characters in the basement are Risa and himself, but even they are so fundamentally transformed from who they’d been at the start that they could be different people entirely. Connor isn’t sure that he’s at all recognizable as Connor Lassiter anymore. He has the same skin, or most of it, but that’s the end of the similarities. Connor is left wondering how everything changed so drastically over two years, which leaves him in a state of hazy dread.

And then, of course– well, there’s the letter, and that blows everything else out of the water.

Sonia still has his letter, the one she’d had him write to his parents when he first showed up at her antique store. All of the notes from past unwinds she’s harbored are still here. The thought unsettles him more than Connor would care to admit. Even if the kids who wrote them are long since stripped of their parts, dead and gone or maybe somehow still alive, their writing is still here. He wonders if his handwriting has changed since he wrote it last. If Connor saw a few sentences of his letter, could he recognize it as his own, or is even that last hallmark of the boy he’d been gone from him forever?

Connor can’t help but obsess over every detail. It’s hard not to when Sonia keeps bringing it up. He’s not sure if she thinks he’s dramatically different from the boy he’d been, but she must want him to return to that former version of himself somehow, because she’s offered for him to hand deliver the letter to his parents. In fact, she seems rather put off by the fact that he hasn’t leapt at the chance.

It’s not the first time in his life that Connor doesn’t have the right answer, and just like every other impossible choice, Connor isn’t even sure that there is a right way to go about this. He can take his letter to his parents, the people who had him unwound in the first place. He can be the bigger person and forgive them for wanting him clinically dismembered. Maybe, after time, they’ll even be able to move on from it and grow back together again.

Or, far more tempting still, Connor can let his resentment stand as firm and impenetrable as a fortress. This is the choice that calls to him the most. Why should he forgive them? It’s up to his parents to reach out to them first, even if they have no idea if he’s still alive nor how to contact them. Connor is not the one who wanted his own flesh and blood unwound. There’s no reason for the responsibility of breaching the immovable gap between himself and his family to fall on his shoulders.

Still, the Objective Right Thing to do is to give them the letter. Connor knows this, in a shifting, sinking feeling in his stomach, like when you tell your first big lie as a kid even though you know it’s wrong. Connor should meet his parents again. Probably.

Problem is, he doesn’t want to. The anger may not be as white-hot as it had been when Connor first found out he was going to be unwound, but it’s still there, simmering beneath his skin like a stovetop that wasn’t turned off properly. He isn’t going to burn down the house, not yet, but the possibility is there.

Risa would support him in this, Connor knows that. She immediately advocated against it, citing the immense risk posed by leaving their hiding place in Sonia’s basement. She doesn’t know the conflict in Connor’s heart quite as well as the terror of getting caught by the Juvenile Authority, though. She never had a family to love and loathe like this, and although Connor hates to say it, this will be the one time her advice won’t be as picture perfect as usual.

Sonia can sense this hesitation, and she’s been even pushier than usual in an attempt to convince him to visit his parents. At one point earlier today, Connor was helping her bring down some groceries when she asked him again when he was planning on leaving.

“I’m not going,” Connor had complained angrily, and immediately felt like a kid throwing a temper tantrum because his favorite shirt was in the wash or something stupid like that. So many unwinds here would kill for a chance to see their parents again, and here he is practically frothing at the mouth at the thought of it.

Sonia had raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing, for once. Connor had lugged the last of the bags down and sat in silence, fuming, until he finally cooled off again. He feels bad for snapping at Sonia like that, especially when she’s risking her life for him by harboring unwinds right underneath her shop, but not bad enough to deliver the letter.

Sonia doesn’t usually check up on them during the day, electing to preserve her ruse by manning the counter of the antique shop, so Connor assumes he’ll have all day to practice an apology before she checks up on them after closing time. Maybe he’ll write her a letter. He could both thank her for shoving him in her basement for so many weeks and also say he’s sorry for being an ass. He probably owes a lot of people similar letters. He’s been an ass many times.

Connor is idly monitoring the sounds upstairs, waiting to tell when Sonia will come down again so he can have his statement ready, when he first hears the loud thump. Noise isn’t uncommon up above; customers buying large objects can be heard huffing and puffing as they drag their purchases to the door. However, this sounds wrong. The voices Connor makes out through the dusty floorboards don’t sound like people ogling antiques. One of them sounds cruel, and the other, Sonia, sounds distorted somehow, unlike herself. They’re too quiet for him to hear, but none of it can be good. Then Sonia lets out a cry of pain, and Connor knows for certain that something is wrong.

All of the other runaways in the basement perk up. Fight or flight senses are always amplified among AWOLs. Connor silently gestures for them to back away from the cellar entrance, holding a finger to his lips. This could be a Juvey-cop, so they can’t risk exposing Sonia through too many sounds. Risa picks up a wrench, testing its weight experimentally, and Connor and the others follow suit. Whatever’s going on up there, it can’t hurt to have a weapon.

They wait in tense, painful silence, and then there’s a softer thump from above as the rug is flipped off of the trapdoor and Sonia shouts down for Lev of all people to come up and help her with something. Lev isn’t here, he hasn’t been near Sonia’s shop at all. Sonia knows this, and she’s well aware that the kids know this, too.

Connor’s eyes widen as he puts it together. This is a trap, obviously. Risa, sensing the same thing, grabs a small, blond kid (Jack, maybe? Connor tried not to learn their names. Unfamiliarity makes it easier to lose them) and starts to push him up the stairs, promising that she’ll be right behind him. Connor moves to join her but Risa stops him with a single harsh look.

“Don’t you dare even poke your head out,” she urges in a terse whisper. “Whoever’s here is probably only looking for you. Don’t make a sound.”

Connor would like to argue with this, but he knows she’s right. Odds are somebody saw him through a storefront window or something after closing. It’s not right to let Risa fight his battles for him, but maybe the intruder will leave if they don’t see the Akron AWOL. It’s not lost on him that Risa and the blond boy might get taken away anyway all for the sake of covering for him, but Risa’s not taking no for an answer, and she’s gone within a moment.

Connor paces back and forth, unsuccessfully trying not to let his panic show. Beau, one of the latest wannabe top dog types, starts prying at a window in the back, which is good. Odds are, they’ll need a second way out of here than just the trapdoor. Connor is about to pitch in and help when he hears a gunshot up above, followed by an agonized cry by Risa, and then all bets are off. Risa’s plea for him to stay hidden is gone from his head. If his worst fears are true– if she was shot, if she was dead– nothing matters anymore.

Connor bounds up the stairs two at a time, emerging into utter chaos. The blond kid is crumpled on the ground, a mess of blood and gore coating his chest. A grungy man is standing over his body holding a real gun, not just a tranq. Risa is beating him with a wrench, but he throws her off of him the second Connor appears. The man’s face cracks into a leering grin, and Connor realizes that he knows this man. It’s Nelson, the cop he shot so long ago.

Worse than that, it’s not just Nelson. Half of his face has been replaced with unwound flesh. Connor discovers with a sickening lurch of his stomach that he knows the donor, too. That’s the good side of Argent Skinner’s face isn’t it? Come to think of it, Connor hasn’t seen Grace in a little while, too. He silently hopes she’s alright, then shuts off every part of his brain that isn’t wired to defend himself. Nelson looks crazy. He has to be ready for anything.

Nelson lets out a slow, cackling laugh. “Connor Lassiter. In the flesh.”

“Nelson. In somebody else’s flesh.” Connor mimics. “What did you do to Argent Skinner?”

Nelson rolls his eyes elaborately. “He got in the way. I think his fate is obvious, isn’t it? I needed new skin. He needed to learn his lesson. No one crosses me and gets away with it. You’ve been on the run for a long time, but I’ve caught up to you at last. I always catch my prey.”

To the side, Risa is slowly getting to her feet, but there’s a gash opening up on her temple. Behind her, Sonia is chained to a chair, obviously in pain. Only Connor can save them. Only Connor can save himself.

Nelson starts to glance over at Risa, following Connor’s line of sight, so Connor quickly speaks up again to distract him. “So what, are we going to fight again? Boring, but let’s get on with it. Do you want to get out your tranq gun for old time’s sake? Maybe I’ll shoot you again. They might give me a new nickname for that.”

Nelson actually growls in anger. “I’m not interested in tranq guns, Connor. A permanent solution is better for you.”

He’s still holding the gun he just used to kill the blond boy, and Connor realizes with a sinking lurch that Nelson is planning on utilizing it for a second kill. This time, Nelson isn’t leaving until the job is done. Sure, it would be good to collect the payout of grabbing the Akron AWOL, but this is personal. Nelson can make up any excuse he wants about why Connor forced his hand. In the end, this is about Connor repeatedly humiliating the guy, costing him his job, his life, his flesh and bone, everything. One of them is walking away from this, not both. Perhaps neither of them. Looking up at Nelson, Connor finally knows: this is where it all ends.

“That’s fine with me.” Connor tells him. “I’d like to get rid of you, too.”

He briefly considers going for the ‘nice socks’ distraction, but, afraid of having used it one too many times, Connor decides to ignore the pleasantries and just get going. There’s a table of antiques next to him; Connor grabs the closest heavy object, a brass candlestick, and lobs it at Nelson’s head. The former Juvey-cop manages to duck, but not entirely, and the metal clips him on the temple.

Nelson grunts in pain and angrily points the gun towards Connor, who frantically hurls himself to the floor. The shot misses, shattering a glass cabinet and sending the contents showering to the floor. Connor picks himself up and sprints away, hoping Nelson’s more interested in him than staying to finish off Risa and Sonia.

Luckily, the guy’s got blinders on for anything that isn’t his least favorite AWOL, and Nelson gives chase immediately. Unluckily, this means that more bullets are directed Connor’s way. He skids through a series of small displays, using the advantage of a few tight corners to remove himself from Nelson’s immediate line of vision, then ducks into a hiding space below a desk. There, he waits, one hand clamped over his mouth so Nelson can’t hear him breathing.

Nelson stalks slowly from room to room, Connor can hear the thud of his boots against the ground. “Come out, Connor,” Nelson calls, “Let’s settle this like men. You can’t hide forever.”

Maybe not, but he can certainly push off more fighting as long as he can. Nelson was a cop once, he’s got way more combat training than Connor. Connor’s only hope is to stay one step ahead and confuse him into letting down his guard. There’s no way he’s winning a direct fistfight, so Connor has to be as difficult as possible.

Something dense thuds on the ground, then the glug of liquid pouring out follows the sound. Connor has no idea what that could be, but there’s no mistaking the subsequent click of a lighter. “If you won’t come out on your own, I have no problem smoking you out. I hear that’s best when taking care of rats. You have to burn down their nest to kill the young.”

Connor does not know much about rats, nor the proper method of extermination, but at this moment he doesn’t like any of it. Nelson is just as stuck in here as Connor if the antiques shop goes up in flames, but Connor realizes with a sinking feeling that Nelson doesn’t care about getting out if Connor doesn’t either. As long as Connor dies first, Nelson is happy.

Connor, however, needs his friends to stay alive. He rolls out from under the desk to find Nelson crossing over the threshold of the room. The former Juvey-cop bares his teeth in a grin. “See, there you are. I knew you’d let your feelings get in the way of your own self preservation.”

He holds up the lighter triumphantly over a slick of what might be rubbing alcohol or gasoline. Connor tries to stay cool, but his hands twitch at his sides. “Easy, man. You don’t want to blow yourself up, too.”

“How considerate of you to think about me,” Nelson muses. “I won’t return the favor.”

With that, he drops the lighter. The liquid immediately erupts into flames, streaking out of the room and into the next with lightning speed. Connor shouts in despair, but it’s too late. He can only hope that Risa was able to get Sonia out, that the unwinds in the basement could get the window open. Hope is all he has left. That, and the undeniable anger coursing through his veins. Nelson wants to play with fire, does he? Connor is more than willing to follow suit.

He’s not stupid enough to start a fight in a burning house, so he runs for the back door, which opens up into a barren grassy patch hemmed in by a fence. Good; Connor doesn’t want Nelson running. If Connor is the only one that survives the fire, he will make sure Nelson pays for it.

Connor makes it out the door first, so he has enough time to pick up a rock and hurl it at Nelson’s head as the Juvey-cop chases him out. This time, Nelson doesn’t duck, and the man cries out in pain as the rock connects directly with his left eye. Whatever Unwind’s eyeball ended up in Nelson’s face, he hopes that they’re not aware of the injury. He wants only Nelson to feel the agony of the blood welling up in the ruined socket.

Nelson clutches the bloody wound, swearing at Connor. “Do you know how costly those things can get on the black market? I’ll have to replace it with yours to even things out.”

“Try it. See what happens,” Connor dares him, and lunges for the man.

Nelson’s sense of balance is still impacted by the blow to the head, so Connor manages to tackle him around the middle before Nelson is even aware that he’s attacking. They roll around on the ground for a little bit, exchanging punches back and forth, before Connor is able to force him onto his back. From there, it’s easy to keep him pinned and rain blows upon his face.

He used to get in fights a lot before the unwind order, it’s all coming back to him now. Nelson tries to shove the barrel of the gun towards Connor, but Connor knocks it out of his hand in an instant. The man’s face is almost unrecognizable by now, but Connor isn’t done yet. This man is responsible for so many teenagers being unwound, doesn’t he deserve this punishment? He, too, should be in pieces. Connor can arrange that.

Nelson tries to shout something, but the words come out garble and broken around his swollen tongue. It’s going to attract attention, if the inferno behind them hasn’t brought scrutiny already. To shut him up, Connor wraps his hands around Nelson’s throat and starts to squeeze. It’s easy at first, just a matter of applying pressure. One of his hands– the right one, Connor thinks, but he’s not entirely aware of the difference nor why it should matter– tries to back out, but Connor redoubles his efforts. Nelson is not getting away. Not this time. Not ever.

It takes Connor a long time to realize that the man is no longer moving. Longer still to realize why. Connor has never killed someone before. He didn’t think he could, but. Sometimes we learn things about ourselves later than we expect.

Connor falls to his knees, leaning back slightly as he stares at his handiwork. His heart beats an urgent, irregular beat, telling him what he has known for a while now but is certain of today: he is a terrible, terrible person. Lev wouldn’t blow up Happy Jack, even Roland couldn’t kill, but Connor could. There are no lines he would not cross, no boundaries he cannot push. He is, at last, well and truly feral. No wonder the world wants him in pieces.

People are starting to emerge from their houses, attracted by the glow of the fire and the jumbled shouts of the fight. Connor is sheltered by the fence and hedges for now, but soon they’ll come for him and find the bloodied corpse of the former Juvey-cop. There are very few people who would mourn for Jasper T. Nelson, if there are indeed any at all, but any witnesses will see a dead man and a living killer and know who is worse off at the moment. The dead rest. The living do not.

Risa finds him first. She skids over the ground to him, throwing her arms around his shoulders. Dimly, Connor is reminded of tackling Nelson to the ground, one rough arm against his throat, but this is Risa, this is different, this has to be different. Not everything in this world brings death. Still, it’s hard to remember now.

“It’s over,” Risa breathes against his ear, “It’s over. Let’s go home.”

Connor isn’t looking at her, though, he’s watching the flecks of burning paper float down around him like snow. In his head, he’s a kid again, bundled up in a parka and too-big snow boots. He’ll grow into them; so will his brother, in a few years. Now Lucas gets new clothes and Connor gets nothing at all. Lucas has had two winters now of being the first one to run out into the yard in the fresh snow, of sinking the first boot prints into the endless expanse of white, and Connor hopes to God he’s loved it.

Connor stretches out a shaking, blood-spattered hand and picks up one of the pieces. It’s an envelope, the contents either ripped away in the wind or already burnt to bits. Right now, the delivery address is damn near indistinguishable from the coarse ash rubbed against it, but Connor can pick out the words by heart:

Claire & Kirk Lassiter

3048 Rosenstock Road

Columbus, Ohio 43017

As he watches, the smoke from one corner of the envelope picks up into a spark, which turns into a flame that gnaws away the words one by one. Like unwinding, his mind whispers. Each letter ripped away to some new fate. Risa has to pluck the quickly burning paper out from between his fingers so Connor doesn’t scorch himself. He doesn’t even notice the flames are at his flesh until a dull, throbbing ache some time later.

Connor is still in Ohio. He’s within driving distance of his house, but there is something Connor has known from the moment he came back here, from the moment Sonia put that letter in his hands again, from the moment he throttled Nelson until the light left his eyes: he can never go back. That house is for the whole, and although Connor still has possession of all of his limbs, he cannot ever be described as such again. He is not his father’s son. He is not his mother’s boy. If there was ever a Connor who could return to the Lassiter family, he is not the one who just strangled a man to death. There is no place in Ohio that Connor can ever return to again.

“No,” Connor chokes out, half-gagging on the wet slurry of ash and blood in his mouth, “No. I have no home.”

Risa’s saying something soothing about how that’s not true, he’ll always have her, and they’ll find a way, they always have, but he’s not listening anymore. Instead, Connor’s face is tilted back, letting the sun wash over the gouges on his cheeks, his split lip, the bruises already flowering under his skin. He stares once into that blinding light, then snaps his eyes shut.

The elder Lassiter boy is dead. Only Connor remains.

requested by @bopeisdope, i hope you enjoy!

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