it’s no wonder, with the look he gives the graft, that people have described his eyes as wild. desperation sits well in connor, makes a home in his chest and takes root like blackwood. it’s as if he’ll find a way to pull it off right now - he doesn’t want it. despite this, he has to learn to take a moment and lock everything away. the boy so well accustomed to fixing things must not only do it to this final resting place but to his own mind, which seems much harder than working with machinery all day, or even keeping over five hundred problem kids from tearing into each other, lord-of-the-flies style. with a heavy sigh, he turns from risa, ignoring her hand and intentionally beginning the landslide that will result in someone getting hurt. ❛ you can’t -
❜ though the true meaning is clear: i can’t. i can’t touch you with this arm, and i never will.
risa looks at connor; connor looks away. a common occurrence - yet she can’t fight the sting she feels. part of her reasons that it’s his guilt pushing him away, but there’s only so much she can put up with. she can’t stand by forever, can’t listen to his silence, can’t act like she doesn’t notice constantly averted eyes. maybe it’s selfish to want to turn away. maybe she deserves a little selfishness. the things they’ve seen, the things they’ve gone through ( together ) , she needs him to be there. but, no matter how much she may have needed him, every other kid in the graveyard did too. she mentally berates herself - risa doesn’t rely on people. she neverhad, and she needed to stop. the way she builds herself back up is too quick to even notice, eyes going a bit hard and back straightening ( posture, she hears mr. durkin say, is key ). her motherly instincts scream that she needs to fix this, but she can’t help him if he won’t let her. words fail, head shaking as she considers simply turning heel.
"How many kids are in the Graveyard?“
“A bunch.”
“Who sends your supplies?”
“George Washington. Or is it Abraham Lincoln? I forget.”
“How often do you receive new arrivals?”
“About as often as you beat your wife."
DISCLAIMER. this blog is not affiliated with unwind or neal shusterman. it is purely for fun. hello ! my name is andromeda, 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.
SEMI-EXCLUSIVE
WRITTEN BY ANDROMEDA
tracking: EXCELLENTUNWINDALL ICONS AND GRAPHICS ON THIS BLOG ARE MADE BY ME UNLESS STATED OTHERWISE. DO NOT USE OR REDISTRIBUTE THEM WITHOUT MY PERMISSION.
