#roland taggart fanfic

[heliads]

don't ask too many questions - hayconroland

Hayden wants Connor. Connor clearly doesn't want Hayden, but he does want Hayden to stop hanging around Roland. Or maybe he just doesn't want them to be together when he's not there.

masterlist

Hayden Upchurch is seventeen years old and sick of himself when he realizes he’s in love with his best friend. The one who’s dating his other best friend, that is. The one who would never, ever, fall for someone like Hayden. 

He’s had a problem with daydreaming, always has. Feels like the worst part of his heritage– two actor parents, of course he’d come up with a fantasy, everyone around him with a part to play to secure his happy ending. Hayden wants to believe that the world revolves around him and so he does. Even when his parents split. Even when they give him up to be dismembered. Even when he comes in contact with the one boy who finally might put him first, and then doesn’t.

But then again, who hasn’t wanted to be in love with Connor Lassiter? Hayden hasn’t met a single soul in the Graveyard who hasn’t contemplated it at some point. Sure, some make a point of pretending they’d never go there, but they would. They all would. Even Hayden. That’s kind of why this aches so bad. Connor has his pick of anyone in the world, even if he hasn’t put that together yet. He could have anyone, and he doesn’t want Hayden.

The worst part is, Hayden’s pretty sure he could have made it happen were it not for the fact that the good story has already started to play out. Connor chose Risa. Of course he would. It’s a match made in heaven, if there’s any bit of heaven reserved for the bits-and-pieces Unwinds even a mother couldn’t love. Pretty people fall in love with pretty people. Risa’s smart and Connor’s brave. Hayden knew it was over for him the second they showed up together, and with a baby no less. God, it’s like they’re already jumpstarting their iconic unwind celebrity family.

It makes him want to gag, and he probably would, if it weren’t for the fact that he feels more like sobbing instead. Technically, Connor and Risa haven’t announced anything, or done anything for that matter, but they don’t have to. Hayden’s seen enough lovesick glances to know a crush when it’s right in front of his face.

It was one thing when he could hide from the truth of it, tucked away in the darkness of the antique store basement. In the shadows, Hayden could convince himself of anything, even that the Akron Awol might find him hot. And– it’s stupid, right? Hayden knows he’s hot. The PR agent his parents hired for him since the age of five has made sure of that. Yet all it takes is one (honestly, average) teenage outlaw and Hayden’s wondering if his hair has somehow lost its luster or if his eyes are starting to bleach out their blue. Maybe his jokes are falling flat. Maybe he was never funny in the first place. Maybe that’s why Connor wouldn’t look at him unless his feet were on fire or something.

Trapped in the Graveyard, there’s no hiding from the truth. Stuck labeling boxes and unpacking crates, Hayden has the perfect view as Connor and Risa make more excuses to find each other. He’s organizing canned food now, slamming each box down with unnecessary force so he doesn’t punch somebody instead. He has the perfect view through the bars of the storage caddy as Connor benefits from another excuse to visit the medical wing.

Connor has just emerged from the med bay, grinning ear to ear. He shakes his head foolishly as he heads back into the sunlight, as if unable to believe himself. Hayden can’t believe it, either. He certainly can’t believe that he’s still letting himself feel so terrible over the proud smirk on Connor’s face, the pride that certainly means he’s not holding himself back the way Hayden is.

He can’t do this anymore. Slumped against a wall of crates, Hayden’s eye catches a flicker of pink amongst the scores of labels. It’s a heart, part of a logo of some company. Filled with a sudden, irrational burst of anger, he lunges forward and tears the heart away, piece by piece, until blood wells up underneath the edges of his fingertips. He sucks on his index finger to take the sharp prick of pain away, cursing both the can and himself. He could go to medical to get it cleaned up, of course, but then he’d have to see Risa, and that’s out of the question.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

A sudden voice nearly makes Hayden jump out of his skin. He bangs his head against one of the shelves, and straightens up, swearing, to get a good look at whoever’s just surprised him. Oddly enough, it’s Roland. He doesn’t usually bother Hayden, opting instead to save himself the nuisance of Hayden’s endless barbs and digs at his expense, but apparently Hayden’s done something today to warrant the visit. Lovely.

“Jesus,” Hayden mutters under his breath, rubbing the sore spot on his head, “Where’d you come from? Don’t tell me you’ve taken to spawning out of the shadows now.”

Roland just chuckles, face completely deadpan. “I’ll consider it. Why do you look like you just got hit by a bus? I want to know who beat me to it.”

Hayden rolls his eyes. He barely has the strength to deal with his own thoughts. Roland is so far from what Hayden can deal with, it’s not even funny. “Can you just– just fuck off, will you? Go bother one of the little kids and leave me alone.”

He tries to storm off, but there isn’t much room tucked in amongst the crates, so Hayden is only able to stomp a few feet away and stand with his back to Roland, glowering at the jars of green olives in front of him. He can just make out Roland’s reflection behind him in the watery sheen of the glass, the confused furrow of his brow.

“What’s gotten into you?” Roland asks, genuinely curious.

Hayden doesn’t even bother to answer. He reaches out, uselessly straightening the rows of olives in the hopes that Roland will get bored and leave him alone. Strangely enough, Roland doesn’t, and walks closer to Hayden until they’re shoulder to shoulder again.

“Seriously,” Roland says. “I’ve never known anything that could make you shut up. I’m kind of jealous.”

Against his will, Hayden’s gaze betrays him and flits through the gaps in the crates to where Connor still idles near the medical bay. Roland turns his head to follow Hayden’s line of breath and he sucks in a breath as he puts the pieces together far too quickly.

“Oh,” Roland says, voice strangely deep. “Oh, shit.”

Hayden feels as if all the blood in his body has suddenly rushed to his feet. His face must be like bone, stripped of any sign of light. “You shut the fuck up,” he says unsteadily, “You shut the fuck up, I swear to God, I’ll kill you, I swear it. I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll hit you so bad you won’t even walk. Don’t you say a damn thing.”

They both know it’s bullshit, Roland could kick Hayden’s ass in a second. This close, practically breathing down each other’s throats, Hayden can sense all that muscle, vibrating with nerves. Everything in Roland is electric, ready to pounce, but instead, he says raggedly, “I can help with that.”

Hayden blinks in surprise. “You want to help me kill you?”

Roland shakes his head disgustedly. “No, dumbass. I can help you with Connor.”

Hayden just stares. “Why the fuck would you do that?”

Something like a muscle twitch pulls the corner of Roland’s lips up into a half-smirk. “I like getting under his skin. Maybe under his shirt, at least.”

A flash of white-hot courses through Hayden in an instant. He waits for Roland to start laughing, or start swinging, to tell him that he’d been joking, or messing with him, or something, anything, for this situation to make sense. Instead, Roland leans a little closer, expectant, and Hayden realizes that he’s not joking around at all.

“Alright,” Hayden says at last. “What did you have in mind?”

Roland’s teeth bare in a full grin. “I was hoping you’d ask. See, I’ve noticed something about our mutual friend. Connor doesn’t do very well with jealousy.”

Hayden laughs derisively before he can stop himself. “Problem with that one, Roland. Connor isn’t jealous of either of us.”

Roland doesn’t look remotely fazed by this. “Want to bet?”

They both turn as one again to look over at Connor. Stupid, reckless Connor, who’s straightened up to look back at them, who may be seeing two silhouettes behind the storage crates where there should just be one. Connor doesn’t look quite so carefree anymore. In fact, although it may be reaching, Hayden would go so far as to say that he looks quite worried indeed.

Hayden lets out a low whistle. “You actually might be right about that one.”

Roland scoffs. “I’m usually right. You just don’t pay attention.”

Hayden fights the urge to roll his eyes again and only mostly succeeds. “How’d you know?”

Roland initiates an elaborate shrug. “I know what to do when a boy doesn’t give me what I want.”

He’s really close right now, Hayden realizes. He’s not sure when Roland got that close, but Hayden can either stay here or back up, and this closed in surrender doesn’t really seem like an option, so he stays. Roland’s breath is hot on his mouth. They’re still so damn close. This might be what heatstroke feels like. Insanity may set in soon, if it hasn’t already.

“Alright,” Hayden stumbles. “Let’s make him jealous, then.”

Roland’s grin really is sharklike, Hayden decides, but he can’t tell if he’s the prey or Connor. Maybe both. “Great choice.”

Before Hayden can do or say something stupid, Connor appears around the stack of crates, peering at both of them dubiously. “What are you two doing?”

Roland reacts immediately, like he was waiting for it. Probably salivating over their moment of discovery, too, like a dog with the premise of a bone. “Talking, Connor. You’re familiar with it?”

He claps his hand down on Hayden’s shoulder, and Hayden does his best not to startle. He feels like he’s hyper aware of everything going on with his bicep, down to the slightest shuffle of Roland’s fingers against the fabric of Hayden’s shirt, or the heaviness of Roland’s breathing despite doing his best to pretend as if nothing were the matter.

Connor seems to notice it too. His eyes are glued to Roland’s hand on Hayden, and it seems to take him considerable effort to swallow harshly and say, “That true, Hayden?”

Hayden can practically feel Roland’s gaze boring down on him, demanding that he play along. Well, Hayden’s perfectly fine with playing along. It’s supposed to be in his genes, isn’t it? “All good, Connor. Just fucking around on duty. You going to report us to the Admiral?”

He manages to force a chuckle as he says it, and Roland nods along, clearly pleased. Connor swallows again. “Just– get back to work, will you?”

“So bossy, isn’t he?” Roland muses, and it seems like an inside joke between him and Hayden. Hayden laughs because he can, because he should. Connor looks like he’s stopped being able to understand the language they’re speaking.

Roland lets the moment sit a second longer, then tears his hand from Hayden at last and sweeps away, purposely bumping into Connor as he goes. Both Hayden and Connor watch him disappear. Connor turns back to Hayden once Roland is out of view, and says hoarsely, “What was that?”

Hayden can’t answer.

Everything feels different, and does for hours after. Days, even. At meals, Roland appears to drag Hayden away by the arm, and they eat alone together, tucked in a corner of the room where no one else can reach them. They’re always touching, somehow– a shin against a shin, a hand on an arm, fingers grasping the back of Hayden’s neck like the scruff of a dog. He’s going to explode with the force of something great and terrible, but Connor first, because Connor has to see all this happen and not feel it, too, not like Hayden. Hayden gets to feel it all, because Roland asked him, not Connor. It feels fucking fantastic.

It all comes to a head about a week later. Connor’s been strumming with the rage of not being the first choice for several days now. Hayden wants to tell him that he’s being really selfish– how long had Hayden put up with the same thing, anyway, several weeks? Months? Longer than this, at least. Hayden could take it if their situations were reversed. Probably.

Connor’s been trying to talk to Hayden all day, but Hayden keeps dodging him, claiming to be busy or something. At last, when night falls, Connor tracks him down and Hayden runs out of excuses.

“It’s dark,” he tries to claim, Connor’s hand thick and strong on the sleeve of his jacket, “People are trying to sleep, Connor. We can’t disturb them.”

“Fine,” Connor says icily, and all but drags him to one of the grounded planes. 

Roland meets them halfway there. Maybe the scent of Hayden’s fear carries across the whole damn Graveyard. Sure feels that way, at least. He says not a word but walks with them, opens the door of the plane. Locks it behind them.

Then they’re all standing in a rough circle, Connor’s hand still stuck on Hayden’s jacket sleeve. “I want to know what this is about,” he says roughly. “And don’t try to bullshit me. You’re doing something.”

Roland folds his arms across his chest, all casual. “We’re doing something, alright.”

Connor almost growls with irritation. “You’re trying to bother me. I get it, I’ve been snapping at everybody. Fine. It’s dangerous out there, I wanted to keep us safe. Sue me, but talk to me, instead of doing this.”

Roland grins. Sharklike again. Like he doesn’t know how to smile any other way. “What are we doing, Connor? You tell us.”

“Us,” Connor seethes. “There’s never been an us. This is what I’m talking about. You keep playing up this– this thing between the two of you. You’re trying to get to me, I don’t know why, but I’m sick of it. Can’t you be normal for once in your lives?”

Hayden can sense the power thrumming through the room, turning the air thick and hot with imbalance, but for once, it’s not on Connor’s side. It feels good to be the one in charge, he has to say. Hayden doesn’t usually like it, but he does now.

“Why would us talking bother you, Connor?” He says, relaxed as anything. “I don’t see what could possibly be the problem. We’re just talking.”

Connor rounds on him. “You’re not just talking, though. I know you aren’t. Maybe you’re trying to get me out or something. I don’t know what you’re doing.”

Roland stalks closer. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? Not knowing what we’re up to.”

“That’s what I just said,” Connor spits out, but he doesn’t sound as self-righteous as he did before. In fact, his voice wobbles slightly on the last syllable, just like it had when he’d caught them the first time.

“I don’t know why it would bother you,” Hayden says matter-of-factly. “To be honest, if you’ve got anything wrong with it, I think you should prove it. Otherwise, I mean, how would we know what you want?”

It’s a good move, Hayden’s proud of it. Even Roland’s grinning, the two of them in on another joke. Connor chafes against that exclusion like a dog at a bit, foaming at the mouth at the thought of them having anything without him.

“What I want,” Connor says slowly, voice thick with it, “is for you two to stop fucking around like this. Stop looking at me like I’m the odd one out. You two hate each other, anyway.”

Roland stalks closer. The way he’s eying Connor is downright predatory. “I think I’m confused. Do you want us to stop, or do you want to be a part of it?”

“I don’t even know what it is,” Connor tries to say, but his voice drops away into nothingness the closer Roland gets to him. Hayden can understand the feeling. He still feels like the floor of the plane isn’t all too steady anymore.

“I think you do,” Roland says. He looms over them both now, less in stature and more in spirit. The span of him could last forever. Enough for Connor and Hayden to share, and a little left over too.

Hayden’s jacket is on the floor, and he only knows it happens at all because of the quick flash of Connor’s hands ripping it off of him in the corner of Hayden’s vision. Roland doesn’t even react to the motion. He just keeps staring at the two of them, grinning, waiting. Then he moves, is on them in an instant, and there’s nothing any of them could have done after that.

Hayden honestly doesn’t know if Connor was there to stop them or join. In the end, it doesn’t matter. Hayden knows how that would-be intervention ended, and it didn’t really seem like Connor was that keen on any of them stopping, for that matter.

He has no idea what’s going to happen after this. Roland’s plan really only went so far as getting Connor to snap, no continuity for the fallout. For once, though, Hayden doesn’t think he needs a plan for how to act, what to do. Maybe he can just make it up as he goes along. Roland and Connor would be down, and nothing else really matters. Everything is business as usual and he feels good. Really good, actually, and if Hayden’s voice is oddly hoarse the next morning, most people have the good sense not to ask why.

Most people, that is. Risa sidles up to Hayden later that day. He’s pretending to organize some cans of food, although he starts pretending extra hard when he notices the suspicious look on her face. 

“The windows on one of the planes were quite fogged up this morning,” Risa remarks. 

“Planes do that sometimes,” Hayden replies calmly. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Risa casts him a sidelong glance, but when Hayden refuses to extrapolate on that absolute failure of a sentence, she sighs so deeply he’s pretty sure the Admiral could hear it from his office. She looks like she’s going to call him out on this obvious bit of bullshit, but then she spots something across the tarmac and straightens up a little. 

“Never mind,” she says, “I think I’ve answered my own question.”

Risa starts to walk away, then pauses as if she’s just thought of something important and turns back to him. “Don’t do anything stupid, Hayden. Or anything else stupid.”

With those inspiring words of wisdom, Risa heads back the way she’d come. Hayden frowns, confused, then tries to figure out what she’d been looking at to change her mind so quickly. 

It doesn’t take long to figure it out. Shaded by the metal underbelly of one of the Graveyard’s many planes, two figures stand close together, their shoulders brushing as they whisper. Roland and Connor. Two people who supposedly hate each other, who did hate each other or were at least good at pretending until last night. Now, instead of trying to kill each other, they’re muttering back and forth, all the while both eyeing Hayden with identical, bloodthirsty grins. Like they knew exactly what prey they wanted. Like they already knew it was twitching under their claws. 

Oh, Hayden is so fucked. But hasn’t that always been true?

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[luckytidbit]

Have you ever seen one of those people that TANS during summer.

Also made a mock-up of the stupid tan line he’d get from wearing that mask.

[bug-with-rabies]

@kuromibrainrot here you go

Stolen My Heart

Roland Taggart x Connor Lassiter

———————————————————————

Connor can’t believe they did it. He can’t believe he worked together with Roland of all people. The Admiral, bless his heart, is safe and being prepped for operation. Thankfully that first year resident still remembers how to perform operations from before the unwinding order was signed, or else nobody might ever see The Admiral again.

Connor manages to get ahold of Roland before the thought of ratting him out could even be considered. He’s overcome with emotion and hugs Roland without thinking, eternally grateful for his help. “Thank you…”

Roland is taken aback at Connor’s hug, and a light blush dusts his cheeks. He pats Connor’s back with a look of annoyance, hoping that he’ll be let go. However, after a few minutes of uncomfortable hugging Roland manages to get Connor to let go. Unfortunately in return, he gets dragged into a broom closet.

As soon as Connor manages to get Roland into the broom closet he locks the door, grabbing Roland by the collar of his shirt as he pins him against the wall. However before Connor can get a word of thanks out, Roland kisses him.

The kiss is way more intense than any other Connor’s ever experienced. But that just makes it all the more desirable in his eyes. Roland has been Connor’s enemy for so long, yet somehow the kiss feels so right. It’s as if the tension between them had finally reached a boiling point at the graveyard, and they’re finally relieving it in the most constructive way possible.

Roland never really had a proper girlfriend, or a first kiss. His stepfather was tough on him, and never allowed such things under his roof. Roland had always been told that having a girlfriend would make him ‘soft and weak’. But this felt magical, it felt good to get his frustrations out this way.

The kiss itself is hot and sloppy, the kind of kiss that pent up teenagers at a church lock-in would share when the adults finally fell asleep. It’s hot, and filled with the kind of passion that most people dream of.

Connor’s hands tangle in Roland’s scruffy hair, and he practically melts in Roland’s grasp. He doesn’t even bother to attempt a fight for dominance, it feels good to let himself relax for once. His lips move in sync with Roland’s in the sweet dance of a hot and heavy make out session, and it feels so blissful.

Roland keeps Connor pinned up against the wall, making sure not to hurt him. His hands cupping Connor’s face to keep him enveloped in the kiss. He knows that Connor won’t even try to break away at this point, he’s in too deep.

Connor’s tongue runs along Roland’s bottom lip, urging him to open his mouth, but when Roland doesn’t budge He breaks the kiss, giving Roland a shit eating grin. “What? Afraid of me all of the sudden?”

Roland manages to gently push Connor off of him when he’s given that stupid grin. He grabs Connor’s slutty little waist with a smug smile, bringing him close. He leans in, whispering with an almost cocky tone; “No, you’re getting too cocky. As if I’d ever let you get the upper hand.”

Connor can’t even give Roland the look he wants to give, because Roland wraps a hand around his neck, squeezing just enough to make Connor let out the most guttural groan he’d ever heard, and that just boosts Roland’s ego. Who knew the Akron Awol could be so submissive?

With one hand on Connor’s slutty little waist and one around his neck, Roland backs Connor up until his back is against the locked door of the broom closet. He gives Connor a sly grin and slides a hand under the boy’s shirt, making sure to keep eye contact. Roland captures Connor’s lips in a quick, rough kiss, and looks down at him, ruffling his hair. “You should go back to your little girlfriend. She’s probably wondering where you are.” Roland lets go of Connor and opens the closet door, pushing him out of the closet.

Connor stumbles down the hospital’s hallway, disheveled and almost starstruck. He attempts to smooth out his shirt and slowly makes his way back to Risa, sitting next to her without a word. He glances over at her; a guilty, flustered look present on his face as he smiles at her.

Risa isn’t amused, she knows exactly what Connor was doing, it was bound to happen at some point, but she figured it would have happened sooner rather than later. She just gives Connor a knowing, unamused look and crosses her arms. She knows that Connor making out with Roland would be a one time thing, and she doesn’t really care.

[robotstrategy]

Rediscover • Part 1 • 3 - Mathieu

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 1 Masterlist • Next

Chapleau Cree Fox Lake Indian Reserve is about seven hours away from the summer camp in Muskoka, because of the direction Mathieu doesn’t join the others on the bus to the camp. He’s being transported alone in the back of the car of an absolutely chatty Sienna named Timothy. 

Mathieu ignores him; instead he watches the dashboard hula girl violently rock back and forth as Timothy traverses the rocky terrain. Timothy is halfway through talking to nobody when Mathieu asks him about the girl.

“What’s with the little lady?”

Timothy pauses. “Huh?”

Mathieu hangs his arms around the seat in front of him, placing his chin on its shoulder he points with his lips over to the figurine. “The little dancer on the dashboard.”

Timothy nods and smiles. “All the company vehicles have one. It’s to match the theme of the camp. Well, maybe not in July, we like to get a little festive like our friends down under.”

Mathieu nods, he sighs out of boredom before throwing himself back in his seat.

“So what’s going on with your family?” Timothy asks. 

“My Dad went with my sisters to a Powwow since it’s getting close to the end of the season. They usually all go just to cheer on my younger sister.”

“You mean your little sister?”

“No, they’re both older than me.”

“Oh, I’ve never been to a Powwow, are they fun?”

Mathieu blows air out from between his lips before answering. “I’d say so, I don’t dance like my sister does, I just watch.”

“I wonder if there are any vendors there.”

“There is, but don’t expect anything to be cheap. They know what their work is worth.”

Timothy laughs, then happily sighs. “I guess I’d understand their reasoning, personally I wished people would pay more for my work, though I suppose it’s up to the government how much I get paid.”

“Is it like a Federal Union?” Mathieu asks.

“Yeah, I suppose it is, though sometimes it depends on the quality of the product.”

Mathieu furrows his eyebrows, confused about what the quality of a product would have to do with a summer camp, much less how there would be a federal union running at something done providentially.

Midway through the several hours Timothy rolls into an ONroute and gets out of the car. The building is monstrous in size, its roof is high enough to house the semi-trucks that park around it. “I’m gonna get a bathroom break and some food, are you joining me?” Timothy asks him.

Mathieu nods, getting out of the car and taking the handle of the entrance door once Timothy passes into him. 

After going to the bathroom Mathieu gets in line with Timothy to get food. “What do you think you’ll get?” Timothy asks him. 

“I’m not sure yet it’s been a while since I’ve been to a Tim Hortons or anywhere really.”

“I’m guessing your parents would rather make home-cooked meals instead?” Tim laughs.

Mathieu shakes his head. “No, well yes, it’s just that everything around us is super expensive, sometimes even food is priced like it’s a novelty.”

“Ah, well you’ll be happy knowing you won’t break the bank here!”

Mathieu lets out a little ‘tch’ noise, “I hope not!”

Mathieu heads back to the car with jalapeño bread twists and what he’s pretty sure is a Coffee Crisp in slushie form. As they keep driving through forests Mathieu imagines a little stick figure running through the trees to keep up with them. Apparently, that’s a shared experience almost everyone has. It's strange how deep down everyone imagines the same thing despite never passing the idea to each other. 

As he doses off more the car becomes slower, and he’s jolted awake by rumble strips, he sees the car pass between two totem poles, they must be in the camp now. Timothy passes into a round parking lot in front of one of the main buildings.

Mathieu gets out of the car with his carry-ons and is greeted with two large hibiscus bush hedges wrapping around the path to the main building. Timothy nods at him before driving off the car to god-knows-where. Mathieu would be annoyed at his sudden abandonment if it weren't for the fact he was stuck in that car all day. He looks up at the building, it’s made up of an A-line roof with the entire front wall being a giant window. He assumes he’s supposed to head up the stairs into the building. He walks up the creaky steps, struggling to get his suitcase up the horribly built stairs. 

“Can I help you with that?” Mathieu looks over to where the voice comes from, and he’s horrified. There’s a muscular tall being a meter away from him with a mask displaying the word ‘HOSTILE’ where its face should be. 

He struggles to put another stair step in between both of them. “I’m, I’m fine.” He tells it.

“Are you sure?” It asks in a gruff woman’s voice, Mathieu looks down at it, putting another step in between them. He sees all the different body grafts and wonders if its voice is even its own. 

“Yes. I can carry my own things.” He uses a defensive tone with it.

“Is this about the mask? Because…” the figure suddenly slumps over. “Never mind, your opinion wouldn’t change either way.”

Mathieu can’t help but feel a little sympathetic towards the figure, even as he flees up the stairs with his hands full. Finally getting to the doors, he finds that the other counsellors have made a pile of luggage in the entryway, the only thing they probably took inside was their phones. Mathieu does the same and starts walking into the main room to meet the other counsellors.

He walks towards the other camp counsellors, he thinks all will be fine until he gets closer to the group and everyone starts staring at him. Feeling intimidated, he awkwardly laughs, letting out a little “hi” as he makes his way around them to the back of the room. He sits in the corner, shrouded by the counter screwed to the wall. Mathieu is ashamed that he’s like this, his older sisters would’ve stood high and mighty even if everyone was looking at them, he on the other hand can’t stand all the gazes. 

“You good?” 

Mathieu raises his head to look across the room, he’s met with a white mask with a light blue square on it looking back at him. The word over the square reads ‘MODIFIED’, kinda like how that other figure had the word ‘HOSTILE’ on their mask.

“I’m fine,” He responds. “You?”

The figure taps its mask. “Fine too, but this thing is a pain in the ass.”

“Why do you have to wear it?”

“I don’t know, I guess it’s some stupid government mumbo jumbo.” The figure groans as it gets up to come sit beside him. “I’m guessing you don’t really want to be seen either?”

Mathieu shakes his head slowly, letting out a soft “no.”

“Yeah, they kept asking me questions, so I just put myself in this corner. Everyone here seems to think I’ll be happy to answer all their questions because I’m Modified because I’m the best version of what comes back around. Well, screw it! I want to be left alone!”

“Yahē!” Mathieu exclaims. “I agree.”

The figure lifts a hand towards him, there’s some wrist wrap on it. “Come join the club… uh?”

Mathieu shakes his hand. “Mathieu. What’s with the wrist wrap?”

“Roland. I just twisted it, it’ll be fine.” He waves it off, his head suddenly jolts towards an umber girl coming towards them.

She looks at Mathieu. “Sorry, I just wanted to say that I liked your braids.”

He smiles and nods. “Thanks, my mom told me they’d last longer out here, I’ll still probably take them out at least two times.”

The girl nods, “Personally I can keep my dreads in for longer, though I don’t think the smell of a campfire would mix too well with them.” 

Mathieu laughs while Roland turns to the girl. “I don’t think we’ll be doing any campfires anyways, all of our food is supposed to come from a cafeteria… So have you come to join the ‘We don’t want to be bothered.’ Club?”

The girl shrugs, “Maybe, that boy over there kept trying to touch my hair.” She gestures to a menacing-looking teen with spiked hair. 

“Yeah, that guy screams ‘asshole’. He's started to look at me funny ever since I introduced myself to him.” 

The girl nods. “Judging by his head scars, he’s most likely got an unwind part in his brain, maybe he feels guilty.” 

Roland wraps his arms around himself. “No, it wasn’t like that, he kept trying to ask where I was unwound and where my body was stored, I didn’t answer him, not like I’d even know the answer to the second question.”

“Weird,” The girl holds her hand. “You guys can call me Gigi by the way.” 

“Mathieu.” He shakes her hand. 

“Roland.” He states, he doesn’t go in to shake her hand, rather, he stays wrapped up in himself. Mathieu wonders if what that boy said to him really cut into his psyche. 

“If you don’t mind me asking Roland,” Gigi asks him, trying to stare him in the eyes as much as she can through the mask. “How are you kept when you’re unwound?”

Roland looks down, it’s hard to read whether he’s thinking or been made uncomfortable by the question. “I don’t remember, I think a nurse told me it’s like a freezer aisle, and that every door has a different kid on display.” He tells them.

“How long were you like that?” Mathieu asks. 

“Two years I think, they never tell ya this, but there’s already too many kids going around to be used. Even then, the section I was put in made undesirable… but, whatever keeps me whole I guess.”

“What section were you put in?” Gigi prods.

“The exotic section.” He states plainly.

Mathieu cringes, he looks at Gigi. “Is there really an exotic section?”

Gigi shakes her head. “I've never seen one, then again, I’ve only ever been in one of those shops once in my life.”

“Why’d they put you in that section?” Mathieu asks. “No offence, but I don’t really see anything… about you… that would be…”

“My guess was that he had a horrible personality, he almost killed a kid when he was alive.”

“He?” Gigi questions. 

Roland nods. “I’m not supposed to consider him myself anymore, since I’m modified, I’m more like a bug-fixed clone of the original,” He pauses. “I don’t like thinking about it too much. Other than that, I can only assume they picked up on him and I being a second-generation immigrant.”

“Oh, where do your parents come from?” Gigi asks. 

“My mom is still from the U.S., but my dad comes from Spain.”

“Ah, right, you’re one of the people coming into Canada for this camp.”

“Uh-huh, how many of us are there? I already travelled with my friend to get here.”

“Well, I think there’s one more person from the U.S., then there’s two from France.”

“France? Wow, I would not have come here if I was all the way from France.” There was a tone of disbelief on Roland’s tongue, Mathieu almost certainly knew his eyes had gone wide open as well. 

[bopeisdope]

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

[the-thunderhead]

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.

[lazysailor]

13 Avery

The graveyard was different and hotter than he expected, he didn't really have that much of a mental image on what it looked like but he didn't expect it to be this hot. While him and Kayden were walking up to some kind of plane where they could get new clothes and some food Kayden speaks up.

“Jeez it's so hot here.” She says as takes off her jacket and w it around her waist.

“I know right, I didn't expect to end up in a place like this.” He says as he continues to walk.

When they both reach the plane Avery immediately starts looking for some new clothes, as much as he loved his button up jacket he would have to wear something new. His eyes looked at a loose black top and some dark colored shorts, he wasn't exactly smart when it came to clothes for hot weather. After putting those on he quickly found Kayden who was now wearing a striped shirt with white and blue stripes, she seemed to see him too.

“So uhh what do we do now?” Kayden asks Avery like he knew the answer.

He thought about it for a moment, then he remembered what The Admiral said.

“Well that Admiral said we would be getting jobs tomorrow..So I guess we can just explore for today.” Avery tells her.

Kayden considers it for a few moments.

“Alright.” She simply says.

They both walk out of the plane and make their way down some kind of main aisle. Right as they pass by some kind of crowd surrounding a helicopter Kayden walks a bit faster to kinda hide behind Avery.

“What are you doing.?” He asks her.

“Dude look.” She says as she points at the guy who seems to be talking to the crowd.

He was muscular and had what appeared to be a tattoo on his right arm.

“You cannot be serious, you're scared of that guy?” Avery asks with disbelief in his voice.

Kayden shakes her head as a yes.

Just then he gets a funny idea in his mind as he smiles a mischievous grin.

“How about we go talk to him?” Avery says in a playful tone as he starts to walk over towards the crowd.

Kayden stays stuck in place not budging a bit.

“Come on! It'll be fun!” Avery adds on.

Still Kayden stays in place.

That's when he considers she actually doesn't want to talk to him.

“Don't worry I was just joking.” Avery says as he walks back over to Kayden.

She looked relieved.

..

Later that night they both sit in the newcomers quarters just waiting for sleep to catch up to them.

“What kind of jobs do you think we'll get?” Avery asks Kayden.

She seems to think about it for a moment.

“I don't know..I just hope I don't have to work with that tattoo guy.” She tells him.

“Why were you so afraid of him anyway?” He asks.

She hesitates to answer for a moment.

“Well..He just looks like he’ll beat me up if I look at him in the wrong way, I don't like those kinds of people.” Kayden explains.

Avery holds back a laugh for her explanation and hides it.

“You have some weird fears.” He says to her.

“I know.” She says with a small smile.

They both shortly fall asleep as they both are unaware they were about to be separated again in the morning.

[lei-lei-artz]

I’ve finally come up with a title for the RolLay fic.

It’s now gonna be called “Blossoms of the deep”

[mybrainisrottingat3am]

I have started writing a Hunger Games Unwind AU called Watching the Minutemen :]

I will be releasing the first part soon

[heliads]

seven devils all around me - connor lassiter x roland taggart

Connor Lassiter is stuck in the basement beneath an antique store. Roland Taggart is waiting for him.

masterlist

They take the Unwinds away one by one.

It makes it better, somehow. The waiting. Better and worse. Better, because this means they’ll each individually move faster than if everyone was removed from the cellar underneath Sonia’s antique shop in one great, easily distracted group. Better, because there’s a slimmer chance of everyone getting caught by vengeful Juvey-cops if there’s just one feral moving at a time than a group of a dozen dead kids walking.

Worse, because it means that the familiar faces are disappearing slowly but surely. The idea exists that they are being taken somewhere safe, but no one can be certain. All Connor Lassiter knows is that the few people in this world that he even halfway trusts are vanishing into the hands of khaki-uniformed strangers. Every few days, someone else goes up the trapdoor and  back into the light, and their numbers shrink down to dust, a not-quite friend group being wound down into a mere handful of uneasy souls.

At first, it didn’t trouble Connor all that much. He pictured it like a doctor’s waiting room:  no matter how long he waited, they’d all be seen eventually. A couple of the kids he barely knew were taken first, which didn’t matter, but then he got to know the rest better and their loss hurt more than when he didn’t remember their names, so. That’s what he gets for trying to make friends, apparently.

As their numbers seriously started to thin, though, Connor started getting shifty again. All of a sudden, there were four. Connor and Risa (the baby removed first, probably less out of moral obligation than the need to get the wailing infant out of that tiny space), joined at the hip ever since they crossed paths while running away. Also remaining in the darkness is Hayden in the back, trying out his sarcastic jokes on an ever-shrinking group of people, and, because the universe apparently cannot hate Connor enough, Roland.

Risa goes next. Connor expected to feel more unsettled by her disappearance after so much time spent watching each other’s backs, but instead the first uncharitable thought in his mind is that at least he won’t be glared at every time he says something wrong. He’s not a flawless human being, even if Risa seems to expect that he’ll be just as perfect as she is.

About half a week later, soldiers in khaki come back down the stairs. Connor waits to see which one of the three remaining unwinds they’ll bring out. It must be him or Roland. Connor’s more of a high profile figure at this point, but Roland’s been here longer, and if they’re trying to get the kids who’ve been waiting for greater intervals, they’ve got to take him out first. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking, though.

To Connor’s surprise, the guards instead point to Hayden and gruffly tell him to get a move on. The blond pumps a fist in mock celebration, then glances between Connor and Roland. “Try not to tear each other to pieces, will you? Leave that for the Juveys.”

With those words of wisdom, Hayden heads for the door, not inclined to loiter in the dark basement any more than he has to. Connor can’t blame him. If he had the chance to get out, he’d sprint up those stairs in a heartbeat.

The guards replenish some of the supplies in the basement, then leave at last, shutting the trapdoor behind them with an ominous thud. Connor is left with the chilling realization that Hayden was the last person who could possibly stand between him and Roland. Now that Hayden’s gone, nothing can stop Roland from finally acting on the hatred that’s been simmering between both of them from the second Connor got here.

Connor can’t believe they’d actually leave him here with Roland. When you have two guys who obviously hate each other’s guts, you don’t abandon them to each other. It reminds Connor of a riddle he heard when he was a kid– a chicken, some corn, and a fox stuck on one side of a river, a raft only big enough for two passengers, and a hapless farmer forced to figure out the order in which to ferry his passengers across so nothing gets eaten. Whoever’s playing the game with their lives has obviously fucked up this round, but unlike in a riddle, there are no second tries. Connor is left to get consumed by the fox eyeing him coldly from the other side of the basement.

Above him, the footsteps of the guards and Hayden bleed away, softened by antique rugs and then gone for good. Most days, Connor likes to pretend that he can hear trucks coming and going. It makes him believe that maybe there is a plan for all of them after they leave, that they won’t just be dumped somewhere alone again.

Today, though, he hates it. Hates them for leaving them here. Shouldn’t they know better? Even Hayden managed to figure that out in the span of a second. Any soldier with a week of experience should be able to tell that you don’t stick the two kids who hate each other the most in a dark basement with only the other for company. Already, Connor’s eyes are adjusting to the gloom again, but he doesn’t like the sight any better than he did on his first day.

“So,” a cold voice rings out across the semi-darkness. “They actually left us here alone. Didn’t think they’d do it.”

Connor scoffs, trying not to let any sign of apprehension slip through. “What, you got bored of my lively personality?”

“Humor doesn’t suit you, Connor,” Roland drawls. “Hayden got away with it because we liked him better than you. You can’t hide behind him any longer, though. It’s just us down here. Just you and me.”

“Charming,” Connor mumbles. “But it’ll be over in a few days. Then one of us will be alone. I hope it’s you.”

Something almost like sympathy twists at Connor’s gut as he says it. Even though he despises Roland, the thought of being alone down here in the dark and depressing basement is a fate he would kill to avoid. If he’s thinking that, though, Roland probably is too. And if Connor is willing to kill to not be the one left behind, Roland must be foaming at the mouth at the thought of it.

Roland chuckles. The sound issues across the basement until it coasts up to Connor, making the hair on his arms stand up with a rush. They’ve positioned themselves to be as far apart as possible, but their placement on opposite sides of the basement means that they’re constantly staring each other dead in the eyes. One blink, one glance away, and one of them could be on the other in a heartbeat. So they keep staring, and no one moves. There are no more bodies to keep between them. Just Connor, and Roland, and the awful distance between.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d love it if they left me here? Bet it would make you feel awfully safe if I was locked up all the time. You think you’re a big man, Connor, but you’re scared of me.”

Connor scoffs and looks away. There’s a little too much knowledge in Roland’s gaze, and it sharpens to a knifepoint between Connor’s brows. In his peripheral vision, Connor can see Roland shifting slightly, jutting his chin up. Proud. Correct. Despicable.

“I’m not scared of you. Guys like you are a dime a dozen. If I wanted a greasy thug, I’d go to a gas station.” Connor spits out.

Roland stands in one swift motion, like he’s been yanked up by an invisible hand. Connor’s head jerks back up, but he’s looked back too late– Roland is already moving. The pretense is gone. Whatever they do here, they’ve been building up to it since the first day.

At first, Roland just hovers on the balls of his feet, leaning casually against the wall behind him. The basement is not tall, and he has to bend slightly so his head doesn’t scrape the ceiling. This gives the impression that Roland is leaning towards him, close enough to reach. Close enough to snap his jaws shut around Connor’s throat.

“You are scared,” Roland breathes triumphantly. “You’re so obvious. Even if you left me here, you’d never stop being scared. You’d go all across the world and you’d never stop thinking about me. I’d be a bigger part of you than anything.”

Connor shakes his head. “You’re wrong. You’re nothing to me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Roland hisses, and he’s across the basement in a second. Connor doesn’t even see him move. He blinks and the other boy is standing right in front of him, the tips of his shoes nudging Connor in the sides. He has Connor bracketed just slightly, hardly touching him but making it obvious that Connor cannot move without Roland’s express permission.

“You can’t do that,” Connor says. He feels like a little boy, whining about someone stealing his toy. “You know the rules.”

Roland actually rolls his eyes. “There’s nobody down here, remember? They can’t see us.”

The rest goes unspoken. Nobody is here. Nobody would know. And nobody would tell. Certainly not Connor. That would mean admitting that he let one boy bother him to the point of telling, and even if they fight, Connor’s not a coward. He’s going to handle this himself.

He tries to stand, but Roland’s hand flashes out to grab him, pushing him down to the ground again by the shoulder.

“Get your hands off of me,” Connor spits.

“Make me,” Roland says, all teeth. He pinches Connor’s shoulder as he says it, further proof of what they both know by now to be true:  Roland does what he wants, when he wants. And Connor won’t do a thing to stop it.

“You’re crazy,” Connor says, leaning away from Roland. Maybe the guy will back off if Connor pretends he doesn’t care. “Did you get hit on the head recently? Be honest.”

“It’s sweet of you to ask,” Roland simpers. He sinks to one knee so he can get a better read of Connor’s disgust, and they’re practically breathing each other in now, barely a millimeter between them. “Of course, it’s not your job to worry. Not mine, either. It’s not my head anymore, is it? Belongs to the Juveys. Who knows who’ll get my brain? Maybe you might end up with a piece or two.” He knocks his fist against Connor’s temple, less like a punch, more like a tap against an unlocked door. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Not knowing who was flirting with your girl, me or you? Or maybe my brain’s too good for you. Maybe you’d get my arm instead.”

Connor tries not to let his disgust at the idea show, but he’s not entirely successful. His dislike must be obvious, because Roland flashes him a dark grin, the expression broad and all-consuming. “What, you don’t like the ink?”

“I’m not a big fan of dolphins,” Connor hisses back.

Irritated, Roland snaps his jaws, teeth crashing together just a hair’s breadth from the tip of Connor’s nose. He doesn’t flinch, thankfully, but his eyes track the movement nonetheless, which makes Roland’s victorious smile loom again as if he had moved after all. 

“See?” Roland says, smooth and slow. “Scared. I see you.”

“You wish,” Connor retorts. “I’d be more scared of a spider.”

“Prove it, then,” Roland tells him. He’s so assured of himself that he even leans back a little, resting casually where he kneels on the cold floor of the basement right in front of Connor. He truly doesn’t believe that Connor could do a damn thing to him that matters.

He’s wrong, though. Connor can. Roland is expecting a fight, or an insult, something he can counter, but that’s the wrong move. Mama may have raised a boy she could give away for forms signed in triplicate but she sure as hell didn’t raise a fool, so Connor knows he must do something terrible, something worse, something to ruin this dark place forever. There’s one last trick up Connor’s sleeve, but it’s the wrong move, it’s the wrong path to start because once he starts going he’ll never stop. He should back off now, but he’s just like Roland in that aspect– could never back down, could never do anything but hurl himself directly into trouble– there is simply no other option– no choice– 

Connor’s mouth collides with Roland’s so harshly that their teeth crush together. He has the brief thought that he’d like to do that again, leaving the other boy bloody and bruised, and a sharp spike of something hot but not entirely unpleasant courses through him at the thought. Connor’s hand locks onto Roland’s throat a moment later, fingernails scrabbling for purchase before sliding down to grip the neck of his t-shirt. Maybe he should have gone for the throat first instead of the mouth, but that wasn’t the part that mattered. It was an afterthought. Throttle the boy, but not before you make him yours.

Roland lets out a surprised choke of air, just enough for Connor’s stomach to twist with satisfaction at getting the other hand, before he kisses Connor back with the same force if not more, enough to knock Connor’s head back against the wall. Connor gasps at the impact, giving Roland enough purchase to start pushing him into the ground again. Roland would bury him beneath the earth if he could, Connor thinks. He would erase all evidence that Connor had ever existed. Only Roland would know that he had been there at all. 

He’d like that too, Connor thinks with a shiver. Having that power over Connor. Owning him in every way that matters. Absolutely evil, but Connor is worse, because he has seen all of that and liked it. And allowed it to continue. And started it first.

Roland pulls away just a little, leaving both of them panting for breath. He kneels over Connor like a wild animal, and there’s a spark of something new in his eyes. It might be respect. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Lassiter.”

“You don’t know anything,” Connor growls, and forces them back together. One of his hands is bunched in the material of Roland’s shirt, the other reaching up past the throat to knot in Roland’s dark hair. He’s seen it from across the basement for days now, how it seemed to suck in all the light that touched it. He’s wanted to touch it, too, for a very long time. Connor tugs on the roots, jerking Roland’s head back, exposing the veins pulsing against the skin. If he only had a blade– but he is the blade now, he is the weapon. Connor could kill him right now, and he wouldn’t even need a knife.

The thought shocks him out of whatever trance made him do this. Connor pushes him away, suffering for purchase against the dirty floor until he picks himself up and flings himself across the basement, ending up where Roland had been just minutes before. They stare at each other again, so far from where they started, but somehow exactly in the same position. Two lions stuck in a cage, pacing, circling, until one lunges to draw blood and they engage once more.

“This won’t happen again,” Connor informs him. Even he doesn’t believe it.

Roland laughs pityingly. “You tell yourself that. We’ve got plenty of time before they let us out. You’ll get bored. Face it, Connor. You can never let me go.”

Connor shakes his head resolutely. This was a breach of judgment, a one-time slip. A mistake that won’t repeat. But he can still taste Roland’s breath on his tongue, and he can see where Roland’s dark hair is mussed from his hands, and Connor knows– he knows that he is wrong. That it will happen again. And he will start it, or Roland will, or both of them. It won’t matter. In the dark of the basement, where no one knows they’re alive, they can do whatever they want. This is what Connor wants. He's in a position to take it, so he will, again and again until they pull him out.

Then, who cares. He doesn’t have to think about that. He doesn’t have to think at all.

Roland grins. He’s won this round. Connor will have to beat him at something else, find a way to expose his throat to the cold, violent air or otherwise make him weak. He still has two hands and a pulse. He’ll find a way to get back on top.

Until then, Connor doesn’t have to remember a thing. The darkness swallows everything anyway. No point in looking.

a/n: for u babe @nealshustermanbrainrot

unwind tag list: @reinekes-fox, @sirofreak, @locke-writes

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[luckytidbit]

Babs

Hehe

[luckytidbit]

🚨ART DUMP! ART DUMP!🚨

Ok so first he got him,

Then we got a fast render of Miracolina ‘cause the discord was drawing them at the time, idk why the Italian flag is in the back.

A scene from my fic, that’s also their updated natural skin colour… ok bye…

Putting Nero in shit I found on Pinterest, the posing is inspired by lei-lei’s art of her.

And lastly a future scene that I wanted to do in a tv show format.

yippee!

[luckytidbit]

Here’s the artwork for the last chapter!!!

[robotstrategy]

Rediscover • Part 1 • 2 - Roland and Nero

Previous • Series Masterlist • Part 1 Masterlist • Next Roland has an airplane blanket wrapped around him as the plane takes off, getting on the plane was so easy, yet so hard for him at the same time. Of course, because of the piloting license, he was deeply trusted by security, and this made him feel like a fraud. These people would’ve once torn him to shreds, now they’re just giving him friendly reminders that his mask should stay on at all times once he crosses the border.

Roland goes to itch the bridge of his nose before his finger is stopped by the shield of plastic covering his face. He sighs, lifting the bottom of the mask with one hand to awkwardly squish a finger in up to his nose to itch it. 

“Tired?” Nero asks him. She looks all ready for the summer, pink, floral, ruffled crop top and all.

He shakes his head. “No, I just hate travelling already.”

Nero quietly laughs, she nudges him. “At least you’re not already being profiled. When I was in charge of air delivery I was feared and respected with this mask on. Now, everyone who looks at me thinks they’re my next victim.” It had surprised both of them that Nero wasn’t profiled for Mason’s face but rather the symbol on her mask, even if she was labelled hostile by proxy. 

“At least you’re not being baby-talked and coddled.” 

“I’d rather have that than whatever I’m getting now.”

Roland turns away from her, looking towards the window. He watches the clouds go by as they keep moving forward, even though he’s older and understands what clouds are made of, they never stop looking so fluffy to him. He imagines they would be great for laying on when his back aches, and they’d probably be just as comfortable as Hayden’s bed sheets. 

Hayden, it had been a week since he’d been at his apartment. He told himself that he’d leave Hayden’s side before the guy had the chance to wake up, but as Roland started stirring around 4 all he wanted to do was to lay back down in Hayden’s arms. So he did, and in the morning he woke up to Hayden having placed an arm around him while the other one scrolled his phone. Roland moved towards his face, their eyes locked and so did their lips. After a moment he pulled away from him, Hayden looked star-struck, he set down his phone and pulled Roland onto him. He hung his arms around Roland's neck as he turned the kiss into something more. After a moment of passion, Roland breaks away from him, panting. “I guess the second time's the charm.” He laughed. His forehead was still planted against Hayden’s, but he could feel him frown. 

“I don’t want to forget about the party, Hayden.” He could feel himself being gently pushed off of him. 

“Hayden?” He calls out as Hayden rises from the bed. “Do you want breakfast?” He asks flatly as puts a housecoat around himself. 

“Hayden?” He calls out again.

“It’s a yes or no question, Roland.” There’s a sense of sadness in his voice. 

Roland gives up trying to get an answer from him. “Yes Hayden, I’d like breakfast.” He sighs.

It felt like he could still feel Hayden’s lips against his, for how roughly they were pressed against each other it felt like a flame went out when he was let go. 

Humour is something Nero can do, it’s something that makes everything seem okay, people are made happy and she can go on with her life knowing that others think she’s full of joy. But she’s not. Nero has been doing nothing but brooding behind a happy exterior. She has felt empty ever since Sam left to visit Molokai. The emptiness is like the one she once felt during the beginning of her rewinding, the one that she constantly filled with something new. She had forgotten how painful and irritating it felt.

It will be hard to fill that void on this trip if it can even be filled at all. Roland’s company doesn’t seem to be doing anything for her, and it’ll be almost impossible to have friendly conversations with others when the word ‘HOSTILE’ is projected on her face.

At least there’s Bambi, Bambi seems to listen to her problems as long as she listens to hers. The only problem is that she hasn’t told Bambi about her face yet, and she feels she’s gone too far in their relationship to tell her now. It would be like betraying her, so no matter what, she swears she’ll never meet Bambi in person. Even if she's the closest thing to her child’s father.

Nero huffs, folding her arms after placing earplugs in to drown out the sound of a crying baby. She looks to the man beside her on the outer row, who has been doing nothing but nervously humming for thirty minutes, these earplugs might be good for drowning him out too. 

The absence of sound unnerves her; there's the sound of a boy panicking in her head while two older voices calm the boy. He seems to be freaking out, telling them he can’t hear. Nero takes out one of the earplugs, waves it in her view and puts it back into her ear, hoping she got the message across to the boy who screams in her head. 

Nero sighs and lays her head against the back of the chair, slowly dozing off. Dreams are weird for Nero. They always play out like little kids role-playing and then getting mad that the other kid isn’t playing the way they want to. Her dreams go one way, and then someone in her head disagrees with it and somehow tunes it the way they want it to go. If she doesn’t have completely mundane dreams all night they’re usually feverish nightmares. 

She wakes up bleary-eyed as Roland continuously taps her on the shoulder. 

“Guh, it’s time to get off now isn’t it?” She asks, rubbing her eyes.

Roland nods, he passes her down the gym bag she brought on the flight. Once Roland gets his things both of them get off the plane and into the airport, where they’re set to get on a bus that will take them all the way to a camp in Muskoka.

[robotstrategy]

Recalled • 57 - Quinceañera

Previous • Series Masterlist

Aight fair warning there might be some bad Spanish in here. (Cause I do not speak that language.)

Roland looks outside the front windows of the hall as he adjusts his shirt collar. He stands there like he’s waiting for someone, yet no one was told to come this early. He looks over to Sam, who stares at all the periwinkle-themed decorations. 

“You’re not back there with Nero?” He asks him. 

Sam shakes his head, he looks a little sad. “Nero hasn’t said it, but I think she just wants me to leave her alone.” 

“I see.” 

Roland takes another slow lap around the hall admiring all the decorations. The ombre draped curtains, the flowers, and the beautiful crown moulding on the hall’s walls. He walks into the back room, where his mother, his abuela and Nero are busy getting Lilian ready. Roland looks at his father who stands off to the side. “You’re not helping them?”

His father laughs. “They keep yelling at me whenever I try.” 

“Well, you don’t have the feminine touch we women have,” Nero responds.

“Sí, me gusta ella.” His abuela says it’s funny, she perfectly understands English but she can’t speak a lick of it.

Nero looks bewildered. “What did she say?” She asks Mr. Delgado. 

“She said she likes you chica.”

“Oh,” Nero reddened with shyness. 

Nero pins back Lilian’s hair with a bejewelled clip, she makes sure that the bottoms of her ears aren’t covered leaving room for the earrings her grandmother places in them. 

Nero turns to face Lilian. “So, any boyfriends?”

Lilian shakes her head solemnly. “All the boys that like me are weird, and all the boys I like think I look weird.”

“Hmmph, assholes.”

“But I do look weird.”

“Honey nooo…” Nero gets Cindy and Florencia to back away for a moment, she turns Lilian’s chair to one of the mirrors. “Look how pretty you are, you’ve got pretty blue eyes, beautiful long dark brown hair, and when you put on that gorgeous dress you’ll be the prettiest girl here.”

“But my eye, everyone will be talking about that.”

“Psssh, not with Sam and I here, what do you think they’ll be talking about, the Quinceañera’s lazy eye or the two Rewinds with Mason Starkey’s face?”

“I knew that face looked familiar!” Danilo interjected half-hazardly. 

“But-,” Lilian continued.

“Hey! If someone mocks your appearance I’ll spill punch on them or something, you're very beautiful, and I need you to see that.”

Lilian nods, and the girls get back to getting her ready. Once done, her mother helps her slip on her dress, and her abuela puts on her gloves and the rest of her jewelry.

“Oh, la dieciochoañera es una princesa tan hermosa!” Her abuela tells her.

“Can the princess give us a spin?” Nero asks Lilian.

Lilian twirls a few times, stopping once she gets dizzy, which is only two to three twirls. The girls cheer her on and Lilian seems to get really happy.

Half an hour later all the guests have arrived, Roland peeks out from the entrance curtains to see if he can spot Hayden. He sees him talking to a befuddled guy with a ponytail and tattoos covering his entire body, weird, who invited that guy?

His mother comes up to him and Roland opens the curtain for her, she heads down to the middle of the hall, getting everyone’s attention. 

“Hello everyone, please sit down, we'll be starting in one minute,” She turns around, walking back into the curtains as everyone gets seated. “How’s the speech going Lilian?”

Roland turns around to see Lilian speed-reading a piece of paper. “Good.” She says nervously, she lowers the paper from her view, frantically looking around for a table to put it on. 

Roland goes towards her. “Do you want me to hold on to it?”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “Could be good in case you forget a part.”

“And look like an idiot?”

“I’m not saying that,” He gestures at the page. “Hand it over, we don't have much time.” Lilian gives him the page and he neatly folds it and slides it into his coat pocket.

Their mother and father slip out of the curtains making it to the middle of the room. Lilian’s Quinceañera isn’t religious, so there won’t be any padrinos, which means her small Quinceañera court is next to go on, which consists of Roland, one of Lilian’s classmates, their abuela, and their tía. If Roland remembers correctly her name is Alejandra. “See you in like ten seconds.” He tells Lilian as he walks out. 

As Roland gets to the middle of the floor he sees Nero open the curtains wide for Lilian, the room is suddenly filled with murmurs of “Oh, she’s so beautiful.” and “Oh que linda.” Lilian turns her head down hiding a big smile as she walks towards the middle. Last to come out is her Chamberlain, it’s another guy from her class who is wheelchair-bound, Nero follows behind him, making sure he’s able to keep a steady pace as he rolls. Once he’s in the middle Nero hides herself in the court. 

The guests are instructed to stand up as Lilian is handed a microphone to begin her toast. 

“Hi everyone, thank you for coming,” She starts. “I’m really glad you all came, and I hope you enjoy this party. I never would’ve expected this to happen, and…” Roland starts to notice Lilian is hyperventilating, she starts to go into a cold sweat. “I hate this.” she spits out. Roland and their father rush to her side, Roland takes the microphone from Lilian and hands it to their father, he in turn exchanges it for his pocket-handkerchief. Roland blots away at Lilian’s sweat and tears. “What’s wrong?” He asks her.

“I forgot my lines.”

Roland pulls the paper out of his pocket and hands it to her. “I guess we were better safe than sorry.” 

“And I sound like a mouse.”

“Yeah, a pretty one.”

Lilian laughs. “I hate you.”

Lilian unfolds the paper as Roland hands her back the microphone. “Pretend you're just talking to me okay.” Lilian nods as she clears her throat. “I never would’ve expected this to happen, and I’m very thankful to my family for putting this together. This year I really wanted a dress for my birthday, and I guess I got the dress and a whole lot more. I’m also really happy that this year I was able to meet my real father. He’s really nice and ten times better than the father I had for most of my life. I know I’ve still got so much more to live, but I’m at least grateful that my eighteenth birthday is a happy one.” She nods to Roland, indicating her toast is over.

Roland hands over the microphone to his abuela and tía Alejandra. 

“Hola a todos, muchas gracias por venir.” His abuela starts.

“Hello everyone, thank you so much for coming.” His tía echoes in English.

“Estoy muy feliz de que todos hayan venido a la Quinceañera de mi nieta.”

“I am so happy you all came to my granddaughter’s Quinceañera.”

“Cuando era pequeña, las quinceañeras todavía se estaban integrando en la cultura española, así que fue realmente una sorpresa cuando tuve la oportunidad de tener una.”

“When I was little, Quinceañeras were still being integrated into Spaniard culture, so it was really a surprise when I got to have one myself.”

“Cuando mi hija tuvo su Quinceañera, me aseguré de que fuera la mejor fiesta de su vida, eso es exactamente lo que quería regalarle a mi nieta también.”

“When my daughter had her Quinceañera, I made sure it was the best party of her life, that’s exactly what I wanted to give my granddaughter as well.”

“Y continuaré asegurándome de que todas mis nietas tengan excelentes Quinceañeras.”

“And I will continue to make sure all my granddaughters have excellent Quinceañeras.”

“Ahora vamos a cenar.”

“Now, let’s have dinner.”

Lilian’s family is served first before the DJ calls out certain tables to head up to the buffet. While Roland is eating his abuela starts talking to him. “Rolando, ¿por qué no vinieron tus abuelos con nosotros?”

“Hmm, grandparents? No, my grandmother isn’t here, we made sure not to invite her.”

“Ah, pero ellos,” His abuela points over to Otto and Martha.

Roland shakes his head, laughing. “No, no, those are our neighbours, I do wish they were our grandparents though, they’re far nicer people.”

Roland excuses himself from the table to alleviate himself, once he gets out of the bathroom he sees the guy covered in tattoos leaning against the wall. Roland goes over to him. “Who are you?” He asks. 

“Hayden’s plus one,” Lev answers. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize me, almost…” Lev suddenly has a moment of realization. “Oh, you were unwound the entire time, sorry.” 

“It’s fine.”

Lev holds out his hand. “I’m Lev Tashi’ne, the clapper who didn’t clap.”

Roland nods his head absentmindedly.

“You still don’t know me.”

Roland shakes his head, affirming Lev’s suspicions. 

“I’m glad actually, unlike Hayden I don’t like being seen as a micro-celebrity,” He pauses. “Sorry for being here, Hayden had me thinking this was Connor-related, and now I’m here at some girl’s birthday party.”

“No, you’re not a burden,” Roland reassures him. “And, at least Hayden isn’t so alienated now.”

“Hah, guess he and I have that in common, we don’t know anyone here,” Lev’s face straightened. “Though I think I remember you from the graveyard.”

“You remember Roland, not me, I’m Modified.”

Lev nods. “When I went to Cleaver to become a clapper I had asked about Roland, he said Roland wasn’t the right material to be a clapper.”

Roland blinks. “Of course, I’m not a coward.”

Lev gives him a disgusted look. “A coward?! Roland clapping is self-immolation!”

Self-immolation, Roland had heard those words before. He believes it was his English professor, who was also the psychology professor who had brought it up whilst they were reading a book. He had described it as a form of protest or an act of martyrdom, because someone was literally lighting themselves on fire it was considered one of the most extreme methods of protest.

“Well, firstly self-immolation is setting yourself on fire, not blowing up. Pretty sure people who commit self-immolation also believe the world will get its shit together because of their protests. Clappers hate the world, they want it destroyed, no ifs, ands, or buts.”

Lev tries to say something, but he stops himself because Roland is right.

“Hey, be mad at me all you want, but you’ll have to get in line behind Connor and Risa.”

After supper Lilian’s father slips her from flats into heels, he makes sure she’s stable before guiding her onto the dance floor for a father-and-daughter dance. “Are you nervous?” He asks her.

“A little.”

“Well, don’t be, I’m right here.”

Danilo and Lilian dance alone on the dancefloor, Roland watches as their father asks Lilian a question, she accepts it, and their father lifts her up into the air he spins her around before setting her back down. The crowd cheers and they soon join them on the dance floor, Roland goes to sit in the corner not really wanting to dance until he has to. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots Nero walking up to Hayden, who looks horrified at the sight of her. The way Nero had half her hair dyed red and permed in curls made everyone instantly recognize whose face she had.

“Sorry, he came back from the dead.” She starts.

“I’m more scared that he came back as a sexy woman.”

“Ay, woah, cool it! I’m not into men.”

“I’m not into you either, I’m just stating the facts.” 

“Hmm, thanks, but I didn’t come for flattery, I came to give you closure.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you, listen, the way you look at me tells me a lot, you’ve been hurt by Mason. I just want you to know that you can rest easy. All I have is his skin, everything else is probably buried deeper than the respected dead. He’s gone, and he’s never coming back.”

Hayden nods. “That’s very nice of you to say, but I don’t think I should be the one hearing it.”

Nero furrows her brow as Hayden grabs a napkin from a nearby table and writes down a phone number and a name, he hands her the napkin. “That’s who needs closure, she’s busy dealing with the aftermath of Starkey’s harem.”

Nero goes wide-eyed. “He had a harem?”

Hayden nods. “Thankfully only one of three girls he had sex with actually produced a kid, and then she died in childbirth.”

Nero winces, “Yikes.”

“Yeah, Bam didn’t trust those two other girls with the baby, so she left them and took the baby with her.”

“What a noble woman.”

“Yeah, one of the only nice storks in Stork Brigade.”

Hayden leaves Nero alone with the number of a stork girl named Bambi. 

Lilian didn’t have a surprise dance after the waltz, but then that meant that after the waltz Roland and members of the court would have to invite someone onto the dancefloor. As the waltz ends and before Roland can even get up Hayden comes rushing over to him.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

“I want to dance with you,” Hayden confesses.

“You, you want to be chosen by a court member?”

“Well, not just any court member.” He mumbles.

Roland gets up, “Alright, come dance with me.” Roland grabs his arm and leads him to the dance floor. They’re mostly covered on all sides by people, making the moment feel more intimate than it already is.

Hayden looks into Roland’s eyes. “Your eyes look like watercolours.”

“Huh?”   

“Like the way the pigments are injected, I’ve never seen anything like it. When did you get them done?”

Roland is taken aback. “Hayden, they’ve been like this since before I was unwound.”

“Oh,” Hayden looks down, becoming a little sheepish. “I guess I never noticed.”

Hayden eventually looks back up into Roland’s eyes, and Roland becomes redder with every moment.

“Are you blushing?” Hayden asks him.

“Yes Captain Obvious, because someone is staring right into my soul.”

Hayden laughs. “Y’know someone from the graveyard once told me that, to have a soul, you had to be loved.”

“Oh, I’m feeling very loved right now,” Roland says sarcastically.

“Well prepare to be loved even more, ‘cause little ole me fucked over your ex’s chance of getting a good job!”

Roland’s entire world stops, and he backs away from Hayden. “You did what?”

Hayden panics. “I was going through public records and I found that a guy around your age named Trevor had to replace his testes. Research got the best of me and I found he went to your school and that multiple agencies were ready to pick him up. I just had to do something about it.”

“Hayden…”

Hayden pulls Roland's hands towards him. “This isn’t just about you! It’s about all the other people he could hurt in the future. You’d want people safe from him wouldn’t you?”

Roland nods, still letting Hayden hold onto his hands.

Hayden holds his hands close to his chest. “Listen, I feel bad that you invited me all the way out here and I didn’t bring anything. So umm, there’s kind of a ticket to a party I haven’t cashed out yet and… I’d be okay if you were my plus one.”

Roland smiles. “Are you asking me out on a date Mr. Upchurch?”

Hayden flushes red. “N-no what makes you say that? Do you want to go out on a date with me?” 

Roland laughs. “You know what? Maybe I would,” He brings his hands back into Hayden’s vision. “I asked because you’re also still holding my hands and being awkward.”

Hayden tries to pull away, but Roland tightens his grip around his hands whilst giggling.

Hayden bashfully tucks his chin into his neck, looking down like an embarrassed toddler. “You’ve got very pretty eyes, Roland.” He mumbles.

Roland hums, “I know, I’ve been told.”

An hour before the end of the ceremony Lilian cuts the cake with her group, and then they are left to join back in on the ceremony as her mother, abuela and tía set the cake down at each table. Roland goes over to Nero as she eats her slice. He supposes the entire party he wasn’t paying any attention to what she was wearing because it’s truly a shock when he looks at her. She wears a long shimmering light coral dress, the side of it has a slit so far up you can see where Roland’s old leg and the BioBuilder torso meet, there’s also plenty of inner boob. 

“Can you not stare at me like that?” She asks shyly. 

“Sorry,” He averts his gaze. “It’s a very pretty dress.” 

“I know, I’ve been ogled many times.” 

Roland sits down with her. 

“When does this party end?” She asks.

“Well, Lilian just cut the cake, so around another hour.” 

“Hmmph!” 

“You haven’t even said a word to Sam tonight, have you?” 

Nero sniffs. “Talking to him will just make me cry, I don’t want your sister or anyone to see me cry.” 

Roland nods. “I hear you went back to school again, why?”

Nero sighs. “I went to the flight academy to escape war, but it just brought me right back to it. So I’m taking courses in business so I can help Sam or something.” 

“That’s nice of you.”

“Yeah, yeah shut up.”

The party is close to ending as Lilian has her last dances, one with her father, one with her mother, and one with someone special in her life. Roland wonders who that will be, but it doesn’t take long for him to find out. As Lilian ends her dance with her mother she looks around for someone. 

“Roland?” She calls out.

Roland looks up and raises his hand. “I’m over here!” He shouts, he gets out of the seat next to Nero and runs over to her. 

“You wanted to dance with me?” He asks. 

Lilian nods, as they hold each other and sway Roland realizes something. 

“You’re crying.” Lilian notices. 

“It’s just, you’re all grown up now.” He sniffs.

“You sound like a dad.” 

“I did parent you, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, but I’m not that old yet, it’s still the beginning of my life.” 

“Yeah, it is.” 

[luckytidbit]

Another one

(This is based of my fic so the only recognizable character is Roland.)