( pop your white collars up! )

❛——it's been a long time since i've had this line of doubt out loud.❜ #conduitism written by scout

[peiinto-blog]

+ conduitism

[conduitism]

          Not everyone was as welcoming to the idea of letting conduits roam free.           Even after everything that had happened. She should’ve guessed as much,           considering how rude some people could be. Dropping down to sit on the           curb, she wiped her lip already feeling the skin heal over from the punch           she’d received. Looking at the people walk by, Midori called out to one man           about to enter the same cafe she’d just left.

               ❝Hey, I wouldn’t go in there just yet. A fight                    broke out and well, things are pretty messy.❞ 

          It’d take them a while to clean the paint from the coffee makers anyways. 

He had seen the commotion from down the block, and while he didn't exactly have a craving for coffee just then, he was always a little nosy. It would, someday, come back to bite him right in the ass. Wren shoves gloved hands into his pockets, shoes clicking on concrete as he slowly made his way to the cafe. There was definitely chatter, but before he could pull the door open and enter, there's a voice. Wren stops. 

He turns around, expecting to see someone standing at his height, but his eyes fall to the ground. His eyes scan the woman quickly, determine that she looks like she knows what she's talking about, and he pulls off from the door. ❛A fight, hmm? I seem to always miss the good things.❜ He shakes his head, once, and turns his body so he can face her easily. ❛In a coffee shop,❜ he laughs, ❛do you know why?❜

[herroyaldarkness]

so there’s an easier way I finally figured out. consider this an addendum to my previous how-to.

[conduitism]

starter call ;

haven't been on here in a while, like legitimately giving out starters and such >u>;;;; my travels and my schoolwork have really restricted my time to reply but i'd like to have more starters given out!! like this post and i can hand one to you!

[mcnohand-blog]

(x)

[conduitism]

✖ ; spxculum ; ✖

[spxculum-blog-deactivated201902]

        He tries to talk himself out of it, tries to ease back.            He’s probably already too clingy, but every part of            Dyson wants to cling to Wren and he can’t help it.            Cay  had him medicated,  an entire  amalgamation            of  pills  in his blood that turned his  thoughts  to            white  noise  and  made his  gaze  almost  wistful            and distant, any  information that went in usually            fell  out  the other side, but since leaving  he  had            that  rug  pulled out form under him. He  just  got            left flat on his ass trying to figure out how to see            the world through unglazed eyes. 

        It’s  weird, and he knows it is, everyone has to  to            tell   him,  but  eye  contact  is  something  of   an            impossibility  for   him.  Perhaps it was  a  fear,  a            deep  set  reaction  drilled  into him  from  before,             like flinching at sudden  movements, but he only            manages  to  briefly  drag   his  eyes  up  towards            Wren’s. The sunglasses help a little, though, and            he’s able to keep his quivering smile from fading,            instead  just  focusing  more on the  dark  lenses            than anything. 

        Dyson’s  hesitant to respond. Part of him  gladly            wants to go along, but another part shoves back,            and  he pauses. Carefully, though, a jittery  hand            lifts,  his  own  arm  slotting into  place  with  the            other  Conduit’s,  despite  very  nearly  recoiling.            Now   it’s  incredibly   obvious  how  badly   he’s            shaking.  ❝Y-yeah…?  I, ah…  haven’t  really…            gone  to  one of these  before. I’ll…  take  your            word for it.❞

[conduitism]

          His breath balled up and froze in his throat, making it           nearly impossible to gulp.    While eye contact for him           was   fairly   easy,   it   made   communications   more           intimate and easier to  deal  with,  it was different with           Dyson. Dyson's fear became his fear, and behind his           sunglasses, blue eyes fall.            He pushes himself            through   it,   because   he   hasn't   had   a   sickening           feeling yet.    He can last longer.     He can last longer.           Wren can do it for the guy with a shaky smile.

          He tightens his grip  just  barely  around Dyson's arm.           Wren bites at his lower lip, both rows of teeth working           to pull dead skin off.  It was a bad habit, and now that           there's someone  around  that  he  wants  to impress,           he has to constantly remind himself to stop.        Fists           ball up, fingernails dig into old scars.     stop.     Teeth           rip a gash into the flesh of his lower lip. stop.     While           all injuries heal, it begins to get annoying. 

          Talk, dammit.           he goes to face Dyson again and a grin takes over. a           hop, skip, and a jump happens in his chest. Day time           activist,    night time performer,    he could gush about           rallies and music for days. He's afraid he might do so           in front of Dyson. 

                    ❛Now that Conduits are free, Augustine taken                     down,   whatever,  the  rallies  are  a  lot   more                     positive now.     There's always that one group                     who'll     have    that     girl's    face     plastered                     everywhere,   I think her name is Abigail,    but                     they  never  really  last  long.    These,  though,                     full of... good vibes.❜

          well, shit. he gushed.    the word vomit doesn't stop,           but it slows down. he begins to stammer.

                    ❛Maybe-maybe afterwards, we could... I don't                     know.   Grab... grab a bite to eat?   Or just... pft,                     uh, order takeout at my place.❜

[wasforcenturies-deactivated2016]

x

[conduitism]

✖ ; spxculum ; ✖

[spxculum-blog-deactivated201902]

        There’s a million and one things he wants to say,            and  all  of  them  get  trapped  in  his  throat.  He            wants  to  be  able   to  confidently  hold  out  his            hand,  not a single  tremor present in his  fingers,            wants  to  unwind his shoulders, wants to  be  at            ease.  No  one in the world seemed to be  on  his            side,  not  even  his own  family,  his  old  friends            long gone, but in about  the minute or so of just            standing   with   Wren    he   felt…    comfortable. 

        But  he  doesn’t know what to say to  that.  After            years  of  useless ego stroking, he’s  not  entirely            sure  what’s  genuine or not. The  other  Conduit            seemed  sincere enough, though, but the  words            still struggle to form,  dying on his tongue as he            ducks  his  head down a  bit,  something  almost            bashful painting dark features. 

        Dyson  scours  his  brain for  something  to  say,            though.   The  silence  he  responded  with   was            probably  dragging  on too   long,  and  he  tries,            lifting    his    head,     dragging    his    eyes    up,            attempting  to  make  eye  contact  (and  failing),            his  shoulders pulling  tighter. Words fumble  in            his mouth, and it takes a little doing, but after a            moment he’s able to shove them all out. 

        ❝I  think…  uhm…  I-I’ll…  I’ll go with   you.  To            that  rally you were talking about. I…❞ But  his            thoughts  stop  there.  Maybe  he’s  jumping  the            gun  a  bit,  assuming,   latching  on  to  the  first            person  to  show  him  even  the  smallest  bit  of            compassion.  With  an attempt to  continue,  his            voice  is much smaller, this time. ❝I’d like…  I’d            like to spend more time with you…❞

[conduitism]

          There's heat staining his cheekbones, a light pink radiating           from the skin there.     He's glad there's sunglasses resting           on the bridge of  his  nose,  because  his  eyes are averting           like   crazy.    Honestly,   he    didn't   mean    for   all    of   his           inspirational crap to... spew out.     His mouth, or rather, his           heart was a leaky faucet that needed some real good fixing.           Feeling like this was a little foreign to Wren.           In the few           weeks he's been free, he's re-felt every good emotion.    He           thinks. This... is a new one.

          He doesn't pressure Dyson  into  reciprocating eye contact.           While he would appreciate it,  he knows that first, there are           baby steps.  The walk of a thousand miles begins with one           step, or something like that. Wren just smiles soft. Which...           only grows.   He was bringing along another Conduit, and           that's exactly what he wanted to do.     Now that he has this           sort of unspoken goal—-    to bring more happiness to the           other. See that smile.

          Wren offers his arm, a dumb little motion.           His elbow           crooked open for Dyson  to   sneak   his arm through, and           they can skip giddily through Seattle...          in some weird           dream. But, he gingerly offers it anyway. ❛Come, it's not           too far from here. It'll be a ton of fun, I promise.❜

[conduitism]

✖ ; spxculum ; ✖

[spxculum-blog-deactivated201902]

        Fingers  give  a slight  flutter, and at the  grin  he            receives    something    of    genuine    happiness            dances   across   his  expression.   Carefully,   he            slides  his  hand back  through the  glass,  which            quickly  breaks  down  into  a sort  of  fine  glitter            that   disperses.   Dyson   rarely   ever   used   his            powers, and even when  he did, most of the time            it  was  an accident and  something  got  broken,            but   this  time  feels…  different.  More   freeing,            almost.  A  total  stranger who’s  name  he’s  just            learned  got an quicker look into his ability  than            several months at Cay. 

               ❝Th-thanks…❞

        A  soft  laugh is given  back, and he  shakes  out            his hand, quickly jamming it back into his pocket            before  the visible shake to it has any  more  time            to worsen.

               ❝No…  I think. Ah. I think  it was more of  an…                        overestimation.❞

        It  was  almost enough to wipe the smile  off  his            face, the feeling of that  being so noticeable. His            hands  shook  all  the time, all  the  time,  finding            any  excuse they could  to do so, be it nerves  or            even  just  the  thought of  doing  something  to            make  him  nervous. He quickly lifted  one  once            more,  rubbing  at  the   back  of  his  neck  a  bit,            leaving   it  there  momentarily  to  just.   Breathe.

               ❝Well, I don’t… I don’t think that makes yours                         any less cool. When you start… start getting                         to    anxious   to   function,  well…   S’why    I                         n-never…  did  well in the arenas. So  if  you                         can  confidently use your  ability,  y-you’re…                         doing better than me.❞

[conduitism]

          ————————————Oh!!!! 

          The ball of anxiousness was smiling!  It felt pretty           incredible,   that  Wren  could  do  that  in  such  a           small amount of time.     Dyson's still shaking, he           can't   help  but  notice,   but   he's  laughing.  The           blond exhales, running  a quick hand through his           hair. The tufts that are pushed up... stay up, and           Wren sort of... puffs up at the words.

                    ❛Come on, dude. Totally an awesome and                     underestimated power. Like, if I pushed your                     buttons right now, I'd be screwed! My friggin'                     sunglasses are a weapon, that's awesome.❜

          The masonry Conduit pushes off of the brick wall,           looking back at it  ( just in case anything came off           with him... ) and then, immediately, back at Dyson.            His    face    contorts,      a    silly    expression    of            disapproval.  Wren shakes  his head,  holds up a           finger to  pause wherever  the taller  left off.  At the           self-consciousness  that  nags  at  him,   he  puts           down his hand. 

                    ❛No, hold up— if Fate is some twisted witch                     and we never  bump   into   each  other again,                     take away one thing from me.    Cay made us                     disappear.   Augustine -- despite her ways of                     doing so -- made us brand new.        That kid,                     Rowe, he inspired me to grow, and I know-- I                     know it might  take  a  while  for some people,                     but you're gonna be  a  big  ball of confidence                     one day.

                    You have no reason not to be.❜

[conduitism]

headcanon 0 0 1 ;;

In addition to the suits and dress shirts/slacks he has in his new wardrobe, Wren also has a lot of gloves. He wears them a lot, commonly fingerless, because of the good amount of scarring on the palms of his hands. If he's able to convince himself to not wear gloves one day, his hands will be very comfortable in his jacket/pant pockets.

[conduitism]

✖ ; xsaccharose ; ✖

[xsaccharose-blog]

   ” thɑt’s not something you see everydɑy. “           mɑddy’s not ɑs fɑr ɑwɑy ɑs she thought she wɑs — ɑnd    she wɑsn’t speɑking ɑs quietly ɑs she thought she wɑs. she    frowns slightly ɑnd her muscles tense up ɑ little. mɑddy isn’t    one to hɑve ɑ high level of empɑthy or ɑnything of thɑt sort;    but she definitely knew something wɑs up with this guy. she    could ɑt leɑst ɑttempt to be nice — even if the ɑttempt would    be futile ɑnd mɑddy would end up fɑiling miserɑbly. so she    mɑkes her wɑy over to him slowly. her eyebrows rɑise slightly    ɑnd she mɑkes ɑn effort to put on ɑ vɑguely concerned expression.

   ” hey, you okɑy? “

[conduitism]

          But, of course, it's no one he really recognizes.  She dons           a  much  more..   pinker  head,  and  he  makes   a  slight           mental note to potentially stay in Seattle. The people here           were just as weird, especially since Cay was dismantled.           It'd make for one hell of a ride. At his thoughts, at her faux           concern, Wren just smiles.  He waves an injured hand. It           was comical, in a sense. ❛Hi!❜

          He looks down at his other hand, immediately going back           to what he was doing before. Dark blue eyes occasionally           look up to the girl, and Wren only speaks again when he's           able to pull another splinter out. 

                    ❛This? Oh, it's all fine. Downsides of Conduitism,                     you could call it.❜

[conduitism]

✖ ; spxculum ; ✖

[spxculum-blog-deactivated201902]

        Perhaps  he’d  come   to  think  of  his  power  as             boring  through   conditioning.   Augustine   had             always  cooed how  ”unique”  it was. How  she’d             only  seen  few like it.  Dyson  had his  hopes  set             high, only to find he could do none of the things             she boasted, whether  it be lack of control, or his             own emotions barring him. He could barely fight             without  locking  up,  and every once  in  a  while             he’d   smash   his  aunt’s   mirrors   on   accident. 

               ❝It’s…  it’s more that  just that. But.  Th-that’s                         what  they had me down as. Anything,  uh…                         reflective. Watch.❞

        But Dyson takes a  slow breath, and lifts a  hand             carefully. The shake in his fingers is immediately            obvious,   and  he  gives  a  slight  gesture   over            towards  a  puddle  on   the  sidewalk.  Carefully,             glittery  shards  dance off his  fingertips,  before             gathering and forming a small mirror. With ease,             he’s  able to slide his hand  past the glass,  and,             just  as easily, it appears out of the still  surface             of the puddle. 

[conduitism]

          Wren pushes his sunglasses onto his forehead so he           can get a better look,    but it helps just slightly. He was           never a fan of contacts, so it was bit of a strain to watch.           But  he's  able  to   catch   the   glint  of  muted  sunlight           against Dyson's  power,  and  he  turns  to  the Conduit           and    practically    grins.     The    motion    causes    his           sunglasses to  fall,  landing  hard  on  the bridge of his           nose.   Hopefully,  the color of embarrassment isn't too           visible amongst his cheekbones. 

                    ❛That's pretty sick!❜

          He finds himself  looking  back  and forth, between the           puddle and Dyson. Wren laughs, shakes his head. 

                    ❛They really underestimated you.❜

          Finally, he ceases movement, and opens his mouth to           say something else.     But he catches the shake in the           extended hand, and that enough forces his mouth shut.           Now nervous hands adjust Wren's tie.    He adjusts his           posture as he says,  ❛Thanks for showing me,❜  and           nods. ❛My power isn't as cool as that.❜

[conduitism]

✖ ; sxccharose ; ✖

          He's been picking splinters of brick out of his hands ever           since one  armored  truck  happened  to  roll  by. It was a           good reminder that he could  still  use his power, maybe           he's even  a little  more  stronger  than before.  But Wren           finds himself sitting at an outdoor café table, despite the           cold conditions. No one really bothers asking him for an           order, no one really wants   to talk to the freak pulling out           inch long shards of dried clay out of his hands.

          Wren looks up quickly, he catches a glimpse of pink and           immediately  assumes  it's  someone  else he knew. So,           he goes right back to what he was doing, stifling giggles.           ( Hey, his fast-healing made the closing wounds tickle. )

[conduitism]

✖ ; spxculum ; ✖

[spxculum-blog-deactivated201902]

        It’s been so long, he had since lost track of how            long he was in Cay. It  was a blur, a smear in his            timeline  that  was either  blocked out or  all  too            vivid. But Dyson does his best to at least look…            pleasant.  Look  like   his  hands  aren’t  shaking            beyond  all  belief  and   he  can  hold  an  actual            conversation  like  a goddamn human  for  once. 

               ❝S-seven…  I  think.  I  think  I  was  there  for                        seven  years. Maybe  a little less. It was…  it                        was  pretty  short, how long it took  them  to                        get   me.   It’s…   weird,   right?   Like…   like                        relearning how to function.❞ 

        He’s given a name,  then. Lips fumble, and fuck,            he  almost forgets his own, before he clears  his            throat,  lowering  his head slightly as  he  works            for a response. 

               ❝Uh,  I… I ‘m… Dyson. My  power  isn’t,  ah…                        very exciting. Just… mirrors.❞

[conduitism]

          Wren can feel himself empathizing with Dyson almost           immediately,  but   he   swallows   anything  down.  He           swallows    down    the    story   he's    been   dying    to           tell—maybe a shrink  will  hear  soon—about  how  he           needs  to  know  where  his  family  is. Is his mom still           dead? No, dumb question, no one cares.    But     he's           had to relearn a lot of  things,  and  sometimes he still           finds himself sitting tightly with his hands heavy in his           lap. His body has grown accustom to it.

          But the blond just looks back up at Dyson. He refuses           to look scared, or  let  himself  get  lost  in thought. It's           become a habit, after five years of isolation, all he did           was think. Wren rolls  his  lips  into  a line and gasps           out a little laugh...

                    ❛Just—- just mirrors? That's pretty badass.❜

[jarodleto]

[conduitism]

✖ ; androidiism ; ✖

[androidiism-blog]

He’s quite startled at first when a stranger suddenly approaches him. Confusion washes over him, then, but realizes the stranger is probably talking about the streak of pink in his dark hair. Struggling to find words, he nods his head slowly. The pink in his hair has never gone away. He always figured it was meant to be there - to match his pink eyes & the black & pink clothes he was given.

          “Yeah, I think so. It’s been there ever since             I was activated.”

[conduitism]

          The blond smiles, nodding at both himself and the           other.  He'll address the  whole peculiar  'activated'           thing later,  but now,  he  can  play  a  little round of           small talk.  Maybe see if he can get to know Pink a           little better. 

                    ❛Really? Well, it looks good on you, you're                      lucky it won't fade away.❜

          Wren hesitates a little while, before opening up.

                    ❛When were you activated?❜

[conduitism]

✖ ; spxculum ; ✖

[spxculum-blog-deactivated201902]

        He  tries  to  make  light of  it,  tries  to  smile  in            response, but it’s been a while since he’s had to            wear  one,  he’s  not sure how  convincing  it  is            anymore.  Saying “no” almost felt like the  wind            was  getting  knocked out of him, but  maybe  it            was  only easier this time  since he didn’t  know            the  guy.  Or maybe it  was harder and  he  really            couldn’t tell what he was saying. 

               ❝I…  ah…  Y-yeah…❞ A pause, where  a  slow                     breath  is taken. ❝I  was… there for a  while…                     W-were… were you?❞

[conduitism]

          Wren cocks an eyebrow, listening intently to what he           was offering  to say.  A while?  Yeah,  five  and some           change could  be considered  a long  while, trapped           in a concrete  room.  He  didn't  really...  do  anything,           Augustine had him in  the battle  arenas for not even           a  week  before  he  was    sentenced  back  to  slow           death by boredom. ( At least that's what it felt like. ) 

                    ❛Yeah, yeah, I was. A little more than... five                     years, I think. I'm still kind of amazed that I'm                     out now.❜ A laugh.

          He shoves his hands deep into his pockets, looping           his thumbs deep into his belt loops. Humming for a           few moments, Wren looks back at the stranger...

                    ❛Hey, call me Wren. 'm a master of masonry,                     if you will. And you?❜

[conduitism]

✖ ; spxculum ; ✖

[spxculum-blog-deactivated201902]

        The shards of glass  retract as his hands lower,            quickly  returning to the  safety of  his  pockets            with  a mumbled, ❝No problem.❞ He’s  hoping            beyond  hope  that would be the end of it,  that            the  interaction  was over  and  he’d  no  longer            have   to   rely  on  lips he couldn’t   trust.   But            there’s a part two. 

               ❝I… uhm… I don’t… I don’t know.❞

        Dyson     hates    how    much    he     stammers,            stumbling  over  three   simple  words  like  he’s            never  spoken  a  day  in  his  life.  The  Conduit            shifts,   eyes  focuses  solely  at  his  feet,   only            occasionally flickering up to focus on the other. 

               ❝I don’t. Ah. Usually  go to those. ‘M not a… a                        crowd… kind of person. But. I, uh, I would if                        I could. S-sorry.❞

[conduitism]

          He clicks his tongue, a quick action with a soft noise.           But, he nods,  and he kicks  himself for even  asking.           The answer was a  little  obvious,  maybe he wished           for different  results. Rallies  were  really  fun,  full  of           Conduits who stayed in Seattle because they had to,           or  they   just  grew  so  accustomed  to  Washington.           Conduits  like  the  guy  who  gave  him  the  time,  or           Conduits  who  have  already   made  themselves  at           home.  Curdun Cay was nothing.  Water rolling  off a           duck's back. 

                    ❛That's fine.❜ Wren holds his tongue.

                    ❛Being locked up definitely does some things                     to ya', I don't blame you.❜