Content warnings: adult content, strong language, unprotected sex, high-stress environment, rough sex, blood as lube, spit eating, heat of the moment sexual activity, out of place sexual activity, reader is hateful, feelings of hopelessness, depression
The Quiet Rapture was a tragedy. Its cause was mysterious and its effects were great. When humanity is at risk, it will do anything it takes to survive. Even if it means sacrificing its numbers for a chance to reclaim the reigns on life. You, are an expendable number. Sent down with another convict in the hopes that two will discover the answers one can't, you are completely and utterly trapped. Your fates are sealed, and your screams can't be heard.
The hull creaked eerily. Sounds of gushing came all around. It swirled and pushed until eventually, there was silence. Creaking, grinding, clanking of the chains that lowered them into the depths. They were being guided to their deaths. Death, in the ocean of blood. No straying light from the fading stars could penetrate here.
You said nothing. Mainly because there was nothing you could say. Deep in your trembling bones, you knew that you had already died. While being welded inside, you reached a hand up towards the ceiling. The interior walls of the Iron Lung had a rough exterior, the kind to rub your skin raw without much friction. Hasty, large lines of burnt metal covered most of the corners. Thick, and sturdy.
Even with walls of steel, how protected were you really? Nothing but the camera guided the two souls unfortunate enough to be trapped with this hell. You ran your fingers along the side of the rectangular button, daring to press against it.
One second, two seconds… The bright, ghostly white image of a barren ocean floor met your eyes.
You shook your head slowly. This was beyond ridiculous. It couldn’t have even been called a shot in the dark. You barely heard the orders when they were being given. Everything seemed to echo and disorient, like your head was stuffed full of cotton.
“Let’s get this done.” You heard him say. You didn’t acknowledge it. He wasn’t worth your two cents, you thought.
Sitting with the broken terminal to your back, the moving ship swayed you to the right. The temperature inside the rig was reaching unbearable already, or perhaps it was your nerves peaking. You stood slowly, making sure not to tumble to the grated floor already. You casted the other convict a parting glance. You could tell nothing from his back. A hooded figure was all he was. You wondered what he thought about this inevitable death mission the uppers subjected the both of you to. You wondered if he was afraid as you were. Was a man like him capable of being afraid?
The convict stood from his chair, heavy boots resonating off the walls as he slipped past. He smelled heavily of sweat. His palm slapped against the button aggressively, and after some time, it presented another photograph. Just more ocean. You felt a knot redo itself within your gut as you fought the urge to shrink back down to the floor.
Striding back to the console, he firmly gripped the steer and forward you went. The sounds of rushing blood sickened you to your core.
You eventually wandered over to him, just to see what he did. He had the paper of marked locations right in front of him. His dark eyes peered over the map like new information might appear before you, but it remained the same ambiguous grey shapes.
Without having to ask, he slid the paper off into his hand and presented it to you without even looking up. Not that it mattered to you if he did. Hesitantly, you accepted the offer.
Taking the paper, you examined it too, even pressing it upwards into the only light you had. It gave you nothing but a false sense of security. Meeting these points would mean nothing, nothing at all, but you still had to.
Complacent, you gently placed the paper back on the console, and wandered back over to the camera. The convict stood, to activate the camera you assumed, so you held out a hand and pressed it anyway. When the light flashed over your figure, he hummed a response.
“Did you see anything?” He asked. His voice was gravelly, like talking too loud was out of the question.
You shook your head to the side. “No.” That was true, partially. Besides the static-y stretch of the ocean floor, there was nothing but black spreading on for miles.
You both remained in that consistent flow for a few miles of exploring until you reached an impasse of a wall. Something on the dial began to flash. Over and over it clicked, prompting a quick photograph again.
“It’s a wall.” You said without him needing to pipe the question. “Up front and on the side.”
You held your hands up parallel to each other in an example, flicking them right. He nodded in response, using the titillating switch to slowly guide them left. You nearly lost your footing as the bulbs clicking silenced, but with a hand, you remained standing.
Again, you fell into the rhythm of moving and taking a picture. Even with the slightest hint of normalcy, that what you were doing was just a job, you couldn’t deny the pit in your stomach.
“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” You murmured aloud. Your voice was as shaky as the hull around you, further adding to the terror.
You heard him shuffle in his seat. “What-About the pictures? Or this?” He used one hand to wave around by his head, gesturing to the claustrophobic structure they were stuck in.
You folded your arms against your chest. You began to pace back and forth in the limited space.
“Both, all? Can I say all?” You said, dragging your boots against the grates. “I don’t know what they expect us to find down here.”
“Something.” He grunted. You could see stands of sweaty, curly hair swaying below his face. The same face casting attention towards you. He watched you walk up the hull, and back down. His large frame tinged with annoyance at every step.
“Could you stop?” He asked through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t help.”
You felt like snapping. Who was he to tell you what to do? You could spill. Just let all the painful and confused emotions cry out towards him in a flurry of rage, but you slumped against the rust colored wall. It was hot down here. The body temperatures of two people surely didn’t help. The engine running generated heat, heck, even the camera had to generate heat. You picked at the grey-ish sweater material around your neck. The sweater itself wasn’t even thick, but you peeled it off your moist body anyway. You looked down at the soaked tank you wore underneath, more importantly at the body beneath it.. There wasn’t much of you left. Rationing was draining everyone on the ships. You didn’t get to be excluded.
From the corner of your eye, you saw him stare. It had to have been pity in his condescending look. Or perhaps degeneracy. You didn’t trust that he’d pick you if something happened down here. Maybe that was the whole idea for this expedition. For the uppers to watch him tear you limb from limb.
Taking a deep breath, you slammed your open palm over the camera button. You expected to see the familiar pixelated nothing-ness, but looking you dead in the eyes was a skeleton of some vast whale-like animal.
You flinch back, hitting straight pipe against the curve of your spine. You groan in pain, but flip around the miniature wall to cry out to the lone speaker.
“Hey! It’s a skeleton. There’s a skeleton!” You screamed at the speaker, hoping the yelling evoked a response. You felt a gloved hand press against your bare shoulder to push past you, sending you hands first into the wall of the hall. But putting the push aside, you moved to stand right behind the other convict.
“It’s a skeleton.” You saw, awe almost dripping from your words.
“It’s a skeleton.” He mimics, swiveling around you to speak to the captain who seemed to repeat herself more times than necessary. You didn’t particularly care for what they said.
There was a groggy noise above, sifting through the murky blood like a threat. Then nothing. You shook in place, listening to barely audible sounds all around. All in a blur, you slammed to the ground. Your shoulder met most of the force. You swore it popped straight out of place, but you couldn’t ponder over it for more than a millisecond before you’re forced onto your stomach.
Reaching out for something, anything, you find yourself clutching around the man's arm who grabbed you back.
“What’s going on!” You cry out, fumbling to at least your knees.
“They’re taking us up.”
You nod along, but all you can think about is the excruciating pain radiating across your arm.
Soon you lulled, then a heavy sound of closing hatch doors snapped shut below the hull. You were safely inside the spaceship once again. Not that reentering your cell would be any different but medical attention sounded heavenly.
The man was speaking to the captain through the window at the front of the hull, something you didn’t notice had opened. Shuffling forward, you heard the conversation a little more clearly.
“...We’re going to attach this….” You blinked out of the conversation by suddenly wincing violently. You stepped between the two, cutting through the unfinished sentence.
“Hey, I need to go to Medical. I think I dislocated my shoulder, I can’t- it hurts.” You feel your body shaking from waves of pain. It was edging on unbearable now. Every breath felt like knives cutting deeper into your tissue. Investigating with only the dim light coming through the porthole, you felt the gap where your humerus was supposed to be in the socket. Your mouth gaped in terror, but the convict screamed for you instead.
“We did what we were supposed to! That was the deal!” He yelled, the sounds reverberating deep into your throbbing skull. “Hey!” He began to pace around the sub like you did, only more frantic, more erratic.
“Hey, hey.” You pleaded, using your one good arm to grab at him in an attempt to calm him down. His frantic scurrying served no purpose beyond aggravating the crew and scientists outside, and shaking the sub. “Hey, stop!”
He didn’t listen, not that you expected him to, but what you didn’t expect was for him to grab you by both elbows and throw you back off of him to slam his fist into the camera button. You slammed into the side of the sub for the million-th time that evening, but no immediate pain was felt. Not with the shock of the sight you saw with your own eyes taking up all space in your mind.
Four skeletons posed delicately on the screen stared back. Your breath hitched.
“Are you out of your minds!” You heard the captain shriek. “That camera is an x-ray!”
The camera was an x-ray. It echoed around your skull. You weren't alone down here.
Your hand, the one below your injured shoulder, was numb. Completely and utterly numb. You couldn’t even twitch it. Even if they make do on their promise, and they cut him and you out, you’d never be able to get your arm back. What was even the point, you wondered. Thinking about your arm in a time like this. It wasn’t like you needed it. Sitting in a cell doing nothing for hours on end, what a life.
“I’m sorry. For your shoulder, I mean.” He blurted out, replacing their silence with the vibrations of his words. It was oddly comforting, if not appreciated. You knew who he was, and if you didn’t, the guards who deposited you here would have told you. But despite that, he was kinder than you expected. Even with just a single apology.
“It’s fine,” You rasped. “They’ll fix it when we get out of here.”
“Yeah.” You heard him sigh out. You wanted to keep the conversation flowing, but weight was pressing on your eyelids. The pain that came in throughs now settled for a dull throb at the cost of your energy. You casted your eyes to the man, then to the neon green oxygen lights, then over again. You noticed the tension in his back, how his shoulder blades pressed tightly against one another. He looked like he was the only soul graced with enough to eat for a fuller figure. Your gaze fluttered around the curves you could see, before everything went dark.
You awaken to the flash of the camera. Your lips, chapped over, peel apart to cough violently. A metallic taste runs along your gums, and it isn’t delightful to wake up to. You keel over, sliding onto your good arm to dry heave. You do it until your lungs burn, and it’s only then you feel two hands on your back.
“Hey, are you alright? You were out for a while.” He quaked.
You barely heard him over your tremors, but you managed a nod or two. At first, you were convinced you lost your sight too until you heard a click and the white screen of nothing flashed. It lit up the dark, dank room around you. You were still helplessly trapped in your iron tomb.
But when the realization faded from shock to despair, you turned your head towards the sound of shuffling.
A white flash.
The convict before you was as disheveled as you assumed to be, and bleeding near his lip. It looked like it was heavy, but long since dried.
“You’re hurt.” You mumbled. You heard him huff, and wander until he was right in front of you. You might’ve begun to guess that- by then, the light faded- but another flash of the camera confirmed it without you needing to. The grate below you creaking with his weight as he lowered himself onto one knee.
“Just a scratch. I’ve dealt with worse.”
He reached behind. A click. Aggressive illumination bright to light what your accidental acquaintance truly looked like. A firm but tired gaze covered his eyes. Lines etched down his face like scars. A scruffy beard hid hollow cheeks and blood that was most likely his. You felt in the back of your mind that whatever happened, he couldn’t be trusted. But there was a glint in his eyes that faded in with every flash of the screen that felt it opposed your stance.
With one hand, he lightly brushed your fingers across your face. You flinched away at first. He had no right to examine your wounds. Although, if you needed to be repaired, it was important.
The man sighed out of mild frustration, but when you inevitably leaned back in, he eased.
Your streaky hair parted to reveal cracks of dried blood nestled on your skin. His touch was cold as ice. It was like he was completely unaffected by the burning heat accumulating here. For a moment, your heartbeats aligned in time. One pump, two pumps, three. His fingertips stayed right where they were to investigate whether your skin was split open before he shuffled out of reach to press the button again.
“For light.” He specified, but it served nothing. He didn’t return right to where you were, instead choosing to poise behind you. You heard his heavy breathing, but nothing else until the camera shocked to life as it so commonly did.
“I need to look at your arm too ‘fore it gets worse.” He muttered, carefully placing both hands onto your bare shoulder.
“Fu-u-u...” You heard him quietly say. “That’s not good.”
You didn’t see the point in entertaining his words, but you replied anyway. You knew the damage was done. He could pop it back into its rightful place, but it’d do nothing.
“I’ll be fine. It’s completely numb. Can’t feel a thing.” You tried demonstrating your truth with a wiggle. His eyes watched the muscles in your back dance under your skin, but nothing in your arm moved. “Even binding it's gotta be hopeless.”
You both stilled for a moment. You assumed he was trying to think. There was no doubt in your mind that he could get creative. A butcher had his ways.
Suddenly, he stood up as another flash filled the room. It gave you the opportunity to look around the hull. Dan, not even the panel was lit up. The camera had to be running off some kind of emergency power.
“I found this.” He gestured to a small, aluminum container. “We can set your arm, and wrap it with the tape-”
“Why are you helping me?” You interrupt. Confused, he placed the container on the floor by your feet. When he joined you, you scooted back out of reach.
Click, a flash. A flash so bright it looked like fire.
“You’re hurt. It’s- It’s the right thing to do.”
Your eyes narrow at him, and he can feel it. It didn’t take light for him to see it.
“I know who you are.” You say. “What you’ve done.”
Click. A bomb white light.
“Yeah, a lotta people do.” You hear the grit in his sentence. But even with the hostility, he leans forward with the tape in tow.
You crane backwards, and continue to lean until you have nowhere to go. That was the dangerous part of this entire expedition. Not the rushing ocean all around, or even the extremely flammable components you were trapped in, but this man who had a higher body count than all of your cell block neighbors. The sickest human being, or so you’ve been told, welded in a solid, iron tomb with you.
“But they’re wrong.” He said. You didn’t know how to respond to that.
Despite it all, he moved with a renowned gentleness, at least when he wasn’t kneeling on your legs so you couldn’t move. You watched, and ultimately let him pin you down. Fingers curling around your arm, he raised it.
“This will hurt.” He warned. But even with the caution sign waved in front of your face, the pain was beyond expectations.
With all his force, he slammed your arm up into itself. Using the wall to keep from throwing you across the hub, something slid back into place with a sickening pop. You screamed. Obviously.
Like a thousand knives suddenly stabbed you, you keel over in hurt. But when the pain ceased, you felt a tingling sensation spread through your chest. Gone was that dull, throbbing pain. You collapsed back, only to be thrown right into agony as he wrapped your arm tightly.
He pressed your forearm to your sternum. “Hold.” Was his only command. You nodded, even if you wanted to bite back with something snippy. It was strange to be treated by a criminal, but you were very grateful anyhow. You were a criminal too.
“I had people I cared about on Filament station. Friends, family.” You said softly. Feeling him pause, you feel quiet. The rant you prepared in your head vanished. Now, sitting with your back to the one person you had hated the most, you weren’t even angry. At least, you thought you weren't. Dehydration must’ve been getting to your head.
A click.
“What do you want me to say? He thundered, pulling the tape around your arm tight enough for you to hiss. You shot forward, clutching at your skin that burned with the feeling of a fresh cut. Underneath the tape, a large red line formed from lack of circulation.
“I’m sorry.” He pleaded, reaching out to try and pull you back. When you didn’t ease, he reached behind himself again and punched the light with his fist. Something he instantly regretted. “I’m sorry.” He repeated.
A flash.
You didn’t know if he was talking to you or the sub. You cursed yourself under your hot breath. It was hard to stay true to your morals in such proximity. But you couldn’t bear to have him injured. Not when he was your way out. You couldn’t multitask with one arm.
Swiveling on your knees, you met him face-to-face. It didn’t matter how you screamed and cried out inside like some child, you were returning the favor. Debt didn’t need to be racked down here.
With the dying light of the camera, you looked around for your sweater. To hope there was a napkin or gauze was foolish. Grabbing the thin garment, you dapped it on your tongue and crouched in front of the man. You looked into his bloodshot eyes, searching for anything that told you how he felt. Any hint of anger or disgust could dissolve the pity in your belly. But you didn’t catch a hint of narcissism in his beady gaze, just compassion and… and…. thankfulness.
You pressed the damp cloth to the bloody area on his chin, gently wiping away the flaking blood. You tried to avoid his eyes as you cleaned his face. It was like looking in a proverbial mirror. Only in relation, however. You saw the same husk, desperately trying to forget where you were.
After he was devoid of everything but bruises, you sat back on your heels. What was there to say? Thanks? You would do without. This was an act of ruth, a return for your shoulder.
“What do we do now?” You asked. The sub was still hopelessly dark.
Silence, then he sprung to his feet, carrying you with him.
Click.
“There’s an opening. Here. I noticed when you collapsed.” He shrunk down, delicately lifting the heavy panel in the light, and showing the square opening. “There’s gotta be something down there.”
You nodded, immediately taking the first step to crawl inside. Or you were about to before he caught your good shoulder.
“Hey, let me go. You shouldn’t be crawling on that.” He sounded genuine, but you shook his hand off yours anyway.
“I’m smaller, we don’t know how big that space is.” You flashed him what you thought was a convincing look. Pressing his lips together tightly, he helped you down. Hand in hand, you held on with a firm grasp as you slowly lowered yourself into the area below. It was small, but there was room to breathe. If he had gone down, it might’ve looked different. Along with you was a life vest with the tiniest light possible.
You took a deep breath, then slid onto your stomach. “Okay… What’m I looking for?” You hollered.
He shuffled above you. “Some kind of button, or a switch, maybe. I think it’d be up closer to the console."
You put your one good elbow in front of you and pulled as hard as you could. You slid forward once, but after a few seconds, you lost balance and toppled over onto your bandaged side.
“Fuck!” You scream, feeling harsh needles all around your chest. That was all it took. You wiggle backwards, narrowly hitting your head on the way out as you climb feverishly from the hole.
“What happened? You alright?” He asked, eyes scanning across your body for sight on injury.
You shook your head and slammed the side of your fist into the camera button without even letting the last one dissolve. Life vest in hand, you threw it at him without so much as looking.
The corners of his mouth perked upwards as he caught the vest. He looked down at the floor then back to you. Stifling an exhausted laugh, he leaned down to shove his feet into the space.
“Can it. I don’t wanna hear “I told you so”.” You fumed, touching the button again.
“I told you so.” He said anyway. You rolled your eyes, pressing the button again.
For a moment, you just listened to him scuffle underneath you. Then, numerous grinding sounds, and at last, light. With a whirring noise, the light in the center of the sub flashed. You cried out with relief.
“It worked!” You said. Following his groans, you helped him out of that same space. With all your weight, you took him by the hand and hoist. But your small victory was short-lived as the sound of the sensor began to alert like crazy. Then came the sound above the speaker.
“Hull breech, Hull breech, Hull breech.” The fuzzy sound annoyingly repeated itself, but you didn’t pay much attention to that. The crack of the glass was more important. Practically shoving you aside, the man ran past you as fast as the area of the sub allowed to click the protective screen up. You watched in terror as blood slipped through the cracks. If you were any second later, the sub would’ve flooded.
But just as one problem was solved, another arose as the spark of a faulty wire clicked, and the tunnel below erupted in flames.
“Fire, fire, fire, fire…” The computer went on.
“AH!” You screamed, desperately trying to pry the fire extinguisher to your right off its post. You couldn’t, you found out fast. Like the thing was cemented on, your sweaty fingers slipped right off every time you grasped. The man, without thinking, stepped in front of you and ripped the extinguisher clear off where it sat.
As he killed the fire, you stepped back. Two steps, then three, then you slid down the wall and curled your knees to your chest. It was useless to feel so utterly… useless, but you did.
“Shut the fuck up!” He suddenly screamed, sending his fist straight into the speaker. “Fuck!”
You nearly jumped out of your skin. Looking straight up, you saw the man huff. You thought in pain from his groans, but it also could’ve been cries of frustration.
He took a seat far from you, near the camera. You closed your eyes for the briefest moment, then opened them to the sight of his bare back. Intrigued caught you like a rat trap. Scars and discolored flesh met your sight first. A thousand things ran through your mind in a millisecond, but your first one was to investigate his wounds. You had taken care of the obvious ones on his face, but you hadn’t even thought about the ones littering his body.
Crawling upwards to your feet, you leaned leisurely until you heard him gag. Striding over, you saw a little jar roll across the floor.
“What’d you drink?” You inquired, kneeling in front of him. You took what you thought was the lid to the jar and held it up to your face. ‘70% alcohol.’ You swallowed hard at the thought of a cold drink. Shuddering that thought away, you shoot him a condescending glare. He didn’t meet it.
Your eyes cascaded down the rest of his body. Your earlier comment about being well-fed was an understatement. You looked at his chest first. Hard, sturdy muscle cushioned with a layer of soft skin. Skin that was red and irritated too. You felt ashamed to look further. His stomach looked the same way. Tempting, with a trail of hair that led somewhere you refused to acknowledge. It was just the lack of space that made you think this way, you chided yourself.
“I can do it myself.” He protested, but you ignored it like he did earlier.
You took one of his hands into your own, and turned it. He stifled a grunt. Agitated sores lined up and down his forearm. He moaned in pain when you brushed your pointer finger over it. The wound was dry, thankfully. He didn’t need to lose any more blood.
“You’ll be fine.” You say as the consensus, like he didn’t already figure that out. “We can bandage this.”
Raising your peering eyes, you looked at his lips again. You had wanted to see if it split from his excursions, but when you found it fine, you didn’t look away. Slowly, you studied all the way back to his eyes and pushed back his hair. Your own widened. For a second that stretched longer than it should have, you stared. His leer flicked downwards towards your heaving chest, then back up.
You tore yourself away. Proximity, you snided. Proximity. Without watching, for fear you’d watch too hard, you handed him the tape.
That same tape, which wrapped you both, fell limply to the floor in its ‘x-shape’.
“God Dammit!” He screamed, jolting you from where you sat on the chair. You were lulling over the papers again, trying to draw the straightest lines possible for a grid-like chart with your non-dominant hand. With your working one out of business, you just had to deal.
“Can you stop!” You shrieked, dropping the pen you were holding. It was also hard to hold with the other hand.
“Oh, I’m sorry. My bad for trying to light our way outta here!” You rolled your eyes. He had been at it for the past hour. When he began, you offered to hold it instead, but he turned the idea down. What if he needed you by the controls? You couldn’t find a way to properly deter him, so you just quieted down.
“If it didn’t stick the first time, it won’t the billion-th time you try.”
“Whatever…” He grumbled as he walked over to you. Firm grasp on the chair, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Move.”
So you did. You poised yourself by the camera -again, as you offered- and pressed when he asked. You met numerous walls, and the disappointments of repeated circles, but still he continued.
“Simon,” You start to say but you fall quiet quickly. You couldn’t crumble to pieces, not now.
“Hello?” You hear him yell. You knit your brows together. You hadn’t said anything.
“Yes! We’re here!” He screams. “I can hear you!” Your breathing quickens, your eyes dart around the sub. Nothing but the creaks of the ocean.
“Simon…” You say again. Well, more like beg again. You feel chills run down your spine. Had it finally happened? Had he lost his mind?
He kept responding to some imaginary voices, and eventually fell to his knees. You ran over to him instantly.
“Keep talking to me…” He mumbled. “Please…”
You put your hand on his back and shook. Maybe somehow you could reach him. This wasn’t ideal. You needed him. His breath was quick, and he appeared to be mumbling. You couldn’t make out what he was saying.
“I’m here. I'm talking. Hey, hey, I’m here. Simon, please, please, I’m here.” You begged. You touched his back again, his chest, and his face. No response. You suck in a gasp of air, and start again with your pleas.
Above you, the oxygen meter dropped a level. You gulped, feeling panic rise along your spine. There definitely wasn’t enough left for two people. They wouldn’t waste it on people like both of you. You didn’t want to talk anymore.
You continued to shake him, trying to send some form of sense into him.
“You’re not here. You were never here to begin with.” He whispered.
In anger, or perhaps sadness, you pushed him as hard as possible. As he hit the floor, whispers fluttered around your ears like smoke. Behind you, above, in front. Neither of you were speaking, but they remained.
Head swirling, you leaned against the wall to feel from falling over. Oh, God. This was the end. You couldn’t breathe.
“What was that for?” He screamed. You listened to him scramble to his feet.
“You’re talking to yourself. Oxygen deprivation… It’s makin’ you go crazy.” You mumbled, wrapping your arm around yourself.
“No.” He said sternly. “No, we’re not alone. There’s someone else here. Another sub, they- they’re here.” He pointed frantically at the speaker. His face was manic.
“Stop.” You grimaced. “We’re never getting out of here.”
“No, there’s someone else, we have to find them.”
“Simon!” You walked over to the button and slammed into as hard as possible. It held the broken pieces of a submarine labeled SM-8. “We’re never getting out of here.”
“Can you stop saying that?” He spoke in the quietness of the room.
“Why? It doesn’t make a difference if I do or don’t. We’re stuck!” You said, looking at him in a way that dared him to continue his irrational thinking.
“Just Shut. Up. It doesn’t help!”
“They don’t care about us. That man on the computer was right. We’re in our graves.” You couldn't hold back the choked cry buried in your throat.
“So what’s the point in acting like there's a chance? What’s the point in holding on?” Walking over to stand over him in the chair, you grip his collar tightly.
“What’s the point in holding on…?” You whisper. Leaning downwards, a tear falls into his lap, right in the center of his thigh.
“To live.” He says.
“What is there to live for?”
There was nothing, then, you kissed him. You don’t know why, but you do. It was inappropriate and irrelevant.
His lips slam upwards into yours. Immediately, you can taste the copper hints. It mixed together in your saliva like churned blood around your prison. Swirling ‘round and ‘round, any resemblance to established boundaries were ground into dust.
He pushed you, you pushed back until you were practically straddling him over that flimsy, bent chair that you couldn’t even call a chair.
The tip of your knee pressed directly against his crotch. It wasn’t comfortable for either of you, but there was no intention in your heart for it to be. Airless gasps sounding around the hull sounded like waves in the ocean. They repeated like them too, but more ragged, more desperate.
The smells of pure sweat and metal shavings filled your nostrils, as your hands dug into his chest. With no other way to be discreet about it, you began to pry his loose sweater down as far as the hem allowed it to go. You wanted him, you needed that dizziness sex gave you. All the while, he had his hands buried up in your hair like he was trying to find leverage over you.
Following your nape, his hands curved around your back to cup at your breasts. Firmly but gently, he kneaded with the full weight of his palm. He had to make it feel sentimental, like it was something you both went into fully aware of the consequences.
You shoved a hand into his pants, squeezing him firmly.
“God!” He choked, jumping forward into your hand.
That’s not what this was- this thing between them. This wasn’t even lust. This was some cannibalistic second nature. It had no right being here, but it settled deep in the crevices that craved attention. The gross, the filthy way you both fumbled to feel just to ignore the probability of your deaths. Some hot, fleeting attention to drive it away. There was the ocean, then the hull, and now you.
You let him tuck his thumbs underneath the bottom of your hem to hike it up above near your neck. There was no time to take the thing off. There was only now, now, now.
The precious picture of your spastic state was as documented in Simon’s mind as the computer logs tracked location. His calloused thumb traced over your nipple for a moment, before he wrapped his hands around your thighs and threw you up on the console.
Jutted buttons and valves pressed sharply against your back, causing you to struggle in pain. Simon had already undone the rest of your pant buttons when you came to. You watched in barely contained motion as he swiped down enough for him to part your legs.
As he shook to free himself, you felt a warm drop of blood fall right onto your stomach, just centimeters above your navel. Slowly, it moved further, falling down, down, till it delicately traces your opening. There was a flash of realization ringing through his eyes.
With one shaky breath, Simon takes a step back away from you. He doesn’t get far, however, as you wrap your legs around his torso.
His touch danced from your hips to your wanting opening. He used two thumbs to spread you further, then he toyed at the crevice of your thighs. Conflict fluttered across his face as he watched the blood smear.
“This is something wrong…” He breathed out. His voice was barely audible.
Head shaking back and worth, you pushed off the console with your only forearm. The steady leak above had formed a puddle, and crimson lines streaked down bruised skin until it painted your hand red.
With that same hand, you glided it up back around his neck to lean up into him. He let himself be guided back down, and within reach, you pressed your forehead to his.
“Everything about this is wrong.” You whisper back.
Before he could even respond, you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled. With his face parallel to the ceiling, you traced his neck with the tip of your nose. Sloppily, you planted breathless kisses across the skin, relishing in the feeling of his muscles spasming.
“Never thought the Butcher had a conscience.” You mumble. The words are half muffled by your huffs, but it was still clear enough for your spitness to reach him.
It was like a switch flipped. All those incessant disputes, the arguing, the pain, that pressure that had built in his pipes needed a release before it caught on fire.
Two hands thrust you back into the panel. Hard. He lifted you up off him so high the base of your neck touched the rim of the window. For a moment, you thought he would leave you there, but he replaced the hot air with his own body. Not leaving any room to breathe, he caught your lips again. Clutching you to his chest, he only breaks the kiss- if you could call it that- to remove his own shirt.
The light above you two only granted the dimmest light possible, but even with the bare minimum, you saw the red lines you left in your own wake. Chaotically, they lined mostly the center of his chest, where his harness was. Tempting, you thought.
Now, skin-to-skin, you felt some deep, satisfying feeling spread heat across your bones. You swore he could feel it too. Folding into him, you feel something indescribable. Like anger, and safety. Neither of you thought this would wind up this way. Perhaps that was the joy in it.
You grinded together for what felt like eternity. It felt like the perfect assault to what you needed. Cunt flush against the ridge in his trousers, he pushed up and up till there was no room.
Clearly, he needed more, you needed more.
With his own fingers, he swiped most of the blood across your torso. Gathering that slick, he plunged one inside of you. It nestled deep, and moved too swiftly with the added lubricant. You were wetter than you needed to be, given you did little to no preparation.
You couldn’t help but writhe around. You weren't prepared for the foreign feeling so quickly, but a strangled moan still escaped your lips. He pulled his hand back until you could see the crimson colored slick, then pushed them deeper. Stretching you with his fingers, you began to unspool.
Simon didn’t slow, nor ask you how it felt, but he kept his fingers curled, hitting a cushion-y spot over and over. Each time you yelped. This is what you deserved. Nothing soft, nothing romantic. This is how you wanted to die.
Rutting up into the heel of his palm. The feeling of build up came with no warning. It hurt bad, but the pleasure came right alongside it. Blood continued to drip onto your stomach, keeping time with how his pace slammed back. The coil within you stretched without your say until it tightened.
It felt akin to a burn when with no warning, he vacated from your body to position his hips right where your entrance sat.
You inhale a breath, and watch as he guides himself inside of you. Almost instantly, the air in your lungs disappears. The physical invasion you practically begged for encased your being entirely.
“Fuck…” You hear him groan.
Static in your vision dots everywhere you can see, even in Simon’s eyes as he intently watches the full length of himself disappear inside of you.
You didn’t care for the sentimentality of his gentle ways. Lifting your hips, you watch as his chin follows the descent up. You grin as his jaw slack. He looked undone.
Coming at the cost for trying to be superior, the flesh between your legs was seizing up. Fullness was also something that couldn't be described. You were vulnerable in the most egregious way, but it was what you needed.
A long guttural moan hits your ears as he finally finds resistance in your cunt. Holding you in place tightly, Simon juts his hips back, then slams them forward.
You feel yourself cramp forward as one of your knees presses against your chest. Simultaneously, you butt heads with Simon. You don’t even register the pain until he pressed against your jaw with his fingers. You could feel warm, thick blood spread against your cheek as he held you in place.
Your nails dig up into his wrist. There was so much happening all at once.
Cock splitting you apart, flesh aching and the weight of his body on your bad arm was blending to create pure, perfect agony.
Simon was crying out above you. Moans came tearing out of his throat along with a cough of pure, thick blood. He choked, gurgling on his own spit. Spit that you collected as your tongue traced up his chin to his lips. You enveloped him in another kiss just to make sure he was still there. What you saw blurred, but what you felt was his skin- hot and wet, sliding up and down. Blood was everywhere. In your hair, your eyes, your cunt.
Not even the pace stayed the same, as he sloppily drove himself into you. Discordant thrusts sent you both towards the edge one slam at a time.
It wasn’t pretty as you finally came. It was dirty, and ugly. Blood and bile was running down your throat, coating the sore canal just as Simon spilled himself across your walls. The clenching muscles spasming around him were the final straw.
You scream as the feeling of his teeth sink down into your shoulder, the good one. It was surely hard enough to break skin. His last snaps are rough, rougher than you could handle as the waves you endured seem to never end.
But everything ended. Soon, he was peeling himself off you. The sound of your bodies separating was like velcro.
The lack of warmth hit you faster than the regret. Not from you, however. Swallowing hard, the rest of the grime slid into your stomach, leaving your mouth feeling like cotton. You closed your eyelids, but you weren't tired. Not the least bit. You didn't think it would be possible to sleep after that.
With your hand, you tested your swollen flesh. It was sensitive beyond imagination, but nothing you couldn’t ignore. Retracting your fingers, you saw red. You bit down on your lip and wiped your fingers clean across your thigh. Your mind is completely blank, like fog hovered over it.
Sliding off the console, you stumble. Your legs feel like jelly, but you managed to hoist up for pants anyway. Looking down, you saw the pool of blood that gathered on your chests start to stain your waistband as it came down.
Like he sensed your instability, he sauntered back over to you. Gently, Simon tugged your shirt down, and put his arms around you. Pulling you to his chest, he tucked your face into his neck. Your expression contorted from confusion to anger then finally, grief. Tears streamed down your face, and they wouldn’t stop. You wanted to… live, but you knew you wouldn’t.
You took a deep inhale, memorizing the way he smelled right now. Pennies and a sweet, masculine musk. You clung to him like he was a lifeline. You couldn't figure out why. Before this, you hated him. You couldn’t care less whether he lived or died. You just wanted relief. But sex didn’t change the fact you knew you were going to die. It didn’t even stave the thought.
Thick arms wrapped around you. You stayed like that for a while.
Hot take, I suppose, but the infantilization I've seen of The Creature in some of these posts on Tumblr is mind-boggling.
Did we watch the same movie? I understand that The Creature behaved as an infant, or infant-like during the early moments of his life, but he didn't stay that way. Goodness.
It's a problem and I'm addressing it as such. Like, yes, I see an issue with people making him out to be a child when he clearly is the opposite. From the beginning, he is shown to be intelligent, and thoughtful, and in other words, a mature man with his own self worth. He knew right from wrong (at least towards the end of the movie, which is what I'm referencing) and he knew basic autonomy, and nuanced information, and sexual topics. (Something that a lot of you don't want to accept. He read the BIBLE and OTHER various works of LITERATURE. The quote, "Adam knew his wife and bore Able" would bring up the question, and the old man most likely would've TOLD him.)
And, to top it all off, they make Elizabeth to be this sole momentous protector, which shields him from the dangers of the world, when all she gave him was understanding and comfort in the moments they were near each other. I think she'd make a good guide, though.
Not a post about dissection (this time) but I did want to jump on the "Who is Who" bandwagon in this movie. More specifically, who does the Creature most align with in the biblical story of Adam and Eve.
I personally looove when I read about posts that attempt to define the undefinable in this movie. The Creature, himself, is so complex a character that when you enlarge one detail, it appears to be many. So many.
But- to stay on track- who does the Creature represent? Adam, the first Man? Or perhaps Eve, the first Woman?
I'd like to add a third, what if he was the Garden? What if he was all three?
There is enough of the Garden to understand that it was a very beautiful, and a very complex place. Just like the Creature, it had many components, and very many different varieties of plants, but that is not the main reason I wanted to make this comparison.
The Creature, when thinking about him and gardens specifically, reminded me as a Bonsai tree. For context, Bonsai is a "Japanese art of growing and shaping miniature trees", end quote. Another quote that stuck out to me, "Purposes of bonsai are primarily contemplation for the viewer, and the pleasant exercise of effort and ingenuity for the grower."
(Credit, online magazines.)
Victor expressed the art of Bonsai, whether intentional or not, through his Creation. The Creature did not have a choice in this what-so-ever. His meticulous birth, primarily the act of finding the perfect pieces, relate. Personally, I couldn't exactly find if Victor struggled with pieces-in the book, specifically-not fitting (growing) right, which leads to replacement. (Like the cutting of branches)
And again, like the Bonsai trees, growth is limited by the size of the pot. It is entirely common for many Bonsai artists to perform root trimming, which I like to think was similar to Victor placing the Creature in the basement area. With trimmed roots, Bonsai trees have limited growth, like the Creature. There was no way to learn in a dark, dank area, further to prove Victor was off his rocker (As if there wasn't enough already)
Even further, Bonsai trees live for remarkable amounts of time, just like our Immortal Creature.
I like the quote from Guillermo Del Toro, "I think that God created the flowers, and the devil gave them names," Because Adam was allowed to name the animals, so why not the flowers?
This relates the devil to Adam, by the common quote than Man created evil. And by Man naming evil, it is the Creature naming himself. He calls himself anger, a child of a charnel house, and nothing at all. The Creature is the flowers. He is the Garden that goes unattended when Adam leaves.
But Adam didn't leave the Garden, he was banished for the actions of deceit, for the actions of the fruit.
Adam leaving the garden is Victor leaving the Creature, and also the Creature separating himself from Victor.
The Creature is Adam, by being the first one of his kind, but he is also Eve, the one who was deceived, and the Garden, the one that grows and flourishes despite it all.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading! Let me know if you have anything you'd like me to review.
Before I begin my little inspection, I do want to note that this is all my opinions. Agree with them, or don't. I, for one, wanted to experiment with the potential of ROMANTIC tension/relationship between them. I am not dismissing Victor's emotionally incestuous relationship with his moth, I am merely stating what I saw with a new perspective.
As many others, I recently had the privilege of being able to watch- and fall in love- with Guillermo del Toro's Frankenstein (2025), but one thing caught my attention more than the Monster, and it was the intriguing relationship between Victor, and Elizabeth.
As avid readers of gothic fiction know, Elizabeth was repurposed from Victor's fiancée into his brother's. This is for a reason I could not find a specific answer on, but it does add a bit of spice to the story.
For one reason, I believe it was to further push the things that Victor wanted, out of his proverbial hands, as it is always a highlight that things must be right outside of his reach, then into, and back out again. I will elaborate on this further, but now, the relationship as a whole.
The relationship-as we look on the outside- is as could go. Victor is introduced to Herr Harlander's niece, who also happens to be his supposed sister-in-law, to then have a well noticed argument, and then come to a consensus that they simply do not like each other. At least, this is the outside view from passing glance.
But what if I assumed it went far deeper? And what if I claimed their relationship wasn't one-sided? Let me explain,
It is a major part of the movie that Victor had temporarily (temporary being used as a simplification) became enamored with Elizabeth which caused his- and I quote- "interest in life". But I claim what if Victor was Elizabeth's realization on death?
Now, I understand Elizabeth was believed to already be a macabre woman from the start with her grasp on the prop skull, and opinions on the war, but what if my claim on a new enlightenment meant death of being, death of character?
Now, in this time period that the movie took place, women did not already have much to say nor opinion's to be had- which is why I believe Victor to be taken aback, even with her morbid statement of the war. So, I believe this would tie in further. I will elaborate on this, but now, the meat of this essay.
Elizabeth's and Victor's relationship technically started at the dinner table scene, which then is promptly ended when she sent him off to brandy and cigars. After some exposition, it pans back to the pair which we see Victor run too her, and invade her privacy in the abbey.
I'm still trying to exactly place why he pretended to be a priest in some metaphorical way, but I think he was simply curious on what she had to say. Perhaps it was more opinions she would express in the comfort of a secluded space, or maybe dirt he could use to in the chance of another argument to save himself (though I'm not so sure if he's that shallow of a character)
(A side note) I, for once, didn't see the lack of attraction people claim Elizabeth to have. From the beginning, Victor is taken aback by her beauty-not drastically but it is present on his face- and Elizabeth nods. Then at this same dinner, she says her opinion, something he is drawn to.
Anyways, on to why I think Elizabeth loved him back- and yes, to the same extent before she withdrew.
Like I claimed, women had very little say in how their lives went. Even though Elizabeth must've had more room being in privileged society, (the books on insects, and being unaccompanied in the market) this does not mean she was completely unshackled from her environment and the weight it brought down. She was a lot smarter than she was allowed to be.
When she and Victor met, she was already engaged to his brother, and with the announcement of an engagement (and hypothetical break-up) comes attention from all corners. The notion that Elizabeth might concern herself with the gossip is completely up to imagination, but in mine, I do believe she was effected. She didn't strike me as either an introvert or an extrovert in the movie, but it was her claim about a "fascinating lack of choice" that made me think she preferred being alone. That is all she has felt in her years. She is alone with herself, so that she must pick the option where she feels safest.
Her outings with Victor had me thinking that her finance, William, did not share the same interests with her. He always pegged me as a "spoiled, but heart of gold" type of gentlemen. He would have never trapped that butterfly. I believe this space between this 'couple' is also shown by the lack of affection we see in the movie. Perhaps they sat next to dinner, but there was no underlying tension I could sense. (And I know this is in the context of family dinner, but still, my defense stands.) Intentional or not, there is little to no scenes with either together- which could be forsaking character development for the plot, but eh- and it brings up the question is this marriage the binding of two people in matrimony, or two houses in money? An answer we never got.
William doesn't even join her on the floor while she plays with her beetles, while Victor inclines to investigate her books from the market, then asks to dance. Also, when Victor confesses, she holds his face gently.
Even when the Creature has come alive, Victor seeks Elizabeth when they enter his estate, and she follows him.
Tying in Elizabeth's realization of death, I give a question, is it better to pick something steady that will end peacefully, or something erratic where you can't see the rest?
An insect's life is simple. Born, eat, multiply, die. Sometimes, they are caged and put into frames and diagrams to be gazed upon for eternity.
Elizabeth had chosen an insect's life before meeting the hair-brained Victor, a man who brought new questions she didn't want to answer until he gave the ultimatum.
Victor, a man who most likely did not tolerate the quiet, and petite style of the women around him, met his match with the sharp-tongued Elizabeth. This woman, entirely be-witching, but so odd.
And now, where it ended, and why.
As we know, Victor became interested in life with he introduction of Elizabeth, and this was while he was building his Creature. The art that she thought was beautiful. To himself, he had shoe-horned in the idea that he could build perfection with his own hands, but believing you are the greatest is the highest level of narcissism. Elizabeth makes this realization.
As she brings their butterfly to his place of work, she states that it "missed him", which I took as a metaphor for herself. Again, like I said, she compliments his work- which strokes his ego. As he rides this high, he confesses his feelings, to which she doesn't outright reject. She turns, down casts herself, and turns her attention to their butterfly. "Choice is the seat of the soul, The one God granted us."
Her quote right then and there told me, she wanted to remain behind the reigns as much as she could. She had chosen his brother, and nothing that came along could make her give up that quiet, safe life. Especially a man who showed signs of distrustfulness from the beginning. The abbey, his theories, his work, it was all a fool's dream, and all unapologetically selfish.
Elizabeth longed for something where she could truly be herself, but as it came to be, it was not confiding in Victor.
With one glance, I see a woman who thought of her options, all the pain and suffering that would come, forsaking herself for the slight chance of happiness.
This man, who looks back with his eyes fluttering, is not the one she'd spend her days with.
I also see sorrow, and regret. Her days with someone who she thought saw beyond her are over, because in this moment he saw her for her pretty exoskeleton, she saw his soul.
Their relationship was fleeting, and went as quick as it came, but it could still have been deep.
Victor and Elizabeth could never be. Society would shame the woman for leaving one brother for another, a shame that would never leave no matter how much time passed. They were in love, just not with each others souls. Victor liked the idea of having Elizabeth (perhaps as another one up on his father, who favorited his brother) and Elizabeth liked the chance she would have somewhere to feel comfortable. But neither had the chance. I don't know if I'd classify it as "right person, wrong time", or even "In another life". It's this complicated grey area of reciprocated affection, but blocked by moral.
This is the same reason her affection directs itself to the Creature. He is pure, and devoid of judgment. The very thing that haunt her as a woman, and what continued to haunt Victor till his death.
Victor wanted praise all his life, seeking that same feeling to avoid coping with all the rejection his father bestowed. He found that in Elizabeth when they talked. His idea of creating life was appreciated, but that's where the path diverged, never to cross again. He can only create life, not change it. Elizabeth's life could not be changed, just like his. This is what was out of his hands; the trajectory of lives. He would only ever play God.
Thank you for reading! I am excited to write more, especially about the Creature.
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