I occasionally write and share more suggestive content. Please if you are under 18, do not follow this blog <3 I repost my safe for everyone content to my main blog @melsopiah which anyone can follow.
My name is Mel, I'm 21 and I use any pronouns! Right now I'm primarily writing for iron lung and iswm, though I may write other Egos on occasion. I happily take requests and love yapping with people so feel free to ask me anything, anytime! My ao3 is melsopiah if people prefer to read their fics on there.
My current WIP series is Thanatophobia, a monster!Simon Fic! The first post is here (continuing chapters are linked in each post)
ok the moth verse stuff is really cool. I really like how you write Simon and dark… I really like it yeah.
thank you !! I loved writing the few moth oneshots… the dark/simon one was definitely a favourite there <3
I plan on writing both more moth!verse stuff and Darkiconvict in the future :} there’s currently a moth Simon and Engie oneshot in the works since I have a soft spot for the two of them.
Tags: ISWM, Fluff, Smut, No Use of Y/N For Reader-Insert, Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Praise Kink, Dry humping, Grinding, Hair Pulling, Whimpering, Light D/S Dynamics, Implied Aftercare, Not Edited, Not Beta Read.
You wandered through the ship idly, checking up on crew members and making sure everything was functioning smoothly. A quick once over of your metal checklist revealed you hadn’t seen your dear head engineer. You sighed. He was probably overworking himself again — he never did seem to take a break these days.
Walking through the halls in a familiar pattern, you make your way towards the primary workshop in the ship. You spot Engie working on something, his jumpsuit unzipped and hanging loosely by his waist. He looked tired, sweat glistening on his arms as he worked. His hair was loose and tousled and grease was smeared all over him. You leaned against the door, watching him for a moment before clearing your throat. Engie startled, glancing towards you and then instantly relaxing at the sight of you standing there.
“Captain! What brings you here?” Engie asks cheerfully, grabbing a cloth and attempting to wipe some of the grease off of his hands with little success. You raise an eyebrow, glancing pointedly to the clock.
“If you ever actually paid attention to the time, you would have it figured out in an instant. At least then you’d know you’re spending too much time in here,” you comment dryly. Engie has the decency to look somewhat sheepish at that.
“Ah. I suppose I have been here a while, haven’t I?” He says softly. You nod, making your way over to him. Your hands brush over his shoulders gently and you internally smirk at the small shudder that goes through him.
“We’ve talked about this, Engie,” you scold him teasingly, “you can’t go on overworking yourself. It’s not healthy for you. I can’t have my head engineer out of commission because he refused to take a few breaks throughout the day, can I?”
Your hands slide down and settle to grip at Engie’s arms and he gives you a tired smile.
“But Captain,” he says, a little breathless, “I’ve still got work to do— mfph!” He’s cut off as you crash your lips into his, licking eagerly into his mouth. Engie melts immediately, leaning into it, his hands coming up to rest on your waist. He tastes like sweat and grease, and you pull back with a laugh, your thumb swiping over his lips to wipe the spit away.
“How'd you even get grease on your lips?” You coo teasingly, delighting in the way his cheeks flush red, a dazed little smile on his face.
“I— I don’t know—“ he stammers. You grin, tilting your head.
“Come on honey,” you drawl, “I’m sure you can figure out how it happened and tell me. Then…” your fingers trail down his chest, “maybe I’ll give you a reward.” Engie’s eyes widen at the statement and he pouts a little at you, brow furrowed.
“Captain, you can’t surely—“ he gives a little gasp as you cut him off with a light tug of his hair. You smirk.
“No,” your voice is firm, “no arguing. If you want a reward, you tell me how the grease got onto your lips. Or I can leave you to your work, if you’d prefer?” Engie whines softly at the thought, hands tightening on your waist. You just grin in response. Some days he could win you over with some whining and a cute look, but today? He wasn’t getting out of it easily. He seems to figure it out as well, squirming a bit as his mind tries to put the pieces together.
“I— I guess I must’ve accidentally brushed my hand on my lips?” He gets out, “something like that.” You raise an eyebrow, not moving or doing anything just yet. When he tries to press into you a bit, you keep your hold tight and refuse to let him. Engie gives you a betrayed look, but you simply shake your head.
“You didn’t sound awfully sure, honey,” you shrug, “I don’t know if ‘something like that’ is a good enough answer to get what you want.” Engie makes a small, frustrated noise in the back of his throat.
“That’s not fair!” He pouts, “please Captain. It was so long ago. I tried my best.” You sigh, running a few fingers through his hair and tugging lightly as you think.
“Maybe if you beg a little more I’ll give you a pass,” you decide, “if you can’t give me a proper answer, you have to earn your reward a different way.” Engie nods immediately and pulls your hand up to his cheek, nuzzling into it. Some of the grease on his face smears into your hand, but you’re not particularly concerned with that right now. He peers up at you, eyes pleading.
“Please Captain?” He begs, “I’ve been good.” Normally you’d hold out a little longer, make him frustrated to the point of tears or tease him a bit more. Today you don’t feel the same sort of restraint. You tug him up into a kiss, nipping at his lip and making a pleased noise at the soft moan that escapes him. You pull back, licking your lips and giving him a smile.
“Good boy,” you coo, relishing the whimper that escapes him, “since you were good you can have a reward.” You press a knee between his legs, humming in delight at the feeling of his cock already growing hard. “You can get yourself off, just like this, can’t you?” Engie blinks, caught off guard. His cheeks flush bright red.
“But… Captain…” he whines. You rub at a bit of the grease, smiling.
“You’re already such a mess,” you tilt your head down, “what’s one more?” Engie flusters, torn between arguing with you and simply giving in. You just wait, patiently. Engie can easily tap out if anything was ever too much, but you have an inkling that despite his protests he doesn’t mind this. He huffs, red faced.
“…fine,” he mumbles, glancing away, “okay.” You beam, cupping under his chin and pecking a kiss to his cheek.
“Good boy. Get to work, then,” you say, pressing into him a little more. Engie moans, head lolling forward to rest on your shoulder. His hands fumble to grip at your side to keep himself steady and one of your hands comes up to support him, the other threading through his hair. His cock is hard and you can feel it pressed against you as he grinds down with a whimper.
As he grinds, you tug gently at his hair and mouth at his neck, relishing at the noises that escape him. Slowly a damp spot starts to form on his jumpsuit as he gets a little more desperate against you, rubbing harder up and down. You smile at him, tilting his chin to look at you, taking in Engie’s dazed expression and flushed cheeks.
“Already so messy, aren’t you?” You murmur, “you’re such a messy puppy sometimes.” He lets out a choked noise at the nickname, nodding in your grasp as he moves frantically, humping your leg. You press hard into him, giving him more friction to work with and feeling pleased that it results in some more moans and gasps escaping from him. You lick a strip up his neck, the bitter taste of the grease on him stinging your tongue. It’s worth it for the way he whimpers incoherently into your shoulder.
“Please captain, I’m so close,” he babbles, “please, I’m good, I’ve been good.” You hum, teasingly, but you feel nice today. You give a small nod, nipping at his skin.
“You can cum,” you say, “be a good boy and cum for me.” Engie mumbles something, likely agreement, but he’s too dazed for it to make much sense. His movements get desperate and sloppy against you as he gets close and you have to help guide him along, but you don’t really mind. Eventually he comes with a whimper of your name against your skin, spilling into his boxers and jumpsuit. He slows, panting heavily, the dampness between his legs obvious.
“Good boy.” You let him stay leaning against you, playing with his hair gently as he gradually comes down from the high. After a few moments he manages to pull back shakily, giving you a dazed smile. He giggles as you wipe some of the drool from his lips, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“Thank you, Captain. I don’t suppose I can return the favour?” While the offer is tempting, you can see how exhausted he is. You shake your head slightly, leaning forward to kiss his forehead gently.
“Another time. Making you feel good was all I needed for today. Now,” you give him a cheeky grin, “I think you’re dirty in more ways than one—“
“Captain!” Engie protests, flustered. You simply laugh, helping him stand up a bit, supporting him as he stabilizes the wobble in his legs.
“I’m not wrong,” you say, tugging him along towards the showers once he can walk, a hand on his lower back, “let’s go clean up. Then we can sleep and cuddle.” He sighs, rolling his eyes, but his expression is fond.
“Yeah. I think that sounds good, Captain.” You grin. Sounds good indeed.
It was warm in the little cave of blankets Simon had made for himself. A week ago he had been sure he was going to be dead, when a person wearing his face had stepped out of the shadows and promised he could take him somewhere safe. The man had introduced himself as Dark, entirely monochrome with delicate black wings folded neatly behind his back and thin antenna poking out of his hair. The only hint of colour was the faint chromatic edge that shimmered around his entire being. He had promised Simon a place of safety and seeing no other choice, Simon obliged, despite not trusting Dark initially.
Dark had made good on his promise, however. Simon wasn’t entirely sure where they were, but it was safe. He was able to wander the quarters he had been given without constraint and food and drink appeared when he needed it. The first time Simon had tried an apple he had cried. Dark was here some days and other days he was absent, but slowly Simon felt more and more relaxed around the other man. Perhaps he was truly just trapped in a gilded cage, but Dark didn’t seem intent on hurting him. Simon was content to go along with whatever the other man had in store for now, not willing to give up the safety he had finally grasped so soon.
Simon snuggled further into the warmth and darkness of his blanket cave, groaning slightly when he heard an amused noise from above. His spindly antennae twitch at the noise and he tries to curl into the blankets more than he should be able to.
“I was wondering where you had slipped off to,” the amusement in Dark’s voice is palpable, “although I suppose all things considered, I really shouldn’t be that surprised.” Light shines into the little cocoon of blankets, Dark peeling some of them back to peer in at him. Simon lets out an incoherent noise and squints out at him, scowling. Dark just chuckles, smirking down at Simon.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, tilting Simon’s chin up slightly, “you’ve been hiding away all day. You need to eat something.” Simon huffs, turning his head away from Dark.
“I’m comfortable here. I can wait on the food,” he mutters. Simon glances back, giving Dark a challenging look. “Unless you want to bring it to me. Then I’ll eat.” Dark stares back at him, expression flat. Simon doesn’t budge. Dark sighs, wings flaring a bit as he runs a hand through his hair and fixes Simon with a look that has him wanting to run.
“Stubborn little moth,” he tuts, “you’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.” Dark nudges him gently, “move over.” Simon stares at him, confused for a moment. His antennae twitch slightly, eyes narrowing.
“You… want to come in here?” He asks, skeptical. That seemed oddly out of character. Dark grins, canines glinting slightly.
“It’s that or you get up and eat something,” Dark says, smirking like he’s known that he’s won. Simon stares, trying to decipher if there’s a trap or some sort of double meaning. Why the hell would Dark want to get into his little nest? Although it was better than getting up right now and Simon was fairly certain there weren't any secret double meanings to his words. He moves to the side slightly, making room. Dark slips into the nest beside him, wings fluttering slightly before settling against his back. Simon just sort of stares at him, unsure what to do. Dark gives him an amused look.
“Relax,” he gives Simon a lazy grin, “you’re far too tense about this situation. What’s wrong with me wanting to come into the nest with you, bug?” Simon scowls at the nickname (pet name? He wasn’t going to think too hard about that).
“Because you’re acting weird,” he mutters, “all… ‘take care of yourself, Simon’ and ‘let me stay close to you, Simon’ when just last week you stared me down for making a snarky comment about your hair.” Dark frowns at the reminder, the faint aura that always seemed to hover around him darkening. Simon flinches. As abruptly as the fear was there, it’s gone in an instant. Dark gives him a smile that has Simon shakily returning it.
“Perhaps it’s better to not question my moments of kindness.” Simon nods jerkily in response.
“Right. Got it. This is all perfectly normal.” Dark settled at that, antennae twitching contentedly. He studies Simon for a moment and then pulls him over, ignoring the startled yelp from the moth. His fingers comb slightly through Simon’s hair, a frown on his face.
“This has gotten to be such a mess,” he tuts, “you let it get so tangled. Don’t squirm, I’ll take care of it.” He starts picking though some of the knots gently, combing through Simon’s hair. Simon can’t help but relax a little at the sensation, unable to deny that it really did feel good. He sighed softly, pressing into the touch a bit. Dark’s hands continue to comb through his hair and as he works, his hand gently brushes near Simon’s antennae. They twitch and Simon’s breath hitches at the sensation.
There’s a small pause from Dark and then a grin breaks out over his face that has Simon shuddering internally. Shit.
“Oh,” the delight in Dark’s voice is clear, “someone’s sensitive.” Simon scowls, antennae twitching in embarrassment.
“Shut the fuck up you bastard—“
Dark cuts him off by running a few fingers gently over one of Simon’s antennae, barely a brush of a touch. Simon feels it quiver under the man, gasping slightly as a shudder runs through him. He lets his head fall into Dark’s shoulder, cheeks slowly colouring pink.
“That,” he mumbles, “was unfair.” Dark just chuckles, brushing his entire hand over one of them and smirking at the whine that escaped Simon as the man melts into him, quivering at the sensation.
“No,” Dark’s voice is low, murmuring in Simon’s ear, “that was me utilizing knowledge. And all the knowledge points to this being very nice for you.” Simon makes an unintelligible noise, wanting to be frustrated at how smug Dark was being but unable to form any coherent thought over how amazing the sensation felt.
“Already at a loss for words?” Dark sounds unbearably smug, “and I haven’t even done anything.” Simon flushes at the implications, trying to shove Dark away slightly.
“I— what— no—“ he splutters. Dark quirks an eyebrow.
“Do you want me to stop, Simon?”
It’s quiet for a moment. Simon hates how hot his cheeks are, antennae twitching and wings fluttering. He could be read like a book and he had no idea how to feel about that.
“…no,” he finally mutters, not meeting Dark’s eyes. The smile he gets in return has his insides melting into liquid.
“That’s exactly what I thought,” he tugs Simon closer and pets Simon’s antennae back slightly, relishing in the strangled gasp that escapes him, his entire body shuddering, “relax, little moth. We won’t go any farther today.” Simon doesn’t know if he should be thankful or if he should be frustrated by that thought. He decides it doesn’t matter much anyways when Dark is stroking the tips of his antennae like that. He stays slumped against Dark, soft noises escaping him as Dark continues to pet at him.
“Simon,” he blinks sluggishly at the sound of his name, “little moth. Look at me. That’s right, you can do it,” Dark coos, coaxing Simon to look at him. He smiles, looking pleased with himself, “mm. If this is how we can get you to relax, perhaps I should do it more often.” Simon musters whatever brainpower he has to scowl at Dark, pouting slightly when the man just laughs lightly at his response. Dark cups his cheek.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “you still haven’t eaten anything today. We should change that.” Before Simon can process what he’s saying, Dark’s lips are on his. Simon freezes and then melts into it, pressing back eagerly. Dark’s lips are surprisingly soft, the feeling of his beard scratching against Simon’s skin as they kiss. Dark’s tongue swipes into Simon’s mouth and he gives a startled noise, but lets the man instantly explore him. When he pulls away, a whine escapes Simon involuntarily. Dark chuckles.
“Shh,” he scratches at the base of Simon’s antennae, “we’ll explore more later. For now, you should sleep and then we’ll get some food for you.” Simon wants to argue, but the way Dark is scratching at his scalp is turning his brain to mush and he truly does just feel so tired. He uses his remaining energy to flip Dark off and slumps against him, his wings shuddering contentedly as he falls asleep to Dark’s laughter.
It wasn’t exactly where Simon thought he would’ve ended up in life, but perhaps being stuck with Dark wasn’t as bad as he had made it out to be initially. Only time would tell and for now, Simon sleeps.
3/?
CW: Brief thoughts of Simon thinking he'd be better dead
Read: Part one here!
Next Part: in progress
Simon woke up. The first thing that took him aback was the absence of mind shattering pain. He had drifted away in an agonizing haze of hardly being able to coherently piece together what was happening — and now that pain had simmered down to a much more manageable feeling. He blinked away the heaviness from his eyes, prying them open and glancing around to categorize his surroundings. He was on a medical bed of sorts, various machines and IVs hooked up to him. The room was empty outside of the bed and the machinery that was steadily beeping away.
He glanced to the side and grimaced, face twisting up in horrified disbelief. He remembered missing a limb, but that was no longer the case. A fully formed appendage had attached itself to the stub that used to be on his arm. It was dark red, scaly, with webbed fingers and pointed claws. Despite having a new limb, Simon found that it felt like dead weight. No matter how hard he tried to think, he couldn’t move it. His fingers didn’t curl or clench, he couldn’t lift it up, he couldn’t even make it twitch. It was like whatever had happened to his arm only had time to form partially but hadn’t connected to the rest of his body.
Deciding to not think too hard about that just yet, he tried to process any other changes he could see. Dark red scales splattered along his skin in patches where the burns had eaten away at his flesh. A thin membrane stretched between his fingers and toes, nails having blackened and sharpening like claws. His mouth felt dry and he ran his tongue over the inside of it in an attempt to help, startling at the odd sensation of pointed teeth. What was even more disconcerting was the sensation of an almost thin like membrane on the left side of his mouth rather than the flesh he would feel on his cheek. There were a lot of things that he was opting to ignore at the moment. Deciding that it was better to simply not think about any more possible changes he might have experienced, Simon moved on to taking better stock of his surroundings. He tried to shift and winced. Not only was his body not really cooperating… his functioning hand was cuffed to the bed. A fair precaution when he thought about it. No sane person would look at whatever he had become and not see a threat. Simon wasn’t even fully sure himself if he was a threat or not.
He settled for staring blankly at the ceiling and trying to process whatever the hell had happened to him. The SM-13 had crashed. Exploded. It was gone. He should have gone with it. Instead, he had woken up on a rock somewhere in unimaginable amounts of pain. Then things had gone hazy and black and now he was here: body changed beyond what he would’ve ever thought possible and stuck handcuffed to a medical bed. Logically he had probably been found by the COI, but how had they even discovered him? Not only would they have assumed him dead and left it at that, Simon knew that he hadn’t been anywhere near the base of operations on this moon when he had fallen into the ocean to his theoretical death. It seemed to simply be an endless list of unanswered questions. He sighed, the sound rough, and he let his head slump to the side. All he could do was wait and see what they were going to do with him. A small part of Simon hoped they killed him, because the only other option he could think of was them keeping him for experimentation and that sounded like a fate worse than death.
As Simon stewed in his thoughts, letting the fear and numbness swirl around him like a hurricane, he heard the door click open. He feels his ears twitch, the sensation unfamiliar. Unable to do much else, his eyes flick to the side. It’s probably not the best first re-impression, but Simon scowls as he locks eyes with the women who put him into the submersible in the first place. The Captain. Ava. She stares back at him, face expressionless except for the faintest glimmer of surprise at the sight of him awake. She closes the door behind her, walking over to the foot of his bed and looking down at him.
“Convict,” her voice is cold, not a single ounce of sympathy in it, “seeing you awake is unexpected. If you can understand me, nod.” Simon continues scowling. He opens his mouth, attempting to form words, and coughs, the sensation painful. Eventually he manages to roughly spit out what he wants to say.
“Fuck you.” Ava stares at him and sighs heavily, unimpressed.
“I suppose it’s good to see your personality hasn’t changed,” she comments dryly. Simon barely resists rolling his eyes at her words. He wasn’t in the mood for whatever bullshit she was going to start spouting at him.
“So what’s the plan?” He asks, “am I the next big project you’ve gotten your hands on? Or are you just going to shoot me and call it a day?”
“While I’m aware of your… strong feelings towards the coalition—“ he snorts.
“That’s putting it lightly.”
“As I was saying,” she clears her throat lightly, “while I’m aware of your feelings towards the COI, we have yet to notify headquarters of this discovery. We would prefer to monitor things naturally for a period of time and understand what happened to the SM-13. Better cooperation may result in better circumstances for you once we report to the higher ups.” Simon scoffs. She sounds like she’s reading off some sort of script.
“Don’t bullshit me,” he hisses, “it’s not that hard to read between the lines. You’re going to keep me locked up in a room and if I’m a threat or don’t cooperate I’m as good as dead. If I do cooperate then maybe I get a chance at a nicer little prison cell.” Ava’s expression hardens, like she’s holding back what she wants to say.
“Whatever you think, it appears that regardless you don’t have much of a choice if you want to live, isn’t it?”
Simon tenses. She wasn’t wrong. If he wanted to live, he was going to have to play along for now. Regardless of if she was telling the truth about ‘better circumstances’ or if she was just stringing him along, fighting back in any regard wouldn’t end up well. He scowled.
“Fine. I’ll play nice,” he muttered. Ava nodded, shoulders relaxing slightly.
“Good,” she says. She studies him, taking him in. Eyes tracing over his form with a frown. “Now that we’ve got that cleared, a few things to note, Convict. You’re going to be under medical supervision for some period still. The blood samples we got were mutated beyond comprehension, but it’s clear that there’s been extensive damage to your body.”
“My name is Simon,” he hesitates for a moment, not really wanting to know the full extent of the damages before reluctantly deciding it would be worse to not know. “What,” he takes a shaky breath in, “what happened to me? Fully? I can see some stuff but…” he trails off. Ava takes a sharp inhale of breath.
“We don’t fully understand what happened. The extent of mutations is… rather aggressive. You’ve continued to change while monitored. It might be best to see for yourself.” She steps out of the room and Simon sighs, trying to keep himself calm. He can’t panic, not now. He’ll save the mental breakdown and existential crisis for when Ava won’t be around. He doesn’t need her witnessing that. His musings are interpreted by her stepping back in and turning a mirror towards him.
Simon stares. Part of his left cheek is missing, the bones of his teeth fully on display. A thin membrane stretches between them so there isn’t simply a gaping hole. His ears have shifted into delicate looking, fin like appendages. Black sclera with dark pupils. Gills slitting along the side of his neck. Simon takes a shaky inhale, not taking his eyes off of the mirror. His voice is shaking a bit as he speaks.
“Is there anything else?” Ava grimaces.
“Gills along your ribs. We believe there’s also the start of a tail, but it is unclear if it will develop further.” She puts the mirror down beside him. “There is a button you can press if you need anything. The medical staff will check in on you later and I will be back tomorrow to discuss the finer details.” With that she turns and leaves.
Simon stares blankly. Not processing. He was a monster. He was alive. He shouldn’t be alive. He wasn’t ever going to be looked at as a person again. There’s a hollow feeling in his chest.
A moth!simon fic inspired by artwork by @ buondiorno on twitter / tiktok!
TW: depictions of violence, body horror (sort of), dehumanization
(Simon gets pinned like a bug. That’s the fic. Angst, hurt no comfort).
Simon’s own wings were nothing special. Delicate and moth like, a dusty grey brown, torn a bit around the edges. The wear and tear of being a Brother hadn’t been particularly kind to them. His time in prison under the COI had been even less so. Frankly he didn’t hold much attachment to them anymore. As a child he had been enamoured by the appendages, beaming at the praise from his mother and showing them off with pride. As he got older he saw them for what they really were: dead weight and nutrients. He lay on the floor of his cell, wings splayed out on the floor behind him, idly wondering what was going to happen to him next. Simon didn’t hold much hope considering the perspective the COI held on Eden. Not to mention he had heard whispers of some of the Brothers being taken out and never returning.
That’s why when a coalition member came to speak to him, promising him a chance to earn his freedom at the price of going on a simple mission for them, he had been taken aback. Yet what choice did he have? Was he to rot alone in a cell for all eternity? Wait until the COI got sick of him taking up too much space and executed him? Or should he risk whatever they wanted to offer him for the promise of freedom? When it came down to it, it wasn’t a hard choice to make. He agreed in an instant.
Two days later he was dragged out of his cell, wings drawn taut behind him in an effort to keep them out of the way. The COI didn’t have the same reservations that Eden had about their wings and Simon didn’t want to risk anything more happening to them. Perhaps their abilities could prove to be useful in whatever came ahead. Dragged into the main control room, those thoughts immediately dissipated. They weren’t sending him anywhere that he could fly his way out of. A stern blonde woman barked some orders to the bustling coalition members around, one dusty orange wing flared out slightly and the other a dull and torn mess that was pressed flat against her back. Simon averted his eyes the moment she caught him staring, a sneer on her lips.
“I hope you’re ready, Convict,” she snaps at him, “if you do what we need you to get whatever freedom they’ve promised you. Not that you deserve it,” she scoffs. Her eyes flick to his wings, frowning slightly. He frowns back at her, tensing.
“What?” He snaps out at her. Her eyes lock with his.
“Keep those close to you. They’ll slow you down in a small space like the SM-13,” she says shortly. She gestures to a crew member and Simon is dragged away before he can respond, shoved into the metal contraption and wincing as it was closed up. He took a deep breath. In and out and then he’d be free. That’s all he had to keep telling himself. Whatever this was, it couldn't be that hard.
(Simon tried not to think too deeply about the fact that none of the other prisoners had returned as he was lowered into the swirling red seas below. Surely they hadn’t been offered the same thing as him. Surely he would make him out of this alive).
…
Simon wasn’t making it out of this alive. He was certain Ava was dead, he had heard the crunch of her submersible through the speakers. The black box was secured as best that it could be but there wasn’t anything more that he could do for it. The sub was sinking and the blood had already torn off his arm, the pain shooting up his body but overshadowed from the sheer amount of pain that was rushing through him from the blood eating away at his body. It clumped into his wings, tearing at the edges and causing them to sag and stick together. He was going to die. All he had wanted was to live and now he was going to die at the bottom of an ocean, doomed by an entity beyond his understanding. His eyes close shut, face gritting in determination. If he was going to die, he would go out fighting to the end. He stands up, legs wobbling, wings dragging beside him.
Then, silence. Complete and utter silence. The pain was there — but dulled. Simon was standing ankle deep in a pool of blood, the liquid dripping off of him in rivulets. He looked around, panicked. A cacophony of voices echoed out in his mind, loud and overwhelming.
“Hello there, little moth.” Simon tensed, wings trying to flare out defensively but unable to, sticking together and weighed down from the mess of blood in them.
“Who the hell are you? What the fuck have you done to me?” He yells, looking around frantically, “let me out! Put me back!” There’s a sound, like the voices are chuckling, echoing around him and surrounding him.
“You were dying, little moth. If I send you back there you will perish,” a feeling, like something is brushing over the back of his wings gently and he shudders in an attempt to recoil from the sensation, “and it would be such a pity to let a fine specimen like you die. Especially after your beautiful pleas to continue living.”
Simon tenses. He had no idea what this creature's intent was. For all he knew it would be a face worth than death once it was done with him.
“What do you want with me?” He asks, “if you’re not going to send me back then what are you going to do with me?” That odd feeling again, like a hand sweeping over him and inspecting him. He shudders, the sensation uncomfortable and prickling at his skin.
“I’m going to keep you safe, mothling,” it coos, “you’ll never be hurt again. I’ll put you with the others, don’t fret.” That only made Simon feel worse, an aching pit forming in his stomach at the invisible creature's words.
“The others?” He asks, trying to not let his voice betray his unease. There was no answer from the being, not for a moment. When it spoke, it simply ignored his question.
“Shall we get you cleaned up? You can’t go like this,” a sensation washes over Simon suddenly, the blood peeling and flaking off his skin uncomfortably. His wings flare out when the weight vanishes from them and he tries to bat them, wanting desperately to take flight and flee.
“You didn’t think that would work, did you?” It laughs, echoing in his mind, “you won’t be safe if you flit off like that. Now, let's get you to where you need to be.” There’s a jarring feeling suddenly, like the landscape is tilting beneath his feet. Simon’s eyes close almost instinctively, trying to ground himself from the sudden wave of nausea that threatens to overcome him. When they open, he steps back in horror.
There’s a wall in front of him. So large it feels never ending. On the wall, pins stuck into them, are people. He doesn’t think they’re alive, but he’s sure they were once. They’re pinned up on display like pictures Simon once saw of bugs on Earth from far back in the day when wings weren’t a common trait. Glaringly, there’s a spot that’s open on the wall in front of him. In a delicately sprawled script are the words “The Convict”.
“What the fuck,” Simon whispers, voice trembling. The unease couldn’t be held any longer. He tried to run, tried to get away. There was no way that this could ever be freedom. Despite his desperate attempts, an invisible force picks him up.
“Don’t fight, little moth,” the being coos, “this is for your own good. It’s the only way you’ll be able to live anymore.” Simon kicks, fights, struggles, but it has no effect on the invisible grip holding him down.
“Put me down! This isn’t what I wanted!” He chokes out desperately as he’s carried closer and closer towards the wall, “this isn’t what I wanted. I just wanted to live. Please. Please.” The voices don’t respond. Simon struggles as a pin appears out of nowhere. One into his sleeve. Another into his glove. His missing arm appears, pinned beside him and he lets out a choked sob.
“A pity it isn’t attached, but all the parts together are better than an incomplete specimen,” the voice muses. A pin into his pant legs. His boots. Until he’s hanging there limply on the wall, defeated. Then another pin appears. He frowns, before his eyes widen in realization.
“No—“ his own voice is cut off as he screams as a pin is stabbed into his wing. Then another. Another. He screams and begs and cries until his voice is hoarse. It ends all so fast and not fast enough. He’s there, dangling limply. Doomed.
“Perfect. You’ll be safe here. You wanted to live and I have granted this to you, so don’t go complaining now,” one last horrible brush over his delicate wings and then quiet. The voices are gone. Simon was alone.
He dangles limply on the wall. Surrounded by the corpses of people who he never knew. People who would never live a full life.
Simon wasn’t making it out of this alive. He was certain.
