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@octopiys
Hey there, honey, come rest a while~
BLOG GUIDE
Hello! I'm octopiys: a fanfic writer, artist, and very tired student who's trying to get into streaming! I'm not a themed blog, you will see a lot of different stuff here!
Please always remember that you are loved and so worth it. Go take a nap!
✨️positive vibes incoming, you will not avoid it✨️
Writing and art info below the cut!
WRITING/REQUEST GUIDELINES
BLOODYMARY MASTERLISTS+SHOTS
We Will Break Away Together (I'll be the Shadow, You'll be the Light)
Come Together (Together as One)
REQUESTS/OTHER:
devoted (soap/reader) pt 1 | pt 2
I Know It (pricegraves hurt/comfort)
Turned fae!Simon x Nature Conservation Officer!Soap pt1 pt2 pt3 pt4
Olympics (ask) (Ghost's Routine)
Professor!Price
Hybrid!Ghost
King!Soap and Jester!Ghost
COD MASTERLISTS:
Rest ye Merry Gentleman
every dream that shatters (another one comes true)
The Screaming, Heaving, Fuckery of the World
Lost and Found
ive discovered that tumblr no longer likes me
Come Together (Together as One)
(I know. Another ghost title. Grucify me. )
A bloodymary fic
Word count: 6.6k
Simon finds a new species in the garden. He informs Ryland about it's spores, and they have sex about it. Though, Grace is a scientist at heart... he's always loved studying biology.
or, the fic where there's accidental aphrodisiacs, gillplay, and science
Cw: gillplay, smut, bottom!simon, body worship, handies, anal, aphrodisiacs/sex pollen, praise kink, medical kink
ao3
18+ below the cut
The garden was supposed to be easy, unassuming. Something to keep Simon sane while he recovered, unable to do much of anything too strenuous. The soil had already been dragged up (it was a long process a couple weeks ago) and was fertile enough now having settled in. It was ready to be planted. Luckily, the Eridians had managed to scrounge up some native flora, engineering each to be something edible.
They had managed some pretty close copies: a plant akin to a tomato (he had dubbed the species tomatoes (the other pronunciation.)), a tuber that had a deep blue tinge (Grace assumes due to the reaction of the iodine in the soils to the starchy compound that made it up), what they assume to be a type of gourd (high in salts and some proteins), and some other leafy reds.
So they’ve done relatively well, so far! Grace may have not’ve told Simon about the meburger plan yet, but things were still moving along great!
Really, the things that the Eridians were able to make for them was incredible. Grace didn’t use that power, much, not unless it was really something they needed. He was spoiled, truly!
His first few months in here were incredible– aside from all the treatment of starvation, scurvy (he’s a true pirate now!) and many other deficiencies, he wasn’t lonely! He had plenty of Rocky to keep him company, plus friends, representatives, scientists and–! Oh, the best part!
He had met Adrian! His best mate’s mate!
They were a deep turquoise, some clearer sort of tourmaline near the top of their carapace, little flecks of gold embedded within the tough shell. Five legs, like Rocky, and taller than he was standing at his own, full height.
Simon had gotten along great with Adrian, their quiet, self reserved personalities mashing quite well together. Especially while they shared similar interests! Simon was very hands on– hand… on? With things, whereas Adrian provided a perfect, calm mirror.
Grace supposed that’s how he and Rocky were while they spent time together, so its a bit of a give and take! He shouldn’t be…
Simon was five minutes late. Not that he had assigned places to be, or anything! Simon was just…. Very routine oriented. It had been a habit they had yet to break, but Rome hadn’t been built in a day, right?
He’s getting away from the point! Simon was usually here by now, and yet, he wasn’t. That’s the issue. The main issue. Not whatever something-like-jealousy-but-definitely-not-that was making him think!
He was probably just caught up in the garden for sure. Or got distracted with something outside. Something he definitely didn’t need Grace’s help with.
He found himself outside, the door open behind them. Winds whip his face up from the coastline cliff as he makes his way up the newly installed staircase to where the beginnings of the garden were.
“Uh– Simon? You up here, big guy?” Grace starts hesitantly, not wanting Simon to feel like he was being intruded upon in his private space.
“Mmph?” Responded Simon, from near the back of the garden, buried in the massive growth of the tomatoes. The bushels rose above Simon’s head, resting just below Grace’s chin-height, leaves rustling as Simon dug through the roots.
“Whatchya doing?” He asks, making his way through the aisles of plants to find the other man crouched down, wrist deep in soil and compost. His hair was shoddily tied in a half knot on the side of his head, thicker, loose strands curtaining the rest of his face.
He blows a puff of air away from his sweat slick skin and looks up at him, his milkier eye zoning off a little too far to one side. But his good eye– a deep, chocolate brown, ringed with the faintest color of honey– focuses in on him.
Grace twists slightly under his focus. “You, uh– got some dirt on your face.”
Simon scoffs, the action of his laugh pulling at the edges of his recently healed scars. “You ever try gardening without gettin’ dirty?”
“Uh– hahah, no- I, er, I don’t have a green thumb.” Ryland laughs nervously, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. “I tend to kill the plants I try to care for, so…”
Simon moves his basket around, pulling it from between the leaves. There were a handful of tomatoes and a few tubers. Seems like dinner would be set for tonight. A feast fit for kings.
“Don’t touch my garden, Grace.” Simon growls, putting the handle of the basket between his teeth, using his now free hand to push himself up off the ground.
“I can take that for you–?” Grace offers hesitantly, retracting his hands when the other man bites off a grow, taking the basket from his mouth.
At least he didn’t bite off his hand. Now that’s what he calls improvement!
When they reach the front door, Simon stops him.
“I uh..” He sniffed, eyes decidedly avoiding looking at him. “I didn’t mean what I said. That I didn’t want you in the garden.”
“I know, Si, it’s fine.” Grace laughs, patting him on the shoulder. Simon’s face flushes in embarrassment as Grace makes his way into the house.
“There was something new in the garden today,” Simon says gruffly through a mouthful of blue tuber. Grace hums in response, eyes flicking up to his companion across the table. There was some slight surprise to his face, Simon usually avoided speaking during dinner, a habit so deeply ingrained from his years in Eden that he’d yet to shake it.
“Oh? What’d ya find?”
“It’s uh… I think it’s some sort of fungus. Uh– not quite a mold, but not a mushroom either.” Simon scratches at his nose, poking around his plate before eating another mouthful of food.
The other man had put on some healthy weight in the past few weeks, and Grace couldn’t help the mouth-watering surge of pride at the observation. Simon was by no means a thin man– no matter where he had come from– he was shorter, sure, but muscled and dense, but severely malnourished, lacking some essential vitamins Grace isn’t entirely sure how he’d gone completely without.
“What makes you say that?” He muses, before Simon reaches into his pocket and smacks something onto the table, loud enough that he startles himself.
“Sorry… I thought– I dunno, I thought you mighta wanted to… look at it or something.” The dark haired man reasoned as Ryland gaped at him.
Okay, he should’ve been clearer when he wanted Simon to let him know if something new popped up in the biodome, but this is not what he meant!
“It could be dangerous!” He finds himself saying, scrambling to the cabinet to pull a pair of latex gloves on with a snap, the rest of his dinner forgotten. “It could have.. Poison! Spores! Some kind of– of poison-spore!”
Simon laughs softly at him, hiding the sound behind his hand.
“It could be one of those weird zombie-spores!”
“Some what now?” Simon snapped to attention. “Did you say zombie spore?”
“Well- not really but–”
“Is that a possibility?” He’s completely serious. “Like that game?”
“No-” Grace backtracks immediately, dusting something off the surface of the fungus. “You’re not gonna turn into a zombie, Simon. Or a Clicker.”
“Are you sure?” Simon spins him around, searching his face with such scrutiny that Grace falters, trying to figure out when he had come up behind him.
“Yes. Yes, Simon, I’m sure!” He laughs, and only then does the scrutiny relax some.
Simon only grunts, letting the interwoven wool of his cardigan go, before returning to his stool and shoves a spoonful of reds (not greens– did you know that the only kind of plants suitable to live on Erid have red leaves? He suspects it’s due to something with the darkness of the atmosphere, where red is the only light that can get through that far!) “Did have spores though.” He says around the mouthful. “Got me in the face.”
“Oh, that’s good to kn– WHAT?”
Grace’s panic subsided only when Simon let him check base vitals to ensure there was no respiratory distress, no loss of invaluable brain function from a deadly neurotoxin.
And then that was that.
Grace allowed him to go to bed– only after he washed up, off all the dirt and whatever charcoal smudge he’d had on his nose.
Ryland didn’t see Simon the following morning– not very out of the ordinary for him, so he wasn’t worried. He had a class to teach anyways!
It was his favorite class of the week! All of his students were so well behaved, and that they had answered every single question he had! With the correct answers!
“Simon~!” He calls happily into the house. “You’re never gonna guess what Susanna did today!” He flicks on a light, moving to the window to open the blinds. “Simon!”
There’s a low groan from the hall and Grace’s blood freezes. “...Simon…?”
He hears a shift, feet cemented to the floor.
“.....Ry?” Simon’s voice shakes from behind the corner. Grace jumps into motion, rushing around to find Simon, curled up in the darkest part of the linen closet.
When Simon had first come to Erid, he had chosen the linen closet as his designated safe space. It was small, dark, and somehow comforting to the otherwise claustrophobic man, with nothing other than a reason of “I can see the walls… ‘n the door. The door’s still there.”
“Simon, hey,” he slides to his knees, feeling the blistering fever broil off Simon’s skin. “Holy sugarsnaps, you’re hot–”
“Feels bad.” Simon groans, his head of sweaty curls dampening the cusp of Grace’s shirt when he puts his head on his shoulder.
“Yeah, I bet, buddy….” He feels around his pockets for his emergency button– something that he had joked about when Rocky was deathly serious– and presses it frantically. “Someone’s gonna be on their way to help you, okay? Just hold on a moment–”
“‘M sorry f– for touchin’ the thing–” Grace’s heart pangs. “Y’feel nice.”
“None of that now, Si–”
“Thought you’d wanna study it. Y’look s’nice when yer studyin’–” Simon’s voice was muffled in his shoulder, but heat rushed into his face at the words.
“Hush, Si, you don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re delirious–” Grace pushes him away and Simon, honest to god, whines. “You’re just sick. You don’t– you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I do– Ry, please, I–” The brunette whines between his teeth, the teeth like spines in his cheek feeling gently around the flesh of his hand. “There was s’mthin’ in the thing– Made my head go all fuzzy after dinner–”
“What? Why didn’t you-” He sighs, thumbing at the emergency button again. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I didn’t want to bother you. Y’been so good to me, Rylan’, I don’t deserve it–” Grace fought the childish urge to roll his eyes, having been over this a hundred times previous. “Please–” He breathes. “Believe me, Ry, I’m tellin’ the truth.”
He grimaced. “You’re sick. You don’t m–” He stills when he looks back at Simon, wet eyes looking up at him with such an adoration. “...mean it.” Grace swallows thickly, face burning, forcing himself to look away from the softness of those rich, damp eyes. He very pointedly ignored how tight his pants were, and how worse it got if he kept looking. “Where’s Rocky!?”
“Sleepin’. Adrian’s watchin’ him while the other engineers work on the airlock.” Simon nuzzles deeper into his shirt and he doesn’t dare spare a glance down. The cramped space was already filled with the thick musk of Simon’s scent and he needed to stay focused– “Tried tellin’ you this mornin’....” He could feel Simon shift, pressing his lips just close enough to Grace’s throat. “You’d already gone for class.”
“Simon, you can’t be doing this.” Ryland is an extremely strong willed man. He may consider himself a coward sometimes, but he’s a strong willed coward. “You need to be looked–”
“Hush, angel, please? I jus’ need you~” Something stirs warmly in his gut and Grace shifts, breathing out sharply when the tent of his pants rubbed with such a delicious friction across his–
“Simon.” Grace says sharply. “N… Not now.”
He starts to stand, looking over to pull Simon out of the closet and get him some real help before he freezes in his tracks and swallows down the excess saliva that had started to water in his mouth.
Simon is on his knees in front of him, sweat damp curls ragged around the shape of his jaw, looking up at him with a sort of desperation he’s not sure he’s ever seen from the man before. He can see his eyes start to water, and he opens his mouth to say something, but before he could even start–
“Please, angel, please, please, I need y’so bad… I jus’– I’m not sick, I swear–”
“Simon, you have a fever.” He can feel his composure wavering.
“It’ll go away, I swear, I swear, I’m okay, Ry–” He fists his hand in the leg of Grace’s sweatpants, watching him so sweetly, so needy that–
Ryland groans into his fist. “Ngh– Okay. Okay. Let me just do a check up first, okay?”
Eagerly, Simon found himself nodding, untangling his hands from the soft fabric. “Yeah. Yeah, anything–”
“Slow your roll, bud. Let’s just get you up first.” Simon scrambles for purchase as Grace hoists him up off the floor.
After a few minutes of adjustment, the two make their way to the lab, finding Armando whirring and waving at them, it’s green eye blinking.
“Armando, can you run a diagnostic on Simon for me?” Grace asks, and Armando nods it’s little claw at him like it was excited to do something. The machinery beeps, swirling around Simon as it does a full body sweep, pricking his arm once for blood, before settling back in it’s original position with a chirp, signalling it’s end.
“Detecting heightened levels of: norepinephrine, phenylethylamine, as well as excess testosterone and estrogen. Simon displays symptoms of increased heart rate, constriction of blood vessels, and increase in serotonin.” While Grace mulls this over, willing his brain to connect the terms together, Simon pipes up.
“What’s that mean for me, Doc?”
“Simon is in no immediate danger. Conclusion: Simon consumed a strong aphrodisiac.”
Grace splutters, almost laughing in disbelief, and also some sort of relief. At least Simon wasn’t going to die. But now he’s been diagnosed with “extremely horny.” How could he not laugh at that?
“What– Why are you laughing, Ry?” Simon’s concerned voice was soft, brows pressed together nervously. “Wha’s that?”
Grace pauses, clearing his throat, wiping at his warmed face. “It’s… A stimulant of sorts. That means the spores must’ve contained something to trigger a response from your nervous system–” He watched Simon’s face shift into a more desperate kind of confusion. “Basically, it made you so aroused that you overheated.”
Simon scoffs. “No it didn’t.” He raises an eyebrow. “....okay. Maybe. Fuck. Can y’fix me?”
“It’s just that, Si.” Ryland murmurs, crossing the room to snap some gloves on, that relief from before causing the rest of his worries about the current situation to dissipate. “There’s only one cure.” He nearly cringed at himself, but that moment of shame went away almost immediately as he heard upon his patient.
“Th… there is…?”
Grace turns back to face him, noting the bright red blush that deepens along the apple of his cheeks. He takes a step closer. “Well… we shouldn’t let this all go to waste, should we?”
Simon finds himself shaking his head before his brain catches up to what the current situation at hand was. He flushed a darker shade of red at the implication.
“Please–” The whine leaves his mouth before he can stop himself, save himself some sort of dignity. But he could already tell that whatever dignity he had left exited the building the second Grace crossed back into the threshold.
Grace finds himself closer, nudging the man’s legs apart to sit himself right between them. His hands trail up the tight fabric of Simon’s shirt as the other man openly gapes at him. “Please…..?”
“Please Doctor Grace–” He followed immediately, breathless. Ryland notes how Simon’s pupils dilated, how his breath picks up, how his face heats despite himself.
So much for being strong willed.
He moves his hand up to grip at Simon’s jaw, manually tilting his head to inspect the scar tissue along the side of his throat, fingers ghosting over the soft ridges of his too warm skin. Simon’s adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously.
“I’m noticing some discrepancies with your injuries,” he pauses, fiddling with the collar of Simon’s shirt. “It seems to go beneath the fabric here–”
The man beneath him pulls back, and shrugs off his shirt quicker than a blink of an eye, chest heaving with the effort. He gets a bit caught up around the now-healed stump of his arm, but manages to scramble out of the fabric.
Ryland takes a step back just to admire. The soft swell and curve of his pecs just beneath the tight harness that took the stress off his shoulders, covered with a fair amount of hair, just enough to give the man a slight fuzzy look. The pudge of his belly that dipped out into just enough of love handles that Grace really wanted to sink his teeth into. Extensive scarring covered his body, heavier on his left side, but his eyes lock onto his opus–
Thin slits along the side of his ribs, slightly puffy and ridged, slowly pulsing with each breath Simon took.
It wasn’t expected that Simon would escape the blood ocean so long ago unscathed. With that amount of radiation, if Simon was telling the truth, he was lucky to be alive. Some mutations were lucky considering what he’s been through.
He rests his hand over the gill plate, before the latex of his glove dips into the feathered filaments that took in extra oxygen. He could feel the softness of the lamellae even beneath the rubber, how his sides twitched when Grace prods a little further, gills trying to close around his fingers.
He pauses, waiting for the arches to relax as Simon twitched beneath him.
“Do you have any sensation here?”
“Mmph– yes.” Simon grits out, his hand fisting into the sheet of the medical bed beneath him.
“Can you describe it to me?” Grace prods gently, a hint of a smirk on his face when Simon muffles a sound behind clenched teeth.
“‘T’s…. Warm. Like a– a pressure, uh–” Simon starts to respond, only to let out a genuine, honest to god whine when Ryland presses down a little harder, gills fluttering around him.
“Reactive to touch,” Grace notes aloud as Simon keens beneath him. “Sensitive, almost–”
“Sensitive, yes– very sensitive–” Simon gasped out.
“Don’t interrupt a doctor when he’s speaking.” He chided and the man immediately flushed crimson again.
“Sorry.”
Grace took off his glasses, leaving them hanging from his ear as he sits back, crossing his arms to look at his patient. “Gosh, look at me. I’ve been doing all this work, and not even bothering to appease my patient. You’re feeling neglected, aren’t you?”
Simon bites his lip, teeth on the side of his cheek chittering excitedly, and nods.
“I’m such a bad doctor, aren’t I?” He leans forward, placing his hand on his chest. “Leaving you all pent up like this… Like you’re something to just be observed… used, pushed around…” He feels Simon tense underneath him. “What do you think about that?”
“I–” Simon’s eyes dart across the room, trying to avoid looking at him. They’d been working on this. “I don’t–”
“Simon.” He tsks.
“I’m n- not an object–”
“Good boy.” Grace surges forward, mashing his mouth against Simon’s in a blistering kiss, the heat radiating off his partner searing against his tongue. He palms against the bulge in Simon’s pants as the smaller man arches his back beneath his grip, like he was trying to press himself into Ryland’s touch. “So good for me. So patient.”
“Doc- Grace-” Simon gasps, bringing his hand up to grab desperately at the back of Grace’s head, burying itself into the dirty blond locks that curled at the ends as he mouths down the scars at his throat, mapping them with his lips. Simon grinds upwards into the friction of his hand, desperate, greedy.
Down his collar, off the edges of the harness, the outskirts of mottled skin of his pectoralis major, over the dip of his serratus anterior– pressing open mouthed kisses to the soft, puffed up skin that made up the operculum covering his gill arches.
And if his tongue snuck its way beneath the feathery filaments, who’s to say for sure?
Though his mouth was occupied, his questions were answered when he received a sharp tug on the back of his hair, feeling Simon arch backwards as a grunted moan bites through his voice.
Grace can’t help but think of science when a milky, gelatinous substance coats his tongue, an excretion from the man’s gills. He thinks of hagfish, how these false eels secrete a slime like substance as a defence mechanism. It tastes faintly salty, with a near sour tang to it that makes his mouth water.
That would mean that if some of Simon’s biology was similar to that of a hagfish that he should have gill pouches instead of exposed gill slits….. But this is only a hypothesis after all. It’s not like he’s complaining, anyways.
He pulls off Simon’s gill with a slight squelch, and presses two gloved fingers into the slick that formed out the sides of him. It spread glossy across the gloves, strings of it sticking between his fingers like saliva. He wonders….
“Wh- why’d y’ stop?” Simon’s voice wavers when he looks up, watching Grace inspect the slime between his fingers. “Is– is that too weird-? I don’t–” His breath catches in his throat, halfway through an apology, when Grace presses his fingers to Simon’s tongue, and he opened his mouth wider, feeling Grace’s thumb near the back of his throat.
He swallowed around the digit, tasting something faintly tangy in the back of his throat and realizing with a start that he’s tasting himself.
There’s a deep set surge in his core as his cock twitches fervently against the fabric of his pants, and his hips subconsciously jerk against the friction, trying to buck up into the sensation.
Grace’s arm presses down against Simon’s lap, anchoring him in place. He may not look it, maybe it’s a nerdy stereotype, but Grace was much stronger than Simon took him for. He only wishes that he’d feel his hands around his–
Grace pulls his thumb from Simon’s mouth with a wet pop, and Simon fights himself to not chase after the thing soothing his oral fixation. But he was pleasantly shocked when he felt the button at the front of his pants pop free from Grace’s swift handiwork, relief flooding his cock at being freed.
Ryland kneels between Simon’s legs, the width of his shoulders keeping his thighs from pressing together– not that he didn’t try anyways.
Despite his “feel bad” sick feelings earlier, Simon was remarkably clear headed when Grace pulls his dick free from the confines of his underwear, already leaking, and takes him in his mouth.
“Oh- g-god–” Simon nearly cries in surprise, tossing his head back as his strong thighs threaten to clamp down on Ryland’s head. He receives a hum in response, the vibration travelling throughout his cock as it twitches in Grace’s warm mouth, nose buried in the coarse curls at the base. Grace was so warm, so- “Fuck– perfect–”
Grace nearly huffs the scent at the base of Simon’s cock, feeling it leak in the very back of his throat. He swallows around it, twitching against his tongue as he worked his very hardest to-
“Fuck… W- wait– Grace-!” Grace blinks out of it at Simon’s startled objection, unsheathing himself, eyes suddenly worried and scrutinizing.
“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” The words spill off his tongue, voice rough from the abuse to his throat.
“I’m–” Simon squeezed his eyes closed, breathing out a long sigh, like he was steeling himself. “Sorry. I jus’- I wanna last.”
Grace nearly laughs at that, seeing his shoulders nearly risen up to his ears with the tension that wrought out his system. “And you want me….?”
“Wanna– I want you–” Simon looked away, face flushed, a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead. He mumbles something else then that Grace couldn’t hear. Frankly, he wasn’t even sure it was actual words.
“I can’t hear you when you mumble like that, Simon.” He reminds him gently, pressing down on the man’s inner thigh.
“In me-!” The man nearly yelps, writhing beneath the grasp, still too sensitive. That was one of the things that Grace really enjoyed about Simon– he was sensitive everywhere. “Fuck, Grace, I want you- want you in me. Please.” He breathes, a desperation in the embarrassment of his face, eyes wide and begging.
“And you think you’re ready for that?” Grace is hoping that his slight disbelief added to the scene, having only just begun. But he may have underestimated his partner.
Simon nods vigorously. “Yeah. Yeah, I am- I can be– I’ll be so good for you, just watch–” He leaned forward, trying to press a kiss against Ryland’s warm skin, but he stopped him.
“You’re sure about this Simon?” He needs to have that affirmation to make absolutely sure-
“Fucking– Grace. If you don’t fuck me within the next few minutes, I’m gonna–”
Grace laughs, raising his hands in surrender. “Watch your language in my medbay. I just wanted to check.”
“Yeah? I’ll make sure you watch your fuckin’ language when I’m creamin’ down your–”
“Simon, oh my god!” He clamps his hand over Simon’s mouth and his shoulders shake with a quiet laughter that leaves Grace nearly mortified.
His eyes dart down to the man’s gills, some slime still dribbling out, building up along the edges. He takes off his gloves, discarding them to the side, and swipes his fingers through the mess, and Simon seems to make the connection of what he was going to do with it.
“Hey– wait, now-”
Grace ignored him, knowing the hesitation in his voice wasn’t any cause for real concern, leveling himself out between Simon’s damn tree trunk thighs, and rubbed the slime together to make a thin coating over his skin. He doesn’t give a warning when he pushes a finger inside Simon’s entrance, the man keening as precum spat pathetically onto his stomach.
Slowly, he works Simon open, too warm body feeling heavenly against his skin, adding a second finger to help him along before finally a third, having scissored him loose enough to actually be getting somewhere. His free hand splays on Simon’s lower stomach, holding him in place as he writhed, stuttered sounds escaping his mouth. Too muffled, he decided.
“Simon,” he presses another open-mouthed kiss to the too sensitive part of Simon’s inner thigh. “Wanna hear you.”
“Fuck off–” Came the embarrased reply, tapering off into a whine when Grace sucked a bruise into the soft skin there. “Don’t tell me wh–”
“Simon~” Grace hums in a singsong tone, pulling his fingers out with no warning. Simon gasps haphazardly, sounding almost offended, he could feel his eyes trying to bore holes in the top of his head. He looks up to find exactly what he expected.
Both Simon’s eyebrows are pinched together, his face scrunched up, mouth open like he was going to say something before seemingly deciding against it. He’s glaring at him, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Fuck’d you do that for?”
But Grace just smirks at him, pulling away and crossing his arms.
“I’m not gonna fuckin’ beg for you–” Simon starts defensively, a snarl curling his lips. “I’m not that desperate.”
And if it was possible, Grace only smirked harder. Something flares in his chest at the sight. Grace wasn’t actually being serious… was he?
But the doctor doesn’t respond. Instead, he chooses to unbutton his shirt, agonizingly slow. Simon swallows, his mouth having gone suddenly dry as that familiar heat builds up in his core. He can feel sweat beginning to prick his forehead, across his shoulder.
He’s stubborn. He’s not gonna beg– not now, not that he knows it’s a chemical imbalance or whatever–
But Grace unbuttons his fly next, and he falters, words dying in his throat.
Stupid fucking chemicals fucking with his head.
He can’t bring his eyes away from the wet patch that Ryland had soaked into the front of his boxers as he shimmies his linen pants down his waist.
When Grace fists his own cock, head falling back with an over-exaggerated moan, the doctor can pinpoint the exact moment that the fight in Simon dies.
“Wh- hey, Ry, that’s– not… fair-” Simon moves to get off the bed, but Grace raises a hand and he pauses, sitting back on his haunches like he’s waiting for the next order.
Grace pumps himself a few times, strokes languid, and he laughs when he sees Simon’s own cock twitch with interest. Simon flushes in response, but he doesn’t dare move– nor does he take his eyes off the show in front of him. He sees the man swallow thickly.
“I’m not jus’ gonna….” He started, but Grace interrupts him with a loud groan as he thumbs over the slit at the head of his cock, and Simon looks like he’s nearly about to faint, his hand twitching forward of it’s own accord before he draws it back. “Oh fuck, Grace-”
“You- hahh- you gonna behave…? Or am I gonna have to do this all myself?” Grace teases him. It looks like Simon’s fighting with himself internally, mouth twitching as he struggles to keep his composure. “You’re really gonna make me do this myself?”
Grace stands up then, tugging his boxers back up despite his dick’s painful protest. He leaves his linen pants in a bunch on the floor, and Simon watches him with eyes as wide as saucers.
And Grace makes his way for the archway that leads out of the room. But before he turns out, he finds himself pausing, looking back to a stunned patient.
“Brat.”
Simon watches Grace leave in utter disbelief. His cock is still achingly hard, and he feels exceedingly empty, and Grace just walked out on him.
He scrambles to his feet, stumbling off the bed and out into the hallway, searching desperately. “Grace? Hey– Grace, wh– mmph!”
His back slams hard into the arched doorway behind him when Grace’s mouth finds his, lunging out of the darkness in their currently shadowed home. He can feel Grace smirking into the searing kiss and he finds himself going a little weak in the knees, knowing Grace was right.
“Said I wanted to hear you. You gonna give me that?”
A haze fogs over his brain when Grace nearly sticks his tongue down Simon’s throat, skin burning with the need to be touched. Everywhere. He needed Grace to–
“Yeah- Yeah, Grace, I’ll– whatever you want–” He finds himself gasping breathlessly. Stupid brain, betraying his thoughts.
“Whatever I want?”
“Fuck– please, Ryland–” God, he’s begging. He’s actually begging. Damn Grace and his stupid words and his stupid touch and his stupid fucking–
He’s not sure when he blanked out and came back to, lying with his legs spread on their shared bed, but he’s not complaining.
Grace was perched between his knees, bent at the joints, without a shred of clothing on him. He nearly voices his disappointment when he realizes he’d wished he’d seen the doctor strip completely, but was too preoccupied watching Ryland line his cock up to his–
The sound that Simon makes when the head of his cock pops in is embarrassingly obscene, and he has half a mind to try to cover his mouth, but Grace grabs his hand at the wrist, pinning it back above his head. “S- said I wanna hear you, Si-” Grace gasps, chest already heaving with restraint, as he holds himself back from completely sheathing himself inside Simon all at once. “Fu- fudge, you feel so good–”
Meanwhile, Simon is trying his damnest not to cum immediately when Grace’s hand drifts over his gill slits, clenching down reactively as Grace makes a sound akin to a punched out moan. He sucks in a breath, trying to wiggle out of Ryland’s grip, wriggle away from the feather light touches that were nearly tormenting his side, sensitive and way too ticklish for him to handle. But Grace holds fast, grip on his wrist tightening just a little bit more as he slides in another half inch– but to Simon, it felt like a mile, and damn, he needed more.
“Please- pleasepleaseplease, Grace–” He finds himself babbling, and much to his dismay, the doctor laughs at him.
“Use your words, sweet boy. Please what?” He pauses, his hand drawing away from Simon’s side as he writhed and gasped.
“Please– please, doctor-?” He tried, pushing through the confused haze that settled around him. But to make matters even worse, Grace only laughed again.
“No, starlight, tell me what you want.”
“You– fuck, ngh– want– just– fuck!” Grace surprised him by completely sheathing himself, taken all the way up to those now damp curls, halfway through his sentence.
His back arches reactively off the soft covers beneath them as cum spurts out in thick, white rivulets across his stomach, body wracked with such a sudden pleasure that it was overwhelming.
Grace seemed to encourage him through the aftershocks, working at his cock until Simon felt he was shooting dry and nearly crying with overstimulation.
He fell back against the pillows, lower back sore from the sheer force of the arch his body put him to, chest heaving with the effort of trying to recover himself.
And in that pause of quiet revival, the shame hit.
“Fuck– sorry, Grace– sorry, y’felt so good, I– I didn’t–” He gasped out his apology, frantic, before Grace silenced him with a kiss. Simon whined, tears pricking the corner of his eyes as the rush of endorphins faded into heat that rose into the tips of his ears.
“Makin’ you feel good, Si?” Grace presses his nose just below the lobe of his ear and whispers, making goosebumps pop up down his skin. The teeth on the side of his face click and clatter excitedly, trying to reach out like feelers. Grace fights back a giggle. “Think you can give me another…?”
Simon paused mid-whine, glancing up at him through wet eyelashes as he pulled away, as Grace used his free hand to swipe at the traitorous tears that spilled over onto his cheeks. “You’re not– not mad?”
Grace furrows his brows in confusion, and he feels his heart pang at the sad expression on Simon’s face. “Starlight, why would I be mad? Nothing to be sorry for. It’s natural…”
Simon blinked at him, but found himself nodding as Grace releases his hand, moving down to massage just above his navel, like he’s trying to feel–
Oh, fuck, Grace is trying to feel himself. The realization makes Simon keen, his dick twitching back to life as he grabs at the doctor, pulling him down to him for another searing kiss that made his mind go blank with pure bliss.
Simon anchors his hand on the soft, rugged curls at the back of Grace’s head, and he can feel him smile into the kiss.
“So good for me, Simon,” Grace says as Simon bites at the man’s lower lip, like he wants to devour him. One day, maybe Grace will tell him how he already has.
He gave an experimental rock of his hips, cock grinding just up against that bundle of nerves inside Simon that made him twitch and clench around him. He dips his head in ecstasy, chin falling against his chest as he made an effort to steady his breathing.
“Fffffuck, Ry!”
“‘S it right there, sweet boy?” He repeats the movement, and feels a sharp tug at the back of his head, representing Simon’s affirmation. He was really trying to not let the feeling get to his head (well, either of them,) but Grace was starting to get a little too absorbed in how good Simon felt around him that he kept rutting against him, moves turning from calm and controlled to something a bit more animalistic.
“Fuck– you’re so good for me- so good, so–” He nearly lost his mind when Simon reacted to the praise, letting go of his hair to cover the flushed look on his face– but he noted how Simon was careful to avoid covering his mouth, sweat beading on the man’s forehead.
In, and out, Ryland was growing more desperate as he almost forgot about Simon to chase his own feelings. Simon’s breaths were harsh and staggered, interrupted by such sweet little sounds that Ryland swears he was going to lose his mind– He watched as Simon moved in tandem to him, grinding his hips down (honestly,it was like the man didn’t care about any sort of refractory period, must be something in the spores) to meet Grace’s, trembling from the effort to keep himself together.
Ryland bites down on his lower lip, hard enough that he nearly tasted copper, but he moved his eyes down to Simon’s pectorals, and a brief thought of squishing them together and sliding his cock–
No, this was for Simon. He swallowed the dryness in his mouth away with the thought, and moved his hand up to grab at the fatty tissue just beneath the harness, his nipples pebbling beneath his hand at the slightest touch.
“Fucking– So good for– fuck, Simon, Simon–” His thrusts were getting increasingly frantic as he felt that familiar flame start to lick at the base of his spine. “Can you– w’me– Simon–”
Grace adjusts his grip and plants his hand there, squeezing, as Simon finds himself nodding feverishly, unable to form proper syllables through his pleasured sounds and the sheer effort it was taking to hold himself together–
And then that band snapped.
Ryland came so hard he feels like he nearly lost consciousness, seeing stars as his hips stuttered and Simon leaks around him, losing himself in the absolute heaven that was his partner. Lightheaded and overwhelmed, he hears the whines of the man below him cut through the fog.
They’re both gasping for breath, before Ryland gently eases himself out, and decides to go completely boneless, flopping onto the bed aside to Simon. After a few moments of recovery, Grace gives Simon another careful squeeze to check on him.
Peals of laughter sounds from the pillow next to him, and Ryland pries an eye open, shifting to face his partner.
He finds himself nose to nose with Simon, pupils blown wide and red faced, giggling to himself as he watches him with an intent that Grace isn’t sure he can decipher.
“What….?” He starts hesitantly, having slightly felt like he just walked into a trap.
But Simon doesn’t answer, deciding to close his eyes and curl into Grace instead. Grace wraps a hesitant arm around him, eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Simon…” He starts warningly, his voice having a slight rasp to it from overuse.
“I told you so.” Simon says simply, curling further into Ryland’s grasp as he wrapped his arms around him, sweat-dampened head resting at the notch in his collar.
Grace hesitates. “Told me what?”
“That I’d get you to say fuck while sittin’ on your cock–”
Grace flushed brightly, his face feeling like a live flame as he grabs a pillow and hits Simon with it, who only laughs harder, much to his dismay.
-
thank u for reading this is my first time writing smut so lmk if you enjoyed!!
hypothetically would anyone be interested in a bloodymary smut oneshot thats been bouncing around in my head for days
please what do the people want
ye
na
Featuring:
Bottom/sub simon, aphrodisiacs, life on erid (separate from WWBAT (maybe)), some freaky stuff to do with Simon's mutations (rylands a scientist and hard at heart), definite hurt comfort and much more‼️
some sneak peeks of that upcoming one shot thing I was talking about (swear I didnt forget about it)
18+ below the cut
shout out gillplay, bottom simon w a heavy praise kink, aphrodisiacs, sex pollen, grace getting doctor freaky, and accurate science and fish stuff cus im a marine bio major and I Need to be Correct.
this is what my degree is being used for i guess
Hashtag asexual writing some WACK smut cus we're all freaks in this fandom
Its here..... the damned thing (18+)
ao3
shall be up on tumblr later tonight
BREAKING
Come Together (Together as One)
the fic has been posted to AO3 here
Wordcount: 6.6k
EXPLICIT (18+)
fic will be posted to tumblr later tonight. U should uh. totally read it. baby's first time writing smut ig
writing freaky shit in my local barnes and noble, except none of this is noble
As God intended
As god intended
IM NOT EVEN SHITTING YOU I FINISHED THE ROUGH DRAFT AND I LOOK UP AND SOMEONE'S GETTING ARRESTED IN FRONT OF ME
IN THE BARNES AND NOBLE
writing freaky shit in my local barnes and noble, except none of this is noble
As God intended
As god intended
writing freaky shit in my local barnes and noble, except none of this is noble
hypothetically would anyone be interested in a bloodymary smut oneshot thats been bouncing around in my head for days
please what do the people want
ye
na
Featuring:
Bottom/sub simon, aphrodisiacs, life on erid (separate from WWBAT (maybe)), some freaky stuff to do with Simon's mutations (rylands a scientist and hard at heart), definite hurt comfort and much more‼️
some sneak peeks of that upcoming one shot thing I was talking about (swear I didnt forget about it)
18+ below the cut
shout out gillplay, bottom simon w a heavy praise kink, aphrodisiacs, sex pollen, grace getting doctor freaky, and accurate science and fish stuff cus im a marine bio major and I Need to be Correct.
this is what my degree is being used for i guess
Hashtag asexual writing some WACK smut cus we're all freaks in this fandom
“hey cass, maybe answer your ask-“
MORE MER!SIMON!!!!!! MORE MER SIMON RIGHT NOWWWWWW-!!!!
my boy💔 when he’s happier and healthier. (Vs prev)
a lot of this is inspired by @bakewrite ‘s wonderful fic collection that has had put a strain on my already fraying sanity. I’m loosing it and it’s because of a mermaid au.
damn it this wasn’t supposed to happen again
regardless, the fics are genuinely healing my soul rn thank you author 🫡💜
anyway I am also weak to nuzzling so-
they have a lack of communication but it is not for lack of trying
Simon you’re doing great sweetheart
I wanna draw Rocky and Adrian from this au as well I’ll get on that-
"Waste of Space" -Simon the convict
hypothetically would anyone be interested in a bloodymary smut oneshot thats been bouncing around in my head for days
please what do the people want
ye
na
Featuring:
Bottom/sub simon, aphrodisiacs, life on erid (separate from WWBAT (maybe)), some freaky stuff to do with Simon's mutations (rylands a scientist and hard at heart), definite hurt comfort and much more‼️
some artfight attacks ive made!
If u want me to attacj u, u should totally drop ur user in the comments
Featuring Fordomaa's Santino, NameName27's Anomaly#3 (i love u iron lung oc), kofushka's Hazelnut, cheesrpringleson's silly creature (and my Ringo), and lingerberryroot's Ibb Thingumablob
You can find me under the same user!
My artfight card this year!!! Im gonna try to hit every revenge if I get the opportunity!
u guys should totally drop urs in the comments ill come stalk you
not to sound desperate or anything but please im working on my fourth attack if u wanna be attacked LEND ME UR USERS
okay purr love u
We Will Break Away Together (I'll be the Shadow, You'll be the Light)
8. The Deal
Simon finds out the hard way.
Cw: this is a long one, buckle up! cw blood, gore, body horror, panic attacks, suicidal idealation, emetophobia
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masterlist
He puts his hands on the controls for what he hopes will be one of the last times. He begins spinning the ship around, heading back to where he came from. Surely, hell wouldn’t be so bad the second time around, right?
“David,” Ava starts. “Pull Jack out of medical. Tell him I need one last weld.”
David begins to object, and honestly, Simon’s not sure if he blames him. But he was selfish. If that weld got him to live, then he’d be damned before he got it. “Ava! Jack can’t even fucking stand, what are–”
“Then hold him up!” She snaps, as the submarine rumbles along, deeper, and deeper into the depths of the blood ocean. “Just– Just tell him!”
“Ye… Yes ma’am.” He hears David whisper.
Simon starts to falter not long after the radio cuts out.
The world shifts and shudders around him, movements delayed and foggy, like he was watching himself do things fifty times over and then flung in without controls. His head is swimming, but contrasted to that, he doesn’t think he’s sweating anymore. It’s hot in here, but he can still breathe. He can….
He sees the entrance of the cave, and then he’s suddenly standing in front of something, something built up on the walls of the sub. He blinks, and it might’ve gone away, but when he opens his eyes again, he’s back at the control panel.
Eyes up, convict. I’ve been assigned to carry out your penance.
The build up reminds– Any other captain would’ve killed you on sight– him of a scab, something that should form over a– You should consider yourself lucky– deep wound, but refuses to– Well, you are lucky– close completely.
She was looking for me, he mumbles to himself, aloud, he thinks.
He’s drawing unsteady lines across– I promise– the map, showing himself where he’s going. He’s standing in the– sixty-two others didn’t make it out of Filament Station– his own blood, he thinks, it’s what– leave him!– he threw up earlier. Should it be that dark?
He staggers– We’re all dead anyways.
Back towards the camera.
I didn’t want them to die.
He can’t keep his head straight. He’s hearing so many things, memories– What the fuck did you just say? – voices, maybe, maybe it’s himself. The camera– When did you grow a conscience, Simon? – flashes, and, as if on autopilot, he turns and makes his way back to the control desk. We are but flesh– he’s crying, he thinks. Something wet– You got the highest body count out here, killer– drips down from his face, but he brings a hand– Not one of us has more blood on their hands than you– comes away, stained with red. His foot catches on something, and his knees hit the ground hard. He expects it to hurt. It doesn’t.
Map. He can’t feel his fingertips, but they still grip the oil mark, and he can write… somewhat– But that flesh has purpose yet– just an arrow, he’s able to draw– please, I didn’t– Simon the Butcher, lost his nerve– He pushes himself backwards, hand already splayed out– You’re gonna have to kill your own brothers to stop this–
He shakes his head, though it’s much more of an erratic twitch. “You’re not my brother.”
Your words, not mine, Butcher. I wasn’t even there. The trees– no, its that weird jungle thing, he remembers– Everything bad is happening. I’m just the guy– He wobbles, and he’s not even sure he rights himself, or the sub does it for him– who told you to cross the wires.
He’s got to stop thinking. He’s losing his focus. If he could just blink away the blood in his eyes– scabbing over– A flash. – The consolidation can wallow in their secrets– He looks down at his feet, and he’s standing in front of his chair– we must bear these burdens, these hardships– his shoulder rams the wall, sending him stumbling into a corner. He heaves a breath, pushing– this anger, this sorrow– himself back up, and repeating the cycle. He thinks he’s close…. To…. Something– Evacuate. Evacuate–
He shakes his head, hand smearing a part of the map– We must bear it– he thinks he curses, he wants to, but his mouth doesn’t move. His– We have a dream– tongue is leaden in his mouth. The numbers shift, but none of them read as– We are the keepers of Eden!– numbers, simply just light.
“It’ll feel just like home,” his mother assures him.
We must help them! The bandage doesn’t scratch against his hand when he grabs at the lever to go forward. “Simon, don’t be like that.”
I don’t have it. “You’ll love it there.” Council authority confiscates them.
The tunnel continues endlessly in front of him. They’re hoping to start a garden of their own. He looks back to the coordinates. A little voice tells him that– Our duty is not done– he’s almost there, the numbers are–
“The Last Tree is dead.”
“What?”
The Last Tree will live again!
“It’s EDEN’s grave.”
When the last Son of Eden joins the grove–
He’s staring at the…. He doesn’t know, he can’t see it. It’s all blurry, everything illuminated in vague shades of green. There will be a thousand trees!
“You may think there’s no soil, but we know–”
We will die.
“We know that when we die–”
When we die–
“Our bodies become the soil.”
“Simon– how about we just say focused on the mission?” He nods at her voice. She sounds smart. “Now, once you’re down there….”
It’s a trap.
“You’ll be on your own. You’ll have to navigate the ocean floor carefully.”
It’s right behind you.
He blinks, rubbing his eyes. “The map is current” The indicator light flashes, showing something behind him. He hadn’t steered away from a wall, had he? “This might’ve looked like they changed when you’re there.”
It’s still there.
He tears his eyes away from the flashing light. “Take as many pictures as you can, both for navigation, and for us to…
On your left.
He looks slowly, muted, dizzy. There’s red on the walls. When did the sub get painted? The scabs…
They’re watching you.
His hands are trembling when he looks back down. They’re covered in that red paint– no, it’s not– it’s blood. His wrist turns at the joint, the green blob that’s the navigational arrow twisting with it. He swallows thickly, and it’s dry.
Simon’s eyes come into focus on the– tree– crack in the porthole glass. He can see the light of the button reflected in it. He blinks, standing up. He can feel his legs shaking trying to support himself as he steps backwards. He avoids the blood on the floor. It’s his.
He nudges the button, and the camera flashes. Is that…?
His hand splays across the button again, eyes wide and unblinking as he stares, tilting his head. He can’t bring himself to move, but he knows he needs to See– teeth, up from the ground, long, puncturing, violent butchery, flesh pulled back into– His palm hadn’t left the button, and the camera flashes again.
Not teeth. Some sort of structure that looks vaguely familiar. There’s an itch in his chest as he stares at it, trying to will himself to remember. His lungs spasm as he coughs into his hand harshly. He can taste metal on his tongue as he wipes the red off on the last clean part of the back of his bandages. He swallows it back, blinking again. A flash.
It’s the sub. The SM-8. He’d found it.
Simon takes a shaky breath. “Okay… now what…?” He croaks.
He’s at the computer– no, he’s in his seat.
Connecting.
He snatches his hand up off the throttle.
Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.
“Motherfucker…” He growls.
Initiating black box recovery program
Simon lurches over to the computer, fingers drumming restlessly on the surface not containing the keyboard. He moves the mouse, clicking the download button.
Downloading. Wait. Wait. Wait…
The screen flashes a couple different segments that disappear too quickly for him to read. Then a download bar pops up, titled ‘Connected to SM-08.’ The computer repeats itself as it loads. He tries to steady his breathing, wiping a hand over his mouth. There’s a thick, dripping sound somewhere within the sub. It’s been pretty constant now, he doesn’t know why he just noticed it. He starts to look around.
Complete. All files confirmed.
His head snapped back to the screen. Nothing really changed, aside from a few charts that popped up.
“That… looks.. Good?” He starts hesitantly, before realizing that he could scroll through the files, and it was not, in fact, was what he was supposed to be looking at. He finds a file, unnamed most likely, he can’t entirely make it out– if he looks up too high, his eyes start to burn. He grunts, rubbing furiously at them before he takes a step and the world tilts underneath him as one of his knees buckle, and he’s barely able to catch himself on the wall, his eyes squeezed shut as he groans against the nausea.
“H- Hello?”
Simon is still pressed against the wall, but he manages to pool the strength to look back. An audio clip had appeared on the screen, the shape of the blob vaguely familiar.
“I.. I don’t know what to say. I’m losing track of things, I– I might have recorded this already…” He hears Her. No, it couldn’t be Her, it was the… it was the original scientist that She stole the voice of. “It doesn’t matter. The… the pressure alarm finally shut up.” He glanced at the speaker. The light there was dim. It smells like rot. “We told you to–” She’s interrupted by the sound of someone retching near her, sounding not that unlike what he did just a few…. However long ago that was. He inches closer to the computer, as that someone continues vomiting lord knows what. He thinks he has a feeling. “Stay on your side-! We told you to stop fucking drinking it!” She sobs.
“Don’t fucking say it–” Another scientist starts.
“It’s not good for you,” the first woman cried. “You were right… This ocean- this ocean is different from the rest, but we shouldn’t be here.”
The rest of his energy is expended maintaining his full focus on the audio. He knows that he’d want that… Someone to hear him. That dripping sound increases, but he can barely hear it.
“Yes, we can synthesize food from it, but… I don’t think we should.” She breathed. “It shouldn’t be possible, but….. It’s… It’s human. The blood, it’s– it’s us. We don’t know what that means.” He blinks slowly. “We think– I think it was the anomaly… It’s at– at 116, 520.” What little color was left drained from his face. The fish– eel?– thing was right. The Light….
He shakes the thought from his head. It didn’t take that much effort. It was getting harder to remember things.
“We only saw it with samples we took from near…. The Light.” The woman breathes with something akin to awe. “A fragment of what caused the Quiet Rapture. This could… actually be an answer.” She laughs disbelievingly. There’s a beep behind him, but not loud enough to pull his attention away. “But without further ability to study further, we can only–”
“He went in… How could we forget? It was… It was everything we saw. We saw the answer, Ava, you have to find us.” The women cried.
“We need to see it,” one continues. “It was meant for us. PLEASE! The answer is right there! It was meant for us! We need to see it! We need to See…”
He takes a shaking step back, heart beating into his throat. “...The fuck…?” The scientist continued screaming over the audio clip, before cutting off with more sounds of horrid retching when the clip ends.
He looks back at the photo on the camera, something pinging him as wrong. The black and white picture fades, before there was another bright flash, and another photograph comes up.
He wasn’t pressing the button. Slowly, he looks over to the button, it’s light slightly obscured by some kind of vine-like growths arching across the top of it. His breaths hitch, when he realizes he can’t tell the difference between veins, or branches, whatever it is that’s growing over– He looks back at the SM-8.
He’s got to stay on task. He sits back down into his seat, hands sitting on the controls. But he hesitates.
There’s a steady drip onto the back of his hand. The handle is wet. He turns his hand over, and it’s smeared with blood. That continues spilling out from the…..
He looks up– the scabs– and flinches, choking on a cough. The longer he looked, the more he realized that it had gotten in. It was coating the ceiling in patches, streaming down from the wires. When his stomach has decided it can’t drop any further, he throws himself back into his seat, slamming the throttle forward. The indicator light flashes as he steers away from it, and desperately trying not to think about the blood that was seeping into his submarine.
It drips on his forehead when he’s successfully pushed it from his mind, and it sears like a jagged, glowing red blade. Instinctively, he smacks his hand to his forehead, before something else catches his eye:
When had his bandages soaked through?
As he begins to peel the bandages up, the more panic blinds his mind. He tugs on the gauze, and he swears his skin comes with it. He’s got nothing left in him to puke, though disgust and fear curls like venom in his gut. He kept pulling, unwrapping a wound that had done anything but heal, and nothing but fester. Simon feels his chest rise and fall rapidly, the stinging in his forearm growing into a painful when he unwraps the blisters– bright orange and yellow pustules over too-stretched skin– The heel of his hand is burned like it had acid dumped on it when he exposed it, and in a blind panic, he starts tearing at the bandages on his other wrist.
He whimpers– either from pain or fear– as his right forearm shows the same thing, only slightly worse. The blistering festered boils into his skin, and the wound that he had wrapped his arm for originally was deeper, somehow.
“I– yo… kill me, then just fucking kill me.” He heard the captain’s voice buzz in over the radio. He tears away from what was left of the skin of his arms, heart beating faster than humanly possible, looking up at the speaker.
“Ava? Ava, I’m here!”
“Simon!”
“Ava y- you gotta get me outta here, I think I’m– I’m sick or somethin’–” He hyperventilates as she asks him things he can’t process.
“Simon shut up–”
“I dunno what’s happenin’ to me–” His words slur together.
“-And LISTEN TO ME!” He quiets then as she shouts at him, but that doesn’t help how fast he’s breathing. “I need you to grab something from the crawlspace. Trust me on this, there’s something down there that you need to keep safe!” Her voice is weird, thicker somehow. Was she… was she crying…? “No matter what, you need to get it out safely, okay!? Do you understand?”
His throat bobs, voice wavering dangerously. “You can’t be serious– I– Ava, I just went through hell to get this.” He sobbed.
What did you do, Simon?
“Simon, I know what I said!” He’s frozen as the voice of the scientist and Ava overlap. “It doesn’t matter anymore!”
You had to drag her down to hell with you?
“-inish the plan! You are the only one who can!”
He looks from the porthole to the radio.
She can’t hear us.
“And everything is–”
And she can’t save you.
“That data needs to survive if any of this is gonna–”
She’s going to copy what you stole from our ship, and leave you to die!
His breathing had to have ceased with how little air he’s actually taking in. His feet are frozen to the floor, his entire body paralyzed with fear.
“Do you understand me!?”
Better than you deserve…. Butcher.
He continues staring. He doesn’t like being called that, his brain processes faintly. It tells him that it’s not true.
He can’t… He can’t remember why. That wasn’t his name, was it?
“Simon?”
But you can still redeem yourself.
“Do you have it?” There’s another flash behind him. He can See Her.
Tell her the SM-8 is lost.
“Please tell me you have it–”
There’s something in Her jaws, something, he recognizes, looks vaguely like his sub. But… But he was the only one down here, right? So that didn’t make any sense, he–
None can be allowed to See the Light again.
“Simon, you have to GO. NOW! What are you waiting for!?” Someone yells at him, and the first thing that forms on his lips is not a warning.
“We… had a deal…?” He’s Simon. She’s Ava. This– this eel was making him forget things– Or maybe it was the radiation. He’s Simon. That’s him. He knows that.
“Not everyone gets to be saved!” Ava screams at him, and for the first time, he thinks he breathes a little bit, despite the tightness in his chest.
Do the right thing.
“Whadd… wh’re you talkin’ ‘bout…? You said you’d get me outta here– you said you- said– we… we had a.. We had a deal!” He wails.
“SIMON! PLEASE!” She begs him. She begs him. “Simon, PLEASE listen to me! Please! It’s worth it! You deserve–” She stops, steeling herself. “You deserve… your freedom. And I’m sorry I can’t give that to you. But it’s worth it. I- It’s more than me. It’s more than you.” The vines had crawled up the back wall, obscuring some of the useless gauges. “It’s bigger than–”
Ava… We’re sorry.
The eel has the other ship fully encompassed between it’s teeth.
“The black box! It’s in the crawl– oh my god!” She shrieks. “Oh my g-”
There’s a sharp sound before a wave of blood flows from the grate of the speaker.
Painless…. Why do we have to do this!? Why only you!?
He looks around, everything feeling completely numb. Ava was dead. He didn’t warn her. He tells himself he couldn’t, but he wasn’t sure if he believed it. He could’ve told her. He could’ve.
WHY YOU SIMON!?
He didn’t. He butchered her.
WHY YOU!?
He’s going to die down here. He doesn’t want to. There’s no other choice.
Her blood is on your hands. How many more bodies will you climb over to save yourself?
He’s gasping, tears stuck in his eyes, but not enough water there to actually fall. Is he having a heart attack?
Always thinking of the life you’ll never get back.
“...St- …st– stop–” He breathed, voice choked, pleading.
Thinking of a mother who wouldn’t even recognize the killer she spawned.
Not a heart attack. He wishes he were dead. That it killed him faster. That– that–
Or maybe she’d be proud… Is death the only thing she taught you!?
“...Pl- le…..lease..-!” He gasped, a punched out sound, doubling over as he grew too lightheaded. He hadn’t moved from where he was standing.
Half measured, half committed.
Everything in his body quiets then, like a wave of sudden calm had washed over him. Except this wasn’t calm. His brain was blank, but he didn’t feel calm. He doesn’t remember what that feels like.
His eyes narrow.
Never enough! There is nothing else for us now!
“Nothing else….” He repeats in a whisper, walking forward. “...but whaddyou know? You’re just… a p-piece of shit that doesn’t know it’s dead…. WHAT DO YOU KNOW!?” The anger that bursts out of him is so suddenly visceral.
We know more than enough!
The indicator light flashes in front of him. Something’s moving towards the submarine.
Butcher! The Light must be forgotten! This madness ends with you!
“You think… You think I’m just gonna give you what you want? Fuck that, and fuck you! You want to eat me!?”
His vision blurs for a moment, but the hatred inside of him keeps him standing.
“COME AND TRY!”
The porthole cracks, and blood spurts forward, spilling thickly onto the ground. He’s slid over to the trapdoor, pulled it open, and–
“Oh, fuck me.” He groaned, looking despairingly down into the crawlspace that was rapidly flooding with blood. It seeps in past his feet and he startles himself back into motion. He was running out of time.
This was gonna hurt. He pulls his jacket off, crying out when his shoulder pulled too painfully for him to think about right now, and spills down through the hatch. He looks down the tunnel, grateful that what he needed was right behind–
Emergency Engine Restart
Dreadfully, he scoots back around, horror dawning on him. He remembers where he saw the black box the first time. Allllll the way down at the end.
“Oh, fuck me!” He cried, before ducking under the ledge and beginning his army crawling venture.
He hissed a scream through his teeth when the pain kicked in– everything burned! He remembers his burns from Filament Station– nothing like this– it nearly steals the air from his lungs, but he manages to heave himself forward as the surface rises around him.
He finds the handle of the black box when the surface level of the blood has about halfway filled the undertow. He pulls it, and it doesn’t move.
Blood begins to flood in more rapidly as he panics despite himself, giving it another sharp pull, and it still doesn’t budge!
He pulls both hands on the handle, and positions himself with his feet on the wall beneath the box. Gasping in a breath, he gathers all the strength he has left, and pulls with all his might.
There’s a sharp, tearing feeling in his bad shoulder–
The box comes free, launching him backwards and under the surface of the blood from his own momentum. He pushes himself up, gasping, not daring to open his eyes. He can taste it, in his mouth, his nose, his ears–
He begins scooting back to the hatch when the box pulls against him. He pries an eye open, only to find it was still tethered. Stupid precautions! “Fuck!”
He tugs and the blood pulls him back under. “Fu- guh! Fuck! Fuck!” He pulls again, gaping in the little air he has left, and swallows some of it– it burns like acid the whole way down and his stomach convulses dangerously– “Fuck! Just- hah– FUCK!”
His efforts don’t cease, even when he gasps his last breath of air, nose touching the top of the crawlspace.
It’s nothing but red. He doesn’t know when it comes free, but he’s dragging himself and the black box out of the crawlspace as the floor floods, gasping desperately.
It takes him a hot minute to claw out of the trapdoor, his bad arm nearly useless– every movement shot white hot agony up into his shoulder, and everything connected to it.
Whatever made up those horrid scabs across the ship had grown into even more disgusting looking tumors, stringing across the inside of the ship like a smoker’s lung. The speaker bounces limply as the sub shakes.
“Y’better be right about this.” Simon tries to say. The black box thuds with a heavy splash next to him when he falls to his knees, struggling to get his hands to coordinate enough to wrap the life jacket around it. He can feel blisters and patches of raw skin scream beneath what’s left of his shirt, whenever his hair barely brushes across his face.
Blood spills into the submarine, seeping in through the walls. He stares for a moment, before something else catches his eye:
There’s a strap sticking out just above the blood. He reaches and pulls it over towards him. It’s his sheath.
The knife holder that his mother gave him. The strap had been just wide enough to fit around his broad shoulders– it’s the perfect amount to keep the black box tethered to the life vest.
From where he is, he can see the indicator light flashing rapidly, something coming up behind him.
He’s taken too long.
“Oh fuck.” He trembles when he stands up, trudging forward to take the binder off of the throttle.
When the sub hits the wall, or whatever obstacle had been there instead, it throws him into the side pipes. Not as hard as it usually did, so he was kind of taking that as a win. He’s gotta get back on track. He goes to step back up to the controls, but his arm tugs back. Dread curls in the bottom of his chest.
The vein root things that had blanketed the sub had used his moment of weakness to tether his hand to one of the pipes, before rapidly spreading up his arm as his right hand is thrust out onto the larger pipe on the ceiling, lifting him up off the floor as he screams.
He feels something in his hand shift as the vein roots crawled up his wrists.
“Ngh- gahh!” He screams, his feet dangling beneath him as he tries to find some sort of solid ground. His boot slides off the chair, leaving a bloody smear, before he kicks out again and manages to score some friction when his boot catches it a second time.
He manages to use that stability to kick upwards and use his leg as leverage to peel himself out of the vein roots on his right side, crashing to the ground with a wail as the vein roots pulled out of his skin.
He works to stabilize himself despite his bad arm being pinned and he slips once or twice, pants ripped and tattered. He can see the burns through the holes, the blisters that bubble up–
It looks like his hand has fused to the pipe, covered in that same, thick layer of organic material. He pulls despite the torture in his shoulder, yelling out as he brings his other hand– and even a foot!– to try and pull his arm free.
𝐘⃥𝐎⃥𝐔⃥ 𝐇⃥𝐀⃥𝐕⃥𝐄⃥ 𝐍⃥𝐎⃥𝐖⃥𝐇⃥𝐄⃥𝐑⃥𝐄⃥ 𝐓⃥𝐎⃥ 𝐑⃥𝐔⃥𝐍⃥
He looks around, hesitating in his attempt, eyes wide with terror.
We can hear you! We will find you!
“Fuuuuck me!!!!” He shouts, before putting both feet up against the wall, and straining outwards.
His screams fall deaf on his own ears as his vision whites out.
When he comes to, he’s on the floor, bathed in the blood that surrounds him. Horrorstruck, he feels next to nothing when he looks up, eyes focusing on some odd, limp thing that hangs from the pipe he was just connected to.
If he were any more concussed, he’d have no reason to believe it was his arm. Huh. Kinda looks like his sleeve, actually…
His vision goes a little more dark around the edges as a punched out sound leaves ihis throat, caught between a gasp and a yell–
It was his sleeve. He looks down, moving his hands to cover the wound. Only one responded.
He thinks he may have blacked out for a moment, upon shock setting in that his arm was missing.
Well, not missing. He knew where it was. It wasn’t where it was supposed to be, attached to him. Oh, god, he just ripped his own arm off.
Something bumps into his leg during his silent freakout, light shining up on him, and he felt what little stomach acid he had left rise in the back of his throat as he can now see, in graphic detail, what was left of the stump of his shoulder.
With his free hand, he snatches the life vest and drags it between his legs, cradling the black box protectively as he cried.
DON’T RUN
You know this is the only way!
You know it!
His hand rests on the sheath, fingers digging into the woven strap as tears cut through the blood on his face.
“....pleas- please keep this safe, okay, Mom?” Simon’s voice is barely above a whisper. He was terrified and shaking much too hard to get anything else out. He didn’t pray to EDEN’s God. He didn’t think of the Light.
He wanted his mom.
“It’s more than me.” Simon sobbed. “It’s more than me.”
He heaves the black box to his side, and with the last of his dying strength, he drags himself off the floor, lopsided and uneven, knees digging into the grates below him.
You saw the horror of it!
What did it see in you?
She speaks with Ava’s voice now. “It’s more than me. It’s m-more than me–” He strained, planting his feet under him and unsteadily rising as he repeats the mantra.
It saw you, Simon, and it will never let you go!
He drags the black box at a snail’s pace up to the already cracked porthole, grunts and groans being pulled from his mouth like teeth.
Can you not see that!?
With a roar, he throws the black box on top of the console, and smashes the button that operates the porthole shield.
He thinks about David, presumably left in charge to captain Ava’s ship. Of Jack, withering away in a bed– or in the shipbay, having done a final weld. He thinks of his Brothers. Of the scientists on the SM-8. Of all those who came in the twelve submarines before him.
He thinks of Mars, and her sister Earth. Of red dust beneath his tiny fingernails, and of pinpricks of light that hadn’t faded, and that of which had. Of the planets he knew they had disappeared from. Of all those people booking up, and wondering where they had gone. Of his dead Tree, and of the seedling in his cracked pendant.
When Her teeth puncture the ship, he stumbles back to the ground, sloshing in the blood.
You changed everything!
Your ship is alive!
Can’t you see this is a mercy!?
“FINE! YOU WANT THE BUTCHER!?” He roars, tearing the fire extinguisher off of the wall with a grunt, and smashing it into the nearest spike that drove through the hull.
“FUCK YOU!” He screamed, landing another hit. “DIE!”
Blood flows in faster as the Eel shakes Her head, throwing him back down to the ground. He lands hard on his side, the one missing an arm, and his vision whites out again as he shrieks in pain.
And yet, somehow, he manages to get up. He knows he shouldn’t be able to.
However, Simon’s not very good at doing things he’s supposed to.
He feels his stance waver underneath him, balance completely thrown off as he swings the extinguisher back, and brings it down hard on one of the teeth. In a pearly snap, the tooth breaks in half, a piece of it flying somewhere into the murk.
PRAY THAT YOU STAY DEAD
WE ARE SALVATION
WE CAN SAVE EVERYONE… WITHIN US!
He chokes and splutters as he thrashes around, unable to keep himself standing. He gags and gasps on blood that invades his mouth, seeps into his lungs as he struggled to stay above the surface.
Simon never had learned to swim.
My artfight card this year!!! Im gonna try to hit every revenge if I get the opportunity!
u guys should totally drop urs in the comments ill come stalk you
(Gets an ask) oh boy! I sure hope this isnt a bot! (Checks inbox) aw man its a bot (gets an ask) oh boy!
