Both Haunted and Holy
Iron Lung Convict x Cosmic Horror Reader
Gif by thedgeofsleep
Summary:
Reader attempts to craft a home for Convict and explain exactly what they are.
Author's Note:
Forgot the summary on the last one oops-
Anyway, y'all are really vibing with these two, huh? Well, fret not, for I have more ideas for so many scenarios with these two. So I'm gonna be chipping away at those while I can, and also working on the Fracture rework. Though the goal is for that to be a considerably longer piece so it's gonna take a minute. But thankfully, after Tuesday, I basically have nothing but time and I keep weird hours. This will likely be the last thing I post until at least Wednesday, though, unless I can squeeze in some small drabbles between then and now. No promises, though.
Divider from @/dividers-are-us
Series Masterlist
Content Warnings/Tags:
Spoilers for Iron Lung including Convict's name (but you knew that), fluff, hurt and comfort, some strong language, technical power imbalance because Reader is a cosmic entity but they are a sweetie and would never use them on Convict (without his consent), mild descriptions of adjusting to losing a limb, not beta read and barely edited, author wrote this instead of sleeping.
Simon is beginning to learn many things about you.
For starters, you control this domain--this void--with absolute authority. It had been a blank canvas when he first blinked open his eyes, a wide expanse of nothingness but infinite darkness because, as you would explain, you had no need for anything else. But, with him here, you'd saught to make it more appropriate. He could have cried when he saw that grass, swaying in a non-existent wind. He did, at one point, drop to the ground and bury his fingers in it.
It had been so long since he had last felt grass.
The trees reminded him of Eden, which had been the only home he'd known for the longest time. As... conflicted as his feelings were about that space station in the end, it was still soothing to see trees again. They weren't real, not really, but they looked and felt real enough.
And the sky...
He didn't know how you did it, but you flooded it with stars. Real stars. No corpses that were growing dimmer day by day. They twinkled and moved, some shot across the sky in a distant streak of white and-for a moment-he was a child again. Making wishes on shooting stars.
It didn't undo everything he'd been through. Nothing could. But it was nice to finally find some sembelance of peace after the chaos.
However, humans couldn't be truly comfortable with just an empty field, a few trees, and a night sky. So, you had endeavoured to create him a home. Which, brought you both to the next issue.
You were a cosmic entity. A concept, as you had said--though he didn't know exactly what that meant--and as such... you had no idea what a human home should look like. You'd never had need for one before.
You might look human now, mostly? Sort of? The longer he stared, the more he noticed things that were wrong. You moved too fluidly, like you were floating through air rather than walking on land. Sometimes, in the corner of his eye or in the middle of a blink, your hair resembled fluid drifting around your head. You hesitated before speaking, like you had to make the conscious decision to speak with your mouth and not whisper directly into his mind. And your eyes carried ancient starlight in them, no matter how hard you worked to conceal it.
Human, but not. The effort was appreciated, regardless.
He didn't know if he could handle gazing upon another cosmic horror.
Regardless, back to the current issue at hand: your attempts to craft a home for him.
Your first effort was... well, needless to say, wrong. Geometric angles that made no sense and imbued him with a sense of wrongness just to look at them. Too tall, too wide, with a space inside that was too small. "Uh," Had been his succint response, "it's... nice?" But you had seen right through his attempt to spare your feelings--do eldritch beings have feelings? You clearly did. You had felt moved enough to rescue him, after all--and had made a strange sound in response. Something between a low rumbling drone and a disappointed huff, scowling at your attempt at architecture.
"It will not do."
Simon sat on the grass, playing with some of the strands and trying not to think about how they tangled around his fingers of their own accord, while watching as several more attempts at a home appeared and disappeared just as quickly. Dismissed by you with nothing more than a tilt of your head and another one of those disappointed sounds. Finally, after the seventh or eight time, he spoke up with a careful question. "Do you need like... references?"
You stilled, head tilting to look back at him. Your gaze settling over him with a kind of physical sensation that only further added to your wrongness. "What do you mean, Simon?"
"Like... you were in my head earlier, right?" He asked, you nodded slowly. "So can you do that again, look at my memories?" The question served as two things; a genuine offer, and an attempt to learn more about you. Your abilities, your limits.
You stilled, unnaturally so. "Are you certain you would be comfortable with that?" You asked, slowly. "You have been through much, I would not wish to cause you... further distress."
God, the way that made him feel really was proof of how repressed he had been. As if his reaction to your touch hadn't been telling enough. Just how starved for connection was he? "Just don't go digging in my memories and we'll be fine."
You nodded. "I will not go further than you allow," You promised, easily. Then he felt something brush along his mind, a cool touch, gentle as a breeze. Similar to how it had felt when you had spoken to him before, and the sensation forced him to repress a shudder as you gazed directly into his mind, willing away the more embarassing thoughts as he tried to remember photos of cottages and log cabins he'd seen in his youth. After a moment, the sensation faded, and you gave a pleased nod.
Then dutifully returned to your creation.
With his help, you were able to create a normal looking log cabin that stood, dutifully, in the middle of the field. Only one floor, with big windows so he could look out and see the permanant night sky you had created for him, and a sturdy front porch. Of course, the interior was still slightly too big, but it was considerably better than your previous attempts. You'd even fitted it with a bathroom that included a spacious standing shower, a living room with a large couch and bookcases filled with actual books--when was the last time he'd seen actual books?--and a kitchen which, for some reason, had five ovens.
So your understanding of home interiors left something to be desired, but Simon could hardly blame you.
"The house is connected to you," You explained, voice gentle as you watched him look around, "whatever you desire will appear here. Any story you wish to read, food you wish to eat, or clothes you wish to wear."
Simon couldn't help but blink, turning to you slowly as disbelief crawled across his features. "You can do that?"
"This realm is my home," You answered, like that explained everything. Perhaps, to you, it did. You controlled this place, so if you wished for something to be it simply... was.
Simon lingered by the kitchen counter as emotions welled in his chest, one hand braced on the dark wood countertop. "Why are-" The words caught in his throat. He blinked hard and cleared it. "Why are you doing all this for me?"
Again, you stilled, lingering in the doorway as you watched him. There was a fleeting though that, perhaps, you could see right through him, down to every atom that made up his body. "... You wanted to live, did you not?" You asked, voice so quiet it was barely more than a whisper and yet, the words echoed like a clap of thunder in his ears. "I will leave you to make yourself comfortable." With that, you drifted back out the front door, humming as you went.
It sounded like starlight to his ears.
True to your word, whatever he wanted, the house provided. He went to the bathroom first, as good as a job as you had done tending to his wounds and clearing him off the weird growths that had overtaken his body, he was still grimy and was really starting to feel gross. Blood still clung to the fabric of his prison uniform, flaking off him and now that he wasn't actively in fight or flight, the sensation was annoying. But, like a beacon of hope, he found his preferred scent of shampoo and body wash waiting for him.
Simon stumbled into the clean space, bracing himself on the wall. Losing an arm had fucked up his center of gravity, he was still adjusting. Still, the desire to be clean overpowered his new-found struggle with balance, and he managed to painstaking remove what was left of his clothes and leave them in a heap on the floor, turning on the shower and sighing in relief when hot water poured out immediately with no further fan fair.
He stood under the spray for a long time. Then used the body wash and shampoo, scrubbing with his hand to try and get as much of the filth off of him as he could, watching the muddy water swirl down the drain. It cleared, eventually, but he didn't move. Standing there with his head bowed, hand braced on the tialed wall beside him. He still felt unclean.
He didn't think he'd ever feel clean again.
After too much time, he finally shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. His dirty clothes had vanished and, despite not grabbing anything, a clean, fluffy towel and a pair of clothes sat folded on the toilet lid, waiting for him. "That's... gonna take some getting used to," Simon murmured to himself, grabbing the towel first.
Towelling off with one arm when he was used to two was equally a challenge in and of itself. He tossed out the idea of even trying to tie the towel around his waist and settled for getting as dry as he could, then changing. The new clothes were warm, like they'd been sat on a radiator not a closed toilet lid. Soft and comforting as they hugged his broken and scarred frame. He didn't feel entirely like himself, he probably never would, but he felt better.
He'd take that as a win.
Bare feet padded out of the bathroom, eyes instinctively scanning the interior of his new home before landing on the front door. It hung open, and he could see your frame sat on the porch, still as you looked out over the landscape. Still humming. With nothing better to do, and not entirely willing to go to sleep yet--not in case he woke back up in that fucking submarine--he walked out to join you, lowering himself with some difficulty to sit on the step beside you. Your star-touched gaze turned to meet him, head tilting. "Do you feel better now?" You asked.
"Yeah- yes," He stammered, the question taking him by surprise before his cleared his throat and nodded. "Do I... look... better?" The words were clumsy on his tongue. He wanted to wince, but you just smiled, eyes glinting in a way that was too Knowing.
"Indeed. When not covered in blood, you have rather pleasing features." You replied, the words struck him somewhere low in his stomach. Fuck, was he really that attention starved? Unware or uncaring for his internal battle, your gaze returned to the meadow.
Silence settled between the two of you, calm in your case, contemplative in Simon's. He had questions. So many questions. But he didn't know how to ask, if it would be rude to. Did he want to risk your ire when you had demonstrated, time and time again, just how much influence you held in this place?
"If you have questions, you may ask them," You spoke, startling from his thoughts. "I imagine this is... a lot for you to take in."
"Yeah, you can say that again," Simon huffed before he could stop himself, wincing at how curt he sounded, but again you didn't so much as flinch at his tone. He cleared his throat and shifted were he sat, hand resting limply in his lap. "I just... what are you? What's a concept? I don't even know your name and- everything that happened to me, I mean what the fuck was that thing?" The questions just came blurting out after that, but you listened patiently. Letting him finish before you answered.
"I do not have a name," You replied, "concepts have no need for such things. We simply... are," You explained, falling into contemplative silence for a moment. "Concepts are beings that have existed since the very beginning. I do not know how. I do not know why. We simply do. Some are older than others, the one you encountered before me was... quite young. I believe you humans have given Her a name. The... Quiet Rapture?" You mused thoughtfully, head tilting.
"What?" Simon muttered. "No the Quiest Rapture is... that's when everybody disappeared, or when we- when we disappeared," He stammered over himself, shaking his head. "It's not- we don't know what that thing was."
"She is The Quiet Rapture. Creation and Destruction. Given sentience and shape," You replied, calmly. "As for myself, I am... Nothing. The quiet between the notes. The hush at the beginning and end. I am what was before and what will remain after." You gaze returned to the field. "I am sorry. It is... difficult to explain it in a way that would make sense to humans. You are not designed to grasp such concepts, attempts to do so can cause madness. One should not gaze too long into the abyss." You sighed, the sound weary and old in a way that did not match the current face you wore. "That is the best I can offer you for now."
It had answered some of his questions, and left him with a million more. He should have expected as much, really. Nothing was ever simple. None of this made any sense. As if sensing the turmoil he was experiencing, there was a phatom touch again. Though you remained still, he felt a hand gliding down his back and barely resisted a shudder at the sensation. How touch starved was he?
"You should rest," You remarked, calmly, sending him a patient smile. "You have experienced much, your body is still recovering."
He was tired. So tired. But the thought of sleeping filled his stomach with dread. The idea that maybe he'll wake up and this will have all been a pleasant dream, his mind's futile attempt to offer him some peace in his final moments, before he's back in that iron death trap, running out of oxygen while blood seaped in through the cracks.
The touch continued brushing up and down his bag. Your gaze remained settled on him. "... Would you like me to stay with you?"
He startled. "What?"
"You are afraid. I can remain by your side, if you would wish it so. Ensure your rest is peaceful, and when you awaken, you will see me and you will know you are still safe." Safe, what a novel concept. Simon couldn't recall the last time he'd felt safe. He'd thought he was safe with Eden, but that everything went to shit and he'd... well. He banished the thought from his mind for now, and gave a small nod.
When he replied, his voice cracked a little. "Yeah, I'd like that."
"Very well," You murmured, drifting up from your seated position and offering him your hand. "Let us get you to bed, little one."
The bed was soft under him, like sinking into a cloud. The sheets were warm, and the pillows were perfect. He lay sprawled on his back, hand resting on his chest, head tilted to watch where you sat perched on the edge of the bed, back to him, humming again. A beautiful tone of starlight and void that drifted along his mind.
Phantom fingers ran through his hair, brushing along his scalp until his eyelids fluttered. "Thank you," He whispered, leaning into the touch. Unseen by him, your head tilted, gaze settling on him as you smiled.
"You are welcome. Now sleep, little one. I will ensure no harm befalls you."
For a long time, you had merely existed, floating in the vast expanse of it all. Content to idle your days as such while time crawled on by. Until you found him, and now you had a new purpose. What an unusual thought, to be so moved by a being so insignificant in the grand scheme of it all, but he was not insignificant to you. No, he was far too important. Far too special.
You would happily watch over him as he slept, ensuring no nightmares of blood found him. Instead, you'd craft a sanctuary of stars to keep him company while he dreamt.
Simon's breathing steadied as the call of sleep lured him to its waiting arms, and you remained by his side as you had promised, humming your lullaby and running your fingers through his hair.
Author's Note:
I wanna put these two in a jar and shake them.
If you have any ideas for future scenarios with these two, I'd love to hear them! Might even write them out too. If you like this, maybe drop me a reblog? It would make me so very greatful and I'd give you many little kisses.
