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A/N: This was so fun to write! I got a bit carried away in writing this, spent about three days on it 😭 Since the poll's gonna be up for a while, I decided to finish this request. I hope you enjoy!

Next fic is a George Weasley one, promise! <3

Warning(s): Fluff, Cedric yearning, user is an introvert with like two friends, user is a year younger than Cedric (briefly mentioned, doesn't impact the story in any way), takes place between the first task and the Yule ball, I tried to make it as slow of a burn as possible 😭💕

Word count: 5.8k (sorry)

Dividers by @angeliicide !! Love her downn <3

Love to @p03tryv0r3 for being my pretty little beta reader

Cedric wasn’t supposed to be like this; he was better than this. He repeated the words like a mantra in his head as he bid his farewells to Ernie and Ben, practically tripping over himself to get to the library. It was the only time he ever saw you.

He didn’t know when it began, when his carefree charm began to feel intentional whenever he caught a glance of you, when his movements felt stiffer whenever he’d hear your voice in the distance. Maybe it began last week, when you smiled at him after he helped you get a book in the library. Maybe it was three months ago, when you burst into the great hall, flushed and breathless with laughter. 

Maybe it was always inside him, from the moment he saw you sorted into Hufflepuff in your first year during his second, the way your grin widened into a relieved gasp when you heard it, how you ran over to the badger’s table, sat next to him without another thought. He still remembered how red he got when your knee pressed against his, how he hid his face away from yours so you wouldn’t see. 

Title: The Shape of Quiet Love

Pairing: Tonowari x fem!Metkayina reader

Word Count 4,277

Tags: Slow burn, arranged bond, misunderstood intentions, soft gestures, quiet yearning, Metkayina clan traditions, Tonowari learning to love, eventual romance, domestic affection

Summary: You were chosen by Tonowari’s mother to be Tsahik and his mate but he never gave you a chance. Until he began to see the quiet ways you loved him.

Part I: The Choice

The reef glowed in the early morning light, beams of sun slipping through the water’s surface and catching on coral outcroppings, painting the village in soft cyan. You stood with your feet planted in the sand, arms at your side, the sea breeze brushing your braids back from your face.

You had never expected this.

“The Great Mother guides my choice,” the current Tsahik said solemnly, her voice echoing around the gathering space. “And she has whispered a name to me.”

A quiet hush settled over the Metkayina clan as eyes turned toward the platform. Beside you stood Tonowari, tall and composed, arms crossed over his broad chest. He didn’t look at you. He hadn’t since you’d stepped onto the dais.

Tsahik continued. “My son, the future Olo’eyktan, must walk beside a woman not only of strength but of deep heart. One who knows the sea, and its silence. One who will care for our people as surely as she cares for what is unseen.”

You swallowed, throat dry despite the salt air.

“I name her,” she said, reaching out and placing her hand on your shoulder, “as the future Tsahik of the Metkayina and as the one chosen to walk beside my son, Tonowari.”

Gasps spread through the gathered clan like ripples from a stone. Some were pleased. Some surprised. Some clearly… less than thrilled.

“She’s so young.”

“I thought it would be Neyla.”

“Tonowari will never agree.”

But it was done. The choosing was sacred.

You bowed your head in reverence, then dared to glance at Tonowari beside you.

His face was impassive, carved from stone. Not one flicker of surprise. No joy, no protest. Just a tight nod as he stepped forward and said, “As you wish, Mother.”

And then he stepped back again.

That evening, the firepit roared with celebration. Fish roasted. Elders sang old songs. Dancers wove across the sands in spirals of movement. You sat at the edge of the feast, untouched fruit in your lap, watching Tonowari.

He was surrounded by others warriors, friends, elders but somehow still apart. Like a reef too sharp to swim near.

You didn’t speak to him that night. And he didn’t seek you out.

The days that followed were quiet. At least, for you.

The clan welcomed you with the smiles they saved for duty. You were trained under the Tsahik, taught rituals, healing, the ways of Eywa. You excelled quietly, without need for praise. But whispers followed your shadow wherever you swam.

“She is clever, yes, but was she the right choice?”

“She doesn’t speak much. Perhaps she is unsure.”

“I hear Tonowari avoids her. Maybe there will be another choosing.”

You bore it all. Silently. Stoically.

Even when you passed Tonowari on the way to the reef, and he barely nodded at you. Even when he walked behind you during rituals but never beside you. Even when he allowed others to flirt and laugh and touch his arm as if you did not exist.

He was never cruel. But kindness? That was something else entirely.

You thought, once, of asking him outright: Why do you hate me so? But the words died on your tongue each time you met his distant eyes.

Still, you did what you were meant to do.

You watched. You learned. You remembered.

Tonowari liked grilled fish, not boiled. He dipped his sea fruit in crushed shell spice, never salt. He preferred silence after long swims, not chatter. His armband had three beads carved with his father’s crest he rubbed them when he was anxious.

So you cooked how he liked. Served him during communal meals without fanfare. You replaced the fraying sash of his wrap before he noticed it was worn. You wove a new loincloth for him and left it quietly on his platform, stitched with small green spirals the same pattern as the tattoo near his collarbone.

He didn’t thank you.

But he wore it.

Tonowari was a leader before he was a man. At least, that’s what the elders always said.

You watched him from afar more often than not giving orders before a storm, swimming at the head of every migration, holding the young warriors’ gaze with a kind of gravity that could pull stars from the sky.

And yet, he rarely looked your way.

The absence of hatred wasn’t kindness. It was just emptiness. A space between you wide as the ocean, made wider by every day you stood at his side in ritual but never in spirit.

You stopped expecting warmth from him. You started giving it anyway.

It began with a small basket of food.

The clan had returned from an exhausting dive, hunting large, armored reef beasts. You’d watched from the shore, preparing herbs and bandages in case someone came back wounded. When Tonowari emerged from the sea last, his face was drawn tight, and his shoulder bore a ragged slice along the deltoid.

You didn’t speak. You just approached, cleaned it with practiced hands, and rubbed in a cooling salve from sea anemone roots. He watched you in silence but didn’t flinch.

Later that evening, you prepared his meal separately. Not as Tsahik. Not as some ceremonial gesture.

But as a woman who’d watched him enough to know what calmed his nerves.

Grilled fish, citrus-glazed seaweed, fruit sweetened with crushed shells everything he favored, wrapped in soft cloth and left by his sleeping mat. No note. No fanfare.

The next morning, the basket was returned to your platform. Empty. Clean. Carefully folded.

And not a word was said.

You noticed small things after that.

He didn’t leave the communal fire as early anymore. Sometimes he lingered near where you sat with Tsahik, listening quietly.

He started walking closer beside you. Never touching, never lingering too long but no longer avoiding you either.

One night, a young woman from the weaving groups placed her hand on Tonowari’s arm, laughing brightly at something only she heard.

You expected him to allow it. To remain cold and still as always.

But he gently removed her hand. Said, “Respect the future Tsahik.”

The girl paled. Apologized. Walked away.

You were too stunned to speak. But Tonowari looked at you for the briefest of moments.

And nodded.

That evening, you sat alone by the reef, braiding sea thread into long cords for children’s charms. Your fingers moved from memory, your thoughts drifting like foam on the waves.

You didn’t hear him approach.

“You sit alone often,” came his voice, low and calm.

You blinked. Looked up.

Tonowari stood there, arms at his sides, expression unreadable. The moonlight carved soft lines into his cheekbones, his tattoos catching the blue hue of the night tide.

“It is quiet here,” you answered.

He sat down beside you. Not too close but not far, either.

After a moment, he said, “You knew I liked citrus.”

Your fingers paused in their braid. “Yes.”

“You made the fish perfectly. Even the texture.”

“I listen,” you said simply.

He turned to face you. “Why?”

The word struck deeper than it should have.

You met his eyes. “Because I care.”

He stared at you. Really looked. As if seeing you not as a duty or a name but as a person flesh and thought, desire and devotion, waiting patiently on the other side of silence.

He looked away then, brows drawn. “I thought… you only wanted the title. Like the others.”

You could’ve laughed. Or cried.

Instead, you said, “I never asked for this. But I never asked to be overlooked, either.”

The wind picked up. His fingers twitched on his knee.

“I see that now,” he said, quietly.

In the weeks that followed, the space between you began to close.

He didn’t become someone new overnight. But Tonowari started seeking your counsel more during clan meetings. Asked your opinion before the Tsahik had a chance to answer for you.

Once, he brought you a carved comb made of reefbone. It wasn’t fancy. But the teeth were wide enough for your thick braids, and it had a wave motif carved into the handle one you’d painted onto your sleeping mat as a child.

“How did you know I like this design?” you asked him, genuinely curious.

He shrugged. “I listen.”

You smiled, and this time, he saw it.

There were still bad days.

Tonowari was under pressure. From his people. From his own fears. You learned to recognize the way his shoulders tensed before a council meeting or how his jaw flexed when someone questioned his authority.

But on those days, you made sure his meal was waiting. You touched his arm briefly before a ritual. You whispered, You are enough, once, just before he walked onto the central platform.

He didn’t say anything.

But he took your hand in his when the chants began.

One night, a storm blew hard over the outer reef. Warriors were dispatched to anchor structures and bring in supplies from drifting platforms. Tonowari returned soaked to the bone, bleeding from a coral scrape on his thigh, his hair plastered to his face.

You were waiting.

You didn’t ask. You simply pulled him into your platform hut, dried his arms, and dressed the wound in silence.

He watched you the whole time.

Finally, his voice cracked the quiet. “I do not deserve this from you.”

You tied the last knot in the bandage. “Why not?”

“I doubted you.”

You met his eyes. “You’re not the only one who has.”

“But I was the one who mattered.”

He exhaled sharply. Reached for your wrist stopped. Then, slowly, he brushed your fingers with his.

“I see you,” he whispered.

You froze.

But your heart leapt. Because it wasn’t the formal greeting, the rote phrase of ceremony.

It was real. Raw. His voice broke on the words.

“I see you,” he said again, this time steadier.

You curled your fingers into his. “I’ve seen you every day, Tonowari.”

He bent his forehead to yours.

And for once, there was no sea between you.

Tonowari didn’t kiss you that night.

But something in the air shifted between you. A thick, unseen thing. Like the pause between waves soft, expectant.

After that storm, he no longer hovered near you like someone fulfilling a duty. He sought you. Sought your presence, your thoughts, your quiet eyes.

And for the first time, he gave in return.

It began with a cloak.

You’d woven him many garments before shawls, wrist wraps, satchels. But he’d never made you anything. Not because he was selfish. Because he didn’t know how.

So when he approached you holding a seafoam-colored wrap, edges uneven and clearly stitched by someone still learning, you nearly dropped the basket of dried herbs in your arms.

“I wanted you to have this,” he said, voice low and careful. “You get cold when the wind shifts.”

You took it with trembling fingers. The fabric was rough in places, but warm. It smelled like reef and him.

You pressed it to your cheek.

“Thank you,” you said softly. “This means more than you know.”

His throat bobbed with an unspoken word. But he only nodded and walked away.

That night, you slept wrapped in it.

Time passed gently.

Tonowari began joining you during morning meditations. Once, he helped you carry herbal satchels to the tidepool children. Another time, he braided your hair while you rested from a long healing ceremony, his fingers slow and reverent.

He didn’t speak much. But when he did, his words lingered like whale songs low and warm, felt more in the chest than the ears.

You began to laugh with him. To smile more openly. To touch his wrist when he looked tired, and not worry he would flinch.

And in turn, he looked at you like you were no longer just the Tsahik who was chosen for him

But the woman he would’ve chosen himself.

The clan noticed.

No one dared say anything too directly, but you heard it in their tones.

“Did you see how Tonowari looked at her today?”

“They speak without words now.”

“She softened him.”

And perhaps you had. But more truthfully, he’d let himself be softened. Like sea rock worn down not by force but by constancy.

One afternoon, while helping a young diver with her first healing session, you felt a presence at your back.

You turned and Tonowari was watching.

He hadn’t interrupted. Just waited.

When the child left with her parents, Tonowari came closer.

“You are gentle with them,” he said. “Even when they are frightened.”

You smiled. “They are still learning.”

He nodded. “So was I.”

Your eyes met. His meaning sank into your bones.

So was I.

That night, he kissed you.

It wasn’t planned. There was no ceremony, no prelude.

You had just returned from a healing outpost on the far reef. Exhausted, muscles sore, your hands still dyed with leaf pigments.

You climbed the platform where he stood, waiting.

“I heard you returned late,” he said. “I was worried.”

You looked up at him, too tired to speak, too full of love to hide.

And he kissed you.

Not hard. Not fast. Just sure.

The kind of kiss that said, I am no longer afraid.

Your hands curled into his waist wrap. His cupped your jaw like something fragile and sacred.

And when he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours, he whispered:

“You were never a duty.”

You cried. A little. Quietly.

He held you through it.

From that day on, the world softened around you.

There was still war. Still storms. Still hard days. But now there was him. And he was no longer just someone you loved in secret.

He was someone who loved you back.

It bloomed slowly like everything between you had.

Tonowari was not loud in love. He didn’t make speeches or shout his feelings across the village. But you felt it in every gesture.

In the way he warmed your meal when you came home late.

In the way he carved a small water dish for your pet ilusa.

In the way he waited for you each night, only sleeping once he knew you were safe beside him.

He whispered I see you against your shoulder when the stars were high. You whispered I see you back, with hands curled over his heart.

One morning, you woke to find him gone from your sleeping mat.

He’d left something in your hands woven cloth, carefully folded. A ceremonial sash.

You opened it and gasped softly.

It bore the mark of Tsahik but also, stitched beside it, the symbol for mate.

Tonowari had made it himself.

He’d been learning in secret from the elder weavers. Practicing when you were away. You could see the imperfections, but you could also see the care. The patience. The intention.

When he returned, salt still in his hair from a dawn swim, you rushed to him.

You didn’t speak. Just held him.

He murmured, “I want you beside me. As my mate. As my equal. As the woman I love.”

You said yes before he could finish the sentence.

The Metkayina clan gathered at the edge of the reef beneath the setting sun. The tide was low, the sand damp and warm under your bare feet, and the sky was streaked in soft rose and gold.

The waters whispered to the shore, carrying gifts of foam and fragments of coral. And before the entire clan before Eywa, before the Great Mother’s sacred eye you and Tonowari stood across from one another.

He wore the ceremonial paint of Olo’eyktan, freshly renewed, but this time his chest bore something else: a small spiral inked above his heart. It matched your own. A symbol of the tide’s endless return.

You had drawn it for each other the night before. With his hand steadying your wrist. With yours trembling when you painted his.

Tsahik, his mother, stood between you, her voice strong, clear.

“Eywa hears all hearts. She knows when love is chosen, and when it is earned. She watches over those who walk beside one another not only in duty, but in truth.”

Her eyes met yours.

“You have walked this path with patience. With grace.”

Then she turned to Tonowari.

“And you, my son, have found what it means to love not from pride, but from seeing.”

You felt his fingers brush yours.

The final chant began. The clan joined in, their hum rising like a rising tide, resonant and deep. And when it faded, the old Tsahik stepped back.

Now it was your moment.

You and Tonowari stepped forward.

And he spoke first.

“I once believed you were chosen for me. That I had no choice,” he said, voice firm and low, carrying across the water. “But I was wrong. I see now that Eywa did not trap me. She gifted me someone I was too blind to understand. And now, I choose you. Not because I must but because I cannot imagine a single day without your hand in mine.”

The clan was silent. The reef wind stilled.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “And I choose you,” you said, voice shaking. “Because even when you did not see me, I loved you. And now that you do there is no end to that love.”

His hands took yours.

Foreheads pressed.

And the wave rolled in behind you both, warm and gentle, lapping over your feet like Eywa’s blessing.

The clan cheered.

But all you could hear was the sound of his breath against your cheek, and the quiet, precious words that followed:

“You are my home now.”

Your joining was not grand, not ostentatious.

But it was true.

And in the days that followed, you found a rhythm in your lives that was soft and sure.

You slept together now, wrapped in the same woven cloths, his heartbeat under your ear at night.

He kissed your temple every morning before diving. You left small offerings fruit, polished shell, ocean stones by his weapons rack.

He brought you shells that looked like stars. You sang to him while brushing the salt from his braids.

Once, he surprised you by carving a small talon flute one you’d told him you used to play as a child, long ago. He had asked no questions then. But weeks later, the gift arrived on your mat, smoothed and tuned.

“I remember everything about you,” he said, brushing his fingers over your knuckles.

And he did.

Every day, Tonowari showed you that love did not have to roar to be strong. It could be steady. It could be patient. It could be quiet and still move the world.

You found joy in mundane things.

Helping children mend their fishing nets. Dancing in the tide pools when no one was looking. Singing while preparing salves.

Tonowari watched you in those moments like you were a prayer answered.

He laughed more now. Full, open. A sound you rarely heard before.

When the other clan leaders visited and commented on how much more grounded he seemed, he only said, “I have someone who reminds me what matters.”

One evening, after a long training day, you found him half-asleep on your shared mat, shoulders sore from leading dives.

You sat beside him, fingers working the tightness from his muscles, humming gently.

“You work too hard,” you said softly.

He cracked one eye open. “I work to make you proud.”

You leaned down and kissed his temple. “You make me proud when you rest, too.”

He smiled, slow and sleepy, and reached for your hand.

“Then stay,” he murmured.

You curled into his side, his breath deepening as sleep overtook him.

And for a long time, you simply lay there, the reef winds outside your home, the warmth of his body against yours.

A life not of ceremony or status.

But of belonging.

Of quiet, sacred love.

The seasons turned gently after your bonding.

Not with fanfare or sudden change but with the subtle certainty of the tide. The reef warmed. The young ones grew bolder in the water. Storms came and went, leaving the coral stronger in their wake.

And so did your life with Tonowari.

You became Tsahik not all at once, but gradually. The old Tsahik never stepped aside abruptly; she guided you, corrected you when needed, and most importantly trusted you. You learned to read the currents not just of the sea, but of people. To feel when a child’s fear was deeper than scraped skin. When a warrior’s anger hid grief. When silence meant more than words.

Tonowari watched you step into the role with a kind of reverence that still startled you.

He never interrupted your rituals. Never spoke over you in council. And when others questioned your decisions, he did not defend you loudly.

He simply said, “She knows what she is doing.”

And that was enough.

You learned, over time, that Tonowari carried guilt like a second spine.

Sometimes it came out in quiet ways how he lingered in doorways watching you work, how he reached for you at night as if afraid you might vanish, how he would grow unusually silent during celebrations meant to honor you.

One evening, after a long council meeting, you found him standing alone at the edge of the water, staring out into the dark sea.

“You’re carrying something,” you said gently, coming to stand beside him.

He exhaled slowly. “I think about how close I came to losing you.”

You frowned. “You never lost me.”

He turned to you then, eyes dark and honest. “I almost did. When I thought you were something you were not. When I let my pride speak louder than my heart.”

You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. “But you learned.”

“Yes,” he said. “Because you taught me. Without demanding anything in return.”

He lowered his forehead to yours. “I will spend my life being worthy of that.”

You smiled softly. “Then spend it with me.”

The first time a child ran to you instead of the elders for comfort, something settled in your chest.

The first time a wounded warrior thanked you with tears in his eyes, you understood the weight of your calling.

And the first time Tonowari introduced you to visiting clan leaders as my mate, my Tsahik, you realized how far he had come.

He was proud of you not because of your title, but because of who you were.

Your home filled with small rituals.

Morning swims together before the village woke. Shared meals eaten cross-legged on woven mats. Quiet conversations before sleep sometimes deep, sometimes silly, sometimes nothing at all.

Tonowari learned the rhythms of you the same way you had learned him.

He noticed when you needed solitude and guarded it fiercely. When you were overwhelmed, he pressed his forehead to yours and breathed with you until the world slowed.

Once, during a particularly heavy season, you broke down quietly while preparing herbs hands shaking, tears slipping free.

You hadn’t meant for him to see.

But he did.

He took the bowl from your hands, set it aside, and pulled you into his chest without a word. Held you while you cried. Kissed your hair. Stayed until the storm passed.

Later, you whispered, “I’m supposed to be strong.”

He answered, without hesitation, “You are. And strong people are allowed to rest.”

Years later, children sat at your feet during evening fires, wide-eyed as you told stories of the reef and the Great Mother.

They loved Tonowari’s stories best the ones where he pretended to be fierce but always smiled too soon.

And when one small child asked, “Tsahik, how did you and Olo’eyktan fall in love?” the whole circle leaned in.

You glanced at Tonowari.

He raised a brow, amused. “Tell them.”

You smiled. “It wasn’t loud. Or fast. It didn’t arrive like a storm.”

You reached for his hand.

“It came like the tide. Slowly. Patiently. Again and again. Until we realized it had always been there.”

Tonowari squeezed your fingers.

“And I was a fool,” he added, “for not seeing it sooner.”

Laughter rippled through the group.

But when the fire burned low and the children drifted off to sleep, he pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered, “Thank you for waiting for me.”

You answered softly, “I would do it all again.”

On the night you fully assumed the role of Tsahik, the sea was impossibly calm.

The old Tsahik placed her hands over yours, eyes warm with pride. “You were always meant for this,” she said.

Later, when the ceremony ended and the village quieted, you stood alone at the water’s edge.

Tonowari joined you, slipping his arm around your waist.

“I was wrong about many things,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head. “And right about one.”

He smiled. “Choosing you.”

You leaned into him, watching the moonlight ripple across the reef.

And there beneath Eywa’s stars, with the sea breathing steadily around you you understood something deeply, truly, finally:

Love did not need to be loud to be real.

It only needed to be seen.

And this timey

─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ───────── A/N: I reaallly like this one. Most likely because it got a lot of Simon interactions. I hope you will like it as well :) Also! We finally have masterlist for this one! Yippe! ─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ───────

Tags: IRON LUNG SPOILERS!!! Convict!Simon x Convict!Reader, reader is also an Eden Member, Reader is gender neutral, no mentions or descriptions of Y/N, Childhood best friends, slow burn, Angst, Comfort (?), Swearing, mention of violence, Religion based trauma, trauma in general, character death, Blood (ocean), I'll add more in the future.

MASTERLIST

Part 5 | Part 6

Word count: 5.4k

The process of patching up was long and uncomfortable. 

You definitely had an injury in your shoulder – this one being the most painful and annoying. It turned out that, eventually, your humerus had displaced from the socket. You had to bite down on the sleeve of your jacket as Simon pushed it back into place. 

Let’s just say it was... really unpleasant. 

Aside from the painful shoulder, you also had some nasty bruises. No broken bones, but the damage would take time to heal. 

Simon was in an even worse situation. Aside from bruises of his own, he likely had something broken in his forearm. A split lip. A gash on the side of his forehead. The list went on. 

More so, as the adrenaline wore off, you became more aware of the aching pain all over your body. Suddenly, taking off your shirt turned out to be one of the hardest tasks. 

As awkward as it was, both of you needed each other’s help. You could see the damage with the naked eye – not to mention any potential internal injuries. You’d have to be very lucky to avoid broken ribs. 

Most of it was done in silence. To provide at least a bit of privacy, both of you sat back-to-back. Occasionally passing bandages to each other, trying not to invade each other’s space. 

There was one moment when you failed. Unconsciously, as you turned slightly to hand Simon the tape, your eyes drifted to his bruised back. 

Something clenched in your stomach. Even if you looked away a second later, the image burned into your mind – so similar to the memories from Eden. 

Just how many times had he endured pain like this? 

Neither of you rushed. Neither of you spoke. Even if the weight of the upcoming conversation made your heart heavy, you could spare some time just for yourself. 

Conversation could wait. Bleeding gashes on his arms wouldn’t. 

Aching but patched up, both of you just... were. Still, with your backs turned to each other, you wondered: what even can you say? 

Despite your past feelings toward Simon, there were so many issues. You missed him. But you also hated the choices he made. Did that mean you also hated him? 

No, not really. At the same time, could the two of you revive whatever had died between you? Or was it buried so deep that even the bodies underneath the soil couldn’t reach it? 

Would he want to revive it, or keep it dead? 

“…You said you wanted to talk.” eventually he was the first to speak. His voice was gravelly, raspy at the edges of words; tired, exhausted even. Almost like whatever corpse lay between you was rotting inside his own mind. 

You clenched your jaw, fingers tugging at the bandage over your elbow. 

“…I still do.” 

You remained silent. It felt… horrible, to say the least. There were so many things you wanted to say and ask, but how could you even start? 

“I don’t understand.” you finally said. It felt vague but honest – because you genuinely didn’t understand. You didn’t understand his behavior. You didn’t understand what got into you back then to say all those horrible things. You didn’t understand your own emotions, let alone his. 

“…Don’t understand what?” Simon mumbled back, his tone lowering at the question. 

You clicked your tongue, trying to focus on one thing at a time. 

“I don’t understand – this. I don’t understand what happened between us, why you left–” 

It was his turn to click his tongue. “I left? I had a mission.” 

“I’m not talking about the mission. I’m talking about before it–!” You shook your head, finally turning around. You stared at his bare back, the black strap of his harness blending with the dark bruises covering his skin. Something clenched in your chest again. 

“Before?” He also turned around – his brows furrowing, teeth showing. This was not a good sign. 

“Do you want me to remind you what happened before? How you fucking spat in my face and turned away first?” 

“Me? Simon, it was you who suddenly cut me out entirely!” 

“I had my reasons.” 

“Care to enlighten me, then?” This conversation was getting way too heated, and that’s not how you wanted it to go. 

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.” He shot back, the walls slowly growing around him as he pulled back further. You wouldn’t allow it this time. 

“Yes, you do! All the way back to Eden, you suddenly just– stopped. Stopped talking to me, stopped spending time with me, stopped everything! Sorry that I can’t read your fucking mind and see the reasons you refuse to tell me. If there was something going on, you could’ve just told me!” You threw your hands above your head, causing a sharp pain in your shoulder. You ignored it. 

“What talking to you would even do, huh? Fucking nothing. You’re not my fucking parent.” 

“I don’t want to be your parent. I want to understand what was going through your head.” This was getting ridiculous – both of you throwing words around like children having a tantrum. 

“Maybe I don’t want to tell you my thoughts.” he shot back. 

“Ugh, you–!” You hid your face in your hands, frustrated. Was he always this difficult? 

“Is ti what I said? It is, isn’t it?” 

“What the fuck are you on about now?” Simon frowned even more, huffing. 

“I said and did terrible things, and I’m sorry for that. But that still doesn’t explain why you just decided to leave me in the dark like this!” 

“I said I had my reasons.” 

“Reasons? And what could those be? Simon, you basically cut me out of your life and started pretending I never even existed!” 

“Jesus Christ– I wanted to protect you, okay?” he snapped suddenly. His voice bouncing off the metal walls made you freeze. 

“I wanted to fucking protect you from all that mess– from what they did to me and to many others! Because if they knew we were still close, they’d turn you into this.” He gestured to himself with the most unreadable expression he could manage – fear? Regret? Anger? Guilt? 

Shortly, he let out a heavy breath. “I stopped talking to you because you were a distraction.” 

No matter what anyone might say, you always tried to keep your composure. After all, basing your opinions on extreme emotions was never a good idea. You’d made your mistakes, said things you shouldn’t have– but you always tried to stay level-headed. 

Not this time, though. 

“Excuse me? Are you kidding me?” you snarled. Before you even realized it, you stood up, furious. 

“Distraction? Protection?! I never asked for protection– not in this! You just made up your mind without even asking for my opinion!” 

“What did you think I could say, huh? What could possibly make this situation better than this fucking mess?” 

“Oh, I don’t know– maybe anything!?” You started pacing from one wall to another, your own body suddenly too active. 

“Anything would be better than whatever you did! At least one fucking word isntead of just nothing!” 

“That’s what you’re angry about? Didn’t you were the one call me fucking Butcher?!” 

He got up too. He was taller and broader than you, but that never mattered to you. With the time you spent with him in the past, the size difference no longer intimidated you. 

“Yes, but I’m sorry! I was mad, sad, scared, confused– everything all at once, ever since my best friend decided he didn’t want to know me anymore!” 

“I didn’t– oh, fuck this.” He said, suddenly all the tension leaving him like a balloon deflating. He sat back down, his back pressed against the cold wall of the control panel. 

He was clearly trying to stay calm. More than that, he seemed like he was struggling – he always had trouble talking about his feelings, especially feelings as complicated as these. 

“I was scared.” His tone was much quieter than before. 

“I was scared that you– that they’d take away the only thing I cared about. That they’d change you, too. That they’d–” He raised his hands, making a twisting motion. “–break you, like everyone else. I don’t know what’s right or wrong anymore, okay? And putting distance between us felt like the safest option.” You stood above him, listening as he poured out his heart for the first in...ever. He’d never truly told you his feelings, and you’d never forced him. 

“…If they knew how important you were to me, they’d do the same thing they did to my mother.” 

Your anger slowly faded. With a storm of thoughts swirling in your mind, you took a step closer. Then another. And another. Soon enough, you sat beside him near the wall – close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body, yet far enough to keep some distance. 

You took a deep breath. “…From my perspective, it looked like I was about to lose you.” 

It was your turn to speak. “I was… so confused. You were the only person I’d ever been this close with since the Quiet Rapture, and you suddenly pulling away felt like a stab in the back. But that still doesn’t justify what I said. I’m sorry.” You turned your head slightly to look at his face. His eyes were closed, but from the movement of his eyelids, you knew he was listening. 

“I promised I’d never leave, and I ended up doing something even worse. I shouldn’t have thrown that in your face. But please– don’t just leave me in the dark like that.” At this point, you were desperate – desperate for him, in every sense of the word. Desperate for his forgiveness, his understanding, for what you used to have. 

You watched him fiddle with his clothes – the knife sheath still sewn into the fabric of his hoodie. His thumb caressed the buttons again. 

“…I’m not the person I used to be,” he whispered. 

You only shook your head gently. 

“You don’t have to be.” I’d learn how to be with you, over and over again if necessary. 

Both of you sat there in silence for a long moment. The tension no longer threatened to snap. Eventually, he raised his gaze to meet yours, holding eye contact. 

“I’m… sorry, too.” It was weak but honest. 

“Apology accepted.” In another world, this might have been the worst decision you’d ever made. But how long could you hold a grudge? It had been eating you from the inside for months. You just couldn’t bring yourself to care anymore. 

In some way, the argument felt… right. Like something you had to go through to realize your mistakes. It wasn’t perfect, and this little line of connection wasn't nearly as close to the friendship you two used to have. 

But it was a good start. 

“…What now?” 

Simon let out a long breath through his nose. He looked back at the knife sheath, his hands clenching over the leather. 

“We’re not dying down here.” 

With that, he ripped the sheath out of his hoodie. 

.

.

.

Patching up helped a lot. Semi-recharged and ready, both of you had some kind of plan. Well… if you could even call it plan. 

The idea was simple: survive and reach the surface. Easy enough. 

“Ah… we’re fucked.” Simon’s rather matter-of-fact tone caught your attention. You had just finished tying your shoes. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, walking over and glancing at the panel. The display read X: 702.07 and Y: 652.77. Which meant you two were… way off the map’s coordinates. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah. ‘Oh’ is a good way to describe it.” Simon shook his head slightly, tapping his chin as if it might help him think of an idea. 

You, on the other hand, had a small realization. Reaching into your trousers pocket, you pulled out the little message you two had found earlier. The smudged words ‘Cross the wires’ still written on one side of the paper, while the other side was… part of some text. 

Manuals! 

You immediately crouched near the bag by the panel, grabbing the first manual within reach. Flipping through the papers, you eventually found what you were looking for – a page missing its bottom edge and corner. The shape of the note fit perfectly into the rip. 

Bingo. 

You didn’t have a map of this specific place? Well, you could make one. 

With some quick lines of the pencil and proper matching to the real map, you created a makeshift panel to plot your course. The CO.I. wouldn’t have to know you ripped a few pages out of the manuals, right? Taping it to the side wall, you got yourself easy map design. 

You spread the tasks. Simon would steer the submarine while you took photos every few seconds and try to line out the path with his directions. Seemed solid enough for now. 

First, you needed to determine your current location. As Simon adjusted the submarine’s angle, you moved back and forth between the map and the camera button, sketching your surroundings. 

“Wall?” 

“Wall.” you nodded, sliding charcoal over the paper. 

“Again, 90 degrees.” 

“On it.” The click of the angle switch confirmed his words. The submarine turned once more, completing half a circle. You pressed the button, fiddling with the pencil. 

Honestly, this little plan wasn’t so bad. Simon was always better at keeping track of numbers and– 

Your pencil suddenly dropped to the ground. 

It was right in front of the submarine – staring right back at the camera lens like it was nothing. Small, dull eyes reflecting the flash’s light. Its body deformed in ways it shouldn’t be possible, with teeth longer than your entire body. Long, sharp, way too many. It was so close it almost filled the entire frame of the photo. 

You were cruelly reminded of the harsh reality you faced, the environment you had found yourself in – and that you weren’t, in fact, the only residents here at this moment. 

It looked like something straight out of a nightmare. But it wasn’t just a nightmare, no matter how badly you wished it to be. 

“Is it a wall, or–?” Simon turned, noticing you completely frozen. You didn’t even realize he tilted his head in confusion before he looked at the photo too. 

He froze, just like you. 

The sound of blood moving outside made your heart drop even further – at this point, it wasn’t even in your stomach but rather at your ass. 

You hurriedly pressed the button again – the next photo, of course, was different. This… this thing moved away. Now partly hidden by the darkness of the tunnel behind it. Even if it was further away, those two glowing eyes were still entirely focused on you – as if it could see through the photo itself. 

You pressed the button for a third time – and the creature was gone. All the image showed were two tunnels, most likely leading to wherever this creature had gone. 

And you weren’t exactly eager to follow it, either. 

“…Sure… yeah. Good.” you muttered, staring at the shielded window of the submarine. The crack in the glass did nothing to calm your shaky breath. 

“Just– don’t mind us! We’re just trying to go home.” Talking to this thing felt ridiculous. But when did anything make sense at the bottom of a Blood Ocean? 

“Just… pretend like we’re not even here.” Simon added his part. Because, as terrifying as this creature was, maybe it was intelligent? You didn’t know if it was good or bad. 

But if it was – and if it could understand you – maybe it would be nice? 

…Maybe? 

They do say to not judge book by its very teethy cover, so... 

“I’m sure they’re falling over themselves trying to find us.” Simon grumbled quietly, checking the coordinates again. 

“…On the bright side, we still have some time.” Pretending to be positive felt like the most idiotic thing you could do right now. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

“I can already imagine the look on the Captain’s face – seeing the great Simon and ___ still alive.” 

“Oh, she’ll be delighted. Two of the worst fuckers still kicking around." His words made you chuckle. It's been a while since anything made you chuckle. 

Somehow, even in the face of the most terrifying creature ever to exist, Simon still managed to make you smile. What a dork. 

The hours began to blend together. You lost count of how many times you clicked the camera button, how many lines you scribbled on the paper, and how many times you repeated the same path from point A to point B. (You tried your best not to think about all the weird alien shit you’d seen from time to time.) 

Luckily, the movement kept you conscious. It kept your tired mind busy and active, even if the idea of a nap was starting to look really tempting. At this point, even the metal floor would be enough of a bed for you. 

Yet, you pushed forward. Push the button, go to the wall, line up the path, come back to the camera. Repeating it somehow calmed your nerves – a little routine working miracles. 

“You know, I’ve been wondering... where did they even get the map of this place to begin with?” you said, eyes focused on yet another image – only darkness and ocean floor this time. Good enough. 

As the image faded away, you made your way to the paper. So far, you’d mapped out a good portion of this area. With some curved tunnels and dead ends as well. 

“Didn’t the Captain say they only had surface scans? I mean, I know her whole bullshit about us being the first ones done was a lie, but– Simon?” After a moment of rambling, you realized he hadn’t said anything in some time. You glanced at him – still seated in his chair, hand resting steadily on the control lever. 

“Simon, you good?” When no response came your way, anxiety immediately filled your stomach. Suddenly, the distance warning flashed on the panel. The light starting to flicker rapidly at the front of an arrow as the submarine was about to hit something head-on. 

“Simon!” You crossed the distance in few long steps, pushing the lever back. Only then did you notice him jerking awake. 

The submarine only bumped against something, thanks to your quick reaction preventing a serious collision. 

Simon, on the other hand, seemed disoriented. Blinking and looking around, it looked like he had just woken up. Which, in fact, was true – poor guy must have fallen asleep sitting up from exhaustion. 

“Hey, hey, look at me. You okay?” You placed your hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. 

He nodded, consciousness returning to him. His forehead was glistening with sweat. During that brief moment unconsciousness, he must have had a dream – and whatever it was, it was probably not pleasant. 

“Yeah, uh– sorry. I guess I just…” 

“It’s okay. Just– Jesus, don’t scare me like that. You could have just told me you were tired. We could’ve taken a break.” Naturally, he shook his head right away. Typical. 

“No, no. I’m fine. I’m okay. We can’t waste too much time.” 

“Bullshit.” You shook your head too, letting go of his shoulder. Hands on your hips, you looked down at him with disapproval. 

You couldn’t blame him for needing a nap when your own brain had been screaming for rest for the last few hours. But you could blame him for pretending that he didn't need rest. 

Simon ignored your half-hearted glare, focusing instead on the flashing light on the panel. Whatever the submarine had collided with was still there – most likely a wall or rock structure. 

Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check, right? 

This time, it was him taking a photo. And the image was… rather questionable. 

“What the hell is that?” you asked, glancing at the picture yourself – seeing… well, something for sure. 

It wasn’t a wall or any rock formation. It seemed pill-shaped – filling the entire frame due to how close it was to the camera. 

“Hold on–” Simon quickly stepped up to the panel to pull the lever back. The submarine backed up slightly, gaining distance for a better shot. 

The first thing you noticed was the big hole. The next was the clearly welded-on sign: SM-8. 

It didn’t take long for you to connect the dots – it was a submarine. 

Completely ripped apart, its empty guts on display. 

You two were the first down here, huh? 

“Initiating diagnostics checkup.” a voice spoke behind you, almost making you jump out of your skin. 

Your first thought was that it was the C.O.I. – regaining the connection and finally reaching you. But the movement at the corner of your eye proved you wrong; it was the deck computer doing… something. 

First, some text appeared along with popout windows – then a robotic voice reporting every individual failure of the recovery program. Engine – fail. Oxygen – fail. Fuel – fail. Every program that could exist had failed, except for the battery status, which was listed as low. 

‘Initiating black box recovery program.’ 

‘Inefficient privileges. Leave the area immediately or surround yourself to the council authorities.’ 

“What… the fuck?” you and Simon exchanged glances. He stared at you; you stared at him. Then both of you looked at the computer screen. It was trying to connect to the black of SM-8. 

Simon approached the computer. Trying a few potential passwords that might have worked (though using “Password” and “Password1” weren’t his brightest moments) you found nothing worked. 

“Uhm, Simon–?” you started, seeing him reach for the cables still visible on the side of the panel. 

“Simon, I don’t think this is a good idea–” Before you could finish, sparks suddenly flew, and Simon jumped back, holding his hand with a loud curse. 

Even more windows popped out, accompanied by a cacophony of mixed sounds and recordings filling the cramped space. Way too much sounds for your own liking. 

“Jesus, you okay?!” 

“Fucking shit!” Simon snarled, reacting in frustration – smashing his hand against the keyboard. 

In a moment of anger, instead of hitting the keyboard again, he swung his hand over a spherical device, causing yet another window to appear on the screen. Soon, every picture you’d taken flashed before your eyes, each one numbered in chronological order. 

The images flickered one by one, eventually slowing down along with the sphere’s momentum. 

Finally, it stopped on one photo – one you didn’t recognize. It must have been taken when you and Simon hadn’t paid it much mind. Maybe when you used the camera purely for lighting inside the sub? 

It showed this… horrific creature again. This time, it was its tail. The grainy picture did little to highlight details, but perhaps that was for the best – the twisted shapes of human hands and legs were already enough to make your stomach drop. 

It seemed to be in motion – swimming into whatever hellhole it came from. 

Your body moved on its own. Hand hesitantly resting on the sphere, you started scrolling through the photos. Some you recognized, others seemed new – but they weren’t actually new; you simply hadn’t seen them at the time. 

Some images showed walls; others, lonely branches resting on the floor of the seabed. But one particular photo made you stop and focus. 

The idea of the camera being an X-ray wasn’t new after all. The unfortunate incident with the flash had shown just how efficient – and dangerous – this camera could be. 

X-rays could see through flesh. And somehow, at some point, you’d taken a photo of something's spinal cord. Twisted lines and shapes clearly outlining the spine and ribs. 

You didn’t even realize your ears ringing when another clicking sound came from the front panel of the submarine. 

Both you and Simon jumped again, immediately turning toward the front of the hull. The warning light sped up, slowed down, sped up again – just to disappear as if it had never been there in the first place. 

You swallowed thickly, your dry throat barely helped by the act. “…Let’s just… keep going.” you muttered, glancing one last time at the computer screen. Simon looked just as nervous as you, and in a final act of frustration, he slammed his hand against the sphere once more. 

“Not our problem.” he grumbled, moving back to sit in the chair. 

“What are the coordinates now?” you asked, trying to change the subject – needing anything to distract your anxious mind. 

“We’re at… Uhh… X: 725.57 and Y: 501.36.” 

You blinked, pencil hovering over the paper. 

“Wait, what?” you asked, turning to him with wide eyes. You looked back at the numbers on the panel, then at your makeshift map... and bang your forehead against the wall. 

“…We just made a circle.” 

“What?” Simon stood up from his chair and walked over. You took a step back to give him a room to look. The coordinates didn’t lie – along with your carefully drawn lines. Whatever section of this maze you two had found yourselves in, it was like a tunnel network – each possible way out either too small for your submarine or a dead end. And some spots you’d rather not think about, full of that ‘alien shit.’ In the end, all the routes you did managed to go through led you back here; all the way where you started. 

“Fucking God… Do you think we should go around again?” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea… We haven’t found any proper way out anyway.” you said, rubbing your temples as a headache started to creep in. No matter how optimistic you tried to be, the pressure was starting to get to you. Not only the pressure, but the hot air as well – you were basically boiling in your own clothes. 

Simon shook his head. “Then what are we supposed to do? Just wait for that thing to eat us?” 

“I don’t know.” you mumbled, your hands dropping to wrap around your own body for comfort. 

Simon seemed to notice your state. For a moment, he looked like he was about to say something... but just as quickly, he changed his mind. He paced back and forth, trying to think. When he finally stopped walking, you knew he had an idea. 

“There… could be one way we haven’t checked yet.” You blinked, confused. You followed him as he stepped to the computer, flicking through the images using the sphere again. 

He stopped on one: an image of two tunnels splitting into darkness – the tunnels where that horrible creature had gone to. 

“No,” you shook your head immediately. “No, we can’t. That’s– the worst idea you’ve ever had. And you thought pretending the bath was a swimming pool was fun. No–” in a split of second, you felt panic fogging your mind once more. He wanted to go there? After that that thing? 

“Listen– I know this is crazy, but what other choice do we have?” 

“No! Simon, please– I’m begging you– anything but this.” you said, starting to hyperventilate. Why did this feel like risking everything? You and Simon had been lucky so far. Even if that thing kept taunting you, it stayed on its own territory. Going into its domain would mean having to follow its rules. 

It suddenly got hard to breathe. Why was it hard to breathe? Why you're struggling to breathe?  

He softly called your name. The sound was so gentle it barely seemed like him. Through the fog of your own thoughts, you felt his hands rest on your shoulders – a warm weight that helped ground you. How long had it been since you felt any touch that didn’t cause pain? 

You didn’t even register when he stepped into your personal space, leaning forward slightly to meet your eyes. As your breathing quickened, seeing his face so close helped you focus on nothing else but him for once. 

“Come on. Three-second rule. Just breathe.” His voice was low but calm. You didn’t know what spell he’d just cast, but it helped stabilize your breathing just a little – or maybe it was just his effect on you, who knows. 

“I know this is scary. Shit, those are the most terrifying hours of my life. But listen– we promised each other something, right?” 

You managed to nod. When did your eyes start to water? 

“Exactly. We’ll live – and we’ll kick the ass of that arrogant woman leading the C.O.I., right?” 

“Christ…” You chuckled weakly. Your voice sounded shaky to your own ears. 

“Right?” he prompted. 

“Yes, right. We– we will live and kick the Captain’s ass.” 

“So you just have to bear with me.” His gaze held yours, and you couldn’t look away. It felt like his eyes held you hostage, never letting you pull away – deep brown eyes entirely focused on you. 

“We’ll take it slow. If anything dangerous appears, we’ll turn 180° so fast that this thing won’t even have a second to react. But let’s be honest – you’re smart. You know this is our only option now. And we can’t stay here much longer.” 

The roles had reversed. It was always you who was the voice of reason. Now, in this very moment, it was him – holding you together, both literally and metaphorically. 

You felt him squeeze your shoulders; not too tight, just enough to reassure you. You’re okay, you’re still alive. You still have a chance to get out of this. 

After a moment, you nodded. As badly you wanted to protest, he was right. It was your only choice. 

“…Okay.” You took a deep breath; three seconds in, three seconds held, three seconds out. 

Simon nodded too, then let go of your shoulders. He straightened up, turning to sit at the panel once more. You couldn’t help but notice how suddenly empty your space felt without him there. 

“And remember, if anything shady happens, let me know immediately. We’ll back out as fast as possible.” 

“…Okay,” you whispered. “Okay.” 

It took you quite some time to once again locate the two tunnels. Lots of counting and angle-matching, but eventually, you stared at the two black holes once more– the poor quality of the photo making them look even more menacing. 

You stared at them for a good few seconds, even after the image disappeared from the display. Whether you liked it or not… it really was your last potential chance. 

With some cooperative work, you angled the submarine just right. Taking a leap of faith, Simon pushed the lever forward, swimming into one of the tunnels. 

“…Seems clear so far.” you called out to him, carefully eyeing yet another photo. The space looked narrow, but big enough for your submarine to pass through. Of course, it had to be big. If that thing used it as its own path– no, stop thinking about it, dammit. 

As the submarine moved forward, you felt the pull of gravity pushing you back, which could only mean one thing: you were going uphill. You were gaining altitude – meaning you might have a chance to reconnect with the C.O.I. 

“Come on… come on.” you kept glancing at the radio. Anything– just please, anything! 

“How’s the path?” Simon called out again, glancing at you over his shoulder. You pushed the button again. 

“Clear! Though, it’s about to get steep.” you replied. 

“Alright, hold on just in case.” he responded. 

It was working. The depth meter was slowly rising. The green line was climbing higher and higher, approaching the edge of the red zone. 

You had to lean over the control panel, your boots nearly slipping on the metal flooring due to the steep incline. It was really working! 

Then, you heard it – the static of the radio, barely audible over the whirl of the submarine. 

And then- 

“…Hello?” 

“Yes!” Both you and Simon jumped from your spots. It was them! It was the C.O.I.! 

“Can you hear us? Hello? We’re here!” you called out, your voice cracking with sheer emotion. You almost started crying from happiness if not for– 

“...Who is this? Is this another trick?” 

“Trick? No, it’s– it’s us! We’re stuck here. Can you get us out?!” Simon shouted, his eyes just as wide as yours. 

The comms fell silent for a short moment. 

…Something was wrong. 

“…Ava? Is that you? Is that really you? Please, you– you gotta get us out of here! Just– just please, we can’t take it anymore!” 

Your smile dropped. It wasn’t the C.O.I. 

It was someone else – stuck in this ocean. 

Just like you. 

─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ───────── A/N:KOWABANGAAAAAAAA this one is a little different. SiMON'S POV BABYYYY ─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ─────────

Tags: IRON LUNG SPOILERS!!! Convict!Simon x Convict!Reader, reader is also an Eden Member, Reader is gender neutral, no mentions or descriptions of Y/N, Childhood best friends, slow burn, Angst, Comfort (?), Swearing, mention of violence, Religion based trauma, trauma in general, character death, Blood (ocean), I'll add more in the future.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Word Count: 5.4k

Simon POV:

Simon sat on the floor, his entire frame trembling. Heaving through waves of gasps and tears that left salty taste in his mouth. 

He couldn’t breathe. His throat was tightened by invisible hands, the pressure cutting out every single thought. Everything was so loud and bright – his brain steaming under the sensory overload. And yet, despite the pain in his lungs, he's been howling; crying for hours now, making sounds he didn’t even know he was capable of. 

She was gone. 

She was gone. She was gone. She was gone. She was gone. 

He held the knife hidden in its sheath so tightly that his nails left lines in the leather. The metal buttons were wet – his own tears dropping onto them and shining under the artificial light. This little trinket being the last thing he had in her memory. 

Every muscle in his body was tense, every hair was standing up. His head was filled with cotton; every sound muffled behind the screams. All he could see was one horrible image that would haunt him for the rest of his days. 

The sight of his mother being buried beneath the soil of the Last Tree. 

She promised she would stay. She promised she would always be with him, from the day he was born until the day they both would find new stars. She promised... and she still left him. Left the poor teenager in a world he no longer recognized. 

They were about to celebrate his fifteenth birthday. Since the cursed day of the Rapture, Eden had stopped caring about formalities like celebrations. Mister Walter didn’t exist anymore. In his place, a new man was born – stripping away his old name and empathy. Which was yet another reason for his mother insisting on celebrating his day. 

He'd train until he couldn’t stand anymore. Until his body screamed and burned with exhaustion. Until he couldn’t see the color of his own hands beneath the stains of red.  

She'd always protect him. Aside from the Father, his mother was one of the original caretakers of all the children in space. Unfortunately, the adults would vanish one by one – one day here, the next gone. Soon enough, even the children would connect the dots. 

But she was always there. Simon didn't knew how or why, but he was so damn grateful for it. Always with her arms around him when he cried from nightmares, always telling him that he's more than they're trying to turn him into. Always patching up his blistered hands or kissing his forehead when life itself became too much to bear. 

He learned how to hold a knife at age seven. How to properly strangle a person at age ten. 

He killed for the first time at age twelve. 

Sometimes, he could still see it – the blinking light in the distance, fighting to cut through the darkness of the empty universe. The dying stars, looking exactly like the dimming glint in the eyes of someone about to take their last breath. He’d sit alone under the tree for hours, weeping after yet another test, yet another torture. 

The Father would often remind them that the stars were dead, anyway. That the faint glow he still saw was just an echo of what once existed – traveling through time and space, just to vanish from the canvas of the galaxy. 

In those quiet moments, she would find him. Sit next to him, bring him close, and remind him of what truly mattered – her love for her sweet son, hoe incredible he was, how capable he could be. Sometimes it felt like empty words, but now, he'd give everything just to hear it again. 

But it was got so hard. So hard to still see the line between truth and lie, between love and despair. So hard to hold onto the part of himself that his mother helped him create, when the new Eden rules tugged at his soul just to rip it apart and glue back together for their own vision. 

Now she was gone. As he squirmed and banged his head against the wall, he could still see her unmoving face when he closed his eyes. Every time tears blurred his vision, that twisted image would turn into her dull gaze – once filled with brightness and love. 

The worst part was that he didn’t even know how she died. She was fine before. She was alright, alive, smiling at him just the day before – only to have her thread cut far too early. 

He wanted to scream. To rip apart everyone guilty of her death. To drop to his knees and never get up. To close his eyes and open them again, just to see his mom once more. He wanted to fight and give up at the same time. 

‘Don’t fear, my son. Her death is only a new beginning. Our lives do not belong to us – they are only here to create the new life after our deaths. She’ll become one with the soil, her limbs turning to branches and roots. That is the destiny of every child of Eden!’ 

He wanted to kill the Father on the spot. 

But he couldn’t – his already broken and reconstructed mind started to get used to the new realities. 

His body wasn’t his own. His hands, his legs, his very soul – none of it belonged to him anymore. The only thing he ever owned was the ability to choose: to bring new bodies into the world, or to become part of the soil himself. 

It’s been so difficult not to start believing in this new order. To not lost himself in this new set of things. After all, lie spoken thousands of times would eventually turn into a truth. 

Amidst his own feelings, a contact reached through the fog – a warm touch, so familiar yet new after all these years of hard treatment. Before he knew it, an even warmer body pressed against him, arms wrapping around his trembling form. 

For a second, he thought it was her – his mother once again sitting beside him, bringing him close like he was just a little boy. It felt familiar. It felt new. It felt like something he had known since birth. It felt like something he was about to learn. It felt like home. 

“Simon, I’m– I’m so sorry.” It wasn’t his mother. It was you. Maybe that’s why it felt so familiar but different. He didn’t even realize when his own arms wrapped around you, pulling you so close like he wanted to hide in your own body. 

He couldn’t speak. What could he say in this moment? That he already missed her? That the sight of his own dead mother shattered everything that was left of his past self into pieces? 

It took him a long time to calm down – even as the lights in the corridor turned off for the night. Still wrapped in your arms, he felt you move. One hand unclenching from his shirt just to gently run through his hair. 

In some way, he hated how immediately his body responded to the softness of your touch. 

When his breathing finally steadied, his arms dropped from the embrace. Now leaning on you, he felt like a deflated balloon. Tired, both emotionally and physically, all he managed was to mumble few words over and over again. 

“I don’t want to be alone.” 

“You won’t be.” you murmured back. One hand gently stroked his back, while the other kept him close. Running your fingers through his messy hair, you let him hide, disappear from the existence – as if the weight of the world didn’t matter. 

Here, he was just Simon – your Simon. 

“You won’t be alone.” you repeated softly. 

With that, you even kissed the top of his hair. He didn’t mention how, even in the ashes of his own emotions, it still made his heart flutter. 

“I promise.” 

. 

. 

. 

Even when Simon opened his eyes, he was met with darkness – just like during the days of his cell, often waking up long before the lights would turn on. 

As he slowly regained consciousness, the pain hit him immediately. A sharp sting in his chest and back with every shallow breath he took. It took him a few minutes to realize he wasn’t in his cell anymore. Memories flooded his aching mind – reminding him of the metal vessel he was trapped in. 

The silence was chilling. No crackle of the radio, no whir of engines – only him, the ringing in his ears, and the distant sound of blood moving outside the submarine. 

Right. He was still in the Blood Ocean. 

His body protested as he pulled himself upright. The green light from a button did nothing to illuminate the space, but at least it gave him some recognition. 

The radio was unresponsive – even when he called out. The sub was further than any connection could've reach. The memory of both of you being dragged deeper into the depths got etched into his skin, forming in a way of very uncomfortable bruises. 

Groaning to himself, he managed to get upright. Shaky on his feet, he struggled to keep his balance, his head spinning from adrenaline. He reached for the button, only to hiss at the blinding light. The sudden brightness didn’t help the pounding in his skull. 

As the photo appeared on the display, he was reminded once again of his circumstances: trapped deep within an unknown ocean – completely lost and cut off from any help. 

He felt something wet on his head. After another photo, he reached for his headband, only to see blood smears staining his fingers. Was it his, or did the submarine have a leak? 

Another photo, and he allowed himself to look around. So many things at once, and yet he couldn’t comprehend them all. As the submarine filled with temporary light, he saw you – lying flat on the ground, unmoving. 

For a moment, he forgot about the pain. 

“…Hey.” he called out softly at first, taking a step closer. No response. His heart pounded faster. 

Two parts of his brain fought. One was afraid – so fucking scared that after that hit, something had happened to you. After all, everywhere where Simon went, death was following right after him. Taking away his family and friends, often forcing him to watch as they all got put out like flame of the candle. 

The other part, the selfish, disgusting on, was ready to shrug it off. In some twisted way, he was almost happy to have the remaining oxygen for himself. Because you promised, and yet you left him alone in the past too. You left. Like his father, like his mother, and like everyone he ever cared about. This part got carefully stitched into him by the years spent in the Brotherhood. He hated himself for it. 

Still, he knelt beside you, reaching for the button again to get a better look at your face. You looked like you were just asleep – if not for the blood trailing from your nose and chin. 

“Hey.” he called more urgently, shaking your shoulder gently. 

Get up. Don’t get up. Please be alive. Please be gone. 

“Hey, please.” With a shaky hand, he reached for your neck. He froze for a few seconds, focusing on the feeling beneath his fingertips... a heartbeat. 

You were alive. 

“Oh, thank fuck.” he let out a shaky sigh of relief, hovering just above you. 

“Come on… wake up… please. Just – open your eyes, please...” He shook you again, harder this time. The numbness was slowly leaving his system, replaced by rising anxiety. 

You weren’t gone, right? You had to be okay. You had to be. 

Please, be okay. 

Finally, he heard a groan – your brow furrowing in pain, your eyes finally starting to flutter open in confusion. 

“Simon…?”  

“Jesus fucking Christ, don’t scare me like that–!”  

He hated how shaky his voice was. He hated that the fact you were awake again made him feel safer. 

He helped you sit up, one hand resting on your back a little longer than necessary. Checking your face, he noted every detail – the dried blood, the cuts, the bruises. Nothing seemed immediately life-threatening from what he could see... at least from the outside. 

“Take it easy. Just– breathe for now.” 

“…What the fuck happened?” your quiet voice made him freeze. It was the same tone he heard every time you were scared – this one sentence being enough to tug at his heart, despite all the emotional baggage between you. 

He swallowed thickly as the photo faded from the display. The green light from the button made you look even worse – the wetness in your eyes said more than words ever could. 

You weren’t just scared. You were terrified. And he’d lie if he said he wasn’t too. 

“…I think we’re trapped here,” he finally managed to say. The weight of the reality was impossible to ignore. Not knowing where you were or how much time had passed didn’t help either. 

He watched as your shoulders dropped. The atmosphere that followed his words was unbearable – even worse than the tense quiet you two shared before. It was filled with so many conflicted emotions and thoughts that Simon felt sick to his stomach. 

He didn’t even bother clicking the button again. The sight of your hunched posture in the darkness was enough to shatter his already broken heart. 

Suddenly, he heard a sniff, then a drip. Soon enough, he barely noticed tears rolling down your cheeks, dropping onto the metal plates of the floor. 

He felt so out of his element. So much time spent wondering about meeting you again, wondering if his anger would win against everything the two of you used to share. 

It’s been so long since he even saw your face – and suddenly he was trapped in those four walls with you, for Father knows how long. 

For a split second, all the memories came rushing back. Every moment the two of you shared in the simple, quiet moments. Every laugh, every tear shed. Every shared touch. 

He was never the type to comfort. But for you, he used to try – either awkwardly sitting beside you when words were too much, or poorly attempting to talk your ear off to take your mind off things. You always were the one who understood emotions better. 

He found himself caught in an internal struggle again. On one hand, he wasn’t supposed to care. You’d already shown him what you really thought of him long before he even met you at the C.O.I. 

On the other, he felt like something long gone had just reawakened – like the part of himself that died along his mother was suddenly back, something only you had ever been able to bring out. 

The old, forgotten realization hit him once more: he always wanted to protect you – even if from himself. 

So he did the first thing that felt right – slowly reaching out, as if afraid you’d jerk away instantly. When you didn’t, he placed his hands on your shoulders and gently pulled you in. He set your head on his shoulder, in an awkward half-hug, arm wrapped around your middle. Just like you used to do with him. 

His mind kept screaming at him to push you away – that this no longer mattered, that in the end he’d end up alone anyway. For once, he didn’t listen. 

He let you cry. It wasn’t as destructive as his tantrums; it was quiet, almost reserved. He suddenly remembered how often you’d hide away from everyone, just to avoid causing too much trouble with your emotions. 

It didn’t feel right, but it didn’t feel wrong either – like a silver lining between time and space itself – the first real human touch he’d felt in a long time. 

He repeated your own pattern. He didn’t speak unless it was necessary. He kept his hand on your back, gently guiding it up and down. He let you exist without any real reason. 

And god fucking dammit, as hard as it was to admit – he missed your warmth. 

Unfortunately, the stillness didn’t last long. He let you pull away, watching as you tried to compose yourself. Whatever had existed between the two of you before disappeared just as quickly as it had come. He pushed away the thought of sudden, unbearable space between you. 

“…So, what now?" Your voice was so small, shaking at the last sounds of words. Why all those memories keep on coming back to him now? 

"What are we going to do–?” A sudden flash cut you off mid-sentence. 

Both of you immediately looked down as a weak flickering light appeared under the floor – a hatch. 

Simon moved quickly, shifting to get a better look at the new discovery. Sparks and electrical arcs flickered, a small sign that there was still a chance to regain power. 

Fortunately for him, he didn’t even have to ask – you already moved to push the button. He tugged on the hatch a few times, but it was no use. Screwed shut. 

“Do we have anything to open this thing?” Simon grumbled, watching as the light from the photo dimmed again. You pressed the button once more, giving both of you a moment to look around – before you spotted something. 

“…Hold on.” you muttered, catching his attention. As he saw you stand up, he had to bite his tongue to avoid protesting due to your potential injuries.  Another internal reminder: You shouldn’t care – you two aren't friends anymore. 

He watched as you carefully examined the edges of one of the corners. In the end, what appeared to be an oddly shaped metal wall turned out to be a locker. Inside, there was a protective vest (just one, despite there being two of you in the submarine), a roll of spare cables and wires, and a yellow box. 

You sat on the floor next to him, the image on the wall casting temporary light around the two of you again. 

The yellow box seemed to be some sort of emergency rations. Bandages, scissors, a small jar of disinfectant, and– 

“…We had water this whole time?” you whispered, grabbing the metal bottle – the H₂O symbol on its cap almost mocking you. 

Right then, Simon was reminded of how dry his throat was. How long had it been since they’d had a good sip? Hours? Maybe even days? 

He didn’t say anything as you unscrewed the cap and drank your half of the water. Once it was his turn, he did so on autopilot – his dehydrated body craving at least a small relief. After making sure no drip was left behind, you moved on to action. Looking through the box, you grabbed onto scissors again. 

“…It’s better than nothing,” you said, shrugging. His lips twitched into a faint smile. Simon was grateful for the darkness making it unnoticeable. 

Simon kept the photos going to light up the space as you unscrewed the panel. Finally, after removing it, both of you were met with… even more darkness. Most likely hiding the manual start of the engine. 

“…Oh, fuck that,” he muttered. 

“Wait, what about the vest?” you asked, immediately reaching for the orange vest. It had a built-in light that would turn on under water. 

But as Simon grabbed the vest and the water bottle… not a single drop came out. Right. 

Both of you stared at each other for a moment before Simon banged the empty bottle against his forehead. He’s a fucking idiot. 

“You stupid piece of shit, of course you had to chug the whole thing–” He sent the bottle clattering to the floor, leaning back against the wall with camera button. 

He didn't had to see your face to be sure you were judging him hard right now. 

In a moment of desperation – or maybe just a moment of clarity – he spat on the light. A second later, it flickered on, flashing right in his face. 

“…This works too.” your blunt comment made him huff in something resembling amusement. 

After agreeing that he’d crawl down and you’d stay by the button, Simon couldn’t help but think how ridiculous your circumstances were. 

Long-lost friends suddenly forced to cooperate in the most fucked-up situation he could imagine. This was even worse than those books his mom used to read. 

“…Don’t get stuck down there, okay? I won’t be pulling you out.” you said, the little threat holding no weight to it. In some way, it even appeared as an attempt of a joke. At the same time, he was much bigger than you, so the idea of getting stuck in an even smaller space didn’t seem so funny on its own. 

“…If something happens, I’ll just keep banging on the pipes until you lose your goddamn mind. Then we’ll be even.” he replied, not even sure why he responded with a joke of his own. It felt so out of place – and yet, old habits die hard. 

As he convinced himself that the little snort you gave didn’t make him feel anything, he began to crawl – the narrow, straight path making him feel even more claustrophobic. 

The small light on the vest did shit, but it was better than nothing. With you standing near the button, at least the flashes from the photos would reach through the crates and light his way. 

Barely few minutes have passed, and he could already feel the sweat washing down his forehead. Crawling forward on his stomach, his broad frame made navigation especially difficult. 

In reality, it would be much better if you were the one crawling here. At the same time, he didn’t want to force you into any more trouble than necessary. 

Again, he shouldn’t care. But of course, he still did. 

Too bad it was most likely for nothing. 

Finally reaching the end of the narrow passage, what he found wasn’t the emergency engine restart. The groan he let out seemed to catch your attention. 

“Something’s wrong?” your distant voice echoed through the small corridor. 

“All that to find the fucking black box… Damnit!” he exclaimed. 

“Maybe it’s on the other side?” you suggested. 

“Fucking shit– couldn’t you have said that before I got all the way here?” he huffed back. 

“Hey, you were the one who thought it was all the way back there, not me,” you shot back. 

“Yeah, yeah, just shut up, will you?” 

“Sure, Mister Engineer.” you replied, the sarcasm he knew so well clear. 

It was so strange. He kept repeating this to himself, but somehow, every minute brought yet another thing to surprise him, 

Even after everything, you were holding an actual conversation. More than that – you were bantering. Shouldn’t you guys want to claw each other’s throats at this point? 

It took him a lot of effort and even more grumbled curses before he managed to turn around in the small space. 

If the emergency engine didn’t turn out to be on the other side, he’d get really creative with his swearing. 

“You’re doing good out there?” you called out again, a soft smile audible in your tone. 

“Shut the fuck up.” He heard you chuckle. 

Finally, after way too much struggle, he reached the other end. The emergency engine start was practically near the hatch you managed to open. Oh for fuck's sake– 

A few sparks had appeared from the electrical box, cables clearly unstable. He leaned more onto his side to reach for the lever, internally begging for this piece of junk to work. 

He pulled once, twice, thrice, four, five times – until his wrist started to ache. Finally, a button unleashed itself. And to his sweet relief, once he pushed it, the engine whirled to life. 

“Jesus, you did it–!” your voice from above made him sigh in relief. Casting a glance behind him, seeing all the lights come back on, he let out a short laugh. 

“Thank fuck…” 

He got out with your help, more than happy to be out of this way-too-claustrophobic space. He even had a soft smile on his lips as he turned to you. 

“Hey, on the bright side, you didn’t actually get stuck in the–” The warning light flickering cut you off mid-sentence. Something was right in front of the sub. 

Both of you looked at the panel – only to see a gigantic, bloody red eye staring right back at you through the uncovered window of the submarine. 

He swore he felt his heart drop to his stomach. 

It blinked at both of you before pulling away from the glass. This a massive body of something moved. Its flesh pressed right up against the window, causing the entire exterior of the submarine to shake once again. It moved slowly, almost warningly, its movement going up and over the submarine. 

Then, you two heard a crack. 

‘Hull breach. Hull breach. Hull breach. Hull breach.’ 

Simon didn’t know which was worse – the monster you two had just seen, or the crack that was rapidly forming on the glass. 

He didn’t think. He just moved. 

He ran up to the panel, immediately switching the porthole shielding on. Both of you watched as the crack and shield raced to the top of the window. In the end, the shield won – reaching the top just before the window could burst open – except for a splash of blood that managed to get through, right onto Simon's face. 

“Shit, Simon! You alright?” he heard your words, but they quickly disappeared behind the ringing in his ears. He saw your mouth moving, felt your hands on his arm, but he couldn’t respond – the situation bringing him to his limit once more. 

The blood on his face felt hot. He was more than aware of the liquid trailing down his face. It felt like fire was crawling down his skin, leaving burning marks like the one on his neck. 

It was hot – way too hot. Why was it so ho– 

‘Hull breach. Hull breach. Hull breach. Fire. Hull breach. Fire. Hull breach. Fire.’ 

“Simon, for fuck’s sake!” your ear-splitting scream pulled him out of the trance. It wasn’t just blood that was hot – the back of the submarine was on fire. You were panicking, struggling to pull out the extinguisher from its holder. 

Feeling the heat of flames suddenly licking at his skin, he rushed to grab the fire extinguisher himself, using way too much force to get it out. Pulling out the safety lock, he sprayed the nozzle. The heat eventually faltered – the fire clearly tried to fight back, but it died out under his quick action. 

'Hull breach. Hull breach. Hull breach' 

Simon stood there, still staring at the hatch that just burned few seconds ago. 

'Hull breach. Hull breach. Hull breach. 

It was too much. Too fucking much. He was barely holding himself together. 

‘Hull breach. Hull breach. Hull breach. Hull breach.’ 

Nothing else reached him – not your urgent tone, not even the shaky feeling of your hands. 

'Hull breach. Hull breach. Hull breach. 

He had held it together for so long. It wasn’t just frustration at the submarine itself – it was like all the anger he’d buried deep inside exploded in an instant. 

'Hull breach. Hull breach. Hu–' 

He snapped. 

“Shut the fuck up!” he swung the fire extinguisher before he could even think. The metal bottle struck the radio with a heavy hit and loud bang, leaving a big dent in the speaker. 

He didn’t care anymore. He just screamed. 

For the first time in too long, he allowed himself to break. The anger accumulated over months in the cell finally boiled over. He was angry, he was scared – and on top of that, they had welded him in with no one else but you. 

...Right. You. 

The cold regret washed over him in the next second. He whipped his head up just to freeze. The moment he saw your face, all the frustration just left him; leaving him empty and ashamed. 

Your eyes were wide, your mouth hanging open. Hands frozen in mid-air, scared to move even the slightest bit. You seemed terrified of him. 

You’d never looked at him that way before. 

The mechanical voice of the radio was gone. But at what cost? 

He did it again. He fucked up. 

Simon eventually collapsed on the ground, his movements sluggish as his body reminded him of every injury. He couldn’t look you in the eyes again – not after this. Not after the proof of the monster he’d become. 

With his head low and shoulders tense, he reached for the only comfort he still had: the knife sheath attached to the hoodie he’d taken off earlier. 

Maybe they were right. Maybe, if his mother were still alive, all she’d see was the murderer her son had become. 

Maybe she’d look at him the same way you were looking at him now. 

He didn’t look up when you approached. Mentally, he prepared himself for insults, for reminders that he should control himself. After all, what was left of his old self? Nothing but ashes – just a corpse of a man he used to be. Nothing but the Butcher remaining. 

“…I’m sorry.” It was quiet. His voice barely rose above the hum of machinery, feeling like he was a child yet again. 

No apology could fix this. No words could repair the bridge he’d just burned. What were you thinking about him now? That all the rumors Eden spread was true? That all he ever left behind was blood, death, and destru– 

“It’s okay.” Your voice was just as quiet. Not filled with shame like his, but soft. No a mocking tone, to his own surprise. 

“It was… more than expected, at some point. I don’t blame you for the outburst.” 

“…You should.” he muttered, his thumb running over the shiny buttons of the sheath – a habit he’d developed since his mother died, trying to mimic the way she’d caress his cheeks. 

“But I don’t.” you said firmly. Simon clicked his tongue in newly born irritation. This time, it wasn’t caused by any annoying sound or monster, but by his own stupid mind. He wasn’t mad at you – he was mad at himself. Here you were, still trying to connect with the shell of a man, and all he could do was just push you away. Pathetic. 

“…Stop babying me.” he grumbled defensively. Stop ruining everything – they’re just trying to help. 

“I’m not babying you. All I’m saying is that I understand.” you replied. He could feel your eyes on him. It felt even worse than the blood already drying on his brow. 

“…You always do that,” he muttered, his voice weak again. He had no strength left to fight even his own thoughts anymore. 

“...Do what?” 

“Mess with my fucking head.” He finally looked up at you. From your expression, he guessed he must look really awful – tired, bloody, sweaty, and on the verge of breaking down. 

“You always do that. You– you somehow always manage to work me out in the worst way possible, and I have no idea how you even do that. What the fuck do you even want from me?” He didn’t mean to sound so defensive. To be honest, he was more than thankful – yet just as confused. Topo bad he was an ass in showing it. 

Because why did a simple look from you, could make his chest ache even more? 

Why couldn’t he hate you when he really wanted to? 

Why was he still caring? 

Why were you still trying? 

You two stared at each other for a long moment. Once again, the weight of unspoken words hung in the air. He held your gaze – even if it made him tremble physically. 

Finally, you shifted position, sitting directly in front of him – slowly and steadily, as if you had all the time in the world. 

“…I want to finally talk with you. About everything. About Filament Station, about Eden. ...About us. Because, sorry, but I can’t read your mind.” 

There it was. Simon opened the box, and the cat turned out to be dead – facing him with the same fate he’d tried so desperately to avoid. 

He let out a long breath that made him visibly deflate. He’d thought about this moment so many times – and now, with it finally at hand, he felt more powerless than ever. 

What could he even say? What could even possibly explain the mess of his own fucked-up mind? 

“…Alright.” he eventually nodded slowly. His eyes finally dropped from your face to the knife sheath in his right hand, just to move to the seed coated in resin on his left. Two physical embodiments of the never-ending war inside his own head. 

“…Let’s get patched up. And then we’ll talk.” 

─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ───────── A/N: I know I said the real fun will start in this chapter, but please, bare with me... this one was a real handfull to write, sorry for such a long wait! Another long one :) ─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ─────────

Tags: IRON LUNG SPOILERS!!! Convict!Simon x Convict!Reader, reader is also an Eden Member, Reader is gender neutral, no mentions or descriptions of Y/N, Childhood best friends, slow burn, Angst, Comfort (?), Swearing, mention of violence, Religion based trauma, trauma in general, character death, Blood (ocean), I'll add more in the future.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Word count: 6.8k More under the cut!

─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ───────── A/N: You have no idea how excited I am for the layout of this story I've already planned. This one is still rather soft - the real fun will begin a little later :) ─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ─────────

Summary: You're most likely the last member of Eden, you've been spending your days away under the lock and key of C.O.I. One day, the Captain gave you an offer - to weld you into a submarine with a stranger, and send down into the depths of one of the newly found anomalies - the Ocean of Blood. What will you do when the stakes grow far bigger than you'd ever anticipated, and the stranger you barely know turns out to be your long forgotten best friend?

Tags: IRON LUNG SPOILERS!!! Convict!Simon x Convict!Reader, reader is also an Eden Member, Reader is gender neutral, no mentions or descriptions of Y/N, Childhood best friends, slow burn, Angst, Comfort (?), Swearing, mention of violence, Religion based trauma, trauma in general, character death, Blood (ocean), I'll add more in the future.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Word count: 6k

„Beginning the descent.” 

You froze at the movement of the submarine. 

The metal groaned around you, completely overpowering in volume whatever procedure announcements the Captain was currently reciting. 

You watched as the red liquid completely blocked the view from behind the single window in this coffin. It’s not like you were extremely fond of the darkness beyond, but it was definitely much better than whatever this was. 

The rattle of a chain connecting the submarine to the C.O.I. ship made your head spin. Even if the floor beneath you was metal, you could already imagine the wetness of cold blood clinging to your skin. 

You could already imagine the taste of iron filling your mouth, the pain of liquid filling your lungs, you could already hear your own screams, muffled and gurgling as blood would swallow you whole– 

„I’m seeing some voltage irregularities on the instruments, so keep an eye out for any sparks or flames.” 

That did not help at all. 

„... Flames? Why would there be flames?” 

Simon’s voice seemed to be the only thing still grounding you. He was the only thing that stuck out from the grim environment of the ship’s guts, the only presence that didn’t scream ‘death is near.’ 

You saw him turn in his seat, looking into the dark back of the submarine. You didn’t look up even when you felt his gaze fall onto you. 

„I don’t know. That’s why I warned you.” 

The speaker cracked, the Captain’s voice coated in uncomfortable static. 

„... Hey, you tested this thing, right?” Simon raised his chin, staring up at the radio speaker as if it held all the answers. The only thing he received was the Captain’s blunt tone. 

„This is the test.” You couldn’t imagine how she could just sigh, as if it was just a drop of inconvenience in a sea of problems. 

„The ship is welded enough to withstand pressure like a tank, just– keep an eye on your depth while you’re down there. The currents can be unpredictable, so make sure you two aren’t wandering too far into the red. It can handle pressure, but there’s a limit.” 

There were so many things you wanted to do. You wanted to personally wrap your hands around her neck and squeeze with all your strength. You wanted to scream at the top of your lungs, just to let this growing feeling of dread out. You wanted to cry and beg them to bring you back, to leave you to starve inside the four walls of your cell. 

None of it would have helped, though. 

„Closing porthole shielding.” You jerked at the sound of metal grinding against the hull. You watched as the shield slowly rose over the only window that still connected you to the outside world. 

The red color of the ocean behind the glass disappeared, now sealed for good. This should have comforted you – it did not. With Simon’s reflection in the window, your eyes met for a split second. You looked away. 

„... What exactly do you want us to find? You haven’t given us anything.” you finally managed to speak, voice slightly raised to be heard over the never-ending rumble around you. 

„We don’t know. You’re the first ones down. I told you that all we had were surface scans. That’s why you’re there... well, one of the reasons.” 

She paused briefly, her breathing cut short by the static. 

„You know, we salvaged that glass from Filament Station. Not a single scratch on it. Nice, right? We got lucky. Funny how some things survive and others don’t.” 

You wanted to scream. The alarm of an impending panic attack was already railing your senses, your lungs convulsing with the danger of hyperventilation. You tried your best to control your breathing, anxiously eyeing the oxygen tracker on the wall. Four lights still on. For now. 

At some point, your eyes fell onto the glowing line of the depth meter. With each agonizing second, it went lower and lower, finally reaching the red zone. 

„Hey, you hear me? You said not to go into the red– we’re in the red!” Simon called out, frantically gesturing toward the depth meter as if the Captain could somehow see him. 

Soon enough, her voice rang out again, but only half of her words reached you. The static and pressure on the sub messed with the connection; the line between you and the C.O.I. was not standing a chance. 

All you managed to understand were three things: map, coordinates, you’re on your own. 

The submarine finally stilled. After reaching the bottom of the ocean, everything stopped as if the world itself wanted to laugh at your fate. 

You were alone. With him. At the bottom of the ocean. 

Fucking God, your life is a joke, isn’t it? 

You couldn’t decide which was worse – was it the earlier, never-ending noise of machinery, or the sudden still silence that spread between you two? 

You did the first thing that came to mind: looking up – and immediately regretted it. 

Simon was on his feet now, breathing slightly faster from yelling at the silent radio. He was staring right back at you. 

The band over his forehead held his curls away – enough for you to see those familiar features for the first time in a long while. You couldn’t tell if he was frowning or about to break apart, as the only thing you were focused on were his eyes. 

Deep, almost black in this lighting – and so fucking terrified and confused. 

For a brief moment, you were about to speak up. Bracing yourself to be the first one to break the ice, if not for him suddenly letting go of the eye contact and sinking into a seat with a heavy sigh. After all, what was there to say? No matter how close you used to be, it meant nothing in the face of your current reality. The bond, no matter how strong, had been broken by too many mistakes along the way. 

Neither of you spoke or moved for a good few minutes. The only sounds were the poor groans of the submarine itself and the slashing of blood on the other side of the metal wall. You tried to focus on your hands, touching each pad of your fingers with your thumbs, to distract your already overwhelmed brain. 

One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three, four, five. One, two, three– 

„Why didn’t you tell me it was you?” 

Your hands stilled. His voice was quiet, as if afraid of breaking the tension. His shoulders were raised, his head once again leaning low as he rested his hands on the control panel. 

Why didn’t you? 

You could have immediately told him it was you. From the moment you recognized him until the last minute of descending into this hell. Yet you didn’t – why? Because you were scared? Of what? Of him? Of yourself? 

Of facing the consequences of your own actions? 

„... I... wasn’t sure if it was the right time.” The excuse fell flat, and you both knew it. 

„You– ugh.” He stopped mid-turn, his hands hiding his face from your view. Again, you couldn’t tell if he was furious, annoyed, or scared. Probably all of the above. 

You could hear his nervous breaths, how they whistled between his fingers. How the leather of the chair beneath him screamed as he leaned back. 

„I thought you were dead.” 

„I thought so too.” 

„And yet, you didn’t say anything?” 

„Why is it suddenly my fault?” 

„Because you–” he cut himself off, realizing he’d been raising his voice. Both of you glanced at the oxygen tracker. 

„... I was sure you were dead.” His tone loosened slightly as he repeated himself. He sounded resigned, clearly tired – wishing to be anywhere else but here. 

„What are you even doing here? You didn’t participate in the mission.” 

You swallowed thickly, throat tight with a mix of emotions. 

„I... sneaked onto the transportation line.” 

„You did what?!” 

His volume bounced off the metal walls. You tried your best to keep your eyes glued to the floor, not meeting his shocked gaze. 

„I said: I sneaked onto–” 

„I got it the first time, but – why?! Are you fucking crazy? You shouldn’t even be on that ship in the first place!” 

I didn't wanted to loose you too. A whisper spoke in your mind. You pushed it aside. 

„You’re not the one to tell me what to do, Simon.” Your tone came out sharper than you’d like. You didn't wanted him to know. You didn't elaborated on the details on why you were on the Filament Station during the day of its explosion. It was better if he didn't knew. 

And yet, that’s not how you imagined your first conversation in years – full of sharp words and harsh tones. Not in the way the two of you had ended things. 

Not like this. Not again. 

Your words seemed to touch something. You weren’t sure if it was a nerve or an old wound, but it made him backtrack, shoulders dropping like with deflated balloon. Simon clenched his jaw so tightly that you thought he might grind his teeth, just to turn back to the submarine’s panel. 

„... Yeah. Sure, right, I’m fucking not.” You saw the same nervous jerk of his fingers. Suddenly, your own wrist felt way too empty, but that only made you squeeze your hand into a fist. 

If this expedition didn’t end with you two clawing at each other’s throats, it would be a miracle. 

You took a deep breath, leaning your head back against the metal pipe. With your mind swirling with thoughts, you decided to focus on the here and now – not on what used to be.  

„... Listen, let’s just focus on what we have to do. The sooner we get to work... the sooner we can get out.” 

„You seriously think they’ll let us go?” The only lightbulb’s glow danced over his hair, casting a gentle hue on his silhouette. 

„... No.” you admitted wincing. „But anything’s better than staying here too long.” 

As much as he probably wanted to – he couldn’t disagree. No matter what happened between you two, you had to rely on each other. 

The Captain’s words echoed in your memory about ‘One simple task.’ What an unfunny joke. 

„... Fuck me.” In his words: alright. 

You watched him reach into the bag near the panel – a couple of manuals and instruction guides covered in rust and dust. It was the only source of information you could find, due the fact that C.O.I. decided to keep all the details for themselves. He flipped through the first few pages of one manual before tossing it aside and pulling out a roll of paper, murmuring something under his breath. 

„... What do you have there?” you asked, finally moving from the floor to stand. With legs still like cotton, you managed to walk up to him close enough to glance over his shoulder. 

He held a map – the paper grey, with too many lines to follow. It had a set of coordinates on the edges, both Y and X, with a layout marked in a darker tone. Maybe the layout of the bottom floor? 

„... I think they marked the spots they want us to check out,” Simon grumbled, entirely focused on the papers before him. He reached for another manual. 

Meanwhile, you decided to finally look over the submarine. Your steps were slow as you approached the back of the ship, your focus turning to a rectangular light on the wall. 

Grazing your fingers against the plastic, you paused. A button, maybe? You pressed it out of pure curiosity, causing the wall on your left to light up. 

Both you and Simon jumped at the flash – sudden white light blinding you for a split second. As the image settled, you saw… a black-and-white photo. It looked like a void of the starless sky itself, but this one had a clear view of the ocean floor. 

„Camera.” you mumbled quietly, connecting the dots. Turning back to Simon, you saw him staring at you – only to look back at the manual in his hands. 

You clenched your jaw at the obvious avoidance of eye contact. 

Ignore the personal feelings. Focus on getting out of here alive. 

With a quick click of your tongue, you awkwardly settled your hands on your hips. Breaking the silence was the hardest task so far. 

„So… uh… how about we split tasks? You handle navigation, and I’ll take photos every few seconds–” 

A knocking on the back hull cut you off mid-sentence. Both of you immediately turned to the rear wall of the submarine, the ringing in your ears louder than before. 

The knocking, caused by whatever lurked in the depths, disappeared just as quickly as it had come – leaving you both in even tenser silence. 

The two of you exchanged a mute glance. Neither of you mentioned the sound. 

And soon enough… you began your expedition. 

You sat on the floor near the button, counting every twenty seconds between the pictures. As mundane as it sounded, it kept your mind busy. The small routine of counting, tapping your finger against your shoe, and clicking the button was a small comfort in this forsaken place. 

Simon sat in the chair, guiding the submarine through the depths by the map – stopping every few minutes to draw another line on the paper, signaling the distance already traveled. 

You hated the silence, but you didn’t want to speak. You hated the distance, but you didn’t want to cross it. As much as counting helped, it still didn’t stop you from glancing his way now and then. 

Could you still count each other as friends? No, you didn’t think so – after everything that happened. Too many words spoken in the heat of the moment, too many venomous insults spat in each other’s faces. 

Enemies? You didn’t hate him. As much as the wound still ached and throbbed, you missed him more than anything. It was his face you imagined when nights in a cell became unbearable. His name you whispered in search of comfort. Memories shared with him that lifted your spirits in dark times. 

You could never hate him – no matter how much looking at him hurts. 

You’d thought about this moment so many times. How it would go, what you’d say. Would either of you apologize? Would he believe you if you told him you’d been reliving that horrible night every day in your nightmares? That losing him felt like your soul ripping apart? 

That you felt more than just friendship? 

Back then, you weren’t aware. It took you a long time to realize what your feelings really meant – what he meant to you. But after the incident, after saying things you couldn’t take back, you finally connected the dots. 

The realization scared you more than anything – more than the Quiet Rapture itself. 

You were in love with Simon. 

Love was a foolish thing. No matter if stars were here or not, it shined through every dark tunnel; somehow never losing its brightness. 

You didn’t hate Simon, but you hated the fact that you’d fallen in love with him. 

And as soon as the two of you went your separate ways, as soon as you understood the true nature of your feelings, you locked them deep inside – promising yourself never to speak or even think about it again. 

Then this bastard had to come back to life. 

You were confused. You were scared. As mentioned, the old wound hadn’t fully healed. The tissue hadn’t sealed, hadn’t eased the pain. It throbbed beneath your skin and flesh, reaching into the deepest parts of the secret you swore to take to your grave. 

You don’t love him anymore. Keep telling yourself that. 

Time passed, the only indication of it was the seconds you counted and the changing view of the photos. In the time between taking photos, you'd hear Simon muttering to himself – another habit that felt way too familiar. Curse you and your obsession with picking up little things about him. 

‘Oxygen.’ 

Both of you froze. Slowly, your eyes moved from Simon to the oxygen tracker. One light went out, leaving only three remaining. Your head suddenly felt too heavy. Limbs and joints stiffened, to the point of pain. Right. Limited oxygen. 

„... How... how far are we from the first spot?” you asked, unconsciously trying to change the subject. 

Simon moved as stiffly as you did. The loss of just one light made his movements overly controlled. He was panicking internally, just like you. 

„... About 150 meters Y and 34 meters X.” he mumbled, his hand already settling on the handle, pushing the submarine forward. 

You wanted to keep the conversation going. Fill this dreadful silence with white noise. Yet, no other questions left your mouth. 

Crawling through the depths of the ocean, time felt weightless. No clock to tick over your head, no numbers to watch every few seconds. You focused on the photos – most of them static and empty, occasionally showing some dead bushes isolated in the dark. 

Drip. 

Your hand stopped above the button as a warm droplet fell on your hand. Your heart stopped beating, your breath halting in your chest. 

The warmth of the drop made your skin tingle. In agonizingly slow motion, you looked at the back of your hand, expecting to see blood red stain. 

It was clear. 

A soundless gasp of relief escaped you. It wasn’t blood. It wasn’t a leak. You weren’t about to drown just yet. 

Looking around, you realized that this liquid had been slowly collecting on the walls, trailing down the pipes and surfaces, leaving colorless stains. Steam? Perhaps. 

Thinking about it, the temperature had also risen slightly – just enough to make your clothes feel too thick for this place. 

You shook your head as if trying to physically get rid of the panic buzzing beneath your skin. It didn’t matter. 

„Are you listening?” Simon’s voice pulled you out of your thoughts, making you blink. You stared at him for a moment, trying to reorient yourself. 

„Will you take this fucking photo or not?” 

You blinked again. Realizing he’d been talking to you the whole time, and you hadn’t registered it. You mumbled a half-hearted apology before reaching for the button. 

The image flickered with… something. Something you didn’t want to see. Something right in front of the hull, with the obstacle warning light flashing yellow on the control panel. 

You wanted to pretend what you saw was just a pile of rocks – shaped in an unfortunate way by the ocean itself. You wanted to rub your eyes, just to make sure it was a hallucination. It wasn’t. 

It was a skull. A big one. Mouth open wide in its last cry, sealed by death itself, with teeth bigger than your entire torso. 

Right in front of you was the skull of something much larger than you’d like. 

Simon stood up, walking to stand beside you. You both watched as the black-and-white image slowly faded away. Before any opinions could be shared, the flickering light of the panel suddenly sped up. 

The light at the tip of an arrow flickered faster – something had gotten close. The light switched to the side – something swam right next to your vessel. The light finally went out – the flickering stopped – and that thing swam away. 

Unfortunately, not for long. 

The panel lights woke up to life first, before whatever creature it was swam right above the submarine. The first wave was slow, circling the metal craft. 

The second wave was less merciful. You had no idea what it was – but it was definitely alive, and big. The panel’s alarms blared, flickering on and off simultaneously, before a strong wave shook the submarine. 

Both you and Simon lost your footing, thrown to the ground by the sheer force. You could hear the cry of the submarine, the swishing blood caused by something swimming above you. 

Thrown around like a rag doll, your back hit a pipe, air pulled from your lungs. Struggling to breathe, you were pushed to the side, your shoulder hitting the sharp edge of a corner. A sudden pain shot through you, clouding whatever thoughts you still had. You swore you heard a crack. 

Simon was no better – pushed back by whatever creature targeted you as its prey. He rolled off the chair, collapsing on the ground in an awkward position. You heard him groan in pain before another harsh move sent you both crashing to the floor. 

Is this how you’ll die? Crushed, eaten, or drowned in this hell? Watching your pathetic life end at the bottom of the ocean? 

Simon was on his stomach, just as terrified as you. His breathing was quick and ragged, only stopping when you heard the crackle of the radio. 

As the Captain’s voice became clearer, you managed to glance at the depth indicator – you were being pulled up. 

„Co—icts— Co—nvicts? Convicts, answer me! What’s your status?!” 

The Captain’s voice cut through the radio, urgent. It took you a moment to gather yourself and reply. 

„Uh… yeah… I think…” you rasped, finally managing to catch your breath. 

„What’s your status? Is the hull damaged?” 

„You didn’t tell us there’d be anything down here!” Simon roared, his voice more stressed than you’d ever heard it. The static was too strong to understand everything she said, except for the words ‘back down.’ 

„Back? Back?! No– no fucking way!” Simon spat at the radio, trembling like a leaf. 

„I’m done. We’re done. Just– bring us back up and throw us in prison. We’re not gonna–” 

„Is. There. Damage!?” The Captain’s voice finally cut through clearly, halting Simon’s roars. 

The submarine finally stopped somewhere halfway through its ascent, the roar of metal dying away. Simon looked close to breaking down, sniffling and huffing like a cornered animal. 

„Just– tell me if there’s a problem, because if you fell, the hull could be punctured, which means a leak, which means flooding, which means both of you die.” she said. 

You could hear his nervous gasps, each breath just as shallow as the last. The harsh reality seemed to break through the wall of anxiety as he looked around the space. 

You slowly managed to stand, grimacing at the pain in your back and arm. The back wasn’t the worst, but the shoulder you hit against the corner brought tears to your eyes. Looking around yourself, you didn't noticed any damages. Which was... good. For now. 

„It... uhm... seems fine.” Simon finally stuttered out, squeezing his hands to keep them from shaking. 

„Good, that’s... good. I can’t see much, but–... it seems the hull is in one piece, so we’re going to check on your progress while we wait for the ocean to settle down.” 

Your eyes widened. The ocean? It was the ocean itself that shook the whole submarine as if it were a puppet on a string? 

„Se-settle? What does that mean? Is– Is that why everything was shaking?” you muttered loud enough for the radio to pick up. 

„Essentially, yeah... The bottom isn’t exactly rock. It’s just– layers of conjured blood and gas bubbles. That’s why I said it was unstable.” 

After that, you heard the Captain call out to someone about the pictures, while you and Simon tried to calm down from the panicked haze. 

You leaned against the wall with your good shoulder, hand holding onto the hurting one. For your luck, the crack you heard earlier seemed to be a false alarm. You still could move it freely, even if it stung like hell. 

Letting your breathing finally slow down, your eyes went up to meet Simon’s. For some reason, each time you looked at each other, you both paused in this weird staring contest. He seemed to notice the way you were holding your arm, something in the shape of worry forming on his face. 

It was gone as quickly as it came, as the Captain once again spoke to you both. 

„Holy shit... Did you two find a skeleton?”  

She seemed just as shocked as you had been before. The discovered sign of whatever used to live down here weighed on both of you even more than the pressure itself. 

She could make up stories about bubbles and unstable flooring, but the evidence was clear as day: if something used to live there, it meant something else could still lurk in the darkness of Blood. 

„Yeah– we– we did, I think.” 

„Are you absolutely sure that this was a skeleton?” 

„Yeah... I’ve seen a skeleton before. How stupid do you think I am?” 

As much as you tried, you couldn’t help the little amused smile that crept onto your lips. Even in the face of the most fucked-up situation, he still had the guts to use sarcasm. 

For a long minute, there was no response from her. For the time being, it almost seemed like she left you to continue the expedition, as if the skeleton meant nothing in her eyes. 

„We’re pulling you up.” 

Her tone was firm, and it barely prepared you for the harsh tug on the submarine. The inside of the vessel started to shake once more, forcing you to remind yourself – it’s just them. It’s just the C.O.I. pulling you back up, not whatever thing had found you down there before. 

Simon dropped into his seat again. As her comments turned into white noise in the background, your focus was once more on him – on how he struggled to calm his breathing, his eyes nervously searching for some point of comfort. 

„... Remember the three-second rule.” you reminded him, loud enough for him to hear over the rattling of metal. Your words seemed to catch him off guard; his shoulders squared as if he’d forgotten you were still here. 

„... Yeah. Yeah, it was... uh–” 

„Inhale for three seconds, hold for three seconds, exhale for three seconds.” You finished for him. The exact instructions your mom taught you all those years ago – and the ones you later taught Simon as kids. 

He seemed to remember this little trick. You didn’t say anything more, just watched as he closed his eyes and followed the steps that had helped him in the past. 

Inhale for 1...2...3. 

Hold for 1...2...3. 

Exhale for 1...2...3. 

You didn’t mention the way his shoulders relaxed, even if it was barely noticeable. 

It took a few minutes before the submarine finally stilled. The whines of the iron shell didn’t help with the anxiety. The chain rattled more loudly above you, then everything jerked to stillness. 

A wheeze of steam hissed outside, then everything was drowned in darkness. The power of submarine was cut short, causing the lights to turn off completely. Your senses screamed in sudden vulnerability when the window shielding was pulled down. 

The Captain’s face appeared in the frame, wiping off the blood trailing down onto the glass. Both you and Simon immediately moved to the window, which now was your only source of light. 

„Hey, so– uh, what’s the deal? Are we done?” 

„How’s your oxygen? Are you seeing any leaks?” The Captain completely ignored Simon’s question; her cataracts looked even more disturbing through the cloudy window. 

„Uhm... we’re down a light. Maybe there’s a leak. A few drops of blood got in.” 

You hadn’t noticed the blood yourself. You hoped Simon was just making things up to get them to let you go easier. 

„There’s some kind of liquid building up on the walls.” you added, leaning over the panel to make her hear you better. 

„It’s just condensation.” she said dismissively, as if that answer fixed everything. You bit your tongue in frustration. 

„Look, it doesn’t matter. Just warn the next person going down about what we found… there’s something alive down there.” 

Unfortunately, the Captain seemed to barely listen. She turned around, calling out to someone of the crew. They seemed to be looking at the photos you took, finally getting a good look of them themselves. 

Both you and Simon exchanged glances. You pressed your lips into a thin lines shrugging, then pressed your ear to the window. 

Unfortunately, neither of you managed to catch the full conversation. The only points you heard were something about moving fast, oxygen, and going... back. 

She can’t be serious, right? 

The Captain walked back to the window once again, wiping the blood off the glass. 

„Hey, so– we found something, right? Something good?” 

„We downloaded the picture. It does look like a skeleton to me.” 

„So– come on! Get us out of here, please?” 

You had to swallow hard to keep your voice from rising. 

The Captain tilted her head, her healthy and injured eyes focused entirely on you. 

„We can’t. Like I said, you’re welded in. If we pull you out now, we might miss the opportunity–” 

„What do you mean you can’t? It’s– it’s not going to take long, just please–” 

„It may not take long for you, but every second counts for us. Another slip, and the skeleton might go somewhere we can’t reach. So, we’re giving you something to get the sample.” 

A sample? 

A fucking sample? She couldn’t be serious, right? Completely dismissing your pleas and ignoring the information you just provided? 

As she turned away, you were about to scream after her – if not for Simon doing it first. 

„Hey! You’re not listening to us! There’s something else!” He slammed his fist against the panel, the sound echoing through the now-dark vessel. 

The Captain slowly leaned in, her face seemingly split in half by the long line of blood trailing down the glass – one side looking human, the other signaling the monster she acted like. 

„It’s not like we don’t want the deal. We want the deal! I– We want to make amends… but it’s not worth it.” You saw in the corner of your eye how he desperately tried to stay calm, just like you. His trembling hands were invisible to the Captain but painfully obvious to you. 

„It’s not worth it for us, it’s not worth it for you. You’re fawning over this skeleton, but you’re not hearing us when we say there might be something else– something alive.” 

The Captain just stared. Her face so close if not for the glass separating you. You and Simon trapped inside a submarine like animals in a cage, while she stood outside, watching you suffer for entertainment. 

Slowly, she smirked, and with the most ignorant tone you could imagine, she said: 

„There might just be.” 

All the blood drained from your face as she turned and grabbed something. It looked like a mechanical arm, though it was hard to tell through the lines of blood streaked across the glass. 

„We’re going to put this on the front of the sub. All you have to do is point it in the right direction. Once it makes contact, it should be able to grab onto something and hold on tight.” 

Your head spun again. For the first time in your life, you felt real, primal fear. The feelings you had before the first descent were nothing. Back then, you didn’t know what to expect, what you’d see in the depths of the ocean itself. 

Now? Now you’d claw your way through the metal with your bare hands if it came to that. 

Simon looked no better. No matter if he used the three-second rule now, nothing could help with his shaky breathing. 

„So… what, we are supposed to just ram it?” Simon asked. 

„Pretty much.” she replied. 

You wanted to vomit. 

She wiped the glass for the third time, her expression unchanged. 

„You can’t be serious.” Simon shook his head. 

„I am. You’ll have to hit hard too. Hard enough to make sure it catches. You won’t be able to see if it works, so there won’t be a second chance.” 

„So you don't just want us to ram it, you want us to ram it at full speed!?” you asked in disbelief. 

„What’s this game of charades? Why all this trouble? If you want us dead so badly, why don’t you do it yourself!?” Your voice sounded strange to you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d yelled that harshly – at the C.O.I. member at that. 

„This is the best we have – and it’s a lot more than you two deserve.” 

Panting, you stared right back at her. Her cold tone made you tremble with goosebumps. The constant wiping of the glass didn’t help. Every time she cleared the blood, it either left stains or came back with more drips. Once the blood is spilled, it’s always hard to get rid of. 

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. You wanted to scream, to bang your fists against the hull, to rip your way through the wall just to strangle her. You didn't caused the explosion of Filament Station. You weren't the one behind the wreckage, and you were certainly sure Simon wasn't either. 

Right? 

So were the two of you paying for not your own sins? 

„This is bigger than any of us. So just do your job.” 

With that, another man approached the submarine. You recognized him from the funky hat and dark coat hanging over his shoulders – Jack. 

You saw him attaching something to the hull, sparks flying from welding, the flash stinging your eyes. 

„Do our job? Oh, I’m sorry, the handcuffs must have confused me – I didn’t realize it was voluntary!” Simon snapped. 

The Captain didn’t give you another moment. She simply turned around, leaving you both in darkness. 

As you tried to comprehend the cruelty of her actions,  Simon decided to throw a tantrum. He screamed after her, starting to frantically press every button and pull every lever on the panel. Nothing worked. The Captain simply turned to her crew. 

The next moment was a blur of motion. 

Simon kept shouting, his rage reminding you of past times. He had always been impulsive – doing things without thinking, driven by emotion. 

You didn’t manage to stop him when he suddenly turned and smashed his hand against the camera button on the wall. 

Instantly, a flash of blinding white light appeared outside the window, accompanied by a loud scream. You froze as the wall next to Simon also lit up – the photo now showing three people, or rather… their skeletons. 

You connected the dots almost instantly. 

„Are you out of your mind?!” the Captain yelled from behind the window, her teeth snarling in anger. 

„Oh, good, now you can hear me! Get someone else for your suicide mission, because we’re not gonna–!” 

„You blasted us with radiation, you psycho-idiot fuck!” You could see the exact moment when Simon connect the dots too. 

The image slowly faded out. Suddenly, it was obvious - a normal camera wouldn’t be able to see through flesh. 

„It’s not a normal camera – you can’t see through blood, so you need X-rays to get through!” 

You remained silent, watching as the reality of the situation sank in. You heard Jack mumble that he managed to finish the welding – even after being exposed to an unimaginable amount of radiation. The way he looked at you through the glass would haunt you forever. 

„Look, I– I didn’t know. I’m sorry, but– if you had talked to me, this wouldn’t have happened!” Simon raised his voice again, the blue light from outside almost blurring his features. 

The Captain finally looked back at you both. Her jaw was set tight, her words were cold. 

„Just get the sample.” 

She turned around. The lights flickered back on, reminding you of the nightmare you were trapped in. 

The last thing you heard from outside was a short command: „Drop them.” 

The submarine whirled to life as they released the safety locks. For few seconds, you floated in the air as the submarine started to fall, just to drop on the ground with pain ripping through your body. 

You were back in the ocean. 

Convict! Simon x Best friend! Reader

─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ───────── A/N: Heheheheheh welcome I promise that by the next champter there's going to be more Reader - Simon interactions. First, I wanted to set up the scenery first, for all the tasty snacks coming your way. Most likely, it'll be yet another movie-based fanfiction of mine, but I'll try to go a little bit more crazy with this one. Stay tuned :) ─────────ೋღ🩸ღೋ─────────

Tags: IRON LUNG SPOILERS!!! Convict!Simon x Convict!Reader, reader is also an Eden Member, Reader is gender neutral, no mentions or descriptions of Y/N, Childhood best friends, slow burn, Angst, Comfort (?), Swearing, mention of violence, Religion based trauma, trauma in general, character death, Blood (ocean), I'll add more in the future.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Word count: 2.8k

The laughter of children filled the air, bouncing off the glass ceiling of the station. You sat on top of the Tree, hands over your mouth to prevent any giggles from escaping.   

Simon was slowly looking around, walking beneath the long branches of the Tree’s crown. For the last thirty minutes, you, Simon, and a few other kids had been playing hide and seek – now you being the only one left.   

You watched him glance into every spot at least three times: next to the air vent, behind the scattered boxes. You watched him scratching his head in confusion, while the other kids sat already in the cafeteria, grumpy about losing the game.   

As you moved on the branch, a few leaves fell – one landing right on Simon’s head.   

„Hey! That’s not fair!” he called out, finally spotting you.   

A wave of laughter left you almost immediately, leaves joining with joyful rustle.   

„There were no rules about going up!”   

„Mister Walter will be mad!”   

„Mister Walter won’t know!”   

„What Mister Walter won’t know?” suddenly a voice rang out. Both you and Simon paused, eyes widening as a man stepped into the open space of the main chamber.   

Mister Walter, the main caretaker of Eden, first eyed Simon, before his gaze dropped on you – brows instantly rising on his forehead.   

He called out your name, his surprised expression turning into a frown.   

„Get down, right now!” your little body tensed as you hurriedly moved off the branch, cheeks flushing with embarrassment.   

Soon enough, you and Simon stood side by side, heads down as the caretaker adjusted his glasses.   

„What were you two thinking? Climbing the Tree like that? What have I told you about playing in this part of the station?”   

„That... The Tree is a ‘no play’ zone.” you said slowly, fiddling with the edge of your shirt.   

„Exactly. The Tree is a ‘no play’ zone, and definitely ‘no climb’ zone! You could’ve hurt yourself. And you, Simon? You’re older, you’ve been here the longest. Why didn’t you stop them?”   

„... I’m sorry, Mister Walter.” Simon mumbled, his fingers unconsciously playing with the little bracelet around his wrist.   

The man sighed, shaking his head. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared both of you down, his usual warm face now twisted into a scowl.   

„Don’t do that again. You know the rules.” His tone was firm but not harsh. At least, not yet. 

„We can’t risk hurting the Tree.”   

„We must protect it... at all costs.”   

. 

. 

. 

As you opened your eyes, tears stung your eyelids. Your vision blurry, even though there was barely anything to see in cell drowned in darkness. 

Why are you crying? It wasn’t even a bad dream. Just a memory from the past,  a day that happened long before everything went to shit. There’s no reason to cry.   

Wiping your eyes, you shifted in your spot, body aching from being curled up against the wall for too long. When did you even fall asleep? What time is it?   

After the conversation with the Captain, just as she said, both of you had been put into one cell. Neither of you spoke, none of you even tried to look at each other properly, except for a few stolen glances from the corner of an eye. 

Simon didn’t seem to acknowledge your presence. His eyes were always glued to the ground beneath his feet, those black curls covering the sight of his face. Yet, even without a clear view, you knew.   

You knew the shape of his jaw, even if it was sharper than you remembered – coated in dark stubble, adding seriousness to his appearance.   

You knew the line of his nose, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks, the little twitches of his fingers whenever he was nervous. You knew it all.   

But it seemed he didn’t know you.   

Or worse: he was pretending he didn’t know you.   

Since being confined within these four walls, all he did was walk to the only mattress on the ground and lie with his back towards you. No words, no warm reunion – just silence filled with the sounds of breathing.   

You took the spot near the corner of the cell... and didn’t even notice when you fell asleep. Although, this dull pain in your neck was nothing compared to the sting in your chest.   

Sorrow? Nostalgia? Loneliness?   

Grief?   

Did he remember? The days spent playing together? The soft whispers when you were supposed to sleep? The tic-tac-toe games on the margins of your notebooks when you learned about Earth?   

Did he remember you?   

He could, or he could not. It was hard to tell – your own memory often betrayed you. It was hard to recall anything beyond the Quiet Rapture. Beyond the days of just surviving.   

Mister Walter. He was such a kind man, filled with compassion and care for you and the other kids.   

But as the stars dimmed and disappeared from the sky, those emotions also evaporated. In the face of darkness, a new man was born.   

The Father.   

Goosebumps rose on your skin at the mere thought. So much pain, so much blood spilled. And for what?   

If you thought about it, there were always signs.  Clues of something hidden beneath those dark glasses and kind eyes. He had always been a little... too fixated on the Tree of Eden’s station.   

Who would have thought it would soon become the Last Tree in the entire galaxy?   

Unconsciously, your gaze moved to Simon – his back still turned to you. The only indication of him still being there was the sound of his breathing. You could even see the steady movement of his body with each breath if you squinted enough.   

Either way, the question still stands.   

What could you do? Or say? It’s not like you wanted to go on that mission. Until yesterday, you believed you were the only one left – the last life of Eden, clawing its way through this madness just to survive. And now, you were with the only person you ever called a friend – right before an expedition that could cost you your life.   

There was no option to refuse. The Consolidation didn’t care for your opinion. All they wanted was for you to clear your name, to join their little work-filled oasis, and rot under their supervision.   

You heard a groan. Your body froze as the sounds of rustling came from the mattress.   

In the darkness, you saw him move – turning onto his back, arm thrown over his eyes. Another sound you heard was the whistling breath  he let it out through his nose.   

You didn’t move. With your own breath held, you stared, waiting for anything.  A word. A hum. Any sign that he was awake. When nothing came, you relaxed slightly.   

„What time is it?” You froze again as his gruff voice broke the silence. Gravelly, heavy like the stuffy air itself, but with a nice ring to it. At the same time with a strange weight, as if he wasn’t used to speaking much.   

„I... I don’t know... Probably around 5 A.M., maybe 6.” you rasped. Your voice wasn't any better: hoarse from the constant taste of iron in your mouth, the sound unfamiliar to your own ears. 

You never pulled your eyes off him, as if he might explode at any given moment. As if the ghost of someone you knew so well was about to drag you through the floor into the never ending void outside the walls.  

He didn’t. Another groan left him as he shifted on the mattress. Hi barely visible body sitting up, the edges of his silhouette blurring with the background.   

You bit the inside of your cheek. So many questions filled your mind, yet none of them dared to escape. How did he survive? What happened on Filament Station? Was he the one who blew it up? What about the rest of the Brotherhood?   

Are you the only two left?   

„Are you... also from Eden?” he finally asked.   

You swallowed thickly, your own saliva barely soothing the dryness. The question confirmed your suspicion: he didn’t recognize you.   

„... Yeah.” For a moment, you thought he might ask you your name, how you survived, what happened after you lost contact.   

Ask what happened after the argument.   

But he didn’t. He rubbed his face, nails scratching his stubble. His head always leaning down, eyes fixed on some distant spot. Never on you.   

„So... what are we going to do?”   

No matter how much you wished otherwise, the reality hadn’t changed. You still had to be forced into a submarine, just to head somewhere unknown. Still had to face the unfair consequences of crimes you didn’t commit.   

„What can we do? They want to fuck us up. All we can do is dance as the say. Always as they fucking say.” He shifted, arms resting on his half pulled up knees. Even in the dark cell, you still noticed that twitch in his fingers, reaching to the seed bracelet that wasn't there. 

„You really think they’ll let us free after this?”   

„... I don’t know.”   

The silence that followed his words was worse than the stench of the cell itself. Dripping with tension and nerves, making your palms of your hands sweat.   

In some weird, twisted way, you longed for your old routine: wake up, eat, work, return to your cell, eat, sleep.  You long for the only stability you had for the last year. 

Suddenly, the lights flicked on. Your eyes flared in pain, struggling to adjust to the new brightness.   

You saw him do the same –  his shoulders tense and high, yet head dipped low, almost hidden between his knees. His dark, messy curls served as a curtain hiding his face. Always so close, yet so far, further for anyone or anything to reach. Especially ever since Eden turned him into this.   

Then he moved. A sigh escaped his lips as he raised his head, those sad, brown eyes finally meeting yours.   

The world seemed to stop on it's tracks.  

Neither of you spoke. You held eye contact – an unspoken string about to snap. You tried to read through every thought visible on his expression; every word left unsaid hanging in the air, like letters erased from the page. You saw him connect the lost face to a long-forgotten name.   

Like a ghost of a dead friend coming back to life, right before his eyes.   

„... You– “ the screech of metal cut him off mid-word.   

Both of you turned to the door, metal screeching with years of rust. You saw as no one else than Captain herself stepped inside   

Her presence twisted your insides. Now towering above you, she looked like a giant ready to crush you beneath her foot.   

„So. Have you made up your mind?”   

You clenched your jaw, words dying on your tongue. You refused to look away from her face, even as Simon’s gaze burned into your skull. She waited patiently, one healthy eye shifting from you to him, as if in an attempt of reading the answer off your faces.   

Fortunately, Simon was the one to cut through the tension.   

„It’s not like we have any other fucking choice.” you watched him get up from the corner of your eye, his words sealing your fates.   

You rose as well, trying to ignore the painful pop of your joints, keeping your hands close to your body.   

The Captain only nod, before glancing over her shoulder. Two more guards entered, faces you did not recognize just to put handcuffs on your wrists  

The two of you left the cell, being led through the prison ward. First came a meal, the bland MRE paste barely satisfying your hunger. Then they were merciful enough to give you time to shower with some ragged clothes. Even if the material scratched your skin in unpleasant way, you still didn't complained. 

Neither of you spoke during the entire process. Always watched by guards or the Captain herself. No matter how big the elephant in the room would got, there was never a second for a proper conversation.   

You still felt his gaze drill into you every time you were taken elsewhere.   

Eventually, you moved to a hangar – the part of the ship you’d never seen the blueprints of. In the past, during the war between C.O.I. and Eden, Eden members had to memorize the layout of the enemy station. Why? You never thought to ask. Maybe they planned to attack someday?   

The hangar was rather small. Walls white and clean, one side of the room specifically for the controlling systems. Screens on the wall flashing with diagrams and numbers you didn't understand. Some with photos and scans, some broken, unused. The control panel flickered with buttons and lights, with two men arranging everything.   

The other half was different: a massive hatch on the ground – likely an entry for ships when the station was purely for scientifical matters. Although, the hatch itself wasn't the main focus of your thoughts now.   

Above the hatch, a submarine waited. Hanging by safety locks and chain attached to its roof, it stuck out like a sore thumb – its dark, rusty metal being a stark contrast against the white environment of the hangar.   

„You should consider yourself lucky. Since I'm the person responsible for your sentences, you will get another chance. Any other person would’ve sentenced you to death immediately.”   

Her confidence made you wince. She gestured to the submarine, her dead eye shining in the blue light.   

„The SM-13. Your ride for today.”   

„You want to send us down... in this?” You found your voice after a while, your eyes moving from her face to this joke of a ship. It looked like it could burst into pieces in the span of few seconds. 

„It’s sturdy. It’ll take the pressure, but not for too long. You've got the idea of the mission. If you want to join the Consolidation, you better don’t waste any time.”   

As much as you wanted to protest, you didn’t mention how the ‘you’ll earn your freedom’ suddenly became ‘join the Consolidation.’   

To her, maybe it was the same. To you, it was prison, just under different circumstances and name.   

The Captain turned to her crew, just three people besides the guards. One, a man named Jack, nodded and rushed to the submarine’s back at her command.   

Your hands jerked as the guards unlocked your cuffs. The loss of weight didn't made you feel any lighter about all of this.. 

The rest was a blur. They pushed you forward. You moved around the submarine. Stepping in from the back, the wall was closed behind you – the sound of welding metal to metal made your neck twitch uncomfortably. 

The submarine seemed even smaller from the inside than from the outside; like a coffin, not a ship meant to keep you alive. 

A window on the front, right above the control panel. One chair bolted to the floor, filling the already cramped, claustrophobic space. 

The Captain's face appeared through the scratched glass – her features blurred, shadows cast over her expression.   

„On the right, you have the oxygen tracker, keep an eye on it. It’s enough air to keep you alive for a few days – but don’t get too comfortable.”   

Her voice was muffled through the glass and metal, barely reaching your already ringing ears. Your breathing sped up, heart starting to hammer. 

The realization hit you like a punch in a gut: 

You just got welded into a submarine. You were about to be send into an Ocean of Blood, the depths that didn't even existed before the Quiet Rapture. On top of that, with Simon of all people. 

You felt sick. You never thought you'll miss your stuffy cell of all things, yet here you are. 

„We’ll communicate via radio on the wall – if anything happens, report immediately.”   

As you stood frozen on spot, Simon already managed to settle himself on the seat. The old leather squeaked at his weight, his hands already trailing the edges of the panel.   

„Remember: this is bigger than any of us. You want to clear your name? Then don't fuck this up.” with this, the Captain walked away from the window. Her commands growing distant as she spoke to the crew and reached her position. 

Lights flicked on above you, the weak yellow light somehow making the submarine look even smaller. 

„Hold tight." You heard her voice again, this time cracking through the radio's speaker. 

The walls around you started to tremble. You grabbed one of the pipes to keep your balance, feeling the submarine starting to move. You heard the chain ring above you through the metal of the roof, sound strangely similar to the rattling of the bones. 

As the submarine slowly moved down to meet up with the surface of the Ocean, there was only one thought screaming in your mind: 

I don't want to die. 

Convict! Simon x Best friend! Reader

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A/N: I am an absolute idiot aren't I. Barely managed to finish one fanfiction, now I'm staring another one. The curse of being a Fandom Freak™ That being said, I wouldn't be myself if I didn't wrote something for Simon. I love the movie, seen in twice in theaters when it came out, and I'm sweating in my seat, impatiently waiting for the YouTube release in my country. Why of all places I had to be born in central Europe... ANYWAY! I'm not planning on making this really long. Maybe up to five chapters max, give or take- we'll see how the story will evolve. Ive wrote this chapter last night, bed ridden and dying from a flu to past the time. Who would have thought Simon would have this power over me... As always, please remember the English ISN'T my first language, and if you'll see any grammatical errors or mistakes, please let me know :))

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Summary: You're most likely the last member of Eden, you've been spending your days away under the lock and key of C.O.I. One day, the Captain gave you an offer - to weld you into a submarine with a stranger, and send down into the depths of one of the newly found anomalies - the Ocean of Blood. What will you do when the stakes grow far bigger than you'd ever anticipated, and the stranger you barely know turns out to be your long forgotten best friend?

Tags: IRON LUNG SPOILERS!!! Convict!Simon x Convict!Reader, reader is also an Eden Member, Reader is gender neutral, no mentions or descriptions of Y/N, Childhood best friends, slow burn, Angst, Comfort (?), Swearing, mention of violence, Religion based trauma, trauma in general, character death, Blood (ocean), I'll add more in the future.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Word count: 3.7k

The air was thick and heavy, pooling at the bottom of your lungs and making you cough. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

Your eyes felt heavy, but not heavy enough for full night sleep. Your back ached no matter what position you settled into on the mattress lying on the floor. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

This was your life. Sealed under a key and a false promise of freedom – most likely forever trapped between four walls of your cell. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

The never-ending distant sound of dripping seemed like a punishment on its own. Like a clock ticking on a wall, disturbing the silence at night, or the buzzing of an insect just before you fall asleep. 

So small and barely noticeable, yet able to drive you absolutely insane. 

The only comfort you had was the memory of your home – Eden. Even if calling it home was an overstatement, it was everything you knew. Everything you grew up with, everything buried deep in your mind like bodies beneath the soil. 

„From soil you were born, into soil your body will turn after your death.” 

No. No, don’t think about it. 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. 

Think about Eden before the Rapture – the starry sky spreading over the glass ceiling of the station. Think about the warmth of the bedsheets that wrapped around you each night, right before rest. 

You were born in the Colony – one of the first children from Mars. Even if your body and mind were human, the red planet was your true home. Even if it lacked the vast greenery of forests and the deep blues of oceans, you loved it with all your heart. 

And yet, it was so cruelly taken away – ripped from your grasp in the blink of an eye. 

All the children born on Mars were eventually sent to Eden – the main and largest station of the Colony, its purpose to raise a new generation of great people. Unfortunately, one day you went to sleep, only to wake up the next to stars and planets already gone. 

What have you done to deserve this? Why did your generation have to go through this catastrophe? To watch stars dim and disappear, planets cease to exist before your eyes. 

You were just a child. A child who realized far too quickly that everyone they loved and cared about had vanished into the vast darkness of space. 

Despite over ten years passing, it never got easier. Every glance into the universe was a step closer to madness. You couldn’t count how many times you sat before a glass surface, staring, squinting your eyes to find any proof that it was all just a lie. And always, you’d be met with the same nothingness – spreading inside your gut, growing more each day. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

Life after the Quiet Rapture wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t unbearable either. With the planets gone, Eden became your home, and with Eden as your home, other kids became your family. All gathered in grief and fear, forced to grow up in a situation no one understood. 

For a brief moment, it was good. For a brief, sweet moment, it seemed like everything was going to be alright… until it wasn’t. 

People tend to change – sometimes softly, like the breeze changing its direction. Other times, like a crack in a dam, growing into a web of lines until it reaches the center and bursts, washing everything away. 

The station, once a safe space, turned into a graveyard. The soft-spoken words turned into screams; the ideals of the Holy Soil. 

The kind man, a teacher whom all of you adored and respected, turned into a monster. His new name was The Father – forever carved into your tongue whenever you saw his face. 

The Brotherhood. The blood. The bodies sealed, forever hidden beneath the soil of the Last Tree. 

Your friends became your Brothers and Sisters – yet somehow, they felt more distant than ever. The hissing pain of metal burning Eden’s insignia on your neck will haunt you in the quiet corners of your mind for eternity. 

Drip, drip, drip. 

Filament Station. The very reason you were here – stained by a crime you didn’t commit. They wanted to take it over. Connect two worlds, share their beliefs, and gain more resources. Who would have thought it would end like this? With more dead bodies than ground to bury them under, flames licking and devouring everything in their path, until they join the emptiness of space. 

What an irony. You – one of the few who just wanted to stop them – are now the only one left to tell the story. 

What a sad, pathetic irony. 

Drip. Drip. Drip. 

Your brows furrowed. It was starting to get ridiculous. No matter how hard you tried to block it, this awful dripping always reached your thoughts, ripping through any image you created in your mind, dragging you back into the dark reality. 

They took you away. They pulled you by the collar, clawing at your skin and demanding answers. You barely remember what they said; their voices too weak against the ringing in your ears. Your flesh burned and throbbed from the force of the explosion that had also shattered your life. 

They demanded answers – and you had none. You asked questions – and they threw you into a cell, locking you with your own demons. 

You knew about the tension between C.O.I. and Eden. Knew that the never-ending conflict was like a match in a forest, ready to ignite. 

They didn’t care that you were the only survivor. To them, you were an Eden member – responsible for the deaths of their citizens. Never sparing a thought for your own loss, the idea of Eden’s destruction only making them thrive. 

Desperately trying to focus on anything other than this forsaken dripping, you thought of your family. Your real family. The face of your mother when she’d caress your hair. The warm embrace of your father. The faces of fellow kids on Eden – the smiles of your friends – before everything turned into a religious nightmare. 

One face in particular: Simon. Your Simon. 

In the darkest moments, you called his name for comfort. Memories of you both running around the Last Tree, playing tag without a care. Him standing up for you when someone was a bully. You patching up his bruises after fights with said bully. Warm, comforting memories of your only true friend. 

Until, of course, this was also taken from you. 

His sweet smile turning into a permanent scowl. His eyes – brown and deep, with time, stating to shine red like the blood staining his hands. From a gentle, innocent boy, he had grown into someone else: The Butcher. 

A man broken and shattered just to be glued back together into someone you barely recognized. 

You couldn’t help but wonder. Was he alive? Or had he turned to ash in the merciless flames of Filament Station as well? 

If not, where was he? Somewhere far away, perhaps finally living his life for the first time in years? 

Did he remember you? 

The question hung in the cloudy mess of your thoughts, even as the screech of metal doors opening drew your attention. A brief break from the constant sound of dripping. 

Two guards entered – men with badges of Consolidation Of Iron on their chests. The first was much older, his frown shaped by a life itself, as he pulled out a pair of handcuffs. The second was younger, with soft features edging on boyish twisted into restless expression, as if the idea of being in a room with an Eden member made him uneasy. 

You knew the routine. 

Wake up, eat, work, return to your cell, eat, sleep. 

Wake up, eat, work, return, eat, sleep. 

Wake up. Eat. Work. Return. Eat. Sleep. 

This was your life for the past year – and most likely for the rest of your days. 

You stood silently, your legs trembling beneath the weight of your body. Hours curled up on the mattress had made your bones ache; dull pain beings a constant reminder of the situation you were in. 

You raised your hands. The older guard clipped the handcuffs onto your wrists. You were pushed out of your cell. 

C.O.I. had a strong sense of community and work. Selfishness was heavily punished – every rule designed for the future of humanity. 

Somehow, you hated them even more than Eden. 

Even if you weren’t deeply committed to Eden’s beliefs – C.O.I. had the audacity to pretend to be something they weren’t. They hid a truth of tyranny and apathy beneath a veneer of hope and justice. 

Everything here was controlled – measured to the smallest detail, even the very oxygen you were breathing in. It wasn’t a well-oiled machine; it was a bunch of people acting like they could play gods. 

And they said Eden was crazy. 

Yet you never dared to voice your thoughts. The shadow of your past always followed every step, and you had no right to speak here. Honestly, it was a miracle they hadn’t thrown you into an airlock the moment they brought you onto the station. 

To them, you weren’t a person. You were a convict – responsible for the explosion, a life only worth considering in terms of rebuilding what was left of humanity. An Eden freak. 

It was easy to get used to the insults. Easy to stay silent and let them drown you in venom. The words didn’t hurt as much as the physical punches. 

It was easy. Routine was easy. Silence was easy. Easy meant predictable, and predictability meant safety. Safety meant survival. 

And you would survive. No matter what. 

You blinked in confusion as the guard pushed you forward, past the laundry room where you usually worked. But why? Your schedule for this week was just laundry. Maybe they needed you for some other type of work? 

You kept walking, not risking a scene. You watched the doors of the laundry move further and further away until your eyes couldn’t reach them. 

You kept walking, your eyes fixed on each door you recognized. The kitchen door? You walked past them. The bathrooms? You walked past them. The Courtyard? You walked past them. 

What is going on? 

Your stomach twisted with unease. This felt wrong. The guards led you to a part of the station you didn’t recognize – too noble and clean for a convict. The Headquarters. 

Here, every citizen not under sentence spent their days outside work. Rooms comfortable and spotless, lacking the choking stench of iron and rust. You kept your eyes forward, even as the stares of others burned holes into your back. With each step, your muscles tensed, limbs refusing to relax under the weight of dread. 

Something was very, very wrong. 

They led you to an elevator in the center of the station. When the younger guard pressed the 'up' button, the realization clicked into place. The blueprint of the station flashed through your mind, cold sweat coating your back. 

The Captain’s office. 

You’d seen her once – and that was one time too many. It was the day they brought you in. Her presence was noticable from a far away, despite the crowd circling around you. You caught only a glimpse of her face, but her dead eye and the scar covering good half her features was something that appeared in your nightmares more than once. 

You didn’t dare to speak. You knew that if you did, your voice would turn into desperate pleas, begging to come back to your stuffy cell. The meeting with the Captain could only mean one thing: you’d be put into a situation with no escape. 

The elevator dinged softly before the doors slid open. A short corridor, with two doors on each side and a large set of doors at the end, sealed you in your predictions. 

You didn’t even notice when you stopped before them, your mind too overwhelmed by the thought of what lurked on the other side. 

The guard knocked. A steady “Come in” came from inside. 

The doors slid open – the mechanical whir so quiet compared to the screeching of your cell door. Before you spread a wide room in the shape of a half-circle, with a long window overlooking… nothing. 

You were forced to face not only the woman who had locked you under a key, but also the darkness you’d tried so hard to avoid. 

In the past, it might have been a beautiful sight – countless stars, suns, and planets glowing in the distance, galaxies dancing in a never-ending tangle of colors. Now, it was just pure blackness, ready to swallow everything and everyone, with no hesitation at all. 

Your legs refused to move. Paralyzed by the view and nerves boiling beneath your skin, you were pushed forward by the guard, your feet barely holding their balance. 

She sat at her desk – long and cluttered with papers, personal belongings, and a cup of whatever imitation of coffee they still had left. 

She looked up, one healthy eye and the other covered in cataracts, her gaze fixated solely on you. For a moment, you wondered if she could see through your chest, watching your heart threaten to burst. 

“Sit down,” she gestured to one of the two chairs. Your body moved on its own, so used to obeying orders, even as your mind screamed to fight or flee. 

You felt like a mouse under a cat’s gaze – or a fly caught in a spider’s web. Either way, you had the feeling she could devour you with her gazes alone, the idea making hair on your nape stand. 

She made a simple gesture with her hand, and both guards stepped out. The sound of the doors closing behind them was like the final nail in the coffin. The cushions of the chair were far more comfortable than whatever joke you had for a mattress in your cell, a small  moment of solitued for your tired body. It didn't helped with the anxiety, though. 

Neither of you spoke. You kept your head down, eyes fixed on the lines and dents of her desk, trying to memorize every scratch and mark. Even if you avoided her gaze, you felt that stare burning into your soul. It was as if your instincts had turned on every alert. You didn't trust her, nor did you respected her, but you were fully aware she had the power to decide if you'll live another day. 

“Convict,” her voice broke the silence, making your mind freeze. You stayed silent. 

“Do you know why I brought you here today?” The question lingered. All you could do was shake your head. 

“The C.O.I. needs hands on deck. No matter how big or small, every pair is needed to rebuild at least a small section of what we’ve lost.” Her voice was filled with conviction, as if there was no other way for humanity to come back – except through C.O.I.’s work and rules. Your stomach twisted in disgust. 

“We can’t let a convict join our community and bring chaos to the lives of the people. Those who commit crimes have to clean their reputation – in other words, find redemption.” She stood up, her chair creaking at the motion. 

“Doesn’t matter if from C.O.I. or Eden; everyone must serve the same sentence. Pay for what they’ve taken.” She circled her desk, stopping at the window with her back to you. 

“Once they pay back, they can join the community and start a new life. Rightfully earning their freedom.” 

She knew exactly what she was doing, and it was working. Your mind immediately fixated on the word “freedom.” A concept so surreal after a year in prison – almost too good to be true. 

You decided to poke the bear. Slowly, hesitantly, you lifted your head just enough to glance at her from behind. Her dirty-blond hair was tied in a high ponytail, much healthier and cleaner than your hair had been in months. 

“… Why are you telling me this?” your voice was barely above a whisper, almost unfamiliar to your own ears after weeks of silence. 

The captain shifted, slowly turning to face you fully. You avoided looking at the scarred tissue on her face. 

“You’ve committed a crime, but even you can be useful. I wanted to talk to you because I have a proposition.” Her voice was flat, emotionless, as she returned to her seat behind the desk, her hands neatly clasped over the surface. 

“It’s a simple task. One that will take some time – but once you finish it, you’ll earn your freedom. As I said, we can’t let a convicts live among us, but with you clearing your name, you’ll have a chance to start over.” 

You felt ashamed at how easily she could manipulate you – dangling the idea of freedom so casually, just to watch you squirm and struggle as you tried reach it. 

It was wrong. So very wrong. You've done  your part. Been doing it for over a year. More than twelve months. Three-hundred seventy-four days to be exact.  

Each of those spent on just waking up, eating, working, going back to your cell, eating, and going back to sleep. 

Hadn’t you done enough? 

“… That wasn’t the deal,” you muttered, not sure what possessed you. It was no longer just poking the bear – it was sticking your head into the jaws of a beast. You were in no position to argue. One word from her, and the guards could force you onto your knees, in the most painful way imaginable. 

Yet, all she gave you was a soft tilt of her head and a slow, unhurried blink. 

“The deal was and is for you to redeem yourself. And let’s be honest – which is better: working until the end of your life, or doing one simple task and starting over?” she asked. 

It couldn’t be a simple task. Simple would be doing laundry every day, or rationing supplies for the other prisoners. Simple would be lying on your mattress, counting minutes until the lights came back on. 

Whatever she was proposing, it was anything but simple. 

And you’d be a fool to think you even had a say in this. 

The doors opened again – you remained in place. Steps echoed behind you, two more guards, and… someone else. They forcibly sat the person beside you, a flash of black hair in the corner of your eye for just a second. 

The captain allowed herself a moment of silence, waiting for the guards to leave. Your shoulders tensed even more as you heard the huffing of the person next to you – their face so close, yet so far away you couldn’t make out their features. Your eyes stayed glued to the captain’s face, head filled with questions. 

Who was it? Someone you knew? Someone from other prisoners? 

Someone from Eden? 

The captain nodded, leaning back in her seat, her healthy eye shifting from you to the person on your side. A long breath escaped her chest. 

“You two are responsible for the explosion at Filament Station. As a form of redemption, I’m offering you a job: an expedition that may, or may not, bring us new information.” She reached into the depths of her desk, pulling out a small remote that activated the projector hanging above. The image appeared on the window behind her, the darkness outside serving as the perfect surface for the light. 

You forced yourself to look away from her face to the image before you. It was slightly blurred, unfocused, but the scene was clear – a moon resting at the center of the Empty Universe. 

“Since the Quiet Rapture, we’ve discovered four moons. Two of them are labeled AT-5 and Z-8,” she pressed a button, causing the image to flicker – a close-up of the moon’s surface, a large red dot visible on the left side of the frame. 

“Both moons have shown anomalies – oceans that seem to be made of a reddish liquid. Surface scans suggest the liquid could be blood or something with similar structure” she said. 

She flicked the image again – the dot expanded into a full imperfect circle, a close-up of the ocean. The resolution was poor, the image faded, not doing justice to the reality. 

You realized you're clenching your fists only when pain have pulled you back from your own head. Nails hardly digging into your palms, leaving half-moons in your flesh. 

The Ocean of Blood. 

The entire fucking ocean, made purely of blood. 

“The two of you will be welded into a submarine and sent to explore the bottom of this ocean. Your task is to gather information and document anything that might be useful. Easy as that.” She turned off the projector, the blood ocean gone from view. Your eyes now fixated on the endless void outside. 

No one spoke for a long moment. Only sound audible being the pounding of your own heart and the dread that returned in full force. Could they hear it too? 

She wanted to weld you with some stranger into a submarine and send you into the depths of the unknown. That was this simple task she mentioned? More like- 

“This is some fucking bullshit,” You heard the stranger speak, his voice deep and hoarse, as if from disuse. It made your breathing even more labored.  

You recognize that voice. 

The Captain merely looked at the stranger beside you, her eyes squinting in mild disapproval. 

“That’s an offer that will grant you your freedom. Take it or leave it. Either you spend your days rotting away, or you do something good for once in your life” she said. 

It wasn’t an insult. It was a statement – a reflection of how little she saw in your existence. 

“You two will be taken to one cell tonight. Make up your mind by tomorrow morning.” With that, the guards stepped in, pulling you to your feet – your muscles too tight to properly move. 

As they led you back to the elevator, you caught a glimpse of  the face of the stranger beside you. 

Your breath stilled in your chest. 

Simon. 

Your Simon. 

He was alive. 

Word count: 4.4k

Pairing: Young!Tonowari x fem!metkayina!reader

Description: You and Tonowari deal with the disproving Tsahìk and those who call your courtship into question.

Content Warnings: Protective!Tonowari, awkward/shy!Tonowari, The elders don't approve of reader, arguing.

Author's note: This took me a hot second to write and I am still not 100% satisfied in my mind, but I think she gets the job done! The end is based on this request. Thank you to @lumilily for beta reading!!

Na’vi Words used:Paysyul - Water Lily  Fkio - tetrapteron, similar to birds or itsy-bitsy Ikran.

Part 1

You walked into the Tsahìk’s marui, unsure of how this was about to go. Your wet feet hit the woven mats that covered her floor and Ronal’s eyes slid to you, a layer of hardness and hostility over them. She was tending to the fire, prodding it with a sturdy wooden branch.

The Tsahìk’s back was turned, shoulder moving rhythmically as she ground up herbs. “Good morning,” you said nervously. Rain pounded the water outside, making you have to raise your voice to be heard. It had been a deluge all morning.

Thank you @lumilily for beta reading for me!

Word count: 6k

Pairing: Young!Tonowari x fem!metkayina!reader

Description: You and Tonowari are entirely clueless

Based on this request.

Content Warnings/Tags: courting, mutual pining, jealousy, new Olo’eyktan Tonowari.

Author's note: My first Tonowari fic! Also my longest one shot ever?! I’m so proud of how it turned out and I can’t wait to post more for him!

Na’vi words used: Sa’nu - Mom, Paysyul - Water Lily, Sa’nok - Mother, ’Eylan - Friend, Ma’ite - Daughter, Yawnetu - loved one, Yawne - beloved

Part 2

Tonowari te Tsika’u Arvak’itan was not known among the reef people as a particularly outgoing or prideful young man.

His calm, strategic mind and kind demeanor was one of the reasons he was chosen as the next Olo'eyktan. His gentleness on the sand paired with his prowess on the water and in battle, made him the perfect candidate as leader.

With a spear in his hand, he was confident, meticulous, calculating, but in the weavers circle or a deep conversation? Useless.

Jan who loved to knit

Jan who must've seen the light leave his eyes whilst not being able to do anything about it

Jan who won’t be able to breathe for a whole week each year for the rest of her life

Jan who won’t be able to thank any of the boys who walked with him

Jan who probably still tries to help his mom even though they see him in each other's eyes

Jan who got let down and who’s angry and miserable and fucking traumatised and who ABSOLUTELY deserves to crash out