I find it so funny that people are shocked and freaking out that Mark knows about the bloodymary ship as if he wasn't saying shit like this on this very site back in 2015
I reblogged this last month, tagged it, and said “might as well see if it works.” I used this video as a reference to find all the forms that i needed (which is A LOT, especially if you’re a dependent) and sent them through the mail, not really allowing myself to hope.
dude.
$2,714 of medical debt from my top surgery - gone. im shaking this was such a weight on me for 2 years and it fucking worked. what the fuck.
After sifting through hundreds of photos... I have realized that every time Simon takes a photo in the SM-13, he's pulling up a frame to a stop motion animation.
And it can be played back as video.
So, I took each black box photo and compiled them together. You can now watch Simon's entire journey from the SM-13's camera like found footage.
You can also gain access to Simon's amazing photography portfolio from my master reference project, as well as the video for yourself.
Please, have a watch. It's terrifying. I feel like a C.O.I. lab tech delving into something I really shouldn't, and it's a blast!
"Stop saying 15 year olds with weird interests are cringe, they're 15" this is true however you should also stop saying adults with weird interests are cringe because who gives a shit
I want to share some wisdom from my high school art teacher.
In my AP Art class, there was a girl who was just starting to experiment with mixed media. At this point she was still playing around, trying to decide what direction she wanted to go with her portfolio. So one critique day, she brought in an abstract canvas with some rhinestone highlights and painted and real peacock feathers. She loved sparkles and peacock feathers so she thought she’d try introducing them a *little*. And after everyone had given some input, the teacher gave her his advice, VERY roughly paraphrased here:
“So here’s the thing… I do not like this style. These are just elements that do not speak to me personally, but I see that you like them, and you’re doing interesting things with them.
“My biggest critique is, I only merely *dislike* this piece. I want you to make me HATE it. Go crazy with the things that you like. Don’t hold back trying to make it palatable to people like me. Because I am NEVER going to like it. And if the audience does not like it, it should drive them crazy seeing how much YOU love it.”
Her portfolio was chock full of neon colors and glitter and rhinestones and splashes of peacock feathers and it was a delight. Our teacher despised every piece lol, but she got great marks and I think even won some awards. And more importantly, she was happy and proud of the results. Because she didn’t limit herself by trying to appeal to people who were never going to enjoy what she enjoyed.
Takeaway here: be as cringe as you want. Don’t limit yourself based on other ppl’s tastes. They’re not you, and you are incredible 💕
More Platonic Bloodymary ideas mentioning Simon struggling with education
Simon having Markiplier's traits (Including ADHD)
Me Getting Bullied About the Above Post in 4K Super Resolution
Fact of the matter is: Simon is played by Markiplier. There's no getting out of a "similar mannerisms" scenario. Homeboy FOR SURE has at the very least ADHD-like traits.
It's also a well-known and common symptom of prolonged stress to make you twitchy. Could be both, here!
Simon finally feeling safe on the Hail Mary, finally letting himself believe that this isn't some kind of trick from the Eel, or the COI, or whatever God that may be watching. Finally believing that Grace really does want him safe, and happy, and alive.
Grace seeing this, finally feeling like Simon is stable enough to see the Greenhouse. I mean, the guy had a breakdown over the screen room, Grace was not going to risk his reaction to REAL PLANTS until he was sure Simon could handle it.
Grace excitedly leading Simon towards the Greenhouse. Opening the door. Watching for Simon's reaction, hopeful, but knowing it could be too much.
And it finally hits Simon.
Not relief. Not awe at the greenery, the abundance of life.
Simon focused on the view. So many stars. They were beautiful, and he was happy they'd be the last thing he'd see.
"I'm ready." Simon whispered into the still air. The combing stopped, and Simon mourned the loss immediately.
"You can kill me now."
"I have something to show you."
Simon looked up from his spot at the Hail Mary's largest window. In the past few weeks, Simon's time at the porthole had shifted. At first, he had been nervous, not sure how long he was allowed to stay and watch the flickering stars, so bright, so fierce, so alive. Blankets had slowly started to appear in the alcove as Grace had realised Simon's attachment to the view, and for a time, Simon had scarcely moved, believing the moment he left the spot, it would be taken from him. But slowly, that fear faded too. Grace wouldn't take the stars from him. So Simon rose easily to meet the scientist, letting the multicoloured quilt gently fall from his shoulders to the ground.
Grace was fighting a smile, shifting his jaw in a way that shook the glasses dangling from his ear. The movement meant he was excited, and Simon was secretly proud of his ability to pick up on Grace's tiny queues.
"What is it?"
Grace took Simon's hand, and began to lead them down a hall, too busy with the words tumbling from his mouth to fully register his own movement.
"I'm sorry that I didn't show you this when you woke up, but in my defence, between everything you were saying about all that Last Tree stuff, and that breakdown you had when I showed you the redwoods in the don't-go-crazy room - I know you asked me not to bring it up but it's relevant - I thought, 'yeah, this would definitely send you into something'. But I feel like you've been making a lot of progress, and I really do think it's important that you see them..."
Simon's cheeks burnt as he was pulled along by the scientist, trying his best to focus on his words and not his hand, warm, soft, alive, grasping his own.
They turned a final corner to a small, uninteresting door. Grace dropped Simon's hand, Simon feeling the cold of its absence immediately, to poke a few numbers into a keypad - "I'm really glad this room doesn't automatically open, I love Rocky but the guy is clumsy at the best of times, and they're really delicate," - and the door popped open with a small hiss. Grace caught it before it could fully swing open. Took a deep breath. Swallowed. Fiddled with his glasses, resettled them. "Again, I want to say that I'm sorry for not telling you about this earlier. And I want you to know that however you want to react, whatever you want to do, it's okay."
Simon stared, at a loss. "...okay." is what he eventually settled on. Nice one, idiot. Grace is about to show you something life-changing and your response is to parrot 'okay'? He clenched his jaw against the voice in his head and took a deep breath. "It's okay, Grace. I can handle whatever it is."
Grace gave a small smile, and swung the door inwards, moving to the side as Simon stepped into the room.
His breath caught.
Rows, upon rows, of plants.
They sat in neat lines, reaching towards artificial sun lamps shining down from the ceiling. Leaves shone a brilliant green in the light, stems curling upwards. Simon even swore he saw some kind of budding fruit in the mass of greenery.
He felt sick.
You need bodies to feed soil. It was the most basic fact Simon had ever known. A fundamental truth that rang in his ears at that moment like a church choir. So how had the plants survived this long? Simon's mind cast back to a whispered confession from Grace. That two of his crewmates, his friends, had died during the trip to Tau Ceti. That he missed them, mourned them, despite not remembering them. The two bodies would not have been fresh, but a flesh is flesh, surely. So, Grace had had enough to sustain the plants. Until now.
Simon felt anger bubble up, the familiar buzz under his skin rising up against this. He had to-- to get out, to beg Grace for his life, to push the man against a wall and tear his throat out, he wasn't going to die after everything he'd survived, he WASN'T --
And then the buzz subsided, as quickly as it had risen. He wasn't going to run or grovel, like a coward. And the idea of harming Grace, of the man's blood under his nails, the wet choking sounds only a dying man could make... Bile rose at the thought. No, there would be no force in existence that could make Simon harm the man, the one who was so kind to him, who saved his life. Even if his saviour's mercy now had a bitter aftertaste.
Was this the only reason Simon was still alive? Grace needed another body to feed to the soil, there was no way the plants were going to survive long enough to reach Erid and their organic synthesisers. Simon's appearance was lucky, a body practically falling into Grace's lap. He was still breathing because he had a use.
But, Simon knew what being used was like. Being used was the sound of welding, sealing you inside an iron coffin. Being used was curling inwards from a gut punch, too pained to get up and follow your brothers as they left you to take the fall. Being used was the slickness of blood and the weight of a knife in your small, small hands. It wasn't getting to watch the stars for as long as he wanted, getting to eat food that almost made him cry with its taste, watching nature documentaries about animals he'd only dreamed about.
A memory rose, unbidden. His mother, stroking a young Simon's hair, telling Simon the story of a little dog named Laika. Russian scientists had found the mongrel on the street during the Cold War. They needed an animal to test the effects of Low Earth Orbit on, and she was chosen. They trained her for weeks, fed her, gave her a place to sleep. The night before launch, one scientist had even taken her to his home, to let his children play with her. Did Laika feel better as she burnt up in the stars, knowing she was dying loved? That she was dying for something so much bigger than herself?
Simon did.
He looked numbly towards the rows of plants. The rich, brown, soil, they all were nestled in. He could make peace with it. Simon was overwhelmed, suddenly, by Grace's kindness. He could have let Simon's body rot here the day he found him. He could have left Simon ignorant, walked up behind him one day and slit his throat without so much as a word. But his saviour had given him kindness, had given him the knowledge that his death was worth so much, even when he didn't have to. The thought comforted Simon, even as some small part of him screamed no, not yet, I don't want to die yet.
Grace cleared his throat, and Simon realised he had just been standing like an idiot, staring at the plants. "I just thought that, y'know. You talked about keeping the Last Tree healthy on Eden."
Simon almost laughed with the sudden, crushing weight of irony that settled on him. He was the Butcher. How many children of Eden had he killed? How many had he held down in the dirt as they thrashed, pleaded, fought, letting their blood stain the soil crimson until the fight left them? How many had he carved up afterwards, food for the Tree, and its children too? It almost felt like divine justice, being on the receiving end of a death he had inflicted on so many. But he would not go down fighting. As much as he wanted to scream, cry, beg, he couldn't do it to Grace. He would go gently to his death, he wouldn't leave his saviour with an angry ghost.
A hand brushed his shoulder, and Simon suppressed the full body flinch that attempted to rip through him. He was going to be good. He was going to be so, so good.
"We don't have to do this right now. You can come back whenever you're ready."
Simon fought against his trembling hand, clenched it at his side. He didn't take his eyes off the plants. So green, so full of life. And he was going to help keep them that way.
"No. I'm ready."
"Or we can leave, you don't have to see this room ever again if you don't want to."
A huff escaped, that could barely count as laughter. That was cruel. Grace wasn't the type to test Simon like this, dangling hope, only to snatch it away, but his brain could come up with no other explanation. It was a test. It was always a test.
"No. I've... made peace with it."
"...made peace with the plants?" Grace let out a nervous chuckle. "I'm serious. If this is too much for you, we can go."
Two truths, this was cruel, and Grace was never cruel, sparked against each other in his check, and Simon felt anger smouldering.
"No. I told you that I'm ready, and you're apparently ready, so can we just fucking get it over with?"
Silence. Simon finally risked a glance at Grace, and saw the scientist looking at him with... something in his eyes. His mouth opened, closed. Finally, "Sure, Simon. What do you need to get started?"
Simon wondered if Laika was grateful that her last night on Earth was as wonderful as it was.
"Can we do it by the window?"
---
Carrying the planter boxes from the Greenhouse to the window was a two man job, but Simon couldn't bring himself to care about how Grace was planning to move them back after Simon was dead. It would have been much easier to get it over and done with back there. Would have been quicker, less work, less of a chance his blood would go to waste as Grace would drag Simon's corpse back through the halls. But Grace was offering him this final kindness. His saviour, generous until his last moment. Simon smiled, despite it all.
Grace had settled against the curved wall of the alcove, complaining good naturedly about a crick in his back from the work. Simon had stood, in limbo. Should he lie in the soil? Wait at Grace's feet? The feeling of unknowing, of suddenly being on the other side of all of this, sent Simon's breath out in uneven stutters.
Grace tilted his head up with that same mystifying look. After a second, he shuffled over, patting the mass of quilts that functioned as makeshift cushions. Wordlessly, Simon settled down beside the scientist, curling in on himself. Grace is letting him sit on the quilts. He's going to get blood on the quilts, and he doesn't even care.
Another beat.
"We can just watch the stars for a bit. There's no rush."
A shiver wracked Simon's body at the words. He was trying so hard, but the fear had crept up on him regardless. He didn't want to die. He felt the thought deep in his bones, echoed by every atom in his body. He wanted to live so, so, badly. But sometimes, you don't get what you want. Sometimes, you die, and all you have is the kindness of a Russian scientist and his children.
Did Laika get a view like this?
He leaned in as Grace slowly started combing his fingers through Simon's hair. It was a gift the man had given to him before. It had started out of necessity, when Simon's hair was too matted with blood for a brush, but had transformed into an easy affection between them. But now, all Simon could think about was the hands of children, gently petting the fur of a mutt.
Simon focused on the view. So many stars. They were beautiful, and he was happy they'd be the last thing he'd see.
"I'm ready." Simon whispered into the still air. The combing stopped, and Simon mourned the loss immediately.
"You can kill me now."
Silence.
"...what?"
Simon didn't look away from the stars.
"You can do it. I'm ready."
Movement above him. Simon pretended he didn't flinch.
"What-- Simon, I'm not going to--"
Simon swallowed, glanced down at the blanket underneath him, then refocused on the stars.
"You let me lie on the quilt, and that's sweet. But I can move. Blood is hard to get out of fabric, believe me. I don't want to make that work for you."
Simon made to get up, to kneel in the soil, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Another shudder rolled through him.
"Simon, stop! I'm not going to-"
Enough. Simon finally turned from the view, whirled to look at Grace. The man was pale. How was that fair? Simon was the one dying. Grace wouldn't even have to do much.
"You want me to be coy about it? Feed my body to the soil. Let me rejoin the rot. Fuck, just do it. Please-"
Grace staggered upwards, away from Simon, but he reached out to snag at the scientist's hand.
"-stop-"
Grace tried to step back, but Simon held on tight.
"-I'm trying to be good, Grace. Please just do it, I'm ready, I've made peace-"
"STOP!"
With a shove, Grace pushed Simon back. He landed with a damped thud on top of the quilts. He didn't move from the spot, trying to control the shudders that coursed through his body as he waited, panting. He made it worse. It was meant to be so easy for Grace, but Simon made his fear so obvious. He didn't want Grace to feel guilty. Simon risked a glance up to see Grace pressed against the opposite wall, eyes wet with tears. Good one, you fucking coward.
Simon slowly lowered himself onto his back, looking up at the ceiling of the Hail Mary.
"I'll be good." He whispered.
He heard footsteps, and Simon didn't even flinch.
But as he waited, he realised that they were moving away.
Grace had left.
And Simon was alone.
---
Simon could see the window at the very top of his field of view. He hadn't moved from his position in the (minutes? hours?) since Grace had left, so it was nice that he could see even a sliver of the stars he loved so much.
Sound. Footsteps approaching. Laika had waited like this, in her capsule for three days before launch. She was so good. She didn't bite or tear. Simon could be good, like her. For Grace.
Simon's breathing was steady as the footsteps stopped nearby. From outside his field of view, Grace spoke, voice somehow hoarse. "I'm leaving a computer here for you. I loaded up a documentary on it which I'd really like you to watch."
A pause. Simon was tired, he didn't know what kind of game this was. He didn't care.
"I'm going to go." And, true to his word, Grace's footsteps receded.
Simon stayed down for a while longer, before he risked a glance over at the doorway. A computer sat, screen showing a sunny scene of a garden. Simon didn't have it in him to be sickened, or betrayed, or even darkly amused. If Grace wanted him to watch a video about his fate, he would.
Slowly, he rose from his position, carefully dragging the computer towards the quilts. His eyes burnt with bone deep exhaustion, and he blinked harshly a few times before pressing play.
Over the course of an hour, Simon's world fell apart.
---
Grace fiddled with the tag of a teabag, staring blankly at the ground of the Hail Mary's small kitchen. He was in shock, he knew, and he had cried all the tears his body was able to give up hours ago.
Now, he floated in some kind of emotionless limbo. All that ran through his head was Simon's words. Over and over.
Just do it.
Simon thought he was going to- Grace's breath caught yet again, and he willed the panic down.
Feed my body to the soil.
Grace made his mind go very, very, blank. He wrapped his hands around the mug for warmth, for something to seep into his body other than fear and pain and guilt. He knew, objectively, there was no possible leap of logic that would lead Grace to finding out Eden was a death cult that fed bodies to a tree. It didn't stop the thoughts from rising inside him, choking him - You caused this. You showed him the plants. You asked if he was ready.
All that Grace could hope for was that Simon would watch the documentary, and understand. The documentary Grace had spent hours searching for, not too happy, not too clinical. Nothing about bone meal. He just hoped it was enough to-
"I didn't know."
Grace whirled, not dropping his cup but succeeding in sloshing some of its contents onto the ground. Simon stood like a ghost in the doorway, face blank, arm wrapped tightly around the laptop. Grace waited for him to continue. Silence stretched between the two men.
"Eden didn't have any of those things. Or- we did. We just ran out quickly."
Simon made a move to come closer, then stopped. Pressed up against the entryway.
"I'm saying it-- was necessary. What I did. For the Tree."
"No it wasn't."
Grace spoke softly. Simon's face scrunched suddenly, his fist curled.
"For the Last Tree to survive. Our bodies had to-- we had to. It was necessary."
Simon almost pleaded.
"No, it wasn't."
Simon broke. He launched himself across the room, and Grace barely had enough time to put his tea down before Simon was pressing himself into Grace's chest, arm clutching at his back.
"I don't want to die, Grace, angel please, I haven’t made peace, I’m not ready-- I don't want to die," Simon whispered against Grace's shirt. Grace felt tears he didn't know he could still form, sting his eyes, track down his cheeks. He took a deep breath, clutched Simon closer. This man, who had faced death with his neck bared. This man, who had been through so much that Grace was only beginning to uncover. He deserved to live. Simon deserved a long, happy, life, full of stars without a cost, and plants without death, and love without conditions. Grace wanted to give him all of it.
