#simon

[hard-times-paramore]

Markiplier: some people might mistake me for some kind of a masochist

Also Markiplier: makes the world's whumpiest self-insert known to humanity, kills him in the end, and then spends several interviews talking about how cool it was to be shaken around in a tuna can.

Blood ocean posts

[allykatsart]

Ok so the thing about radiation is that it's hot.

Like there was an incident with an orphan source where 3 men found this piece of iron that was warm and used it as a heater. Stayed around it all night for warmth and carried it on their back. All three got really bad radiation burns from it and were often in and out of the hospital. At least one of them died.

(And if an orphan source is glowing, you're fucked. You need to throw that thing as far away from you as you can and fucking run. Your hand may not survive but you might.)

Onto Iron Lung: you remember how Simon was complaining about how hot it was in the ship? Do you remember how long he was in there for? How many pictures he took? How many times he used the camera for light?

He was never coming out unscathed.

[driftsart]

Transformers x Project Hail Mary Au Doodles :D

[abeedus]

Two guys with dying stars and aliens.

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

Actually, rewatching the ending of Iron Lung, I think I finally understand what happened.

The final shots we see of Simon show him being assimilated by the blood ocean. We hear Simon's screaming gradually distort into a roar, and there are fang-like teeth growing on the side of his face:

The blood is mutating him into another monstrous fish. This implies the voice speaking to Simon had once been human too, but had since become the monster we've seen throughout the film, having burst out of (not bitten into) the SM-8.

The voice says, "We can save everyone, within us!!" which makes sense if we recall the line from earlier in the film about the blood ("It's us"). It's stated that the blood is human blood, and may even be what remains of the humans that were taken in the Quiet Rapture. As people (like the woman from the SM-8, and like Simon now) are sent down into the blood ocean, are irradiated, and mutate, they are absorbed into a sort of hive-mind connection with the blood itself. (It's sort of an antithesis to the repeated refrain of "It's bigger than us"...no, it literally is us.) Simon and the ship are already part of it--an iron lung, built by what is found in blood (perhaps distilled from it) and refilled with oxygen as if the blood is a body using it to breathe.

Then we follow Simon under the surface of the blood and see the following shots (I've taken down the saturation for clarity). The tree pendant cracks and shoots out tendrils:

Simon resurfaces, and his eye (below) flashes and changes color, becoming more like the giant eye we've seen throughout the film. His mutation seems to be progressing.

It cuts to black and the voice says, "We live." Then it cuts to an exterior shot of an explosion, ripping through the monster, and dark shapes start to shoot out from the center of where the ship had been.

Some people have interpreted this as the completion of Simon's transformation, but it isn't. This isn't a fish or even a tentacled sea creature. It's a tree. The trunk is the upper portion, and the roots are the tendrils spreading out towards the screen.

Simon's choice to hold onto hope allowed what was intended for evil to be used for good. The piece he carried of the Last Tree touched the blood, and, as if to fulfill what Eden had said ("our bodies will become the soil"), used it to grow, destroying the monsters as it did. The blood can nourish something now ("we live"), as it is meant to, even if (just as with the data) we don't get to see what it becomes.

Simon is gone, but the Last Tree lives again. And thanks to him, maybe humanity can too.

[falsehuman-exe]

please don't give up (simon iron lung believes in you)

[ethereal-princesss]

“Simon,” you mumble, sitting up in bed and flicking on the bedside lamp. He doesn’t move or shift, just sits there like a brick wall, his hands moving in the same rhythmic side to side motion. The sound of metal on the hand-held knife sharpener ringing loudly through the room.

"Simon, come on," you whisper. "Are you mad?"

He stilled for a moment, going more rigid than before. "No," He begins, "..'m not mad.."

"Right...so sharpening knives at 2 AM is a normal hobby-?"

He huffs, setting the knife down a little to hard on the bedside. "..'m not mad at you." his voice is gruff and snappy. Like he's teetering on the edge of fully exploding. He wouldn't, though, not around you...never at you either. He made that clear.

"So then, will you tell me what's wrong? Who your mad at?" Your voice is calm and soothing. Your body moves before your mind realizes, and you're behind him, arms wrapping around his torso. You nuzzle your nose into his neck, taking a breath and placing a small kiss there. "Whatever it is..you can tell me.." you pause "...you know that baby."

He lets out another huff, "Yeah...I do know that," he starts. "But this is different. This isn't..normal."

That makes your brows frown, and stomach drop a little bit. The room is quiet while you wait for him to talk again, but when he doesn't, you pull back slightly. "Simon, look at me," you say firmly. He moves back onto the bed fully, back up against the headboard, and hands clasped in his lap like he was waiting for a blow. Waiting for something to happen, but when nothing did, he relaxed slightly, and looked up at you. "..'m sorry..." He says quietly.

"No, no...shh...don't do that. Nothing is 'not normal' to be mad about, and there is nothing to be sorry about," you whisper gently. You move back to sit against the headboard next to him.

"come 'ere" you whisper, your arms open and inviting.

He moves without a thought. His arms wrap around your torso, and his head rests on your chest. He lets out a long breath, and you feel him relax.

"You don't have to tell me, but at least let me hold you. Okay?"

He only nods. Your hands run through his hair gently, and every once in a while, you kiss the top of his head. You whisper sweet words. Repeating that you love him no matter what, and that he's not alone.

You choose to ignore the warm wetness soaking into your shirt.