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I think that after Simon gets over the surprise of seeing rocky, he'd actually be quite comforted by the fact that there's no fleshy bits
Aliens đ˝
So, I'm gonna take-backsies a detail I laid down earlier about how aliens were something humanity has never seen before in the Iron Lung universe, and that was why everyone scoffs at Simon for saying there was something alive down there.
But... I wrote that detail having watched the movie in theaters a singular time. Now that it's out, and I've been studying it, there's some fuckery going on. Everybody have a look:
It's the way nobody flinches, nobody stops to think about the implications, nobody says "wow!", nobody gives a single flying fuck about the existence of aliens.
Ava says "there just might be [aliens]" with a smile. Simon's saying "fucking aliens" like it's a slur. Like it's normal Tuesday shit, and with a tone that says "oh god, not this again. đ"
Markiplier is also a huge nerd and I honestly fully expect him to imply something like this in his writing. So, let's take this at face value here: yeah! Aliens. Those are a thing. Humanity knows about 'em, and have been far enough out into space to have encountered them before.
Which implies either Simon's a species-ist (?), has had bad encounters with them in the past, or possibly got double-crossed by one.
Taking into account Simon's casual ability to interpret maps, navigate mazes completely blind, and orient himself with shitty-ass still images on a screen, we can assume Simon has been all over space, and he was once possibly a pilot.
Remember Mars was colonized in the 1990s in this universe. And it's 2370 AD by the time Iron Lung occurs. Humans have been in space for 380+ years by then. That's a long time.
To put that into perspective, 380 years ago from 2026 is 1646. We are medieval to these bastards.
So, that being said,
Simon would not be surprised to see Rocky at all. Possibly annoyed or intrigued.
"Ugh, not another one." Sarcasm type shit. I think the first question he'd ask is, "does this one talk?"
Yes, to answer your question. Simon would be a lot less apprehensive towards something less fleshy. Wouldn't you be?
A fascinating ask was presented by @rover-rot on our official iron lung lore blog (run by the brilliant @ctrl-shift-alt-9, who i wonder how they donât tire of me hounding their posts). In it, they broke down the many times in which simon froze or seemed unable to act in moments of danger or fear, even in flashbacks. Opâs response of it involved the topic of fight or flight as stress/trauma responses that in simonâs case could not be carried out.
This conversation Opened My Eyes since for some reason i didnât identify a lot of simonâs reactions as a freeze response, and as soon as i did, my entire perspective of the movie changed. again! This coincided greatly with my fixation in simonâs dissociative sequence, of which i had been wondering why it wasnât mentioned or discussed about more often.
opâs post analyzing screenshots of simonâs dissociative sequence, as well as other posts about simon dissociating in a bloodymary setting, were my only source of water in an oasis of a fandom that side-stepped the topicâapart from the lovely plural community ofc! so shoutout to you guys for your awesome ideas that inspired me on making this post: @acephoric, @projectironmaiden, and @hard-times-paramore. You guys are really cool :)
yes trauma, dissociation, and polyvagal theory are my special interest. Since my reblog of the original post was getting a bit too long, i decided to make my own post here! i got really excited, can you tell? :,) i added a read more below bc thereâs lots to discuss and lots of ref pictures hehe
So! What both asker and op were talking about in this post can be summarized greatly in the chart below, courtesy of Ruby Jo Walker.
As you can see here, we have a baseline, outlined in green, which can also be called our window of tolerance. When we're in our element and feel a sense of safety and connection to others, we are more aware, calm, grounded, and in control of ourselves. The part of our nervous system naturally in charge of this state is the parasympathetic nervous system, which helps our body rest, digest, relate to others, and heal or recover.
When there's a threat to our well-being, our body naturally turns to Fight or Flight, which is the body's mobilization to keep us safe. In this state, our sympathetic nervous system floods our body with adrenaline and cortisol. These are chemicals that activate our heart rate, speed up our breathing, tense our muscles for heavy mobile activity, and pause our digestion and immune responseâbecause this is no time to rest or recover. It's a time to survive.
But what happens when we can't do anything to survive? What happens if we're in a position where we cannot defend ourselves or escape from what is threatening our lives?
This is inescapable shock! And we can only respond to it by freezing. Animals do this to not be noticed by their predator. (You can tell that Simon is instinctively attempting the same thing when he is Perceived by both creatures much greater than him: the Eel and the Eye.) But when prolonged freezing cannot lead us to safety, because of the nature of a danger that is inescapable, our body shuts down.
This is where dissociation comes in.
We can see that the events of the movie are not the first time Simon has experienced inescapable shock. Long-lasting relational or organized trauma such as Eden is so difficult, if not downright impossible, to affront or escape that the brain's only response is to either freeze, fawn (a common trauma response in abuse), and/or flop (collapse). But an even greater, physically inescapable shock is enforced in the SM-13, which retraumatizes an already traumatized Simon. And though he tries his hardest to argue, maneuver, bargain, and plead his way out, he still can't. And worst of all, in order to be free, he has to repeat it all over again in thirty minutes.
This is why he begins to heavily dissociate in the third act of the movie. Being in a prolonged state of hyperarousal (a state of panic and rage), but without the ability to carry out fight or flight, was too much. So he instead swung to the other extreme: hypoarousal. This is why he was unresponsive to what he saw in the camera after being warned by (what we assume to be) his mother's voice about the trap the Eel had set.
He stared at the screen for a long time, but he didn't seem to assimilate it despite the many times he took a picture of the wreckage of SM-8. If anything, coughing blood was what temporarily snapped him out of it, but not for long, as shown by the following shots:
The camera blurring in and out of new shot compositions tells us he lost time again, staring at his bloodied hand and later standing by the console, unmoving. We donât know for how long he stood like thisâneither does he. What brought him back to a semi-grounded state was the computerâs alert that it was connecting to the SM-8. His hand recoils away from the accelerator when it does. This implies that, while heavily dissociated, he was pushing the SM-13 close enough to establish that connection, while knowing it could be a trap and it could lead to his doom. Hereâs this short but amazing sequence in video form to clarify what iâm trying to get at here:
It's just fascinating how, if you pay attention, you can in fact pick up on simonâs earlier freeze signs, even from the very first time the proximity sensor activates, and how they're in crescendo until finally spiraling in this very impactful scene. Here are just a few shots portraying his freeze responses, theyâre actually too many to count!
Itâs one of the best portrayals of PTSD/C-PTSD iâve seen in a while. Especially something as misunderstood as dissociation.
This scene is so important. It tells us that even those who fight the longest, who try to be the strongest, have a limit. It was here where his window of tolerance, his threshold, had shattered. Because what do you mean you have somehow escaped from a dark pit, a series of caves where a monster lured you, deceived you, crumbled your reality, made you see That Which Man Cannot See, only to be forced to go back in order to be rescued? Simon literally said, âI thought I died... I might've died.â Look at the way his features twitch when that sinks in. Theyâre very subtle micro-expressions, but theyâre there.
He wonât mention this again, because trauma of this caliber is, by definition, unnameable, indescribable. The only natural response would be to put up an amnesia barrier and move on. He canât fall into a crisis nowâhe has to survive.
But if survival means having to relive it all again? If survival means facing death in the eye? Is there a greater example of inescapable shock repeating itself than the fact that he had to make his way to hell against his will? Again?
This naturally explains why, even after he reaches the SM-8, is gathering its Black Box data, and has to race against time to reach Ava again, Simon becomes even slower to react and more vulnerable to getting stuck in freeze states. It becomes harder and harder to fight the inertia of stillness and produce momentum. The gravity of trauma is becoming much too heavy to bear. It comes to the point that he has to verbally spur himself forward, to varying degrees of moderate to no success. This is only compounded when the SM-8âs pilot speaks in the last recording, and he freezes in horror when he recognizes that voice. The slow coming-alive of the ship renders him equally frozen, until he drives himself into action, piloting the transforming SM-13 out of the caves. But once again, heâs left staring horrified at the fact that the SM-13 is not the only one mutatingâhe is too.
But then something crucial happens. Or rather, Ava speaks.
Simon refuges himself in the one source of human connection he has left, scrambling to the speaker like a lifeline (the same way he clings to a holster in the search of fleeting touch). He sounds slightly dazed when he tries to communicate that heâs ill, but he canât seem to find the words for it. Ava tries to silence him to enlist him in one more task, but itâs actually the Eel that succeeds in rendering him mute with terror once more. Throughout the entire time that Ava was held hostage, he was visibly unable to move.
But she brings him a small moment of connectionâa repeated call to his name, a genuine apology, and the weight of her belief in humanityâs chance to survive as more than the both of them. This connection allows for her death to not bring the collapse that the Eel expected in Simon. Instead, he felt rage.
gifs courtesy of @blursbian (idk why i canât link them to the post)
Because Ava tried to rectify her dehumanization of Simon, re-humanizing him by believing he has a purpose for good and the power to make a differenceâthat he is the only one who can do this. She believed this to the point of sacrificing her life for his own. She showed him there was worth not just in his survival, but in his fight for the worldâs survival.
This single-handedly switched his mentality from helplessness to defiance. In spite of his certain coming death, he had enough hope to do go down fighting.
Jingle Jangle. Official-Unofficial Simon Characterization Post.
Hey, so, not only are you right on the money, having conceptualized exactly my point regarding many posts where I've tried to convey this in text format, but going through the effort of digging through the movie to find direct examples of this is superb work. I saw it, I just didn't have it in me to scrape for all these examples.
So, hats off to you. I don't usually put reblogs in my main lore tag, but this is an exceptional piece. I really cannot add anything of substance to this because you've elevated my "catch" to something viable and provable. You're crazy. Never stop!
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Rocky "I want to watch you sleep as close as possible, on your chest" would not be horrified by feeling Grace insides during a hug!!!!!!
He would probably feel Grace calm down while doing it and go "I am now a hugging kinda person"
Come on, he gets RIGHT IN THERE when he wakes up and Grace sees he's fine for the first time
That clingy little crab-rock wouldn't think twice
"Yes yes, Grace might be gross looking, but he's my beloved best friend, I need to hear his heartbeat slow down and his breathing get steady while surrounding me with his arms"
Simon surviving with the Black Box on his person is a whole can of worms if Grace manages to see what it contains while Simon is out of commission. Because he's seeing the pictures of these absolutely horrifying things in the dark plus the audio recordings of what happened to the crew on SM-8 and here is some random man in space missing an arm, full of radiation and he's just like
Sorry I'm thinking Simon's tendency to apologize to inanimate objects rn
Grace gets frustrated with a tool or something and tosses it to the side as he does. And Simon picks it up and mutters an apology on Grace's behalf under his breath. Cut to Grace absolutely breaking down to Rocky later, taking off his glasses as tears stream down his face bc, "he apologized to the tool, Rock. I threw it and he felt the need to apologize. On my behalf." Him feeling a bit like an asshole for throwing a fit
Quincy stared at it in her hand, hanging by one of the straps that your arms go into. She didnât really know why she was staring at it, standing in the middle of her doorway with her other hand on the handle. She didnât really know why the fact that it was green mattered either.
The observation mingled at the back of her head, sat in a void that stubbornly refused to make connections to the other firing neurons. It felt like there was something she was missing, or forgotten something obvious.
It was such an insignificant thing for her to get stuck on, right? The literal colour of her bag. Just as she was getting ready to leave too, shoes slipped on and front door unlocked. Only to pause on⌠what, the spectrum of visible light being reflected back into her eyes?
Whatever. It was stupid. She had this bag for years now, and knows that it is hers, it belongs to her. So she took her eyes away from it and turned the door, stepping out into crowded halls.
Quincy weaved between other students, her backpack already a secure and familiar weight on her shoulders. The light was different, she thinks. Stepping through vaguely remembered figures and shapes and blurry faces. Her classroom was in another building, similar yet different to the one she found herself walking through.
It was when she turned a corner that she suddenly realised she was alone, her footsteps echoing around the space. Then, another thought, just where the hell was she?
No building on campus had the turns she took or the layout of those rooms. But she was on campus, that she definitely knew. She didnât remember the walk to school but itâs not like that was abnormal. Itâs the same route every day, if anything, it would be more unusual if she didnât zone out.
It didnât feel like she was lost. Turning around to try and retrace her steps, glancing down empty hallways and into equally empty classrooms.
How long had she been walking again? For some reason, it felt like she was getting farther and farther from her destination even though sheâd turned back. Turned back where?
Everything looked the same, yetâ?
She blinked at the ceiling, dazed and heavy with fatigue. Quincy turned over, kicking off the sheets that clung to her legs, and blindly grabbed at her phone. No hint of light leaking under her curtains, could be anywhere from a late night or extremely early morning⌠Getting up was going to be annoying later.
Hissing at the blinding light of her screen, she squinted and blinked until she saw: 4:45 AM. Damn, not enough time to try and sleep, she wouldnât get any good rest before her alarm rang.
She dropped her phone, screen down onto her bed, shifting onto her back and throwing an arm over her face. âUurrhhhgghâŚâ
Taking a few moments to breathe and fully wake up, she pushed herself up into a sit, rubbing her eyes. Right, okay, she could get up early and get coffee from that one cafĂŠ as a treat on her way to school.
Quincy shoved herself off her bed and mindlessly started going through her morning routine. Brush, shower, dress, grab her [ ] backpack.
Toeing on her shoes, shoving her keys into the door. She stood at her doorway, hand on the handle, the other holding onto the strap of her bag.
It was green.
A wave of dĂŠjĂ vu washed over her as she recalled the dream, staring at her green backpack. And another thing, her bag wasnât green. Itâs never been green. Itâs supposed to be bâ
Quincy blinked at her ceiling, turning her eyes to see the sliver of light seeping into her room. She shifted her legs off the side of her bed, standing up and making her way to the corner she threw her [ ] bag. Shuffling a hand against the wall and bathing the room in light, her backpack sat innocently where sheâd tossed it last night.
It was grâblue. It was blue, a deep, almost navy, violet colour. Decorated with her uneven embroidered stars and sewn on patches. Accessories, keychains and button badges that clutter and clack and rattle with every other step. Entirely personalised, entirely hers, and absolutely not green.
She didnât even remember why she had gotten up to check the colour of her bag. Why⌠how would it even suddenly turn green overnight? Why green of all colours?
Whatever weirdass dream she had felt like a void in her memories, stubbornly refusing to form connections to the other firing neurons. But she remembered feeling⌠unsettled? Confused? Still not the right word, something adjacent to that.
Whatever it was, it somehow pulled her out of bed on a Saturday of all days.
She promptly went back to sleep and forgot about it.
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Dim light pours in from the widening gap as the hatch lifts. Grace doesn't remember the emergency lights being this bright. Being in complete darkness will do that to you, he guesses. He also doesn't remember that old stuffy rust scent, maybe his nose started bleeding from the ammonia again. But he definitely doesnât remember another man on the ship.
thhank you for drawing her..,,,. have i told you how much i loev you anyways here's her documents and birth certificate and drivers license and ID number and
Replika Overview: NSBR
Nachtwache-Patrouille/Ständige-Bewegung Replika
-Nachtschwalbe-
(Night-watch Patrol/Constant Motion Replika âNightjarâ)
Type: Generation 3 Reconnaissance and Surveillance Specialist
Frame: Biochemical with Polyethylene Shell
Height: 165cm
< 01 / 02 >
NSBR units are perpetual motion machines, a constant presence through every nightfall. As such, they rarely need external sources of energy, only falling into a torpor in extremely dire circumstances. Nacht patrol units are uniquely outfitted with thermal imaging and night vision systems, giving them large beady black eyes, capable of watching over facilities and acquiring intelligence. Their slimmer frame allows for short bursts of extremely quick movement, capable of making swift dispatches, however, are entirely unsuited for prolonged periods of intense movement.
Nacht units may seem standoffish, but easily warm up to Gestalts and Replika Models with regular interaction. Due to their speciality, they are highly sensitive to sudden bright lights, and are usually hiding in dark rooms during daylight.
< 02 / 02 >
=
Replika Known Issues Pt. X
- CLASSIFIED INFORMATION - Commander Eyes Only -
Previous experience with these Replika models has given us insight into irregularities in their behavior that stem from the original neural patterns used for these units. Due to the sensitive nature of this information, this document should be destroyed after reading.
< 01 / 04 >
NSBR
As perpetual motion machines, Nacht units will follow the last given command for an indefinite amount of time, usually until they are physically unable to. It is extremely important to be specific with time periods and double-check written instructions before commanding a Nacht. Do not leave anything up for interpretation. Conflicting or confusing commands can interfere with duties and are liable to destabilization.
< 02 / 04 >
Nachts may form strong attachments to any singular Gestalt or Replika Model they interact with regularly or are comfortable around. It is common to see them trailing after their attachment when not actively carrying out their duties.
They are not used to expressing themselves or participating in discussions, and are incredibly awkward early after deployment. Social development is optional. Undeveloped Nachts are nonverbal and are less stable than developed Nachts, their ability to perform tasks are unaffected.
< 03 / 04 >
Nacht's neural pattern is relatively stable. Their dorms should always be supplied with pillows or other such soft items as Fetish objects and kept as dark as possible. NSBR units are unable to recognize or have feelings of exhaustion, and may suddenly go into a torpor at any time, needing relocation.
a detached sense of comfort and peace that they can only find in each other, and soft grief because they know it's a sense of safety they will not be able to find anywhere else no matter how far or long they search for. maybe not each other's half, maybe not two pieces of one whole, but a level of understanding that they want to cling to for the rest of their days, yet feels once-in-a-lifetime, fleeting.
it's something like love, innate and unburdened, already mourning the inevitable outcome, because no matter what happens, if there's an outcome, there's a change. and maybe it's being scared of moving on, of the change, gripping onto each other as anchors to keep themselves safe. but they know it won't last. they know and so they hold on even tighter, white-knuckles, bloody nails and all.
=
this was what i got from listening to their curated playlist for 20-40 minutes,,.,.. gahhghg theyre so freakn doomed what are you evebn doing wif them vro.. (keep cookin mwah mwah)
first ever post after years of lurking and it's gonna be the most recent thing i've written....
inspired by this pic i saw on pinterest
=
âFĂŠlicette, mon cher.â A silken tongue cooed, fingers trailing up anotherâs arm.
âJeanne,â Her name rumbled softly, reverently, in her voice, more felt than heard, through the vibrations at her throat. âYou tease me.â She whispered, tone light despite the complaint.
a winged robert that used to race with chase as a pastime. a robert that used to have trouble putting on a shirt because his wings kept getting caught up in it. a robert that loved the sky and winds and the weightlessness of freefall. a robert that loved what mecha man stood for. a robert that dreamed of being a hero alongside his dad and chase and the rest of the brave brigade.
a robert that couldnât let mecha man die when he meant to much to so many people. a robert that tried every single thing he could to fit in the suit and hide his wings for months. a robert that convinced himself flying wouldnât be any different in the suit. a robert that gave up his own wings to don mechanical ones.
a robert that still yearns for the skies. a robert that feels a deep grief-like envy for the ability to fly. a robert that knows the only person to blame for being grounded was himself, but just canât help wishing for his own wings back whenever heâs reminded of it.
idea i had months ago, wrote his big fall under the cut
Bright blaring alarms and red hazard lights flashed within the shaking hull of a metallic beast, shot out of the sky and sent careening towards earth. Weightlessness, the lofty lurch of his organs, all of it spiked a painful nostalgic longing. His eyes, blurring as unconsciousness tugged at his mind, slid over to the opening Toxic had melted through.
The sky, clouds, wind greeted him, unfazed by the error messages and red alarms fading from his awareness. For a moment, he could almost pretend he was in the skies again.
If this were to be his last chance to touch the sky, he thinks, it wouldnât be too bad. To go out like this. Darkness ebbs the edges of his vision, barely able to hear the suitâs distress over the ringing cotton in his ears.
He braces nonetheless, heavy arms and numbing fingers grasping at the control sticks. Realigning his trajectory to the best of his abilities, he refuses to let any civilians get caught in any secondary explosions after he crashes.
Heâs closer to the ground now, the tops and roofs of buildings peaking into the edges of his impromptu sunroof. With the last bit of strength, more muscle memory than anything, he reorients the suit to land first on its mechanical legs rather than its back.
Then, the heavy crunch, screech of panels, and nothing.
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Simon grinded down a little meanly, strong thighs straddling the man under him. Slick, sweat and other fluids had long since pooled between them, onto the sheets below. He earned a muffled noise for his actions, a mix between a groan and the beginnings of a whine.
An old shirt, repurposed as a gag, soaked through with spit. A long sleeved, tied around a pair of wrists, fixed above his head. Positioned just so, that Ryland could knock against the headboard if it was too much. Glossy, teary blue eyes stare half-lidded at Simon, roaming across his body and down where they connect together. Rylandâs hands pull at the restraints, wanting to touch and caress and pull Simon even closer.
His legs shuffle uselessly below Simon. Weak from tensing and shaking, accidentally tipping Simon back. With his only arm on a toy, he stabilised himself and ripped a choking keen from Ryland, tilting pressing the toy into his prostate. Ryland tensed and shuddered, throwing his head back, trying to hide behind his arm.
âEven like this, you canât shut up.â Simon grunts, feeling the twitch in Rylandâs dick, he pushed himself up slightly and dropped back down, drinking in the delicious friction, sending jolts through him and adding to the heated pool in his belly.
flambae. convict, chad the incendiary, angry and vengeful at the world for taking away his family, for the betrayal and the crimes heâs accused of, not knowing what else to live for but wanting to stay alive anyway, thinking that maybe doing this would absolve him of his sins, but when he comes back up for air after telling his niece to hold the box tight like she does her plushies, itâs under an alternate star-filled night sky, and he doesnât even know it until the voice that comes on the speaker isnât recognisable.
robert. engineer or microbiologist im not sure yet, respected in his field until The Incidentâ˘ď¸ and just took whatever job that came along, becoming a teacher and finding he liked mentoring and loved seeing his kids succeed, mr âdoesnât even have a dogâ, heâs petty and spiteful and he doesnât owe them anything and he knew his fate was sealed the moment they asked him, scratching biting pulling kicking and fighting every step of his sedation until it kicked in and the last thing he remembers is the taste of dirt on his tongue.