#alex.wrt

[ryley-robinson]

Testing the waters here with a piece of writing. The rest is under the cut.

From Ry's perspective, it's based on how I mentioned that I think he'd describe his job and survival with the same tired frustration. (though I headcanon he wishes he had stayed on 4546b)

Hope you enjoy, I'm a bit shy about my writing. ^^;

---

I’m standing outside the cafeteria, waiting for the inevitable moment that somebody breaks the coffee machine. Again. For the third time this week. I make a mental note to check the date, because it feels like I’ve been on this ship for an eternity.

... I’m inside my base, dozens of meters under a dangerous sea, waiting for the inevitable moment the sun goes down, for the nightmares to start, and for the sleep that never comes. For the third time this week. Or this month. I’ve lost count.

---

I’m shuffling my feet along a sterile, cold floor as a passenger eyes me with disdain, because I’m taking too long to clean out the trash disposal. And I’m not saying enough, I never am. It doesn’t matter, I’ll be out of their temporary space soon and they’ll probably forget I exist.

... The roars are deafening. I’m swimming for my life, trying to escape an alien creature rubbing its massive pincers against my artificial flippers. I don’t know if it’s hungry or actually upset but that doesn’t matter. Maybe someday I’ll be out of its space and it can happily forget I ever existed.

---

I’m lounging underneath a bunk, wide awake in my shared cabin. There are no windows, there’s barely any light, and the soft snores of other crew members and the distant thrum of the Aurora’s core drive are keeping me up. I can’t be bothered to check the time, I know it’s late enough that I should be asleep.

Waking up is going to be a chore and I know that’s entirely my fault.

... I’m sitting on the edge of a fabricated bed, that is clearly not made for comfort. The reinforced window to my base’s primary room is showing me a world beyond my understanding.

The eyes of Peepers blink at me curiously and the bio-luminescence from the Acid Mushrooms and Writhing Weeds is the only light keeping me company. I turned any man-made lights off hours ago.

I don’t bother to check the time; days here are short and if I keep checking, I’ll go insane. I know it’s late and I should sleep to conserve my energy. I don’t even know if I’ll wake up and I don’t know who or what is at fault.

---

I’m walking back to my desk in a hurry. My heart is racing after a confrontation with a higher ranking crew member. I slam the door to the sorry excuse for a workplace shut, not caring who hears, and throw myself in the chair behind the metal table. I stop to catch my breath.

I enjoy a whole twenty seconds of silence before my PDA blares to life and I’m ordered to another deck entirely to fix a broken lock. I tap the confirmation that I’ve received the message; it’s not like I can give them a ‘real’ yes.

... The journey back to my base is tense and wrought with fear. My heart is about to pound itself out of my heaving chest after a narrow escape from a Crabsquid. All I remember is wrenching open the airlock and throwing myself behind the controls, knowing I was moments away from being devoured.

I can’t even catch my breath. I’m too occupied navigating around the gigantic, mushroom-like flora around me. Nobody can hear the hissing of air through my gritted teeth.

I can’t enjoy the silence, even if it means nothing else is going to attack me. My PDA gives me a nonchalant notice about smoke inhalation and I realise my Seamoth is sparking. I can’t signify I got the automated warning, my shaking hands are white knuckled around the steering controls.

---

I cut myself on a piece of rusted metal while cleaning out an airlock. The mesh from the bandages is making my hand crawl and itch and all I want to do is rip off the protective covering and claw at my skin. I know better though and I remind myself there’s work to be done.

I know that with only one functional hand, it’s going to be a long day.

... I caught my ankle on a piece of limestone while trying to find copper. The jagged gash is making my skin crawl and I know all I need to do is get back to my base before something smells the blood. I know better than to stay near the Stalkers and I remind myself a day of no progress is better than death.

I know that if I don’t clean the injury, I probably won’t have a foot afterwards.

---

I feel awful. I’m trying to focus through a headache, brought on by lack of sleep. I was overthinking again. I fumble with the repair tool in my hand, dropping it, the clattering across the metal floor only making things worse. I stop and rub my hands against my forehead.

Steeling myself and retrieving the tool, I quickly resume my work before anyone can accuse me of slacking off.

... I feel like I’m dying. I’m struggling to survive a horrifying illness, brought on by simply touching the water of this infected planet. I’m coughing and wheezing again, brought on by what I now know as the Kharaa. The heaving is only making everything worse. I can’t stop, I curl further around myself, shivering.

I can’t steel myself, I can’t resume the work that needs to be done on the base, on the Cyclops, on the growbeds-

The coughing resumes before I can continue spiralling.

---

The cure. Enzyme 42. It’s right in front of me. I reach out and touch it. It’s strange globules of gold fluid and I realise it’s going to save my life. The newborn Sea Emperors are free, free under the shadow of their dying mother. My heart feels like it’s going to break. It’s being torn apart in two directions.

But I have to keep going. I have to keep fighting and I have to get home because if not, her sacrifice will mean nothing.

I did my part on her behalf and that’s good enough.

[ryley-robinson]

He's doing paperwork to confirm he's once again fit to work when it hits him. He really just wants to go... home. But the PDA itself, it said that he should treat 4546b as his home, but never forget it is not.

What was home, to him?

He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Was the automated voice really right? Or... ?

He sits back in his chair and runs a hand through his hair, still a mess from cutting it himself. All of the memories, some terribly bitter but some heart achingly sweet, come rushing back to him.

He wonders how the Sea Emperor juveniles, how the Cuddlefish he befriended, are all doing. And he's overcome with an emotion he's never really felt before.

Regret.

Before, he wouldn't have said he did enough to regret a lot in his life. Until this moment.

He finally understands, actualizes it, as tears drop onto the papers that he now has to replace, that he regrets leaving. He stares down at the contracts, covered in Alterra logos.

And he regrets so much.

[ryley-robinson]

Anyway, my AO3 be upon ye in case you missed it.

[ryley-robinson]

He's waiting around the massive dining hall when it happens. Another station resident fumbles with a coffee mug and it crashes to the floor and shatters.

Usually, he'd be cleaning up the mess and trying to give the stranger a forced smile and reassuring them it's no problem.

Today is different.

Today, he's still wearing the clothes he slept in and doesn't really care if anybody sees. He's been off work for nearly two weeks now, as Alterra assesses his well-being and fitness to return in due time.

Today, he flinches and trips over his own feet. He tumbles to the floor and he stays there, hands against the sides of his head.

The shattering of glass brings back too many memories. Too many near-death experiences, too many alarms, too many dangers.

Distantly, he can hear the crowd of people beginning to gather. Some have leapt from their seats and rushed to him, urgently calling for help or asking if anybody can do so. But some of the onlookers are much less kind.

"Isn't that the Aurora survivor? The one who got the Sunbeam crew killed?"

"I heard he started hearing voices on that planet... Sounds crazy, honestly."

"What's wrong with him?"

He still hasn't moved from his spot on the floor, on his knees, doubled over. He can't. He's frozen in place, in a place thousands and thousands of miles away.

His head is in a place none of them could ever understand.

A gentle hand on his shoulder makes him jolt and look up. The crowd had mostly dispersed and gone back to their meals as if nothing happened. The hand is coming from an arm adorned in a white coat.

"Mr. Robinson?"

He recognizes that voice. The psychologist that Alterra personally assigned to him. She's gazing at him with concern, eyes furrowed in sympathy.

He was never one for psychologists, but right now she is an admittedly friendly face in a sea of hostility and judgement. She offers her other hand, and he finally stands up.

"Come with me. I'll get something ordered to your room and you can relax."

He nods and falls in line behind her, thankful to leave the harrowing scene behind.

[ryley-robinson]

Song fic, anyone?

[ryley-robinson]

More writing.

[ryley-robinson]

a single number in a string of data

a single face in a bustling crowd

a single drop in a vast blue sea

a single star in a burning sky

a single survivor in a fight for life

[ryley-robinson]

Survivor.

He wakes with a jolt, frantically glancing around the room he now has to himself. He had to ask for it, though he began the arduous process weeks ago, Alterra only granted him a private space recently.

Only because his constant waking, crying out in his sleep, and pacing had earned him the ire of several others. Only because he was an inconvenience to them.

Because of course he was.

He sighs, lying back and rolling over, curling around himself. He's once again dreading another sleepless night and more nightmares and-

Survivor. Do not fret.

That voice. He knows that voice. He knows that soft, slightly curious voice. And his heartrate immediately slows. By all means, it should scare him and confuse him but it simply brings him immense comfort.

He's too tired to question anything. He pulls the blankets closer to his chest and exhales slowly. When sleep finally finds him, he is not plagued with nightmares of hungry jaws or snapping teeth or the smell of smoke and fire.

He dreams of floating, weightless, in a warm, sunlit sea. And in the darkness of his lonesome room, a smile breaks through.

[ryley-robinson]

Alex, he/they, 25+.

I really love video games, they're a lifelong special interest. More info about this blog is under the cut.

Art blog: @adraco - AO3.

I run a queue. I talk in tags and text posts. This blog is SFW. I utterly adore this blog's namesake, Knight Artorias, and Sonic the Hedgehog; they are my all-time favourite characters.

You may repost my screenshots/memes with or without credit. You may repost my artwork with credit to this blog. No AI/NFTs.

Games you'll see:

In-development games are tagged with the game's title + 'spoilers'. Anything I think warrants it is tagged warning-wise but you won't see anything too bad.

Subnautica. Very much mostly the first one. Below Zero is tagged as 'subnautica: below zero', the upcoming game is 'subnautica 2'.

Dark Souls. 1 specifically. It's my favourite game of all time.

Sonic the Hedgehog, Pokemon, Dragon's Dogma, Okami, Minecraft.

Indie games. (Journey and Flower, Abzu, A Short Hike, and Slime Rancher 1/2)

The Legend of Spyro (Dawn of the Dragon specifically), Spore Creatures DS & Hero, DS/Wii/3DS era Nintendo.

This blog is an alterhuman friendly space.

Personal tags are:

alex.txt -> my text posts. alex.art -> my artwork, mostly of Ry. alex.hdcn -> my headcanons. alex.wrt -> my writing. alex.scrn -> my screenshots. alex.ask -> answered asks. alex.meme -> memes, usually about Subnautica.

Required reading.

We are different. But we go... together.