╰( ･ ᗜ ･ )➝ the idea behind this blog is just posting anything subnautica related & me talking to myself about it. currently I have only one short oneshot written on ao3, but I'm working on another longer piece (Ryley dealing with parenthood on 4546B)
⋆.˚ 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓆜⋆˚࿔⋆.˚ 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓆜⋆˚࿔
⚠️ spoilers ahead obviously
main : @chlebzkeczupem
if you want to see more of my art, not only subnautica themed : @ollydoodles
why does the "the cyclops is about to FUCKING EXPLODE" music go so damn hard?
uh, i mean, i am a responsible cyclops owner and have definitely never overclocked it to the point of it catching on fire and flooding at the same time
why does the "the cyclops is about to FUCKING EXPLODE" music go so damn hard?
uh, i mean, i am a responsible cyclops owner and have definitely never overclocked it to the point of it catching on fire and flooding at the same time
[tw: contains mentions of some bad mental health stuff, including references to depression, as well as side effects of nitrogen narcosis including hallucinations.]
Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.
―Samuel Taylor Coleridge, The Rime of the Ancient Mariner
Part I: Abyssal Zone
If Ryley had to pick between dying quickly to the snap of a leviathan’s jaws or wasting away day after painful day as this virus devoured him from the inside out, he’d pick the leviathan every time. Either way, he was being eaten alive, right?
And yet—here he was, looking and not leaping.
Overhead lights reflected off the still water beneath him, obscuring whatever was beneath the surface. Primary containment, the PDA had told him. He’d had it read the logs to him—a couple of times, in some cases—trying to put together what had happened here, why the planet was under such a strict quarantine, and he was pretty sure he had figured it out. Pretty sure.
And so he was pretty sure that whatever was in here wasn’t actually going to make a meal of him.
He took a deep, shaky breath in. On the other hand: this was insane. He’d been on this planet so long, all alone, that he’d started seeing things. Hearing voices. Who needed nitrogen narcosis to hallucinate? Not him. He didn’t need it for the time loss or the manic or depressive states or the bone-deep terror, either. Thanks, Alterra, for not logging the chemical makeup of bupropion in your replicators. That was really helpful.
Whatever. Whatever. He was going to die anyway, so who cared? Not fucking Alterra.
Ryley pulled his rebreather back down over his face, bit down on the rubber mouthpiece, bent at the knees, stretched his arms out in front of himself—
Ryley is 180cm tall (5'10) with a shoulder width of 54cm (~20in)
Empy is 40m (131ft) long with a shoulder width of 6.5m (~21ft)
Empy is roughly 1 and a half baseball fields long, or about as long as the Arc De Triomph is tall
She has a volume of 237.6m^3 while he has a volume of 0.081m^3, making her 2,933x times his size.
Using estimates of sperm whale weight we get the rough ballpark of her weighing 198,158 - 238,313kg (436,864 - 525,390lbs). This gives her roughly the weight of an Antonov An-22
I think my brain was playing some word association game with this one but subnautica au anyone??
Grace is a scientist working with Alterra (unfortunately) and the only survivor of the Aurora crash, but finds Rocky who also crashed here while trying to investigate a distress call coming from the planet :)
Give me a Ryley that can't handle living with other people, who has to regularly be reminded that he's not in a life or death situation, that he doesn't have to act like a caged feral cat, and who can't help doing so anyway.
A Ryley who can't handle alarm clocks or microwave beeps or loud noises in general, who starts visibly shaking over hearing a cabinmate's alarm, who has to very politely ask for people to turn their alarms off quickly, who gets weird and jealous looks because he doesn't have to get up for work; he can't work normally, not anymore.
A Ryley who barely leaves his own room after he's put on leave, who can only go back to work part-time anyway, because any semblance of a schedule is just gone and he's incapable of getting it back.
A Ryley who flinches at bright lights and wakes up at night from terrible nightmares, disturbing all the other people that he used to share a room with, and very much not getting sympathy and compassion when he needs it most.
Somebody who grows to dislike the colour green, especially from glowing lights, because it reminds him too much of the sickly green glow of the infection ruining his skin. Somebody who's liable to be triggered by breaking glass or the smell of smoke. Somebody who can't handle physical contact anymore.
A Ryley who is sometimes more trauma and survivor's guilt than a whole person.
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