unnoticedunawarestillhere

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

May i ask if my oc Brendana can be friends with kemble?

https://www.tumblr.com/tostig-the-nerd/790567316654030848/originally-coming-from-the-village-of-roscoff-in?source=share

"Alright, alright, so then I said-"

Yess as long as we get to make friendship head canons later XD Kemble's friend group is growing, this is amazing!!

Bonus:

(Fun fact: Kemble can sing in French and is quite good at it!)

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

"I need a stapler"

[Story featuring Lexie Reid (Oc belonging to @trenchcoatedrats) while this also takes place in @i-can-fix-them 's restoration au]

[tw: blood]

No one's here.

The room's dark, black consuming most of the walls and ceiling while only the slightly blue tinted light slithers from beneath the wooden door.

The room itself isn't interesting. Just tall metal filing cabinets hovering over while just looking at the frigid steel handles, is enough to make me shiver. And besides those tall cabinets with classified information in its bellies, sits a counter top and a sink. Sliver trays and skinny tools have been carelessly dumped in the sink. Something dark weeps down the drain.

The tiled floor beneath, the thing I can't seem to escape, remains beneath my thin socks. My back, stiff and held upwards by the brace, leans against one of the towers that held all the x-ray files.

There's no sound except breathing, the drip of the tap and the occasional footsteps of a doctor or cheep of someone trudging their TPN or IV around with them.

I always hold my breath when the shadows of them pass under the little scope of the door.

My hand threads through surprisingly soft dark hair, before it hits the roughness of the bandage wrapped around my forehead. I stop when my finger hits the chilly safety pin that secured it all.

I lower it, before both hands returned to clutching my stomach, making me lurch forward. Or well, something close to that as much as the brace was willing to allow.

I glanced at my surroundings, eyes finally adjusted to the dark.

Plain walls. Cold. Impersonal.

Filing cabinets. Cold. Intimidating.

Sink. Cold. Forgotten.

Floor. Warm. Too personal.

Hands. Warm. Useless.

Maybe I should just-

\Knock knock\

"I know yer in there, Kemble."

I grunt softly, sitting up a little and seeing the shadow peering from under the door now. The shadow almost touched my feet. Long and reaching.

Numbly and stupidly, I reply, "No, I'm not."

I could hear the snort even from where I sat.

The handle of the door jiggled, but the door didn't budge. Stubborn.

"Kemble, open the door."

"No."

Don't let her in.

"Kemble."

Her tone is warning now, the edges of it sharpening, but still tainted by something sounding of exhaustion.

"Please."

I blink, shame already beginning to settle inside as I grasped the cabinet behind me to hoist me up, before trudging towards the door.

My other hand is still clutching my stomach as tiny threads poke at skin beneath a clinging tank top. Which, I was freezing in, but stubbornly wouldn't take off.

I unlock the door and swing it inwards, light beginning to slowly consume the room. I poke my head out swiftly, causing dark strands to tickle my forehead.

She's standing there, eye already narrowing on me. The well-worn poncho slung over her as brittle bones poke through skin and adorn everywhere. Her messy hair is sweeping over the left side of her face. Both four arms folded in disappointment.

One hand reached out and latched on the door, pushing it further, before I could retaliate.

Light bursts into the room and my eyes squint, face already scrunching up.

"You need to stop givin' Trots shit, for the last time, we talked about this. And you throwin' a book at him like a child is far from havin' a fair conversation with him."

I grit my teeth. So this is what was happening. Good to know.

"I know yer still hurtin', but for fuck's sake, will ya stop treatin' the others like shit? They're feelin' guilty enough without ya kickin' up a storm."

I stare at her hard, face flat, but insides? Too much. She's right. Of course she is. Lex, even now, was always the one with the sense. Mostly.

I want to explain it. To move on. But half of myself is dragging myself through the mud every time I think about it. How I want to explain that I want to let everything go, but it feels stuck on me like some sort of glue. How I want to explain that most of my anger isn't even targeted at Trots and the rest.

It's me, myself and guess what? Fucking I.

I want to go back to being friendly. To being so well at my second chance and smiling, laughing and getting along and-

no, no, no, no, no no, no.

I need to stay away. I can't afford to let them see.

So many eyes, so many eyes, so many eyes, too much

My hand slams on the door and pushes it forward, trying to shut it.

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me right now-"

Lexie's arms shot up from under the poncho and was already joining in this tug of war. Her eye narrowing and her lips scowling at me. Two pairs of arms. I'm...probably not winning this.

Too bad.

This lasts for two minutes, until I have to physically stop, stepping back from the fight. I was losing anyway.

I lurch forward, arms clutching my stomach and my eyes staring at the ground. The ground never being the saviour that I need.

A beat.

I recoiled back into the shadows of the room and whipped around, marching towards the sink's drawers. I jolted the first one out, a hand frantically rummaging through the drawer.

"WILL YA-WHAT ARE YA DOIN'?" I hear her confused and frustrated voice yelled out from behind.

"I need a stapler."

"What?"

"I need a stapler."

"Why would ya-"

Her voice trails off, before I can hear her bust in with the door already hitting the wall hard and two hands gripping my shoulders. Before spinning me around, forcing me to quit my little search.

But it's too late. The black sleek little pair of jaws are in my hand.

"...."

"...I can somewhat explain..."

Her eye stares at my hands. Then at my tank top.

Bloody. Warm. And numb.

"Yer stitches broke didn't they," she stated in a flat tone. She eyes the stapler and takes my wrist, "Drop it."

I uneasily do so.

My eye twitched uncomfortably, the muscles in my shoulders already coiling tightly. I swallowed, before I almost instantly pleaded, "LEX, PLEASE DON'T TELL DOC." My whisper hushed, but desperateness loud in its own ways.

She blinked, before she let her hands fall away from my stiff shoulders and hung loosely at her sides. "You were goin' to use a fuckin' stapler."

Sheepishly, I glance off, giving her a half-shrug. "I just..."

"Sit."

Me, already feeling embarrassed for my behaviour, finally just listens. Slowly letting my knees hit the unforgiving cold tiles, before my brace rests behind the sink's cabinet. Head uncomfortably resting on the handle.

"I'm goin' to fetch Doc. Stay here," she mutters, sounding already done with my shit. Which is....

Very valid.

But then...

My bloodied hand shoots up, gripping the edge of her poncho.

Fear's already grasping my rib cage, crawling up my spine and making me swallow. "I don't want to bother them. Not again. I just got restitched three hours ago." My eyes were wide. "Please, Lex, I don't want to face it again. Not the probing or the surgery table. At least, not right now."

Her face, covered by the slight shadow remained blank, before her brow furrowed and she went back to folding her arms. "Yer an idiot."

She sits down next to me, but fear hasn't lifted. My arms were still clutching against my stomach and my head beginning to pound inside like firecrackers were starting to fizz. Making me have the palm of my hand rubbing against my head, as if to extinguish the firecrackers from popping.

A few minutes pass in silence between us.

"I'm sorry."

She finally looks briefly at me, brow arched up. Having the previous eye contact from earlier must've tuckered her out because she doesn't hold my gaze. "For?"

"Being an asshole."

"And?"

"...winning cards last game?"

She snorted-, giving me a little shove and finally having a short chuckle, before her face chilled into serious mode once more. "Well ya should be sorry. I can't say you've been pleasant to be around, Kemble."

I give a slight nod, guilt already knotting in my throat. Eyes flickering to the blood stained floor. "I know," I whispered thickly. I hung my head a little, strands brushing my forehead again and hiding my eyes.

Another pause.

"But yet, yer still my friend."

I blink, lifting my head and widening my eyes. A little stunned. I'm clutching my stomach tighter now. Not because I'm in major pain right now. No, my whole body is numb, the medication still lasts for the next half an hour, But because I'm bracing to instantly screw up. To walk on glass and be the one to make the first shard crack.

"...Why?" I rasped, eyes staring weary at her as I can still feel my thoughts getting tangled like wires and cables, while also falling into infected static. Just whirling around, my thoughts.

"Believe it or not, yer actually decent to be around when yer not being in a pissy mood."

I blink.

"And also because I always need my personal locksmith at my side."

My lips twitch, before curling into a soft smile at the edges. "Happy to serve," I huffed a hollow laugh, vision blurring with water.

She smirks faintly, before she mutters, "I'm sorry about yer spine."

I sighed quietly, "Sorry about your eye."

Silence once more.

Then a tug on my arm.

"C'mon. We need to get ya patched up, before I have to drag ye by yer feet. I don't want to turn this moment into some sort of sob story."

"And before ya ask, no, the stapler ain't comin'."

I hesitate, having nothing witty or snappy to say. Feeling pretty deflated at this point. Or maybe because that's just the blood draining out of me and blood loss is kicking in. How should I know?

I'm too scared. It's not going to be enough. I'm not healing. I'm never going to heal. The stitches are always too weak and the infection is always too strong.

So much dread. And, though I hate to sound dramatic, so much despair. Like a stupid cycle of uncertainty. It's ridiculous. I know this. Of course I do! I'm an adult. I'm suppose to be mature, strong, tough enough to get pass life and know....know what the fuck I'm doing.

....Right?

I'm getting helped up, when she says, "I can wait outside the operatin' room if ya want."

I furrow my brows at her, my lips tugging in a frown. Feelings muddled. "Eh? Are you sure? Surely you've got other things to do. I don't want you to be-"

"Inconvenienced? That's the thing, lad. I offered. Damn right I'm sure. And besides, afterwards, I'll be guidin' ye onto makin' an apology letter."

I groan out loud, but don't protest against it. If anything, I'm grateful. I stepped out of the dark room with two arms helping me walk out. Lex cautious, due to the brittle bones that stuck out of her skin and not wanting to poke me, and determined because my tank top looks like I'm a murder in a horror film.

She's already telling me about what we'll do after my surgery and when I wake up again. Her voice steady and calm.

Looks like she's having one of her good days at least.

She talks.

About writing the letter, or at least planning it out. A card game. And maybe I'm making us my famous hot toties too. Maybe even sit on the couch with Gibbo.

Back to walking in plain and impersonal sterile corridors now that I'm out of the darkness.

But finally.

Finally someone's here.

Don't let her in.

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

"Just how mère used to make it"

[WARNING: unsettling]

The lights above buzz as their white sterile light bounces off the plain light coloured cyan walls. No pictures, no paintings, nothing except the staff bulletin board every now in done. And a calendar. Consider it your lucky day if that God forsaken calendar has somewhat of a positive image.

The days don't really matter to me like they used to, so either way, I guess I turn a blind eye at calendars.

I walk down the corridor, my white socked feet smoothly padding against the cold and impersonal speckled grey floor. Cold tiles, real classy.

The air smells like anti-septic, iron and cafeteria food wafted out from behind metal doors, rebelling and sneaking out to lure people in.

But I'm never that hungry anymore. Not really.

However, I guess the one of the only reasons I do it is because I owe it to Doc to eat a meal once in a while. I really do.

Because you cause them so much stress....

With a soft grunt, I push open the sleek metal handle and the thick door creeps in, revealing the somewhat bustling life in the mess hall.

I scan the room.

Mostly a lot of empty white tables and metal benches that are lined up somewhat while there are two pathways that lead down to the counter where you grab the food. Trash cans, security cameras, shelf with the sad collection of cards and board games and that glass box with fire axe. Boring.

At the first table, Innes and Muir sit across from each other while Trots and Gibbo sit further down the bench from them.

Muir turns his head, beaming, but it's always uneasy when I step into view. Picking at the bones adorning his skin as if nervously scratching a scab.

"Heya, lad! Wanna join us?" He asks, smiling, but I can tell his heart is already deflating. He feels bad. For everything. And it's not his fault. It never was. Yet...

I politely shook my head, "No thanks."

My spine is killing me. That once trusty Arch that helped slope my back. To help relax. To help live. Is helping me die at this point. It's like the invertebrate discs just protest while the vertebral itself keeps grinding against it. Almost like a knife or flint and steel.

Or I guess sandpaper if you want to be more friendly.

Anyways, Muir slightly winces, but nods his head. He turns back to Innes, who is already muttering words of reassurance and change of topic. I do catch Innes glare just in time though. He thinks I'm being petty. I probably am.

A pang of loneliness hits me. We all used to be good friends. Tell jokes, play cards, do pranks and....

Shut up. It doesn't matter.

I walk past their table after that. Not even bothering to look at Trots or Gibbo, who's signing at Trots. I want to be clear that I have no problem with Gibbo. In fact, I will help him sometimes with signing lessons. Sort of. Isla is more of the professional here though, so best not to make a fool out of myself.

And Trots I threw a book at on Monday. Sue me. I felt childish.

Anyways, I keep scanning the tables. I look at the far right table near the counter and my heart sinks a little, already feeling silly.

Lexie has a prep-surgery this morning and Cheery is probably having another appointment. Of course they wouldn't be sitting there. Goodness knows where Alba is too, well actually..

Still, it's nice having them around. Lexie and I still play cards and talk. About anything and everything. Even about the good old days like when we snuck into Rennick's office and foiled everything inside with...you guessed it: tin foil.

Cheery's usually great at hyping me up for surgery or just making me feel better about my spine. It's in his name to be cheerful. But I can also tell that there's something so much more behind the mask. We're both hiding our past. And I respect fellow locked book.

Alba is probably taking care of Finlay. Finlay got into a fight with Rennick the other day and accidentally hit her face with a railing in the staircase. Bloody nose and black eye. It's not a big deal, but Alba's always been one to wrap a person with yellow tape and use that to strap them down in their beds and spoon feed them soup or something. Caring. Always.

My back's already beginning to protest and I know that the clock is ticking. Get food and sit down because somehow I'm scared that my spine is just going to shatter under the pressure.

Even with the cold leather and metal back brace under my shirt, and with it compressing the heck out of my back and sides like a stupid corset...

It's not enough. It never is.

And that? That's so...frustrating.

I need to get better. I need to be crossed off the 'needs more fixing' on Doc's list because I don't want to be on that list in sharpie. I want to be on that list in pencil.

Easy to erase and forget.

I'm worried about all the painkillers I take. I'm worried that I'll get addicted or I won't function right, or I'll act differently, or...

I'll just be so numb. And being numb...isn't living.

You're already dying. You don't have to go on like this.

I shake my head. Now isn't the time to let myself get swept up in all....this. I just need a little food, sitting down and maybe staring at a different wall to do me some good.

Posture stiff and straight, I walk over to conveyor belt and take a navy blue plastic tray with a plate of food already on it and walk over to the bench and sit down. Not once greeting the cook.

Or even seeing if the cook was even there.

I place the tray down and finally glance at the mystery meal I just snatched.

Oh.

Steam wafted as the gentle lulling smell of vanilla and butter shot straight up into the air breathed. With a delicate surface and smooth texture and infiltrated with a fluffy interior...

Madeleines. Fresh out of the oven from the looks of it.

I love madeleines. Or I think I did. Maybe I didn't?..No, no, I for sure did.

Mère always baked these in her bakery downtown. Always leaving them to cool on the counter. Making the pastries victims for a sneaky ten year old to snatch. Always before school. Always before having to run on cobblestone paths, dodging streetcars and people. Feeling the coast and watching the gulls fall in grace with the neighbouring gales.

It was wonderful. It was really lovely, actually.

Safe.

But all I did was stare at such a thing.

Because it hurt. My eyes, my chest, my heart. It was all wheezing from aching nostalgia.

Shut up. It doesn't matter.

What?

Easy to erase and forget.

But I don't want to.

You're already dying. You don't have to go on like this.

I could get better if I try harder. I want to.

Because you cause them so much stress....

....I know.

Shut up. It doesn't matter. Easy to erase and forget. You're already dying. You don't have to go on like this. you cause them so much stress....Easy to erase and forget. You're already dying. You don't have to go on like this shut up it doesn't matter shut up it doesn't matter Shut up It doesn't matter Shut up It doesn't matter Shut up It doesn't matter Shut up It doesn't matter Shut up It doesn't matter Shut up It doesn't matter Shut up It doesn't matter Shut up It doesn't matter it doesn't matter doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter-

[Ocs mentioned are: Dr Xathe (belonging to radical @i-can-fix-them) , Lexie Reid (belonging to wonderful @trenchcoatedrats), Cheery belonging to nifty @smallpocketclown), and Alba belonging to amazing @thelocalestmoth . Credit for these OCS goes to their awesome creators. The restoration au was also created by @i-can-fix-them so give them cheer and shout out]

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

GUYS THIS IS MY FRIEND'S OC PLEASE CHECK THEIR WORK OUT!!! THEIR ART STYLE IS SO AWESOME AND I LIKE ALBA SO MUCH!! We agreed that she's Kemble's mother figure which I think is so amazing uvu

Also, Finlay looks so rad!!! Love her in your style !! Walking health violation (because of all the cigs) x the health code <- love this!!

˚₊ · SWTD OC!? - Alba Velasco · ₊ ˚

And also. Finlay. Because I love her and so does Alba.

Am a lil scared to post this admittedly, idk why. But she’s silly and my moot really likes her, so here’s my silly little SWTD oc, Alba! She works in Health & Safety, not quite a medic but more so oversees all of the security/safety protocols over the rig, whether that be the rig itself or the crew.

As you’d imagine shipping some high strung security woman with Finlay would be a tad bit unconventional, but they work guys, trust… 🙏

(I’m still trying to learn how to draw Finlay smh)

That’s all, thank you.

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

May I ask for ur interpretation of Davros ? If ur up for it :]?

DAVROS DESIGN IN MY AU!! It's very different from the games design....also he's just pure sass in my au!

Everyone: Davros no.

Davros: Ehhhhh

(Stupid camera...)

"Kid, listen here. Never date your exes again. You're better than this."

"You're only....4 years older than me?? Also have never done that???"

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

AHHHHHHHH I JUST GOT BACK FROM A SHOPPING TRIP ONLY TO SEE THIS YESSSS FOIL FOIL FOILLLLLLLLLLL!!! I love that they are the pranksters that they are uvu

Oh Rennick is ready to yeet them into the depths of the sea...OH WELL TOO BAD IT WAS WORTH IT

THANK YOU MOOT!!!

Oh yes, also heard you wanted art requests? And please don't feel rushed to answer me, but may I request Lex and Kemble being the besties that they are? Maybe even using one of our head canons?

Again, please don't feel pressured and just take care!

THIS IS HOW APRIL FOOL'S WAS BANNED OFF THE RIG.

The sillies are certainly being silly

Rennick is murdering them when he founds out who did this

Foil shipments are more closely monitored after this

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

I sense a young dude who has issues! Adoption? I think so... xoxo, Gills.

Wait...am I getting a father again? Wow :O

GUYS I'M GETTING ADOPTED!!!!!! :D

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

A stupid idea I had in my mind...oh God....

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

"BE FREE MY CHILDREN BE FREEEEEEEE-"

*Kemble releases a bunch of moths in the lab*

DOC DO YOU LIKE THE MOTHS? DO YOU LIKE THEM???!!!

SCREAMING

KEMBLE WTF

:D

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

My Roper design next to the game design-ish (I can't draw balding people and I'm sad because of that)

Bonus:

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

If Kemble was a bug, What would he be? Teehee not for any reason in particular :3

Probably a domestic silk moth!

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

Lex and Kemble just hanging out in the radio hut and chatting about about whatever??? That or him getting his head pat at the end of a conversation.

I'm so sorry for the shitty doodles but I couldn't help it. I NEED TO PRACTICE DRAWING LEXIE'S HAIR BECAUSE THIS IS A MESS AND I'M YEETING MY PEN AWAY. GOODNESS.

I'm still very happy that they are friends!!

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

I have scars on both eyebrows. Eight stitches left and nine stitches right. Left from a ROUND wooden coffee table (when I was five or younger) and right from a metal sharp leg of a chair in the first grade. Fun fact: the right stitches nearly blinded me and I watched Pokemon for the first time during surgery! (The sedation didn't work until AFTER I got home.)

@thelocalmoth @creationandcalamityau and anyone else

TELL ME A CURIOSITY ABOUT YOURSELF. NOTHING DISTURBING OR GLOOMY. SOMETHING SILLY LIKE YOU HAVE BRACES OR YOU HAVE A TATTOO OF YOUR FAVORITE CHARACTER

I have a lot of bridge in my feet, I walk silly and I'm not a good athlete for that lol

And tag your mutuals!

@agoodpretender, @angiem03, @tiberious-possum, @fukitche

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

WHY IS KEMBLE GETTING ALL THE SMOOCHES?? GUYS THE OTHER SWTD OCS NEED SMOOCHES-

YeahHhhh Kemble waking up during his surgery sounds about right! And as much as he sees Doctor X as his friend, he's still determined to find a way out of the lab because he can't take it anymore.

Plus he still hallucinates soOoo my bro is not doing too well. I'd imagine he'd hide behind Doc too when overwhelmed with hallucinations and just wanting to be grounded. Man, he's only 29 and he's already going crazy T^T

Kemble ( @unnoticedunawarestillhere 's oc) and Xanthe doodles ✨️

Nothing bad happens, I swear 🙏

Unsettling themes /visuals under the cut

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

Tw: unsettling:

Man...maybe it was the headaches?

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

Restoration au kemble doodles:

I would imagine Kemble suffering from endless headaches and general pain while also being incredibly sad and lonely because he misses his friends. Also I think he'd just hide behind doc out of habit by now.

Drawing includes swtd ocs:

Lexie Reid belonging to awesome @trenchcoatedrats

Cheery belonging to radical @smallpocketclown

And Doctor Xanthe/creator of this au is the wonderful @i-can-fix-them !!

[unnoticedunawarestillhere]

HOLY SHIT THIS LOOKS SO GOOD??? AND THE CRAZY AMOUNT OF DETAIL AND EFFORT IS MAKING MY EYES WATER BECAUSE HOLY CRAP LADIES AND GENTS WE GOT A MASTER PIECE???

YESSSSS!!!!!! I LOVE THIS!!!!!!! Poor Lexie.....

Super sad fucked up Lex comic! Go forth, make moots sad

Based on this post and @i-can-fix-them's restoration AU.

The one thing I never wanted to do: Hurt Gibbo.

The thing I've done not once but twice: Hurt Gibbo

Ihatemyself :(

The little....bone thingies??? They appear to respond to emotional duress...Im assuming....Or stressors in general...yeah?? Like it speeds up growth, yeah???? Lex Post on Avie's page

Body Horror below

Sign Reads as: HI LEX :)

I'm Sorry Gibbo,

I'm Sorry

I'm sorry

I'm sorry

Small amount of context if you don't wish to read the first linked post Which dives into more of Lex's relationships with most of the crew. But also touches on her feelings during the shape, briefly, and what Afterlife/Restore AU Lex would think and feel. Immense guilt, despite knowing it's not her fault. She just blames herself mostly because she felt she should have been able to spot something wrong in the ground samples that came up before the whole mess.

The panel I locked the fuck in on, below. Has body horror.

It was better hidden in comic. I gave up like half way through because it got stupid hot. :(. Both versions though.