-Hudson Nodded, Amusement Sparkling In His Dark Brown Eyes-

How Could You?

“Mister Lawrence?”

I turned around, only to be met with my apprentice. He shuffled awkwardly, half of him hiding beneath the door. I then stared hard at my desk, letting out a sigh. Without meaning to, I dropped my book, music sheets spilling onto the floor. The yellowing papers swept up dust on the floorboards, I only narrowed my eyes at this. “What do you want, Johnny?” I muttered, kicking off my chair to retrieve the papers. I heard him slowly cracking my office door wide open and taking a few steps in.  Bending down, my hands furiously grabbed the scattered papers. I didn’t look at him. “Sorry to interrupt, but the band is waiting for you.” He said meekly. His British accent caught me off guard. I stood up, carelessly plopping the bundle of papers on my desk. I turned to him, an eyebrow raised. Today, he was dressed in a pale blue vest, buttoned up white collar shirt and brown slacks. I groaned, “Can’t they just warm up right now?” He hesitated, before he spoke, “They’ve been doing that, but..they’re getting impatient.” He nervously blew his light chestnut hair out of his face. I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to yell. “Then tell them to wait.” I growled. Johnny frowned, avoiding eye contact with me. In a small voice he responded, “You said that…two hours ago.” Silence. 

I stormed through the vacant hallways, not even waiting for Johnny. Posters were plastered every four feet it seemed. With their cartoonish style, they all stared at me and smiled. This only fed my annoyance. The lights above me flickered and buzzed, making my shadow grow long behind me.

 God, my head hurts. Even though my feet were slamming down on the creaky wooden boards, I could hear Johnny jogging after me. “Mister Lawrence, wait up! I’m sure we could make a compromise with the band, maybe even-” “ENOUGH.” I barked at him. Irritation makes a nest inside my brain. Though, deep down, I do feel a little guilty. Trying to simmer down, I cleared my throat. “Johnny, is your brother already in his booth?” I asked, making a sharp left turn.  He hurried after, finally keeping up with my pace. “Last time I checked, yeah. Though, he was pretty mad that you didn’t show up.” I scoffed, rolling my eyes. Honestly, it felt like without me, the whole god damn music department would explode. “Tch-well, he better be there.” I huffed. 

Before Johnny could answer, I halted only to be met with a chattering river of musicians flooding out of the music department. Baffled, I yelled at one of the passing tuba players, Rick. “Mister Hoffleman! Where the hell are you-” With dark glaring green eyes, the middle aged man snapped at me, “Shut yer yap, Lawrence! It’s been two months of the same shit ya make us go through. Well, we’re tired of it.” He growled at me, his southern accent lacing his words. I recoiled back, almost stumbling into Johnny! If Johnny apologized, I couldn’t hear it. Not when my blood was roaring in my ears. I watched Rick stomp away, his brown suit jacket hanging from his shoulder.  I didn’t even notice that my jaw was hanging wide open, until Johnny quietly mentioned it to me.  I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t command them to stay. I just stood there, and while I did, lots of folks hissed complaints and glares at me when they passed by. Is this what it feels like? To be powerless? I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I’ve felt this before. When he left.

Turns out, Norman was still in his booth, packing up his projector. Even though the booth was mostly consumed by lingering shadows, we could hear him shuffling around.  I stared up at him, only for him to swing around and glare from above.  “Oh great, the all mighty composer finally arrived.” He said flatly, his dark grey eyes narrowing. With a grunt, he placed the metal projector on a rusted steel cart. “Polk, what happened?” I yelled, still looking up at the booth.  The shadows answered with another grunt, “Whaddya mean what happened, Lawrence? They’re fed up.” A pause. When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Look, I dunno what you’ve been doin these past months, but Jesus, can’t ya just compose the band ON TIME??  Some days, the doors are locked and no one can get in. Why? ‘Cause ya keep forgettin to unlock ‘em. Meaning WE can’t do what we need to do.” I felt my stomach tightened while my fists were clenched. “Can’t you just get Franks to unlock the damn door?” I retorted hotly. “Kid keeps forgettin his keys.” He replied with a monotone voice. I let out an exasperated sigh, feeling my nerves being shot left and right. Norman said nothing else and with that I turned around. I  watched Johnny struggling to gather all the music stands. Taking a deep breath, I walked over to him and helped him put them away in the storage room.  I didn’t say anything. Despite how clumsy or frantic this kid is, I didn’t hate him. He’s a good apprentice.

 Well, decent anyway. 

After stacking up the chairs and cautiously putting instruments in their cases, we were done. During that whole time, I didn’t mutter a word. I was too absorbed in my thoughts.  Was working with Mister Drew on his project really making me digress  from what needs to be done? Surely, I could balance them both. Right? No. I couldn’t and today proved that. Bitter disappointment felt like a knife in my gut, wedging itself further and further in.  I felt something sting my eyes, rubbing them. Jesus, was I so powerless that I was having a stupid CRYING FIT?! I muttered something to myself, when suddenly, I felt a gentle hand clamped on my shoulder. “It’s okay to cry, Mister Lawrence! It’s..it’s been a tough day, but..there’s always tomorrow!” Johnny exclaimed, his eyes brightening.  I stared at him for a moment, actually looking at him. His face looked similar to Normans, same nose, and structure.  Light chestnut hair with streaks of dark brown while his eyes..well. One was dark grey, like Norman, but his other eye was a dark auburn.  Wasn’t that called.. Heterochromia? I think that's what it's called.

Anyhow, he just smiled at me sympathetically.  Without thinking, I smiled back at him.  “I..suppose you’re right.” I said, nodding curtly. He slipped his hand off my shoulder and walked over to the piano. “So, about that music sheet you sent me home with yesterday, I practiced it and I think I got it?” He smiled, sitting down on the chair and straightening his composure.  I was stunned. He practiced it? Hell, I didn’t even tell him to do that. Though, of course, I was skeptical.  I pulled up a stool and gestured for him to start. He cracked his fingers, staring down at the keys and gave it his all. There were a few slip ups, but I was impressed at how beautiful the melody was. And how Johnny was so focused on the piece. When he was done, he paused, before hesitantly turning his head to look at me.  I stood up from my wooden stool and placed my hand on his shoulder. “Good work.” I praised, smiling at him slightly. 

I swear his eyes lit like bright stars. I was proud of him. Even though I failed the band, I didn’t fail him.  Until…I did. 

It’s been a few months since that moment. 

I looked at my shaking right hand, a smoking pistol was tightly in my grasp. 

Oh Johnny. I’m so sorry.

I’m 

      So

               Sorry

VOTE PEOPLE AND PLEASE REBLOG THIS.

Still taking BATIM or BATDR drawing requests or asks.

•Normalize Fanart for Fanfics Again You Fools•

It's not cringe anymore (it SHOULDN'T be cringe anymore), just do it. You're doing something you enjoy, who cares what anybody else says! So spread the words my fellow internet brethren.

Spread the Word :)

Hudson stubbornly held his guard, "Yeah, and I'm not going to let him win!" His brown eyes pointed daggers at Nickson, his posture turning even more tense.

Nickson sneered at the two, before Tucker came in between the two boys. His lanky tall figure looming over the two boys, hands folded across his chest. "That's enough! Fallows, keep in your lane. Hendricks, keep your temper in check. I do not want another fight breaking out between you two. The last one, I had to call your parents, a forest ranger and a doctor."

Tucker grabbed Hudson firmly by his shoulder, holding him back while giving him a dark look.

"Shall I call your father? I mean...I'd hate to pull him out of drills right now."

Hudson ripped his shoulder out of the Scout Master's grip, shaking his head. "No."

He went quiet after that.

Catherine watched her boy go bound off towards the forest, already passing a gathering of boys, the group exchanging excited words about the upcoming hike.

She greeted a fellow Mother, her smile just twitching when the madame pronounced her name wrong.

She had given up on correcting people long ago, already feeling fatigue from having to watch all those people tumble and slip up with it.

She then noticed a burly man dragging a little boy down to the camp grounds. She didn't recall meeting the man before nor the little boy before, so she was already brushing off her dress and walking towards them with a smile.

"Bonjour monsieur! It's quite lovely to see new faces around here. Is your boy joining this group as well? It's such a wonderful thing to see kids interested in participating in this!"

The man looked up as he was approached, offering a small smile as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Well hello there, ma’am. Yeah, my son’s gonna give it a go. I’m on a little, uh, work trip, so I figured I wouldn’t bore him with my business.” He ruffled his son’s hair as he said that last bit. His accent sharply contrasted hers, one that could be identified as Southern from the U.S.

He turned to his son and moved his hand to his shoulder as he added, “Ray, why don’t you go on and run ahead. Make sure you talk to the other boys, y’hear? No point avoidin’ it if you wanna have fun.”

The kid—Ray—nodded and gave him a hug before walking off to join the other boys. His father watched him go for a moment before turning back to Catherine.

“Ah, sorry ‘bout that, ma’am. ‘Got all wrapped up… ‘name’s Daniel,” he said, offering her a hand. “My son’s name is Raymond. We’re from Virginia, just stayin’ for the summer.”

OMGOMG WRITING REQUESTS—

You know me, so I feel as if we can already predict my request…

How about either Jack & Sammy or Jack & Norman? No pressure ofc, I just love them both :3

Here ya go! (Lol I knew you meant drawing request)

Hope you like it!

Also shh..Norman shut it.

I DESPERATELY WANT ASKS OR DRAWING REQUESTS FOR MY AU >:DD

Reblog if you want Asks/Messages from your followers in your inbox

Ok this may seem a bit weird but uhh...

I wanna draw Hudson and uhh, not to seem rude but your art style is kinda hard to translate...

Plus I don't know his lore that well...

Could you give me maybe a like, full body picture of Hudson..? I guess..?

(and maybe how to get his lore/some of his lore..?)

I don't know how to ask for this... T-T

Yeahh, I've been told that a lot :P

It's not weird that you want to draw him! It's nice to see someone interested in him as I put a lot of work into working on his character.

Lore (but shortened as much as possible):

Simple introduction:

Hudson Hendriks is a young man who was about 17/18 years old when hired. He's 5'5 (when hired) and was first just a wistful nostalgic writer who was insecure of what made him "him". (Ex: accent, height, etc)

Hudson worked in the Writing department (hired somewhere in the late 30's) from Toronto (Canada). He was offered the job by a friend and decided to take up that offer so he wouldn't waste his talents and enlist in the Air Force (like most of his family.)

Hudson was one of the many victims of ink poisoning, which was his downfall.

He started hearing things, skipping meals/proper rest and developed an unhealthy short fuse with himself and his fellow writers. This short fuse even grow to be a full on fight with a Gent Employee later on. It went terribly and Hudson was almost fired due to him breaking the employee's nose. He was spared, but did get a permanent record.

He was mocked by his fellow peers due to his newly founded paranoid behaviour and this led Hudson seeking refuge anywhere BUT the writing department (avoiding bullying and concern)

He kept further isolating himself and grew an unhealthy habit of seeing his work as "not good enough" or "could be better".

Finally, he had made plans to head back home and enlist in RCAF (Royal Canadian Air Force). He was once an Air Cadet, a boy scout and with his ties in the family..this decision wasn't all that surprising.

He decided to fight in WW2.

In his last month of working for/in the studio, he had begun to uncover what had been happening in the couple of YEARs of working there. To the ink machine, experiments, financial issues, the IRS, etc.

In his third week, he was unfortunately caught by Joey.

Joey would then try and see how much Hudson actually knew, while Hudson would just play dumb or be uncooperative.

He was then tortured by a blade Joey had and would die to multiple injuries and horrific blood loss.

Instead of placing Hudson in the machine, Joey had decided to hide his body near the elevator shaft and block it off to the public (even Gent). Due to these complications, Hudson was never a lost one or toon.

Instead, he became a violent and bitter spirit, mostly haunting the elevators and was later blamed for causing them to suddenly drop.

Even when people were in there.

(This was not short, my apologies. Some of this info has been changed, so apologies to my moots who might be like: Wait what..)

Hello! (again)

I found some stories that I forgot to post as well as some drawings!

I'm going to post one of the stories because exams CAN LEAVE ME ALONE FOR ONCE.

Just gotta check for spelling mistakes....

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

Heyyy

This debate is fucking hilarious

Ok ok, so you drew this image

Me, my mom, and one of our friends are in a debate over what is wrong with his hand

His right hand looks backwards(no offense ment here...)

The friend agrees with me

But my mother seems to think he has 6 fingers...

She is absolutely adamant about him having 6 fingers and will not accept that his hand just looks backwards

This doesn't make sense to her...

Do you see what I'm talking about here..?

Do you, the original artist, think he's got 6 fingers or that his hands backwards..?

(again, I am meaning no offense here, I love your art style, I just noticed that his hand looks funky...)

I was rushed in the process and didn't actually think about it. He has five fingers, I was in a rush with the drawing because I had to host something for my family.

The hand's backwards. I don't know. I'm just tired. In the drawing I accidentally drew him with six fingers during the inking process.

Yay.