"It's Annoying Though......." >:(

Open your eyes.

I gripped the both sides of the sink, my knuckles turning white.

She can't be dead. She isn't.

The ceremony starts in five minutes. People are already gathering in.

And here I am in the backstage bathroom throwing up my guts.

I stare at the mirror, slowly tilting my head up.

There, a sick looking man just stares back. The rings under his eyes striking out on dull white skin and bleak looking freckles. There's a bruise right in the middle of the bridge of his nose, black, red and purple. His hair is dishevelled as well as darker than he remembers. His tux clinging to his frame, the tie slanted and the buttons loose. Red smeared across his lips.

That man is me.

I turn on the faucet, watching the crimson mixing with clear water as it spirals down the drain.

I cupped up some water and splashed it on my face, cold drenching my skin while it trickled down. I dry my face off with my suit's sleeve, erasing the blood and matting off the water.

I glanced back at myself, my eyes narrowing.

"I hate you," I hissed.

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People are beginning to take their seats now. I recognize a few people in the front row.

Cassidy, wearing a black gown and a tinted veil over her face. Her sea green eyes looking weary and bleak while her husband, Robert, whispered words of comfort and put his arm over her shoulder.

Like that's gonna bring her sister back, jackass.

Clifford, a sort of friend of mine, came as well. He's sitting next to Robert. His suit is a dark grey, looking well cleaned up, considering this guy couldn't give a damn about his appearance most of the time.

Florence also came. Her face looked upset and overwhelmed by sadness. She's wearing a black dress, white gloves and a black rose in her brown hair.

Weird. How do you grieve for a person you've never met?

Charlie's parents are here, sitting on the second bleacher in the front row. Their faces weathered from time, but now chiselled from grief. Her mother won't stop crying.

As people settle down, their voices hushed, the pastor began to speak. Something about her resting in peace and God is watching over her.

Behind the curtain, I visibly scowl.

He's lying. She isn't resting in peace. She isn't watched over by God. If God really was watching, he wouldn't have let this happen.

She was too young. Too smart. And yet too naive at the same time.

"Stop it, stop it, just stop it..!" I whispered under my breath as he continued.

"-may we all grieve for the loss of Charlie Forester. A good friend. A precious daughter-"

"No...no...stop it. You didn't even know her..!" I hissed quietly from behind the blue curtain. I can feel my nails digging into the palms of my hands.

"-and a wonderful sister," the man said,his voice steady as his words echoed through the church.

I froze, feeling like I've been hit in the stomach. My eyes are stinging. My heart is heavy and my chest is way too tight.

I can't breathe and I can't cry.

I can't cry.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He finished his speech with a few prayers. His prayers are interrupted by quiet sniffles and a few whimpers from Charlie's mother. Does he stops and assures them? As a man of God, surely he cares for his people?

Nope. Just keeps on going with his worthless prayers.

Some prayers bring comfort to folks.

I don't judge. But to folks like me? They never really did.

He's finally done and motions me onto the stage.

I take a deep breath and walk slowly to the front of the stage, replacing the pastor. My figure was bathing in the light above while all eyes were now turned to me.

I can hear a few whispers.

"-he isn't suppose to be up there-"

"-not even related to the family."

"-looks a little young-"

I tense, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone. My heart is now rattling against my rib cage.

I cleared my throat, my voice a little rough, "Charlie Forester was someone very dear to me. We weren't siblings by blood, but by a deep bond. And it brings me great...pain..to.." I trailed off.

What's happening?

Sweat beads down my forehead and my knees feel weak.

Stop it.

I continue on, "To have her gone. To have her ripped away from the people she loved and treasured. Even if...even if some of those people didn't deserve her love and time." My tone is still rough, but now it's unsteady.

My vision is blurred at the ends, fogging up almost like glass. The tips of my hands feel numb.

Stop it. Please.

My heart wants out. It's gripping my rib cage like prison bars and won't stop tugging on them, tearing at them. My lungs are getting too clustered and my face feels flushed.

I can't breathe. I can't cry. I can't feel my legs.

I watch as Cassidy looks at me with concern in her puffy eyes beneath the veil.

Clifford's mouthing something at me. Reassurance, maybe? I can't tell.

It's not that I haven't practice this speech. I practiced all the damn time before this day. Even in front of Jack.

I wish Jack was here. Here so he could tell me everything was alright. Here so that he could hug me and comfort me. "It's alright to cry, Hudson," he'd say.

But he isn't here to say that.

The pastor is whispering something to me. I think.

He places a hand on my shoulder.

Don't touch me.

"Are you alright, my son?" He asked.

Do I look alright?

"She's in god's realm. Resting peacefully," he assured me, his hand still resting calmly on my shoulder.

God's realm, my ass.

"Would you like to say a prayer for her now?"

I clenched my fists.

No.

...

I swung my fist, my vision still blurred.

Thud. Gasps. Yells. Heavy breathing.

Two men drag me away from my arms before I can finish the job.

Cassidy's telling me to stop.

Clifford looks horrified.

Florence is sympathetic.

And Jack would probably be disappointed.

They're yelling at me. The men behind me. Their grip forceful as they drag me off stage. Away from the pastor, who's also being dragged away. Not for the reason you might think.

I try and shrug their hands off my shoulders, thrashing as something streams down my face.

I'm crying. Yelling. Screaming.

She didn't deserve to die. She couldn't be dead.

My lungs are begging for air and my heart is still enraged.

My throat burns.

. . .

I̵̢̛͖̩̖͛͝ͅ ̵̧͖̩̹̦̰̲̆̃͑͘͜ḽ̸̢̣̘̭͓̉́̈́͊̇ö̷̢͕͓̘̲̤͇̱v̵̝̙͉̦̘͇̥̈́́͑̄e̸̟̲̼̼͉̜̠͚͛̑́ ̴̗̻́ý̷̨̭̥̲͉̳̦̓̎͑͗̐̂͘͜ơ̶̡͙̻̱̟͔̒ṷ̴͉͕̱̜͗̀͝ͅ,̷̼̭̐͌̃̀́͗̉̕ ̴̞̲͍͕̜͙͋̀͊̈́͐̎̏͑C̶̢̈́̈́͐͐h̴̦̥̻̎̏̌̉̅̏͛͘ä̸̦̬́̈́̏̇̂̌͜r̴͉̲͈̱̞̮̆̽̀ĺ̴̟̳̠̦̱͙͊̔̄͗͂͐̉i̴̧̝̞̺̤̰̩̦̐̇̆̇̄̔ȩ̴̻͎͕̂.̸̮̥̥̖̬̔͌̀͋ ̸̢̰̻̬̩̯̪̗͒̀͋͑͛̈́̐̕ ̸̨̎̓̈́͛̋̒̿͌A̷̞͇̰̓̆͒̕n̴̜̿̄̄͒̚͘d̸̫̪̺̰̟̐̈́̈́̔ͅ ̸̻̅̓̽́͝͠I̷̧̢̳̦̟̾͆̈́̀'̴̤̠̤͆̏̒̑̌͑̒͝m̸̮̓̐̂͑ ̷̺͛̈́s̸̢̈́̀̇̕ơ̴͍͓̜̜̐̀̾͑͋r̵̞̤̹͍͍̠̅̏̓͛̒̅͝͝r̸̡̥̯̘̠̖̼̜̆͌͝͠ÿ̶̖̖̳̜̥̼̜͉̾́̀̕ ̵̡̣͖̪̰̔I̷̝̅̌̿͋̌ ̴̼̭̽̽̓̑̿̽̒͛ŕ̴͖̗͈͓̈́̈́̋̑ų̴̧͕͚͙͎̥̆̂̊ì̸̧͕͓̳̻̪̘͐́̌̇̾̿͜n̷̜͔̙̩̠̞̳̑̊̏̆̚ė̵̤̤͜d̵̨͔͉̜̫̜̽̅͋́̀̂ ̷̟̲͇̓ͅe̵͉͐̉̈̽͑v̴̬̰̊̔͊͘ḙ̷̞̽̑̈́r̶̗̣̣̄͊̈ý̵͓͆͝t̶͙͓̠̼̞̟̦̐̂̍͛͠h̵̡͖̦̻͍̄̋͑̆̽̌i̵̮̱͂̈̅͑n̶̯͓̈́̏͂͒̈́́̇g̵̝̟̃͛͌.̵̳̲̳̭̇̈́ ̸̻̲̅̾͊́̈́̒͘ ̶̤͐̔̐͋͌͆͝E̷͌̕͜v̸̭̲̳̀̊̄͜͠e̶̘̙̦̱͐̃̆͌̕̚͝n̶̡̠͎̮̂̈́̂̇͂͒͝ ̵͖͈̙̗͈̖̍͆͝y̶̢̹͚͇̯͘o̸̢͋̑͗̎͐͐̃͝ǘ̷͍͓̭̼͔̠̈́̐̐̎͝r̸̖̞̩̱̆̊͗ ̸͖̲͙͈̦͈̀̿́͛͊̎́̑o̷̡̬͍̞̰͔͚͆̽̽̅̆̔͝w̸̰̲̖̲͂̊͛̈͛̒͂̉ń̷̡̙̬͖͎͖̎ͅ ̸̥͎̎͒̑̏̍̓͝f̴̩̦̭̬̳̣̜̗͒͑̑̎͋ư̴̪̏̐́̽̍͑ń̷̨̜͓̟͓͉̠͎͗͛͆̓̕e̴͓̔͋r̵̳͍͇̿͌͐͝a̷̻͌͑̈́̎̑̚l̶̙̅́͝͠.̸̳̘̯̝̹̼͓́̐͋̉̅͝͠

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Gift for @creationandcalamityau . Inspired by our recent rp. @thelocalmoth 's Jack is mentioned as well)

Hudson stared at the keys on his typewriter, most stained by the ink on his fingertips. His eyes wandered to all the notes scattered on his desk, some words scribbled out or sentences left untended to. He picked one note up, an old story idea. The story itself wasn’t really special or original, so he decided to scrap it. It seems like nowadays that he scrapped everything.

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

He adjusted his desk lamp, the light setting an eerie yellow glow over his typewriter. He lay against his chair, staring, but his fingers pausing. His ears strained to hear the tapping in the walls. 

“Isn't it time you head home, Hudson?” A soft voice rang out.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

Hudson snapped his head up, his eyes narrowing. “I still have half an hour, Charlie,” he said, a defensive edge in his voice. His voice lacked any real bite, more distant than defensive. His eyes focused on the wall. 

Charlie leaned against the doorframe of the department, her brown eyes soft with concern. She wore a navy blue mid-calf flared hemline. It was gaining its popularity in New York fashion. 

 “You don’t have to work so hard, you have the other writers to work with. Teamwork, remember?” 

Hudson snorted, rolling his eyes. “Mhm,” he muttered dismissively, letting his face settle in his hand, glaring at his notes. 

Charlie shook her head, letting out a quiet sigh. She walked over to his desk and was about to place her hand on his shoulder.

Hudson swatted the hand away. “I’m busy,” he snapped. He needed to hear the tapping sound. 

Charlie recoiled back slightly, looking hurt. She then folded her arms and frowned at him till he looked up.

“Don’t you have a date to get to?” Hudson asked flatly, a brow raising.

Charlie clutched her purse, her lips pressed together in a thin line. “I do…but I just wanted to check up on you. Jack’s worried about you and so am I. You haven’t been sleeping, eating or even focusing properly-”

Hudson cut her off, shushing her, “Sh! Did you hear that?” His brown eyes darted to the walls and the ceiling that surrounded them. He pushed himself away from his desk and stood up from his seat, his full attention on the wall. 

Charlie sighed, looking dispirited. She ran a hand down her face, inhaling sharply. “This only proves my point.”  Her eyes darkened at him.

Hudson’s only response was a grunt, his back still turned on Charlie as he scanned the wall. He seemed undaunted by Charlie’s demeanor. 

Hudson’s reaction to Ray wearing eyeshadow? (Or any makeup, really)

GUYS I LOOK SMART FOR ONCE WHATTTTT?

THANK YOU SO MUCH! I LOVE THIS! THE HANG OUT! NOICE!!

first drawing of 2025!!

I didn't know what to draw them doing then I realized that all the moots I drew are also artists and I was like "I SHOULD DRAW THEM DRAWING TOGETHER!!"

They're talking about BATIM and FNAF together, sharing AUs and theories >:]

@unnoticedunawarestillhere (standing)

@goblin-the-clown (sitting in the beanbag chair)

@zigadoodle ( laying on floor)

Me :]

(ok I'm going to bed now!)

I was surprised to get that as my answer, but okay then-

(Any one is free to join.)

Consider yourself tagged if you are reading this:

Make this picrew of yourself

Take this uquiz (How Fandom Would See You If You Were A Fictional Character)

Thank you for the tag @machiavellli !

Angus Newman in my AU! Y'know...the lazy toy maker..? The one Shawn despises (Batdr)

Age: 51

Nationality: American/ Scottish

Height: 5'9

Gender: Trans male

Sexuality: Homosexual

Condition: None

"Therapy is too expensive...."

"But smashing bottles and lighting things on fire isn't."

:)

Have you ever drawn Archie Carter from BATDR? I'd honestly love to see him in your art style. He has so little content about him and it makes me sad :(

(this ask was totally not sent by @creationandcalamityau what are you talking about!?)

Cathy sighed, shaking her head in distaste. She gave Ray a mere glance, "Sorry. That would be my sparrow."

She marched over to the fence, a moving figure already coming into view as the trees were now having some distance between each other.

The figure happened to a young boy. His scout uniform was smooth, but dishevelled and dirty. One knee had a bandage while one knuckles had a bandage as well. The hat the boy was wearing was teetering at the edge of his scalp, threatening to fall off.

The boy gave his mother a quick glance, before scrambling to hop the fence, causing Cathy to already be on the move. She argued and scolded the boy in French, while the boy was already spitting back at her.

Cathy awkwardly glanced back at Ray, tugging her son off the fence and making him jump off. "Ray, this is Hudson."

"Hudson, this is Ray. You're going to take good care of this boy, okay? He's new to your unit," Cathy said in a soft tone, glancing back at Ray.

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.”

( :^)

CAN ALL MY MOOTS SHOW ME THEIR SONAS?/nf 👉👈

(I need them for a drawing '3')✨✨