"Why I'm Unhinged, Let Me Explain: Drinking, Ink Poisoning, Being A Writer, Being Canadian, Being Afraid

@thelocalmoth 's Jack and Hudson moments!

These were inspired by our rp!

As well as this, I guess:

(Not too proud of this one as I tried to take a break from my cartoony art style)

The smell of copper was strong now, almost unbearable as the lights finally stopped flickering and were back to normal. Sort of.

They were brighter than before.

It was almost baffling when the man reappeared, his form more detailed. Detailed being the worst part.

The man's sides were nothing but a spine and rib cage, peering out of the man's tattered shirt. His slacks were loose on his thin hips, the belt too feeble to do its job. But that wasn't the worst part.

The worst part was the bleeding, coming from the centre of the man's chest, pouring down and splattering on his rib cage and shirt. The wound looked deep and way too forced to be "just an accident".

The man's face wasn't visible though, his head still keeping to the shadows.

"I can your heart beat y'know."

"That pretty little thing is doing such a wonderful job."

"But let's be honest. It can only do so much to keep you alive."

The studio was quiet. There weren’t many people left, most having returned home by now. There was a background noise of groaning pipes and creaking floorboards as Ray walked down the hallway.

He had left his isolate office space in favor of a cup of coffee and some more paper, which somehow the storyboarding department lacked.

He was nearing the elevator, and mulled over whether the risk of the thing was worth not having to use the stairs.

~ @w-graves-nook

The hallway lights buzzed and flickered above. The air smelled stale, but oddly had a copperish tint to it. The floorboards groaned, always causing the worries of breaking.

The friendly posters and cut outs just seemed dull, almost sickening. The cheerfulness just not being what it used to be.

The air suddenly grew cold, like a cool draft coming in, even with no windows being in the premises. The feeling of dread was being tight in the air as it was almost overwhelming.

A loud clang could be heard as an abandoned type writer had been thrown off of a supply crate, causing metal to scatter into parts.

The feeling of being watched was sudden.

And the air was tense.

I AM GOING TO STEAL YOUR ART AND EAT IT (positive)

Damn, alrighty then XD

Decay.

Drawings of ghost Hudson! His design is still a little bit in the works, but I'm happy how this turned out!

I do understand that I'll probably have to draw Hudson happy and sane once in a while so folks don't get too concerned....(whoops)

I think it's pretty brave of you to vent. I can relate to what you're feeling. I don't know if I can tell you that things will be looking up soon, but I can tell you that I hope it will get better soon and I'm here to support <3. I'm really sorry what's happening and again, I'm here for you. *Hugs* I don't know if this helps, but I feel like this a lot too and I just wanted to say..this vent..makes me feel less alone with my problems. Thank you.

Vent post

Warning for vent, mentions of death/suicide and mentions of running away

Hey guys. Sorry to drop this out of nowhere. I just need to tell someone. To get this off my chest.

I hate where I am right now. I hate school. I hate having people expect something of me. I feel like I’m forgotten. That no one cares. That people just use me or don’t really care about me.

I feel like I’m a ghost in my family. I feel like they’re so busy that they barely care. I sometimes wish I wasn’t born or that I wasn’t here. I know I could never hurt myself though. I wish that I was anywhere but here. Either past of future.

I feel like no one would care if I left. I feel like I what to runaway but I’m not sure if I want to or if I could. Maybe for just a day as then I’d come back home. Still.

I hate myself sometimes too. How lazy I am and how I’m not good. Sometimes I want to rip my heart out so that I would never be hurt again. I feel like I inly hear bad things anymore. No goodness.

I’m so f#cking tired. SO TIRED. I’m tired of all the arguing, the death that’s happening, the being pushed behind and forgotten. I just want to leave. I hate this. All of this. I want to just be free to be myself but I know that I can’t.

I’m in so much pain. I’m trapped and I don’t know what to do. My therapist doesn’t help me but everyone thinks that therapy is “working.” I hate it. So much. Nothing meaningful comes out of it. I’m just tired. I want to be okay for once. But will I ever be?

I hate this. Hate this all. I feel forgotten, pained, and I just… I want to leave it all behind and hardly ever look back. I want to be in the future. I want to be okay.

I swear if one more bad thing happens I might just leave. Run away. I don’t care if people come looking for me. Hey, maybe it’ll make me noticed for once. Haha… ugh. I just want to know I’ll be okay. I want to be okay RIGHT NOW.

Sorry for the vent. But I don’t know why I should be sorry for saying how I feel, due to the fact that everyone’s always telling me to do so. Or whatever. I’ve said what I’ve need to say.

Thank you very much for reposting.

My mother has high blood pressure and heart disease and needs medication, but we cannot provide it for her due to lack of money. Your donation will save my mother. I hope you will donate even a small amount. 🙏❤️.

Thank you for your understanding, generosity and giving. 🙏

Of course! I hope all will be well soon! <3

INTRODUCTION (cause I just remembered)

Hello there! You may call me Untitled or Hudson.

My pronouns are He/him or they/them(?) and I am a Canadian artist/writer!

I always try to be on the neutral side and think in shades of grey (so I'll sound pretty annoying sometimes XD)

My BATIM Au is called: Dead And Buried!

I love drawing/writing/reading horror and gruesome stuff! Also I like reading history! (Examples: WW2, WW1, Plains of Abraham,etc)

I listen to true crime and supernatural podcasts/ documentaries.

I do not tolerate:

-Homophobia/ Transphobia

-Racism

-Sexism

-Paedophilia (seriously gross..)

-Ableism

-Bullying/harassment

-Trump supporters

The list could go on. Which is unfortunate.

I really love interacting with BATIM/BATDR community, so please don't mind me, I mean no harm ^ ^! I also write and draw more than the BATIM fandom (might actually post stuff). The fandoms I like are:

The Still Wakes The Deep

Pressure (from Roblox)

Don't Starve Together

Murder Drones

Inside Job

EPIC the musical

Welcome Home!

And more!

Don't feel afraid to send asks!!

Reblogs are appreciated!

I am unable to donate money and neither are my friends.

Please do NOT copy my work, thank you.

Feel free to role play with my BATIM au or me (Hudson) in the asks! Since..I don't have discord and what not. Which is sad :(

Selfish (warning: gore)

Knock, knock, knock.

I’m not going to answer it. I already know who it is.

My breathing stopped when I heard a creak of a board. 

I instantly fluttered my eye open and stared up, having to adjust to the darkness bathing the room. 

It takes me a while for my vision to properly adjust, but I see him. He’s looming over me. 

He’s bloody and contorted. Half his face hacked away till bone seeped through. Throat slashed until vocal cords were ruined. His body is mostly bones, his ribcage peeking from that tattered shirt. 

The thick smell of copper and antiseptic filled my senses, overwhelming as they assaulted my nose. 

Blood won’t stop pouring from him. But it doesn’t seem like he cares. In fact, he’s hardly interested in that.

Those empty black voids, where eyes used to be, wouldn’t stop staring at me. Wanting something from me.

When moonlight strayed through the window, I could see a metallic glint. The scissors….its jaws were clean, smelling of antiseptic. It was as if they had never touched flesh. 

But I knew the truth.

He loomed closer, close enough for me to see exposed teeth from hanging flesh. He didn’t care if I was feeling nausea, no, he wanted me to see.  

He’s twisted, he’s malevolent, he’s ugly.

He’s me. 

And he won’t let me forget that.

I can already feel a cold hand firmly grip my wrist. Boney fingers curling around my pulse and nails digging into soft skin. I try ripping my wrist away, which he complies. 

Only for his hands to aim for my neck, squeezing tightly. This causes me to let out a strangled sound while my hands grip his skeletal shoulders and push him away. 

But I’m panicking. I can feel my lungs being stabbed inside of my ribcage. My windpipe can’t handle this. My oxygen levels are depleting. My breathing is raspy and desperate. 

He smiles at me. The blood from his face already marring mine as it splatters down. 

He presses harder, fingers digging in, oxygen leaking out, sight going blurry and-

I wake up with a startled noise. 

The room is bathed in darkness once more. Moonlight leaking onto the floorboards below as the silk curtains sway gently with each passing soft gale. The clock hung up on the wall ticked contently, its tempo steady. 

My breathing was still unsteady, my heart already trying to shoot out of my chest. 

I squeeze my eye shut, my legs curling in and up to my chest. It’s pathetic, but I can’t handle it. 

My right foot brushes on something warm. I can finally smell the scent of something like sandalwood and cigarettes. I can hear the sound of soft breathing. 

I carefully prop myself up with one elbow, turning my head fully to see a sleeping form of a man next to me. His dark hair is messy and his white under shirt slightly wrinkled. His back turned on me while I watched his frame slowly raise and fall. 

After a moment of uncertainty, I shifted closer, the sound of rustling under the heavy soft blanket being heard. I’m about to reach out and just let myself seek comfort, but….

I’m scared. It’s only been five days since we escaped the studio. Everything is still….new, in a way. And when things are new, that means you can easily just screw them up. 

I drop my hand, letting it fall on the mattress beneath the covers. Forget it. 

Just then I heard a creak as the man rolled onto his side, facing me. Half-lidded brown eyes staring at me while a drowsy smile is already forming on perfect lips. 

“Somethin’ the matter, darlin?” He asked, his voice still rough with sleep. A dark strand of hair tickles his forehead. 

I didn't respond at first. But after a few heart beats, I managed to mumble, “It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.”

I hated when his brow arched like that right then and there. 

Suddenly, I felt my body being pulled towards warmth and sandal-wood. My chest met his and my face buried in the crook of his neck. Hair tickling my face. At first, my body’s stiff, but I finally manage to thaw it all off. Letting my leg curl around his and nuzzling in his shoulder. 

I forget that this is all mine. 

“How can I when you’ve gotten so cold?” He asked me, his voice teasing, but having a warm lilt in it. 

I feel him bringing up the covers closer to us, before warm arms cradle my waist. 

“C’mon. I know when somethin’ is goin’ on with ya,” he said gently. His voice is coaxing and sweet.

Damn it. 

I don’t answer, only shifting closer and glancing at the wall behind him.

“Is it your eye again?”

I froze. 

He knew how much I hated my blind spot. How angry I could get when I bumped into something that wasn’t supposed to be there. Or how anxious I would get when I couldn’t see his face when he spoke to me. 

“You can hear me, yeah?” 

….

“Yes,” I mumbled, biting my lip a little.

I felt a pair of soft lips gently brush my forehead. 

“And you can feel me?”

I went quiet, before meekly answering, “Yeah…”

“And you know I’m here.”

I sighed, nodding as I let him cradle my face with his hands, a thumb stroking my scarred cheek carefully. 

I met his gaze in the dark, moonlight shining in those pools of autumn brown. Before I let myself lean in and kiss him. The kiss made something in my stomach flutter, even now as if I was still a young boy. It was comforting and long. Always desired, always welcomed, but….

I wanted to say that it wasn’t my blind spot that was bothering me this time. I wanted to explain about the ghost. I wanted to explain about all the sharp things in my chest and mind that just kept poking and lingering.

Making me so twisted. So malevolent. So ugly. 

But I can’t. 

How could I ruin this? How could I bring that up and dig up old bitter memories for him and I? 

I’m being selfish for wanting him. For loving him. For glaring at folks when they step too close to him. 

But he’s so beautiful. So gracious. So warm. 

And I hate that he loves me. 

I’m going to ruin him. 

But…

I pulled back for air, catching my breath, before kissing him again. My arms wrapped around his neck as I tilted my head. Letting my nose brush against his.

He’s so sweet. So benevolent. So warm.

And all mine.

And I won’t let him go. 

Because I love him too much. I, Hudson Andrew Hendricks, love Raymond Graves. 

Even when I’m decaying under rotting floorboards.

Audio Log: Hudson Hendriks (FOUND IN ART DEPARTMENT)

I shouldn't be so wrapped up in this, I'm aware.

In about a month, I'm quitting the studio and packing up my bag for Canada. The Air Force awaits....

I should be proud to have ties to RCAF. I should be ecstatic about following my Dad's footsteps, and his Dad's footsteps....and his Dad's footsteps...wait does that even make sense? Whatever, pretty sure it does.

I was once an Air Cadet. What the hell did I expect? Never go to the Air Force? Yeah, right.

I should be proud. Brave. And......Oh to hell with this!!

Why won't he be proud of me? What do I have to do? Lead a bunch of P-51 mustangs and P-40 Kittyhawks into battle? Like heck I would!

I just......

I just want him to be proud of me.

I joined Boy scouts to impress him. I joined Air Cadets to impress him. I made ties here in New York by myself. I......

Am I......

Good enough?

If I go to war and die like a hero......

Would he finally love me?

Proud to call me his son?