[Hudson Took Off His Shoes And Sat At The Edge Of The Bed. His Frame Slumped As He Stared At The Window,

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 :(

Happy (late) Valentine's, folks!

Fun fact, hardly anyone in my au has happy endings :)

How does Pinterest see you?

Cerca queste nove parole chiave:

Flavour, Weather, Flower, Disney princess, Movie, Element, Era, Dessert, Aesthetic

E prendi la prima foto che compare nella home! ✨

Grazie @hope-now-and-live , fedele compare di un così delizioso passatempo. 🌹 Anche in questa terza edizione Pinterest ha indovinato! ✨

Ho solo un piccolo appunto da fare: il film "Piccole donne" è uno dei miei preferiti, ma solo se è quello del 1994; l'ultimo uscito, a cui l'immagine della locandina corrisponde, l'ho trovato atroce (se qualcuno volesse conoscerne i motivi, quattro anni fa mi sfogai per bene subito dopo averlo visto, troverete tutto qui).

Ad ogni modo, questo mi consola, perché significa che l'algoritmo non è ancora in grado di indovinare quale versione di una stessa opera gradisca. Almeno per ora... 👀

Cari lettori, come sempre, se avete voglia di partecipare a questo divertissement siete tutti invitati!

Se vi incuriosisce vedere l'esito degli altri How does Pinterest see you a cui ho partecipato, cliccate qui e qui.

Se invece volete che ci seguiamo anche su Pinterest mi farebbe molto piacere, ecco il mio profilo! ✨

You like Roblox games, what do you think about Doors? If you've played it.

I really like the creatures in doors and how they designed it to be an old fashioned hotel! (I'm a history nerd lol)

I haven't played it in a bit, but it definitely has a place in my heart!

Hudson frowned, looking unsure what to say.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that," he said softly, sighing. He gave Ray's hand a squeeze, before tilting his head away to cough, still a little bothered by the fact he got stabbed in the chest. Again.

He cleared his throat and turned back to Ray, still concerned.

He shook his head, before letting his forehead press against Ray's chest. "I should've been there..." he muttered, feeling bitter and defeated. He closed his eyelids, the lights dimming at the action.

"You smell like cigarettes, by the way. I didn't know you smoked," he said, arching a brow and staring up at his lover. "Y'know that isn't good for your lungs, chéri."

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.

Hello dear friends ! ❤🤍💚🖤🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

All positive words can't show how generous you are, especially on the side of sharing my posts to let other donors know about the people of Gaza who are still suffering the horrible circumstances resulting from the injust war on Gaza! 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸❤🤍💚🖤

Thank you from the deepest bottom of my heart for the support you are showing to help Palestinian families stay safe and alive.🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

Despite the various colours of sufferings and tortures we are undergoing at the moment, your brave stances and support greatly ease and relieve us . Your loud voices and your heroic acts make a great difference to our Palestinian cause. 🖤💚🤍❤🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

We are fundraising such donations to have the least basic needs of life and to help find safety and peace for the little kids who don't deserve to lead such horrific situations.

Thanks to your contribution, my family is on its halfway to reach the goal. All forms of your help make a difference to free the people who have been struggling and paying much for almost 300 hard days. ✌✌✌🖤💚🤍❤🇵🇸🇵🇸

Please keep supporting the fairest cause of the world either by directly donating or sharing the link to let others know. Don't hesitate to help people in tough and dire times till the black days end.

I'm really sorry I can't donate, but I'll try spreading the word

An unanswered call:

Henry?... Look. I know you've probably been busy doing whatever, and you probably just want to forget about the old studio. But you can't. You can't do that. You may have left us, but you can't leave it. They're your creations, Henry. Your dreams, originally.

I know you meant well. We all used to mean well. But, Henry, your dreams? Your leaving? It killed the studio. It killed his sanity. It's dooming us all. We've tried talking some sense back into him awhile ago, but it only led to more troubles. Day by day I can hear it. It's in the walls, Henry. It's trying to break free. I won't let it though. I won't. Last time I tried calling, you changed your number, so I had to hunt down Linda to get your new one. I heard about the "incident." I'm so sorry, man. I wish I was there. To support. Though, I must admit, it was you who promised to keep in touch.

Look, as much as I am still mad about that, I need your help. We need your help.

I fear I haven't seen the worse and that the worse is just waiting. Waiting for us to let down our guard. I wish I could explain, but I'm terrified that he or it will hear. I've already been throwing a wretch in their plans. I can't afford them to find out who. Can you please just come by the old studio? We need to talk. Before everything goes to shit.

Why didn't you answer me, Henry?

The little things inside.

I let out a hiss as the tip of my pencil let out.

Snap.

I threw it to the side, the thin object rolling away and falling off my desk. Resting in my almost full trash can.

Serves it right.

My back hurts as I straighten my composure, my chair letting out a creak as I did.

I glance up at all the yellow pieces of paper I and my director stuck on my bulletin board.

Fix Grammar to proper American Grammar.

Talk to Bill and stay overtime to finish the script.

Deadline this MONDAY.

Lawyer up. Full meeting with Thomas Conner, Joey Drew and Trevor Covens (asshole) on January 15th.

Reminder to self: stop stealing Wally's keys. Stop stealing Norman's projector and stop getting into fights (unless you want a mouth full of broken teeth, pal).

I looked at the last one, picking up the note and staring at it. The words at the very bottom are faint and small, but I can make them out:

And stop stealing my heart! <3 Bill

I quickly stuffed that note in my drawer, where Bill's other notes and drawings stayed safe. Safe so I can reread them sometimes.

I glance at the note on my right. In a couple weeks, I'll have to meet up with my boss, the head of Gent...and an ass-hole who expects me to pay up because I broke his nose. Lovely.

I turn off my desk lamp, my typewriter now belonging to the shadows. I stand up and stretch my back, a dull pain shooting up my spine.

Fights will be fights. Broken noses, broken backs...the usual.

I grab my briefcase and jacket, slinging my jacket over my shoulder. Adjusting my grip on my briefcase, I head out of the quiet department. Everyone else has already gone home.

I walk through the halls, passing cheerful posters and hissing pipes above. The lights above hum and flicker, unease churning in my stomach.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I swing my head around, my eyes darting around wildly. My grip on my briefcase is tighter, making my knuckles turn pure white. I stare at the end of the hallway, squinting my eyes.

 No one.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

I spin around to the other side of the hallway, but nothing greets me there. Nothing but ridiculous posters, smiling cutouts and the glaring pipes. The tapping, whatever it is, isn't stopping though. It's rhythmic, but somewhat loud. It's loud, but somewhat distant.

I strain my ears, desperate to make sense of where it's coming from.

Tap.

I narrow my eyes before walking over to a wall, pressing an ear.

Tap. Tap.

The sound moves.

It's coming from the walls.

I run after it, shrugging on my jacket and fumbling with my briefcase.

I'm not sure why, but I can't let it run off without me. Whatever it is.

I turn around the corner, almost colliding into a Bendy cutout and smacking right into a pipe. I couldn't care less.

Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap-!

Suddenly, I hit something, making me fall back to the ground.

I hit the floor, my briefcase landing on the ground with a thud as I glared up at the figure. "Watch it, pal!" I grumbled, already getting my briefcase.

I forgot how easy it was for me to get knocked down.

Weakling.

"Hudson? Whatcha doin' here? Aren't ya supposed to be already gone?" A familiar voice asked.

I straightened my jacket and glanced up, more intently.

Jack.

"Uh, just finishing up a script. Nothing else really."

The sound's getting away...

Jack stares at me, worried probably. He fixes his vest, smoothing out the wrinkles and shifting his hat. "Lemme guess, another dead end?" He asked softly, his eyes gentle and warm.

He pities me.

I cough, trying to clear my throat, "Uh, sort of. I got some notes done..."

Liar. You just threw them in the trash.

I shouldn't feel so agitated. I shouldn't feel annoyed.

It's Jack. Kind, warm and has done nothing, but save my ass.

So why am I getting annoyed?

Jack raises a brow, but I can see he's holding his tongue. He shakes his head instead. "Right....well, I heard about the meetin' in two weeks. Ya ready for that?" He asked, tilting his head.

Two weeks? I thought it was a couple.

I bit my lip, swallowing. I glanced desperately at the wall.

The tapping's getting away! I just know it...

“Oh please…I’ll…be ready,” I mutter, not looking at him. I bite my bruised lip, a dull pain beginning to throb. 

Jack raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. He leaned back on the wall, arms folding. “Really? Because ya still look like a trainwreck from last week.” 

I grit my teeth, well aware of how bruised I look. Pretty much in between my eyes and right face is swollen and looks like I got kicked to the curb. 

My fingers curl into my palms, tensing. “I’m still on my feet, aren’t I?” I snap, defensive. 

Jack sighed, shaking his head slightly. His eyebrows knitted together tightly as he dragged a hand down his face. “Hudson, ya can’t keep doin’ this. I know yer goin’ away in a month, but can’t you leave without getting punched in the face?” 

Tap. 

I snap my head towards the wall, hearing the disappointed snort from Jack. I step closer to the wall, narrowing my eyes. My other hand presses up against the wood, my eyes squinting in focus. 

“Hudson, if you could just listen to me…!”  Jack huffed.

“I swear I can hear something scratching in the walls…” I muttered, pressing my ear closer.

Jack puts a hand firmly on my shoulder, forcing me to face him. 

“Hudson. Stop. There’s nothin’ in the walls, ya need to get rest,” Jack said tightly, the corners of his lips tugging downwards. “Look, I don’t know what’s goin’ on in that department of yours, but clearly, yer not well. How about we just-”

I cut him off, “No! It’s right in there. I know there’s something in there!” My voice raises in volume and I’m right in his face. Something inside is desperately trying to crawl out.

Anger.

 It’s red and spikey and I can imagine it poking at my rib cage from inside. Wanting to see how long it can keep poking. 

I glance away, turning my head. My hand is gripping my briefcase way too tightly as if it’s valuable. It’s not. 

I won’t punch him. I can’t. 

Poke.

I blink, trying to simmer down and focus on something else. 

But he won’t let me.

“Kid, talk to me, dammit!” Jack yells, frustration creeping in his tone. He grabs my shoulder a little more firmly. His dark eyes are conflicted and I can see the storm brewing inside of them. 

I shrug out of his grip, giving him a glare. “Why should I? You just keep dismissing me as crazy.” 

Jack scowls, before angrily shaking his head. 

“BECAUSE YA ARE, HUDSON. YOU KEEP GETTING INTO BULLSHIT WHEREVER YOU GO. WHY DO YA THINK FOLKS ARE UNEASY TO WORK WITH YA?! WHY DO YOU THINK FOLKS SCOWL AT YOU IN THE HALLWAYS?! BECAUSE ALL YOU’VE BEEN LATELY IS A TROUBLESOME KID THROWING HIS SHIT BECAUSE HE CAN’T KEEP IT TOGETHER!” He yelled, shadow creeping over his face as the light flickered above. 

SIlence.

Jack’s eyes widened as he covered his mouth with a hand. He shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t…kid…” He began, staring down at his feet. 

I can imagine something else wiggling in my ribcage. It’s just above anger.

It’s grey, almost static and wheezes a lot. It’s slow and heavy, settling around my heart and gives a little flicker and wheeze.

Hurt. 

I stay frozen in place, blanking. 

I hardly notice Jack wrapping his arms around me and apologizing. His eyes were regretful.

I push him off of me, eyes glistening. My throat is heavy and I drop my briefcase. 

I turn around, leaving him. I can hear him yelling after me, but I don’t answer. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

I follow the sound, my heart still heavy. 

He isn’t wrong though. 

After all,

Trouble always meets a sticky end, right? 

Tap. Tap. Tap. 

(For @thelocalmoth because why not, they're awesome.)

I was originally going to draw Susie fro my Au, but because I didn't have a ref with me on my trip, I decided to redesign Constance from The Lost Ones and Rose from Fade to Black.

It's cannon in my au that Rose does jazz hands and can be flirty. It is also canon in my au that Constance still wears dresses to please her family (poor Constance).

I also broke Alice's poor arms in this doodle of her.... D:

Dare I ask what’s the dynamic with Wally and his broom? 🤣

Wally just straight up replaced Johnny with a broom.