So... For No Reason At All, I Was Wondering What Would Be Your Advice Towards Anyone Who Wanted To Write

Daffodils:

Present Hudson: What do you want now?

Younger Hudson: Can we play? ...what's that?

Present Hudson: a flask.

Younger Hudson: Oh, okay. Can we pick daffodils?

Present Hudson: Why the hell would I want to do that?

Younger Hudson: Because they're bright and yellow! And when I give them to maman, she's really happy!

Present Hudson (inhales): Happiness is temporary. Especially when she then realises you went through her garden and tracked mud in the house.

Younger Hudson: Oh.....I didn't think about that.

Present Hudson: You don't think most of the time, kid. Considering how draft you are most times.

Younger Hudson:....I'm sorry.

Present Hudson: Sure you are.

Decided to draw Norman from my au. Tough looking on the outside and sweet on the inside, now that, is what I call beauty!

Lol, random Hudson hc

he's shit at art, can't draw a stickman to save his life, and gets kinda upset because of this sometimes :3

XD

Well,

actually

Hudson was applying for the Art Department as he actually knows how to draw and sketch XD he just switched to the writing department because he didn't want to share his art.

What's your opinion on transformation horror?

It is...amazing! And scares the living crap out of me ^ ^

I really have a soft spot for transformation horror.

Hudson hopes you have a good day tomorrow!

He will keep your space well-lit, just for you! <3

took a break from drawing my comic to doodle your guy hudson because i think he's neat (and u sent an ask to my blog and i wanna make sure i know how to draw him lol)

i hope this is okay akshskdk ^^;;

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I LOVE THIS I LOVE YOUR ART AND YOUR STYLE AND OH MY GOD HE LOOKS SO CUTE AND ALIVE FOR ONCE WHAT??!! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU-

I LOVE YOUR COMICS BY THE WAY!!!

Hudson wiped his red eyes, face a hint red from crying.

Hudson went quiet. Dead quiet.

Gently, he forced himself to drift away from Jack and stand up to walk towards Norman.

Quickly, his training kicked in once more. He removed his tie and shirt, only having his undershirt now.

He grabbed his pocket knife from his belt and began to cut his shirt into strips, the sound of cloth tearing could be heard.

Once done, he folded his knife and carefully took Norman's bleeding arm and began to use the strips of cloth as a bandage. Wrapping and layering over Jack's tie until the blood wouldn't stain through so fast.

He then secured it all with his own tie and a safety pin.

He said nothing, eyes red from crying and face now unreadable.

*you and Sammy were in Sammy's office arguing or some shit idfk*

Stella walked into the room and flicked off the light, drawing y'all's attention. she lingered in the doorway, gripping a knife tightly and partially covered in a substance that looked suspiciously like blood...

"Sammy..." she muttered. she acknowledged Hudson with a nod in his direction before throwing her head back and cackling like a maniac. :]

- @art-by-stella

Hudson stared at in suspicion, already turning away from Sammy, whom he was already so done with.

He raised a brow, his gaze unwavering as he folded his arms against his chest. The dark rings under his eyes and his pale skin proved he wasn't in good health. Though he stubbornly refused to admit it.

"Can I help you or are you just going to giggle like a creepy doll all day?" He asked, his tone unconcerned and tired.

(Stella wtf??)

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.)

Piccrew link here: https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/2288696

Tagging some of my moots!

(please do NOT feel pressured into doing this! I haven't tagged all my moots, but if they want to do this, they can totally join!)

@flowysgonemad @slaterdevil @cupidstarz @r0zzk1ll @azzy-demangel

@thegodswillstrikemedown

@thelocalmoth @type1dragonwolf @bloodofthedemon @saltysublimebouquet @mildlybizarrecorvid

@eviethenut @eeveelikessoda @pixulsfant @fancybendyboi

Sent from above!