Rough Day At The Office.

BEAUTIFUL <3333

I'm alive I swear. 🥴

The day Betty decided that Wilson could do his own laundry. (As you can see my camera sucks.)

collectively you and @a-walking-contradiction are Looney Toons

you're a loonie

and cat likes to draw funky lil toons

:3

Uh, I suppose so? :]

That's me and Cat for you XD

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.”

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?

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 !

you said somewhere you were Canadian so erm imagine being scared of Canadian geese, They're also native where I live and something in my dumbass brain tells me I could beat one in a fight./J - from your dumbass American mutual. Also I hope you have a great day >:)

Pft- Canadian geese seriously don't mess around XD. Have a good day yourself!

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.)

He's just as confused as you, Todd.

First panel: Jesus, why would anyone want to date such an ugly and short guy like you?

Second panel (Hudson answers): Ask my five exes and very dead fiancee that.

-Hudson's sockets beamed at the young man. He smiled with relief-

"Oh I remember you! I loved how you would draw those little cartoons. I was the one giving you all that extra paper? And coffee?"

-He wouldn't be offended if Hunter didn't remember him. Actually, maybe it was for the best? Upon closer to the date of his death, he wasn't a person you would want to be around.-

-Hudson slowly crept into the music department, looking weary of his surroundings. Not seeing a soul in his sight, he walked over to the piano in the corner and began playing it. He was surprised he could play it, considering he was a wandering spirit-

(Wrote the first thing that came to mind)

[Hunter perked up at the sound of the piano being played, having not head it being played in a while. Leaning out of the wall, he silently observed the wandering spirit play with a sense of wonder.]