Am I Allowed To Draw Your Suit-wearing Sona With My Suit Wearing Sona (the Art Urges Are Winning)

Hudson x Bill

Should I draw them kissing? 🤔

Good morning.

It's afternoon where I am, but good morning to you!

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.)

Uh, guys? Could you give Constance a little room?

Brant (left, Constance (middle) and Bill (right) from The Lost Ones BATIM novel, but in my au.

Fun facts:

I purposely made Brant to have a bit of a black eye, reddened nose and band aid because as someone who works for the press, you got to be tough in order to deal with people. Especially violent people.

Constance in my AU, is Latino! She's also a feminist and dreams of being a chemist.

If Buddy from my au ever met Bill...Buddy would turn into a real jerk. Bill has almost everything Buddy doesn't! Causing Buddy to get a little (ok, a lot) annoyed.

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.

I LOVE IT THANK YOU :DD

"I suppose doodling the odd ones I see isn't too bad of a habit for me to have...as long as I keep them to myself and trusted associates."

Hudson belongs to @unnoticedunawarestillhere, hope ya don't mind the silly little doodle, needed a bit of tablet practice lol

Hmm, as an animal lover I feel obligated to ask 😺 for Hudson (or anyone else in your au) :3

Hudson had a tux cat growing up that he absolutely adored as a kid! The cat's name was Sargent. The cat was named after Hudson's grandfather who was a Sargent in the Canadian air force in WW1.

He was never a fan of dogs as he would always get knocked down by them (due to his small size). This later on made him uneasy about dogs in his adult life.

Even distrusts Boris a little because of that.

What should I draw for Hudson?

PLEASE!

THE BOOPS

TURN THEM ON!

I WANTS TO BOOP YOU

lol not sure how this works, but okay-

Boop mode: ON

Hudson: Do you ever look at a flight of stairs and wonder how many bones you could break jumping down?

.....

Not that I wonder this.