GUYS, GUYS-

THIS LOOKS AMAZING! THANKS, STELLA!!!

-Walks up to Norman- "..."

-Hugs him-

-Hudson trying to get over his fear :3-

“Aw, thanks kid. There’s no reason to be afraid y’know, I may look intimidating but I won’t hurt ya.

(sorry about late response + dry one I’m real busy-)

Based off of this:

Shout outs to @thelocalmoth !

Jack and Hudson's bond can never be unbroken, no matter how fucked up it actually is :]

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

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

Damn, alrighty then XD

"Because I care."

Norman leaned over in his chair, adjusting his glasses to the bridge of his nose. He could hear Sammy, the head of the Music Department, from below, screaming at one of the trumpet players.

He rolled his eyes before gazing at what he was doodling. On his page were decent scattered little doodles of the trio. On the left Though, he admitted, his Boris doodles could improve, his ears looking a hint floppy. He stared at the slim wooden pencil in his hand before letting it roll away, it halted at the side of the projector. The projector hummed and whirled beside him, its bulb flickering. He glanced around the booth, a few dusty posters of the cast plastered on the walls. The booth smelled stale, sour even, but at this point, Norman was quite used to it. After all, humans, within reason, can adapt to anything. Strangely, the room felt fiercely chilly, making the back of Norman's neck feel a sort of numbness. He shivered, checking the clock.  6:45. Almost time to clock out.  He rubbed the back of his neck, making his long hair sweep to the side.

He rubbed his eyes, tuning out Sammy's screaming. He felt exhausted. Ever since Henry left, it felt like this studio was slowly rotting from the inside. Sure, new ideas kept springing up, such as Bendyland, but for some reason, Norman felt it just made everything worse. Employees were starting to go missing, pipes began to burst and flood departments, money was going down the drain and on and on. Mister Drew still kept talking about dreams coming true, but his talking seemed more like he was trying to hide something. Something bad. That thought piqued Norman's mind, pestering him. What was really going on? He felt curiosity wiggle in his mind, but he paid no mind to it. 

Norman  cupped the side of his face with one hand and rested on it. He closed his tired eyes, trying not to think about what was wrong with the studio. Because if he did, that would definitely cause a horrible miragane. Then, he heard a voice. Her voice, to be correct. He immediately fluttered his eyes open and almost scrambled to look over the booth's opening. He didn’t have time to think how weird he must’ve looked. His eyes furiously scanned below. After searching the river of bolting musicians and chatty voice actors, he spotted her! Susie seemed to remain oblivious of his staring while exchanging words with Sammy. I should probably go say hello, right? Norman felt his face warm up, but he slowly got out of his chair, only to dash down the stairs. I mean it would be weird if I didn’t, right? When he had reached the bottom of the stairs, he was met with a flood of people pushing and shoving to get from place to place. He stopped dead in his tracks, a wave of doubt and sudden nervousness hitting him in the gut. Crowds weren't his thing. People weren't his thing. Sadly, social anxiety terrorized his mind, his stomach felt like it was being knotted. He stared at the hustling crowd, feeling his shoulders tense up. He shoved his hands in his suit pockets, gritting his teeth. Oh how he HATED rush hour. He played with the thought of retreating to his booth and waiting till the rush was over, however...he knew that she would probably already clock out if he waited. He swallowed, reluctantly walking into the busy crowds. He pushed through, hating every aspect of what was happening. Sharp elbows hit him while the sounds of shoes, muttering, even yelling ringed through his ears. He had to dodge a man holding a case for a tuba. Maybe it was just irritation, but he had the temptation to snap at him. 

Finally, the crowds were thinning and he could see the door leading to the actual music room. After slipping past two loud men, he had managed to stagger towards the wooden door, his hand outstretched to grab the rusted doorknob. Before he could jiggle the knob, the door swung open! Almost whacking him in the face. Luckily, Norman had instinctively taken a step back to avoid collusion, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. A young woman with pink hair came out and noticed him. “Sorry, dude. You alright?” She asked, her eyes apologetic. “Yeah..just be careful. Scared the shit outta me.” He muttered, remembering that the  woman was one of the voice actors here. “Will do!” She said, turning away to dash off. Suddenly, words tumbled out, before Norman could think, “U-uh wait!” The woman stopped in her tracks, turning her head towards him. “Hm?”  “Is..is Miss Campbell still in there?” He asked slowly, his tone meek. The voice actress smirked, replying, “She sure is! But I’d go in there now if I were you before she heads out.” Norman nodded curtly, the anxiety in his stomach still not clearing up. He thanked her, though avoided making eye contact.

  After a moment of hesitation, he reached for the knob and jiggled it. He swung the door wide, only for it to accidentally hit the wall on the other side. The sound of it colliding with the wall caused heads to turn. “What do you want?” Sammy muttered, holding a stack of papers. His pale blue eyes glared at his dark green ones. Norman scanned the music room. Unpacked Instruments remained scattered throughout the stage, eager to become a tripping hazard. The room was almost empty, excluding him and Sammy, only a few musicians remained. The remaining musicians paid him no attention as they were either too engrossed in packing up or sharing words with each other.  Norman was snapped out of his looking around by Sammy loudly clearing his throat. Norman narrowed his eyes at this, beginning to answer, “I’m looking for…” His voice trailed off, stalling. Did he really want Sammy knowing he was looking for Miss Campbell? After all, the whole studio was definitely hunting for things to gossip about. Sammy kept shifting the stack of papers in his arms, raising a brow, “Looking for?? Look, Polk, I don’t have all day y’know. I got to return these to Jack before my fucking arms fall off. WHAT DO YOU WANT?” He snapped, struggling to keep his composure due to the papers. Norman, feeling a spark of irritation, finally gave up and told him. “I’m looking for Miss Campbell. I just thought I saw her down here and-” Sammy's eyes glistened with interest, interrupting him, “What do you need her for?”  Norman stammered, “N-none of your business! I’m just asking. Curious and what not..God.”  Sammy gave him a skeptical look which made Norman want to just retreat. “She’ll be in my office, " I asked her to drop something off for me. Probably be coming back here soon.” Sammy informed, his face scrunched up. Norman stared at the papers in Sammys hands, asking, “Do you need help with those?” Sammy snapped his head up, through gritted teeth, he hissed, “Just stay out of the way while you’re waiting. AND DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING.” Norman rolled his eyes in response, letting out a snort. You knock one violin over and he thinks you’re gonna destroy the entire department. Honestly.  Norman watched Sammy stagger away, amusement tingling in his smirk.  Wonder how long he’ll last before he drops all those.  Still watching the irritable composer trudge towards the doors, Norman couldn’t help but wonder why  Sammy was in such a hostile mood.  I mean more than usual. The music door slammed behind Sammy, causing a music stand to topple over.  Was it just him or was everybody being drained out of life? Or, you know, patience. 

Norman leaned against the wall beside the stage, watching to see if the music room's door would swing open.  A few minutes had passed and Norman was beginning to give into the thought of just clocking out without talking to Susie. The music room was now completely silent due to the remaining musicians walking out of the department. Usually Norman liked the silence, it made him feel at ease. But this was different. The silence was beginning to poke at his mind, making him feel uncomfortable. Uneasy as well. He was now wondering if Sammy had tricked him, he frowned at the thought.

 Abruptly, the door swung open, only for a young woman wearing a pale blue dress to scurry out, her heels making an audible clicking sound against the rough wooden floorboards. Her hair bounced off her shoulders as she whipped her head and noticed Norman.  Her eyes stretched as wide as spoons while she hastily walked over to him. “Norman! I'm so sorry for making you wait! Sammy told me you wanted to speak with me?”  Norman was startled at her appearance, she looked ill. Her pale skin, trembling hands and tired eyes, it didn’t seem like her. Of course she was still beautiful in Norman's mind, forever and always, but she seemed so.. fragile. And not like the confident young woman who had a teasing nature like he had remembered. He looked at the corner of her lips, a faint black smear. “Are you alright?” He asked, his tone quiet. He watched Susie almost recoil back at the question, which bewildered him. He took a step closer, worrying plaguing his mind. “Susie?” Susie exhaled before plastering a warm, but weak smile at him. “I'm fine, Norman. You don’t need to worry about me.” Norman wanted to be convinced, but his gut was yelling at him that something was wrong. “Are you sick? I..I’m sure Mister Drew will let you take a few days off.” He said, trying not to show that he was worrying. Also, in the back of his mind, he wasn’t actually sure Mister Drew would give her a day off.  So far, no one had been getting a day off it seemed. It felt like everyone was just praying they’d make it till the end of the day. Or praying they could make it to the infirmary. He could even recall Tom complaining how he and GENT had been working relentlessly, hardly getting the time to see their loved ones. He really hoped Susie wasn’t overworking herself. His thoughts were cut off by Susie's response, “Just feeling a bit tired after today's work, that’s all. I’m surprised you aren’t exhausted yourself.” She smirked, folding her arms at him. Suddenly, her smirk just vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Her shaking hand covered her lips as her body jolted with her coughing. She turned away from Norman, her cough sounding painful. Between coughing Norman heard her trying to reassure him that she was alright. Was it just him or was that black smear darker now?  Norman felt his heart sink. She had just lied to him. But why? Norman shook his head, repressing the urge to argue with himself. “Guess I’m a bit under the weather today, huh?” Susie joked, but the amusement in her tone was crushingly dull.  Without thinking, Norman took her cold soft hand into his, gently saying, “C’mon, let’s take you to the infirmary.” He saw Susie opening her mouth to protest, but then glanced at her hand in his. Her pale cheeks were now painted a light rose. She nodded curtly, strands of her hair tickling her forehead. 

The walk to the infirmary was silent. Neither one of them dared to utter a word. It still stung Norman that she had lied to him, but he couldn’t focus on that.  Also, he was currently mentally banging his head against a wall. He shouldn’t have just grabbed her hand like that! Politely suggesting to go to the infirmary would’ve probably been a better solution. Not grabbing someone's hand and making them. His face burned with embarrassment..and also how they were still holding hands.  She hasn’t objected so that’s..good? Damnit, Tom was right, I am fucking hopeless.   He let out a sharp exhale, trying to just focus on the task at hand. 

 Finally, the entrance for the infirmary was coming up ahead, its entrance having no door, just an open space where the door should’ve been. Cheerful posters were stuck on the wall, most of them starring just Bendy. Besides the friendly decor, there above the entrance held the sign, NOT SICK, NOT PAID. Its black bolded letters practically yelled at the two. There on the very back wall held an outdated fading calendar. 

The only sounds that could be heard was the sound of their footsteps hitting the floor. The room had two big filing cabinets on the right, as well as a supply closet, which Norman guessed is where they keep First Aid supplies. At the very end lay two cots. Norman winced at the sight of them as the cots looked terribly uncomfortable and held stains that Norman didn’t wanna even know about. On the left side, there were just a few wooden chairs placed there for waiting patients or visitors. 

Finally, he let his hand slip away from Susie's still cold ones. “Hold up, I have an idea.” He said, already walking towards the supply closet. “Norman, stop, you really don’t have to do this.” Susie spoke in a hushed tone, her eyes pleading with him. But for once in his life, Norman felt determination flow through him. “Just hold on.” He said, before turning to meet Susie's wary  eyes. “Please?” He implored, his eyes softened as well as his tone. Susie let out a sigh, but nodded her head in defeat. Norman watched her slowly walk towards one of the chairs closest to the entrance. She carefully tucked in her skyblue dress, being cautious not to get it caught on the chairs' sharp edges. “Fine. But Norman? I’m giving you about five minutes to do whatever. If your plan isn’t ready by then, then we’ll be going with my plan. Which is going home.” She muttered, her voice gentle, but firm. Norman nodded his head vigorously, exclaiming, “Great! Five minutes should be plenty!”  His face brightened, but deep down, the clock was ticking and pressure was on.  

He walked over to the closest, reaching for its handle. After jiggling the handle, the closest door popped open, making a deep creaking sound. Inside held shelves filled with the typical stuff you would expect to see in an infirmary's closet. There on the top shelf held a metal case with the red cross sign. Second shelf held rolls of bandages, glass jars filled with cotton balls, swab sticks, popsicle sticks and bandaids. Plus a bottle of rubbing alcohol for disinfecting wounds. On the last shelf held folded white sheets. The gears started turning in his head and he got to work.  Norman bent down, carefully reaching for a few white folded sheets. A loose strand of hair brushed against his cheek, but Norman ignored it, too focused on what he was doing. He got up quickly, heading to the first cot his way. Near the cot was a wooden end table, where Norman put the folded sheets. He picked up one, unfolding it and fluttering it over the cot, letting it gracefully lay down. He tucked the loose ends of the soft sheet into the metal frame of the cot. He made sure to do this on both sides. He grabbed another sheet and lay it on top of the first one, unfolding it. The second sheet acted like a thin, but silky blanket. The rest of folded sheets on the end table were plopped to the head of the cot as a pretend pillow.  Surprisingly, Norman had one minute left, to perfect his “masterpiece”, he gently took the trim of the “blanket” and folded it over itself by only just a few inches.  He smiled at his simple creation, before turning to meet Susie, who looked pretty surprised.  “Done.” He said, motioning towards the cot. Susie's face flushed, but a small warm smile tugged on her lips. “It might not be very comfortable, but I hope the sheets make it look more appealing.” He stated, his tone apologetic.  Susie shook her head, getting up from the chair. “It’s definitely an improvement.” She declared, chuckling a bit, but then stopped. She began to speak, “Norman, It’s nice of you to care, but honestly-” Before Norman could realize it, he cut her off, “You need rest.” Susie's eyes looked torn at him, but she let out a short sigh. Norman was about to think she was going to argue, but then she spoke, “You did do all this in under five minutes..oh fine! But, I’ll only take a quick nap, alright?” Norman nodded, feeling mild relief that she accepted. He watched Susie slip off her black heels and hop onto the cot, getting the makeshift blanket to lie on top of her. “I must admit your bed making skills are impressive.” She admitted, shifting to sit up on the cot. “Thank you! When you have to grow up making your own bed AND your younger brothers, you kind of perfect that skill.” He laughed softly, feeling the knots in his stomach easen and untangle. Susie let out a laugh, an actual happy laugh. It sounded beautiful to Norman. Norman smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets. He slowly turned away towards the entrance, but stopped when he heard Susie speak, “Where are you going?” He turned back to her, asking, “Do..you want me to stay?” He felt surprised, but almost flattered as well. “Well it would be nice to have some company just before I rest. And, it’s not like I have a whole lot of time to speak with you these busy days.  Most of the time I can barely find you actually!” She exclaimed, amusement sparkling in her dull eyes. Norman guiltily shrugged his shoulders at her, quietly muttering “Sorry about that.” He stood there for a minute, processing. Then after standing like a statue for a whole minute, he turned towards the chairs and grabbed one of them. He hoisted it up before placing it almost at the foot of the cot.  He slowly sat down, the wooden chair letting out a low creak. It felt uncomfortably hard against Norman’s back, but he didn’t complain. He crossed his leg and leaned back.  

The two talked for a while. About interests, dreams, opinions and mostly just about daily things. Norman also humoured her with stories about Johnny when he was little. It was so worth making her laugh. After an hour of talking, the flow of conversation was now thinning as Susie looked more and more tired with each passing minute. Norman could feel wary himself, but in a content way. He heard Susie letting out a yawn before laying down. She rested her head on the little mountain of folded sheets while she stared at Norman through tired eyes. Norman folded his arms, tilting his head down and closing his eyes. Abruptly he heard Susie mutter something to him. Without opening his eyes, he spoke, “Pardon?”  “I asked, why are you doing this for me?” Susie repeated, her tone faint. Norman fluttered his eyes open, staring at her. It was a simple question. Norman opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. Instead, something tickled his throat making him cough. Once he coughed he couldn’t stop. Norman felt his lungs burn while his throat felt sore. He drew a hand to cover his coughing, when pulling his hand away, he noticed it was stained black. His body jolted with every cough and with every cough  his lungs tightened till he couldn’t breath. His vision turned black. He opened his mouth to yell for Susie, but only more ink came up. No air, just ink. Just ink. Like everything else. Every living thing. 

He woke up with a jolt, gasping. Norman's hand grabbed his chest. His cold inky chest. He touched his face. Tried to at least. There where his face should’ve been was a hard metal projector.  He slowed down his breathing. DId he even need to breathe? How was he breathing? Was  he breathing? He could feel ink inside. Was the ink breathing for him? Didn’t matter.  He looked around him, pipes steamed above him while the sound of walls groaning. The room was mostly empty, only a cot, desk and few boxes filled with reels remained. He just sat there in the corner. He felt his throat have a lump in it. Not by the ink, but from sadness. He didn’t know if that was just a dream or a memory. Probably just a dream even though it felt so..vivid. He remembered Susie's laugh which stabbed his heart. Then he thought about her question. The question he didn’t answer. “Why are you doing this for me?” Through the speaker connected to his projector on his head, he whispered through a static voice, “Because I care, Susie. Because I love you.” He clutched his legs, bringing them closer to his chest and buried his projector head in them. “Because I love you.” He quietly repeated with a sob. 

well idk abt that anon, but

how would Hudson feel if Stella liked him..?

based on a cursed hypothetical ship that my friend suggested because of the drawings I made of Hudson and Stella trying to kill each other... T-T

Hudson would get flustered and probably be even more rude and cold towards her.

HOWEVER, he (as a ghost) would do little gestures. Such as opening and operating the lights and elevator for Stella and giving her supplies that he couldn't care less about (not needing to eat or whatvever). He'd also probably stab and rip people who got in her way of something important.

I doubt he would show his face though, probably embarrassed and not wanting Stella to see the damage :(

AUDIO LOG: Thoughts and bleedings.

Ɨ nɇɇđ ŧø ǥɇŧ øᵾŧ øf ħɇɍɇ….łɇŧ mɇ øᵾŧ, łɇŧ mɇ øᵾŧ! Ɉøɇɏ! ĐȺmn ƀȺsŧȺɍđ, Ɨ ꝁnøw ɏøᵾ'ɍɇ øᵾŧ ŧħɇɍɇ…!

ȼøᵾǥħɨnǥ

Ɨf Ɨ ȼøᵾłđ ɉᵾsŧ…ĦȺħ….ħȺħȺ.

ĦȺĦȺĦĦȺĦ!!! Ɨ'M ǤØƗNǤ ŦØ ĐƗɆ! Ɨ'm ǥøɨnǥ ŧø đɨɇ….

Ɨ đøn'ŧ wȺnŧ ŧø ŧħøᵾǥħ….ƀᵾŧ, ŧø ƀɇ ħønɇsŧ….Ɨ'm nøŧ sᵾɍɇ wħȺŧ Ɨ wȺnŧ.

MȺɏƀɇ mɏ ɇɏɇs ƀȺȼꝁ wøᵾłđ ƀɇ nɨȼɇ…mȺɏƀɇ Ⱥ ȼħȺnȼɇ ŧø ǥø ħømɇ.

Ⱥ đȺɏ wħɇɍɇ ŧħɇ ħøᵾɍs Ⱥɍɇ sᵽɇnŧ wɨŧħ łȺᵾǥħŧɇɍ Ⱥnđ ǥøøđ sᵽɨɍɨŧs.

Nøŧ ɇnsłȺvɇđ ŧø Ⱥ ŧɏᵽɇwɍɨŧɇɍ. Ħøƀƀɨɇs sħøᵾłđn'ŧ ƀɇ ŧħɨs…ŧøɍŧᵾɍɨnǥ.

Ɨ đøn'ŧ wȺnŧ ŧø ƀɇ føɍǥøŧŧɇn…ɇvɇn ɨf Ɨ đø đɇsɇɍvɇ ɨŧ. Ɨ wȺnŧ ŧø ƀɇ łøvɇđ ɇvɇn ɨf Ɨ'm nøŧ sᵾɍɇ wħɏ. Ⱥnđ Ɨ wȺnŧ ħɇłᵽ ɇvɇn ɨf Ɨ đøn'ŧ ꝁnøw ħøw ŧø Ⱥsꝁ.

Ɨ łɇŧ ɇvɇɍɏønɇ đøwn.

Sø mȺnɏ fȺȼɇs…sø mȺnɏ nȺmɇs…Ɨ sħøᵾłđn'ŧ ħȺvɇ ƀɇɇn mɇȺn sø Ħɇnđɇɍsøn, ɇvɇn ɨf Ɨ wȺs ɨnsȺnɇ. Ɨ sħøᵾłđn'ŧ ħȺvɇ ᵽᵾsħɇđ ȻħȺɍłɨɇ ȺwȺɏ, sħɇ wȺs ŧɍɏɨnǥ ŧø ħɇłᵽ.

NøɍmȺn, Ɍɨđɇɍ Ⱥnđ WȺłłɏ đɨđn'ŧ đɇsɇɍvɇ Ⱥnɏ ɨnsᵾłŧ Ɨ ŧħɍɇw Ⱥŧ ŧħɇm. Ŧħøᵾǥħ..Ɨ đøn'ŧ ȺȼŧᵾȺłłɏ ɍɇȼȺłł ɨnsᵾłŧɨnǥ ŧħɇm ɇvɇɍ.

Ⱥnđ ɈȺȼꝁ….đȺmn ɨŧ…ŧħɇ đȺɏs łɇȺđɨnǥ ᵾᵽ ŧø ŧħɨs…Ⱥłł ŧħɇ ᵾsɇłɇss Ⱥɍǥᵾmɇnŧs Ⱥnđ føɍ wħȺŧ? Ŧħøsɇ wøɍđs wɇɍɇ ɉᵾsŧ ɨnfłᵾɇnȼɇđ ƀɏ sømɇønɇ wħø đɨđn'ŧ ɇvɇn ȼȺɍɇ Ⱥƀøᵾŧ ħɨs øwn søn. ɈȺȼꝁ ȼȺɍɇđ føɍ mɇ. Ħɇ wȺs ŧħɇɍɇ møɍɇ ŧɨmɇs ŧħȺn ħɇ ɇvɇɍ wȺs føɍ mɇ.

Ɨ'm sø fᵾȼꝁɨnǥ ŧɨɍɇđ. Øf ŧħɨs. Øf ŧħɇ sŧᵾđɨø. Øf mɇ.

Ɨ Ⱥɍǥᵾɇđ ƀɇȼȺᵾsɇ Ɨ ȼȺɍɇđ, ɈȺȼꝁ. Ɨ snȺᵽᵽɇđ Ⱥŧ ɏøᵾ føɍ nøŧ ɇnłɨsŧɨnǥ ƀɇȼȺᵾsɇ Ɨ wȺs sȼȺɍɇđ ŧħȺŧ ɨf ɏøᵾ wɇɍɇn'ŧ ŧħɇɍɇ…ɏøᵾ wøᵾłđ føɍǥɇŧ mɇ.

Ⱥnđ mȺɏƀɇ…

ɏøᵾ wøᵾłđ sŧøᵽ ȼȺɍɨnǥ ₳฿ØɄ₮ ₥Ɇ.....

Ⱥs føɍ SȺmmɏ…… Ɨ wȺnŧ mɏ đȺmn ɇɏɇs ƀȺȼꝁ. Ɨ đøn'ŧ ȼȺɍɇ wħȺŧ ɨŧ ŧȺꝁɇs.

Ⱥnđ ɨf ɏøᵾ ƀȺȼꝁ đøwn nøw….đøn'ŧ ƀɇ sᵾɍᵽɍɨsɇđ wħɇn ŧɍøᵾƀłɇ ƀɇǥɨns ŧø sŧɨɍ.

Ⱥnđ đø NØŦ ᵾsɇ ŧħɇ ɇłɇvȺŧøɍ.

Sent from above!

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.

Hudson if he actually went to The royal Canadian Air Force during WW2.

This would be the Poppy Field AU where Hudson actually survives the studio. No telling if he survives the war though...