sraghost

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And a couple more Eriks for the road.

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Exhausting, isn't it?

Referenced/Based off a photo of Robbie Mckinnon

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"It's worth it... Trust me. Sorry there's picture of me and another guy in there...."

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Bit of a smexy Josef I drew after a bunch of my creep posts on Twitter blew up…

The people yearn for this creep

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i don’t get horror movies, why doesn’t the protagonist just act in a way which will prevent a story from being told or piece of entertaining media made

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funniest shit is going down on discord rn

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adhd will get you thinking "i should make this doctors appointment" every day for 7 months and counting

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This doodle of Josef I made at 3 am last night after rewatching creep 2 banged on Twitter so here you go, my scarabs

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Deer in headlights

Sara render practice :]

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+random but from one of my fave movies lawl recommend if you liek t4t insanity

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due to recent news our guy is lost :/

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Everyone go vote for the creep tapes….NOW!!!

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I don't draw a lottt of furry stuff but when i saw Gluskin the first time I was immediately like i HAVE. to draw him as an english bull terrier. Finally making that happen.

He's a big fan of those outdated alpha wolf studies.

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(this is for the anon request that unfortunately I'm sure I deleted. Here you go.)

🕯️ Title: "He Says My Name Like a Prayer"

It starts with a lie.

"I'm harmless," he says, voice thick with sincerity, eyes wide like he's telling you a secret the world couldn't handle.

You don’t believe him. Not really. But you nod anyway, because this house is too far from the road and your phone hasn't had a signal in hours. And because he’s got that smile again—like a child showing off a dead bird and waiting to see if you’ll be impressed or afraid.

He makes you tea. Of course he does.

The steam curls upward as you hold the chipped mug, watching him pace the small room like the walls are too tight. You’re sitting in the middle of the floor, not because there aren’t chairs, but because that’s where he asked you to sit, and it felt easier to say yes.

“You remind me of someone,” he says suddenly. Then silence. Your skin prickles.

“Oh?”

His grin grows too wide. "She didn’t stay.”

You swallow the wrong way. The mug rattles when you set it down.

He crouches to your level, one hand braced on the worn carpet beside your knee. You should lean away. You don’t.

“Why did you stay?” he asks softly, and somehow that’s the most dangerous question he’s asked all night.

You can hear your heartbeat behind your eyes. Something in him is watching your mouth, not your eyes. Like he’s memorizing the way you breathe.

He leans in. You think he’ll kiss you. He doesn't. Instead, he whispers:

“I think you want to know what I did to her.”

You flinch—and that makes him smile for real.

It was dark when you arrived—too dark. Not the kind of darkness that waits for morning, but the kind that drinks the light and dares you to stay.

Josef had been waiting for you. You don’t know how long—just that his car wasn’t there when you pulled up the gravel path. But the porch light was on.

“I knew you’d come,” he said with that same impossible calm, voice low and syrupy, like someone trying to hypnotize a deer into standing still.

You’d laughed then, awkwardly. “You said you had something to show me.”

And he had nodded. “I do.”

The inside of the cabin was colder than you expected. Bare walls, curtains drawn. It felt deliberately unfinished. Like someone had started building a home… then changed their mind.

He offered you a drink. You refused. He didn’t press. Instead, he sat on the couch with his knees drawn up, arms looped loosely around them, like a child watching cartoons.

“I filmed something,” he said.

That made your stomach drop. But you nodded like it didn’t. Because that’s how this night worked—you keep pretending you’re not afraid, and he keeps pretending it’s all normal.

He stood and disappeared into the other room, coming back with a camcorder that looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. He set it on the table but didn’t press play.

“I miss her,” he said instead.

Your eyes met his, and something in your chest tightened. “The woman from the video?”

He smiled. “You remember.”

You didn’t mean to. But her face flickered behind your eyes anyway.

“She didn’t scream,” he added, almost thoughtfully.

Silence pressed against your ribcage.

He knelt suddenly—too close, too fast. His hands were on either side of you now, braced on the couch, caging you in.

“She knew,” he whispered. “She knew what I was.”

You tried to lean back, but there was nowhere left to go.

“And you?” His breath was warm against your cheek. “Do you know what I am?”

You thought about running. About how fast you could make it to the door. But your legs didn’t move. Not because you weren’t afraid—but because part of you wasn’t.

That was the worst part. That small, treacherous part of you that found his voice… soothing. His gaze… intimate. Like drowning in warm water.

He tilted his head, watching you like you were a puzzle he hadn’t solved yet. “You’re not like the others,” he murmured. “You’re curious.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

His hand reached for your face, fingers ghosting along your jaw. “Curious is dangerous,” he said, almost tender. “It makes you stay when you should run.”

Your skin prickled where he touched you.

Then he stood, abruptly. “Come on,” he said. “I want to show you something.”

The hallway was longer than you remembered. Maybe it always had been. He led you to a door at the end, then turned to look at you, hand on the knob.

“This part,” he said, smiling like a kid with a secret, “this part is my favorite.”

The door creaked open.

Inside was a room with walls covered in photos—snapshots, Polaroids, blurry stills from old camcorders. Some were candid. Some weren’t. You noticed her face in several. The woman. Always looking slightly away. Never smiling.

Then… your face. Among them.

You stepped back. He didn’t stop you.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said simply. “Because you see me, don’t you? Not just the masks. The real parts.”

Your hands trembled. You wanted to yell, demand answers—but the words never came.

He stepped closer. “Do you want to be seen?”

The room hummed with electricity. No sound but your breath—and his, slower now, almost reverent.

When he touched you again, you didn’t flinch.

Because part of you wanted to understand.

And part of you—God help you—did.

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u should draw creep 2 josef in the end scene when he's out of breath sweaty as hell covered in blood.... like riiight before he's boutta get smacked by sara

Why don't you at least look behind you?

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1000 posts!

Damm. There's probably 200 posts just about creep