#spook’s writing

[spooksfanartzone]

I am empty inside.

I’m well aware of this. I’ve been this way for as long as I can remember.

Growing up I had a hard time connecting with anyone. understanding others, especially regarding anything emotional.

I’ve been told I’m cold, callous, and cruel.

“How can you not see how your actions hurt others?”

How could I explain too anyone that I lack whatever they have in that regard.

But I’m awfully clever. I learned how too pretend too have what they had inside that I didn’t. I learned how to be the perfectly cheery, hopeful, nice person I am today.

Is it any wonder I got into acting as a job? It’s what I do every hour of every day, might as well get payed for it.

People say that Joey Drew and I are a lot alike. We aren’t.

Joey has what i lack inside. I’ve heard people call him heartless, but no, he has one.

If there’s anyone in the halls of this studio that’s heartless it’s me.

Not that I would ever let them know. The heartless don’t get anywhere.

Alice used too be popular, started to outshine that little devil Joey goes on and on about.

She lost all of it when I started voicing her.

“You don’t put any heart into your performance.” The music director once told me.

How do I explain too him that I don’t have a heart.

Thomas Conner loves me. I don’t know if I can feel the same, if that’s something I’m even capable of.

But I think he’s fun, and determined, and someone who could use a good distraction.

I’m happy to play that part.

I’ve learned all the steps in the dance, all the words too the song.

But I can never hear the beating music everyone else can hear.

[ghostbsuter]

The reason Danny– and in turn, Phantom - nearly dropped kicked Wes into the sun was, because the ginger believes that Bruce Wayne is batman.

Batman.

And with that, the entire family of Mr Wayne being the batcrew.

Them.

Which was ridiculous, Danny watched this week's episode of "keeping up with the waynes", he's seen Mr Wayne in a bathrobe, trying to drink his omelette and his children being absolute chaos gremlins.

These people could NOT be the batman and Co. Of Gotham.

[ghost-bxrd]

“This is where you live?”

Jason drops the duffle bag on the counter, “Yeah. It’s no manor, kid. I told you.”

He’s not self conscious. He’s not. This apartment is fuckin’ nice ok? He spent a lot of money on decor and proper kitchenware and furniture and shit.

But Jason also knows that, objectively speaking, it doesn’t hold a candle to Wayne manor and its fifty-something bedrooms. That place is basically its own country.

Bruce nods.

“I like it,” he says solemnly, walking over towards the window to peek through the blinds. The view from up here isn’t exactly panorama level but the building is one of the tallest in Crime Alley and Jason’s apartment is on the top floor, so it does provide a pretty good view of a good portion of the Alley. “It doesn’t feel as empty.”

Jason pauses where he’s resetting the traps and alarms by the door, glancing over his shoulder to where Bruce is starting to tentatively explore the living space and is struck by how violently out of place the boy looks with his rigid posture and elegantly curved eyebrows. Even the plain hoodie, faded hand-me-down jeans and ridiculous wool cap aren’t enough to hide how utterly not Crime Alley born-and-bred he is. Everything about Bruce is basically screaming rich-Bristol-trust-fund-kid.

Which, yeah. Checks out.

Jason clears his throat and clicks the security on, waiting for the small light at the side to switch from green to red.

“Your room’s the one down the hall to the left. Right one is mine. Door at the end of the hall is the bathroom.”

Bruce hikes his backpack up higher on his shoulder, eyes eerily vacant as always, but Jason wants to think that there’s a sliver of curiosity behind that steely gaze anyways as he inclines his head and makes his way down the hall.

As soon as the kid vanishes around the corner Jason allows himself a moment to exhale and run a hand down his face tiredly.

Jesus fucking Christ.

What was he thinking.

How the fuck is he supposed to raise a tiny Bruce Wayne with his older furry counterpart running around Gotham at night hunting criminals? Criminals like Jason?

Nothing. He was thinking nothing. And it’s about to bite him in the ass.

No way can he build a criminal empire and take over the drugs and weapons trade with a traumatized nine year old dependent on him.

God dammit.

[greenglowinspooks]

Me reading the same three fics nightly to go to sleep because there’s something fundamentally wrong with me that is slightly eased by them

[iridescentmirrorsgenshin]

The direct parallel between alhaitham and kaveh working together within cyno’s story quest 2 and them working together on their thesis in their school days is a bit um??

Their thesis was based around the ancient runes and ancient architecture of King Deshret’s era, which benefitted many people in modern Sumeru in terms of understanding of languages and architecture usages even before it was abandoned. Kaveh left the topic for alhaitham to pick, and he picked a topic which balanced their ‘mirror’ interests.

it's interesting that alhaitham and kaveh had once planned on aligning their seemingly opposing views through this thesis, but were ultimately prevented from doing so due to differing points of contention based around their philosophies and concern for the other (an analysis of their argument can be found here). however, in cyno's story quest, there is an inversion of this mirror, in that kaveh remembers the symbol of the temple of silence due to its beauty and alhaitham is able to identify the emblem as the temple of silence's due to architectural signatures. in this, the two appropriate the other's signature, being that kaveh uses alhaitham's language, and alhaitham uses kaveh's architecture, and this results in a cohesion of these previously considered 'mirroring' viewpoints

In cyno’s story quest, Alhaitham and Kaveh identify and research into The temple of silence, which is directly connected with king deshret, being founded by Hermanubis, a familiar of king deshret

When the two join together within this quest, it is also related to king deshret, and their research is imperative to the traveller’s progression throughout the quest, with their working together being commented on three times on separate occasions by tighnari and cyno – one of which, the two give seemingly disconnected advice at different times; alhaitham gives advice to tighnari on cultural practices in the desert, and kaveh has told tighnari of his experiences with desert folk. Alhaitham gives this advice based on personal research, whereas kaveh has ascertained his information based on personal experience – which aligns with their respective ideologies, alhaitham = individualism, researching on his own through the perspectives of others to find objectivity , kaveh = collectivism/altruism, directly interacting with others, but these both align to create a full picture, which allows tighnari and cyno compose a strategy which gives them the upper hand

This ultimately points to the harmonisation of their respective views which can manifest in good. Having Alhaitham and Kaveh rejoin in research an organisation directly connected to King Deshret, the subject of their joint thesis, is a direct parallel, and only serves to show the importance of the two attempting to align their visions, both for themselves, but also for the good it can do for others. again, this highlights the importance of their reconciliation presented within cyno's story quest

[catboygirljoker]

i started listening to a new podcast. what if john...muppet

[fizzyxcustard]

I was just wondering what would Lucas's and Amy's perfect day look like? Would it be adrenaline fueled or something more low key and relaxed?

I definitely think these two would enjoy a day in together, maybe baking something, reading together and watching television.

Lucas has a very high octane job, so relaxing is all he wants to do on his day off. Amy is very introverted, and likes working on her art at any chance she can.

So a day off for these two would mostly be at home after a lie in with breakfast in bed. Lucas would read his William Blake poetry to Amy while she mixes cake or biscuit batter in a bowl. Of course after eating the sweet foods, they head to bed for some happy time between the sheets. Watching a film is how they’d end the day, probably an 80’s classic like Back to the Future or one of Amy’s Disney cartoons. ❤️❤️

Thank you so much for this ask @glassgulls You know how much I adore these two. It’s so exciting when people ask about them.

[pastafossa]

That new picture... of Matt.

I feel something in my brain.

A scratching.

What is this feeling?

Creativity, is that you

[silly-scroimblo-whump]

Little Lamb

@augusnippets day 10 (!!!), execution cw: cult sacrifice, child death/torture, dear GOD this is progressively getting less whimsical by the second. UEGEHFH…… masterlist!! —— The child leans into the hand pressed against his shoulder. He cannot see the source of the sudden, gentle weight, but he can feel the warmth. The hand on the child’s back does not budge. “.. Where are we going?” The boy asks, unable to see his new friend through the blindfold tightly knotted over his eyes. The walking stops, just for a second. “You’re going home, child.” The gruff voice speaks, unusually quiet. “Home?” The boy echoes. “Yes, dear child. Home, where your soul shall be cleansed of all impurities,” A seperate, fragile voice croons, pressing a wrinkled hand to the child’s forehead. Once more, he leans into the affection, giggling contently as their hand softly ruffles his hair. They guide him further. As he sits and waits alongside a lamb, he happily ruffles its wool, listening to the hustle and bustle of the crowd. He can feel the fires around him. Normally, he and the other children in the village would be sent to bed when the flames are set alight, but today was said to be his special day! He’s so excited, he— The lamb is led away, and the boy soon follows.

As he stands atop the gallows, several hands keep his mouth open, prying his jaw back further when he attempts to scream. As his mouth fills with blood, the process of ending the demon’s hunger begins. No matter how much he writhes and wails, the ritual never ceases. “M— mama.. where’s mama? Pl— please.. I want— where’s my mama?” Everything burns. Why isn’t his mama here? He wants to go home, please, please— The platform drops. The last things he hears is the cheers, chants, and laughter of the crowd, abruptly punctuated by the snapping of his neck — a full stop.

——

taglist!! let me know if you wanna be added!! ^_^

@loonybun

[sentientstump]

old and new (it might've turned old as well two days ago) low res pictures

oh, forgive me, hylics and hylickers

[sweetrevxnge]

Ghosts In The Snow

Chapter One

Pairing: Vampire!Kylo Ren x Reader AU

Summary: Six long years had passed under the reign of the First Order. The bitter winters grew longer, and as they did, hope faded from the hearts of the citizens of Hosnian Prime. As a lieutenant in the Resistance cavalry, it was your duty to nurture that ember of hope. After a mission takes an unexpected turn, you are taken prisoner by a commander in the First Order, a mysterious man with an insatiable appetite—for violence, power, and you. In the coming days, you must keep the spark of your own hope alive from the dark confines of the Commander's castle.

Warnings: sexual content, violence, blood kink, gore, mentions/descriptions of injury and death

*concurrently being published on AO3 and Wattpad as well!

Next Chapter

Spotify Playlist

Word count: 2.5k

A/N: Happy Halloween!!! I wanted to share the first chapter of the medieval/vampire AU fic that I've been working on for the past few months. Basically, I rewatched Game of Thrones and Castlevania and set out to write a Kylo Ren AU related to both. And what better time to start uploading it than Halloween!! My primary focus is still finishing Like Phantoms, Forever, but my goal is to continue working on and uploading this story as well. Let me know what you think of it!

───────── ❅ 🦇 ❅ ─────────

Icy wind burned your eyes as you rode under the moonless sky. Sparse trees passed by as your steed marched along the dark path, treading through the thick blanket of snow that covered the forest floor. Around you, delicate snowflakes floated down from the heavens, catching on the limbs of towering pines and landing on your cheeks, only to melt on your warm skin.

There was something hauntingly beautiful about this weather, with storm clouds draping the inky sky like a wool cloak, snuffing out the cool light of the moon and her stars. In the winter, nights like these were familiar. But not tonight.

This night was bitterly cold, the type of cold that even the thickest furs couldn’t warm. Now, after hours of trekking through the forest, you resented Commander Dameron’s decision for the squadron to not wear helmets. In theory, it seemed like the best way to increase visibility in the midnight hour. But now, with chattering teeth and a visibility of less than a few meters, you were less than pleased.

Commander Dameron had left his helmet behind at the base as well. Although, it was less of a rare occurrence for him. He seldom wore a full suit of armor, which under any other circumstance could be attributed to a plethora of reasons. Pride, confidence, or his incessant need to make his enemy aware that he was being slain by a more handsome man than he. Regardless of his reasoning, you didn’t outwardly oppose the Commander’s decision. If there was one thing you had learned during your time in the Resistance, it was to never question your commander, even over something as frivolous as a helmet. His orders came directly from the General, which meant regardless of your opinion on the matter, his discretion was final. General Organa was a pragmatic woman, and after six years of serving her, she had yet to lead you astray. You expected that tonight would be no different.

Covert operations were nothing new to you, having taken part in over a dozen successful missions before. Even when things became precarious, you were able to keep your wits about you and get your men out in one piece. It was for this reason that the General trusted you with the most sensitive missions, like tonight’s.

As you neared the location of the reported First Order encampment, trepidation rolled through your stomach. There was something uncomfortable about these woods, more than the typical unease of marching into the unknown, or the prospect of losing your men in a bloodbath. The forest felt suffocating, as if you were being swallowed by the trees the further you rode. Perhaps it was the moonless sky causing your skin to crawl, or the eerie silence that surrounded you.

In front of you, Commander Dameron was barely visible through the heavy snowfall, and further away than you would have liked him to be. But then again, that was how he typically operated.

His daring attitude and hunger for battle were just a few of your favorite qualities of his, with his striking good looks and razor-sharp wit following closely behind. He was a natural leader, often utilizing every quality in his arsenal to earn cooperation from his soldiers, including yourself.

The two of you worked well together, sharing a chemistry both in leadership and out in the field. Thanks to his effortless charisma and affinity for your presence, you had been his loyal right-hand for many years. The General could always rely on your squadron to extract the intelligence she needed, or defeat any amount of stormtroopers that impeded her cause.

For six long years, the sovereign state of Hosnian Prime had been plagued by war, its people forced to bend the knee to the usurper First Order or lose their head. While many citizens chose to submit their will, there were those who refused to comply, who sacrificed everything for liberty. The Resistance was born from their bravery, their determination to fight for what was just. It was their emblem that you wore proudly on your armor, the same emblem that inspired hope in the downtrodden and oppressed throughout the world.

The moment Vice Chancellor Snoke flaunted the severed head of Chancellor Villecham to the people of Republic City, you knew that fighting this war was your only option if you wanted to save your home. The carnage that ensued in the city square was nothing short of pure evil and to this day, despite the brutality you had since witnessed and partaken in, still made your stomach churn. In the days that followed, Snoke led vicious attacks on the remaining New Republic officials, with word of his violence reaching you and the other fugitives not long after. The destruction of Hosnian Prime’s liberty was the catalyst for your enlistment in the Resistance, and remained as the motivation to end this civil war.

You tried not to dwell much on that horrific day, but it was difficult to avoid on long rides like this, finding that your mind would often drift there when you were riding towards an imminent battle. The tight secrecy of this operation was unsettling, but what little information you did know was repeating ceaselessly in your head.

The purpose of this mission was to ambush a suspected First Order camp, one that was said to be housing a handful of its leading officers. By all accounts, it was meant to be a fairly typical intelligence extraction and execution, except there would be no execution, as the General had placed a strict defense-only order on this mission, meaning you were not to strike an attack unless it was a defensive measure. Such an order left much to be answered, but from what you knew of war, it likely meant that General Organa couldn’t afford to lose the men. It also meant that whichever First Order officials were residing at this camp were not vital to its operation, for if they were, the next sunrise they would see would be from the top of wooden spikes.

The General’s briefing was not unlike many of her others. It was short and eloquent as always, but by the end of it, she was practically ordering the group out of the room, rather than her usual dismissal of telling everyone to get back to work. You, along with every other person involved in this operation, were left confused by her behavior, left to your imagination to fill in the gaps. It wasn’t long before gossip began to spread throughout the unit.

A misstep from your horse pulled you back to the present, prompting you to soothe her fright before she could make too much noise. It was imperative to the success of this ambush that none of your men—or their horses—made a sound.

After a few strokes down her spine and quiet, reassuring whispers, her pace steadied. You looked ahead for the signal from Commander Dameron that you were approaching the encampment, but in the hazy clearing, his presence had been reduced to a set of tracks left into the snow.

The festering dread in your gut became unbearable as you continued to trudge through the dark foliage, debating whether or not it would be appropriate to catch up to Commander Dameron and share your concerns. You could only imagine the lecture you would receive from the General if you strayed from the plan in any manner, but at the same time, you trusted your instinct. Something didn’t feel right.

The crunch of snow beneath hooves and the light rattle of armor were the only sounds that filled the air. That was until a scream pierced the night air, sending a chill colder than the snow down your spine.

Panic rose in your chest as your horse reared off the ground and spun wildly, frightened beyond your control. You tried to orient yourself in the darkness, scanning the white haze for your men, as well as your commander.

Another scream followed shortly after, along with a string of cries from the soldier’s horse. One final wail sliced through the air like a banshee cry, full of agony, before the world fell silent.

There was someone else—or something else—in these woods.

The soldiers behind you erupted in a cacophony of confusion, worry, and pleas to the gods for mercy. You steered your horse away from them, more concerned with Commander Dameron’s safety than theirs. As terrible as it seemed, soldiers were expendable, leadership was not. Besides, if you fell back to help them, your fate would be the same as theirs—bloody and mangled.

More anguished cries rang throughout the dark woods, following you as you rushed forward, whipping the reins to keep your pace.

“Commander? Commander?!” you shouted into the abyss of the night. You uttered a quiet prayer as you waited for his response.

The whisper of wind was all you received in return.

“COMMANDER!” you screamed, your throat burning from the wintry air as you cried out.

Nothing.

With bleary eyes, you continued to ride, dodging the brush and rogue branches hanging in your path. It was then that a horrible realization occurred to you. Aside from the sound of your shallow breaths and hooves stomping, the forest was utterly silent.

Your panic quickly transformed into terror. The sounds of slaughter that had been trailing you had ceased. Whatever had been hunting your men could now only be hunting you.

There was no time to waste. Adrenaline rushed through your veins as you unlatched your boots from the saddle and prepared to dismount your horse, hoping to be a smaller target on foot.

Before you could swing your leg over the saddle to jump down, an invisible blow struck the center of your chest, hurling you backwards through the air until you collided with the rough bark of a tall pine.

Bright spots filled your vision as you hit the frozen ground, gasping for air despite the ache spreading through your ribs. A high pitch rang in your ears as you pushed yourself up and staggered to your feet. The snow beneath you was stained red, and from the taste of copper in your mouth and the tender sore on your tongue, it was clear that you had bitten it during the fall.

Away from your sight, your horse neighed and reared wildly, galloping over the roots buried beneath the snow and snapping dry branches that covered her path. For a moment, you hoped that she was running towards you, that her senses would guide her back to you. But you were a fool. 

The sound of ripping flesh and a final, harrowing cry from your horse resonated through the woods, followed by a heavy thud and a deafening silence.

You blinked the falling snowflakes away from your eyes as you stood there, rooted in the snow, trying to see which direction the midnight creature would attack from. Your heart was a few beats away from bursting through your chest, which would likely be a less painful death than what was to come.

The outline of a figure breached the snowfall, stalking towards you as you retreated on your heels, fueled by the adrenaline coursing through you.

As you reached for your sword, your limbs were frozen in place, as if your body had been wrapped in nonexistent restraints. Your breath caught in your throat. Resisting the energy proved futile, tiring your muscles and leaving you entirely defenseless. You watched in horror as the creature came into view.

“Was that you I heard calling for me, my dear?”

You could barely hear the question over the hammering of your pulse. The voice was low and brassy, and almost sounded amused. As it drew closer, you were surprised to find that the owner was not a bloodthirsty monster, but a man.

You lifted your chin and blinked back the tears that welled in your eyes, hoping to appear brave in the face of death.

“You certainly were difficult to catch,” he growled, stepping through the haze. “But the difficult ones always make for the best hunt.”

The man stepped into view, his dark armor a stark contrast to the backdrop of snowfall. In the drops of moonlight that spilled through the clouds, you could make out the details of his helmet—a haunting, black mask with silver ridges outlining the eye shield, gleaming in the waning light.

“What are you doing all the way up here, officer?” he asked, tilting his head slightly as he raised a gloved hand to your face, his outstretched fingers nearly grazing your skin.

“I–” you began to say before you choked on your words. An excruciating pain split your skull, unlike anything you had experienced before. The sensation could only be compared to something found in nightmares, crafted in the fires of Hell for the most unabashed sinners. The tears you had fought to hold back finally spilled from your eyes, freezing as they rolled down your cheeks while the masked man rummaged through your mind.

“You’re a lieutenant,” he said quietly, his intrigue evident even through his helmet.

You didn’t try to deny his statement, all too aware that your rank was the only thing keeping you from suffering the same fate as the rest of your men.

“A woman as second-in-command…” He traced the back of his hand along your jaw, the smooth leather interrupting the stream of tears that ran from your eyes.

Slowly, he moved behind you, examining you how a butcher would inspect a lamb before the slaughter. Through the shield of his mask, you could feel his eyes roaming over you. 

Acid bubbled in your throat as you stood there, helpless to the force that held you in place. The fate of your men seemed like salvation in comparison to what was likely awaiting you.

Would he take you prisoner? Would he violate you? How long would you suffer before succumbing to your inevitable fate?

Each thought piled onto the other as they raced through your head. You were grateful that he had released his grip on your mind, that your fears were known only to you.

Behind him, a handful of other men emerged from the night, standing in a tight formation behind their leader. The other parties responsible for the massacre of your men, you presumed.

“Sir, we were unable to locate the Commander,” one of the men informed him.

He moved closer behind you, pieces of his armor grazing yours. “Forget him. We have what we need.”

Before you could process his words, the energy around your limbs disappeared and you swayed, suddenly dizzy, like you had indulged in one too many glasses of wine. The edges of your vision blurred and despite wanting to kick your attacker and run as far as you could, your legs wouldn’t budge. The last thing you felt before darkness rushed in was a pair of strong arms wrapping around you as your body went slack, sealing your fate.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

ghost!toji x reader ….. hmmmm hm hm hm

[gottagho-st]

kissy prompt 32 withhhh lus and phantom 👀🤗

EEE okay here goes <3 definitely got longer than i intended but i hope you like it 🥹 they’re v precious to meeeeee

also if there’s any mistakes - no there’s not (i didn’t proofread this so my bad)

32. a kiss to wake up

slight cw: scars/mention of scars, but other than that it’s pretty much just fluffy morning ghouls :))

under the cut cause of length 🫶✨🦇

The warm caress of the morning sun flooding into her room was a gentle nudge awake, enough to tug her just towards consciousness, but not pull her entirely from the comforting haze of sleep. With a sigh, Cumulus rolled to her other side, attempting to tug the blankets further over her chest - but being met with resistance upon doing so. Her sleep-soaked brain took a moment to register that such a task would normally be done with ease, and once she realised her relaxed face scrunched into a slight frown. She tugs again, a little harder this time, and is met with the resistance once again. This time, though, it is accompanied by a grumpy ‘mrrrp’ from the ghoul curled into a ball on top of the blankets.

His hair is mussed from sleep, and his body continues to rise and fall in the gentle pattern of his breathing, a soft puff of air escaping from slightly parted lips on every exhale. Cumulus’ frown is wiped from her face the moment her eyes land on the pulsing lights across his lavender cheeks, replaced by a fond smile at her little bug who must have joined her for comfort during the night. He has an open invitation into her room whenever he likes, and she has always indicated that she’s happy for him to wake her - but clearly last night all he wanted was to be close.

Cumulus reaches a hand of manicured claws down to gently rake his hair away from his face, the disturbance causing him to shift - arms reaching out to stretch slightly and give her better access for head scratching. she leans in closer to nuzzle against him, soaking up some of his warmth, and starts a gentle purr. This is a perfect way to start her morning, if you ask her.

Phantom’s eyes remain close, still blissfully clingy to the thread of sleepiness, but he responds to her purr with a crackly attempt at his own. At this, Cumulus’ smile widens and she bends toward him to press a feather of a kiss onto his forehead. a quite chirp is her only response, so she continues - another kiss pressed against the scar slashing through his right eyebrow, again to the bridge of his nose. Mismatched eyes crack open to gaze up at her, and she continues with her worshipping lips, pressing devoted kisses to every scar and pulsing strike of lightning that dances across his cheeks. Her lips brush against the tip of his nose, and he tilts his head up in an attempt to get a proper kiss from her, whining when she just giggles and kisses his chin, and then along his jaw. Phantom squirms with impatience, making quiet but desperate noises to which Cumulus finally relents, pressing her full lips lovingly to his own, and holding for a breath. The kiss is short, but filled with her adoration and affection for her little Bug, and his purr amps up in response. He steals another kiss before she pulls away gently, still caressing the hair at the base of his neck.

“Goodmorning my little Lovebug” she whispers, and he giggles at the way her breath tickles his cheeks.

“‘mornin’ Lussy,” he smiles brightly up at her.

Yeah, this is certainly one of her favourite ways to wake up.

[greenglowinspooks]

Honestly antique shops and thrift stores are the most important places in the world to me. Picking up little relics of other people’s lives, things they loved enough not to throw away but not enough to save.

[jacenotjason]

morthy and gadreel brief writing

i wanted to write something just bc its been awhile and i enjoy it

so i wrote some fanfic of morthy and gadreel

this is literally COMPLETELY based on the dream scene from Gravity Falls, mostly from memory so. lol.

enjoy anyways maybe

Whyd i write this what the hell

Inspired by that one scene from gravity falls. I mean like obviously its the same dialogue. I changed it a lil tho enjoy!!!!

Morthy lay face-down on his desk, his head nestled softly on his crossed arms. His eyes were gently closed, and his breathing was deep and steady, punctuated by the occasional soft snore. Around him lay a small pile of messy notes and scribbles, the result of countless hours of work and contemplation.

Suddenly, the world shifted. Morthy’s tranquil repose was interrupted by an awakening sensation that jolted him into a state of acute awareness. He was no longer in his study; instead, he found himself standing upright in an expansive field. His clerical robes fluttered gently in the breeze, their flowing fabric mimicking the swaying tall grass that stretched endlessly around him. The dreamscape was bathed in a surreal, golden light that flickers like sunlight through a thin veil of mist.

Morthy knew he wasn’t truly awake—this was just another fragment of his dreams, a landscape of his subconscious. He took a deep breath, his fingers weaving together in a gesture of calm focus. His eyes scanned the horizon, the verdant sea of grass gently undulating in the wind. It wasn’t often he had such surreal dreams, he enjoyed it.

A distant, unsettling laugh pierced the calm of the dreamscape, sending a shiver through Morthy's frame. The sound was eerie and distorted, reverberating through the endless field like a cruel echo. Instinctively, he tensed, his muscles tightening as he tried to pinpoint the source of the disconcerting noise. He muttered a frustrated curse under his breath, his voice tinged with a mix of irritation and apprehension.

"I know that laugh," Morthy said, his voice carrying an edge of recognition. The laugh was unmistakable, a twisted sound he had heard before. Although he couldn't see anyone, he knew who it belonged to.

"Show yourself!" Morthy's voice cut through the dreamlike silence, breaking the usual softness with an unexpected intensity. It was rare for him to let his voice rise so sharply, but the situation demanded it. For a long moment, the field remained eerily quiet, the gentle rustle of the grass fading into a heavy stillness. The wind died down completely, leaving an oppressive calm in its wake.

Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind swept through the field, flattening the grass and nearly toppling Morthy off balance. He stumbled, his heart pounding as he struggled to steady himself against the unexpected force.

Turning on his heel, Morthy's eyes locked onto the form he had dreaded. There, emerging from the swirling grass, was Gadreel. The demon stood with a theatrical flourish, his arms spread wide in a mocking gesture of welcome. His presence seemed to distort the very fabric of the dream, casting a shadow over the once-peaceful field.

"Well, well, well, wellwellwellwell~!" Gadreel's voice dripped with a sinister amusement, each word rolling off his tongue with a smooth, mocking lilt. "Father Morthy! Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?" He laughed at his own joke, a cruel and unsettling sound that echoed through the field, further disturbing the already fractured tranquility.

"Gadreel." Morthy's voice was a low, fierce growl, his patience wearing thin. "What do you want from me?"

Gadreel's mocking grin widened as he dropped his arms to his sides. "Oh," he said with a smooth, almost theatrical flair, "Quit playing dumb, priest. You knew I'd be back. You think cutting off our contact would stop me?” Gadreel slithered closer, his claws laced together, “I've been making deals, chatting with old friends," he tugged at his shirt collar with an exaggerated, sarcastic bow, "Preparing for the big day! You can't keep that rift safe forever."

With a flick of his wrist, Gadreel conjured a shimmering, false rift in his claws, holding it up for Morthy to see. His eyes gleamed with malicious delight. "You'll slip up and when you dooo~" he sang, letting the rift slip from his grasp. It shattered dramatically against the floor, splintering into a jagged tear in the fabric of reality. For a fleeting moment, the rift revealed a glimpse of Gadreel's dimension—a chaotic, nightmarish expanse teeming with unsettling shadows and flickering flames.

"Get out of here!" Morthy's voice was a thunderclap of authority, his anger burning bright. "You have no place in our world!"

Gadreel's smile twisted into a smirk, his face obscured by the dark shadows of the portal behind him. His eyes glowed ominously as he hissed, "Maybe not right now, but things change, Morthy. Things change." His words dripped with an unsettling promise, leaving a chill in the air.

Gadreel’s laughter echoed through the dreamscape, its cruel sound weaving through the fabric of Morthy’s subconscious. The field around him began to distort, bending and twisting as if under the influence of the demon’s dark amusement. Images of chaos and destruction flashed before Morthy’s eyes—visions of his world being torn asunder, ravaged by the malevolent force Gadreel would unleash if ever he broke free from his prison. The scenes were vivid and horrifying, each one more apocalyptic than the last, creating a tapestry of dread that seemed to stretch on endlessly.

With a sudden jolt, Morthy shot awake. He was back at his desk, his surroundings bathed in the familiar, comforting light of the church. His heart raced, and he was drenched in sweat, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The warmth that enveloped him felt unnaturally intense, almost feverish. He was overcome by a wave of disorientation, his body trembling as he tried to reorient himself.

Morthy's hands gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white from the pressure. He took deep, shuddering breaths, each inhale and exhale an attempt to ground himself in reality. The vivid images of destruction still lingered in his mind, their impact leaving him shaken and unsettled. The dream’s harsh reality had left a residue of fear and urgency, a stark reminder of the threat Gadreel posed.

[spaceypineapple]

todays art was originally going to be very different so ill put the first sketch under read more lmao davesport jumpscare ig

day 11! dsaftober list by static-dropz