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jacenotjason · 4 months ago

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Always With You - Part Two!

Part One Here!

Spooky Month Fanfic with Gregor and Morthy!

CW: Detailed wound descriptions and also a SINGLE curse word lmao

enjoy !

As the evening settled in and shadows lengthened, Gregor carefully placed the stack of books he had brought just outside Morthy's quarters, next to his leather bag he had retrieved from near the front door. The books were meant to keep him occupied through the night, a distraction for Gregor to maintain his vigil. With a final glance at the titles, he returned to Morthy’s room, peeking inside to check on his friend.

The room was as Gregor had expected: modest yet welcoming. It had a similar simplicity to his own quarters, featuring a small, comfortable bed neatly arranged with a nightstand and a lamp, a sturdy desk bathed in the soft light of the window, a wooden dresser, and a cross hanging above the bed—a symbol of Morthy’s faith and a source of solace. Morthy was in the process of settling into bed, his movements sluggish and weary.

"Goodnight," Gregor said softly as he began to close the door.

"Gregor," Morthy’s voice called out, causing Gregor to pause mid-motion.

"Mm?" Gregor prompted, turning back toward the room.

Morthy, perched on the edge of his bed, looked as though his body was pleading for rest. He seemed almost torn between the need for sleep and the anxiety of leaving Gregor to fend off Gadreel alone. "Be safe," Morthy murmured, his voice laced with concern. "I don’t want you to get hurt."

Gregor smiled at Morthy’s worry, touched by his friend’s concern. "I’ll be fine. You get some rest," he reassured, hoping to ease Morthy’s apprehension.

Morthy managed a nervous smile in return before lying down, his body visibly relaxing as he sank into the mattress. Gregor softly shut the door, granting Morthy the privacy he needed.

Outside Morthy’s bedroom, Gregor took a seat on a nearby chair, the weight of the evening settling around him. He opened one of the books he had brought and began to immerse himself in its pages.

Gregor managed to get through about four pages of his book, his eyes skimming over the text, when an unsettling sensation interrupted his focus. It wasn’t anything he could pinpoint or explain—just a vague sense that something was amiss. With a sense of urgency, he bookmarked his page and stood up, hurrying to Morthy’s bedroom.

He opened the door cautiously, peering inside. The room was exactly as he had left it: Morthy lay peacefully in bed, undisturbed and seemingly content in his slumber. The cross above the bed caught the soft glow of the lamp, casting reassuring shadows across the room. Gregor sighed in relief and closed the door gently, ensuring not to make any noise.

Gregor softly shut the door, his senses on high alert as he stepped back into the dimly lit corridor of the church. The heavy silence was punctuated only by the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards beneath his feet. He scanned the church’s vast interior, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow, searching for the source of his discomfort. He knew it was Gadreel’s work, Gregor could almost hear the frustrated hiss of Gadreel’s displeasure at being denied access to his favorite plaything.

Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Gregor attempted to calm his nerves. Gadreel fed on fear, panic, and unease, and Gregor was determined not to give in. He needed to maintain his composure and stay focused. Similar to dealing with a child, he just needed to not give Gadreel the attention he craved.

With a determined resolve, Gregor returned to his chair, the soft creak of the leather under his weight a comforting reminder of his position. He reopened the book, the aged pages rustling softly as he resumed reading.

Gregor had barely managed to get through half a page of his book when he was interrupted again. A soft, sudden thud echoed through the church, like something had fallen from the ceiling. He blinked a few times, momentarily disoriented, and glanced up into the deepening darkness that enveloped the high ceilings of the church. Something on the floor caught his attention—an object that hadn’t been there before, casting its own, small shadow.

He slowly shut his book and rose from his chair, the unsettling silence amplifying every creak of the old wooden floor as he cautiously approached the mysterious object. As he drew closer, the shape became clearer—a red apple core, eaten down to the seeds. Gregor’s confusion deepened; the sight was entirely out of place in the church’s austere surroundings.

Frowning, Gregor glared up at the ceiling, trying to discern where the apple core might have fallen from, but the oppressive darkness offered no clues. This was very obviously Gadreel’s work, but Gregor just couldn’t figure out why.

He bent down, gingerly picking up the apple core by the stem with a look of disgust. "Geh—!" Gregor flinched as something else suddenly fell from the ceiling, striking him on the head before landing with a soft thud on the floor. He looked down and saw another apple core, identical to the first.

A jolt of fear surged through Gregor’s body as the realization dawned on him. The darkness of the ceiling was not empty. He hadn’t glared at an empty ceiling, but instead had stared directly at Gadreel, and Gadreel had stared back.

Gregor didn't dare look at the ceiling again. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light, and he could now make out the shadowy outlines of the pews stretching out before him. The fear of what he might see if he looked up kept his gaze firmly on the ground. He dropped the apple core, its hollow clatter echoing through the silent church, and quickly retreated to the safety of his lantern's warm glow and the comfort of his leather bag.

He swiftly checked on Morthy again, peeking through the slightly ajar door to find him still at peace, undisturbed by the unsettling events. The sight of Morthy's calm, steady breathing provided a small measure of relief. Gregor closed the door quietly.

Returning to his chair, he took a deep breath and forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The chair creaked softly as he settled back into it, his book waiting patiently on the small side table. He reached inside his leather bag and retrieved his golden cross, holding it protectively between his shaking fingers. After a few moments of prayer and silence, he set the cross down and slid his book onto his lap.

Very slowly, Gregor began to relax. His eyes continued to scan the same line in his book repeatedly, his nerves still on edge, but gradually, the initial shock of being so close to Gadreel started to fade. His hands stopped shaking, and his breathing steadied as he regained a semblance of calm.

Eventually, he felt confident enough to venture away from the comforting glow of the lantern. Placing the book aside, he brushed himself off and made his way to the back of the church, where a small kitchenette was tucked away. The faint hum of the old refrigerator provided a soothing backdrop to the silence that had gripped the church earlier.

Gregor sifted through the unfamiliar cabinets, searching for something to calm himself further. Finally, he found a box of tea bags hidden behind some dusty jars of spices. The simple act of filling the kettle with water and setting it to boil felt almost therapeutic, a small slice of normalcy amidst the chaos.

As the water heated, he leaned against the counter, his thoughts momentarily drifting away from the terror of Gadreel. He focused on the small details: the gentle steam rising from the kettle, the soft click of the stove, the comforting aroma of the tea leaves. These mundane actions grounded him, reminding him of the world outside the church walls.

When the water reached a rolling boil, Gregor poured it over the tea bag in his cup, watching the dark color slowly seep into the water. He let it steep, the warmth of the cup soothing his hands as he held it. Taking a cautious sip, he felt the heat spread through his body, further dispelling the lingering chills from his earlier encounter. He returned to his post outside Morthy’s bedroom, tea in hand, and resumed his quiet watch. He even gained the confidence to look at the darkened ceiling, seeing nothing but the wooden rafters in the piercing dark.

As time passed, Gregor’s earlier confidence began to return. He settled into a more relaxed posture, one leg draped casually over the other, as he sipped his tea and read from his book. The steady rhythm of the pages turning and the warmth of the tea worked their soothing magic, helping to restore a sense of calm.

Every once in a while, he would crack open Morthy's door and peek inside. Each time, he found Morthy sleeping peacefully, the gentle rise and fall of his chest a reassuring sight. Seeing Morthy at ease provided Gregor with a comforting sense of accomplishment and relief, reinforcing his resolve to protect him through the night.

When Gregor checked the time, he noted it was around two in the morning. There were still a few hours left before dawn, but he had made decent progress. With a sigh, he set aside his book, finding himself growing restless. He tapped the side of his face thoughtfully, searching for something to occupy his time.

His gaze wandered around the church, taking in the clutter that had accumulated over the past few days. It was clear that Morthy had been overwhelmed, with church maintenance slipping down the list of priorities. Gregor didn’t blame him; the weight of dealing with Gadreel was more than enough to distract anyone from everyday tasks.

Determined to make good use of the time, Gregor decided to tackle some cleaning. He returned to the kitchenette and began to address the pile of dishes that had accumulated. The clinking of plates and utensils, along with the gentle hum of water, created a soothing backdrop. Gregor hummed quietly to himself, the repetitive motions of washing and rinsing providing a calming rhythm.

Gregor finished the dishes, somewhat surprised that he had managed to do so without any interference from Gadreel. Had the demon already grown bored? The thought made him chuckle.

After drying his hands, Gregor returned to his post, but his sense of calm was shattered when he gasped at the scene before him. His leather bag lay overturned on the floor, thrown from the small end table without a care. His books were strewn about, their pages ripped apart and covers bent. His once calming teacup had been hurled against Morthy's door, the shattered fragments of cermanic on the floor and a splatter of dark tea staining the wooden surface.

Gregor stood frozen for a moment, his mind racing as he tried to process the chaos. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. Without delay, he opened Morthy's door to find him still asleep, simply turned onto his other side. The sight of Morthy’s tranquil slumber offered a brief reprieve, but Gregor knew he couldn’t afford to be still.

He swiftly set about cleaning up the mess, carefully collecting the shards of the broken teacup and disposing of them. The scattered books were picked up and stacked, though their damage was irreparable. With a sigh, he turned to his leather bag, hoping to retrieve his golden cross.

When Gregor bent down to grab his bag, he noticed it felt unusually light. His heart sank as he opened it and found that all his religious items were missing. The golden cross, rosary, and vials of holy water were nowhere to be found. Panic surged through him as he realized the gravity of the situation: Gadreel hadn’t just thrown a tantrum; he had stolen Gregor’s means of protection.

Gregor's initial reaction to the empty leather bag was sheer terror. The absence of his protective items struck him with a cold, paralyzing fear. But as the seconds ticked by, he realized that succumbing to panic would only give Gadreel what he wanted—his fear. Gregor took a deep breath, forcing himself to push past the fear that clung to him like a shroud.

He was in a church, surrounded by sacred symbols and religious artifacts. If there was any place where he could find replacements for his missing items, it was here. Resolutely, Gregor set to work, determined not to let Gadreel feed on his anxiety.

With a deep breath, Gregor shook off the fear and focused on the task at hand. He grabbed his lantern and made his way through the church’s darkened corridors, his steps echoing softly on the stone floor. The night seemed heavier and more oppressive, the darkness almost tangible as it pressed in around him. He headed straight for the sacristy.

Morthy’s sacristy had no windows, as he stepped inside, the pitch-black room seemed to swallow the light from his lantern, the darkness almost suffocating. Gregor swung the lantern back and forth, its beam cutting through the inky blackness, illuminating rows of wooden shelves and cabinets.

He rifled through the contents of an old cabinet, finding various candles, incense, and a few dusty books of prayers. They weren’t ideal, but they could provide some measure of protection. His fingers brushed over a small vial of holy water tucked away in a forgotten corner—its presence a small but welcome relief. He quickly retrieved it, slipping it into his pocket.

Gregor’s search continued, and his hope grew as he discovered a modest wooden cross among the items. It wasn’t as ornate as his golden cross, but it was better than nothing. Though he didn’t find a rosary, he managed to gather a few items, which he hoped would be enough to bolster his defenses. Each item he collected was a small victory, a reassurance that he wasn’t completely powerless.

Gregor felt a glimmer of excitement as he spotted a promising box near the bottom of a cluttered shelf. His fingers trembled with anticipation as he reached down to pull it out. But as he tried to tug it free, he realized it was trapped beneath another box precariously stacked on top.

Determined, Gregor carefully set his lantern down on the shelf to free both hands. He braced himself and began to push the top box backward, trying to create enough space to retrieve the bottom one. His heart raced with the intensity of the task, and sweat began to bead on his forehead.

Just as he managed to shift the box, he heard a sudden, jarring crash as he was plunged into darkness. Gregor's heart leapt into his throat as he realized his lantern had been knocked to the floor, its light extinguished in a heartbeat. The sacristy was plunged into absolute darkness.

Gregor's breath came in short, panicked bursts as he felt blindly for the lantern. His hands flailed in the pitch-black room, unable to see anything—he couldn’t even make out his own fingers. The crushing void of darkness pressed in around him, amplifying his anxiety.

"Shit," Gregor whispered, the curse slipping out in his distress. It was a word he rarely used, but the situation felt dire. His voice trembled slightly, betraying his fear.

Gregor felt paralyzed with fear, his mind racing as he struggled to overcome the creeping dread. The darkness around him was suffocating, and he could almost feel the oppressive weight of Gadreel’s presence. The feeling of unseen eyes on him made his heart pound harder, each thud echoing in his ears.

He knew he should make for the door and re-enter the light where Gadreel wouldn’t hold as much power, but his body refused to obey. He clutched the edge of the shelf, his hands trembling uncontrollably, as if the shelf itself were the only thing keeping him anchored in the abyss.

Gadreel was here, lurking in the darkness, and Gregor’s fear threatened to overwhelm him. He had to stay strong. If he let fear consume him, Gadreel would win, and Morthy would be at risk once more. Gregor forced himself to focus, reaching into his pocket where he had just stashed the wooden cross. His fingers closed around the base, and he raised it with a shaky hand, aiming it blindly into the dark, vaguely where he believed Gadreel was.

Taking a deep breath, Gregor’s voice wavered as he began the incantation, struggling to regain his confidence. "The Lord, The Son, The Divine Soul, and The Sacred Sky... Commands you to leave this realm, this church—"

His voice wavered but grew steadier as he continued, “The power of the Lord compels—”

The chant was abruptly cut off by a swift, slicing sound. Gregor’s breath caught in his throat as an excruciating pain shot through his arm. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever experienced—an intense, burning agony that seemed to radiate from deep within.

He let out a strangled, anguished scream, his voice echoing through the darkness. The pain was so sudden and fierce that it drove him to his knees, the wail that left him made his throat hurt. The intensity of the pain felt like it was consuming him, making it impossible to focus or think clearly.

Gregor’s heart raced, every beat pounding in his ears as the searing pain in his arm rendered him almost immobile. The darkness pressed in from all sides, an impenetrable void that seemed to swallow up his every thought. His hand grasped fruitlessly in the blackness for the cross he had dropped, but it remained elusive, mocking him with its absence.

Desperation overtook him. He had to get out, had to find safety, even if he had no clear idea of where he was going. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Gregor forced himself to stand, his legs trembling beneath him. He stumbled forward, his sense of direction muddled in the enveloping darkness.

He crashed into a wall with a bone-jarring thud, the impact jarring his already-agonized arm. Ignoring the fresh wave of pain, Gregor’s fingers scrabbled along the wall, seeking out the door frame. He found it after what felt like an eternity, his fingers gripping the handle with a mix of relief and desperation.

With a final burst of frantic energy, he yanked the door open and practically tumbled out of the room. He collapsed onto the floor outside, his body wracked with shudders. His breathing was ragged, each inhale a struggle as he lay there on his side, feeling a mixture of fear and pain that left him trembling uncontrollably. The dim light from the kitchenette cast long shadows across the floor, providing a small measure of safety. Turning onto his back cautiously, Gregor’s breath hitched in his throat.

There, just a few feet away, was Gadreel.

The demon's presence was unnervingly still. The door to the sacristy was barely ajar, held open by Gadreel's long, clawed hand. His head was tilted at an unnatural angle, and his yellow eyes, devoid of any discernible emotion, were fixed on Gregor through the narrow crack. The absence of anger or malice in his gaze was almost more unsettling than the sheer presence of the demon itself.

Gadreel's eyes, those unsettling white pupils, remained locked on Gregor, unblinking and unyielding. They didn’t flicker once. The demon's form was perfectly still, as if he were a photograph, capturing an eerie, frozen moment of observation.

Gregor's heart seemed to stop as he stared at Gadreel's motionless form. The longer the demon stayed so still, the more Gregor began to question if he was truly there or if his exhaustion and fear had conjured an illusion. The silence was suffocating, filling the space with thick tension. It was a brief moment of doubt that perhaps Gadreel was nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

Just as that thought solidified in his mind, Gadreel moved with sudden, jarring speed. The demon's claws, once gripping the edge of the sacristy door, slipped away with a sinister grace. In one swift motion, Gadreel slammed the door shut with a resounding crash, the sound echoing through the church like a final, unsettling punctuation mark.

Despair overwhelmed Gregor as he lay there, choked sobs escaping his lips. The pain in his arm was unbearable, but he forced himself to look at the wound. His arm was a grisly sight: a perfectly straight cut ran from the inside of his elbow to his wrist, deep enough to reveal the yellowish fat beneath. The blood flowed freely, soaking into his shirt and spreading across the floor in alarming patches. Crimson stains marked the wall by the sacristy door, the door itself, and the floor—a grim testament to the severity of his injury.

As Gregor's gaze wandered around the church, the reality of his situation began to seep in. The more he looked, the more his perception seemed to distort. His blood appeared to be everywhere, staining the walls and the floor in unsettling patterns. The room seemed to spin as his mind struggled to grasp the extent of his injuries. Was he losing too much blood? His head felt light, and a disturbing, unfamiliar and frankly unwelcome haze clouded his thoughts. He felt like some of them weren’t his own. When had he laid down on the floor?

The church around him blurred as fatigue set in. His eyelids grew heavy, and the comforting embrace of sleep beckoned him. The darkness seemed safer than the horrific reality he was facing. A part of him thought that shutting his eyes might make everything go away. If he were asleep, he wouldn’t have to confront the blood, the pain, or Gadreel’s looming threat.

With a resigned sigh, Gregor allowed his eyes to close. His breath slowed, and he began to drift into a state of unconsciousness. The promise of morning and Morthy’s gratitude felt like a distant dream. The idea of a new day lulled him closer to sleep… The floor was a lot softer than he remembered….

Yeah, sleep was a good idea..

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A sudden jolt of clarity pierced through the fog of exhaustion and pain. The realization struck him like a glass of cold water to the face: Morthy.

With a gasp, Gregor pushed himself off the cold, unforgiving floor with his uninjured arm, each movement a struggle against the pain and weakness that gripped him. His breathing came in ragged gasps, each breath a stark reminder of the severity of his wound. His mind raced as he tried to separate his own thoughts from those that Gadreel had twisted. The line between reality and illusion was dangerously blurred, and he grappled with the fear that Gadreel’s influence had convinced him of things that weren’t true.

The church seemed oddly brighter. The faint, natural light of dawn had begun to seep through the high windows, casting long, slanted beams of light across the otherwise shadowed interior. Gregor squinted, momentarily disoriented by the sudden shift in time. How long had he been out? He had only closed his eyes for what felt like seconds, yet the arrival of dawn suggested he had been unconscious for hours.

Shaking his head to clear the fog of confusion and exhaustion, Gregor clutched his wounded arm, his grip tight but gentle enough to avoid causing further pain. The blood had begun to dry, adding a sticky sensation to the already overwhelming ache.

Gregor pushed open the door to Morthy’s quarters. The sight that greeted him was almost too good to be true. Morthy was still peacefully asleep, bathed in the soft, warm light filtering through the window. The tranquility of the room stood in stark contrast to the chaos Gregor had just endured.

Gregor’s breath came out in a shaky sigh as he quietly closed the door, careful not to disturb Morthy. He resolved to leave him undisturbed for now, knowing that Morthy’s rest was as crucial as his own. His next priority was to tend to himself and clean up the mess left by Gadreel’s malevolent games.

Making his way to the bathroom, Gregor felt each step throb with the pain in his arm. He turned on the faucet, wincing as the cool water hit his wound. The sight of his injury—deep and raw, from his elbow to his wrist—made his stomach churn. His hand shook as he gently washed the wound, careful not to cause himself any more pain than necessary. The water ran red with his blood, a stark reminder of the violence he had barely escaped.

After meticulously cleaning the wound, Gregor wrapped it in a sterile bandage, his movements slow and deliberate to avoid further discomfort. The bandage felt tight and reassuring against his skin, offering a small measure of comfort amidst the pain.

Gregor turned his attention to the mess left in the sacristy. He found a rag in the small utility closet and set off to clean the bloodstains. As he scrubbed at the blood smeared across the floor and walls, he tried to steady his breathing. The act of cleaning was oddly soothing, a way to regain control and reclaim some normalcy in the wake of Gadreel’s torment.

The church, though still shadowed in parts, was beginning to brighten with the full light of day. Gregor’s hands moved with a practiced ease, removing the visible signs of the previous night’s chaos.

Gregor, having finally finished the cleanup, sank into one of the sunlit pews, the warm rays of morning light gently warming his tired frame. His eyes fluttered shut, seeking a moment of respite from the strain of the past hours. The peace of the church, now fully illuminated by the bright morning sun, offered a comforting contrast to the darkness he had faced. Gadreel was still there, he could tell, but he was… distant. Muffled. Asleep.

His brief solace was interrupted by a new, much more reassuring presence. Gregor opened his eyes to find Morthy approaching him, looking noticeably more awake and composed. The smile on Morthy’s face was soft, full of gratitude.

"Thank you," Morthy said, his voice sincere and warm.

Gregor returned the smile, feeling a sense of relief and contentment. "Of course," he replied.

Morthy took a seat beside Gregor, the two of them now sharing a quiet moment of calm in the sanctuary of the church. Gregor leaned his head on Morthy’s shoulder, the gesture more comforting than any words could express. They sat together in the gentle embrace of the morning light, finding solace in each other's presence.

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jacenotjason · 4 months ago

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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.

#ill make a tag for writing if i do it more often #spooky month #fanfic #spooky month fanfic #morthy spooky month #spooky month morthy #gadreel spooky month #spook month gadreel #gadreel #morthy #father morthy #spooky month au #father gregor spooky month #spooky month father gregor #moloch spooky month #spooky month moloch #moloch #father gregor

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jacenotjason · 6 months ago

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Gadreel and Morthy

i love them so much

i was gonna do a background but i do not feel like it have a square.

zoom:

#its 4am #spooky month #spooky month au #spooky month roleswap au #gadreel #father morthy #spooky month gadreel #spooky month father morthy #spooky month morthy #spooky month father gregor #father gregor #moloch #spooky month moloch #moloch spooky month #gregor spooky month #spooky month gregor #spooky month fanart #[ Jace Draws Sometimes ]

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jacenotjason · 3 months ago

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someone's gotta make an Angel Moloch design and it's not gonna be me

#Wait that might just be Morthy #I love that guy #spooky month #I'm at work get me out of here.

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jacenotjason · 3 months ago

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proposition to call Father Gregor x Father Morthy WhollyHoly.

#I am so smart #spooky month #father gregor #father morthy

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jacenotjason · 4 months ago

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Always With You - Part One

Spooky Month Fanfic

brief writing of Father Morthy and Father Gregor, soon to have a part two woahh

enjoy!

Gregor pushed open the heavy door to the church, his movements anxious and hurried. “Morthy?” he called out, his voice echoing softly through the vast, empty space. He quickly slipped off his leather bag and hung it on the nearby hook. “Morthy, are you here?” His gaze swept over the church, searching for any sign of the priest. “It’s Gregor,” he added, hoping the familiar name would bring a response.

Rumors had been circulating that Morthy had gone radio silent. The church had been closed for Sunday service, and Morthy hadn’t been seen since. Gregor was all too familiar with the paranoia that accompanied battling demons, but he understood it was far worse when it involved Morthy. While he hadn't heard a single whisper from Moloch after his recent victory, the situation with Morthy and Gadreel was…. different. Gadreel was a relentless tormentor. He had been pursuing Morthy for years, showing no sign of giving up. Unlike Moloch, who knew when to quit and return home, Gadreel was determined to either force Morthy into submission or kill him in the process.

Gregor had never directly faced Gadreel, but the very presence of the demon was enough to instill terror. He didn’t need to see Gadreel to be afraid; the stories of the demon’s cruelty and the aftermath of his encounters were enough to frighten anyone.

"It's just me," Gregor called out once more, trying to keep his voice steady. "I promise." As he continued to search the church, the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee reached his nose. The comforting smell offered a glimmer of reassurance, suggesting that Morthy might have been here recently.

“Gregor?” Morthy’s voice emerged from the shadows, and the sound was like a balm to Gregor’s frayed nerves. He turned to see Morthy approaching with deliberate caution. Gregor didn’t blame him for being wary; Gadreel’s ability to possess people was deeply unsettling. While Moloch’s possessions were obvious—his victims quickly sprouting horns and fangs—Gadreel operated in a far more insidious manner. The demon was a master of long-term schemes, often remaining undetected for days on end.

"It's me," Gregor reassured him, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence and openness.

Morthy’s relief was obvious, but doubt still flickered across his face. His eyebrows were knitted together in an anxious frown. “...Is it really you?” He clearly wanted to believe Gregor, but had to be on edge.

In response, Gregor gently pulled down his lower eyelid to reveal the clear, human quality of his eyes. Gadreel’s possessions were nearly impossible to detect at first glance, but the eyes were the telltale sign. Possessed eyes would be devoid of humanity, with an unnerving lack of reflection and overly dilated pupils that gave Gadreel away.

Morthy scrutinized Gregor’s eyes with intense focus, his gaze searching for any sign of corruption. After a tense moment, Morthy’s features softened with relief, and he pulled Gregor into a tight, heartfelt embrace. The gesture took Gregor by surprise, but he quickly returned the hug.

After the hug separated, Gregor looked up at Morthy with worry, "What's going on? People are saying you've been absent."

Morthy’s response was hesitant, his composure clearly frayed. He looked far from his usual self; his hair was disheveled, and dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights. “I…” he began, struggling to find the right words. “It’s Gadreel.” Gregor wasn’t surprised. “He’s planning something… I don’t know what exactly.”

Gregor nodded, trying to process the gravity of the situation. “I’m sorry if this is rude, but…” he ventured cautiously, “When was the last time you slept?”

Morthy’s face tightened as he bit his lower lip, clearly distressed. “About three days ago,” he admitted, his voice shaky. “But I can’t seem to sleep. Every time I doze off, Gadreel—” Morthy cut himself off abruptly, shaking his head as if trying to clear away the memory. “It’s easier for Gadreel to possess me when I’m asleep. I have nothing to defend myself with, and I’m not aware of what he’s doing. Whenever I doze off, I wake up somewhere dangerous—or doing something dangerous,” he stammered, his frustration obvious.

Gregor listened intently, trying to piece together the information. “Something dangerous?” he repeated.

Morthy’s frustration was palpable as he struggled to explain. “I’ve woken up at a train station, right on the edge of the platform, about to fall onto the tracks. Or I find myself on top of the church, like I’m about to jump off. Once, I woke up out in the snow, barely clothed, risking freezing to death. I even—” His voice faltered, “I coughed up a rat. A rat, Gregor! It’s like Gadreel’s trying to make me lose my mind.” Morthy’s voice trembled like he would start crying.

"Is..." Gregor's voice shook slightly as he asked, "Is he trying to kill you?" Gregor asked. He couldn’t help but think Gadreel had grown bored of his little toy, and was throwing it away.

Morthy sighed deeply, his expression one of grim contemplation. "That’s what I initially thought," he confessed, his tone heavy with resignation. "But… I don’t think that’s his endgame. If Gadreel really wanted me dead, he wouldn’t go through such elaborate and different means. He could have killed me easily by now. The fact that I keep waking up just before something fatal happens makes me think that's not what he wants…”

He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, "I think… I think Gadreel is just showing me his power, demonstrating that he can do whatever he wants to me, whenever he wants. It’s like he’s making a game out of it, just to remind me of his control. It’s not about killing me; it’s about making sure I know he’s always watching, always in control, and a-always ready to pull the rug out from under me."

Gregor’s eyes widened as he absorbed this new layer of understanding. Gadreel’s methods were not just cruel but taunting, designed to keep Morthy in a state of constant fear and vulnerability. The idea of being subjected to such relentless psychological torment was almost as horrifying as the physical danger.

"Okay..." Gregor said, breaking the tense silence with a determined nod. "Listen, Morthy, I'll help you contain Gadreel for a little while longer." He understood that they couldn’t completely rid Morthy of Gadreel, but there were ways to keep the demon at bay, at least until Gadreel got bored. "But you're not going to be able to get anything done if you're sleep-deprived."

Morthy started to protest, his voice tinged with frustration. "I can’t—"

"I will stay up," Gregor interrupted gently but firmly, taking Morthy’s hand in his. "I’ll stay awake and keep an eye on things to make sure Gadreel doesn’t possess you again. You need to get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow morning, we’ll bless the church and your bedroom to help keep Gadreel at bay.”

Morthy’s shoulders relaxed visibly at Gregor’s reassurance, though a new wave of tension soon followed. “I… I can’t ask you to do that,” he said, his voice laced with guilt and concern.

Gregor squeezed Morthy’s hand gently. “You’re not asking,” he replied, his tone resolute.

Morthy’s gaze faltered, “But what if Gadreel hurts you?” The concern in his voice was loud, a blunt reminder of the very real danger Gadreel posed and how necessary it was to fear him. Morthy’s fear for Gregor’s safety was evident, his hands trembling slightly at the thought of Gregor being harmed because of him. “I-I couldn’t bear to think of you getting hurt because of me.”

Gregor’s gaze softened, and he squeezed Morthy’s hand gently. "I can handle it," he said with quiet confidence. "I’ve faced demons before, and I can deal with Gadreel, too.” Gregor’s confidence was obvious, but he was scared, too. He hid the fear of Gadreel for now, knowing he needed to be brave.

Morthy’s expression softened slightly, though the anxiety never fully left his eyes. “Thank you,” He murmured.

“Of course.”

Part Two

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