#Body Snatcher AU

[cascanora]

Heart eaters and thrill seekers — delightful as we are together, let's not make a habit of us. Read fic here

Summary

"Ran out of her career as a model, then from Hollywood thanks to a lurid scandal, Crow Amant picks up the phone to hear her half-brother voice: their father was dead and she's given the family business despite their tumultuous relationship. What's a girl to do when she finds herself in too deep with a handsome stranger and her family's macabre business? There's more to this trade than meets the eye, especially when she uncovers the old bastard's crippling debt and his dubious dealings.

God, she needs a smoke."

[gracebethartacc]

Prompt list made by my bestie @irusanw4 :3 month late but swagever

[cherrirui-official]

Quick and short art dump

I made most of these while I had covid lol, im ok now dw! Also most of them are ms paint doodles sowwie im an mspaint baby

!! Cw // body horror !!

[saw2goth]

Nobody even gets it they're perfect for each other :/

[hatgame]

But I admit it would be easier

[the-haunted-prince-au]

it's probably gonna be awhile before anything is finished and I like having follower input so uhhhh

HERES MORE CONCEPT ART-

So the idea is that the longer he spends in the "past" the more it collides with the present causing his body to glitch out and start shifting between ghost and human

He tries to control it due to the fact that something bad will probably happen if anyone see's him like this but it's exhausting so he just starts spending more time locked up in his room and people are getting concerned

It especially doesn't help that Vanessa's on her whole Exorcism thing and that the "glitching" gets worse when he's upset

Also yes if you are wondering "glitching" is usually harmless but depending on the situation it can be painful, like REALLY painful imagine being able to feel your nerves fading in and out of reality repeatedly sending constant siganals because your body doesn't know how to process what's happening to it...also fire

Idk yet I'm still experimenting on what to do so if you have any ideas or criticisms please leave them in the tags or reblogs I WILL SEE THEM!1!1!

[markerofthemidnight]

So the DOAI Sitcom AU has been floating around this fandom for a while now, and it popped up in my recommended enough times for me to eventually think “Hey, what if there was a sitcom AU for Oneiric Observation?”

I tried making a fun little piece… only to swiftly remember I haven’t actually designed any of the OO (I’m bad at coming up with designs for just basic humans without any supernatural features, it turns out), so have this… nice little family reunion.

Oh, and meet Candice (Opila Bird knockoff) and Victor (every trypophobe’s worst nightmare). I think the best way to describe them is that they’re like Myke’s weird-ass coworkers that, despite what you might think, he is actually keeping on 24/7 watch rather than the other way around.

[aftout]

they finally made body snatcher yuri a real thing

[darkimpala1897]

Part two to this post

https://www.tumblr.com/darkimpala1897/745967518818123776/so-i-posted-this-fic

The man Rosie is inhabiting.

1. Full name Nathan Thad Brook, Rosie doesn't even know what Thad means and he's the smart one of the group.

2. He was born in Oklahoma City Oklahoma.

3. He's a lawyer, which makes a lot of sense to Rosie.

4. He's dating the man Ken is now inhabiting.

5. He still dresses like someones grandfather even in this century.

The man Bubbles is now inhabiting.

1. Full name Orion Louis Weaver, which Bubbles doesn't like but he doesn't hate it.

2. He was born in San Francisco California.

3. He's a real estate agent, which Bubbles finds hilarious cause he's gone from navigator to real estate agent.

4. He's dating the man Crosby is currently inhabiting for like seven years, which Bubbles and Crosby find adorable.

5. He has a three legged Chihuahua named taco, it chase meatball around.

6. For some reason Bubbles would love to know this man loved turtlenecks, like that's all that was in this mans closet.

The man Curt is inhabiting.

1. Barry Louis Turner, Curt hates the first name Barry.

2. Born in Galway Ireland, immigrated when he was five.

3. He's a Veterinarian, which is what Curt wanted to do after the war.

4. He's so Irish nobody understands him well at least everyone who followed Curt to the future.

5. Married to the man Dickie is inhabiting, Curt found wedding pictures from five years ago.

The man Dickie is inhabiting.

1. Full name Dean Edward Mason, which Dickie can get use to.

2. Now he's an actual cop unlike Douglass.

3. He's married to the man Curt is inhabiting, actually a few hours after they got to their new time and bodies. Dickie was flipping through the wedding album.

That is it! For this interesting AU I've made. I'm planning on doing more parts on A03, but it might take me sometime my grandmother just passed. But working on this is helping with everything.

Love you guys thanks for reading!

If you guys want to add anything to this post or the one before this have at it or send it to my inbox!

[dongpound]

The Foot Clan this next chapter

[chaotictomtom]

😵‍💫 je deviens zinzolibarzingue (penisfever)

[nightmarebeginning]

He nodded to the waitress ignoring the flirtation, used to it by now and uncaring. What business was it of his? Considering the question, Vincent took a bite of the dessert. It was clear it was more out of habit rather than any desire for it as his thoughts lingered elsewhere.

"I don't believe they knew I was there." He finally said. "They gave no indication that they knew that anyone was watching and I left as soon as I confirmed where they had emerged from." Devil knew that few ordinary humans could hear the gunslinger unless he made an effort to be heard and in the dark he tended to blend in.

His gaze returned to the mutant. "I don't think waiting will provide any advantage this time and will probably only give them the opportunity to find any watcher that you send to verify. I suggest we move tonight."

And moving early would make the situation less stressful on both of them if the place was a center for human experimentation.

"I won't know until I see it myself," Devil hummed as he leaned further into his chair. A hand sat absently on the lip of his coffee mug, thin leather tapping a pattern into ceramic. His lips parted to offer some more wisdom, but a knock on the door interrupted him.

"Thank you," the mercenary beamed as one of the servers brought in a fat square of tiramisu. She set it in front of Vincent, and blew a little kiss to Devil before she escaped.

His expression immediately dropped back to serious. "...Would you advise we wait until tomorrow to make sure they're not alerted? Or should we head out tonight before they can regroup?"

[saw2goth]

Wooaahh,, their height differences. Marley is shorter than both of them but I didn't draw him here this time this isn't about him

[sonicexelle-junkary]

What's your stance on other virus au's that involve body snatchers? Sincerely, -Sonic-enterprises

I inject that shit into my veins, bro.

[the-haunted-prince-au]

Currently playing with the inherent body horror that comes from Snatcher being alive and human again

(The "purge my insides doodle was originally gonna be a bit gorey but I decided against it)

@return-of-the-queen-au

[siriusleee]

i. hidden caches

Zombie Apocalypse AU | SIMON RILEY x f!READER

↳ SUMMARY: The world is trying to knit itself back together after fracturing apart. You're trying to put yourself back together with it; Simon Riley is just trying to stay alive. ↳ WORD COUNT: 2.2K ↳ TAGS: mentions of cannibalism, mentions of shooting things, mentions of dying. smut to come. canon typical violence to come. additional tags to come as the story progresses. female reader. no mentions of "your name". reader is given a nickname later on. nc-17. ↳ AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to the lovely anon who asked for a scene from an apocalypse au, and this idea was born. If you'd like to donate to my Ko-Fi (my bed frame broke this week and a new one was $200 I didn't have), I would appreciate it. ↳ TAG LIST: There will not be a tag list for this story, as Tumblr has issues with letting me tag people. To get notifications of updates, please subscribe on AO3 or turn on notifications for my blog.

additional chapters | ao3

The ending had come quicker than anyone expected. The epidemics and endemics and pandemics of the years past had given false confidence to everyone. We survived the last thing, the news reporters had said, gray building beneath their eyes, and we can survive this. Behind them images of towns being devoured played. 

Bodies can decompose in as little as nine days. The first to go is the soft tissue: the eyes, the tongue, the soft flesh of the cheeks. When bacteria and insects are introduced, the flesh breaks down faster. Bones take longer - sometimes years to fully wear away into the dust that collects underfoot. But these things - whatever turned them kept them covered in a thin layer of adipocere to protect them from the elements. They kept shuffling along long past the time when they should have reverted back to a primordial soup where they lay.

But they still decomposed. The trick was to stay ahead of them, away from the gnashing teeth that transmitted the virus, away from the hands and feet that never seemed to tire. So few people could. Whole towns and cities were decimated, felled beneath the hordes of horror that ambled slowly past, swallowed up by the feet that didn’t stop moving until they wore themselves down to stubs, which were them pulled forward by hands and knees that never tired. 

But yours did. The familiar path towards the north was more overgrown this year than in the past. For a few years, there had been wary companions, eyes that lingered until the snow and frost rolled in to freeze the Biters where they stood. But as the years wanned on the crowd grew smaller and smaller until you only caught hints of others moving north: horse prints, trash left behind, the occasional Biter left decomposing in the bushes. 

This year there was nothing. Either you had moved too early or there was no one left. The latter is too terrifying, so you push it away and think about whatever groups may wander through here after you.

The woods loom tall above you, the snow that fell earlier in the morning just barely dusting the branches above your head. None of it had reached the leaves that are too waterlogged from recent rains to crunch beneath your feet. A blister is rubbing itself raw at your ankle; you know that if you don’t stop to treat it, it will be unbearable tomorrow, but you brush the thought off. You need to reach the marker before nightfall.

The markers had appeared between one trip north and your trip back down. 

West Village - 20km

The first year it had appeared left the group you were with in a tizzy. The group had fractured down the middle. If all of you found each other, how hard was it to think that a larger group had finally banned together? Civilization needed to rebuild eventually.

You didn’t trust the shaky scrawl that printed the words, so you had been with the group that refused to go. The next year there was another marker tacked to the first.

Body snatchers. Beware.

It was amazing to you: how well rumors could start and spread without phones or the internet. For months, every person you and your group came across would give the same warning, and ask you all the same questions. Have you seen the body snatchers? Are you the body snatchers?

Humans turned cannabolids. Farms where people were forced to reproduce. Spits with babies roasting above the fire. You wanted to think that it was the stuff of fiction.

In the third year, there was another argument. The group cleaved in half again when the promise of civilization reared its head. Your group had divided again at the markers, disappearing into the thick woods. 

Almost no one survived the winter that year. You’d held the hands of all the dying and covered them under a thick blanket of snow before dividing their possessions up between the remainder of the group. In the end, there were just three of you. And when the winter rolled away you all broke apart, whatever ties that held you all together broken by the cold. 

The next year you were the only one in your camp. 

The markers had become a sort of prayer to you, that one day you’d meet someone else on the road - some scream and shout that there were others out there even if you were too wary to speak to them.

But it’s been two years - the crude paint of the West Village sign fading, the body snatchers warning falling to the earth unceremoniously. The wood started to rot. 

And you were utterly alone. Around you, the sound of nature getting ready for the winter fills in the ever-present silence that usually surrounds you. It’s been weeks since you’d last seen a person: a lone traveler moving in the opposite direction as you. And you’d hid from them, worried that they were the sort of feral people turned into when they were alone for too long - a body snatcher. Worried that you were that kind of feral. 

You know the markers when you approach them like your body’s memorized the number of steps it takes to reach them. Your chest thumps as you approach the spot where they should be nailed to a tree, growing taller into the air each year. Your boots falter against the wet leaves as you approach the place. 

The markers have been repainted. Or at least the West Village one has. This time it’s nailed to a post in the ground; you bend down to inspect the dirt around the post. It’s packed underneath a thick layer of loam - whoever put it up must have put it up much earlier in the year. The thought sends a shiver down your spine. You wonder if any members of your former group are still there. 

For half a second, you think about following the arrow, but before the thought can fully form in your head, you let your feet carry you forward on the path. Just ahead is the rest area you’ve always used. Your tree, one with branches high enough that the only things who can see you are the birds whose nests you disturb, erupts from the ground ahead of you.

You climb up like you were taught; throwing your rope onto the first branch you can physically reach and lash it to yourself. It’s more difficult to climb the tree with your pack and bow, but you don’t want to risk leaving it behind for anyone who may come through after you. When you reach the point where the rope reaches the tree, you pull yourself onto the branch. The blister on your ankle is screaming, but you don’t pause until your hammock is secure and your harness is wrapped around you. The cool wind cuts through the thin fabric of the hammock, but it’s not too cold as you peel back your socks to reveal an angry raw spot crawling across your ankle.

Too tired to do much more, you slide your other boot off, tying them together and then to your pack. The gentle sway of the trees makes your eyelids heavy, and you let yourself drift off into the first good night's sleep you’ve had in a while. 

The bitter cold wakes you up, the wind moving your hammock back and forth gently. The darkness spins above you, clouds backlit by the moon. Not for the first time you think about how easy it used to be, curled up with another warm body beneath the thick blankets - how easy it was to switch on the percolator in the morning and wrap your hands around a warm cup of coffee, how easy -

You press the heel of your hands into your eyes and try to press away the thoughts that are racing through your brain. Remembering the before drives people crazy; you’ve seen how it can eat people up and you refuse to let it eat at you. So you pull your thermal blanket closer around yourself and try to get some sleep.

But the sun rises earlier than you expected and extra sleep never comes. 

It doesn’t take long for you to pack what little you have back in your pack and descend back down. At the bottom you dig out the little bit of jerky you still have saved from the summer months; it’s disgusting, but it’s enough to push you forward to the next place. 

You walk the entire time with your bow in your hand, waiting for some animal to run out in front of you and meet its mark, but the forest is silent today as you push towards the next stop in your journey north, a small nameless village secluded away from the rest of civilization - just good enough to sleep in for the night. 

The sun has just started to sink below the treeline when the village finally springs into view. The blister on your ankle has popped, and you think you can feel blood rushing into your sock, but you don’t dare stop and check; you don’t want the scent of fresh blood to attract any Biters that may be hidden away for now. Your fingers cramp around the bow and your stomach growls. You’d picked a smooth rock up from the ground hours earlier and popped it into your mouth to try and trick yourself into thinking you were eating something, but it hadn’t worked. If anything it made your hunger worse.

There was salvation coming - on your second year coming through here you’d snuck off from the group and buried a cache. Each year you did your best not to touch it unless it was to refill something inside of it, but this year you knew you’d have to empty it. 

You crunch over tire tracks that crisscross over each other on the main road into the village; they’re dry enough that you know whoever managed to scrape up enough gas to drive in and out was gone, but the thought of someone driving up on you made you nervous, and make your steps quicken. If people were driving through here then you needed to be gone before sunlight tomorrow. 

Weary, you push yourself towards the back half of the village to a little two-story you know well. It had been the same house your group, and then yourself, slept in each year on your way to the north camp; in the back, beneath an overturned chair that was slowly rotting with time, your little cache was stored. 

You shoulder your way through the half-rotted back gate and freeze. The chair is tossed to the side, rusted parts puzzle pieced across the ground. And directly where your cache had been buried is a hole, smoothed over from time and rain. 

You could cry if you had any water left in you to cry. So instead you walk numbly into the house - habit making you click the lock on the door even though it’s long since stopped working. The same thick dust that was here last year is still across the floor, so thick your steps don’t even disturb it. You pass through the living area and up the steps. On the landing, you don’t pause - to the left of you is the nursery that’s always been empty. The first few times you’d stopped here the sight of the broken-down white crib and sage walls made something ache inside of you, and you’d learned not to look. It’s better to just let things alone and try to stifle your imagination.

The attic ladder swings down with ease and you test your weight on the rungs before climbing up - any broken bones and you may as well just shoot yourself where you lay. It creaks ominously beneath you but keeps as you clamber through the hole. You let yourself collapse on the floor beside the ladder after pulling it up, and wrapping a rope around the ladder to keep anyone from pulling it down in the night. All at once, hunger and exhaustion pull you down towards the floor. 

You’ll have to shoot something tomorrow and check the well for fresh water. There are still to many miles before you make it north enough to be safe for the winter, and you won’t make it without water and food. 

You try to distract yourself from the cramping of hunger and how little water is left in your jug by peeling your boots off. As you’d thought, the blister had split and bled, but thankfully your sock had caught most of it. 

You clean up the best you can in the dusty light filtering in from the little window that looks out the back garden and wonder who could have known the cache was there. An old group member who spotted you checking it in the past? Or was it a lucky guess, someone who came through after you and spotted the freshly disturbed dirt and came to the right inference?

You try to tell yourself it doesn’t matter as you pull your thermal blanket from your pack and lay down, but you can’t quite convince yourself of that lie.