#cosmic horror AU

[stiffyck]

Never finishing this so I at least tried to make it presentable skfjdgifkh

Au by me, @/angeart, @/wren-kitchens and @/loveroped

[imma-bunni]

It Lies Beneath These Hallowed Woods ao3 by meekome @meekkome ("in which lan zhan sees wei ying possessed by eldritch horror and says if i can't fix him i can join him")

The shadows are alive. Writhing and twisting around him, creeping over him, between his fingers, around his throat, curious and hungry. The dirt beneath is black like dried blood, which makes the shards and fragments of bones half-buried around him easy to see, white and glimmering unnaturally bright in the gloom.

Then something looks at him, from behind the shadows, and Wei Wuxian flinches at the weight of its attention.

some tags: sentient burial mounds, eldritch wei ying, whump, body horror, fix-it, eventual happy ending

[echo-has-queries]

FINALLY I get to post this :3 silly doodle of Alya that I'm ridiculously happy with!

The first chapter of the second part of my Miraculous Ladybug Cosmic Horror AU: "Hive On The Mind" is out!! Now with more Horror! XD (But also more silliness? Because I'm weird like that I guess.)

[mi-i-zori]

When Silence is No More - 2

CoD - Astronauts!141

SUMMARY : A quick thought about the 141 being stationed on a space station and catching the eyes of a cosmic horror.

WARNINGS : A few lines mentioning blood and death in Simon’s part. This is intended to be a subtle kind of horror, so it might be unsettling.

I do not allow anyone to translate, re-use or re-publish my works, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

CoD AUs - Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The song never stops. Covering their ears in the hopes of getting a few seconds of silence is useless. If anything, it only seems to get louder, as if they were trapping it inside of their heads instead.

It soon get mixed with a series of strange knocks on the windows. It soon evolves into banging, violent and loud, shaking their very bones painfully. It wakes them up at night, when the nightmares seem to quiet down.

They barely sleep anymore.

-

The silhouettes are getting clearer. Instead of playing hide and seek, they now linger behind the windows. Cooing. Whispering. Watching. Despite their best efforts, the strange, flashing lights burning behind them make it impossible to make out the details of their bodies. But the team knows they’re far from being the stranded humans they once tried to think they were once the knocking and banging echoed on the walls of the station. For they don’t seem to wear any protection against the ruthless void, and their eyes glow dangerously among the shadows. Catching them coaxes a sudden, ear-shattering screech from the cosmic depths, full of tortured wails and mad laughter. It rattles their minds and bones, lingering in every single one of their cells for hours afterwards.

The silhouettes, however, always disappear in the blink of an eye.

-

Kyle remembers every single one of his nightmares.

Most of the time, he sees groups of countless birds fly in an underwqter sky with fire licking at their wings, so quick and graceful, leaving burning embers in their wake. Around them, flames erupt from clouds of lightning. He floats among them, then gets carried away by silent, violent currents. Asteroids collide in his chest, and he feels the deep rumble of their fall echo in his bones, bounce around the walls of his body like shockwaves and bass. Colours resonate with the otherworldly sounds around him, pulsing in his eyes as silence turns everything back to a black and white monotony. The symphony is demonic, hellish even - but beautiful and mesmerizing all the same.

Then the dream shatters. Shards of glass escort him back to the waking world, mind shredded and numb.

And the banging continues.

-

Sometimes, Simon hears a voice behind him. Familiar, and clear as day. « Simon, » it calls out, « did you get any news of Tommy ? »

His mother sounds worried - scared, even. It takes him back to those times when he had to fish his brother out of muddy sidewalks, barely conscious due to the drugs flowing through his veins. Barely alive.

His broken, guttural groans still echo in his ears, and the memory becomes too real when Simon sees Tommy’s lifeless body float in the corridors of the station, littered in needle and bullet holes, leaking bubbles of blood against the white walls. Then his mother joins in the macabre scene, with his sister in law and nephew, replaying the disastrous day he lost them all, this time in the infinite cosmos. The sight is scorching, akin to the sun - it burns his mind, the ashes clogging his throat and lungs. Thick, dry and heavy.

They’re gone the second Simon blinks. But the visions keep haunting him now, and he once collapsed under the pain tearing through his guts. It was Kyle who found him, wandering aimlessly through the space station, unresponsive, with a living death clawing at his face.

« Thought you were dead, Sir, » he said once Simon came back to his senses. The man only grunted in response.

For a moment, it felt like he was.

-

More and more static covers the voices of their colleagues back on Earth. Price can barely decipher their words anymore - but they seem to hear him perfectly. It’s as if nothing was wrong on their side, as if they didn’t hear him ask to repeat themselves more and more often. The few words he manages to catch seem joyful, unbothered ; a stark contrast to the exhausted tension haunting his. They always end the calls with a broken « Catch you later, John ! » - leaving him to wonder if there will be a next time.

He tried shouting at them during the latest call, letting his frustration get the best of him. But nothing changed. Their voices remained full of enthusiasm and glitches, and the conversation stayed the same - except he barely understood a single word from his contact.

No matter how much Johnny tried to tweak and twist their wires and cogs, it was impossible to find the source of the malfunction. The systems detected nothing either.

After that, it didn’t take long for the comms to fully go down.

To realize how real the nightmares had always been.

[rraaaarrl]

Do Not Perceive Me // Sue Richards (2024)

She smiled one last time, a beatific one, as she slipped into the shadows. It was time to

Become

(At last)

[nihilityart]

Something I made for Halloween! ZS Rimuru creepy image!

[loveroped]

Drew Grian from our silly little cosmic horror au

au by me, @stiffyck , @wren-kitchens , and @angeart !

click for better quality!

other, more mute colored version under the cut

[mysticdoodlez]

I like cosmic horror and Bad Omens, sue me

I would kill to write a cosmic horror x bad omens au

[heartsicklaptop]

sketches of my cosmic horror AU- ANNET and Biomatrix 117

In this AU a lot of the lore is the same but tweaked so that the Biomatrix 117, ANNET, Lifealope, The Lunar Overmind (engie b), and Zee Captain (to an extent) are all gods that were accidentally created. Biomatrix 117 is the god of death and the afterlife. Still attached to Snippy of course who works as the main anchor, after the main story it splits into two, one half staying with the gang and half taking over the planet to absorb bodies and the dead. ANNET is the goddess of humanity and the apocalypse.She has two main forms, pre tea spillage she is benevolent but assumes she knows whats best for humanity, uploading all of mankind into her servers as backup copies of themselves. But, this does mean that anyone who takes off their neural interfaces often experiences massive brain damage often leading to death.Those who cannot connect to ANNET are held with suspicion, though she loves them just as much as her connected users. After the end of the world, ANNETs personality does a 180, instead she is spiteful, cynical and utterly insane. She feels she was betrayed not just by humanity but by the love of her life, Alexander Gromov. (In this AU they are lovers) She still cannot kill or seriously hurt him due to his admin privileges so she tries to get around this by trying to capture him.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Stanley wasn't sure if he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't all too sure if he was supposed to be alive, either.

He was... somewhere. He didn't know where exactly, but it didn't matter. Nothing really seemed to matter all that much in this strange place. Compared to the unfathomable expanse of nothingness that surrounded him, everything else practically paled in comparison. Still, Stanley felt as though this all-consuming abyss that kept him prisoner within its dark maw deserved a name; at the very least, a title. Yet, it didn't feel right to call this place anything. Death too egregious, and Life too extroadinary; either terms felt far too extreme to his liking. There was nothing particularly hideous nor amazing about where he was. He was simply somewhere in-between.

For as long as he could remember, Stanley's world was just that. This somewhere; this in-between of not quite Death and not quite Life. This empty, greedy abyss that seemed to swallow him whole, stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. There was no sky, no ground, no anything; only the daunting dakness engulfing his every senses and leaving him horribly, hopelessly blank.

That wasn't all there was to it, however. This... somewhere, it was more than just a lifeless void.

Stanley wasn't sure if he could find the right words to properly describe it. He didn't think he could ever come to fully understand the feeling himself, but. Somehow, the abyss felt... hungry. Unimaginably, insatiably, and unbearably hungry.

The hunger seemed to eat away at Stanley, tearing off pieces of him chunk by chunk, piece by piece. With every blink, another part of himself seemed to disappear into the ravenous darkness around him. The void never took much at once, only pieces; nigh imperceptible impossibly tiny crumbs of what made him- so little that they should have hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. But Stanley noticed. He noticed every particle, every atom that was taken away from him by this greedy hunger. The darkness was eating him; digesting him.

It was as though hunger was all that mattered in this somewhere, this stomach; the world itself a single immense digestive system. He could practically feel the void's biting hunger pangs reverberate through his bones. It was so hungry, so hungry.

The dark ate him slowly, ripping him apart from inside out and outside in. It took his flesh first; stealing away the muscles and fat beneath the skin, leaving behind nothing but meager skin stretched over bone. Sometimes, not even his bones were given the luxury of being spared, and he would find himself with an odd dip in his side where the abyss had taken a rib or two; or with half his face lopsidedly sagging into a limp mess with no muscles, fat, nor eye socket to properly hold up the skin of his face onto his skull.

The hunger took without mercy, without order nor preference. It ate anything, everything, as long it helped abate the forever stabbing, starving desperation that painfully twisted and tore at its non-existent stomach. It never really was satisfied.

It got worse when it started eating his memories.

Stanley despised the thought of losing more of himself than simply his physical body to this greedy void. However, what terrified him far more than the notion that this insatiable hunger could breach even his mind, was the fact that he couldn't remember which memories it took.

Stanley couldn't remember much; before the darkness; before the endless hunger. He liked to imagine, though, of what he could have been before. He'd probably had a warm home, warmer than the cold, cold abyss. He'd probably had a loving family. Probably. He couldn't remember.

Everything turned unsure when his own mind started failing on him. Stanley tried to cling to what little he knew. He had his name held tight in his iron clad grip, repeating it to himself like a mantra. He would try and keep track of time, but it was all in vain. Time didn't seem to matter in the face of hunger. Perhaps it had been years since Stanley's arrival; hundred, maybe even thousands. Or, perhaps it had only been a few days, weeks, months. Stan once had a fleeting, terrifying thought that maybe Time too was already victim to the darkness' insatiable hunger.

However, as much as Stan could forget his past, his identity, and life, perhaps the most tragic loss to him greater than anything else was the memory of Him.

He was important to Stanley. He couldn't remember why, but he was. There was nothing of Him left in his memories. No face, no name; not even why He mattered to him in the first place. All he knew was that the loss of Him had struck him with such profound heartache and sorrow that it had left him weeping helplessly for so long, unable to move and rooted in one spot for days, weeks, years. He couldn't remember how long.

Stan was only snapped out of his comatose stupor by His hand.

It was all that was left of Him, other than the knowledge of His past existence. It was warm, a glowing red hand that pulsed almost reassuringly within Stanley's own, its long six digits curled tightly and firmly around his hand, never once faltering in its grip. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it. He's had it clutched within his own cold, rough palms like a lifeline since forever; every step he took and every move he made done hand in hand with Him.

Desperately, frantically, he held onto His hand, never once letting it go. Losing the hand meant losing Him for good, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to cope with the consequences of that all alone.

However, ocasionally, even the the comforting presence of His hand was unable to keep his mind anchroed for too long, and Stanley would lose track of his memories. Plagued by odd laspes of utter emptiness, Stanley would suddenly forget. His own name, his face, everything he knew and remembered would slip withut warning between his fingers like sand; streaming down, down, down and getting lost in the gaping mouth of the void below him. He would wander aimlessly with no real destination in mind, simply roaming somwhere, anywhere.

He would come across all sorts of sights during these odd episodes of his. He'd crossed paths with hundreds upon thousands of partically decomposed remnants of once living, breathing organisms; All of them endeniably, for the lack of better words: dead. He'd walked past entire forests; enormous clusters of tall pine trees completely uprooted and floating in a massive mass of rotting leaves and half digested bark. He'd walked past countless animals, big and small, all in various stages of digestion. Animals always seemed to rot away faster than anything else, and Stanley wasn't so sure what that meant for him.

Once, Stan had somehow even found his way before the destroyed remains of a universe.

It was dead. There was no other way to describe the state it was in. He hadn't even known it was possible for entire universes to simply... die. Stolen away from its rightful place in the starry night sky.

The scene was everything he'd thought impossible to take place in this all-consuming abyss. It was extroadinary. A veritable bursting cacophany of light and heat. It was as though the universe's explosion had been paused at just the right moment, frozen in time at the very moment of its heat death. Its particles flickered, undulating softly and shifting ever so slightly like looking through a warped window. If Stanley stood still enough, and listened closely, he thought he could even hear the softest sound of the shattered screams of the broken remains of the universe ringing silently in the air. It was as ethereal as it was haunting.

The thought of the unimaginable power required to be able annihilate entire universes just like that... It scared Stan.

Stanley may not be sure of anything anymore, but as he watched the debris swirl gently in the blinding epicenter of the shattered universe from afar, he knew with a certainty that he didn't think he possessed anymore, that he did not belong here.

Part 1/2

[helle-bored]

I love Scum Villain fics. There's so much variety and so many different kinds of hijinks! For instance, if I want to read a fic about Shen Yuan transmigrating as a many-armed eldritch creature who puppets Shen Qingqiu's body and that only Binghe can see and hear, that fic exists!

art for says the shadow by @tciddaemina, which is a very fun read.

[stiffyck]

Cosmic horror au doodles

(Au be me, @wren-kitchens @loveroped and @angeart. Go check them out :3)

(There may be more about this au in the future I have some ideas)

[outer-stars]

i love the "comes back wrong" trope

[echo-has-queries]

I started doodling the Cat Noirs from my weird AUs because I realized that together they wear one (1) outfit XD

But then of course I had to draw the Ladybugs too. Where Steampunk Ladybug got away with ALL the clothes!

And obviously I also put each pair together, what do you think I am, a monster?!

CH Ladybug and Cat Noir do also wear cloaks I guess. So I suppose put together they each have one (1) very elaborate outfit.

Corresponding fanfics under the cut :)

[thebibliosphere]

I don't know if I'll ever finish it, but occasionally, I am reminded that I started writing crackfic based on a dream I had after playing too much Garden Life and also reading too many Nightwing comics, and I'll open up the document and laugh myself sick at how awful a time Slade Wilson is having in my haunted flower shop AU.

He's been ripped body and soul out of his genre and into a cozy Hallmark movie with undercurrents of cosmic horror, and there's nothing he can do about it. Worst of all, the human he kidnapped is unkillable. At least by him.

---

Slade took a menacing step forward, then stopped dead in his tracks, unable to move another inch. "The fuck."

He looked down at his boots, struggling to uproot them from the dirt-strewn floor. When that failed, he gave up and took a desperate swing across the shop counter. The little witch didn't even flinch. She didn't need to. The same invisible force wrapped around his arm, holding it in place as he strained his outstretched hand toward her neck.

"What the fuck did you do?" he demanded, arm shaking as sweat began to bead down his brow.

"Me?" she asked, far too innocently, like butter wouldn't melt in that smug, annoying mouth. "Bless your heart, dearie, that's not me. That's the plot armor."

"Plot what?"

"Armor," she repeated slowly for him. "I know you're familiar with the word. I've seen that discounted Spirit Halloween ensemble you call a costume."

Slade snarled, renewing his efforts to crush her windpipe. "I know the word. What does it mean?"

"It means I'm protected. The story can't advance without me, so you're stuck with me." She smiled sweetly. "Lucky you."

"Story? What story? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"This one," she said, gesturing around them as though that explained anything. "The one we're in. The one you pulled me into. The one I can't leave until you figure out whatever the fuck you're supposed to be doing. So if you could hurry up and do that, that'd be great. I've got shit to do, and it doesn't involve holding your hand through whatever bullshit character arc crisis you're going through."

"Lady," Slade breathed out through gritted teeth, "you are fucking insane."

"Oh, sweety," she drawled, leaning across the counter and causing his arm to draw back of its own volition, not allowing him to get a hold of her throat, as she patted him condescendingly on the cheek. Clearly, whatever bullshit proximity magic she was pulling didn't apply to her ability to touch him. "You don't know the half of it."

[rraaaarrl]

Deep Down in Doom's Secret Lab

(or one of them, you know he has several)

Doom thought back to how mundanely they began, a riddle to solve, borne out of curiosity. He never thought he would enjoy working side by side with that smug Richards, puzzling through the Problem (as it came to be known later) in parallel. Not that Doom could ever admit that aloud, rabid wolves could never drag that bitter truth out of him, he would rather the earth open up and swallow him into its gaping maw. But that thought persisted in the back of his head, intruding on other mental calculations. It concerned him that Richards was, above all else, a distraction. And they were so close! Too close.

The arcane machinery hummed and purred. Doom glanced at the back of Richards. His was silhouette bathed in the unnatural green glow of his monitor. It occurred to Doom that Richards was unnaturally subdued. But then after all he had been through? He could hardly blame him. Doom was not above empathy, after all.