Body horror, my beloved

Artworks by @corvidaeconundrum

'Hail, True Body' is a religious horror series that focuses on what it means to be human in a world that God has abandoned. For Mark Owens, 1993 is shaping up to be the worst year of his young life - and that's saying a lot all things considered. When his best friend Cesar Hernández calls him one night in October, Mark ignores the broadcast warnings to help him out. But Cesar is acting... strange.

Though perhaps that's understandable. His mother did just die, after all.

Or: An eldritch beast tries a little too hard to be human. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

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Please be aware of each story's tags before you read. All Parts are in the order that you should read them.

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Overview/Summary of the Series (a quick guide)

PART 1: Mimicry (complete, 6 chapters)

PART 2: Where Is Your God Now? (complete, oneshot)

PART 3: Old Rugged Cross (complete, 5 chapters)

PART 4: What's In A Name? (complete, oneshot)

PART 5: The Good Samaritan (complete, 16/16 chapters)

PART 6: An Eye For An Eye (ONGOING, 3/? chapters)

(more info + reviews under cut!)

HAIL, TRUE BODY ANIMATIC by freezie!

I heavily relate to the way you portrayed it and it makes me scream. Like, me too, girl, me too.

(Always the cherry on top with my favorites of them having similar ND symptoms and such like me)

You can tell how much I love a character by how willing I am to use my experiences when writing fanfic about them lmao 😅

Writing that meltdown genuinely took it out of me, I was so drained because I was sitting there having to remember what it was like to get that bad (before I got help). I opened up my internal can of worms for Grace in this chapter - the meltdown, the frustration at crying and having a meltdown, how upsetting it is to have someone be so LOUD when you're having a meltdown, and wanting to touch others and reassure them but being entirely unable to. I dumped it all on that sad blond man lmao

https://archiveofourown.org/works/85461806/chapters/228436221

““It’s okay,” The stranger said, and his voice was hushed, a caressing against all the broken pieces Simon could barely keep in place as his body jittered and shook, “I’m here.”

Blue eyes that pierced through the pinhole and did not waver; did not close and turn away and leave him to a miserable existence in a decaying universe. They focused, they saw, and they acted. The slip of cloth over the lower half of the man’s face was gone, entirely unobscured. A crooked nose, squared high cheeks and a rounded, softened jaw. Lines and bruising that spoke of a lack of sleep, something Simon was all too familiar with, and a nervousness in his expression he couldn’t place. The smell of sweat and sickness and recycled air but also something more than that. Something clean and muted and gentle when everything else battered at his senses, overwhelmed and sore.

The stranger leaned back and away for a moment and Simon panicked, felt the push of adrenaline as he waited for an attack, for the inevitable blow to finally arrive, for a knife between his ribs or tight, immovable pressure on his throat. His pulse raced, pounding in his neck, beeping loudly from somewhere above him. A cool rush in his right arm that swiftly turned to syrup, melting out over every screaming, sizzling, scorched part of him and smoothing the jagged edges over. A balm applied by his mother’s hand, sweet words in his ear.

“It’s okay, you’re safe. Does that feel better?”

The stranger looked at him intensely. Not threateningly; not in the way that spoke of a quietly formulating plan of attack or an assessment in a test he didn’t even know he was taking. The man had let go of his hand and Simon found himself mourning the loss just as much as he feared it; wanted it back just as much as he wanted to raise his hackles and snarl and snap.”

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