Crowberry ♱

https://crowberryoftwt.straw.page

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part one of my pale visitor x genderneutral!reader fanfic out now :-)

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: No I'm not a Human (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Pale Visitor | Intruder (No I'm not a Human)/You, Pale Visitor | Intruder (No I'm not a Human)/Reader Characters: You, Reader, Pale Visitor | Intruder (No I'm not a Human), Yesenin | Bar Guy (No I'm not a Human), Neighbor (No I'm not a Human) Additional Tags: Creepy, Smoking, Depression, End of the World, Slow Burn, Isolation, Stalking, Canon-Typical Violence, No Use of Y/N for Reader-Insert, Gender-Neutral Reader-Insert, Drinking, Guns, Substance Abuse, He/Him and It/Its Pronouns for Pale Visitor | Intruder (No I'm not a Human), Reader Is Not Protagonist (No I'm not a Human), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Not Beta Read, POV First Person, Canon Compliant, Kind Of Summary:

It feels like it's been "the end of the world" every other month.

Everyone's always freaking out about something, making everything into a big deal because they don't have anything better to entertain themselves with. Well, I don't buy it. I mean, I think I don't, anyway.

Even before those strange broadcasts started airing, I'd seen it lurking around the area. I dont have any proof yet, but I swear this pale monster has something to do with all the odd shit that's been going on lately. Apocalypse or not, human or not, none of it matters. All I have to do is keep it (and by extension, everyone else) out of my house.

When I said I wanted peace and quiet, I didn't mean kill everything that makes noise.

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what POV do you like best in x reader fics?

First person (I, me)

Second person (You)

Third person (She, he)

Voting ended onJul 13

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I'm writing a pale visitor x reader but actually self insert kind of but it's just vague and relatable enough I can get away with tagging it as x reader fic so that might be out in the next million years or so

[nevorimhere]

Can you guess my fav Steven universe character? Yeah.

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I don't agree with a lot of my old posts

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The Beast of Apathy Has The Flu | MysticCacao Sickfic

word count: 1,200 || content warnings: none

Thick steam fills the room like fog, sticky moisture clinging in droplets along skin and marble. The hot embrace of air curls around Mystic Flour like a taunting caress. She stares listlessly upon her dreaded punishment; a warm bath.

She has not the energy to adjust her towel straight as it drapes away from her chest. Her arms feel chained to her legs, heavy as though the wetness of the bathroom has sunk into them.

Dark Cacao grumbles before hastily fixing it for her, only for it to fall away once more. He turns to avoid facing her.

"There is no purpose," Mystic Flour says. "You will see me anyway."

"I know– I know." says Dark Cacao. "It is my duty. You're far too ill to help yourself."

"You burden yourself with fruitless labor," her eyes don't follow him as he turns the squeaking handle of the faucet closed.

He shifts to look at her. His expression sours when she doesn't move to the bathtub. "I suppose you're going to make me do everything, then?"

He waits for her reply, but it never comes. Taking that as conformation, he begins preparing her. He slides the tassels out of her hair, unties her bun and undos the clasp of her necklace. When there is nothing left to remove but the lazy cloth around her, he stands her up and closes his eyes. The towel pools at her feet, but the hot steam in the room prevents discomfort to her weary dough.

She feels burning at his touch, her body sore from days spent idle in bed. She allows him to carry her into hot, bubbling water. Her hair swims like snakes as it is submerged, ends splitting into tangled curls under the weight of the heat. She nearly slips under before he forces her upright, holding onto her shoulders before hesitantly letting her go once she's stable.

The dewey mist forces her eyes shut. She lets her head rest against the edge of the tub, cold iron sending pangs of shock through her aching skull. She moans, causing Dark Cacao to grumble in dissatisfaction. He kneels on the ground beside her and takes her hair in his hands. Cool, slimey fluid pours over her stringy white locks.

He massages the shampoo into her scalp, soapy water trickling down onto her face. When he pulls his hands back, they're covered in suds. He looks down at her, frail and thin. While it soaks into her hair, he squeezes more shampoo into his palm and rubs it over her body. It lathers on her shoulders, neck and chest, washing away the dirt from her neglect.

Mystic Flour opens her eyes to look up at him, piercing black irises stare unblinking at his face. He coughs, avoiding eye contact and half-assedly rinsing his hands in the bathwater. She slides against the back of the tub and submerges her hair once more, bubbles rising to the surface as water brushes each lock. The waters hot embrace stills around her as she sinks underneath. Her heartbeat drums in the back of her head, pulsing with each stab of her headache. It fills her ears deafeningly inside the wet silence of the now murkied water. She rises slowly, feeling the surface of the water break around her tender skin. Dark Cacao is waiting for her when she comes up and twists the length of her hair to fill it with conditioner.

He runs his fingers through its silky strings to thoroughly comb it in. At some point during her tired haze, she finds her head resting inside his hand. He lets her lean against him, keeping her propped up against his palm. He brushes her hair onto her shoulders and continues to scrub her with his free hand.

He sits down proper beside the tub to let her rest against his neck as the conditioner seeps in. She's kept sturdy by his arm wrapped firm around her shoulders.

Dark Cacao sighs as he stares down at her. Her brow is furrowed against his chest and her slicked hair drapes over the edge of the tub. It's quite strange, to see someone who once had you in such weakness now so frail and vulnerable, at mercy by your hand. Had he been here a few months ago, he'd surely take the opportunity to strike her down once and for all. She groans, pained, through grated teeth. He wonders for a moment if he's gone soft, lost his Resolution to a wicked beast once again. Maybe now, his perseverance lies not in the destruction of his enemy, but the destruction of her evil.

He wasn't sure he believed in the peace and love his fellow heros often liked to preach to him, no battle was ever won without a sword, but a part of him grew to understand after his reunion with his son. Does it lie in weakness, to not be able to resist the swell of warmth when you look at someone? To not put aside your affection or trust or faith in another for the good of cookie-kind? He still wasnt sure. There are things to do in the meantime while he figures it out.

Gently, he leans her back into the water, rinsing the product out of her hair and leaving it with a shiny finish. The tub drains in loud croaks, and not long after, the steam follows. With his arms under her shoulders, he helps her up and wraps her towel around her again. She's drenched, dripping soapy water over the floor. He doesn't mind. He lifts her under the knees and carries her to the guest bedroom in which she stays. Lucky for them, all the watchers are out guarding the citadel walls and doors; no one's around to see the ancient hero princess-carrying the beast of Apathy to her quarters.

The bitter cold of winter bites with sharp teeth, stealing the warmth right out of Mystic Flours dough. Snow and hail pitter-patter against the rooftop, echoing within the empty walls. Dark Cacao lays her in her bed and moves to retrieve her clothes. She stops him with a raise of her hand.

"You'll freeze," he warns. "You have to wear something."

"What pointless struggle..." she mumbles, pulling her towls further over her. "You exhaust yourself over trivial formalities."

"You're a nudist now. How new," he sighs, sitting her up and putting her towel aside. "I will dress you."

"..Your meaningless gestures have no affect on me."

"Perhaps, but the snow certainly will. If we all crumble anyway, wouldn't you rather do so in comfortable attire?"

"Do whatever you must."

After he dresses her, she curls up underneath the thick woolen blankets, insulated for harsh snowstorms like these. He sits beside her, watching the low rise and fall of her chest beneath the bedding. He knows despite her appearance, she won't be getting to sleep for a long time. He turns the lamp on the nightstand off and closes the door.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/87040476

^ on ao3

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art dump

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my chudlings 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷wow🩷🩷

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purrcilla meow (no filters under cut

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"Don't Wanna Touch From The Crrrrrrrrazy Guy?"

contains: creepy guy x self insert oc, hangovers, creepy fluff, dubcon cuddling (😭)

cw: stalking, light drinking

word count: 1,762

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

It was just another one of those days. There isn't much to say about it. Often, when these days come, people try to figure out the why, but really, there is none. Shitty days come and shitty days go. There isn't much rhyme or reason as to why they do. Today has been especially terrible.

The bedroom gets so stuffy, even more so with the sun fighting its way through the roof. With so many people in the house, the recluse had taken to locking himself away in there. Even if there was just one other person inside, he'd do anything to make sure their paths never crossed after ensuring their humanity. Though, this particular one person was... different.

He wasn't exactly sure just why he had let that creepy guy in, though, it turned out okay, since he wasn't a visitor. He might as well be, however, with his odd behavior. Every night was disturbed by breathing coming somewhere out of sight, or footsteps outside the door, or humming from within the closet. He was used to being stalked by now, through from inside his own home was a new experience for him.

No matter what he did, the man always found a way to meet him during the day. Whether it was "accidentally" locking the closet from the outside (...how is that even possible?) and needing someone to fix it, or the bathroom suddenly becoming his new favorite hangout spot the second the recluse needed to use it, each encounter became more suspicious.

Eventually, he just stopped caring. Between the pale man outside and the man in the closet, you'd be surprised how quickly you get used to the feeling of eyes on you. Now, with no one left to fear and nothing to do but wallow in self-pity, the recluse allowed himself a brief moment of vulnerability, strung over the side of the couch with a half-empty beer bottle dangling from his clutch.

His aching head was soothed by the silence within the heat of day, a brief jest before the terror of noise that night brings. Of course, he knew it wouldn't be long before something (or someone) interrupted it. If he cared at all about his comfort, he'd have kissed the gun himself the second this whole thing got announced. He wondered briefly if perhaps he'd be given the mercy of peace for the rest of the day, but the dull ache that rung in his head at the sound of the office door creaking open put a quick end to that hope.

"Ahah... So that's where you went... Teehee." the recluse didn't bother looking up at the creepy guy entered the room. "Been looking all ov...r for you."

"What do you want." he sighed, burying his face into the couch cushions.

The man didn't respond for a few moments, only the familiar sound of his labored breathing could be heard in the quiet. Cutting through the silence, a cold, boney hand brushed against the side of his face as a frayed strand of hair was pushed aside. He tensed, the feeling of someone else's skin against his felt forgein after so long in isolation. His hand instinctively reached for his gun, dropping his beer in the process.

"Oops." the man giggled, pulling back at last. His voice sounded much, much closer this time. It wasn't outrageous to infer he was crouched directly across from the homeowner. "That's g...nna leave a stain. I can clean good... Teehee."

"No, no, it's—" the recluse attempted to lift his head off of the couch, only for his vision to be assaulted with the overhead glare of the cieling light. He slowly sunk back down, trying to ignore the ringing in his skull. "—It's alright."

"Not good..." the creepy guy muttered, the sounds of the bottle clinking onto the floor and something scrubbing against were less than appreciated by the recluse. "Not, not, not..."

The feverish ramblings beneath him did little to ease the homeowners discomfort. Carefully, he forced himself to sit up on the couch. The feeling of his blood falling through him left a comforting throb in his upper body. Slowly, he opened his eyes from underneath the shadows his hands cast over his face.

The man was sat hunched over beside the old couch, his shirt bunched in his hands as he forced it along the dissipating beer puddle. He didn't seem to care at all that his clothes were becoming more ruined by the second. To think he was allowing someone so disgusting to live in his house rent free...

"They would get reeeeaaall mad at us when we made m...sses in the looney bin." he said. "Shine a big light in my eyes and put me in a cold, cold room... But I never stayed inside for long, teehee."

"...I think it's gone." the recluse muttered, watching as threads began to pull apart under the weight of his scrubbing.

"Wouldn't want to go back there... no, no, not at all." he looked up at the other man, an unnerving smile on his face. He continued to scrub, despite the fact that the mess had been sorted a while ago. "They didn't alw...ys put us in the room when we misbehaved. Sometimes, when we got real sad, and they didn't wanna deal with it... BAM! In we went!... It didn't help, teehee."

"I can't imagine it would. Where are you going with this?"

"When they checked under our clothes, it would alm...st feel like a hug. I used to wish, instead of loosing marbles in the lonely, lonely room, they'd do that instead." his grin widened into an almost bashful look. "Maybe you thought the same?..."

It took a few moments of processing to realize what he was trying to say. "...Are you asking me if I want a hug?" the recluse sighed, pulling his legs up onto the couch away from the strange man. "Thanks, but no, thanks."

The way his smile changed into a frown was almost frightening. While he had never shown any desire to harm the homeowner before, he couldn't help but feel unnerved when the usually cheerful (if not mildly threatening,) stranger in his home displayed such rapid change in emotion."

"Whyyyyy?" he whined, crawling onto the couch beside him. "Don't wanna touch from the crrrrrrrrazy guy? 'Fraid you'll catch my WEIRDNESS? Huh? That it??"

"No, I..." he slumped against the side of the couch, shielding his face from the light with his hands. "I just don't—"

"Don't what, hm? Don't like me, do you? Gonna kick me out? Gonna shoot me?"

"...Let's not jump the gun here."

"YOU will!" he huffed, mimicking you and sitting tense against the opposite armrest. "I clean up aft..r you... Don't appreciate it?"

"I appreciate it." he muttered, despite not even asking him to help in the first place. "I do!... I'm very tired right now. A hug wouldn't help that."

"It wouldn't help, or I wouldn't?" the creepy guy grumbled.

The room was filled with a thick silence, though usually any silence is appreciated by the recluse, this one weighed on his mind (and his headache) even more than the noise did. When was the last time he had a hug, anyway? He couldn't recall what it felt like. Could it be that the strange man wasn't only offering, but asking for one as well?

He took a deep breath, then leaned forward off where he rested against the edge. "...Fine. Make it quick."

The instant he uttered those words, the other was already on top of him. His bony arms snaked around his sides, his fingers gripping much too tight for it to be comfortable. He nestled his face in the crook of the homeowners neck, making little effort to hide the way he breathed in the smell. The recluse waited patiently for him to retreat back to the other side, but it never came. Clearly, he had no interest in letting go any time soon.

"You're– uh..." the creepy man looked up at him eagerly as he spoke, his blue eyes too wide and his smile too thin to bring any sort of comfort that a hug should. "You're kinda... uhm."

"Whaaat?" he tilted his head, resting its side against the other man's chest while his hands pulled on his shirt behind him. "Something the matter?"

"...You know how to be gentle?" he asked, only partially sarcastic. This earned a confused look from him, so he sighed lifted his hands off the others back. "Like... here, I'll show you."

He slowly moved his arms around the strange guys torso, resting them along the curve of his body and holding him against himself without restraining him. He forced down a shiver at the feeling of dirt and grease that clung to both his attire and skin. "Could you maybe try doing it like this?"

"Mm... Don't und...rstand." he giggled. "Try again?"

He had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at that. He lifted his arms back and repeated the motion, making sure to exaggerate his movements this time. "Like. That. Now, you try."

"So demanding, teehee..." the back of his jacket unbunched as the creepy guy finally lessed his grip, though he didn't move off him yet.

The recluse let out a sigh of relief, melting back against the edge of the couch now that his body was unconstrained. He closed his eyes, using his free hand to hide his face from the light. Why did he leave that on, anyway? As weird as it was, it didn't feel... terrible to have someone else against you.

Peeking down from within the shadow, the strange man was resting easily curled up on his body, his head lying square on his chest. For a brief moment, spike of anxiety flared inside him. He wondered if he had noticed the difference in his chest. How would he even react if he found out? It doesn't matter, though, as he seems too busy falling asleep to care.He closed his eyes as well, listening to the sound of ragged breathing on top of him.

At some point while he was lost in thought, his hands had moved to cradle his waist and the back of his head. Ignoring the grimey texture he harbored, he couldn't deny it felt pleasant. He reached down beside him for one of his abandoned beer bottles, but before he could get a hold on it, it clattered over at the push of his hand.

Goddammit.

[dreamersofcolor]

HAPPY BLACK HISTORY MONTH, SELF SHIPPERS!!!!!!!!!!!!

support your black mutuals! your blasian mutuals! your mixed black mutuals! your afro-latina mutuals! your afro-caribbean mutuals! your LGBT black mutuals! your non-sharing black mutuals! your ficto or objectum black mutuals!

EVERYONE LETS GET MORE SUPPORTIVE AND ANTI-RACIST NOW!!!!!!!!!!