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murderousginger · 4 years

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Drunk on Shadows

Peaky blinders John Shelby x reader

Warnings: Fluff. Steamy kisses. Power play. They’re criminals guys, they do bad things.

Word Count: 2,557

Note: I had multiple vague requests for a needy himbo John, and one that sent me into a tizzy, so I joined this all together for this one.

You sat near the fire and watched the flames flicker in the dark as the others talked around you. You were exhausted, every last nerve you had felt raw, but John's bright eyes were not easily ignored. You let him lead you to the bonfire and surrounded yourself with music and empty chatter.

John bounced around the gathering, talking and cheering with everyone one by one before he repeated his rounds. Johnny Dogs was loud and rowdy as always. He would circle the party and clap the backs of men or flirt with a woman. Bottles passed around to keep lips loose and tongues wagging.

You felt like a bump on a log as you watched everyone. You kept to the fringes of the party, watching everyone with a calmness that subconsciously pushed people away without being unfriendly. You didn't have it in you to shelf your troubles from your mind and chat like your head wasn't clouded.

"Love?" John said as his hand rested on your shoulder. "Are you alright? You don't look like you're enjoying yourself."

You smiled weakly up at him.

"I'm fine, really."

"Why are you lying to me?" He frowned and leaned down to kiss the top of your head.

"Your mind has been a box of bees all week," he murmured into your hair as he reached for your hand. "You really should relax and enjoy yourself."

He stepped in front of you and his eyes lit up as a mischievous grin split across his face and he pulled you to your feet. You giggled as you tried to tug yourself away but his grin only widened as he wrapped his arms around your waist and spun you around. You laughed and tried to hold on once he lifted you in the air and spun you around again and again until you were dizzy.

When he sat you back down he grabbed your arms and urged you to run around in circles with the fire between you, going faster and faster like children. He let go of one of your arms to spin you and crashed you into his chest to fall in a heep of laughter on his lap on the ground.

"That's my girl," he murmured as the laughter died down. "There you are."

He tucked a piece of hair behind your ear before he kissed your cheek. You sighed and melted against him.

"Thank you," you said softly as you patted his arm around your waist. "Sometimes I get lost in my head, but you always know how to pull me out."

"That's what I'm for, love," he said with a sad smile as he squeezed you tighter. "You're just like my bloody brother sometimes. You get lost in there," he tapped your temple, "but I can find you when you need it. I can do that much."

John was known as the carefree brother, the Shelby that came back from the war without a mark, but you knew different. All three had their ways with coping, and John was like Tommy in his need for control, but his execution was entirely different.

Tommy ruled others with an iron fist. He demanded allegiance and rules to be followed without question. He demanded immediate results. He was king, but his head would cloud and become dark and it affected his rule.

John never showed anyone how dark his mind was or when he was lost in worry. The mantle he picked up had been the jester of the brothers and he took it seriously. He was the relief in the pain and no matter how dark his own mind was he would drag others from their sorrows or at least not be another burden. Many people thought he had no ambition or thoughts of his own; a jester with a violent streak when Tommy needed another soldier, or a lover boy that flirted with every woman who breathed in his direction, but you knew different. His friendly demeanor wasn't exactly an act, but it wasn't as shallow as most thought. It was just as much an armor as Tommy's brains or Arthur's violence. It was tactical.

You shuddered in his arms as you realized the implication of comparing you to his brother.

"You cold, love?" He asked as he rubbed your arms. "We're already nearly on top of the fire."

"You're sweet," you murmured as you turned to kiss his cheek, cupping the other in your hand. "What did I do to deserve you?"

"Well you're the smartest woman I've ever met for one," he smiled. "And you're bloody gorgeous to boot."

You giggled as he twisted and pinned you to the ground, his arms holding his lopsided grin above you. His eyes held a glint that caught your breath.

"I think I'm sick of sharing you for the night," his tone was cocky as his hand pushed your skirts higher.

You giggled, squirming beneath him to catch his hand.

"People are watching," you whispered as your brows raised with your struggle. "You can't just take me in front of God and everyone."

"I'm sure they've all averted their eyes by now," John teased as he leaned forward to steal another kiss. "Johnny Dogs is no different than a cat in the room."

You gasped and pushed on his chest until you both were sitting up. His want emboldened you. His eyes were playful but quickly filling with lust, pupils blown out and drooping half lidded. Your hand found his chin and held him from meeting your lips with his.

"John Shelby," you whispered with authority, watching his eyes flicker at his name. "I said no. Be good."

He pressed against your hand like a dog pulling his leash, testing the boundaries. Your fingers wrapped his jaw and you pressed harder until he stilled. His eyes traveled your face, down your neck, your chest and back up. You waited until his eyes met yours again.

"Tell me what you want, (Y/N)," he breathed. "I'll do it."

You felt a jolt go through you at his words. He was pliant in your hand, his hungry eyes wandering your frame when you weren't forcing him to meet your eye. You were surrounded by people but his eyes never left you. It made you bold. It made you confident.

"You want me?" You asked as you lifted his chin higher and curled your lip in a half smile.

"You know I do," he matched your smile, challenging what you were to do next.

You leaned forward and bushed your lips along his neck, blowing cool air into his ear until his head tilted up from your hand.

"Then come find me in the dark," you whispered before you playfully licked the outline of his earlobe. "Say your goodbyes, count to ten, and come find me. That's an order, soldier."

He shook himself out of your hand and looked at you, his eye wide for a moment before the lust took over, dulling the surprise and smoothing his expression to a lazy smile.

"Yes," he hummed. "I can do that."

His hand grazed your calf, pushing the skirts up again. You tsked and his warm hand stopped cold along your outer thigh in mid squeeze, a sheepish grin along his face.

"You only touch when I say you can, John," you chastised as you pulled his hand from your leg. "Do you understand?"

"But I want you now," He whined under his breath.

"Soon, love," you soothed with a kiss.

You stood up and dusted your dress off. You walked out of the ring of wagons that wrapped around the fire without any goodbyes. The cool night air smelled sweet.

Most people knew you didn't tell anyone you were leaving unless John was on your arm, parading you around to say his own goodbyes. He liked to warn everyone that the fun was leaving and they would have to entertain themselves. You liked to slip away into the shadows without a warning, the same way you liked to appear.

Outside of the ring the world was pitch black except for the sliver of moon that lit up the clear sky. You made your way to the tree line, your steps soft on open pasture. Once you met the trees, you looked behind you and heard John's roar of laughter and shadows flickering among the camp. Anytime now.

As if on cue, John's shape stopped between two wagons, his coat squaring his shape, but you'd know his shadow anywhere.

"Go get your girl, John," you heard Johnny cackle. "She's a right treat in the moonlight, innit she?"

John immediately shot for the trees and you jumped at his suddenness. You ran further in as the leaves crackled underfoot. You huffed as you ran deeper into the trees, knowing it wasn't a thick forest and you'd find the other side quickly if you didn't slow down.

You smiled, a plan forming loosely in your mind. You chirped, hearing John stop to listen for you.

"(Y/N)," he called, "Where are you, love?"

You paused, listening to the crash of the underbrush, and hid behind a massive tree. You chirped again and moved stealthily among the trees, stopping and calling along the way. You heard John grow exasperated as he followed you, a wisp leading him farther into the shadows. Always out of reach.

You stayed behind a tree and heard his footsteps trudge through the leaves closer to you. When he was just about to walk past your tree, you stepped in front of him with your finger on his lips before you stepped back. His face scrunched and he went to take a step forward but you raised your hand to stop him.

"Stay," you said and immediately giggled at ordering John like a dog, but he froze at your words and you couldn't help but feel the rush.

"You're not to touch me unless I say you can," you reminded him, growing braver. "You won't get what you want unless you play nice."

John put his foot down and shuffled anxiously in place, but he didn't step forward.

"(Y/N)," he pressed.

You gave him a look, daring him to ignore your demands, as you undid the fastens and pulled your dress over your head to reveal your thin slip in the slices of moonlight cutting through the branches above. His eyes danced over you.

He groaned, low and heavy; his hand instinctively flexing at his side. You threw your dress at him, the fabric hitting him in the face as you took another step back. It fell to the ground at his feet and you lifted a hand to motion him to follow you.

There's power in it; in coaxing him forward, in his bright eyes that begged you, in his outstretched hand that hesitated just before he touched you because he knew you told him he couldn't. And you yearned for that power. You needed it to anchor you and he knew that.

You led him backward to the edge of the trees, the knowledge that a pond was just on the other side. He followed you, two steps behind as if you would scold him for getting closer, or maybe he would break your rules if temptation was so close. You could tell John was getting restless, pent up as the rules stopped him from what he wanted to do. The delayed gratification far too delayed for his liking.

You stopped right at the edge before the clearing and John stepped directly in front of you, his nose almost touching yours and his whiskey breath on your lips.

"You've been a soldier," you challenged as you practically breathed his air.

You weren't sure whether it was the whiskey on his breath or the surge you got from making him listen, but you felt drunk, tipsy with lust. You couldn't see his eyes in the dark, hidden under his cap, and it annoyed you that his mouth was parted, panting for you, but you couldn't see his blown out pupils. You needed more.

"You follow Tommy's orders without so much as a blink," you taunted as you ran your hand up his arm, your fingers danced along his chest before you smacked his cap off of his head.

John didn't move as his cap flied off his head. Energy rolled off of him thick as the air before a storm breaks. You looked into his eyes, searching for an ounce of challenge, a modicum of his ever-present authority issues, but you found nothing but want.

He sat on the edge of your words waiting for an order, a way to please you, to make you happy. A way to close the gap.

"You say you want me, John," you whispered and leaned into him, dragging your lips up his neck to blow into his ear. "You so sure? I think that pretty thing by the campfire would have already let you between her legs. You'd have her following you around like a lost puppy before the sun rises. Her eyes were following you the entire night. She was green when you kissed me."

He cocked an eyebrow as he leaned away to look down at you, his eyes aflame.

"Why don't you find her, John?" You pressed. "She'd be a mess for you."

His hand raised, ever so slowly, until it was twitching beside your face.

"Because I'm a mess for you," he rasped. "Say the word, I'll happily make you scream loud enough to send her to her grave in envy."

You smiled as you stepped back.

"Take your coat off," you said, "I'll need a place to dry after our dip."

"Our?"

He shrugged his coat off as he followed you to the water's edge and laid his coat just far enough from the bank so the earth beneath it was dry.

"Would you rather stand on the bank and watch?" You teased as you kicked off your boots. "Then stand there like a good boy."

You walked backward in the water, knowing the cold water would make your slip translucent. You gasped as the water reached your hips and you splashed at John, his jaw locked as he watched you submerge yourself. You reached up, holding your hair above the water as you dipped to your shoulders and a growl rumbled from the shoreline like thunder.

"I'm growing tired of your games, love," he rumbled.

"Games?" You feigned confusion, stepping forward up into the air. Your slip clung to every curve, every last inch of your cold skin, illuminating you in the dark. "What games?"

He groaned, shuffling in place before he went to reach down--

"John Shelby don't you dare," you said as you stepped in front of him and grabbed his wrist. "No one's allowed to touch you but me."

"Let me earn it," he rasped as he twisted to pin your wrist in his grip. He leaned into you, his breath trailing up your neck, your ear, your jawline. "Tell me what you want, love."

You smiled as you reached and he groaned in your hand, the faintest touch a wildfire on his skin. You felt him rigged as you playfully mocked his moan back to him in his ear.

"Make me scream, John."

#john shelby #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #storytime with murderousginger

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gotatext · 5 years

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by this point im p sure u all know the drill.... i’m nora, 23, she/her, gmt and tonight matthew im going to be greta o’driscoll, a terrible person but a hot one which frankly makes it almost ok. here is her pinterest..... this intro is literally just copied n pasted frm the last time i played her so soz if u’ve read it like 10+ times....

「 diana silvers. cis-female. 」have you seen greta o’driscoll around yet? i hear she decided to be in POTENTAS for their SOPHOMORE year as a CRIMINAL PSYCHOLOGY major. the 20 year old SHEPHERD is known to be tenacious, magnetic, capricious and evasive. ➨ the muse is written by nora, she/her, gmt.

was adopted as an infant. had two foster moms and two older sisters so always surrounded by women. lived in a boarding house, very much like the one in 20th century women, with lodgers coming in and out all the time, mostly artsy young women because her gay moms were both high school teachers trying to set up their own arts collective. one of her moms left when she was 4, n she doesn’t really remember her.

while living with entirely women made her super into catlin moran and the guilty feminist, as a teenager she often let boys walk all over her bc she just craved male attention jst bcos she’d never really experienced it. saw it as something aspirational, like sitting in the back of chad’s second-hand truck while he drove you to macdonalds and offered you and his five friends with identical haircuts weed was the height of being cool to greta, she wanted to be their dream girl, even if it meant compromising her beliefs

was always a really sporty bitch. it started with a junior athletics squad, which turned into athletics and cheer, which then became athletics, cheer and hockey until she basically was doing a different activity every night. she came to see her body as a tool that she could make work for her if she trained it up and this attitude’s always kind of stayed with her that as long as her body is strong she is capable of anything. runs every day.

bubbly bitch but also massive snake. metaphorically and literally, always shedding her skin. loyal to few, ruled by none, out for herself, babey!! every place she goes, she becomes a new character, someone who’s a figment of her imagination, as if each city is repertory theatre and she’s a character actress, so as a result som ppl think she’s called rita, some ppl know her as margot, she just flicks through identities like nobodies business.

left school at 18 n went backpacking around the states making money in the casinos by being a shot girl (yeehaw) and trying to make it as a mysterious 1920s widow with a smoky voice, a dark secret n a heart of gold, looking for love in the big city. all she found was producers and acting agents who’d promise her stardom n actually just fuck her in a motel n then ignore her calls.

TW domestic violence, TW gun, her watershed moment came when she met luke in sioux falls while she was working at a strip club. he was a few years older and had a car, and they kind of went from seeing each other to being that super intense couple who are just necking all the time.

they got engaged like 3 months after they met n rented a flat together, much to her family’s annoyance but she was 19 so there wasn’t much they could do. their relationship was super super intense though, often really heightened and when they fought it could become quite violent, but she’d pass it off as just him being really passionate.

one of their fights got really heated and greta threatened him with the gun he kept in the glove box of his vauxhall corsa, but the safety was off and she accidentally shot him. she pleaded self defence in the trial n cos of the amount of times she’d been hospitalised for various concussions n things like ‘fallling down the stairs’ the police were like yea… pretty watertight evidence that he was a bastard who [chicago voice] had it coming…..

she’s now under witness protection, rehoused in livingstone as a sports-scholarship student, due to the amount of police involvement in the area, it would mean should one of luke’s family members try to track her down, she’d be relatively safe

massive sports fanatic. plays tennis. on the cheer team. was a track superstar in her high school. honestly just that sporty bitch, you’ll see her doing lines at a party at half four and then on your way to your 9am lecture you see her running across the park like a fresh fucking daisy who is this bitch. maybe it’s maybelline, maybe its coke.

massive feminist. low key quite scared of powerful men bcos of her ex. wants to start a female only lesbian commune bc she misses her childhood in a south dakota boarding house and has endless support for women. honestly annoyed that she is attracted to men, would so be 100% gay if it was a choice. cuffs her jeans and can’t drive. is That bisexual. skateboards. wears backwards caps. i hate her

isn’t a foward-planner, however. greta prefers to leave her options open, play the field, live in a spontaneous manners so her study style is mostly cramming a few days before a test, or staying up all night writing an essay on a massive adrenline boost powered by red bull or probably adderall, scribbling (or typing) furiously into the night.

has an addictive personality. seems unable to do anything in a small dose, she has to let it utterly consume her. with sports, she’s fiercely competitive. with alcohol, it’s never a shot, it’s a whole bottle – wine or whiskey – she’ll be table dancing before the night’s up and making out with someone she’ll regret in the morning.

not afraid to go after what she wants !! ambitious academically and romantically thirsty !! she loves the adrenaline of the chase. when someone’s easy to get, she becomes bored. very bisexual and very proud of it. feminist as fuck nd part of a queer representation in the arts group which holds fortnightly meetings to discuss lgbt representation in film, literature, art etc.

old soul in a young person’s body. all the shit that has gone on has kind of aged her. she’s quite cynical about everything now. always smoking smoking smoking. very edie sedgwick in that way. little girls skirts bought for next-to-nothing at the market because she’s skinny enough to get away with it, barely long enough to cover your bum, and then the ugliest baggy sweater you’ve ever seen thrown over it.

likes old things. old books, old music, old houses, it reminds her of happier times like when she wasn’t alive. buys all her music on vinyl and has a gramphone because “The Sound quality is Better” kfdsjj.

super into pop art and andy warhol. puts female friendships above everything but at the same time, would fuck her best friends man

her clothing style is like…. vintage thrift store but make it preppy. berets and cute hats, neck scarves, large fluffy cardigans or like those leathery jackets with big suede fringes on them, mini skirts (very 70s), and knee high socks or boots. quite often she’ll be in sports kit, maybe a cute tennis skirt, n when she’s feeling casual she’ll wear like, a talking heads tshirt with a pair of mom jeans and converse, but otherwise, the library is her catwalk.

aesthetics:

a bubble of pink gum on chapped lips, mom jeans, a beaten up pair of adidas, denim jackets, strawberry laces, knee-highs, chapped lips, peeling sticky plasters, split knuckles, bruises you try to cover with concealer, stick and poke tattoos, hot coffee, sleep caught in your eyes on a lazy afternoon, kissing girls, cigarette smoke shrouding you like a veil, alien conspiracy theories and sci-fi paperbacks, doc martens with fraying laces, the red string of a thong peaking out purposely from jeans, leonine arch of your back and that stellar smile that says ‘you have no idea who you’re dealing with’, a rucksack permanently packed for the move, a streak of red across your lips, roller blades, cut knees, not eating your greens, smiling with a mouthful of blood, and piercing your own ears with a safety pin when your mom wouldn’t take you, kate moss posters lining the walls of a teenage bedroom, his name scrawled in rage across the pages of a diary, thumb holes poked through the cuffs of your sleeves, a tennis racket you punched through in a fit of temper, feet pounding the earth until your soles bleed crimson, sleeping in a cherry lip balm and scrunchies to keep the wild locks from your eyes.

wanted plots

frinds !! unlikely friends !! toxic friends !! former best friends separated by sports rivalries ! sporting friends who are on other teams but who she absolutely loves playin against!!!

since greta literally can’t differentiate between romantic and platonic love, she’s got off with so many of her mates, so i want awkward friendships where they nearly dated, or exes that have now just turned into weird friendships

girls from the cheer team who she’s like, weirdly intimate with like the shower together but its not a Thing cos the other girls straight !!! what do u mean !! aha just fun !

and I want like, fellow criminology students who are like?? how is this bitch still passing?? i swear she goes out every night??

she works part time at a fast food restaurant, i want a mate that just goes and sits in there talking to her until her manager gets angry.

ppl she did a few modules with ie. art history, bio-med, film studies, before changing course and somehow sort of remaining in touch with

ppl who she runs track with.

someone she’s trying to make a zine with.

here’s a list of plots on her old blog if u want any of them w her.

would love plots of any type, throw them all at me please, i cnt wait to interact w all of u. like this if u want me to message you about connections / plots! xo

full biography if u can be bothered

trigger warnings: drugs, domestic abuse, gun.

you never meant for it to happen. you’d heard the stories, of girls who let their man walk all over them, and thought to yourself “i’ll never be one of those girls…” the kind that eat low-fat yoghurt and drink slim fast to shred a few extra pounds because he said she was getting round in the tummy, or the ones who spent their evenings tied to a kitchen sink drinking wine while him and the boys played poker, wishing god, if only I could get out of here. not you, not you raised by strong women, four bright shining beacons. single mother with her hard-as-nails attitude and her stony glares, elder sisters (twins) one ginger, one blonde, one doctor, one lawyer, both determined to take a bullet to the brain and a hammer to the patriarchy before they let a man touch them without asking. you were always so inferior, so insecure and small, like a bird (like a sparrow) with blonde plaits down your back sucking tropicana whilst your busom buds sucked dick, their lips permanently ripe with stories of their sexual exploits, fake tan and glittered nails whilst you sat in the unbroken egg of virginity wondering what it was like to be loved. one day you found out.

lily milligan’s parents gone and a free house for the night, bottles of ouzo and tequila swiped from your mother’s liquor cabinet thinking she wouldn’t know (she always knew) your legs, hardened from pep squad, slut dropping on a kitchen table because the boys thought it would be fun to get the quiet girl drunk. you’d never had a sip before that night. band t-shirts, denim shorts and the split soles of rotten converse that you refuse to let go of, you still clutched with both hands to your youth, but in a tube top now (borrowed from alice carmichael who had a sister in college) and a short tennis skirt, your feet not in trainers but in thigh-high boots. uncomfy as hell but lily said you needed to look sexy. you didn’t know if you wanted to be sexy. you didn’t know what kind of girl you were, if you were even a girl at all. but robbie looked at you like he knew exactly who you were, like he knew you better than you knew yourself, and his lips had the pink cupid’s bow of a movie star, and his hair was dark locks, curling like a mane. his hands were soft, and suddenly on your waist, and after three more shots his lips were on yours and his name was the only sound in your head and on your lips as you lost it in lily’s college sister’s bedroom beneath the glare of a T-Pain poster. you bled for what seemed like hours, his hand still in yours, kissing on the sofa as truth tellers and dare devils continued to spin a bottle of unprecedented youth. you thought it was love. robbie was the one. he loved you, you knew it, how else could someone be so soft? but soon he grew bored, scrunched up your paper heart and set it alight. then came the tears, the hatred, the ‘fuck robbie, in fact, fuck all boys.’ and that you did.

you were known for being easy. any boy could be yours for a night, as long as he promised to love you for those few short breaths and pants before you cried yourself to sleep. you felt poisoned, but poisonous as well, as if by ensnaring these young boys you were gaining power over them, and not the other way around. soon it started to work. they’d want more, but you’d deny them it, sick of sucking off silly schoolboys, they’d call you a tease, a vixen. maybe you were, but you couldn’t help but want older men. you got the history teacher first time, him bending you over his desk to sneak a hand up your tennis skirt as the after-school clubs carried on next door, unawares. love didn’t exist, not for you. it was nothing but a game for pretty young girls to play, bubble gum in their canines and a hand tugging at the hem of their cheer skirt.

there was so much anger inside of your small body, ‘beware of boys and their hook-like words’. hockey helped. there was something formidable about the feeling of a stick like a weapon in your hands and the thwack it made against thighs in the heat of a scrum - “slipped, sorry!” - you’d utter with a snakeskin smile, millicent quinn knowing that you’d hit her on purpose because she shagged robbie at that party last week. she couldn’t prove it, cobbled acne on her forehead turning green with disgust. ben came into your life like a car crash. two years your senior, with a baseball jacket and shoulders like a god. he became your personal hero. on the pitch, he was lethal. together, you could bring anyone to their ruin. each day after last period he’d be waiting in his car. you’d leap into his arms like a girl-half starved, love me, love me, love me, your heated kisses the envy of every junior girl. he was yours for three blissful years, utterly yours, and you were his, his star-spangled girl, and he was your knight - you were both the same, playing games, always difficult to predict. it was a shock to all when he proposed, high-school sweethearts find love in south dakota.

the engagement was a bittersweet affair; three months – you barely out of your gingham print skirts and into a graduation gown, him, a surly quarterback towering above your sisters, cigarette at his lips and a scowl like a fart in a lift. they hated him. so did you. but you were eighteen and in love, and he fitted the cookie cutter mould. everyone wanted him, and you had him. you had him and you were happy, happy, happy, and he loved you. he said he’d give you the world, anything you wanted hand-picked and given to you. instead, he gave you a jack russell terrier and a flat you couldn’t swing a cat in, wallpaper peeling like the rotten bits inside of you, the bits that only he knew. and you got tireder and tireder of the sad excuse of a life he’d picked out for you, him out doing god knows what to pay the bills, and you dancing on tables to pave your way to stardom, and this was love, this was real, until the shine wore off and your fresh-faced, dimple-cheeked cheerleader facade faded and the ugliness started to reveal itself, the whining, the petulance, the sharp-tempered cruelty, the mind games, the need to always win, win, win. he was dull, he was boring, he was nothing like the boy the girls had said he was and no chiselled six pack could hide his lack of anything remotely interesting, your patience wearing thin until it snapped like rubber, a rucksack on your back, running shoes on your feet and the joint bank account emptied into your eighth grade birthday wallet.

you built your small fortunes working the casinos of sioux falls, a crimson dress and an attitude to match. bookish archie with his little dipper freckles was fun for a month, before he became just as dull and dreary as the rest. a three hour bus and you were in minneapolis, bright eyed and bushy tailed, fresh meat ready for the pickings. a hostel here, a friendly co-worker’s sofa there as you made what you could by taking off your clothes and shaking your ass like you were back in pep squad, doing what you did best. you met your fair share of creeps, and soon it was back on the road to escape a wide-eyed stalker and a restless itch for more. milwaukee, chicago, you made the roads your own. log cabins and lodgings, and the occasional motel, a beaten up pick up truck purchased at a scrap merchants – you got a few miles out of it before it bit the dust, and when you finally set it alight after nights spent lounging across the driver’s seat, a parka tucked over you as a duvet, you were sad to see it go. you’re nomadic by fault, never attaching to place, people or things, creating a new personality in every place you go like a character actress; each town is a different repertory theatre, and you’re the star. a compulsive liar, you even fib about your own name, to some you’re ellen, nineteen, bookish, a law student who likes smoking and cosmos. to someone else you’re rita, you’re twenty five and look young for your age, like smoking, comics and fucking in public places.

in the bright lights of michigan, you found charlie, sweet charlie, too good for you, though you let him spoil you while he thought you were the small town girl of his dreams. next came abigail, who was fun until the jealously kicked in, and then luke, gorgeous luke, dangerous, exciting, who despite his temper, despite the fights, despite bruises down your spine and your teeth marks on his arms, loved you with the strength of a wild fire. there was destruction in your wishbones, a savageness from the field, from the pitch and now somehow in his arms, you were godly. he was cruel, he was careless, and he refused to fall at your feet like so many other boys had, which only you made you want him all the more. you were rage incarnate. you hated him so fiercely you thought you might kill him, so he played the only card you wouldn’t predict; proposed.

the house you shared was a backstreet flat in detroit, you making your name as a downtown singer while he footed the bill with pills. they had a drug for anything these days, to dull the senses, to pick them up, to drive you to insanity or pull you out of the madness hole. the two of you lived like criminals on the run (you never told him that you were, living out your days as the enigma he wanted you to be), you with your voice like caramel and fishnet legs. you were his and his alone until his hand was at your throat and the gun was in your hands screaming at him to stop, stop, stop, until a bullet stoppered his brain, crimson staining linoleum as you cast yourself out like lucifer. self defence was decreed the moment they saw your violet neck, black tears and headlight eyes and mind screaming red, red, red like the pom-poms you shook so willingly in school and the insides of his skull. you were gone, and “you” was born, renamed “greta”, boxed, shipped-out, and next-day delivered to livingstone where under witness protection you were a student, blank slate, fresh-faced in a place where no one knew your name, doing what you always did and starting again.

#this is soooOoOOO fuckin long cos every time i play greta i add more shit to it..... her seventh form will just be an entire fuckin novel.#anyway call me beep me if u wanna reach me #aka pls msg me either here or on discord. my discord is linday lohan's meth8664 #wshedintro

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blipblorpsnork · 7 years

Text

Observer (An Antisepticeye Fanfic)

TW/CW for psychological horror, blood, darkness, holes

Enjoy under the cut~

A light breeze kicked the leaves near your feet into a lazy frenzy, tumbling to and fro over one another in a soft spiral before descending once more to the ground and scraping lightly against the concrete. It had been quite some time since it was cool and dry enough for you to enjoy an evening out on the porch by yourself; with a book in your lap and a hot mug of chocolate with those tiny marshmallows you'd always loved in hand, it was peaceful and pleasant. Autumn had finally come and with it nicer temperatures with shorter days. It was, you mused to yourself, one of the best times of the year.

You drew a small sip off of your steaming cup, breathing in through your nose as the condensation hit your face and warmed your rosy cheeks. It had gotten comfortably chilly in the last few days, enough so that warmth was wantable but not necessary and nothing felt too stifling anymore. It was a relief, to say the least, from the summer heat and humidity. High temperatures were bad enough without having to nearly swim through the air.

You'd been reading your book on a small bench swing for the better part of twenty minutes by now with nothing and no one to disturb you. Your family was out for the weekend and you'd opted to stay home to get some well-deserved alone time. It had been very pleasant thus far and you were enjoying yourself immensely; just you, your book, a small bit of absent-minded humming, and the autumn breeze.

Until that is, you heard something odd. It sounded very in-the-distance, like an afterthought you forget almost as soon as you hear it, but you would have sworn you heard a laugh. Your house was set back on a somewhat large property and your neighbors, if you could even call them that, weren't for a good couple acres on either side of you. It was more or less unheard of for a kid to wander this far onto the property, and unlikely someone would be lost in this direction. Almost immediately afterward, however, a stronger gust of wind rattled a branch overhead and you realized that must have been the long and short of it. The wind had been playing tricks on you and since it was getting dark, you almost spooked yourself.

You shrugged it off, physically and mentally, and turned a page softly, eyes finding the beginning of the next sentence with ease. You lost yourself in the written world quickly and willingly and before you even felt yourself blink it had been five minutes.

Then you heard it again.

It was more distinct this time. A high but definitively masculine giggle, or maybe a cackle... or both, perhaps. It was just as hard to pin down this time, but very much more real feeling. You knew for a fact this time that you'd physically heard a laugh, rather than inventing one in your mind. By now you were just this side of unsettled, and slowly but carefully you put down your book, looking around yourself offhandedly.

In a cautionary way, you observed your immediate area, looking for signs of home invasion or a would-be abductee. You made it seem casual, a stretch of the arms over your head, cricking your neck to either side, a couple well-placed full bodied stretches that let you look completely around yourself. And to your relief, you found nothing.

But that didn't explain why you'd heard a laugh.

Not wanting to become a silly statistic (or yet another ridiculous person in a horror movie, so to speak), you refrained from calling out. If someone was nearby and had ill intent, you'd only be letting them know you were there. If someone was lost, well... They'd see the house and approach openly, hopefully.

Nothing happened for a decent amount of time while you flipped through your phone, checking notifications and keeping a vigilant watch on your surroundings. You heard something much like an animal in distress in the distance but forced yourself not to become frightened by it. You lived in a forested area, after all. But even with all of your diligence, you still startled when a soft and lilting voice broke through the relative quiet.

"Excuse me?"

Your eyes snapped to the source of the voice to see a young man, likely a bit older than you by a good margin but still boyish in feature. He wore an apologetic smile on his kindly face and was holding a bright yellow pet leash in his hands.

"I'm sorry for startling you but, have you seen a dog run through here?" the young man asked, gently brushing his green-dyed fringe from his eyes absently. "He got off his lead and now I can't find him. I think he ran this way."

Though sympathetic, you couldn't help but be circumspect of the query. You had seen in many articles that predators liked to lure abductees, especially young ones, with the false premise of a lost pet. Kidnappings often seemed pure and guileless until it was far too late.

"I'm sorry," you started, "but I don't think I've seen any--"

A sharp, remote yelp halted you mid-sentence, simultaneously lending truth and worry to the stranger's need for information. When your gaze swung back to him, you could see the concern etched into his expression.

"What kind of dog is he?" As you stood, you set your book on your bench swing, pocketing your phone in a single move. "I can help you try to look, I know this area really well."

"He's a stupid little hyper Jack Russel and he's always getting into trouble," the man replied in clear exasperation. "I would really appreciate the help though. I am so sorry for bothering you and ending up on your property."

You brushed the apology aside with a slight wave of your hand as you half-hopped down the deck stairs to meet him near the fence surrounding your house. "It's fine, can't control what dogs do half the time." You smiled reassuringly. "Do you have pictures of him?"

He did have pictures of the dog, thankfully, and showed you a few from his phone. After you'd gotten a suitable idea of what dog you were looking for--not that there would be any others, but still--you gestured to start heading off to where you'd both heard the distressed sound.

You didn't talk much while you walked through the wooded area, not wanting your voices to spook the animal into running further. You also still didn't feel entirely comfortable helping a stranger look for his lost dog; you didn't even know the guy's name, and still weren't absolutely sure how they'd ventured this far onto the property in the first place but, hey. Some of the walking paths no one used anymore cut through the back half of your property. Maybe that's how they'd gotten here.

You kept your (e/c) peeled as you moved through the fallen leaves and squishy mud under toe. Any whiteness would be very notable, so the dog wouldn't be too hard to find unless he was under something or in a hole. Hopefully uninjured either way.

It had been nearly ten minutes of walking in a general 'that way' direction before you caught sight of what must have been the dog, white and high speed and on the run. With a frightened noise, the white and tan blur streaked past you and the stranger, startling you both. The dog ran yelping and whining perpendicular to the direction you'd been moving, forcing you to not only change course but to start giving chase lest you lose him again.

"Shit, quick this way!"

You as a pair began to run after the dog as he zigged and zagged through the trees, making scared little noises all the while. You felt bad; he likely thought you were a predator coming to eat him! As you thought of this and realized you should stop chasing him and give him time to settle down once more, you turned to say as much to your newfound companion. You nearly skidded into a tree when you realized he was nowhere in sight.

Cursing low under your breath, you spun in a circle, trying to find the green-haired man or dog, but to no avail. Why hadn't you asked his damn name?

"Hello? Hey, I can't see you, did you fall? Just shout if you can hear me!"

You strained your ears, hoping to hear a laugh and a "hey sorry!" or something similar, but there was nothing. You took a deep breath, ready to shout so he could hear you in case he'd fallen and needed help when you heard his voice in the distance.

"Over here!"

You spun in your circle once more, utterly lost to your bearings and unsure of where the voice came from. You almost shouted when once again you heard, "This way, I found him!"

You began to jog toward where the stranger's voice was echoing through the trees. How had he gotten so far in that direction? Was that the direction you'd come from? Sighing internally and realizing you'd have to just keep walking til you hit a fence to be able to tell where you were, you picked up your pace.

"Where are you? I still can't see." Your voice startled a small contingent of birds from a tree above you, spooking you enough for you to give them a dirty look.

"Still here!" His tone held a note of desperation. "I think he's stuck!"

You adjusted your path, picking up your pace to try to get there as soon as possible. A stuck and frightened animal could very quickly turn into an injured and frightened animal. After what felt like just barely too long of almost running, you looked around you, not quite watching where you were going. Shouldn't you have seen them by now?

You nearly screamed in shock when your foot suddenly hit nothingness and you plummeted forward. The ground had suddenly given way to emptiness, a gaping maw of a hole, and as your body hit the damp soil and gravel on the other side, you realized you were falling.

It wasn't far of a fall--enough to leave you feeling sore and bruised, but not enough to knock you senseless. It hurt, but there was no way anything was broken. Your head throbbed from nearly eating a faceful of dirt, but otherwise, it was fine.

But it was too dark. For so short a fall, you should have been able to see the sky above you. You should have been able to see the mouth of the hole above your head. You should have been able to at least hear something. All you could hear was your pulse thrumming in your ears, banging against the confines of your skull as if begging to be freed. Nothing else seemed to be making noise. It was deafeningly quiet.

You could smell something wet and earthy, like the scent of soft loam and mildew and slippery stone. The ground beneath you, though you could not see it, was soft--sickeningly, worryingly so. It made you uncomfortable, uneasy; it just didn't feel right. Your fingers dug deep into what you hoped was mud and grit as you levied yourself upon a single hand, lifting yourself to a hunching crouch.

You didn't understand how you'd gotten down here. There weren't any massive holes on the property last you knew. You'd lived here your entire life and even in the heavy rain season your family never had problems with sinkholes or anything like that. And yet here you were in absolute darkness, in a hole that felt displaced and unusual. Uneasily, you recalled feeling like you saw the young man standing at the lip of the hole as you fell into it, smiling widely down at you.

But that was crazy... Right? He wouldn't have just watched you fall. Right...?

You wanted to call out for him, but something in the back of your mind warned you sharply not to. This wasn't right. You had seen him. Inarguably. And he had watched you almost gleefully as you fell into this mysterious hole. You felt your initial instinct of self-preservation had been warranted. But you just didn't understand why.

So you waited in the dark, willing your senses to come back to you fruitlessly.

Still your pulse throbbed behind your eardrums, muting the inky world around you. It was too dark to see even your hand directly in front of your nose. You had to rely, hesitantly, on your olfactory senses, for what good that could possibly do you. You couldn't very well sniff your way out of a cave, now could you.

You debated on crawling forward, hand and knee, toward what seemed to be a near-imperceptible draft, heavy with humidity and the smell of rot. You leaned forward, off balance from lack of sensory input, but only touched more gritty slick and soft something beneath you. The idea quickly faded, placed into the 'never to try' area of your mind. Just as quickly, you tried to think of something else. Perhaps, if you found a wall to lead you...

You inched forward very slowly, one hand outstretched, hoping you were going in the right direction. In your crouched position, your knees already ached, and your thighs trembled in anticipation of fatigue, but you didn't feel safe and stable enough to stand. Not yet.

It took scant minutes that felt like hours, and by the end of creeping forward so diligently your thighs really were screaming, but finally, your hand hit something that could pass as a wall. You jumped, inhaled sharply through your nose when you finally touched whatever was in front of you. It had the texture of rough stone, much like the rocks that littered your family's expansive property. Perhaps this cave, this hole in the ground, was where they'd originated.

Steadying yourself on the wall--that was what you could only assume it was, as it went down to the ground and up far further than your fingertips could reach--you finally pulled yourself into a standing position. Your back ached in protest, hip joints stiff and crackling slightly, but it was nothing you couldn't handle. Sometimes being curled up reading for too long had the same effect.

The throbbing behind your mastoid bone had died down as you concentrated on finding the wall of the cave. Cavern? Cave. You could hear how still everything was. It was unnerving. Just as unnerving as the spongey yet pliable softness of the ground underfoot. Just as unnerving as a stranger suddenly appearing and disappearing on your property and watching you fall into a mysterious hole.

Your breathing was loud in the silence. It made you all the more aware of how alone and lost you were.

"Don't worry. You're not alone."

The voice came from nowhere even as you had the thought and seemed to be everywhere. This time you could not stifle the shriek that left your mouth. Clapping one hand to your face only made the noises echo even further. Eyes wide with sudden fear, breaths trembling and shallow, you stood so still you could even hear how your breathing shifted the fabric of your clothing.

That had been the voice of the young man who had led you here in the first place. But where was he? Where had his voice come from? There was no way he had fallen into the same hole and you could not see the light of an opening anywhere.

"I know you're there. No use being quiet." A high giggle filled the cavern, your ears, the entire space around you. It was that giggle you'd thought you had heard from before. Somewhere in your subconscious, you registered that the masculine voice didn't echo like all of the noises you made did. There was no reverb off of the stone walls.

You didn't know what to do. The statements were so innocuous but you could feel the malicious intent in his voice. You felt as though you were directly in the path of the Devil and that He felt He would be feasting well tonight.

A sudden blast of cool air against your face caught you off guard. It was coming from in front of you, the direction the almost un-feelable breeze had been coming from before. That had to be the entrance of the cave! You started forward quickly, slipping in the muck beneath you. The awkward movement sent a sharp pain up from your ankle, reminding you grimly of when you twisted it in the forest as you fell just a short while ago.

But you couldn't let that keep you from escaping, from finding light and the entire world above you. Scraping some knuckles off of a small jutting-out of stone you didn't expect, you once again levied yourself upright. With some hesitation, you quickly walked forward, oblivious to any potential obstacles in front of you, still blind to the uneven path beneath you.

The giggling seemed to be following you at a considerable distance. He was behind you still, but he couldn't possibly see any better than you, right? There was absolutely no way. And as you began to walk even faster, the voice seemed as though it was slowly but assuredly being left behind. He wasn't keeping pace, or perhaps he couldn't. Far be it from you to slow down now, but you felt like maybe you could relax just that smallest bit.

"You're weak."

The voice was right behind you, right in your ear. You could feel the breath on your skin, following you even as you stumbled and started to run blindly. It was grittier than before, somehow, almost like it was being forced through a noise filter. All at once noise erupted around you. Laughing, sinister and tangled, bounced off of every surface in the cave. A strange, high-pitched keening seemed to be getting closer to you, slowly at first but quicker as your steps did the same. It sent a jolt of pure panic into your stomach and despite the slippery substance beneath you, you moved even faster away from that whining pitch.

"I'm here now."

It was closer now, his voice, so much closer, not just next to you, but in you, in your ear and your brain, rattling around your skull and that laugh that laugh that laugh! It was too close, wrapping around your brain stem and slithering down your spinal cord to plant shivers of terror at the base of your spine!

A noise wrenched itself from deep in your chest, a partial scream, partial sob, and you let it free. There was no front of fearlessness, nothing you could do to pretend you weren't witless with horror. You could almost see light at the mouth of the cave, that same sort of peripheral light of a star at night; looking directly toward it there was still nothing but never-ending darkness, but if you pulled your gaze elsewhere in the inky blackness, there it was. Like hope glimmering just in the middle distance.

The floor of the cave was becoming less slick with whatever you'd been standing on and more firm. There was the deafening sound of your shoes against the rock mixing unpleasantly with the near-shriek of laughter filling the air thickly around you. As you gained surer footing, you hastened your pace as much as your legs could take you. The tips of your fingers, scraping along the wall all this time to keep you grounded and going in the right direction, were bleeding profusely.

That same wall left your fingers for a terrifying moment, and you slipped and slid to an unsteady halt before bursting into a larger area of the cave and being nearly blinded by the light from the mouth.

Safety was right there! You were closer than you realized to escape, to the light where you could see and hide more effectively! Another sobbing cry fell from your lips as you nearly fell forward, fingertips touching off the ground and propelling you upright and forward once more. You were so close to being able to run back into your house where you could lock yourself away and call the police, your family, anybody.

Your feet were hitting the ground at what felt like an impossible rate. The pounding behind your ears was back, nearly drowning out the voice behind you, and you were grateful for it. Anything to get the cacophony of mangled laughter and voices behind you out of your head.

The light in front of you was almost too much, but you forced yourself to focus on it. It was a point of hope and salvation, finally tangible, and you weren't going to so much as blink if you could help it.

You were so much closer now. Close enough that you could smell the wet dustiness of soggy leaves that must litter the mouth of the cave. You could even make out the shapes of a few of the mighty trees nearly obscuring the entrance to this horrible place, and the sight of them felt like salvation.

But not for long.

A shape moved in front of the light, blocking it from you in its entirety. You skidded, trying to stop yourself as the laughter shifted rapidly all throughout the space. Just as suddenly as the now imposing figure of the man from earlier came into your vision, the laughter died down from around you and laser-focused to just in front of you.

You couldn't keep yourself from careening into him, it, for no human could have possibly chased you and still ended up in front of you, hitting his chest with enough force to knock the breath out of your own lungs. The inertia carrying into the collision caused you to bounce backwards, falling harshly onto your ass. You could just barely see the light you'd been running toward between the man's, creature's legs. A sliver of hope that was snuffed as he crouched in front of you, arms resting almost pleasantly across his knees.

You couldn't see well still, couldn't make out the individual features of his face from the insufficient illumination, but you could see his eyes. Once blue, they glowed with a malicious, muted neon green light, one that set the small hairs on your arms on end, sent an electric current of unadulterated fear through your extremities.

"The s̸t̵o̵r̷y̷ ends h̷e̴r̵e̴." His grin seemed to hold its own sickening light.

Before your vision blinked out, you screamed.

N̷̩͇͂ô̷̧̬̭͇̺̮͕̍͐ ̶̛͙̠̲͜o̴̪͇̲̖̳̹̲̊̇̑̕n̴̦̯̫͂͌̏̔̏e̸̡̥̖̯̾̈́̊͝ͅͅ ̴̭̀̍̐̉͗h̸̛͔̾̿̆̚è̷͚͕̫͍͈̜̙̏̔͛a̷̧̠̻̯̳̖͐͋̋̚ͅr̶̩̱̽͘d̴̨̤̻̙͗̿̆̎̃́ͅ ̵̧̯̠̠̖͕̼̃͑͑͊̈́́͠y̷̡̽̃́̆̚͝͝ǫ̸͔̝̫͙͔̠̊̃̓̿̔͝u̶̦̜͒̀̽̈̑̿.̷͍̣̈͂̃̀̕͜

This ended up being way longer than I intended it to! The final word count ende up being 3721, Jesus. xD Anyways!! Thanks for putting up with my ages-long hiatus. Tagging people who have shown interest or might like it!

@ego-protection-squad @egosurveillance @steffid101 @destinggirl @artistic--insomniac @alliedoesstuff @purple-finch @peka-iz-krov @randompjo @ask-hinata-and-toby-crap

#kalen writes antifiction #kalen writes #fanfiction #jacksepticeye #antispeticeye #anti #fanfic #glitch bitch #reader insert #original writing #original fanfic

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