#blocked drain Liverpool | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peakyblindersxx · 3 years

Text

whiskey buisness - john shelby x reader (part 5 of ?)

gif by my literal angel @michaelgreys who keeps blessing us like holy fuck

a/n: all i can say is that this is the hottest one yet. as always, my girl @stxdyblr-2k did an amazing job so i hope you all enjoy :) and i'm still working on requests, tysm for all of them!!

love, abi xxx

read part one two three four | my masterlist

tagging: @datewithgianni, @mayaslifeinabox, @deepdonutkid, @springsoulofengland

prompt: john just can't help himself when he sees you with someone else.

warnings: nsfw!!! smut, fluff, angst, light praise kink, john fucking adores you and spends a good amount of time with his head between your legs (yes i know!!!!!)

John had spotted you from across the London nightclub, his table tucked into the balcony area, perfectly positioned to survey the entire club. It'd been over a month since he laid eyes on you last. Sometimes, he wondered if it was possible for you to only get more beautiful every time he saw you. He wasn't surprised, as he'd been warned of your presence by Tommy, but he was unable to stop himself from staring at you, hair neatly styled, scarlet velvet dress clinging to every curve, red lipstick emphasizing your lips, a light haze of pink pressed into your cheekbones, lash-line expertly darkened with kohl. You were dancing with one of Isaiah's friends; the young man was tall and muscular -- a blinder foot soldier, John concluded, draining his glass of whiskey, flagging the waiter down for another.

The young lad was smiling down at you. John took a swig from his drink bitterly, the man obviously head over heels, his eyes bright, excitedly glancing from your lips to your figure. John could feel himself cringe; the younger man had all the subtlety and strategy of a malnourished dog. Then again, who could blame the lad? You were an absolute vision, twirling and giggling, off your face on something Michael had brought. John couldn't help but watch, wishing it was him who had caught your attention tonight, wanting to feel your breath fan across his neck, pulling away while you giggled at his blushing arousal; him whisking you to dark corners to steal a moment of quiet.

He'd tried to get over you but he couldn't. He'd been travelling a lot lately, business in Liverpool, Edinburgh and Belfast; yet in every woman who smiled at him, he found himself searching for you in their eyes, their smiles, their laugh. They were all gorgeous, but his heart simply wasn't in it.

Tonight had started off alright, normal Peaky activity. They'd seized the club only a few hours ago, gaining vital territory in London, bagging their place in the opiate trade and a successful business prospect in one fell swoop. By all accounts, John should’ve been happy, but he'd been too lost in his own mind lately to properly take in the consequences of those sleepless nights with the accounting books, all the hours practicing shooting and boxing, all the endless driving, the meetings, the lingering stench of death which clung to his family. Try as he might, he couldn't enjoy himself. His night got worse the second he spotted you; a yearning for you suddenly flooding his veins. It was easy to get on with life when you were hundreds of miles from him, but when you were a flight of stairs away? He knew the club had countless dark passages to hide away with you, multiple cloak rooms with thick brick walls to take you against: he had to stop his mind running wild. He couldn't. That had to be the last time. You were in his past, you had to stay there. But as he watched you dance with the blinder, he could feel the familiar burn of jealousy swell deep within him. The lad was far too close to you for his comfort, practically grazing his hips to yours. John roughly rubbed his jaw at the sight, silently seething to himself in the shadows.

Thomas studied his brother's body language, taking a slow drag of his cigarette, not understanding the fuss around you. Sure, you were pretty enough; you were bright, apparently funny, but you had never caught his attention really. He observed how John's eyes followed your every move, every sway of your hips closely watched as he held his breath, losing himself to you. He was glad he'd prompted Michael to invite you; this was the most attentive he'd seen John in a month. It was no coincidence that he'd dragged you away from Birmingham, from the watching eyes of the city locals, the wagging tongues in the assembly lines, far from Ada. Michael had admitted to Thomas that it was easy to persuade you, promising you a lift in his new car and a night out as Ada had plans with a gentleman. A night of dancing with your favourite lads and an all expenses paid trip to London? You couldn't resist.

John's jaw had tensed and squared, the man murmuring something against your neck causing you to giggle and grasp his collar. Thomas could tell his brother was practically bristling with jealousy. If looks could kill, the young man clinging to your hips would be long dead from the glare unleashed on him by the tallest Shelby brother.

"You gonna sit there useless or are you gonna fucking do something about it, eh?" Tommy inquired, nudging him with his shoulder.

"I can't."

"No one will know." Thomas pointed out, raising a brow, "The Blinders will say fuck all if they see owt. They keep quiet when it's about us Shelby brothers, yeah?"

John glanced at him, eyes slightly widened, confusion furrowing his brows. "You've changed your fuckin' tune."

"Sometimes, it's good to have secrets. What Ada doesn't know about the events of tonight won't hurt her."

"We don't do secrets. We're meant to trust each other." John objected. "We're a family."

"Nothing will change, John. I'll fix it for you, yeah? You've had a rough few weeks, you should reward yourself."

"She's not a fuckin’ prize, Tom."

"Keep talking that shit and people will get the wrong idea, think you love the woman or sommet." Thomas shrugged, taking a sip of his drink, while John's cheeks flared, his eyes flinching to the floor. He smirks to himself. "You going to go get your lass, then?"

John replied wordlessly, standing and downing the rest of his drink, pulling on his suit jacket, straightening his collar. "I'll catch you later, Tom."

********

The lad was nice, his name had long disappeared into the fog of liquor and Tokyo. He was someone's cousin, but he was polite; charming, almost. Most importantly, he wasn't related to your best friend. Not quite a Casanova type like John, but you two were a good match, everyone thought so. You'd seen him a few times now over the past week. He wasn't much of a talker, but he was a good dancer, and sweet after a few pints.

The band started playing a slower song, Isaiah dancing chest to chest with a beautiful girl across from you. You felt your partner place his fingers on the small of your back, his fingers inching lower, pulling you in closer before the two of you were interrupted by a dark figure looming over you.

"Can I cut in, mate?" A strong Birmingham accent sliced through the air, voice low and polite enough, but with a tone that was laced with venom. "Or are you gonna be a dick about it?"

The lad glanced nervously between you two, moving his hands away from you, embarrassed to be caught by his boss in this state, John staring him down. You slowly pulled away from him, turning to face John.

"Or you could ask me to dance yourself, John?"

John silently glared back at you, his mouth tensed into a thin line. He looked momentarily embarrassed, his attention switching back to your dance partner, the rest of lads silently watching, breaths baited, ready to jump in on the action if the moment required it.

"I'm heading off mate, reckon she's a cocktease." Your partner comments, attempting to diffuse the tension, stepping away, not wanting a fight or to piss off his boss. His path was quickly blocked by another blinder. You shot him an apologetic look and took the large hand John was offering you.

"Or, she's just not interested in you," John quipped, smirking, locking his fingers through yours. "You gonna go get your coat while I finish up with your best mate?"

"Thought we were dancing?"

"You can dance as much as you like in the suite, yeah? Proper gramophone. You coming?"

"You just want me on my own."

"Just tired of the distractions." He told you pointedly, skimming his glare over the group of men, standing with baited breath, preparing for it to kick off.

You rolled your eyes but squeezed his hands, slowly heading to the cloakroom, chatting with the attendant as you watched John confront the lad, keeping your distance. His arms were clutching the lad's lapels, snarling in his face before pushing him back. Michael watched from a few steps away, smoking absentmindedly, spine pressed to a pillar, leaving his cousin to sort out whatever offense he believed the man had caused.

You bundled yourself up in your thin coat, a gift from one of the girls you hung around with as she had recently married a blinder and was being spoiled rotten. The coat's flimsy material was going to be useless against the London night. At least you could count on John to keep you warm on the walk back to the hotel. You headed towards the side door, John's hand quickly finding your lower back protectively as he fell into step beside you. He opened the heavy wooden doors for you, the cold air an instant relief from the heat of the nightclub. You turned back as the door closed, catching a glimpse of the boys closing in on the lad, their eyes gleaming with a violent hunger for action.

"He'll be alright. Daft prick just getting put in his place." John said flatly. He seemed bored but watched you anxiously, begging you with his eyes to drop the subject.

"Is the hotel close by?" You asked casually, as the frigid air swirled around your calves, instantly causing you to shiver.

"I'll get us a cab, love, can't have you in those heels trekking halfway across London town." He stepped fearlessly into the road, unbothered about any potential danger or just forgetful from the whiskey. Quickly, a dark cab pulled up to the cobblestone pavement and John helped you in, taking off his coat and wrapping it around your shoulders before climbing in after you.

As the engine started and the car made its way through London's dimly lit streets to Camden, John's hand found its way to your thigh. You glanced at him, his eyes looking away but his thumb angled against his teeth. He was nervous, having not touched you in a month. You crossed your legs, angling them towards him, his hand shifting higher up your thighs, taking a deep sigh of relief. Your hands found his chin in the gloom of the back of the car, only the occasional bright lights from a nightlife hub or the demure lights of a residential illuminating his face, the angles changing as the cab drove on. It was too much. You'd been needing this for the past month, needing him. Your hands laced around the back of his head and you pressed your lips to his for a brief moment, allowing John to pull you deeper into the kiss. It awoke something familiar inside you, something comforting. Kissing John erased all your homesickness. Christ, you had to stop thinking like this.

"You've not been about for a bit, sweetheart. I know we said never again, but I was hoping you'd come by," John muttered, forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling with yours as he spoke.

"I almost did. The amount of times I nearly visited your office.. I just couldn't do that to you or Ada. Besides, last I heard, you were on tour." You admitted, keeping your voice down to save the cab driver the embarrassment. John caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, tracing the corner of your mouth, prompting a grin from you.

"Last place on earth I'd expected to see you next, it's been hectic my end," He sighed. His eyes were outlined with deep purple smudges of exhaustion, yet he was still devastatingly beautiful even after all the sleepless nights. "It's been too long."

"Not my fault you've been hiding yourself away. You should've called."

"Blame Tommy for that. His solution seems to be sending me on business trips. Trying to make me too tired to handle you." A nervous lick of his lips revealed John’s response to the suggestion that he call you. He wanted to say he would ring next time, but there couldn't be a next time.

"You can barely handle me on a good day, Mr. Shelby."

"Can't blame me. You seen yourself? On the brink as soon as I see you, lass." He teased, earning a gentle shove to the shoulder as you quickly pressed a kiss underneath his chin. You wanted to bring up Thomas' threat, but you bit your tongue, nudging his shin with the toe of your heel in the back of the cab. He rolled his eyes, grabbing your wrists lightly. "Behave yourself in front of the nice cabbie, sweetheart."

You soften at his touch, unable to resist reaching to interlock your fingers, squeezing his hands in yours affectionately. The spirits your table had been bringing you all night definitely boosted your confidence, any hesitancy due to potential rejection drowned out. John pressed his lips to your knuckles in response. He seemed different tonight, far more protective and serious than usual. He was so quiet it was strange, usually yapping your ear off, desperate for you to react, treating him to a giggle, a middle finger or a cutting response. You'd also never witnessed him spark off due to someone's interaction with you. Finn had mentioned a week or so back that John had a shouting match with Thomas and in the moment, your name got thrown up in the conversation, resulting in John taking a swing at his big brother out of frustration. It was confusing. He was willing to start fights over you, punch his brother, yet when you two were alone he was uncomfortably quiet, studying you, lost in his thoughts. His silence only made your body long for him, his fingers tracing patterns in your inner thigh. You let out a small whimper into the crook of his neck, as he instinctively pressed a kiss to your shoulder.

The car pulled up outside the hotel, your pulse racing, the anticipation already threatening to make you give in completely to his wishes tonight. You waited as he turned up his collar against the rain, clambering out of the car to open your door, creatively arranging the coat to hover just above both your heads protecting you from the miserable weather. Although John had referred to the building as a hotel, you could instantly tell the manor was some aristocrat's third or fourth home, obviously being rented out or gifted to business partners for trips. It was an imposing grey stone building, exquisitely carved, although not a country estate, the house was just as large. Was John used to this? It hit you all of a sudden that you'd never set foot inside John's home. You'd heard from Ada that it was overrun with hoards of screaming children. She often joked with the children at the Shelby Institute that if they hung around long enough at John's, he'd assume they were one of his offspring. You'd only ever fucked him in a guest bed. The shame made your stomach churn.

You needed to remind yourself of this when your late night thoughts ran rampant. John could say what he liked, but he'd never actually allow you to get overly personal with him. Whatever confusing mess was winding around your skull regarding him was useless; it was best not to think about it. You went to him every time, yet he would've picked another lass tonight, it was just that you were there. He probably had a string of gorgeous women, older, more accomplished, more experienced, more elegant. He could tell you he missed you, but you could never take for granted that he told you this for any other reason than as a prelude to get you in bed with him. You were his gorgeous mess, but only for the night. It was best to remind yourself to care less than he did. It was the easiest solution in the long term; this way, the downfall would be less brutal.

"You alright, love?" He asked suddenly, breaking your train of thought.

"Sorry, I was thinking about work."

He lived around his brothers for long enough, he could smell bullshit. He decided to let it go. It was best to not push it tonight. Just keep it light hearted, easy, like it was always meant to be.

"If your boss keeps being a prick, you tell Ada. She'll sort him out."

"Don't I know it? He can barely open the door before she starts on about workplace ethics." You joked, earning a small smile instead of his usual bright chuckle. "John, what are we doing here?"

"Well I'm about to take you upstairs and sort you out, yeah? You gonna let me look after you?" He asked, stopping you in your tracks by turning you into him, grabbing your wrist.

"You know that isn't what I meant."

"I know. But can we leave it tonight? Can we just have fun?" He questioned, lips ghosting over yours, fixing you with an intense stare.

"It's fun anymore." Your voice cracked, the liquor in your system making it impossible to control your tone or your facial expressions. "It's fucking with my head, John."

"It's just.. fucking difficult. It's fucking difficult because of who we are." He replied firmly but dropped his makeshift coat shelter around your shoulders, freeing his hands to grab your face pulling it to his, the alcohol making him far needier than he usually appeared. "You, my beautiful Y/N, are a fucking losing game. It's not as easy for me, I can't just dance with a woman and get a leg over-"

"I never said you couldn't."

"I know, I.." He gestured vaguely, lifting one of his hands off your cheeks, and you can feel your head nodding in understanding. "You know, I thought I was going to manage it this time. That I wouldn't be a total fuck up, but then you and that lad-"

"Catch you getting jealous over me."

"Fuck off." He let go of you for a split second but you reeled him back in, resting your palms on the chest of his shirt, the soaked material sticking to his skin. You'd struck a nerve. You decided to push him further.

"I don't know what you're trying to do, Mr. Shelby, disappearing across the country for weeks then coming back and telling me you want me all to yourself?" You played with his collar, tugging his face to yours before pulling back at the last possible second, causing him to let out a frustrated groan, hands itching to feel you underneath them.

"Don't fucking wind me up," He snapped, the intensity between you rekindled momentarily.

"It's worked wonders in the past," You replied, barely able to finish your sentence before his mouth was on yours, his fingers tangling into your hair, kissing you properly. Although you'd kissed so many times prior, this one felt so genuine, as though unleashed from its restraints deep within John. You'd never kissed anyone in the rain before in the middle of the night, and it felt magical. You were shivering but hot all over, burning for John to do something, anything. You could feel his cock through his dress pants, hard against you, prompting you to moan into his mouth.

"Fuck’s sake, Y/N," John grunted into your ear, his hands grabbing at your arse. "You're fuckin’ killing me here. I need you, yeah?"

"Tell me how badly." You responded coyly, linking your arms around his neck, ignoring the late night drizzle.

"I'd rather show you. M’gonna take care of you tonight, make up for the month I've been gone."

"Who's saying I've not been taking care of myself?'

He bit his lip in frustration, trying to stop his mind running wild with the image of you in bed, fingers between your thighs, breasts moving as you arched your back, hips lifting off the mattress, moaning as you called his name -- his jaw clenched. "I know what you're doing. You coming up before you catch a chill?"

You shifted your weight away from him, as if considering your options. He knew your answer; you both knew in a few minutes you'd be upstairs practically tearing his shirt off, needing his skin against yours, begging for him. John pulled away from you, dragging you up the winding path to the front door of the manor, opening the door for you, arm wrapping around your waist. His lips met yours, then your collarbones and neck, prompting a breathy giggle and whine as you wound yourself back around him, craving the contact. The manor was plunged in darkness, staff somewhere in the gloom. Your arrival had definitely been noted, but as with everyone who worked for the Shelbys, they just left you to it. It was easier to not get involved, to keep their heads down and not mention the midnight trysts the brothers got up to.

John knew his path, he'd stayed here before. Even in the dark you could tell the house was decorated to spare no expense, the gaudy paintings and sculptures casting strange shadows. He led you up the grand flight of stairs, then another.

"Worse than Thomas' estate, this place." You murmured quietly, unsure of other guests within earshot.

"I could never live like this. I'd never see my brood again. Getting them ready for bed would be one hell of a nightmare." He whispered back, halting your stride by pulling your hips to his, unable to wait any longer.

"John, what if we get caught?" You asked, pressing your hand against his chest with your palm flat.

"Never bothered you before. Thought you liked the fact that anyone could just walk in and see what a pretty little mess you’ve made for me."

You couldn’t help yourself from pressing an affectionate kiss to his mouth, letting him lay you down and pin you to the stairs, the luxuriously thick carpets scraping into your flesh. He cursed under his breath at the sight of you underneath him, pushing your dress up your thighs, lifting your legs to wrap around his neck, pressing a kiss to your flimsy underwear, glancing up to drink you in. The most beautiful woman in his city, begging for him, figure swamped by his coat, rain soaked and shivering, his mouth between her thighs. He ran his tongue slowly across your clothed core, your pleading moans music to his ears, loving how your thighs tightened around his neck. His tongue traced circles over your clit and labia, the friction generated by the lace of your panties pushing you further, your hands knotting into his hair, spine arching against his mouth.

"No one been looking after you while I was gone. eh?" He asked, pressing kisses to your inner thigh, tugging your panties to the side. "What about your dancing pal?"

"Fuck’s sake, I barely know him, John." You snapped back, teetering on the edge between lust and frustration from his relentless teasing.

"Keep it that way. You don't need ‘im, lass, not while I'm about." He replies before lapping at your slit, interpreting your moans as approval as your head slumped back and you released a low groan. "Y/N, watch me, yeah?"

You pull yourself weakly upwards, propping yourself up in your elbows to be able to look down the staircase at John between your legs in the dark. The view was thrilling, moonlight shining in through the rain on the window, illuminating his face, hair messy and tongue flickering across your clit while he stared up at you, his eyes darkened with lust. You couldn't help but pant, knowing you'd be returning to this moment alone at night, when it was your fingers instead of John's tongue pushing you towards the edge.

"So fuckin' wet and ready for me, aren’t you?" He crooned, sliding his fingers into you, sucking at your clit between flicks of his tongue.

You couldn’t find the words to respond, whimpers leaving your mouth instead, your hips lifting beneath his palms, chest heaving.

"Go on, use your words, clever lass."

"John, fuck.. don't stop," You manage to string together, thoughts too muddled by alcohol and arousal to play hard to get any longer.

"I won't ‘til you cum in my mouth. Need to taste you again, beautiful."

Your head jerked back suddenly as John curled his fingers inside you, pushing up against the spot that made you lose your mind, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, all he could hear except from his blood rushing in his head. Your desperate cries for relief caused his cock to strain against his dress pants, fighting the urge to sort himself out, needing to finish you off. John needed to prove that he could fuck you better than anyone else. He knew he was pushing you to the edge, but he wasn't going to deny you your orgasm. He wanted to make a point with this. His fingers worked faster, his mouth hungry for you, lips moving against your core at a harsh pace.

You groaned loudly, hips bucking involuntarily just to be forced back against the carpet of the staircase. Your breaths grew heavier, warning him how close you were to your peak. John refused to let up, pushing you closer every second, lips latched to your core firmly, lapping up the wetness he'd produced.

"I want to watch you finish." He commanded, you completely at his will now that you'd lost control, lifting your head upwards with the little strength you had left to be able to stare down at his dilated blue eyes. "Good girl. You gonna show me how good I make you feel? You gonna cum for me, doll?"

You couldn't respond, unable to keep your eyes from rolling backwards as you felt yourself suddenly release, John’s name escaping from between your lips, legs shuddering around his neck. He let you ride it out on his tongue, tasting you desperately, watching your expression slowly relax.

Finally, he pulled away from your cunt, unwrapping your legs from his neck. He grabbed your wrist, not letting you retrieve your panties, stuffing them into his trouser pocket. He returned his attention to tracing your slit with the index finger and thumb of his other hand, as he pressed a long kiss to your lips.

"I love how you taste," He murmured against your lips, causing you to flush slightly. John noticed, pressing kisses to your jawbone. "Don't get shy on me now. I've barely started with you. Not even got you to the suite and you've already cum."

He looked so proud of himself, it suddenly clicked for you. He was trying to prove himself to you, for some unknown reason. You know he was protective and quite obviously jealous tonight, but you couldn't believe that John Shelby felt the need to prove that he knew what he was doing, as though you weren't aware. You weren't trekking to his office for mediocre sex. Tonight he let you finish first, no teasing, no denial, no fucking about. Just putting his ability fully on show, so when your mind went drifting it'd go back to him, not some young lad who barely knew what he was doing. His cocky attitude and smug acceptance of his sexual prowess would've been off-putting if it was anyone else, but John, but with his bright smile and constant humour, pulled it off. It was enticing, making your core pool with wetness when he crossed your mind.

"A month is far too long, Mr. Shelby."

"I know, you're practically drooling over me." He teased. He seems a lot more himself than before. He’d been too caught up in his head, too focused on getting you off to enjoy the flirting and teasing. John loved how light-hearted he could be with you. Despite the mess you were both in, it was making you laugh or roll your eyes that soothed his mind. Honestly, if it was just sex he'd have cut you off instantly; he wouldn't have even gone there out of loyalty to Ada. Admittedly, it was your company and presence that had him absolutely on his knees for you, the way he felt understood, less alone in his brother's bullshit, less trapped by his criminal career because you understood. You always had a cutting line, a bright smile just for him, an eye roll at his brothers' daft plans, a choice curse word for Thomas. He didn't even want to consider what would happen after the night ended. He stood, pressing another kiss to your lips as he helped you to your feet, fixing his coat which hung off your shoulders.

"You ready for rounds two through to six?"

"John, you know you won't get through three with me."

"You’re right, you're just too pretty when you’re riding my cock." He teased, the vulgar material of his jibe earning him a joking shove before you curl into his side, letting him escort you up the stairs to the nearest bedroom. He quickly shut the door behind you, scooping you up in his arms, causing you to let out a laugh as he practically tossed you onto the king sized bed, eyes shining with adoration as he looked down at you grinning back up at him.

“You’re something else, John Shelby.”

#john shelby smut #john shelby fluff #john shelby fanfic #john shelby imagine #john shelby x reader #peaky blinders smut #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders fanfic

456 notes · View notes

joelcrowley · 3 years

Photo

welcoming joel, the man who would sell each and every one of you to satan for a corn chip. trigger warnings: drug use, toxic relationship, alcoholism, violence.

basics

name: joel thomas crowley

nicknames: joe, joey, son of a bitch

birthday/age: 6th may, 1985, 04:01 / thirty-six

gender/pronouns: cis-male / he, him

sexuality: pansexual - though he wouldn’t label himself

zodiacs: taurus ☉ ; sagittarius ☽ ; pisces 🡕

occupation: unemployed. he boxes occasionally and picks up small jobs here and there. he isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty so hmu if u need a lil henchman.

hobbies: he has numerous toxic hobbies but he’s also a pianist and an avid gym-goer.

neighbourhood: the docks.

length of time in crescent harbour: two years.

place of birth: liverpool, england.

height: 6′1″ (185cm)

moral alignment: chaotic evil.....rip

positive traits: charming, humorous, resilient, confident, quick-witted, passionate, persistent, creative.

negative traits: rebellious, deceitful, cruel, vengeful, cunning, antagonistic.

scent: bergamot, lavender, pepper, ambroxan.

background

born in liverpool to a large family, joel was the eldest brother. his family were impoverished and both parents were neglectful, so he found ways to survive. this first began as begging outside corner shops for food before he resorted to theft. he’d steal from his parents, from strangers, from those in his class. it soon became an act he did for a thrill as opposed to putting food in his mouth. he quickly learnt the importance of making friends and how these friends were all the more willing to offer a helping hand.

whilst joel was a street-smart kid, he was only slightly above average for his studies and put very little of his time into revision. he much preferred going through the motion of things and didn’t dwell too much on school. though nothing exceptional, it still afforded him a decent college education and the opportunity to go to university. upon acceptance, he leaves his family at the drop of a hat and heads north to scotland.

he attends the university of edinburgh and studies law. unsurprisingly, he’s good at it in all the ways he’s good at lying. he’s well-liked by his peers, considered the life of the party and soon begins dabbling in the narcotics which surround his friend group. when he realises this could be his source of income, he turns a weekend hobby into a lifestyle. it exists as more of a rumour to those outside of his inner circle but he holds a reputation as the ‘go to’ within this group and it keeps him afloat.

at this time, he meets charlotte at university. he appears as all the things which accumulate as a good partner; good grades, charming, a little unhinged but exciting to be around. though brief, this is the first moment in joel’s life where he considers the feelings of someone else. he falls for her slowly and then all at once.

outside of his relationships, he’s sporty - particularly in boxing - and as he improves, he gradually garners the attention of the wrong people. whilst this isn’t a moment in his life which requires sympathy, there is a cause for concern when he fits in as if his sharp edges were nothing more than a puzzle piece waiting to slot into place. he’s not the nice guy getting caught up. he belongs there.

eventually, they recognise there could be some real money in these fights. however, the people that grow to learn this are not good people by any means. they’re money hungry, twisted, the kind who’d give you a black eye before they shake your hand. he’s not scared of them but he’s not foolish either. so, when they recognise his ‘talent’, they begin using him as a source of increasing their income and heavy money gets put into his fights. he makes more than his hands could ever hold.

with this tarnished wealth, he spends it in the most familiar fashion - recklessly. blow, alcohol, feeding all the toxic habits which both him and lotte possess. he wastes all of it to destroy the pair of them. they have a tumultuous and toxic relationship, no strangers to frequent affairs, which sends them to destinations he once only knew on the face of a map. when he proposes to her, it’s not some romantic affair over candlelight dinner and an orchestra. he wins an overtly tasteless diamond ring in a game of poker and in an intoxicated stupor he makes the decision to propose. she says yes, they fool themselves into a happiness that charlotte leaves soon after. abandoning him for a place he’d heard of only briefly.

unfortunately, this impetuous life he endures continues to dismantle when he loses a crucial boxing match. he ends up in severe debt and unable to pay it back. they break his bones, mottle his flesh black and blue and only when they threaten to drop him in the union canal do they stop. this is a cycle which repeats itself, growing closer to his penultimate finale in each scenario. until, he runs. using his educated background as a means to send himself all the way to CH to find the woman who had up and left him.

some more notes

has a strong scouse accent

has a degree but doesn’t desire to use it. picks up small jobs here and there instead.

loves classical music

probably won’t pay you back

hasn’t spoke to his family in many years

the human equivalent of a blocked sewage drain

wanted connections

flings - short-term or long-term. these interactions mean nothing to him so it’s unlikely you’ll get your next otp out of him (unless your otp is joel x prison). forgive me.

people he might do jobs for

a housemate he only intended on crashing with for a night

all the enemies/hateships - this can be for numerous reasons; you’re friends with charlotte, he undercut you when selling narcotics, he slept with your current or ex partner, he deceived you in some way, he did a job for a relative of yours and you disapprove.

a friend or two (or rather someone who tolerates him) - i need to strongly emphasise that if your character is friends with joel then he would sell them out without question if it suited him.

2 notes · View notes

marianhellequin · 4 years

Text

Nulogorsk.fm - 01: Pilot

[[Author's note: I'm not so great in translating into English. So dear native English-speaking readers, I'll be really very glad if you leave a comment if something’s wrong! Thank you.]]

A friendly northern town where nights are white, days are dark, sea is cold like the hearts of the ancient gods, and arctic lights in their beauty can compete with a mysterious shining, which we are all scared to even glance at.

You're listening to Nulogorsk.fm!

First of all, an important message from the municipal government.

Nulogorsk government reminds that the military community located after the nothern highway exit from A-800 is former, closed and left under the decree of the municipal government from February, 29th, 1993. Noone lives at the territory of the military community. Noone works there. There is no living or nonliving soul. The military community is abandoned, closed and sealed for eternity - they say in the decree. The municipal government reminds you: if you see servicemen without military rank insignia, they are just a phantom of your imagination. If not only you see them, it is a phantom of your collective imagination. Do not try to talk to these servicemen. Ignore these phantoms of your imagination.

It's a significant day here today in Nulogorsk - after many years of repairs, the Palace of Culture is finally re-opened. Surely, all the important citizens will come for the opening, also a short briefing will be held, as well as a concert on the occasion of opening. Concert-bill is still elaborating.I remind you that the Palace of Culture was closed for a few years due to major repairs. The reasons were leaking roof, wall cracks and stucco moldings falling down off the walls. All the rumours about some kind of a way to some kind of an abyss opened in the vaults of the Palace, that artists and workers who stayed late after the concerts heard horrifying, ghoulish howl, which was coming like from every wall and every dark corned, that on the long, dark November days all the building winced and shaked as if because of the panoptic terror - that's all of course just idle rumours, and shame on them who pass it.

Now all the repair works are finally finished, the newest sound and video equipment is already brought, and Nulogorsk cultural life is ready to play out in fresh colours!

So, now everyone's waiting for the complimentary speech from our Mayor Pavel Borovik, who will officialy cut the symbolic ribbon after this. Our Mayor's speeches are always unforgettable! We can just recall his congratulations on last New Year, when he traditionally but in his unique manner wished success, health and luck to all of us, using frozen bull-trout, his expensive shoes in the colour of sycamore and his whole vocal range of 3-5 octaves. For sure today we will all be impressed by his words.Sadly I can't be there now at this wonderful event, but who would then tell you of everything happening in the town, dear listeners?

But I'm sure our new intern Olga would help us! She's waving, you can't see it but believe me as usual. I'll send her to the place for the most precise report, she'll sure deal great with it. See you, Olya! I'll be waiting for your messages as soon as possible!

And while Olga is going to the place, a little bit about traffic.

Due to technical difficulties, the central bus station will be closed from Thursday, 7 a.m. until Sunday, 5 p.m. All the arrivals will overpass. That's what the bus station operator says.

Somewhere far away a giant lorry rips in the highways, and a small woman is driving it. The teeth of this lorry, enormous, can grind a diamond. The lorry snorts fire, and it seems like to be all made of pipes. We don't know where it's coming from. We don't know where it's going to. I don't know what it carries. They say museums explode on the way of this lorry.

A giant lorry rips in the highways far away. How far is it from us? How close? Where does it go?

The bus station operator notices that the station closing isn't connected with this message.

This was the traffic.

To other news.

This morning a group of servicemen with military rank insignia arrived to Nulogorsk. As their leader, a beautiful woman dressed in perfectly fitting field jacket with Major's stars, says, they came because of safety issues. There were no details, despite legitimate questions from the journalists, for whom a short and quick news conference was held. But still there are many questions. What happened to safety in our little, cosy, quiet town? Why now? Why Major's hairstyle is so perfect, and her eyes are looking so strikingly right into your soul?

We didn't get answers to those questions.

Last news, on-the-spot message from Olga! Our Mayor Pavel Borovik has just finished his inspiring speech. He recalled how many events took place in our Palace of Culture, how we celebrated Town Day here, New Year, Knowledge Day, Gnosis Day, Harvest Day... Oh, I remember those wonderful New Year nights! The fun that united everyone, young and old... on such nights, teenagers for the first time tried 16-kopek plombiere ice-cream and "Kaliningrad" champagne! How strongly I wanted then to come back into my childhood and feel what they were feeling: the delight of novelty, the expectancy of unpredictable future and existentialist horror of it's imminence!

By the way about imminence.

"Blacker than darkness" coffee and bake shop invites the people and visitors of the town to try something new, double cake with orange jam and candied peel! Wonderful for to go and to get out, ideal with coffee. If you order the cake and any coffee except espresso, you get vague anxiety until next morning for free! For strict vegans: coffee on soy milk, carrot cake and a feeling of grievous loss. Offer doesn't include orders to go.

Let's get back to the main topic of the day. Just now, our esteemed Mayor Pavel Borovik has officialy cut the lily-white ribbon into thousand of smallest pieces which flew away with the wind just like our young hopes and dreams. Local amateur orchestra played a solemn melody, and doors of the Palace of Culture were opened for the first visitors chaired by Palace manager, Mayor and a representative of the press service of the municipal government. As Olga says, everyone just passed the red carpet covering the entrance stairs and came into the spacious lobby decorated with flowers and flecks from the gorgeous crystal chandelier. The orchestra refused to come in, saying it can make them go out of tune, but as Olga says, their eyes were suspiciously shifty. I wonder, what's this all about? Sadly, I don't have music education, so I even can't suggest!

In the same way, I can't suggest why our humble radio station is interesting for the servicemen with military rank insignia, but I can assure that I was really glad to see Major Andreeva with her perfect hairstyle, expressive eyes and even more expressive body language within our walls. I asked if I could help somehow or buy her a cup of coffee with orange double cake this evening, but seems like Major didn't pay due attention to my words. I think their packed and tight schedule doesn't let them such freedom as coffee. Though, orange double pie...

Anyway, Major Andreeva and her crew were interested in our humble sound equipment and my desk, and also in our regular technician Alexander, which, at the sight of visitors, made a loud hiss, blended into surroundings and quickly left the studio by draining into the sewer system.

And now, the weather.

[Frank Pourcel "Manchester et Liverpool" playing in the background]

It was a tiny cupboard of a room about six paces in length. It had a poverty-stricken appearance with its dusty yellow paper peeling off the walls, and it was so low-pitched that a man of more than average height was ill at ease in it and felt every moment that he would knock his head against the ceiling.The furniture was in keeping with the room: there were three old chairs, rather rickety; a painted table in the corner on which lay a few manuscripts and books; the dust that lay thick upon them showed that they had been long untouched. A big clumsy sofa occupied almost the whole of one wall and half the floor space of the room; it was once covered with chintz, but was now in rags and served Raskolnikov as a bed. Often he went to sleep on it, as he was, without undressing, without sheets, wrapped in his old student's overcoat, with his head on one little pillow, under which he heaped up all the linen he had, clean and dirty, by way of a bolster. A little table stood in front of the sofa.It would have been difficult to sink to a lower ebb of disorder, but to Raskolnikov in his present state of mind this was positively agreeable. He had got completely away from everyone, like a tortoise in its shell, and even the sight of a servant girl who had to wait upon him and looked sometimes into his room made him writhe with nervous irritation. He was in the condition that overtakes some monomaniacs entirely concentrated upon one thing.

A message for car owners. Petrol station number two informs that since tomorrow it will be impossible to pay with deadheads, body parts, saplings and karma. Use cash and credit cards, loyalty points and your immortal soul.

Olga who's on scene tells me that the first visitors of renewed Palace of Culture just walked into the main music hall. She says that the very first step into the large wooden doors made her heart tremble with inexplicable fear of the abyss of the existence. Mayor Pavel Borovik is determined as always.Seems like not everything is ready for the festive program in the music hall. The orchestra pit is empty and has the form of the sinkhole into the primeval abyss. Splendid velvet curtain isn't as determined as the Mayor and in every way blocks artists' attempts to sneak onto the stage and thereby save themselves from something which makes ghoulish... one moment, looks like Olga gives some details... Yes, thanks, Olya. Save themselves from something which makes spine-tingling, paralysing, dreadful howl. We'll make a pause for a message from our sponsor while I'm clarifying the situation with my colleague, stay tuned.

Everything for home and garden in the "Bad Seed" shop! New arrivals of strings, ropes, strands, cables, and also chains made of women's beard and noise of cats' steps! Never out of stock: seeds, sprouts, fertilizers, everything most needed for your homesteading or window greenhouse. In the housewares - new bed-linen arrivals. By popular demand, we returned duvet covers with chase nightmares effect, pillow cases with the paranoid thoughts aroma and sheets spawning invisible worms. Double discount with your loyalty card after sunset on Saturdays, come for shopping to "Bad Seed"!

An important message from the municipal government.Right now the press service of the municipal government informed about Mayor's decree regarding the Nulogorsk Palace of Culture. Due to the decree, Palace of Culture is closed for indefinite term until all the small defects caused by face-lift will be eliminated. Citizens are asked not to come to the building closer than 20 meters, and to cover minors' eyes while passing by the Palace.

The press service pointed out that it isn't connected with an echo of inhuman howl coming from the nailed up windows of the Palace, ghoulish and spine-tingling. With regard to all these cases of revealed breaches, an examination will be held by an independent commission consisting of active concerned citizens, mediums, shaman and Father Evgeny of the Holy Virgin Protection church.

All the planned events are moved to Youth Activity Center and local drama theatre.

Small announcement.

Internship opportunity is opened at the Nulogorsk town radiostation! It's a chance to get invaluable experience, try yourself as a real reporter, and for sure, make a great contribution into the town's public life! We're waiting for your calls, just dial ten zeros on any telephone set or whisper into your mobile phone that you want to become our intern, and we'll immediately contact you! Good luck!

That's the end of our programme for today, but not of this day. A clear, moonlit evening is waiting for the town, and a clear, disturbing night. Don't forget to check if you still have some salt on your cill and if you turned off your kettle. And now, I say goodbye to you.

Until we meet again, Nulogorsk, until we meet again.

Proverb of the day: You are what you eat. You have to revise your vegeterianism ideas if you want to be a human.

#Welcome to Night Vale #wtnv #Nulogorsk #fanfic

4 notes · View notes