#police constable arrested

[todayworldnews2k21]

Cop demands Rs 30 lakh dowry, bride walks out of wedding | India News - Times of India

AGRA: A bride walked out of her wedding after the groom refused to perform the main rituals unless his demand for Rs 30 lakh dowry was met at the venue. Ravi Kumar, a police constable posted in Agra, was arrested after a case against him was filed by the bride’s father, a sub-inspector posted in Ghaziabad.The dowry demand was allegedly made shortly after the groom’s party arrived and the garland…

[linghxr]

50+ fundamental crime, suspense, & mystery Cdrama vocab words

I'm currently watching 《模仿犯》, so I was inspired to put together this list of essential vocab for 犯罪剧/悬疑剧/推理剧. I tend to gravitate towards dramas that fall into these genres.

I've sorted the words into categories. These were determined by vibes only. Definitions are adapted from MDBG, my loyal companion for nearly 10 years.

The Case

案子 ànzi - case / law case / legal case / judicial case

案件 ànjiàn - case / instance

办案 bàn'àn - to handle a case

破案 pò'àn - to solve a case

报案 bào'àn - to report a case to the authorities

命案 mìng'àn - homicide case / murder case

作案 zuò'àn - to commit a crime

现场 xiànchǎng - the scene (of a crime, accident etc) / (on) the spot / (at) the site

证据 zhèngjù - evidence / proof / testimony

真相 zhēnxiàng - the truth about sth / the actual facts

The Investigation

厘清 líqīng - to clarify (the facts) / clarification

线索 xiànsuǒ - trail / clues / thread (of a story)

细节 xìjié - details / particulars

痕迹 hénjì - vestige / mark / trace

追踪 zhuīzōng - to follow a trail / to trace / to pursue

追问 zhuīwèn - to question closely / to investigate in detail / to examine minutely / to get to the heart of the matter

排除 páichú - to eliminate / to remove / to exclude / to rule out

嫌疑 xiányí - suspicion / to have suspicions

怀疑 huáiyí - to doubt (sth) / to be skeptical of / to have one's doubts / to harbor suspicions / to suspect that

跟踪 gēnzōng - to follow sb's tracks / to tail / to shadow / tracking

不对劲 búduìjìn - fishy / wrong / not right

隐瞒 yǐnmán - to conceal / to hide (a taboo subject) / to cover up the truth

The Victim

被害者 bèihàizhě - victim (of a wounding or murder)

受害者 shòuhàizhě - casualty / victim / those injured and wounded

幸存者 xìngcúnzhě - survivor

失踪 shīzōng - to be missing / to disappear / unaccounted for

消失 xiāoshī - to disappear / to fade away

绑架 bǎngjià - to kidnap / to abduct / to hijack / a kidnapping abduction / staking

遗体 yítǐ - remains (of a dead person)

尸体 shītǐ - dead body / corpse / carcass

拯救 zhěngjiù - to save / to rescue

寻人启事 xúnrénqǐshì - missing persons notice

The Perpetrator

嫌疑犯 xiányífàn - a suspect

嫌疑人 xiányírén - a suspect

歹徒 dǎitú - evildoer / malefactor / gangster / hoodlum

凶手 xiōngshǒu - murderer / assassin

一伙儿的 yìhuǒrde - in on it together

开枪 kāiqiāng - to open fire / to shoot a gun

鬼鬼祟祟 guǐguǐsuìsuì - sneaky / secretive / furtive

可疑 kěyí - suspicious / dubious

认罪 rènzuì - to admit guilt / to plead guilty

自首 zìshǒu - to give oneself up / to surrender (to the authorities)

下落 xiàluò - whereabouts / to drop / to fall

动机 dòngjī - motive / motivation

犯罪 fànzuì - to commit a crime / crime / offense

The Police

报警 bàojǐng - to sound an alarm / to report sth to the police

警察 jǐngchá - police / police officer

警方 jǐngfāng - police

警官 jǐngguān - constable / police officer

刑警 xíngjǐng - criminal police (abbr. for 刑事警察)

被捕 bèibǔ - to be arrested / under arrest

包围 bāowéi - to surround / to encircle / to hem in

监控 jiānkòng - to monitor

检查 jiǎnchá - inspection / to examine / to inspect

调查 diàochá - investigation / inquiry / to investigate

排查 páichá - to inspect / to investigate one by one

质问 zhìwèn - to question / to ask questions / to inquire / to bring to account / to interrogate

前科 qiánkē - criminal record / previous convictions

Bonus: Here's a list of dramas I have seen/am watching in these categories:

《想见你》 Someday or One Day

《开端》 Reset

《消失的孩子》 The Disappearing Child

《她和她的她》 Shards of Her

《镇魂》 Guardian

《模仿犯》 Copycat Killer

《不良执念清除师》 Oh No! Here Comes Trouble

Now go forth and enjoy some more dramas! I'm a slow watcher, so I add new shows to my watch list faster than I can finish them.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Toronto Police Service says one of its officers has been arrested and charged following a landlord and tenant dispute last month. Police say on Dec. 6, a man and a woman engaged in a dispute related to tenancy. The man allegedly unlawfully entered a unit and assaulted the woman, officers said. The suspect allegedly stole property from the home valued at more than $5,000. On Sunday, a 54-year-old Toronto constable was charged with unlawfully entering a dwelling, theft and assault. He is scheduled to appear in court on March 5.

Continue Reading

Tagging @politicsofcanada

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Ferrari 512M, 1994. A Ferrari that was stolen from F1 driver Gerhard Berger 28 years ago has been recovered by the Metropolitan Police in London. The car was one of 2 stolen during the San Marino Grand Prix in 1995. Police who have traced the car's history believe it was shipped directly to Japan after the theft. More recently the car was offered for sale in London but its patchy history raised suspicions. The London Metropolitan Police’s Organized Vehicle Crime Unit carried out a global investigation. “Our enquiries were painstaking and included contacting authorities from around the world,” said Police Constable Mike Pillbeam, who led the investigation. “We worked quickly with partners including the National Crime Agency, as well as Ferrari and international car dealerships, and this collaboration was instrumental in understanding the vehicle’s background and stopping it from leaving the country.” The car's estimated worth is £350,000 (around US$444,300) and though enquiries are ongoing as yet not arrests have been made.

[jrow]

May Prompts (26)

Day 25 here. Start from the beginning here. Day 27 here.

Manipulation.

He is master of manipulation.

It comes easily to him. Perhaps too easily. In recent years, he’s made a conscious effort to avoid manipulating those he loves (most of the time), but jerk clients and suspects? That’s still fair game. And a touch fun.

Getting constable moron to run was easy enough. It’s not that a chase is entirely necessary—they could have simply waited for Mycroft’s minions to arrive. That’s what John was likely planning, engaging the moron in meaningless small talk. But, they are doing this his way.

Besides, John loves a chase.

“And now you are spying on John. Worried he’ll remember?” was enough to get the moron running. And it was oh so easy to manipulate him to take off west, down the pavement. No roofs today.

The moron is fast, but not all nimble, knocking into people has he tries to weave between them. John is slower but far more deft on his feet, easily avoiding any barriers, be they human or otherwise.

As for himself, well, he’s both fast and nimble, but right now his focus is divided between ensuring John is okay and trying to manipulate the chase to their advantage.

Run. Run. Weave. Run. Weave. Jump. Force the moron towards the road, no chance to turn down an alley.

John is keeping up but his smile is evolving into a wince. This has gone on far too long.

But there it is. The library, always his saviour. He digs deep and finds a burst of speed, running up between idiot and the road, forcing him into left, through the front door.

“You guard the entrance,” he yells to John. They both know it’s a ruse to allow John to sit down and rest, but they can pretend.

“Right,” John says, hands on thighs panting for breath. “You go!”

And he’s off, manipulating the chase so they move up the stairs and into the stacks. He puts on bursts of speed when needed to push the idiot towards the small meeting rooms. The other patrons and staff keep their distance as they run. The police have surely been called but Mycroft’s team will arrive first.

Finally, they reach the back. He detours quickly to pull the fire alarm and the siren sounds loudly. The three meeting rooms empty, the people rushing to the exits.

The moron has nowhere to go, but continues past the fleeing patrons and into a meeting room. Tries to close the door.

But, he is there, pushing his way in.

“Nice try,” he says. “The police are on their way. It’s over.” He realises he still doesn’t know the constable’s name. He realises he doesn’t really care.”

“Look, I have money,” the moron starts, “if you help me get out of here. Then I’ll be gone—won’t set foot in the city again. Think about it, I have loads of cash and jewelry… would really help out that little girl.”

The mention of Rosie makes him see red. “Don’t you dare,” he spits out. “Don’t you move an inch. You are a lucky man, you know. If John had died or been badly hurt, you would not have got out of this room alive.” He forces himself to stay guarding the door, fighting the urge to rip the moron from limb to limb.

“Please,” the moron pleads, sounding genuinely terrified and looking on the verge of tears. Good.

He stands guard and says nothing, working to keep his rage in check. Mycroft’s team will be here soon and will be appropriately aggressive in their arrest. After a couple of minutes that feel like an eternity, he hears heavy steps running towards them.

“Hands in the air!” someone yells, pushing past him and entering the room.

The moron continues pleading. He turns around and makes his way back downstairs. Back to John.

Five years ago, he’d be desperate to be part of the interrogation. To understand every element of the moron’s crimes. Now, he just wants to get his family and go home.

@keirgreeneyes @raina-at @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @jolieblack @phoenix27884 @friday411 @calaisreno @lisbeth-kk @safedistancefrombeingsmart @momma2boys @helloliriels @dapetty @quimerasyutopias

[capn-twitchery]

summary of twitch's Saturday Zee Adventure yesterday:

wanted to see what happened if you hit 8 suspicion out at zee. zail around the khanate for so long

do surgery on a guy in the middle of it all

finally hit suspicion 8. no police boats show up to arrest them on sight. oh no. twitch is gonna get arrested as soon as they get back to london

unless.

time the healer comes on monday. just gotta zail around for 2 days

immediately fail 95% check. mutiny. marooned. 8 troubled waters

break the game and pick up a zee leg again before they die

die

undie

immediately arrested

what happened,,,did the police go drag their corpse off the marooning rock,,,did twitch revive already in jail. did they wake up surrounded by constables. that was so fast

[head-post]

Violent anti-Muslim crowd clashed with UK police in Southport after young girls killed

A large crowd of anti-Muslim protesters clashed with police in the northern English town of Southport, where three girls were stabbed to death and five other children were seriously injured in an attack at a Taylor Swift-themed event a day earlier.

A horrific stabbing incident in Southport on Monday shocked the British people. However, police claimed it was not terrorism-related and that the suspect was born in the UK.

Nevertheless, national-oriented groups fuelled rumours that the suspected teenager was linked to Islam, and police reported that Tuesday’s violence erupted when several hundred people began throwing objects at the mosque. Police has linked the crowd to the English Defence League, a group that sometimes stages violent demonstrations against Islam.

Police cars were damaged and set on fire, officers were attacked with bricks and large rubbish containers. Away from the violence, hundreds of people gathered for an emotional vigil to pay tribute to those killed in the attack by laying flowers and toys. Earlier, Prime Minister Keir Starmer also made a visit to the town to lay flowers.

“The people of Southport are reeling after the horror inflicted on them yesterday. They deserve our support and our respect. Those who have hijacked the vigil for the victims with violence and thuggery have insulted the community as it grieves. They will feel the full force of the law.”

However, after the visit, disgruntled residents approached him with insults and condemnations after which he was forced to leave the town.

Stabbing details

A 17-year-old is currently in custody on suspicion of murder and attempted murder following a bloody rampage at a “Taylor Swift yoga and dance workshop,” a summer holiday for children aged 6 to 11. Besides the three deaths, eight children were stabbed.

Five of them and two adults who were trying to protect them remain in critical condition. Assistant Chief Constable Alex Goss stated:

There has been much speculation and hypothesis around the status of a 17-year-old male who is currently in police custody and some individuals are using this to bring violence and disorder to our streets. We have already said that the person arrested was born in the UK and speculation helps nobody at this time.

The Liverpool Region Mosque Network said a minority of people had tried to use the Southport stabbing to spread hate.

“This evening we have seen distressing scenes outside Southport Mosque with angry protesters gathering outside. This is causing further fear and anxiety within our communities.”

King Charles and his family expressed their horror. US singer Swift also wrote on Instagram that she was “just completely in shock.”

These were just little kids at a dance class. I am at a complete loss for how to ever convey my sympathies to these families.

Read more HERE

[stephensmithuk]

The Sign of Four: Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration

Snib means to bolt, lock or fasten a door or window. Can't say it's a term I've heard of myself.

Sixty feet is 18.2 metres. That's a long way down!

"Horny" here means that his hands would have been hardened like a horn, from extended periods of manual labour. Sailors would have done a lot of rope pulling and climbing up rigging. This, along with the tar used to seal the wooden would have also made their hands quite dirty, which is why the Royal Navy salute has the palm facing rearwards.

Also, rope burn hurts.

Senegambia is a historical term for the region of African between the Senegal and Gambia rivers, covering a larger area than the two modern states of that name.

The spring return tape measure was invented in 1864, but the practice of applying length increments was not widespread at this time.

A Hippocratic smile is a rictus grin. It can be a sign of tetanus or poisoning by strychnine. It is a feature of the later discovered Wilson's disease, a genetic disorder where too much copper builds up in the body and is eventually fatal if not treated.

It can also be observed in cases of execution by hanging, although at this point, the condemned in Britain had hoods put on to stop spectators seeing this.

Norwood being in the Metropolitan Police District, Athelney Jones could justifiably be there in a case.

The French Holmes uses translates as "There are no fools so inconvenient as those who have wit!", implying that the detective knows just enough to be dangerous.

Police officers in England and Wales make a sworn attestation that they will serve the King in the office of constable. The Scottish and Northern Irish equivalents do not mention the monarch, for obvious reasons.

The Metropolitan Police were operating at this point under the Police Code written by the former head of CID, Sir Howard Vincent and first published in 1881. This included a A-Z guide of various offences and practices for the officer but did not include a standard form of wording used on an arrest. This book was informal, and it was not until 1912 that the "Judges' Rules" made an official recommendation that suspects be cautioned, but formally suggested wording only existed when charging someone.

Goethe's words translate as "We are used to people mocking what they don't understand."

[yanderes-galore]

Bobby from We happy few Romantic Concepts

Hm... I can try, sure!

Yandere! Bobby General Concept

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Violence, Jealousy, Unhealthy power dynamic, Mentions of drugs (We Happy Few Joy), Implied coercion, Blackmail, Dubious/Forced relationship.

If I'm correct the requester didn't mean any specific Bobby, like John Constable.

They just meant it in general so this is a short concept of my thoughts on them.

Bobbies are the police force of Wellington Wells.

They take a special version of Joy that makes them still able to do their job.

They're seen patrolling Hamlyn Village and the Parade District.

They're extremely strict with their job due to being the police force.

There's specific ones with names but this concept will tackle general behavior.

We can assume this concept means one specific unnamed Bobby grows a bit attached to a Wellie like you.

Maybe you're a Downer and are hiding it.

Or maybe you take your Joy like a good Wellie!

Either way, this Bobby seems to patrol very close to you.

It's hard to tell though since most Bobbies look the same.

That's if he's blue. If he had the red suit then he'd have a harder time blending in.

Yet that doesn't mean he doesn't try.

For the sake of this concept I will imply you are a Downer.

The Bobby often checks in on you, reassuring you he doesn't think you're doing anything wrong.

Maybe he knows you're a Downer and keeps quiet.

He's watching you closely and making sure you don't break any rules.

Plus he uses the fact you're off your Joy to excuse watching you so closely.

You constantly feel you're being monitored, which in reality you are.

Just by one Bobby… one who's rather interested in you.

If you think about this concept there's a lot of potential.

All of it revolves around an unhealthy power dynamic, however.

Maybe the Bobby pretends to arrest you just to be close to you.

Maybe he simply watches your home like a hawk.

Perhaps the Bobby uses the fact you're a Downer as blackmail.

That way you have to listen to him.

Don't want to get in trouble, do you?

In that case… better do what he wants, yeah?

A Bobby would either use this unhealthy power dynamic to take advantage of your vulnerability or to protect that vulnerability.

He's either a guardian or just corrupt.

A Bobby can't publicly display his affection for you.

He'd have to stay professional!

However, if he finds you wandering somewhere private, he may stop by.

Don't worry, doll, he's just checking in on you!

The unfortunate part is you can't really report on the Bobby's behavior.

He's part of the police and if you say you're uncomfortable everyone knows you're a Downer.

So isn't it best just to try and befriend him?

He'll excuse your behavior because you're so lovely!

You won't have to take your Joy if you just give him a little attention, okay?

He'll be nice with you… he'll keep you safe.

If anyone gets too close with you he may just report them.

If they get a bit too affectionate with you… he may just have to tussle with them, yeah?

The sight of his favorite Wellie being all coddled by someone else makes him sick.

That's his job… isn't it?

He'll just toss them out of town, they won't bother you again.

Then it'll just be you and him… then he can continue his parasocial relationship with you.

Or real relationship, depends on how far he's managed to coerce you

Relationships are quite taboo in Wellington Wells I feel.

However, there won't be any problem with him!

So long as you're his, no trouble will come to you.

You'll be his, won't you?

[viric-dreams]

The Unassuming Confidante

Robert "Robin" Jones

Born: Cardiff, 1862

Occupation: Midnighter

Closest to: The Great Game

Qualities: Watchful, Persuasive, Mithridacy

Quirks: Subtle, Steadfast

Jones grew up in the aftershocks of London's Fall. For a brief period, it seemed like anything was possible, the powers turning the wheels were not as inevitable as they seemed. He turned to politics at an early age, notably agitating for a Celtic Union in London's absence from the Isles.

His political ambitions came to a sudden and violent end in the mid 80s, when he was arrested at a rally-turned-riot, charged with the murder of a police officer whom he'd hit with a brick after being unable to pry him off of a fellow agitator. He'd been a thorn in their side for years. This time, he would be made an example of--to serve his extended sentence in New Newgate.

Those first several years in the Neath were not pleasant. The conditions at New Newgate had nearly worn Jones down, when one day a letter appeared in his cell. An interested party knew of his political background and was willing to make a deal: He could either continue to rot in his cell, or take the offer and step onto the chessboard.

The Great Game gave him a new lease on life, but he refuses to let it consume him. Jones believes in a strong wall between profession and personal life, and has no interest in speaking about what it is that he does to either friend or stranger. He does enjoy the work (what he remembers of it) and the sense of absolving agents of their burdens. Outside of work, however, he works to maintain an active social life. His time in Newgate took a toll on him and he's no longer the young firebrand he once was, but he still holds a certain degree of magnetism, when he wants to turn it on. He enjoys social gatherings, content to stake out a corner and observe the guests around him. On occasion, he'll step into the centre of the group and entertain them with a tale in which he somehow manages to express so much, yet nothing at all.

(the scar near his temple came from a constable's baton that riot that had turned ugly)

[blueiscoool]

Van Gogh's 'Sunflowers' Targeted Again With Soup in UK After Activists Jailed

Just Stop Oil supporters have thrown soup over two Vincent van Gogh paintings, hours after two activists were given jail sentences for targeting one of the same works of art.

Three protesters threw an orange-coloured soup at Sunflowers 1888 and Sunflowers 1889 in the Poets and Lovers exhibition at the National Gallery in central London. They have been arrested on suspicion of causing criminal damage.

Earlier, Phoebe Plummer, 23, was given a two-year jail term, while Anna Holland, 22, got 20 months, for throwing soup over Sunflowers 1888 in October 2022.

The National Gallery said the two paintings targeted on Friday had been removed for examination and were found to be undamaged.

'Right side of history'

As the latest activists – two women and a man - threw soup over the two paintings, onlookers could be heard shouting "no" and "don't do it".

In a video posted on X by JSO, the activists can be heard telling an angry crowd: "There are people in prison for demanding an end to new oil and gas, something which is now government policy after sustained, disruptive actions, countless headlines and the resulting political pressure.

"Future generations will regard these prisoners of conscience to be on the right side of history."

A spokesperson for the gallery said three people entered Room 6 of the exhibition just after 14:30 BST and threw a soup-like substance over two works.

The Metropolitan Police said three people had been held on suspicion of causing criminal damage and its inquiries were continuing.

It is the third time in recent years an artwork at the National Gallery has been selected as a target for protest action.

In July 2022, two activists glued themselves to John Constable's The Hay Wain.

[daydream-cement]

Heavenly Aether Ch. 1

Miranda Hilmarson x Reader

Cults, death, and corruption are in store as Constable Hilmarson, with the help of a nosy reporter and her trusty partner, Robin Griffin, attempts to take down a powerful organization before more people die.

I hope you are all ready for another twisty-turning installment of falling in love with Miranda Hilmarson. Thank you to @booitsrue for helping me get started :)

TW: cults, suicide, death, corruption, brief descriptions of violence

January 15th, 1996

Sergeant Don Marshall had enough of your bickering, finally standing from his desk and pointing towards the front doors of the police station. With the most hateful scowl and through gritted teeth, he gave you his final warning, “For the last time. Get out of my office before I charge you with misleading an investigation.”

He hadn’t listened to a word you had told him. Three days ago was the third time a group of five had ended up dead in honor of their religious organization: The Church of Mithras. The first time five died in connection to the church was April 1, 1995, the second time June 9, 1995, and now… five more.

The specific details of the gods, religious context, and true beliefs of The Church of Mithras were a true mystery to you. There was no documented evidence of the church's activities or beliefs. Everything occurring within the organization was kept a complete mystery to those who were not binded to the religion. All of the information you had gathered was based on your own assumptions combining the name of the church with the dates of the mass deaths.

Your research assumed this cult was a reinvention of the Cult of Mithras, a Roman mystery religion centered on the god Mithras with connections to astrology. The messy, weblike collage at home on your wall best depicted the complex symbolism and Gods the religion utilized to justify the harm that befell their followers. While it was challenging to gather information on this ancient cult, they recognized a torch-bearing icon named Cautes who you found to be in connection with the Roman god Caelus and the Greek god Uranus.

All of this was information you had tried sharing moments before, but it was obvious the detective wasn’t listening. Slamming your hands down on Don’s desk, you hope if you showed enough urgency, he would understand the seriousness of the situation, “Detective Marshall! You aren’t listening to me! Each of the dates matches up with Uranus entering different zodiacs! The Church of Mithras is copying the Cult of Mithras! There are connections to-

You wouldn’t have bothered Detective Sergeant Marshall about any of this if you doubted any bit of your evidence. Just as he had done in June of ‘95, he ordered you to be escorted from the station, “That’s it! Butler! Lee! Escort this woman out of my office!

At eighteen, you knew you were more overzealous than the other reporters for The Sydney Monitor, but it was your gumption and bite that gave you the job in the first place. You become more desperate, needing Marshall to listen to you, only for a moment. It was a matter of life and death, “More people will die in 2003! Don, you can’t-”

When a hand came down on your shoulder and another grasped your forearm, you twisted about to make eye contact with two constables. Attempting to pull your arms away from them, you growled as they followed after you, grasping you even tighter as they dragged you from Sergeant Marshall's office, “Let go of me! Let go!”

The two officers pulled you to the front of the station, the rounder of the two following you as you were pushed from the building, “You need to go. No one is interested in arresting you, but if you keep coming back here, we will.”

You glanced at his name badge, which read ‘Butler,’ and by the look of the markings on his sleeve, he was a senior constable. Looking back to his face, you narrow your eyes at him, ignoring the kindness in his voice. He was still one of the people who stood in the way of getting justice for the 15 who were dead and the many more who would follow if things continued without intervention, “There is blood on all of your hands.”

He sighed and shook his head, turning away from you to head back inside the station.

You shook this failure of obtaining police intervention from your mind, knowing if you wanted the case solved, you would have to do it all on your own. You needed more information on the cult and the only way you were going to get this was through insiders. The next step was getting people to talk.

-----

February 6th, 2023

“Robin… This case is currently open. Why would the files for it be kept back here where no one can find them?” When Miranda asked the question, she was well aware the files were in this backroom far before Robin��s arrival to the department, but as her mentor and partner, Miranda wanted the brunette’s advice before she assumed the worst. The box was labeled: ‘The Church of Mithras’ with the opening date of the case being April 1, 1995.

Last week, Miranda and Robin solved yet another large case, breaking nearly a dozen rules and laws in the process, relegating them to various clean-up tasks around the station as punishment. Today’s assignment was organizing the back storage room, leading to the discovery of the open case box with an absurd amount of entries with such little evidence to go along with it.

The mass suicides of The Church of Mithras were something Miranda was well aware of, the first of them happening when she was 14 years old. It was absurd to her that there had been 11 occasions where members of the church had died in groupings of five, and now that she was looking at the files, it was obvious no one had ever looked into the case.

“I’ve heard about this church. They are responsible for the deaths of 55 people.” Robin glanced up to Miranda before reaching into the box, thumbing through the few pages that existed within the files. “I can’t understand why there is no evidence. After nearly 30 years, you would expect something more than the general documentation of the event…”

Miranda pulled out a few of the pages, skimming them for any inconsistencies or patterns. One thing she recognized from all of them was a name. Your name. She offered the page up to Robin, pointing out your name to her, “This name keeps coming up in each of the files. Maybe we could talk to them on our lunch break?”

“Are you asking me to shirk our duties here at the station so we can go research a case that has been deliberately ignored for decades?” Robin smirked as she asked her question, obviously pleased to participate in another round of rule breaking with her partner.

“Maybe.” The constable gave a coy shrug, rolling her eyes and glancing up to the clock. Their typical lunch break was in a half hour, just enough time to look up the name and find a possible place of employment or home address.

Griffin turned her head back down to look through the files. She needed to familiarize herself with the case if they were going out to interview anyone, “Are we taking your car or mine?”

-----

Over the past three decades, your journalist work kept you attached to the world of true crime, but with no true momentum with The Church of Mithras case, you had to diversify your interests. Working for The Sydney Monitor had been a fruitful career, and you were well aware you were able to write and research in a way that left you fulfilled. There was always a gaping hole left in you from the case that always went unsolved.

You still kept the dates of the mass deaths and their correlated astrological events written in the inside of your notebook.

April 1, 1995 - Uranus enters Aquarius June 9, 1995 - Uranus (Retrograde) enters Capricorn January 12, 1996 - Uranus enters Aquarius March 10, 2003 - Uranus enters Pisces September 15, 2003 - Uranus (Retrograde) enters Aquarius December 30, 2003 - Uranus enters Pisces May 28, 2010 - Uranus enters Aries August 14, 2010 - Uranus (Retrograde) enters Pisces March 12, 2011- Uranus enters Aries May 15, 2018 - Uranus enters Taurus November 6, 2018 - Uranus (Retrograde) enters Aries

The death toll was far higher than you ever anticipated. After each event, you gathered more information, and set off to the police station where you had been escorted out each and every time.

At some point, you would have assumed someone would have taken you seriously. Don Marshall, who kicked you out as a sergeant, was now the deputy commissioner, and Adrian Butler, who had escorted you out as a constable, was now a superintendent. Both of the men had continued to climb the ladder of success, regardless of the number of lives that had been lost due to their negligence.

You knew the next event was in four weeks.

Four weeks and the death count would be up to 60.

Or… at least, you thought the death count would rise to 60, but that was until Constable Hilmarson and Detective Griffin appeared in your office doorway.

For once in your career, the police wanted to hear what you had on The Church of Mithras.

[little-peril-stories]

The Queen of Lies: A Worthless Criminal Condemned

Story Intro | Content Warnings | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: grief, panic attack, hopelessness

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Word count: 2600 || Approx reading time: 11 mins

A Worthless Criminal Condemned

Teaser: Undoubtedly, part of the reason Will could not, at that moment, think or breathe properly was that Geoff had his thick fucking hand clamped over his mouth, holding in the panicked bellows for his brother and for the girl who meant more to him than any other in the entire world. And while, logically, Will knew that Geoff was saving his sorry fucking life, he wanted nothing more than to tear his friend apart until there was nothing left.

“Don’t you fucking dare let go of him.”

Although they were harsh, perhaps the expletives and the commanding tone were necessary, given the situation: constables heading straight for the townhouse, Bree clutched in the dirty, covetous paws of Will’s second-most-hated police officer; Jamie being arrested; and Will himself barely able to see, breathe, or think.

“I fucking mean it, Geoff,” Colette said—the last words she spoke before she disappeared, practically vaulting out the window. She didn’t say a word to Will, or mention the way he was being fully manhandled by someone who was supposed to be his friend.

Undoubtedly, part of the reason Will could not, at that moment, think or breathe properly was that Geoff had his thick fucking hand clamped over his mouth, holding in the panicked bellows for his brother and for the girl who meant more to him than any other in the entire world. And while, logically, Will knew that Geoff was saving his sorry fucking life, he wanted nothing more than to tear his friend apart until there was nothing left.

In fact, he hated Geoff more than Baden Hatchett, almost. For Geoff wasn’t supposed to stop him from running. Geoff was supposed to fling himself into the street to save Jamie while Will gave Lenton a good crack across the jaw, grabbed Bree’s hand, and ran. They were supposed to be a team, a family, and families didn’t fucking abandon each other. Not like this. Not ever.

Will had thought Jamie had abandoned him—had even hoped for it—but he hadn’t. So how could he even consider abandoning Jamie?

But Geoff didn’t release his grip— merely held him still while the constables hurried past and then dragged him away when their backs were turned.

Only when they had put distance between themselves and the compromised townhouse did he finally let Will go.

The moment he was free, Will spun around and punched Geoff squarely in the mouth.

It didn’t do much, not his weakened muscles against Geoff’s well-developed bulk. It certainly hurt Will’s knuckles. Perhaps, if anything, it hurt Geoff’s feelings.

“What the fuck, you fucking bastard? Have you lost your goddamn mind?”

Geoff only looked at him in silence, sorrow Will did not want to see waiting in his dark eyes.

“We could have helped them! For fuck’s sake, we could have—”

“Woulda got caught.”

Will hated him. He hated him. Hated him for staying calm, for looking him in the eye and spitting out those miserable fucking words just like that.

“No, they would have gotten away!”

But Geoff shook his head.

The truth, reiterated in that simple motion, flowed into Will like poison, dragging him toward the ground.

He collapsed right into it, and then he couldn’t move—couldn’t sink into the soaking earth and drown there like he wanted to, because his limbs were frozen stiff from the rain. Numb from the cold. Rigid from the way his very bones had turned to solid, unbendable iron. He thought at first he might be freezing from the storm, but then he thought he couldn’t feel the rain at all.

In fact, he couldn’t feel anything, anything, except a single terrible pain, and it was not of his body, or perhaps it was; he wasn’t sure, but it was almost otherworldly, this pain. It gouged holes into the flesh deep in his chest, as if a monstrous entity snapped, snarled, and scratched at his insides until all he could think of was how much it hurt. It hurt. And if he was hurting, standing safe in the ice-cold fucking rain with Geoff, then what of Bree and Jamie? What kind of hurt were they going through—while he was standing safe in the ice-cold fucking rain with Geoff?

While he stood by and did nothing?

How could he do that to them? How? How could he watch while Jamie was dragged away to jail and Bree was sent back to the devil himself?

The blissful, golden days that had graced his pointless goddamn life with a fleeting taste of happiness seemed like some kind of cruel joke. In a matter of minutes, all of it—Bree’s smiles and her hand in his, the warm presence of his family around him once again, the naïve belief that things might go his way for fucking once—it had all crumbled underneath Will’s feet. Jamie was gone, and so was Bree. He’d seen her from the townhouse, panicking, caged in the arms of that snake Curtis Lenton, and now she’d been thrown back to her husband, back to Baden Hatchett, who would not, could not possibly forgive her for all she had done. All she had done for Will, and—and—

Geoff was saying his name, but Will couldn’t answer, because Will couldn’t breathe.

Hatchett had Jamie. Hatchett had Bree. Will was safe. Will wasn’t there. Hatchett didn’t have him. But what the fuck did that matter? If the other two were in his clutches? What was the point of being safe and free if Bree and Jamie were not?

“Will.” Geoff. Speaking. His voice. Quiet. Calm. “Will.”

Will. He was Will. An image flashed in his mind: four letters scribbled in a thick blanket of dust. He was Will. But he’d only been Will to her for a few fucking days, and she was already gone. Why had he waited so long to tell her? Who knew if he would ever hear his name from her lips again? Who knew if he’d ever kiss those lips again? Who knew if he’d ever even fucking see them again, for god’s sake?

“Will. Breathe.”

He couldn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t fucking do anything. To help her. To help Jamie. He couldn’t do a goddamn thing.

“I can’t fucking breathe!” he gasped.

“Breathe. Slow.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I. Can’t.”

Ridiculous, ridiculous, ridiculous that he should fall apart like a weakling when he was the one who was safe, who was far from Baden Hatchett and from jail, when he wasn’t the one in chains—

“Gonna be okay,” Geoff said. Hands on Will’s arms. Calm. So calm. How. How? “You can breathe. Slow. Slow it down.”

But he couldn’t, not with Jamie and Bree taken away and what if he never saw either of them again and just like the first time, he didn’t say goodbye, again, fucking again, he hadn’t known, he hadn’t said a damn thing, and the absence of that single word was going to eat him from the inside out, that goodbye, goodbye, goodbye—

“With me,” Geoff said, and Will wanted to punch him but he couldn’t punch while he couldn’t breathe, and so he tried. He tried. He tried to breathe again.

“Doing good,” said Geoff softly. “C’mon. ’S good.”

And Will could breathe, and he was safe, but Bree and Jamie weren’t, and he wanted to hurt Geoff as much as it hurt inside him, but he didn’t. He just let himself sink down to the ground again, not to drown in the rain, but to breathe and breathe and breathe.

Geoff said nothing. Only the rain pattered around them, a sound that should have been soothing and instead sliced the air like a thousand tiny, shrieking knives.

“What are we going to do?” Will finally asked, and he did not recognize the sound of his own voice.

“Get away.” The low rumble of Geoff’s voice was the same as always, and yet not. Heavier. Harder. Sharper. Precarious, like a china plate teetering on the edge of a table. Ready to fall. Ready to break. “Go from there.”

The plan, Will remembered with a jolt. His stomach clenched, and his lungs tried to squeeze the air out of him again.

“Okay,” he managed to mutter before all his air was stolen again. He stood up.

Geoff’s eyes were distant, but he nodded. “Let’s go.”

*** 

They broke into a bakery once the sun had set.

Not that it was hard; Geoff was the most skilled lock-pick Will had ever met in his life, and he had the back door open in no time. He put everyone else to shame. The man couldn’t read, and sometimes he lost his place when counting things over about fifty, but he was good at a lot of other, more important shit.

“C’mon,” he said. “Still hot back here.”

It was as good a place to hide as any. Colette, Geoff said, would get there when she had her answers. Leave it to those two, Will thought bitterly, to have some secret, silently communicated plan of where to meet.

Except it had been fucking hours and it sure seemed like she should have already figured out what there was to know, which couldn’t be much.

Unless she, too, had gotten busted.

Will told himself it was inconceivable. She was Colette. She didn’t get caught. She didn’t get spotted. That was part of her whole thing. Geoff did the heavy, hard stuff. Jamie did the planning and pretended to be in charge. Colette bossed everyone around for real, and she was the one who sneaked into impossible places on light, stealthy feet. And Will? Will did the easy work that no one else wanted to do, because that was what he could be trusted with.

And for a long time, that was what had worked.

But then he’d been in jail, and with that, everything went upside down and backwards. Suddenly, he was the one who was trusted with everyone’s fates—their lives clutched in his shackled hands, and he’d held fast to the faith they’d had no choice but to have in him, and he’d kept his goddamn mouth shut. He’d fucking done it. He’d kept IA’s secrets. He’d kept his family alive. He was supposed to do the easy stuff, but it was the hardest goddamn thing he’d ever done.

Then there’d been Bree, and easy had gone right out the bloody window.

In fact, Will wasn’t sure he’d been the same old dumbass who called himself Fox for a long time now.

Because everything was fucking different. Even Jamie’s planning skills meant nothing now. He and his dumb fucking big-picture brain were gone.

If Will, who hadn’t even earned his place in the inner circle, was more than just the useless brother of the man who started it all…

If Jamie, after years of working so hard to keep hidden while IA operated in the shadows, was gone and soon to be unmasked…

If Geoff, ever stoic and entirely unfazed by anything life threw at him, was fracturing into pieces before Will’s eyes…

If all that had already changed and gone wrong, what if it meant Colette’s sneaking skills were about to fail, too?

He pressed his forehead into his knees, letting the residual heat of the cast-iron ovens seep into him slowly, banishing the chill of the rain.

What are we going to do?

He was half-asleep when Colette finally showed, looking like a right nightmare: soaked to the bone, covered in mud, and exhausted.

“Holy shit,” he said, the first words that came to mind, “what the hell happened to you?”

She laughed—an ill-natured, soggy, tearful thing, completely devoid of humour or anything close to it. “I chased a fucking wagon across this goddamn city. And then I chased a carriage across it again. I nearly got trampled twice. Do not fucking start with me.”

“Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat when the apology came out in a whisper.

They let her collapse as close as humanly possible to the ovens, and Will pretended not to hear the tiniest hiccup of a sob catch in her throat.

Geoff disappeared for a few minutes and returned with some burnt heels of bread. Colette took hers without complaint, and she nibbled at it while still lying on the floor.

Impatience burned under Will’s skin. She had intel. She had to. She had to, didn’t she? Why else would she be chasing horses all over the goddamn place, come back so late and so worn out and so drained?

“It’s bad news,” he finally said when he couldn’t wait a single moment longer. Slowly, Colette nodded in confirmation, wincing in pain when she sat back up. Her thick curls were nothing more than matted ropes, glued to her dress and to her neck. The speckles of darkness all over her clothes made Will feel sick. In the gloom, the mud might have been splashes of anything—reminiscent of something else that might stain one’s clothes with grimy black spots.

“Jamie’s fucked,” he guessed again, and Colette repeated her nod of assent.

Burning behind his eyes. Buzzing at the back of his mind.

No. No, he wasn’t going to break down again.

“Bree?” he managed.

Colette’s face screwed up tightly—like she was hiding some emotion she didn’t want him to see. Like she was hiding… No, he was imagining things.

Except he wasn’t.

“It’s not good news,” she said softly.

He swallowed, pretending her words didn’t send heavy, aching prickles through his entire body. “She’s in jail, too?”

Suddenly hesitant, she asked, “Are you ready to hear it right now?”

Will nodded, and all three of them knew he was a liar.

“You promise me?”

Another nod.

“She’s not in jail,” said Colette gently, and something relaxed in his chest.

That was good news, wasn’t it? Why would she preface such tidings with It’s not good news if it wasn’t true? Because anything had to be better than Baden Hatchett’s prison, didn’t it? “Where, then?”

He almost missed what she said, distracted momentarily by the memory of Bree’s teary eyes as she told him about how Hatchett had locked her up in her own bedroom. He pushed aside the ghostly echo of her voice. If that was where she was, it was still better than jail—and it offered significantly more opportunity for busting her out.

When Colette gave her answer, though, Will’s heart screeched to a stop. “No.”

It’s not good news.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

Are you ready to hear it right now?

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You’re fucking lying.”

This was Colette; she should have snapped at him about such an accusation. Should have demanded his respect, because didn’t he trust her information? Did she look like a liar to him? When had she ever given him reason to believe she would mislead him on something as important as this?

She’s not in jail.

Colette simply shook her head, and Will ground his forehead into his knees again, trying to remember how to breathe.

Hatchett hadn’t fucking sent Bree to jail, no. He’d decided he’d punish her another way instead. Why, it was the goddamn perfect solution. It explained everything—the only plausible reason a sweet, proper girl like Breanna Hatchett would ever get mixed up with a piece of shit criminal like Will Wardrew, the fox-thief of Iustitia aecum.

Colette’s hand brushed his shoulder, and he jerked away from her touch. She didn’t try to comfort him again.

Through the storm of furious thoughts, Will heard her ask Geoff how he was doing.

And Will was glad to be hidden in the darkness of his arms and knees around him, for it hid the dampness on his cheeks that slipped free when Geoff gave a wordless answer that sliced right through any armour Will might have thought he wore. It pierced the night, an anguished echo of the turmoil inside Will’s mind, a perfect reflection of soul-wrenching, haunting grief.

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Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

✨ @starlit-hopes-and-dreams | @clairelsonao3 | @gala1981 | @pleasestaywithmedarling | @kixngiggles ✨

[weshallc]

Old Skool Turnadette FanFic Alert!

When is the Wedding?

Happy birthday my best china! @fourteen-teacups 🥰🎁💝🎂

You are the Doc to my Grumpy, the Amelia to my Juliet, the Cathy to my Kelly, the Caroline to my Gillian, the Audrey to my Helen, the Sister Julienne to my Trixie.

I'm having a moment, so let's roll the fic!

This fic obeys no rules. So you snooty lot who couldn't possibly read something without a specific POV and perfect grammar that so many of us find so difficult and all the rest of it. This fic is not for you. It's for my mucker!

CHAPTER ONE

Half past ten on January 25th 1959.

“Hello, it’s just us.”

Sat at the kitchen table, Peter Noakes looked up from bouncing his baby son on his knee and shared a smile and a wink with Freddie’s mother.

“Why does she always say that? Does she think we’ve given a key to every waif and stray in Poplar.” Whispering as the front door slammed shut.

Camilla scowled at him from the kitchen sink and flicked the tea towel resting on her shoulder towards him in warning. “I think she is still getting her tongue around the ‘us’ part. Sort of trying it out on her friends until she feels comfortable saying it in company.” 

Camilla smoothed down her apron and pushed her chestnut hair behind her on alert ears. “And Shelagh is not a waif and stray. She is our house guest.”

Peter grinned at his wife’s indignation and couldn’t help himself.

“I think it’s because she knows how flustered you get when Dr Turner visits, and is giving you the old heads up. So you can plump the cushions or wipe down the kitchen surfaces.”

“I have never heard such outrageous nonsense in all my days, Peter Noakes!” Camilla ranted, wringing out the freshly soaked dish cloth. “I do not get flustered over any man, whether he be a respected GP or an annoying police constable.” She quietly fumed, taking her wrath out on the countertops with the wet rag.

“As much as I’m happy to accommodate such undemanding and pleasant company. We waited so long for a home of our own, so we could move out of Nonnatus, and now it seems like Nonnatus has come to us.”

Camilla turned and looked at him properly. “You really are the most patient of men. But, I couldn’t see her go back to that frightful boarding house and all those dreadful gossips, after what occurred at Christmas. I don’t think, young sir, minded too much giving up his room for a few weeks.” She nodded at her son, who was looking alternatively between his parents intently, like he understood every word.

“And I agreed there was no other suitable arrangement, with Nonnatus awaiting the wrecking ball and, as you say, every snoop worth their while, observing the comings and goings at the flat over the surgery. I just wonder when we could revert back from Noakes’ Home for Wayward Nuns back to Noakes’ Love Nest.”

“That’s enough. They will hear you." Camilla was beside herself. "Hopefully, we will find out in a matter of moments. They had an appointment with the vicar at All Saints this morning.”

The lull in their own conversation made the voices behind the kitchen door echoing from the passageway audible, if not discernible,

Peter broke the silence, much to Camilla’s delight, as she didn’t want to be accused of eavesdropping. When she hadn’t been able to make out a single syllable.

“If this goes on much longer, I’m going to have to arrest the pair of them for loitering with intent.”

“It’s not a boarding house. She doesn’t have to clock in and out with us. We didn’t issue a curfew. Well, at least I didn’t.” She looked at Peter accusingly and then got back to wiping down the kitchen table and picking up her husband's half-drunk cup of tea, throwing the remaining liquid down the sink.

“I hadn’t finished that!” Camilla didn’t hear him as she rearranged the fruit in the crystal bowl. Someone she couldn’t quite place had bought them it for a wedding present.

“I’m sorry to have to be the one to break it to your mummy, but she definitely does suffer from occasional bouts of flustration. Doesn’t she Freddie?” Peter diagnosed, addressing his son, who responded with a gurgle of approval. "Maybe we could ask the good doctor for a second opinion ?”

Peter’s grin widened. He looked like a naughty schoolboy scrumping apples, rather than a doting husband, but in that moment, he was both.

The wet cloth landed on PC Noakes’ head just seconds after the kitchen door opened and an apologetic voice chimed, “It’s just us.”

After a lot of silent but meaningful looks between all parties and the missile safely deposited in the sink, Peter had a fresh cup of tea set before him, as did everyone else. Freddie, who had been watching the morning’s events like he was reporting for the Poplar Gazette, was now sitting on the new addition to his family's knee, observing events from a different angle.

Freddie didn’t really know if he preferred a pink wafer to a bourbon. But he was mildly affronted no-one had asked if he had a preference. He kept trying to grab the pretty pink one out of the hand of the person they called Auntie Shelagh, but she was quick, and said “No” in such a sing-song voice he forgave her.

They were talking again about the weather, crocuses (whatever they were), something called whooping cough, which sounded much more fun than the frowny faces suggested. One of those awkward silences occurred again. That was always his cue. Gurgle, make spit bubbles, form fists, shake arms and giggle. It works every time. Like a charm. Eventually, Mummy found the courage to speak.

“Would it be so very out of turn? If one enquired how your appointment went this morning.”

Shleagh and Dr Turner glanced at each other in that ‘we know a secret sort of way’. It looked like he was about to take hold of her hand, but there were too many obstacles in the way like pink wafers, teacups, a baby and proprietary.

The look Shelagh gave Dr Turner reminded Chummy of an old retainer of her father's who began every sentence with “Permission to speak, Sir?” She caught Peter’s eye. The telepathic consensus was; how long will that last? It was received and understood between them.

Chummy’s attention was distracted when she noticed how tight Shelagh was now holding her son. He seemed very content and his eyes were closing, so all was well.

Shelagh began, “Dr Turner and I have set a date to be married at All Saints' church on the second Saturday in February.”

“So soon?” Exclaimed Peter, ignoring an imaginary dishcloth hurtling towards him.

“Well, yes,” Shelagh replied in the tone of a pregnant schoolgirl with a father brandishing a shotgun rather than an ex-nun with a penchant for purity. “We were hoping for March, to give young Timothy time to grow a wee bit stronger, but of course Palm Sunday and our Lord’s resurrection must always take precedence.”

Peter noticed Shelagh gave Dr Turner that look Camilla gave him when it was his turn to talk. He thought to himself he was only mastering that level of communication, but the Doc picked it up straight away. What a pro!

“That left us with the option of an April wedding, which seemed like an eternity away.”

This time, he took her hand as it warmed itself on the teacup.

Peter smiled to himself. He knew that eternity. He was actually experiencing that eternity right now. Most new fathers understood the consequences of a new baby entering their lives. But no-one had prepared him for a baby at the bottom of the bed and an ex-nun in the next room and the effects on his wife's libido.

“Here here.” Peter cried, “Carpe diem, Doctor, carpe diem!”

Peter’s joy was short-lived when he realized everyone, including a sleepy Freddie, were now staring at him.

“So when’s the wedding?” He meekly asked.

[pettyrevenge-base]

Make my life difficult for nearly a decade, I'll make you look like an idiot.

When I first left home to go to university, my parents co-signed a mortgage for me on an apartment style condominium in a small Canadian city. This was 20 years ago, so it came in at a whopping $52,000. They thought that this was a much better and economical choice than trying to find an apartment and deal with landlords. I loved the idea and moved into my new home.

The building was almost entirely populated by the 65+ crowd. It was small and only had 24 units split into 2 halves. I had a basement condo. It was a nice place, nothing fancy, but amazing for a student. I was young (19) but I was quiet, kept to myself and didn't do the whole party thing.

I got along with most of my neighbors, I'd help them out moving heavy things or carrying groceries upstairs. I was acutely aware of the age gap and the general image of a university student, so I made sure to be just an all around great guy to avoid conflict.

The one person I could never see eye to eye with was my upstairs neighbor. For a 70 year old woman that couldn't have weighed more than 100lbs, she walked like a damned elephant. She'd have gospel music on her TV at max volume at 5am on Sundays, she'd make remarks about "that damn kid" whenever something was left out of place. She even went so far as to accusing me of breaking into her car and making a police statement saying she saw me do it. Unfortunately for her, I was out of the country on an internship at the time, but still she persisted being a pain in my ass. I'd tried to approach her about the TV issue, and her response was to make sure that it was no longer just Sunday. After a couple of years of attempted diplomacy, it was clear that nothing I did would make things better.

Others in the building probably knew she had it out for me, but why would this adorable little old lady try to lie and get me thrown out of the building by the condo board? (She tried at least 11 times while I lived there).

7 years into my time living there, I was at my job with an Ambulance service just north of the city. I got called to a shooting. Guy shot his neighbor in a land dispute. The neighbor survived, but there was of course going to be a police investigation. The investigating officers called me to get a statement and offered to just come over to do it, rather than have me travel. One of them was a constable I'd worked with quite a bit, so I said sure. We set a time for about an hour after I'd get home from work.

I was just getting out of the shower when they buzzed to get into the building, I said "come in, I'll be out in a second". I hit the door buzzer and quickly grabbed some pants and a shirt. I heard them come in, and then walk upstairs. As I'm trying to throw on clothes, I hear them knock....on my upstairs neighbors door. They introduce themselves as being from RCMP Major Crimes division and that they were looking for me...balls. She says "oh, he lives downstairs, what do you want with him?". They thanked her and informed her that they couldn't say, as it was an active investigation. My heart sank....but then I had a thought.

It only took about 15 minutes to do my statement and they went on their way. And then the fun began. I knew the rumour mill would be starting. She would tell everyone that would listen that Major Crimes was looking for me and that I must be some sort of criminal. I decided to see where this went. Pretty soon I'm getting side eye in the hallway, neighbors are steering clear of me, so I know she's been talking. Turns out I've been arrested for robbery and kidnapping and must be out on bail according to her.

I found this out when one of my neighbors who was on the condo board showed up with a letter demanding an explanation and threats to have me kicked out. I asked him what this was all about, and he said "Well, Linda (not her name) sent us a letter about what had happened and we had to have an emergency board meeting because people don't feel safe with you here". I said that per the by-laws of the condo board, before any action could be taken, I could request a meeting to review and provide a defense. Linda was on the board, so I know she'd be there. They set a date for a week from then, but I was given a caution that it didn't look good for me and that I would have to do a lot of explaining.

The meeting day comes. Linda is sitting smugly looking at me, the other board members are giving me dirty looks. The board president asks what I have to say in my defence. I stand and quietly distribute a letter on RCMP letterhead, signed by the regional superintendent that says"Mr. Zenmedic is not under suspicion of any crimes, past or current and has not been arrested, detained or questioned as a suspect in any criminal matter. His duties as a Paramedic will often require him to make statements in regards to ongoing investigations, and in this instance on (date), investigators had gone to obtain a statement about an ongoing investigation for which he was professionally involved. At no time did the members discuss, disclose or in any way indicate that he had any involvement in any wrongdoings. I am deeply saddened by the necessity of this letter and we will be reopening an investigation into a previous incident regarding false statements made against him".

You could tell when people read and understood it. The dirty looks shifted from me to Linda. She exclaimed that it must be a forgery, she witnessed me being led off in handcuffs. She pleaded that they should believe her. It didn't help her. I stood and addressed the board and outlined the years of abuse and harassment, including the false accusation of break and enter to a vehicle. I informed the board that on advice of my lawyer that I do not discuss the matter further with any member of the board, as Linda being part of it and using her position for the purposes of harassment opened the board as a whole to litigation and I was still weighing my options.

The next day I had a knock on my door. The board president had informed me that Linda was removed from the board and that she was given warning about her conduct and that any further harassment could result in proceedings to have her removed from the building.

She also had a visit from police with a summons for providing a false statement and obstructing a peace officer. She had to attend court. She pled guilty to both and was given a suspended sentence and 1 year condition not to harass, threaten or intentionally inconvenience me in any way. If she abided her conditions, she would receive an absolute discharge (meaning it would be removed from her record, like it never happened).

I moved to another province before her year was up, but for a brief period of time, I actually got to sleep in on Sunday mornings.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

[apinchofm]

BBC Merlin: Arthur has a Stag night and everyone ends up in jail. Gwen is in the next cell with her hen night guests.

Arthur groaned, resting his head against the station wall. The drinks were beginning to hit him and whilst he had a strong tolerance, mixing alcohol was never a good idea.

Or perhaps the fact that he and his friends had been arrested.

Leon was handing telling Gwaine to stop pacing as Merlin removed the last feather from Elyan's clothes.

"I tried calling Percy, but no answer. He sleeps like the dead."

"I need to call Gwen." Arthur realises, his headache now insignificant.

"She's going to kill us." Leon remarked and Arthur glared at him.

"Morgana will kill us. Her and her schedule for tomorrow,"

"What's important about tomorrow?" Gwaine, still very drunk asked.

"My wedding, you prick!" Arthur snapped and ignored the glare he received from the duty officer. He didn't know whether to call his lawyer or Gwen. He can handle his lawyer hating him, but missing his wedding because some Constable wanted to prove a point.

"Arthur?"

"Arthur?"

Great, now he was hearing Gwen's voice in his head. He didn't want to see her big beautiful brown eyes disappointed in him.

"Gwen?" Merlin exclaimed, seeing her and her hen group being escorted by two officers. Only Morgana had been handcuffed and they were taken off.

Arthur lifted himself off the wall upon seeing Gwen, his fiancé exhausted and shocked, holding her heels in another hand.

"Guinevere?"

"Arthur?"

"Morgana?"

"Arthur."

"Freyja?"

"Gwaine!"

"What happened?" Arthur asks. The last thing he expected was Gwen to do something to end up in a police station. Then he glared at his sister, "What did you do?"

"Fuck off, Arthur." Morgana said with an eye roll, "It's not my fault. It's not even Gwen's."

"Well, we went out for dinner and then this club and this guy and his friends started acting up. Some prick named Cenred," Freyja explained, "And then-"

"Gwen showed him!" Morgana chimed in proudly, "Punched him in the face."

Gwen groans, embarrassed as Arthur pulls her into a tight hug, chuckling, "I hate violence, but he was just in Morgana's face and then he was being rude..." She explained, so embarrassed.

"Guinevere, I cannot wait to marry you." Arthur said, pressing a kiss to her forehead and taking her right hand and kissing her bruised knuckles.

"Can't believe that my sister is a heavyweight champ," Elyan quipped and everyone buckled.

They were all soon released without charge (Morgana called the lawyer) and the two groups walking out of the police station. Arthur kept his arm wrapped around Gwen.

"Why are you guys in here?" Gwen asked innocently, "Did something bad happen?"

All the lads looked around, wary. Because how does one truly explain Gwaine accidentally stealing a lamb?