#there’s not enough evidence to justify him turning back he can just move forward uneasy

[bookwyrminspiration]

The first time through, when everyone was saying “wow, that Jonathan sure can ignore red flags!” I also interpreted that to mean he wasn’t noticing the red flags and was comically unaware of his genre, and that’s how I understood the beginning. But rereading it and lines like “If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye” (from day 2) makes me realize he was never not noticing them, he was, as we said, just ignoring them and rationalizing it away. He noticed but what could he do about it? So perhaps it was more comforting (for a while) to let it slide instead of facing that something was wrong. Even though things were off. Just something I noticed about how my understanding has changed

[devildomdoofus]

Winter Storm

Part 1

Lucifer, Mammon, Leviathan, Satan

WARNINGS:

‼️contains spoilers from chp. 16‼️

[[ angst, cursing, anxiety, fear/terror, depression, survival, near death experiences, mentions of blood/bleeding, hypothermia, dehydration, fainting, severe pain, cliffhangers ]]

Authors Note (sorry it’s long):

My sincerest apologies for how long you all had to wait!! I’m hoping what I’ve created was worth it. Because each brothers’ pieces were rather extensive especially being on mobile, I’ve decided to divide them into two parts where part one includes the four eldest brothers and part two includes the remaining. This is also to test the waters a bit and see if my writing style is decent enough to continue or if there are changes that need to be made before posting part two. Also, I purposefully wrote “cliffhangers” because I felt that, as reader, you should be able to decide MC’s fate for yourself according to your personal tastes/moods/etc. I hope it doesn’t come off as lazy.. it was intentional so that you may enjoy the content to the fullest and take it in the direction that you choose and not the author.CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK IS ALWAYS APPRECIATED!! Good, bad, or indifferent, your feedback will help me write better for you in the future so you can enjoy my content to the upmost extent!! ALSO: If the spacing is weird with the paragraphs and such, I’m very sorry but for the time being, I have no idea how to fix that considering I’m on mobile and there’s only so much the app allows me to do. Anyway, I hope you all dig what I dish out! Thanks again for your patience, support, and understanding!! -DevildomDoofus

UPDATE (2-19-2021): Part 2 is out!! Unfortunately I don’t have enough content to make a master list quite yet but until then, forgive me, but you’ll have to search my blog using the hastag “devildomdoofus” or “my posts.” Don’t worry, I’ll get my blog in order eventually, I’m just a little slow with these kinds of things 😅 thank you for your patience and understanding!!

- DevildomDoofus

Prologue:

One word, a pair of twinkling eyes, and a pouty lip was all it took for you to convince him to vacation with you up in the human world. Maybe a few more ‘fluffy’ words and a bigger pout had to be used on Lucifer, as his paranoia was, more often times than not, justified by his brothers’ antics so... he needed further convincing.

When you two arrive at the cabin that you were to stay in for the week, you eyed the place over and it was rather beautifully decorated and cozy enough to never set foot outside for eternity, but with the wonderland that was just right outside your door, how could you not? By the celestial realm, it was like a dream. The ground was carpeted with fresh sheets or large comforters, rather of glistening white snow that reached just above your ankles, so soft to the touch that it could almost be compared to the cushy feel of Belphegor’s favorite pillow. The mighty mountains reach up to graze their fingers through the few clouds that wisp across the bluest skies... have they always been this blue? The nearby forest that towered over all, beckoned you to join them in their dance with the gentle wind. In other words, you HAD to explore! You set out on a solo trip to get aquatinted with your surroundings and take pictures to reminisce about later, while the one you came with unpacked your belongings to get rightfully settled in. You promised you wouldn’t wander far, just enough to really take in the scenery before venturing further out together. As a precaution, you dug markings on nearby trees as you tread and left stones in consistent, peculiar piles so that in the event of an emergency, any who might have to come looking for you would notice these things and easily be able to follow in your footsteps. Well, more or less, considering the clouds had secretly huddled up above you for another gentle snow shower and are now covering up your footprints. No worries though, right? You left plenty of stone piles and tree markings and you’re not even that far from the cabin. Someone could surely find you if you needed them to. You pushed onward, too entranced by the world around you to turn back now.

As time passed, storm clouds gathered faster than a pack of hungry wolves over a freshly fallen corpse and this became your cue to hurry home. To your dismay, you couldn’t find ANY of the markings you left on the trees or ANY of the stone piles you made. Ok, that’s not great but everything’s fine. The trick is to not panic. Maybe you just wandered a little farther of the beaten path than you realized. You’ll surely find your way back. As you searched high and low for your markings, the wind began to pick up, howling furiously in your ear and the once gently drifting little snowflakes became hardened, frosted hornets, stinging your face until they bit through your exposed skin and caused you to bleed. So much snow and ice, you could barely see 2 feet in front of you and could hardly lift your legs high enough to move forward as the levels of snow quickly rose to just above your knee. You had packed and dressed for whatever these snowy mountains could throw at you, but nothing could protect you from the fury of a raging blizzard for long. Pain from the dropping temperatures began at the tips of your toes and fingers and the longer you tried to find your way back, the more the pain spread and the harder it was to move anything at all. Everything inside of you, every fiber of your being was screaming for you to stop, for the pain was becoming too great but you just HAD to make your way back or you would surely die out here. These thoughts were starting to make you panic. Just as you were thinking it couldn’t get any worse, the wind grew even stronger and was starting to knock you to your knees. At this rate, you were causing more harm than good to yourself, perilously trying to toughen it out. Instead, you decided to find a makeshift shelter, just strong and big enough to keep the snow and wind off of you as you would attempt to warm up.

As if by divine intervention, you could make out a large rock formation with an opening big enough for you to huddle up under, just ahead of you. You ducked low and crawled in, hunkering down in your saving grace. As you shivered in the shadows, heaving and trying to collect yourself before deciding what to do next, you realized that numbness had settled into your limbs and you could no longer feel them, much less move them. You tried, desperately, over and over to inch them in any way but damn it, nothing would. Tears began to puddle at the corners of your eyes as your mind began to race. You should have never left the cabin alone. You knew better, you just couldn’t help yourself. The tears started to fall more and more as the thoughts started spiraling. How could you be so stupid? Now no one is going to find you and you’re going to die here, alone and deathly afraid. You could no longer contain your cries and in one last fleeting attempt to be rescued, you screamed for help with as much force as your withering lungs would allow. Nothing but the wind answered your cries. Before you knew it, your body was shutting down and your eyes fluttered shut right as you fainted against the rocky wall behind you. The panic, the wet and the cold, dehydration, the pain that once gripped your entire body that then turned to numbness, the overexertion, the hypothermia that was setting in; it was all too much for your body to handle anymore. Limp against the stone, you were quickly turning into a human icicle. This is how he finds you.

Lucifer:

Lucifer had been prepping for dinner for later that evening, as some meals tend to take an eternity to prepare, when the hair on the back of his neck pricked up and an uneasy feeling settled into his stomach. He could sense something was wrong even before the storm clouds rolled in. There was no way to explain it other than something is or was going to be terribly, terribly wrong. It’s the same feeling he gets when his brothers are up to no good or are in some form of trouble. It comes with the responsibility of being the eldest brother. He, indeed, trusted you enough for you to go alone for the simple fact that you were the most responsible out of his brothers, but that did not mean he didn’t still feel a bit uncomfortable with you out of his immediate supervision considering you’re human and humans tend to make many, many mistakes. You’re a child by no means and can handle yourself incredibly well, as evident by your time in the devildom and at R.A.D. He knows this and believes you could conquer the world if you so chose to do so. But even YOU know that he only acts and does these certain things that can come off as overbearing to some because he cares so deeply for you that he tries his damndest to prevent any harm that may come to you. Physcial or emotional, accidental or self-inflicted, whatever the case may be. He would give his life and soul up for you, just as he had done for Lilith. That is why this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach upset him so. He had to find you. He set out to look for you and quickly noticed a pattern. The markings and piles of stones, he assumed, were yours and, for a fleeting moment, it filled him with pride to know that you went about your adventure with a proper head upon your shoulders. Still, he had to see you and be able to hold you in his arms so that his worrisome mind could be put to rest. He followed the trail until it ended with you nowhere in sight. “MC, darling, what have you gotten yourself into this time?” Though calm in his demeaner, he was still fidgeting beneath the surface. Through the wind and hail that was picking up, he heard your cries from miles off and like a bat out of devildom, races to you. From pounding out of his chest to dropping through the crust of the Earth, Lucifer’s heart collapsed when he found you. “MC...” He rushed to your side in the blink of an eye and shouted your name over and over, but you didn’t respond. He rips a glove off and places two fingers to the side of your neck. Your pulse was so low, he had to press his ear to your chest, but even your heart was far too faint to be heard by human ear. Thank Diavolo he was a demon or he would have assumed the worst. You rarely see this man lose his composure, even behind closed doors. But now, when he looks at you and your state of comatose for the second time in his life, he becomes frantic. So many emotions racing through him, he doesn’t notice the tears welling in his eyes or his demon form breaking the surface. His fist clenches and he slams it into the ground next you, creating a cavity in the stone. He almost lost you once, he won’t let it happen again.

Before his emotions get the better of him, he swiftly yet ever so gently scoops you into his arms and immediately transports you both back to the cabin where he could try and warm you up and bring you back to your old self. Back to him. Bursting through the door, he rushes to place you gingerly onto the couch in front of the fireplace and carefully strips you of all the wet clothing, replacing them with warm, dry pairs. He wraps your neck with a thick scarf, slips fuzzy mittens on your hands, covers your head in a knitted hat, and drapes multiple blankets over your body. He then tosses wood into the fireplace, setting them ablaze before circling the couch and pushing it, and inherently you, closer to the warmth of the fire. All of this within the blink of an eye. He finally sits next to you on the cushions and takes you back into his arms, fearing that if he ever lets go, he will truly lose you once and for all. He’ll occasionally reach a hand up to the side of your neck or to your wrist, checking your pulse. Still too damn low. How in the devildom could he let this happen? For hours, he stays like this with you, keeping you so close to his chest that from the outside looking in, it would seem he was smothering you. The entire time he cradles you, he is mentally abusing himself for not being with you. For letting you go out alone. For not protecting you. For going against his better judgement and agreeing to come out here with you in the first place- no... that’s not it.. He’s frustrated with himself for you going against your better judgement and choosing him to be the one to come with you. Him of all people. He couldn’t protect Lilith in the Great War, he couldn’t protect you when Belphegor tried to kill you, and now here you are, lifeless in his embrace and fighting to stay alive once again because he couldn’t protect you from the storm. The tears began to fall from his eyes once more and they dropped onto your cheek. He looks down at you, cupping your face in his hand and tenderly wipes his tears from your skin. “Please,” he begs through the lips that threaten to quiver. “Please MC. Come back to me, darling.” He shuts his eyes and presses his forehead to yours over the knitted hat. Hoping, if only he could pray, for you to come back.

Mammon:

Before the storm even rolled in, Mammon went looking for you. It was unnatural for you two to be separated for this long and he didn’t like it. Not one bit. “Damn it, MC! We’re supposed to be doing this stupid vacation thing together,” he grumbles, as he stomps out of the house in a little Mammon tantrum. He saw your markings on the trees and piles of stones and began to think you set up the whole ‘going on a solo adventure’ thing as a prank. He chuckles to himself and beams a bit in pride. “My clever little human, turning into me.” A seemingly great idea at first, but the more he thought on it, SERIOUSLY thought on it, the more that two Mammons seemed like a bad idea. But he’d like to go over the so called ‘bad idea’ with you if he could just find you. He followed your markings until they stopped and that’s when the storm clouds rolled in. He was starting to get nervous. Yes, you hid and jumped out at him in an attempt to scare him on numerous occasions (which hardly worked, considering he was a demon and quite frankly, a powerful demon at that) back in the devildom but... this situation seemed different. Having been around you and your person the longest, he gained a sixth sense specifically for you. Your warm presence, your delectable soul essence, your precious voice, your thoughts and feelings, your wonderful heartbeat; he could feel them all, even when you returned to the human world for a bit. He could feel them all until now and it felt like he had gone numb. His nervousness turned to anxiousness. The only other time this numbing sensation has happened to him before is when Belphegor tried to off you right in front of him. He so very often wishes he could just wipe those memories from his mind forever...

For a moment, he thinks he can hear your voice, as faint as it is. “MC!!” He follows the direction he thinks your voice is coming from and calls your name again but with no reply. Then he hears it. One ever so minute thump of your heartbeat. He follows the sound like a wolf after a lamb until he comes across the little miniature cave his lamb had taken shelter under. He crawls in and he‘s instantly frozen in place. “MC?” You’re.. ? No you couldn’t be, you just couldn’t be. “C’mon MC, qu-quit foolin’ around. We have to go home. It’s s-storming like crazy out there, ya know?” Only the little echo of the cracks in his voice are his reply. He takes one of your hands in his and- shit! They’re so cold! Colder than when held you that time you were almost kill-NO! He lets go of your hand and grabs you by the shoulders instead, shaking you frantically. “MC, please, ya gotta wake up! This isn’t funny anymore!” The longer he shook you with no sign of you waking up, the more his eyes glazed over with tears. “MC!! WAKE UP!!” He growls, frustration and demon form taking over. Your body slides like a rag doll into his arms and that’s when he finally realizes that this is no prank and you’re in serious, serious danger. His heart disintegrates in his chest and nothing could stop the tears from cascading down his face like rain. For just a few moments, he sits there in that cave, holding your frozen body in his arms and rocking you as he cries heavily into your hair. He’s so hurt, so fucking hurt that this is the second time that he couldn’t protect you when he said he would. But by Diavolo, he had to keep trying until the absolute very last millisecond.

He gets a grip on himself, cradles you tightly into his embrace and skyrockets back to the cabin. Once there, he’s doing anything and everything in his power to get you warm. Heated blankets, warm and dry clothes, thick gloves, fuzzy hats, warmed pillows and cushions, a fire in the fireplace, the thermostat cranked up by 5 degrees, EVERYTHING. He even went to the extent of placing his bare hands into the fire, pulling them out to cool them down to an appropriate temperature, and then placing them over your ears, under the hat and across your forehead, or he would cradle your face in his hands to gingerly brush his warmed thumbs over your cheeks and nose. He simply could not sit still. There had to be something more he could do to help you, something more he could do to make up for his mistakes. He couldn’t stop no matter what. He loved you too much to give up so easily.

Leviathan:

Leviathan had originally intended to get both of your belongings unpacked as quickly as possible so that later that evening, you two could have a video game binge with the new game the TSL franchise came out with, honestly he did, but... as soon as he turned on the tv to test the reception in the area, one of the human shows you often mentioned to him popped up on the screen and he was instantly glued to the couch. The characters were as entertaining as you had described them in that cute way where your eyes sparkled and lips curled into a smile. He loved the way you beamed with joy He loved y- He couldn’t pry his eyes away from the screen, not even for a second. That is, until 20 minutes later and the show turned to static. “Oh for crying out loud,” he grumbles as he clicks the tv off and tosses the remote to the side. It was just like this normie of a human world to have terrible reception, especially during an intense episode. Surely he had it recorded somewhere back in his room in the Devildom. With newfound boredom, he stepped to the window and looked outside. Sheesh, it had gotten dark rather quick. It would be an awful shame for someone to be stuck out in this impending weather, just as the food in TSL had been stuck in terrible weather that The Lord of Fools sent The Lord of Flies. Such a kind gesture from the Lord of Fools, considering his former lover, Geldie, was found frozen in- “OH SHIT! MC!!”

He kicked open the door and stumbled around in the snow and gusting winds before getting his snow legs, then frantically circled the cabin, looking for any sign of you. He finds the markings in the trees and little stone piles and figured that they must belong to you. As he tread, he couldn’t help but beat himself up for letting you go alone, especially considering neither of you knew the area well enough. He understood, more than anyone in all the realms, that time alone is sacred and shouldn’t be interrupted without a legitimate reason. But even still, he wished that you would have teased him to go with you, like you often times did, until he would inevitably cave and follow behind you as he would then talk about the situation being “like that one scene from that one anime we watched together where the male protagonist somehow turns into a puppy, lost and confused, until the female protagonist comes along and takes him in and loves him for who he is and he turns back into a human and follows her around like he did when he was a puppy and-...” The rest of the walk would be filled with talks of which anime or show or video game resembled each moment you two shared.. and you loved every second of it. His eyes lit up like the sun shone right behind them and his precious little grin when he would recall humorous scenes. He would blush when he caught you staring and stumble over the next few sentences before eventually shutting up and just holding your hand (for safety of course) as you giggled at him for being so damn cute. His memories of those times kept him warm as they could as he continued onward in search of you, hoping that you weren’t in too much danger. But with how little mercy the storm was showing him, the possibility of you being safe and sound was rapidly decreasing.

Your marked trail came to an end but you weren’t there. Instead, there was only the howling winds and cascading ice to mock him. Oh no, this is bad. This is very, very bad. He shouted your name in an attempt for you to hear his voice and be able to find your way to him but he received no answer. He shouted louder and louder but you simply wouldn’t answer. “Shit, MC, where the hell are you?!” Anxiety began to make its way through him and he had to lean against a nearby tree to try and collect himself. That’s when he could faintly hear your voice crying for help. He darted towards your direction, coming upon the shelter you hid away in and as he moved closer to you, he froze. You were deathly still and your skin was so incredibly pale compared to it’s usual hue. He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe, he was just frozen in place with nothing but your limp body and emotionless face in front of him. He had no clue what to do but try and wake you up as he swallows the lump in his throat to call your name. “M-MC?” No answer. He takes your hand in his. Shit, you’re colder than ice. “MC, pl-please... please wake up, MC.” The wind outside seem to laugh at him and his feeble attempt to wake you up. Tears welled in his eyes and the lump in his throat thickened, almost to a point where he felt he couldn’t breathe, much less cry. As his demon form creeps to the surface, he grabs your shoulders and gently shakes you. “MC, please!! I can’t do this without you!!” Your body droops into his embrace and his heart feels like it’s been dropped into a blender and turned to mush. For a moment, all he can do is stare at your solidified face and wonder why oh why was this happening to him. To his precious ‘Henry’... “That’s it!! Henry!!” He shouted to himself. What would Henry do for his loved ones? He wouldn’t sit here and feel sorry for himself, he would do everything in his power to help the ones he cared about most! Leviathan shakes away his tears, holds you tightly in his arms, and bolts to the cabin to attempt to save you. He wasn’t going to let himself get in his own way, he was going to try his damndest to save you and bring you back. To bring back his Henry.

Satan:

In the midst of folding and putting away yours and his clothes, Satan paused. Similar as much as he hated to be so to Lucifer, he had developed a sort of instinct to tell when something or anything was off and this sense was only heightened by his incredibly refined observation and detective skills. He couldn’t quite place his finger on it just yet but something was clearly off. That’s when he went looking for you. Knicks in the trees and your piles of stones made him feel a bit more at ease about going after you, as he felt you were at least intelligent about your endeavors and not as callow as most of his brothers seemed to be. That is, until the trail of markings came to a stopping point. It was difficult to admit, but this situation was throwing him for a loop. You wouldn’t have just randomly stopped placing markers for yourself unless something bad had happened and even then, you would have called for him using the pact if you were in danger, right? There had to be an explanation for all of this. He leaned against a nearby tree, neck deep in furrowed brow concentration until the sky darkened with thick, furious looking clouds stampeding in, breaking his many trains of thought. With a new indication of urgency, he continued onward in search of you. As the storm picked up, so did that ominous feeling and inherently his blood pressure. If this was your idea of a joke, it was highly inappropriate and if he’s blatantly honest, irritating, to say the least. Very. irritating. Although he was a demon and basically immortal, that didn’t negate the fact that he felt his time was precious and any amount of time with you was that much more precious. He had not come up to the human world, with the presumption that you two could finally spend some time alone together, just for the whole trip to be some pathetic excuse of a prank. You could do so much better; that he was certain of and for you to do something as lowly as this was an insult to his intelligence, his affection towards you, and an insult to him in general. He wouldn’t let his wrath, his sin, get the better of him nor would he ever use either against you but when he finds you, you will know very soon of his immense displeasure.

“Ugh...” He could hear how much he sounded like Lucifer as he is in punishment mode and it made him want to vomit.

Before the wind could really drown out any other sound, he thinks he hears your voice crying out through the storm. All of the anger that was building up instantly vanished and he hurries after you. Years and years (we’re talking thousands) of constant meditation, reading self-improvement novels, and studying a multitude of ways to strengthen one’s emotional fortitude, absolutely NOTHING could have prepared him for the way he felt when he found you. Frozen, limp, and lifeless against the stone; He didn’t have to touch you or call your name to know you weren’t going to answer. All of this was because he simply didn’t accompany you on your scouting trip.

It was too much. His wrath instantly took hold and his demon form bubbled to the surface. He wasn’t angry with you in the least, no. He was absolutely furious with himself because he didn’t protect you and he wasn’t there for you when you needed him most and he had no one else to be angry with but himself. Overcome with and blinded by the pure, white hot rage, he screams his broken heart out of his chest and into the sky above, and the earth trembled around you. The steadfast shelter that once braced against the harsh storm crumbled into trillions of pieces as the sheer force of his voice crushed them to bits. The trees no longer bent to the will of the blizzard, but to him and him alone. His anger practically created ‘an eye in the middle of the storm’ and all but Satan had stilled within it. As the last bits of his wrath dispelled and he could finally get a better grip of himself, he looked down at you before taking you in his arms as the storm closed back in around you. Using the last of his energy, he bolted to the cabin with you clutched to his chest and settled you onto the couch to start the warming process. More than anything, he wanted to reach inside of you, grab the coldness by its throat, rip it out of you, and proceed to pummel it into a fist-dug grave. He wanted to take your pain, your fear, your sadness and tears, everything that caused you harm and reign devildom upon them all. To make your suffering know the name of wrath, to know his name personally and properly. Yet all he could do is kneel at your side and wait patiently for your possible recovery.

[prorevenge]

Bully Landlord gets it in the end.

My first husband was a not very nice man. For 6 years I was belittled and basically a baby-factory for him. He was a fantastic father, but a horrible husband. After he finally got his 'heirs' I was then treated even worse until I finally 'woke up' and decided to leave his ass.

This revenge story is NOT about him. I just had to set the scene.

I moved out from the house, taking just my clothes, the car (4K value, no more) and the computer. I had nothing, stayed at a GF for a couple weeks before I was able to line up a crappy town-house with roommates. I had nothing, and my bed was a cat-pee-smelling free couch I was able to score. I wound up having 3-4 jobs with one of them being full-time and once a week I would not even be able to sleep between jobs.

Now, fast forward one year. My divorce was finalized and I had fulfilled my year's lease for the townhouse. By this time I was able to furnish the home and my bedroom and my kids' room when they would be with me for visitation.

The Scum-Bag Landlord (will just call him SBL) was a nice-ish landlord during the time of my tenancy and I was a good tenant, never being late with my rent. Although I had roommates, I was the sole name on the lease.

SBL would show up often, with some guise that he had to work on something like plumbing tests or whatever excuse he could come up with just so he could be all creepy and hang around trying to converse with me with mild sexual undertones that made me quite uneasy at times.

FINALLY the lease was fulfilled and I was now onto a month-to-month contract to which at that time I was ready to move out of this crappy townhouse, and found a great house in the mountains nearby and I was simply thrilled now that I got my feet on the ground and can afford a bit better than slum-living.

My Lease stated that I had to give one month's notice in order to move out. Unfortunately I was able to get the house I was to move into for the next month... only 3 weeks away.

I sent an email to SBL stating that I intend on moving out at the end of this month (in 3 weeks) and he can try to find another tenant. but I did state that IF he didn't find a tenant, I would still fulfill my legal obligation and pay next month's rent.

Within one week (2 weeks before I was move out) he emailed back and stated that was very generous of my offer but he was able to find a new tenant for the beginning of next month and I would be off the hook. He even tipped his hand by stating that he already collected a deposit from them.

Now, something happened within a couple days after that which was no fault of my own, nor my roommate's. The townhouse came with it's own appliances (fridge, oven etc) including a clothes washer and dryer on the main level. My roommate had put a load of laundry in and went to the living room to have a nap. He awoke to find that the washer had malfunctioned with the sensory switch which never stopped the water fill stage... and there was an inch of water in the kitchen and living room!!! He splashed through the water to turn off the washer and called me to come and help deal with this.

I was just getting off of work and I whipped home to assess the damage.

it. was. bad. There was standing water on top of the living room carpet and a good inch of water in the whole kitchen. I called SBL and told him the issue. By the time SBL showed up, I had already got most of the standing water out with the help of my roommate and friends that showed up with shop-vacs.

SBL didn't seem too upset, which was surprising for me and had an appliance repair man had come to look at the washer. The repairman even said "yep, here's the culprit" and showed how the dial would stick on the fill stage and wouldn't click over to the agitate stage. after replacing the dial and lubricating the whole deal, he left.

The next week was chaos as I was busy trying to pack and SBL had insurance guys in assessing and workers taking out the carpet and cutting 2 feet worth of the lower drywall of the whole main level.

The day of the move, though I was still supposed to be there for a couple more days, SBL had let himself in as movers were moving out my stuff with a camera going around taking pictures of everything. I honestly thought that it was for his insurance claims etc. I actually felt bad for SBL (I'm too nice) and told him that I would not ask for any of my deposit back, and he responded in front of the loading crew and my roommate "Thank you, that's very generous of you". We parted ways and I thought that was that.

I was wrong.

Two weeks into my new home location did SBL showed up on my doorstep with a summons to appear in arbitration because he was SUEING ME! WHAT???? on what grounds??? He stated it's all in this paperwork and handed me a manila envelope with 18 pages of everything he was charging me with. All including photos (now I know why he was going around taking pics). Nickle and diming me on everything from a bent Venetian blind (that was like that when I had moved in) and some scuffs on walls, etc etc. but then he ALSO wanted me to pay his insurance deductible and that following month's rent!!! He claimed that the tenants that he had lined up backed out at the last minute (claiming that they didn't think the place wouldn't be ready in time with the new drywall and paint and so on), so he still wanted me to pay that month's rent.

REALLY??

Fuck. This. Shit. I knew I was more than generous of giving him my whole deposit and then for him to come back and sue me for thousands?? He was not only claiming the damages caused by the flood, but improvements he needed to do that should never be or have been my responsibility in the first place. EVEN CRACKS in the living room wall that was from the building settling.... HOW SHOULD I BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT??? Even new lighting, faucets etc... All mainly on the accusation that I was negligent. I wasn't going to have that. I know is was a slummy townhouse complex and most of his tenants were just welfare cases, and maybe he could get away with this with others, but not me. No Way! I had just got out of a marriage that made me feel insignificant and had horrible self-esteem, but now I had my dignity and felt strong for the first time in a long time. No way was I going to let any more SHIT happen to me without my doing something about it.

I had 10 days before the date of my arbitration meeting.

I immediately got to work, first getting a signed deposition from the very repairman that had showed that day stating that the appliance was quite in need of maintenance work and the last time he had done ANY maintenance for him was almost 5 years before. From thoroughly reviewing my rental contract, and local laws, SBL is obligated to have all appliances maintained/services EVERY YEAR.

I had also talked to some of the other tenants and had heard that this wasn't the first time SBL had sued tenants after the fact. I hunted them down and got sworn statements from them also. Unfortunately for them, they didn't know what to do and mostly didn't show up at arbitration hence SBL winning by default. NO WAY I WAS NOT GOING TO LET HIM DO THIS TO ME.

I then drew up a rebuttal to each and every claim he had, including photos from the year+ that I had lived there,, printed out all my email correspondence and even convinced my ex roommate and one of the movers that heard my interaction with SBL about him stating how "generous" it was of me letting him keep my whole deposit (which was a significant amount) to come.

DAY OF ARBITRATION... I dressed up in my power-suit and with my ex-roommate and worker in tow, showed up at the meeting. Now, in Canada, arbitration is not held in a court room per se, but it still held AT the courthouse in a conference room with a judge. We had one hour with this judge. Since SBL was the plaintiff, he got to go first with his case. He spent over 40 minutes going over everything and I sat quietly until he finished.

Once he finished, I then hauled out the rebuttal in multiple copies, handed to the judge, to SBL and anyone else that wished to have one and I quickly went over each point. SBL was irate, and interrupted almost every second sentence I spoke. I would pause the moment he would start talking and say sweetly "I was quiet and polite during your time to present your case, I hope you grant me the same respect". SBL started to get red in the face, ESPECIALLY when I got to the deposition of the Maintenance worker for the appliance. I included with that the tenancy/landlord act sections pertaining to appliance maintenance and stated that this was the only record of maintenance that had occurred, and unless he can come up with more recent records from perhaps another company, it was over 5 years since anything had been looked at.

With my defense, I had also then countered that I would like my deposit back, and my day's pay from work since I had to take that day off to go to this meeting.

The judge then made his statement, and I will always remember this for the rest of my life. He stated that first, he was very impressed of my presentation and that I obviously have a good handle on things and can tell that my nature is of kindness and respect especially with photos of how I had the town house furnished and clean and pride in whatever home I would live in.

Bottom line.... Not only did I win my case, I wound up having SBL owing my over 80% of my deposit back, including interest. SBL's face was PRICELESS. The judge then proceeded to tell SBL that they will be reviewing again all his previous filings, and if there was enough evidence of harassment, he would be reported to the board of landlords and tenants. I don't really know if anything came out of that.

Now.... I walked away that day feeling on top of the world. Completely justified and he got a taste of his own medicine.

BUT... it didn't stop there. OH NO. Knowing that this guy has a history of suing tenants... I printed up my final results (and judge's signature) and gave a copy to each and every tenant in that complex. I wanted to warn everyone his practices and to keep notes, photos etc so that he couldn't do that to them.

But I didn't stop there... He still now owed ME money (he he) and I asked repeatedly for the payment. he never responded. He had until a certain day to pay me back my deposit, and on that day I had gone to his house (I looked up his residence under public records as he is a landlord and had to file under a certain address) and knocked on the door. He didn't answer, though I knew he was home. I rang the bell a few more times, and knocked loudly. he then turned his house alarm on, which at first startled me, but quickly turned to humor seeing how much of a pussy this bully turned out to be.

I then yelled out loud enough that I am not going anywhere. He yelled out, "get off my property or I will call the police!!!"

OK... no problem. I got off the property, but camped out on the front sidewalk. I had a fold-up chair, a cooler with water and sodas, a few sandwiches and all my paperwork with me. I was set to stay there forever. I then would tell anyone that would walk by (already there were some people there from the house alarm fiasco) about how I was a tenant and wrongfully sued me and that I have a claim against him and he now owes ME money. I let anyone look at the paperwork just to back up my claim.

The police DID SHOW UP! they first went to talk to SBL and he was claiming that I was harassing him, slandering him and wouldn't leave his property. I was on public property (sidewalk) and it isn't slander if it's true, of which I had all my court-signed paperwork to back me up. I wasn't disturbing the peace, I was simply and quietly seated outside his home and just talking to neighbors about his actions.

He was out YELLING that I need to leave, and I quietly stated that I would be happy to leave once I am paid that he was legally obligated to do by that date. I was not going to leave before I got money in my hand, and I was more than willing to stay there and tell anyone that would listen to me why I was camped out. The police stated I wasn't doing anything wrong, that it's public property, I wasn't disturbing the peace and it isn't slander if it's true.

Finally after an hour of SBL yelling on his front lawn at the policemen (and at me, of course) did his wife come out with money. She handed the money to the police, of which in turn handed the money to me, and signed off documenting final payment was complete. I sweetly smiled, thanked the police deeply, and went home.

I have no idea what ever happened to SBL, and if he is still pulling shit like this on others, but I hope that I helped put the fear of god in him that he just can't screw with people because eventually it will come and bite him in the ass.

Sometimes, nice guys (or girls) finish last, but with patience ... they finish with a WIN!

(source) story by (/u/Elena_La_Loca)

[scullysexual]

Noctorum: Chapter Two.

Chapter One.

So I’m a dumb-dumb who didn’t realise she put April 16 in the last chapter when it was supposed to say April 25 so when you read the first chapter, read it as 25 and not 16. Anyway, creepy towns, creepy girls, creepy people is what’s in this chapter and I really like Esther, she’s my little weirdo child.

Tagging: @today-in-fic @suitablyaggrieved @purrykat @mypanicface and @lappina. Feel free to let me know if you want to be tagged. 

NOCTORUM, NORTH CAROLINA

APRIL 26

10:11 am

Noctorum was a quiet town. Quaint. With its small population of only 422 people, it’s a town often forgotten about, a town were certain things can happen and nobody would ever found out.

Mulder stands just outside of its gates, the rental car unable to get through them. He senses immediately that there’s something off about this little town- perchance the possibility to get mysteriously pregnant aside- knowing that once he passes through these gates, it’ll be entering another world.

For now, he looks upon it; the cabins that stand in for houses, smoke escaping from the chimneys above, there’s a story to be told here.

He takes the camcorder out from his denim jacket. Casual clothes replace suits today, they’re here as a favour really, not under any bureaucratic order: his badge in his other pocket, his gun at his side, he’ll be the agent he is on all other cases but this is for his interest.

“What is it about small towns, Scully?” he asks at the sound of the car door shutting. “Why do they hold so many secrets?”

Scully hadn’t taken his prerogative. Her black and white suit stands out against the brown of the town and against his denim and plaid outfit. They’re a mismatched pair.

Scully doesn’t answer, instead she looks questioningly at the camera.

“Why do you have that? What are you hoping to video?”

He presses the record button and begins to video his surroundings.

“Evidence maybe,” Mulder says, focusing upon the gate. “You read the rest of that woman’s testimony right?”

Scully crosses her arms defensively over her body, “You mean the part where she says she was almost eaten by a giant tongue coming out of a rock?”

Mulder directs the camera towards Scully who turns away when she realises she’s on the tape. Smiling, Mulder says, “That’s the one!” He closes the camera. “Imagine if I caught that on tape…”

He places the camcorder back into his pocket, grabs his bag from off the ground and tosses it over his shoulder. “Let’s go Scully,” he says, beginning to make his way through the gate. “Let’s hope you don’t get pregnant.”

He stops in his tracks instantly, immediately regretting his choice of words. Mulder spins around, catching the last glimpses of pain on Scully’s face before she shields it behind stoicism.

“Scully, I’m so sorry…” he starts to apologise but Scully shakes him off, gripping her own bag harder as she moves in front of him.

“Forget it,” she says. The discovery of Emily and her death are  still fresh in their memories, it was a stupid slip of the tongue.

Mysterious pregnancies.

He was such an idiot at times.

“Scully,” he calls and she stops and turns to him. “If this case ever gets too much, please let me know.”

He watches her think for a moment before she smiles slightly and answers, “I will.”

Content with her answer, Mulder adjusts his bag and follows her into the town.

  They find sheriff’s office fairly easy. It’s a cabin, like many of the others, though slightly bigger. As usual, it’s a two man police-force; Sheriff Abel Miller sits behind a counter, for the last ten minutes he’s been eyeing them and their badges suspiciously.

“Outsiders,” he says, not quite a statement, not quite a question. “And what brings us the pleasure of the FBI cause I sure as hell didn’t call y’all.”

Scully looks to Mulder before speaking. “We’re here investigating a missing persons case…” she pauses slightly. “A woman called Jessica Mason went missing from here about a week ago, her husband was told to contact us.”

“Jessica?” Miller asks, Mulder doesn’t miss the way he almost spits her name out. “Ain’t nobody here by that name.”

“We reckon she may have been a tourist,” says Mulder. “An outsider, as you call them. You don’t remember her?”

The sheriff leans back into his chair, thinking, thinking, thinking…

“No, sorry, I don’t,” he finally answers. Then he moves forward again. “But if she was here for a while, the bed and breakfast up the road is probably you’re best bet,” he tells them. He moves towards the telephone just to the left of him. “I’ll give Ruth a call, let her know you’re coming.”

“Thank you,” Scully says. They go to turn away before Miller is calling them back.

“You may want to book a night there yourself,” he suggests. “Ain’t no other place for miles.”

There was no mistaking the uneasiness, the weariness their presence seemed  give the sheriff. Mulder looks to Scully- she felt it too.

“We will do,” she says. “Thank you.” They take their leave.

  The Bed and Breakfast isn’t too far from the sheriff’s office. Again, it’s slightly bigger than all the other cabins yet not as large as the office had been. A few knocks and Mulder leans against the railing.

“What did you think of the sheriff?” Mulder asks as they wait for the door to open. “Not get a weird sense from him?”

“I think he just doesn’t like that we’re on his territory,” Scully says, keeping her eyes on the shut door. “Need I remind you we have no jurisdiction on this case, Mulder?”

“We’re not here as FBI agents.”

She looks at him, then, giving him the raised eyebrow look.

“But we’re using our badges to gain information.”

Mulder shrugs, “Initiative.” He looks to the still shut door. “Maybe nobody’s home.”

Just then, the door opens and a woman with blonde hair stands in its threshold. “Sorry,” she says. “I was just finishing some business. How can I help you?”

“We’re here to ask you some questions,” Scully says, fishing out her badge. Mulder follows suit, holding his own up.

The woman looks between the two IDs. “Right,” she says. “Come in.”

The hallway is short. A doorway to the right, the kitchen and dining area straight ahead, in front of them stairs. A portrait of a fat man hangs on the wall, a desk with a check-in book and telephone sit just before the stairs. Mulder notes the check-in book.

They follow the woman down the hallway and into the room on the right. It’s a glorified sitting room, with more chairs to hold more guests. A table with cards left upon it sits in the corner, faded red fabric couches fill the rest of the room. There’s no TV, no lighting system and no other means of entertainment aside from the cards resides in the room. Strange.

“Would you like some tea?” the woman asks.

“Sure, thank you,” says Scully.

The woman leaves momentarily. Mulder leans over to Scully who sits beside him on the couch.

“Because this place isn’t strange,” he says.

She has no time to reply as the woman walks back into the sitting room. A smile on her face, she sits herself down in the adjacent couch.

“So, what questions do you have?”

“Did anyone named Jessica or Rob Mason stay here?” Mulder asks.

“Not that I can remember,” the woman says. There’s a slight falter to her smile. “When would this have been?”

“About a week ago?”

The woman thinks for a moment. “No, not that I can remember.”

“There’s a check-in book in the hallway,” Mulder mentions. “Would their names not be in that?”

The woman laughs lightly. “If I’m to be honest, that book is for show. I don’t get enough guests here to justify using it.” Her attention is taken to the door then. “Ah, this will be your tea.”

A young girl, no more than nine, enters, three cups of teas balanced in her arms on a tray. She places the tray on the coffee table then begins to hand to cups out to the three of them.

“Thank you,” Scully says when the girl passes one to her. The girl makes no acknowledgement that Scully said anything.

“You may leave now,” the woman says to the girl. The girl goes.

“Who’s the girl?” Mulder asks still looking towards the door.

“Esther,” the woman answers.

“Is she your daughter?” asks Scully.

The woman laughs. “God no. She just lives here and helps out.” She looks at them sternly then. “I do not force her to work for me,” she jokingly says.

Mulder laughs slightly, Scully manages a smile.

“No,” the woman says with a sigh. “Her parents died five years ago so the sheriff thought it best she live here with me. It’s not an issue, she never speaks, never causes a fuss. Though, at times she can be a little…strange.”

“How so?” Scully asks.

Mulder zones out of the conversation, his eyes flicking around the room. They land on a photo of the same woman in this room and with her stands a girl- not the nine year old- another one, older and a resemblance to the woman. He goes over to it.

“What’s he looking at?” the woman asks.

“Who’s this?” Mulder asks, pointing to the girl in the photo.

“That is my actual daughter.”

Mulder nods. “Is she here?”

“N- no…” the woman falters again and Mulder doesn’t miss it. “She’s away…in college.”

Mulder decides not to press anymore and instead moves away from the photo.

“Well, thank you, Mrs…” Scully begins.

“Ruth,” the woman says. “Everyone calls me Ruth.”

“Ruth,” Scully repeats. “You’ve been very helpful.”

They go leave before Ruth is stopping them.

“Are you planning on staying for a while?” she asks. “It’s just, I noticed the bags and, well, if you’re looking for a place to stay...”

“Yes,” says Mulder.

Ruth smiles. “I’ll just get to your keys.” She disappears back out the room.

Once she’s gone, Mulder turns to Scully again.

“We need to look in that check-in book,” he says and Scully nods.

Ruth returns, two old-fashioned keys in her hands. “There you go,” she says, handing one to Mulder then the other to Scully. “Rooms one and two are open for you.”

“Thank you,” says Mulder. He leaves the sitting room, making his way up the stairs and to his room, Scully trailing a slight bit delayed behind him.

So far he hasn’t learned much about Jessica Mason’s disappearance. All he knows is that he was right in his assumption earlier; small towns are very good at keep secrets.

[random-imagines-blog]

Shut Me Up {Tom Riddle One Shot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 4788 Synopsis: A Slytherin and a Gryffindor do their prefect rounds together and run into a spot of trouble on Halloween Night. Notes: John Murphy as Tom Riddle.

The Halloween celebrations at Hogwarts were legendary, and much looked forward to by students and staff alike. Pumpkins, carved with faces and sprinkled with cinnamon and brown sugar, brought both the autumn look and smell to the great hall as they hovered above the tables during the feast. Some of the students went as far as to wear costumes, though most were attired in their warmer robes with bright colored scarves around their necks in shades of orange. Honeydukes in Hogsmeade had provided mountains of candy which piled up around the puddings during dessert, but the feast was not the highlight of the day for many of the students. That would come later, when the teachers retired to their rooms except for those on patrol, for Halloween was a night of mischief for ghost and student alike.

All prefects were put on patrol duty for the night, and that meant that you - a fifth year prefect representing the proud house of Gryffindor - were out of bed and wandering the dark castle rather than sharing a cup of pumpkin juice with your friends and guessing if the candy handed to you was an acid pop or a muggle lollipop. You weren’t alone, but you might as well have been for you had been paired with Tom Riddle, Slytherin prefect, and a person known for being the strong and silent type, and not at all given to conversation, even to pass the time.

Tom Riddle walked with his hands clasped behind his straight back. His eyes were always ahead, never on you. He didn’t even suggest bringing out his wand and casting lumos so you two could see if anyone was standing in the shadows, he seemed to be able to see in the dark. The candles were just enough for you to be able to tell if something was moving but apart from that, you were blind.

You couldn’t take it anymore and brought out your wand, casting the light giving spell, but immediately, the Slytherin beside you gently pressed it down so it was pointed at the floor. “We want to catch people, not let them on to our presence so they can stop their activities.” He spoke, his voice deeper than that of most people your age. You rolled your eyes, persistent on keeping the light.

“I’d rather them stop their activities and go to bed than have to chase them around the castle, in the dark nonetheless.” You argued.

“Shh.” He said, and muttered the counterspell to darken your wand. You opened your mouth to argue but realized that it would be absolutely pointless in this case. Any other Slytherin, you would have taken on, but there was something to Tom Riddle that made you stop and ponder whether it was a good idea. It didn’t matter if it was or not at that moment, for you too heard whatever noise that he had his ears caught onto.

Around a corner, there was sounds of muffled laughter. Students out of bed, and as of yet uncaught by the caretaker or a prefect. You just had to hope that they were not Gryffindor students, giving your house a bad name and the potential of getting points taken away which was something that you could ill afford at this time.

You held your wand in your hand, your thumb grazing a knot in the wood, ready to defend yourself from an ever-bashing boomerang or a dungbomb or whatever they might have had planned.

You were much more subtle than Tom, creeping rather than merely stepping, hoping to catch them off guard, startle them into silence and enforce some discipline which was your responsibility, but Tom’s footsteps could be heard down the hall. It did not scare away the students, but brought about some laughter and shushing. They were evidently not going to be giving up on their prank, no matter who it was that would pass into it.

The two of you turned into the next Hallway but it was empty. A flash of movement in one of the classrooms caught your attentions however. You grabbed onto Tom’s robe and chased after it, heading into the unused room. You raised your wand to light it again but the sound of the door slamming shut behind you, and then being blocked rather than just locked, was loud enough for you not to hear yourself reciting the spell. It lit anyhow, and the white light showed that the two of you were not alone.

There was something pale in the corner of the room. It had spots missing from it, but the light from the end of your wand reflected off the white, making it appear like a ghost. You thought perhaps it might be one of the many Hogwarts ghosts on a late night stroll but the thing moved closer and showed a much more solid form than any of the ghosts had. Each step had an odd sound, like rubber slapping against wood, followed by a squeak like a person coming out of the rain.

“Stay there,” You said, raising your wand. Tom took a step closer to the figure, his arm also raised, and the thing changed itself, following into shadow and dropping onto the ground noiselessly. It was only the wind coming from it as it fell that gave you any indication of what had happened.

Tom lit his wand as well, finally using his common sense in your opinion, and took a few confident strides over until he stopped suddenly.

“What is it?” You questioned, whispering.

“Boggart.” He finally spoke. Your mind whirled with this new information, and curiosity did overtake you. You knew that you would do well to retreat back to the door, cast a blasting spell to get whatever blocked it out of the way and capture the students who had locked you inside - but you were curious about what the fear of someone like Tom Riddle would be.

The light showed the figure on the floor, with dark hair covering his eyes, pale skin nearly glowing. The blood that was on the hands, and on some of the exposed skin, was a violent crimson that could not soon be forgotten. Tom kicked the figure just a little, to reveal its face.

Tom’s own.

You gasped and put your hand to your mouth. It took a moment for you to control your breathing, but now that you had, all you could think about was going out that door and taking all of the points away from those students, no matter which house you were in, and report them to the Headmaster immediately.

“Ridikkulus.” Tom said, the light at the end of his wand going out, and was replaced by the sparkle of the spell. The body was lifted, and started to jerk and dance about like it was a puppet on strings. This attempt to make it funny just made you feel more uneasy. You started to feel sick to your stomach.

But eventually the puppeted corpse of the boy next to you dissipated, and in it’s stead, a clown stood. The corners of it’s large red mouth were particularly pointy, the nose was as red as blood. The pointed cone-shaped hat that was on it’s head seemed as sharp as the end of a needle, and it’s eyes as black as coal.

Seeing it brought you back to third year, when you had learned how to deal with Boggarts in DADA class. Relax, do not give into fear, think of something to make this big nosed, big footed thing amusing. Pointing the wand right at the clown’s chest, you muttered ‘Ridikkulus.”

A popping sound filled the empty room, and then a wheezing. Like the balloons that clowns often carried, this clown was leaking air and folding in itself until there was nothing left but a deflated shape. That soon disappeared, and the two of you were left in utter darkness. A few seconds later, before you could respond to what had just happened, a wardrobe door opened and shut, the boggart trapping itself since it had been beaten.

And in another couple of seconds, a blast came from the direction of the door that you had come in through, as Tom used ‘Bombarda’ to literally make it explode out from it’s hinges. Once the dust settled, you were out of there, following the Slytherin prefect as he ran after the boys that had locked the two of you in there with literally your worst fears.

In the dark of the castle, you seemed to have lost them. The adrenaline and the fear had gotten the best of you back in the classroom, and you leaned against a wall in the corridor to catch your breath.

“Do you care to tell me why a classroom has been blown up?” You looked up to see a tall figure walking towards you, but you felt no anger, surprise or fear. The voice was that of the kindly Transfigurations professor, Dumbledore. You explained as quickly as possible what had happened, and that you had lost the trail of your co-prefect and the culprits. “Return to your dormitory, and you’ll be summoned in the morning to tell this all to Professor Dippet.” He said, calmly. You nodded, excused yourself and headed to the Gryffindor tower, unable to get the sight of the clown out of your mind.

The next morning, you were indeed called to Professor Dippet’s office after breakfast, where you stood with Tom, and the three seventh year Slytherin boys who had been the ones to pull the prank. You explained your piece, and were told in return that the boys would be receiving detention with Professor Slughorn every weekend for the next three months. That didn’t seem good enough to you - the Professor would probably bond with the boys over their rich and resourceful families and treat them to desserts, but you didn’t press the issue. Dippet did what he deemed best and as prefect, you had to trust that it was the right thing.

“Clowns.” Tom murmured as the two of you walked back to the staircases to proceed to your next lessons, which you were already running late for but you had signed notes from Dippet.

“Excuse me?” You asked, thinking that you heard him wrong, for it was such an odd thing to say.

“Your boggart was a clown.” Tom stated. You shot him a glance as you hopped up on one of the staircases as it started to change direction. He had stepped on as well but didn’t give you a single look.

“Have you seen those things? Terrifying. Definitely not appropriate for children at all.” You justified yourself. You very well could bring up his but anything personal about Tom felt off-limits to you. It was strange to even consider.

“They entertain children.”

“By hiding their faces and features under caked on paint, laughing menacingly, spraying water in your face, honking your nose, waving at you from across the room with it’s obnoxiously big white gloves...” You went on. “I’m not ashamed of it.”

“Clearly.” Tom said, with what sounded like amusement in his voice.

He stepped up a stair to join you, and you found his closeness to be quite uncomfortable. He was silent now, and you felt the pressure of having to say something, anything, to get rid of the quiet tension. “Can we just pretend that it never happened? I won’t ask you any questions about yours, and you leave me alone about mine.”

“Fine.” Tom said with a nod. The staircase clicked itself into place, and you proceeded up the rest of the way and onto the landing, looking over your shoulder at Tom, who stayed on the staircase as it moved away from the sixth floor corridor towards the Astronomy tower. You shook your head to yourself, and attempted to brush off the cold feeling that had come over you when you had stood near him.

The students that had been apprehended had been looking at you and sniggering all throughout breakfast, which made you feel uneasy. Your friends noticed it and kept shooting them dirty looks - one of them even offered to send a howler, pretending to be their mothers, but you rejected it. It would just make things worse, you felt, so you took the high road and attempted to ignore it. That was until you and most of the other students started to get up, adjust your robes, and head off to your first class of the day.

Through the massive doors that lead to the great hall strode in a clown. Okay, it may just have been Peeves the Poltergeist in a polka-dotted get up with some sort of colored grease paint all over his face, which you weren’t sure was possible since his face was not exactly solid, but it was still enough for you to lower your face to the ground, put your hands over your ears, and take a deep breath. You attempted to imagine that you were anywhere else but here as the jingling sounds of the bells on Peeves’ hat moved closer and closer.

Footsteps echoed on the floor as they came closer to you. You could just hear them over the sound of people in the Great Hall laughing at what, to you, was a terrifying sight that made you feel like you could melt into a puddle on the floor.

“Leave, Peeves.” Tom Riddle said, his voice forceful enough to make you shudder. If he had ever talked to you like that, you weren’t sure what you would do. And you were put in Gryffindor for a reason - you did have a great deal of bravery, he was just that intimidating.

“Itsy Little Riddle - I’ve got a Riddle for you!” Peeves said, bouncing around, making his hat jingle all the more. “I live for laughter, I live for the crowd, without it I am nothing, what am I?” He laughed loudly.

“We get it, you’re a clown.” Tom said, his voice even. “I’m sure the Baron will find it hilarious. I’ll summon him now-”

“Aiiee!” Peeves the Clown immediately fell through the floor, leaving the hat and clothing on the floor, which you only saw when you finally opened your eyes, following no further noise from the poltergeist. You avoided looking at the clothes after your first glimpse, and you definitely avoided looking at Tom. Rather, you just hurried from the Hall as fast as you could, and away from the laughter.

The Prefects bathroom was where you went, rather than the classroom. You went to the sinks, put your hands on either side of one of them, and took a couple of deep breaths. The vision of the deranged clown that the boggart had turned into flashed into your mind and you winced.

“I suspect it was those seventh years who put Peeves to the task.” Riddle said, strolling in. You looked at him through the mirror, but said nothing. He had as much right to be in here as you do, since you are both prefects. “I can’t prove it, however.”

“They got their laughs,” You said, straightening your back and then adjusted your red and gold striped tie that showed off your Gryffindor pride. It directly opposed Tom’s green and silver tie and badge. “But then again, your house is known for being utterly relentless.” You caught his eye in the reflection.

“Aren’t Gryffindors supposed to be brave?” He retorted, coming in closer to you. He stood directly behind but your eyes hadn’t moved, staring straight into his through the mirror. He leaned forward, his chest against your back, and turned on the water in the sink. “Splash some water on your face, you look pathetic.”

“Yeah, yeah, we’ll see how you react if anyone ever makes Peeves dress up as your corpse.” You said, doing as he had said for you to do, and splashed some cold water on your face. To your surprise, Tom held out a towel to you after that was done, and you took it and dried yourself off.

“Don’t ever mention that to anyone.” Tom threatened. You pretended not to hear him, using the towel to dry some of your flyaway hairs that had become wet as well.

“Did people see?” You asked, tossing the towel into the laundry bin where it would go down to the house elves, be washed, and brought back up. “My reaction, I mean, Peeves was hard to miss.”

“I doubt it, they were laughing until I ruined their fun.”

“Good. I’d hate for them to think I need to be shut up in an asylum because I cannot stand the sight of clowns.” You turned around and faced Tom straight on, and gave a weak smile. Despite the ribbing, you were still thankful that he had helped you in the Great Hall and that he had followed you in here. “They’re lucky I don’t know what they’re afraid of.”

“Do you want to find out?” Tom asked. The question hung in the air like a heavy cloud. He was full of surprises today, but this one was one of the bigger ones. He was never one to mess with drama, at least not in the school. He kept his focus on his studies, and on himself, he never gave a care about the other students, in a good or a bad way. This was the most Slytherin like that he had ever seemed to you.

“No.” You said, after a few minute deliberation. “They aren’t worth the trouble that we may get into. However - the moment that I graduate from this school, I’m tracking them down and challenging them to a duel. I plan to bombard them into the last century.” You said, with a determined tension in your jaw. Tom snickered - actually goddamn snickered at your gumption.

“Now that, I would like to see.” Tom said, retreating from you to head back towards the door. “I’ve got a few plans of my own.”

“Are you going to be a prankster, Tom Riddle?” He hardly seemed the type. He was so uptight, and so serious. He probably never went near a dungbomb in his life.

“No.” He said, as if it was the most preposterous idea that he had ever heard. “I’m not sinking to their level. I’m raising them to mine. Excuse me,” And with a bow of his curly black hair, he left the prefects bathroom. A moment later, you followed, heading the opposite way however to get to your first class of the day.

At which point did Tom realize that he was doing things for you, and not for himself? He couldn’t say - it had always been in the back of brain, that image of you, the way that you had shut down when you saw your greatest fear in front of you. It fascinated him, it intrigued him how you had frozen rather than face your weakness. Loud and obnoxious, those seventh year Slytherins were, and so it was easy to find them after dinner when he entered the Common Room. “Someone’s come to get the bloody baron before the Gryffindork pees themself?” One of them laughed, seeing Tom Riddle enter the dreary room.

“Interesting, isn’t it? The way that the simplest minds get fixated on one thing, when they should be worrying about many others.” Tom said, cool as an ice cube. “Now, for instance, yours shouldn’t be focused on the prefect, or on clowns, but on yourselves. I’d be very much concerned about that.” Maybe it was the tone of voice, the detection of a threat or how unfazed Tom was that alarmed the three boys. “Chances are, someone is going to stand up for them eventually, and it’s going to be known that you’re the only ones who knows about the clowns. Or maybe she’ll stand up for herself? Or maybe this will backfire in your face and it’ll be you on the end of the Bloody Baron’s sword. Maybe all the above.”

“I wouldn’t talk so much if I were you, prefect.” The largest of the boys said, forcing a smirk onto his face. “You could just have a laugh like the rest of us are doing.”

Tom brought out his wand, and quickly - very quietly - mumbled out the silencing charm on this leader. It was one of his own invention. Instead of just taking away the voice, it took away the entire mouth, leaving the skin from nose to chin without marr or features.

“The Gryffindor prefect is under my protection.” He gave no excuses, no reason for declaring it. He could have a million things to say, like it was because he didn’t want the trouble or the house points taken away. Those weren’t the reasons. He had no need to justify himself. “If one more clown related thing happens, I will have no remorse over what I will do to you.”

The two boys who weren’t silenced were much too fussed over their leader to pay much attention, but they nodded their heads, not wanting the same thing to happen to them. With his wand raised straight in front of his face, Tom strode in close to the mouthless boy, and raised an eyebrow. “Are we clear?”

The boys fingers touched where his mouth had been, and tried to open a space that wasn’t there. Hysterical grunts came through his nose, but he nodded in response to Tom, who poked the boys face and brought the mouth back. “Good. Not a word, lads.”

Over the next couple of weeks, there were no more sightings of clowns. Not a letter, not a ghost dressed up as one, not a thing, and you started to wonder if it had anything to do with the fact that Tom always seemed to be hanging around you now. Since your time together in the prefects bathroom, he seemed to be strolling behind you on your way to class, or sharing your table in the library when you went to study.

You started to welcome the company of the isolated teenager, slowing your pace so that he would have no choice but to either stop or join you on your walks, and you started to share books as well so you wouldn’t have to hunt for a second copy of something you both needed for an essay. It began to be easier to be around him. With you being a Gryffindor, and him a Slytherin, there was some tension still when it came to certain topics but you eased him into a friendship, slowly but surely.

You might even be the only friend that he’s ever had.

In the library, close to the end of the school year, you were studying for your OWLS diligently. Around you were all the different textbooks of the classes that you were taking, and you were jotting down important notes then muttering them to yourself so they would stick in your head better. Tom had joined you, and though he too took notes, there was no sound at all coming from his corner of the table other than the rustling of parchment and the turning of pages.

Then there was three minutes of straight silence. No quill scratching, nothing, so you looked over to his side of the table and saw him sitting straight, a dark look in his eyes, glaring over your shoulder. Slowly, you turned your head around with no expectations of what it was that Tom would be giving this look to. What you saw were the three seventh years who had locked you and Tom in the room with the boggart. They were trying to look brave, but you could see right through them. They had fear in their eyes as they looked right back at Tom.

“What is that, in your hand?” Tom asked viciously, getting to his feet.

“It’s a card for my little brother -” One of them said, and held it up. There was a dancing clown on the cover of the card. It looked happy and jolly, and held up a big banner that said ‘Happy Birthday’. It wasn’t at all menacing but it still put a shiver down your spine and you tuned to look away from it.

“Incendio.” Tom had his wand out in the short time that you had looked over your shoulder. Your mouth fell open as you realize what he had just done - he burned the card until it was nothing but ashes on the library rug.

“No magic in the library!” The sharp-voiced librarian said from behind her desk. Her eyes were like that of a hawk and her ears that of a dog or something, for she knew exactly who it was. “Mr. Riddle, out!”

With that same dark look in his eyes, he slid his books and parchment into his bag, and walked out, leaving a cold feeling in the room despite the fire.

“If you didn’t have a fear of clowns, my brother would get a birthday card this year.” One of the seventh years glowered at you. You stood up and packed your own things, then made a face over at the older boy, then rushed out to catch up with Tom, your mind trying to figure out what had just happened. Both you and Tom have run into these boys since their little prank, and there had never been this sort of reaction.

You saw the dark-haired boy turn a corner, so you quickened up your pace to catch up. “Tom!” You called out, making him slow down. You stopped in front of him, and poked his chest hard with your index finger. “Why did you do that? He wasn’t bothering you!”

“I told him that if he, or any of his friends, came near you with any sort of clown-themed thing, I’d do something to them. As it happens, burning a card is the least that I could have done.” Tom said, flippantly.

“You think that I can’t handle myself?” You questioned.

“You’ve proven that you freeze up if someone is even dressed as a clown, so no.” Tom took hold of your wrist and forced you to walk alongside him. “So I have to take care of you, for you.”

“Oh no you don’t! I fight my own battles, Mr. Riddle!” The anger that was bubbling in you, the bravado that came from being a Gryffindor, meant that you were going for the complete formal rather than informal. But you were not stupid enough to continue on when he gave you the dirty look he had given to the seventh years.

“Don’t ever call me that.” He spat. “You’re the only one here that I even remotely care about, so you’re mine and I’m going to take care of you until this stupid fear of yours is gone.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended.” You folded your arms in front of your chest, leaned on the heels of your feet and looked down at the floor. “Tom - if you want to be friends, lets be friends. Drop this whole clown thing. I will be fine. I’m not going to go into hysterics over a bloody birthday card, now am I?” You glowered.

“Friends?” Tom asked as if it were some sort of alien concept to him. The confusion and the aggression did not mix well, and his face showed that conflict. He muttered it again, wiped his mouth across his lips and then laughed. “Friends?” He said once more. If he was trying to scare you off, it wasn’t working. Rather, you stood still in your place.

“Friends.” You said firmly. “A level above acquaintance. But now thanks to you, we have to find a better place to study. Let’s go to the courtyard.”

With your backpack tight around your shoulder, you walked off in the direction of the beautiful outdoor courtyard which was blooming with Spring flowers. Tom watched you go, looking at the way that your hips swayed as you walked. As you took command.

“Unbelievable.” He said, but followed after like a disciplined puppy.

[plumoh]

[KinKuniKage] Yours to take

Word count: 1464

Summary: FHQ. / Tobio hopes they understand; they don't.

Note: AO3 link. Let’s have a good KinKuniKage week!!

Day 1 - separation: Yours to take

They didn't listen to him.

***

“Hey, should we... disobey?”

“What are you talking about?”

Yuutarou's voice is tainted with so much disbelief that Tobio winces, suddenly regretting speaking up his doubts when the other two don't share the same feeling. Akira is quiet, though his eyes are harsh enough for Tobio to understand how much of a bullshit idea it is to him—Akira's feelings are more transparent than they used to be, which isn't necessarily a good thing to know.

“Since when do you even think about questioning orders?” Yuutarou goes on.

“You can't tell me that this isn't wrong,” Tobio argues, looking at his feet.

“It's for the kingdom.”

Lies, these are lies, Tobio wants to shout, wants to scream, but the words stay lodged in his throat, just like when he received the order from General Hajime. They all trust Hajime, he's the perfect knight everyone wants to become, and his word is the most reliable, but the uneasiness settling into Tobio's guts day by day has grown too overwhelming for him to ignore.

The orders changed. Tobio has never been the brightest of minds, which speaks volumes about how twisted the situation is. He can't tell if he's surprised or disappointed that Akira doesn't agree with him.

“The King would never order us to wipe out an entire village,” he says.

“There is evidence of the harm they can bring to the kingdom,” Akira asserts. “You saw them too.”

“I don't think it's enough to justify what we're about to do...”

“Tobio, are you planning on betraying King Tooru?”

Tobio jerks his head up, caught off guard by Yuutarou's poisonous words, and when he sees that his gaze is just as fierce and piercing, he bites the inside of his cheek, and shakes his head.

“No.”

Lying has never been your best talent, Tobio-chan.

***

“Say, do you guys want to go to the festival tonight?”

“I'm too tired to go out.”

“We didn't fight as much as usual, today.”

“Ugh.”

Yuutarou chuckles and tugs Akira's arm, while Tobio discreetly smiles, amused by Akira's face showing nothing more than pure disgruntlement, though he doesn't resist much when Yuutarou drags him towards the exit of their room. It's a peaceful night, perfect for anyone wishing to enjoy themselves and to get lost in the different booths of games and of food on the plaza. Weird demons and other spirits have not shown up in a few days, so every minute of their daytime isn't spent on swinging a sword or casting a spell, although Tobio is adamant about practicing his archery to master his marksmanship. The royal guard could do with a stronger force hitting at a distance not involving magic—Akira often complains about his energy being sucked into the void because powerful mages are lacking.

Right now though, they're not fighting any monsters. They haven't gone to a place together just for the sake of hanging out in a long time, and Tobio is giddy just at the thought of spending time with Yuutarou and Akira without duty holding them (or separating them) together. Yuutarou is just as excited, judging by his grin and the glint in his eyes.

“We can win prizes if we get good scores on the games,” he says excitedly. “And there's a lot of food!”

“Food sounds great,” Tobio agrees.

“You guys are too much to handle,” Akira grumbles.

But there is no bite in his words, just fond exasperation, and Tobio's heart makes a leap at the sight of Akira smiling.

Yeah, it's good to be at peace.

***

“I can't believe you did that!”

“What, you wanted me to let them kill us?”

“Of course not! But you could... I don't know, warn us? Warn them?”

“Warn them I was going to torch them alive? Stop being ridiculous, Tobio.”

“Yeah, what's wrong with you? You've been snapping at us for stupid stuff lately.”

Tobio grits his teeth, turning on his heels and trying to ignore the smell of the bodies littering the ground, mercilessly destroyed by Akira's spells like simple dolls. He can't accept this anymore. Yuutarou and Akira looked mildly disgusted by what they had to do, but they never hesitated to strike down every single person charging at them—whether they realize how absurd the situation is, they aren't keen on talking about it.

A hand grabs Tobio's shoulder and he's forced to turn around. He meets Yuutarou's angry gaze (Yuutarou is always angry, these past few days), burning just like the fire surrounding them, and Tobio tries to match its intensity with a cold glare of his own.

“I don't know what's gotten into you, but you'd better explain,” Yuutarou hisses.

“I told you, this isn't right!” Tobio yells back, fury and despair meshing and pounding against his ribcage. “We just killed an entire village because of some rumors! We'd never obey that kind of order—”

“We've killed thousands of people already, to protect the kingdom!”

“Not like this!”

“What's the difference?”

“God damn it Yuutarou, listen to me!”

Tobio shoves Yuutarou in the chest with angry hands, the fire crackling and the debris breaking so loud that it makes his head spin and his ears ring, and all he can see is Yuutarou looking back at him with similar emotions. Why is he so angry at Tobio?

“Weird stuff has been happening at the castle, you felt that too, right? I can't trust King Tooru anymore!”

“Tobio, you're saying dangerous things—” Akira interjects, but Tobio's had enough.

“I don't care! Nobody is listening to us except corpses! General Hajime would never give us that order, and King Tooru would never issue the order! What's so hard to understand?!”

They've been training together forever, doing the same drills and the same chores and sharing the same lives as far back as Tobio can remember, so why is he alone? Why can't they see what he sees?

For a second Yuutarou bristles, his eyes darting towards Akira, but as fast as it occurred his face closes again and he clenches his fists.

“You know what happens to traitors,” he whispers.

“You'd prefer obeying over doing what's right?” Tobio asks, incredulous.

His disappointment must have shown in his voice because Yuutarou bites his lip; Tobio's words are reaching him, are shaking something that's always been there, but for some reason they can't break the barrier that's keeping him on the opposite side.

Akira steps forward.

“And what do you want us to do?”

Ever the rational, down-to-earth one in their group, his calmness is seeing through Tobio. The latter looks away.

“Come with me,” he breathes. “We can do something. Together.” He licks his lips. “Something's bad going to happen.”

When he looks up, just as the last building collapses, he doesn't need them to speak to know what their answer is.

He has never felt so lost.

***

Tobio sucks in a breath, Yuutarou's hands on his hips while Akira is nipping at his neck. He reaches out to cup Yuutarou's face in his hands, and slowly closes the distance between them, chapped lips meeting and brushing. Yuutarou tightens his grip and makes his lips part as an invitation, soft as always. Akira stops his nipping but Tobio can feel his eyes following their every move, and somehow it spurs in him a stronger desire to give his all. He always gives his all for them.

***

He watches the rain splatters against the windows of the inn's room, quietly listening to the thunder rumbling its mightiest. The weather has stopped his travel; he expected to reach the next town by tonight, but with so much rain and wind he probably won't be able to leave before tomorrow afternoon. Might as well get some real rest, since he has nothing else to do.

His bow, on the table next to the bed he's sitting on, needs cleaning and tuning, but he hasn't used it for something else other than hunting, and he doesn't always come across the right resources to properly take care of his weapon. It's the last item connecting him to his past, and he can't bring himself to get rid of it.

Yuutarou chose the best wood, and Akira carved their initials on it.

Tobio buries his head in his arms, so, so tired.

***

He didn't even say goodbye. Hajime's soldiers chased him and opened fire upon seeing him, not letting him any other choice than fleeing.

Somebody overheard him, and ratted him out.

Tobio is running, running, each cry coming from behind him a reminder of what he must do, of what he lost and of what he's leaving behind. He doesn't dare turning around for fear of catching lazy and fiery eyes.

He chose his path. They chose theirs.

[jugheadonmymind-blog]

I Can’t Help It - Archie x Reader

I took some liberties with it, I hope you don’t mind! I made Reggie a bit of a sleaze too lol. And I made it as gender neutral as possible! Hope you enjoy!

“Arch?” You frown, peering into the supposedly empty classroom, “What are you doing… here?”

He steps into view, a guilty look upon his face. How was he going to explain this to you?

“I was just… I left a book behind,” he shrugs, attempting to sidestep you into the corridor.

“Nice try, Andrews,” you move to block his path, “I know when you’re lying,”

Technically, it wasn’t entirely a lie; he did leave his book behind in class, turning back to retrieve it, but he didn’t leave the room when he heard your’s and Reggie’s voice just outside the door, opting to eavesdrop.

“Was that Reggie? I heard you talking to?” he glances down the now empty corridor, most of the students headed home for the day.

“Yeah,” you nod, feeling irritation rise in you at the accusatory tone in his voice, “He just asked me out to Pop’s,”

“What?” he looks at you in disbelief, “Reggie is—”

“Kinda nice, every once in awhile, and this is one of those times,”

“I can’t believe you,” he exhales, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Since when do you care who I go on dates with?” you scoff.

“Since—”

He stop short, just managing to stop the words from flying off his tongue. He clenches his fist, and his jaw tightens as he struggles with the sudden tightness in his chest. You look at him expectantly, and when he fails to come up with an answer you just shake your head in frustration.

“Whatever, Archie,” you turn on your heel, stalking off.

He calls after you but you refuse to turn around, irritated with his recent behaviour. It didn’t make much sense to you really, the way he would insist on walking you back home from school, or the way he would always be watching you from across the room, or even just the way he sat a little closer to you at the lunch table. Part of you thought it was due to Jason’s death, and that’s understandable; everyone was, is, shaken by it. But his death was an accident right? It certainly doesn’t justify his overbearing behaviour.

You fiddle with your bag strap as you walk to Pop’s, your head trying to figure out what’s causing this change in Archie. Reggie said he was going to head home first before going to Pop’s so you take a slow walk, trying to clear your head a bit. Jason’s death was a stark reminder to everyone, especially to you, of our own mortality. Archie was certainly someone you cared for very dearly, but after hearing about Jason, you thought it was best to move on from oblivious Archie, or at least, try to.

Pop’s nods at you as you walk through the door, and you make a beeline for one of the booths, settling into the soft seat. You pull out your phone, idly passing the time on it, when you hear Reggie’s obnoxious voice calling out to you from the entrance.

“Hey there,” he grins smugly, sliding into the seat opposite you, “I guess the fact that you’re here with me means you’re over Carrot Top,”

“Don’t call him Carrot Top, and I never liked him like that,” you huff, already beginning to regret agreeing to the date.

“Yeah right,” he snorts, “But whatever, it’s his loss, since you’re all mine now,”

He raises his eyebrows suggestively and you choke on your drink.

“Just milkshakes today, Reggie,” you smile tightly, trying to remain polite.

“So you’re saying in the future there could be… more?” he winks.

“All I’m saying is just milkshakes, today,”

“Fine,” he chuckles, leaning back in his seat, sizing you up.

You shift uncomfortably, sending him a glare. The conversation moves to other things, superficial things, like the latest drama going on in Riverdale High and the football team’s shenanigans. You’re only half listening to Reggie drone on about something when you frown, thinking you heard Archie’s voice. Him? Here? He wouldn’t have followed you here, would he? Before you can turn around to check you feel Reggie slide a hand up your arm resting on the table.

“What do you say we… get out of here?” he looks at you intensely.

“No thanks, Reggie,” you grit out, trying pulling your arm away.

He tightens his grip, smirking at you, “Don’t be like that, I’m sure that we can—”

“Hands off, Reggie,”

You swivel around to find a seething Archie glaring at him.

“What do you want, Andrews?” Reggie challenges, leaning forward intimidatingly.

“I said, hands off,” Archie snarls, stepping closer.

Reggie is on his feet immediately, clearly squaring up for a fight. Before Archie can lunge forward you step in between them, pushing the two boys away from each other with your hands.

“Enough!” you yell, furious with both of them.

You feel all the other patrons’ eyes on the three of you and you shake your head in annoyance.

“Reggie,” you fix the boy with a cold stare, “We’re done here,”

“And Archie,” you grab his arm roughly, “Out,”

Archie allows you to drag him out of the diner, and you throw an apologetic look at Pop’s as you leave, before whipping around and shouting at the redhead.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“He… You—”

What was he supposed to say? It was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the jealousy that rose in him whenever he saw you being, even a little, intimate with anyone else. It would make his stomach twist and his muscles tense, and he would just have to watch from afar, afraid that you would notice the change in his behaviour. The jealousy was bad enough but ever since Jason and hearing the gunshot, knowing that there could be a murderer running around Riverdale, the uneasy feeling he got whenever he saw you with someone else increased tenfold.

“I had it under control!” you bellow, feeling mildly offended that Archie thought he had to step in, no matter how grateful you felt knowing that he did.

“I can’t help it!” he shouts, before dropping his voice to a pained whisper, “I just can’t with you, okay?”

He runs his fingers through his hair, looking away, whatever excuse or explanation he had for you getting caught in his chest.

“Can’t what?” you frown, your voice softening, seeing that he’s clearly upset about something more than Reggie.

“I can’t help but… want you,” he sighs resignedly, avoiding your eyes.

“Arch,” you murmur gently, placing your hand on his shoulder, “So is this what it’s all been about? You always watching me? Criticising my dates?”

“I’m sorry but,” he chances a look at you, “Yeah, yeah it is,”

“You should’ve just said something,” you chuckle, stepping closer to him, “Would’ve saved us a lot of trouble. Would’ve saved me from a terrible date with Reggie,”

He peers into your eyes, not quite believing the words coming from your mouth, before breaking out in a wide grin. He pulls you towards him, enveloping you in a warm hug, his quiet laughter in your ear.

“For the record,” you mutter, glancing at his lips, “I want you too,”

He leans in, murmuring against your lips, smile evident in his voice.

“Prove it,”

[gaiatheorist]

“Just a domestic.”

TW: DV.

It’s probably 30 years since the time I phoned the police, with a police officer in the house, to remove my step-father, who was attacking my mother. I didn’t understand why my uncle wouldn’t step in then, looking back, he was on holiday, visiting family, he wasn’t ‘on duty’, and he’d made his own judgement not to intervene. One of many instances of asking for help, and there not being any that led to this closed-off, insular state I place myself in, for my own protection. My brother and I had spent years periodically chasing my stepfather out of the house when he became violent, locking the door, leaving the key on the inside, and listening to our mother agreeing that she wouldn’t let him back in this time. She always did, though, we’d come home from school however-many days later, and find him on our sofa.

We weren’t old or aware enough to do the same with our father, the routine there was different. He’d beat her, and she’d either do nothing at all, or wake us in the middle of the night, coats-on-over-pyjamas, and take us to her friend’s house for a few days, before returning. 

Boris Johnson and Mark Field in the news are making me feel uneasy. The attitudes of some comments, that Field’s action was justifiable, that neighbours are snooping-and-snitching on Johnson show that some perspectives haven’t moved much in 3 decades. What’s making me even more uneasy is the knowledge that those two cases are far from isolated, that there will be untold numbers of untold stories, behind closed doors. It’s the inaction that’s making me uneasy, the way that nobody intervened as Field grabbed Janet Barker, and how long neighbours allowed the ‘domestic disturbance’ to continue at Carrie Symonds’ flat before contacting the police. Barker doesn’t intend to press charges, and Symonds is reportedly claiming that neighbours are interfering in a private dispute. 

We’re going backwards. The back-pedalling on Field’s action is infuriating “He’s not trained in restraint, he acted on instinct!”, not a very nice instinct, grabbing a person by the neck. The ensuing hoo-haa about “What if it had been a MALE protester?” is a nonsense, grabbing a human by the throat is a dick-move, I know, because I’ve done it twice. It’s a show of power, and it’s dangerous if done in anger, misjudging the pressure applied could be fatal. Luckily for the two men I’ve pinned against walls my their throats, my anger is the cold-calculating type, not the hot-headed. The first was an ex-boyfriend, who’d decided to swing his dick, by trying to have his group of friends intimidate myself and the ex in a pub, after I broke up with him. The ex, to his credit, calmly sat in amongst the former boyfriend’s ‘crew’,and asked the biggest, most volatile one “Are we going to have a problem, lads?”. Even then, I wasn’t going to buy into the ‘Knight in shining armour protecting me’ bullshit, so, when the ex-boyfriend came back from the toilet, to find my new boyfriend sitting in amongst his gang, I made a stand for myself. I pinned him to the wall by his throat, and told him to back off, and leave us be. I didn’t hold him there for log, and I was careful where I put my thumbs, but the dick-move power-play was enough. The second time was even more calculated, some years later, a random young man in a pub had wilfully damaged some of the ex’s band gear, and then squawked that the band were ganging up on him. They weren’t, they were just trying to get his details to sort out payment for the damage, but he was trying to run off. I pinned him to the wall, by his throat, we were about the same size and build, and I knew I could hold him there without physically hurting him, the humiliation of being ‘restrained’ by a girl was enough.

I’ve split up bar-fights, and intervened in countless situations that looked like they were about to turn ugly. It’s what I do, I’m not violent myself, and I loathe the thought of people injuring each other. I step in, and sometimes that’s enough, the ‘unexpected’ of a woman standing between brawling men. (I don’t think I’ve ever split two females, that shit CAN get unpleasant.) I am ‘trained in restraint’, to a degree now, but it’s always the very last resort to put hands on, there are multiple levels of de-escalation strategies that can be tried first. 

“She might have been armed!” Barker’s response, that the only thing she was armed with was scientific evidence was PERFECT. There’s a side-snark, that The Presidents Club showed us that entitled males just ‘do’ grab at females at black tie dinner events. She wasn’t armed, she had her mobile phone in one hand, and a handbag in the other. Even if there WAS a weapon in the bag, she didn’t have a spare hand to access it, women’s clothes are stupid. 

The internet had a day or so of “What if it had been a LION?” and such, and I’m getting myself conflicted. Part of me thinks it wouldn’t have mattered whether it was a male protester or a female one, it was still an act of violence, but then there’s the footage of Esther McVey being approached by an angry man, and nobody intervening. Women are being shown that they are less-than.

The Johnson incident was even more worrying. There’s no indication that Symonds came to physical harm, but this man looks like he’s going to be the UK’s next Prime Minister. The neighbours have recorded and reported that there were raised voices, that she was telling him to leave the flat, and he was refusing. A sofa-surfing Prime Minister, screaming and swearing at the girlfriend he left his wife for. Is that what anyone wants as PM? Yes, the neighbour contacting the press might have been viewed as intrusive if it had been a ‘normal’ couple arguing. It wasn’t a normal couple. The police initially stating they had no record of the incident, and then back-pedalling when provided with incident number, and details of units in attendance wasn’t an administrative error.

How much shouting and banging does there have to be before it’s not ‘just a domestic’? Does it need to hit the headlines for another reason? This back-sliding is worrying, you don’t have to have had the exposure to DV that I had to recognise that it’s not acceptable. The attempts at justification and normalisation are concerning, and risk years of forward progress being undone. I know it’s not ‘just’ male-on-female violence or abuse that’s the issue, that there is female-on-male, and abuse within same-sex relationships. None of it is OK. The other cases rarely hit the headlines, possibly because there are fewer of them, and possibly because of the shame/stigma perspective. The old-style argument of ‘just a domestic’ is harmful, and the back-pedalling on an act of violence, an assault occasioning actual bodily harm is disturbing. 

The ‘in the privacy of their own home’ arguments will be trotted out on Johnson. Symonds is minimising the altercation, and sectors of the UK press are digging dirt on those who disclosed. Deeply disturbing, that, while not outwardly defending Johnson, some media are seeking to discredit the ‘concerned neighbours’. This is not a ‘nanny state’ issue. I saw the aftermaths of my mother being beaten, I heard the butcher’s-slab noises of my father and stepfather punching her, and, at a certain point, I stopped believing that she’d ‘walked into a cupboard door’ when she took to wearing eye make-up in the daytime. I was raised in environments where it was considered acceptable to ‘give her a crack’ if dinner wasn’t ready, or right, or if the day had a ‘d’ in it. I am very deeply damaged as a result. I was too young, and too small to ‘do anything’ about my father, I was terrified of him, because I was also a ‘her’, and endured so many ‘cracks’ that my flinch-reflex is almost entirely absent. (Useful in some situations, thanks, Dad, you arsehole.)  

Desensitised to violence, unflinching, not-caring about my own physical well-being, I chose a different route with my step-father. I scared him more than he scared me, even before I exceeded his height of 5′ 7 and 1/2″. He sometimes attacked my brother, but never me. (He always used a weapon when he attacked my brother, too, absolute coward, beating a teenage boy with half a snooker cue, or the yard-brush.) It wasn’t the fact that I could take ‘a pasting’ from my mother without tears, or a sound, it was the knowledge that I would phone the police, however much he hissed, or screamed into my face that they wouldn’t come out, because it was ‘just a domestic.’ Back then, that was the attitude. I still made the phone-calls, and he’d have a night in the cells to sober up, before going to his mother for a couple of days, until he wore my mother down again.

The ‘just a domestic’ attitude still exists. A peripheral acquaintance of the ex moved onto this street for a while, with his girlfriend. They were both alcoholics, and there was domestic violence. The first time she showed up at my door, bloodied, as my son was in his bedroom, she insisted she didn’t want me to call the police. The ex compounded it, by accepting the ‘just a domestic’ line. His mate’s ‘right to a private life’ took precedent over my right not to be called to give first aid to a screeching woman banging on my door for protection, and my son’s right not to be exposed to that. The second time she appeared, with an obvious head injury, and possible concussion or worse, I over-ruled both of them, and called an ambulance, stating that there had been DV, drink, and I had a child in the house. It was sweet of the police to offer me a liaison-worker, in case the incident had traumatised me. 

My next-door neighbours have sporadic instances of ‘rowing’. That, in itself wouldn’t be an issue, but, when a ‘domestic’ becomes a ‘disturbance’, it is an issue. I don’t want to be the only person on the street who doesn’t just ‘let them get on with it’, I always assess whether their children are at home, whether there’s a risk to ‘persons’ or ‘property’. The incident where he smashed her car windscreen with a wheelbarrow wasn’t as humorous as I made it out to be, I was going through a million tangential possibilities of which one of them would be easier to subdue, if I needed to provide refuge to one or the other. (Him, 5′ 9″ of ginger-female would antagonise her, but distract-disarm him.) 

It’s never ‘just’ a domestic. Adults are assumed to have capacity to consent, unless medically categorised otherwise, that assumption of capacity is flawed, in light of my mother ‘walking into cupboards’, and society in-general ‘letting them work it out’. I’m big enough, and strong enough, to do what I feel is ‘right’. ‘Right’ and ‘Just’ aren’t interchangeable.