#How to return brother to sender legally

[starlingreader]

Being a child just means you're letting all those intrusive thoughts win

[ambivalentmarvel]

so the story behind this is that @sreppub​ arrived in my dms saying “sitcom starring two uppity, former rich guys and a regular poor college kid who follow up an online ad and become roommates” and i said something along the lines of “your MIND” and here we are. she does the art, i do the fic, and we both yell a lot along the way. read it on here or ao3 and enjoy!!

The Sitcom Supreme

If Peter or Stephen were around to hear Tony tell the story of how they all ended up rooming together, they would have plenty of objections, to which he would call them both dirty liars, to which they would gang up on him because they’re terrible and like that, to which he would probably throw up his hands in exasperation and/or make the mistake of engaging them in a debate, to which they would grin like wolves because, once again, they’re terrible and like that, but Tony’s the asshole who put up the Craigslist ad, so he gets to start—because he’s terrible and like that.

It’s a common trait amongst the three of them, what can he say?

The beginning of the story does not involve either of the other two, however. It begins with Rhodey, who is only occasionally terrible and like that. Rhodey has been Tony’s best friend since the tender age of fifteen. Considering Tony at age fifteen was a greasy little douche bag with too much money and a whole bunch of daddy issues that were somehow more obvious then than they are in the present, this is an impressive feat. 

Where things start, Rhodey and Tony are roommates at MIT, which is Howard’s school of choice to shove his problem child onto. Tony is supposed to get a single dorm room, but there’s a cockroach problem in that building. Administration has to get creative, which is how Rhodey, fresh out of boot for the fall semester, gets saddled with approximately one hundred and fifty pounds of neglected teenage boy who has only kind of gone through puberty.

The first words out of Tony’s mouth are blunt: “Any chance you have plans to drop out?”

And Rhodey looks at him with a raised brow, efficiently unpacked and totally unimpressed with the enormous stack of Tony’s things wavering in the doorway. “You have any plans to quit being annoying?” he retorts, which set the tone for their entire relationship.

Tony loves him to pieces. 

He’s the older brother he never knew he needed, yanking him by his collar from frat parties on the weekends and to his house for holidays because getting swamped by Rhodey’s six younger siblings is infinitely better than having to wear a suit and tie for Christmas dinner with six CEOs and maybe some senators, depending on the year. In return, Tony sees him through every finals week of his collegiate career, during which Rhodey gets so nervous he usually pukes at least daily and pulls so many all-nighters Tony memorizes the exact shade of red his eyes are at the end.

So, it’s safe to say they get along well. They get along so well, as a matter of fact, that when they stare at each other after their graduation ceremony for their Masters—a two-year process for both of them, and Rhodey receives two degrees to Tony’s four—surrounded by Rhodey’s family and Jarvis, Tony’s lips curl in a smirk Rhodey knows spells the best kind of trouble. “What do you say we keep the roommate streak alive, yeah? Howard’s building an office in New York, and I’m thinking of doing a doctorate at NYU.”

Rhodey’s brows raise, but he’s grinning, so Tony already knows his answer. “Depends. Are you still gonna’ snore?”

“Are you still gonna’ have a stick up your a—”

Mama Rhodes shoots Tony a look from where she’s trying to corral the rest of her kids.

“—butt?” he finishes with a sheepish glance her way.

Rhodey does not even remotely have a stick up his ass, but of the two of them, he features in tabloids far, far less, which Tony somehow uses to his advantage.

“You know it,” Rhodey replies, and so they find a fancy penthouse that Tony mostly pays for, with the excuse of Rhodey satisfying his part of rent via generally covering Tony’s ass to the best of his ability. And he has a lot of ability, honed from years upon years of Tony self-destructing at the drop of a hat, but there’s only so much he can do, especially as his military career just keeps flying higher and Howard just keeps pushing Tony harder.

A few sex tapes, especially wild benders, and crashed cars later, when Howard cuts Tony off and tells him, quote, “I won’t speak to you until you learn to do something other than disappoint me”, Rhodey very gracefully still shacks up with him in their considerably less fancy apartment.

This is all important to know, contrary to what someone whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange might say about Tony’s “long-winded” and “overly-complicated” storytelling tendencies because it explains exactly why Rhodey is a traitor.

Is Carol a very cool lady who could kick Tony’s ass? Yes. Is she sickeningly cute with Rhodey and not just because a smile from her makes him melt into a pile of fucking goo on the floor? Also yes. Does it probably make more sense for Tony to find roommates who will actually be around to monitor his—allegedly—poor mental health and self-care habits? Okay, fine, yes, but the bottom line is, Rhodey is moving in with Carol and abandoning Tony, and nobody said he had to like it.

(This is not strictly true, what with the approximately ten conversations Rhodey and he have had about his happiness and how, if Tony needs him, all he has to do is say the word and he’ll be back, but Tony has always had a flair for the dramatic.)

The whole idea is that Tony will find someone gone less than Rhodey with all his military business to enjoy having around the apartment. It’s technically a three-bedroom, but he and Rhodey use the extra one for storage. Fortunately or unfortunately, that storage area has become a lot of junk they go through before Rhodey makes his grand exit, and Tony suddenly has the option of having two roommates.

The ad is a low point, he can admit that, but there is a flaw in what Tony loudly calls Rhodey’s master plan to leave him alone to wallow in misery: Tony doesn’t exactly have a lot of friends, nevermind people who he’d want to live with.

“Rhodey. Honeybear. Platypus.”

“The nicknames are old, and you need to stop using them around Carol. She called me Platypus last night during sex, and it ruined the whole mood.”

“You poor thing.”

“She thought it was hilarious.”

If Tony has to lose Rhodey to anybody, by God, Carol is his first choice by a long shot.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Sourpatch—”

“I hate you.”

“—how am I supposed to find someone else to live with?”

Tony is thirty-two and regularly speaks out with all of four people: Pepper, Rhodey, Carol, and Happy. Unfortunately, Happy works in Stark Industries’ California branch and has stated rather firmly that he’s not interested in transferring to the city, Pepper wouldn’t live with another person for love or money, and the other two are spoken for.

It’s a terrible situation to be in, honestly.

“Craigslist,” Rhodey deadpans, fighting with some packing tape.

Tony feels his heart stop beating in real time from his place folding some of Rhodey’s clothes into a plastic tub. His head snaps up, and his jaw drops, absolutely affronted. “You would suggest that I, even disowned and stripped of my former glory—” Tony has several million dollars in the stock market, but that’s neither here nor there and isn’t much compared to the fact that he was supposed to be a billionaire. “—would stoop to looking for live-in friends on Craigslist?”

Rhodey looks up to meet his eyes, unfazed. He’s used to Tony’s antics after nearly two decades of friendship. “Well, I’m not moving out until you have at least one person guaranteed to take my place, so unless you have any better ideas, yeah.” He shrugs—just shrugs, as if he isn’t advising Tony to scrape the bottom of the fucking barrel in terms of reliable people to regularly fall asleep around.

It’s insulting.

“I’m not putting out an ad for a roommate on Craigslist,” he protests, shoving the next horribly colored polo into the tub with disdain.

That night, he tears up thinking about stopping Rhodey from being happy with Carol, and the post is up by the time Rhodey gets up—stupidly early, like normal—for his morning run. Along with his contact information and a few blurry pictures of the place, it includes a blurb about the circumstances.

Best friend moving out. Need a roommate or I will die of Sadness. His girlfriend is cool but hewas mind first. Carol, I am watching you. Two rooms open for business. But not sketchy business. You can just lve there. Current resident (me) is cool and very charming. I am a man. No dumb fuck offers. Thanks.

It could use some work, but Tony’s never been great with words, even less so when he’s crying to rock ballads at two in the morning. He edits it when he wakes up, and by noon that day, it’s looking better.

At seven o’clock that evening, he receives one of two messages that actually work out.

Enter the first offender: Peter Parker.

Peter, Tony will learn, is nineteen, attending NYU—like Tony did, which is a sign, really—for a double major in biochemistry and physics, and has the worst luck of anyone Tony’s ever met.

Rhodey’s moving out in a week—he’s been putting off finding a roommate for a while, alright—and Peter has to legally be out of his dorm in three days. That is quite the predicament, and Tony, by nature, is a curious creature. He is not, however, one for beating around the bush. That results in a text that reads exactly this.

Tony: What the hell did you do?

He could hack through the university files, but explanations are always more fun with a personal touch that’s lacking in, say, an incident report. Tony watches a bubble with three blinking dots for a long, long time, and the reply is surprisingly sparse—sparse enough, in fact, for Tony to have more questions than answers when he receives it.

Unknown Sender: theres been a few things but the kicker was the fire

Tony: The fire?

Unknown Sender: i tried to make popcorn and the microwave blew up

Now that is some problematic behavior Tony can get behind. He amends the kid’s previously non-existent contact information.

Tony: How can they kick you out for that? That’s not your fault.

Roommate (?) Peter: it blacked out the power on the entire first floor

Tony: And?

Roommate (?) Peter: last month i got the blame for contaminating half the campus water supply

Roommate (?) Peter: so i was already on thin ice

Tony: Accidentally?

Roommate (?) Peter: idk sometimes things just happen to me

Tony doesn’t know how to respond to that. If Rhodey knew, he’d never let him live it down. He can hear his annoying laugh in his ears like a premonition—“Hah—Tony, speechless?”—but then there are the dots again and a simple message to follow the last, a touch pathetic.

Roommate (?) Peter: please let me move in

Tony likes him.

Peter shows up on the stairs of the complex thirty-six hours after Tony posted the ad with a backpack and a meager total of six beat-to-shit boxes. The backpack holds nearly all of his school supplies, which makes Tony, in retrospect, genuinely fearful for the integrity of his spine, and the contents of the boxes are sorted, as Tony will learn, into three categories that each have two boxes in them. The categories are fairly simple—clothing, necessities, and whatever other shit he could fit from his dorm—and leave Peter with thrilling possessions such as an entire collection of truly atrocious shirts with science puns on them, a gallon of hand soap, and any food he had in his cupboards.

Thankfully, Rhodey is out furniture shopping with Carol when Tony goes out to meet him, which solves the problem of Rhodey going into overbearing caretaker mode at the sight of a beanpole of a kid failing to manage their life successfully. As someone who has been made many a you-haven’t-eaten-a-meal-in-two-days-and-I’m-secretly-a-panicking-mother-hen casserole, Tony counts his blessings.

Tony waves. “Peter?” he asks, reluctantly changed out of his pajamas for the day.

The kid nods. “That’s me. And you’re Tony?”

“Guilty as charged. Want a hand with those boxes?” he asks, watching Peter lift three at a time.

“No, I got it,” he insists, and then the box on top slides out of his grip and onto the sidewalk.

Peter stares at it for a second before he lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Maybe I could use some help,” he admits, and with much struggle, the two of them, each with three boxes, waddle inside. There is a moment and only one moment where Tony thinks that it might be nice to have some extra assistance, but with another thought of the things Rhodey would do at the sight of a woefully inept college kid, Tony decides it’s for the best.

Tony leads the operation, considering he has the key and also knows explicitly where they’re going, and he would have to say his biggest complaint about the ordeal is that Sam, who lives in the apartment below Tony and Rhodey with Steve and Bucky, happens to open his door as they walk by.

Being an asshole, he has something to say about it. “Need some help, shellhead?” he crows.

Tony wishes he had a free hand to flip him off.

“Watch your back, Wilson,” he growls in return, a continuation of the beef the five of them have maintained since they met approximately seven years ago, when they all moved in on the same day and kept knocking into each other’s shit in the halls.

When they reach the top of the next flight of stairs and Tony starts to fumble with the key, Peter asks about it. “So—uh—who was that?”

“That was Sam. Part of the deal with moving in is that you harass him and the other two idiots who live with him. He also responds to jackass, douchecanoe, or birdbrain.”

“Birdbrain?”

“It’s an old joke. He had a rather—” Tony grunts, forced to set down his load to unlock the door, “—spectacular run-in with some pigeons a few years ago.”

“Oh.”

“They shat on him. A lot.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a good nickname,” Tony assures him, throwing open the door with his arms flung wide for dramatic flair. “Welcome to Casa Stark. I mean, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker now, but if we’re hyphenating, my name goes first because I lived here first.” He holds up a finger as if to stall Peter, who has yet to speak from where his mouth is decidedly blocked by the aforementioned three boxes he is carrying. “And I know what you’re going to say—that Parker-Stark works better because it’s alphabetical—but that is where you are wrong because letters have no place in this house. Numbers are much preferred, and we play by seniority here, anyway.”

He gives Peter a meaningful look that he cannot see because, once again, boxes.

“More on that, by the way—”

“Hey, Tony?” 

He cuts him off which is, objectively, rude, but Tony rarely gets along with people who aren’t a little curt with him from time to time. This is a positive sign, really, so he allows it.

“Yeah?” 

“This can be Casa Stark-Parker, but can we get to somewhere I can set these down? My arms are, like, going to give out on me.”

Not even ten minutes in, and he’s already learned the art of bargaining. Tony’s proud, and he ushers him inside without any more monologues and a grin stretched across his face.

Peter, by virtue of moving in before Rhodey is out, ends up with the room that is no longer being used for storage. Tony has several questions for him, beginning with the fact that, despite the six packets of instant noodles he bothered to bring, he does not appear to have a mattress. Or a desk. Or a dresser. Or anything that’s supposed to go in a room.

His solutions for Tony’s concerns are as follows.

In place of a bed, he has two blankets, one to put on the floor and one to cover himself with. He was planning on sitting on the floor to do schoolwork instead of using a desk. And finally, he was going to leave his clothes in the boxes.

This is all relayed to Tony with an earnest gleam in his eyes and a smile.

Tony blinks in disbelief. Then, very eloquently, he says, “Kid, that is the saddest shit I have ever heard. Aren’t your parents helping you with the move to an apartment?”

The kid shifts from foot to foot, shoving his hands in his pockets and glancing to the side.

Tony’s eyes narrow. As someone who is extremely well-versed in avoidance tactics, he feels very confident in saying that is definitely a fucking avoidance tactic.

“About that,” he begins, “first of all, I’m an orphan.” Jesus Christ. “Second of all, my aunt doesn’t exactly—uh—know I got kicked out of the dorms.”

That is all interesting information, to say the least, but luckily, Tony thrives under pressure.

“Alright. I can respect that.”

It’s not like he never hid anything from his parents. Evading his aunt is Peter’s problem, not Tony’s. None of this is Tony’s problem, really, except then he looks around the room and wonders which of Peter’s boxes are holding his two blankets.

Tony was concerned about Rhodey, but he can’t stop himself.

“But I’m also gonna’ level with you—you’re not sleeping on the ground. You can take the couch.”

The until I get you a proper bed frame and mattress goes unsaid, but sometimes things like that are better as surprises. It’ll be a fun housewarming gift, Tony thinks, and by the time the shipment from IKEA arrives containing both of those things and the aforementioned missing dresser and desk, there will be a third roommate to help put it all together, not that either of them know it yet.

That night, Rhodey and Carol show up with enough ingredients for lasagna to serve four, and Tony delights in showing off Peter as they cook because now he has a “super cool roommate too! Take that, Platypus.”

Rhodey glances to Peter. “If you’re being held hostage, blink twice.”

“Hey!” Tony protests. He is a perfectly lovable roommate, thank you very much, and he’s so offended, he’s not even going to let Rhodey know about his mission to furnish Peter’s room.

God bless her, Carol just laughs.

The four of them get along with surprising ease, considering Peter’s only been around for a few hours. Peter even tries to help with the lasagna, but Tony has a near-photographic memory and has not remotely forgotten the popcorn incident, however vaguely it was described.

“You just sit there and be a nicer person than Rhodey,” he urges him, and Peter nods, hiding his grin behind his hand at the argument that starts.

Once everyone is done, he and Rhodey get suckered into dish duty while Carol spirits Peter off to the living room, claiming she has to warn him about what he’s getting into. Tony doesn’t care enough to complain, and when her back is turned, he splashes a plate of suds onto Rhodey’s front. 

Rather than rise to the bait, however, he raises his brows, slipping into what Tony affectionately calls his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode. “You have to be a good example for him, Tones.”

Tony blinks. “I’m sorry, did you just say—”

“I’m serious!” They keep their voices mostly down, but Rhodey’s rises a bit with the declaration.

“He’s nineteen—an adult, in case you forgot. He signed the lease all on his own and everything,” he hisses back incredulously.

He thought he dodged the bullet by not disclosing just how underprepared Peter is to live in an apartment, but Rhodey’s head dips. Tony braces himself for the part of his big-brother-giving-a-stern-talking-to mode where he tells Tony he’s making a bullshit excuse and needs to get it together. “Don’t give me that. He’s a baby adult at best, and you know it.”

Yep, there it is.

“That’s still an adult!”

It is! Tony was on his own way earlier than nineteen. This is not a big deal, no matter how outlandish Peter’s circumstances are for moving out of NYU’s dorms.

“Watch his back.”

Tony scoffs. “It’s not like I was going to feed him to the wolves. I’m barely thirty—I’m not his dad.”

“Tony.”

Ah, the final, crushing blow of this version of Rhodey: his name—but with emphasis.

Tony sighs. “Fine,” he acquiesces. “I solemnly swear I will not let him get up to no good.”

A beat. Rhodey squints at him, slowly lowering the plate he’s holding into the sink. “You told me you refused to read Harry Potter.”

Shit.

Back when the books were first coming out, Rhodey was insufferably obsessed with them, and Tony loves him, but emotionally, he couldn’t handle having Rhodey think he was willing to discuss anything having to do with the series for longer than thirty seconds. Thus, he read the books—everyone in the world was doing the same, okay, and he cannot stand being out of the loop—but lied to Rhodey about it.

And now, he’s been made.

Rhodey and he launch into a very spirited discussion that draws Carol and Peter back to the kitchen, and despite the vein throbbing dangerously in Rhodey’s forehead, the promise has been made.

The day after Rhodey moves out, he and Peter manage to flood the bathroom.

In Tony’s defense, he only promised to look out for Peter. He said nothing about curbing his own dumbass tendencies, and it’s not like Bucky’s bedroom is all that damaged by the leak that Tony fixes before it’s really even a problem.

He and Peter settle into a nice sense of camaraderie, and Tony, content with his situation, forgets to take down his Craiglist ad that, logically speaking, someone would have to dig to find at this point, over a week after initially posting it.

Then, he receives a text that is as simple as it is effective: Is there still an available room in the apartment?

Enter the second offender: Stephen Strange.

Ahem, Doctor Stephen Strange, technically, but Tony has six PhDs. Nobody sees him going around making people call him Doctor Stark, and that’s because it makes him sound pretentious and stuffy, both things Tony prides himself on not being. However, Tony likes to push buttons, and very little gets Stephen worked up as fast as someone ignoring his credentials.

It’s a fun set-up, really, but annoying the piss out of Stephen is something that comes a little later—Tony’s not there yet in the story.

He humors the text, and after getting a read on things, he bursts into the living room, startling Peter nearly off the couch. He’s been doing his homework there and on the coffee table in front of it because the Swedish have many things but fast shipping is, apparently, not one of them, not that Peter knows there’s anything to be waiting on, but he’s getting off-topic.

Peter lets out a short yelp and presses a hand over his heart, both things that Tony ignores.

“We have a situation,” he announces.

“I swear I didn’t do it,” Peter defends pleadingly.

Tony is trying to teach him that messing things up is expected and, especially in particularly magnificent cases, admired in Casa Stark-Parker, but it’s a work in progress.

“I know you didn’t—don’t be ridiculous,” he waves his concerns off. “We are talking bigger than setting things on fire by accident. I bring you, my young protege, the proposition of—” A pause for dramatic effect. “—another roommate.”

“Ooh,” Peter says appropriately, setting his textbook down to examine the texts Tony brandishes. He begins to scroll, but while he does, Tony figures he can go ahead and fill him in on the essentials. It’s a very juicy situation, after all, and he can’t help himself.

“His name is Stephen Strange. He’s a neurosurgeon, but he got into a pretty bad car wreck that messed up his hands. He’s trying to save money while he goes to physical therapy—he apparently has a chance of recovery, but it’s a ways off—and that includes downsizing on where he lives.”

“I mean, yikes, but that’s an oddly specific backstory.”

“I’m glad you think that too, but I am intrigued. I looked him up, and he’s a real person—has a basically flawless reputation, or at least he did before his accident. Thoughts?”

Please say yes, please say yes, Tony thinks. The chance of a competent human—not including Rhodey, who looks more put together than he really is next to the chaos Tony perpetually dwells in—choosing to live with him is too fascinating to pass up, and he needs Peter to see that too.

Peter shrugs. “I’m down if you are. How old is he?”

Victory!

Satisfaction floods Tony, but he tries to maintain his cool.

“Thirty.”

Peter blows out a long breath, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “I didn’t anticipate moving into a nursing home,” he remarks dryly.

What a little shit.

It’s worth noting half the reason Rhodey left so easily is because he said he trusted Peter to keep Tony on his toes. Then again, that Tony likes being snarked at is a large part of why they get along so well despite only knowing each other for a matter of days.

“You’re the worst, Parker. I’m going to feed you to the hooligans downstairs. Steve has a monster appetite, you know.”

Peter hums, picking his textbook back up. “Not if I feed you to them first. And, Tony?”

“What?”

“Only old people say hooligans.”

Tony thinks about that one book, Give a Mouse a Cookie or whatever. Except in his case, it’s Rent a Teenager an Apartment, and Tony doesn’t have to adhere to the literary equivalent of a G-rating.

His response to the dig is creative and colorful, and Peter laughs.

Four days and a brief conversation at a coffee shop later—a formality he and Peter did not do and probably something Tony should’ve thought of as the older adult before giving him the address—Stephen’s team of movers invade the apartment.

The man himself stands like a drill sergeant at the last flights of stairs it takes to get to the apartment, arms crossed, beard wild, conducting activity.

Peter and Tony share their evaluations, peeking their head out from the doorway when it’s unoccupied by movers and Stephen isn’t looking their way. This involves quite a bit of ducking, but they are very careful not to be caught.

(Someone’s whose name may or may not rhyme with Tephen Trange later informs that “they were not at all subtle” and “were, in fact, very embarrassing”, but that’s how things with the three of them generally are, so Tony figures it was a good crash course to how life together goes.)

“He’s kind of scraggly,” Peter whispers, his head under Tony’s because he’s the shorter of the two of them, something Tony delights in refuting Peter’s quips about his age with.

“Kind of? He looks like a hobo.”

It’s true, okay? Facially, at least, the guy is a wreck. He’s not quite to Einstein levels of bad hair day, but he’s getting there.

“Be nice,” Peter chastises him. He’s gentler than Rhodey when he does it, but considering neither of them ever shut the hell up and they have thus bonded very easily over the course of their short relationship, it’s gotten to feel as natural as most of their interactions.

“All I’m saying is that I am happy to retain my place as the most attractive person in the apartment, okay?”

They’re forced to retreat from the entryway as another load comes through, and Peter looks at him disbelievingly. “Dream on,” he replies bluntly.

Tony gasps in offense.

Peter shrugs. “Look, I’m just gonna’ say it—you knew Rhodey before me, and now that I’m here—” he trails off, looking at Tony in faux-sympathy that doesn’t match the mischievous glint in his eyes.

While it is true that Rhodey is a fine specimen of a man—yet another reason Tony can’t, in good conscience, be truly angry Carol mooched him away from the bachelor lifestyle—Tony can’t cede that easily for the sake of his pride, and he scowls. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

They’re still bickering as the movers finish up and Stephen enters the apartment, dressed in what Tony recognizes as the latest from Armani and Tom Ford.

He may not get invited to fashion week anymore, but he still has taste, alright, even if Rhodey limits him to one designer purchase a month.

(Rhodey isn’t around to see what packages he orders now, Tony thinks but shelves the thought for later.)

Tony and Stephen met over coffee, and all three of them said hi to one another before the moving business officially began. However, there is a little stiffness in the air, make no mistake. It’s not Stephen’s fault, exactly, because he’s just kind of a foreboding guy, but still.

It figures that Peter would break the ice. As Tony’s found and will continue to discover, Peter is just as talkative as him. Granted, that trait usually appears in the form of rambling about something from class, but it’s not surprising that his natural passion for life comes through with someone about to be very, very involved in it. 

“Hi!” he begins. “Are all of the movers gone now?”

Stephen raises an unimpressed brow. “Yes.”

His reply is seriously lacking enthusiasm, but Tony isn’t allowed the opportunity to jump on that as Peter keeps going. 

“Sweet! Okay, so welcome to Casa Stark-Parker.”

Woah, woah, woah—timeout.

Tony frowns, raising a hand in a motion for Peter to stop. “I thought that was my thing?” he interjects.

“Well, it has my name in it, so it gets to be both of our things,” Peter replies, then furrows his brow, looking to Stephen. “Actually, since you’re here now, I guess it’s Casa Stark-Parker-Strange. Order’s based on who got here first, sorry,” he explains with a smile that Tony, now familiar with the fact that Peter has more to him than meets the eye, notes is a touch impish.

Tony is pleased to see, despite his generally wholesome appearance, the kid has at least picked up on the power of staking a claim.

Stephen blinks. His hands, Tony has noticed, don’t stop shaking, not even when he folds his arm across his chest, like a physical barrier between him and Peter’s excitement. “Okay?” he drawls slowly, confusedly.

“Tony’s rules, not mine,” Peter assures him as if he doesn’t just want the satisfaction of having his name not be the last in the line-up.

Tony scoffs. “Oh okay, so now we’re throwing me under the bus?”

“You have to take responsibility for your actions, Tony.”

“Oh, sure thing,” he replies, tone betraying that he does not, in fact, think any responsibility is at all necessary. He looks to Stephen, rolling his eyes. “Can you believe what I have to put up with? And it’s barely been a week.”

Stephen blinks again. “I see it’s a lot,” he says measuredly.

Peter gasps, unaffected. “Oh my God, we should make a sign for it,” he enthuses. “We can put it up on the door, and we’d be so much cooler than Sam and them.”

To say that Peter rose to the challenge of bothering their downstairs neighbors with zeal is something of an understatement. 

Tony is, honestly, a fan of the sign idea, especially if it were to light up, but that is where Stephen cuts in, his hands still trembling as he gestures. “Can we slow down for a moment?” He looks carefully from Tony and Peter and back again, bearing the appearance of a man in the throes of realizing he has made a bad decision. 

Tony knows that look well. It usually shows up when Rhodey agrees to one of Tony’s ideas and doesn’t realize just how badly constructed it is until it’s too late.

“First of all, I am fairly certain my car is parked illegally, and before we get too far, I need to fix it before I get towed. And secondly,” Tony watches Stephen’s lips curl in a self-satisfied, I-totally-think-I’m-better-than-you-even-if-I’m-not-technically-saying-it smile, “I am not here to be part of any Casa. I am waiting for physical therapy to work for me, and then I will be out of your hair. I appreciate being able to live here, but—”

Yeah, Tony’s had enough of that. Personally, he would like to thank Rhodey, who, in a way, begins and ends the story, and truly is the greatest best friend a man could have for teaching him how to properly deal with pompous rich people.

“Nuh-uh, none of that. If you’re living here, you’re a part of Casa Stark-Parker-Strange whether you like it or not.”

Stephen looks downright appalled that someone would dare to interrupt him, which, Tony knows from experience, is exactly the kind of shock rich people need to go through. He splutters for a second before he manages to get out a reply, “That was not in the lease.”

Tony spreads his hands as if to say what can you do? “And you didn’t mention in your texts that you were going to try to be a bump on a log, but here we are.”

Perhaps sensing the mounting animosity in the room or maybe just as excited as Tony to have someone to bother, Peter takes advantage of Stephen’s overwhelmed and bewildered state.

“First day with all three of us!” he shouts. “Picture!”

And before anyone can protest—including Tony, who would prefer to be documented in something other than a Black Sabbath tee and his work pants—Peter leans in with the camera on his phone ready to capture the moment.

In the resulting photo, Tony looks vaguely alarmed, Stephen looks pissed as hell, and Peter wears a grin that stretches across his whole face. The whole thing is blurry, and they eventually get it framed.

It’s a beautiful and fitting start to their time as roommates, and in the humble eyes of the asshole who posted the Craigslist ad, that is how the story of how they came to live together went.

[phcking-detective]

MasterList 2.0

Kiss Prompt Series (all PG)

Angry Kiss – Gavin chases after a perp without backup and gets shot multiple times. He can’t believe his asshole android partner is staying behind to help him instead of catching the perp, but maybe RK900 cares more than he thinks. Maybe a lot more …

Reunion Kiss – Nines returns a day early from an intensive case and stops by Gavin’s favorite coffee shop to get his boyfriend a treat. But Gavin is already there and apparently has the same idea.

Awkward Forehead Kiss – Nines takes care of his sick human partner as best he can, but all human media seems to indicate sick humans need forehead kisses to feel better. Too bad he doesn’t know how to kiss. Luckily, Gavin is happy to help teach him.

Forced Kiss – Nines attempts to break up with Gavin for the detective’s own good. That goes about as well as you’d expect. (NO non-con! Gavin just kisses Nines in the middle of his mental breakdown while he tries to self-isolate.)

Drunk Kiss – Connor and Hank bring in a box of Sumo’s puppies to the precinct Christmas party. When two go missing, Nines tracks them down to find … Detective Reed? He did not realize his maladjusted human partner could be so gentle.

Forehead Kiss – human!Richard is having a bad mental health day and gloomily declares he needs serotonin. android!Gavin and himbo extraordinaire offers to go to the grocery store and get him some.

***

Extra Drabbles (all PG or Teen)

HOT SINGLE ANDROID IN YOUR AREA – Gavin keeps getting spam pop-ups on his computer about hot androids who want to fuck. Until he finally notices they’re now only talking about one single android in particular. Who could it be?

Dumb Ways to Deviate: Cheeseburger – Nines takes Gavin out to eat as a reward for solving a case they’ve been working on for the past 36 hours. When the exhausted human tries to feed him, Nines suddenly experiences–[feelings]??

crush.exe –Nines thinks Gavin is cute. But that’s just objective fact, right? Anyone would think he’s cute. Tina disagrees and diagnoses him with something called a “crush.”

INTRUDER ALERT – Nines visits Gavin’s apartment to discuss a case, but there is an [INTRUDER] wearing an ingenius chocolate scrub mask that confuses his facial recognition software.

Find Familiar -- Nines is the most brilliant wizard of their generation, and when they summon their familiar for the first time, they expect some sort of unique and brilliant creature. Not a short, angry little man with a facial scar and bare feet banging on their door three days later.

Bathtime -- Nines isn’t spoiled, and if he is, it’s only because Gavin keeps giving him everything he asks for. Like “help” washing his hair in the bath.

Love Letter -- Gavin receives an anonymous letter detailing how the sender wants to analyze his skin and catalog his teeth. The two suspects? Well, it was obviously either written by Detroit’s latest serial killer or ... Gavin’s own partner.

Not Alone -- After Gavin gets shot in the side, falls off a building, and breaks two of his limbs, Nines is desperate to see him the moment he's out of surgery. Except the hospital he's at has a "legal family members only" visitation policy to keep out androids. In desperation, Nines calls a very old emergency contact number that lists "Eli Reed" as Gavin's brother--only to suddenly be on the phone with Elijah Kamski himself.

Happiness is a Jealous Android -- Gavin starts hanging out with a new GJ500 for smoke breaks, mutual bitching about work, and maybe a little light flirting. Him and Nines haven’t discussed the thing they have going, and Nines has been busy anyway, so a little flirting is OK, right? Except for when the other android won’t take no for an answer ...

Dumb Ways to Deviate: Birds -- An argument between RK900 and Gavin on whether bats are mammals or birds leads to ... well. What it says on the tin.

updated list of fics in my main reed900 series under the cut!

Reed900 Main Series (all Explicit)

In the Beginning -- 7k words; RK900 follows the orders [stay in room 6459] and [do not interfere] while deviants attack and shut down Cyberlife, and it’s not because he’s “petty” as the deviant Connor accuses. If Cyberlife wanted its help, they should not have forgotten the unit in a storage closet.

Fight Club (but Explicitly Gay This Time) – 2k words; RK900 decides to “discipline” Gavin in the DPD men’s bathroom by spanking and stepping on him. Unfortunately, the disgusting little human actually enjoys it.

Fast and Furious – 5.5k words; Nines notices how competent Gavin is at driving. In fact, he’s noticing a lot about Gavin, which is unfortunate, because he doesn’t know what it means. Maybe slapping the human more will help …

Ain’t Got Time to Bleed – 27k words; Gavin and Nines engage in exciting new activities, like solving a case together, going out for drinks, hustling at pool. Specifically, Nines gets hustled by Gavin, but he pays it back tenfold in the alleyway afterward.

First Blood – 129k words; Gavin and Nines get caught up in a case that’s a lot more complicated than it seems as they run into a Ponzi scheme and a staged suicide, an attempted murder on the journalist who broke the story, and a mysterious android manipulating it all. Even worse, they’re starting to actually kind of like each other too. But will their partnership be strong enough to get them through kidnapping, torture, and safe / sane / consensual sex?

If It Bleeds -- 14k, ongoing; While dealing with the fallout of the WJ700 case, Gavin and Nines also get assigned to the new Android Task Force when they start investigating on their own anyway. But their cases get more complicated as both the IA and FBI hold a grudge, Nines makes new sexual explorations of his own, and Gavin’s ex-boyfriend attempts to reconnect …

***

Bonus HankCon Fic (Explicit)

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This – 66k; Connor determines co-sleeping with Hank will be a productive, healthy venture–and step one on his three year plan to seduce Hank. Unfortunately for him, Hank is a gay, self-destructive old man who manages to fuck up The Plan by both already being in love with him and also refusing to acknowledge that. (75% domestic fluff, 24% sex at the end, 1% Sumo eating food he’s not supposed to)

***

Patreon (shameless promotion)

If you love my reed900 series and want to get chapters sooner, like my drabbles and want patreon-exclusive bonus content, and chapters from THREE of my WIPS, the tiers are $1 / $2 / $3 per chapter, respectively. I post chapters once a week on Sunday ^^

I also take commissions: $10 for 1k / $25 for 3k / $40 for 5k, NSFW and kink friendly, limits are no incest, pedophilia, or rape scenes. just PM me or email arthurofcamelot4@gmail.com if you’re interested ^^

[trevor-brown-artist]

I Lost a Nephew During the Pandemic but He’s Still Alive

When the abused becomes the abuser the circle is complete, and the trauma has won, the cycle will continue.

Wow it was just about two decades ago when I first met my nephew. He wasn’t my nephew yet he was one of the twins of my former brothers very beautiful and intelligent girlfriend and soon to be fiancé. They had invited me up to their single bedroom home in Beacon, I think for thanksgiving. Quick aside this was before I had learned about the cult-like history in his girlfriends past where they didn’t celebrate things like holidays. 

I remember his best friend was named Oscar this maybe Latino dude a bit quirky but he had passed my muster in not being a total deadbeat. I still feel strongly that the people you surround yourself with reflect your own character. And my other former sibling surrounded himself with clear losers.

Kelly’s twins were paternal not identical and it was so curious to me that one was dark-skinned and one was light-skinned this physical duality also mirrored their significantly different personalities even so young they were their own people. I thought naturally I’d have an infinity for Marcus the darker twin because I had experienced the colorism that we don’t like to talk about in Black families and was of course rooting for team dark-skin! 

Justice’s shy temperament and more sensitive nature mirrored my own behavior at his single digit age. Both of the boys were adorable as you tend to be at that age and I enjoyed rough housing with them in my siblings very sparse living room.

As I think of this time, it reminds me there was a time before my anxiety about eating in public and I’m realizing that some of my anxieties may have been caused by the traumas and injustices I faced by the hands of the ones who I thought should be taking care of my interest. Silly me.

We shared a meal and I ate but didn’t stuff myself always being conscious about watching my weight. And afterwards we played my Justice League Monopoly a great after dinner game for friends and family. They day I met my nephew was a happy day and a very fond memory before everything went to shit.

Now this is the moment I should probably recount those shitty things but you know I don’t feel like rehashing the past and the poor decisions others made that effected me so negatively. So let’s skip ahead twelve years. Marcus has become a young minister at the Kingdom Hall and besides being an amazing student is a beacon of heteromantic role models, playing sports and ministering with vigor as he goes out on missions, handing out tracts and surpassing quotas.

Justice has become more and more aloof had stopped going to the Hall and his once pristine grades had begun to dip and I had begun to think in our brief contact that he may be queer so it wasn’t a surprise when his uncle called me and told me that his parents had put him out the house right on his eighteenth birthday. Damn!

The marriage was started amidst homo-anatagonistic roots and had produced a queer son who was an anathema to the doctrines and dogma of the families faith. The same faith that made me a pariah at the nuptials had claimed another victim. And even though my other former brother set up a call with me and my allegedly queer nephew there was no foundation for the boy to trust me or even know me. As I had predicted so many long years ago the start of their marriage dictated by his grandmother had ended up in me being frozen out of my siblings life and when the coupling produced a child, I had met him less than a handful of times. 

Here I wanted to assist my nephew but his parents had succeeded in him not getting to know me, and my assistance fell on very deaf ears and a young man who was very isolated felt even more isolated and I was horrified because there wasn’t anything more I could do. I can’t make a bond where there isn’t one, no matter how much I wanted that.

Someone had offered me a place to stay an offer that I later took them up on, so I wanted to pay it forward and I offered my nephew the same. When we spoke about this years later he said he had no recollection of this offer and I told him I wasn’t surprised he had just been rejected by his entire family and even though I was offering a lifeline he didn’t really know me from Adam and his trust in family had been so obliterated, that my earnest offer was like no offer at all because it held no value in his head. Because the seed was set that “family” equals pain. And who in their right mind would deliberately walk towards pain?

I had lost before I began but the urge for me to be a better uncle than my aunts and uncles always made me want to strive to attempt to be there for nieces and nephews even though I had continually been ousted, because I can only see children at the pleasure of their parents. 

Uncles and Aunts hold no legal sway with our court system unless they have legal custody of one of their siblings children. I learned this the hard way when I lost visitation rights with my youngest former siblings children and took the grandmother to court with the kids great grandmother to attempt to get the rights to see the kids. I wouldn’t see those kids again for ten years and then only briefly.

I did try to keep in touch with Justice the uncle he didn’t know very well, and I know he secretly resented for being just like him. But one more card marked “Return to Sender”, had all but wiped out my will to continually chase after kids that clearly didn’t want this uncle in their lives, albeit that decision was being made for them. 

His number was disconnected and his social media presence was seemingly non-existent. I probably didn’t do a durable search being so disheartened about trying to connect with a family that didn’t seem to want me and I apologize for my human frailty in this moment. But it’s not because I didn’t want to find him, I had lost the hope that I ever would.

I think his cousin had mentioned his brother and I had a photo of my light-skinned twinned nephew at what looked like some university, in a cap and gown and I wept that it seemed like he had made it through even though he was discarded like yesterday’s trash. I contacted his twin and asked about contact information and was told he could only be found on SnapChat I set up an account just to get in touch with him called UncleTrevor674. 

I wanted to reconnect with him let him know I had been looking for him without success. And albeit his current internet presence was more robust I was missing the keywords Beacon and Florida. I didn’t know he had went down south for a few years and curiously enough had returned to Beacon. I saw now that adding these words did indeed make him easier to find but my own pain and hurt didn’t allow me the clarity to think of these things. I was excited to reconnect with him and attempt to have the relationship with him that I had been denied for so long.

But this was seemingly doomed because by my very nature of being his uncle I was the enemy, albeit when checking the receipts I had never done anything untoward to him. I was grouped in with all the people who had done wrong by him and even though I had tried repeatedly to be present and show an interest in his life, his friends, his interest, the damage had already been done. And my open hand was met with hostility and displaced anger, a pattern I knew all too well from my interactions with my former siblings who seemed to blame me for the fact that we were separated as children here again I was the target of the wrath of a young man whom I only wanted to connect with and support as best I could, and try to be the uncle to him that I never had.

His past traumas were much louder than the love and support that I offered and to protect myself I had to do the most painful thing I had to ever do with a niece or nephew I had to withdraw from the relationship and hope that time would heal the wounds that I didn’t cause, and that maybe someday I would get back the nephew I had actually lost decades ago but just never knew it.

[winonalakefossils]

Winona Lake, Not Winona

It was a known fact, and it had been for the last several years, that most of the mail Postmaster Cary D. Chapman received at the tiny Winona Post Office at Bass Lake in Starke County was not really intended for anyone who lived there. He spent a great deal of time returning bag after bag of letters to their senders or forwarding them disdainfully to the Dead Letter Office. Not once did he complain about the extra work. Rather, he received a great deal of pleasure from it. “That’s what those carpetbaggers get for running off with our name,” he grumbled. No one, least of all the irascible Mr. Chapman, could have foreseen the chain of events he set in motion to create unwittingly, some forty miles away, a new town that would claim for itself the proud name of Winona Lake. 

Somewhere in Indiana in March of 1895, a distinguished man in his mid-30s walked briskly toward a train station. He carried a leather, gold-trimmed portfolio and wore a dark gray overcoat and a homburg hat with the signature dent down the middle of the crown. Upon entering the station, he approached the counter. With an engaging smile, he told the stationmaster his destination. Having received his ticket, he stepped aside. He reached inside of his coat and glanced down at a fine gold pocket watch. He returned the timepiece to its place and became pensive.  The burdened traveler let out an involuntary sigh, and in a low whisper that no one could hear, he muttered, “How quickly our fortunes can change!” His thoughts took him back to the previous January on that glorious Sunday when he stood in the new Presbyterian church—formerly, the local dance hall—and announced to a delirious crowd his plans for the establishment of an Indiana Chautauqua.

A sizable crowd of shivering Presbyterians tramped in from the cold, knocking the snow from their boots and chattering with excitement as each shared what little he or she had heard about Rev. Dickey’s special service. The minister had made the trip from Indianapolis to light a fire under the locals that would burn hot all winter long and into spring.

“Bass Lake has been chosen by the Presbyterians of Indiana to be the home of Indiana’s own Chautauqua!”

Everyone in the room knew what that meant and offered up enthusiastic applause. The proclamation even generated a few whoops and whistles. The Chautauqua movement had sprung up in New York ten years before and had spilled over into the Midwest and other parts of the country. At Chautauqua Lake, the Methodists offered summer vacations comprised of cultural entertainment and education. Programs featured teachers, musicians, preachers, showmen, popular speakers and thinkers. What Rev. Dickey described that morning was considered a Chautauqua much improved, for it departed from the liberal Methodist ways to one in keeping with the beliefs represented among those gathered. 

“The Winona Assembly, our Chautauqua name here at Bass Lake, will feature a Bible conference in addition to a program of the highest quality inspired by Mother Chautauqua, our predecessor in New York.”

A roar of applause shook the rafters, and the reverend felt close to dancing.

“Imagine this humble structure transformed into a beautiful Presbyterian church. Picture a music hall, college buildings, and a gymnasium surrounding us.” His sonorous voice, engaging smile and natural charm combined to persuade and exhilarate the people. 

“Can you see a few thousand visitors milling about breathtaking flower gardens and luxuriating in the sweet, refreshing lake breeze?” He gestured toward a window. The grounds may have been snow-covered and the lake frozen, but the people saw vividly what he painted with words. 

“Can you picture a few thousand guests rushing about to attend a concert? They will pour in this summer from all over Indiana to hear none other than former President Benjamin Harrison!”

His listeners gasped at the idea of such a spectacle. They jumped to their feet as one and clapped their hands in a deafening declaration of support. At the end of the service, the cheerful congregants stopped to affirm the support of this honorable visionary. They beamed. They prophesied a grand success. They thanked the reverend for choosing Bass Lake to launch a new kind of Chautauqua.

It was March, now, and though the ground had begun to thaw, negotiations with county officials had frozen over. Icy relations jeopardized the grand opening of the Winona Assembly. 

Such were the thoughts of the preoccupied gentleman in the train station when he felt a gentle tap on his shoulder. He turned around and looked in the eyes of a man close to him in age and of considerably distinguished deportment. His black, double-breasted coat had fabric-covered buttons. A silk ribbon set off his elegant, black top hat. His left hand held a highly polished wooden walking stick with an ornate ivory carving at its head.

The stranger extended his hand. The man reciprocated.

“Have I the honor of meeting Rev. Dickey?” He said with a pleasant, mellow German accent, and added, “I am J.E. Beyer.”

That name rang a bell. 

“Mr. Beyer, it’s my pleasure,” Rev Dickey replied with all the dignity of a man of his stature.

J. E. Beyer was one of a trio of brothers who had emigrated from Germany and settled in Indiana as wholesalers in dairy and poultry. They owned and operated Spring Fountain Park. In recent years, they had traded the word “resort” for “assembly” when they decided to bring a small version of Chautauqua to Indiana. 

The two men entered the train together, led by Mr. Beyer who spotted a vacant bench seat and invited Rev. Dickey to join him. Mr. Beyer wasted little time in getting to the point. 

“I’ve been following your effort to open a Presbyterian Chautauqua at Bass Lake.”

“Then, you are aware that certain county and railroad officials are toying with us,” the reverend replied. “We are expecting thousands of visitors. A train line must come all the way to the Assembly grounds, or else the travelers will be stranded several miles away. Yet, officials refuse to act on this non-negotiable condition.”

He half expected Mr. Beyer to quiz him on the details and propose a solution. Instead, the determined businessman caught the reverend off guard with an offer.“

I am sure, Rev. Dickey, that you aware of our own facilities. We have everything you need at Spring Fountain Park to open your Chautauqua on time, and we are willing to sell.” 

Rev. Dickey sat stunned for a moment. Mr. Beyer let his momentous words sink in as he traced the delicate ivory grooves on his cane.

When he spoke again, Mr. Beyer described a first class hotel conveniently located across from the train depot. He boasted an auditorium that could seat two thousand, meticulously groomed flower gardens, several natural springs, and a government post office. The list went on, for the brothers had spent ten years and $125,000 developing the park.

The other passengers could not hear what passed between the two, neither could they look away. The animated exchange provided them welcome entertainment. The men went from episodes of hearty laughter to extended stretches of intense dialogue as if they were formulating a grand idea that would change the world. “It may very well be that we are witnessing history,” one passenger was heard to say.

At the train stop, Rev. Dickey embraced Mr. Beyer and departed with a cheerful countenance and jubilant gait. 

The Winona Assembly opened on July 1, 1895. A multitude of press releases told of a wonderful Chautauqua and Bible Conference at Eagle Lake two miles from Warsaw, Indiana. Rev. Dickey’s unwavering leadership had seen the board and stockholders through a storm of crises; summer brought forth the harvest borne of recent struggles. However, a problem surfaced, a pesky detail from the failed attempt to establish at Bass Lake. 

The name Winona that the Presbyterians had legally assumed for their Chautauqua had come from a village at Bass Lake and was also the name of the post office located there. When the Assembly pulled out and settled instead at Eagle Lake, residents of Winona at Bass Lake were indignant. And when the problem of the mail arose, they dug in and refused to give an inch, their faithful postmaster leading the way. 

While Rev. Dickey advertised that correspondence be addressed to Eagle Lake, people presumed the Winona Assembly was located at a place called Winona, which had been the original plan. The mix-up resulted in hundreds and hundreds of letters—not just to Rev. Dickey, but guest speakers, musicians, teachers, and those spending the summer at the grounds—going to Postmaster Chapman at Winona on Bass Lake who ensured they did not reach their intended recipients. 

The problem became critical in the spring of 1897 after the fledgling Chautauqua won the right to host the prestigious Annual Presbyterian General Assembly. The opportunity was both an honor and an enormous undertaking, but the mail debacle seriously hampered preparations. John Studebaker, a stockholder of the Winona Assembly and founder of the Studebaker Automobile Corporation, wrote a letter to President McKinley insisting something be done. Many presumed that the matter would be settled in a matter of days. 

It wasn’t. 

In January 1898, the Eagle Lake Post Office legally changed its name to Winona Lake Post Office. Despite this attempt to clear up the confusion, people continued to address mail to Winona, Indiana, supplying a steady stream of undeliverable mail to the post office on Bass Lake. Rev. Dickey went so far as placing an ad in the papers with the directive to address correspondence to “Winona Lake, not Winona.” 

The problem persisted.

According to postal regulations, no two post offices in the same state could share the same name, and the only person with the authority to sort out the mess was the President of the United States. In the meantime, innumerable letters intended for the Winona Lake Post Office wound up in the hands of the obdurate postmaster of the Winona Post Office at Bass Lake. 

On August 10, 1903, the Logansport Daily broke the story of the two Winonas: “There are millions in the name for which a religious corporation is fighting against the postmaster at Winona in Starke County,” the article began. It went on to tell how Winona’s postmaster, Cary D. Chapman, characterized as a patriot and a hero of the Civil, Indian and Mexican wars, was defending the right of his post office to retain its name. 

According to the Daily, ninety percent of the people who addressed mail intended for the Winona Lake Post Office left off the word “lake.” As a result, their correspondence went to Winona in Starke County, “the only office in the state,” the paper argued, “lawfully claiming that name.” 

President Theodore Roosevelt, who believed Chautauqua was “the most American thing about America,” sent a letter to the Postmaster General. He, in turn, dispatched postal investigators to the warring post offices. The investigators’ report identified the Winona Lake Post Office as serving far more citizens than the other Winona and punished its postmaster for his part in foiling the delivery of U. S. mail on a technicality. In April 1905, Mr. Chapman lost his fight for the name and his job. The post office in Winona at Bass Lake was renamed Cobbler Station after its new postmaster.

It was an established fact, despite what the newspapers reported, that Rev. Dickey intended to open the Chautauqua on the outskirts of bucolic Winona at Bass Lake in Starke County. That is why the Winona Assembly was legally incorporated by that name in February 1895. When certain officials threw up obstacles, J.E. Beyer stepped in with an offer no one else could match. The result was the perennial problem of rerouted mail at the hands of Mr. Chapman that forced a confrontation requiring the intervention of a sitting President. Rev. Dickey’s fight to bring a Chautauqua to Indiana found him embroiled in a conflict with a rival post office, and it was Winona Lake, not Winona, that emerged the victor. 

Special thanks to: Al Disbro, Winona Lake, IN; Schricker Main Library, Knox, IN; Winona History Center at Grace College, Winona Lake,IN

[jsteneil]

familiar stranger (strange family)

leave all pretense of realism at the door pls here’s a thing

“It’s only two hours,” Neil says.

If looks could kill, he probably would collapse on the floor right here and then. Aaron only stops glaring daggers at him to bury his head back in the toilet seat.

“Why is he even here,” he asks after dry-heaving for a minute. “Go away.”

Neil rolls his eyes so far back that Andrew can see the whites. He pushes at Neil’s arm gently in direction of the door: Neil is Neil, and Andrew trusts him, but this isn’t the kind of situation he’s helpful in.

“I’m just saying,” Neil says, “you’ve played full Exy games through worse—”

“You’re starting to sound like Kevin,” Andrew tells him.

“Sometimes he’s right.”

Something hits the wall a good foot left of Neil’s head and Andrew turns back to his brother’s prostrate body.  

“Leave,” Aaron all but growls.

“I hope you throw up on yourself,” Neil snaps, but he steps outside.

Andrew waits until he can hear the suite door opening and closing, then he steps closer to his brother, reaching for the glass sitting on the sink.

“Drink,” he says, thrusting the glass at Aaron once he looks up.

“This is Matt’s.”

“I’ll wash it.”

Aaron spills a little down his shirt as he takes a long sip, closing his eyes against another bout of nausea. Andrew swipes his phone from the vanity, quickly enters the password he’s learned a long time ago, and pulls up the browser. He dislikes having to see the background picture of a certain smiling cheerleader, but his own flip phone doesn’t come with internet access. The phone buzzes; Andrew swipes away the text notification when he sees the name of the sender. Aaron even added a heart after her name; this is an unfortunate depth of sappiness Andrew hadn’t predicted.

“What are you doing?” Aaron protests when he hears the buzz. They both know Andrew has never taken his phone off silent. “Give me that.”

“Drink and shut up.”

The first site he checks is unhelpful; they advise deep breathing to fight off nausea and drinking water to prevent dehydration. He nudges Aaron’s thigh with his foot. “Small sips.”

As if to prove him right, Aaron vomits back up the long gulps of water he’s just drank.

“I’m calling Abby,” Andrew says. “You’re not going to that final.”

If possible, Aaron looks even more panicked. “No, I have to go.”

“With a bucket?”

“Powell hates athletes, he’s been waiting all year for an opportunity to fail me. He won’t accept a note from Abby.”

“Tragic,” Andrew says, composing the number.

Aaron’s hand on his wrist stops him. “Andrew.”

Andrew jerks away but locks the phone. He meets his brother’s gaze, crumpled on the floor next to the toilet, his face sweaty and ashen gray. It’s a familiar sight: it brings back up memories of long days spent outside the bathroom at Tilda’s, before Nicky got them away from the place. It seems they always go back to this: silent show of support and hard-won care.

“Andrew,” Aaron says again.

Their high school years were a blur of barely restrained hostility and ambiguous protection, but Andrew also remembers what having a twin felt like; the invisibility of looking exactly like another person, the usefulness of it all.

“No.”

The word is final. Like more and more often, Aaron doesn’t care. “You have to,” he insists.

“Have to nothing,” Andrew tells him. “This does not benefit me.”

“If I’m held back, you’ll graduate without me. I know Powell will do everything in his power to fail me even at the makeup test.”

He’s learned where to strike. Unbelievably, Andrew can feel his resolve crumbling under the what-ifs.

“I’m not a Biochem student.”

Andrew’s specialty is crime and violence. He doesn’t care about the intricacies of the human body he’s damaged time and time again, others’ or his own.

“My notes are on my desk,” Aaron insists. “You have four hours. It’ll just be a multiple-choice quiz, he told us.”

Andrew’s mind is already drafting a pro or con list. He can recognize the battle he’s lost.

“Call the cheerleader,” he tells Aaron, chucking his phone at him. “You need saltines and water, and I don’t have time to baby you.”

Aaron’s head whips up, the look on his face surprised. Andrew inwardly scoffs. He should know better by now only to try and fight battles he knows he can win.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Take a shower,” is Andrew’s sole response.

Andrew settles on the couch with Aaron’s thick pile of notes. He knows his brother’s handwriting almost as well as his own, as well as his note-taking habits. The information is always clearly presented, easy to read and grasp. Easier even to retain, for someone like Andrew.

She knocks on the door thirty minutes after he’s left Aaron in the bathroom. The water has cut off a few minutes ago, but apart from one sound of retching, Aaron has yet to make any noise or an indication that he’s leaving the room any time soon.

“I brought medicine and crackers,” she says when he opens the door.

She has the good sense not to smile at him.

“Don’t talk to me,” Andrew warns her. “He’s in the bathroom.”

She goes without another word, returns soon for plastic bags and a bottle of water, then Aaron slowly inches out of the bathroom into the bedroom, and she closes the door on them.

Andrew goes back to the stack of notes he’s learning. Aaron’s final is early in the afternoon; since Matt called them in when he left for one of his own, it leaves the entire morning for Andrew to try and learn three years’ worth of a subject he doesn’t take. Luckily, he has Aaron’s textbooks for any concept he might not know, and good memory of the course he had to take in freshman year for his gen eds.

Matt comes back sometime around ten, followed closely by Dan. Andrew checks the time. Neil should be going for his last final soon.

“How’s he?” Matt says when he sees Andrew.

Dan, always more suspicious of her players called Minyard, asks: “What are you doing?”

“Bedroom,” Andrew tells them, checking his phone.

A message from Neil, timestamped from five minutes ago: I’m going now. See you for lunch?

Aaron’s final starts at one, Andrew sends back. Neil will understand.

Don’t make him do too well.

“Oh, fuck,” Dan says, leaning over the couch to look at Aaron’s notes. “Andrew, you’re not serious.”

“Go away.”

“If you get caught—”

“It’s not your team anymore,” Andrew reminds her, because they lost against the Trojans in semis two weeks ago.

“What’s happening?”

“Andrew is going to fill in for Aaron. Andrew, I know you don’t care about legality, but you do know the consequences of you getting caught, right? You’ll both be kicked out, at the very least.”

“Funny,” Andrew says, “he didn’t seem to mind when he asked me earlier. Now go away.”

Dan swears violently, and trudges into the bedroom.

“Babe,” Matt calls, jogging behind her. “He’s really not well—”

The door closes on the rest of their conversation. Aaron’s state must have weakened Dan’s anger; by the time they come out of the bedroom, she’s calmed enough to leave the suite without talking to Andrew.

It’s not like Andrew minds.

When the clock hits half an hour before the start of the exam, Andrew’s had time to read all of Aaron’s notes twice. He feels confident, if only because it’s the only way he knows how to feel for accomplishments he’s set his mind to. He’ll walk in the room, take the test, get Aaron to pass, and come home to collapse on his bed with Neil, who’s been far too stressed lately. Neil’s not the best student, mostly because he never learned how to study, and the weight of Exy in regards of his academical results is too heavy for him to ignore.

Luckily for Andrew, he doesn’t care.

He goes into the bedroom to look for Aaron’s book bag, putting in the notes and too many pens. Aaron always prepares for the worst on exam days. He adds a bottle of water and swaps his phone for Aaron’s.

The whole time, Aaron lies in his bed and watches him without speaking.

“Clothes,” Andrew asks.

“Left side of the closet.”

They dress mostly alike, in dark colors and heavy fabrics, but Andrew leaves behind his armbands, too recognizable, and his boots. Aaron favors lighter shoes, black high tops with dirty white soles. He parts his hair the way Aaron does, lower on the side. He doesn’t have to hide his natural look anymore: without the manic grin, their expressions are similar.

“Good luck,” Aaron says finally, tucked into his blankets.

“You owe me.”

“I covered for your shit so many times—”

“No,” Andrew insists. “I have three finals tomorrow. You owe me.”

“Alright. Don’t let the other students to catch you—”

Andrew doesn’t answer. They’ve done it enough time in high school for Andrew to know how to pass for someone he’s not.

“Wait, Andrew—” Aaron’s tone of voice makes Andrew stop, one hand on the knob. Aaron takes a breath and says: “It’ll look weird if you don’t at least wait for Katelyn at the end.”

“I’m not touching her.”

“That’s okay, you can say you’re not feeling well. I’m going to be stuck here for a few days anyway. Just—don’t blow her off in front of everybody, alright?”

“I left my knives.”

Aaron’s glare is withering. “You know what I mean.”

Andrew killed for Aaron; he got into a car accident, and he accepted to join college and play Exy even when he was sure he was going to kill himself before their time was up. But this might be too much.

Andrew arrives almost at the last minute to avoid being roped in a conversation with Aaron’s classmates. The cheerleader, who left Fox Tower a little before noon to get something to eat and prepare for the exam, is watching anxiously from her seat in the middle of the room.

Their seats are assigned in alphabetical order. Andrew signs in as Aaron at the list near the door, and makes his way to her, since her last name places them next to each other. He supposes it might be a comfort for them usually; but she looks uneasy enough that Andrew hopes his presence makes her fail.

He’s barely taken out a pen when the exam starts. Aaron was right, at least: it is a multiple-choice quiz, but a long one. Despite his memory and Aaron’s notes, Andrew has to make up some answers when he finds himself unable to even understand the question.

He finishes early. He’s not the first one to leave the room, but the clock indicates an hour of time left. The cheerleader glances up when he gets up: she’s still only halfway through, which means Andrew leaves the building and her behind without a second thought about his cover. Waiting an hour is a waste of time he cannot be bothered with.

Aaron is sleeping soundly when Andrew comes back. He doesn’t stir even when Andrew changes back into his clothes, drops the bag and switches their phones again.

Andrew nudges him with his foot.

“Fuck off,” Aaron mutters in the pillow.

“I’m done.”

Aaron wakes up properly. “How did it go?”

“You’ll pass.”

“I need to have good grades for med school.”

“Should have thought of that before getting too sick to move,” Andrew says, unsympathetic.

“You’re a jerk.”

“I’ll ask you for something later.”

“How could I forget.” Aaron drops back down into his pillow. “Thanks,” he says more seriously.

Andrew slams the door when he leaves the room.

Neil is waiting in their suite, buried in a bean bag with an Exy match playing on the television. His eyes flit over to Andrew as soon as he opens the door, though, an indication that he’s not actually paying any attention to the screen.

“How did it go?”

Andrew shushes him, collapsing in the bean bag next to Neil’s. Neil drags his a little closer, lying down so their legs are touching from the thigh down.

“That bad, uh?” he says.

Andrew slaps a hand on his mouth to keep him quiet. He feels exhausted, drained more than he thought he would be after an hour of exam. It’s a good thing Neil can understand the command for what is: a prayer of quiet.

Neil kisses Andrew’s palm when he’s too slow to take it off his mouth, and Andrew opens one eye to glare at him. He has that look in his eyes that promises tenderness, even though they’re both still learning that language.

Andrew closes his eyes again, drawing strength from the smooth feeling of Neil’s shirt under his fingers. Neither of them turns to the television again for the rest of the evening, but it doesn’t matter.

[roscoexsykes-blog]

BDRP TASK: Letters from the Heart  warnings; violence kinda, typical ros/des stuff. 

@desotosykes​

Desi, fratello mio.

I sincerely hope this letter finds you and that the word of the agreement was honest. I can only begin to imagine your frustrations with me for everything that’s happened and I can’t even fucking imagine what’s going on there right now. I wish I could have done this in person but you deserve an explanation, I just didn’t have time to give you one and I’m sure that sounds like an excuse to you but it’s true. I just need you to know I did what I thought was best for us, alright? I need you to know I’m not turning my back on you - even if I’m sure that’s what it looked like. I promise I never meant to fucking leave you okay? I’m so fucking sorry that I didn’t tell you, DeSoto. I just.. I needed to get as far away from New York as possible and.. It’s selfish. Selfish and cowardly I know but…

They gave me a plea bargain, Desi. I was hit with so much shit when we got back to the station and I thought I was looking at over thirty fucking years...but you know that asshole fucking Captain he… he was just looking at the bigger picture and told me I should too. If I gave him dad and dad only I could walk away free as long as I got the hell out of New York. Told me… they just wanted the old man and no one else would get in trouble, you know? They promised me that you, Tony… Andre and the rest of the crew? That none of yous would face legal backlash as long as I gave a statement about Dad. I...I did this for you, Desi. We..I mean we never have to fucking deal with him again. He’s gonna be behind bars for a really long time and… I know it seems fucking shit right now. I’m sure it is shit right now, but I promise Desi. This’ll be a good thing in the long run, we just have to give it time… The guys? They won’t be too mad.. The old man treated just about everyone like a sack of shit and ain’t no one was all that loyal anyways, right? So we’ll be okay.

I know it was probably stupid. I know you’re probably pissed, but please believe me when I say this is for the best, Desi. I mean dad was getting too fucking reckless. The only reason we got into this whole situation was because of him and we both know we’d be safer without him.

I can explain better in person and I know letters are fucking dumb but I can’t risk texting or calling with how hot everything is right now, but… I’m sure it’ll settle eventually and when it does we can meet up and discuss this, alright?

Just… we’ll get this sorted, okay?

I promise we’ll figure this out.

ti voglio bene, Desi.

Roe

RETURNED TO SENDER UNABLE TO FORWARD

Des,

I know you’re pissed. I would be too, believe me. I completely understand not wanting to talk to me and I understand that I might’ve ruined everything, but I’m really hoping you’ll grow up a bit and fucking come around. I promise you everything I did, I did for a reason. I would never do that shit with no fucking thought and I would never do something so serious without considering every possibility. I know you won’t understand that, but it really was a situation where I had no choice, DeSoto. What did you think dad was going to do if I got sent to the can for a few decades? You think he’d bail me out? You think he’d care? No. We both fucking know he wouldn’t do shit, Desi. I would have fucking rotted in there for his stupid fucking choices. I didn’t deserve that and you fucking know it. So I made the only choice I fucking had and I got the fuck out of there.

Do I regret not talking to you? Yes, of course I do. If I could go back and change it, I would have came to you first. I would have told you that I needed to go and maybe you would have came with me. Maybe you’re pissed because i left you behind but you live for this shit, Des. You love doing this shit and love being like dad and love New York. I...I didn’t want that shit anymore. Not with him. I figured maybe... you’d be better off there than uprooting your fucking life for me. 

So I’m sorry for leaving you. I genuinely am. 

But I won’t fucking apologize for throwing the old man where he belongs.

R

RETURNED TO SENDER UNABLE TO FORWARD

DeSoto

I’m not asking for forgiveness or for you to talk to me. I’d honestly just like a simple sign to know you’re even alive, but hell. Maybe I don’t deserve that either. I trust that they kept their fucking word, but I never stopped to consider maybe that wasn’t enough… Even just a single ‘fuck you’ would be perfect to know you’re okay.

I’m sure at this point you really don’t care but,... I’m safe. Maybe once things cool off and if you’re not completely pissed you could come stay with us. I’m sure Rita wouldn’t approve but it don’t matter. My home is yours too, no matter what.

I still care about you, Desi. I never stopped caring about you. You’re my brother and I love you. There are no words for… for everything’s that happened. Maybe you’ll never get over it and...I guess I’ll just have to live with it. I’m the one that made this choice, after all.

I just… I’m so fucking sorry, fratello. 

If there was one person I didn’t want to lose in life, it was you.

RETURNED TO SENDER UNABLE TO FORWARD

Desi, 

Mi manchi.

Sono così dispiaciuto. Non so se posso farlo senza di te. Per favore ... per favore stai solo bene. Non posso tornare a controllarti. Non ho idea di dove sei o se sei vivo. Controllo i cazzo di necrologi perché sono terrorizzato che tu sarai lì.

So che non mi perdoni, ma per favore.

Per favore fatemi sapere che state bene.

Roe

[Desi,  I miss you.  I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t know if I can do this without you. Please... please be okay. I can’t come back to check on you. I have no idea where you are or if you’re alive. I check the fucking obituaries because I’m terrified you’ll be there.  I know you don’t forgive me, but please.  Please let me know you’re alright.  Roe]

RETURNED TO SENDER UNABLE TO FORWARD

[aheliotech]

Common phishing scams and how to prevent them

New Post has been published on https://www.aheliotech.com/blog/common-phishing-scams-and-how-to-prevent-them/

Common phishing scams and how to prevent them

I think by now we’ve all been contacted by a Nigerian prince looking for someone to help him move his wealth out of the country in return for a share of his fortune. We all know it’s a scam, but did you know a whopping 30% of you still click on phishing scam links?

Phishing scams in particular are getting so sophisticated these days that most of us will need a magnifying glass just to spot the inconsistencies that give away their fraudulent nature.

In today’s post, we will tell you exactly how to recognize a phishing scam and share some classic examples we’ve encountered.

Firstly, what are phishing scams?

The term ‘phishing’ was coined in 1996 by hackers who were stealing ‘America Online’ (better known as AOL) accounts and passwords. Employing the analogy of angling, scammers used email ‘lures,’ laying out ‘hooks’ to ‘fish’ for passwords and financial data. The letter ‘f’ was often interchanged with ‘ph’ as a nod to the original form of hacking known as phone phreaking: the reverse engineering of various tones used to re-route long distance calls.

While these ‘phreakers’ manipulated tone sequences to obtain free calls, the act itself could be argued to be victimless (Well, except for the phone companies…). This is not the case with phishing attacks. Phishers attempt to trick, steal or socially engineer you into divulging your private information. As businesses put complex security mechanisms in place to protect against unauthorized access, criminals target the weakest element in the system: you.

So, what types of phishing scams are out there?

There are two main types of phishing scams:

Advanced-fee fraud

An advance-fee scam is a type of fraud that involves promising the victim a significant share of a large sum of money in return for a small up-front payment. If a victim makes the payment, the fraudster will either invent a series of new fees for the victim to keep paying, or will simply disappear.

Traditional phishing scams

Phishing is the attempt to obtain sensitive information such as your username, password and credit card details by pretending to be a trustworthy entity such as Microsoft, Amazon, PayPal or even your bank.

While most traditional phishing scams are implemented via email, many phishing attempts happen via social media and even through your work suites such as Dropbox and Google Docs.

Over the years we’ve seen it all, like that time a Skype scambot tried to lure our CEO into plugging in his credit card details.

Or that other time when we teamed up with Bleeping Computer to watch a ‘tech support’ scammer (dubbed Mr Z by the team) attempt to convince us our virtual machine was infected with ‘trozens’ so we’d buy his fake product.

In fact: Tech support scams are so common we’ve covered them in depth here.

While there are countless different ways to phish, these are the most common phishing scam examples:

Deceptive phishing

Regardless of the delivery method, eg; Skype, email or phone call, deceptive phishing is a scammer impersonating a legitimate company in order to receive something from you, whether that be your personal information for identity theft, your credit card details or for you to feel pressured into buying a product that may or may not exist. The methods criminals are using to make you believe the site you are opening is the real deal are getting increasingly clever, as we’ll show you in our examples later on.

Spear phishing

Are deceptive phishing attacks but rather than attempting to scam an entire population of people, the attacks are targeted. You may receive an email that includes your name, position, company name and work phone number, or a contact request on Skype where you are directly confronted with personal information.

CEO Fraud

This is a type of spear phishing where the credentials of a business executive are commandeered via a phishing email, hoax call or Skype scam. These credentials are then used to conduct fraudulent activity. Common examples include Google’s Larry Page himself writing you to notify you about the “official” sweepstakes.

Cloud Storage Phishing

Utilising the suites that many people now rely on for work, these phishing scams are conducted via shared documents. In past phishing scams, Google and Dropbox have even unknowingly hosted these scams in the past with SSL certificates, meaning these scams appeared 100% legitimate.

Pharming

Redirects traffic from a legitimate site to a malicious one without your knowledge. Any personal information you enter into this page is going directly to the scammers. These pages are usually reached via links shared in deceptive phishing emails, Skype chats and social media ads.

How advanced-fee phishing attacks work: Chatting with a scammer

This email showed up in my inbox from ‘UBS Investment Bank London’ earlier this week. The sender email, givebombo@yahoo.com, piqued my interest.

I was amused by the many inconsistencies in the email, such as the fact that it made absolutely no sense. I couldn’t help myself. I had to know. What was the deal? Who was Jerry Joe?

So I called him.

The phone number connects to a man in Basingstoke, England, who didn’t know what to say until I asked him why he emailed me. He continued to ask me my name while I questioned him and assured me repeatedly that if I simply gave him my full name he would be able to give me more information about the business adventure we were about to embark on together.

When I couldn’t get past Jerry Joe’s demands for my personal information on the phone, I responded from a different (pseudonymous) email address to learn more.

Within an hour I had received nothing short of an essay.

A 40% cut of almost £8m? Guaranteed 100% success? Sweet! If I wasn’t already sold on this wonderful opportunity, I had the following attachments to convince me.

Even though I was surprised that the account statement from 2014 looked like it was printed on paper from the 80s, this all seemed incredibly convincing. He went on to say:

Now assured “this was no child’s play,” and that “nothing stupid will happen in this business either now or later” I was to feel safe providing my brother/partner with:

My full legal name

My full address

My age

Occupation

Marital status

A copy of any of my identity documents, either international passport or drivers license.

I can only imagine if I had provided these things, this ‘SIR’ would have had her identity used online to scam other poor souls. And I can’t imagine this is the only aim of the scam. There is often some ‘small fee’ required to facilitate the transfer of my newly acquired fortune. Whereby I offer my credit card details or send money via Western Union or PayPal.

British comedian James Veitch repeatedly converses with scam emailers in a bid to extract some whimsy from the scourge of the internet. In his words, time wasted with him is time that these scammers are not out scamming adults out of their savings. The results are hilarious.

Though it is obvious in the context of this post that the above examples are indeed scams, and while humorous to behold, this is a serious problem. There are still many who are able to be convinced to give up their information through either falling for the initial scam email or being harassed until they are willing to do so. If you receive an email like the one above, simply delete it.

But what about less obvious scam emails?

How to identify a traditional phishing scam

Think about how meticulous you are about your spelling in an email to a customer, your boss or a work colleague. Now imagine the importance a financial organisation, such as your bank, would place on ensuring all brand communication was immaculately presented.

If you receive an email that looks like this, you can be sure it didn’t come from Bank of Scotland:

Though the general layout is quite neat, the incorrect email address, or email spoofing, is your first clue that something isn’t quite right. The random capitalisation in the main header text might not tip you off but the request for you to immediately log on and correct your details should.

There is not a financial organisation on earth that would lead you to a third party site to sign in to your account. If you receive an email like this, go to your online banking directly from your bank’s website in a separate window. Check your secure messages from within internet banking. See any message there about your online account? Didn’t think so.

Scammers take advantage of the fact that we are constantly being bombarded with information at all hours of the day. It is easy to become complacent about what we are clicking on and to whom are we are giving our information.

Keep a clear eye out for the following clues that an email is not what it seems:

An email is addressed vaguely with salutations such as ‘Dear Valued Customer’ or ‘Dear Customer.’

The subject uses urgent and/or threatening language such as ‘Account Suspended’ or ‘Unauthorized Login Attempt.’

You are being offered a lot of money for no reason.

The email simply makes no sense.

The message appears to be from a government agency.

An email, phone call or contact request is completely unsolicited and was not initiated by any action on your part.

You are being asked to surrender personal information such as your bank account details, credit card information or are being redirected to login with your internet banking credentials.

Something just doesn’t feel right. If an offer seems too good to be true or you just feel in your gut that something is off, it probably is.

Let’s take a look at a common example close up.

Think you can spot a scam now? Not so fast.

There’s one more type of phishing scam you need to be very aware of.

Unicode phishing

Now, let’s take a look at the browser bar below. If you were redirected here from an email you wouldn’t see any problem. It looks like Paypal.com. Great! Now, click on the image and look closely.

See the umlaut and tilde above the ‘a’s. This is a scam site that I was redirected to via a link in an email. It’s a common method that our lab team is increasingly seeing to trick users to believe they are accessing a legitimate site. In this case, phishers are exploiting the fact that unicode incorporates many writing systems that each have different codes for the same letter. Using punycode, scammers can register domain names that look identical to a real site.

It is because of legitimate looking login pages like the ones above and altered URL’s like this one that cause people to be so easily caught out.

So how can you protect yourself?

How to prevent phishing scams

Though scams are getting more sophisticated all the time, there are easy steps you can take to prevent phishing attacks.

DON’T click on any links in emails claiming to be from your bank or any other trusted organisation. Especially if it asks you to verify or update your personal details. Delete these immediately.

DO an internet search of specific names and phrases in an email you are unsure about. Many scams can be identified this way as other victims post their stories on online forums.

LOOK for https: in any website where you are asked to provide personal details. SSL certificates are used to encrypt the transmitted information to secure identities and financial information over the web. If you don’t see HTTPS in your browser search bar, close it and manually search for the secure address. Always pay very close attention to what is written in the browser search bar. Check for inconsistencies such as symbols that shouldn’t be there and scrambled URLs.

NEVER provide personal information in an unsolicited phone call. Even if you believe the person calling you is legitimately from your bank, call your bank directly on the number listed on their website to be sure. They will confirm if you were contacted and why. Never return a call on a phone number given to you by the caller directly.

ALWAYS report a scam to the Anti-Phishing Work Group to ensure that others who are affected by the same scam can find out about it online.

As you can see, some people will try anything to scam you out of your hard-earned money, and the lines are always being blurred between phishing for information and scamming users for financial gain. But never fear. You have all the tools you could possibly need to spot a phishing attack a mile off! All it takes is clear eyes and a few second’s consideration to avoid infection. Now that you know what to look for, you can even help someone else to do the same!

Have a great (scam-free) day!

We’ve shown you ours, now show us yours. What’s the craziest scam you’ve ever encountered? What did you do about it? Tell us in the comments.

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