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mostlysignssomeportents · 9 months ago

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How I got scammed

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/05/cyber-dunning-kruger/#swiss-cheese-security

I wuz robbed.

More specifically, I was tricked by a phone-phisher pretending to be from my bank, and he convinced me to hand over my credit-card number, then did $8,000+ worth of fraud with it before I figured out what happened. And then he tried to do it again, a week later!

Here's what happened. Over the Christmas holiday, I traveled to New Orleans. The day we landed, I hit a Chase ATM in the French Quarter for some cash, but the machine declined the transaction. Later in the day, we passed a little credit-union's ATM and I used that one instead (I bank with a one-branch credit union and generally there's no fee to use another CU's ATM).

A couple days later, I got a call from my credit union. It was a weekend, during the holiday, and the guy who called was obviously working for my little CU's after-hours fraud contractor. I'd dealt with these folks before – they service a ton of little credit unions, and generally the call quality isn't great and the staff will often make mistakes like mispronouncing my credit union's name.

That's what happened here – the guy was on a terrible VOIP line and I had to ask him to readjust his mic before I could even understand him. He mispronounced my bank's name and then asked if I'd attempted to spend $1,000 at an Apple Store in NYC that day. No, I said, and groaned inwardly. What a pain in the ass. Obviously, I'd had my ATM card skimmed – either at the Chase ATM (maybe that was why the transaction failed), or at the other credit union's ATM (it had been a very cheap looking system).

I told the guy to block my card and we started going through the tedious business of running through recent transactions, verifying my identity, and so on. It dragged on and on. These were my last hours in New Orleans, and I'd left my family at home and gone out to see some of the pre-Mardi Gras krewe celebrations and get a muffalata, and I could tell that I was going to run out of time before I finished talking to this guy.

"Look," I said, "you've got all my details, you've frozen the card. I gotta go home and meet my family and head to the airport. I'll call you back on the after-hours number once I'm through security, all right?"

He was frustrated, but that was his problem. I hung up, got my sandwich, went to the airport, and we checked in. It was total chaos: an Alaska Air 737 Max had just lost its door-plug in mid-air and every Max in every airline's fleet had been grounded, so the check in was crammed with people trying to rebook. We got through to the gate and I sat down to call the CU's after-hours line. The person on the other end told me that she could only handle lost and stolen cards, not fraud, and given that I'd already frozen the card, I should just drop by the branch on Monday to get a new card.

We flew home, and later the next day, I logged into my account and made a list of all the fraudulent transactions and printed them out, and on Monday morning, I drove to the bank to deal with all the paperwork. The folks at the CU were even more pissed than I was. The fraud that run up to more than $8,000, and if Visa refused to take it out of the merchants where the card had been used, my little credit union would have to eat the loss.

I agreed and commiserated. I also pointed out that their outsource, after-hours fraud center bore some blame here: I'd canceled the card on Saturday but most of the fraud had taken place on Sunday. Something had gone wrong.

One cool thing about banking at a tiny credit-union is that you end up talking to people who have actual authority, responsibility and agency. It turned out the the woman who was processing my fraud paperwork was a VP, and she decided to look into it. A few minutes later she came back and told me that the fraud center had no record of having called me on Saturday.

"That was the fraudster," she said.

Oh, shit. I frantically rewound my conversation, trying to figure out if this could possibly be true. I hadn't given him anything apart from some very anodyne info, like what city I live in (which is in my Wikipedia entry), my date of birth (ditto), and the last four digits of my card.

Wait a sec.

He hadn't asked for the last four digits. He'd asked for the last seven digits. At the time, I'd found that very frustrating, but now – "The first nine digits are the same for every card you issue, right?" I asked the VP.

I'd given him my entire card number.

Goddammit.

The thing is, I know a lot about fraud. I'm writing an entire series of novels about this kind of scam:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

And most summers, I go to Defcon, and I always go to the "social engineering" competitions where an audience listens as a hacker in a soundproof booth cold-calls merchants (with the owner's permission) and tries to con whoever answers the phone into giving up important information.

But I'd been conned.

Now look, I knew I could be conned. I'd been conned before, 13 years ago, by a Twitter worm that successfully phished out of my password via DM:

https://locusmag.com/2010/05/cory-doctorow-persistence-pays-parasites/

That scam had required a miracle of timing. It started the day before, when I'd reset my phone to factory defaults and reinstalled all my apps. That same day, I'd published two big online features that a lot of people were talking about. The next morning, we were late getting out of the house, so by the time my wife and I dropped the kid at daycare and went to the coffee shop, it had a long line. Rather than wait in line with me, my wife sat down to read a newspaper, and so I pulled out my phone and found a Twitter DM from a friend asking "is this you?" with a URL.

Assuming this was something to do with those articles I'd published the day before, I clicked the link and got prompted for my Twitter login again. This had been happening all day because I'd done that mobile reinstall the day before and all my stored passwords had been wiped. I entered it but the page timed out. By that time, the coffees were ready. We sat and chatted for a bit, then went our own ways.

I was on my way to the office when I checked my phone again. I had a whole string of DMs from other friends. Each one read "is this you?" and had a URL.

Oh, shit, I'd been phished.

If I hadn't reinstalled my mobile OS the day before. If I hadn't published a pair of big articles the day before. If we hadn't been late getting out the door. If we had been a little more late getting out the door (so that I'd have seen the multiple DMs, which would have tipped me off).

There's a name for this in security circles: "Swiss-cheese security." Imagine multiple slices of Swiss cheese all stacked up, the holes in one slice blocked by the slice below it. All the slices move around and every now and again, a hole opens up that goes all the way through the stack. Zap!

The fraudster who tricked me out of my credit card number had Swiss cheese security on his side. Yes, he spoofed my bank's caller ID, but that wouldn't have been enough to fool me if I hadn't been on vacation, having just used a pair of dodgy ATMs, in a hurry and distracted. If the 737 Max disaster hadn't happened that day and I'd had more time at the gate, I'd have called my bank back. If my bank didn't use a slightly crappy outsource/out-of-hours fraud center that I'd already had sub-par experiences with. If, if, if.

The next Friday night, at 5:30PM, the fraudster called me back, pretending to be the bank's after-hours center. He told me my card had been compromised again. But: I hadn't removed my card from my wallet since I'd had it replaced. Also, it was half an hour after the bank closed for the long weekend, a very fraud-friendly time. And when I told him I'd call him back and asked for the after-hours fraud number, he got very threatening and warned me that because I'd now been notified about the fraud that any losses the bank suffered after I hung up the phone without completing the fraud protocol would be billed to me. I hung up on him. He called me back immediately. I hung up on him again and put my phone into do-not-disturb.

The following Tuesday, I called my bank and spoke to their head of risk-management. I went through everything I'd figured out about the fraudsters, and she told me that credit unions across America were being hit by this scam, by fraudsters who somehow knew CU customers' phone numbers and names, and which CU they banked at. This was key: my phone number is a reasonably well-kept secret. You can get it by spending money with Equifax or another nonconsensual doxing giant, but you can't just google it or get it at any of the free services. The fact that the fraudsters knew where I banked, knew my name, and had my phone number had really caused me to let down my guard.

The risk management person and I talked about how the credit union could mitigate this attack: for example, by better-training the after-hours card-loss staff to be on the alert for calls from people who had been contacted about supposed card fraud. We also went through the confusing phone-menu that had funneled me to the wrong department when I called in, and worked through alternate wording for the menu system that would be clearer (this is the best part about banking with a small CU – you can talk directly to the responsible person and have a productive discussion!). I even convinced her to buy a ticket to next summer's Defcon to attend the social engineering competitions.

There's a leak somewhere in the CU systems' supply chain. Maybe it's Zelle, or the small number of corresponding banks that CUs rely on for SWIFT transaction forwarding. Maybe it's even those after-hours fraud/card-loss centers. But all across the USA, CU customers are getting calls with spoofed caller IDs from fraudsters who know their registered phone numbers and where they bank.

I've been mulling this over for most of a month now, and one thing has really been eating at me: the way that AI is going to make this kind of problem much worse.

Not because AI is going to commit fraud, though.

One of the truest things I know about AI is: "we're nowhere near a place where bots can steal your job, we're certainly at the point where your boss can be suckered into firing you and replacing you with a bot that fails at doing your job":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

I trusted this fraudster specifically because I knew that the outsource, out-of-hours contractors my bank uses have crummy headsets, don't know how to pronounce my bank's name, and have long-ass, tedious, and pointless standardized questionnaires they run through when taking fraud reports. All of this created cover for the fraudster, whose plausibility was enhanced by the rough edges in his pitch - they didn't raise red flags.

As this kind of fraud reporting and fraud contacting is increasingly outsourced to AI, bank customers will be conditioned to dealing with semi-automated systems that make stupid mistakes, force you to repeat yourself, ask you questions they should already know the answers to, and so on. In other words, AI will groom bank customers to be phishing victims.

This is a mistake the finance sector keeps making. 15 years ago, Ben Laurie excoriated the UK banks for their "Verified By Visa" system, which validated credit card transactions by taking users to a third party site and requiring them to re-enter parts of their password there:

https://web.archive.org/web/20090331094020/http://www.links.org/?p=591

This is exactly how a phishing attack works. As Laurie pointed out, this was the banks training their customers to be phished.

I came close to getting phished again today, as it happens. I got back from Berlin on Friday and my suitcase was damaged in transit. I've been dealing with the airline, which means I've really been dealing with their third-party, outsource luggage-damage service. They have a terrible website, their emails are incoherent, and they officiously demand the same information over and over again.

This morning, I got a scam email asking me for more information to complete my damaged luggage claim. It was a terrible email, from a noreply@ email address, and it was vague, officious, and dishearteningly bureaucratic. For just a moment, my finger hovered over the phishing link, and then I looked a little closer.

On any other day, it wouldn't have had a chance. Today – right after I had my luggage wrecked, while I'm still jetlagged, and after days of dealing with my airline's terrible outsource partner – it almost worked.

So much fraud is a Swiss-cheese attack, and while companies can't close all the holes, they can stop creating new ones.

Meanwhile, I'll continue to post about it whenever I get scammed. I find the inner workings of scams to be fascinating, and it's also important to remind people that everyone is vulnerable sometimes, and scammers are willing to try endless variations until an attack lands at just the right place, at just the right time, in just the right way. If you think you can't get scammed, that makes you especially vulnerable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/02/24/passive-income/#swiss-cheese-security

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #social engineering #phishing #ai #swiss cheese security #infosec #finance #fraud #carding

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moonstruckme · 6 months ago

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Hi Mae!! I keep rereading the overprotective poly marauders fic I love it sm 🫶 can I please request another one it can tie into casual dominance marauders if you want I don’t mind I just can’t get them off my mind. Thanks babe!!

Hi lovely!! So this went a bit off the rails, I had different intentions for it at first but then somehow it became very serious and the boys not so much overprotective as reasonably upset....all in all, I'm not super happy with it but I didn't want to throw it out, I'd be happy to write another overprotective one for you if you'd like!

cw: sexual assault

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.5k words

You walk out of your office feeling odd and off-kilter. Your mind seems addled, unable to complete one thought before jumping to the next, and something prickles just underneath your skin that feels like anger and shame and also like panic.

Your boyfriends are waiting for you, idling at the curb. You’re supposed to go straight from here to the cinema, and you tell yourself you’ll feel better afterwards. Even if not, you have until Monday before you have to deal with this, if you deal with it at all. You may not. You’re not sure. You can’t think straight.

“Hey, angel,” James says as you get in, and it’s immediately obvious your upset has already been noticed. Probably as soon as you walked outside, your boyfriends observing you through the car windows. Remus, in the driver’s seat, and Sirius, sitting beside you in the back, are both charily silent. “How was work?”

“It was fine,” you reply. Your voice sounds off even to your own ears, but no one comments as Remus puts the car in drive.

“Ready for the weekend?” James imbues his voice with a light sort of commiseration. You try to smile for him.

No one is more surprised than you when a sob chokes you instead. You hide your face in your hands, tears already leaking out from between your lashes.

“God, sorry.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Sirius asks, unbuckling his seatbelt and reaching for you.

Remus pulls into a parking spot just by the exit and shuts off the engine, turning around in his seat.

“Baby.” Sirius wraps his arm around your shaking shoulders, squeezing tight. He sounds anxious. “Did something happen?”

The worst of your crying passes like a summer storm, over as quickly as it started. Your emotions gone haywire. You lean into Sirius, and he clicks the buckle on your seatbelt for you, pulling you the rest of the way.

“You’re scaring me,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your hairline. “Tell us why you’re upset, angel, please.”

“I think,” you mumble, face and eyes burning, “my boss grabbed my butt.”

You say it quieter than a whisper, but you know they’ve all heard. The silence that follows is so complete you could hear a pin drop.

“What?” James asks. His throat sounds dry.

You hear Remus sigh. “Oh, sweetheart.” The vinyl of his seat squeaks as he shifts. “When did this happen?”

“Just now,” you answer.

“Right.” Sirius’ arms had gone tense around you, but now they fall away completely. He moves for his door. “I’ll be back.”

“Don’t,” you plead. You worry he will anyway, but Remus locks the doors from the front seat.

Sirius cuts a glare his way, truly scary with the way wrath seems to gleam in his gray irises. He unlocks his door manually, and Remus locks it again.

“We can’t be rash,” he says, his own tone sharper than you think is intended for anyone in the car. “We have to think this through.”

“What’s there to think about?” Sirius snaps. James reaches behind his seat, taking your hand and rubbing comfortingly. “He’s just inside!”

“You think I don’t want to go in there too?” Remus gives him a look that’s a short fall from incredulous. “But if we have to call the police, it won’t help if you’ve already had a go at him.”

Your head spins. You hadn’t even thought of calling the police. You hadn’t really gotten past going to the cinema.

“What do you mean, you think he grabbed you, sweetheart?” James' voice is pointedly kinder than the others. Remus takes a deep breath, calming himself.

“I don’t know. I just—I feel like I can’t be sure—”

“That’s alright.” Remus' voice is slower now. Soothing. “Why don’t you tell us how it happened?”

“I, um.” You swallow. James strokes the back of your hand with his thumb. “I was looking at something on his computer, because he said he wasn’t getting my emails and I thought they might be going to his spam. He was sitting behind me in his chair, and we were talking and his hand, like, squeezed—” you shudder, your brain trying to shake off the memory “—and then he just kept talking like nothing happened. It was so fast I’m not sure it even did—”

“Baby.”

You don’t realize you’re tripping over your words until Sirius’ voice cuts through them. You look at him, and his eyes are already on yours, fierce but solid.

“Did you feel him touch you?” he asks.

You rub your lips together. “Yeah,” you murmur.

Your boyfriend’s expression pinches, but his gaze is steady. “Then he did. Trust yourself. You know what happened.”

This provokes another wave of tears, less tempestuous than the first but somehow more painful. You wouldn't have expected any one of your boyfriends to blame you, not if you’d thought about it, but you haven’t had time to think yet and the relief that they’re so wholly on your side makes your heart feel cracked open.

“Dove, I’m so sorry,” Remus says. He’s frowning, a well-worn line etched between his brows. You hate to put it there. “What do you want to do? Do you know if you can contact HR?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, pliable to Sirius’ ministrations as he tucks you securely under one arm and uses the other to thumb at your salty cheeks. “I feel a bit silly. It was a small thing, I don’t think it’s worth a bunch of fuss.”

“It’s not a small thing,” says James, uncharacteristically severe. “It’s a big thing—a really fucked up thing, that he did—and it’s worth a lot of fuss. A lot.” He leans around his seatback, pressing a firm kiss to your hand. “It’s just a matter of how much fuss you’re willing to go through with, sweetheart. It’s up to you. We can go through HR, we can go to the police. There’s still the option of just going in there and roughing him up to be sure it doesn’t happen again.” He smiles wryly. It looks like it takes effort. “I’m very game for that option. We know Sirius is ready.”

Sirius makes an affirming humph sound against the side of your head. You try to smile back at James.

“I think maybe…HR?” Your voice is tentative. “I have a friend, Marcella, who I think would be nice about it.” You realize as it comes out of your mouth what a low bar that is, but that’s the reality of your situation.

“Do you know if she’s still here?” Remus asks.

You feel your brow wrinkle. “I think so…”

Remus unlocks the doors, and James gets out. You barely manage to squeak out a “Wait” before the door shuts behind him.

You turn to Remus. “Where’s he going?”

“To find Marcella,” he says. “It’s better that they know when it’s just happened, dovey, but you don’t have to deal with it right now. That’s why James is going instead.”

You nod. It makes sense, even if the reality of it all makes tears press at your throat again.

“My sweet girl.” Sirius holds you tight, mashing a kiss into the side of your head. “I’m so sorry this happened, baby. I’m sorry we weren’t there to protect you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” you murmur, turning in his arms to hug him properly. He seems pleased with this development, and squeezes you ferociously. “You can’t always be with me. And it’s not your responsibility.”

“Careful what you say.” Sirius seems to muster up some humor, a teasing edge to his tone. “I’ll get us one of those big shirts so the four of us can fit in it together, and then you’ll never be rid of us.”

“It’s our job to look after you,” says Remus, firm but kind. “It’s true we can’t be with you all of the time, but I’m glad you felt comfortable telling us this. Thank you, sweetheart.”

You’re about to dismiss his thanks when James gets back in the car, this time in the back seat instead of the front.

“Did you see him?” Sirius asks immediately, scooching the both of you over to make room.

“No, he must’ve left right after her.” James looks unhappy, but his touch is gentle as always as he takes your waist in both hands, easing you off of Sirius’ lap and into the seat between them. Sirius sighs but doesn’t complain, likely knowing he’s had more than his fair share of your comfort.

“Marcella was nice, though,” James says. “She arranged for you to have the morning off on Monday, and she’ll call you then to hear from you what happened. We can be with you, if you like.”

“Monday.” You blow out a slow breath, though it doesn’t do much to keep your throat from contracting in panic. “Okay, that sounds good. Thank you.”

“No worries, angel.” James rubs your thigh, watching you carefully. “You doing okay?”

“Yeah, sorry.” Your voice squeaks, and you cover your eyes with a hand. Sirius whines and kisses your shoulder. You try to laugh, but it comes out wet. “I think this might just keep happening for a while.”

“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” Remus coos, reaching out a hand to set on the top of your head. He scratches at your scalp with his fingernails the way he knows you like. “It makes sense to be upset. We’ll get you through this, alright? Let us look after you for a bit.”

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astonmartinii · 1 year ago

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you and me got a whole lotta history | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x historian!reader

y/n is a historian and it’s not her fault her bf’s job takes him all around the world…

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 102,561 others

location: melbourne 📍

yourusername: so it’s the australian grand prix and i’ve spent the start of the week exploring this old city. one of my stops was the historic old melbourne gaol. this now museum was once a prison that housed some of the most feared criminals in australian history. constructed in 1839, the old melbourne gaol saw 133 hanged for their crimes between 1845 and 1924. it was briefly used during world war two but ceased operation as a prison in 1924 and was renovated to be part of the RMIT university and the museum it is today. a definite must if you’re visiting melbourne !!

view all comments

user1: my fave part of the race week is y/n’s museum recommendations tbf

user2: i can vision charles being dragged around this place hating his life

charles_leclerc: the things we do for love

yourusername: you said you enjoyed it :(

charles_leclerc: I DID

user2: oops

yourusername: i’ll leave you at the hotel next time

charles_leclerc: it was scary but i enjoyed it because i was with you

yourusername: okay that’s better

danielricciardo: so my farm isn’t good enough for you

yourusername: noooooo danny i thought we were going after the race?

danielricciardo: oof my bad

user3: petition for there to be a teds notebook but it’s y/n giving us a historical guide to the city the race is in

f1: we’re listening @skysportsf1

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, scuderica ferrari and 788,341 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: tough race in melbourne but a beautiful city regardless

view all comments

user4: HE served, we don’t talk about the race

yourusername: i don’t mean to say i told you so but i did say our day trip would be the best part

user5: girl you’re gonna get banned from the ferrari garage

yourusername: they deserve far worse than what i’m saying let’s be real

user5: true

user6: i love how charles didn’t reply ferrari has his ass ON LOCK

carlossainz55: we'll come back stronger

danielricciardo: we can all commiserate at my farm bro

charles_leclerc: your farm better be as good as you're saying now

danielricciardo: nervously awaiting the y/n review

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 104,561 others

location: miami 📍

yourusername: though miami may be known for it's partying (it's all about the U), charles and i took our monday to take a stroll around st bernard de clairvaux church, one of miami's hidden gems. the church was originally built in spain all the way back in 1141 to the style of cistercian romanesque architecture for alfonso vii. the monastry's cloister was illegally purchased by american william randolph hearst in 1926 and in order for the church to be transported it was dismantled to 11,000 pieces and sent to the us where it was rebuilt and still stands to this day.

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user7: i'm never gonna be able to afford to go to miami so why did i read this whole thing like i'll visit some day?

yourusername: history is important and interesting, always good to read even if you never visit !!

user8: she's like the older sister i never had

user9: did charles enjoy this one more?

yourusername: "at least i'll get a tan here"

charles_leclerc: i feel like anyone who reads about me in your comments will think i'm an asshole, i have fun every time i just don't understand most of it

yourusername: i know you have fun baby (and i love you for driving us to all of these places)

user10: have you considered our super historic frat house this saturday night?

user11: imagine thinking you have a chance when her literal boyf is CHARLES LECLERC

user10: every goal has a goalkeeper doesn't mean you can't score

charles_leclerc: i will run you over

user12: omg ferrari's pr is quaking

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, lancestroll and 112,677 others

yourusername: it is my biggest honour to announce my position as a history lecturer here at oxford!! i always dreamed of studying here and to get to pass on my knowledge to those looking to follow in my footsteps is a huge pleasure and responsibility.

p.s. no worries, it is not full time so race week explorations will continue.

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user13: so it was true :(((((( wait i just read the whole post my bad

user14: so i guess i now need to turn my Cs into As if i wanna attend a y/n lecture

charles_leclerc: unbelievably proud of you my love - don't miss me too much

yourusername: you sure i can't persuade you to move to england with me :(

charles_leclerc: i'll be there as much as i can be but monaco is still our home

yourusername: always

landonorris: proud of you smarty pants

yourusername: thank you landito

landonorris: so you'll now root for the brits?

charles_leclerc: over my dead body

yourusername: what charlie said

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, yourusername and 1,209,778 others

tagged: yourusername

charles_leclerc: super happy for another win for the season but we keep pushing for the real prize at the end of the season - thank you for your continued support tifosi and my love y/n who stayed up all the way in oxford ❤️

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user20: i don't wanna jinx it but like the season is going well

user21: too well....

yourusername: winning looks good on you

charles_leclerc: you look better on me

pierregasly: oh god you've been apart for a triple header and now you're being horny on main

yourusername: says mr. doggy emoji

pierregasly: touche

user22: so charles can mathematically win in either austin or brazil FUCK THEM KIDS I NEED Y/N AT THESE RACES

user23: if she's not there for charles wdc i am personally going to have a sleepover on the train tracks

yourusername added to their story

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and 503,786 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: the autodromo jose carlos pace is the crown jewel of the interlagos neighbourhood. the circuit opened 83 years ago and has hosted the f1 since 1972. the circuit was originally meant to be a housing area but due to the 1929 stock market crash the owners decided to construct a racing track instead. interlagos is often a season decider with fernando alonso winning both his 2005 and 2006 titles here, kimi raikkonen winning the 2007 championship here, lewis hamilton won the 2008 championship here, jenson button clinched the 2009 title here and CHARLES LECLERC WON HIS FIRST TITLE HERE IN INTERLAGOS FOR THE 2023 SEASON

on a real note i am so proud of you charles, i have seen the sacrifices you have made and the unbelievable amount of effort you pour into every facet of your racing NO ONE deserves this more than you. i am so grateful to have shared this moment with you, here's to many more xxx

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user26: i am unwell this is so fucking cute

user27: bro this is so fucking crazy

charles_leclerc: couldn't have done it without you, so glad you could be there for me xx

yourusername: always charlie xx

yourstudent: miss y/n you can cancel all of our lectures if charles wins the championship again FORZA FERRARI

charles_leclerc: the people have spoken

user28: insane butterfly effect of the wall street crash to charles leclerc 2023 wdc

user29: they make me believe in love

note: this was super random but popped into my head while at work and i knew i had to write it !! hope you enjoyed xx

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 instagram au #f1 x you #f1 #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc instagram edit #charles leclerc instagram au #charles leclerc x you

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onthewaytosomewhere · 3 months ago

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so i've not done one of these yet this month so i'll start us off at the halfway point of the month with a wed wip

Thanks so much to everyone who's still tagged even tho i've not been posting as much i luv'd seeing what you did 💚💚💚

speaking of posting tho i did post 2 fics on monday - an alex/shaan fic - in the kitchen, at kensington, with those threadbare pajama pants & my firstprince Olympics engagement fic bringing home silver - if ur interested 💚

so for this weeks words we're gonna pull from the fic that i call pip had alex first - bcuz that's pretty much exactly what it is - so have a lil pip/alex moment below the cut - it's not smut but smut adjacent and some tags

OPEN TAG FOR ANYONE WHO WANTS TO DO THIS AS WELL (or that i may have forgot or run out of tags for - it's like 1:30 so very much likely i forget someone on here lolz)

“What can I make you? I’m pretty good at this. My sister and Nora, let me make them drinks when we all hang out.” Philip wants to say they can skip the drinks and take the cupcakes to the bed but instead says, “I’ll have whatever you’re making. I’ve never met an alcohol I didn’t like.” They sit on the couch and sip the whiskey sours Alex mixed for them. Alex tells Philip how he was assigned this conference because the Administration felt they needed a presence, and everyone else was busy. He commiserates as he is also not the one supposed to be here. It was supposed to be Henry, but he was needed at an event with Bea. Alex is a surprisingly great company, and the more they drink, the less Philip actually cares about getting his hand on his cock, even if it also makes him want more. They break out the cupcakes, and watching a tipsy Alex devour and try to fit the whole thing in his mouth gives Philip thoughts about what else he could fit into his mouth. There is frosting on his cheek, seeping out from the corner of his mouth, and Philip reaches over to wipe it off. His thumb sits next to his mouth, and Alex turns his head and sucks it into his mouth. Philip’s breath stutters on the inhale, and he holds it for a moment before pushing it out. “Alex?” “Yeah,” comes out on the breath Alex also seemed to be holding. Philip takes their drinks and sets them on the table in front of them; when he turns to Alex, his eyes are somehow both blown wide in confusion and lust-filled.

tag ur it! @adreamareads @anincompletelist @blueeyedgrlwrites @catdadacd @caterpills

@cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @dragonflylady77 @duchessdepolignaca03 @emmalostinwonderland

@england-would-fall @everwitch-magiks @firenati0n @firstsprinces @getmehighonmagic

@henryspearl @heysweetheart-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @inell @inexplicablymine

@jmagnabo92 @kiwiana-writes @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @mikibwrites

@myheartalivewrites @ninzied @orchidscript @piratefalls @porcelainmortal

@priincebutt @softboynick @sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow

@suseagull04 @tailsbeth-writes @taste-thewaste @thedramasummer @cactusdragon517

@theprinceandagcd @thesleepyskipper @thighzp @thinkof-england @tinyarmedtrex

@typicalopposite @stratocumulusperlucidus @basil-bird @eusuntgratie

@bigassbowlingballhead @captainjunglegym

#wip wednesday #red white and royal blue #rwrb wip #alex claremont diaz #philip fox mountchristen windsor #it's a firstprince fic but also alex/pip #but not at the same time #so no incest this time lolz #both boys get alex years apart #it's kinda henry's fault #but ... yeah lolz #i dunno why this stuff keeps happening in my fic either #pip just likes to hang out in my head and get a fic sometimes lolz #so ... that's where we're at #me unhinged at almost 2 am and yeah ...

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rose-of-the-grave · 4 months ago

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The Brilliant Plan

Pairing: Harry x Hermione

I know that it's summer but here's a fic that takes place right before Slughorn's Christmas Party. This was based off of this request. As always I'm the author (please don't repost)

Masterlist. Read on Ao3

Warnings: fake dating, kissing, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 2325

Description: Hermione hatches a brilliant plan for both her and Harry to get with the people they want, little does she know that Harry actually wants to be with her.

Taglist: @sylveryfire, @fuckyeahsuperheropowercouples

It had happened one late night while the two of them were up late talking, commiserating. They had hatched a brilliant plan, if they couldn’t be with the people they wanted then they might as well go to Slughorn’s Christmas party together, as a couple.

“Hey, you know what would really get under Ron’s skin?” Hermione asked, in thought.

Harry looked over at her from where he sat on the steps right next to her. “What?”

“If we were together!”

Harry somehow managed to choke on air, coughing a bit before asking again, “What?”

“Just think about it! The two of us together will probably make him jealous. He’ll feel as excluded as we have for the past few weeks that he’s been with Lavender. It’s the perfect plan! We could go on a few dates together right when they are so that he can see us spending time together outside of the time we all spend together.”

“Well, if we’re going to do this then we might as well just go to Slughorn’s party together as well since neither of us can go with who we’d like.”

“Nice thinking.” She smiled at him, more happy than he had seen her for the past few weeks. Hermione stood up and turned around to face him. “I’m going to go create a plan for the next week so you need to do some snooping and figure out when they will be going on a date so we can plan around their schedule.

“Okay.” Harry agreed.

She then started walking excitedly towards the Gryffindor dorms, leaving Harry to wonder what in Merlin’s name he had just agreed to. He had a feeling that this whole plan was going to end up biting him in the ass. Because, while it was true that Hermione liked Ron who was currently with Lavender, Hermione wasn’t entirely right about Harry also liking someone else. She thought he liked Ginny, but he didn’t. In fact he had actually played up that fact so she didn’t suspect the truth, that he liked her. After all, it could never happen, right?

The next day Harry returned with the news that Ron and Lavender had a date planned for the day of Slughorn’s party. It was then decided that they would conveniently happen to have their date at the same time and place. For the first part of the week, however, it was a different story. After all, they only had a few short days to convince everyone they knew that they had seemingly fallen for each other and were now dating.

On Monday they started slowly, simply hanging out even more and constantly holding hands, hoping that people would start to notice and talk. That was somewhat successful, Ginny came up to them and asked if they were together.

“We are!” Hermione confirmed. “We got to talking over the weekend and realized that we had something more between us and now we’re just seeing where things go.” She then let her hand that wasn’t holding Harry’s caress his chest a bit. He involuntarily flinched. It wasn’t that noticeable but Hermione felt it.

“Sorry. But hey, on the bright side, soon you’ll be with Ginny and I will be with Ron.”

Harry pretended to be reassured when really all he wanted was for her to put her hand back on his chest. He pushed that feeling down and simply nodded.

On Tuesday it was decided that they would hang out together until curfew so that when Harry went back to the dorm he could tell Ron that he was out so late with Hermione in the Astronomy Tower, which was a well-known make-out place for sixth and seventh years. This wasn’t much of a success since Ron was already asleep when he returned. It did, however, convince the rest of the boys that they were together.

Wednesday, Hermione decided that enough was enough. Ron still hadn’t noticed a change. This time, she told Harry that they would have to start hanging out near Lavender and Ron so that they could act just as touchy and in each other’s space as the other couple was.

This started first with Harry wrapping Hermione in his arms which was challenging because all it did was give Harry the opportunity to smell the familiar scent of her shampoo as her curls brushed his face. He still recalled when they had brewed Amortentia in Potions and that had been one of the scents he had smelled in his potion.

“Ok, this isn’t working!” Hermione exclaimed, frustrated. “Maybe we need to step up our game.”

Hesitantly, Harry asked. “And what do you mean by that?”

“Well, if he won’t pick up all of our hints then maybe he needs to be confronted, face first!”

“And…?”

Hermione looked over at him, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. “I think that at this point we should just hang out in the common room or something, waiting for him to come by and then just start making out in front of him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Only if you're comfortable with it!” She quickly assured him. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“Nah, it’s fine. So do you think we should just camp out in the common room right by the stairs to the boys dormitory or something so he can’t possibly miss us?”

“That’s probably our best bet.”

Harry sucked in a breath, knowing that he would live to regret asking this. “Do you think that, maybe we should at least practice once before we do it for real?”

She looked over at him with a weird look and for a split second he was sure that he was done for before she said, “Yeah, you’re probably right. We want it to look natural.”

He inched towards her a bit. “So, how should we do this?”

“I mean, I guess we just go for it?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay.” He closed the gap, one of his hands going up to support her head a bit. At first they kind of just sat there, mouth to mouth, until she finally moved, actually kissing him back. His other hand drifted down to hold her at her hip, pulling her in more, deepening the kiss. If he was more of a romantic he could have sworn fireworks went off. It was nice, it was more than nice. He had never dreamed that he would ever, in a million years, get this opportunity.

Then, her mouth opened slightly, and so did his. He waited, wondering what she might do until she deepened the kiss further, her tongue tentatively brushing against his. In that moment, his mind blanked, leaving him unable to form a single coherent thought.

It wasn’t until she broke away, panting a bit that he fully registered what had happened. They had kissed, with tongue!

“That was…” He trailed off, unsure how to describe what had been the most magical experience in his life.

“Yeah.” She smiled.

Reluctantly, Harry stood up. “We should probably go if we want to catch them before they get to the dorms.

Hermione looked at him, puzzled before his words clicked. “Oh, right!”

The pair walked back to the Gryffindor common room where they saw that almost everyone had already gone upstairs. They walked over to the couch that sat against the wall between the stairs for the girls’ and the boys’ dormitories. Once there, they sat in silence, waiting for the door to open to cue their performance.

The two of them sat there in silence for what seemed like forever, startling at every small noise. After a few minutes, the door finally opened and they almost immediately started sucking face. Hermione slowly started shifting closer until she was practically on Harry’s lap.

“Oi! Get a room, lovebirds!” Said someone who was most definitely not who they had been waiting for. Turning around, both of their cheeks tinged with embarrassment, to see a group of seventh years that they vaguely knew. They all nodded at each other before they went upstairs leaving them alone again. After a while, it seemed like their wait was for nothing.

“Well, we might as well get comfortable.” Hermione suggested, leaning into Harry’s side, her head resting on his chest.

“Looks like it.” He put one of his arms around her shoulders, pulling her in a bit more, settling in on the couch. The two of them sat there comfortably for a while before Harry noticed that she had fallen asleep. Peering down at her peaceful expression, he smiled softly. She looked so cute lying on him, all peaceful. It tugged at his heart a bit, he wanted this to be real, not all to make Ron jealous.

Harry sat there for about half an hour before sleep started to claim him, causing him to yawn. He really didn’t want to disturb her sleep so he decided to settle in, using his wand to summon a blanket to keep them warm.

He stroked her hair gently as his eyelids grew heavier until he fell asleep.

Next thing either of them knew, it was Thursday and they were awakening to a small group of fellow Gryffindors who had woken up to the two of them asleep on the couch together in the common room.

“Morning.”

Harry shushed them, telling them not to wake Hermione up. She didn’t usually get the best sleep, always busy studying for all of the classes she was taking. The crowd dispersed but he could still feel questioning eyes on them. A few minutes later she yawned, signaling that she was finally awake.

“Good morning.”

“Did I really sleep down here all night?” She sat up, looking around, noticing the blanket and the fact that Harry was still in his clothes from Wednesday.

“You could have woken me up.” She said, feeling bad. Sleeping on the couch couldn’t have been all that comfortable.

Harry shrugged. “You needed the sleep.”

She smiled, grateful. “Thanks.”

They then both got up and went to get changed for the day before walking to breakfast where Ron and Lavender were so busy that they didn’t even notice them. By this point, Hermione almost couldn’t bring herself to care.

After classes the two of them were sitting together in the corner of the common room.

“Hey, so the party is tomorrow, right?”

“Yes?” Hermione said, wondering where he was going with this.

“We’re going to crash Ron and Lavender’s date, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“So what’s the plan? For after?”

At her puzzled glance, he clarified. “How are we going to break up? I mean we have to eventually, right? Once Ron’s suitably jealous and leaves Lavender for you. That’s what you want, right?”

She hesitated before saying. “Right. I guess, after the party or something? We can just say we decided to stay friends and nothing more.”

Harry looked away, trying not to let his face give away his emotions.

Their conversation was cut short by Ron, who appeared out of nowhere. For once, he was alone.

“Hey.”

They both looked at him, unsure how to react. Their best friend, the third in their trio, who had been hanging out with his girlfriend for the past few weeks, completely ignoring them was suddenly back.

“What’s going on?”

“Oh, nothing. I just wanted to see how you guys are doing.”

“You’ve had weeks to do that.” Harry said bitterly, annoyed that he was completely oblivious to everything. Most of all, he wished he could talk to Ron about what was going on.

“I actually wanted to apologize for that. I’m going to try to spend a little less time with Lavender. I got detention with Snape because I was late to class today. We were out by the greenhouses.” He grinned before sobering up. “Sucks, now I have to cancel on our date. She’s not going to be happy.” Ron stood up and walked away, “See ya later!”

“Well. Guess we don’t have to go to Hogsmeade after all.” Hermione said, quietly relieved, watching Ron walk away.

Harry stood up, “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Mione.”

“What, why not, Harry?” She reached a hand out but he pulled away. It hurt seeing how her face crumpled but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t touch her knowing she didn’t feel the same way about him he did about her.

“Because I think-I think I’m starting to get greedy. I think I’m starting to want more with you.”

“What? Harry.” She stood up but he backed away further.

“No. Please don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because if you touch me again, you’ll only hurt me more.” He couldn’t bear to look at her pleading face. He would do anything for her, anything except break his own heart.

“I think. No, I know I love you. And you don’t feel the same.”

“Harry.”

He backed away, “It’s fine.”

“I do love you.” She insisted.

“Not the same way I love you.”

Her hand grabbed at his and he let her. “I love you, Harry. Not just as a friend. As so much more.” He finally met her tearstained gaze, her eyes pleading with him to believe her. “You are everything to me. My best friend, my rock, my everything. I love you.” She drew closer to him until they were standing chest to chest, their noses almost touching.

Her face grew closer to his and his eyes fluttered closed as her lips touched his. This kiss was different from the other two. The first one had been an eye opening experience that had left him wanting more, the second had been performance. But this one? This one was like a breath of fresh air, the start of a new day. Maybe their plan had originally been a bit foolish and had seemed like a recipe for heartbreak but he saw now, it was truly a brilliant plan.

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strid3rofthen0rth · 7 months ago

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An emergency convocation of the crew was held at a centralized bar tonight to commiserate with and console our buddy who filed for divorce after 26 years on Monday. The details of which are absolutely wild, but I won't speak about that publicly, other than to say I'm surprised an old wealthy guy doesn't run away with a young, pretty Instagram reiki healer more often.

We got him to laugh, joked about how we're going to be the best group of wingmen in history to help get him laid once he's free from her. The crass shit dudes say, and believe, to bond and get through it all.

We all had a couple beers and a burger, slipped into the old college stories, and the temptation to run one hung in the air filled with laughter and camaraderie. On the precipice of a gleeful, beer soaked bacchanal. But we're old and responsible now, all driving home with work in the morning, so no party times tonight.

As we stepped out into a sputtering drizzle, the bestie flung his arm over my shoulder and said something to me that made me guffaw like an idiot.

"You know that feeling when you're clicking with a woman you've just met, when the flirting is perfect and you realize it's there, hanging in the air, 'Oh, it's on. This is gonna happen.'

"That was us in there just now. But with beer. We could've fucked, but we held back, and now we'll never know what could've been."

Ok, philosophical bro. Easy.

#at least i used to take her money in euchre and canasta in that shitty college apartment they shared

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quantumripple · 4 months ago

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Figured it might be neat to give post-mortems of fics I’ve written (in no particular order)

Gonna call this Quantum’s Post-Moretem Mondays even though I’m almost certain I’m never going to post this again on a Monday (work was just suuuuper slow)

So to start off we’ve got Pen Pals: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51609454

Premise: in early 2010 Taylor and Sveta become pen pals (hence the name).

Very much the definition of a rarepair since there’s only one other Taylor/Sveta fic that I’m aware of and it’s not even tagged.

And honestly hot take: the reason it’s a rarepair is that it lowkey just does not work as a ship. Taylor and Sveta are just not compatible, Taylor is far too… her. Sveta deserves better honestly.

What I like about the fic:

The bits of humour always blindside me when I do a reread. This one definitely leans on the sort of online humour you sometimes get with lesbians. Particularly the meme of two girls commiserating you each other that they “wish they could get a gf frfr”

I also just stole some funny bits from worm and adapted them but idk if I should count those bc they were just yoinked from worm.

I’m pretty proud of the background plot that’s happening in the fic. It’s pretty fun to explore those through only the lens of texts between two people. Things diverge a little bit and we end up with Echidna happening early, but the fight goes a lot differently. Ends up being a much longer fight/conflict but upside is case 53 stuff didn’t get leaked. Taylor eventually ended it by tag-teaming with a few heroes, getting the right power combo. S9 shows up after and a while after they’re there Amy takes Victoria. Taylor, thinking the s9 did it went on the warpath, she broke into the prt hq and stole the Bakuda bombs which she used to take out a few members before she found Amy and Victoria, made Amy fix her, then just fully executed her.

What I don’t like:

Taylor is extremely out of character. She’s too like… it’s hard to explain but she’s too cutesy, or dorky in a way that doesn’t really fit with how she is in canon. Triple especially anytime they’re discussing feelings. Honestly the only parts of her that feels in character is latter on in the fic when it starts getting into the broader hero plot stuff.

Sveta is also pretty ooc but not quite as bad as Taylor. She’s a hard character to write because while yea she’s got a lot going on at the end of the day she’s just a really nice person and that’s hard to write out unless you want something super fluffy.

And speaking of: the fic is just way too fluffy for my tastes these days. Like I had to skim the final scene where they’re being all sappy and confessional bc it made me feel ill lmao.

What I would do if I were to redo/re-explore:

Honestly this might be one of my few fics where I’d just cop it and say that it kinda doesn’t work conceptually. Taylor and Sveta just aren’t really compatible without changing one or the other.

Honestly if I were returning to it I’d probably drop Sveta (sorry) and actually just focus on the Brockton Bay plot stuff. So it’d be Taylor joining the wards, getting frustrated and then leaving and teaming up w Victoria and the focus is more in them becoming friends. And the other changes with Echidna and the s9 could be fun to explore.

Or alternatively I keep Sveta and lean into the doomed nature of the relationship, have it be a much more deep exploration of their characters and how they could interact. Follow Sveta as she makes an online friend but slowly realise that this friend of hers is weirdly violent as a cape. Have that introduce a lot more friction with Sveta judging Taylors methods more and more and Taylor just getting really defensive etc. and like…. It wouldn’t even need to have a bad ending per se. It would just be them realising that they’re really not compatible and that getting this invested in each other was a bad idea. Or the super good ending where Sveta comes around to Taylor’s way of thinking and they wage bloody war against evil, that could also be p fun. And not entirely impossible especially if Taylor is literally Svetas only friend.

Final thoughts:

This is one of those fics that still gets the odd random comment on ao3 which makes me remember it more often than other fics despite the fact that I don’t really have much to say/think about the fic beyond what I’ve already thrown up. It sits in my mind as a firm “basically ok, has its moments”

Curious to know what others think of it because honestly I barely do. I think I just picked it bc it was one of my shorter fics and sfw so I could read it between waiting for stuff to happen at work.

#taylor hebert #sveta karelia #worm fanfiction #worm parahumans #post-mortem mondays

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morganaspendragonss · 1 year ago

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no hay palabra ni pincel

@reyesstrand tagged me in commiseration monday but ao3 is back up now so i thought i'd just share the whole thing! huge, huge thanks to my wonderful beta @ravens-words 💚 title is from the quote 'no hay palabra ni pincel que llegue a manifestar amor de padre' by spanish writer mateo alemán. it roughly translates to 'there aren't words or pictures that can match a father's love' ao3 | 4.4k | 5+1, father-son relationship, mentions of gabriel's death

five times gabriel wanted to protect carlos, and one time somebody took his place

“Ay, mijo,” Gabriel sighs, returning to his normal voice as he tucks Kiki the Koala in next to Carlos. “Think you can sleep now?”

Carlos’s grin fades and he quickly glances over at his closet, pulling his sheets up to his nose. “But what if the monsters come back?”

“They won’t,” he promises. Gabriel reaches out and strokes his son’s hair, smiling down at him warmly. He loves all of his children equally, but he can’t deny that he has a weakness for Carlos, for the way he stares at him so trustingly. He wants to preserve that innocence forever, but Gabriel has seen too much in his career to know that will be impossible.

But, while he can, he’ll protect his children against anything.

“Remember what I told you?”

“That the monsters could never take me,” Carlos repeats quietly, his words muffled by the covers.

Gabriel nods. “That’s right. You remember why?”

This time, Carlos’s smile comes back and he grabs the koala, almost shoving it in Gabriel’s face. “Because they’re scared of Kiki!”

A laugh bursts out of him, amplified by Carlos’s giggles, and Gabriel has to work to get himself back under control. He takes Kiki and poses him in a karate stance, then places him back at Carlos’s side. “Yes, mijo,” he says, ruffling his hair. “But what else?”

Carlos calms down, back to staring at Gabriel with those wide eyes of his. His children all have the same eyes, big and brown and pleading. His daughters have both already learned how to weaponise them to get whatever they want from him, much to Andrea’s chagrin, and it seems Carlos, too, has this power, though he hasn’t quite reached the stage where he’s doing it on purpose.

Gabriel gives it a couple of years, at most.

“You said that you would always find me.”

He nods again. “Yes. Mamá and I will always protect you, Carlitos, and we will always fight off the monsters. Just like Kiki.”

He does the same pose he’d done with the koala and Carlos giggles, though it quickly turns into a yawn.

“Alright,” Gabriel says. He stands and kisses Carlos’s forehead, stroking his hair one more time before straightening. “Time to sleep.”

Carlos nods sleepily and burrows into bed, Kiki clutched tightly in his arms. He’s asleep before Gabriel reaches the door, and he pauses with his hand on the lightswitch, watching his son. A lump of guilt rises in him as he does so, thinking about what he had been doing before Carlos walked in, about the case and how it could put everything Gabriel loves in danger.

He could be breaking every promise he’s ever made to his family by pursuing this, but Gabriel has to believe that it will be worth it in the end. That the world he will help create will be a better one for everyone, but especially his family.

He sighs and flicks off the light, hurriedly packing up the recorder before heading to bed himself.

“¿Qué pasó?” Andrea murmurs as he climbs in next to her.

“Pesadillas,” he responds. “Don’t worry, Kiki and I handled it.”

Andrea hums. “Ah. And before that?”

She’s too smart, this woman; it’s why Gabriel loves her. He doesn’t blame her for wanting to know and he wishes he could tell her, but he can’t put that on her. The best way to protect them all is to keep this on his own shoulders.

“Duerme, mi amor,” he says. “Ya habrá tiempo.”

ii.

Winnie snaps at Carlos’s hand again, just barely missing his fingers, and Gabriel hangs his head and sighs. He’s been watching Carlos attempting to pacify the horse for…well, not that long really, but his patience is frayed like it has been. As, apparently, is Carlos’s.

“This is stupid,” he declares, stomping across the field and out of the paddock to where Gabriel has been waiting by the fence. “She hates me.”

“No, she doesn’t,” Gabriel says as calmly as he can. It’s been a full weekend of this, of sullen silences and glares from his usually mild-mannered son. This trip out to the ranch was supposed to cure all that, but Gabriel would stake his reputation on it only having made things worse. “And don’t let your mother hear you say ‘stupid’.”

“Mom’s not here,” Carlos shoots back, though the look on his face says he wishes she were. It sends a familiar pang through Gabriel’s heart; Carlos had been his shadow as a little boy, always Carlos’s first choice to play with or be read to by.

It’s been a few years since that was the case. Now, it’s Andrea he turns to for help with his homework, Andrea who cleans up his scrapes and guides him as he grows. Gabriel doesn’t begrudge his wife the privilege, but he does miss those years when Carlos looked at him like he’d hung the moon and the stars.

“Why do Ana and Luisa get to stay at home?” Carlos continues, an angry pout forming on his lips. “It’s because they’re girls, right?”

“Your mother and I wouldn’t–”

“Yes, you do! They never–”

“Carlitos–”

“Don’t call me that!”

Gabriel takes a shocked step back, registering the tears threatening to spill from Carlos’s eyes. They’re angrily swiped away a second later, but Carlos flushes deeply in shame, all too aware that Gabriel had seen.

Gabriel wishes he knew the right words here but, the truth is, he’s never been more lost. It’s ironic, he thinks; he spent so long worrying about being the father his daughters would need as they blossomed into young women, yet it’s his son’s adolescence that’s throwing him for the biggest loop.

“Mijo, I…” He trails off and sighs. More than ever, he wishes Andrea were here.

“Forget it, Dad,” Carlos says. “Just leave me alone.”

Carlos turns on his heel and heads across the field back to the house, shoulders slumped and head hung. Gabriel watches him go, heart heavy, then he turns back to the paddock, leaning on the fence.

“You know anything about this, huh?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Winnie.

She snorts at him, unimpressed, and buries her head in her oats bag.

“Mijo?” Gabriel knocks tentatively on Carlos’s closed door. “Can I come in?”

There’s a long silence, and Gabriel is about to turn away when light footsteps approach the door and it swings open. Carlos looks at him with teenage exasperation and sighs.

“You don’t need to say it, Dad,” he says, walking back into the room and slumping down on his bed. Gabriel follows him inside and takes the desk chair, leaning his elbows on his knees and looking hard at his son, though Carlos is doing everything he can to avoid meeting his gaze.

“Say what?”

Carlos rolls his eyes, another thing Andrea would have his hide for if she were here. “You know,” he says, though Gabriel definitely doesn’t. He lowers his voice in an imitation of Gabriel. “Venga, mijo. Toughen up. Sé un hombre.”

“Carlitos, I–” A cutting look from his son makes Gabriel snap his mouth shut and he sighs again, bowing his head. “Carlos,” he begins again. “Why don’t you tell me what all this is really about?”

Carlos still stares stubbornly at his knees. “It’s nothing,” he mumbles. “Drop it, Dad.”

Gabriel never had a close relationship with his own father. He was raised in a different world to the one his son and daughters are growing up in, and he swore to himself when Ana was born that he would never treat her, or, later, Luisa, any differently to any boy he and Andrea might have.

That meant, when they were blessed with Carlos, teaching him how to cook and sew alongside his sisters; it meant showing the girls their way around a toolbox and giving all three of them the opportunities to do whatever their hearts desired – within reason, of course.

Still, he has failed. Still, Carlos has slowly been closing in on himself, hiding things from them; Gabriel hasn’t even seen him cry since he was a little boy. And it’s his own fault, he knows this. This is the inheritance passed down to him, which he has now passed down to his son in a seemingly endless cycle. If there’s a way to break it, Gabriel does not know it yet, but that’s not going to stop him from trying.

“You know,” he starts, “horses are pretty intelligent animals. They feel our emotions just as deeply as we do, and there’s a special bond between a horse and its rider. You’ve known Winnie since you were little, Carlos, and you’ve been riding her ever since you were tall enough to get on her back. I won’t deny that she was pissed today”—he pauses as Carlos looks at him, startled—“but you might want to reconsider who she’s pissed at.”

The surprise melts away, replaced by scorn. “Yeah, right,” Carlos scoffs. “Because my horse, who’s never heard of school, is mad at them and not something I did.”

“So something’s going on at school.”

“No! I mean– Yes, but it’s nothing. I’m handling it, Dad.”

“And what does that mean?” Gabriel arches an eyebrow at Carlos, waiting him out; they both know he won’t be the one to break first.

Carlos huffs. “It means I’m handling it,” he says sourly.

“You’ve spoken to the principal?”

“No.”

“Your teacher?”

“I–”

“Anybody?”

“Jesus, Dad!” Carlos explodes, though he withers under Gabriel’s hard stare. “I’m sorry. But why can’t you just leave things be?”

“Soy tu padre,” Gabriel says, gentler now. “It’s my job to ask these questions.”

“I’m not one of your cases.”

“I never said you were.” Gabriel shifts forward in the chair and reaches out to put his hand on Carlos’s shoulder. Carlos looks up at him, meeting his eyes, and Gabriel is startled to see tears shining in his son’s gaze. He tries not to show his surprise, though; the last thing he needs now is Carlos shutting down on him again. “You’re my son and I want to be there for you. Even if you do blaspheme sometimes.”

Carlos lowers his eyes again, but there’s a small smile on his face which he’s doing his best to hide. Gabriel smiles too and claps Carlos on the shoulder before sitting back and contemplating his son. He wants to do something to help, wants to march into the school and get to the bottom of this – but he knows that’s not what Carlos needs right now.

“Just promise me you’ll say something if this, whatever it is, gets worse,” he requests instead. “It doesn’t have to be me but you should talk to someone.”

Gabriel isn’t sure if he believes Carlos’s nod, but he accepts it anyway.

iii.

Gabriel can barely believe it when Carlos comes home one day and announces he’s submitted his application to APD. He’s smiling at them, so proud and sure of himself, but what Gabriel notices most is just how young he is. How unprepared for the brutal realities of this career he’s apparently chosen.

“Mijo,” he says, keeping his voice steady and calm. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Carlos’s smile falters, a frown taking over his features. “You think it’s not?”

Gabriel exchanges a glance with Andrea. Her lips are pursed, expression unreadable, and it’s clear he won’t be receiving any support from her corner. Whatever opinions she has, they’ll be expressed privately, probably over the stove as she prepares dinner. Gabriel will be gone by then, duty never far from calling, and he’s sure the conversation will go all the better for it.

Besides, Andrea has always been one to let their children find their own path in life; she’ll ask questions, he’s sure, but she won’t do anything but support Carlos. Gabriel thought he was the same, but he never expected this, though he probably should have. He knows the pressure has been on for Carlos, the only boy, especially since Ana moved out to live with her fiancé and Luisa left for Harvard to study medicine. Now that Carlos is an adult, Gabriel had been foreseeing an empty nest in their future, his children all thriving at college or in life, getting a far better education than had been available to him.

He’s been blind.

“I think,” he starts eventually, the words feeling heavy under the weight of Carlos’s boyish confusion. “I think that perhaps you haven’t thought this through. Son, there are so many options for you; you’re smart, talented…any college would be lucky to have you.”

“I’ve been to college,” Carlos points out, starting to bristle. “I already graduated, remember?”

It’s a low blow and a bitter one; Gabriel hadn’t been able to attend Carlos’s graduation for his associate’s, having been caught up in the middle of a case. Still, he tries not to let the hurt show, waving a hand in the air. “Yes, well, the community college is a fine institution but it’s not college, is it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, look at your sisters–”

“I’m not them!” Carlos’s shout puts a halt to the argument. He’s breathing heavily, his body tense with anger, glaring at Gabriel in a way he’s never seen before. Carlos shakes his head, then his eyes widen and he takes a step back. “Is this because I–” He cuts himself off but the words ring loud and clear, all three of them wincing in unison as they reverberate around them.

“Of course it’s not, mijo,” Gabriel tries, but Carlos isn’t listening anymore.

“You don’t think I’m good enough,” he concludes, a devastating pain in his eyes as he looks at Gabriel. But it’s the acceptance that swiftly follows which drives the knife deeper, accompanied by understanding as Carlos nods. It’s misplaced, Gabriel is sure, but he can’t find the words to correct him.

The problem isn’t that Carlos isn’t good enough. If anything, it’s that Carlos is too good; his son wears his heart on his sleeve and Gabriel can’t help but doubt whether it will survive this.

APD isn’t the Rangers. Carlos won’t be forced to reckon with the things Gabriel has dealt with over his career – at least, not immediately. But the life of a police officer, even in their lowest ranks, is not free from life’s tragedies, and Gabriel cannot reconcile the little boy who cried when they had to put down the family dog with the man, still non-existent, who may one day have to discharge a lethal weapon at a person.

He wishes he had the language to express this to his son but his tongue is tied by years of silence, and eventually Carlos clenches his jaw, his hands curling into fists at his sides. He strides over to grab his bag from where he’d left it by the door and pauses, only half turning back towards Gabriel.

“Iris invited me out to celebrate,” he says, words clipped. “I think I’ll go after all.”

And he’s gone before Gabriel can say anything else. The tension remains in the room, thick enough to choke him, and he turns to Andrea, desperate for some consolation.

“This isn’t the life I wanted for him,” he says, and finally she comes closer, laying a hand on his arm.

“No,” she says, sighing softly. “But it is the one he has chosen.”

iv.

Your family is your biggest weakness. It’s the one thing law enforcement training still hasn’t found a method to stamp out, though they’ve certainly tried. Throughout his entire career, Gabriel has been uncomfortably aware of the enemies he’s made, conscious in every interaction with a suspect how it could come back to hurt him.

He’ll never forgive himself for forgetting it now.

Carlos’s house, where he and Andrea had eaten dinner only two nights ago, is little more than a pile of ash. The metal supports are warped out of shape and there’s a heavy, acrid stench of smoke lingering in the air.

It’s the nightmare Gabriel has been having ever since he met Andrea, become real in front of his eyes.

Beside him, Andrea grips his arm tightly, her other hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Pero, ¿qué…?” she mutters, trailing off into a stunned silence. Gabriel wishes he could say something to comfort her but he has no words either; he can’t stop staring at the husk of his son’s life, lit up red and blue by the emergency vehicles surrounding them.

It hits him then, that the firefighters arrived too late to save the house or anything inside. Had Owen not realised when he did…

“Carlitos!” Andrea cries. She releases him and rushes over to where Carlos is standing with TK and Owen, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Even from a distance, Gabriel can see the devastation on his son’s face, the tears that spill from his eyes as Andrea wraps him in a tight hug.

Selfishly, he keeps his gaze turned away from the ruins as he, too, moves towards the little group. He sees it now, those manic eyes burning into him as Raymond all but spelled it out for them.

“You took the most important thing away from me. And now, I’m going to repay the favour.”

Gabriel doesn’t know how it missed it, how either of them missed it. Owen, at least, realised something was wrong even after the firehouse exploded, but Gabriel? An hour ago, he was asleep, secure – or so he thought – in the knowledge that no-one else was going to get hurt.

And now his son has lost everything.

Andrea has released Carlos from the hug when he reaches them, though she continues her fussing, producing a tissue out of nowhere and rubbing at the soot on Carlos’s cheeks. He endures it for a while, but soon stops her, placing a hand on her wrist.

“Estoy bien, mamá,” he says, then glances over at TK. “We’re okay.”

Andrea smiles, cupping Carlos’s face. Then, she turns her attention to TK, hugging him just as tightly, and Gabriel is left to face his son. It’s been years since they were physically affectionate with one another, so Carlos freezes at first when Gabriel grabs him, pulling him close and holding him like he did when he was a little boy.

Gabriel’s stomach turns at the smell of smoke radiating from Carlos, but he stands firm, holding onto him, listening to his still-ragged breathing in his ear.

“You’re coming home with us tonight,” he says as he pulls away. Carlos’s face twists into something undefinable, but Andrea jumps in before he can say anything.

“Yes,” she says emphatically, clutching at TK’s arm. “You both are. I’ll make hot cocoa.”

“Dad, I…” Carlos shakes his head, looking conflicted. He looks between Gabriel and Andrea, biting his lip. “Are you guys sure?”

It makes Gabriel’s heart hurt to know that Carlos thinks the question necessary, but he just smiles and places a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Of course we are, mijo. You’re our son and you, TK, you’re as good as. Let us take care of you both.”

Carlos hesitates a second longer, but then TK places a hand on his arm and they exchange a look of a kind Gabriel knows oh so well; the kind of look that passes between two people in love, one which only they can understand. He has shared many of those looks with Andrea, has seen his daughters do the same with their husbands.

He couldn’t be happier that Carlos has finally found somebody to share it with, too. Couldn’t feel more privileged that he’s finally letting them see it.

In the car on the way home, Carlos closes his eyes and rests his head on TK’s shoulder, and when Gabriel catches TK’s eye in the rearview mirror and receives a nod in return, something warm blooms in his chest.

Despite everything, it feels like hope.

En el nombre del Padre, y del Hijo, y del Espíritu Santo. Amén.

Gabriel touches the rosary to his lips, then lets his hands fall loosely in his lap, staring up at the cross in front of him. It’s hard, in a profession such as his, to believe in God, in a Plan, in the inherent good nature of human beings. But Gabriel has faith, and it would be a hell of a lot harder to believe if he didn’t see miracles every single day.

If, instead of sitting here thanking God for returning his son to him, he was comforting his wife in the face of a black hole opening in their lives.

There had been a moment in that house. A moment when Carlos’s head had rolled limply to the side, when TK’s expression began to crack, when a beat too long passed and Gabriel had thought it was over.

Then Carlos woke up, like the miracle he has been ever since the day he was born. There will never be enough prayers, Gabriel is certain, to thank God for it.

He’s so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the chapel doors opening, nor the footsteps making their way towards him. He doesn’t notice anything until the pew creaks with added weight and Andrea appears at his side. She smiles at him gently, taking his arm.

“Are you planning on going to see your son any time soon?” she asks into the silence, though not judging or accusing. Even so, Gabriel feels guilty; he knows he should be with Carlos, and he had seen him briefly while the doctor explained MRI scans and blood tests and numbers that went too far over his head to understand more than that Carlos would be okay.

Then people started showing up, too many people, all wanting to see Carlos and check on him for themselves. There were already the girls and Andrea and TK, of course, but the waiting room had quickly filled with others, the firefighters, young and boisterous. Gabriel is used to crowds, coming from the family he does, but today it had been too much.

So he’d left, intending to go to the cafeteria and get a coffee.

Instead, he’d taken a right to the chapel, and he hadn’t gone back.

“Gabriel,” Andrea says quietly. She reaches up and strokes his hair, then sighs. “Mi amor. Está vivo.”

“Gracias a Dios.”

“Gracias a ti.”

Gabriel looks at her, surprised. Of the two of them, she’s always been the more devout, and they’re in a chapel.

But she merely smiles and pats his knee. “And TK, of course. We are so lucky Carlitos found him.”

In that, they have always been in agreement. TK saved Carlos’s life today, yes, but he has been a blessing to their family from the moment he entered it, even if Gabriel and Andrea weren’t fully aware of it at first. He sees it now, though, in hindsight; for a while before that day at the market, they’d noticed a change in their son. He’d been happier, lighter, busier. He’d had a life outside of work and Michelle.

He’d been more secretive, too. They had noticed, both he and Andrea, and they’d had questions, but neither of them had ever thought to actually ask. Sometimes, Gabriel wishes he could go back in time and do it all over again, do it all better, but the past is past and he’ll never be able to change it.

What he can do, though, is be there now.

He smiles and places his hand on top of Andrea’s. “Ahora voy.”

+1.

I’ve got him.

TK’s response, a how is he? that Owen can feel the desperation of through the screen, comes barely a second later. He glances over to where Carlos is standing with Ranger Bridges, his head hung low and his shoulders slumped. He looks so small like this, it’s almost easy to forget that not ten minutes ago he was seconds from ending another man’s life.

Though, there’s nothing that will ever scrub that from Owen’s memory. He’d never thought Carlos capable of anything like that, but grief changes people, Owen knows that better than many. He can’t judge him for this.

He returns his gaze to his phone, fingers hovering over the keys as he struggles with how to answer. He knows that every second without a reply will send his son even crazier, and he’s halfway through typing out an Okay before thinking better of it.

Not good, he goes for instead. Then swiftly follows up with: He’s unharmed but his head’s in a mess. I’m going to take him back to mine for a bit to calm down, okay?

I’ll meet you guys there.

No, don’t.

Owen winces at his own bluntness, but there’s no sugarcoating any of this. He can imagine how desperate TK is to see Carlos right now, but the last thing either of them need, even if they themselves don’t know it, is for Carlos to go straight back to the loft.

Listen, he types. He needs some space right now. I promise I’ll call you later and explain, but you’ve got to trust me to handle this one, TK. I’ve got him, I swear.

TK’s reply is a few minutes in coming, and Owen can imagine him sitting on the couch in the loft, biting his nails to the quick. He hopes he understands; Carlos doesn’t need a fiancé now.

He needs the very thing he’s missing, the very thing that brought them all to this place. He needs a father.

Take care of him.

Owen smiles and glances back up. Carlos nods at something Ranger Bridges says, then turns to head back towards where Owen is parked. His face is still blotchy and he suspects he won’t be able to look him in the eye for a while, but Owen can only think to be thankful that Carlos does get to walk away.

It could have ended so differently.

Always, he texts, then slides his phone into his pocket and opens the passenger side door for Carlos. He doesn’t put up an ounce of resistance, sliding in wordlessly and slumping in the seat, gaze trained firmly on his lap. Owen shuts the door and takes a moment before getting in himself.

He could never hope to be the man Gabriel was. He’ll never measure up to the father Carlos lost, just as Andrea could never be Gwyn, but this – here, right now – is something he can do.

He can try.

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darkmaga-returns · 7 days ago

Text

Pot, meet kettle.

I recently half-endorsed a theory — which is not my own, which others came up with before me — that some metaphysical law requires Democrats accuse Trump of doing whatever nefarious bullshit they, in fact, commit.

Related: Maddow, State Department Ghoul Resurrect #Russiagate, Smear Musk as Putin Puppet

Here we have yet another case in point.

Congressional retard, perhaps most famous for gaudy eye make-up that makes her look — very uncomfortably for her audience — like a washed-up streetwalker, Debbie Dingell, recently commiserated with Jake Tapper on CNN that she would find herself in a government prison camp if Trump wins.

(To be sure, Congressmembers aren’t actually very different from your common streetwalker except that they rake in marginally more cash for being whores, so it might be a bit of refreshing and uncommon honesty from the Hill if they all took on the Dingell aesthetic.)

Via New York Post (emphasis added):

“Dem Michigan Rep. Debbie Dingell openly fretted Monday that she could be tossed in an internment camp along with Muslims and Arabs if Donald Trump wins the White House.

Dingell, 70, was visibly distraught when she made the stunning accusation that the former president plans to “start internment camps” and fill them with Arabs and Muslims, as well as political rivals such as her…

Tapper was even taken aback by the congresswoman’s startling allegation.

“Internment camps?” he asked her.

“Yes. [Trump] has talked internment camps,” Dingell shot back. “You may have to visit me in one. I get worried enough when he talks about what he‘s going to do to his political enemies, but he has talked about them in this with different groups of people.””

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hidefdoritos · 1 year ago

Text

Adventures in Stage Costuming

I am Costume Mistress for a play this Friday/Saturday

Had pants for everybody except three guys

We'll call them Landon, Mark, and Joe, because that's not their names but it's close enough for me to remember 'em.

Had everyone self-report pants sizes.

Spent last Saturday in Salvation Army (I know, I know) thrifting pants in the requisite sizes.

washed the pants

kept forgetting to go to rehearsals and have a try-on sesh (adhd go zoom)

Rehearsal today had lunch break

Handed out the pants and told them to come show me.

Landon

(tall, skinny, all leg, 32 x 34)

announces "THEY'RE CALVIN KLEIN!" at his standard volume, bursts into the gymnasium, and slides across the basketball court on his socks.

He does a little spin for me and I approve.

My assistant (fun person who we'll call Lydia) asks, "Can you move?"

Landon breaks into the Orange Justice fortnite dance, with a little extra hip swaggle for emphasis.

(cue laughter from the cast)

(this is nothing less than I expected from a man who once won a cardboard boat race by making a surfboard and kicking his way across.)

Success!

Order him to go put his pants on his special labeled hanger.

(only you are allowed to touch only your special labeled hanger, on pain of death and dismemberment. everyone has been told this many times and They Fear Me.)

Mark

(weightlifter, 34 x 32)

walks in like his legs are chopsticks.

Shirt is not tucked in.

Zipper made it about halfway up

Lydia looks concerned. "Are they buttoned?" she asks.

"Yes," Mark wheezes, and the tone of his voice is one of fear.

(Landon finds this hilarious.)

Mark hobbles in a little spin for me

can almost hear the fabric whimpering for mercy

they are too tight in the everything.

choke down laughter

"Go change. Carefully," I say.

(maybe I can let them out? probably not)

"Do you just need dark dress pants?" asks Mark, voice still strained.

"Yeah?"

"Can I bring my own?"

"Yeah."

task-failed-successfully?.jpg

the goal was to have more pants that the drama department owned

but the more important goal is for him to have pants, I guess.

Order him to bring his dress pants to Monday rehearsal for approval

(and, once approved, to put them on his special labeled hanger which nobody else can touch, on pain of death and dismemberment)

and to bring the ill-fit pants back to me.

will put them in a tote to think about their crimes until next play.

Joe

(track and field athlete, 29 x 32)

(listen, this man has a 29" waist and a 39" hip.

I know women who would kill for a 10" differential.

It's not his most prominent feature, but he's draggin' the wagon.)

(should also emphasize that he's my little brother & I'm not being weird abt it we commiserate about problems of Pants Fit all the time.)

Joe struts into the gym.

The pants fit!

They are a leeetle bit snug in the thighs.

"Can I keep them?" he asks.

He does a little spin for me

taxidermy-fox.jpg

From the back, the fit is more accurately described as "gratuitous."

"Joe, do a squat!" Landon encourages, as he himself charges across the gym into a Newsies jump and almost turfs it.

Joe tries carefully

gets about halfway down

(didn't think he'd get that far)

"Never mind," he says sheepishly, standing back up.

"Go change. Carefully," I say.

(maybe I can let them out?)

backstage

Joe hands me the pants.

He's been interested lately in listening to me ramble about sewing stuff.

I turn Mark's pants inside out

literally just serged together, no extra fabric anywhere

"Rats!" I say creatively, and show Joe how this does nobody any favors.

They don't get to go on Mark's special labeled hanger. I chuck them into a storage tote to consider their crimes until next play.

I turn Joe's pants inside out

praise be to Van Heusen brand

It ain't much, but it's honest seam allowances.

start rambling at him about how it all works

there's a scoatch extra on the outer seams and inseams of both legs

and the center back has extra built in!

The waistband fits him fine but the everything else needs More.

Promise my best work

Joe smiles with hope.

back in my room

never altered pants before

brief moment of doubting why I signed up for this, my sewing abilities, the meaning of life, etc.

* Knuckle Crack *

Turn on a Nicole Rudolph video for fun sewing accompaniment

Decide not to mess with the complicated parts (pockets, front seams, zipper, and the seam intersections in the undercarriage)

Sew the replacement seams first, anchoring the replacement ends HARD in the seam allowance AND in the original seam threads

Cut those OG seam threads and knot them off HARD

The OG threads are a chain stitch sorta thing, so once they're clipped, all I gotta do is pull and they ZOOP right off

(most satisfying thing in my life btw)

head back to gym with newly embiggened pants.

Joe takes the pants. "Do you need me to try them on?"

*looks into the camera like I'm on The Office*

"Yes Joe, lemme see how they work."

He leaves.

oh gosh these better fit

I didn't spend two hours hunting pants in a Salvation Army (I know, I know) and half an hour ZOOP-ing Joe's seams just to be 1 for 3 on the pants actually fitting the actors.

Joe returns.

!!!!!

If I thought he was strutting before

This kid fully dances into the room.

You know how it is when you walk into a thrift store and the sign says "Half price color of the week: Orange" and then you find stuff you love and it has orange tags too?

That was his level of enthusiasm.

"They fit!" he cries.

He does the little spin for me

it's incredible

they fit, no longer gratuitous in the seat, there's thigh space, his knees bend, the waistband stays up without a belt!! definitely need to be ironed but they look So Good

I can't stop smiling

so relieved it turned out well.

Joe's smiling

He does a little Pants Dance of glee.

Gosh. I know he likes them, and dress pants are so hard to find.

"Do you want to keep them?" I offer.

"How much?" he asks, wallet appearing in his hand.

The receipt from Salvation Army (I know, I know) shows $4.59.

I offer "$5 for the pants and $5 for a half hour of labor?" (yes that's too cheap, but he's a college student and also my brother.)

"Look what I've got!" he says, all but throwing a $10 at me.

"Great! I say. "Now Joe, listen closely.

Go change carefully and put them on your special labeled hanger. Only you are allowed to touch only your special labeled hanger, on pain of death and dismemberment."

"Yes ma'am!" he chirps with a salute.

#costuming #moss's musings #cj sews #cj costumes

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