#most reliable used cars

[weuniversalsblog]

Luxury Vehicle Management London – Experience Excellence with We Universal

When it comes to managing luxury vehicles in London, We Universal stands as a beacon of excellence. Our expertise in providing top-notch luxury vehicle management services ensures that clients experience comfort, convenience, and sophistication at every turn. Whether for personal use, corporate needs, or special occasions, our services are designed to exceed expectations.

Why Choose Luxury Vehicle Management in London?

London, a global hub of business, culture, and tourism, demands impeccable transportation solutions. Luxury vehicle management is not just about providing high-end cars; it encompasses professional services, meticulous attention to detail, and seamless operations that reflect the city's premium lifestyle. Here are some reasons why luxury vehicle management is a game-changer:

Convenience: Enjoy hassle-free transportation tailored to your schedule.

Safety: Professionally maintained vehicles and expert chauffeurs ensure a secure ride.

Prestige: Arrive in style with luxury cars that make a lasting impression.

Customization: Services tailored to meet your unique requirements, whether for corporate events, personal trips, or celebrations.

Efficiency: Reliable and punctual services save time and eliminate travel-related stress.

We Universal: Redefining Luxury Vehicle Management in London

At We Universal, we pride ourselves on delivering unparalleled luxury vehicle management solutions in London. Our comprehensive services cater to diverse needs, ensuring that every client enjoys a premium experience. Here’s what sets us apart:

1. A Premium Fleet of Vehicles

Our extensive fleet includes some of the most luxurious and well-maintained vehicles in London. Whether you prefer a classic Rolls-Royce, a sleek Bentley, or a modern Mercedes-Benz, we have the perfect car for every occasion.

Business-Class Sedans: Ideal for corporate meetings and airport transfers.

Luxury SUVs: Spacious and perfect for group travel or family outings.

Prestige Cars: Make a statement with iconic brands like Aston Martin and Bentley.

2. Professional Chauffeurs

Our chauffeurs are not just drivers; they are highly trained professionals committed to delivering exceptional service.

Expertise: Deep knowledge of London’s routes and traffic patterns.

Etiquette: Polished, courteous, and customer-focused.

Discretion: Respecting client privacy and ensuring confidentiality.

3. Tailored Solutions

We understand that each client is unique. That’s why we offer personalized services to meet specific needs.

Corporate Travel: Impress clients and partners with seamless transportation.

Event Management: Perfect for weddings, galas, and social gatherings.

Personal Chauffeur Services: Enjoy the luxury of having a dedicated driver for the day.

4. Technology Integration

We leverage advanced technology to enhance your experience. From online booking systems to real-time tracking, our tech-driven approach ensures efficiency and convenience.

5. Eco-Friendly Options

Committed to sustainability, we offer a range of hybrid and electric luxury vehicles for environmentally conscious clients.

Benefits of Choosing We Universal for Luxury Vehicle Management

Choosing We Universal means choosing reliability, sophistication, and unparalleled customer service. Here are some key benefits:

1. Reliability

We guarantee punctuality and dependability, ensuring you reach your destination on time, every time.

2. Stress-Free Travel

Say goodbye to the hassles of driving, navigating traffic, or finding parking. With We Universal, you can sit back and relax.

3. Enhanced Image

Arriving in a luxury vehicle managed by professionals adds a touch of class to your personal or professional image.

4. Comprehensive Services

From one-off bookings to long-term vehicle management solutions, we cater to all requirements.

5. 24/7 Availability

Our services are available round the clock, ensuring that you have access to premium transportation whenever you need it.

Ideal Scenarios for Luxury Vehicle Management

Luxury vehicle management is not just about transportation; it’s about creating memorable experiences. Here are some situations where our services shine:

1. Corporate Events

Whether hosting an important business meeting or attending a conference, our luxury vehicles leave a lasting impression on clients and colleagues.

2. Airport Transfers

Start or end your journey with the comfort and convenience of a chauffeured luxury car. We cover all major London airports, including Heathrow, Gatwick, and London City Airport.

3. Weddings

Make your special day even more magical with a luxury car that complements your style. From bridal party transportation to guest transfers, we’ve got it covered.

4. Sightseeing Tours

Explore London’s iconic landmarks in the comfort of a luxury car. Our chauffeurs double as knowledgeable guides to enhance your experience.

5. Special Occasions

Celebrate milestones like anniversaries, birthdays, or graduations in style with our premium vehicles.

[ilajue]

drew over something i wrote for a class and liked :] sorry the cars are lowkey ugly, its because I fucking hate cars and cant be bothered to learn what they look like beyond ominous hunks of metal

edit: transcript of the poem by itself under the cut

6 Tips for Crossing the Road

Look both ways

The road is for cars. 

Make sure to look for them before crossing. Even when you have the right of way, cars have a lot of safety features and you have none. 

Use designated crosswalks 

The road is for cars. 

So is the crosswalk but, under brief and temporary conditions, you can use it too! Never jaywalk, never walk in the road, just hope there is a clear and functional sidewalk. 

Cross at the light

The road is for cars. 

There are rules and signs for them, but that can only go so far. Walk quickly and hold your breath and hope that the light doesn't turn. Make eye contact with drivers as their cars teem with potential energy, rumbling with disdain at the inconvenience of your crossing. Try to ignore the cloud of exhaust that you are in and they are above. 

Leash your pets

The road is for cars. 

Obviously. 

To you, it may be natural to sacrifice so much space to them but to your dog, it is not. His instinct is to explore freely. You must curb it. Modern US car models have such high hoods that the average child, let alone dog, is obscured. Even on the sidewalk, hold the leash tight because the sidewalk (if you are so blessed) is next to the street and the threat still looms.

Look out for road kill

The road is for cars. 

And no one was there to leash the deer. 

Or the raccoon. 

Or the cat. 

Did you know that the most reliable sample method for wildlife in an area is looking at the roadkill? 

Remember these tips

The road is for cars. 

Cars are everywhere. In the city. In the suburbs. In the country. In the woods (the US Forest Service manages more roads than the entire Ministry of Transit in China.) Cars are everywhere because there are roads to bring them there, which is great if you are a car and want to get from place to place fast without worrying about the in-between. 

Unfortunately, you are not a car. 

You are an animal. 

You are in-between. 

So remember to look both ways. 

[begouristore]

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[tanadrin]

@grimogretricks

For people saying that airport security is wholly theatre and that it doesn't do any good- certainly it seems they've gone overboard on certain things, but what is your explanation as to why hijackings and terrorist attacks involving planes are MUCH less common than they used to be?

Sorry that this is mostly off the dome, and has less references than I would like. We argued this stuff to death in the aughts, though ultimately the political incentives in favor of security theater were just too great. Everyone is terrified of the potential backlash of not being seen to do enough in advance of the next big terrorist attack, I guess. And to be clear, we are talking mostly about post-9/11 airport security measures as being security theater. Some degree of airport security has been necessary since people started getting on airplanes with guns and informing the pilot that, hey, guess what, we're going to Cuba instead of Miami today.

But the big reduction in airplane hijackings came with the institution of metal detectors to keep guns off airplanes after a couple high-profile hijackings in the 1970s. But remember that these incidents were of a very different character than what we now think of as the risk to airplanes: they were certainly a problem, but the modus operandi of hijackers in this era was to force the plane to fly to a non-extradition country and land safely. 9/11-style hijackings, that used the plane as a bomb and killed everyone aboard, were on nobody's radar--when the goal was blowing up the plane and killing passengers, bombers generally used bombs planted in checked baggage, which requires different security measures from passenger screening.

Two security changes occurred after 9/11 that made future such hijackings basically impossible: one, probably most importantly, was that passengers understood they no longer could count on hijackers having an interest in surviving the hijacking. This change in passenger behavior was immediate: later that same year when a guy tried to bomb an airplane (using a really ineffective device hidden in his shoe) passengers immediately acted to restrain him. The second important change was reinforcing cockpit doors and keeping them locked: this makes hijacking airplanes with knives (the only major modality left to most would-be hijackers) functionally impossible.

All the other intense passenger screening and security measures implemented after 9/11 has been repeatedly shown by security researchers to be pretty ineffective, not even very reliable at stuff like keeping knives off airplanes. For years after 9/11 there were endless news stories about law enforcement running drills at airports and weapons making their way through security. A lot of later security measures, like liquid limits in carry-on baggage, came from terrorist plots that didn't even make it off the drawing board (and are unlikely to have ever worked anyway), and seem mostly to be overzealous ass-covering by transportation security officials.

And, finally, we should note that the real security threats to airplanes in the post-9/11 era seem to have come come from two sources that are basically impossible to protect against using traditional security methods, and for which passenger-based security screening is useless: anti-aircraft missiles and suicidal pilots (plus an honorable mention to aircraft companies trying to skirt certain regulatory requirements).

Despite what decades of American media would have you believe, elaborate plots targeting transportation infrastructure and involving like a dozen people are actually not at the top of the list of terrorist methodologies--why time and money training members of your organization to fly planes into buildings, when you can just use social media to convince a guy to drive a car into a crowd of bystanders, or stab somebody on the street? It's much cheaper, and much, much harder to guard against. Random lone-wolf terrorism is, unlike the kind of elaborate plots portrayed on TV, and one-off real-life examples like 9/11, basically impossible for security services to guard against in advance. But in order to justify the war on terror, and large budgets for security services on anti-terrorism grounds, it was necessary to play up the threat of such plots, even if by its very nature 9/11 was impossible to repeat. For similar reasons, the post-9/11 era also played up the threat of Islamic extremism and large overseas terrorist networks, even though far-right extremists acting in small groups also have managed to kill huge numbers of people in spectacular ways.

So for all these reasons, and those noted at the top, the political incentives around transportation security means that passenger screening measures in airports are almost guaranteed to be a one-way ratchet, even if they don't work. It's a bit like the fabled anti-tiger amulet--it's easy to say the lack of tigers is proof it's working! Even if the real reason there are no tigers about is that you live in Ohio. The media environment post-War on Terror helped create a public appetite for and approval of such anti-tiger amulets, too, of course. This was not by any means a purely top-down phenomenon.

[pastryfication]

Can you do another Piastri family fic where the reader is in pain or smth and Oscar can’t be there to help her so his family does xx

PAIN, MORE PAIN

pairing: oscar piastri x reader warnings: mentions of appendicitis & reader being in terrible pain.

the apartment you share with oscar in melbourne feels impossible big and lonely. the bed feels cold and strangely empty despite the humongous amount of throw pillows you have laying around.

the loneliness is something you’ve grown used to, but the loneliness mixed with this terrible pain in your stomach is too much to bear.

it hit you suddenly, no warning signs in sight, and now you lie curled up in the middle of the soft sheets, clutching your stomach as waves of unfamiliar, sharp pain hit, relentless and terrifying.

your hand trembles as you reach for your phone. oscar is thousands of miles away, getting much needed rest before the race. you know it’s late where he is—too late to be calling. you hesitate, your finger hovering over his name in your contacts. you shouldn’t bother him. shouldn’t steal away his focus—what could he do either way?

but as you curl even further into yourself, helplessness consuming you, it becomes too much, and you feel so weak. weak, helpless, and scared.

scared enough to press the call button. shame, guilt, pain, and more pain fills you as you watch your phone ring in silence.

oscar—your absolute angel of a boyfriend—picks up after a few rings, his voice groggy from sleep but instantly alert when he hears the panic in yours. “hey, love. what’s wrong?”

“i didn’t want to wake you,” you start, the guilt gnawing at you. “but something’s really wrong. my stomach . . .” you let out a involuntary whimper. “it hurts so bad, osc. i don’t know what to do.”

there’s a brief pause, and you can practically hear him sitting up in bed, a deep frown taking over his features. “how bad is it? have you taken anything? should i call a doctor?”

“i don’t know,” you whisper, pressing a hand to your side, trying to breathe through the pain. “it’s getting worse. i can barely move.”

“damn it,” oscar mutters angrily under his breath. “i wish i was there with you. but listen, i’m calling my mum. she’ll come and take you to the hospital. you need to get checked out, okay? don’t argue with me.”

you start to protest, your instinct telling you to handle things on your own. “oscar, i don’t want to bother her—”

“you’re not bothering anyone,” he cuts you off firmly. there’s no room for argument in his voice. “you’re in pain. we’re not messing around with this. i’m calling her now, and i’ll stay on the phone until she gets there. promise me you’ll let her help.”

you’re too exhausted to argue anymore, the pain blurring the edges of everything and you desperately want to cry. “okay,” you mumble, feeling a small wave of relief knowing help is on the way despite everything.

oscar keeps talking to you—for once, he’s the one doing the most talking—trying to keep you calm as he calls his mum. within minutes, she’s on her way, and oscar is back on the line, his voice soft but urgent. “she’ll be there soon, love. just hang in there.”

his words are comforting, but the pain is becoming unbearable, and by the time you hear the soft knock on the door, tears are slipping uncontrollably down your face. you barely manage to shuffle to the door, clutching your side, and open it to find nicole standing there, her face etched with worry. she takes one look at you and immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders.

“oh, sweetheart,” she murmurs, guiding you toward the couch. “you don’t look good at all. let’s get you to the hospital.”

even more tears spill over at that. it’s not just the pain, it’s the overwhelming sense of being cared for. nicole doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask if it’s too much trouble. she’s just there, steady and reliable.

“i’m sorry,” you whisper, hesitating to meet her eyes. “i didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

nicole shakes her head, already helping you into the car with a comforting arm around you. “don’t be ridiculous, love. you’re part of the family now. we look after each other.”

her words settle over you like a warm blanket, and you blink back more tears, grateful for the maternal gentleness she offers.

the ride to the hospital is a blur of pain and exhaustion as nicole speeds toward the emergency room. her hand reaches out to squeeze yours at every chance she gets, the worry in her eyes almost overwhelming.

when you finally arrive, nicole is by your side every step of the way, holding your hand as you’re wheeled into the exam room and after what feels like hours, the doctor finally returns with a diagnosis: appendicitis. you’ll need surgery, and soon.

oscar’s voice cracks through the phone when he hears the news. “i’m so sorry i’m not there. i feel useless.”

nicole gives your hand another reassuring squeeze. “she’s in good hands, oscar. i’ll be with her the whole time, don’t you worry.”

you try to smile, though the pain is still gnawing at your insides. “i’ll be okay. just focus on your race.”

“not a chance,” he replies, his voice softening. “i can’t concentrate when i know you’re in pain. you’re more important than any race.”

as they prep you for surgery, nicole stays by your side, never letting go of your hand.

the last thing you hear before drifting off is her voice, quiet and full of love. “i’ll stay here the entire time, sweetheart. just relax.”

when you wake up after surgery, very groggy but no longer in pain, nicole is still there, sitting by your bedside. she smiles as you blink awake, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“there you are,” she says softly. “everything went perfectly. you’ll be back on your feet in no time.”

you blink away the tears that well up, overwhelmed by the care she’s shown you. “thank you,” you whisper, your voice thick with emotion. “for everything.”

nicole shakes her head, her smile warm and full of love. “no need to thank me, love. we’re family. that’s what family’s for.” she leans down to press a kiss to your forehead before tugging your duvet up, helping you get more comfortable in the hospital bed. “hattie is here somewhere, too. came as soon as she woke. think she wanted to buy you some snacks first.”

her words hit you in a way that feels almost foreign. the casual way in which they came out feels weird. to you, it isn’t casual. family is a concept you’ve always struggled with, never having had one that felt like this. but now, with oscar, with nicole and the rest of his family—who are buying you snacks and worrying—you’ve found something you didn’t even know you were missing.

as you drift back to sleep, comforted by the warmth of the bed and something else—something warms from in your heart—you realize that for the first time in your life, you truly have a family—and it feels like home.

[yourlocalbreadenthusiast]

Kindly take a break from scrolling to read this, it's important.

Take your time to grieve and come to terms with the election results, but once you've done that, it's time to get to work. We have two months. And a lot to do in that time. We have to prepare, to be ready.

Be careful about what you post or say online. Anything potentially incriminating should be avoided. Threatening language, even if clearly a joke, can be used against you.

Know someone who's trans? Someone who's had an abortion? Someone who's LGBTQIA+? Someone who's an immigrant? Someone who attends protests? Someone who's disabled? Someone who might in any way be at risk due to laws being put into place? No you don't.

Move away from social media platforms and browsers that require you to use your real identity or input a large amount of personal information. Now's a good time to find alternate means of communicating online. Tails, Element, Tor, Mastodon, Firefox, and Lemmy are all decent options.

Find a community. Someone you can talk to, either online or in real life, that you'll have reliable contact with. We need to try and create a network, but one that's as anonymous as possible.

Start scrubbing your trail as much as possible. Get rid of old accounts that can still be traced to you but are no longer used, delete personal data off the internet. There are websites out there that will freely remove your data from the internet, but be careful about which one you use, make sure it's safe and legitimate first.

Change any usernames that you can that contain any personal information. Names, birthdays, anything.

Plan B has a four year shelf life. Stock up, but don't take more than you you'll need. We don't want a COVID repeat where everyone buys an excessive amount of things and leaves none for everybody else.

There are doctors that will sterilize you, if that's the way you want to go.

Stop using online period trackers right now. Delete all data from it if possible first, then delete the app itself. If you must, write it down, but in a subtle manner and on something you keep at home. Don't label it, just put the dates. If you're really worried, discard older records and only keep the most recent few, and label the dates as other random events, like "go to mall" or "chicken salad for dinner this night"

Get your vaccines now.

Save money.

Archive. We have to start collecting records, media, data, books, and articles now. On racism, on fascism, on homophobia, on gender, on self-reliance, on survival, on safe travels routes, on equality, on justice, on anything that may be useful and/or censored soon. We can't let them erase it.

Collect those online resources. Bookmark them, copy files into your storage, Screenshot pages. Create a decentralized library where everyone is working to be part of a whole, storing what they can individually and sharing it between one another. Again, be careful about doing this.

Second-hand bookstores are your best friend. Books are usually very cheap in them, and they often have a decent stock. See what you can find.

When buying ANYTHING I have mentioned above, or anything else that maybe put you in danger, try to use cash to reduce your spending trail.

Check your car information online, many newer models can be remotely tracked.

Turn your phone completely off if you may be at risk due to your location and current activities. Turning off your GPS also helps.

Take note of where you are. Who are your friends? Who's a safe person? Where can you go besides your own home that you know you'll be safe? Establish these connections now.

Who around you is not safe? Who and where do you need to avoid? Do you need to move? If you cannot afford moving but need to, there are fundraisers that can help you. If even that is not an option, at least try to make sure your home is secure. Have someone who can help you. Have a fallback safe place.

And finally, I want anyone with resources to put them in the replies. Flood it with useful links, information, tips, anything. We're in this together. Do not panic. Organize.

EDIT: Please be civil in the replies.

[arunsharma77]

Top Budget Cars Under 5 Lac In India | Best Used Cars in Delhi | Top CNG Cars India

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[cheyisagirlkisser]

thoughts on car mechanic sevika?

CAR MECHANIC SEVIKA HEADCANNONS. SUGGESTIVE CONTENT BELOW

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who went to school to become a mechanic and ended up being hired rather quickly by a garage two miles away from her apartment, a well known place named "Silco's Auto Haven." Yeah, she should've known her boss would be a prick. She doesn't get paid enough to put up with his bitching, you'd think she was a masochist the way she ended up working there for well over five years.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who sports a wife pleaser and the hottest cargo pants known to man. Tight around her thighs, hugging the curve of her ass, but the entire outfit, complete with a pair of dirty boots, gives off a more butch look. Tattoos litter her arms, and a piercing subtly fills the area just below her delicious bottom lip.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who is used to a rather solitary life besides babysitting her bosses' foster children Jinx and Isha. She'd say to anyone who asked that they were annoying brats, but she was secretly soft around children and was good with kids when she wanted to be. Those two were her favorite.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who swears she doesn't check out customers, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't brush off the discounts she offered you as "simple kindness." She'll approach your car, face spotted with tiny bits of oil that should be downright illegal to look so attractive adorning, and acts as if she's not soaked in her boxers just glancing your way.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who is nothing but shy; however, when it comes to a certain you who needs oil changes, something she handles quite frequently, she'll forget her train of thought.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who was on her way home after the usual long day at Silco's driving home in her truck, an old but reliable possession of hers in which she did work on herself, soon noticed a familiar car on the side of the road. Coming to a stop, her hand shifted gears into park and approached the front seat window, to which she was greeted with the sight of you, the most pitiful look on your face as you explained that your car, usually reliable and your most prized possession, broke down. Sevika was gruff, maybe came off as indifferent to many. Still, she was a good woman.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who luckily had the resources in the bed of her truck to get your car started back up. You thanked her so graciously, to which she warmed up to you. She gave you her number in case you needed any further assistance.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who has a bad case of what you'd call "crushing," a term she refuses to use and would scoff at. She can't help it; you text her so sweetly, even when you don't need the oil changed on your car or when your engine is running smoothly.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who eventually asks you out, and spoils you with a soft heart others may not get to see with her. Buys you roses, lets you sleep in her boxers, and even allows you to stop by the garage to bring her a home-cooked lunch.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who didn't mean to make out with you for the first time in the garage, but it just kind of happened. You stopped by for a legitimate reason this time, needing her to pop under the hood and make sure everything was all good and dandy with your car. She had some work to do, and she so sarcastically suggested that money wouldn't suffice as a proper payment. You didn't catch the joke.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who had you in the employee bathroom sitting with your legs parted on the sink as she kissed you desperately, lips slotted together to make delicious little smacking noises. Her tongue was all over yours, her lips suckling on your bottom one, making you whine into her mouth. She wasn't going to take things further in this filthy place, but she was surely tempted to. She swore that you tasted like candy, or maybe your lip gloss did. Either way, she didn't give a fuck. You were so pretty and tasty, practically edible and she couldn't get enough of you, of the way you tugged on her ponytail as she left hickies all over your neck that you'd be embarrassed of later.

ʚɞ Car mechanic Sevika who didn't charge you that day for the car check-up, instead putting it on her own tab. If Silco had anything to say about it, she'd happily apply to the auto shop a few miles away.

[moonlightcycle571]

Lmao I just had a fantastic vision.

The JL fighting a multiversal threat, and the for keeps disappearing into different universes/worlds. While everyone is coming up with ways to travel to apprehend the foe, Captain Marvel has an idea.

Batman: so far, our current multiversal technology is subpar and unable to go at the rate the villain is going.

Flash: while I can travel through universes, it’s going to take a while to l’acte which one they’re on, and even then, they can leave before I even do anything.

Superman: we need a reliable tracker and transport system. Both being crucial elements we don’t have

Captain Marvel: I have an idea.

Cue to the JL all on a random sidewalk, with the clear instructions to ‘wait until they arrive’ and to ‘not move or interfere in any way shape of form’.

Random Truck: *appears out of nowhere, hitting a random pigeon*

JL: huh

Marvel: well that’s going to be an interesting story. Anyways, there you are! Guys, meet Truck-kun!

JL: excuse me???

Truck-kun:

Marvel: Their a bit shy ☺️

JL: …

Truck-kun: *blushes*

JL: how is that even possible??!??!?

They proceed to go in and go through some weird interdimensional car chase, passing by random worlds, spawning through random streets (for some reason, most of them are in Japan), and more importantly, hitting A LOT of people. Old, young, middle aged, animals, even a vending machine at some point. It’s just a slaughter.

The JL is horrified, and Cap is just sitting in his seat, all chill.

Green Lantern: DID WE JUST HIT SOMEONE

Marvel: yup

Superman: AND YOURE DOING NOTHING TO STOP IT

Marvel: nope

Batman: Captain that kills people

Marvel: it’s not killing, more like transporting them into a different universe that is more suited for them. Had we not hit them, they would have died either ways within the hour. Now they get a second chance of life.

JL: *existential crisis*

Even after the villain is apprehended, they found out they only managed to get this far is because they had a magic car*

Hawkwoman: *stares at the car* how does one come across thee vehicles

Marvel: well I met Truck-kun cause he’s besties with my magic Train. Train-chan told me that Truck-kuns little brother Car-kun got abducted, which is why Truck-kun was so willing to help.

JL:…

Flash: I’m going to go lie down.

Batman: *mentally adding magic vehicle community to his conspiracy board*

Bonus:

Green Arrow: *retelling what happened* -and then some random Truck pulls up

Conner Hawke: lmao you met Truck-kun

Green Arrow:

Conner:

Black Canary: … how do you know that name?

Conner: w h a t

Bonus 2:

Naturally Conner tells Damian, who tells Jon, who tells Kon, who tells the Titans and basically the whole thing spreads.

Red Robin: YOU MET TRUCK KUN! THE GREAT ONE HIMSELF

Spoiler: THE ALL MIGHTY WHEELS OF STEEL

Cyborg: WHY WASNT I INVITED! CAP YOU LBOW HOW MUCH I LIKE MY ISEKAI

Blue Beetle: JUST CAUSE YOU GASLIGHT DOES NOT MEAN YOURE A GIRL BOSS

Superboy: SHARING IS CARING

Arsenal, lying on the road: TAKE ME

Bonus 3:

Static Shock: next you’ll be telling us you know Archie’s magic bus

Marvel: well I’m not sure I know who this ‘Archie’ is, but Train-chan does have a cousin called Bus-san.

Titans: *explode*

[chocodile]

Worldbuilding time! Let's talk about vehicular travel in modern day Amaranthine, using the snowmobiles from this recent comic as a jumping off point.

"Prowler" - Ironfrost patrol snowmobile - (year of manufacture: 1912)

These half-track all terrain vehicles are used by Ironfrost soldiers to travel long distances over the tundra. Originally adapted from older, four-wheeled automobiles, the half-track Prowler design became increasingly standardized over the years as eternal winter continued to creep southward. They are capable of operating in a wide variety of terrain conditions and are fairly modular. Common mods include removable skis, hardtop and softtop roofs, gun mounts, and towing attachments.

Like all vehicles, Prowlers are steam-powered. The external combustion engine runs on kerosene. In snowy conditions, feedwater can be obtained automatically through a scraper port on the underside of the vehicle, though manual feeding is required in muddy or dry conditions.

Though not as fast, reliable, or efficient as trains, their agile nature have made them an essential part of life in the far north… and, increasingly, in the middle country as well. The Rising Dawn have stolen several Prowlers for their own usage.

"Aspire" - Classic automobile (year of manufacture: 1890)

Four-wheeled vehicles are an unusual sight in the modern day. Ironfrost-made cars were in vogue among the southern rim upper class for many years, but the worsening climate has made them more and more niche as road conditions outside of major cities deteriorate. The majority of higher horsepower automobiles were converted directly into half tracks, while older, lower-end vehicles were generally scrapped for parts.

The Aspire was the last four-wheeled vehicle widely available to the public. Advertised as a stylish, powerful, modern vehicle for the elite on the go, it boasted a sleek, classy aesthetic, a removable softtop roof, and a powerful steam engine with a large kerosene tank suitable for travel between cities. Preorders were advertised to southern rim wealthy in local papers. However, a series of unusually bad winters soon after its debut scared off buyers, shutting down production early and ultimately spelling doom for the entire four-wheeled automobile industry.

One of those Aspire preorders went to Baroness Jocosa North. Though she has since passed away, her son, Theopolis North, still maintains the now wildly impractical car in near mint condition. It is almost never seen outside of its garage.

"'Icebreaker' Class E 250" - Northern cross-country train (year of manufacture: 1903)

The majority of modern-day overland travel is accomplished via train. Massive long-distance rail lines, laid before the world became quite so cold, connect the remaining cities, allowing (relatively) safe travel and trade across vast expanses of tundra.

Southerly locomotives typically operate with only a basic wedge plow attachment. However, trains that run further north must be fitted with gigantic rotary snowplows. These complex machines require significant maintenance. Though they can and will chew up most things that get in the train's way, encounters with particularly large and bony beasts have been known to jam them.

Ironfrost's line terminates in a massive, sprawling rail yard where Icebreakers are fitted and maintained. Those who have visited it tell of a dark, dreary wasteland of twisted scrap metal and ice where coal dust and smoke have turned both the sky and ground black. All northern trains must pass through that place eventually.

"Chariot of the Dawn" - One-of-a-kind luxury automobile (year of manufacture: 1920)

The only place where four-wheeled automobiles still thrive is the City of the Sun. The eternal summers and paved roads are well-suited to cars and trolleys, though they are, of course, still something of a luxury good. Licenses for ownership and operation are ultimately controlled by the church, with His Radiance having the final say. (His most devout followers, of course, tend to get preferential treatment here.)

The City of the Sun manufactures its own vehicles, adapted from Ironfrost designs in a sort of divergent evolution. Freed from the road and weather concerns of the outside world, their automobiles favor sleek, swoopy body shapes, ornamental trim, low-slung bodies with limited ground clearance, and pastel paintjobs. Additionally, the engines are far less powerful and far more finicky, requiring regular maintenance.

His Radiance himself owns several custom automobiles, all of which are egregiously bedazzled to a degree that would look grotesque to anyone who wasn't used to it. Some are open-top, allowing his loyal followers an audience with his beautiful face and glittering halo, while others feature tinted windows. You know, in case he wants subtlety.

[wheelie-sick]

people way underestimate the needs of wheelchair users.

there's a lot of what I'll call walkism (bias towards pedestrians and against wheelchair users) among disabled pedestrians (people who primarily walk, assisted or not, as their means of mobility)

diminishing our needs is walkism.

people within the community see us as ableds minus legs. they see our disabilities as simple- just can't walk, it's that easy. they see us as having low accommodation needs and as having the accommodations that we do need met. they see our access barriers as being as simple as ramps and curb cuts.

we are frequently compared to low support needs (LSN) non-physically disabled people by ablebodied disabled people and physically disabled people alike. we are compared to people who walk through life (literally) with little to no support, who make it through school with minimal accommodations, who have access to the whole world.

people are so incredibly out of touch with what wheelchair use actually looks like. people don't personally know wheelchair users, often don't even follow them on social media. people assume they can understand our entire lives by looking at our wheels and imagining. that doesn't work.

this belief that our disabilities are simple especially goes for paraplegic wheelchair users who are so often used as the "closest to abled" examples. they don't consider how many paraplegic wheelchair users experience things like spasms, chronic pain, bladder spasms specifically, both urinary and fecal incontinence, among much else that I'm sure I'm not aware of as I am not paraplegic. they especially don't consider that fact that wheelchair use is absolutely not close to abled.

they don't consider the extent of needs that full time and near full time wheelchair users experience. have you ever had to wait in the grocery store parking lot for 30+ minutes so an accessible spot with an access aisle could open up? how deep is the washing machine in your apartment? how large is the room it's in? is your sink too tall? what about the cabinets? how high is your bed? how low is your dining table? how easy would it be to fit a wheelchair in your car? how reliable is your bus? how reliable are the people on it to not put their groceries in the wheelchair spot? does your workplace have a ramp?

when people become wheelchair users they often have to uproot their entire lives to rebuild in a way that allows them to access things as vital as their home and workplace. when people already are wheelchair users they experience shortages of everything- jobs with accessible buildings, apartments they can get into and use, cars they can put their wheelchairs in easily.

this isn't even getting into things like access to businesses and other locations wheelchair users may want to go.

wheelchair users always have significant disabilities. yes, always. yes, even that disability you think is mild. people don't end up as wheelchair users because they have mild chronic pain or lose balance occasionally. people end up as wheelchair users because they have significant mobility disabilities. significant mobility disabilities rarely act alone. I cannot name a wheelchair user who only experiences mobility disability. everything, yes, everything comes with other effects.

while I've spent a lot of time talking about the comparatively low support needs wheelchair users there are high support needs wheelchair users as well. people only look at those of us who have ability to do all or most ADLs with our wheelchairs, this is not the case for every wheelchair user. there are wheelchair users who use group 3 powerchairs. there are wheelchair users who transfer via hoist. there are wheelchair users who need to control their wheelchair with their breath. there are wheelchair users who can't move their wheelchair independently at all and rely on someone else to push them. there are wheelchair users whose disabilities cause significant disability in areas other than mobility meaning they have feeding tubes, ostomies, suprapubic catheters, and ventilators. these presentations of disability are not even uncommon.

true high support needs wheelchair users are so often erased from every conversation (including conversations among wheelchair users) but I have not once seen a pedestrian mention quadriplegia & tetraplegia or muscular dystrophy or spinal muscular atrophy or any other number of conditions that leave someone needing both a wheelchair and very high support. I never see mentions of intellectually disabled people who use wheelchairs for conditions connected to their intellectual disability and I never see mentions of conditions like sanfilippo syndrome.

ultimately though, wheelchair users are just not a monolith. I will stand by the fact that, while some wheelchair users may have low support needs compared to other wheelchair users and high support needs neurodevelopmentally disabled people, none of our support needs are so low that they are at all comparable to those of low support needs non-physically disabled people. it's erasure of our disability to suggest there is no difference in support required between a low support needs autistic person and a wheelchair user on the low support needs end of the wheelchair support needs spectrum.

it is especially erasure to collapse all wheelchair users down to the lowest level of support needs a wheelchair user can have. it pretends that our higher support needs siblings don't exist.

the community does not understand us or our struggles. it won't understand us or our struggles until we are included, until people stop seeing us as the most privileged part of the community and until people stop minimizing our struggles. walkism is the reason wheelchair users have built our own communities separate from the rest of the disabled community. it is made clear time and time again that we are not welcome and we will not be understood.

A note: by wheelchair user I am specifically referring to people who use a wheelchair on a regular basis for day-to-day tasks. for the sake of this post I am not including people who only use wheelchairs at the mall/Disney/theme parks/other long distances.

[all dividers are described in alt text]

[p0orbaby]

We’ll Do the Things That Lovers Do

summary: you ask, alexia answers

warnings: none

a/n: it’s a cute one

word count: 1.5k

-

The first time you meet Alexia, the sun is a ruthless overseer, searing the already pale blue sky into white. You’re twelve, English, slightly awkward, and profoundly unsure of why your parents thought it was a good idea to send you to a football camp in Spain. You like football well enough, but you’ve always been better at watching it than playing. Still, here you are: standing on a pitch that smells of hot turf and dry grass, surrounded by kids who chatter in Catalan and Spanish. The words tumble from their mouths too fast for you to catch more than fragments, a reminder that you’re out of place.

The ball comes to you with a dull thud. You freeze, and for one breathless moment, the whole world shrinks to that scuffed, overinflated orb at your feet.

“Shoot,” a voice says, startling you. You glance up and see her—Alexia.

She’s smaller than the others but somehow commands the space around her, her presence as steady and deliberate as her movements. Her ponytail is lopsided, and her knees are bruised, but her eyes are bright, alert, the colour of chestnuts split open in autumn. She nudges her chin towards the goal, repeating the word as if it’s the most natural thing in the world: “Shoot.”

You do.

It’s a disaster. The ball veers wildly to the left, nowhere near the goal. You feel the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck, but Alexia grins—a wide, unabashed smile that flashes crooked teeth. She claps you on the shoulder as she jogs past, muttering something you don’t understand but recognise as encouragement.

That was the beginning.

-

The pitches look smaller than you remember—disappointingly so, as if the scale of your childhood has been robbed by adulthood’s harsher clarity. Once, they stretch endlessly before you, bordered by mountains shrouded in haze, the kind of expanses that make you feel free and invincible. But now, standing at the edge of the field, the chain-link fencing looks shorter, the goals less daunting, and the turf more contrived—newer, more synthetic, missing the patches of wear and uneven grass that seem like the field’s imperfections were secrets shared only with you.

You’re struck by how time skews memory. Is it really this contained, or is this just another reminder of how the magic of youth magnifies everything? Back then, the setting sun behind the hills paints the whole world in gold, and the air always seems fresher, tinged with the earthy smell of grass and sweat. Now, as the same sun filters through the fence, casting sharp geometric shadows, it feels less grand, more staged—as if the past doesn’t belong here anymore.

The drive here is steeped in silence, a comfortable one, though tinged with anticipation. Alexia leans against the passenger window, her profile illuminated by the last of the daylight. She isn’t glued to her phone like most people would be; instead, she keeps her eyes on the world beyond the glass, mind wandering to a place you wish you could join her. Every so often, you catch her glancing at you—not suspiciously, but with a curiosity that she doesn’t voice. You think she’s learned to trust your mysteries, to follow where you lead, even when you offer no explanation.

You don’t tell her where you’re taking her. She doesn’t ask either, though the slight tightening of her lips gives away that she’s thinking about it. It isn’t a long drive—twenty-five minutes if you discount the wrong turn past the industrial estate. You hadn’t planned to drive at all; Barcelona’s public transport is convenient, reliable, and environmentally conscious. But today feels like a day for small indulgences, for moments steeped in intention.

The Aston Martin DBX707 isn’t the kind of car you use often; its polished bottle-green exterior and tan leather interior scream opulence in a way you sometimes find embarrassing. It isn’t about practicality or subtlety—it’s about craftsmanship, the pure indulgence of owning something that serves no greater purpose than being exceptional. Alexia doesn’t comment on it when you pick her up, though you notice the way her fingers linger over the stitching on the door handle, tracing the lines absentmindedly, as if she’s trying to understand it through touch alone.

When you park just outside the gates of the Espanyol academy grounds, she finally speaks. “You’re being weird,” she says, her voice light but edged with curiosity. Her outfit mirrors her casual confidence—black jeans that brush the laces of her shoes, a white cropped t-shirt that looks effortlessly styled, and a leather jacket that has clearly seen years of wear. It isn’t flashy, but on her, it might as well be runway-ready. The thin gold bracelet on her wrist—a birthday gift from you two years ago—catches the fading sunlight with every movement.

You smile, stepping out of the car and sliding on your jacket. It’s one of those late-March evenings where the air is crisp but not cold, hovering just on the edge of warmth. “You’ll see,” you reply, your tone deliberately vague.

The grounds are quieter than you remember, almost reverent in the stillness. The sleek building that replaces the old equipment shed gleams in the light, its glassy windows reflecting the hills beyond. Everything looks new, improved, as if the years have smoothed over the rough edges you’ve grown to love. Even the pitches seem more uniform, the kind of green that’s cultivated with care rather than worn down by eager feet.

As you walk, Alexia trails a step behind, her eyes roaming the space with a mix of recognition and disbelief. “This is—” she starts, her voice catching. Then she stops, as if finishing the thought might make it too real.

“Where we met,” you say simply, stepping onto the grass.

She doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she stands still at the edge of the pitch, her hands sliding into the pockets of her jacket. Her gaze is distant, fixed somewhere between the past and the present. “I haven’t been here in years,” she murmurs finally. Her tone is quiet, almost introspective, like she’s speaking more to herself than to you.

For her, this place is sacred. It’s the foundation of everything she’s built—the trophies, the accolades, the flint of the unwavering respect of millions. For you, it’s a piece of your past, formative but fleeting. Yet standing here now, you realise how deeply intertwined your histories are.

You walk toward the center of the pitch, the turf soft beneath your shoes. You’ve chosen your outfit with care: tailored charcoal-grey trousers, a crisp white shirt, and suede loafers that are entirely impractical but precisely the point. Alexia follows, her steps slower, more measured, as if each one carries a memory she hadn’t expected to confront today.

“Do you remember the first thing you said to me?” you ask when you reach the center circle.

She squints slightly, her expression softening as she searches her memory. “I told you to shoot,” she says at last.

“And it was terrible,” you add, a grin breaking through your composure.

“It was,” she admits, a quiet laugh escaping her. But her smile lingers, her eyes meeting yours with something deeper—a shared understanding, a recognition of how far you’ve come.

You reach into your pocket, the small velvet box heavy against your palm. This isn’t impulsive; you’ve rehearsed this moment in your head a hundred times. But no amount of planning can prepare you for the way her gaze shifts, the subtle widening of her eyes as she begins to realise what’s happening.

Look,” you start, your voice a little rougher than you intended, “I’m not great at this stuff. You know that. But I’ve been thinking about this for a long time, and… here we are”

Her eyes flick to the box before you’ve even opened it, and she straightens slightly, her breath catching just enough for you to notice.

“This place—it’s where we met. It’s where all of this started. And I figured, if I’m going to do something as ridiculous as this…” You flip the box open, revealing the ring. The diamond catches the last of the light, though it feels absurdly shiny for how grounded she is. “…then I should at least do it here”

She blinks, her lips parting as though she’s about to speak, but she doesn’t. So you keep going.

“I love you,” you say, the words blunt, unembellished. “You already know that. And I don’t think there’s a version of my life that makes sense without you in it. So… will you marry me?”

For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of the wind skimming over the turf. Then she steps forward, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a grin so wide it’s almost smug.

“Yes,” she says simply, as though the answer was never in doubt.

Your hands are steady as you slide the ring onto her finger, the weight of the moment settling between you like a tangible force. She steps closer, her arms wrapping around your waist, her face pressing into your shoulder.

“I can’t believe you brought me here,” she murmurs, her voice thick with emotion.

“It felt right,” you reply, your hand brushing over her hair. “It’s always been you, Alexia”

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Autoenshittification

Forget F1: the only car race that matters now is the race to turn your car into a digital extraction machine, a high-speed inkjet printer on wheels, stealing your private data as it picks your pocket. Your car’s digital infrastructure is a costly, dangerous nightmare — but for automakers in pursuit of postcapitalist utopia, it’s a dream they can’t give up on.

Your car is stuffed full of microchips, a fact the world came to appreciate after the pandemic struck and auto production ground to a halt due to chip shortages. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story: when the pandemic started, the automakers panicked and canceled their chip orders, only to immediately regret that decision and place new orders.

But it was too late: semiconductor production had taken a serious body-blow, and when Big Car placed its new chip orders, it went to the back of a long, slow-moving line. It was a catastrophic bungle: microchips are so integral to car production that a car is basically a computer network on wheels that you stick your fragile human body into and pray.

The car manufacturers got so desperate for chips that they started buying up washing machines for the microchips in them, extracting the chips and discarding the washing machines like some absurdo-dystopian cyberpunk walnut-shelling machine:

https://www.autoevolution.com/news/desperate-times-companies-buy-washing-machines-just-to-rip-out-the-chips-187033.html

These digital systems are a huge problem for the car companies. They are the underlying cause of a precipitous decline in car quality. From touch-based digital door-locks to networked sensors and cameras, every digital system in your car is a source of endless repair nightmares, costly recalls and cybersecurity vulnerabilities:

https://www.reuters.com/business/autos-transportation/quality-new-vehicles-us-declining-more-tech-use-study-shows-2023-06-22/

What’s more, drivers hate all the digital bullshit, from the janky touchscreens to the shitty, wildly insecure apps. Digital systems are drivers’ most significant point of dissatisfaction with the automakers’ products:

https://www.theverge.com/23801545/car-infotainment-customer-satisifaction-survey-jd-power

Even the automakers sorta-kinda admit that this is a problem. Back in 2020 when Massachusetts was having a Right-to-Repair ballot initiative, Big Car ran these unfuckingbelievable scare ads that basically said, “Your car spies on you so comprehensively that giving anyone else access to its systems will let murderers stalk you to your home and kill you:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

But even amid all the complaining about cars getting stuck in the Internet of Shit, there’s still not much discussion of why the car-makers are making their products less attractive, less reliable, less safe, and less resilient by stuffing them full of microchips. Are car execs just the latest generation of rubes who’ve been suckered by Silicon Valley bullshit and convinced that apps are a magic path to profitability?

Nope. Car execs are sophisticated businesspeople, and they’re surfing capitalism’s latest — and last — hot trend: dismantling capitalism itself.

Now, leftists have been predicting the death of capitalism since The Communist Manifesto, but even Marx and Engels warned us not to get too frisky: capitalism, they wrote, is endlessly creative, constantly reinventing itself, re-emerging from each crisis in a new form that is perfectly adapted to the post-crisis reality:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html

But capitalism has finally run out of gas. In his forthcoming book, Techno Feudalism: What Killed Capitalism, Yanis Varoufakis proposes that capitalism has died — but it wasn’t replaced by socialism. Rather, capitalism has given way to feudalism:

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/451795/technofeudalism-by-varoufakis-yanis/9781847927279

Under capitalism, capital is the prime mover. The people who own and mobilize capital — the capitalists — organize the economy and take the lion’s share of its returns. But it wasn’t always this way: for hundreds of years, European civilization was dominated by rents, not markets.

A “rent” is income that you get from owning something that other people need to produce value. Think of renting out a house you own: not only do you get paid when someone pays you to live there, you also get the benefit of rising property values, which are the result of the work that all the other homeowners, business owners, and residents do to make the neighborhood more valuable.

The first capitalists hated rent. They wanted to replace the “passive income” that landowners got from taxing their serfs’ harvest with active income from enclosing those lands and grazing sheep in order to get wool to feed to the new textile mills. They wanted active income — and lots of it.

Capitalist philosophers railed against rent. The “free market” of Adam Smith wasn’t a market that was free from regulation — it was a market free from rents. The reason Smith railed against monopolists is because he (correctly) understood that once a monopoly emerged, it would become a chokepoint through which a rentier could cream off the profits he considered the capitalist’s due:

https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/

Today, we live in a rentier’s paradise. People don’t aspire to create value — they aspire to capture it. In Survival of the Richest, Doug Rushkoff calls this “going meta”: don’t provide a service, just figure out a way to interpose yourself between the provider and the customer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don’t drive a cab, create Uber and extract value from every driver and rider. Better still: don’t found Uber, invest in Uber options and extract value from the people who invest in Uber. Even better, invest in derivatives of Uber options and extract value from people extracting value from people investing in Uber, who extract value from drivers and riders. Go meta.

This is your brain on the four-hour-work-week, passive income mind-virus. In Techno Feudalism, Varoufakis deftly describes how the new “Cloud Capital” has created a new generation of rentiers, and how they have become the richest, most powerful people in human history.

Shopping at Amazon is like visiting a bustling city center full of stores — but each of those stores’ owners has to pay the majority of every sale to a feudal landlord, Emperor Jeff Bezos, who also decides which goods they can sell and where they must appear on the shelves. Amazon is full of capitalists, but it is not a capitalist enterprise. It’s a feudal one:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is the reason that automakers are willing to enshittify their products so comprehensively: they were one of the first industries to decouple rents from profits. Recall that the reason that Big Car needed billions in bailouts in 2008 is that they’d reinvented themselves as loan-sharks who incidentally made cars, lending money to car-buyers and then “securitizing” the loans so they could be traded in the capital markets.

Even though this strategy brought the car companies to the brink of ruin, it paid off in the long run. The car makers got billions in public money, paid their execs massive bonuses, gave billions to shareholders in buybacks and dividends, smashed their unions, fucked their pensioned workers, and shipped jobs anywhere they could pollute and murder their workforce with impunity.

Car companies are on the forefront of postcapitalism, and they understand that digital is the key to rent-extraction. Remember when BMW announced that it was going to rent you the seatwarmer in your own fucking car?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/02/big-river/#beemers

Not to be outdone, Mercedes announced that they were going to rent you your car’s accelerator pedal, charging an extra $1200/year to unlock a fully functional acceleration curve:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/11/23/23474969/mercedes-car-subscription-faster-acceleration-feature-price

This is the urinary tract infection business model: without digitization, all your car’s value flowed in a healthy stream. But once the car-makers add semiconductors, each one of those features comes out in a painful, burning dribble, with every button on that fakakta touchscreen wired directly into your credit-card.

But it’s just for starters. Computers are malleable. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing Complete Von Neumann Machine, which can run every program we know how to write. Once they add networked computers to your car, the Car Lords can endlessly twiddle the knobs on the back end, finding new ways to extract value from you:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

That means that your car can track your every movement, and sell your location data to anyone and everyone, from marketers to bounty-hunters looking to collect fees for tracking down people who travel out of state for abortions to cops to foreign spies:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/n7enex/tool-shows-if-car-selling-data-privacy4cars-vehicle-privacy-report

Digitization supercharges financialization. It lets car-makers offer subprime auto-loans to desperate, poor people and then killswitch their cars if they miss a payment:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U2eDJnwz_s

Subprime lending for cars would be a terrible business without computers, but digitization makes it a great source of feudal rents. Car dealers can originate loans to people with teaser rates that quickly blow up into payments the dealer knows their customer can’t afford. Then they repo the car and sell it to another desperate person, and another, and another:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#looking-for-the-joke-with-a-microscope

Digitization also opens up more exotic options. Some subprime cars have secondary control systems wired into their entertainment system: miss a payment and your car radio flips to full volume and bellows an unstoppable, unmutable stream of threats. Tesla does one better: your car will lock and immobilize itself, then blare its horn and back out of its parking spot when the repo man arrives:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

Digital feudalism hasn’t stopped innovating — it’s just stopped innovating good things. The digital device is an endless source of sadistic novelties, like the cellphones that disable your most-used app the first day you’re late on a payment, then work their way down the other apps you rely on for every day you’re late:

https://restofworld.org/2021/loans-that-hijack-your-phone-are-coming-to-india/

Usurers have always relied on this kind of imaginative intimidation. The loan-shark’s arm-breaker knows you’re never going to get off the hook; his goal is in intimidating you into paying his boss first, liquidating your house and your kid’s college fund and your wedding ring before you default and he throws you off a building.

Thanks to the malleability of computerized systems, digital arm-breakers have an endless array of options they can deploy to motivate you into paying them first, no matter what it costs you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Car-makers are trailblazers in imaginative rent-extraction. Take VIN-locking: this is the practice of adding cheap microchips to engine components that communicate with the car’s overall network. After a new part is installed in your car, your car’s computer does a complex cryptographic handshake with the part that requires an unlock code provided by an authorized technician. If the code isn’t entered, the car refuses to use that part.

VIN-locking has exploded in popularity. It’s in your iPhone, preventing you from using refurb or third-party replacement parts:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

It’s in fuckin’ ventilators, which was a nightmare during lockdown as hospital techs nursed their precious ventilators along by swapping parts from dead systems into serviceable ones:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/3azv9b/why-repair-techs-are-hacking-ventilators-with-diy-dongles-from-poland

And of course, it’s in tractors, along with other forms of remote killswitch. Remember that feelgood story about John Deere bricking the looted Ukrainian tractors whose snitch-chips showed they’d been relocated to Russia?

https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8

That wasn’t a happy story — it was a cautionary tale. After all, John Deere now controls the majority of the world’s agricultural future, and they’ve boobytrapped those ubiquitous tractors with killswitches that can be activated by anyone who hacks, takes over, or suborns Deere or its dealerships.

Control over repair isn’t limited to gouging customers on parts and service. When a company gets to decide whether your device can be fixed, it can fuck you over in all kinds of ways. Back in 2019, Tim Apple told his shareholders to expect lower revenues because people were opting to fix their phones rather than replace them:

https://www.apple.com/newsroom/2019/01/letter-from-tim-cook-to-apple-investors/

By usurping your right to decide who fixes your phone, Apple gets to decide whether you can fix it, or whether you must replace it. Problem solved — and not just for Apple, but for car makers, tractor makers, ventilator makers and more. Apple leads on this, even ahead of Big Car, pioneering a “recycling” program that sees trade-in phones shredded so they can’t possibly be diverted from an e-waste dump and mined for parts:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/yp73jw/apple-recycling-iphones-macbooks

John Deere isn’t sleeping on this. They’ve come up with a valuable treasure they extract when they win the Right-to-Repair: Deere singles out farmers who complain about its policies and refuses to repair their tractors, stranding them with six-figure, two-ton paperweight:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

The repair wars are just a skirmish in a vast, invisible fight that’s been waged for decades: the War On General-Purpose Computing, where tech companies use the law to make it illegal for you to reconfigure your devices so they serve you, rather than their shareholders:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

The force behind this army is vast and grows larger every day. General purpose computers are antithetical to technofeudalism — all the rents extracted by technofeudalists would go away if others (tinkereres, co-ops, even capitalists!) were allowed to reconfigure our devices so they serve us.

You’ve probably noticed the skirmishes with inkjet printer makers, who can only force you to buy their ink at 20,000% markups if they can stop you from deciding how your printer is configured:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty But we’re also fighting against insulin pump makers, who want to turn people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/10/loopers/#hp-ification

And companies that make powered wheelchairs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/08/chair-ish/#r2r

These companies start with people who have the least agency and social power and wreck their lives, then work their way up the privilege gradient, coming for everyone else. It’s called the “shitty technology adoption curve”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Technofeudalism is the public-private-partnership from hell, emerging from a combination of state and private action. On the one hand, bailing out bankers and big business (rather than workers) after the 2008 crash and the covid lockdown decoupled income from profits. Companies spent billions more than they earned were still wildly profitable, thanks to those public funds.

But there’s also a policy dimension here. Some of those rentiers’ billions were mobilized to both deconstruct antitrust law (allowing bigger and bigger companies and cartels) and to expand “IP” law, turning “IP” into a toolsuite for controlling the conduct of a firm’s competitors, critics and customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

IP is key to understanding the rise of technofeudalism. The same malleability that allows companies to “twiddle” the knobs on their services and keep us on the hook as they reel us in would hypothetically allow us to countertwiddle, seizing the means of computation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

The thing that stands between you and an alternative app store, an interoperable social media network that you can escape to while continuing to message the friends you left behind, or a car that anyone can fix or unlock features for is IP, not technology. Under capitalism, that technology would already exist, because capitalists have no loyalty to one another and view each other’s margins as their own opportunities.

But under technofeudalism, control comes from rents (owning things), not profits (selling things). The capitalist who wants to participate in your iPhone’s “ecosystem” has to make apps and submit them to Apple, along with 30% of their lifetime revenues — they don’t get to sell you jailbreaking kit that lets you choose their app store.

Rent-seeking technology has a holy grail: control over “ring zero” — the ability to compel you to configure your computer to a feudalist’s specifications, and to verify that you haven’t altered your computer after it came into your possession:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/30/ring-minus-one/#drm-political-economy

For more than two decades, various would-be feudal lords and their court sorcerers have been pitching ways of doing this, of varying degrees of outlandishness.

At core, here’s what they envision: inside your computer, they will nest another computer, one that is designed to run a very simple set of programs, none of which can be altered once it leaves the factory. This computer — either a whole separate chip called a “Trusted Platform Module” or a region of your main processor called a secure enclave — can tally observations about your computer: which operating system, modules and programs it’s running.

Then it can cryptographically “sign” these observations, proving that they were made by a secure chip and not by something you could have modified. Then you can send this signed “attestation” to someone else, who can use it to determine how your computer is configured and thus whether to trust it. This is called “remote attestation.”

There are some cool things you can do with remote attestation: for example, two strangers playing a networked video game together can use attestations to make sure neither is running any cheat modules. Or you could require your cloud computing provider to use attestations that they aren’t stealing your data from the server you’re renting. Or if you suspect that your computer has been infected with malware, you can connect to someone else and send them an attestation that they can use to figure out whether you should trust it.

Today, there’s a cool remote attestation technology called “PrivacyPass” that replaces CAPTCHAs by having you prove to your own device that you are a human. When a server wants to make sure you’re a person, it sends a random number to your device, which signs that number along with its promise that it is acting on behalf of a human being, and sends it back. CAPTCHAs are all kinds of bad — bad for accessibility and privacy — and this is really great.

But the billions that have been thrown at remote attestation over the decades is only incidentally about solving CAPTCHAs or verifying your cloud server. The holy grail here is being able to make sure that you’re not running an ad-blocker. It’s being able to remotely verify that you haven’t disabled the bossware your employer requires. It’s the power to block someone from opening an Office365 doc with LibreOffice. It’s your boss’s ability to ensure that you haven’t modified your messaging client to disable disappearing messages before he sends you an auto-destructing memo ordering you to break the law.

And there’s a new remote attestation technology making the rounds: Google’s Web Environment Integrity, which will leverage Google’s dominance over browsers to allow websites to block users who run ad-blockers:

https://github.com/RupertBenWiser/Web-Environment-Integrity

There’s plenty else WEI can do (it would make detecting ad-fraud much easier), but for every legitimate use, there are a hundred ways this could be abused. It’s a technology purpose-built to allow rent extraction by stripping us of our right to technological self-determination.

Releasing a technology like this into a world where companies are willing to make their products less reliable, less attractive, less safe and less resilient in pursuit of rents is incredibly reckless and shortsighted. You want unauthorized bread? This is how you get Unauthorized Bread:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/amp/

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

[Image ID: The interior of a luxury car. There is a dagger protruding from the steering wheel. The entertainment console has been replaced by the text 'You wouldn't download a car,' in MPAA scare-ad font. Outside of the windscreen looms the Matrix waterfall effect. Visible in the rear- and side-view mirror is the driver: the figure from Munch's 'Scream.' The screen behind the steering-wheel has been replaced by the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.']

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

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

[purinipod]

what would dating them be like? pt. 2

ft toji + nanami

author’s note: part one | part three

𐙚 toji fushiguro

• first impressions: toji feels like someone who doesn’t care about fitting in—or about much at all. he’s the guy leaning against a wall, completely detached, with an air of indifference that’s frustratingly intriguing. he’s not trying to charm anyone, but his casual confidence and sharp gaze make you wonder what’s going on in his head.

• dates: toji doesn’t plan elaborate dates; his style is more “let’s go where the night takes us.” he might grab street food with you and eat it on the hood of his car or take you to a quiet, overlooked spot where you can just talk—or not. he enjoys the simplicity of being with you, no frills needed.

• pet names: toji doesn’t overdo pet names. he might throw out “babe” or “princess” with a smirk, but he’s more likely to use your name in a way that feels intimate. when he’s in a softer mood, he might surprise you with something sweet like “wifey”

• interactions: toji loves to provoke you in subtle ways, just to see how you’ll react. he’s quick with sarcastic remarks, but there’s an underlying warmth in how he treats you. he’s not overly expressive, but he shows his care in small ways—keeping a hand on your lower back in a crowd or remembering details you didn’t even realize you mentioned.

• what you argue about: you’d argue about how he’s always busy with work or disappearing for long stretches without giving you a proper explanation. toji tends to prioritize his job above everything else, which can make you feel like you’re playing second fiddle. he’ll brush off your frustration with, “it’s not personal,” but it’s hard not to feel left out when he won’t share what’s keeping him so occupied. even when he’s around, he might seem distracted or preoccupied, which could lead to tensions about his lack of balance between work and personal life.

𐙚 nanami kento

• first impressions: nanami gives off an aura of calm and responsibility. he’s the type who seems like he has his life together—polished, focused, and unshakably reliable. when you first meet him, you might think he’s too serious, but his quiet intensity and sharp attention to detail draw you in. there’s a warmth beneath his reserved nature that slowly becomes more apparent the longer you spend time with him.

• dates: nanami’s idea of a date is thoughtful and intimate. he’s the kind to surprise you with handwritten poems, tucked into your bag or left on your pillow, expressing his affection in the most genuine way. he enjoys quiet evenings with dinner at home, maybe a walk through a park, or just sitting together with coffee, talking about life. he’s not big on grand gestures, but he makes up for it with his quiet, consistent care.

• pet names: nanami’s pet names are simple but meaningful, like “pretty girl” or just your name. he doesn’t often call you anything extravagant, but when he does, it’s always said with such sincerity that it feels special every time.

• interactions: nanami’s interactions are gentle and considerate. he listens to you intently, makes you feel heard, and has a calm way of reassuring you when you’re stressed. his affection shows through in small actions—like bringing you your favorite snack or pausing everything just to share a quiet moment. he’s the type who expresses love in the way he treats you, with respect and tenderness.

• what you argue about: you’d argue about his habit of not taking care of himself. despite his meticulous nature, he tends to overwork himself, sacrificing sleep and self-care for the sake of responsibilities. you’d get frustrated with him for pushing himself too hard and not listening to his body when it needs rest. he tends to dismiss your concerns with a “I’m fine,” but it’s clear to you that he’s wearing himself down, and it can be difficult to get him to slow down. your arguments would come from a place of care, wanting him to take better care of himself, but he might resist because he feels responsible for everything around him.

@purinipod pls don’t steal or translate any of my work

[cressidagrey]

The Queen of Romantasy and the Race Car Prince - Chapter 10

Pairing: Lando Norris x Elizabeth "Lizzie" Treshton (Original Character)

Summary:

Elizabeth Treshton—bestselling romantasy author, queen of fae heartbreak, and sworn devotee of a carefully structured routine—never expected her service dog to abandon protocol and diagnose a Formula 1 driver with something. But that’s exactly what happens when Mara the wonder-dog ditches Lizzie’s side to aggressively alert to none other than Lando Norris in the middle of a coffee shop.

Warnings and Notes: 

Mention of epilepsy and service animals. I don't myself suffer from epilepsy, so I asked my IRL friend, who thankfully was nice enough to let me ask her all the questions I could come up with. The rest I asked Reddit. So everything that's wrong...that's totally my fault and not on purpose.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Lizzie stepped out of her building and stopped dead in her tracks.

Parked at the curb, looking obnoxiously shiny and way too clean, was a brand-new Range Rover. Like, brand new. As in, it still had that fresh-off-the-lot aura and possibly even the smell.

She took a few steps closer, her eyes wide in disbelief. It was...quite something. The shiny silver paint glittered in the afternoon sun, and the rims looked expensive, too expensive. Like, the kind of expensive that made her cringe a little, wondering just how much money Lando had spent on this.

Lando was leaning against the hood, hands in his pockets, looking way too pleased with himself. He grinned as soon as he saw her. “Morning.”

Lizzie narrowed her eyes. “Tell me that’s a rental.”

Lando’s grin widened. “It’s not.”

Lizzie felt like banging her head against a wall. Why, oh why, did he have to be so stupidly rich? "You bought it, didn't you?" she asked, her voice a mix of annoyance and disbelief.

Lando opened the passenger door for her, completely unbothered. “You said you needed a four-seater.”

Lizzie looked at him, then at the car, then back at him. “So your solution was to buy a whole Range Rover??”

 “I needed one,” Lando said simply.

Lizzie scoffed, hauling Mara’s travel bag over her shoulder as the Labrador hopped into the backseat. “You did not need one. You just didn’t want to admit you didn’t have a single practical car.”

Lando shrugged, as if it was the most logical thing in the world. "It's a good car. Safe, reliable, plenty of space for Mara."

Lizzie crossed her arms, trying to hold back a sigh. This man was absolutely maddening. "And you couldn't have rented one, like a normal person?"

Lando raised an eyebrow, a smirk on his lips. "Where's the fun in that?" He was clearly enjoying her reaction, the bastard.

Lizzie glanced around the interior as she got in. The thing was so pristine it didn’t even look lived in. “How long have you had this?”

Lando started the engine, the sound of the purring engine filling the air. "Just bought it yesterday."

Lizzie gaped at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

Lando turned to her, smirking. “Yeah? And?”

Lizzie shook her head, unable to stop smiling. “It’s kinda endearing.”

Lando wiggled his eyebrows. “I knew it.”

Lizzie rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were warm as she settled into the definitely-not-rented passenger seat of Lando’s definitely-bought-on-a-whim Range Rover.

"Besides, now I have a car to chauffeur you and Mara around," Lando said proudly.

Lizzie bit back a laugh. "Oh, so now you're my chauffeur?"

Lando glanced over, grinning. "Who else can say they have a F1 driver as their personal chauffeur?"

Lizzie rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Very witty."

She settled back into her seat, enjoying the feeling of the luxurious leather against her skin. "So, where to, chauffeur?"

"London," Lando answered easily. "I got us a hotel near Hyde Park. You know, for Mara."

"That was....really thoughtful," she conceded.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Of course it was. I'm thoughtful. I'm thoughtful and rich and handsome." He winked at her.

Lizzie raised an eyebrow. "You sure you didn't get the penthouse suite, too?" she asked, only half-joking.

Lando merely shrugged, not even trying to deny it. "Only the best for my girls."

The casual way he said it, referring to her as 'my girls' sent a flurry of warm, fuzzy feelings swirling around in her chest. 

He had indeed gone for the Penthouse. At a hotel that she was pretty sure was fancier than even the ones she got when she was on her usual reading journeys.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Lizzie said, trying and failing to sound exasperated.

Lando gave her a lopsided smile, clearly enjoying himself. "Yeah, but you like me anyway."

"I love you," she blurted out.

The air in the room suddenly felt charged. Lando’s eyes flicked to her, his expression softening, the smirk gone.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. “You do?” he asked, his voice low and quiet.

Lizzie held his gaze, her heart pounding. "Of course I do," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "You're infuriating, and extravagant, and impossible, but I love you anyway."

Lando's hand closed around hers, and he lifted it, brushing his lips against her knuckles. "Good," he murmured. "Because I love you, too."

Lizzie had faced a lot of nerve-wracking moments in her life.

The first time she had to pitch her book to an editor.

The first time she stood in front of a crowd for a live reading.

The time she accidentally ended up sitting next to a literal royal at a publishing gala and tried very hard to act normal about it.

But somehow, meeting Lando’s best friend felt just as intimidating.

It wasn’t that she thought Max Fewtrell would be mean—Still, she didn’t have much time to overthink it before Lando knocked on the apartment door.

Max opened it a second later, and his eyes barely even landed on her before immediately locking onto Mara—who, because she was the world’s most dramatic dog, was proudly wearing her Ferrari bandana.

Max blinked.

Then he burst out laughing.

“Mate.” His voice was filled with delight. “You were not joking when you said your girlfriend is a Ferrari fan. How is that going for you, McLaren Driver?"

Lando rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Ha ha, very funny," he said, but there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

Max's gaze shifted to Lizzie, and his laughter subsided into a warm smile. "You must be Lizzie, then? I'm Max Fewtrell. This is already isso much better than I expected,” he said as he closed the door behind them.

Lizzie smiled nervously, trying to ignore the way her palms suddenly felt sweaty. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Max stepped forward, pulling her into a friendly hug. “It’s great to finally meet the woman that’s putting up with Lando's bullshit.”

From the couch, a woman with dark blonde  hair—Pietra, Max’s girlfriend, presumably—laughed. “Oh, this is already fun.”

Lando gave them both a mock glare. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked, his arm sliding automatically around Lizzie's waist.

Max threw him a smirk. "Don't act like you're not a handful, mate."

Lizzie leaned into Lando's side, feeling a little more at ease. It was somewhat reassuring to know that Lando's friends found his antics just as endearing as she did.

Pietra jumped up from the couch, walking over and pulling Lizzie into a tight hug. "Ignore those two. It's wonderful to meet you! Lando has talked a lot about you."

"Yeah, especially since he finally managed to ask you out," Max said drily.

Lando shot Max a glare, which only made the latter smirk wider.

"Only took him three months." Max added.

But before Lando could change the subject, Lizzie turned to him with a sudden realization.

“Wait,” she said, narrowing her eyes. "That wasn't the first time you were in that cafe?"

Lando stiffened. “Uh—”

Max let out a noise of excitement. “Oh my God, you haven’t told her?”

“Told me what?” Lizzie demanded.

Pietra grinned, leaning forward like this was the best entertainment she’d seen all week.

“Mate, three months,” Max announced, grinning. “He sat in that café for three months just staring at you like some lovesick teenager.”

Lizzie’s jaw dropped.

She turned to Lando. “You did not.”

Lando rubbed a hand over his face, groaning. “I hate you, Max.”

But Max was thrilled. “Oh, he did. He'd go there to buy his aily coffee even when he could have gotten that at the MTC and then he bought overpriced pastries that he pawned off to unsuspecting McLaren Engineers."

Lando shot Max a withering look. "You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"

Max shrugged, completely unapologetic. "What can I say? It was hilarious to watch.”

Lando, red-faced and clearly miserable, mumbled, “I was going to say something. Eventually."

Max snorted. “Not in this century, mate.”

Lizzie bit her lip, trying to fight her grin. She reached out, threading her fingers through Lando’s and squeezing his hand.

“Three months, huh?” she said, looking at him fondly. “You really liked me.”

Lando sighed, resigned to his fate.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I really did.”

[leesleelee]

Undercover Connection.

Billy hargrove x mechanic! male reader.

You, a senior in highschool works at Hawkins local mechanic shop, where Billy brings his Camaro for repair after a particularly reckless night. But your calm demeanor intrigues him.

CW: strong language, mild violence, implied abuse, smoking, emotional vulnerability, tense situations, minor injury(s), soft romance.

word count: 3,163

Sometimes the people you meet are a blessing or a lesson learned.

You were quiet but you were also skilled. This is how you got a part-time job at the Hawkins mechanic. Being reliable and skillful was rare, like a blessing.

People knew you were reliable with cars, and also keeping things to yourself. Preferring the quiet hum of engines over the noise of high school drama.

Your quiet demeanor is nothing compared to Billy Hargrove. He was hot-headed. Unbearable. Reckless. You two were complete opposites.

It was a Friday after school, the sun was hotter than usual. It felt unbearable, every sweat that went down your face felt like a bullet. Your face read nothing, like it always was.

But your brain was a jumple of thoughts clashing into each other.

You were working on an old pick up truck. You were too busy on tightening the bolt on the old pick up truck.

As you were too focused on working on the truck, the bell above the garage door jingles sharply, cutting through the rhythmtic hum of tools and clanking metal.

You notice Billy Hargrove stride in. But your attention was focused on working on the truck. Why should you give all of your attention on some dick head at school? Yes, Billy Hargrove was very pretty. His plump lips wrapped around his cigarette made you question things.

But that doesn't make up the fact he's a reckless selfish dick.

Billy's usual cocky smirk was plastered all over his face. Even though there was a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. His Camaro sat just outside, steam rising faintly from the hood, a testament from his reckless driving.

Behind the counter, you barely glanced up, you were busy with the truck. The sound of heavy boots approaching didn't faze you.

"If you're here for a quick fix, you're out of luck. I'm the only one working today, and I've got three cars ahead of yours."

This catches Billy's attention, making the curly head pause by the indifferent tone. Most people in Hawkins either flinch or try to hard to please him, but you? You don't even seem to care.

"Yeah well, my car's not exactly running right now, so you'll have to make time. Can't have Hawkins' bad boy walking everywhere, can we?" Billy sharply said as he leaned against the counter, smirking.

This makes you finally look up, raising a eyebrow as he takes in the sight of Billy. The infamous mullet that is a dirty blonde color, leather jacket, fluffy curls, pretty blue eyes, and a perpetual smirk. Everything about him just screams trouble.

You can tell he is obviously impatient.

You spoke up dryly, "Bad boy or not, your Camaro is not special. You're getting in line like everyone else." You said as you rolled your eyes in annoyance. He was starting to get on your nerves.

"What, you don't think my 'baby deserves VIP treatment?" Billy responsed to you, in a mocking tone.

You shrugged and turned back to the truck, "Your 'baby' looks like it got into a fight with a tree." You mocked at Billy back.

"Be glad I'm not telling you to scrap it." Billy just rolled his eyes at your mocking. He let out a sharp laugh, more genuine than he expected. He steps closer, peering over your shoulder as you worked.

"What's your deal, huh? You always this charming, or just saving it for me?"

"Just for you. Now either tell me what's wrong with your Camaro or find another shop." You said as you were still focused.

Billy felt his eyes narrow in response, but he doesn't argue. He's not used to being brushed off like this, and he isn't sure if this annoys him or intrigues him.

Billy started to grumble. "Engines overheating. Won't stay running for more than five minutes."

As Billy said this, you finally set down your wrench, wiping your hands on a rag in a fast motion. You step out behind the counter, motioning for Billy to follow him to the car.

"Pop the hood. Let's see if I can save this piece of junk."

Billy watches you approach the Camaro with ease that rivals his own confidence. For the first time in a while, Billy feels like he's not the one in control, and he's not sure if he minds it.

The Camaro’s hood is popped, and the garage is filled with the faint smell of oil and overheated metal. You leaned over the engine, flashlight in hand, while Billy stands off to the side, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the scene in front of him.

“When’s the last time you checked the coolant?” You said as you were focused on the engine.

Billly shrugged again in response, “What, you think I keep track of that stuff?”

You smirked faintly. “Yeah, I can tell. This thing’s running on fumes and bad decisions.” You responded, amused.

Billy raises an eyebrow, leaning casually against the workbench, Billy grinned.

“You’re real mouthy for a mechanic.”

You shot Billy a glance

“You’re real cocky for someone who can’t keep his car running.”

Billy lets out a short laugh at you, surprised by the quick comeback. He picks up a wrench from the workbench, spinning it in his hand absentmindedly.

“You always this pleasant, or is it just my lucky day?”

“Depends. You always this much of a pain?” You added as you returned to the engine, not missing a beat

Billy chuckles, the sound low and genuine, and for a moment, there’s an unspoken truce in the air. He watches as you methodically works on his car, the faint glow of the flashlight catching on the streaks of grease smudged across their cheek.

Your hair sat perfectly on you as you worked effortlessly on his car. How could someone look great while having such a, dirty job?

Billy paused for a while, “You’re good at this.”

You glanced up at him, startled by the unexpected compliment. But then you shrugged.

“Had to be. This town doesn’t exactly offer much else.”

Billy shifts, his cocky demeanor fading slightly.

“Tell me about it.” Billy added as he leaned against his car.

The garage falls into a quiet rhythm the hum of tools, the faint tapping of raindrops starting to hit the roof, and the occasional creak of the workbench as Billy leans against it.

After a while, Billy breaks the silence.

“You ever think about leaving? Like, just packing up and getting the hell out of here?”

You started to pause, glancing at Billy.

“Sure. All the time. But it’s not that simple, is it?” You said as you looked straight at him.

Billy meets your gaze, something vulnerable flickering in your eyes.

“No. It’s not.” Billy responded softly.

There’s a weight to his words, a quiet desperation that you recognize but doesn’t push. Instead, they offer a small, knowing smile and return to the task at hand.

“Well, if you ever figure out a way, let me know. I could use a ride out of here too.” You added as you chuckled.

Billy doesn’t respond right away, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward.

“Yeah. Maybe.” Billy said as he quieted down.

The moment lingers, and for the first time, Billy feels like someone understands what he’s been carrying.

—-

Over the past few days, Billy returns to the shop under the pretense of checking his car, though it's pretty clear he just wants an excuse to talk to you.

You're guys' conversations start out casual but then gradually start to turn more personal. And you start to notice that Billy begins to let his guard down. Which surprises' you.

The big bad boy starting to be vulnerable to you? And you guys aren't even friends..

The rain has grown heavier, pounding against the roof of the garage in a steady rhythm. You start wiping grease from your hands with a rag while Billy sits on the workbench, idly spinning a screwdriver in his fingers. The Camaro is still half-repaired, but the tools have been set aside for the night.

It is a Tuesday after school, and a storm started not too long ago.

“Guess you’re stuck here for a bit. That storm’s not letting up anytime soon.” You broke the ice as you glanced at the rain.

Billy leans back and faintly smirks. “What, you offering to babysit me now?”

You shrug, leaning against the counter “Just saying. Unless you wanna swim home, you might as well get comfortable.”

Billy chuckles softly, but it doesn’t carry the usual bite. For a moment, he just watches the rain, his expression uncharacteristically thoughtful.

“Y’know… sometimes I think about driving until I run out of gas. Just… keep going until I’m somewhere else.” Billy said quietly.

You start to study him, sensing the weight behind the words.

“What’s stopping you?”

Billy’s jaw tightens, and he looks away, gripping the edge of the bench.

“Neil.” Billy pauses, then adds bitterly, “And all the other crap tying me to this place.”

You decide not to push, recognizing the name as Billy’s stepfather. Instead, you let the silence stretch, giving Billy space to continue if he wants.

Billy broke the long pause

“It’s like… no matter how hard I try to get ahead, he’s always there to remind me I’m nothing.”

You cross the room and lean against the bench beside him, your shoulder just brushing Billy’s.

“You’re not nothing. He just wants you to believe that so you don’t fight back.” You said softly.

Billy looks at you sharply, his defenses rising instinctively, but you don't flinch. Your calm, steady gaze unnerves him in a way he doesn’t understand.

Billy scoffs.“What do you know about it?”

“More than you think.” You responded as you shrugged.

Billy opens his mouth to retort but stops himself. There’s something in your tone an unspoken understanding that keeps him from snapping back. Instead, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Why are you even talking to me? Most people either hate me or keep their distance.”

You started to grin.“Maybe I’m not most people.”

Billy huffs a laugh, shaking his head, but the tension in his shoulders eases slightly.

“You’re weird.” Billy said muttering.

You started to smirk.

“Takes one to know one.”

The rain continues to fall, and for a moment, the only sound is the rhythmic drumming on the roof. You lean your head back against the wall, glancing sideways at Billy.

“You’re allowed to let your guard down, y’know. At least for a little while.” You spoke up gently.

Billy meets your gaze, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. He wants to argue, to brush off the comment, but instead, he just nods slightly.

Billy decided to speak up, barely above a whisper. “Maybe.”

The moment hangs in the air, charged but quiet. Billy’s usual bravado is gone, replaced by something raw and real.

"Here." You said as took out something out of your jeans pockets. It was a pack of cigarettes. This catches Billy's attention as you also pull out a lighter.

As Billy watches you light the cigarette, he also watches as you press the cigarette to your lips. Making Billy feel something weird inside of him. It felt like his body was on fire. A fire that he could not put out.

His gaze starts to linger on you. There was a fleeting moment of unspoken attraction.

As the silence continues, Billy stares into your eyes as you stare into his pretty blue ones. You looked at Billy fondly as you puffed smoke out of your lips.

Billy then snatched the cigarette out of your hands, looking at your beautiful (color) eyes as he took a drag. This sudden movement catches you off guard, but in a good way. It felt like he set something off in you.

Your left hand goes and twirls in Billy's dirty blonde curls. Watching him take more drags on your cigarette, making you grin for a second.

The silence was loud, but it felt amazing.

--

The rain has slowed to a steady drizzle, but neither of them has made a move to leave the garage. Billy sits on the edge of the workbench, fiddling with a lighter he pulled from his jacket pocket. You lean against the counter across from him, arms crossed as you watch Billy with quiet curiosity.

You decide to break the silence. “So, what’s your plan? Gonna sit there all night, or are you actually gonna say what’s on your mind?”

Billy glances up sharply, the lighter snapping shut in his hand.

“Who says anything’s on my mind?”

“Your whole vibe, Hargrove. You’re like a radio stuck on static.” You said smirking faintly.

Billy huffs a laugh, shaking his head.

“You’re real funny, y’know that?”

You shrug “I try.”

There’s a beat of silence before Billy speaks again, his voice softer this time.

“It’s just… different, alright? Most people look at me and either hate my guts or try to get something out of me. But you? You don’t even flinch. Why?” Billy said as he looked at you, confused.

You start to tilt your head, studying him for a moment.

“Because I don’t think the guy you show everyone else is the real you. You’re just good at pretending.” You responded calmly.

Billy freezes, the lighter in his hand forgotten. He looks away, his jaw tightening.

Billy spoke up defensely. “You don’t know me.”

“No. But I want to.”

Billy’s head snaps back toward you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of mockery. But all he finds is quiet sincerity, and it throws him off balance.

Billy gruffed, “You’re crazy, you know that?”

This just made you grin in response.

“Probably.”

The tension between you too is palpable now, the air thick with unspoken words. Billy fidgets with the lighter again, his usual cocky demeanor slipping further away.

Billy started to hesitate.

“I don’t… I don’t know how to do this. The whole… opening up thing.”

You step closer, closing the space between the two of you. You lean against the workbench beside Billy, their shoulder brushing his.

“You don’t have to figure it out all at once. Just… start with what you’re feeling right now.” You added, gently.

Billy’s gaze drops to the floor, his fingers tightening around the lighter.

Billy responded quietly, “I feel like I’m falling apart. Like I’m trying so damn hard to hold everything together, but it’s never enough.”

You didn't say anything right away, letting Billy’s words hang in the air. Instead, you reach out and place a hand on his, stopping the nervous movement of the lighter.

“You’re stronger than you think, Billy. You just don’t have to do it alone anymore.” You said with a firm tone.

Billy’s breath catches, his usual mask cracking wide open. He turns to face you fully, his blue eyes flickering with a mix of uncertainty and something deeper.

Billy, almost whispered, “Why do you care?”

“Because I see you. The real you."

Billy saw you smile faintly.

The words hang between you two for a moment before Billy leans in, hesitating just inches away from you.

“Tell me to stop.” Billy said softly.

You met his gaze. “I’m not gonna.”

That’s all the permission Billy needs. He closes the gap, his lips crashing against you in a kiss that’s both desperate and tender. For a moment, the world outside the garage—the rain, the town, everything—fades away.

When you two pull back, Billy’s breathing is unsteady, his forehead resting against your own.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” Billy said quietly.

You just grinned at this.

“Takes one to know one.”

Billy laughs softly, his hand still lingering on theirs. For the first time in what feels like forever, he feels grounded.

---

Days have past and the rain has stopped, and the first hints of dawn are peeking over the horizon. The garage is quiet except for the occasional clink of tools as you finish tightening the last bolt on Billy’s Camaro. Billy leans against the car, watching them with an expression that’s unusually soft.

You, wiping your hands on a rag speaks up,

“Alright, she’s good to go. Don’t push her too hard, though. She’s not as indestructible as you think.”

“You talking about the car or me?”. Billy responded to you as he smirked.

You grinned.

“Both.”

Billy laughs, a sound that feels lighter than usual, and you can’t help but smile back. For a moment, the two of you just stand there, the silence comfortable.

“You didn’t have to do all this, y’know.” Billy said quietly as this catches you off guard but you shrug.

“Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to.”

Billy steps closer, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

“Why?” Billy said softly.

You paused for a moment, meeting his gaze.

“Because I think there’s more to you than what everyone sees. And because… I care about you, even if you think you don’t deserve it.”

Billy’s expression falters, vulnerability flickering across his face.

“You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.” Billy added as he almost whispered.

You reach out, brushing your fingers against his.

“Well, you’re gonna hear it again. And again. As many times as it takes.”

Billy exhales sharply, almost like a laugh, and squeezes their hand.

“You’re too good for me, you know that?” Billy said as he looked into your eyes, smiling. A genuine smile.

You grinned at this.

“You’re probably right. But I’m not going anywhere, so you’re stuck with me.”

Billy shakes his head, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

“Guess I’ll have to make it worth your while, then.”

The Camaro gleams under the faint light of the garage as Billy pulls the keys from his pocket and tosses them in the air.

“C’mon. Get in.” Billy said smiling

You raised an eyebrow “What?”

“You said you wanted out of this town, right? Let’s go. Just for a drive.” Billy said as he stared right into your pretty eyes.

You start to hesitate for a moment, surprised by the offer, but then you smile and grab your jacket.

“Alright, but if your car breaks down again, you’re the one fixing it this time.”

Billy grinned. “Deal.”

You climb into the Camaro, the engine roaring to life as Billy revs it. You glance over at him, the streetlights reflecting in his eyes, and for the first time, Billy looks free.

As they pull out of the garage and onto the open road, the town fades into the background. The sky is painted with streaks of orange and pink, and the cool morning air rushes in through the windows.

You smiled, “Where are we going?”

Billy glanced over at you. “Anywhere but here.”

You lean back in the seat, the weight of the night lifting as they drive toward an uncertain future together.

---

Credits: my Billy border is made by me but the rose border is made by kodaswrld!! Go and support them🩷