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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year

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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

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pinkrelish · 2 years

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲.

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶After a lifetime of questionable decisions, you moved from the big city to the sleepy town of Hawkins with your best friend, and took the first job you saw: answering phones for the most boring auto shop in the dullest place on Earth. It wasn't exactly the adventure you wanted it to be.. but attempting to win over the jaded mechanic who insisted on ignoring your existence proved entertaining.✶

NSFW — slow burn, eventual smut, strangers to lovers, flirting, mutual pining, angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, depictions of poverty, sort of grumpy x sunshine but eddie's just tired, reader and eddie are mid-late 20's

chapter: 1/20 [wc: 5.5k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11 / 12

AO3

Chapter 1: Surprise, Surprise

“Yes.” A simple answer which spawned as many awkward scenarios, as it did great ones. Your name was spray painted on the side of a bridge, you spent nights learning to tango on abandoned rooftops, the amount of tales you accrued of bad dates could fill a self-help book.

Whatever the question was, the answer was “yes.” Life was more exciting that way.

Well, your policy usually lended itself to exciting adventures, anyway.

Currently, you were sat behind a desk with your boss, Mr. Moore, who slouched on his black stool with his cheek propped on his fist, pointing a pencil at a customer’s pink invoice sheet in front of you, explaining who to call in the spiral-bound catalog for the parts to be shipped.

The tall counter top partially obscured the both of you from employees and customers alike, but as you soon realized, the number of employees was slightly above two, and the customers even less; and if any of them paid you any mind, you couldn’t tell from the disorienting mix of exhaust fumes, dirty oil, and grease wafting in from the glass door on the left.

Thus began the first day of your new job at David’s Auto Repair. Boring.

————

Your second and third days were hardly different. Arriving at the butt crack of dawn and beginning the routine that definitely wasn’t in the ad in the newspaper: clean the bathrooms (hey, at least they had two), start the coffee pot after scrubbing off years of neglect caked onto the inside, and organize the paperwork Mr. Moore left for you in his office.

Oh, and most importantly, after locking up your bike outside the front door, you made your way through the echoey workshop and poked your head out the back door to the parking lot–which, by all means, was a gravel alleyway with overgrown trees blocking your view beyond the sleek black car parked next to the dumpster.

“Morning!” you greeted the one employee who arrived early and stayed late. “Eddie, right?”

The man leaning against the gray brick wall didn’t bother acknowledging you. Didn’t lift his head from its dropped back position, nor open his eyes. Definitely didn’t take the cigarette out of his mouth to bestow you the gift of his chipper attitude, nor did he uncross his arms to offer you the bare minimum wave.

And much like the other days, you sat perched behind your desk and beamed up at him as he walked past you to the break room. And as usual, he slid his gaze to you. And like normal, he didn’t say anything.

But he did hold your eye contact for a fraction of a second longer, albeit, he looked a bit frightened when he did, as if he were suspicious of your smile.

You listened to the clunk of his heavy boots fade down the hallway, then return with him holding a mug of coffee.

This time, as he walked by, he remained vigilant, and your grin went ignored by his stupid big brown eyes surrounded by envious lashes.

Lucky you, the reception area was essentially a glass cage. Behind the black pleather seats for customers was the glowing blue sky, and beside you were floor to ceiling windows showcasing the artificially bright garage where the man in grease stained coveralls twisted gaudy rings off his fingers and placed them on a tray with his coffee, before picking up a dirty rag and popping open the hood of the car he worked on past closing last night.

“You’re welcome for the coffee,” you mumbled in a mocking tone, sneering at his red name patch–Eddie. “Jerk.”

————

Friday was different. You locked up your bike, chucked your backpack into your chair behind the desk, and made your way to the back of the garage for the routine, “Good morning.”

For some reason, you decided to reveal your whole self; more than your head stuck out the door, or rising above the countertop customers leaned on when trying to schmooze deals on parts–hell if you knew how to do that, anyway. You didn’t get paid enough to bargain.

You stepped onto the uneven gravel and surveyed the scenery, looking both ways down the alley to the major roads on either side leading to the heart of downtown Hawkins. Absolutely dismally silent. Void of life. Except for the small things you never noticed, like faraway birds, the hum of a distant motor, buzzing bugs before they disappeared for the cooler months. You felt the dew settling on your forearms, and swore you could smell impending rain on the cloudless day.

“Is it always this quiet?” you asked, face pinched in confusion as you took it all in. “I swear I can hear my own thoughts.”

Eddie may not have appreciated your joke, but he did surprise you.

He kept one of his arms crossed over his stomach, and took the cigarette from between his lips to flick the ashes. “You’re not from around here, are you?” he asked the dilapidated fence across from him.

Feeling cheeky, you schooled the thrill out of your voice from getting a response out of him, and said, “What gave it away?”

A drag on his cigarette was his wordless answer. Fair.

“I’m from New York.” The implied City followed without clarification. “Just moved here last week. My roommate’s from Hawkins, and she had to move back to help take care of her parents. They’re older and her dad has some health problems, and yeah, I couldn’t afford rent on my own, so you know, why not. Why not follow her to a town so small it’s impossible to find on a map.”

All your talking earned you a magnificent thing. Eddie finally opened his eyes, if only to pin you with a mild glare, and a skeptic pinch between his brows.

He said more to himself than you, “You must really like your roommate to come here.” The inflection at the end was both amusement and contempt, no doubt.

“We met in our first year of college and became best friends like that–!” You snapped. “Both theater kids going to school for acting, and we later made a comedy troupe with a few other people. When she asked if I wanted to move with her, I said ‘yes.’” Inclining your upper body towards him, you explained, “It’s sorta my thing. If anyone asks me anything, I say ‘yes.’ Obviously, I can veto shit that’s dangerous or crosses any boundaries, but it’s my policy to try everything. Life makes better stories that way.”

Your unique brand of wisdom furthered his obvious distaste for you.

Eddie inhaled his vice until the orange glow burned to the filter. Smoke fell from his mouth in a rush as if he were about to speak again, but he didn’t. He merely stared at you. And if he were having a staring contest, he won.

“Well, have a good day, then,” you said, spinning on the toe of your shoe.

You sat in your glass zoo for the day shuffling papers, making calls, and filling out forms. Most definitely not talking to the guy who appeared annoyed at your very existence.

Unfortunately for him, Hawkins was tiny and the pickings were slim.

Maybe it was his eyes, or the way the short layers of his choppy hair cut escaped his low bun to curl themselves in face-framing waves, or the fact he was twenty-years younger than the other two mechanics, but you took a liking to Eddie, much to his dismay. And due to your affinity for his annoyance, you noticed the subtle changes in his appearance sooner than you should.

————

Dark purple circles announced the lack of sleep under Eddie’s eyes before the bags could. Bloodshot and struggling to open past a sliver, he sucked down half his cigarette before the routine minutes of peace he carved into his strict schedule were interrupted by the newest knot in his muscles.

“Good morning!” you said.

“Morning,” he returned without thinking about it. Rookie mistake.

You stood closer this time, inching down the brick wall, approaching him as if he would startle like a wild animal to get a better look at the years wearing heavy on the fine lines etched into his face. Perhaps no longer ‘fine.’

“You good?”

He didn’t have the energy to put up his usual front. With his chin dipped to his chest, he kept his eyes closed, nearly drifting to sleep as he muttered, “Long night.”

“Ah.”

Your clumsy shuffling alerted him to your movement, and he reluctantly observed you standing a few feet in front of him, rocking on your heels. He filled his chest with an incredulous sigh before you even spoke.

“You seem like you could use some cheering up,” you beamed. “I could juggle for you! Should I do three or four?” Eddie’s jaw went slack, and the cigarette stuck to the wetness inside his chapped lips. You bent down to gather large rocks into your palms, opting for four when he didn’t answer.

You stood up and stepped back. Made a big show of tracing invisible arcs above your head with your gaze, readying your hands. Sucking in a breath. Building suspense while his expression slowly crept into one of tempered curiosity.

Tensing, you tossed all four rocks into the air, and made a genuine effort to catch them before they fell unceremoniously around you, bouncing off the gravel in your scramble.

Clasping your hands behind your back in feigned shyness, you announced, “I don’t know how to juggle.”

For a moment you thought he was going to continue to regard you as if you were a bug in his coffee.. Then his veneer cracked.

He snorted. The cute way, when someone’s trying to suppress it. A subtle shake in their shoulders, keeping their head down, and their smile hidden behind the heel of the palm.

Eddie hugged his arm tighter over his chest, and chastised himself, “Why’d I let that get me.”

And truly, when he flicked his gaze to you with the lopsided remnant of his grin, you were imprinted with the heat of his wonderment, and your body remembered that feeling. Sensing it later when you sat at your desk, tapping your pencil, rattling off a series of numbers and letters for engine parts, and you snuck a coy look over the phone at the exact moment Eddie turned around to ask Carl for a wrench instead of getting it himself from the tool box near the window.

And he felt your stare during lunch when you promised an irate customer their car would be ready by the end of business hours, and hung up the phone with the type of heavy-handedness one used when implying a ‘fuck you’ without stating it.

You pushed yourself from the desk and went to the fridge in front of the circular table in the break room, eyeing Eddie’s odd choice as you walked by. A bologna sandwich–fairly normal–but also a stained orange tupperware container with an array of dried out microwaved leftovers. A corner of spaghetti, pale instant mashed potatoes with three peas stuck on top, unidentifiable sludge that may have been beef stew at one point, and a handful of Kraft mac n cheese.

Pitiful amounts of food that most people would’ve thrown out.

Not that you should judge. Your lunch was the blandest rice-based meal your roommate’s mom made the night before. The woman had never heard of salt, much less other spices, but she was letting you live in their attic for free until you and Bobbie found a place to live.

Breaking your chain of thoughts, you smiled at Eddie on your way out.

He didn’t look up from his paperwork.

Wholly ignored.

————

Over the rest of the month, you learned there wasn’t a definitive pattern to which days of the week were hardest for Eddie, but it was clear when he was enduring the worst.

As the evenings grew cooler, you left the lobby door open, and in doing so, were wise to the bite in his words, the edge to his voice. The quick apologies to Carl when he let his frustration show. The fluidity of ‘fucks’ flying past his mouth, the way he wrung his nape while staring into the distance, and the lurking stress of bottled emotions causing his teeth to grind.

He approached you with concern spurned from the windows being painted black with night.

“You don’t have to stay behind, you know that, right?” Eddie got your attention in the doorway. You blinked at him, still seeing the words of the book you were reading swim past your vision. “I have a set of keys. I can lock up when I’m done.”

It was the most he’d said to you in two weeks. Three entire sentences composed of more words than he’d uttered if you added them all up since your juggling stunt.

“I don’t mind.”

A meager response which resulted in a standoff.

Eddie wasted no time bunching his shoulders at your defiance. He left streaky fingerprints on the door handle as he reached for his neck, and tucked his fingers under his collar to run his thumb along his chain necklace in a self-soothing gesture. A layer of grime coated his skin. His disheveled hair stuck to his sweaty, dirty neck. The front of his coveralls were blackened with grease, as was the white tank top he wore underneath, peeking above the unfastened top snap.

On the other hand, you overturned your palms and glanced around the barren room. “Is it really that much of a bother that I’m sitting in here being quiet?” you drawled.

“Yes.” Automatic irritation.

“It’s not like I have somewhere to be.”

“Don’t have a comedy routine to rehearse with your roommate?” he intoned in complete monotony.

“Ha-ha,” you replied, just as emotionless. You thought about correcting him in regards to you and Bobbie no longer doing stand up, but decided to grab your backpack and leave without putting up a fight. His concern about you staying late may not be genuine, but it was evident he wanted–or needed–you gone. You didn’t want to push his boundaries when he showed this level of discomfort, especially when the burden of fatigue wore beyond acceptable exhaustion, and he was ready to snap, no matter how hard he tried to quell it.

You surrendered, “Bye, Eddie.”

No reply.

In total darkness, you unchained your bike and hopped on, pedaling past the mailbox when you heard the thunderous slams of the service doors being lowered shut.

And you made it to the edge of the trees before coming to a screeching halt in the middle of the empty street, cracking your neck at the speed of which you whipped around to gawk.

Your heartbeat skipped, then timed itself with the extreme drum beat and opening wail of a guitar accompanied by high-pitched screamed lyrics.

The music may have been muffled, and the inside fluorescent lights struggled to penetrate the dense fog from the upper warehouse windows, but it was as if Eddie was subjecting the desolate parking lot to his own personal Judas Priest concert, hearing be damned.

You didn’t even know the dusty radio in the shop worked. But whatever helped him blow off steam, you supposed.

————

Today was a good day.

Eddie liked Fridays. Most people working weekdays did, but when he came inside early from his morning cigarette, and you hadn’t finished sweeping the shop, he made a point to idle around the orange car at the center, seeking your attention and offering an apology. Not a spoken apology, mind you. But it was rare he initiated eye contact, and when he did it with the purpose of showing deference in his softened features, you understood.

You forgave him with a gentle lift at the corner of your lips for an incident yesterday afternoon, wherein he grunted at you to leave him alone when you were telling him about one of the plays you and Bobbie acted in. Sometimes you required your own reminder of when you were being annoying, and gave him an apologetic smile for bothering him. He nodded. All was right with the world. All was forgiven and now he could get to work.

He wiped his hands down the sides of his coveralls, and leaned his upper half through the open car window to reach the latch for the hood.

The perfect opportunity to mess with him presented itself in all its glory. But first, you couldn’t resist taking a long.. long look at his backside, head tilted, mouth more than a little hung open.

“Huh?” He nearly banged his head on the roof, rounding on you with the sharpest glare in the Midwest.

Under the guise of perfect innocence, you kept brushing the broom over his work boots and toward the dust pan. “Sorry, sir, just doin’ my job. Gotta clean up the filth.”

“An actress and a comedian, huh?” he posed, allowing his smirk to foster as he gripped the edge of the door. “Gonna tell me you were a clown, next?”

“Actually..” You were interrupted by Carl coming in, followed by the near-retired Kevin who worked two days a week.

You greeted them loud and proud, overdoing it in the joy department at the ripe morning hour. Asking about Carl’s wife, and Kevin’s dog; really laying it on thick for the purpose of sending a message to the looming ghoul behind you: I’m annoying you on purpose now.

Still, as you entered the lobby, you caught sight of the sneaky grin on his face before he turned his back to you. A tight-lipped thing he was clearly trying to rid himself of while pulling his hair back into a low bun, and taking the time to tie up a bandana to keep everything out of his face, thus losing his security blanket from the world perceiving he wasn’t in a permanent bad mood.

And of course, Eddie kept up his act through lunch. Stomping through the lobby in that way people did when they were so very obviously trying to appear aloof, and coming across as anything but. Eyes staring straight ahead, but too wide and too aware to not be soliciting a reaction from their periphery. Chest out, muscles flexed. Posture the very opposite of casual, causing them to walk in a stilted manner like a robot.

And his charade continued when he came back from the break room, rounding the corner with softer steps. Slower. Hanging onto the precious milliseconds where your back was to him, and he could absorb your image freely without being noticed. Then, he lifted his chin and returned to his project, pretending you weren’t there.

Yep, so painfully obvious when he forgot reflections existed and you were surrounded by glass.

~~~

Fridays were the days he anticipated most. Work was grueling, and he had many things to finish before the break for the weekend, but he didn’t mind staying late. He preferred it.

Fridays meant he could rely on someone else handling the stressors at home, and he was free to earn his late hours at the garage, indulging in his loud music, and unwinding the constant state of tension lurking beneath the surface. It was the only way he knew how to cope. To stay sane.

Yeah, he loved Fridays. Until a surprise came running at him in her tiny pink shoes.

Eddie screwed his eyes shut and exhaled a long, hard breath through his nose.

“Sorry,” came Wayne’s earnest apology as his nephew wilted; shoulders sagging, head hung. Tapping the wrench he was holding on his thigh. Trying his best to keep it together. “Don’t mean to drop ‘er off on you, but work called me in, so I came here after picking her up.”

Turning away from the engine he was installing, Eddie assumed his authoritative voice, but it came out as a weary sigh. “Adrienne, you know the rules,” he warned lowly, “No running in the shop.” After a beat, he corrected himself. “I mean, no being in the shop at all!”

She giggled as she skipped away from him, sloppy pigtails bouncing with mirth, plastic glittery shoes slapping the concrete floor where a myriad of items she could trip on laid.

“Adrie!” He called out, but she was too busy opposing him to pay attention.

Lucky for her, a certain receptionist caught her by the shoulders before she crashed into a rogue tire.

“Whoa there, little Miss!”

You looked to Eddie for further instruction on what to do with the girl currently laughing up a storm at your feet, but he was frozen. A bit paler, and wringing the back of his neck. Unable to articulate any of the broken consonants on his tongue as he stared at you. You switched your gaze to the older man beside him, but he was equally confused as to why Eddie was having trouble speaking.

Addressing anyone who would like to volunteer an answer, you asked, “And who’s this?”

“This.. This i-is my daughter. She, I, Goddamnit–I’m sorry, can you take her inside? I swear she’ll be quiet. Right, Adrie?”

Seeing the pure desperation settle around his eyes, you assimilated into the role of babysitter, wanting to alleviate his anxiety despite the sudden surge of your own. You held your hand out for her to take, and she did so without a second thought, grasping onto you with her little fingers and standing up, being the one to lead you to your desk.

As the door closed behind you, you overheard the older man clear his throat under the strain of bad news. “The water heater is broken again, and I couldn’t– ..Before I had to leave.”

Their private conversation was sealed behind the glass. You didn’t care to eavesdrop. It was too heartbreaking watching Eddie frantically catch his fingers on his bandana before removing it so he could tangle his curls into his fist, tugging them over his face as he groaned in a fruitless effort to hide himself from the world.

But on the subject of his brunette waves..

His daughter had the same curl pattern. Almost the same cut, too. Clearly Eddie was the acting barber of the family. Something you’d find adorable if it wasn’t for the pang of rejection in your stomach.

Daughter. Family.

The words repeated themselves in your head as your eyes wandered to the black tray beside the tool cabinet. He wore several large rings. Lots of jewelry, in fact, but you couldn’t remember if any of them were a wedding band, and the embarrassment of developing a crush on a married man for weeks without taking two seconds to cross reference his left hand burned your cheeks hot.

“Hi,” his daughter said cutely, swaying from foot to foot while holding two of your fingers.

You crouched to her level. “Wanna draw while we wait?” She nodded, sucking on the tip of her thumb.

Steadying your spinny office chair while she climbed into it, you made sure she was comfortable before bringing out the black stool from Mr. Moore’s office, and sitting next to her. You opened your backpack, flipped to a clean sheet in your sketchpad, and presented it to her along with your colored pencils.

“Hmm, what should we draw?”

Adrie snatched the bubblegum pink color, and began her masterpiece. “Mrs. Teresa read us a book about a mouse.”

Thank God she said it was a mouse, because you didn’t want to be the one to guess what the two oblong circles on the page were.

Adorably, she filled you in on the parts of the story she remembered, and added a triangle of yellow cheese under the mouse, then waited for you to prompt another thing to draw. You followed the nocturnal theme and asked for an owl. She hesitated on what colors to choose, and you helped her pick out the shades of brown and tan.

“How old are you?” you asked while she inundated her bird with too many feathers.

“Four-and-a-half,” she said proudly. “How old are you?”

You raised your brows. “Certainly not four-and-a-half.”

At some point, your arm had wrapped itself around her. Maybe to help shift her closer to the desk. Maybe to collect her in a pseudo-hug when she completed her art. Maybe to let Eddie know everything was okay when he craned his neck to check on you while conversing with the man outside, and you put on your best face, grinning at the story his daughter reenacted about a cartoon she watched that morning at preschool.

“What next? What next?”

“Let’s see.. Can you draw me a bat?”

She was more sure of herself, grabbing the black pencil and outlining an entire colony of bats mid-flight with more attention to detail. “My daddy has bats.”

“He has bats?” you questioned, sweeping loose hair out of her face.

She pointed to her elbow.

Thinking on it for a moment, you perked up. “Oh! He has tattoos?” She recognized the word, nodding vigorously. “Interesting, interesting.”

She’d hardly begun to fill in their wings when Eddie opened the door, and held up the comically small backpack slung on his arm, signaling it was time to leave.

You helped her down from the chair, and she excused herself to the bathroom, which only contributed to the awkward silence when she disappeared down the hall and Eddie was forced to wait at your desk.

It didn’t have to be analyzed, nor stated. The reality.

He had an entire life outside of work.

Duh. Of course he did, but still. It was one he never shared with you. Not like you earned the privilege to know, or to be included in anything he didn’t want to divulge, but with how private he was, it came as a surprise.

Invoking the thousands of dollars you spent on acting classes, you moved on, and kept your tone light, “The butterfly backpack suits you. Not sure about the color, though. Bright pink clashes with your navy blue outfit.”

Tough crowd.

His sulky demeanor permeated in his dull gaze trained on his stained sleeves. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Dumping her on you like that. Normally my uncle has the day off work and can take care of her, but he’s gotta go in because someone called out sick, so, yeah..”

If it were at all appropriate, you would reach across the countertop to soothe him from picking at his torn cuticles. But it wasn’t appropriate. So you didn’t.

You locked your hands behind your head and leaned back in your chair. “Funnily enough, I worked a brief stint as a clown for children’s birthday parties, so I’m actually quite comfortable entertaining them.”

“I’m shocked,” he said, void of shock. Finding the strength to lift his eyes from the animals she drew on your sketchpad to the encouraging curve of your lips, he tried to match your grin, but it fell flat. “At least you can go home on time today.”

You sucked in a breath for a quick retort, but Adrie interrupted you in her tiny voice, “Daddy! I can’t reach the sink!” And maybe that was for the best before you humiliated yourself more.

Because, the truth of the matter was, you always had the ability to go home on time. It was only because Eddie stayed behind that you made excuses to sit at your desk past your scheduled hours, prattling off some nonsense about memorizing the catalog.

“C’mon,” he said to his daughter, supporting her on his hip. “Let’s get going.” His tone wasn’t unkind, but it wasn’t exactly patient, either. The creeping exhaustion he kept under wraps was breaking through. Stress fractures in the mask he wore around others. The sanity he gripped for dear life for the sake of Adrie.

He caught the empathetic pinch between your brows, and used the last of his energy to turn so his daughter could see you. “Say ‘bye,’ and ‘thank you’ for playing, Adrie.”

She waved with the same enthusiasm as a golden retriever wagging their tail. “Bye! Thank you!”

“Bye, Adrie,” you laughed. “Bye, Eddie.”

Like usual, he didn’t respond. Today that was okay.

————

Eddie was on the verge. He was trembling, failing to loosen a bolt on the water heater to investigate why it broke–again–when his hair was yanked–again–and his knuckles scraped a bent piece of metal–again.

He was kneeling on his kitchen floor, craving nothing more than a shower to wash away the work week until his skin burned, but he was not afforded the simple luxury.

No relaxation. Not for him. No one to call on when Wayne was gone. This was his life to fix. On his own.

After repairing cars all day, he was exhausted. Touched out. But Adrie needed something from him, something he couldn’t understand with his tired mind. All he wanted was a break. All he needed was a break from her using his coveralls to scale his body. All he sought was the energy to deal with her pulling his hair.

But he was not spared the fortune.

“Adrie, please,” he resorted to begging. And when she didn’t stop, he withdrew his arms from the closet, and pried her hands off his hair, peeling her away and setting her on the floor.

She made to grab him again, but he used his waning strength to squeeze her arms to her sides, giving her his full attention she fought for.

“Can I get you a snack? Or put something on the TV? Do you want a nap?” He listed off anything, shaking and desperate.

“I wanna play with Daddy.”

Guilt amplified the shame.

He was a shit dad. He knew. He did his best and it was never good enough.

“I know you do,” the words fluctuated in the wake of water stinging his eyes. “I know you do, but Daddy needs to fix this. I can make you a snack and you can eat it in the living room. How ‘bout that?” Under normal circumstances, that wasn’t allowed. She had a penchant for dropping sticky food on the carpet–which was just another thing he’d have to get around to cleaning–but he was willing to bend the rules for the promise of a shower.

Adrienne thought about his offer for a long while, and settled on his deal.

And yet, it was hours.. hours until he was able to sit down.

The water heater required more service than he initially thought, and his daughter wasn’t entertained by herself for very long. She came to him in intervals of minutes, climbing up his back and hanging from his neck. He stopped caring. He didn’t have it within him. He made sure she was safe, and that was it.

He fed her a dreadful dinner, and she was so happy for her overcooked noodles in pasta sauce. He saved the leftovers. Put them in the nearly-empty fridge and took out two beers for himself, cracking the tops before sinking into the couch.

Adrienne stood between his legs while he wrapped her in her favorite blanket, and placed her in his lap. The top half of his coveralls were tied by the sleeves around his waist. No matter how dirty he was, this was how they ended the night. Him staring blankly at the TV, and her cheek on his chest, ear pressed to his white tank top, listening to his heartbeat. Curling her fists into her tattered quilt in response to him nuzzling the top of her head, and resting there in a content hum. Closing his eyes. Turning off his brain. Tipping back swigs of beer until he felt better, and giving her kisses until she giggled and squirmed.

The kisses were as much for her as they were for him, giving and receiving the only affection in his life. Apologizing for earlier when he couldn’t stand to be touched.

Her hug was small, yet powerful. Clumsy, but what he needed. Another person to gather in his arms and have their weight fall asleep on his chest.

He collected Adrie, and gave her a few more doting kisses while carrying her to bed.

“Stay, Daddy.”

Sometimes he did, just to have a real bed to sleep in, but with how long it took to fix the water heater, there was only enough hot water to bathe her. He’d have to wait until the morning.

“Not tonight, Daddy’s still dirty from work.”

It hurt to walk away. It hurt more to sleep on the lumpy couch. Hurt worse when Wayne came home to crash on the roll out bed, and the sun funneled through the windows, and the day started all over again.

Hurt the most when Eddie thought about the surprised look on your face when you learned he had a daughter.

Hurt the least when he imagined a world in which you wouldn’t care, and still flirted with him come Monday morning, because fuck, it was the only thing he looked forward to after Adrie’s meltdowns on the way to school.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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vivwritesfics · 5 months

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Mafia!Bob AU

Bob Floyd, arms dealer for The Daggers, and, most importantly, sweet loving boyfriend

Short mafia Bob blurb

As Bob sat at her vanity, he pulled his glasses from his face. It was his least favourite part of his morning, swapping his wire rimmed glasses for his glasses.

She watched from their bed, looking pretty in his clothes, as he struggled. "Bobby," she said as she climbed from beneath the comforter. She walked over and sat herself on his lap, completely blocking his view of the mirror as she helped him to put in his contact lenses.

As he did, Bob held onto her hips, squeezing slightly. "There," she said as soon as she had popped the second one in. "Now everybody can see your pretty eyes."

Robert Floyd hated wearing his contact lenses. He loved his glasses, but they made him look so nerdy. And you can't look nerdy when you work for Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell. Not when you're the arms dealer for The Daggers.

"I shouldn't be home too late tonight, Bun," he said and leaned forward to kiss her noise. "Are you doing anything nice today?"

She shrugged and laid her head on his shoulder. "Think Mickey wants to come to the store with me?" She asked as she blinked up at him.

"I think Mickey has no choice," he said and kissed the top of her head. He would have given anything to spend the day with her, would have given anything to swap places with Mickey. But he couldn't, not unless he wanted to face Mav's wrath (and he'd never expose her to that).

Bob pulled his wallet from his pocket and placed it in her hands. "No spending limit for you, my baby," he said and pulled her in her a kiss. "Get anything you'd like."

He hated leaving her, but worked called. Bob stood up, still holding her as he walked over to the bed and dropped her on it. "I'll miss you, bunny," he whispered and kissed her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled at his hair, desperate to keep him there with her. "Stay," she whispered against his lips.

Bob let out a groan "I'm sorry, bun," he said and pressed his forehead against her own.

Reluctantly, she let him go. She watched as Bob walked out of the bedroom, leaving her there wearing a pout.

It had become a daily ritual. Her, reluctant to let him go, and Bob, reluctant to leave her.

She went shopping, taking Mickey (Bob's best friend and the man who was charged with protecting her while Bob worked) from shop to shop.

Bob couldn't help but think about her as he worked. As he took inventory, as he sorted orders for Ice Man, he was thinking of nothing but her.

But then Jake and Bradley came knocking on his office door. They didn't wait for him to say anything before they walked in and threw their guns on his desk. "We want an upgrade," said Jake.

Bob picked up the gun. "Guys, how do you think this works?" He couldn't stop himself from asking. "Do you think you can upgrade your guns like this is Grand Theft Auto?"

"No," Bradley said immediately. "We just want something better."

Bob let out a sigh as he checked through his books. "Fine, I'll see what I can do."

The old Bob wouldn't have so easily given them what they wanted. The old Bob would have made them stick with their old guns until they damaged them beyond repair. But he'd gone soft, and it was all because of her.

At the end of the day, Bob couldn't wait to get back to her. He locked up the gun store, checked over his books one last time, and made his way back to her.

"Bunny!" Bob called the moment he walked into their lavish apartment. A fond smile crossed his face at the sight of the shopping bags by the door.

He pushed on, past the living room and straight into the bathroom. This part of his day had also become a ritual, but a comforting one at that.

After a day of dealing weapons and selling them in the cities, Bob's favourite part of his day was when he got to wash the grime away and take out his goddamn contacts.

And then it was a careful walk to their bedroom to put his wire framed glasses on.

When he walked into the bedroom, she was just a pretty blob on the bed. Bob placed his glasses on his face and looked down at her, dressed in pretty lingerie that Bob had never seen before.

Pretty lingerie that she'd with his money. "Holy shit, Bunny," he said as he looked down at her. But there with little else he had to say before he was shedding off his suit and climbing on top of her.

@nurse-sainz this is for youuuuuu

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x you #bob floyd smut #robert floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd smut #robert bob floyd #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun bob #tgm #tgm fic #mafia!au

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murrumbaautocareau · 11 months

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Emergency Car Mechanical Services in Kallangur

There are a variety of car repair shops in Kallangur. Many offer a wide range of services, including Brake system inspection and Clutch repair. Some also offer mobile roadworthy certificates. These are very popular, as they allow you to get your car repaired without having to take time off work or family commitments.

A vehicle’s brake system is one of its most important safety components. During a brake inspection, the mechanic will check to see that the system is functioning properly. This will include checking the fluid levels, brake lines and hoses, and the master cylinder. The mechanic should also inspect the power boosters, vacuum hose, and combination valve for leaks or damage. To know more about Emergency Car Mechanical Services, visit the Murrumba Auto Care website or call (07)32854440.

Next, the mechanic should lower the car onto a lift and inspect the wheel bearings for excessive movement or hazards. He or she should also inspect the caliper assembly for leaking fluids and rusted caliper slides. After completing this analysis, the mechanic should remove the brake drums or discs to look for hard spots and cracks. He or she should also inspect the return springs for excessive wear.

A parking brake or emergency brake is also a crucial component of the vehicle’s braking system. This system is independent from the regular hydraulic brakes and works to prevent your car from rolling down a hill while parked.

Your clutch is an important part of your car. It connects the engine and transmission, and helps you shift gears smoothly whether you have a manual or automatic car. However, it can wear out over time. If you notice any issues with your clutch, it is important to visit a repair shop as soon as possible.

Clutch problems can be difficult to diagnose. A good way to prevent them is by following your maintenance schedule. A well-maintained clutch will last longer and keep you safe on the road. Sticking to your vehicle’s service schedule will also help you avoid costly repairs in the future. To find the best mechanics in your area, use online resources or ask friends for recommendations. Then, book a appointment with the most experienced technician.

If your car isn’t driving well or has problems with the clutch, you should get it checked out by a qualified mechanic. Getting a car repair in Kallangur can be expensive, but you can reduce the costs by shopping around for the best deal.

You can also hire a local mobile mechanic to repair your car. These are less expensive and can be very convenient. Many of them are available for a variety of tasks, including brake system inspections.

If you’re looking for a reliable auto mechanic in Kallangur, you can find one on Airtasker. The website offers a wide range of tasks and has an average rating of 4.8 stars. You can find a tasker with the right skills and expertise to perform any car service job. Check out the profiles of some of the most popular Taskers and choose one that fits your needs. You can even chat with a Tasker directly to learn more about their services and prices.

If you want to bring a vehicle into NSW from another state or country, you will need to have an authorised safety check carried out on the car. This process is called a pink slip or blue slip and is required to ensure that the vehicle meets the requirements for safe operation on NSW roads. If the vehicle fails, the inspection centre will issue a report with a list of repairs that need to be completed. You can then take the vehicle to a mechanic to have these repairs done.

The price of a pink slip or blue slip varies between different inspection centres – but Auto Hero can help you find an affordable service in your local area. Simply enter your registration number and location and a range of inspection centres will be contacted to provide quotes. You can then compare the prices to choose the best option. You don’t have to use the main dealer that carries out the e-Safety checks, either – many independent local repair centres can offer great value for money and still carry out the work to the same standard as the official garages. To know more about Emergency Car Mechanical Services, visit the Murrumba Auto Care website or call (07)32854440.

#vehicle repair kallangur #car service #car service kallangur #auto care #mechanics kallangur #car repairs #vehicle repair #car repairs kallangur #mechanical services kallangur #log book servicing #Steering services Kallangur #emergency car mechanical services #Vehicle repair Kallangur #mechanics Kallangur

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prompt-heaven · 11 months

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100 different locations

abandoned house

airport

alleyway

amusment park

antique store

apartment

aquarium

art gallery

art studio

auto repair shop

bakery

ballroom

bar

bathroom

beach

bedroom

book store

bridge

bus

by a bonfire

cabin

cafe

car

casino

castle

cave

city

closet

club

coffee shop

concert

courthouse

crime scene

dentist

diner

dressing room

elevator

farm

festival

field

fire escape

fire station

flower shop

foreign country

forest

funeral

garden

gas station

graveyard

greenhouse

grocery store

harbor

haunted house

hedge maze

hospital

hotel

ice cream shop

island

kitchen

lab

lake

library

mall

market

mine

mountain

museum

music store

ocean

office

orchard

park

parking lot

photoshoot

pier

place of worship

plane

playground

police station

pool

resturant

river

road

rooftop

school

sex shop

ship

small town

spa

sports game

spy agency head quarters

tattoo parlour

tent

thrift store

train

treehouse

university

vet clinic

waterfall

wedding

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ickypuppi3 · 6 months

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billy’s mom waking him up while it’s still dark, whispering even though neil’s working the night shift. it’s a couple days before his tenth birthday and she’s telling him they’re going to have their very own adventure, just like the ones in billy’s books. she grabs an already packed suitcase from under billy’s bed and kisses him on the nose, tells him to get dressed quick. the two of them leave in an old beat up yellow bug that she managed to get for a third of the asking price and keep parked around the corner until now. they stay with friends and jump from place to place so neil can’t track them down. billy gets used to surfing couches and staying in motels.

he spends his tenth birthday in a diner, his mom gets him a big stack of pancakes and a milkshake with extra cherries. gets a candle out her pocket along with her silver lighter. sings happy birthday and pulls a face when the waitress frowns at them, just to make billy laugh. she sips at her coffee while billy tucks in. smiles when he holds some out with a “c’mon mama, share with me.”

billy thinks it’s neat. thinks it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

they eventually end up with a place in california, a little bungalow near the coast and billy grows up with his mom. billy gets pretty shirts from the thrift store ‘cause his mama lets him do stuff like that. doesn’t call him a queer, doesn’t force a baseball bat into his hands whilst yelling at him for crying, for being a pussy. his mom lets him read and keep a journal and press flowers between the pages of the neverending story, she plays hendrix and dusty springfield and laughs when billy comes home from his friends’ house with his first piercing at thirteen. she doesn’t tear down his posters or yell when she finds him using her eyeliner.

and everything’s perfect. sort of.

they have bad days- billy’s mom has bad days. billy calls them gray days ‘cause that’s how the world looks when she’s like this. all her color gone. no singing-dancing in the kitchen or baking five different kinds of cake because she couldn’t decide which one was best, no last minute trips to the beach or sitting outside at night and telling billy about the stars. instead she’ll stay in bed, won’t go to work. she’ll stare at the wall blankly and look right through billy when he tries to talk to her. she won’t take the pills the doc gave her and billy doesn’t know what to do. never knows what to do. just chews at his lip until it bleeds, bites at his thumb until it’s red raw. he’ll get in the bed with her. lay beside her and just talk like she used to do with him when he had a nightmare. hum a song to her.

billy’s still pissed at the world just slightly less so. still has that anger and anxiousness simmering just below the surface and shows his teeth when cornered. he’s still hardened in a way that a kid shouldn’t be but. it’s different. there’s no neil. the only bloody noses he gets are at school, when he fights with the kids who call him a fag and a fairy, call his mom a basket case. he uses fists when they laugh and ask if she’s all there with a finger pointing at their heads, ask if billy will “catch the crazy.”

those are billy’s bad days. sitting in the principals office, icing his knuckles.

when he’s fifteen, billy manages to bag a job at the local auto repair by turning up every day and telling howie how good he’d be, that he knows cars and it’s all he wants to do and please please please. eyebrows pulled together, eyes puppy dog wide and hands clasped in front of him until howie grumbles, throws an oily rag at billy. says fine but billy’s gotta pay for anything he damages. someone brings in a chevy camaro and billy asks howie to let him help fix it up. does the begging again until howie laughs. says get a hold of yourself, kid, voice fond as he ruffles billy’s hair.

billy’s four months away from turning seventeen when the doorbell goes. he’s eating a sandwich and watching knight rider. he’s wearing the necklace his mom got him for his last birthday and- he answers the door. doesn’t think twice. freezes when he sees neil standing there. he looks different. hair a little shorter and more wrinkles. where billy’s gained weight, gained muscle, neil’s lost it. his eyes are a little sunken and he’s still got his wedding band on. he reeks of booze. billy has to remind himself to speak, just says “yeah?” his voice comes out small and neil smiles at him. smiles and billy feels this weird twist in his stomach ‘cause .. that’s his dad and he hasn’t seen him in years and it twists and twists and-

turns out. not much has changed. billy realises a little too late that neil will always be neil. they run again. have to leave everything behind. billy doesn’t get to say bye to his friends, to howie, to the car. they leave a lot of stuff behind and head in any direction away from neil. they both try to keep the mood light, take turns driving and play the tapes billy grabbed. they end up in indiana- hawkins. they stay at a motel until billy’s mom finds a place for dirt cheap. it has two bedrooms and a dingy bathroom, a living room slash kitchen and one hell of a damp problem. it’s dirt cheap for a reason.

it’s above a shop in town and- it’s fine. their landlord is an asshole but they’re together and they’ve got a roof over their heads. billy’s enrolled at hawkins high and his mom gets a job at the laundromat. he tells her that he doesn’t need to go to school, that he could just work and help pay the bills but his mom won’t have any of it. says that she wishes she had finished school and that billy’s too clever to waste it. that he has potential.

billy knows the reason she dropped out of school was because she had him. he just nods, rests his head on her shoulder.

it’s billy’s first day at school and his mom drives him to make sure he actually goes. he gets out the car and tries to shake the nerves off. straightens up and puts on his act. plasters a fake smile on his face and it’s working, he’s got most of the girls swooning and the boys at least seem curious. billy looks around and his eyes land on a guy leaning up against a bmw. his hair’s coiffed to high heaven and he’s wearing a polo, preppy as fuck but- pretty. it’s one of the first things billy realises about him, all doe eyes and moles dotted just about everywhere. he’s got a smirk on his face. not aimed at billy but the guy beside him.

pretty-boy walks over to him and billy raises an eyebrow, plays it cool. he introduces himself as steve and billy gets the idea that he’s top dog at hawkins high, is immediately proved right when they step into the building. king steve, freckles calls him. billy laughs- catches steve looking at him when he does and feels his face get hot. steve just smiles wider, calls billy california and tells him to sit with them at lunch. billy tries to ignore the way steve’s smile makes him feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under his feet.

he nods and steve grins. tugs at one of billy’s curls.

says “i think you’re gonna like it here, california.”

#it got away from me i fear #billy has to live somewhere else at the start and then they move to california i don’t care he needs to be there with his mom for the #majority of the time he just has to #he Is california ! what else am i supposed to do here he needs it #makes hawkins that much worse #he’s best friends with argyle but he doesn’t get to say bye !#billy’s first kiss is with a girl but the second the one he counts is with a boy and his mama knows he’s gay also #probably argyle if we’re being real #my words #billy hargrove #billy’s mom #harringrove #cw slurs #cw mental illness #spinning in circles i just need mamas boy billy and king steve so bad #mamas boy billy & king steve

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yuurei20 · 6 months

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Continuing from a previous ask: what are easier / harder / Malleus-level magics? (easier / vague magics listed here) Part 2/4

Harder Magics: Barriers/Deflection, Complex Construction, Cleaning, Clothing, Light

Barriers/deflection:

Leona says that second-year students should know how to insta-cast barriers.

The only characters who have mentioned casting barriers thus far have been the second- and -third-year students of Malleus, Riddle, Azul, Jamil, Trey and Rook.

Concealment

In his third birthday vignette Vil says that, "Nowadays, of course, (he) could simply conceal (himself) with magic," but back when he first enrolled at NRC his "skills just weren't on that level," so it is possible that concealing oneself is too complex for first-year students.

Complex Construction:

When Idia sees Savanaclaw's Halloween set his first question is if Leona used his magic for it. Leona is well known for being extremely powerful, so this may be insinuating that constructing something of that scale and quality can only be done by a particularly adept mage.

Floyd, Riddle and Stitch build an entire cottage together out of magic (with Stitch's engineering skills) during the Stitch event, impressing Ace, Azul and even Lilia.

Cleaning:

Lilia says that Sebek has yet to learn cleaning magic, so it is possibly a form of magic reserved for older students. Jamil talks about using magic for cleaning in his third birthday interview.

Cater struggles with "autocleaning via implement magic infusion" in a vignette, but his issue seems to be less so with cleaning itself and moreso with "the spell formula structure" of setting up the "auto" part of the spell. Riddle says that, as a 2nd-year student, he has yet to learn it in class.

Clothing:

Crewel modifies the Halloween costumes for the students in Spectral Soiree, saying that "it's quicker to modify something that's already made than whip up a whole new outfit," so creating an outfit from scratch may be more difficult (we see Malleus do so for Lilia).

Cater uses magic to change both his own clothes and clothes for Ace and Deuce (and Grim's ribbon), and Leona mentions a spell for button repair (that he might not have actually used, but it seems that such a thing exists).

Leona also changes his own clothes with magic in a vignette, while Rook changes the prefect's clothes with magic in Book 6.

In Tamashina-Mina Jack's outfit is magically resized to fit Kalim, but in Firelit Sky Jamil explains that he "couldn't just conjure an outfit in (Grim's) size with only a day's notice," so it is possible that outfit resizing is fairly high-level magic.

Light:

Jamil, Riddle and Vil may be the only characters we have seen magically conjure lights.

Other magic types of magic we have seen in the game include: ・Water magic (unnamed students) ・Crowley's vaguely defined "tough love" (might require a magic item) ・Electricity-based magic is insinuated in Book 3 but not technically specified (Azul) ・Magic that brings stuffed animals to life (Epel, Sebek, Jade, Idia) ・Magic for braiding hair (Jamil) ・A "bubble colossus" spell (Grim) ・Lighting Magic (Sebek--thank you so much @sorrygotthesesacks !!) ・Magic to silence noises like doors closing and footsteps (Ace) ・Magic that paralyzes with a poke/slap (Eliza) ・Magic that grows pea shoots to full size (Lilia)

#twstask #twisted wonderland

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gingiesworld · 11 months

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Respectful

Requested

Jewish Wanda Maximoff x Bad Boy M! Reader

Warnings: Angst. Fluff.

Word Count: 2.4k+

Taglist : @natashamaximoff-69 @canvascoloredin @wizardofstories @louxbloom @wandanats-goodgirl @the-ox-fan20 @ladyqueenxoxo @aemilia19 @wandaromamoff69 @mfd-101 @dorabledewdroop

18+ MINORS DNI

Wanda Maximoff was the school's sweetheart, everyone who knew her either wanted to be her friend or partner. Although she never truly wanted to be in a relationship as she was focused on her studies, especially as her father who was the Synagogue Rabbi. Oleg Maximoff was well respected among the Jewish Congregation in Westview, so his children were also expected to surpass the community's expectations, but there was one person who was quite the opposite.

Y/N Y/L/N, they were the school's bad influence, always skipping class to get high under the bleachers. Always taunting those who surpassed the school's expectations. They even had their eye on Wanda Maximoff, she was beautiful and they wanted her. That was all they knew.

"So, Stark is throwing a party on Friday." Nat spoke as she stood beside Wanda, leaning on the lockers.

"You know I can't go." Wanda told her.

"Just tell your parents we're having a sleepover." Nat told her. "Yelena will keep track of my parent's phone to keep our story."

"I don't know Nat." She whispered as she closed her locker, holding her books close to her chest.

"Come on." Nat pleaded. "I need my best friend there, besides, it's senior year. Live a little."

"Fine." She gave in as Nat squealed as she skipped.

"This is going to be so fun." Nat spoke excitedly as they walked to their next class. The two soon spotted Y/N, who sat in the seat at the back of the class. "You're in our seat." Nat told him as he shrugged.

"There's other seats." He pointed out as the two spotted one seat beside Bruce.

"But we always sit together." Nat told him firmly.

"Well, I guess you're on your own now." He smirked as he watched the two.

"Nat, just sit next to Bruce." Wanda told her. "It's only for an hour." Nat just sighed as she walked away as Wanda took the seat beside Y/N. He smirked as he watched her place her books down as the teacher walked in. "Aren't you getting your books out?" Wanda asked him as he smiled at her.

"I don't do books." He shrugged as she shook her head before turning her attention to the teacher. She soon felt his hand in her thigh as he leaned in to whisper in her ear. "You smell delicious today." He teased as he squeezed her thigh.

"Stop it." She growled as she pushed his hand away from her. "I am trying to learn."

"Of course." He leaned back as Wanda took notes. "Maybe you can tutor me sometime?" He questioned as he wriggled his eyebrows. "And I can help you in other ways." He whispered as he bit her earlobe.

"Ok, you will be paired with the person sitting next to you for the rest of the semester." The teacher said as she handed out worksheets. "I want you to work on the information I have given you to complete your project."

"Seriously?" Wanda whispered as she caught Nat's eyes, an apologetic look on her face as Y/N chuckled beside Wanda.

"Looks like we will be spending more time together sweetheart." He teased her as she started to pack her things. "So where shall we meet?" He questioned.

"Your place." She told him bluntly. "After school." With that, she hurried out of the classroom. Y/N smirked as he watched her walk away, earning a glare from Nat as they walked to their next class.

Although Y/N had bad intentions at first, he never expected to actually like the person Wanda is. The more time he spent with her, the more he found himself changing. He spent a majority of his time helping his Uncle at his auto shop, repairing cars and changing tires.

"You're spending an awful lot of time here." His Uncle smiled as Y/N came in after dropping Wanda at home after working on their project.

"I need the money." He told him as he started by grabbing the tools his Uncle needed.

"Or is it because of a certain brunette you've been hanging around." He smirked as Y/N shook his head.

"We're working on a project together." He told him. "Also, Stark is throwing a party tomorrow and I thought I would go."

"Ok." He nodded. "Just be careful and don't drive."

"I won't be drinking." He told him honestly. "You know I don't drink."

"But you smoke." He stated as Y/N shrugged

"That's different." He told him. "I do that for a purpose."

"I have offered to pay for therapy." He told him as they turned the engine over. "You don't have to deal with everything on your own son."

"I know." He told him as he moved to the next car. "I just. It's hard opening up so I like to be alone most of the time."

"Have you even bothered to talk to Val?" He questioned as Y/N shook his head.

"She is still out of state with her family." Y/N answered. "Her mom has been helping their Grandpa since his wife passed." He watched as Y/N walked away, throwing the rag on the side as he left the garage.

Wanda headed out to Nat's car that morning, a pep in her step as she threw her bag in the backseat. As soon as Nat started to drive, Wanda turned to face her.

"So, are you excited for tonight?" Nat questioned as Wanda nodded, a nervous smile on her face.

"Just a little nervous too." She admitted. "What if my father finds out?" She questioned as Nat shrugged.

"That won't happen." She told her. "We have a plan, you can call your mom before we leave, tell her we're watching Miss Congeniality, one and two after we have finished our homework. Then maybe we can watch A Cinderella Story before we go to bed." She turned into her usual spot. "And if your mom calls to talk to you, Yelena will answer and tell her that you're asleep."

"What if she asks to talk to me?" Wanda questioned.

"Well, I don't know." Nat Sighed as the two got out of the car and started their day. Y/N had taken the seat beside Wanda in their classes, she even spotted him defending her twin brother. Pietro wasn't the strongest lad, he was on the track team so he never did many weights, she eyed the two as Y/N helped him up off of the floor, biting her lip as she watched him check on Pietro before he disappeared.

"Checking out the bad boy?" Carol Danvers sneered as she stood behind Wanda.

"I was checking my brother." She told her before she walked away. "In case you didn't see, he was just pushed down by your friends."

"I know." She laughed as she followed Wanda to her locker. "And I can see that you like Y/N."

"What makes you think that?" Wanda laughed as Carol smirked.

"I can see the way you look at him." She snarled. "But he is mine." With that she left as Wanda let out a breath. Putting her things away in her locker before she met Nat on the field for cheer practice.

"Are you ok?" Nat questioned as the two stretched, Wanda only nodded with a small smile before they started on the routine. Of course Y/N watched from his spot under the bleachers, rolling his eyes as he heard Carol approach him.

"Hey babe." She sauntered over to him, taking the smoke from between his lips.

"What do you want, Carol?" He questioned as he tried to look past her as Wanda did the routine.

"Do you want to maybe share a ride tonight?" She asked as he shook his head no.

"I'm good, thanks." He told her with a fake smile.

"Come on, maybe I can do something for you again." She said as her fingers danced along his arm.

"No." He told her. "You only gave me head because you wanted to bum a joint from me."

"And? I still did it." She scoffed. "Wanda won't do anything like that, she's the Rabbi's good little girl."

"Don't." He growled as he pushed her against the wall. "Talk about her like that."

"Or what?" She challenged as he wrapped his hand around her neck.

"I will make the last of your senior year hell and you know it." He moved away and started to leave her as she gathered herself, finding his domineering side arousing.

Wanda entered Tony's house arm in arm with Nat. Watching how everyone was already intoxicated, making out or grinding on each other.

"I'm going to get a drink." Nat told her as she just nodded, watching as she disappeared into the kitchen.

"You look out of place." Y/N said as they stood beside Wanda.

"This isn't really my scene." She admitted as he hummed.

"Soda?" He asked as he held out an unopened can of cola.

"Thank you." She smiled as she took it from him.

"Come on." He gestured to the yard as she nodded, taking his hand as he led her through the bodies grinding sloppily. "Nat dragged you here." He started as Wanda nodded. "What would you be doing if she hadn't?"

"What?" She laughed as he smiled, taking a cigarette and lighting it.

"I just want to know you Wanda." He told her honestly.

"I would be at home, watching TV or reading." She told him honestly as she watched him take a drag. "They will kill you, you know." She told him as he looked at the cigarette in his hand.

"I know." He told her. "It just helps me clear my mind sometimes."

"Because of your parents." She whispered as he sighed. "That's why you don't drink."

"I need another drink." He told her before walking away, Wanda felt bad about her words so she followed them outside to their car, Nat watched as she stood beside Maria.

"I'm sorry Y/N." She told him as he leaned on his car. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No." He whispered as he looked up, taking a deep breath. "It's not something that comes easy to me. Talking about it, my feelings. That just isn't me."

"You can talk to me if you ever need to." She told him softly as he just nodded.

"Do you want to go on a drive with me?" He asked her as she just nodded, watching as he opened the door for her. She smiled as she got it, only waiting a brief moment for Y/N to get in the driver's side.

"So?" Wanda questioned as he parked up at the look out.

"I like you." He blurted out. "I do, I just have this feeling when I'm around you. Like I don't have to be fake."

"Y/N." Wanda started as he shook his head.

"I don't expect you to say anything Wanda, I know I am not the best guy to be around but you make me want to be better." He told her, she only saw honesty in his eyes. "I just, you make me want to be a better me and I feel like I can open up to you."

"I don't know what to say." She whispered as she looked away.

"It's ok." He told her. "Don't say anything." He whispered as he caressed her cheek, gazing into her eyes. Her breath quickened as he slowly leaned in. "Tell me to stop." He told her as he inched closer, his lips ghosting hers. She sighed as his lips touched hers. The kiss was soft and gentle, nothing more as he never wanted to push her, nor make her feel uncomfortable.

As the days went on, turning into weeks. He would take her on dates to the movies, carnival or just for a walk along the beach. He also did his research on her religion, although he was an atheist, he respected Wanda and her family's beliefs.

Shavuot had soon approached and Wanda had invited him to come along to celebrate, so he dressed in a suit. Fixing his tie as he waited at the door for Wanda, he had already purchased a skull cap to place upon his head.

"Hi." She beamed as she kissed his cheek, he smiled as he saw Wanda in a respectable dress. Her hair flowing down over her shoulders.

"Hi." He whispered as he gazed into her eyes, oddly enough his favourite sight to see in this life.

"My father is already at the synagogue." She told him as she pulled him inside to introduce him to her mom. "Mother, this is Y/N, my boyfriend." She told her proudly.

"Hello." She smiled at Y/N, he gulped as he was visibly intimidated by her.

"Hi." He choked out as her mother smiled at Wanda.

"We should get going dear." She told her, Wanda nodded as she pulled Y/N outside, pulling him to his car as he sighed.

"I am nervous, Wan." He whispered as she chuckled, getting in the passenger seat.

"It's ok." She told him. "They'll like you." He just nodded as he drove.

All through Shavuot, Wanda watched as he listened intently to her father, his hands remained in his pockets as he spoke. She even spotted her father's smile as he patted Y/N's back, everyone seemed to like how he took the time to learn about her family's religion.

Even as the weeks passed and graduation was upon them, Wanda approached Y/N at his car.

"Let's drive." She told him as he nodded, the two got in as he drove to the lookout. Wanda unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to face him. "I love you." She breathed out. "I guess I always had a crush on you but seeing how you were with my family and our religious traditions, I couldn't not fall even more than I already have." She cupped his face. "I am in love with you Y/N. I just need you to know before we finish school and move on to college or jobs but I do. I love you so fucking much."

"I love you too." He breathed out as he lunged forward, kissing her with love and passion, soon making out as their tongues danced together, but neither wanted to go any further just yet as Y/N wanted her first time to be special and he was willing to wait as long as needed.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #marvel #elizabeth olsen #wanda x you #elizabeth olsen x reader #wanda x reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #natasha romanoff

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apothe-roses · 1 year

Text

I Wanna Ride

modern Aemond Targaryen x reader

Part 1

Summary: After finally getting your hands on a ‘dragon’, you find yourself needing help with repairs. Enter hot yet rude mechanic Aemond Targaryen

Fic contains: swearing, Aemond beings prick, I think that’s it?

A/N: I’ve been sitting on this fic for weeks and am finally ready to post it. I tried to use the right terminology, but I know fuck-all about biker culture so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Hope you enjoy!

“No fucking way.”

Alysanne Blackwood turns and looks at you, mouth agape. “You actually got one.” You smile back at her, practically vibrating with excitement.

“I know. I didn’t fully believe it myself til I saw her in person.” The ‘her’ in question was a beat-up white motorcycle that was currently sitting in your workshop, but this wasn’t just any old bike. No. This was a dragon. The top of the line. Even non-bikers knew a thing or two about dragons. Made by Targaryen Corp., these beauties were prized for their powerful engines, speed, and endurance. The model you picked up was a Meraxes—one of the earlier models that has since been retired.

“I never thought you’d actually pluck up the nerve to buy a bike for yourself. Much less a dragon.”

“You know I’ve always wanted to learn to ride,” you tell her.

“Yeah, but you never acted on that. Well, ‘til now,” Aly quips.

“I already know more than enough about bikes,” you assert.

“Fixing a dragon and riding one are two completely different things.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t do both.”

“We’ll see,” Aly laughs. You smile back, shoving her playfully.

That had been six months ago. You were so close to being ready, but you'd hit a roadblock in her repairs. No matter what, you just couldn't get the transmission to run the way you wanted it to.

"If you stare at that engine for much longer, it's gonna burst into flames," Alysanne muses. You look over your shoulder and shoot her a glare. She only giggles at you, hopping off the workbench she was sitting on.

"You know, there's nothing wrong with needing help every once in a while," she says.

“I know,” you sigh back. “It’s just…”

“Too stubborn to admit defeat?” she teases.

“No!” you answer back a little too quickly.

“Maybe,” you mutter, turning your gaze towards the floor. “It’s also the money.” Mechanics who worked on older bikes were hard to come by in your area, and the ones that were in the area charged an arm and a leg for their services.

"Listen, I know just the place for you to go. There’s this one place Cregan loves to frequent. He swears up and down they're the best in town. I’ve met the owners several times, and they’re trustworthy. One of them even specializes in older bikes like this gal right here," she pats one of Meraxes's handlebars. That piques your interest. You knew Aly’s boyfriend was a man of his work, so this place must be good if he says so.

“And will this specialist leave me up to my ears in debt?”

“They’re pretty far when it comes to prices for service. Plus, you can always come to me if you’re short a few bucks,” Aly replies, going to grab her phone. You grimace at the thought. You love Aly and appreciate her generosity, but you don’t like the idea of inconveniencing herself to help you (even if she comes from a rich family). Aly walked back over to you, phone in hand.

“Do you want your bike fixed, or are you gonna stay stuck at a dead end for who knows how long?”

You look at her phone, open to the Contacts app, then back at your bike. You let out a sigh.

“What’s the name?”

That's how you found yourself pulling up to Green Auto Shop in the passenger seat of Aly’s pickup truck, your precious Meraxes securely tied down in the back. It was a rather unassuming garage located not far from Blackwater Bay. Alysanne looks over at you from the driver’s seat. "Don't judge a book by its cover," she says, undoing her seatbelt and opening her door.

You scramble to follow her as she walks confidently into one of the garages. You see a pair of legs sticking out from beneath an old car. Music blares in the background mixed with the sound of metal on metal.

"Egg," Aly shouts over the ruckus. "You've got company." The man working under the car slides out, giving Aly a bright smile. You can't help but gape as Aegon fucking Targaryen walks over to greet the two of you. You've heard and seen a lot about the eldest son of Viserys Targaryen. He has quite the reputation for drinking and partying, but the Sunfyre—a model he masterminded—is one of the company's most popular. In all the photos you've seen of him, he always looked sullen and hungover, a far cry from the relaxed and cheerful man before you.

"Aye, it's Cregan's girl, "he greets, wiping his hands off on a dirty rag. His gaze shifts to you, giving a quick once-over. “And who is this?” He asks flirtatiously while sauntering over to you. “Hi, I’m Aegon,” he holds a mostly clean hand out.

“She’s my friend,” Alysanne replies, pushing her way between the two of you. “And she’s here to see your brother, not you. She’s having trouble with her bike and could really use his help.”

Aegon pouts and puts his hand over his heart. “You don’t trust me, Aly? I’m wounded.” He rubs his hands together, walking out to the pickup. “Now let’s see what my little bro’s got to work with.” Without waiting for permission, he hops into the truck bed and whistles at the bike.

“Never thought I’d see a Meraxes in person again. Aem’s gonna have a field day with this beauty.” Aly grabs his pant leg and gives it a tug. “Off,” she orders. He hops back onto the pavement, his hands raised in mock surrender.

“Where is your cryptid brother? It feels like he’s never here,” Aly asks.

“You just missed him. He went to grab lunch,” Aegon responds. “He’ll be gone a while, but we can talk pricing in the office?” He leads the two of you back into the garage, to a small office off to the side. As you feared, the service would be quite expensive, but Aegon set you up with a payment plan. That put you at ease a bit. You’re also worried about the fact that you haven’t met the person who will actually be working on your bike. You voice your concerns to Aly over burgers that evening.

“Aemond isn’t…the best with people, but what he lacks in people skills he makes up for in his work. Cregan claims he’s a miracle worker after he fixed his Direwolf following a gnarly crash,” Aly reaches across the table and gives your hand a squeeze. “Trust me, your baby’s in good hands.”

About a week later, you borrow Aly’s truck to swing by the garage and check on your bike. One of the doors was up, but Aegon was nowhere to be found. You wondered if he left the garage open by mistake, but you could hear noises coming from in the garage.

You tentatively walk to the entrance and peek inside. Your Meraxes was propped in the bay where you’d left it. Someone was kneeling in front of it, clearly at work. His back was turned, so all you could see was his back and the long, silver hair pulled into a bun at the nape of his neck.

So this must be the elusive Aemond. You knew significantly less about him than you did his other siblings. Him attending public events was rare, and taking photos at said events was rarer.

Cryptid indeed.

You take a tentative step into the garage. He doesn’t notice you approaching, completely engrossed by the bike.

“Um, hello,” you say shyly. He goes rigid, the wrench falling from his grasp. He turns to look at you, and your brain shuts down. You fully expected some kind of Quasimodo-looking guy based on how everyone described Aemond. But this man looked like a Greek statue come to life.

From his nose to his cheekbones to even his lips, he was all sharp angles. One of his eyes was covered by a simple black path. The other was a soft blue, almost periwinkle. The coveralls he’s wearing are unzipped down to his navel, showing the dirty white singlet underneath.

“Can I help you?” He asks briskly, rising to his feet and snapping you out of your daze.

You’re taken aback by his bluntness, a far cry from Aegon’s relaxed demeanor.

“Yeah…I’m here to pick up my bike,” you reply, indicating to the bike behind him.

He gives you a small ‘hmm’ and grabs a rag to wipe his hands. Your gaze is drawn to his long, elegant fingers and the prominent veins that trail down from his arms.

“Your transmission clip was loose,” he explains curtly. “Had to replace it.”

He walks over to the bike, swings a leg over, and starts her up. The engine revs without a problem.

“Crazy how something so small can cause such a large problem,” you say. He once again doesn’t respond, only kills the engine and moves away from the bike. An uncomfortable silence falls between the two of you.

“Sooo…how many of these older bikes do you usually—“

“I need to get back to work. You can talk to Aegon about payment and such. He’s in the back,” Aemond interjects, turning and walking away from you. Your mouth falls open, eyebrows raised.

“O-okay. I was just trying to make conversation,” you mutter.

“Well, I Don’t have time to ‘make conversation.’ I’ve got work to do,” he replies, back turned.

“Apparently, you Don’t have time for manners either,” you snap back.

Aemond turns to you. “Excuse m-“

“Hey! What’s going on?” Aegon rushes in from a back room. He smiles, but his eyes glance nervously between the two of you. “I see you’ve met my brother.” Aemond casts his gaze towards the ground, giving yet another ‘hmm.’

Unfortunately, you want to tell him. Instead you say, “I can give you the first payment now.”

“Awesome! Let’s handle that in the office, shall we?” Aegon asks, ushering you away without waiting for a response. Not that you needed to give one; you were more than eager to get away from Aegon’s rude brother. You pay Aegon, then the two of you head back into the garage. Aemond is nowhere to be found. Busy my ass, you think, trying not to grimace.

Together, you and Aegon load your Meraxes into the bed of the pickup. When you're done, you both lean against the side. Aegon turns his head to look at you.

“Sorry ‘bout Aemond. He’s not…the best with people. But he’s wicked good at what he does. This shop wouldn’t be running without him.”

You don’t say anything, only giving a small nod in response.

“Hey, if you’re free this weekend, there’s a meet going on near Visenya’s hill. You should come. It’ll be fun,” he explains with a small smile.”Ask Aly about it. She should know all the details.”

“Alright,” you tell him. “I’ll be there.”

Next Part

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #modern aemond x reader #modern!aemond x reader #modern aemond #I Wanna Ride Aemond fic

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hypewinter · 10 months

Text

The Many Hats of Danny

F1 driver

Idol

Comedian

Auto repair shop

Ghost hotel

Various

Planetarium

Person assistant

Antique shop

Tutor

Doctor

Franchise owner

Book shop

Opera singer

Butler

President?

Babysitter

#dp x dc #dc x dp #dpxdc #dcxdp #hyper prompts #masterlist

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reasonsforhope · 2 years

Link

“Across America, more than 20 state legislatures are looking over proposed laws that would help guarantee citizens’ access to parts, instructions, and diagnoses to help them repair products—from smartphones to tractors—in their own homes.

Called the “Right to Repair” movement, it’s been growing in urgency and size since the turn of the millennium, and 2023 could be the first year in many where the DIY capability of the American consumer grew, rather than diminished.

In Colorado, a bill was passed along party lines in the State House 9-4, mandating that tractor and other farm equipment manufacturers provide enough parts and instructions to allow farmers to repair their own tractors.

“The manufacturers and the dealers have a monopoly on that repair market because it’s lucrative,” said Rep. Brianna Titone, a Democrat and one of the bill’s sponsors. “(Farmers) just want to get their machine going again.”

Certain dealers like John Deere (previously) and Steiger don’t allow, as part of the buying agreement, fixes at home, but as an article in the Miami Herald points out, repairmen aren’t on call 24-7 in the high plains of Colorado. One farmer had to wait 5 days for a service on his tractor that stopped during a crucial period in the growing season, where he could have been losing as much as $83,000 a day.

Right to Repair farming legislation is on the table or has already passed in 10 states in the Union, including Colorado, but also Florida, Maryland, Missouri, New Jersey, Texas, and Vermont...

It’s not just tractors that are potentially becoming easier to fix at home, but automobiles as well.

This January, the Right to Equitable and Professional Auto Industry Repair Act was introduced into the House.

“The legislation would require all tools and equipment, wireless transmission of repair and diagnostic data, and telematics systems needed for vehicle repairs to be made available to the independent repair industry,” writes Automotive News.

The bill has come to the House after similar legislation was passed in Massachusetts and Maine, where lawmakers wanted to beef up the right-to-repair and aftermarket auto parts industry, especially regarding telematic data and other information from onboard computers.

Just as it wasn’t only tractors and farmers who felt their right to DIY repairs needed protecting, it isn’t only mechanical engineering where right-to-repair is flourishing.

The New York state Senate signed the Digital Fair Repair Act into law in the dying days of December, ensuring original equipment manufacturers make parts, instructions, and diagnostics data available to anyone looking to repair a device, such as a smartphone or tablet.

“As technology and smart devices become increasingly essential to our daily lives, consumers should be able to easily fix the devices they rely on in a timely fashion,” Governor Kathy Hochul said. “This legislation will empower consumers with better options to repair their devices, thereby maximizing the lifespan of their devices, saving money, and reducing electronic waste.” ...

“After a decade of trying, we get two [state laws] in a very short period of time,” Kyle Wiens, CEO of iFixit, told Axios.

“Every single day, I’m seeing a couple more states file a new bill. And I think we’re going to be over 20 states very soon and those bills are moving.”

There’s also something to be said for the ultimate end which consumers of many of these irreparable items are forced to make for them; they end up in landfills. E-waste is a potentially-catastrophic oncoming environmental problem since it doesn’t really biodegrade in any meaningful sense, and recycling it requires technical dismantling.

The right-to-repair is also equally about keeping easily-fixable devices out of the landfills.”

-via Good News Network, 2/14/23

#right to repair #diy #monopoly #big tech #tech industry #auto industry #tractor #farmers #agriculture #us politics #united states #colorado #maine #michigan #new york #good news #hope

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garbinge · 4 months

Text

Not Much To Tell

Jess Mariano x Reader

30 Day Fic Challenge

Word Count: 1.6k A/N: I've been rewatching gilmore girls and I'll always be a team jess girlie <3

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Mentions of pregnancy and toxic ex who suggests “taking care of it.” *Want to clarify we are pro choice in this house!!!* All Writing Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989kmc1

“So, Doose's Market is right downstairs across the block, the post office is on Peach Street, bookstore is on Plum, and the bakery is on Apricot Ave.”

As you stood in what used to be Luke’s apartment which used to be a hardware store office surrounded by your luggage and all your personal belongings, you rested your hand on your stomach which was showing your obvious pregnancy.

“One more fruit street name and you’d have a salad.” Your voice cracked at the awkward joke but you quickly smiled at Jess’ response.

“Well I did forget to mention the gas station and Gypsy’s Auto repair which is on the corner of Cherry and Walnut.”

“Walnuts in a salad, my God Mariano, the years have changed you.” You teased your old best friend.

It brought you back to being 16 in New York and teasing each other, spending all of your free time together. In all honesty, where you were at in life you wished you could just go back to that simpler time. Where your biggest issues were getting Jess to actually show up to school and not mark up all of your books, But seeing how that was impossible, you’d have to make due with what was in front of you. You supposed it wasn’t all that bad, Jess had swooped in and come to your rescue. But when you spoke the words “the years have changed you”, you couldn’t help but notice his eyes move down to your stomach for a millisecond before coming back up to your eyes.

Yes, the years had changed you as well, although it was more like the months did. You were 6 months pregnant with no where to live, no where to go, no job, just $500 in your bank account with no expectation of anymore deposits to be made. But in this moment none of that mattered because Jess took one worry off your plate. A place to live.

“You know I remember that one time I came to visit you here.” Your hand cupped your stomach instinctually before moving to look out the window. “You met me at the bus stop,” you pointed to the bus stop in view, “and then took me to the diner and made me a burger.” With that, you turned back to him.

“Old habits die hard.” Jess shrugged since it was exactly what he just did. Picked you up at the bus stop and brought you to Luke’s.

“Caesar made me my burger this time.” You corrected him.

“And with no ketchup smiley face, I have to add.” Jess tilted his head and lifted his eyebrows.

“Really changed the whole experience.” You nodded in agreement and then the booth of you laughed.

“So, there really isn’t any food here, and I think the only soap Luke has here is an Irish Spring bar from 2002.” Jess was going to the linen closet to look for anything that resembled a toiletry. “But we have sheets.” He pulled out a blanket and a sheet from the closet on the side that used to be his.

“Jess.” You interrupted him, you could have given him a funny sarcastic response but you saw how much he was scrambling.

He was placing the linens on the bare mattress and turned to look at you, tucking his long hair behind his ear.

“I can go to the store, it’s okay.” It was then when you were grabbing your bag from the kitchen table.

“You want company?” He was asking, grabbing his keys.

“Would love that.” You smiled and with that, you were off walking to Doose’s.

The market was cute and had everything you could need in a off-brand label. Jess was holding the basket for you as you added in food and shampoo. As you two stood at the frozen food section, debating the art of the perfect hot pocket, Luke appeared.

The whole interaction was short, less than 2 minutes but it felt like eternity. He was talking to Jess about his mom and TJ, something that honestly was too complex for someone who was new to the conversation to understand, but for someone like Jess who not only knew TJ and Liz but also was privy to information regarding their current distress the answer seemed pretty simple to him despite Luke’s clear frustration. His frustration soon turned to fluster because his eyes moved to your stomach.

It was obvious, he did a full double take. Mid-sentence he looked at you, smiled, greeted you because he remembered you and then went back to talking in a distressed manner to Jess before his brain caught up to his eyes. His eyes moved directly to your stomach and then went wide as his stare went directly to Jess for an explanation.

It was obvious what Luke was thinking despite his lack of ability to say it outloud. The stutters that left his mouth were incoherent but obvious. It was then clear that Jess was related to him because he matched his uncle’s fluster with his own. Trying to explain the situation in stutters, grunts, confused noises and head shakes while Luke similarly flailed around.

When Jess told you Luke was willing to give his apartment up for super cheap every month, you had assumed he was aware of your situation but leave it to Jess to leave out any and all crucial details.

“It’s not Jess’” You interrupted the two men with a neutral voice. “He’s just helping me out in a tough time.”

Luke stood up straight, confusion still littered on his face but relief starting to wash over it. “Oh, uh, it wouldn’t have mattered, I just– kid doesn’t tell me much you know, never has and still doesn’t…” Luke pushed Jess awkwardly with a smile on his face. “I’ll uh,” He brought his hand up to scratch behind his neck and then brought his thumb out to point behind him and just turned to leave.

A chuckle left your mouth as you turned to Jess who looked equally frustrated and embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, he uh, is–”

“So much like you.” You finished the sentence for him and smiled before turning to the freezer section and grabbing the pint of ice cream.

Jess looked at you grabbing the mint ice cream and smiled.

“Toothpaste ice cream really?” He grabbed it from your hand and placed it into the basket.

“Always been my favorite, you know this.” You moved to the check out lanes.

“I thought maybe pregnancy would have altered your taste buds to realize the true disgust of it.” He started to place all the items on the belt.

It was honestly his first time really acknowledging the pregnancy. He obviously was aware of it, but even when he ran into you in New York a week ago he never really said anything about it. He just realized you were struggling and knew he was in a position to help.

“You don’t really talk about it.” You passed him items from the basket as he placed them down.

“I figured you’ll tell me when you want.” He wouldn’t make eye contact with you.

“Not really much to tell.” You shrugged and moved to the cash register as he unloaded the rest of the items.

“$72.56” The cashier spoke as they dropped the items into multiple bags.

As you went to grab cash from your bag, Jess moved and handed the person a large bill before you could even get the zipper open.

“Jess.” You said it calmly, but clearly feeling some way about it.

“I wanted to do this for you before you got here but I got caught up in Philly.” His eyes were genuine, and you took a minute to decide if you were going to continue arguing or not. Ultimately you raised your hands and stepped back and let Jess pay.

As you stepped outside with the bags in your hand, Jess immediately came from behind you and took them out of your arms.

“I don’t want you thinking I’m a charity case.”

“Do you not remember that you paid for everything when we were kids? Pizza, refilling my metro card, my CDs.”

“I didn’t pay for your CDs, just lended you the ones I bought for myself.” You corrected him. “Plus, I had a good job making stupid good money for a 15 year old.”

“Well I have a good job making stupid good money for a 30 year old.” He shrugged.

“His name was Glen and he was in a band and decided touring was probably more important than this. Gave me $500 to take care of it.” You blurted out the sentence while both of you were crossing the street, although you stopped to let the words flow out of your mouth so when Jess turned around he was a few steps ahead of you.

“Glen is a really lame name.” He said it so soft, and you knew what he was really saying with that sentence.

“It was the name of his band, too, The Glen.” You felt the tears in the back of your eyes but you didn’t let them escape.

“Even lamer.” He nodded.

“Thank you.” You stared directly at him.

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m ordering Thai food for us tonight and we’re watching Almost Famous.” Jess was turning around to keep walking towards your new place.

You picked up your pace to keep up with him and called out, “I don’t know if you want to give the pregnant lady Thai food!”

#Jess Mariano #Jess Mariano x Reader #Gilmore Girls #Gilmore Girls Fanfiction #Gilmore Girls Fanfic #AYITL #Gilmore girls ayitl #Jess Mariano Fanfic #my writing #garbinge

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