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something funny, complaining to my dad about a guy we both hate. i tell him how the guy said something like "i could die at work and theyd all forget my name the next day" and my dad says "no they wouldnt, theyd be celebrating"

and i go "omg i literally said the same thing to [sister]"

Knowing how to fix things is a sort of curse. When I'm elbow deep in the guts of some horrible machine, sometimes I fantasize about being a normal person. A normal person who bought their car from the dealership, who takes it back to the dealership to fix, and who throws it away when it becomes "too old" to cost-effectively maintain. Such a person would never know the joy that I have felt, trying to knock the fragments of what was once a rusty suspension bolt free so that I can get to work in four hours.

This in itself is not so bad. The problem arises when you buy more broken cars, to establish a sort of stochastic reliability-by-chance. If you have two cars, it is much less likely that both cars will be broken at the same time. And if you have three cars, your odds are even better. This errant, delusional math cascades until you have seven cars, they are all broken, and you only have enough time to finish fixing one before it breaks again.

And when you repair things, more broken things will come into your life, even if you didn't necessarily want them there. A rusty old bicycle on the side of the road? That's a shame, there's hardly anything wrong with it. If I tidied that up, maybe someone could use it. I'll just put it in the shed with the other rusty bicycles, and bang them all out one perfect summer evening, when my cars are working again.

Ideally, the end result is that you accomplish each and every project on your to-do list and then jump into the grave, before any more can arise. Even this has its problems, though: unless you are a professional gravedigger, you're not likely to have any six-foot-deep holes lying around the property. You'll need to buy a shovel, and read some books about how to do it right, and...

Amazon Alexa is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

If you own an Alexa, you might enjoy its integration with IFTTT, an easy scripting environment that lets you create your own little voice-controlled apps, like "start my Roomba" or "close the garage door." If so, tough shit, Amazon just nuked IFTTT for Alexa:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/25/23931463/ifttt-amazon-alexa-applets-ending-support-integration-automation

Amazon can do this because the Alexa's operating system sits behind a cryptographic lock, and any tool that bypasses that lock is a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA, punishable by a 5-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. That means that it's literally a crime to provide a rival OS that lets users retain functionality that Amazon no longer supports.

This is the proverbial gun on the mantelpiece, a moral hazard and invitation to mischief that tempts Amazon executives to run a bait-and-switch con where they sell you a gadget with five features and then remotely kill-switch two of them. This is prime directive of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further."

So many companies got their business-plan at the Darth Vader MBA. The ability to revoke features after the fact means that companies can fuck around, but never find out. Apple sold millions of tracks via iTunes with the promise of letting you stream them to any other device you owned. After a couple years of this, the company caught some heat from the record labels, so they just pushed an update that killed the feature:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/10/30/apple-to-ipod-owners-eat-shit-and-die-updated/

That gun on the mantelpiece went off all the way back in 2004 and it turns out it was a starter-pistol. Pretty soon, everyone was getting in on the act. If you find an alert on your printer screen demanding that you install a "security update" there's a damned good chance that the "update" is designed to block you from using third-party ink cartridges in a printer that you (sorta) own:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Selling your Tesla? Have fun being poor. The upgrades you spent thousands of dollars on go up in a puff of smoke the minute you trade the car into the dealer, annihilating the resale value of your car at the speed of light:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/how-to-fix-cars-by-breaking-felony-contempt-of-business-model/

Telsa has to detect the ownership transfer first. But once a product is sufficiently cloud-based, they can destroy your property from a distance without any warning or intervention on your part. That's what Adobe did last year, when it literally stole the colors from your Photoshop files, in history's SaaSiest heist caper:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

And yet, when we hear about remote killswitches in the news, it's most often as part of a PR blitz for their virtues. Russia's invasion of Ukraine kicked off a new genre of these PR pieces, celebrating the fact that a John Deere dealership was able to remotely brick looted tractors that had been removed to Chechnya:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

Today, Deere's PR minions are pitching search-and-replace versions of this story about Israeli tractors that Hamas is said to have looted, which were also remotely bricked.

But the main use of this remote killswitch isn't confounding war-looters: it's preventing farmers from fixing their own tractors without paying rent to John Deere. An even bigger omission from this narrative is the fact that John Deere is objectively Very Bad At Security, which means that the world's fleet of critical agricultural equipment is one breach away from being rendered permanently inert:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

There are plenty of good and honorable people working at big companies, from Adobe to Apple to Deere to Tesla to Amazon. But those people have to convince their colleagues that they should do the right thing. Those debates weigh the expected gains from scammy, immoral behavior against the expected costs.

Without DMCA 1201, Amazon would have to worry that their decision to revoke IFTTT functionality would motivate customers to seek out alternative software for their Alexas. This is a big deal: once a customer learns how to de-Amazon their Alexa, Amazon might never recapture that customer. Such a switch wouldn't have to come from a scrappy startup or a hacker's DIY solution, either. Take away DMCA 1201 and Walmart could step up, offering an alternative Alexa software stack that let you switch your purchases away from Amazon.

Money talks, bullshit walks. In any boardroom argument about whether to shift value away from customers to the company, a credible argument about how the company will suffer a net loss as a result has a better chance of prevailing than an argument that's just about the ethics of such a course of action:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

Inevitably, these killswitches are pitched as a paternalistic tool for protecting customers. An HP rep once told me that they push deceptive security updates to brick third-party ink cartridges so that printer owners aren't tricked into printing out cherished family photos with ink that fades over time. Apple insists that its ability to push iOS updates that revoke functionality is about keeping mobile users safe – not monopolizing repair:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

John Deere's killswitches protect you from looters. Adobe's killswitches let them add valuable functionality to their products. Tesla? Well, Tesla at least is refreshingly honest: "We have a killswitch because fuck you, that's why."

These excuses ring hollow because they conspicuously omit the possibility that you could have the benefits without the harms. Like, your tractor could come with a killswitch that you could bypass, meaning you could brick it at a distance, and still fix it yourself. Same with your phone. Software updates that take away functionality you want can be mitigated with the ability to roll back those updates – and by giving users the ability to apply part of a patch, but not the whole patch.

Cloud computing and software as a service are a choice. "Local first" computing is possible, and desirable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

The cheapest rhetorical trick of the tech sector is the "indivisibility gambit" – the idea that these prix-fixe menus could never be served a la carte. Wanna talk to your friends online? Sorry there's just no way to help you do that without spying on you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/08/divisibility/#technognosticism

One important argument over smart-speakers was poisoned by this false dichotomy: the debate about accessibility and IoT gadgets. Every IoT privacy or revocation scandal would provoke blanket statements from technically savvy people like, "No one should ever use one of these." The replies would then swiftly follow: "That's an ableist statement: I rely on my automation because I have a disability and I would otherwise be reliant on a caregiver or have to go without."

But the excluded middle here is: "No one should use one of these because they are killswitched. This is especially bad when a smart speaker is an assistive technology, because those applications are too important to leave up to the whims of giant companies that might brick them or revoke their features due to their own commercial imperatives, callousness, or financial straits."

Like the problem with the "bionic eyes" that Second Sight bricked wasn't that they helped visually impaired people see – it was that they couldn't be operated without the company's ongoing support and consent:

https://spectrum.ieee.org/bionic-eye-obsolete

It's perfectly possible to imagine a bionic eye whose software can be maintained by third parties, whose parts and schematics are widely available. The challenge of making this assistive technology fail gracefully isn't technical – it's commercial.

We're meant to believe that no bionic eye company could survive unless they devise their assistive technology such that it fails catastrophically if the business goes under. But it turns out that a bionic eye company can't survive even if they are allowed to do this.

Even if you believe Milton Friedman's Big Lie that a company is legally obligated to "maximize shareholder value," not even Friedman says that you are legally obligated to maximize companies' shareholder value. The fact that a company can make more money by defrauding you by revoking or bricking the things you buy from them doesn't oblige you to stand up for their right to do this.

Indeed, all of this conduct is arguably illegal, under Section 5 of the FTC Act, which prohibits "unfair and deceptive business practices":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

"No one should ever use a smart speaker" lacks nuance. "Anyone who uses a smart speaker should be insulated from unilateral revocations by the manufacturer, both through legal restrictions that bind the manufacturer, and legal rights that empower others to modify our devices to help us," is a much better formulation.

It's only in the land of the Darth Vader MBA that the deal is "take it or leave it." In a good world, we should be able to take the parts that work, and throw away the parts that don't.

(Image: Stock Catalog/https://www.quotecatalog.com, Sam Howzit; CC BY 2.0; modified)

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

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

Now, here's an interesting property. You get a mid-century time capsule home- untouched since 1950 - plus a whopping 104.69 acres of land that includes a completely deteriorated private airstrip, (more like a mini airport), and a large hangar with a rotting plane inside. It's in Bryson City, North Carolina, 5bds, 3.5ba, $3.995M.

Looking at the home first, it has a classic MCM front door, and the popular pony wall planter (but this one's stone and the largest I've seen).

The living room is quite long and has a nice stone fireplace. Interesting how it's flat against the wall and outlined with picture frame molding.

This is a classic- a curved glass block wall. Woah, a lot steep stairs, though, and I don't like how they skimped on the railing posts.

Nice large dining room.

The kitchen is original- the cabinetry, linoleum on the floor, and look at the tiled walls.

Plus, there's a nice sized corner for everyday dining that looks like a sunporch.

Check it out. You don't normally see an original toilet still a'flushin'. All yellow plumbing fixtures with original gray tile.

The primary bedroom is pretty big. Do you the love the little door that opens to a storage cubby?

Huge finished basement rec room isn't used, but it has glass block windows and a big stone fireplace. There appears to be a ceiling leak issue, though.

The patio is looking a little sad. Needs some sprucing up.

The 104.69 acre property is gigantic. Here's a little picnic area by a pond.

You've got your own swamp, in case you want to have an alligator farm/petting zoo (the land is zoned for multi-use).

Your own country lanes to stroll or ride a horse.

The airstrip has potential for a drag racing strip. (The realty ad proposes other uses for the land like horses, a vintage auto dealership, but I'm proposing some cooler options.)

Look at this deteriorated setup. They really let this property go to pot. There's an idea- this could be a pot growing dispensary. Plenty parking, too.

It would cost a ton of money to repave all of this.

It's a lot of money, for a lot of land, that needs a lot of work.

https://www.redfin.com/NC/Bryson-City/67-Lakeview-Dr-28713/home/64845870

Lamborghini Miura P400 S Millechiodi, 1969. A Miura P400 S, chassis number 4302, that left Sant'Agata Bolognese in November 1969, painted Blu Notte (dark blue). Following a series of Italian owners, in 1975 it became the property of Giovanni Sotgiu and Walter Ronchi, two important names in Lamborghini history because, in addition to their work at the "Lamborcar" dealership in Milan, they were the first owners of Bob Wallace's Miura Jota. Precisely in the spirit of recreating the Jota, the two transform the 400 S, damaged in an accident, into something much more racer-like. After a huge investment their Miura, now painted in Verde Scuro (dark green), was finished. It used so many rivets to join the body panels that the name Millechiodi (a thousand nails), came naturally. The car was restored in 2018 and certified by Lamborghini Polo Storico in 2020.

Is there a term that covers the idea of a political economy where instead of the lowest rung of baronial hierarchy, power is devolved onto, like, independent smallhold farmers and (in modern times) small business owners/landed and property-owning patriarchs, who run their personal domains as a kind of despotism? This encompasses both the (idealized) phase of westward expansion in American history and, like, Commonwealth Iceland. It is often, but not always, associated with agrarian societies--the modern equivalent of this idea associates it more with like car dealerships than forty acres and a mule. But it's not egalitarian: it comfortably coexists with forms of social hierarchy, including extreme ones like slavery.

You know the thing? Is there a word for that?

Ko-fi prompt from @thisarenotarealblog:

There's a street near me that has eight car dealerships all on the same lot- i counted. it mystifies me that even one gets enough sales to keep going- but 8?? is there something you can tell me that demystifies this aspect of capitalism for me?

I had a few theories going in, but had to do some research. Here is my primary hypothesis, and then I'll run through what they mean and whether research agrees with me:

Sales make up only part of a dealership's income, so whether or not the dealership sells much is secondary to other factors.

Dealerships are put near each other for similar reasons to grouping clothing stores in a mall or restaurants on a single street.

Zoning laws impact where a car dealership can exist.

Let's start with how revenue works for a car dealership, as you mentioned 'that even one gets enough sales to keep going' is confusing. For this, I'm going to be using the Sharpsheets finance example, this NYU spreadsheet, and this Motor1 article.

This example notes that the profit margin (i.e. the percentage of revenue that comes out after paying all salaries, rent, supply, etc) for a car dealership is comparatively low, which is confirmed by the NYC sheet. The gross profit margin (that is to say, profits on the car sale before salaries, rent, taxes) is under 15% in both sources, which is significantly lower than, say, the 50% or so that one sees in apparel or cable tv.

Cars are expensive to purchase, and can't be sold for much more than you did purchase them. However, a low gross profit margin on an item that costs tens of thousands of dollars is still a hefty chunk of cash. 15% gross profit of a $20,000 car is still $3,000 profit. On top of that, the dealership will charge fees, sell warranties, and offer upgrades. They may also have paid deals to advertise or push certain brands of tire, maintenance fluids, and of course, banks that offer auto loans. So if a dealership sells one car a day, well, that's still several thousand dollars coming in, which is enough to pay the salaries of most of the employees. According to the Motor1 article, "the average gross profit per new vehicle sits at $6,244" in early 2022.

There is also a much less volatile, if also much smaller, source of revenue in attaching a repairs and checkup service to a dealership. If the location offers repairs (either under warranty or at a 'discounted' rate compared to a local, non-dealership mechanic), state inspections, and software updates, that's a recurring source of revenue from customers that aren't interested in purchasing a car more than once a decade.

This also all varies based on whether it's a brand location, used vs new, luxury vs standards, and so on.

I was mistaken as to how large a part of the revenue is the repairs and services section, but the income for a single dealership, on average, does work out math-wise. Hypothesis disproven, but we've learned something, and confirmed that income across the field does seem to be holding steady.

I'm going to handle the zoning and consolidation together, since they overlap:

Consolidation is a pretty easy one: this is a tactic called clustering. The expectation is that if you're going to, say, a Honda dealership to look at a midsize sedan, and there's a Nissan right next door, and a Ford across the street, and a Honda right around the corner, you might as well hit up the others to see if they have better deals. This tactic works for some businesses but not others. In the case of auto dealerships, the marketing advantage of clustering mixes with the restrictions of zoning laws.

Zoning laws vary by state, county, and township. Auto dealerships can generally only be opened on commercially zoned property.

I am going to use an area I have been to as an example/case study.

This pdf is a set of zoning regulations for Suffolk County, New York, published 2018, reviewing land use in the county during 2016. I'm going to paste in the map of the Town of Huntington, page 62, a region I worked in sporadically a few years ago, and know mostly for its mall and cutesy town center.

Those red sections are Commercially Zoned areas, and they largely follow some large stroads, most notably Jericho Turnpike (the horizontal line halfway down) and Walt Whitman Road (the vertical line on the left). The bulge where they intersect is Walt Whitman Mall, and the big red chunk in the bottom left is... mostly parking. That central strip, Jericho Turnpike, and its intersection with Walt Whitman... looks like this:

All those red spots are auto dealerships, one after another.

So zoning laws indicate that a dealership (and many other types of commercial properties) can only exist in that little red strip on the land use map, and dealerships take up a lot of space. Not only do they need places to put all of the cars they are selling, but they also need places to park all their customers and employees.

This is where we get into the issue of parking minimums. There is a recent video from Climate Town, with a guest spot by NotJustBikes. If you want to know more about this aspect of zoning law, I'd recommend watching this video and the one linked in the description.

Suffolk county does not have parking minimums. Those are decided on a town or village level. In this case, this means we are looking at the code set for the town of Huntington. (I was originally looking on the county level, and then cut the knot by just asking my real estate agent mom if she knew where I could find minimum parking regulations. She said to look up e360 by town, and lo and behold! There they are.)

(There is also this arcgis map, which shows that they are all within the C6 subset of commercial districting, the General Business District.)

Furniture or appliance store, machinery or new auto sales - 1 per 500 square feet of gross floor area

Used auto sales, boat sales, commercial nurseries selling at retail - 5 spaces for each use (to be specifically designated for customer parking) - Plus 1 for each 5,000 square feet of lot area

This is a bit odd, at first glance, as the requirements are actually much lower than that of other businesses, like drive-in restaurants (1 per 35 sqft) or department stores (1 per 200 sqft). I could not find confirmation on whether the 'gross floor area' of the dealership included only indoor spaces or also the parking lot space allotted to the objects for sale, but I think we can assume that any parking spaces used by merchandise do not qualify as part of the minimum. Some dealerships can have up to 20,000 gross sqft, so those would require 40 parking spaces reserved solely for customers and employees. Smaller dealerships would naturally need less. One dealership in this area is currently offering 65 cars of varying makes and models; some may be held inside the building, but most will be on the lot, and the number may go higher in other seasons. If we assume they need 30 parking spaces for customers and employees, and can have up to 70 cars in the lot itself, they are likely to have 100 parking spaces total.

That's a lot of parking.

Other businesses that require that kind of parking requirement are generally seeing much higher visitation. Consider this wider section of the map:

The other buildings with comparative parking are a grocery store (Lidl) and a post office (can get some pretty high visitation in the holiday season, but also just at random).

Compare them, then, to the "old town" section of the same town.

There are a handful of public parking areas nearby (lined in blue), whereas the bulk of the businesses are put together along this set of streets. While there is a lot of foot traffic and vehicle passage, which is appealing for almost any business, opening a car dealership in this area would require not only buying a building, but also the buildings surrounding it. You would need to bulldoze them for the necessary parking, which would be prohibitively expensive due to the cost of local real estate... and would probably get shot down in the application process by city planners and town councils and so on. Much easier to just buy land over in the strip where everyone's got giant parking lots and you can just add a few extra cramped lanes for the merchandise.

Car dealerships also tend to be very brightly lit, which hits a lot of NIMBY sore spots. It's much easier to go to sleep if you aren't right next to a glaring floodlight at a car dealership, so it's best if we just shove them all away from expensive residential, which means towards the loud stroads, which means... all along these two major roads/highways.

And if they're all limited to a narrow type of zoning already, they might as well take advantage of cluster marketing and just all set up shop near each other in hopes of stealing one of the other's customers.

As consumers, it's also better for us, because if we want to try out a few different cars from a few different brands, it's pretty easy to just go one building down to try out the Hyundai and see if it's better than a Chevy in the same price group.

(Prompt me on ko-fi!)

Sales managers: Discussing having to cut down trees in their yard because it's damaging the properties around them

Me, trying to make small talk: Haha that's not my problem I rent XD

Sales manager: That's bad. That's just a money sink you need to buy a house.

I'm sorry, gentleman who makes the second largest income in the dealership, would you mind loaning me the $20k in cash I need to put a down payment on a house?

Check Engine

Ya girl has completely gone off the deep end. Did someone order a Mechanic!Karl fic that’s just going to likely end up being filth? Well, too bad. You’re getting it. First chapter isn’t much aside from reader (GN) thirsting. (Never fear Chrysalis fans, this is but a temporary diversion into madness lol. My main focus is still that particular work.) Words: 3,533 Characters: Karl Heisenberg x Reader Warnings: Minors DNI - Eventual Smut and hysterically bad PWP to follow, provided everyone feeds my ego enough. Read on AO3

You had no idea what had possessed you to bring your car to this body shop, but you were simultaneously thanking and cursing whatever it had been that guided your hand and made you turn onto the lonely gravel driveway after work, finally deciding that you could no longer win the staring contest between yourself and the check engine light. The sign, the exterior - everything about this place had seen better days, but you didn’t have the money to fork over to a more reputable establishment and at the very least it was on the way to the little place you’d started renting just outside of the city limits. The yard surrounding the building proper was littered with rusted out cars and bikes that you were pretty sure couldn’t possibly be salvaged, and there was an unsettling abundance of signs taped to the window warning any trespassers of what might befall them if they tried anything sketchy. The faded logo on the lopsided sign by the roadside looked like it might have once been a stallion’s head framed by a metal horseshoe, but between the sun and pure neglect it had faded to something almost entirely unrecognizable. Still, every morning on the way to your new job you’d passed this place, and no one seemed to be actively being robbed or shot on the property. It was probably fine. You’d taken a cautious step out of your vehicle, the barking of an unseen dog giving you pause. If you hadn’t been feeling so bold that particular day, jacked up on a particularly adventurous coffee order, you might not have decided on a whim to pull in and would rather have called ahead and given the owner the courtesy of a heads-up. But, no. Today you threw caution to the wind and gave a middle finger to all the pragmatic thoughts that screeched at you to get back behind the wheel and peel out of there as fast as physics allowed. 

Having only lived in this town for a few months, you didn’t yet have the luxury of knowing what businesses you wanted to frequent or who was trustworthy or even where everything was. Hell, you didn’t even have friends here – you’d left everyone behind when you’d accepted your new position and decided to start over fresh. It might have simply been easier to jump on the highway and go looking for a more populated area, one that had a massive cineplex and ten Starbucks stores and a respectable car dealership. Your ego simply wouldn’t allow it. Your parents had questioned your choice to move to what was comparatively such a small town, but the promise of a quiet change of pace had been enough to entice you to take the plunge. You felt the thrill of rebellion coursing through your veins as you straightened your stance and made your way into what seemed to be the main entrance, a silent pep talk fueling your every step. 

Granted, nothing about this mechanic seemed quiet.

You’d heard the ancient radio blaring before you’d even parked your car, the tinny audio almost enough to make you want to overnight the owner something less outdated purely out of the goodness of your heart. Add on top of that the clangs and whirrs of the machinery that were to be expected, plus the periodic exclamations of FUCK and STUPID PIECE OF— and you were beginning to understand why the shop sat on the edge of town, with fields in every direction unmarred by the cookie cutter housing developments that tended to descend on these areas like locusts. It seemed that whoever operated this joint wasn’t very interested in mingling with the local populace - you hoped that meant that whatever they charged you wouldn’t completely bankrupt you, but you kept that little tidbit of information to yourself. As it turned out, the interior was much the same as the sight that had greeted you when you pulled up. A near cataclysmic pile of junk was present everywhere you looked - you could just make out the workspace in the back of the building that looked at least a little bit clear, but between the low light caused by multiple dead bulbs and the thick coat of grime that seemed to cover everything in sight, it didn’t look much more inviting. The voice you’d heard was coming from that general direction, it seemed, and you cleared your throat, hoping that whoever was back there would be alerted to your presence. Of course, no matter how many fake coughs you managed, you still found yourself standing alone but for the woman in the poster on the opposite wall, scantily clad and leaning seductively against the hood of a restored classic Chevy. Fuck you, Mom and Dad. I won’t be bested by a shady repair shop. A cautious ding of the call bell yielded no results. You ended up having to shout into the void, doing your best to sound polite while you hollered for someone, anyone, to help you. More than once. When the radio suddenly went silent and the intermittent curses ceased, you knew you’d been successful. You waited with baited breath until at last a man stalked up to the counter, his expression almost the comical opposite of the smiley face printed on the “Ring for service!” sign taped to the counter. “Yeah?” He looked less delighted at the prospect of a new customer and more irritated that you’d had the audacity to show up and offer him a job. You stared back, at first completely unsure what to make of him. He wasn’t very tall, but he was broad and struck and imposing figure nonetheless. His wiry gray hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, the flyaways zigzagging away from his face like thunderbolts, and his messy silvery beard was uneven and looked in desperate need of a trim. His forehead was lined with lines that told of a life not particularly easy, and his light blue eyes darted anxiously between you and the exit, as if he expected your presence to herald something terrible. If you had to guess his age - maybe 45? 50? He looked like the type of person who might have been older than he looked - there was a weariness to him that you got the feeling he might never admit to but was detectable all the same. The dark blue coveralls he wore were halfway undone, tied around his waist and leaving him in a stained, dirty tank top that presumably had been white at some point. Now it was threadbare and almost gray, but you weren’t complaining - it meant you got a peak at the dark chest hair peeking out over the brim, and his biceps that flexed beneath skin criss crossed with old and new scars. His undershirt also didn’t seem to properly fit him - it was particularly tight around the middle and seemed in danger of riding up at any moment and oh dear god you were not about to thirst over this complete stranger and his dad bod, what was wrong with you?

If you wouldn’t have felt like a character in a sitcom, you might have slapped yourself across the face to bring yourself back to reality. He raised a brow at you, hands busying themselves with a rag that seemed far too dirty to have any chance at removing any of the god-knew-what trapped beneath his nails. Somewhere in the back, an alarm rang - some machine protesting his lack of attention. Just as he drew a breath in to chastise you and no doubt ask if you were stupid or something, you managed to sputter out an explanation for your visit. “Hmm,” he peered out the window at your back toward where you’d left you car. “When did it start doing that?” “Just about halfway through my move here,” you said, your confidence waning with every passing moment. “I’m uh, I’m new to the area. I drive through here on my way to work and I thought–” “You thought you’d just show up without so much as calling and that I’d just be dying to fix that hunk of junk? That I’d be jumping for joy and kissing your ass for deciding to grace my shop with your presence?” You gaped wordlessly for a moment. “N-no. Of course not, I just–” The man barked a laugh, revealing straight but slightly tobacco-stained teeth. You hated that he was vaguely handsome - not in the way most people would consider, of course. In the way that someone with slight mental derangement and daddy issues might find attractive - lucky for him, the dry spell that had plagued you over the last year was playing into his favor. It was throwing you off of your game, undermining all of the conviction you’d built up before entering. “I’m just kidding, doll. Calm down,” he said, cocking his head thoughtfully. “Sheesh, unclench your ass. I know that model, got a good idea of what might be causing it. I can probably fix it within an hour but I’ve got this other piece of shit to get back to working order first. Owner’s a real bitch and I do not want to deal with it if it’s not done by closing - can you wait maybe a couple hours?” Relief flooded your body. A couple of hours out of your night was far less terrible than the scenarios your mind had thought up when you’d first noticed the issue. You’d imagined weeks without your car, paying not just for the repair but also for a rental or a rideshare service that would not only add to your expenses but also mean you had to make dreaded small talk with strangers on the way to and from work. “Yes - that’s fine,” you exhaled shakily. “Thank you.” He nodded. “Got a lovely little waiting area behind you - make yourself comfortable. You want a soda or some shit? I think they’re ah…. Expired, but not by much.” “No, that’s okay. I’ll just play on my phone or something, thank you.” After a gruff nod, the mechanic disappeared to the back once more, and the radio resumed its obnoxious screeching. You noticed, with some amusement, that the shouting seemed to have died down somewhat, though not entirely. He seemed to be doing his best to deliver on his version of customer service. Whatever, you thought, if he fixes the car tonight and I don’t have to sell a kidney to pay for it, he’s my new favorite person on earth. As it turned out, the “waiting area” was little more than a bench with a wobbly leg, an end table, and a television with no remote that appeared to be perpetually stuck on the History channel. It was mounted far too high on the wall for you to feel around for any buttons, but you weren’t overly bothered by it. You had a mostly full phone battery, and a three hour video essay to catch up on. Of course, as seemed to be your luck as of late, a problem immediately made itself known - there was no wifi here. You sighed. Really, you should have expected it - the service you got in your apartment was shoddy as it was, why would some backwoods auto body shop be any better? With a sigh, you glanced at the end table and noticed the collection of magazines provided for the entertainment of the guests unfortunate enough to get stuck here while waiting for their cars to emerge from the mysterious garage out back. There was an eclectic mix, and you decided to live a little and fish through the pile without looking, pulling out a copy of National Geographic and resigning yourself to whatever contents you found within. Your mind wandered while you read, as did your eyes. Left alone with your thoughts, you were forced to consider the possibility that you’d made a mistake. Your father probably would have been horrified to hear that you’d simply showed up somewhere without giving the business a thorough search online and reading reviews. The owner - at least, he acted like the owner - had seemed relatively normal, if a little odd, from your brief interaction. But who knew - it was also entirely possible that there was a reason this place sat so separate from the city center, and he might very well end up wearing your skin as a mask come morning. The way things had been going for you, you weren’t sure that was such a bad thing. Truthfully, your move had not been as serendipitous as the movies had made it seem. You had expected a wholly beneficial change, that by casting aside your old relationships and job and apartment you would finally shake the feeling of stagnation that had settled heavy on your shoulders these past few years. But instead, you’d been greeted with roadblock after roadblock. First, the movers had forgotten an entire truckload of your things. Then, the exceedingly polite but hugely inept lady in payroll had managed to make your first paycheck hit your account several weeks late. Add to that the general fish out of water feeling that was bound to accompany any move, and your car deciding to try to kick the bucket felt like the final nail in the coffin. You could not, under any circumstances, admit that perhaps you’d been unprepared. Giving up was out of the question. If this mechanic turned out to be a complete scam, it might break you. Your eyes flicked up periodically from the bright photographs of penguins in the Antarctic to take in the details of the small part of the shop you were privy to. There were scant few decorations - no real attempt to make any visitors feel at home. There wasn’t even a coffee machine, or a mini fridge with complimentary bottles of water. You could vaguely see into a side room that looked like it must have been the owner’s office. There were a few pictures on the wall of him with some fancy looking cars, a couple of certificates that indicated that the building and business had passed the most basic inspections for human habitation. And, dear lord, were there a lot of posters with terrible jokes on them. Your personal favorite was a metal sign peering at you from behind the service desk that read “Unattended children will be given candy and a puppy.” You couldn’t help the small smile playing on your lips. Most businesses would have plaques commemorating their customer service awards, or how they were voted on of the local Best of’s. This guy seemed like he was daring you, personally, to leave a Yelp review. You wondered briefly if he was single, then gave yourself a hard pinch on the wrist and reminded yourself that you needed to find a new therapist.

Time passed, at once both too quickly and unbearably slow. Every time you looked at your phone, it felt like it was playing a joke on you - more than once you considered standing up and hunting down the mechanic to tell him you’d just come back some other time, with the intention of not returning. But just when you’d mustered the courage to stand, he appeared as if summoned - a few locks of his hair had escaped the ponytail now and fell haphazardly near his shoulders. He was covered in a fine layer of sweat but flashed you an easy grin all the same. “Brought you that soda whether you want it or not. You looked so sad out here I could hardly stand it. I’m takin’ your car back now, should just be a little bit. Name’s Karl, by the way. It’s on the - it’s on the jumpsuit, but it’s hot as balls in here. You know how it is.” You accepted the lukewarm can with a quiet “thanks” before handing him your keys and stopping yourself before asking if he’d be so kind as to just run you over while he was at it. After he disappeared out of sight and you heard your car engine rev to life, you sighed and slumped in your seat, letting your head rest with a thump against the wall at your back. The drink in your hand felt like it weighed about 50 extra pounds. Now you were really deep in it. You couldn’t well tell him to just stop now that he was actually in the middle of working. But you did want that fucking light to stop glaring at you every time to fired it up - shit. You glanced at the can - the expiration date was six months ago. ….whatever. You switched between the magazine, a previously downloaded podcast on your phone, and staring thoughtlessly at the fuzzy television for the next twenty minutes. You were hungry, and tiredness from your day was starting to settle into your bones. All of the self-assuredness that you’d felt when you’d arrived had given way to loneliness, and with that, the feeling that perhaps you didn’t know nearly as much as you thought. The other problems you’d been ignoring started to loom large in your mind - the broken sink you had to call the front office about, the vinyl record of yours that had broken during the move, the fact that it felt like your new boss might have a vendetta against you. You glanced down again at the article it had taken you far too long to get through. You read over the same sentence once, twice, ten times without absorbing it. This was supposed to be your fresh start, your magical new leaf that would change everything. No more would you be trapped with jobs and partners and shitty landlords. You were going to prove to everyone that you were capable of doing something great on your own, that your judgment was sound and that you didn;t need anyone else to get by. Everywhere you went, you felt the sensation of otherness, for lack of a better word. The flyers pinned on the cork board at the grocery store were for clubs and events that didn’t involve you. People greeted one another by name except for you - oh, they were polite, but you still had the nagging feeling that you were just a novelty, something looking into the window from the outside that would never be invited in. Perhaps you hadn’t put as much thought into this massive overhaul of your life as you’d insisted. Perhaps everyone else had been right and it would have been smarter and more responsible to stay where you were - even if that meant standing still. Maybe it really had been as good as it would get, and you’d fucked it all up. Once again, Karl had impeccable timing. “So, funny story, turns out I might have lied.” He leaned easily against the doorframe, strong arms crossed in front of his chest.

You lowered the magazine and blinked at him owlishly. So engrossed had you been in reading about global political events that had long since come and gone that you’d almost forgotten you weren’t alone. “Oh?” A sinking feeling descended upon you. You’d tried to quash any thoughts of him pulling the classic repairman tactic of finding “extra” problems to charge you for while he was at work - you had told yourself you were smart enough to recognize it if it happened, but your spirits were so dampened at this point that you felt like just letting him do whatever the hell he wanted if it meant you could get out of here without a fight. “Don’t like the drink?” He nodded toward the unopened can at your side. He sounded, oddly, rather hurt.  He scratched his beard thoughtfully, eyes roaming you once before meeting your gaze. You almost melted into a puddle. Wow, you needed to get laid. “Oh!” You waved your hands disarmingly. “No! It’s not that, I’m just - it’s been a long day. I honestly forgot it was there. I’ll have it when I get home. You were saying something about my car?” “The car? Oh, yeah. Ain’t nothing wrong with that hunk of junk. Just a stupid communication issue in the electronics. Without gettin’ into too much detail, basically the thing that’s triggering your warning light is less an actual problem and more just something misfiring. I can reset it for you and have you on your way - just wanna double check and make sure I’m not gonna be wrong twice. Not usually wrong the first time, mind you - I’ve also had a long day if you don’t mind me saying.” He shuffled in place almost awkwardly before stretching, almost as if to feign indifference to your opinion. When he did so, much to your delight and horror the tank top did indeed ride up revealing a thick stretch of hair that made its way from below his belly button to - 

“Yeah, I can wait a little longer,” you said hastily, forcing the magazine in front of your face to hide the obvious and burning redness spreading up from your chest and burning a path across your cheeks.

PART 1: THE BASICS

• What is your full name?

Piper Noelle Harrington-Cruz

• Where and when were you born?

In Rhode Island on December 8th.

• Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)

Adoptive Parents: Deshaun(👼🏾) and Chauncey Harrington. Married 28 years. Had custody of Piper since she was born.

Biological Parents: Michael and Valencia Vergara. Married 30 years.

Deshaun was a Professor of English at NYU before retiring at 38. After which she returned to her Salon business as a stylist and owner. She also helped Piper run her business until her untimely death. Her mom was a fun loving, energetic woman with a fiery attitude and optimistic disposition. she was young at heart, supportive and an amazing mom and glamma.

Chauncey is a business owner. In his lifetime, he has owned several businesses. From a car dealership and car wash, to a barber shop, and a few fast food franchises. He has always had several sources of income. Currently his main occupation is that of a property investor. He is a quiet man with little to say, has a strong sense of humility and strives to be the best at everything he can. Around his daughters, he’s very comical, always joking and sharing stories of his past with them. He’s very protective and vigilant when it comes to his girls.

Michael is a lawyer and a doting father to his two girls. Though he’s only known Piper for the past 7 years, he has built a loving relationship with her and her children. Valencia is a doctor. She is very sweet and caring, but also no nonsense. She and Piper have struggled with building a strong bond but the two love one other very much.

• Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?

Piper has 4 siblings. 1 older sister, Lauren Vergara(strong, determined, but guarded and stubborn) and 3 younger siblings, Yessica, Annabella, and Zalena. All of her younger siblings are similar in personality. They are all quite like Piper and very close knit.

• Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.

Piper lives in a Modern Mansion in Los Angeles with her sister and best friend, Sarai and their 4 kids.

• What is your occupation?

Like her father, Piper is a serial entrepreneur and owns several beauty based businesses. Currently she owns and operates 2 salons, a spa, and is in the process of building her medical Spa which is set to host its grand opening in the Spring. She also owns a cosmetics company, lash extensions line and is working on her own line of hair care products and extensions. She co-owns a food truck with her ex husband and son but only manages the books for the company. The business is for her son and he is the only one of the three who profits from the company.

• Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.

Piper is 5’2, weighs 163, is mixed race(black, white, dominican), has long black hair and brown eyes. She likes to dress stylish, often times going through different trendy looks, but adding her own twist. She has several tattoos, the most important ones are the times of her children’s births on her ankle and arm.

• To which social class do you belong?

Piper is currently apart of the upper class but has been apart of both the lower and middle class before.

• Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?

No.

• Are you right- or left-handed?

Right.

• What does your voice sound like?

Sweet, modulated, and melodic on a normal day with a bit of raspiness when she’s sick or has been crying or yelling or overly excited.

• What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?

Girlll, Child, love bug, babes, hey boo, bitchhhhh, and please leave me the fuck alone are the most common.

• What do you have in your pockets?

Nothing. I carry a purse. I keep my wallet, phone, make up, gloss/lipstick, and protection from weirdos with me at all times.

• Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?

None that I can think of.

PART 2: GROWING UP

* How would you describe your childhood in general?

Pipes had a great childhood. In the beginning, her parents struggled to conceive and adopted her in the years after taking in Piper, they fell on hard times, but were able to bounce back relatively quickly. Her parents never let Piper or her younger sister see their struggles. They often went back and forth between Rhode Island and New York. Her parents covered her, protecting her from seeing how bad things were. Eventually, when they were in a better postion, her parents filled her childhood with beautiful memories of family time at amusement parks, trips, and more. She was very loved and taken care of.

* What is your earliest memory?

Piper’s earliest memory is

* How much schooling have you had?

* Did you enjoy school?

* Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?

* While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.

* While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?

* As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

* As a child, what were your favorite activities?

* As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?

* As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?

* When and with whom was your first kiss?

* Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?

PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?

* Who has had the most influence on you?

* What do you consider your greatest achievement?

* What is your greatest regret?

* What is the most evil thing you have ever done?

* Do you have a criminal record of any kind?

* When was the time you were the most frightened?

* What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?

* If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?

* What is your best memory?

* What is your worst memory?

Stick Season (Part 2)

masterlist

Rowaelin Month, Day 7: Vacation/Outdoors

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: bickering cousins, couple of swear words, one healthy serving of angst

Enjoy! (?)

@rowaelinscourt

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Present

The Whitethorn horde blew into Doranelle, Vermont, like a Category 4 blizzard, albeit a very welcome one. Rowan felt like he’d barely woken up and downed his first cup of coffee before there was a rigorous pounding on his front door and he looked out the kitchen window to find an entire caravan of silver vehicles filling his front yard as if it was a parking lot. 

“We know you’re home, Ro-Ro!” Sellene yelled from the porch. “You can’t hide from Christmas forever, and besides, you invited us!” 

“Calm down, LeLe,” Rowan drawled, opening the door to a flock of bright green eyes, blonde hair, and layers of winter clothing. “Nobody said you had to show up at eight in the bloody morning.” 

“It’s ten-thirty,” she retorted. 

“Same difference.” He easily lifted the two large suitcases she was rolling and headed for the guest rooms. “It’s too early.” 

“You never were a morning person.” She flicked on the bedroom lights. “Just leave them by the window.” 

He put the suitcases down and made a quick stop to pull on his jacket before heading out to the neatly parked rows of cars, where he found his closest (in age) cousin struggling to maneuver luggage out of his SUV. “The dealerships called, Enda. They’re out of silver paint.” 

“What can I say?” Endymion Whitethorn shrugged, far too charming for his own good. “We’ve always liked our family colors.” 

“Doesn’t mean we have to drive around in matching cars like some kind of hippie mission church,” Rowan deadpanned. 

Enda snorted with laughter. “Gods, I’ve missed you.” He pulled Rowan into a brief, tight hug. “How are you? How’s the property? How’s…everything?” 

“Property’s fine, I’m too damn tired for this chaos, and everything is fine.” 

“I’m sure it is.” The dryness of Enda’s voice rivaled the Sahara Desert. 

“Don’t get any romantic ideas,” Rowan warned, only half teasing. Last Christmas, he’d lost a bet to Enda, who’d then set him up on a spectacularly awful date with a shrewish woman named Remelle– “but you can call me Remy”–an event that soured his memory every time he recalled that evening. 

“I would never,” Enda said, drawing out the never into a long, supposedly innocent singsong.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “And I’m the Queen of England.” He snickered at the outraged expression on his cousin’s face and picked up a duffle bag and a couple of crates full of brightly wrapped gifts. “Your car won’t unload itself, you know.” 

“Remind me why I put up with this bullshit,” Enda grumbled. 

Passing by just in time to hear the curse word, Sellene swatted Enda upside the head. “There are children present!” 

“Oh please, your kids were swearing before they spoke full sentences.” 

She huffed. “And it’s no wonder, considering that their uncles have such foul mouths.” Fondly, she rolled her eyes at Enda, who was still hopelessly attempting to maneuver one suitcase out from the bottom of the luggage piled in the trunk. “You’ll get unpacked a lot faster if you don’t try to play Suitcase Jenga. Here, let me.” 

He grumbled something about her being interfering but stepped aside and let her expertly dismantle the pile of suitcases. “Thanks, Sel.” 

“You’re welcome.” She blew him an air kiss. “How two men and a puppy manage to have more crap packed in their car than me and my whole family, I’ll never understand.” 

“That’s because my husband and I care about looking our best, thank you very much.” Enda flipped his shoulder-length hair, picked up a few of his bags, and sauntered off towards the house. 

“Would it be rude of me to say ‘yes, queen?’” Rowan murmured into Sellene’s ear. 

She burst into shaking, wheezing laughter. “Oh gods,” she gasped. “I think I peed myself a little.” She smacked his shoulder, though between her winter gloves and his thick parka, it didn’t do much  damage. “You’d better let that sense of humor loose at least a few times, Ro-Ro, or we’ll be forced to believe you aren’t actually human.” 

“Piss off,” he grumbled, but he was laughing. “I’m glad you’re here, Sel.” 

“I’m glad you let the horde of heathens come to your place again after what happened last year,” she quipped. “I thought for sure we’d be banished to Ellys’s place for Christmas vacation.” 

“Ellys can barely host a birthday party, let alone multiple nights with the whole Whitethorn family. It’s better if everyone crashes here; there’s more space.” 

“Plus we can always pitch tents in the yard.” 

“This is true.” He winked. “I think we should make that the punishment for the loudest ones.” 

“Deal.” Sellene bumped her gloved fist into his. “Fifty bucks says it’ll be Fenrys and whoever he brings home for the holidays.” 

“Why do I let him come to my house?” Rowan sighed. 

“Tradition,” both he and his cousin chorused. 

Sellene snickered. “Alright, I’m going to go control my wild children.” 

“Too late,” Rowan called. “They’ve already found the hot cocoa.” 

~

“Thank you for visiting Orynth Shelves! Happy holidays!” Aelin waved cheerfully to the most recent customer, turned back to the mercifully empty desk, and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The day had been absolutely insane, packed full of holiday shoppers ranging from sweet elderly ladies to rambunctious kids who tried to climb the bookshelves and tracked wet slush everywhere. She had just turned around to steal two minutes of peace and quiet when the bells on the front door jingled and she had to turn back around, paint her customer service smile on her face, and– “Sellene?” 

“Aelin?” Sellene Whitethorn looked just as shocked as Aelin felt. 

“In the flesh.” Aelin shrugged. “Here I am, back in my hometown. Crazy, right?” 

“It’s…unexpected,” Sellene admitted. “But damn, it’s so good to see you again, Aelin.” 

Aelin rounded the desk and accepted Sellene’s brief hug. “It’s great to see you too. Are you looking for something in particular, or just browsing?” 

“Hmm, I think I’ll just browse.” Sellene grinned. “You never know what you’ll find during the holidays, right?” 

“Right.” Aelin gestured towards the shelves. “Happy hunting! If you’re interested, though, there’s a special winter section in the feature corner, and I’ve stocked it with as many cute little holiday romances as I could find.” She wiggled her eyebrows. 

“Say no more!” Sellene hurried off towards the seasonal display. 

Aelin laughed to herself and returned to the desk. Even after a number of years, she still remembered how much Sellene Whitethorn adored holiday romances. It had been one of their shared interests when they’d first met–way back in high school–and she could recall the exact expression on Sellene’s face when she realized how many books (and book boyfriends) they had in common. 

One Christmas, Sellene had even taken Rowan (her “hopelessly clueless cousin”) to the bookstore to buy Aelin’s present. With her guidance, Rowan had bought Aelin a complete set of her favorite small-town romance series and written sweet little messages in each book’s cover. 

Aelin still had those books. They lived in an unlabeled tote in her spare room. 

She shook away the ache of that memory, pushing it back into the deep recesses of her mind where it belonged, and grinned as Sellene walked up to the register with a small stack of books in her arms. 

“I was expecting more than that,” she teased as she rang up the books. 

Sellene laughed. “Well, I’m on a budget–”

“Bullshit, it’s Christmas.” 

“Fair enough. I’m on a book-buying budget, and I can’t exactly gift these to anyone in my family.” With a suggestive smirk, she passed Aelin one of the books. 

Screwing Mr. Scrooge, proclaimed the title. 

Aelin snorted with laughter. “Yeah, maybe don’t make that someone’s present.” 

“I’m only buying it because my husband and I–”

“And that’s where you can stop,” Aelin interrupted, pretending to gag and swatting Sellene playfully with the book. “My gods, Sellene!” 

Sellene giggled. “Alright, I’ll spare you the details.” She winked as she took out her credit card and tapped it to the card reader. “You’re in publishing, right?” 

“Yep.” 

“Then you definitely know what happens when readers who have a significant other find a spicy scene they like.” 

“Doesn’t mean I need to have firsthand knowledge,” Aelin teased. “There you go, Sellene. Enjoy the rest of your vacation!” 

“Thanks!” Sellene zipped up her thick parka jacket. Almost at the front door, she paused and turned back to Aelin. “Hey, I had a thought.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Well, I don’t want you to be here alone, least of all during Christmas–” 

“Oh, don’t worry about me.” Aelin waved off the protest. “I’m with Dad, and Aedion’s here too. I’m not going to be alone on Christmas.” 

“Still, the invitation stands.” Sellene continued as if Aelin hadn’t spoken. “I want to invite you to come over to the Whitethorn place. We haven’t seen you in far too long, and the whole family is here, even the little ones. Plus, I’m sure Rowan wants to see you…” 

She kept going, but Aelin no longer heard anything she was saying. The mere mention of the name Rowan had consumed her. Rowan wants to see you. 

How could he? 

Until the other week outside Staghorns, they hadn’t spoken in three years. How could he possibly want to see her? 

She’d been the one to leave. 

~

Three Years Ago

Aelin slowed down and turned onto the long, painstakingly cleared driveway of her family home and drove up the asphalt pathway until she reached the turnaround in front of the sprawling, elegant redbrick structure that was the Galathynius home. She parked, turned off the engine, and sat in the driver’s seat for a long, achingly silent moment. 

Then she dried her tears, checked her reflection in the rearview mirror to make sure there was no evidence that she’d been sobbing for the last fifteen minutes, and exited her car. 

With her suitcase behind her and her tote bag slung neatly over her shoulder, Aelin walked up the front steps and entered the two-story atrium of the house’s front hall. “Hello?” she called. Part of her hoped–desperately–that there would be nobody home. 

But with a soft rustle of cashmere and a gentle tap-tap-tap of heeled pumps, Evalin Ashryver appeared at the top of the grand staircase. “Hello, darling.” 

“Mother.” Aelin set her luggage aside and crossed the foyer, meeting her mother in the middle and accepting a perfunctory hug and air kiss. 

“How was the drive?” Evalin inquired. 

“Smooth,” Aelin replied. “The traffic disappeared after I left the city.” 

“Funny how that happens.” Evalin pressed the buzzer on the wall, summoning the housekeeper that the family apparently still employed. “Clara, would you please take my daughter’s things to her room?” She dismissed the housekeeper and led Aelin towards the family living room.

Aelin bit her tongue to hold back all the things she wanted to spew. She’d been trying for years (without success) to convince her mother that there was no need to keep on a full-time housekeeper and butler. A cook she understood, and a groundskeeper, but Rhoe and Evalin were the only ones who lived in that huge house anymore. They didn’t need staff for everything they did. 

“So pleased that you were able to come home this early,” Evalin said. 

Aelin returned her attention to her mother. “Yes, I managed to take a more flexible holiday vacation.” Her lips quirked upwards. “I suppose the promotion helped.” 

“The promotion?” 

“Didn’t I tell you? I was promoted to editor in November.” Aelin couldn’t control the proud smile that curved across her face. 

Evalin beamed. “I’ll never know why it took your firm so long to realize that you’re the most competent person there. Congratulations, darling.” She squeezed Aelin’s hand, her own hand cold. “An editor at only twenty-four. Next up, editor in chief, right?” 

“Perhaps,” Aelin concurred. “But–”

“Rhoe, dear!” Evalin called, unaware that her daughter was speaking. “We have news!” 

Rhoe strode into the living room with a broad, genuine smile on his face and pulled Aelin into a powerfully warm hug. “Welcome home, Fireheart.” 

“Hi, Dad.” She grinned up at him. “I have news.” 

“So your mother tells me.” He took a seat in one of the comfortable armchairs. “Well?” 

“I’ve been promoted to editor as of last month.” 

“Congratulations!” Rhoe got to his feet and wrapped his daughter in an embrace, then went over to the bar built into one side of the room and retrieved a small bottle of champagne and three flutes. “This calls for a toast!” 

“Really, Rhoe,” Evalin tutted, frowning at her husband as he poured the champagne and handed out the glasses. “It’s barely even four o’clock.” 

“It’s a perfectly reasonable occasion for a toast,” Rhoe returned. He pressed Aelin’s glass into her hand, giving her a look of reassurance. “To our Fireheart, the editor!” 

Aelin grinned at her father, clinked her glass gently against his, and took a delicate sip of the expensive champagne; of course her parents would only stock the finest in their fridge. “Thanks, Dad.” 

“Darling, haven’t we discussed how mature women ought to be past the point of referring to their parents in childish ways?” Evalin’s tone was cool, reproving. 

The champagne curdled in Aelin’s stomach. Silently, she placed her glass down on the granite bartop. “I was unaware that there were politically correct terms for one’s own parents.” She kept her voice light, but her spine stiffened into steel, preparing for the inevitable onslaught of her mother’s disapproval. 

“As an editor, surely you understand the value of adjusting language to fit the appropriate categorization and age range,” Evalin stated. “The same principle ought to apply to all areas of speech, darling. Furthermore, your father would never allow his employees to address him as ‘Rhoe,’ so why should his daughter address him that casually?” 

“Perhaps for the fact that she is his daughter.” It was Rhoe who spoke, his words laced with the underlying note of command that marked him as the incredibly successful businessman he was. Subtly, he moved closer to Aelin, acting both as a shield between her and Evalin and as an extinguisher to the brewing flames of both women’s wrath. 

Aelin exchanged a look of deepest gratitude with her father and turned to leave the room. Before she was out the door, though, she heard her mother whispering heatedly, tearing into Rhoe for the simple act of defending his only daughter. 

“I will not have you come between my daughter and I when I am speaking!” Evalin hissed. “I am her mother, and you know full well that we hardly get the chance to see her. You cannot deprive me of the time I need to spend with her on the rare occasion that she’s home, you callous–” 

Aelin wheeled around and stalked over to Evalin, fire blazing in the gold of her eyes. “If anyone is callous, Mom, it’s you.” Vehemence threw her words like spears. “Or were you conveniently going to forget that you interrupted my call with Rowan while I was driving because you needed to remind me that I’m a pathetic excuse of a daughter for wanting to see my boyfriend for two minutes before I come home?” Her breath was ragged. “Well, you’ll be delighted to know that I broke up with him.” 

Evalin’s jaw went slack. “I–” 

“You got your wish, Mother.” Aelin laughed, sardonically. “I’m home for dinnertime.” 

Turning sharply on her heel, she stalked out of the room, leaving behind her shell-shocked father and her mother stunned silent for once as she processed the truth her daughter had just flung. She kept her composure all the way up to her bedroom, where she entered the room and locked the door behind herself. 

Then Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, unflappable editor, crumpled to the floor and sobbed.

~~~

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Something I see underemphasized is that car dealerships give off huge amounts of property, sales, and business taxes and from a public revenue standpoint are essentially money fountains, so keeping dealership owners happy in place is not only clutch for local politicians as political actors, but as the legitimately elected guardians of their particular electorates' interests

how do you think terry would react to beloved having a child who trains at miyagi-do or doesn't like cobra kai?

---

Why do I think Terry Silver would...just try and buy Miyagi-Do?

You know, buy it? Like someone buys a car? Or a watch? Or an expensive suit? His child likes Miyagi-Do? His stepchild? His ward? His whatever? Guess what? Terry Silver immediately starts making plans how to acquire this franchise and pretty much...you know, give it to his offspring like it's a mere thing. Why? The sole reason his kid likes something is enough reason for him to have an innate and almost burning desire to do this for them, and he would, if push came to shove, try to make this into a reality by any means necessary, no matter how long it took. Spreading around rumors to damage the rival dojo's reputation? Maybe someone mysteriously starts gossip how Miyagi-Do discriminates on the basis of...literally whatever to fuel some fake outrage? Sabotage the business so they lose students and by extension, money? Goodness gracious, does he have to go the route of paying someone to go as hilariously low as tipping off Sanitary Inspection on the place due to a termite infestation on dojo grounds (which he may or may not have personally planted to entire devalue the property to the degree the Larussos would be forced to sell?) Use a strategic middle man when conducting the purchase so nobody would immediately know he's the one actually buying the property? Tactics he'd utilize are as varied as human imagination and you'd be shocked what a man can achieve when he has money to blow and he's willing to step over literal corpses to get what he wants. Regardless, Terry's child gets Miyagi-Do. All of it. Every rock. Every stone. Every bit of hallowed legacy. Terry gives it to them and by extension, to himself, like a war trophy.

Now, they can train at that place to their heart's desire.

Quite literally go and knock themselves out.

The offense Terry takes at his kid not preferring Cobra Kai as a dojo option isn't as huge or as pronounced as one would think it is in this situation; not when you consider it's massively overshadowed by the triumphant, gleeful joy that he can go and turn whatever place he touches into Cobra Kai too --- especially Miyagi-Do, perhaps the very antithesis of everything Cobra Kai stands for. Oh, if that old coot that trained Daniel all those years ago could rise from the grave right about now and check out the new state of things, would he be in for a surprise or what! Heck, the very look on Daniel and Amanda Larusso's faces once they realize it's actually him who bought the place and not someone else is enough to fuel him for the rest of his life. And in Terry's own words vaguely paraphrased, he can utilize the literal legacy of these grounds for mulch, all while giving his kid the gift of a lifetime at the same time. His kid --- they don't like Cobra Kai? Well, guess what? Anything Terry Silver sets his eyes on is and can be Cobra Kai, whether they realize it or not. He could buy out a whole mall tomorrow and turn it into exactly the very same thing too. Can't ran from what you are. It keeps following you regardless of the color of your Gi.

Once Terry Silver's done buying out Miyagi Do, though...

The Larusso Car Dealership could be next.

Eccentric Rich Guy Dept.: It’s  a painful sight for classic car enthusiasts- Jaguars, Porsches, Mercedes, BMWs; just a few of the iconic cars you would never expect to find in such a sorry state.

What will shock you is that these cars are not abandoned, and their owner is in fact a classic car lover and expert who wants it this way.

Michael Fröhlich is a former designer, racer, philosopher and artist among other things, but is best-known as a unique classic car dealer and expert restorer.

For years, he drove around his home town of Düsseldorf, Germany in a charred Rolls Royce that was all but incinerated when his dealership burnt down

He likes to call this forest of rotting cars his Auto Skulpturen Park, a museum/ sculpture park of sorts in the Neander Valley near Mettmann, Germany.

Surrounded by a security fence in the wooded hillside next to his house, 50 classic cars were parked here when the car enthusiast turned 50 in the year 2000.

Each and every car was personally tracked down and purchased by Michael himself. “They’re like my brothers,” he says. Many were roadworthy when they were parked on his property, never to be driven again.

“Nature is stronger than technology, and that I will show here,” said Michael.

TV crews, photographers and fans were invited to the opening in the summer of 2000, but this “museum” has rarely been open to the public since.

Fröhlich even has a piece of the Berlin wall inside his sculpture park as well as many cars with scandalous pasts.

He’s even got the late Queen at the wheel of one of the cars. 

The only way to visit this curious place is to contact Michael himself and request it.

Since every car on the property has its own unique adventure story that only Michael knows, he’s probably the best bet for a guided tour.

Michael and his Steel Dragon creation, part of his Crazy Car Collection.

He bought 50 classic cars just to let them rot. Hmph. 

https://www.dw.com/en/the-fantastic-vehicles-of-car-designer-michael-fr%C3%B6hlich/av-59116229

OH MY GOD I JUST HAD THIS IDEA WHILE READING RUSSOLAW STUFF

WHAT IF OLDER DANIEL AND HIS TWIN BILLY WITH A YOUNGER JOHNNY OR THE OTHER WAY AROUND WITH OLDER JOHNNY AND YOUNGER BILLY AND DANIEL

YES👀

The image of two scrappy little guy’s fight for the pretty older guy🫠 The image of two hot older men fighting over a lovely younger guy🫠

Johnny met Daniel first; maybe he worked at the country club as a cart girl type (because Johnny in that outfit🤌). As much as Daniel likes to say he’s a calm guy who never feels jealous, he’s a rabid chiwawa about Johnny.

Sure, the kid isn’t his property or anything; he just happens to work at the club Daniel frequents and always shows up in his cart with Daniel’s favorite carbonated alcohol. Always in tight khakis, the shortest little shorts Daniel’s ever seen on a boy, or a godforsaken short skirt—long legs on display for him to ogle guiltily when Johnny is fetching him whatever he asked for (like a good boy.)

Johnny is used to the attention from perverted old men and cougars who terribly misread him at the club, getting patted on the rump by richies and slipped tips for "Being such a doll," as one woman put it. He definitely gave some trouble, he wasn’t especially polite or cheery on the job, but he made up for it plenty with flirtation. Daniel was the first guy there that Johnny genuinely sought out and dressed up for.

Billy coming to Cali was definitely not on Daniel’s radar, especially since they aren’t on the best terms.

He allows the guy to stay with him, though—he still loves him even if he is a prick; he’s family.

But it became very obvious that Billy still doesn’t know how to act because he caught him up with Anthony eating doritos and playing video games at 3 am when Anthony had school the very next morning—that ended in a big argument. Billy convinced him he’d stay out of trouble if Daniel got him out of the house and showed him his workplace, what he did all day.

"Come on. You ashamed to have me as a brother or somethin’? I’m so bored!”

“Yep. You’re a criminal.”

“I am not! You know I’m not!”

The dealership was thankfully uneventful. Amoush and the rest were there, but Amanda had already met him/knew about him and so did Louie (of course.)

It was the country club that Daniel should have never taken him to. He had gone to get a margarita when he heard a sweet "Hi, Mr. LaRusso!" Behind him.

He only turned around for a quick second, smiling at the sight of Johnny walking in his general direction, before turning back around and thanking the bartender.

To his horror, Billy was the one Johnny had gone up to mistakenly.”

"…But that’s life, doll. Can’t complain when there's pretty things like you.” He told him with a smile, rubbing his knuckles on Johnny’s burning cheek.

The boy looked way too into it. “I like this new shaggy look, sir.”

"Billy!"

Johnny’s head turned towards him immediately, confusion written all over his face. “…Mr LaRusso?”

“Hiya, Danny. Why didn’t you ever mention…” he looks over at Johnny. “I don’t believe I asked your name, sweetheart?”

The blonde gets that look on his face again, like he wants to pounce as he almost purrs. “I’m Johnny.” and gives Billy his hand.

Daniel digs his nails into his palm, trying not to give away his jealousy and frustration. “This is my twin, Billy. He’s here for a short visit.”

“Oh, I’m gonna stay a long time.”

"Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a brother? A baddass one at that!”

Daniel clenched his jaw. "I mentioned I had a sibling before. I must’ve."

He didn’t. He didn’t want Johnny to know about Billy because the boy surely would have gone looking for photos of him—realizing that he’s the bad boy version of him and liking him more than Daniel. And Daniel knows Billy has the exact same type as him, would take one look at the boy and start licking his lips like Sylvester the cat.

Well, Billy is a fraud. He’s never been cool or a real rebel—what kind of idiot thinks he’d go to jail over tuna?

But Johnny is extremely attracted to Daniel because he’s a wholesome dad, a good man with hairy arms and nice hands. A guy who can barbecue and could win in a fight nine times out of ten. A true manly man in Johnny’s eyes, no matter his height.

And boy, was he a hottie back then too. Johnny would have let that stick hit any time.

He enjoys his company and hearing what he has to say, even if it’s something cringy like asking if he’s “down with GOT”.

He’s just so kind and dreamy.

But LaRusso—the new one—is just as hot to him. He loves bad boys, especially the shameless ones. The ones that eyefuck Johnny, stare at his behind and don’t even try to hide it. The ones that whistle at him and tell him he has pretty lips. Johnny’s spread his legs for the bad ones as much as the good ones, and now it’s like he’s in a personalized wet dream having these opposites of each other that look exactly alike wanting him; he wonders how different their dicks are, he knows Mr LaRusso’s is big. He saw it when handing Daniel a towel in the sauna.

He’d already been drooling over it just from seeing it through Daniel’s trousers, but seeing it uncovered left him feeling even more desperate, felt like he had a fucking fever that night. He wonders if he could get them to plug him up on both ends and fuck him at the same time. (Cough. He can.)

And gosh golly do I love russolaw with Billy thrown in the mix and wanting to fuck the pretty older fella.

I’m putting tkk3 Daniel as a rival for Billy because the cute chub matches—but I also love twiggy tkk1 Daniel fighting him.

So…milfy and grabbable…so pretty—who wouldn’t wanna hit that. Look at those thighs. I’m sure he’d love having Billy and Daniel scrap with each other over who gets to walk him to his car after class. Last one is him teasingly scolding Billy/Daniel, who are fantasizing about getting between his legs mid word and fucking him him breathless—they’d even settle for pressing their dicks between his chubby thighs while he kept running his mouth.

Young Daniel weaseled his way into Johnny’s life, heart, and pants—which are what Daniel decided to bring up as a conversation starter when they met.

("Hey, I like your jeans." Johnny looked sort of confused as to why Daniel was telling him that, and he certainly didn’t seem to believe it. "Yeah?"

"yeah! Uh…Can I have your number?"

Way too quick, LaRusso.

The corner of Johnny’s lip twitched. "What do you need that for?"

Don’t chicken out; be straightforward, Daniel thought. "I’ve seen you in those flyers, and I…." Thought you were so hot “I’m interested in joining?" Dammit.

Johnny laughed, a little less on guard. "Could have sworn Aisha put the number for the dojo on there, but…" He gave Daniel a once over. a twerp with gentle eyes. Probably a monster cock that takes up half his body weight hiding in his pants. "Sure, I’ll write it down."

Daniel could have jumped for joy when Johnny did so, handing him a disposable coaster with his personal phone number on it.

"Anything else?"

He didn’t want to leave him just yet. "Yeah. What brand are your jeans?"

johnny shrugged. "Don’t remember, I’ll let you know when I take them off tonight." )

Maybe it was the typical bar meeting, or maybe Daniel and Johnny met at a construction site; either way, Johnny likes him. He also likes his fluffy hair and the way he stared at him like he was beautiful, not old and pudgy. He liked those guilty glances he shot him even more, like he just couldn’t help it. (Johnny’s tits are almost eye level with him, but he tries not to look and it’s cute). Kid is such a hopeless romantic but horny as a rabbit.

So maybe Johnny had his fun with that—bending over directly in front of Daniel, straddling him during training, laughing at his jokes, and crossing his arms like a girl trying to show off her cleavage—which is exactly what he was doing. Getting him hard on purpose, then doing nothing about it.

it was just so fun to give the kid blue balls. It was too adorable how he clearly wanted to tear off Johnny’s clothes and make him take it, but never attempted to ask or do so—too polite and traditional, too nice to straight up tell Johnny how badly he wants to gag him on his dick and watch him cry because he’d look even prettier on his knees. No, Daniel kept taking him out for dates, bringing him presents, and asking for nothing but to take him out again.

the next time Daniel came over with another potted flower and his favorite takeout, Johnny kissed him. He had just barely been able to wait for Daniel to set down the food and plant before he did so. Daniel told him he looked great the moment he walked through the door and smiled like he was genuinely just glad to see him—as if Johnny weren’t in just a tshirt and small briefs. Daniel himself smelled like plants and dirt and looked incredibly attractive.

Yet they still didn’t sleep together that night because Daniel is ever so the gallant and felt like showing Johnny that he didn’t only want him for his looks—like he hadn’t made Johnny feel special all month. Johnny wanted to at least jerk him off (he’s even done that for his own friends), finally touch the dick he’s been needing, and have something to think about later, but he didn’t want to push it and scare the kid off.

Billy, however, was not afraid to fuck Johnny immediately.

He brought Johnny things too: beef jerky and milkshakes, different kinds of beer he wanted him to try out, and flowers he found outside a gas station that he thought would look nice behind his ear.

He takes Johnny on drives in his beat up Miata, takes hims wherever he wants to go, and more. He’d ask him continuously for all his stories about the cobras and his motorcycle. About his glory days.

And he fucked Johnny not even a week after meeting him. Showed up for one of their little adventures and got invited in to "relax for a bit". Billy had been heavily flirting, dropping innuendos, and making it clear what he wanted, but also that he liked him and wasn’t only hanging out with him for some ass and a grope.

Johnny loves his leather jacket, greasy hair, crude talk, and nicely shaped, chapped lips; he reminds him a little of Dutch, which makes him like him even more.

But Johnny moved onto being a cocktease to both Billy and Daniel. Keeping eye contact while he’s sucking on something, ("Look at his blowie lips, Dan—" "Don’t talk like that about him.") and leans forward so they can look up his shirt. Not to mention all the things he does that are just cute. Like getting confused as to how any sort of technology that isn’t a Walkman or flip phone works and needing their help. Or the way his voice gets a little higher and airy when he’s around them.

Daniel knows his brother has been with Johnny, but that just makes him spoil the blonde more. He tries to show him that he’s the one who could really take care of him; he’s the one who loves him, but he starts to rethink his plan the more he catches Billy and Johnny making out while Billy’s hands—identical to Daniel’s—were touching the curvy body of the man he’s been holding himself back from.

He and Billy fought the first time Daniel walked in on him in the middle of fucking Johnny. Johnny’s wrists were tied to the bed and his mouth open and pink, mewling for Billy and looking like he was above cloud nine with tears running down his face and his legs spread wide. Daniel didn't need to see between them to know what was going on, especially when Billy wouldn’t shut the hell up, kept murmuring filth, and spanking Johnny indulgently"So fucking tight. Best ass I’ve ever laid eyes on, made to be fucked. That’s why you’re such a bitch sometimes; you just needed a good cock to calm you down."

Daniel just grabbed him without thinking when he said that, pushed him off of Johnny, and punched him in his dumb matching face. "Daniel, Billy, what the hell?!" Johnny yelled, but that didn’t stop them from squabbling and rolling around on the floor. Spouting insults at each other like they did in middle school. He kind of liked watching them fight, but the way his heart pounded at being entirely defenseless when there’s fighting around him was mostly from fear—which…also kind of turned him on, but he doesn’t want the boys to actually hurt each other. "Stop it!"

They ignore him or just don’t hear him. "Stop it, please!"

They finally stilled, bleeding and panting and staring up at him like puppies, both of whom were just rabid a second agoz

"Untie me. Now."

Both of them jumped to listen, each untying a wrist while Johnny chastised them.

"I’m sorry, Johnny, sweetheart. Don’t know what I was thinking."

“Sorry, angelo.”

Johnny wonders if he could get them to stand right next to each other with their thick, perfect cocks out so he could go back and forth between who he’s taking down his throat and who he’s jerking off. Maybe they’d let them press the tips together so he could lick them both—maybe they could even try and get as much of their dicks as they could in his mouth at the same time (spoiler alert: he can get them to do all of that and he can keep them both locked down.)