#it's a very erm. 1970 movie.

[deritosmi]

(long overdue) Can Hobie be a Teenager?

(Here's a lil pre apology for the faint school essay accent)

THIS IS MAINLY USING DETAILS FROM THE COMICS, AND HOBIE ISN'T BRITISH IN THE COMICS, SO YOU COULD ARGUE THAT THIS ISN'T CREDIBLE. BUT I DON'T REALLY CARE.

There has been a lot of (in my opinion-- unnecessary..) discourse on Hobie Brown, aka Spider-Punk’s age since the release of Spider-Man: Across the Spider-verse. For most of the part it was for shipping reasons… But that’s not the focus of this post. A reoccurring statement I’ve seen in this discourse is: “Hobie looks way too old to be a teenager.” 

This is where I say the line-- ‘erm, actually…’ 🤓🤓 and explain why Hobie can be a teenager ‘despite’ his appearance. 

Yay!! Arguing about Hobartholomew Laurence Brown! 

…

What have I gone through, experienced, for me to write this…?

Hobie Brown is the Spider-Man of Earth-138. (I don’t know why, but my intuition tells me that the year is 1983. Though,) generally it’s anywhere from the late seventies to the early eighties. 

Anyways, the points are the standard of living and circumstances. 

In Earth-138, America becomes a totalitarian (something something here something something here) with Osborn as the president. So, the inflation that took place during the late 1970’s - early 1980’s may not apply to this argument. But, the lack of technological advancements 

(okay I know they had laser guns and mutants back there but stay with me) 

medically speaking could be a reason for Hobie looking older. 

If not for the lack of technological advancement in medical care, then how difficult it was to access it. 

As the years have progressed, generations in general have been looking younger than older generations when they were at the same age. 

There are many reasons for this happening, like having less responsibilities, better health care, things are easier to access because that’s just how capitalism works (not a very good way to justify capitalism because everyone suffers regardless), less manual labor, more sitting in chairs for hours on end and not going outside or interacting with nature or people regularly, I could go on. 

(sorry for pushing my anti-capitalist propaganda here, but, uh it is my blog, so.) 

Oh! And also, Hobie, he is an orphan, and has been since childhood. He’s a squatter, a black dude, in America, also, he’s Spider-Punk, meaning he has to fight 24/7 365, and he’s had to fend for himself for like, his entire life. There are some obvious differences between his circumstances and the average teenager's.

This added to the fact that it was during the late 1970's-- early 1980's, it would only make sense for him to look, well, old. Or at least, older. Technically, he doesn’t really look older, we just look younger. We came second. But pretending like we are the main characters and the only perspective that matters is ours, yes, he looks older because of the general standard of living and his circumstances. So, yeah! Hobie could totally be a teenager. (And, in my honest opinion, he sounds like one in the movie and acts like one in the comics, but I won’t lose my mind over you thinking otherwise or whatever…)

Thanks for reading this thing that I wrote instead of doing school work!

#Hobie brown #spiderverse #atsv #Spider punk #🤭🤭 #thecatandthebirdie I hope you see this and think this is good bc you're so cool I think I'd explode

[starstruckwillows]

♡ three clues - r.b ♡

requested by 🐍 anon <3 (i hate how i've written this it is not my best work sorry😭)

robin buckley x hopper!reader, dad!hopper x daughter!reader, fluff, humour, coming out

your dad, a seasoned detective, is the last to discover your sexuality

hopper's mind raced as he backed silently out of the kitchen he'd just seen you and your best friend, robin, making out in. you on the counter and her standing in front of you. and your faces together. he was blinking rapidly, fearfully.

what had he missed?

clue one - robin had ten times more sleepovers than your childhood best friend.

his original solve - you'd just got closer this year. nothing weird about that.

"you see? it wasn't... obvious." your dad protested to joyce, who was filing away products on shelves and laughing.

"that one's a subtle clue. but there were other signs, hop."

hopper grunted, "yeah? like what?"

clue two - the matching jewelry, pyjamas, shoes, mixtapes

his original solve - friends do that... right?

clue three - all the cuddling and movie nights and sleep overs in the matching, skimpy pyjamas that made hopper remember you were too old to be told what to wear

his original solve - friends. friends. friends. that's just what girls do! right...?

joyce sighed, patting his shoulder, and he sagged, "i... i just thought they were friends?"

the shorter woman surveyed him for a moment, "it doesn't bother you, does it?"

he thought.

it certainly wasn't something he'd been exposed to much.

but neither was the upside down, and he'd adjusted to that just fine.

more than anything, he wanted you comfortable, loved, and happy. he'd lost a daughter before, and that wasn't in his control. he wouldn't lose one that he didn't have to.

ultimately he shook his head, "no. she's my daughter. and she could do worse than robin buckley, i guess."

joyce smiled, with an undertone of pride. the one thing she forgot to mention was that hopper should go on as if he didn't know, until they felt comfortable enough to tell him.

instead, hopper greeted you at the front door with a tiny rainbow flag decorating the mug on his home desk.

"where'd this come from, dad?" you questioned airily as you walked past, flicking it on the way, to place your bag down.

he shrugged, "my friend gave it to me, my gay friend, we're very close. she put it on my desk this morning."

there was a slight stress on his last two words, and an involuntary glance to the kitchen that made you wonder what he was thinking of, and how he held up in interrogatins with this, albeit uncharacteristic, flighty quality.

"o... kay? cool..."

hopper narrowed his eyes, "i'm not gay. but i'm really... erm, cool with the whole thing."

there was a grunt in his words that easily conveyed his discomfort, but you couldn't figure out why for the life of you. maybe you hadn't inherited his detective skills, because it was obvious to him what he was hinting at.

"do you have any... gay friends?"

you shrugged, "maybe."

he gave you a thumbs up.

jim hopper, your dad, gave you a thumbs up. you blinked in genuine shock.

mission failed. he'd try again tomorrow.

that night, you stayed on the phone to robin well past midnight, trying to silence your laughter with your pillow as you told her about your dad's strange behavior.

"a thumbs up? she giggled, "that's not like him. you'd think he suddenly realised you were gay or something."

you smiled, "imagine."

the smile dropped. robin went silent on the other end of the phone.

"you don't think-"

"d'ya reckon-"

"he can't."

"he could..."

clues number two and three that he'd definitely figured it out was the newspaper he left open on the counter the next morning, with an article circled aggressively in biro pen.

PRIDE PARADES - SINCE 1970

the third clue? the tiny heart drawn next to it.

maybe it was el. but it wasn't a coincidence, and you sighed.

how did he possibly figure it out? we were so subtle...

it was joyce you ran to first, also. and she laughed the laugh of someone who knows everything and can't believe others are so unfathomably clueless.

you told your dad anyway. with the real words, no skirting around it. he gave you a slightly stiff nod and a clap on the back. you knew what that meant.

i'm proud of you, kid.

---

taglist:

@anordinarymuse @kingshitonly

#starstruckwillows #stranger things #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley #robin buckley x hopper!reader #hopper!reader #dad!hopper #hopper x daughter!reader

[steampunkforever]

In the 1970s, Boxing-themed superhero Daredevil took inspiration from the rise of pulpy Asian martial arts movies, introducing orientalist elements such as a ninja clan named “The Hand” and striking creative sparks in the minds of two roommates who would self-publish a turtle-themed parody series in the 80s using their tax returns and a loan from their uncle. This spawned a franchise that would take over the meaning of what it meant to be in the 90s for people living in the ‘10s. Now in the 20s, I got to sit down and watch another adaptation of what is at its heart an unlicensed daredevil spinoff, this time directed by Seth Rogen, a comedian from the 00s.

The trailer for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem promised a self-aware, Spiderverse-styled kids movie about the ninja turtles acting like the stranger things kids. Having experience the highs and lows of the Suicide Squad (2016) trailer-vs-film, I don’t trust like that, but my interest was piqued enough that it warranted a watch.

Surprisingly, despite coming from a property with a history of having to cater to 90s man-children rather than the kids they’re supposedly targeting, TMNT was a solid kids movie and a great introduction to the turtles for anyone (including myself tbh) who’d not really paid the turtles much attention. As a film it was basically perfect, despite a slightly messy ending, and handled the adult/child audience split wonderfully.

The writing was fantastic. The characters were all fully realized and all really fun. The little quips and asides were clever, in character, and self aware without dipping into “erm he’s behind me isn’t he?” The plot was simple, and I don’t know enough about the TMNT Lore to weigh in on its accuracy but it served as a a great introduction to ooze, turtles, and pizza. And that’s really what it set out to do.

The art is what really sold me on the whole thing. The going into it with the expectation of spider verse-styling, I was surprised that even though I can spot the Sony Superhero art DNA, the film maintained its own gritty, grungy, sketched together aesthetic befitting sewer dwelling turtles. I don’t watch many kids movies because I’m no longer 13, but this is solidly one of the best I’ve seen this year, and one of the better superhero movies to have come out in the past five years period.

I suggest watching it, especially if you need somewhere to take a younger sibling or maybe if you’re just really devoted to a cartoon from your 90s kid childhood. Very well done film with a great soundtrack.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #teenage mutant ninja turtles: mutant mayhem #filmposting #film

[jesuisgourde]

gay/queer references in Peter’s journals

Again, I have probably missed stuff due to going through pretty quickly and also due to having stared at this document for so long, everything has kind of blurred together.

Sometime close to the day that Carlos & I watched 'Love And Death on Long Island' (and afterwards paraded through the tea rooms of Picadilly) we both filled in application forms and were tres excited to be invited to the same group 'interview' - twas more like an audition though. I got the part. Carlos never. This did not bring any animosity - we both know that success for either of us is magnified a million times if it is shared by us both.

from 'A Diamond Guitar' by Truman Capote "Except that they did not combine their bodies or think to do so, though such things were not unknown at the (Prison), they were as lovers. Of the seasons, spring is the most shattering: stalks thrusting through the earth's winter-stiffened crust, young leaves cracking out on old left-to-die branches, the falling asleep wind cruising through all the newborn green. And with Mr Schaeffer it was the same, a breaking up, a flexing of muscles that had hardened. It was late January. The friends were sitting on the steps of the sheep house, each with a cigarette in his hand. A moon thin and yellow as a piece of lemon rind curved above them, and under its light, threads of ground frost glistened like silver snail trails. Tico Feo had been drawn into himself - silent as a robber waiting in the shadows."

Then a meet with Bounds Green's African prince outside whitechapel tube, rugged lookies at I in military attire & to a ruptured Albion rooms tidied in hours and now lids drawn heated on the eyes. A young looking fella has a crush on me.

Jackie/Camillia/Marie/Kate/Chris/V. churchill Jackie/Evelina/Jasmine/Sachi/Dalston/Sussie Sandra/Carlene/FP/Jay/Dalston/Kraut

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy. Clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses.... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

[Image: an article from Gay Times of an interview with Peter. For some reason, the portrait included alongside the article is of Carl wearing a grey and black t-shirt.] Name? Peter Doherty Age? 22 Where are you? I'm on the motorway just north of Southampton. What kind of day are you having? (Vaguely) Erm... quite misty. Something's waiting around the corner, but there are no corners on the motorway, so we'll just have to wait and see what lies ahead. Maybe something will happen tonight.... What's this we hear about you once being a rent boy? Well, when times are hard, duty calls. How long ago was it? When I was 19, about three years ago. How do we know this isn't just a Shaun Ryder-type lie? 'Cause if it was, it would make me a complete scumbag and I'm not, and I'm not interested in that kind of pantomime. It wasn't a very happy time. I didn't really enjoy it. Why did you give it up? (grimly) Well, certain people disappeared... and anyway, ultimately I found myself no longer in such a vulnerable position anymore. Dawn broke, and I realised that it was a beautiful world after all. Have you done any other dodgy jobs? All of us in the band have tried to deal, but it's not good if you like the drugs too much. You just end up using them yourself! I once was a gravedigger. I used to do it with my mate in Willesden Green cemetery. We didn't actually do the digging, a machine did that, but we used to have to fill them in. It was pretty grim work. So are you gay then? Love is love, wherever it comes from. I'm not anything, really. I am a very sexual person but... I dunno, I believe in liberty... The Marquis de Sade has a lot to answer for... Do you get a lot of gay fans? Yeah - well, there's one guy in particular. He's very shy and he follows us around. He brings in letters and cards and stuff, but he's very quiet. I think John (the bassist) is the main pulling power in the band. Are you jealous about that? Nah! I've known him too long.

You know I'm alright i dont even care i like it when they stare & stare call me queer, dear oh dear a million things & what I wear He's real hard when he's with his mates but I'll saw him again & he was too late

Dear NME I'd have thought after the Gay Times piece, the interview with Rapture fanzine & our recent gig at the Slum Club everything would be clear. No it still remains to give a big hearty fuck off to all these twisted suburban types calling me a liar. Vulnerable young men & women all over the world find themselves victims of circumstance.

she was dressed in suit & tie & lightly etched-on moustache. 'I've always wanted to kiss a bird in the back of a taxi.' she says, running her hand up the fishnet ladders of my thigh. Stepping onto the front line in Bow puddles, elevators, buzzing doors,

[Image: the original page in the book has been preserved. Two paragraphs have been boxed off with biro. They read:] “...cast Richard Burton and Rex Harrison as bickering queer barbers and then much more uncompromisingly in William Friedkin's adaptation of The Boys in the Band (1970), which introduced some of the plainer four letter words in the English language to the screen for the first time. 'Who,' asks Cliff Gorman, in his brilliant portrayal of the most effeminate of the homosexual group as they gather for a soul-searching party, 'Who do you have to fuck to get a drink around here?' Other homosexual manifestations to occur in movies around this time included an elliptical but unmistakeable male fellatio scene in John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969) when Jon Voight, as a broke and disillusioned Texas stud importunes in a New York cinema....”

[Image, top left: a blurry photo of John onstage, playing bass. Image, top right, sideways: a photo of the band onstage. Carl and John are on the left, sharing a mic. Peter is on the right, playing guitar and singing into his own mic. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his bottom half from the chest down is visible. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his top half from shoulders up is visible. Image, bottom left: a torn fragment of a photo. What looks like a denim-clad knee and a yellow carrier bag are visible. Image, bottom middle: a photo of someone's knee in torn jeans, taken from under a table. Image, bottom right: a torn photo of Carl in a black sleeveless shirt, posing with his fingers in his mouth.] [A paragraph from the original page of the book has been left exposed and boxed off with black biro. It reads:] “The Boys in the Band was displaced by an immeasurably more powerful portrayal of homosexual groups, Fortune and Men's Eyes (1971). Set in a Quebec prison, this disturbing, factually based drama vividly recounted the corrupted of a heterosexual convict trapped in a tough, potentially vicious homosexual society. In one horrifying scene, a weak, put-upon prisoner is gang-banged by his fellow inmates; in another, the 'hero' is blackmailed by his cellmate into accepting him as his lover for the duration...”

Like a cat on a hot tin roof Like a macho man in a roomful of poofs I have tried in my way to be free.

[Written in Peter's handwriting] Jerome... is that how it's spelt? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes it is [Written in Peter's handwriting] Can I read you something? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes please.....

I insist, new book of Albion, befuddled by drugs I may yes about 2 but I do not miss out entirely on the subtleties of the inhuman relation ships that are this the mainstay of my stay here in one bounce of a loaf. Boys are fooled into fooling with boys. [...]

More general references/some extra explanations:

“The boy looked at Johnny” is a line from Patti Smith's song “Horses,” part one of a three-part song called “Land.” In the song, a young man named Johnny is assaulted by another man in a locker room; he then mentally journeys to other fantastical lands and visions. A lot of people interpret it as being about gay sex, although some people interpret it as being about a stabbing.

Peter quotes and references Jean Genet's writing and works about Jean Genet many times. While Genet's works are nearly all about crime and prison (one of Peter's main interests and points of fascination), all of his works are very explicitly gay. The Thief's Journal is more about Genet's various lovers than it is about his criminal history. Our Lady Of The Flowers is about a drag queen and her criminal lovers, and is also extremely erotic.

(“Jerome” is Jerome Alexandre, vocalist of The Deadcuts, who was friends with Peter and Mark Keds.)

#squash transcribes books of albion #peter doherty #feel free to request compilations of other kinds too

[eerythingisshaka]

Check Up 2

[Doctor!Erik “Killmonger” Stevens x Reader]

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Teledoc

You let a whole week pass.  Thinking about your ‘prescription’ is all you can do with your free time.  You kept that sheet of paper in your purse and took it out during your lunch break, at happy hour, and every night you sat on the couch alone at night.  And when you went to bed, you gave up on underwear because apparently wet dreams affect women too and you could not get him out of them.

You couldn’t talk to your friends about what happened.  As far as they knew, you chickened out before the appointment.  You really wish you did tell them though because now this prescription is burning a hole in your hand and you can’t figure out what to do with it.  

One night, you decide hanging with your girls is a good distraction and call them up to come over for a get together.  Sipping and snacking with a movie that none of you pay attention to was a great distraction.

“But chile, let me tell y’all about the last time I went to the doctor,”  your high school friend exclaims, setting down her glass.

Your college friend coughs into her chest.  “I told you that bump on your puss was nothing but an ingrown...but if I was wrong, I also told you to stop messing with the dude you met selling phones outside the grocery.”

She waves her off.  “I’ll never have to pay a phone bill again though.  However, you were right about the ingrown but I mean the pussy clinic.”

You perk up, leaning with intrigue.  “Yeah, how did that go?”

“Well, I made my appointment and everything, even requested him specifically to see me.  So after I got my wax and went over there, I got seen and put in a room for examination.  He comes in and BITCH!”

You feel your heart lurch in your throat.  Of course he sees other women with this.  But one of your friends?  Is there anything more disgusting?

She continues, “...so I’m sitting there like a deer in headlights looking at this brown, tall, muscular, educated with an attitude ass that I could never let slip from my grip if he needed it.”

Your college friend hoots and hollers.  “Baby GIRL!  So how did he do?  Did y’all fuck?  Oh my God that’s one of my favorite porn genres:  Doctors and Bosses fucking you all over the office!”  

High school friend shrugs, taking her glass up woefully.  “He is unfortunately long winded and VERY clinical in his explanations of the damn vagina.  I never thought I could be so bored of it, I almost wanted to sit on his face just to shut him the fuck up, which I did offer.”

“To sit on his face?!”  you exclaim loudly, checking yourself internally for your outburst but she doesn’t notice.

“I offered for him to see it.  I thought a gynecological exam came with it, which it does but he steps out and some white woman comes in and does the same bullshit I always get at my regular doctor.”

“Damn, so the streets were telling lies?”  College friend whispers, looking incredulous into the distance as her hopes crumbled in her mind.

“Unfortunately, I think so.  So (y/n) don’t even worry about missing that appointment, it’s literally a lecture with a pap smear at the end, which is worse than any lecture I sat through in college.  At least my TA was down for a make out every exam time.”

You chuckle absentmindedly, but not because of her academic indiscretions.  You had to know why he gave you the treatment differently.  And you have left him on a limb for over a week now when there is no greater sign than this that he may have clearly expressed interest.  You couldn’t be left stuck on stupid.

“Hey y’all, I’ll be right back.  My mama wants me to call her about some movie actors she wants me to look up.  She never gon learn Google.”

Your friends go right back to chatting with each other as you walk back to your room and shut the door.  It’s 6:30, would he even be available to talk?  You have no idea if this is a personal number or his work number, but if you had to leave a message, that would be better than nothing.  You are a patient, after all.

You sneak back to your bedroom, closing the door and laying out the prescription paper on your desk to make the call.  Your heartbeat was pounding strong in your chest as you became excited.  The back and forth pull of hoping he wouldn’t pick up while hoping to he would makes you feel foolishly juvenile, but your muted shriek as the phone rang confirmed how exhilarating this all is for you.

It rings once, twice, three times, then four.  You start to wonder if you should hang up or wait to leave a voicemail.  What would you even say?   How could he respond to-”

“Good evening, Dr. Erik Stevens speaking.”

Your heart couldn’t take the pressure, leaving your body it seems as you freeze in shock.

“Hello?  Is this (Y/N)?”

You plop back on the bed, beating a pillow beside you to work out you sudden burst of energy.  How the hell did he know it was you?

“Uh, yes.  It’s me, thanks for calling,” you reply professionally.

“...you called me,” he says with a warm laugh on his end.

You smack your forehead, “Oh yeah!  I did, you’re correct.  I meant to say thanks for answering.”

“What’s up?”  he asks coolly.

You puff out your cheeks, finding the words as smoothly as possible.  “Um, I had wanted you to fill me, erm, fill YOU in on my progress but really there isn’t much to go on.”

“Really?”  he says, sounding genuinely curious.  “What’s been happening?”

You shrug as if he can see it.  “I mean, who knows but I know I have been busy so I can’t dedicate a ton of time but also, when I have tried...you know…”

“Masturbation?”

You felt your pussy jump 3 feet that time.  The word sounds so 1970s PSA after school special to you but when he says it, it’s like your favorite thing on the menu being a happy hour item when you didn’t expect it.

“Heh, yes.  So when I tried like you did, I couldn’t feel the things I did in your office,”  you feel so meek and shy talking about this.  He is a doctor, it’s his job and he has seen it all but you shrink within yourself discussing this.

He gives a couple uh huhs and pauses before asking, “How did I make you feel during your visit?”

Your body tenses up again as you stammer some, getting worked up.

“Now be easy, that is the start of the issues right there.  Calm down and relax.  Take some deep breaths.”

His voice is like coffee: rich, energizing, needed to get from one activity to the next.  You do so clutching a pillow tightly in front of you.  “Ok.  when I was there honestly I was nervous.  I wasn’t sure what to expect but friends said I should see you just cuz you’re so fine.”

“Hm, I guess that’s a recommendation I won’t complain about.”

You both laugh together.

“It’s crazy but I wanted to see what the fuss was.  I should’ve known better, why would I go do this after so many women before me,”  you make sure to add that to get a gauge of his status of wooing anyone else like you.

“I don’t take on every patient that comes in, so you know,”  Erik says assuredly.

“I know…” you say trailing off with slight disappointment.

“Also...I gave you extra...care because it seemed to work best for you.  I have not done that with any other patients because they seem honestly more into the information I provide or ask for a female doctor or are very enthusiastic about examining themselves.”

You tried to find the right words to say just so that it doesn’t come off as too thirsty but real.  He wanted to know that he took care of you after all.  

“Well, I appreciate you being in tune with your patients like that.  I didn’t necessarily expect what happened but it felt good all the same.  I mean I really had some issues with seeing the good of my…”

“Vagina, though you probably mean vulva,” he says matter-of-factly.

You felt embarrassed again.  How you, a woman, couldn’t say it but from him it’s like reading a feminist poem.  “Vagina/vulva, exactly.  I always hear about so many standards guys have and that influences women to pass on even more standards on what it should look like, smell like, feel like, but none of it matches me to a T.  So you informed me and that made me not feel weird about opening myself up to you after knowing you for 5 minutes.  Plus, it’s your job of course, so I know I ‘m not the first.”

“You weren’t just a part of the job though.”

“Come again?  What?”  you ask, sitting up straight.

“I can’t lie when you were here, I was highly attracted to you.  You engaged me in conversation, which showed me how smart you are.  And you’re...beautiful, in every possible way.”

You practically eat your pillow at the revelation.  “I...that is...amazing you would say that.”

Erik chuckles.  “I mean that too.  And I apologize in advance if it’s forward but I hoped you would call when I gave you the prescription, I almost didn’t think it would happen.”

You fan yourself excitedly, “Can’t seem too eager.  But I could use a refresher on what I was taught.”

“Exactly what this hotline is for!  So let me think here.  You’re in a comfortable space, right?  Alone.”

This reminds you that your friends are in the other room.  “Sure, yeah.”

Erik’s voice drops a little lower as he discusses the topic at hand.  “Ok.  The best way I find that works for you is if I were to spread your legs wide.  It gives me a lot of space to work with.”

You feel yourself warm up at the image.  “Sure, that definitely works.”

“Yeah, cuz I can have you completely open in front of me, so there’s nothing and nowhere to hide.  Your body is served up right and ready for me to...demonstrate.  By now, I could tell already that you’re aroused.  Do you want to do this, while you’re on the phone with me?”

You run lightly over to your bedroom door to lock it, kicking off your shorts and underwear to fly back onto the bed.  “Ok, sure.  And you really could tell already?”

“Uh huh.  Cuz you can’t look straight at me at first and you holding on to the sides of the table to brace yourself.  But I promise I won’t do anything that would hurt, ok?  Then I take my hands and run them along your inner thighs.”

“Oh wow,” you say already breathless, as your fingers feel the softness of your inner thigh, tightening your stomach up from the sensation.

“Does that kinda tickle you?”  he asks gently.

You giggle.  “Yeah it does,”  you say, running one hand down your inner thigh back and forth light as a feather.

“That’s good.  It helps with anticipation, excitement.  Your laugh is cute too, and that makes me want to hear you do other things too, so I kiss the skin on your thigh cuz it’s soft and-”

You gask, jerking your legs together again and smile with all teeth, trying to hold in the goofy laugh that almost spurted from your mouth.  

Erik laughs.  “...and I make you gasp and laugh just like that.  Like I did something so innocent and childish when I’m only getting ready to bring the freak outta you with just my tongue.”

You exhale, feeling yourself become anxious as your body gets antsy.  You wish with all your heart he was in the room.

“Now I can see for real you wanting me.  That pussy starts to talk back to me a little and it makes me curious.  You remember how my fingers felt pulling your lips apart for the first time?”

“God, yes,” you moan, reliving the very moment.  You feel your lips, vulnerably tender to your touch, you take your fingers down between them and shudder, looking down as you part them, you catch a glimpse yourself in the full length mirror on your closet door.  

“And when I do that, it tells me everything.  I can tell your body is getting your shit ready for me, making your skin more sensitive for my touch, those walls getting warm and wet to make you want more and more, and I want to taste it.  The sweet drip that pools from within you, I gotta have it.  But only a taste.”

“You can taste it all,”  you whisper, reaching for your clit.

Erik laughs.  “Ok, thank you.  But don’t you dare touch that fucking clit yet.”

You sit up, putting your knees together feeling frustrated.  “What?  Why?”

“So before I get my taste, I have to taste with my eyes right?  Now I got to taste it with my touch.  So, let me place my hand on top of you, running my fingers through some curls of yours til I get to your lips, dragging my thumb up and down so you good and coated with all that drip.  Go ahead and do that for me.”

“Wow, yeah,” you hiss, turning over on your stomach, spreading your knees wide with a high arch, imagining him seeing you fully vested.

Erik sounds very close to the phone as he says, “I really really like the way your lips look under my fingers, it’s like they dance with my rhythm and it’s hard to stop.  But I had to know what your pussy was talking to me about from earlier, so I put my finger inside you, slowly, pushing in.  That’s when I feel you tighten up a little.”

You slide two fingers in and out of yourself as you bite the pillow.  “More.”

“More?  That’s what I thought too, since you tighten up for one finger, I easily put another in, feeling your walls put their work out on me.”

You dig your forehead into the mattress, not able to wait any longer, you move your soaked finger up to your clit, shuddering against your touch.

“I know, especially, when I work your clit with my fingers in you at the same time.  It’s like you forget to breathe, going quiet then gasping sharper, faster..”

You feel your arousal at its peak, breathing into your chest as your back curls up, pushing your hand deep into your sheets.  You sit into your hand further, not wanting to let go of your climax too soon.

“Ohh, shit, I think you found your nut, didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes!  Fuucck Erik,”  you repeat over and over with the rhythm of your hips as your orgasm grows, messing up your sheets and giving not a fuck about it.

“I did, but you know what I need now?  I got my eyeful, and my touch, but now I really really need to taste you,”  Erik says with a growl.

“Taste it,” you plead.

“I take my fingers out of you and they are soaked with you cuz you wanna give me your all.  I want you to look at me as I lick my hand clean of you.”

“I see it.  Taste some more.”

“Your hips are moving at me, getting closer like you need more.”

“I do!”  You say louder feeling a concentrated force work from your center toward the outer edges of our body.

“I love to see you need it.  You ain’t playing with me laughing and smiling, you’re begging and angst ridden.  Now I have to make you feel me, it’s what I have to do.  Just when my tongue touches down on your lips, your legs jerk around me, but I know that’s only a reflex so I dig my tongue into your deeper, whipping it up to your clit before wrapping my lips around it.  

“Shit!  Fuck!” you whisper feeling your clit get over stimulated, aftershocks leaving you jerky..

“Just like that, baby girl.  You hooked right into me.  Feeling your hands dig into me skin while you cum had me solid.  It took everything for me to not turn you over and show you the real shit.  Now I want you to come.”

You push yourself up slowly, your head feeling hazy.  You hadn’t came that hard since the last time, and you just had to get the full experience.

You roll over, feeling lifted.  “I have.”

“Nah, I need you to meet me.”  Erik demands. You spring up from your bed.  “Where?  When?  Like, huh?”

“Just come to my office.  We closed 30 minutes ago.  I’ll wait for you.”

You run to your shower to get a quick fresh up before putting on something cute but functional.  You figure something that will allow him to get all of you just like he said he wanted over the phone and no one is more naked than going to the bathroom in a romper,s o you chose this olive green, with skinny faux belt in the front and a love neckline.  Some platform sandals that match your skin tone and some curl refresh in your hair, and you’re good to go.  

As you walk out of your bedroom, seeing your friends there almost scare you.

“Uh, girl where are you going?  Is your mom alright?”  Your college friend asks while looking you up and down in your new outfit.

You put on your best acting performance.  “She is, but she lost the remote again and hit a button so I need to reprogram something.  I’ll be back, stay long as y’all want to.”

“AHEM!  You look rather nice for a pop over to your mama’s.  Is there something else going on?”  High school friend asks with a judgmental gaze.

You feign frustration, “Ugh, I know, it’s such a  hassle, but daughter’s gotta do what they gotta do.  I’ll be back in like...a while.”  You exit your apartment in a rush, dodging all follow up questions aimed at your back.

Masterlist

#pt 3 to come! #erik killmonger x reader #shakafic

[thefaeriereview]

  Taking Stock by A. L. Lester 

Historical Gay Romance

It's 1972. 

Fifteen years ago, teenage Laurie Henshaw came to live at Webber’s Farm with his elderly uncle and settled in to the farming life. Now, age thirty-two, he has a stroke in the middle of working on the farm. As he recovers, he has to come to terms with the fact that some of his new limitations are permanent and he’s never going to be as active as he used to be. Will he be able to accept the helping hands his friends extend to him? 

With twenty successful years in the City behind him, Phil McManus is hiding in the country after his boyfriend set him up to take the fall for an insider trading deal at his London stockbroking firm. There’s not enough evidence to prosecute anyone, but not enough to clear him either. He can’t bear the idea of continuing his old stagnating life in the city, or going back to his job now everyone knows he’s gay. 

Thrown together in a small country village, can Phil and Laurie forge a new life that suits the two of them and the makeshift family that gathers round them? Or are they too tied up in their own shortcomings to recognise what they have? 

A 1970s historical gay romance peripheral to the Lost in Time universe. Stand alone, not paranormal.

A gentle story about two people who are hurt and angry and tired, finding their way toward each other and healing.

4 out of 5 fairies

Taking Stock is sweet. Honestly, I was little worried this was going to be a bit boring and dry. Instead, I kind of felt like I was watching a Lifetime movie unfold. It's sweet, and although I wouldn't say it's very fast-paced, but the way Lester writes, the slow pace feels right. Normally that sort of thing would drive me up the wall, but curled up with a hot cup of tea and a warm blanket on a cool night this was the perfect sweet escape. If you like Lifetime movies and love reading, you'll fall in love with this book.

Excerpt

  Phil found his feet turning up the lane toward Webber’s Farm a couple of days after his meeting with Laurie Henshaw almost without thought. He had got in to the habit of walking regularly early on in his sojourn in the cottage. Some days he took sandwiches in the knapsack he’d bought and just went up the footpath at the top of the lane and headed off into the winter woods. It was quiet and peaceful and he found that if he could get in to a swinging rhythm, one foot in front of the other, the swirl of anger and betrayal that seemed to accompany him like a cloud quieted, gradually draining down in to the earth as he walked. 

Today though, rather than his feet taking him up the hill in to the burgeoning spring, they took him down toward the farm. Henshaw…Laurie…had grabbed his interest in a way that nobody had for months. The man had been on his last legs sitting in the Post Office and his frustration with himself had been obvious. Phil had enjoyed coaxing a smile out of him. Sitting in the farmhouse kitchen with the quiet warmth of the Rayburn at his back, he’d spoken more about his personal life to a complete stranger than he had opened up to anyone since that awful day when Adrian had got him out of the police station.  

It would only be neighbourly to pop in and see if he was all right. That’s what people did in the country, didn’t they? Phil had been here months now, apart from a brief visit to Aunt Mary over Christmas and New Year, and if he was going to be here much longer he should probably make an effort to get to know people properly.  

That made him pause for thought. Was he going to be here much longer?  

He didn’t know. 

He walked through the farmyard cautiously. He knew enough to go to the back door, not the front. The two sheepdogs who had cursorily examined him earlier in the week shot out of the open porch and circled round, barking and wagging cheerfully. No need to knock, then. He did, regardless. And called out “Anyone home?” 

“In here,” Laurie’s voice answered, distantly. “Come in, whoever you are!”

He stepped in to the porch, past a downstairs bathroom and through the scullery with its stone-flagged floor, and pushed the door into the kitchen fully open.  

Laurie was washing up. His stick was hooked on the drainer and he was resting against the sink with one hip. He turned as Phil came in, propping the final plate on the pile beside the soapy water and reaching for the tea-towel flung over his shoulder to dry his hands. 

“Mr McManus! Phil, I mean,” he corrected himself, “what can I do for you?” 

Phil paused. He hadn’t got this far in his head. He had just…walked.  

“Erm. I was just passing?” he tried. His voice lifted at the end, in a question. 

“You were?” Laurie looked at him, one side of his mouth twisted up in a little smile. Or was that the side affected by the stroke? He didn’t know. Didn’t matter, anyway. 

“Yes. I was.” He made his voice firmer. “Sally is at my place this morning, so I thought you might let me hide here.” 

“Only if you’ll let me retreat to your place when she’s cross with me,” Laurie replied. “Although that will probably mean I have to move in, at least for the moment.” He pulled a face. 

“Have you upset her?” 

“No. Yes. Sort of….” He turned toward the Rayburn and dragged the kettle on to the hotplate. “She wasn’t very happy about me over-doing it the other day. Patsy told tales on me.” 

“Ah. Yes, I can see that. She obviously cares about you a great deal. She talks about you all the time when she comes up to do the cottage.” He paused. “Have you been together long?” 

Laurie choked and dropped one of the tea-cups he was moving from the drainer to the table. He fumbled for it and at the same time Phil stooped to catch it. They both missed and it smashed on the stone floor into a thousand tiny pieces. “Shit!” Laurie said, trying stifle his coughing. “That was one of the good ones, too.”  

He bent to pick up the pieces, still choking and Phil said, “Stop it, you bloody fool, let me. It’s everywhere.” He put his hands on Laurie’s shoulders and pushed him upward from his bent position and then back and down, in to one of the kitchen chairs. Laurie’s leg gave as he sat and he made the final descent with an unglamorous wobble. 

He was still coughing. “Sally!” he got out, around between coughs. “Bloody hell!” 

“Where’s the dustpan?” Phil asked, ignoring him. 

Laurie gestured to the cupboard under the sink. “Under there.” 

It was the work of moments to sweep it all up, on his knees at Laurie’s feet. Thankfully it had been empty. He rested back on his heels with with full dustpan. “Where does it go?”  

“Put it in one of the flower-pots on the window-sill,” Laurie said, gesturing. “I’ll stick in the bottom of a pot for drainage when I plant the new ones up.” 

Phil nodded and got to his feet. He lurched as he did so and steadied himself on Laurie’s knee as he rose. Warm, he thought. The man smelled nice. A mixture of soap and fresh air and woodsmoke. “Ooops,” he said, pushing himself upright. “Sorry.” 

Laurie grinned at him as they briefly made eye contact. Something flickered in his eyes. “Not a problem,” he said. He pointed at the window-sill behind the sink. “Knock those dead chives in the middle pot out the window in to the yard.” He grinned again, but it was a different sort of smile this time, with slightly too many teeth. “I can’t really balance to water them properly at the moment anyway.” 

Phil opened the window and emptied the dead plants outside ad then tipped the pieces of crockery in as instructed. He replaced the dustpan under the sink and stood up and leaned against it, crossing his arms. “Doesn’t Sally help with that sort of thing?” he asked, looking down at the other man. 

“No. Yes. Sometimes.” Laurie wouldn’t meet his eye and started to stand. “Sit down, let me get a new cup.” 

Phil put his hand back on his shoulder and gently but firmly pushed him back down on to the chair. “What do you mean?” he asked, in a voice that matched his grip, “No-yes-sometimes covers all the wickets.” He removed his hand and turned round to collect another cup and saucer, moving past Laurie to put it on the table beside him and then reaching to pull the kettle off the Rayburn and put both tea-leaves and the boiling water in the teapot. 

He brought the teapot over and put it on the cork table-mat in the middle of the table before opening the pantry door and rummaging in the fridge for the milk-jug. Laurie sat and let him, watching him slightly warily. 

As Phil sat down and folded his arms again, waiting for the tea to brew, Laurie muttered, “I told her not to do it.” 

“You told her not to do it?” Phil repeated. “Ah, I see.” And he did, in a way. He wouldn’t be in Laurie’s shoes for anything. 

Laurie worked his thumb over and over one of the whorls of wood in the table-top. It was smoothed from long use. “I hate it, Phil,” he said in a low voice. “I hate not being able to do all the simple things. It makes me feel useless, having them all run round after me.” 

“You’d rather let the plants die than accept help?” 

Laurie bit his lip and continued to worry at the knot in the table. “It sounds daft when you put it like that,” he said. 

Phil didn’t say anything. 

“Okay, I know it’s daft.” He looked up and met Phil’s eyes, his own anguished. “But I hate it,” he said, vehemently. “I hate it, Phil.” 

Where to buy: Book2Read

  * * * * *

Add to your TBR list

About the Author: A. L. Lester is a writer of queer, paranormal, historical, and romantic suspense. Lives in the South West of England with Mr AL, two children, a badly behaved dachshund, a terrifying cat and some hens. Likes gardening but doesn't really have time or energy. Not musical. Doesn't much like telly. Non-binary. Chronically disabled. Has tedious fits.

Connect with A. L. here

Review: Taking Stock https://ift.tt/34CX0Cf

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[jesusvasser]

20 Unique Rides From the 2017 Woodward Dream Cruise

It’s billed as “the world’s largest one-day automotive event,” and each year for at least the last 10 or so it has drawn between 1.0 and 1.5 million attendees and 40,000 or so vintage and, ahem, “special interest” vehicles. The cost of admission? Zip. OK, property owners along the Avenue typically charge owners a few Jacksons to back in, pop the hood, and whip out their folding chairs, but compared with the cost of any single admission ticket on California’s snooty Monterey Peninsula during the same weekend, Woodward is virtually free. Completely removing cost as a barrier to entry encourages diversity the likes of which won’t be seen at Pebble Beach any time soon, spanning from upside-down vans to bizarre oversized Ram/Cummins-powered Hudsons, rat rods, and every big- and small-block muscle machine imaginable.

Motor Trend’s Detroit office garage is situated just 3,718 feet away from Woodward, but your humble technical director’s garage is a mere 518 feet off the historic Avenue. So an editorial team of four scribes and one shooter set up operations there and cruised all week, enlisting chauffeurs from FCA, GM, and Ford, covering Tuesday’s GM Design on Woodward event, and many more. Here are the highlights of the main event.

Upside-Down-&-Backwards GMC Rally Wagon

How ya gonna get people to look at your nice, physically shiny but culturally dull van? By turning it upside down and somehow suspending it from a smaller car’s rolling chassis. Other modifications of note include a sliding side door converted to a top-hinged hatch and a second live axle with differential to spin the van’s skyward-facing front wheels along with the rear ones at something a bit slower than apparent road speed. Visibility is provided by a second set of holes cut into the rear doors above original glass ones.

Lingenfelter 1970 Oldsmobile “442” Vista Cruiser Wagon

Lingenfelter Performance Engineering does most of its business building Corvette and Camaro engines, but for Woodward, why not give a classic Vista Cruiser wagon the full 442 treatment and then some? The “then some” includes a Lingenfelter LS3 Performance Engine topped with an Edelbrock supercharger good for 650 horsepower mated to a Tremec six-speed transmission spinning through a 3.73:1 Eaton posi axle. Ridetech air-ride suspension and Weld wheels round out the package. Yum.

1937 Hudson Terraplane XXXL

This crazy project actually started with a normal-sized Hudson Terraplane but was stretched, widened, tallened (if that were a word) and plopped on a Dodge Ram 2500 diesel truck chassis converted to air suspension. It towers over traffic, perhaps heightening the “plane” aspect (har-har, see what we did there?) of its original nomenclature—though heaven knows what it would take to get this beast off the ground.

Cushman 7-Passenger Skiff

Safety first! Life jackets were being worn as this precious little wooden skiff scurried up the Avenue powered and suspended by the wee 22-hp engine and three-wheel chassis from a Cushman model 898457 Haulster refuse collector. Hopefully they didn’t drive this street-legal beauty all the way from Florida, where its motorcycle license plate hails from.

Snapper’s Buggy & Machine Co. Caterpillar Buggy

Here’s another “car” (pictured at left) where, without any vehicular traffic around it for scale, might almost look “normal.” Might. Actually the big Alcoa semi-tractor front wheels hint at the scale pretty well. Instead of burnouts, this one did “rolling coal” demos on demand #WeDontNeedNoStinkingParticleTraps.

Tommy’s Rod Shop Chopped School Bus

Folks come to Woodward from far and wide. Case in point: this too-cool-for-school bus from Guthrie, Kentucky. It’s an easy low step up from the road, but the basketball team had better watch their heads while climbing aboard.

1971 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Donk Cabrio

Most of the really big-wheel cars came out to cruise after dark, perhaps to show off their underbody and wheel-well lighting, but this one was bold enough to show off its pristine bodywork in the bright afternoon sunlight. Hot rods were admitted to Pebble Beach a few years ago—can the Donks be far behind? Yes. Very far indeed.

Circa 1970 Chevrolet Nova “Silver Bullet” Superbird

The front license plate identifies the owner/driver as a “fortunate son,” and indeed this is some machine he has been blessed with. The mind fairly boggles as to what must be under that hood, sucking great lungfuls of air through that elaborate hood, and just imagine the rear-end stick that wing must endow this baby with when turning into Michigan International Speedway’s turn three at 200-plus mph …

1948 Chevrolet Fleetline Fastback

Patina is the new black. Many cars observed had faux patina painted or stenciled onto their bodywork, but we’re rather more convinced by this one’s, erm, “finish.” Equal parts factory sheetmetal, rebar, and heavy-duty chain comprise the exterior surface with lovely details such as metal spiders on the grille. We’re not sure what the engine is, but it must be valuable—there’s a hefty padlock securing the hood.

Char’s Poultry Grooming 1966 Chevrolet C10 Custom Stepside

Trucks and riffs thereon were popular at Woodward this year. This 1966 Chevy is owned by retired air force serviceman Mario Guarnaccia of Mars, Pennsylvania. It’s named after his wife Charlene (Char) who is a Finn (which explains the “Finlandia” and flag inside). They have chickens, so Char decided to have the “poultry grooming” mural painted on the door. Naturally chickens don’t get dolled up, but apparently lots of folks enquire as to how the Guarnaccias groom chickens. The couple bought the truck six years ago for $600, and Mario did all the work himself, which included chopping the rearmost 2.5 feet off the 8-foot bed.

Troy Police Burnout Enforcement Unit?

Many jurisdictions pitch in to help secure the Woodward Dream Cruise, but the Troy, Michigan, boundaries do not include any stretch of Woodward Avenue. This “officer” must have been a tourist.

Jurassic Park Motor Pool 1992 Jeep Wranglers

Extreme fans will go to great lengths to express their love for movie franchises. The first two Jeeps in this lineup have completed their transition to Jurassic world tour vehicles, probably following the build instructions from www.jpmotorpool.com. The third Jeep in line has only gotten about as far as the license plate.

1956 Mercury Custom

That’s our best stab at what this long, low, lovely custom started its life as before getting its Cadillac taillamps and luggage-loading-inhibitor wing. The level of body and paintwork is stunning. There are a lot of folks in the Detroit area who are exceptionally gifted in these arts …

Rat Rods ‘R Us

Having missed several of the last Woodward Dream Cruises, your 500-foot adjacent editor was surprised at the number of full-on ultra-slammed, heavily patinated rat rods were prowling the avenue. They’re definitely a thing—and a good thing at that.

1964 Chevrolet Corvette Grand Sport Roadster

It’s probably safe to say that during the Woodward Dream Cruise, cars originally intended to fulfill a performance mission slightly outnumber those designed for more quotidian pursuits. The Corvette Grand Sport was certainly a benchmark performer in its day. It’s a fair bet that this one’s a clone or tribute car, but we didn’t take down the seller’s number to find out for sure.

1937 Ford Model 78 Cabriolet

The Woodward Dream Cruise is all about having fun, and that often involves props—such as Kermit The Frog in a coordinating shade of green. This car probably has had an interesting history—note the right-hand drive.

1968-’73 Datsun 510

Woodward welcomes all makes and models, and although domestic fare predominates, there are plenty of imported gems such as this five-and-dime Datsun wearing minor battle scars and doffing its bumpers and radio antenna.

2003 Chrysler PT Cruiser GT Art Car

Art cars are a perennial feature of the Woodward Cruise, and this Marine has clearly festooned Bryan Nesbitt’s original design with about a thousand skulls, crossbones, and skeletal hands, plus more than a few handgun images thrown in for good measure.

Boss Hoss 572 Bike

So you think you’re a big man controlling 707 or 808 horses in a big heavy four-wheeler, eh? Well real men rock a 625-hp 572-cubic-inch Bow Tie Big Block between their legs with one-wheel drive. And the

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[robertkstone]

20 Unique Rides From the 2017 Woodward Dream Cruise

It’s billed as “the world’s largest one-day automotive event,” and each year for at least the last 10 or so it has drawn between 1.0 and 1.5 million attendees and 40,000 or so vintage and, ahem, “special interest” vehicles. The cost of admission? Zip. OK, property owners along the Avenue typically charge owners a few Jacksons to back in, pop the hood, and whip out their folding chairs, but compared with the cost of any single admission ticket on California’s snooty Monterey Peninsula during the same weekend, Woodward is virtually free. Completely removing cost as a barrier to entry encourages diversity the likes of which won’t be seen at Pebble Beach any time soon, spanning from upside-down vans to bizarre oversized Ram/Cummins-powered Hudsons, rat rods, and every big- and small-block muscle machine imaginable.

Motor Trend’s Detroit office garage is situated just 3,718 feet away from Woodward, but your humble technical director’s garage is a mere 518 feet off the historic Avenue. So an editorial team of four scribes and one shooter set up operations there and cruised all week, enlisting chauffeurs from FCA, GM, and Ford, covering Tuesday’s GM Design on Woodward event, and many more. Here are the highlights of the main event.

Upside-Down-&-Backwards GMC Rally Wagon

How ya gonna get people to look at your nice, physically shiny but culturally dull van? By turning it upside down and somehow suspending it from a smaller car’s rolling chassis. Other modifications of note include a sliding side door converted to a top-hinged hatch and a second live axle with differential to spin the van’s skyward-facing front wheels along with the rear ones at something a bit slower than apparent road speed. Visibility is provided by a second set of holes cut into the rear doors above original glass ones.

Lingenfelter 1970 Oldsmobile “442” Vista Cruiser Wagon

Lingenfelter Performance Engineering does most of its business building Corvette and Camaro engines, but for Woodward, why not give a classic Vista Cruiser wagon the full 442 treatment and then some? The “then some” includes a Lingenfelter LS3 Performance Engine topped with an Edelbrock supercharger good for 650 horsepower mated to a Tremec six-speed transmission spinning through a 3.73:1 Eaton posi axle. Ridetech air-ride suspension and Weld wheels round out the package. Yum.

1937 Hudson Terraplane XXXL

This crazy project actually started with a normal-sized Hudson Terraplane but was stretched, widened, tallened (if that were a word) and plopped on a Dodge Ram 2500 diesel truck chassis converted to air suspension. It towers over traffic, perhaps heightening the “plane” aspect (har-har, see what we did there?) of its original nomenclature—though heaven knows what it would take to get this beast off the ground.

Cushman 7-Passenger Skiff

Safety first! Life jackets were being worn as this precious little wooden skiff scurried up the Avenue powered and suspended by the wee 22-hp engine and three-wheel chassis from a Cushman model 898457 Haulster refuse collector. Hopefully they didn’t drive this street-legal beauty all the way from Florida, where its motorcycle license plate hails from.

Snapper’s Buggy & Machine Co. Caterpillar Buggy

Here’s another “car” (pictured at left) where, without any vehicular traffic around it for scale, might almost look “normal.” Might. Actually the big Alcoa semi-tractor front wheels hint at the scale pretty well. Instead of burnouts, this one did “rolling coal” demos on demand #WeDontNeedNoStinkingParticleTraps.

Tommy’s Rod Shop Chopped School Bus

Folks come to Woodward from far and wide. Case in point: this too-cool-for-school bus from Guthrie, Kentucky. It’s an easy low step up from the road, but the basketball team had better watch their heads while climbing aboard.

1971 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Donk Cabrio

Most of the really big-wheel cars came out to cruise after dark, perhaps to show off their underbody and wheel-well lighting, but this one was bold enough to show off its pristine bodywork in the bright afternoon sunlight. Hot rods were admitted to Pebble Beach a few years ago—can the Donks be far behind? Yes. Very far indeed.

Circa 1970 Chevrolet Nova “Silver Bullet” Superbird

The front license plate identifies the owner/driver as a “fortunate son,” and indeed this is some machine he has been blessed with. The mind fairly boggles as to what must be under that hood, sucking great lungfuls of air through that elaborate hood, and just imagine the rear-end stick that wing must endow this baby with when turning into Michigan International Speedway’s turn three at 200-plus mph …

1948 Chevrolet Fleetline Fastback

Patina is the new black. Many cars observed had faux patina painted or stenciled onto their bodywork, but we’re rather more convinced by this one’s, erm, “finish.” Equal parts factory sheetmetal, rebar, and heavy-duty chain comprise the exterior surface with lovely details such as metal spiders on the grille. We’re not sure what the engine is, but it must be valuable—there’s a hefty padlock securing the hood.

Char’s Poultry Grooming 1966 Chevrolet C10 Custom Stepside

Trucks and riffs thereon were popular at Woodward this year. This 1966 Chevy is owned by retired air force serviceman Mario Guarnaccia of Mars, Pennsylvania. It’s named after his wife Charlene (Char) who is a Finn (which explains the “Finlandia” and flag inside). They have chickens, so Char decided to have the “poultry grooming” mural painted on the door. Naturally chickens don’t get dolled up, but apparently lots of folks enquire as to how the Guarnaccias groom chickens. The couple bought the truck six years ago for $600, and Mario did all the work himself, which included chopping the rearmost 2.5 feet off the 8-foot bed.

Troy Police Burnout Enforcement Unit?

Many jurisdictions pitch in to help secure the Woodward Dream Cruise, but the Troy, Michigan, boundaries do not include any stretch of Woodward Avenue. This “officer” must have been a tourist.

Jurassic Park Motor Pool 1992 Jeep Wranglers

Extreme fans will go to great lengths to express their love for movie franchises. The first two Jeeps in this lineup have completed their transition to Jurassic world tour vehicles, probably following the build instructions from www.jpmotorpool.com. The third Jeep in line has only gotten about as far as the license plate.

1956 Mercury Custom

That’s our best stab at what this long, low, lovely custom started its life as before getting its Cadillac taillamps and luggage-loading-inhibitor wing. The level of body and paintwork is stunning. There are a lot of folks in the Detroit area who are exceptionally gifted in these arts …

Rat Rods ‘R Us

Having missed several of the last Woodward Dream Cruises, your 500-foot adjacent editor was surprised at the number of full-on ultra-slammed, heavily patinated rat rods were prowling the avenue. They’re definitely a thing—and a good thing at that.

1964 Chevrolet Corvette Grand Sport Roadster

It’s probably safe to say that during the Woodward Dream Cruise, cars originally intended to fulfill a performance mission slightly outnumber those designed for more quotidian pursuits. The Corvette Grand Sport was certainly a benchmark performer in its day. It’s a fair bet that this one’s a clone or tribute car, but we didn’t take down the seller’s number to find out for sure.

1937 Ford Model 78 Cabriolet

The Woodward Dream Cruise is all about having fun, and that often involves props—such as Kermit The Frog in a coordinating shade of green. This car probably has had an interesting history—note the right-hand drive.

1968-’73 Datsun 510

Woodward welcomes all makes and models, and although domestic fare predominates, there are plenty of imported gems such as this five-and-dime Datsun wearing minor battle scars and doffing its bumpers and radio antenna.

2003 Chrysler PT Cruiser GT Art Car

Art cars are a perennial feature of the Woodward Cruise, and this Marine has clearly festooned Bryan Nesbitt’s original design with about a thousand skulls, crossbones, and skeletal hands, plus more than a few handgun images thrown in for good measure.

Boss Hoss 572 Bike

So you think you’re a big man controlling 707 or 808 horses in a big heavy four-wheeler, eh? Well real men rock a 625-hp 572-cubic-inch Bow Tie Big Block between their legs with one-wheel drive. And the

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[robertkstone]

20 Unique Rides From the 2017 Woodward Dream Cruise

It’s billed as “the world’s largest one-day automotive event,” and each year for at least the last 10 or so it has drawn between 1.0 and 1.5 million attendees and 40,000 or so vintage and, ahem, “special interest” vehicles. The cost of admission? Zip. OK, property owners along the Avenue typically charge owners a few Jacksons to back in, pop the hood, and whip out their folding chairs, but compared with the cost of any single admission ticket on California’s snooty Monterey Peninsula during the same weekend, Woodward is virtually free. Completely removing cost as a barrier to entry encourages diversity the likes of which won’t be seen at Pebble Beach any time soon, spanning from upside-down vans to bizarre oversized Ram/Cummins-powered Hudsons, rat rods, and every big- and small-block muscle machine imaginable.

Motor Trend’s Detroit office garage is situated just 3,718 feet away from Woodward, but your humble technical director’s garage is a mere 518 feet off the historic Avenue. So an editorial team of four scribes and one shooter set up operations there and cruised all week, enlisting chauffeurs from FCA, GM, and Ford, covering Tuesday’s GM Design on Woodward event, and many more. Here are the highlights of the main event.

Upside-Down-&-Backwards GMC Rally Wagon

How ya gonna get people to look at your nice, physically shiny but culturally dull van? By turning it upside down and somehow suspending it from a smaller car’s rolling chassis. Other modifications of note include a sliding side door converted to a top-hinged hatch and a second live axle with differential to spin the van’s skyward-facing front wheels along with the rear ones at something a bit slower than apparent road speed. Visibility is provided by a second set of holes cut into the rear doors above original glass ones.

Lingenfelter 1970 Oldsmobile “442” Vista Cruiser Wagon

Lingenfelter Performance Engineering does most of its business building Corvette and Camaro engines, but for Woodward, why not give a classic Vista Cruiser wagon the full 442 treatment and then some? The “then some” includes a Lingenfelter LS3 Performance Engine topped with an Edelbrock supercharger good for 650 horsepower mated to a Tremec six-speed transmission spinning through a 3.73:1 Eaton posi axle. Ridetech air-ride suspension and Weld wheels round out the package. Yum.

1937 Hudson Terraplane XXXL

This crazy project actually started with a normal-sized Hudson Terraplane but was stretched, widened, tallened (if that were a word) and plopped on a Dodge Ram 2500 diesel truck chassis converted to air suspension. It towers over traffic, perhaps heightening the “plane” aspect (har-har, see what we did there?) of its original nomenclature—though heaven knows what it would take to get this beast off the ground.

Cushman 7-Passenger Skiff

Safety first! Life jackets were being worn as this precious little wooden skiff scurried up the Avenue powered and suspended by the wee 22-hp engine and three-wheel chassis from a Cushman model 898457 Haulster refuse collector. Hopefully they didn’t drive this street-legal beauty all the way from Florida, where its motorcycle license plate hails from.

Snapper’s Buggy & Machine Co. Caterpillar Buggy

Here’s another “car” (pictured at left) where, without any vehicular traffic around it for scale, might almost look “normal.” Might. Actually the big Alcoa semi-tractor front wheels hint at the scale pretty well. Instead of burnouts, this one did “rolling coal” demos on demand #WeDontNeedNoStinkingParticleTraps.

Tommy’s Rod Shop Chopped School Bus

Folks come to Woodward from far and wide. Case in point: this too-cool-for-school bus from Guthrie, Kentucky. It’s an easy low step up from the road, but the basketball team had better watch their heads while climbing aboard.

1971 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Donk Cabrio

Most of the really big-wheel cars came out to cruise after dark, perhaps to show off their underbody and wheel-well lighting, but this one was bold enough to show off its pristine bodywork in the bright afternoon sunlight. Hot rods were admitted to Pebble Beach a few years ago—can the Donks be far behind? Yes. Very far indeed.

Circa 1970 Chevrolet Nova “Silver Bullet” Superbird

The front license plate identifies the owner/driver as a “fortunate son,” and indeed this is some machine he has been blessed with. The mind fairly boggles as to what must be under that hood, sucking great lungfuls of air through that elaborate hood, and just imagine the rear-end stick that wing must endow this baby with when turning into Michigan International Speedway’s turn three at 200-plus mph …

1948 Chevrolet Fleetline Fastback

Patina is the new black. Many cars observed had faux patina painted or stenciled onto their bodywork, but we’re rather more convinced by this one’s, erm, “finish.” Equal parts factory sheetmetal, rebar, and heavy-duty chain comprise the exterior surface with lovely details such as metal spiders on the grille. We’re not sure what the engine is, but it must be valuable—there’s a hefty padlock securing the hood.

Char’s Poultry Grooming 1966 Chevrolet C10 Custom Stepside

Trucks and riffs thereon were popular at Woodward this year. This 1966 Chevy is owned by retired air force serviceman Mario Guarnaccia of Mars, Pennsylvania. It’s named after his wife Charlene (Char) who is a Finn (which explains the “Finlandia” and flag inside). They have chickens, so Char decided to have the “poultry grooming” mural painted on the door. Naturally chickens don’t get dolled up, but apparently lots of folks enquire as to how the Guarnaccias groom chickens. The couple bought the truck six years ago for $600, and Mario did all the work himself, which included chopping the rearmost 2.5 feet off the 8-foot bed.

Troy Police Burnout Enforcement Unit?

Many jurisdictions pitch in to help secure the Woodward Dream Cruise, but the Troy, Michigan, boundaries do not include any stretch of Woodward Avenue. This “officer” must have been a tourist.

Jurassic Park Motor Pool 1992 Jeep Wranglers

Extreme fans will go to great lengths to express their love for movie franchises. The first two Jeeps in this lineup have completed their transition to Jurassic world tour vehicles, probably following the build instructions from www.jpmotorpool.com. The third Jeep in line has only gotten about as far as the license plate.

1956 Mercury Custom

That’s our best stab at what this long, low, lovely custom started its life as before getting its Cadillac taillamps and luggage-loading-inhibitor wing. The level of body and paintwork is stunning. There are a lot of folks in the Detroit area who are exceptionally gifted in these arts …

Rat Rods ‘R Us

Having missed several of the last Woodward Dream Cruises, your 500-foot adjacent editor was surprised at the number of full-on ultra-slammed, heavily patinated rat rods were prowling the avenue. They’re definitely a thing—and a good thing at that.

1964 Chevrolet Corvette Grand Sport Roadster

It’s probably safe to say that during the Woodward Dream Cruise, cars originally intended to fulfill a performance mission slightly outnumber those designed for more quotidian pursuits. The Corvette Grand Sport was certainly a benchmark performer in its day. It’s a fair bet that this one’s a clone or tribute car, but we didn’t take down the seller’s number to find out for sure.

1937 Ford Model 78 Cabriolet

The Woodward Dream Cruise is all about having fun, and that often involves props—such as Kermit The Frog in a coordinating shade of green. This car probably has had an interesting history—note the right-hand drive.

1968-’73 Datsun 510

Woodward welcomes all makes and models, and although domestic fare predominates, there are plenty of imported gems such as this five-and-dime Datsun wearing minor battle scars and doffing its bumpers and radio antenna.

2003 Chrysler PT Cruiser GT Art Car

Art cars are a perennial feature of the Woodward Cruise, and this Marine has clearly festooned Bryan Nesbitt’s original design with about a thousand skulls, crossbones, and skeletal hands, plus more than a few handgun images thrown in for good measure.

Boss Hoss 572 Bike

So you think you’re a big man controlling 707 or 808 horses in a big heavy four-wheeler, eh? Well real men rock a 625-hp 572-cubic-inch Bow Tie Big Block between their legs with one-wheel drive. And the from PerformanceJunk WP Feed 3 http://ift.tt/2vjR8ZA via IFTTT

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