#Mid Century Americana

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

FILE UNDER "PORCHSIDE MOMENTS IN TIME FROM MID-CENTURY AMERICA."

PIC INFO: Spotlight on a photo titled "Kathy Bauer’s porch," Chicago, USA, c. 1966. 📸: Danny Lyon, from "The Bikeriders" photo book by D.L., first published in 1968. Photos courtesy of Edwin Hook Gallery & Magnum Photos.

Source: www.a-rabbitsfoot.com/editorial/confessions/danny-lyon-rebels.

[bitter69uk]

Happy Easter! Pictured: joyous, undisputed Ambassador of Mid-20th Century Americana Charles Phoenix. The annual Viva Las Vegas Rockabilly Weekender usually falls over the Easter weekend (but confusingly, not always! This year it’s 18 – 21 April). I’ve been attending off and on since 2007 and for years Phoenix’s riotous ultra-kitsch retro slideshows have been a highlight, so for me he’s synonymous with Easter. (For one thing, the effervescent Phoenix routinely took the stage wearing bunny ears). I’m going to Viva Las Vegas for the first time since 2019 in a few weeks and gutted that for the first time I can recall, Phoenix isn’t on the bill this year! What a colossal misjudgment! Let’s hope it’s an unfortunate blip.

[mayanhandballcourt]

Photographer Jake Michaels

[eroticlamb]

Photography by Joel Meyerowitz, 1962-1978.

[persephone-presley]

[sassafrasmoonshine]

George Hughes (American, 1907–1990) • First Day at the Beach • Saturday Evening Post cover • August 11, 1956

[ghaas]

[zugmode]

i’ve had an itch to make a video essay (?????) for like three months now (i have never made a video in my life). and if school wasn’t starting on monday i would literally take time to write and create one. i feel like id be good at it. i think id turn it into art.

[monkeyssalad-blog]

The Torch Room, Flamingo Hotel, Cornwall, Ontario by SwellMap

[chaptertwo-thepacnw]

chevron 1956 |2024|

[americankitsch1]

Midcentury-inspired Christmas tree

source: atomic-ranch.com

[savage-kult-of-gorthaur]

FOR THE LOVE OF VINTAGE SIGNS AND THE CLASSIC AMERICAN DINER ESTABLISHMENT.

PIC INFO: Spotlight on quintessential mid-century Americana -- a vintage sign advertising a dining establishment named Mr. Karass' Charbroiled Steaks, Chops, Chicken, Burgers, & Breakfast Special, unknown state & city, USA, undated.

Source: http://bummercalifornia.com.

[lesbian-moon-gf]

i seldom eat chicken nuggets, but sometimes i get a craving. i had 12 and like... they’re ok. but i swear white ppl act like it’s s tier food. they don’t even do anything special to it. just some sauce. be creative! put that shit in a casserole

[pastdaily]

Latin America: The Wages Of Foreign Policy - America: The Price Of A Man On The Moon - June 4, 1961

https://pastdaily.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/06/news-in-review-june-4-1961.mp3 Further evidence that history on any particular day isn’t about one earth-shifting event, but a series of seemingly inconsequential ones that creep up from time to time and take center stage without anybody looking. On this June 4th in 1961 it was about the upcoming Vienna Summit with Soviet Prime Minister Nikita…

[thestuffedalligator]

Rewatching Truman Show for the first time in a long time, and the detail that’s stuck with me this time is the set design.

The characters drive modern cars and hock modern products, but it’s all presented with a veneer of 1950s wholesome applecheeked Americana. Truman’s life is presented as an escape for the audience from the drudgery of the modern day, and the aesthetic they’ve chosen for this is the post-war economic boom. This is the simple time, the movie says. This is the good time. Doesn’t the modern day suck? Let’s go back and see our friends from the days when life was good.

And it’s a lie. Truman’s life is a lie, and the image of white picket fenced suburbia they’ve presented is a lie. It’s an elaborate construction to recreate a false memory that’s comfortable for advertisers. The movie is a satire, but it’s also a very blatant statement against the nostalgia for a golden age which never existed. It’s a lie. It doesn’t exist.

I don’t know. I’m spitballing. I’m biased because I despise mid-20th century Americana and I naturally treat it with hostility, but it’s very gratifying to see a movie kind of agree with me.

[alien-magnolia]

Highway to Hell

(AC/DC, duh.)

Tw: Casual dominance / relationship domestics with Dean, possessiveness, dumbification, size knk, dom!-coded Dean, sub!-coded reader, daddy!knk, innocence, etc.

Please support your creators and reblog if you can <3

———

The way Dean takes care of you simply made you melt.

You’ve been on the road with him and Sam for a few years now, and you are a welcome presence. Especially for Dean.

You help the boys out, hunting down the supernatural, abolishing curses, negotiating with witches, vampires, and the sort. Sometimes there is a brief period in which you all have no cases. You settle. A dingy mid-Americana motel, doors with paint peeling off, beds that creaked terribly. That was the usual option. Until the three of you found the compound used by the Men of Letters, in the mid 20th century. It was a bit outdated, yet it gave you one thing that you simply desired with fervor — from Dean especially. Privacy. Domesticity.

Yours and Dean’s room was on the other side of the compound. Away from Sam. It was a master suite, right next to a private bathroom. Moments like this were your favorite. Dean lazily lay on the bed, hairy thighs spread, nursing a beer in his right hand, a cigarette in his left. You have just stepped out of the shower. Wearing nothing, of course.

The soft glow and muffled sound of the tv spread through the yellow tinted room. You walk your way over to him. He was still focused on the tv. His glance turned to you, a smile instantly creeped across his face. “Hi there. Need something, sweetheart?,” he raised his brow.

“Need you, D. Got all dolled up, you see?,” you tell him, fingers dwildiling behind you, your nipples, perked up from all the hot water. “Can see that. Why don’tcha come on up here,” he smiles, predatory, patting his thighs. “Daddy’ll take care of ya,” he adds, with a whisper.

You giddily accept the invitation, getting onto his lap, straddling his thighs, your warm wetness pressed up against him. “Want you to ride me, sweetheart. Like one of those bulls at the bar, yeah? Use daddy’s thigh on your sweet lil’ cunt. Wanna see her purr, yeah?,” he chided, bringing a large hand to cup your face. You nod, and follow instructions, as told. You wanted to be good for him, after all.

You rode, panting, heaving, giving it your all. You swung back and forth, sometimes pausing to give him a little dance. He was lucky, having a sweet thing like you in front of him, cigarette, beer, and the tv to keep him entertained. “Keep it movin’ f’me, pretty girl. You’re almost there, aren’t ya?” You nod, your face straining as you feel yourself tighten on his thigh. He moves his thigh into you more, and you scream, letting go. “There she is. Let go, baby. Daddy’s got ya.” You collapse onto his chest with a sigh, spent from this little interaction.

“You tired, baby?,” he asks, earning a nod from you, and a sigh. You were exhausted. He understood. “I got ya.” With your head still lay flush against his chest hair, he picks you up, bringing you to the bathroom. You were already half asleep as he set you on the counter, washed your face, cleaning you up. He brings you back into bed, making sure your head stays on his chest as you fall asleep.

—-

You liked how he took care of you. If you ever got hurt during a hunt, Dean would stop everything to make sure you’re okay. He would tell Sam to go on, leaving his brother frustrated as Dean would dote over you.

He always took a chance to carry you. Sometimes even through the woods — he was afraid that you’d get hurt and trip over the thick branches, because it has happened a few times already.

Whenever the three of you stopped at some local town bars, Dean always made sure to have his arm around your shoulders at all times — even walking you to the restroom if you asked. Sometimes you would sit with your legs on his lap as well. He would stroke your thigh if you got nervous. He would always double check your drink before you drank it, making sure it was okay for you. He would never let you have more than two shots of whiskey.

God forbid if a local bar-goer ever leered at you. Dean would walk over to them, ask them why, and then start throwing punches, ending with a simple, “Stay away from my woman, asshole.”

Sam would roll his eyes and pull Dean apart from the men, every time.

—

Late at night, while you and Dean couldn’t keep your hands off each other, while he took care of your throbbing cunt with his more than you can endow cock, Sam sat at the other side of the building, studying. He was honestly astonished that his brother was so enamored with a woman, always caring for you in a way that Sam had never seen before. It was almost paternal. Sam knew that you were the one to bring out the best, most humane, qualities in Dean.

A/n: requests have been answered! I am on my period, so expect some more fics coming out in the next couple of days. Xoxo, Liz.