#oh dear a yellow supercar

[cinnamonanddean]

Yuck they're really making poor Justin Hartley run around the streets of Vancouver with bare ass feet? He's lucky he didn't step on a needle.

Had him lying in a nasty ass puddle too. What did he do, ask for more money or something?

[lovehugsandcandy]

Until This Time (Colt x MC)

A/N: @choicesarehard is a dirty, dirty enabler and I’m not even mad. She made the gorgeous image below for me as an incentive to write a second part of the tattoo story and, apparently, I am weak. Thank you SO much for editing and for inspiring and for being so amazing each and every single day; you are a ruthless, DIRTY enabler and I love it!

Pairing: Colt x MC, ROD

Length:  4,060 words

Rating: N*FW (swearing and sex, sex and swearing, sexing while swearing? who even knows)

Summary: Colt said he would find her.

Tags:  @deimosensblog @alegria1580  @choicesarehard @thefarrari @client-327 @moonlit-girl-wonder @going-down-downtown@soniadotalves@jolietmaraud @hazah@flowerpowell@poeticscolt @brightpinkpeppercorn @zaira-oh-zaira @powdesiree0816 @umiumichan @akrenich @sibella-plays-choices @leelee10898 @maxwellsquidsuit

Ellie shouldn’t be surprised. Summer faded into fall, fall into winter, sophomore year into junior, and she was still alone, desperate for something, anything, to soothe the ache in her heart.

~~~~~

She couldn’t believe she was so nervous. She had done this before but, then, she hadn’t been by herself, walking into a small room with a stranger, no Mona, no Toby, no Ximena by her side.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

The guy shrugged and started setting up the equipment as she settled into the chair.

It had taken her forever to decide what she wanted. A serpent? It would match but she didn’t know if she wanted it on her own skin. An apple, the symbol of the fall, of the risk of eternal fire? A little too abstract, a lot too Snow White. She finally decided on something, something she thought was appropriate and that she liked; it was a little cliche, but oh well. She had to do a lot of research, find people to consult, lots of internet sleuthing; the last thing she wanted was a mishap and to walk around with gas grill on her hip.

She laid back and shut her eyes as the familiar buzz sounded, biting her lip. It wasn’t that bad, insistent bee stings on her skin, like fingernails dragging deep into her nerves, the vibration rattling her midsection. There were fewer lines than the feather, but thicker, more solid. She wanted to notice it when she looked down, to make it obvious, a stark contrast on her skin.

She didn’t need the reminder of him; he was already in her mind, her heart, phantom lines etched over her body, ever present, every day and, dear God, every night.

But…she wanted it. She wanted the outside to match the inside, her skin to match the marks, the scars, the name on her soul.

~~~~~

And time still passed. Junior year faded into senior year. No one had seen her tattoo; maybe no one ever would. Maybe it was for nothing.

These idle thoughts plagued her mind as she moved forward, towards graduation and what lay beyond for her.

She was torn.

LA had the sun, the East coast had snow. LA had her past, the East Coast had her present. LA had her dad, Riya; the East Coast had great schools with amazing grad programs.

Only one place had her heart.

~~~~~

“Are you sure you want to come back?” Her dad sounded off, strange over the phone.

Weird. “Of course I do.”

Her dad made a noncommittal noise. “It’s just….” A sigh. Ellie waited. “You’re safe on the East Coast, you know?”

“And I’ll be safe in LA. Really.” She knew her dad well enough to know that he was holding something back; throughout the rest of the call, through the updates, the goodbyes, in the back of her mind, Ellie wondered what it was.

It took some digging but, finally, she found it. An article from the The LA Times, posted one week ago. It looked like the Verratti manufacturing plant in Long Beach got hit. Details were sparse, but it looked like someone got away with three prototypes, secret upgrades to their supercars, supercars she knew pretty well. From what she could piece together, the cars were on the exterior quality control track, running some maintenance checks when someone cut open the gate. It would only be a matter of having a good pair of bolt cutters (they never let you down), getting the right uniform to pass as employees (not hard), scheduling the test run for late at night (probably easy to hack if you were able to get into a closed system), and making the getaway to Huntington Beach to blend in with the all the money there (with three good drivers, it was doable). Sounded like an in-and-out job, few witnesses, the cops had no leads. It was like they vanished.

She had to smile. It was a good plan. If someone asked her, she probably would have recommended the same thing.

But no one did.

~~~~~~

When she first moved back, her dad wanted to have dinner with her. Every other night. Lunch on the weekends. She had to pull back, make sure she kept her independence but it was hard, especially when there was nothing that she was pulling towards.

When she wasn’t in class, when she wasn’t with Riya or her dad…well, she tried to make sure she was busy, that she didn’t leave too much time to think, to worry.

And when she did have spare time? Well, she did dumb things.

Dumb things like heading to the cliff, the cliff she knew like the back of her hands. She was there for less than a minute, making it to the edge before the memories hit hard, their first kiss replaying in her head like a sad movie. She had to turn, walk away, breaking into a run to get back to the car.

Or like last Friday, when she showed up, East El Segundo, 8pm sharp, knowing exactly where and when the sideshow would be. She wandered for a while, marginally interested in the cars pulling donuts and watching the races, but it hurt, expecting to see the flash of a white motorcycle or a yellow GT every time she turned around. She didn’t even see a food truck. It was like time moved on, without her, while she was stuck living in a hazy past she couldn’t escape from. She walked back to her car, head low, trying to hide the tears.

Or this.

At least she didn’t get out of the car, sitting in the driver’s seat, window down, keys still in the ignition. The life of the city was vibrant around her, crowds and noise and action everywhere, except the one place she couldn’t take her eyes off of. It was still a shell, empty. It looked like Colt hadn’t even made an effort to start rebuilding; she could see through the front wall to the debris within, still see soot on the ground, pieces of metal and tools and junk cars lying in waste. It was deserted and empty and broken.

She drove away, torn between resolving never to come back here and ordering cleaning supplies to start the rebuilding herself.

~~~~~

Living with Riya meant living with Darius and, honestly, that was fine with Ellie. The three of them were once again inseparable, better than ever. Riya was working downtown while Darius and Ellie were both in grad school. They were busy but they were able to keep some of their old routines and make new ones as well.

But Crispy’s? Chicken tenders at Crispy’s would never die.

“Hey, at least it’s not Tuesday!”

“Yeah, because going to Crispy’s on Friday is so much better!” Riya shoved him, a gentle push to the shoulder that made Darius laugh and pull her close.

Ellie did have to deal with the jealousy, the worry that she had already had and already lost that passion in her life. She was so happy for her friends, she was; sometimes, she just wished things could be…different.

They were a block away from the apartment, Darius and Riya still bickering, hand-in-hand, Ellie half-listening, mind a world away. She wasn’t really paying attention but she should have been, would have seen it sooner, would have seen the dark shape coming out of the alley with more time to react. She moved on instinct, grabbing Riya’s arm to pull her behind, to stand in front of whatever demon from her past was sliding out of the darkness in front of them.

The dark shape was a person, walking under the streetlights, dark boots, jeans, leather jacket, oh shit.

“Hi, Ellie. Riya. Darius.”

Riya was the first to react, to find her voice. “Hi, Colt.”

He smirked, one side of his lips twitching, an almost smile, his eyes never leaving Ellie’s face.

Finally, she spoke. “Hi.” She could see, in the periphery, Riya and Darius looking at each other, moving, but she couldn’t drag her eyes from Colt.

“We’re gonna….” Riya squeezed her arm, brushing past. “We’re gonna go inside.” She and Darius linked arms, both nodding at Colt as they walked by him, but there was only one thing Ellie was focused on.

He looked good. Leather jacket on, hiding his arms from view. He looked softer, somehow, as he watched her, the shadows under his eyes solely from the light above. The last time they were together in an alley, he was hard, haunted, a ghost slipping through her fingers. But now, he looked solid and real.

“How are you?”

“Good….I’m good.” She couldn’t believe, after all this time, that’s his first question? “Colt, what are you doing here? How did you find me?”

He smiled, rocking back on his heels. “I said I’d find you.”

She watched him, underneath the streetlights, hands in his pockets, considering her. She didn’t know whether to smile or cry; what is the correct response when you feel like your heart would burst?

“How have you been?” She stepped closer, drawn like a magnet. He always had that effect on her.

“Better now.”

She shook her head. She didn’t know what to say, whether she was feeling fondness or exhaustion, whether she was relieved or was still feeling the weight of the time stretching between them. “It’s been years, Colt.”

He stepped even closer, smirking, smug as always. “Ellie, I told you I’d find you.”

A low laugh. “Yeah, because I’m not the one moving around all the time.”

“Ellie…” He reached up to trail fingers through her hair. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what you want me to say, other than I’m sorry.”

She didn’t know what she wanted him to say, what he could say, but she knew she couldn’t let him go tonight.

“Do you…” She gestured down the street, knowing his answer already. “Do you want to come in?

~~~~~

She shut the door to her room, turning to watch Colt surveying everything, hands sliding over her books, her desk, as if he could absorb the memories through touch.

“Graduation?” He picked up a frame. She knew that photo by heart, her dad pulling her close, days before she left the East Coast.

“Yeah.”

He looked at her fondly. “Graduated top of your class?”

“Gave a speech and everything.” She felt unsteady. This was not what she expected when they went to Crispy’s tonight. He was too far away, examining her room, trying to fill in the gaps, like a stranger.

“I missed a lot, didn’t I?”

The intensity with which the tears sprang to her eyes surprised her. He did, over three years, but she missed the same, missed the hiding and the planning and the every night they should have been together. Her voice wavered. “I missed you.”

He was across the room in an instant, three steps, and then she was in his arms, burrowing into his t-shirt, arms solid around her, comforting hands up and down her back. She didn’t know who moved first, if her hand reached for his cheek, if his finger raised her chin, but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered when their lips met and she had to sigh, deep in her throat; she had been waiting years for this.

She was lost in his lips, wasn’t paying attention until her back hit the wall, the thin space between her dresser and desk, where they barely fit. She was blocked in by the furniture and his chest and his lips, insistent against her, tongue demanding entrance to her mouth. They kissed, made out like the teenagers they used to be, once upon a time, until he slid his hands to her thighs and lifted. She obliged, wrapping her legs around him, hips grinding together as Colt started a slow roll; she could feel how hard he was, underneath his clothes, pushing into her in a delicious dance, a back and forth she never wanted to end.

Apparently, he wasn’t as satisfied by the angle; he eased her legs down and spun her around, long line against her back, pushing her into the wall as his lips attacked her neck, tongue swirling just so, and his hand made his way down the front of her leggings. She was already keyed up; seeing him after the time and the distance had made her want. He still remembered how to touch her, how to run his thumb in slow circles, when to speed up, where to drag the calluses on his thumb, right where she was most sensitive, to make her squirm and quake and throw her head back onto his shoulder with a cry.

When she came back to herself, when the room came back into focus and her legs stopped shaking and she could see her books had crashed to the floor, he was wrapped around her, murmuring unintelligible words over and over again into her neck.

“Colt?”

The only response was his hand, running up and down her sides, her stomach, mouth still moving against her.

“Colt? Bed.”

Finally, he moved, spinning her so he could kiss her again, deeply, before grabbing her hand and pulling her across the room. She pulled him down on top of her, a safe, heavy weight, holding her there so she couldn’t float away, could only feel him pressing down on her, everywhere. His hands slid up her shirt, burning trails that made her bare her neck to Colt’s lips. She could barely think, only feel, watching as he pulled his shirt over his head, bringing the muscles in his chest, those abs into view, and lower, the feather tattoo sliding over his hip. Damn, she loved that tattoo, the visible ink that marked him as hers.

She reached over, to trail her fingers over it, recommit it to memory so her fingers would always remember the lines, the curves, but then her mind seized. She almost forgot. It had been so long and she was so used to it, used to seeing it when she dressed, when she showered, that she almost forgot her ink would be brand new to him.

She could pinpoint the exact moment he saw it. Her shirt was bunched, halfway up her chest; she thought her bra might be next but, when Colt pulled back, sharp intake of breath in the room, she realized his focus was solely on her hip. She watched him, staring at the tattoo, unmoving, unblinking. She took off her top, her bra, her hands taking over for his. Her pants were still on so he could only see part of it, half of one symbol and the top section of the other, but it was obvious he knew exactly what was written there. She threw the clothes from her hands, waiting; did she break him? He wasn’t even breathing.

His trembling fingers reached out and touched her. Apparently it wasn’t enough, only seeing part of it; he grabbed her waistband and pulled, rough. She could hear the seams tearing as he ripped the pants down to get a better view. She could get new pants. It was worth it, to see the look on his face, the disbelief, the awe. He stared. And stared some more. Then, once he had looked his fill, he traced the symbols, hands reverently mapping the lines on her skin, eyes never wavering from their dark shapes.

Finally, after tracing and retracing three times, achingly slow fingers gliding over her hip, making it hard not to tremble, finally he looked up, catching her eye, emotions warring over his face.

She said the only thing on her mind, the only thing she thought when she was under the needle, the only thing that mattered when she was deciding whether to move back to the West Coast.

“I belong to you.”

It was like a switch flipped. He moved, falling onto her so fast she didn’t even have time to gasp before his lips were on hers, rough, wild. His hands were in her hair, his lips and teeth clashing against hers. She battled back, lips harsh, teeth biting; she had never needed anything, anyone more. She wanted him to consume her.

They barely separated to pull pants from legs, to get nothing between them but bare skin-on-skin. He had always been best at communicating though his body, through how he touched her, their times together a mix of love and reverence and desire. But this touch?

This was desperation. This was Colt falling apart, losing his ever-present control, losing it at being with her again, at their bodies sliding together finally, after so damn long, and, of course, at the sight of the tattoo, the best decision she had ever made, the tattoo that marked her on the outside just as she had been marked on her soul.

“Fuck, El, I need-” His voice faltered, choking off with a moan as he moved back to her neck, rough open-mouth kisses, maybe not even kisses, more bites, pricks of sensation, pleasure-pain invading her senses. His hands were winding through her hair, fist tight, gently pulling her head back so he could mark her throat and further, lower, teeth scraping her breasts, her nipples, everywhere as she writhed underneath him.

He was devouring her, every nerve; he was going to destroy her.

“Yes, yes yes yes.”

He moved between her legs, catching her eye once more, control faltering, barely able to wait for her nod until he moved, pushing inside of her, one smooth stoke.

Her back arched and she cried out to the ceiling as he stretched her all at once. She was losing her mind, his desperation evident in every touch of his hand against her skin, stroking the tattoo as if he was trying to commit it to memory. She wanted him closer, he could never be close enough, not after the years of distance and worry and concern, sleepless nights and imagined fears.

Colt had always burned bright, passion and intensity overlaid with the slightest bit of control; unchecked, she knew he would turn into the blaze that would burn her to a husk. That control was gone now; he was around her, inside her, and she was on fire, would willingly burn if it meant one more moment of this. He moved his hands, one on her clit one on her hip, and his body, smooth motion incessant hard, right where she needed it, right where he remembered.

She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only hold on as she reached for him, clinging to his arms, his ink, and holding on for dear life. He didn’t say a word, looked like he could barely produce speech at this point, mouth open and gasping, sucking in breath after breath as he entered her again and again and her heat started to build and her legs, wrapped around him, trapping him, keeping him as close as he should always be, should have been for the last three years, her legs started to shake again.

He pulled out, one hand on his length, one thumb on her clit, stroking himself, rubbing her, all at the same tempo, all at once, so much movement and pressure and sensation Ellie could only grab the sheets and hold on. His hand moved once more, twice, and he came, hard, all over her tattoo, more streaks of him covering her skin. Her hand flew to her mouth and she bit into the palm of her hand, trying to muffle her scream as the world fell apart.

~~~~~

The second time was in the shower. She needed to get clean and Colt wanted to get dirty. He prevailed. She knew that, in the future, every time she stepped into the bathroom, all she would think about would be her hands, flailing against the wall, nails scrambling for purchase on the tiles as Colt took her apart, inch-by-inch, desperate to show her how much he loved the tattoo.

The third time, the third time she resolved to remember every moment. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, didn’t know when Colt would need to fade into the night again, but she was determined to catalogue every expression that flit across his face, to remember every slide of his fingers across her body, to mentally record every moan and heated whisper, to hold every single sensation tight, close to her heart, for comfort during long nights. She didn’t cry, not this time.

~~~~~

She was alone when she woke up. The sun was high in the sky, bathing the room in light but, when she turned, there was no one behind her. The bed was cold, no one else in the room. As she expected, she was sore, body the absolute best kind of sore when she stretched. Her heart was a different kind of sore, not for the first time.

She had told herself she wouldn’t sob, please not this time, but indulged one tear, tracking down her cheek. This is how they operated. They would always find each other again but, until that time came, she would make her way through the world, carrying memories and ink and love, alone.

She slowly pulled on some sweats, hearing Riya talking in the living room. At least she and Darius were still here, some kind of distraction. As she walked down the hall, she could hear the familiar laughter and noise. They had been obsessed with Horizon Chase, playing until 3am some nights.

She was still groggy. “What time is it?”

She padded to the couch and froze. The screen was split and her car, always the bottom left, always the pink speedster, always, her car was winning. Darius was coming up fast but he wasn’t going to make it, her pink car flying over the finish line. Riya was last, as normal; Ellie could usually beat her but had a harder time beating Darius. Her car never won, especially when she wasn’t playing.

Time stopped as Ellie watched Colt, sitting on the couch in her living room, sitting next to her childhood best friend like he belonged there. He was in his clothes from yesterday but the jacket was off, tattooed sleeves out of place squished next to Riya’s pajama top, worlds colliding.

“You’re like a good luck charm!” He raised his hands in the air, reaching behind him, trying to grab her waist.

“Cuz Darius cheats.” Riya pouted, throwing the controller to the ground.

Ellie just stared.

“I don’t cheat! You just don’t know how to use the boosts, babe, we’ve talked about this!”

“No Darius, you’ve talked about this. I think it’s like cheating.”

Her brain wasn’t working, words weren’t forming.

“You wanna play, Ellie?”

“I think…..I think I need coffee.” Her brain would work better with coffee. “Colt, can you come with me for a second?”

He stood, dropping the controller on the couch and following her into the kitchen. She turned to face him and opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again. Nothing came.

He leaned against the counter like he owned the place, looking expectantly at her, eyebrow raised. She could only gape at him, standing there in her kitchen as if he had a standing brunch date.

Finally, she spoke. “Are you staying?”

“What?”

She tried again. “Are you staying? Here?”

“Well, I’m going back to my apartment at some point.” He tilted his head, shrugging, palms out. “I don’t have any more clothes.”

She cuffed him on the side of the head. She missed this. “I mean, are you sticking around? No more moving around this time?”

He stepped closer. “They stopped investigating five months ago. I don’t need to hide underground anymore. And you’re back in LA.”

She was still uncertain, didn’t want to get her hopes up. “But-”

“Ellie…” He reached out, curving a hand around her hip, fingers stroking, slowly, tracing the familiar lines, spelling out Golden Child, Kaneko, with the pads of his thumb. “You have my name on your hip.”

She nodded, tears starting to prick her eyes, voice soft. “Yeah…I’m not going anywhere.”

“Neither am I.”

She couldn’t stop herself from from throwing her arms around his shoulders and kissing him thoroughly. This time, he didn’t need to promise a next time. This time, he never left.

[jonathanbelloblog]

Artistic Autos: Our 10 Favorite Cars from Grand Basel

BASEL, SWITZERLAND — If there’s an upside to the proliferation of globetrotting one-percenters, it’s that their vehicular eye candy has more venues than ever in which to be ogled. Crashing the ultraluxe car show circuit this year is Grand Basel, a highfalutin auto expo that borrows a page from Art Basel’s playbook: take the crème de la crème in rolling sculpture, light them like a Rembrandt, and celebrate them in a gallery-like space without the distraction of hard sunlight, cluttered surroundings, or gawking throngs.

About a quarter of the 113 gorgeously illuminated cars shown at the first Grand Basel show were up for sale, though you’d never guess it from the discreetly embedded displays (the distinction was available on Grand Basel’s app if you dig deep enough). Whether commerce or art, what Grand Basel’s debut proved to be above all else is a refreshing and innovative take on the postmodern car show. With conventional industry auto shows waning and appreciation for high dollar classics on the ascent, this latest event joins the likes of Goodwood, Chantilly, and Amelia Island as an emergent force in this rarified space.

Missed the inaugural exhibition? Grand Basel goes to Miami (with primarily U.S.-sourced cars) February 22-24, 2019 and Hong Kong in May, 2019.

Here are ten of our favorites from the Swiss show.

1. Lancia Delta Futurista by Automobili Amos Anyone who grew up with posters of rally monsters like the Lancia Delta Integrale will fully comprehend this high-dollar restomod. Spearheaded by Eugenio Amos, this reimagining of the venerable Integrale deletes two doors, goes wider and lighter with plenty of carbon fiber, and upgrades the engine to 330 horsepower. If the $350,000 asking price seems too dear, consider the early days of Singer and how it helped inject notoriety into the classic Porsche car market.

2. 1974 Lamborghini Countach LP400 Note to Lamborghini Aventador enthusiasts: respect your elders. Specifically, elegant progenitors like this un-flared, elegantly bodied Countach LP400, which paved the way for today’s monstrously styled supersleds. In these simpler times, Lamborghini’s longitudinally mounted V-12 produced only 375 horsepower. But oh what a silhouette it cut. Thanks to its razor sharp crease lines and slotted air intakes, the LP400 resembled nothing else on planet earth. Only 157 of these models exist, making early Countaches all the more covetable.

3. Land Rover Series I Land Rover’s 70th anniversary has celebrated the famously rugged British marque ad nauseam, but this seemingly orthodox Series I specimen offers a clever twist on the off-road icon: discreetly uprated steering and brakes, and a 3.9-liter V-8 tucked under the hood. Built by a Bavarian outfit called Landy Point, this pumped up Rover is among the most understated vintage off-roaders out there.

4. 1968 Giugaro Corvair Testudo We love a good transcontinental mashup just as much as the next guy, and the Giugaro Testudo is one of the more unsuspecting combos in automotive history. First debuting at the 1963 Geneva Motor Show, the Giorgetto Giugiaro-penned Testudo was a visual harbinger of the future, evoking elements of the Lamborghini Miura, Corvette C3, and Porsche 928 which wouldn’t appear for years. This rarely seen one-off was the property of Carrozzeria Bertone for decades until Giugiaro bought it back.

5. Picasso’s 1963 Lincoln Continental Just when you thought you knew everything about Pablo Picasso’s well-documented predilections and preferences, this comes out of the woodwork: the last car ever owned by the Spanish master. Fresh out of restoration, this suicide-door equipped sedan was curated by artist Sylvie Fleury, who has links to Picasso’s family. Designed by Elwood Engel and powered by a 7.0-liter V-8, the all-American sedan adds an interesting footnote to one of the most famous painters of all time.

6. 1953 Fiat 8V Vignale The vast majority midcentury Italian V-8s were of the racy Ferrari variety. Yet Fiat, purveyors of scrappy hatchbacks and workaday people movers, tried its hand at the eight-cylinder genre with their 8V Vignale, which reversed its nomenclature because Ford owned the rights to the “V8” model name. Motivated by a tiny 2.0-liter V-8, this Fiat was a nascent sporting coupe which managed to dominate its Italian GT class, scoring class wins at the Mille Miglia and Targa Florio. Only 114 models were built in all, with roughly half featuring bodies by Ghia, Pininfarina, and Zagato.

7. 1960 Aston Martin DB4 GT Zagato Aston’s recent reissue of this rarity makes the original all the more intriguing. Only 19 of the allotted 25 homologation specials were built and featured a dual Weber-carbureted 3.6-liter six-cylinder producing anywhere between 270 and 314 horsepower. With slick bodywork by Zagato head designer Ercole Spada, this tiny, taut runabout still looks fresh to death, making the 21st century redux all the more comprehensible.

8. 1978 Lancia Sibilo Concept How do you follow up a legend like the Lancia Stratos? Chief Bertone stylist Marcello Gandini—the man responsible for the Lamborghini Miura, Alfa Romeo Montreal, and Bugatti EB110 among others—produced the Sibilo. Built on an extended Stratos chassis, this Ferrari Dino V-6-powered concept took a stab at the future with package that could be equally at home on the set of Tron. The one-of-one wedge featured angular shapes against rounded forms, and originally contrasted its brown hue with yellow wheels.

9. 1970 Monteverdi Hai 450 GTS Switzerland is known for many things—chocolate, banking, and stunning Alpine passes, for starters. But supercars is not one of them. Hailing from Binningen, a suburb just outside of central Basel, Peter Monteverdi was responsible for 1967’s High Speed 375 and this, the successor which debuted at Geneva three years later. Powered by a mid-mounted Chrysler 7.0-liter Hemi V-8 and bodied by Carrozzeria Fissore di Savigliano, Switzerland’s only true automotive upstart offered a promising alternative to the typical Italian fare. But with a 30 percent higher asking price than a Maserati Indy, Monteverdi sadly sealed its own fate.

10. 1996 Bentley Continental P116 While the Lancia Futurista by Eugenio Amos practically stole the show at Basel, his heavily customized 1996 Bentley generated its own quiet buzz at the end of the hall. Originally commissioned by Harley-Davidson importer Carlo Talamo, this NACA-ducted, rollbar-equipped Conti enjoyed a number of factory mods, including a Cosworth-tweaked V-8 with bigger turbos, a polished aluminum hood, and more than 440 pounds of weight shed. Aren’t precious grand tourers all the more endearing when they’re lovingly transformed into fearsome, track-ready streetfighters?

The post Artistic Autos: Our 10 Favorite Cars from Grand Basel appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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