#vintage muscle cars for sale | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gilverrwrites · 2 months ago

Note

would love to hear more of ur thoughts of jason... ANY jason thoughts, virgin, getting pegged, dom, on top on bottom, angry, emotional, loving, clingy...

any jason thoughts are appreciate tenfold pls i love the way you write its so sensual and enjoyable (//ω//)

Virgin!Jason/Sex Worker!Reader, 1.9K Words Why thank you anon, you're too kind. It’s funny you sent this in because I have been thinking about Jason a lot recently. Bit of a an odd one actually, I’ve been thinking about how easily he could get hooked on OFs or something similar. Stay with me here...

‘Jason loves cars, and girls, and getting into fights…’

The problem is, ever since he came back, he doesn’t know how to talk to or act around women.

Think about it. He was a teenage boy when he died, still going through puberty, never truly finding closure on all those changes. Now he’s a man.

A man with emotions, and desires, and urges that he doesn’t understand and has no idea how to satiate. The not knowing makes him nervous, angry even.

The first and only time Roy tried the “Have you met Jay?” line it was painful. Like giving water to a hydrophobe. Dying of thirst, wanting it so bad, but his hands are shaking, he can barely even make eye contact, let alone hold a conversation. Or touch her. Man, he wanted to touch her, she had such a pretty smile and glowing skin and the most brilliant laugh. He wound up muttering a ‘sorry, bye.’ To the floor and walking out. When Roy finally caught up, he got one hell of an earful. Yelling was all Jay could do not to start throwing punches he'd regret later. Roy had only had the best of intentions after all.

It was Dick who’d mentioned that the posters of half-naked women splayed across car bonnets or dowsed in lite beer might be a bit distasteful. He’d wanted to argue, if they’re bad, why do they sell them? But he was smarter than that really, and Dick was right, if he ever did bring a girl home, he wouldn’t want her to feel uncomfortable. Though the mattress without a bed frame and the lack of amenities might do that anyway. Regardless, he takes them down and throws them out along with a stack of vintage Playboys from his youth. He’ll rely on the words of D. H. Lawrence, Cleland and the likes for that sort of thing.

And just reading works, for a while. But there are itches books just can’t scratch, and like hell is he mortified himself trying to talk to women in public again. He’d almost gotten up the courage once since the debacle with Roy.

At the library, looking for classics and checking out their damaged clearance sale. He’d noticed her the moment he’d entered, such a sweet, sharp woman, teaching seniors how to use computers. He’d lingered for a while, until the class was over, determined to make small talk with her while getting his books checked out, but then he remembered what he was checking out. Immediately he was flooded with doubt. She'd think he was a perv. He put his books on the put-back trolly and left without a word.

That same night, feeling sorry for himself is when he falls down the rabbit hole of social media. Scrolling endlessly through post after post of girls on Instagram. His own page consisted of only a faceless gym selfie and the engine of a bike he’d been restoring, but he followed a lot of accounts. Book reviewers, muscle car enthusiasts, musicians. It wasn’t purely coincidental that most of those content creators were women.

His heart jumps out of his chest when he gets a notification, that doesn’t happen often, and usually it’s from Dick sending him funny dog videos, or Steph tagging him memes but this one is a ‘follow back’.

He’d been following you for a while, liking all your posts and occasionally commenting. Nothing flirty, he didn’t wanna seem like one of those creeps saying gross, inappropriate shit, but that often resulted in him sounding lame for praising the high amount of protein in your home-cooked meal, or something else mundane. Today he’s pointed out how nice the clouds in the back of your group selfie looked but apparently that was enough to get your attention.

You like his two photos and drop him a message. “Hadn’t noticed but you’re right. Those clouds were very pretty.”

‘Not as pretty as you.’ He types out then quickly deletes it. You were very pretty, exactly the kind of girl he would choke up around. You didn't have a lot of followers, and your posts weren't really curated to a theme or gimmick. You just documented your life. For some reason though Jason had been drawn to you ever since your smiling face had popped up in his recommended following.

Instead replies with a very creative “Yeah”

“Sorry, hope I’m not bothering you. You just seem cool.”

“You’re not bothering me.” He answers instantly, not wanting to put you off but unsure what to say.

“Good! If you’re ever feeling chatty, hmu 😊”

Easier said than done, but he massively appreciates the offer. He just doesn’t know how to take you up on it. Looking for inspiration he looks at your account again, noticing a link in your bio that he’s sure hadn’t been there when he’d first followed you. He does a spit take when it leads him to an OF page. No, that definitely was not there before.

Now he’s even more unsure what to do. Would it be weird for him to subscribe after you’d just spoken to him? Or was that what you wanted? Surely you put it there because you want subscribers, right? Should he ask you or would that make it more awkward? Why is taking down drug lords and killer clowns less scary and confusing than this?

He stews on the conundrum for a while, but eventually, he takes the plunge, signing up with the same username as his Instagram, irlgothamzombie. He could spend all night looking at your posts, and he does. Judging by your post history, and low interactions, you’ve not been doing this long, but he circles through the same handful of posts over and over, keeping his own hands full throughout. wink wink.

He can’t get enough of looking at your body, squeezed into little costumes, draped in colourful lingerie, naked and stark against your bedspread. There’s one video in particular he can’t get enough of though, it’s you in a lacy green slip, giggling as you play with the hem, teasing the camera with a cheeky glint in your eye but never really showing anything. He plays it over and over again, fisting his cock as he images it’s his hands sneaking up your thighs, making you laugh over and over until he cums into his hand.

Even though the caption is specifically asking him your followers what type of content they’d like to see you make while in that outfit, he only comments “nice wallpaper” and logs out, cheeks burning with shame as he cleans up.

It’s a few days before he works up the nerve to log back in. He’s still high on adrenaline after a face-off with Black Mask. Feeling bold and looking for release, it’s the first thing he does when he gets home but seeing two notifications from you is like having a bucket of ice water thrown at him.

You’d replied to his comment, “😂Hadn’t noticed but you’re right.”

When he hadn’t said anything else you’d sent him another DM. “Losing interest, or are you just the shy type?”

“The ‘you’re so hot I don’t know how to talk to you type.’” He’d read through the other comments you’d gotten, that felt tame. A little out of his comfort zone, but safe enough to press send.

“That’s actually so sweet.” You get back to him quickly, sending multiple messages at once. Hopefully that means you’re glad to hear from him. “You can talk to me however you like.”

“You never said what you wanted to see me do?”

“If you’re comfy answering.”

Shitshitshit. His throat is painfully dry as he thinks up a response. “idk but I like it on.”

“green is my favorite color.”

“looks good on you”

“Do you want to see me fuck myself while wearing it?” The question is accompanied by a racy picture of you wearing the slip in reference that you hadn’t posted anywhere else.

YES! “yeah”

“Should I use my hands, or something naughtier?”

“whatever you like best” it probably seems like such a cop-out answer but he means it. “want you to enjoy it as much as I will”

“Can’t tell if you’re my nicest subscriber or not, but I got you, sweet stuff 😉”

The next day you upload the results, and he watches it straight away, not that he’d been waiting for it or anything. He’s already half-hard when he hits the play button. Then you say “This one’s specifically for you irlgothamzombie” straight into the camera with a wink and he can’t get his dick out of his pants fast enough.

He tries to take it slow, wanting to enjoy the whole video but that’s easier said than done. He’s leaking pre-cum minutes into watching as you run your hands along your body, dipping your fingers between your legs, over your covered nipples but never revealing anything.

His resolve wavers when you start to rub yourself through the fabric, cooing and moaning as you build friction. He bites his lip so hard to ground himself that it starts to bleed.

Then you bring out the big guns, he doesn’t know what it’s called, but it’s some kind of toy. Long, with a round head that you hold to your clit and fuck, do you enjoy it. You’re practically drooling as you buck your hips and roll your eyes back. Your orgasm is loud and wet, and he almost breaks until he realises there are still a few minutes left.

You keep going, so he does too. Holding out until the very end. Is it possible that sex could feel better than this? Wild.

He messages you first this time.

He buys the green slip and the matching thong, still dirty after you’d cum all over them. Under the bawdy smell of sex he can just make scent of your perfume. It's intoxicating. Maybe he should ask you what brand it is so he can get a bottle and spray it all over his apartment.

He spends all day in bed, clutching the delicate lace to his chest and sucking on the underwear until his dick aches and he physically can’t cum again without hurting himself.

He isn’t sure how he feels about your return PO Box being in Blüdhaven. It's exciting and terrifying to think that you're real, and out in the world, within driving distance even. He could just bump into you one day. He could probably track you down if he wanted to but he kind of likes the comfort of you being behind a screen.

Eventually, he buys every service you offer, custom videos, a dick rating, your private Snapchat, and he practically purges your wish list. Not just the sexy stuff, but the gift cards, the clothes, the collectables, anything you want.

With every purchase you send him your thanks, ask him about his day, his interests both sexual and in general. You offer him services for free or heavily discounted, expressions of your gratitude for all he’s done but he always declines.

A part of him believes that you’d still talk to him if he stopped financing you, you're practically two steps away from asking for it outright, and he knows that. But the money is like a safety net. Like his helmet; a barrier between him and heartbreaking humiliation. As long as he keeps doling out the cash, he’ll never have to know if you’d reject him without it.

#anon #gilverrrambles #jason todd #jason todd/reader #jason todd x reader #red hood/reader #red hood x reader #red hood #nsft #reader insert #f reader #tw sex work

205 notes · View notes

jezabelle9299 · 4 months ago

Text

Dissertation Day S.R x FEM! Reader

Overture- Spencer completed his engineering dissertation, and you got him a vintage car to work on over the summer.

Cws- Kissing

A/N- First of 32 fics for October! I'm very excited. Also I've never gotten my doctorate, so there might be some inaccuracies with that, but we'll just pretend for now. Also the picture is Spencer's car in the show, but this was the only one I could find with him in it? Any way, it's a Volvo Amazon P130, manufactured from 1956 to 1970.

You were so excited, today was the day Spencer was up for his 3rd doctorate. He had to go up in front of a board to present his dissertation, which when he was accepted, he’d receive his final doctorate (for now) in engineering. You got up early this morning to cook him his favorite breakfast, help him rehearse his speech (again), and helped him choose an outfit that made him look as studious as he was adorable.

He was a nervous wreck, even though he’d done this twice before, it never got easier. You weren’t worried one bit though. Your boyfriend was a genius, and you knew it. The only thing keeping you filled with nervous energy was your gift for him, such an accomplishment needed to be celebrated in a big way, and you were having trouble finding something to fit the theme.

That was, until a trip to the other side of town last week had you driving past an old Volvo with a for-sale sign in the window. What could be a more perfect gift for an engineering major? The car wasn’t in too rough of shape, you bought it as-is, then took it to a mechanic to get a breakdown of what was needed to fix it, and ordered the parts. You emptied your bank account, but Spencer was worth it.

You had talked before about needing a car, you could get away with buses and trains right now, but in the fall he was moving to Virginia. He was contacted by an agent after he completed his chemistry PHD, and it was time for him to start. After a long conversation about opportunities for both of you, here and on the east coast, you decided you’d go with him. There were career opportunities there for you as well, and Spencer was the love of your life, you’d never forgive yourself if you walked away.

It was a few hours after he left when he was finally walking back up the stairs to your small off-campus apartment. The grants and stipends he got from his programs allowed him to not work during school, and you’d completed your bachelors program the first semester of this year, so you were working to pay your share of the rent, no matter how many times Spencer said that he could cover the space for both of you. You wanted him to put his money towards his future, it was bright, and college wasn’t cheap.

“Hey babe! How'd it go? Did they love your dissertation?”

“They approved it! I'm officially a doctor in the field of engineering!” He picked you up to spin you around your living room for a second, using all the strength in his body for that short time. You didn’t love him for his muscles, but once in a blue moon he’d do a show of strength like that, and it just made you melt.

“Oh my god that’s amazing! So Doctor Reid, what would you like to do first, celebration dessert, or your present?”

“You got me a present? Y/N that’s so sweet, you really didn’t need to, I don’t expect you to get me anything when this is like my 5th graduation, and I don’t want you to have to spend your money on me.”

“Well it’s too late now, so do you want dessert or your gift first?” He had a faint blush going from his ears to well past the collar of his button up.

“Let’s do dessert first, I want to hear about your day.”

“I was hoping you’d say that, because that is my first surprise of the evening.” You pulled a cake-shaped dessert out of the fridge, but it was made entirely from Jell-o. You weren’t sure what it was with Spencer and Jell-o, but you knew it was his favorite, so you made the dessert special as soon as he left this morning.

“Jell-o? Did you make that for me?”

“Of course, anything for my favorite genius.” You gave him a kiss on the forehead when he sat down, and ate with him while he talked about how his presentation went. When he was done, you cleared the plates and got yourself ready to present his final surprise.

“Alright Spence, time for your surprise!” You grabbed his hand and pulled him towards the door.

“It’s not here?”

“Nope! Just follow me.”

“May I ask where we’re going?”

“No you may not.” You quietly led him all the way down to the parking lot.

“Look straight up so you don’t see.” He walked alongside you, reluctantly following your wishes instead of letting his curiosity get the best of him. You led him around the corner, stopping only to pull the tarp off the car.

“Ok, no peeking but stick your hand out.”

“I’m getting more nervous about this plan by the second.”

“Just do it, alright?” You pulled his hand out for him, and planted a small peck on his neck while he looked up.

“Ok, 1,2,3…Look!” On the count of three you dropped the keys in his hand.

“Oh my god, honey you got us a car?”

“Yeah, I figured we’d need one for the trip to Virginia, and what better person to fix it than my newly named doctor in engineering boyfriend. I got all the parts, and I read a few books so I was thinking we could put it together over the summer.”

“You are amazing” He pulled you into a hug, and even though the keys ever so slightly dug into your shoulder blade, you were perfectly comfortable in his arms. When he ever so slightly pulled away to press small kisses to your face, you pulled his hands from your back to hold them. You just wanted confirmation that he liked his gift. You were a little worried you’d overdone it when he got so excited over the jell–o.

“You like it?”

“I love it. And I love you, and I’m so excited for this.”

“I love you too. There are a few books in the trunk that’ll help us get started”

“Can we start now?” He got that puppy dog look on his face, that you absolutely couldn’t say no to.

“Absolutely.”

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid #spencer reid

43 notes · View notes

things-about-cars-in-posts · 1 year ago

Note

recently discovered the beautiful vehicle that is the Chevrolet Opala, do you have any good facts on that car?

Yet again I'm introduced to new cars through this inbox!

Perhaps the most interesting thing to discuss about the Opala is why I didn't know of it: while based on the Rekord, a car built and sold in Europe by Opel (like Chevrolet part of General Motors), the Opala was only made in and for Brazil.

It's common for brands with a global presence to have market-exclusive cars: Ford's American, European and Australian lineups have almost no cars in common, and Fiat has a long and illustrious tradition of powering other countries -including Brazil- with whatever it's tired of producing at home.

And then, looking it up, I saw the SS version, and thought "Hwow were they ever going for the Chevelle SS's styling there!"

You know, the Chevelle SS. A car of the same vintage, whose sales were just as confined to a single country in the same continent I've never even seen, that looked like that for about one year. Which I absolutely knew of.

And indeed, I could confidently tell you twenty US/Canada-only cars for every Brazil-only car I know, and then keep going. Which made me think about the reason for that.

Look at Italian music.

No, really - back in the days many of the biggest hits were translated English songs, people sang with fake English accents, hell, it was damn near custom for your stage name to be an English first name and Italian last name (Fred Buscaglione, Jimmy Fontana, Bobby Solo, Patty Bravo, on for days). Who was out there brazilianifying their name?

Sure, Italy may have been an outlier, but trust me, the cultural foothold America has in much of the Earth is virtually unmatched. And with that cultural hegemony comes a rose-tinted spotlight shone to its history (especially the one we were there to learn about live), such that to the rest of the world even US-exclusive models like 60s muscle cars are not just known, but iconic - even simply through other things like movies, shows, or music.

On the other hand, Brazilian cars (how many again?) are at most a curiosity that is sometimes tangentially mentioned to fill space - mostly because that's our treatment of Brazilian culture.

Rather than an awkward attempt to detail the sociopoliticoeconomical reasons for that, though, what I want to end on is a more positive note: there's always outliers.

Whatever population you look at, whatever culture you're thinking of, there will always be someone obsessed with it. And that's one thing I love about cars - each model, somewhere, somehow, has someone loving it. Each topic is a topic of interest to someone. And you can always be that outlier if you want - being interested in one thing never excludes being interested in another.

As shown by the Italian duo that was out there Brazilianifying their stage name: 'Michael' and 'Johnson' 'Righeira', seen here proving that 21st century "80s style" stuff can never be more exaggerated a caricature than some of the real thing.

youtube

Yes, that song is in Spanish, but don't worry, they also sang in Italian. And English. And German. It was a weird fucking duo for weird fucking times.

Actually, to that end, here's a performance that will latch onto your Fichtl's Lied receptors.

youtube

Links in blue are posts of mine explaining the words in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

#if you like potently 80s stuff they are the gift that keeps on giving #chevrolet opala #chevrolet chevelle #regional differences

15 notes · View notes

talltalesandbedtimestories · 2 years ago

Text

Past Due (Dean/OFC)

Title: Past Due

Rating: Mature

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Original Female Character

Pairing: Dean x OFC

Summary: Dean Winchester has an effect on an older woman he's known for years. Kansas, Men of Letters Bunker Setting. Set around Season 15 with some canon-divergent plotting.

Tags: Fluff, Flirting, Explicit Language, Smut, Angst, POV First Person, POV Female Character, Librarians, Friends to Lovers, Protective Dean Winchester, The Winchesters Are On A Case, The Boys Deserved A Better Ending

Chapters 1 to 3 Word Count: ~ 5K

Notes: Posted on AO3 10/2/20; Completed 7/16/21.

Chapter 1

Am I being checked out while checking him out?

I scan the barcode on the back cover. His eyes are trained on my face with a little more interest than usual.

Do I have some spinach between my teeth from the salad I had for lunch? God, why does he have to do that thing with his tongue?

I readjust the glasses on the bridge of my nose and make some quiet small talk with the gorgeousness in front of me. I do most of the talking and he does most of the nodding.

No. Dean Winchester is not checking me out. He’s just existing and breathing and short circuiting my brain as he tends to do on occasion with his proximity.

I will not fuss with my hair like I always do when he’s close enough for me to smell him. Oh, Goddammit.

I feel like a sixteen year old around this man. Every damn time. It’s not fair. It happened the first time I met him six years ago. He’d handed over the paperwork and I processed his library card application. He smiled that lopsided grin that says, You poor unsuspecting creature. I’m so handsome I don’t even have to make much of an effort .

That was the day he and his mountain man of a brother, Sam, walked into the Smith Center Library. Back when they had used Campbell as their last names on the application. And before they had helped with a haunting that blew their aliases. At least with me. It was a “job” for them that involved my brother five towns over. The house he had bought for a song at a sheriff sale, turned out, came with a supernatural squatter.

“No shit it was cheap. Because someone was murdered in it. No offense, but your brother was pretty much asking for trouble knowing that going in.” I still remember Dean’s very accurate logic when they’d gotten the full history.

I shouldn’t feel like a sixteen year old - when I’m 46, speeding toward 47 in a couple months - with a man five years my junior. Even if it is Dean Winchester.

He reminds me of my second husband, Lou. Full of sass, rounded out with some grump, and a sprinkle of edge. He drinks like Lou did. I only know that because I’d bought Dean and Sam a round of drinks one night a few years back. It was a thank you after they’d burned the remains of the poor soul that was stuck in what they called a death echo in my younger brother’s house. Top shelf scotch is Dean’s preferred drink of choice when someone else is buying, by the way. And he has a high tolerance for alcohol that one only gets after decades of experience. Like my second husband, Lou.

He drives a vintage muscle car like Lou did, too. You can hear it ten seconds before it turns onto West Court Street and pulls up to park in front of the library. That engine sound always gets my fellow co-workers on high alert and wide eyed, just like me. It’s a disappointment to all of us when it’s not Dean.

He flirts with every female between the ages of eighteen and eighty that crosses his path. Again, like Lou. It’s his default setting. He seems to prefer a tight skirt from what I’ve gathered through my research. But he rarely slights and denies the opposite sex his charms or thorough assessment if they decide to don pants or shorts.

My brain finally registers the title of the book he’s checked out on the computer screen. The attraction fog has lifted for a brief second. I turn the tome over on the counter and read the title aloud. “Fairies and Wood Nymphs? Do I want to ask?”

He shakes his head. I twist my fingers near my mouth to indicate my lips are sealed. Then he flashed me that weird look again. Almost like he’s processing some data. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been in here for over a month and I’m paying every flinch and twitch even more attention than usual. I realize in real time I’m cataloguing all of these In case I don’t see him for another month. Or, God forbid, two months. “You really are, aren’t you, Winter?” He finally pipes up with a question, using my surname as usual. The smile returns to his face.

“What’s that, Mr. Campbell?” I respond with a way too giddy smile and slide the book back to him. My coworkers are probably snickering at me behind the periodicals as they watch the show. Sure, like they wouldn’t be putty in this man’s hands, either. Even Ronald turns into mush around Dean.

He bends and leans back a bit to rest those thick forearms on the counter. Plaid clad shoulders, green eyes, freckled skin, and pouty lips are now at eye level with my five foot four frame. “Good at keeping a secret.” He mumbles and lowers his voice more with every syllable.

That voice triggers the floodgates down below.

What the hell is going on right now? “Friends don’t call me ‘The Vault’ for nothin’.” I somehow get the sentence out. Being this close reminds me of the night at the bar. When the scotch had worked its magic at the Mexican restaurant. The neon green cactus aesthetic and terra cotta motif had lulled Dean into some sort of sarape security blanket. He’d divulged a lot after Sam, downing only one drink, had left in the Impala with the promise to pick up his brother in a couple of hours. By the end of the night, Dean said I was a good listener and not quick to judge. That I had a nice calming presence. That I’d must have seen some heavy shit in my lifetime, too.

“Can I ask you something?” His brows raise.

My mouth has dried up so I can only nod in response.

He cocks his head to the library entrance. “Do you have a minute to talk outside?”

I nod again. I may not be the boss, but my seniority and elder status give me a little leeway.

He rises up, taps the counter and grabs the book. “I’ll be waitin’ in the car.” I get a full smile this time and almost pass out.

I push the front door of the library and spill out on the sidewalk a couple minutes later. His black beauty of a car is still there, waiting. The nippy Fall temperature is enough for me to wrap my cardigan tight around my middle. Dean is in the driver’s seat, windows open, with Lynyrd Skynyrd playing on the radio.

He has an eager and appreciative look on his face when he exits the vehicle and walks toward the hood to meet me. “Thanks.”

I shrug. “What did you want to ask me?” I wrap some stray, windswept strands back behind my ear.

“Sam and I, we could use some help at the bunker.”

I can’t help but gasp at the word. Bunker. This legendary place I’ve gotten sparse, verbal descriptions of here and there over the years. Their home base. Sam has boasted of its library to me.

“Well, mainly Sam could use some help. Because I’m useless when it comes to the library. And, he also doesn’t trust me when it comes to the books.”

Library. I’m able to stifle another gasp. I stand in silence, waiting for more.

He sighs. “Let’s just say we had an accident. A lot of the books got damaged, flew off shelves into a massive paper mountain.”

My head nods in a fury. “Yes, I’d love to help.”

He chuckles at my eagerness. “Great.” He hands me a note, like we’re in high school. “Meet me at this intersection and I’ll show you the rest of the way there?”

“When?”

“Whatever's good for you.”

I realize how non existent my social life is lately and offer, “Friday night?”

He nods. Another grin. “Eight?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“It’s a date.” He winks.

Lou NEVER winked.

Chapter 2

I left my cottage in Smith Center that Friday after the sun had set. It was a twenty minute drive before I came upon Dean at the crossroads, waiting for me with a grin and a goal when my headlights spotted him. I followed Dean’s Impala in my Wrangler down the long, winding prairie road eventually overtaken by trees for another ten minutes. The radio kept me company in the dark. The wooded area closed in on each side as I drove behind the Impala’s wake.

A clearing amid the trees to the right gets my attention. I peer up and gasp, braking in time to avoid a mild fender bender after Dean’s abrupt stop.

The bunker looks like a massive detention center or secret government facility built into a rather large hill. It’s intimidating in its grey, drab, and impenetrable appearance. Illumination from the moon and stars in the Kansas sky provide a perfect backdrop. I can see the outline of the sharp roofline structure high above the tree canopies.

What the hell am I getting into? These brothers have provided the occasional glimpse into their lives with the weird research requests over the past few years. I should feel scared or worried. But, the quick pace of my heartbeat has more to do with the excitement of peeking at what’s behind the curtain. And, finally seeing the place Sam and Dean Winchester call home in Lebanon, Kansas.

The squeak of Dean’s driver side door as it opens and he plants boots on the gravel makes the blood pound in my ears. He eases, almost pours out. The door cinches shut with a creak. My headlights spotlight him again. He strolls over on those bow legs. I kill the engine. He leans against my open window, staring down, a hand and forearm reclining on the rooftop. “Still okay with this, Winter?”

I smile. He’s such a perfect mix of rugged and that kind of handsome they don’t make anymore. He reminds me of Paul Newman, Robert Redford, John Wayne or Clint Eastwood in their heyday. But, then he’ll shine some cheekiness that gives me the vibe of a Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin hosting a variety hour from the 60s. I stare at those lips a little longer than I should. Again. “Yep. This is already the most eventful Friday night I’ve had in forever.”

He taps the roof. “Alright, then.”

The temperature has dropped and I’m glad I wore a heavy jacket. The gravel crunches underfoot and Dean has enough courtesy and manners to lead the way in the dark with a flashlight.

“Got a few concrete steps here. Careful on the way down.”

I chuckle. “So nice of you to look out for your elder.”

He waves the flashlight in my direction, but low to my chest so it’s not directly in my eyes. “You do that a lot, you know.”

I stop in my tracks. “What?”

“Point out that you’re older than me.”

“Do I?”

“Mh-hm.” The flashlight rotates back around in his hand so we can continue the trek. He waits until we are both at the threshold of a large door. It looks like a bank vault. The click of a key in a lock is heard when he adds, “Why do you do that?”

I shrug in the shadows.

The door gives to Dean’s pull and sounds like he’s breaking some type of hermetic seal. In moments we are atop a stairwell. The door slams behind us and makes me jump. My eyes widen at the view below, something out of a 40s war room. Dean’s already halfway down the iron staircase before my feet are able to move. I track and inventory the vintage communication devices, the art deco architecture, the solid build of this secret place with brick and stone and marble. A huge table in the middle of the room has a world map lit up from below as its surface. Dean drops his backpack on the table without a second glance. “Sam!” He yells.

He walks to a large open entryway into another room with a step up. I glimpse the row of tables and shelves. And the books. The books scattered everywhere. The smell of leather and musky paper fills the air. I inhale deep and get that little whiff of smoke and vanilla that I love.

“I’d invite you to make yourself at home, but that’s not really possible at the moment.” He motions for me to follow. Dean shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the back of one of the chairs. I’m attracted to a nook in the beautiful hall filled with clutter. I drape my jacket on a wingback chair and pick up a hardbound book on one of the stacks. There are dozens of these book pillars piled in various heights, some reaching to my shoulders. “Where the hell is he?” Dean asks no one in particular.

I notice a Samurai sword on display to my left when Sam’s free floating voice calls out. “Be there in a minute, Dean!”

Dean sighs and slinks through the maze of books. He lands on my right and stares down at me. “Are you hungry? We’ve got a stocked kitchen for once. Sandwich? Snack? Beer?”

I shake my head, too busy splitting my gaze between his expectant green eyes and the volume in my hands. “Is this an actual first edition of Grimm’s Fairy Tales?”

Dean opens his mouth but Sam answers, peeking over the Samurai sword on the bookshelf. “Yep. From 1909. Thanks for coming to help out.” He smiles.

“This is… wow.” I’m speechless.

“Well, I’m hungry.” Dean pipes in. “I’ll be back in a bit.” He darts and bounds up another small set of stairs leading out of the library.

“Remember,” Sam begins.

Dean halts in the other doorway. “I’m not bringing any food in here. I got it, Sam, nothing that might mess up your precious. You're worse than that goblin thing in Lord of the Rings.”

“Gollum was a hobbit.” I correct him.

“Stoor hobbit, actually.” Sam nods in agreement.

Dean purses his lips and raises both hands, then slams them in mock defeat against his thighs. “Thanks for clarifying. Looks like we found the best person to help.” He shakes his head and gives me a tiny smile before disappearing.

My heart beat skips at that smile.

Sam and I spend a good fifteen minutes deciding on a strategy to divide and conquer. He’s as giddy as I am to get these things back in their proper spots. The Dewey Decimal system makes the overwhelming task a bit easier. He really only needed another pair of hands and a bookish mindset. I’ll take one side of the library, Sam the other. He’s pulled out a pencil sketch of the shelves and their categories, as best as he can recollect.

“Dean got this glazed look when I asked him to help organize after we got them piled up and out of the middle of the room.”

I thumb through the index cards in the catalogue to get my bearings and hope to find homes for a couple books to start. Anything that doesn’t go on my side that I come across, I’ll leave for Sam on the table closest to the war room. He’ll place anything for me on the other table. “An actual explosion?”

Sam nods. “It was like an earthquake. Shook everything. And, then, there were the…” He clamps his lips tight and runs his fingers through his long hair. “Too much information for your first night. I want you to come back and help.”

I narrow my eyes. “I was already crazy enough to come. It would have to be pretty terrifying for me not to return.”

He shrugs and only repeats, “I want you to come back.”

We talk. He’s hesitant to indulge me with certain facts. But when I ask if Dean has any culinary skills to speak of, he’s almost an open book. Burgers and charring meat appear to be Dean’s specialty. I smile, feeling the tap and tug of my heart, thinking about how good my first husband, Rick, was with a grill and a smoker. I ask about Jack. Sam tells me that he’s staying with Cas for a while.

One afternoon, a couple years back, Dean and I stood huddled by a monitor in the technology area. He was dressed in a sharp blue suit and wore a cologne that filled my nose with citrus and cedar. To this day, I’m not sure how I managed to remain upright.

He was in need of some topographic maps of Lebanon. I didn’t ask why and he seemed grateful. I asked about Jack, since he was fresh in my mind from a recent visit. Dean steeled his jaw before confessing he and Sam were having difficulty with their new charge. I learned they had saved Jack from a dangerous situation. I assumed it was something supernatural. His mom had passed when he was born and their friend, Cas, had taken the boy under his wing not long after that. Now that friend was in need of more assistance with Jack. There was more to the story, but I didn’t press.

I knew why he mentioned Jack’s mom. He knew about my first husband. It had been one of my confessions over those drinks years back. Rick had been my high school sweetheart. We’d married halfway through university at KWU in Salina. I got my bachelors. Rick had turned his volunteer firefighter position into a career, dropped out after two years at university, and kept telling me he was going to go back to school after. After was Rick’s favorite word.

We moved back to Smith Center after school. I got a job at the library soon after that. Our son Ricky came along a year later. Rick had promised a five year old Ricky at the dinner table they would go to the neighbor’s farm over the weekend. He’d get his first pony ride. After his 24-hour shift at the firehouse.

Rick never came home after that shift.

Chapter 3

I shake myself from the memory. I’m not sure how long it is before I turn around to grab from a new stack and find Dean standing right there. My nose brushes against his shirt. I avoid slamming the rest of me into him.

I smell the fresh clean showered scent of him. He’s sporting loungewear like a male supermodel. The spiky damp hair is doing weird things to my insides. I want to run my fingers through them like I’m sprinting through a field of wheat. And, then I want to tug on those strands while he…

“Is Sam taking advantage of you?” He smirks, chin to his chest, looking down at me. “Free labor and all. Sure you aren’t hungry?”

“No, I’m good, thanks. Getting in the zone.”

He nods into his chest. “Well, if you plan on it being an all-nighter, we’ve got plenty of space for you to crash.”

“Dean…” Sam side eyes and scolds him with a slight shake of his head.

I realize how curious I am to explore more of this amazing place. I also realize how much being this close to Dean makes me wish he’d never be more than an arm’s length away. See? Sixteen year old. My twenty-three year old son would be mortified at his mother’s behavior right now. Thank God he’s on his own and away at school, working on his Master’s in Library Science. He would love this book collection, though. “I could use directions to a bathroom.”

Dean smiles. “Sure. Follow me.”

I nod to Sam. His gives me a hesitant smile.

Dean leads out the library in slippers that remind me of something my father would wear. I stare at the heels of his bare feet peeking out from the slippers when he steps up. For a second I get an image of the two of us on the couch watching television. His long and solid frame spread out across all the cushions. I’m seated at one end with his calves propped up on my lap, massaging his tired and sore feet. “Coming, Winter?” Dean’s voice calls out. He’s turned to wait, a quizzical stare at me. Shit, how long have I been daydreaming?

I join him. He’s along my left down the marble and stone corridors. They contain a plethora of doors and intersections that turn my sense of direction on its head. The halls feel cold, antiseptic, even though the design and style is meticulous and elegant.

Dean rubs the back of his neck. “You probably have a dozen more questions now.”

“Try a hundred. It’s just the two of you in this huge place?”

“Well, sometimes Jack. And, Cas.”

“Do you have a cleaning service come in or something?” I run a finger along the marble wall as I pass. I tilt my head in approval at the lack of dirt.

He chuckles. “We’ve got a really great filtration system. Just have the usual upkeep with the common areas and our rooms.”

“I need to get me one of those.”

“Or live in a secret lair with no windows.”

“Hm, that’s true, you don’t have any. You really could not know what’s going on outside while you’re in here.”

“It’s a hermit’s fantasy. Like that hobbit.” He grins and stops at a door. “It’s the bathroom slash showers. Don’t get lost in there. Or on your way back. Make a right out the door, left at the dead end.” He points down the hall with two fingers like a cop directing traffic. “Pass two cross streets, then make a right onto the next one. You’ll see the library entrance on your left. Eventually.”

I frown. “If I get lost?”

“Just call me, Winter.”

My flats shuffle down the hall. I make my way back to the library and feel like I’m at work. I shift into my quiet and unobtrusive mood. Unseen unless needed or called upon.

Dean’s instructions were clear and easy to follow. The slight panic at being in an unknown maze subsides when I hear their voices. I turn down the hall. The warm amber light from the library spills into the corridor yards away.

Their voices travel toward me. The acoustics are quite good in this place. I can tell they are trying to keep their voices low.

“You should ease up.” Sam sounds irritated.

“What?”

“Not every woman needs to be a conquest, Dean.”

“Shut it. I-I don’t think about Winter like-.” Dean stutters. “I’d never think of her as a conquest.”

And that. That’s what makes my heart drop into my stomach. Of course he doesn’t think of me that way.

Sam sighs. “I can really use her help. And, she’s always been nothing but nice to us.”

Dean sighs back. “I know that.”

I take a deep breath, beat myself over the head with reality. Cough for good measure so they know I’m coming. When I turn the corner, Sam is busy in his section and Dean is between the tables, ringing his hands, and smiling at me.

He’s been sweet because, why, felt bad for me? Placating me, maybe? He just knows he’s got that effect on women?

“Great at directions, Sam. Told ya.” Dean claps his hands. “I’ve been told enough space has been cleared and that snacks may be brought in.” He raises a finger in the air for emphasis. “I’ll be back.” A quick turn and dash around the corner of a table has him disappearing through the war room.

When I step in to assume my spot I catch his figure heading through a doorway by the stairwell entrance. I resume the work. Quiet and unobtrusive.

“Everything alright?” Sam notices the change.

“Yep.” I flash a smile full of teeth. “This is an amazing collection.” I pretend to rifle through the pages of one book with interest before placing it on a shelf.

“Did Dean… say something… to make you uncomfortable?” Sam strolls closer and leans on the table to sit. I think it’s an attempt to shorten our height differential. “He can get a little carried away.”

I fidget with the frames of my glasses. “No. I’m used to it. He’s like that with every woman, right?” I grab two books and study the spines.

Sam shrugs. “Kind of.” From my peripheral view, I can see him lean down farther and try to make eye contact. Or get a read on me. “I mean, it’s not like you’d be interested, right?”

This weird sound comes out of my mouth that resembles a laugh being choked out of my windpipe. When I look up Sam has a deer in the headlights expression. The wrinkles on his forehead have multiplied.

He chuckles and blinks. “Right.” Fingers tap on the table surface and he’s back to work on his side.

I spend another hour and a half with the brothers in the library. Dean brought a variety of things to munch on. My heart feels a little heavy at my assumption about his interest. The fantasy couldn’t last forever in my head. But I try to enjoy Sam and Dean’s company and take everything at face value. They are nice guys, after all. I’m sure there wasn’t any intentional misleading on the part of my emotions.

I crunch my last carrot stick and slide another book home. “Alright, gentlemen. I do know how to party it up on a Friday night. But it’s close to 10:30. I should get myself home.”

Dean squints. “If it’s too late for a drive back…”

I raise a hand in protest. “They haven’t taken my driver’s license away from me yet due to old age. I’ll be fine.”

Dean’s half-hearted smile disappears. He stuffs a few potato chips in his mouth as he gets up. “Let me put on some shoes.”

“What for?”

He lifts both hands up. “Want to make sure you get home safe. I’ll follow you back.”

My mouth opens. There’s a thrill that I’m quick to squash down. “I might not want you to know where I live.” I interject without thinking.

His eyes widen and then he smiles. “It’s cute that you think we don’t already know where you live.”

My head whips to Sam. He shrugs. “Part of the job. We vet everyone who gets let into our little circle of chaos.”

“Be right back.” Dean confirms there’s no way I’m getting out of an escort home.

Sam is ever so grateful for the assistance tonight. He wraps me up in a huge friendly hug that’s warm and comforting. He thinks he can manage the rest of it on his own. But he offers to have me come back soon, inspect and approve what he’s done. The library is always open for me to visit in case I want to do some actual reading.

Dean returns a few minutes later, fully dressed again. The man is quick and ready for action at a moment’s notice. Could have been a firefighter.

I’m quiet on the way out. I follow him down to our cars. He provides the lead and lights my way to the Wrangler. He clicks the driver’s side door closed once I’m in and suggests a three point turn to head back the road we came in on. He offers to lead in the Impala. I decline, sure in my navigational skills.

I keep checking my rear view mirror on the drive back. I see the silhouette of the assured, confident Winchester. I’m positive that man has broken many hearts. But, probably provided some amazing memories for some lucky women. I’m also positive he’d be a hard act to follow for anyone that came after him. I’m not sure I could handle either of those scenarios at this point.

And how lucky could one woman get anyway in a lifetime? I think back to Rick and the memories that have a grainy film overlay to them now. How special those years were. How misguided and unfair I was to Lou, constantly comparing him to the man I lost. Knowing that my expectations and a multitude of sins on his part led to our divorce five years back.

It’s better like this: to admire Dean Winchester from afar with the occasional heart palpitations.

I pull into my short drive. I’m self conscious about the loud rumble of the Impala’s engine as Dean rolls past me to stop in front of my house. My neighbors are scattered here and there along the prairie road. No one is on top of each other. But it’s usually quiet this time of night. Jody or Harry will be peeking because of the noise. A second later my prediction is confirmed. I stare off to the right through my passenger window to see a light snap on in the Wilson’s kitchen window.

I hop out of the Wrangler, ready to walk over to Dean’s driver side and thank him for seeing me home. Dean cuts off the engine and emerges with an energetic self propulsion. I stall in my tracks. Even in the dark I blush at those eyes that I know are trained on me. Goddammit.

“Thanks.” I squeak out and clear my throat.

“No problem. Wanted to make sure you got home safe.” I hear his hands slide into his jean pockets. He’s closer now. My eyes have adjusted to the dark. His tongue peeks out and brushes that full bottom lip. It glistens in the moonlight. He cocks his head to my porch. “Alright if I watch you get inside?” He raises a hand. “Not me being stalky. Just cautious.”

I narrow my eyes. “Do you have a target on your back or something?” A shiver runs down my spine. I’m not sure if it’s due to fear or standing for too long in the chilly October night.

He grins. “Not at the moment.” My mouth opens up at the cavalier response. He turns serious, maybe because of the look I gave him. “We didn’t want to tell you, didn’t want to worry you…”

“That’s a great way to start things off.” I frown and cross my arms.

“You should get inside, Winter. Gettin’ cold.”

“You can’t do that to me. Leave me hanging like that.” I hear a familiar screen door screech open on hinges that need greasing.

He sighs and nods past my shoulder to something behind me. “I don’t want to explain out here. We’ve got an audience.”

I turn around, past my Jeep and the drive to see Harry in his sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s leaning against a pillar under the floodlight of his porch. A sharp nod in my direction. Jody’s voice travels in the night air, asking her husband what’s going on over at my house. I sigh and give the neighbor a wave. “Well, we’ve given them something to talk about.” I mumble. “Might as well come inside for a minute so I get all the facts.”

#spn fanfic series #dean winchester fanfic #dean x ofc

33 notes · View notes

bsautosuppliess · 27 days ago

Text

Find a Re-built Engine for Ford Mustang GT 1969 Near Me at BS Auto Supplies

If you're looking for a re-built engine for Ford Mustang GT 1969 near me, BS Auto Supplies is your trusted source. Specializing in high-performance engines, we offer expertly rebuilt engines tailored for vintage muscle cars like the iconic Ford Mustang GT. Whether you’re restoring your classic car or need a reliable engine upgrade, our team ensures quality, durability, and precision with every engine we rebuild.

Our inventory also includes a range of rebuilt engines for sale near me, suitable for various makes and models. We prioritize customer satisfaction and work closely with you to find the perfect engine solution for your vehicle. At BS Auto Supplies, you can count on professional service, expert advice, and competitive pricing. Visit us today and bring your 1969 Mustang GT back to life with a high-quality re-built engine!

#Bs auto supplies #rebuilt engines for sale near me #1969 mustang engine near me #1969 ford mustang engine near me #1969 mustang engine for sale near me #engine rebuild near me

0 notes

trucksblog0 · 1 month ago

Text

ClassicCarShop: Antique Classic Cars for Sale – A Journey into Automotive History

At ClassicCarShop, we pride ourselves on offering a carefully curated selection of antique classic cars for sale. For car enthusiasts, collectors, and anyone passionate about automotive history, our collection is a treasure trove of rare, vintage, and beautifully restored vehicles that tell a story of craftsmanship and timeless design.

Whether you are seeking a classic muscle car, a vintage convertible, or a rare European roadster, ClassicCarShop has something for everyone. Each of our cars is handpicked for its historical significance, unique appeal, and impeccable condition. Our dedicated team ensures that every vehicle meets the highest standards, offering not just a car, but a piece of automotive history to cherish.

Our collection includes cars from iconic brands such as Chevrolet, Ford, Jaguar, Mercedes-Benz, and many more, spanning different eras of automotive design. These cars are not just for show; they are fully functional and ready to provide their new owners with an exhilarating driving experience.

Buying an antique classic car from ClassicCarShop is not just about acquiring a vehicle—it's about becoming a part of the rich automotive heritage. Each car is an investment, not only in its value but also in the joy and pride of owning a piece of history.

Explore our range of antique classic cars for sale today and find the perfect addition to your collection or simply enjoy the thrill of driving a vintage masterpiece. At ClassicCarShop, we help you bring the past back to life, one car at a time.

#ClassicCarShop #AntiqueClassicCars #ClassicCarsForSale #VintageCars #ClassicCarCollection #MuscleCars #VintageCarRestoration

0 notes

starseedfxofficial · 2 months ago

Text

The Williams Alligator Meets HFT: The Ninja Trader's Secret Guide Imagine trading being as confusing as trying to spot an alligator in murky water. You know it's there, but the trick is figuring out when it's hungry or just taking a nap. Enter Williams Alligator, the mystical reptile indicator that somehow knows when the market's waking up. Now, blend that with High-Frequency Trading (HFT), the kind of trading speed that would give a caffeinated cheetah a run for its money, and you've got something worth talking about. Let's dive into the uncommon, the bizarre, and the sometimes hilarious world of making these two odd trading partners dance together. The Hidden Formula Only Experts Use The Williams Alligator is no ordinary indicator. It’s like your market whisperer—when used right, it tells you when to feast and when to, well, stay submerged. Created by Bill Williams, this oscillator combines three smoothed moving averages to let you know whether the market is ready for a meal or just sleeping off its last one. The jaws, teeth, and lips are what help traders read the signals—just try not to imagine it chomping down on your trading account when it gets it wrong. But where things get really juicy is when we combine it with the magic of HFT. High-Frequency Trading isn’t just about speed; it’s about precision, algorithms, and getting in and out before most traders even realize there's a ripple in the pond. Blending the Williams Alligator with HFT strategies is like putting a turbocharger on a vintage muscle car: there’s old-school charm, but now it’s blisteringly fast. Why Most Traders Get It Wrong (And How You Can Avoid It) Here’s the kicker: most traders simply don’t know how to interpret the Alligator. They treat it like any other trend indicator, but its nuances often lead to mistakes. Picture this—you’re at a clearance sale, you see that one item you think everyone wants, but in reality, no one’s actually buying it. That’s the Williams Alligator for you; it’s all about knowing when everyone else is hungry and when they aren’t. HFT traders have cracked the code by using microsecond timing with the Alligator. They know when to feast because they’re using sophisticated programs to spot the subtle opening of the Alligator's mouth—that signal of trending movement. It’s the exact opposite of instinct: while the typical retail trader hesitates, HFT models jump in before anyone even knows there’s something worth chewing on. Feeding Time: How to Predict Market Moves with Precision The key to using Williams Alligator effectively alongside HFT is recognizing confluence. Most traders think that if the Alligator's mouth is opening, they should just dive in. But expert HFT traders look for additional cues—like volatility increases and market inefficiencies—to confirm their moves. It’s like waiting for the feeding frenzy, where the odds of catching something delicious are ten times higher. Using HFT in this context also requires a hefty dose of automation. You’re not the one clicking the mouse; your bot’s already thrown the lure in. By creating algorithmic rules that trigger based on Williams Alligator movements, you’re not only fast but precise. Speed wins, and it’s always snack time for those who prepare. The Forgotten Strategy That Outsmarted the Pros Here’s something for you that’s a little unconventional—blending old-school mean-reversion with the Williams Alligator to double dip. The Alligator, used properly, identifies breakouts. But when HFT bots jump on these breakouts, there’s usually a retraction that happens once the jaws snap shut. Mean-reversion trading, where you assume price will return to its average after a breakout, can be hugely profitable here. It’s like watching the Alligator come up for a bite, grabbing its meal, and waiting for those leftovers to fall back into the water—you pick up the scraps. Most traders ignore this simple yet powerful dynamic, focusing only on the initial breakout. But you can set up HFT algos that take advantage of both—trading the breakout and capitalizing on the return to the mean. It’s like doubling down with the market moving in your favor. How to Use the Alligator with a Side of Humor (And Not Get Bitten) Alright, let’s face it. Trading can be stressful. Nothing’s worse than hitting the wrong button—that dreadful moment of placing a sell instead of a buy order feels like accidentally asking for pineapple on your pizza. To use the Williams Alligator without getting chomped requires understanding that false signals can and will happen. This is where HFT comes in as your safety net—properly optimized HFT models are built to filter out the false snaps. Think of your trading bot like a lifeguard who dives in only when things are actually serious. It’s programmed to recognize when the Alligator is yawning versus when it’s hungry. Most traders don’t know the difference, and that’s what makes HFT setups such a powerful ally. Summarizing the Secrets To recap, here’s what you’ve learned about taming this wild beast of an indicator: - Williams Alligator works like an emotional read on the market. It’s not just about the lines, it’s about the hunger behind them. - HFT traders use speed not just to get in first, but to recognize signals that retail traders misinterpret—they see the real feeding times. - The confluence strategy is key—don’t just dive in; wait for the frenzy to really get going. - Combine mean-reversion tactics with breakout trading to maximize gains—take two bites instead of one. Your Next Move? If you want to really get ahead and start playing the game like a pro, check out our advanced trading resources. We’ve got detailed Forex courses at StarseedFX Education that will help you dive deep into strategies like these and get those rare, strategic advantages. Plus, if you want to see this in action with experts, join our community here. And remember, the Alligator’s either your best friend or your worst enemy—depending on how hungry you think it really is. —————– Image Credits: Cover image at the top is AI-generated Read the full article

0 notes

usedcarsforsalejapan · 2 months ago

Text

Mitsuoka Car for Sale: Where Elegance Meets Innovation

Mitsuoka, a Japanese car manufacturer renowned for its unique, retro-inspired designs and custom craftsmanship, has garnered a devoted following worldwide. Unlike mainstream brands, Mitsuoka produces a limited number of vehicles, each with a distinctive style that blends nostalgia with modern engineering. Whether you’re a collector or simply seeking a car that stands out, a Mitsuoka offers a one-of-a-kind driving experience. Here’s a guide to buying a mitsuoka car for sale and understanding what makes these cars so unique.

Why Buy a Mitsuoka Car?

Unique Designs Mitsuoka’s designs are a homage to classic cars, such as the Jaguar Mark II and other vintage European models, yet are built on reliable Japanese platforms. Models like the Mitsuoka Viewt and the Mitsuoka Himiko offer a retro aesthetic, making them attractive to car enthusiasts who crave exclusivity.

Handcrafted Precision Unlike mass-produced vehicles, Mitsuoka cars are handcrafted with meticulous attention to detail. Each car undergoes extensive custom modifications, including redesigned exteriors and luxurious interiors. This level of craftsmanship ensures that every Mitsuoka is unique, setting it apart from typical cars on the market.

Modern Reliability and Safety Though Mitsuoka cars look vintage, they are powered by modern engines and come equipped with advanced safety features. Many models are based on platforms from reliable brands like Nissan or Mazda, ensuring dependable performance and ease of maintenance.

Head-Turning Appeal Driving a Mitsuoka is an experience in itself. The brand’s rare and striking appearance catches attention on the road, making it a top choice for those who prefer cars that reflect their personality and style.

Popular Mitsuoka Models to Look For

Mitsuoka Viewt The Viewt is one of Mitsuoka’s most recognizable models, designed to resemble the classic Jaguar Mark II. Based on the Nissan March, it offers the reliability of a Nissan combined with the charm of a 1960s-era British sedan. Its retro front grille and sleek lines give it a timeless elegance.

Mitsuoka Himiko Named after an ancient Japanese queen, the Himiko is Mitsuoka’s convertible roadster with vintage styling and modern Mazda MX-5 underpinnings. The Himiko’s long bonnet and elegant curves make it look like a classic European roadster, appealing to those who appreciate open-top driving with a classic twist.

Mitsuoka Rock Star Inspired by the Chevrolet Corvette Stingray, the Mitsuoka Rock Star is a striking car with a distinctly American muscle car vibe, yet with Japanese engineering. It’s powered by the Mazda MX-5’s engine, ensuring a smooth and reliable ride, perfect for those who love iconic American car design but desire Japanese reliability.

Tips for Buying a Mitsuoka Car

Check Availability in Your Region Since Mitsuoka is a niche brand with limited global distribution, finding a Mitsuoka dealership might require some research, particularly if you’re outside Japan. Many Mitsuoka models are exported and available through specialty importers in countries like the United Kingdom, United States, and select European countries.

Consider Import Options For buyers interested in rare models or better deals, importing a Mitsuoka directly from Japan can be a feasible option. Several online platforms specialize in Japanese imports, allowing you to browse options, compare prices, and arrange shipping. Be sure to check import regulations and costs for your country, as these can affect your total investment.

Inspect the Car’s Condition and History As with any rare vehicle, reviewing the car’s history and condition is crucial, especially when buying used. If possible, request a full inspection report, including any modifications and maintenance records. Given that Mitsuoka cars are often well-cared-for by enthusiasts, finding a pre-owned model in excellent condition is common.

Calculate Ownership Costs While Mitsuoka cars offer modern reliability, their unique parts and custom modifications can result in higher maintenance costs than a typical car. Make sure to factor in potential costs for parts and servicing, especially if your model requires custom replacements.

Where to Find Mitsuoka Cars for Sale

Dealerships and Authorized Distributors Some authorized dealerships outside Japan may carry Mitsuoka cars or assist with special orders. Dealers often provide certified pre-owned options, making this a convenient choice for first-time Mitsuoka buyers.

Japanese Export Websites Several Japanese car export websites like Goo-net Exchange, BE FORWARD, and Tradecarview list Mitsuoka cars with shipping options to various countries. These platforms let you browse a wide selection and arrange for transport with relative ease.

Collector Car Auctions and Online Marketplaces Rare car auction sites and marketplaces like Bring a Trailer or Car and Classic often feature Mitsuoka cars for sale. Auctions can be an exciting way to acquire a Mitsuoka, especially if you’re seeking a specific model or color.

Specialty Car Dealers Many dealers specializing in classic or exotic cars may also carry Mitsuoka models. These dealers often handle importing and paperwork, making the buying process smoother, although the prices may be higher.

Final Thoughts on Owning a Mitsuoka Car

Owning a Mitsuoka is about more than just transportation; it’s about driving a car that makes a statement. With their retro styling, handcrafted quality, and modern reliability at SAT Japan, Mitsuoka cars offer a unique blend of old and new that’s hard to find elsewhere. Whether you’re a collector or simply a fan of unique automotive designs, a Mitsuoka is sure to add character and style to your car collection.

In a world where cars increasingly look the same, a Mitsuoka stands as a refreshing reminder of what cars can be—a reflection of personality, craftsmanship, and a love for design.

#mitsuoka car for sale #mitsuoka cars for sale

0 notes