#in the same eighteen month span as my body getting more and more exhausted

[gaywatch]

brittanyyyy how are youuu 🥺🥺 hoping you get to the best of your health soon 💕💕

Thank you for the concern, darling. <333 I'm still waiting on a call from the doctor I was referred to, but I've had one or two better* night's of sleep this week and cutting back on my schedule has helped a lot.

I'm gonna stay at minimal productivity until I start treatment (whenever that is, next few weeks to a couple months) which is a big blow to my plans for this year. But on the other hand when I can fully come back I'll be firing on all cylinders for the first time in my entire life and that seriously excites me. I'm gonna make so much stuff for y'all. Just all the things. But I gotta be able to sleep first, lol.

*Better sleep, for me, is still awful by normal standards. It means waking up every hour and a half to three hours instead of every forty-five minutes.

[hewhofightsbythesword]

scotch or irish? tommy shelby x reader

warning/s: underage drinking, swearing, violence, and slight smut

 inspired by disco pigs (2001) 

A/N: I was really high when I came up this idea. Even wrote it while I was high, but I couldn’t find it the next mirning. Wasn’t sure if I really wrote it or if it was a dream. Either way, it’s here lol After like two weeks. Sowwyy 

Tommy and y/n. y/n and Tommy. For as long as the pair can remember, that’s the way it has always been. Born only a few months apart, the two created an instant bond so strong that Aunt Polly said it would transcend through many lifetimes. And of course, Aunt Polly was never wrong in the matters of the heart. This was a friendship full of heart, romantic and platonic love for there was not one without the rest. Tommy’s mother would say to Polly, “That boy... it’s his cleverness that’ll kill him.” Martha found herself confiding in her more, so she continued, “As long as Tommy and y/n have each other... I am not worried.” And everyone knew. Everyone except Tommy and y/n.

The two had very similar minds. What one was thinking, the other was already mentally processing and vice versa. It would be almost adorable if it wasn’t so weird, as Arthur Sr. would call it. It was only weird because they were so smart. Against everybody else (even Polly at times, although she would never admit it), they were always two steps ahead.

From a young age the two understood their natural connection. For example, at the age of seven, Tommy and y/n planned to swear a vow of silence together that was planned to last a total of ten days. At first, y/n was met with slight worry from Tommy.

“We need code names! What should I call you if I need you?”

“You won’t have to need me, silly. That’s the whole point! I will already know, and so will you.” The logic was missing. They were both aware of this but none cared.

The goal was set for ten days. Not a single word was uttered between the kids or anyone else for that matter, aggravating the living hell out of those around them, especially Arthur who would’ve done anything to be a part of the joke. However, by day five, y/n broke the vow, rushing her feet as fast as they allowed a few houses down on Watery Lane.

That day she had heard a few of the older Lee boys, around Arthur’s age, speaking down on the Gypsy Shelby’s. y/n just had to tell Tommy or she was sure she would burst. It was also on day five Tommy came to two realizations: (1) He too would break their vow of silence. There was nothing worth doing if it meant he couldn’t do it with the person who understood him the most. (2) Tommy decided that same day that y/n, in her own right, was a Shelby too.

“Shelby,” he whispers to himself, only for him to hear.

At age 15, y/n was able to convince Tommy to steal a bottle of whiskey from the local pub. Her little hands shoved a piece of a paper with instructions in his direction. “Meet me here,” was all she told him with big eyes before he could even get a word in, running back to whatever held her short attention span. Unfolding the paper, Tommy could see a drawn out map of where to find the only girl who could keep young Tommy on his toes.

If anyone asked him, he would tell them all this was something he had to do. Many nights Arthur and Tommy had to go in all hours of the night looking for their father in pubs. One night in a drunken haze, Arthur Sr. takes his second born by the shoulders, causing him to be dragged onto the floor next to his father. He takes his boy by the face, shaking it a few times to show how serious he was trying to be.

“A man is meant to provide, always. Be a man, Thomas.”

y/n asked and Tommy planned to provide.

Seeing the large “X” marking the destination, it matched the location right before Tommy’s eyes. It was a beautiful far away, empty place from Watery Lane with lots of surrounding nature. It had just finished raining. y/n always did like the way the rain made the earth smell.

She notices her friend right away and runs up to him. y/n takes him by the hand. “I found my favorite tree here. Come on,” she says very nonchalantly.

Tommy shakes his head behind her. “Of course you did, Shelby. Of course you did.”

y/n often thought the world moved too slow for her liking. She always liked to be out and about. Always wild, never to be tamed. She figures that’s why she likes the Shelby’s so much. She was blessed to find a family early in her life that matched her soul. Except, she knows why she likes Tommy so much. He liked to be wild too. He moved just as fast as y/n, and he thought just as fast as her. So there was no doubt in her mind once she tasked her best friend with the alcohol that he'd deliver.

“I just took the first one I saw and ran like hell.” He presents y/n the bottle.

“Scotch whiskey,” y/n reads the label out loud before opening it. Tommy at this point began to see the trouble that she carried within her starting to stir. Confirming this intuitive feeling, y/n goes to make a quick toast like the kind she has seen her father make with Tommy’s. “To your Aunt Pol who would kill you if she ever knew, Thomas Shelby,” she groans out as she takes the first large swing with the most confidence. Even from when they were children, Tommy always wondered how so much confidence could fit in such a small body.

He takes the bottle from her to mimic her actions. “To my Aunt Polly who will find out by the week’s end.” They both laugh before Tommy takes his sip, but when he does, he takes it differently than y/n. “What the fuck, y/n. How can you even drink that shit?” He spits and coughs as he attempts to recover.

“What? I like it.” She shrugs while going for another.

At age 18, Tommy realized he loved y/n. By the time Tommy turned eighteen, it came to no surprise to anyone that he was already turning out to be a ladies man. Girls turning into young women were quick to notice his dark hair and hypnotic blue eyes. He was different than any of the factory worker boys that took after their fathers. He was ambitious. He wanted more to life than what dirty old Birmingham could offer, and the young women knew this so in some way, it even made it seem okay that his last name was Shelby. Almost as if Tommy was being pardoned for being a Shelby. And he hated that feeling.

y/n never made Tommy feel that way. She was always the first and the last one to defend her friend since birth. Crowned by Tommy all those years ago, she was Shelby. What else could have made her break her vow with Tommy all those years ago? Tommy didn’t realize exactly what he was realizing at the time. How could he? They were kids being kids. He couldn’t have known it was loyalty. If it wasn’t clear to Tommy then, it was now.

“You need to get out of here. Go get Arthur and John. This is no place for a woman,” Tommy warns y/n one night out, sensing trouble.

The two found themselves cornered by a group of boys around their age. The Peaky Blinders were gaining respect, notoriety, and fear from those around them. Things were changing for the Shelby’s, but not everyone agreed. Most certainly not the three boys looking for a fight. “Run!”

“No!” She hisses back. She tightens her fist and holds them up.

“There is no fucking way I’m letting you do this.”

“Either I leave to get the boys and we come back to your half-dead body, if we’re lucky or I stay and fight and we may actually win this.” Truth be told, y/n wished she could listen to Tommy and go get his brothers. But more than the fear she felt for herself, it was tenfold for Tommy.

“Damn you, Shelby.” he tells her as the fight breaks out.

No words were exchanged on the walk to The Garrison. It seemed like all of the day’s events were forcing Tommy to think about the vow they made when they were seven. Only this time, Tommy could see the logic she proposed. He did know what she was thinking because he was so sure she was thinking the same as him.

“Whiskey, Harry,” was all Tommy said, not bothering to spare the man a glance. y/n goes to sit at a table like they always do but was stopped by Tommy. He latches onto her hand, careful with the cuts and bruises that were beginning to form. “No,” he tells her, “We’ll be in the snug.” And no one protested. They may have wanted to but at the sight of blood on their clothes and on his razor blade, no one dared to speak out against the Blinder.

Not long after Harry delivers two glasses of whiskey through the snug’s window. “Give the toast, Shelby,” he gives the cup to y/n.

Her eyes never leave his. Even with exhaustion hijacking them, y/n could not name a more beautiful sight. “To you, Tommy. To the best and worst pal in the world.”

In his state of shock, Tommy failed to clink their glasses together, so y/n did it. The sound pulls him out of his own swirling thoughts, and they down their drink in an instant. Like the siamese twins they are, a look of disgust and twinge of horror overtake their faces.

“Scotch.”

“Irish.”

They both spit out like venom but were quick to laugh it off. “You gave me the wrong cup, Thomas!”

“Hey, come on now. I’m still Tommy. I’m just a bloody idiot for not knowing the difference.”

Only a few moments later, the laughing winds down a bit. The atmosphere still remains light only to be shattered. “Why don’t you love me?” He blurts out to y/n. “Like the way I love you?”

y/n’s content smile never falters. “I believe you have been too busy to notice me, Tommy. I’ve been right here. Because if you would have just asked, I would’ve said I loved you too. And I do... love you too.”

He smiles at her. “The best and worst pal in the world.”

y/n could feel her heart begin to hammer against her chest. She no longer felt like she was sitting down but floating. With the adrenaline from the fight gone, she should have been able to feel her wounds mark their place on her skin. But that’s not true. All she could feel was a warm, tight feeling in her chest. The boy she loved, loved her back. And no amount of irish whiskey could ever compare.

“Do you trust me?”

“With my whole heart.”

Tommy’s eyes searched y/n’s for any trace of hesitance or fraud but found none. All he could see were the eyes of the girl he loved the most. And most importantly, the girl loved him back.

He stands up to speak to Harry through the snug’s window and comes back shortly after. “Come here, Shelby.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to kiss the only girl in all of Small Heath that I love.” At that, y/n had no protests.

Their kiss was nothing less of what the two expected. It wasn't awkward. Nerve wracking, sure, but not awkward. Many nights y/n dreamt about this very moment. She dreamt how Tommy’s lips would feel against hers. She often wondered what kind of lover he was. And now she knows, leaving her with no more thoughts to wonder about.

She is the first one to pull away. “I have loved you since we were seven and you called me “Shelby” for the first time.” She places desperate kisses onto his lips, cheeks, and neck. Anywhere they would fall, really, leaving traces of pure love behind.

Tommy feels like he is starting to lose control once her pillow soft lips attack his neck. “Tell me again, y/n. Let me hear you.”

“I love you,” She reminds him in between her kisses.

“Shelby... if you keep doing that, I’m not sure how much gentleman will be left in me.”

She looks up from the spot on his neck she was loving on, having found his sweet spot. “This one? Right here?” She asks, feigning innocence as she lightly bites down. When she hears his soft moan, her tongue laps at the spot relieving it only to finish off with a few kisses.

Before the last one can even land, Tommy’s hand finds her neck to take control once more. He doesn’t squeeze nor does he have a rough hold. He merely wraps his fingers around the neck he will one day dress in the biggest jewels. Tommy guides y/n to the edge of the table and pushes her to lay on it.

“Here, Tommy?” She giggles watching her best friends crawl on top of her

He shushes her with more wet kisses. “No one will come in. It’s just me and you.” His hands caress, squeeze, and tease whatever he can.

“It’s yours, Tommy, my heart. It’s all yours.”

He wraps his hand under her hair that was sprawled over the table into a makeshift ponytail. “Mine,” he proves when he finally feels all of her. His eyes never hers, wanting to sear the memory of the exact moment she became his. Pain overtakes her face but her hands on his lower back right above his ass lets him know she was okay. After a while, y/n signals Tommy to start moving once more and pain starts to transform into a pleasure y/n never thought was possible.

All the sounds the two were making were sure to be drowned out by the ruckus made by the drunk men just outside the snug. Tommy was sure to tell Harry that no one else was allowed in under any circumstances. In his moment of euphoria, Tommy was ready to wet his razor blade for the second time that night should anyone dare barge in and take a look at what belonged to him.

This wasn’t Tommy’s first time but it was the first time he realized all what sex could be. All the men in his life were wrong. He was wrong. It didn’t have to be all what they said it should. All he ever needed was y/n. Now that he had her, he had no intention of ever letting go.

Basking in the momentary afterglow of his best orgasm, he says, “You know what, Shelby? I don’t think I mind scotch whiskey all that much anymore,” his thumb traces y/n lower lip, even getting it slightly moist, “Not when the taste comes from your lips. My lips.”

[ezzydean]

tell me

for @notsuchasecret

i love you 

Mattsun scrunches his nose up in a way that Tooru does not find adorable — except for all ways he finds it disgustingly adorable — and gives Tooru an almost betrayed look as he sets down Tooru’s coffee cup.

“Since when do you like blueberry cappuccino?”  Mattsun licks at his lips and scowls, clearly trying to get rid of the flavor.  “Since when do you like blueberry anything?”

“It’s not like I hated it or anything.”

“You did when you were sixteen.”

Tooru scoffs and takes a sip of his cappuccino.  “I hated a lot when I was sixteen.  People, places, things.  Thankfully it was temporary and I got over most of it.”

“You never hated me,” Mattsun teases.  Tooru sets down his cup with a soft sigh.  He can feel Mattsun’s gaze and he forces himself to meet it.  “Or did you?”

“Not something I’m super proud of but, for at least a little while, yeah I did hate you.”

Mattsun’s gaze flickers around his face.  “You’re serious,” he finally says.

Tooru nods.

Sixteen had not been a good year for him.  Then again seventeen had been a bit of a crushing blow and eighteen had been a nightmare of hard work and an aching body that sometimes felt three times as old as it was.  But sixteen��� sixteen sucked.  There’s no nicer way to say it.  He told Mattsun that he hated a lot when he was sixteen and he did.  But it would have been more accurate to tell Mattsun that he hated everything when he was sixteen; his family, his friends, his body, school, volleyball you name it he hated it that year.

He finishes his cappuccino and is rinsing his cup out in the sink when Mattsun finally speaks again.

“I didn’t realize,” Mattsun says quietly.  “I mean I noticed some things that you were suddenly very opinionated about but I didn’t realize that—”  He stops talking suddenly and Tooru glances over his shoulder.  Mattsun is still looking at him but his eyes are a little glazed like maybe he’s looking at Tooru but seeing sixteen year old Tooru instead.  “Oh,” he breathes out.

“Yeah.”

Hajime may have been his best friend since they were kids but that just meant that he sometimes had blinders on when it came to Tooru.  Oh sure he could put his foot down and even now he’s one of the few people who can chastise Tooru with nothing more than a stern look.  But Hajime didn’t always notice the smaller things which, at sixteen, was one of the reasons Tooru hated him for a little while.

Coincidentally noticing those smaller things was the reason that Tooru had hated Mattsun for that same little while.

“I did realize,” Mattsun says softly.

“You did.”

“I just didn’t realize you were serious about it.”

“I don’t think anyone did,” Tooru says airily as he dries off his cup and puts it away.  “And I’m pretty sure you and my sister were the only ones who even noticed enough to call me out on any of it anyway.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?  You were a giant miserable mess but oh it was okay because nobody else took it seriously either.  Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Why are you getting so upset?”  Tooru leans against the counter and crosses his arms across his chest defensively at Mattsun’s tone.

“Why am I?  Tooru.  You.”  Mattsun runs his hands down his face and lets out a disbelieving laugh that twists something in Tooru’s chest so sharply he’s a little afraid something just broke in there.

He watches Mattsun shake his head and look up like he’s asking some higher power for guidance and wonders if Mattsun is still in love with him even after all these years.  It’s been a constant in his life for nearly two decades now.  No matter what else is going on in his life he’s always known three things for sure: Iwa-chan is his best friend, his mother’s favorite fruit is peaches, and Mattsun is in love with him.

“Why are you here, Tooru?”  He startles at the question.  At Mattsun’s tone.  At the way Mattsun is studying him.

“What do you mean?  I retired.  I came home.”

“Not here in general.”  Mattsun waves behind himself, gesturing to the apartment as he says, “Here as in: in case you missed it this is my apartment, not yours.”

That something in his chest twists again and this time he’s surprised Mattsun doesn’t seem to hear the sound of it snapping in two.

“Home has never really been a place for me, Mattsun.  It’s always been a handful of people.”  

Tooru spins the ring on his pointer finger idly, staring down at the dark band as he wills his anxiety to cooperate, to not drag him under.  He takes a deep breath, refusing to meet Mattsun’s eyes and he lets out an airy laugh and heads out of the kitchen.  He grabs the few things he had left laying around Mattsun’s apartment and shoves them into his duffel bag.  He had gotten used to not really unpacking things since he left after high school.  He was never entirely sure when he’d be leaving, was always looking out the windows at the sky and twitching with a need to go.  To move.

To run.

He can feel Mattsun’s gaze on him the entire time and it makes him calm and restless in equal measure, something that Mattsun has always been good at.

He’s sitting in front of the door attempting to untie his shoes, duffel bag on the floor next to him, when he feels more than hears Mattsun come to a stop behind him.

“Leaving already?”

Tooru snorts, yanking at the knot in his shoelace.  “Well you made it abundantly clear that I’m not welcome here.”  He curses softly as his shoelace just gets more knotted and tangled.  “So I’m going.”

Mattsun plucks the shoe from his hands and after a minute he holds it in front of Tooru’s face, lace knot-free, and wiggles it when Tooru doesn’t take it right away.  Tooru huffs at him and grabs the shoe.  But he doesn’t put it on right away.  Because the thing is.  He doesn’t want to leave.  He doesn’t want to go back to his empty apartment across the city where he’s barely unpacked despite being back for almost a month now.  He doesn’t want to go and stare at his blank walls and pretend he isn’t ignoring calls from his mother and avoiding Hajime and, for once in his life, hoping nobody recognizes him when he steps outside in the morning.

“I never said that and you know it.  You know what I mean, Tooru.  You always have.”  

He does.  He knows what Mattsun means.  Just like he knows Mattsun loves him.  Just like he knows that clouds go in the sky and ice melts when it’s hot.  He knows.  That doesn’t mean he has any idea what to do with that knowledge.

“What do you want from me?”  He hates how defeated he sounds.  How unsure of everything he sounds.  

He is unsure.  Of almost everything.  But that doesn’t mean he’s okay with people seeing it.

“That depends.”  

He wants to turn around and look at Mattsun.  Or lean backwards and peer up at him.  Or maybe curl into a ball and disappear from the world for a little bit.  He wants a lot of things.  But he already got one of the biggest things he’s ever wanted in life when he went to Argentina for volleyball.  How can he even think about asking for more?

“What does it depend on?”

“Are you going to go halfway across the world again?  Leave everything behind and chase after a dream?”

Pure anger chokes him for a moment, memories of all the people who had told him his dreams were silly or pointless or out of reach suddenly threatening to overwhelm him.  Memories of everyone who had told him he’d never make it.  That he’d never be good enough.  Teachers and coaches and teammates and doctors and fellow students.  

“I didn’t just chase my dream.  I caught it.  I held it in my hands,” he bites out.  “So don’t judge me because you stayed here and putzed yourself into a job at a funeral home.”

Mattsun’s fingers dig into his scalp for a second before running through his hair.  “Again.  I never said that.”

Tooru lets out a shaky breath as his anger vanishes.  It’s always amazed him how easily Mattsun can do that; a simple brush of fingers or bumped shoulder and Tooru settles into his own skin again.  He anchors Tooru, grounds him in a way no one else has ever managed.

“I don’t plan on leaving again,” Tooru whispers.

“Good.  Not that I didn’t want you to chase your dreams.  I did.  I do.  Even if you decided tomorrow to go off again I’d support you.”

Thoughts of leaving flicker through his mind.  Images of places he’s been and places he could go.  Memories of being offered coaching spots and public speaking opportunities.  A couple years ago, a couple months ago, hell a couple weeks ago they sounded tempting.  Now they just sound exhausting.

He’s exhausted.

“So.  What do you want from me, Mattsun?”

“I want you to stay.”  Mattsun settles onto the floor behind him.  He’s a warm weight against Tooru’s back as he wraps his arm’s around Tooru’s waist and tugs him back enough to hook his chin over Tooru’s shoulder.  “You went and you caught your dreams and now you’re back.  I want the chance to catch my dreams.  I want you to stay.  Here.”

Tooru leans back against Mattsun’s chest.

“Here as in your apartment?”

“Here as in this city.  Here as in my life in general, if that’s all I can get.  But if I had it my way?  Here in my apartment.”  He squeezes Tooru and sighs.  “In my arms.”

If there was an Olympic event for most emotional whiplash moments in the span of five minutes he’d definitely be medaling.  Maybe not gold.  But definitely at least a bronze medal.  Because any trace of anger is long gone and his heart feels about seven sizes too big to properly fit in his chest right now.  With Mattsun pressed against his back, breath warm against his cheek, Tooru feels balanced for the first time in a very long time.  

Mattsun has always been waiting for him.  Not in a stagnant way or anything.  Mattsun has lived his own life, has had his fair share of ups and downs and experiences.  But he’s always had a place for Tooru at his side, in his life.  Just waiting for the day Tooru came back.

He can stay planted on the ground and stare up at the night sky without worrying what would happen if he floated off into that fathomless ether.  Because he could shoot off into space, rocket around among the stars a bit, and never feel the slightest bit lost.  He knows that Mattsun will never tie him down, will never drag him under the surface, anchored to the point of drowning.  But he’ll always be there.

Mattsun is his map, his compass, his North Star.

“Do you still love me, Issei?”  Tooru swallows down all his worries and licks the fear from his lips.  His dreams of pro volleyball are his past and Mattsun is his future.  A future that he’s pretty sure will be bright enough to outshine even the sun   one day.  “Are you still in love with me?”

“Yes.”

He closes his eyes and relaxes back into Mattsun’s arms, body boneless and soul drifting free.  

“I missed you,” he admits softly.  “Even when I was on top of the world and had my dreams right there in front of me.  I missed you.”

He can’t say that he’s in love with Mattsun.  Not yet.  But he knows Mattsun understands and he’ll get there eventually.

They have the rest of forever, after all.

[itsworn]

Eighteen years of effort pays off with a beautiful 1956 Chevy!

Those that come into the car hobby are either born into it, or something at some point along the line triggers an interest. For those that grew up in a household that embraced the gift of grease, it usually meant the elders developed a loyalty to a specific brand or model that was passed on. For some, it was external factors, from any number of sources, that could have that triggered the passion. For Marylander John Kraus, his flame was stoked when he went to the Western Maryland Street Rod Roundup in 1997. “We went for the weekend and camped with some friends, and there were a bunch of street rods there,” he recalls. “I fell in love with a ’34 Ford Pro Street car, so I got the itch to have one.”

While that Ford got the adrenaline flowing, his interests soon solidified for late-’60’s Chevrolet muscle cars. He points out, “I wanted a Chevelle, or some other GM muscle car. As a kid growing up working with my father as a homebuilder, I wasn’t able to drive at that point, but everybody that worked for him either had a Nova, Chevelle, or Corvette.” While his heart was set on getting a muscle car, when there is cash to be laid down the decision isn’t always a one-sided conversation, as is often the case. In John’s case, marital bliss was at play. His wife, Paula, laid the hammer down and told him, “No muscle car, I dated too many idiots with muscle cars.” Faced with that dilemma, it came down to rethinking his plan, which led him to this ’56 Chevy.

In 1999, the opportunity to buy this ’56 came about when he stumbled across a consignment place in Northern New Jersey that was selling it online. On the computer screen it looked pretty good and its description pushed all the right buttons, so he decided to drive to the Garden State and have a look at it. It was the perfect fit for what he wanted—big cubes under the hood and not a muscle car, to keep his wife happy. Tucked between the fenders was a 427 big-block, which gave him that muscle car grunt without the muscle car looks. As advertised, the engine looked the part with a moderately aggressive cam, aluminum intake, headers, and a four-barrel Holley carburetor; all backed by a stock Turbo 400 and an equally stock 10-bolt rear. The body was decked out in a white and silver paint combo that was in decent condition, while the black roll and pleat interior was clean, but very dated. A close inspection did show that the car had some problems that needed to be fixed. The two biggest visible issues were that the 427 was a leaker and the shifter barely performed its duties. However, it was priced to roll out the door, and that is exactly what John did.

As soon as he got the Chevy back to Maryland, he went fishing for those leaks and plugged them up and installed a different shifter, one that actually worked. He was like a kid in a candy store with his new toy. He hit the open road with the ’56 and started logging some miles on it and mixing it up at the local shows. It didn’t take long for the “upgrade” urge to set in. There was one problem with that desire, he was enjoying driving the car so much that the thought of parking it for a prolonged amount of time was gut-wrenching, so he decided to do the Northeast Hot Rod ritual. You park your car in early fall, wrench on it for a few months, and then roll it back out in the spring.

Over the next 16 years that would be the routine he followed. Every change was planned around the winter months. He recalls, “Upgrades became wintertime projects. Friends would come over and we would work on it.” The leaky 427 was the first to see an overhaul. It was down on power so John sent it off to R&R Performance in Hickory, Maryland, for its first complete rebuild. That restored it to a respectable power level; however, everything mated to it was still bone stock, so another round of changes took place.

That 10-bolt rear was a weak link so he had Tom Brush Chassis in Forest Hill, Maryland, install a four-link suspension and a set of mini-tubs to handle the added power and a larger wheel and tire combo. Also added was a Ford 9-inch rear stuffed with 4.88 gears. Sandwiched in the middle was the stock Turbo 400, which also saw a rebuild. Affordable Transmission Service in White Marsh, Maryland, was tasked with that part of the puzzle. They added a TCI Automotive Super Street Fighter 3,800-stall converter and a forward manual valvebody. That was all enhanced with a Gear Vendors overdrive unit giving John a few extra forward gears.

Over the years he leaned on the 427 quite a few times and a second rebuild was needed, which was handled by Page Motorsports in Rosedale, Maryland.

Not everything was farmed out to specialty shops. John wasn’t shy about getting his hands dirty as well when it came to doing some of the upgrades. There were a number of winter weekends spent in his garage wrenching with his buddies. The front end was a home brew that involved a set of Heidt’s tubular A-arms, 2-inch drop spindles, CPP sway bar, Concept One power steering box, 11-inch rotors with four-piston calipers, and QA1 adjustable shocks. With each step he took, improvements were made to bring the car up to modern standards.

While the bulk of the upgrades were mechanical, with the passage of time, and the regular use during the summer months, the body started to show signs that it, too, was in need of a refresh. John notes, “With 16 years down the road, I started noticing minor issues with the car. There was some rust on the edges of the doors and the body mounts were shot. The frame was also showing its age and the steering didn’t feel right.” The plan was to separate the body from the frame and have it mounted on a rotisserie. When that milestone crossed his path, the hunt for a reliable shop that could tackle the job was on.

That eventually led him to Automotive Advanced Concepts in Nottingham, Maryland. Once the crew at the shop started mediablasting the body, it slowly shed light on the extent of the existing damage and also some clues about the Chevy’s life before John acquired it. As they blasted the body, holes in the sheetmetal started to appear, and they discovered that at one point in its life the ’56 had a manual gearbox and it had also been tapped at the rear. This was more damage than what John was expecting, but the commitment was made, so shop owner Bob Nobile started cutting away the carnage. In the end he replaced the floor, inner and outer quarter-panels, and front inner fenders; added patch panels on the headlight buckets; hung a new door and hood; and smoothed out the firewall. That was a four-month project that then moved to Daniel’s Hot Rods & Body Shop in Jarrettsville, Maryland, for the bodywork and paint.

Since this shop’s bread and butter is collision work, the ’56 came in as a side project that spanned another 14 months until it was painted. When it came to a color choice, John struggled with putting the same combination back on the car or giving something new a try. “The color choice was the most difficult,” he notes. “The main compliment on the car was usually the color combination. It identified me as John with the silver and white ’56.” The argument against keeping it the same was that when finished, no one would realize that the car had undergone a complete makeover. His choice was to go with something different, but getting to that point was tough. In the end, he opted for Deep Cranberry Pearl, a 2015 Dodge Ram color, and from the GM side, Silver Ice Metallic, also a 2015 shade. This choice was driven by a desire to change things up and also make it easy with factory colors if a touch-up was needed.

While body was being sorted, the frame and many of the suspension components were also being massaged with some powdercoating. Since most of the hardware had already been replaced over the years, it all came down to detailing and reassembly. After those pieces were completed, the frame was set up in his garage at home in preparation to receive them. The 427 was also treated to another top-to-bottom refresh that was performed by J B’s Auto Machine in Baltimore. It was bored 0.060 over, balanced, blueprinted, and stroked to 440 cubic inches. At the bottom end they installed a forged and nitrate-treated crankshaft, Manley rods, and SRP 10.75:1 forged pistons. Above the forged crank went a Lunati hydraulic roller camshaft. The top end received a set of PBM aluminum heads with Comp Cams Pro Magnum rockers and an Edelbrock RPM Air-Gap intake manifold. A Holley 4150 850 double-pumper feeds the big-block air and fuel, while an MSD Pro-Billet distributor mated to an MSD 6AL ignition controller sends out the spark. Finally, a set of custom-built headers by Automotive Advanced Concepts channels the exhaust gases rearward and out through 3-inch ceramic coated steel pipes and a pair of DynoMax Race Bullet mufflers. The Turbo 400 also underwent another refresh to make sure all the bases were covered.

Since this was a major overhaul, the interior also saw some upgrades. John had Bay County Interiors in Annapolis, Maryland, and ESH Upholstering in Forest Hill, Maryland, lined up to sort it all out. High up on his priority list was tossing out the bench seat and replacing it with a pair of buckets. This was accomplished with the installation of a set of Recaro seats, upholstered in Allante Faux leather. New door and side panels were given the same treatment. The new black carpet was straight out of the East Coast Chevy catalog, as were the gauges from AutoMeter. While all this was visible, when the interior was gutted, John discovered that the wiring had, at some point, been butchered up so he enlisted the help of Brian von Poppel at Maryland Performance Specialties in Middle River, Maryland, to fix the mess. Brian spent many hours in John’s garage rewiring the ’56 back to electrical health. Other improvements included the installation of all new glass and new bumpers and a grille, also from the fine folks at East Coast Chevy.

The last element that he addressed—the choice of rolling stock—was actually dealt with many years prior to all this work. When the four-link and mini-tubs were installed, he invested in a set of American Racing Torq-Thrust II wheels that are still on the car to this day. The fronts measure 15×6 and are wrapped in 26×7.50R-15 Hoosier Pro Street radials, and at the rear they measure 15×10 and sport 31×12.50R-15 Hoosier Pro Street radials.

All told, the totality of the work spanned just about three years. Making the job easier was that having much of the fabrication work spread out over the years actually sped up the process, and also softened the financial hit of doing it all at once. With the Chevy back to good health, John has again started hitting the local shows and is logging more miles on the car, and most importantly, his wife is happy as well.

The post Eighteen years of effort pays off with a beautiful 1956 Chevy! appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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