the real james dean


honestly these polaroids are iconic:

  • comet drawing devil horns + a tail on mao in every pic
  • apricot’s little blush
  • comet’s tiny teardrop bc he’s always looking sad
  • mao’s hearts between apricot & comet + comet scribbling them out + mao re-drawing them + comet crossing them out again + comet writing “MAO STOP” + mao trying to erase comet’s message but it’s in permanent marker lmao
  • comet writing mao sucks in retaliation + mao crossing it out and writing comet’s name instead + comet accepting defeat
  • apricot’s artwork + the fact she signs her name with a literal apricot

thotassbitchhoe  asked:

can u introduce me to this dean

24yr old. born nov. 10, 92’. kwon hyuk is his real name. his stage name was inspired by james dean. his voice is amazing,, so sexy,, yet so soft. he produces great af music. a good guy. he’s fine as hell. etc.

his lit ass discography is all that you need,, watch his videos too,, bc they’re AESTHETIC ah

and here. are some looks.


and the sexiest picture of this guy


Elizabeth Taylor & J. Dean

“ We had an extraordinary friendship. We would sometimes sit up until three in the morning, and he would tell me about his past, his mother, minister, his loves, and the next day he would just look straight through me as if he’d given away or revealed too much of himself. It would take, after one of these sessions, maybe a couple of days before we’d be back on friendship terms. He was very afraid to give of himself. “

- Elizabeth Taylor

Fallen Idols - Part 1

Word Count: 2713

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: None

A/N: SURPRISE It’s been forever, I know. I’m sorry. Hopefully it was worth the wait.

Thanks to @percywinchester27 for beta’ing this for me when it took me 50 years to write

Series Rewrite Masterlist

Lying sprawled across the back seat of the Impala with Dean at the wheel and Sam in the passenger seat again felt right, like you were where you were supposed to be. It had been three weeks of nonstop searching for the Colt with no success, but you didn’t care, you were just happy your family was back together again. So happy, in fact, you were humming Zeppelin while you stared out at the stars.

“Whole Lotta Love?” Dean chuckled, turning to glance back at you, before turning back to the empty road. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I’m just happy. Don’t kill my buzz, Dean Bean.” You shrugged him off, much to Sam’s amusement. “Do we have more chips?”

“No. We gotta make a stop when we reach civilization.” Dean said. “Seriously, though, what’s wrong with you? You’re freakin’ me out. Are you possessed?”

“Nope.” You popped the p and sat up, leaning over the seat and kissing his cheek. “Told you. Just happy. You said you had a case, so what’s the case?”

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anonymous asked:

Don't be too disappointed with male pronouns in CC1... Cringe will be real tho when Camila uses smth TS does like "James Dean look/slicked back, white t-shirt"

Yeah we all know Camila’s history with pronouns, it’s a complicated one 😂

Simple rule :

Beauty and the Beast (2017): How It Could Have Been Better

Let me start by saying this: I like the live-action Beauty and the Beast. For the most part, I think it’s well done and all its choices work well. It can’t replace the animated version, but it’s good. That said, I still would have liked some things to be different. With a few changes, this version could have come even closer to equaling the animated version. If I had been given the screenplay to write a final revision before the movie was made, here are some of the changes I would have made.

1. Put more emphasis on “Belle the inventor.”

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So Scott Eastwood is the ultimate bae, and I sort of had a heart attack when I heard he was going to be in Wildest Dreams.  Anyways, here are 39 gifs of Scott in his role of the romantic interest (let’s be real, it was James Dean ok).  I made all of these gifs, please do not put into other gif hunts.  If you give credit you may edit (but not repost!) them in crackships and bios and stuff like that.———–Enjoy!

(other people featured in this gif pack are Taylor Swift [obviously])

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The Imaginary Friend (Chapter 11)

“So, what, Zach zapped you up here to see how bad it gets?” asked 2014 Dean. Zachariah had zapped Dean and me to the future, and we sat handcuffed talking to Dean’s future version of himself.

There was one thing I noticed though. I wasn’t there.

“I guess. Croatoan virus, right? That’s their endgame?” asked your Dean.

“It’s efficient, it’s incurable, and it’s scary as hell. Turns people into monsters. Started hitting the major cities about two years ago. World really went in the crapper after that.” said 2014 Dean.

“What about Sam?” asked Dean.

2014 Dean went still.

“Heavyweight showdown in Detroit. From what I understand, Sam didn’t make it.”

“You weren’t with him?” asked Dean.

“No. No, me and Sam and Ranger, we haven’t talked in-hell, five years.” said 2014 Dean.

“We never tried to find him?” asked Dean.

“We had other people to worry about.”

“Wait, where am I?” I asked. I still wanted to hear that explanation.

2014 Dean turned and looked at me, his eyes immediately filling with sorrow.

“You left. You never told me why.” said 2014 Dean quietly. He looked down at his feet, fiddling with his hands. Nervous.

“And why would I do that?” I asked. I would never leave my brothers. Never.

2014 Dean looked to present Dean, as if he was trying to choose his words carefully. He knew something present Dean didn’t. He turned back to me, pointing to the door.

“Because you never told him.”

Chuck. You knew instantly who and what he was talking about.

Your Dean turned to you, confusion written over his face. Another secret. Dean was slowly breaking down that wall.


I jumped, coming to in the conversation. Sam, Dean, and I were in the car driving to another town. Another case. Dean hadn’t brought up what had happened in the future, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

“What’s with this job?” asked Sam.

“Dude suffers a head-on collision in a parked car? I’d say that’s worth checking out.” said Dean.

Did I have feelings for Chuck? He kissed me, sure, but wasn’t that only to distract me so I would leave? I felt something. He felt something. I could see it.

I could feel it.

I haven’t kissed many people in my life, but I know it wasn’t supposed to feel like that. It was so…so…

Pure. It felt so…right. So connected. It felt so meant to be.

“Yeah, definitely, uh, but, uh, we got bigger problems, don’t you think?” asked Sam.

“I’m sure the apoalypse’ll still be there when we get back.” said Dean.

“Right, yeah, but I mean, if-if the Colt is really out there somewhere-.” I sighed, cutting Sam off.

“Hey, we’ve been looking for three weeks, we got nothing.” I said.

“Okay. But guys… I mean, if we’re gonna-ice the Devil-.”

“This is what we’re doing! Okay? End of discussion.” said Dean, snapping. I sighed, leaning over to rub his shoulder. Our trip to the future had done nothing but add another layer on his shoulders, making it worse for all of us.

I looked over to my younger brother.

“Look Sam, It’s just that this is our first real case, back at it together. You know, I think we oughta ease into it, put the training wheels back on.” I said, trying to ease the tension.

“So you think I need training wheels.” I sighed. Again.

“No, ‘we’. ‘We’ need training wheels, all three of us. As a team. Okay?”

Sam nodded. “Okay.”

“Man, I really want this to be a fresh start, you know? For all of us.” said Dean. He caught my eye in the back before glancing towards Sammy. Sam nodded.


I leaned back in my seat, satisfied with the conversation, before the thoughts of my problem sinking back in. I missed my car, which I had some driving company move it to Canton, Ohio. After the future incident, Dean didn’t want me out of his sight. I just couldn’t get what future Dean said out of my head. Do I need to tell Chuck how I was feeling?


“Finally! Ranger you’ve had me worried sick. You’ve never blocked me out this long.” said Chuck, replying in almost less than an instant.

“Yeah, I just. I just. I don’t know.” I needed to talk to him, I just didn’t know how.

“Hey, hey. Red, what’s going on?” asked Chuck gently.

“You won’t mind if I show up in a few days, do you?” I asked.

“Of course not… You know I wouldn’t care.”

A silence set in between us. Things were different now. I could feel it, and I knew he could to.

“You still there, Blue?”

“Always, Red.”


Sam, Dean, and I, dressed in our FBI suits, showed our FBI badge to the Sheriff.

“Agents Bonham, Copeland, and Jett.” said Dean. The Sheriff shook our hands.

“Rick Carnegie. Good to know ya. So you’re here on account of Cal Hawkins’ death?” asked Carnegie.

“That’s right.” said Sam.

“Well, ‘fraid you came a long way for nothing. We already booked the guy that did it.”

Sam, Dean, and I looked at each other, confused.

“I’m sorry; who do you think did it?” I asked.

The Sheriff led us to a table with a small screen, showing us the video that Jim, Cal’s friend, recorded.

“Cal? Is something wrong?”

The camera showed Cal’s head smashed into the windshield.

“Oh my God, Cal. Cal!”

The video cut to static. Carnegie shook his head, switching off the TV, turning to us.

“Sicko taped his own handiwork.”

“I don’t follow.” said Sam.

“It was Jim Grossman that killed Cal.” said Carnegie.

“Wait, what?” asked Dean.

“Well, he was the only one on the scene for miles.” said Carnegie.

“They were best friends.” I said, confused also. It was becoming clear to Sam, Dean, and I that this was our kind of case.

“Most violent crimes are committed by someone close to the victim.”

“And how exactly did Jim slam Cal into a windshield with all the force of an eighty-mile-per-hour crash?” asked Dean.

Carnegie blinked, staying silent for a minute.

“Drugs, maybe?”

We looked at him, not believing the idiocy of this guy.

“Look, you know this ain’t brain surgery, guys! Whatever it looks like, that’s what it usually is. It’s simple.”

“Simple. Right.” said Dean. He glanced over his shoulder at me.

“Right. Um, if you don’t mind, we’d like to speak to Jim Grossman anyway.” I said.


I sat at the interrogation table across from Jim. Sam and Dean stood behind me.

“I was in the house when it happened, I didn’t even see it.” said Jim.  

“For argument’s sake, say we believe you.” I said. Jim looked at me. Even I could tell he didn’t do it, supernatural stuff aside.

“Why would you? The cops didn’t.”

“Well we’re not your typical cops.” said Dean.

“Please, just tell us what you saw.”

“It’s not what I saw, it’s what I heard. Tires squealing, glass breaking.” Jim sighed.

“It was the car that did it.”

I raised my eyebrow. “The car?”

“I mean, I heard about the curse, but, I just thought it was a load of crap.” said Jim, not noticing our confusion.

“Curse, what do you- what do you mean, curse?” asked Dean.

“The car. Little bastard.”

“Oh my god.” I said. I sunk into my chair, resting my hand against my forehead. Dean was about to go off.

“Li-Little Bastard? As in the Little Bastard?” asked Dean.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, uh, what’s Little Bastard?” asked Sam. I turned and looked at Sam.

“It’s James Dean’s car. It’s the one he was killed in.” I said. Dean was obsessed.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Cal had been looking for it for years. I mean, hell, we both had. But he found it first.”

I could hear Dean whisper to Sam.

“Oh, we are definitely checking this out.”


Dean walked around the car inspecting it with awe. He was being careful not to touch it, he believed the legend.

“So, what, this is, like, Christine?” asked Sam.

I shook my head. “Oh please don’t start him.” Once Sam had left for Stanford, Dean needed something to make him feel better, and he got completely obsessed with James Dean, more than he usually was. Especially the legend.

He shot me a glare.

“Christine is fiction. This, this is real.”

“Okay. Enlighten me.” said Sam.

“Well, after James Dean died, his mechanic bought the wreckage, and he fixed it up. And it repaid him by falling on him. And Tony McHenry was killed when it locked up on the racetrack. I mean, death follows this car around like exhaust. Nobody touches it and comes away in one piece.”

My brother’s a dork.

“Hm.” said Sam. He agreed with me, I could tell.

“Then, in 1970, it vanished off the back of a truck. Nobody’s ever seen it since. I’m telling you, man, if this- if this car is Little Bastard, I will bet you dollars to donuts it’s what killed the guy.”

“So how do we find out?” asked Sam.

“Cal matched the VIN number, but the only real way to know is the engine number.” I said. Dean nodded, agreeing.

“I’m guessing the engine number-?”

“On the engine. Yeah.” Sam and I turned our head to Dean in amusement.

After minute, Sam, Dean, and I stood staring at the car with our jackets off, sleeves rolled up, contemplating what to do next.

“You want me to do it?” asked Sam, leaning towards Dean.

“No. …No, no, I’ve- I’ve got it.” Dean walked up to the car.

“Okay, baby. I’m not gonna hurt you, so… don’t hurt me.” said Dean.

Dean laid down on the roller board with a pencil in his mouth, rolling himself under the car. He started reading the number when the car shuddered. I could hear him panicking. Laughing, I leant down on the ground next to the car.

“Need a flashlight?” I asked. Dean jumped a little, startled.

“No. Don’t… do anything, just go away.”

I shook my head. “Okay.”

“Don’t speak, all right? In fact, don’t even look at her, she might not like it.”

After a few minutes, Dean rolled out, handing Sam the piece of paper with the engine number.

“Find out who owned it. Not just the last owner, you gotta take it all the way back to nineteen-fifty-five.” said Dean, composing himself.

“That’s a lot of research.” said Sam.

“Well, I guess I just made your afternoon.”


Sam and I sat in the hotel room, having just spent the last few hours trying to figure out more about this car. Finally finding the answer, I called Dean.


“Hey. Took us a while, but we traced all the car’s previous owners.” said Sam.

“Any of ‘em die bloody?” asked Dean over the phone.

“Nope. In fact-.” I stopped, hearing the crack of pool balls in the background.

“Dean, are you in a bar?” I asked.

“No, I’I’m- I’m in a restaurant.”

“Here’s your beer.” said another voice, probably the bartender.


“That happens to have a bar.” said Dean after a moment.

“Thanks Dean, not like we’ve been working our asses off over here or anything.” I said.

Hey, world’s smallest violin, pal, I spent the afternoon up Christine’s skirt. I needed a drink.”

“Actually, you didn’t.” said Sam.


“The car’s first owner was a cardiologist in Philadelphia; drove it ‘til he died in nineteen-seventy-two.” I said.

“So you’re saying?”

“That Porsche is not, nor has it ever been, James Dean’s car. It’s a fake Little Bastard.” said Sam.

“Well then what was it that killed the guy?”

“Good question.”


“What do you mean, you gotta go? Go where? We’re not nearly done with this case.” exclaimed Dean. We had just left the wax museum, and I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to go see Chuck, get this off my chest. Sam and Dean could handle this one without me. It shouldn’t be a big deal.

“There’s just something I need to take care of Dean. You already know how to deal with this. I just need to go, alright?” I stood at the edge of the bed, throwing my clothes in my bag. My car was hear, and I was ready to go.

I turned around, ready to walk out of the door. I walked straight into Dean.

“Is this about what future me said?” asked Dean. He was whispering, low enough that Sammy couldn’t hear. We had made a silent mutual decision not to bring up those details to him.

I nodded, looking at the floor. Dean sighed. I think it was hitting him how much he and Sam didn’t know about me, how much I kept trapped inside.

Dean leant down, kissing the top of my head gently, before moving over, allowing me to leave.

I sat in my truck outside Chuck’s house. It was nighttime now, I had yet to go inside.

“You gonna come inside or what?” My eyes flew open as I glanced at Chuck’s window. He was peeking through the blinds at me, laughing slightly.

I smiled. I could feel some of the tension slipping off my shoulders by just looking at his smiling face. He’s my best friend.

“You wish.” I said.                

Chuck laughed, shutting the blinds. He opened the door, waiting for me to get out of my car. I got out, walking to the front door. Chuck let me inside. Staring at each other, Chuck reached out and pulled me into a tight hug, something I think we both needed at this point.

“Hey.” said Chuck.

“Hey.” I said, my voice muffled by his hoodie.

Pulling away, we sat on his couch, side by side. Both of us doing the same nervous habit we shared, heads looking down as we fiddled with our hands. Chuck sat angled towards me, trying to figure out what to say before finally choosing the right words.

“We should probably talk.”

A/N: So…like…don’t kill me? Hehe. Chapter 12 will be up late tomorrow, as promised. I’m excited, I’ve been wanting to get to this part of the story since I started lol. 

Does anyone want to be tagged in all I write? Including one shots? 

Have a good night guys!

TAGS: @totallysupernaturaloneshots @sammys-angel @morningstar331 @mspseudonymwho @rosiesuperwholock95 @madelineannmolder @rizzo87 @jencharlan @hudine @ashiewesker @avengingthesupernatural @thatone67chevyimpala @dont-hate-relate-pls @5-seconds-of-4australianboys @gabriels-trix @fandom–0verdose @thatonefabulousdragon

FOREVER TAG: @fandom–0verdose

Creepypasta #849: The Unwelcome Guest

Length: Super long

I used to sell drugs out of my house. Pills, sometimes acid, and of course weed.

I don’t sell drugs anymore. I had an experience that made me stop, and it had nothing to do with an intervention or correction officers and inmates screaming in my face to “scare me straight.” It wasn’t a run in with the law the caused me to seek a “normal” job, either. It was a young woman.

Toby called me at noon on Saturday, waking my hungover ass up. "Yo, man, wakey wakey, eggs and motherfuckin’ bakey, baby.“ He was always saying goofy shit like that.

"What?” I groggily answered.

“Man, I am in need of some greenery. Can I stop by?”


“Whaaaat? You don’t want my money, homeboy?”

“Yeah, I want your money, but, fuck if I got the worst hangover. I’ll call you.”

Toby was a loyal customer, so I felt confident in my gamble that he’d wait for me to buy his weed.

“Alright, alright. Hit me up, man.”


That’s how Toby ended up in the fucking locked bathroom with me, us contorting our bodies into the contours of the tub and quaking in fear as the doorknob rattled.

I got a text that evening, right before I shot him a message, telling him to come on over. "Hey Stew?" It was an unknown number. Normally, I didn’t answer numbers I didn’t know. You gotta play it safe when you’re selling. Never know what kinda shit you’ll get yourself wrapped up in, if you’re too trusting. But I text back because they used my name.

"Yea what’s up? Who is this?”

I didn’t get an instant reply, so I texted Toby. "Hey man come on over.

I weighed his load, making sure I wasn’t inadvertently ripping him off. It was over a gram, but I wasn’t sweating it. I made a lot of money off his business.

"OK man on way. See u n 20”

I opened another text I’d received, from the mystery number: “U sell?”

I noped the fuck out. I didn’t sell to people I’d never met. And I sure as fuck didn’t appreciate one of my customers giving a stranger my name and number. Why didn’t they tell me their name? I didn’t like it, so I didn’t answer.

I watched TV until Toby beat on my front door like he was the police. It used to piss me off, but I was numb to it now.

“What upppp?” he asked, his 270 pound body ambling in from the cold.

“Nothing, man, just hanging. Did you give someone my number?”

He squashed his face together in astonishment.

“Man, you know that ain’t how I play. What’s the number, though?”

“478-256-****.” I read it from my inbox.

“Nope, don’t know it.”

I gave him his baggy in exchange for his money.

“It’s all there.”

“I trust you, brother. Wanna smoke? Watch a movie?”

“Yeah, alright.”

He rolled a joint and lit it up. I put The Conjuring on-it was October, scary movie month. I guffawed as Toby emitted freaked out squeaks during the scene where the mom’s locked in the basement. He was a big motherfucker, so it was comical to see him scared.

My phone chirped. It was the god damn mystery number again.

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Girl Meets Hollyworld Teasers!

Sorry I didn’t get this out on Friday, I got distracted by Shawn Patrick Hunter’s wedding! Here goes:

What are best friends?

Maya may have committed a felony. Hey, Topanga! Just how good of a lawyer are you?

It’s career day at school. Yogi’s dad is a cop. Sarah’s dad the director is making a movie based on a script by his daughter.

The concept of stepping back because something/someone else is more authentic comes up BUT it doesn’t involve the kids or their ships.

That French actress? Yeah, she’s from Arkansas. Her accent is fake. (Paris doesn’t real, y'all.)

Farkle in an Elvis costume. Lucas done up James Dean-style. Zay smashing the fourth wall.

At one point an actress cannot continue with a bit because her real emotions get in the way.

Is Lucas an idiot? Zay doesn’t wanna say…

Some riffing on the concept of “pretty people saying pretty things” vs authenticity.

Katy delivers a monologue about letting the wrong man walk out so the right one could walk in.

We meet Katy’s former best friend. They’ve grown apart over the years. The girls are understandably horrified by this.

Riley doesn’t want anything to change. (Well that’s ominous…)

Cory about himself and Topanga: “We’re freaks!”