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

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

INSTAGRAM: @lilireinhart uploaded a photo.

It’s good to be back where home truly is for me nowadays. What @colesprouse doesn’t know is I’m about to reach over and steal his ice cream in 3..2..1..😋😈🍨 @ole-cole

❤️ 334k 💬 843


“She doesn’t have to be all gussied up,” he raved about her. “She’s wonderful just as she is.”

But Pier’s strict Italian mother didn’t approve of her daughter dating a non-Catholic, and James said, “I wouldn’t marry her unless I could take care of her properly. And I don’t think I’m emotionally stable enough to do so right now.”

She soon wed singer Vic Damone, and a heartbroken James was seen outside the church on his motorcycle on their wedding day. “He couldn’t believe it was going to happen,” Lew Bracker, James Dean’s close friend says. “He needed to see it with his own eyes.”

On September 10, 1971, at age 39, Pier Angeli died in her home of a barbiturate overdose. In a letter to a friend just before her death, Pier said “…My love died at the wheel of a Porsche. It’s now been 17 years that I’ve been lonely, desperately lonely. I want to find peace and be free and finally be with my father and Jimmy again.”

I believe that James Dean truly loved Pier Angeli, and she in return. Their affair was short, but incredibly emotional and involved. She had issues of her own, as did he, but he clearly felt she understood and loved him unconditionally. I think their love was slightly toxic, but there is no doubt that it was strong and very real! ~~jimmylives


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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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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