by Carol Diehl (via agentlesoul)
radish is a really accurate name for a vegetable because they’re pretty cool but they’re not that cool
Holy shit. I think this is exactly what I needed.
I’m so motivated right now
Oh my god I needed this
Oh lord. We missed it the first time this went around. And we would just like to say aksdhofiasknd YESYESYES
ALL the yes! Please someone write it. Dean/Impala
Dean walked outside, loosening his tie as he and Sam went out to their car, on their way to the cemetery to burn the bones— it was a simple enough case. “Sam. Sam, where the hell.. where the hell is my car?!” Dean looked around anxiously, eyes falling on a younger man sitting on the curb where his car used to be.
He stormed over to the young man and pulled him up by his shirt, glaring with intense eyes. “Where the hell is my car?!” Dean growled.
“It’s kinda sweet to see how much you actually care in person,” the other man replied coolly, voice like a low, deep purr.
Dean was taken aback for a moment, trying to process what he’d just said. He released his shirt and stared. “Excuse me? Who are you?” he asked, shooting a look over to Sam. His brother only shrugged, looking equally as confused.
The man adjusted his shirt and ran a hand through his thick, dark colored hair. “I… hm.” There was a pause before he shrugged. “I don’t know. You’ve always just called me baby.”
Baby. Who the hell did he.. “Oh no fucking way,” Dean breathed out after finally putting the pieces together. “No way in hell.” He took a step back, rubbing his eyes to make sure that this wasn’t just a goddamn dream.
Sam was gaping slightly and caught the guy’s eye. “You’re… the Impala,” he said, not so much a question as it was a statement. “How does that happen?”
“Someone named Gabriel. One second I was a car, the next..” He gestured to his body, and stuck out his bottom lip slightly. “He said that you guys would have fun with this. Me. Or something like that.” A grin, almost a smirk, played at his lips as he eyes the two brothers.
Dean was speechless, and that never happened. After one more moment of looking at the man, he turned to face Sam. “Alright. Okay, just… go take care of the bones. I’ll stay here and babysit..” What the hell would he call him? “So do you have a name?”
The younger man shrugged. “You’ve only ever called me ‘baby’.” He was humming a song, like he couldn’t quite get it out of his head. This whole “being a human” thing wasn’t too bad at all. And seeing Sam and Dean for the first time… it was nothing short of amazing.
“Dude, are you humming Led Zeppelin?” he asked, unable to keep back a grin. The guy nodded, watching Sam walk off and tilting his head to the side slightly. God, that Winchester kid has a nice—
“Hey. Eyes up here,” Dean interrupted, snapping his fingers in front of the younger man. “Listen, until we figure this all out, you’re staying here with us. So come on baby, looks like we’re walking to the motel room.”
The other man nodded and followed behind Dean as they walked down the sidewalk. “Sounds good to me,” he responded, grinning devilishly, now humming a Metallica song.
Dean was so glad that no one else could see him blush.
I never get tired of this photo.
Ella Fitzgerald was not allowed to play at Mocambo because of her race. Then, one of Ella’s biggest fans made a telephone call that quite possibly changed the path of her career for good. Here, Ella tells the story of how Marilyn Monroe changed her life:
“I owe Marilyn Monroe a real debt… she personally called the owner of the Mocambo, and told him she wanted me booked immediately, and if he would do it, she would take a front table every night. She told him – and it was true, due to Marilyn’s superstar status – that the press would go wild. The owner said yes, and Marilyn was there, front table, every night. The press went overboard. After that, I never had to play a small jazz club again. She was an unusual woman – a little ahead of her times. And she didn’t know it.
The trick is to not let people know how really weird you are until it’s too late for them to back out.