▫️▫️Bones And All Poster In Venice ▫️▫️

timmy after posting today

Pedro please, explain this paranormal cuteness

Currently thinking about how florence pugh would be the perfect height for me to give her forehead kisses

this is literally half a minute long and it has still turned me into a feral beast 💞

please i just want to nibble on his neck a tiny bit

😻😻

this remake of weekend at bernie's looks weird 🤔

Happy Wife, Happy Life

Summary: Yes he do the cooking and yes he do the cleaning. 50s AU

Pairing: 50s househusband!Timothée Chalamet x black!reader

A/n: I had fun playing with role reversal, gender dynamics and expectations, and just thinking of Timmy being a blushing bride. Originally inspired by Dove Cameron’s Breakfast music video and a convo with @get-your-fics. Also tagging @lsyd25 hope next week goes better hun! Fluff mostly, shy of 1k. Minors, ageless and blank blogs dni

Timmy fiddled with the buttons at his cuff, the iron puffing steam like a dragon. He had less than an hour to tie up all the loose ends of the day before you got home. 

The house smelled like the fruits of his labor; a roast loaded with carrots and potatoes just pulled out of the oven, a pound cake placed in it directly after, lemon from all the surfaces he had scrubbed clean. Tim had had a very productive day and couldn’t wait to tell you about it. As well as the usual tasks of cooking and cleaning, he’d ticked a few things off the Honey Do list. The kitchen table didn’t wobble anymore and the gutters were all taken care of. He’d even mended the hole in your favorite sweater that you liked to wear to work.

Outfit completed, Timmy unplugged the iron and took a look over himself in the mirror. Thirty minutes left by now, he should take the pin curls down. One by one, he released the perfectly flouncy spirals. He fluffed them all just a bit, to give it the effortlessly tousled look you loved even though the process was anything but effortless. He smiled at his reflection, dabbing on just a bit of the cologne you bought him for his birthday before leaving the bedroom.

Timothée had made quite the catch with you. A teacher, his parents had been impressed when he first brought you home for an introduction. 

You were a boss all day, commanding your classroom, shaping young minds, nurturing them. It only made sense that most of the time, you came home and commanded it too. And Timothée was more than fine with that. You worked so hard all day and kept a roof over your heads. Afforded him such a nice cushy life. Of course he’d want to provide every little comfort for you when you got home. Catering to you was the least he could do.

Right on time, Timothée had just finished icing the cake when he heard you pulling up in the driveway. He licked the glaze off his finger, smoothing out his button down on the way to the door. He arrived in the foyer just as you opened the front door. Warmth flooded his chest. Would he ever get used to how pretty you were? Almost a year of marriage and he didn't think it possible.

“Welcome home, my love,” he greeted you as he helped you out of your jacket.

“Thank you,” you said, breathing deep. “Smells good in here.”

A pleased smile played on his lips as he followed you into the dining room. “I’m glad it does. Are you ready for dinner or would you like to unwind first? I could mix you a drink or pour you a glass of wine.”

You sighed as you rerouted to the living room. “You know what, babe? A mojito would be really fucking nice.”

“Of course, Y/n! Put your feet up for a bit.” Timothée made his way to the bar cart and started the prep and assembly of the drink. 

“These flowers are pretty.”

Wings fluttered in his chest. You noticed. “They're from the garden! I thought they might brighten up the room. Saw them when I cleaned out the gutters earlier.”

“Shit, I didn’t even see that, thanks babe.” 

Tim finished off your drink with a mint leaf garnish and brought it to you with a smile. You patted your lap and his cheeks flamed, quietly suppressing his delight. “Take a seat and tell me about your day.”

He did as you said, practically buzzing under your attention. You took a sip from the cocktail and hummed, your other hand rubbing circles on his lower back. Timmy cleared his throat and began listing all the things he had been so excited to report to you, pride swelling at each little word of praise from you. It was hard to stay still, to focus on his words when the hand that was on his back traveled to the nape of his neck, flustering him as you twirled one of his carefully curated curls around your finger.

“You look so pretty today, Tim.”

Was there any wonder how Timmy fell for you? He’d never get up. “Thank you, love.”

“Mhmm, let’s get your pretty ass on up and in the dining room. Think I’ve delayed dinner long enough.”

Timothée loved the attention but he was glad for a distraction, his face was so hot he could reheat the meal on it, if necessary.

As you ate together, he asked about your day and your mood deflated then flared as you recounted the annoyance that was the principal of your school. Timmy had heard you complain about him before, knew you didn’t like him or agree with his decisions half of the time. Timothée thought you would make a wonderful principal, had mentioned it before but you loved the kids. Being principal took you out of the classroom and that just wouldn’t do for you. Thus, your frustrating cycle at work continued. He felt a little bad for souring your mood, for spoiling the sweet flavor of cake still on your tongues. He had to make it up to you.

“We could snuggle up on the couch, watch a little tv,” he suggested as he rested his hand over yours.

“Sorry, Tim, I'm a little too keyed up from the day to wind down just yet.”

Timmy’s heart thumped in his chest as he trailed a finger over the back of your hand, as far up your arm as he could reach. “Well then, use me.”

You raised an eyebrow, a lopsided grin growing on your lips. Timothée returned it with an inviting one of his own as he stood. Taking your hands, he walked backwards as he led you to the bedroom. “Use me however you see fit.”

Sexualizing that old man is a full time job

how is this like one of his hottest looks? idk but my nose is bleeding

i don't remember who exactly said this, but someone on tumblr once wrote something along the lines of a lot of charmies don't actually like timothée, they just tolerate him because he's an avatar through which they can experience and be close to armie and it kinda blew my mind.

idrc if anyone likes a particular person or not, but it's very interesting how tim gets criticised for the most random, inconsequential shit (he flew on a plane! he had sex with a woman!) and armie can do something as small as show up wandering the streets of LA looking like a confused leather handbag with hedgehog hair and they're like ... shitting screaming crying cumming and writing elaborate headcanons on the nature of love and sexual orientation and perseverance in the face of hardship

it is genuinely fascinating to watch. why armie hammer? i get that taste is subjective, but why would someone's taste run so strongly to a shitty, predatory medium talent like him?

there are also strong elements of misogyny and homophobia in that sector of the fandom but i don't have the brainspace to get into that just yet

\\\imagine believing tim has done anthing compared to armie\\\

That's because at this point Charmies = Armie stans. Look at their posts, they regularly bring up Cabo to drag Timmy, they bash him for pap walks etc while they shield Armie from the smallest criticism and blame absolutely everything Armie does on everyone around him but himself. The Timmy fans who shipped Charmie at some point all left the ship because no one in their right mind would want someone they like with a pathetic loser like Armie.

I mean they think Timmy is the lucky one because he gets to be with Armie lmao. They're just Armie fangirls that begrudge Timmy's successful life lbr, why do you think they never like him to be out and about with his friends, colleagues or anyone that isn't their cannibal king. They treat him like Armie's bitch, when if anyone is the bitch in that equation it's broke pariah Armie.