Formalsweatpants

The way people treat Megan thee Stallion's bisexuality is so annoying like... it's all 'bi women don't owe you a detailed history of your relationships' until you Black and in the public eye

we need a darth vader who writes poetry by the light of the waning moon

Darth Vader is tragically underutilized as a gothic villain.

He lives in a remote haunted castle, is obsessed with a wife who died under mysterious circumstances, physically imposing yet seemingly keep alive by spite alone, once handsome and noble now horribly disfigured, strange powers the result of faustian bargain, is seemingly close to the reclusive Emperor whose silent faceless emissaries come and go without warning.

She lives in daydreams with me. She's the first one that I see, and I don't know why 🌹

who will come into my kitchen and be hungry for me!

“Maybe love will set you free”

yes perfect i love it 😍 i need to be scraped up off the floor now

Coming Home

Pairing: Timothée Chalamet x fem!reader

A/n: blame @thestarsaregivenonceonly and @formalsweatpants and Timothée himself for this one. Smut mention but otherwise just fluff. Minors, ageless and blank blogs dni

Timothée’s long legs ate up the distance between him and home. Just three more blocks. He could even squint and see the face of the building from where he was. So close, he was so fucking close.

“I’m literally ten minutes from standing on our balcony with a lantern like I’m waiting for my husband to come back from sea.”

“I’m literally ten minutes from standing on our balcony with a lantern like I’m waiting for my husband to come back from sea.”

Laughter punched out of his chest. “Where do you come up with this stuff? I’m almost home, baby.”

“You said that at your layover in Atlanta too.”

“Don’t pout,” he admonished and smiled at your little indignant squeak. “I know you. I know you’re pouting that cute little lip out like the spoiled brat you are.”

“This is slander that I don’t have to take from you. ‘Cause you’re a liar who says you’re almost home and then three hours later have the audacity to say you’re almost home again.”

Timothée didn’t respond, just took a picture of the brownstone he was approaching. You gasped on the other end of the phone.

“You’re almost home!!” The genuine excitement, the longing, the anticipation all twined in a thick braid in your voice gave him that shot of energy he needs. It’d get him up the stairs, get him fishing around through all of his shit to find his keys, get him through every tiny trifling obstacle between him and finally arriving home.

“Yeah, babe. I’m almost home. For real this time,” he tacked on just to hear your giggle. An extra shot of motivation for him. “I’ll see you soon. And when I do, we can do whatever you want.”

“Ooo, I like the sound of that,” your voice a temptation and a promise all in one. “See you soon.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, now get up here!”

He hung up mid-laugh and the smile stayed on his face until he finally reached his door. Timothée crossed the threshold of your shared space, toeing off his boots and dropping his backpack all at once. He called out your name, because even though he’d dropped his keys in the bowl and placed his coat on the hook, he wouldn’t be well and truly home until he was holding you close. Until he could breathe you in and feel your heartbeat pounding under his.

“Timothée!”

You came bounding out of the bedroom, practically a streak of colors as you launched into Timothée’s arms. It sent you both to the couch behind him, eyes locked in alarmed stares as the couch tips back a bit before righting itself with a thud you'd surely hear about from your downstairs neighbors. You laughed as you properly straddled his lap, framing his jaw with both hands and peppering his face with little smooches. Timothée sighed contentedly, his arms wrapped around your lower back and soaking in the affection.

You pulled back for a bit and beamed down at him.

“You’re home.”

He touched your face, moving a stray wisp to the side just for the excuse to fret with you a bit. He hadn’t been able to do something as simple as that in weeks.

“I’m home.”

“So… there was mention of us doing whatever I wanted when you got here.”

“I did say that.”

“And…” you trailed off as you began to wind your hips in his lap. A subtle gentle rock that he let his eyes drift closed to savor. “What if I said… that I really want to…”

Your lips trailed up his jaw to his ear.

“…Catch up on British Bake Off?”

He barked a laugh. “Have you not watched it since I’ve been gone?”

“No, that’s our thing, Timothée!”

God he missed you. He loved you. “Yeah, babe, we can watch it.”

You nodded once and reached for your shirt. “Cool, we can do that after we fuck.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/n.”

i always forget how beautiful she is which is 1. weird cause how could i, and 2. nice because i'm always pleasantly surprised when i see her

Rachel Weisz / photo by Jeff Riedel, 2002.

the ancestral memories accessed by many of the characters in Dune encompass a timespan that easily includes our own contemporary time, meaning that even in versions of the story where metal speedo Sting does not literally appear, it can still be assumed that some amount of the cast is aware of the existence of metal speedo Sting

i'm so sick of them 😩😭

Timothée Chalamet and Taylor Russell at the UK premiere of ‘Bones and All’ (10/08/2022)