Smile Wrinkles For The Win.

Smile wrinkles for the win.

stop freaking out about getting old and start planning out what kind of old person you're gonna be

Shoulda known nerdy Timmy would be a hot look, too 🥵

Hey cutie

Twitter credit to martysupremeupdates

Timothée Chalamet filming ‘Marty Supreme’ on September 26, 2024 in Lower Manhattan. 🤓🏓

Twitter credit to _avamiIIer

Omg I was just thinking he would be great in a live action remake of Corpse Bride. I'd also love to see him reprise his role as Edgar Scissorhands in a feature-length film.

oh but please please please please please Tim Burton can you cast Timothee Chalamet as Victor in a corspe bride live action 🙏🙏🙏

You know how everyone thinks Timothee looked sick/tired during the Dune event last night? Maybe a fic where he’d actually not feeling well and has to miss it and he’s extremely bummed but reader wants to him to rest because he’s been working so hard for his next project Marty supreme and it’s taking a lot out of him. Physically and mentally.

Thx ☺️ love you 😘

🥰 I hope you don't mind a slight tweak where he did go to the event but came home wiped out and irritable.

Written from female reader perspective.

Most Meaningful Role

You could sense Timothée's foul mood before he even reached the front door after the Dune 2 Q&A. It was evident in the little things - the speed at which he pulled into the driveway, how hard he shut the car door, the muffled growl when he dropped his keys trying to get inside. If he was a cartoon, you would have seen a little dark storm cloud floating above his head.

IG credit: tchallamett

The aura of the room changed dramatically as he stepped across the threshold. He never even verbally responded to your greeting. Instead, he flopped down on the couch next to you and laid his head on your lap.

You softly gazed down at the boy turned friend turned love of your life, trying to exude calming vibes to counter his ire. You noticed the purple circles ghosting his eyes masked the beautiful constellations of freckles you adored. Out of habit, you extended your hand to play with his hair, but you hesitated ever so slightly due its new shortness before diving into the longer locks at the top.

Timothée noticed, rolled his eyes, and sighed heavily. "I know, I know, my fans don't like it either."

You gently tugged his hair to turn his face toward you. "They don't understand how much you sacrifice for your roles. How much you put your heart and soul - and health - into your craft. I- I'm worried about you."

He scoffed. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You are exhausted all the time. I don't even remember the last time you came home happy. The last time you had the energy to go out on a date or a walk in the park or..."

You were interrupted by a low, exasperated grumble. Timothée sat up quickly and walked away from you to the kitchen island, all but slumping as he leaned with all his weight on outstretched arms on the counter's ledge.

Fed up, you continued. "Remember. I was here, watching you starve yourself for Beautiful Boy. I was here as you went straight from Bones and All to Wonka to Dune 2 to ACU, and now Marty, watching as your poured your energy into your fans and work instead..." you paused, unsure whether you should continue down this path. "Instead of us. I can't believe they still have you doing press for Dune anyway. Isn't it a bit overplayed by now?"

You instantly cringed, knowing you had crossed a line as you saw his shoulders tense, which blunted your surprise as Timothée slammed his hands down onto the cold marble counter with enough force to rattle the silverware in the drawers below. He turned on his heel, insult clearly written on his face.

"Over-? Guess which movies paid for that brand new car of yours in the driveway, huh? Or this house?!" he snapped back heatedly.

"Timmy, I-"

He held up his palm to cut you off. "No! I had to listen to you rant. Now you get to listen. Acting is the ONLY thing I feel a little bit good at. Take that away, and I-" his voice faltered. "I have nothing," he finished quietly.

In the deafening silence that followed, you visibly deflated, shrinking into yourself and hugging your knees on the couch.

"That's - UGH!" Timothée groaned and scrubbed a hand down his face. As you stared down at the plush carpet, you saw him tentatively pad closer in your peripheral vision. He sank to his knees when he reached the couch, looking up to lock eyes with you.

"That is *not* what I meant, Peach," he stated in a much calmer tone. "Without acting, I- I have nothing to offer. To you. The world. This face," he said, pointing to his own, "won't last forever. I have to make the most of it while I still look young."

"You're going to age prematurely if you keep up your current pace," you quipped tersely, breaking his gaze by moving your head to rest your chin on your elbow. "It won't be the end of the world to be typecast into the settled and married dad role, especially if that is what you are."

Your heart was nearly beating out of your chest. This wasn't how you wanted to tell him, but your emotions got the best of you.

Timothée sat back slightly. "I'm not a..."

You could almost hear the gears turning in his head. You shifted to look at him once again, your eyes now bloodshot from holding back tears.

"Dad?" he breathed.

You nodded. "I took a test this morning. Wanted to tell you when you got home."

"Oh. Oh, Peach! That's- I- " Timothée stammered. "You- we- we're going to have a baby?" he repeated with bewildered excitement. He practically launched himself from the floor, throwing his arms around you and peppering your cheeks with kisses while you laughed. He pulled back and held your face in his large hands, gently wiping a stray tear from the corner of your mouth with his thumb.

It was heartwarming to see genuine happiness light up his face once again, even if just for a fleeting moment before his eyes fell to the ground. "This should have been a happy occasion, but you are probably going to look back at this moment and just remember me yelling at you. One of the most important moments of your life, OUR lives, and I stole the wind from your sails." Now it was his turn to cry as he rested his forehead on your knees.

You gave him a moment to wallow, using the time to carefully think through what you wanted to say. You carded your fingers through his chocolate locks. "Timmy, you will *have* to slow down and take care of yourself if you are going to play a meaningful role in your child's life and mine. Pun intended. Is- is that still a role you want?"

Timothée moved to rest his chin on your knee so he could look up at you with his red-rimmed puppy eyes. "More than anything."

He pushed himself up from the floor to sit beside you on the couch. "May I?" he asked nervously, gesturing his hand toward your stomach. The corners of your mouth pulled into a soft smile as you nodded, to which he replied with a huge grin. *This* was how you had pictured this moment.

Timothée gingerly placed his hand on your belly and laid his head on your shoulder, idly rubbing semicircles with his thumb. He exhaled a contented sigh while you resumed watching the sitcom his arrival interrupted. Within just a few minutes, his idle movements ceased, and soft snoring began. Amused, you rested your cheek against the soft pillow of curls atop his head.

"Rest while you can, love," you whispered as you laid your hand on top of Timothée's on your stomach and let out a contented sigh of your own.

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