pmak2002

[pmak2002]

He’s so pretty ✨✨✨

Twitter credit to chalametphotos

[pmak2002]

oh okay

[pmak2002]

[pmak2002]

nimble, a border collie-papillon mix, wins the 12” class in the 2024 masters agility championship. the first time a mixed breed has won at westminster ever.

[pmak2002]

Happiness is a butterfly 🦋

[pmak2002]

every time you reblog, a colleen hoover book gets burnt to crisp

[pmak2002]

Paul Ateridas x reader

Paul gets sick because of his visions and the stress of it all

I apologise for the extremely late delay 😞

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

You woke up in the dim, soft light of the room on Arrakis, a quiet sense of worry settling into your chest as soon as you noticed the warmth radiating from Paul’s body. He was curled up on his side, face scrunched in discomfort, his usually calm and collected expression replaced by the faint traces of exhaustion.

“Paul?” You whispered gently, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead, trying not to wake him too suddenly. His skin was warmer than usual, his breath shallow as he shifted restlessly. You could feel the slight tremor in his hand where it rested against your waist, and your heart ached seeing him like this.

The visions had been particularly bad lately—he’d hardly spoken about them, but you knew. You always knew when he was overwhelmed.

"Paul," you said again, a little firmer this time. "Baby, are you okay?"

His eyes fluttered open slowly, blinking against the soft light, and for a moment, he looked dazed, like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. His hand tightened around yours, pulling you closer, though he still tried to keep his voice steady, despite how worn out he sounded. "I'm fine, love. Just... just a little tired."

You raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "Tired, huh? You’re burning up, my poor sunshine," you teased softly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple, your lips lingering there for a moment, just enough to soothe him.

He groaned, but you could tell it wasn’t out of annoyance. "I don’t need you fussing over me," he muttered, but the words were weak, and you could hear the exhaustion lacing his voice.

You smiled gently, brushing your thumb across his jaw. "I don’t care if you don’t need me to fuss. You do need to rest, my love. You’re sick, and I’m not going anywhere until you let me take care of you."

Paul tried to sit up, his movements sluggish, but you softly placed a hand on his chest to keep him lying down. "Stay, please. Just for a little while." His voice had the softest plea in it, and your heart melted, knowing how hard it was for him to admit that he needed help.

"Okay, baby. You can stay in my arms all you want," you said with a smile, pressing your lips to his forehead again, this time leaving a lingering kiss there. "I’m here. Always."

He let out a soft sigh and melted back into the pillows, his face still flushed with fever, but his eyes were calmer now, more at peace. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," he whispered, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if he never wanted to let you go.

You grinned and kissed his cheek, planting little pecks all over his face, his nose, his eyelids, and finally, his lips. "You’d be a hot mess without me, Atreides," you teased, your fingers running through his hair. He hummed in contentment, his face softening at your touch.

"Stop," he murmured with a small, playful smile, even though you knew he loved it. "I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you."

"Well, you can take care of me later, my love," you said sweetly, curling up beside him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Right now, I’m the one taking care of you."

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and warm. "You’re the best... my sweet little nurse."

You giggled and snuggled even closer to him, feeling his arms wrap around you protectively. "Only for you, sunshine. Only for you."

His breathing slowed as he relaxed into your arms, his feverish heat still there but softened by your soothing presence. "You’re perfect," he whispered sleepily. "Just perfect."

You smiled, pressing your lips to his cheek once more, your fingers tracing circles on his chest as you both drifted into a peaceful, comfortable silence. "I love you, Paul. Rest, my love. I’ve got you."

And in that moment, the world outside—whatever visions were haunting him, whatever weight he carried—didn’t matter. Because here, in your arms, was the only place he could truly relax. And you weren’t going anywhere.

[pmak2002]

enchanted

pairings: timothee chalamet x female reader

synopsis: your celebrity crush reveals his admiration for you and you can't help but tease him for it in your run in on the met gala

It was supposed to be a quiet day on set. Your latest project had been keeping you busy, and today was no different—costume fittings, script run-throughs, and a few late takes. The steady hum of activity kept you focused, but when you returned to your trailer for a break, your phone was blowing up.

Texts from friends, a slew of Instagram notifications, and several unread emails. Confused, you opened one from your manager, the subject line simply reading: You’ll want to see this.

It was a clip.

Timothée Chalamet, sitting comfortably on a late-night talk show, was in the middle of one of his now-infamous animated interviews. His laughter filled the screen, infectious and boyish, and for a brief moment, you smiled, charmed by him like everyone else.

But then the question came.

"So, Timothée, who’s your celebrity crush?"

The audience whooped, the host leaned in with a knowing grin, and Timothée, trying to play it cool, gave a little shrug.

He hesitated, his fingers running through his tousled curls in that effortless way only he could pull off. And then, with a tiny, almost bashful smile, he said your name.

Your actual name.

You froze.

The host’s mouth fell open, clearly not expecting it. "Really? Her?"

Timothée’s cheeks flushed pink, but he nodded. "Yeah, I mean, she’s incredible. Just ridiculously talented, you know? And beautiful, obviously. But she just seems..." He trailed off, his hands moving as if to grab the words out of the air. "...Like, really cool. Smart. Genuine. I don’t know, there’s something about her."

You watched the clip in stunned silence, replaying it again. And again. And again.

The internet was already in flames. Tweets, TikToks, and Instagram edits were flooding your notifications. Fans were losing their minds. You didn’t even have time to process how you felt about it.

---

A Week Later: The Met Gala

The Met Gala red carpet was chaos in the best way. Flashing cameras, booming voices, and the rush of silk, sequins, and couture gowns swept around you. You moved down the carpet like you’d done a hundred times before—posing for photos, answering questions, and offering polite smiles to everyone who crossed your path.

But tonight was different. You could feel it.

The buzz in the air, the way reporters whispered to each other before approaching you. It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

“Has Timothée seen you yet?” a cheeky journalist asked as you posed, their microphone in your face.

You laughed it off, tilting your head. "I have no idea," you replied, trying to keep your voice light. "But I think that’s the question of the night, huh?"

You moved on quickly, your heart hammering in your chest. The thought of running into him tonight had lingered in the back of your mind all week, but now, as the moment seemed to inch closer, the reality of it hit you.

And then it happened.

You felt it before you saw him—the weight of his gaze. Turning slightly, your eyes met his, and everything else seemed to blur out of focus.

He looked... breathtaking. A perfectly tailored avant-garde suit hugged his lean frame, the kind only he could make look effortlessly cool. His hair was swept back just enough to still be messy, and his lips curled into a soft, almost shy smile as he walked toward you.

The cameras went berserk.

He stopped just a foot away, his eyes never leaving yours. "Hey," he said, his voice low and familiar, as though you weren’t surrounded by hundreds of people and a sea of flashing lights.

"Hey," you replied, your throat suddenly dry.

He hesitated, his hands tucked into his pockets as he glanced around. "So... I feel like I should apologize."

You raised an eyebrow, your lips tugging into a smile. "For what?"

"For accidentally turning your life into a circus," he said, his grin sheepish, his cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of red.

You laughed softly, the sound cutting through your nerves. "It’s fine. If anything, you gave my publicist a new hobby. Crisis management is her favorite thing."

His laugh was boyish and genuine, and for a moment, it was just the two of you.

"You really do look amazing," he said after a beat, his voice softer now. His eyes traced the intricate details of your gown like he wanted to memorize it.

"So do you," you replied, and then, feeling a little bold, you added, "Though I guess you don’t need me to tell you that."

He chuckled, shifting slightly closer. "Not true. Compliments mean a lot more when they’re coming from you."

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, and you were thankful for the dimmed lights that kept the moment from feeling too exposed.

Before either of you could say more, a handler appeared at Timothée’s side, gently reminding him he had to finish the carpet.

He glanced at them, then back at you, clearly reluctant to leave. "Guess I’ll see you inside?"

"Maybe," you teased.

As he turned to go, he shot you one last look over his shoulder, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite name. Excitement, maybe. Or curiosity.

And as the night wore on, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from over.

[pmak2002]

"𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧, 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦, 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞"

To ensure no one is going to see 'A Complete Unknown' uneducated I've taken the liberty to construct an unofficial guide to Bob Dylan, don't feel obliged to read but I think you should.

READ HERE

[pmak2002]

"𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧, 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐦, 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞"

To ensure no one is going to see 'A Complete Unknown' uneducated I've taken the liberty to construct an unofficial guide to Bob Dylan, don't feel obliged to read but I think you should.

READ HERE

[pmak2002]

"look of love" and then it's literally how george looks at ringo

[pmak2002]

Timothée in London tonight

[pmak2002]

Paul Ateridas x reader

Paul gets sick because of his visions and the stress of it all

I apologise for the extremely late delay 😞

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

You woke up in the dim, soft light of the room on Arrakis, a quiet sense of worry settling into your chest as soon as you noticed the warmth radiating from Paul’s body. He was curled up on his side, face scrunched in discomfort, his usually calm and collected expression replaced by the faint traces of exhaustion.

“Paul?” You whispered gently, brushing the damp strands of hair from his forehead, trying not to wake him too suddenly. His skin was warmer than usual, his breath shallow as he shifted restlessly. You could feel the slight tremor in his hand where it rested against your waist, and your heart ached seeing him like this.

The visions had been particularly bad lately—he’d hardly spoken about them, but you knew. You always knew when he was overwhelmed.

"Paul," you said again, a little firmer this time. "Baby, are you okay?"

His eyes fluttered open slowly, blinking against the soft light, and for a moment, he looked dazed, like he wasn’t entirely sure where he was. His hand tightened around yours, pulling you closer, though he still tried to keep his voice steady, despite how worn out he sounded. "I'm fine, love. Just... just a little tired."

You raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. "Tired, huh? You’re burning up, my poor sunshine," you teased softly, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his temple, your lips lingering there for a moment, just enough to soothe him.

He groaned, but you could tell it wasn’t out of annoyance. "I don’t need you fussing over me," he muttered, but the words were weak, and you could hear the exhaustion lacing his voice.

You smiled gently, brushing your thumb across his jaw. "I don’t care if you don’t need me to fuss. You do need to rest, my love. You’re sick, and I’m not going anywhere until you let me take care of you."

Paul tried to sit up, his movements sluggish, but you softly placed a hand on his chest to keep him lying down. "Stay, please. Just for a little while." His voice had the softest plea in it, and your heart melted, knowing how hard it was for him to admit that he needed help.

"Okay, baby. You can stay in my arms all you want," you said with a smile, pressing your lips to his forehead again, this time leaving a lingering kiss there. "I’m here. Always."

He let out a soft sigh and melted back into the pillows, his face still flushed with fever, but his eyes were calmer now, more at peace. "I don’t know what I’d do without you," he whispered, his arms wrapping around you tightly as if he never wanted to let you go.

You grinned and kissed his cheek, planting little pecks all over his face, his nose, his eyelids, and finally, his lips. "You’d be a hot mess without me, Atreides," you teased, your fingers running through his hair. He hummed in contentment, his face softening at your touch.

"Stop," he murmured with a small, playful smile, even though you knew he loved it. "I’m supposed to be the one taking care of you."

"Well, you can take care of me later, my love," you said sweetly, curling up beside him, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Right now, I’m the one taking care of you."

He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, his voice low and warm. "You’re the best... my sweet little nurse."

You giggled and snuggled even closer to him, feeling his arms wrap around you protectively. "Only for you, sunshine. Only for you."

His breathing slowed as he relaxed into your arms, his feverish heat still there but softened by your soothing presence. "You’re perfect," he whispered sleepily. "Just perfect."

You smiled, pressing your lips to his cheek once more, your fingers tracing circles on his chest as you both drifted into a peaceful, comfortable silence. "I love you, Paul. Rest, my love. I’ve got you."

And in that moment, the world outside—whatever visions were haunting him, whatever weight he carried—didn’t matter. Because here, in your arms, was the only place he could truly relax. And you weren’t going anywhere.

[pmak2002]

Nope I have this everyday

Anyone ever have those thoughts where you're convinced you're a terrible person who doesn't do enough for your friends (if you even really have friends, they're probably pitying you) and they resent you for not solving their problems?

Just me?

[pmak2002]

sometimes a bitch wants to twist and shout. and shake it up baby.

[pmak2002]

Timothée Chalamet at the Chiltern Firehouse in London recently. ✨✨✨

Twitter credit to 21metgala

[pmak2002]

"when you’re working with timothée, you feel that you, in some way, owned him, he’s an actor that you know his sensibilities…and then when you see him in another project - it’s beautiful to be surprised”