#elliott reid

[celluloidchronicles]

Gentlemen Prefer Blondes

🇺🇸 | July 15, 1953

directed by Howard Hawks

screenplay Charles Lederer

theatre play by Joseph Fields

novel by Anita Loos

lyrics by Leo Robin

produced by 20th Century Fox

starring Marilyn Monroe, Jane Russell, Charles Coburn, Elliott Reid, Tommy Noonan

1h31 | Comedy, Romance, Musical

𐄂 not watched

Browse through collections

American Movies | director Howard Hawks | writer Charles Lederer | writer Joseph Fields | writer Anita Loos | writer Leo Robin | studio 20th Century Fox | actress Marilyn Monroe | actress Jane Russell | actor Charles Coburn | actor Elliott Reid | actor Tommy Noonan | Books Based Movies

Browse through genres

Comedy | Romance | Musical

Links

trakt.tv | letterboxd

[gatutor]

Jean Peters-Elliott Reid "Vicki" 1953, de Harry Horner.

[kwebtv]

From the Golden Age of Television

Our Hearts Were Young and Gay - NBC - February 15, 1954

A presentation of "Robert Montgomery Presents" "The Johnson's Wax Program" Season 5 Episode 25

Drama

Running Time: 60 minutes

Hosted by Robert Montgomery. 

Stars:

Elizabeth Montgomery as Cornelia Otis Skinner

Sally Kemp as Emily Kimbrough

Elliott Reid as Alistar Cochran

Cliff Robertson as Paul Smith

Marjorie Gateson as Mrs. Skinner (Maud Durbin)

John Griggs as Mr. Otis Skinner

Earl Hammond as Henri

Lucie Lancastor as Hawkins

Michael Dreyfuss as Ralph

Felix Deebank as Band Leader

Stafford Dickens as The Steward

Peter Pagan as The Guide

[soft-homestyle]

The colorful theatrical release poster for 20th Century Fox’s 1953 classic Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

”Two glamorous showgirls have everything a girl could want - except engagement rings! In a quest for true love, Lorelei (Marilyn Monroe) and her gold-digger pal Dorothy (Jane Russell) set sail on a luxury liner for France.

While on board, the pair hit rocky waters when a manipulative detective (Elliot Reid), and aging millionaire (Charles Coburn) and the entire men’s Olympic gymnastics team try to put an anchor in their marriage-minded mischief.”

- The Criterion Collection

-

Stay cozy.

@soft-homestyle

[oldshowbiz]

Son of Flubber star live at the Cocoanut Grove

[howardhawkshollywood]

Elliott Reid in a publicity still for Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953)

[perfettamentechic]

21 giugno … ricordiamo …

21 giugno … ricordiamo … #semprevivineiricordi #nomidaricordare #personaggiimportanti #perfettamentechic

2022: Elettra Romani, attrice teatrale, comica e cabarettista italiana. Nel 1949 esordì come ballerina di avanspettacolo, poi soubrette, e infine attrice sia drammatica che brillante. Nel 1959 si unì professionalmente e sentimentalmente al comico Alfonso Tomas con cui svolse tournée di avanspettacolo: i due poi nel 1980 formarono il “Duo Tomas”, coppia comica cabarettistica. Nel 1990 lavora in…

[rauspberries]

still a friend. - s.r.

sure hope it was one hell of a kiss, my friend.

spencer reid x bau liasion!reader.

summary: after your new boyfriend turns out to a murderer, spencer will do anything in his power to help you smile again.

tags: afab reader, sunshine x sunshine, mentions of guns, kidnapping, murder & other themes present in criminal minds, panic attack, hurt/comfort, forced proximity that’s not forced at all, i like to imagine it as later seasons reid [however there's no mention of prison arc], still a friend by the backseat lovers

word count: 3.1k

notes: ok hear me out. think about the episode 'lucky' and the episode 'penelope.' that's what i'm going for here. this is my first ever time writing spencer. it took me days. free me.

hey @reidswrld

If you closed your eyes tight enough, you felt like you were still there. Cold metal pressed against your temple, harsh words in your ears, the pull of rope against your wrists. Despite the familiarity of your home, decorated in low lights and multiple potted plants that were loved like your own children, you had been afraid. He had turned it into a place of fear, a spot for nothing but bad memories and bloodstains in your carpet.

It had been almost three weeks since your team had pushed into your apartment, only to be met with the sight of you bound to your dining room chairs, your boyfriend of only a couple weeks holding a handgun to your head. You loved those chairs, and had told the whole team about them right after you had purchased them. They were thrifted, hand-carved by an artist you never had the pleasure to meet. Shame that you’d never be able to look at them the same anymore.

Your boyfriend had been an idiot. A psychotic one, but an idiot all the same. He had left too much evidence behind with his three victims, making it too easy for your team to profile him and pick him out of their list of names. Once you had accidentally let it slip that the BAU was on the tail of their suspect, you had become a problem, needing to be eliminated. So he had tried.

You had worked as a liaison for long enough to learn a few tells of body language, or the original signs of psychopathic behavior. Despite this, you had missed all of them when it came to him. You had been too excited to find someone that could handle your busy and erratic schedule, someone that loved you for you, something that was rare in this day and age. You had even let his passive-aggressive demeanor slide, along with the comments that always tended to sting somewhere deep inside.

After he had been taken down by Morgan and Hotch, you’d wanted out of your apartment as soon as possible. JJ and Garcia had packed up your stuff based off of a small list you provided them once your hands and voice had stopped shaking. They had whispered in your presence, keeping secrets about the case to each other and asking if you were okay. They hadn’t needed to whisper – your ears hadn’t stopped ringing.

For a while, you stayed in a hotel, curled in the cool sheets that smelled like nothing as you stared at the plain walls, so different from the house you had turned into a home with wallpaper and pretty colors. For a while, you chastised yourself for not getting over it faster. You thought about how you should be stronger in times like these, especially with everything you saw on a daily basis in your job as the BAU unit’s liaison. Unfortunately, it was a lot easier to compartmentalize when it wasn’t happening directly to you. 

You weren’t like everyone else on your team, you couldn’t just act like these things didn’t happen.

You tried to trick your brain into producing serotonin. You attempted to shower every morning, eat three meals, even exercise in the seclusion of your hotel room. But every shower ended with you staring blankly at the wall, every meal went untouched, and once you were on the ground, you couldn’t get back up. 

As normal protocol, you were given a minimum of three weeks of leave in the wake of the event. For the first week, everyone took turns checking on you. Penelope brought you fun-colored stress toys that collected dust on the side table, while Emily and JJ sat with you to chat about anything but what had happened. 

And Spencer? Spencer brought you company. He sat at the desk chair in the corner, long legs stretched out as he babbled about anything and everything. Sometimes, he sat there quietly, only speaking up to ask you if you knew the answer to a certain crossword question. Usually, it was something easy, something he already knew. Like, a passionate declaration, like in marriage vows – the answer was too obviously avowal.

Each time he visited, he left a book for you, annotations directed towards you scribbled in the margins and tabs marking the parts he thought you’d like best. The first book, Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen, had a scrawl on the author’s dedication page, with Reid noting both opinions and facts about the book. You felt your lips twitch with the ghost of a smile as you read the definitions of both of the words in the titles and how they were related to the actual book, as you read the words and the facts the doctor had written in the blank spaces.

After a week of Spencer stopping by every day before and after work, you gave him the extra keycard to your room that you had been given when you checked in. A lot of the time you didn’t have the energy to crawl out of your bed, so it made it easier for you. Despite having the key card, he still always knocked, waiting on some type of verbal sign before actually opening the door and stepping in.

One night, he stopped by your hotel room, a take-out bag looped over his forearm as he rustled in his bag for the keycard. Once it was curled between his palm and fingers, he lightly rapped on the door, leaning his head closer to it to listen for your voice calling for him to come in. His brow furrowed when he was only met with the sound of your room’s AC unit and the faint sniffles it attempted to cover.

Immediately, he had bursted into your room after sliding the key card into the slot above the knob, long legs getting him to your bedside as soon as possible. His eyes had softened as he took in the sight of you sitting up, arms laced around your knees, which were pulled up to your chest defensively. Your eyes were dark, sullen, the whites of them red with irritation from pushing away tears. Even your breathing was erratic, chest rising and falling quickly until it sounded like wheezing.

Spencer had pulled you practically into his lap, your fingers gripping at the soft material of his sweater as his large hand ran up and down the expanse of your back. He had murmured soft words that didn’t quite register to you, however were soothing all the same, as he pressed your hand to his chest, letting you feel the steady beat of his heart.

Once you had finally been soothed properly, your breathing evening out as his hand slowed until it lay still on your spine, you explained to him that you had been woken by a nightmare, the same one that had been playing through your head for the past two weeks. Immediately, he insisted that you stay at his apartment. As if proving it would help steer your decision towards a “yes,” he spilled out facts about processing traumas, like how talking to people and reminding yourself of pleasant hobbies, along with being in a familiar place, would help with recovery.

Which is how you ended up curled up on his couch, fingers tracing the pages of the book in your lap. You had been picking through all of Jane Austen’s books since you had started sleeping on his couch, with Emma being your pick of the week. Spencer hadn’t gotten to annotating this one yet, too busy with a new case that had just come in, so you had plucked a pen off of his desk, scribbling notes just like he usually did. It didn’t matter much, since you tended to spill your opinion to him the minute he stepped through the door, however it kept your brain occupied.

Your head raises as you recognize the sound of his key in the lock, looking up and over your shoulder just as it opened. “Welcome home. I’m almost done with Emma. It’s quite amusing, less factual, so I’m not sure if you’ll like it, but it’s good.” You glance back down at the pages as you stick a receipt in the fold of the book, shutting it before continuing. “It’s about a matchmaker named Emma. She thinks she’s the best at it, especially because she set up the governess and a wealthy widower, but she ends up missing all of the signs that the men she’s matching are into her.”

As you speak, Spencer takes his satchel off, laying it on the armchair near the front door before slowly making his way towards his couch. A smile pulls at his lips as his fingers work to undo the buttons on his wrists, brow raising slightly. “You have been reading quite a bit since you settled in here.”

A soft huff leaves your nose as you settle back into the cushions, watching as he perches himself up onto the back of the leather couch. It feels wrong to be so comfortable in an apartment that’s not your own, but it’s almost impossible to not feel soothed by the dark wood that makes up his desk and bookshelves, which were stacked with books upon books of all different genres. The verdun color of the walls alongside the sets of patterned couch pillows and comfortable throw blankets were ten times better than the impersonable decorations of the hotel room you had lived in for two weeks.

“Well, you don’t have a TV, and you can’t play chess by yourself.” There’s a pause, and then you speak again. “Unless you’re you. And I’m not,” you add, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them.

He folds the edges of his sleeves back towards himself, pushing up the fabric up to his elbows, revealing his forearms slowly. “Playing chess by yourself is actually the best way to learn how to play and hone your skills. Many professional chess players, such as Bobby Fischer, often play chess alone. It helps you learn the game and discover what type of player you are. It gives you more time to focus on your moves so that, in an actual chess match, you don’t run out of time before you know what to do.”

You toss the ballpoint pen in your hands at his chest, huffing in mock irritation as he easily catches it and tosses it back to you. “Good thing I’m not looking to switch career paths anytime soon, hm?” Your brow quirks slightly, your amusement apparent only in that little movement.

“That it is.” He responds, still holding a soft smile as his coffee-colored eyes soften around the corners edges. His gaze averts downwards at his fingers as he starts to tug on them, growing sheepish. “How have you been?” 

Despite the vagueness and normalcy of the question, you immediately know what he’s referring to, suddenly finding the loose threads on the blanket over your lap very interesting. “Better,” you admit, seeing no reason to lie. “The nightmares aren’t as bad as they were back at the hotel, but they’re not gone. The panic comes and goes.”

Slowly, like he’s afraid he’ll spook you, he stands back up, moving around the couch before settling a cushion away from you. He leans back against the arm of the couch as he starts working at loosening his tie, pulling it over his head before laying it on his coffee table. “Do you want to talk about it? All aspects of trauma can be lessened by communicating it to a trusted individual. Not necessarily go through it again, like cognitive interviews, but speaking more about the depth of it. How you felt, why you still feel it even after that, the direct cause of feeling like you’re still there.”

Just like that, you’re setting your book aside, knees pulling up to your chest in an attempt to shy away. It’s funny how you can know body language so well and yet not stop yourself from giving yourself away with it. Knees to chest meant a multitude of things, such as defensive posture or an intense interest in wanting to leave conversations or situations. You had to look at the situation as a whole to figure out the exact reason, or the other cues. Hunched back and averted eye contact usually indicated sadness, fear or insecurity. The rub of your own hand against your arm indicated self-soothing. It was all about the context.

Spencer notices quickly, reaching out to brush his fingertips against your kneecap. Despite the soft touch, he doesn’t speak, lips pressing in a harder line as he simply gazes at you. He’s waiting for you to speak, to take in whatever information you’ll give him. 

Looking into his eyes, you realize why people call them ‘puppy dog eyes.’ Glancing into them, you’re ready to spill your guts about just about everything. You’re tempted to tell him about the candy bar you stole when you were in sixth grade, or when you tripped someone in the high school hallway because they kept shoving into you.

“I thought he liked me.” You mumble once you realize you had just been staring at him for the past few moments, plucking at the throw blanket again as you avert your gaze. “But looking back, he was a bit mean. He’d always make these little comments.” You clear your throat as you glance towards the ceiling, blinking quickly to try and avoid the sting of tears. “Like ‘didn’t you wear that shirt yesterday,’ or ‘sure you don’t want to change’?”

As you speak, Spencer’s hand moves to cup your entire kneecap, thumb brushing against the soft spot in the middle. His touch is warm, heating up the skin underneath your sweatpants. He can practically see the words on the edge of your tongue, allowing you to continue. 

Your focus doesn’t stray from the hand on your knee as you let the words fall out. “He’d knocked on my door. It was normal. Stepped inside, let me kiss him on the cheek. Thinking about it makes me want to gag.” One of your hands lifts to touch your fingers against your mouth, tracing the line of your lips as you remember the feel.

“You can feel the change in the room when someone goes from good to bad. I didn’t think it’d be like the movies and shows, where they describe their eyes as darkening or their smile as wicked, but it is. The energy changes. It feels like slow motion.” 

Your breathing picks up as you speak. Spencer’s quick to notice it, body leaning closer towards you, like he’s prepared to catch you if you fall. Your lips part in an attempt to speak again, but the words are swallowed by a soft sob. Before you know it, you’re tumbling down a hill, heart beating faster and breathing growing quicker.

Memories, the science that comes along with them, are all one hell of a thing. Everything about them has an effect on the brain. Things like sounds, smells, textures, they’re connected to the memories. Meaning if you think about them, if you feel them, you end up right back where you were at that time and place. Like how sunshine on your skin reminds you of days at the park as a young kid, or how the smell of flowers brings you back to the farmer’s market on a Sunday after you just moved to DC. 

Thinking about what led up to you being tied up to the chair, you can feel it. The icy chill of fear that cascaded over your back, the dread that sunk deep in your stomach, even the goosebumps that traveled up your arm. They’re all there. It’s like it’s happening again.

Your vision blurs around the edges as you struggle to take in air, hand grasping at Spencer’s for any type of support. You’re aware of what’s happening, but you cannot stop it, not even as you try to take in air into your nose and out through your mouth. His voice echoes in your head, but it morphs into something different, something distorted.

You’re only brought out of your panic by the feeling of lips on yours.

Your eyes widen at the shock of it, chest still heaving as your breath evens out. Your hand still clutches at Spencer’s as you feel your entire body relax, allowing yourself the comfort of kissing him back.

After your entire body has relaxed, your chest no longer hurting with the strain of lost breath, Spencer pulls away. His eyes are slightly wide as he looks at you, studying your face for any signs of being uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. Uhm.” He clears his throat, leaning away from you as he runs his hands through his hair. “Uh, kissing. It releases so-called happy chemicals, such as oxytocin and serotonin, tricking your brain into leaving the panic behind. It also helps you steady your breathing. Nothing else was working so, uh…”

As he trails off, you reach out to grab his hand again, giving it a soft squeeze. “Thank you.” It’s not meant to be a reassurance, but it's close enough. 

You watch as the panic slowly leaves his eyes, settling into only a soft worry, although his cheeks are still dusted with a light shade of pink. “You’re welcome,” he responds bashfully, eyes still looking down at his lap.

A soft laugh leaves your lips as you reach up to brush your tears away, leaning back into the couch again. After a moment of silence, you roll your lips into your mouth before speaking. “Can we go see a movie?”

Spencer’s brows raise in surprise, the lines on his forehead from focusing so much prominent. “Like, at a theater? Are you sure?” He’s still tugging at his fingers as he speaks, head tilting slightly as he assesses all of your body language.

You smile sheepishly at him, body slowly uncurling. “Yeah. I have a tough BAU agent to protect me, don’t I?”

He smiles brightly at that, eyes softening as he glances back up at your face. “That you do.”

[cull3nblaze]

Reid & Alvez - Criminal Minds Season 12 - Elliott's Pond

[megwritesriddles]

HEADCANON/DRABBLE REQUESTS OPEN!! MDNI 18+ (backlogged but still open)

Characters I will write:

Tom Riddle, Draco Malfoy, (Young) Severus Snape, Neville Longbottom, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley

Any of the Stardew Valley bachelors (i’m not super familiar with Shane tho so keep that in mind)

Spencer Reid

Mike Schmidt

Peeta Mellark (PLEASE), Sejanus Plinth, (maybe Snow)

Josh Futturman, Derek Danforth, Billy Burn

Tate Langdon, Michael Langdon

Kurt Kunkle

Brahms Heelshire

Rules:

I will not write incest, pedophilia (or crazy age gaps), anal or anything involving bodily fluids other than cum

Keep in mind that the idea is for these to be short, maybe bulletpoints or just a couple hundred words (knowing me if i like your prompt i’ll go way over)

I prefer to write smut and non-established romantic relationships (eg. they start as friends/enemies/fwbs/exes etc but get together) but don’t mind writing fluff or established relationship in the short form (pls specify in the ask if you want smut if the prompt doesn’t make it clear)

Please send in at least a slight scenario and not just a character eg. “Young Severus as your boyfriend headcanons please” or “Spencer Reid when you ask him to be friends with benefits” or “Tom Riddle using sex magic on you”

Include as much detail as you like about the scenario, but I won’t write reader to have any specific traits unless they’re fairly general (eg. plus-size) just so more people can enjoy it.

I only write afab!reader (usually with female pronouns but I can do gender neutral) simply because I couldn’t do amab justice with my own experiences.

Thank you to anyone who requests!!

Lots of love,

Meg (´ ω `♡)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ submit request here

[austriannia]

Okay this is my perfect dream cast for Stardew Valley's Elliott. You can't change my mind: Sebastian Reid.

[g1xtchedartist]

im going to rip the skin off of my face (i thought about a silly little tv show a bit too much)

[ashleyinwondrland]

Has this happened to anyone else, now whenever I play Stardew Valley and I talk to Elliot, all I hear is Sam Reid. Specifically as Lestat de Lioncourt.

[wattsbaby]

mirage, ash, octane and lifeline with a gf being harassed for having OF

tags: misogyny, supportive! legends, emotional hurt/comfort, murder (ash), protective behaviours

⚝──⭒─⭑─⭒──⚝

ELLIOTT WITT | MIRAGE

he's head over heels for you

adores your line of work too, he's almost your main provider

elliott is very upset when he starts seeing comments under his posts with you in them, they would shame your career and call you nasty things

immediately gets his pr team to laser all of those comments off the face of the world, starts blacklisting insults on his posts because he knows you see them

comfort for him is literally cuddles and good food, so he orders your favourite foods and cuddles with you all night

assures you that your job is nothing to be ashamed of, especially if you enjoy it

ASHLEIGH REID | ASH

hears snide comments behind your back

thinks they are very disrespectful, if they had something to say, they could at least say it to your face

ash is angry, very angry, whereas leigh wants to comfort you

those people are gone without any word, never to be seen again; and ash relishes each kill

you dont get too concerned when they disappear, and give them a soft smile when they return

they dont tell you, yet ash is extra protective and leigh is very clingy

they take time to compliment your outfits and costumes for your posts, view your work over your shoulder, and gently runs their fingers over your cheeks as they admire your makeup

leigh feels like she's falling in love all over again, and ash does too she's just less emotional about it

OCTAVIO SILVA | OCTANE

some random guy started making rash assumptions about both you AND tavi during a livestream

octavio is relaxed, not instantly banning the person, making a few jokes and trying to move on

you were visible in the background, relaxing and enjoying some mutual time with your boyfriend as he streams

the commentor starts focusing you, assuming you had an OnlyFans, which you did, and started calling you all sorts of names

tavi reads out a few comments to you, and you both laugh openly and make fun of the guy

tavi doesn't hesitate to defend you, even flexing that you're in the top 100 creators and pulled in a lot of cash for yourself

the guy gets banned soon after, and all octane-fans around the world flux to defend and support you

he and his community have your back until the end

AJAY CHE | LIFELINE

you just stopped by to drop off lunch at the medical bay, giving her a soft kiss

the guy she's treating recognises you and immediately starts badmouthing you after you leave

ajay snarls a little, but does her best to keep composed

starts defending you avidly, and almost kicked the guy out- yet shes the bigger person

"ey, shes pulling in fair cash and likes her job. give her some respect."

the guy falls silent after a while, yet ajay is visibly irate

gives you extra pampering and love when she gets home

[soft-homestyle]

The glittering cast of Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953).

From left to right:

Charles Coburn as Sir Francis “Piggy” Beekman

Elliott Reid as Ernie Malone

Tommy Noonan as the Gus Eisman

Child actor George Winslow as Henry Spofford III

Marilyn Monroe as Lorelei Lee

Jane Russell as Dorothy Shaw

-

Stay cozy.

@soft-homestyle

[usernamesarehard1]

JD, Turk, Elliott and Carla should be in a poly relationship together. Because not only does JD love Elliott and Turk love Carla, but JD and Turk are so clearly in love with each other, Carla and Elliott had two different scenes were they were supposed to be a couple, and Elliott and Turk was a ship the show played around with from time to time. And let's be real, every single one of them is heavily implied to be bisexual because they have all had moments of genuine attraction to people of their same gender over the show's run.

They would all be great together.