#zeffirelli timothee chalamet

[chalamet-chalamet]

Timothée as Zeffirelli in The French Dispatch (2021)

[kittyp333]

albert einstein lookin ahh

[starlightsuffered]

Best Friend’s Brother

Info - mention of drinking, jealousy, guilt, best friends brother

Zimra and I were best friends. We’d been friends since our ninth grade year and now we were in eleventh. Zimra’s older brother Zeffirelli was a year above us.

I supposed I’d always found Zeffirelli cute. I liked his passion, his wild hair, and piercing eyes. He had the most creative ideas. He loved chess and his cigarettes. I found his speeches interesting when they were usually called long winded.

I’d had a small crush on him for a bit now. The past couple months he and I had gotten closer. I’d joined the chess club and Zimra had been having parties more often. This meant that I was over much more often. I felt jealous of Juliette, who seemed to be his main rival. He was always just kind to me.

I wondered what kindness meant from a boy like him. Surely, he was the type to desire intrigue, competition, or a chase. He was likely the type who wanted to convince a girl to be his. He would probably love to sway a mind.

Last night I’d stayed the night with Zimra. She had been stood up for a date. I’d brought over some alcohol I’d pinched from my older sister. We’d attempted to do a spa night and relax to make her feel better. Unfortunately, Zimra, feeling depressed, had snuck extra drinks. She’d gotten wasted pretty fast since she was slight like her brother.

I’d rubbed her back while she’d puked in the toilet. I’d made sure she got to bed alright. She was turned on her side so she wouldn’t choke. Her sound machine made the sounds of a thunderstorm. I also made sure water and pain killers were placed on her bedside table.

I wandered downstairs to get some food in the morning. Zimra’s mother was out of town. I was surprised to catch Zeffirelli making some pancakes,

“Is Z coming down?” He asked. I shook my head and yawned. I sat on the stool by the kitchen bar. I laid my head down in exhaustion.

“Would you like some breakfast?” Zeffirelli said next.

“Really?” I asked hopefully.

“Yes,” I said gratefully.

“Alright then,” he grinned. He flipped the pancakes and whistled a tune I didn’t know. I enjoyed watching him cook. He moved fluidly. He was so elegant, all long limbs, wild hair, and soft skin.

“I have to tell you something,” she said slowly as he slid the blueberry pancake onto the plate. He pushed the meal towards me. He also handed over the syrup once he was done with it.

“Yes?” I asked. I felt silly as I tried to cut my pancake elegantly. I didn’t even know what that even would entail.

“I-I am doing this new thing where I always tell the truth. I also am apologising to those I feel deserve it,” he explained awkwardly.

I took a bite of his delicious breakfast. It was savoury and sweet and nearly melted in my mouth. He let out a long sigh before I could compliment his abilities.

“I, well, y/n,” he started. He ran a hand through his messy hair. I kept my eyes on him and waited.

“I have had a crush on you for quite a long time. I think you are just the sweetest thing in the world. I know it’s so bad, because you are my little sister’s best friend-“

“I have a crush on you too,” I blurted.

“Wait really?” He asked giddily. He looked at me with the goofiest and most adorable smile I’d ever seen. Then it fell dramatically.

“No, I shouldn’t be happy.”

“You can be happy,” I smirked and leaned across the island. I let my shirt collar ride low. I enjoyed when his eyes flickered down and he gulped.

“It, it isn’t right,” he stuttered.

“Come on Zeffirelli,” I crooned.

“Come on what?”

“Come here,” I coaxed. He moved as if he was out of control of his body. He was soon nose to nose with me.

He leaned forward and pecked my lips experimentally. He looked fiercely dreamy. He touched his lips as if I’d blessed them. I giggled. His gaze snapped to me when I did and he melted.

“I want to do that again so fucking badly,” he swore under his breath.

“Alright then love bug,” I replied. I yanked him to me by the leather jacket he wore. It was ridiculous to wear inside but I loved it all the same. I pressed my lips firmly to his. Our mouthes slotted together perfectly. His large hands moved to cup my face. I felt goosebumps all over. Every time he tried to pull away, I drew him back in. He would make a small adorable noise, and accept my affections.

I was drunk on his lips. My heart was pounding like a drum. My body thrummed with excitement. Everything inside me was on fire with delight. I loved this more than I could express.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?” Zimra’s voice screeched from the bottom of the stairs. We jumped apart as though electrocuted. We were both hot with guilt and embarrassment.

“I told you,” Zeffirelli murmured.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

[gwiyeounsonyeon]

May Writing Challenge Day 16!

Pairing: Zeffirelli x Male Reader Summary: You and Zeffirelli share a few kisses Words: 629/200 Warnings: You burn yourself Notes: were getting into the nitty gritty with this one

☁︎⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

The sharp sound of the curtain being pulled open is loud in the quiet bathroom but Zeffirelli’s yelp is louder. You raise your brow at him; naked, smoking, and scribbling in his notebook. “What in the hell are you doing now?” The amusement in your voice is undisguisable and he gawks at you. “You’re in my bathroom.” He says indignantly, you tilt your head, unable to fight the smile slowly creeping up on your face, “Yes?” It shouldn't have been a question but your tone pitches anyway, the movement of his adams apple draws the attention of your eyes, then your gaze drops only to dart back to his face. “... While I’m in the bath?” Color rises to his face when he catches your wondering gaze, “It seems you are.” You say simply, you shift your weight to the other foot, the movement rattling the curtains. 

“While I’m naked” His voice had pitched up slightly either out of nervousness or embarrassment, “I’d hope so.” That came out so wrong, both your faces go bright red. He gestures with his cigarette held between his fingers. “Close the–” You dont give him time to finish before jerking the curtain closed. Once shielded from view you let out a unanimous breath of relief. You slide down to sit on the floor, leant against the side of the tub staring off at the far wall trying hard not to think about Zeffirelli, or his… 

You huff frustrated at the flush on your face and your stubborn wondering thoughts and you stick your two fingers through the crack of the curtain. It only takes a moment of hesitation before Zeffirelli is gently placing his cigarette between your fingers, the flush on your face darkens as his fingers brush against yours and you find yourself pulling the cigarette back too soon and nearly dropping it. You dont, saving it by catching the smoldering tip in your hand, you hiss and Zeffirelli pulls back the curtain to see what happened. He plucks the cigarette out of your hand and places it between your lips, he drops his notebook and pen on the floor to pick up your hand to inspect the damage. “Why’d you do that.” You roll your eyes and blow smoke in his face, pinching the cigarette between the two fingers of your other hand carefully. 

“You say it like I did that on purpose.” – “Didn't you?” – “Absolutely not?” He eyes you, squinting slightly. “You dont sound sure.” You roll your eyes again, “Why would I burn myself on purpose?” – “To get my attention.” You look at him quizzically. “And… Why do I want your attention?” He watches you for a moment, you try your best to hold eye contact, swallowing the buildup of saliva that's gathered in your mouth at the pictures your awful brain is putting in your head. It becomes too much and before you can catch yourself, your eyes glance down to his lips, just for a second but he still sees it. “That.” – “That, what?” You respond entirely too fast but before you can start criticizing yourself about how stupid you must seem Zeffirelli leans forward and chastely pecks you on the lips. 

He pulls back entirely too soon, he kisses you entirely too soon and for a few long seconds, you’re both left staring at each other in shock. You swallow before leaning in again but he has the same idea and when you meet in another kiss your teeth click painfully, drawing you apart once more. You let out a choked sort of chuckle and bring the cigarette to your lips, your hands shaking anxiously, “I’m writing my manifesto.” His voice is too shaky, too hoarse but the distraction is good enough, “Let me read it?” – “Absolutely.”

[libraryledge]

The Spy Who Loved Me (A Story Inspired By The French Dispatch) Part 3

A/N: Here's the third chapter of The French Dispatch story. Writing from Juliette's perspective as a spy is such a fun challenge. Please enjoy!

My plans to spy on Zeffirelli had turned into a longer operation than anticipated. It was much more frustrating and obnoxious than I desired them to be. Mrs. Krementz, as it turned out, did not stay for dinner and escaped with him to her apartment.

I was beginning to lose patience and could say that I was surprised when their rendezvous took a more passionate turn, but to be honest, I wasn't too shocked. Zeffirelli had an unconventional nature, and if he wanted to sleep with a journalist, that was his business. It shouldn't have bothered me, but for some reason it did.

Frustrated, I shut off the radio, not wanting to be a fly on the wall as things between them got more serious. All I wanted to know was what his stupid manifesto said. Instead, I gathered more information than I cared to possess. Annoyed, I trotted back into the loud girls dormitory and stomped off to bed, throwing the radio into a corner on the floor.

The next morning, I was awoken by muffled voices coming from a spot beside my bed. I sighed, already accustomed to the commotion of the dormitory. However, it struck me as bizarre because most of my dormmates were seldom early risers. That's when I realized that the radio I chucked across the room hadn't in fact been shut off. Instead, it was still transmitting the sound from Mrs. Krementz and microphone.

“I added an appendix,” I heard her voice say. I scrambled to my feet, picked up the radio, and scurried to a spot in vicinity that wouldn't awaken my sleeping roommates.

I couldn't hear Zeffirelli's response, but I could tell that he wasn't too pleased with the ordeal.

Eventually, I heard him say, “You finished my manifesto. Without me.” Now it was her response that was difficult to hear. I figured that her coat, in which the microphone was hidden, was probably thrown to the ground during the previous night's activities, which was why it was hard to grasp the full conversation.

I made out a few of Mrs. Krementz's words: “Clear... concise... poetic...”. These were all things that I assumed she was telling him that his manifesto lacked. Without seeing his face, I knew enough about Zeffirelli to comprehend that he was hurt because she didn't think that his original writing was good enough to uphold the cause.

A bit of shuffling later, it sounded as if Mrs. Krementz left the room. All that I could hear was Zeffirelli mumbling to himself as he remained alone and began reading the manifesto aloud. This was exactly what I wanted all along.

However, as he murmured about proclamations and social justice, something felt off. His heart wasn't tuned into what he was reading.

“At least she didn't change my inscription,” he said with a sigh. What was so important about the inscription? I doubted that it held as much significance as the content of the manifesto.

Suddenly, I heard Mrs. Krementz shuffle back into the room. She told Zeffirelli something about his parents being worried about his whereabouts, and her words were met with silence.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Zeffirelli said at last, the vulnerability evident in his voice. As much as I hated to admit it, I empathized with him because there were so many moments when I also felt helpless about our cause. Here he was with a manifesto that he was proud of only for it to be torn down by an adult whom he thought valued his opinions. It was a feeling that I knew all too well.

What conversation conspired next, I wasn't sure because at that moment, Mrs. Krementz picked up the coat that held the microphone. She let out a confused retort, and suddenly, an intense static transmitted through the radio, which was an indicator that my secret had been uncovered. She crushed the recording device, and now, all that was left was for me to contemplate the aftermath in silence.

[otrtbs]

top 5 Timothee Chalamet roles!!

Kyle Schieble from Ladybird (he can lie 2 me! gaslight me! manipulate me!) he plays bass and rolls his own cigs what more could u want in a man?

2. Theodore Laurie Laurence (he is everything to me!! to me!!) his one flaw is sister hopping but i'll overlook it.

3. Zeffirelli. French manifesto writing poet. i don't need to say anything more.

4. Paul Atreides!! He looked too good in this entire movie. I went and saw it in theaters twice just for him !

5. And where would any of us be without Elio Perlman? of course he's on the list hahaha

[growup-thatbeautiful]

I feel like you have a Zeffirelli marriage theme going that started with a proposal & now I wanna request a hc for a honeymoon with him. Thank you so much bestie 💖❤️💗

there’s definitely a theme going on lolll

Zeffirelli’s Honeymoon

(why does that sound like a bad comedy movie)

i don’t really think he would want to go somewhere super crowded, and he wouldn’t want to go to the beach because i feel like he doesn’t like the water that much

somewhere secluded and romantic

romance is definitely the main thing he would look for

but also scenery

a place that i specifically know of that has both is Verona, Italy

just hear me out. a) it has a really pretty town b) there ar every nice places to stay that overlook said town on a vineyard or land c) ROMEO AND JULIET (aaand my obsession with R&J comes out at last. feels good)

there’s urban and country options there and you decide to do both of course

you start in the city, seeing all the romantic spots

he insists that you take a picture with Juliet’s balcony

and you get to watch the nighttime lights from a very expensive hotel rooftop where they have anything you could want

then you go into the country. there are homemade meals, endless walking paths, and not very many people!

his love struck side really gets to show there because he can do all the pda in the world and not bother a single soul

you lay out in the grass together on a hill overlooking the city and talk for hours

and you do more than talk

as it’s your job to be helplessly in love with each other, you also climb trees (that zeffirelli gets stuck in), try cooking together (you burn the cookies), and make out in every corner (you get caught so many times)

it would be altogether a fairly calm honeymoon because you really just want to be with each other and bask in the fact that !you’re married to the most wonderful man ever!

taglist loves: @shawnieeboyy @timmyslover

[escapismthroughfilm]

#118

[drownersicons]

[smokeinmotion]

[chalamet-chalamet]

9/19/2023-Happy Birthday Stephane! ✨🎂✨

[mondlevan]

the french dispatch headers

“♡” or reblog if you save/use — follow me.

twt: @szamofada

[starlightsuffered]

We’re Under the Same Moon

Info - potential love bombing, unrequited love, some mentions of sex, using quotes, exchange student Zeffirelli

I knew he wasn’t interested in me now. He was off in France. Our whirlwind romance in America hadn’t meant as much as I’d hoped and prayed.

Zeffirelli was a French heart throb. He’d come over to America for a study abroad program. Though I was in art classes and he in politics, we’d favoured the same study area in the library.

The connection had been instant. We’d had sex on the third day we’d met. It was hushed and quick, up against the book stacks.

He was adoring, giving me all his attention. He even confessed he couldn’t focus on his studies. He began calling me “ Mon Immortel bien-aimé” as he thrust into me. I was flushed with chills and possessed with smiles. I had always said of myself that I desired violently. I had been waiting for a love like this. Everything had slotted into place so perfectly.

I felt so foolish when I had cried the whole night before his flight. In the morning I’d gotten up early. I had done my hair and perfected my makeup and outfit. I had bounced up to him to say goodbye. I had such same high hopes. I was positive he’d say yes.

I had been planning to ask him to be my boyfriend. This was such a beautiful love story. Two people from different places falling desperately in love. I had a smile on my face as I’d come up to him. He dipped me and kissed me. I’d come up giggling.

“Of Zeffirelli, I’m so glad we met,” I’d said.

“I am too darling,” he’d purred. I’d felt myself melt completely.

“I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you as well.”

“I wanted to ask you to be my boyfriend,” I’d looked at him with a beaming smile. His face had fallen.

After that he’d explained to me he was never looking for a relationship. He was much to focused on his future career. He agreed that we could be friends but he had never felt deeply for me. I’d felt my fairytale shatter.

I knew I was supposed to get over it quickly. All my friends told me it had only been a few months. I felt differently. I had finally felt like what I had to give had been appreciated. I hadn’t felt dumb for moving quickly and falling fast because it had seemed like he was as well.

All these many months later I still felt down. I felt like my one chance at that magical moment was gone, wasted on someone who didn’t feel the same about me.

I was even foolish enough to still write him letters. I never sent them. I wasn’t that pathetic. Sometimes I dreamed I got drunk and sent them to him, and then he wrote me back saying he’d made a huge mistake.

“dear dear

my most distant love—

when i dream of you i wake in a field so blue i drown.”

I rubbed my arms. I wasn’t cold, just lonely. I’d been trying to sleep for hours. I’d tried sounds of the ocean, an audio book, and music. Every time my mind kept wandering to our kisses, his mumbled words into my skin, the last look on his face. Even though my eyes were closed in an effort to sleep, tears kept welling.

I was finally, wondering what I could do or use to get to sleep and stop thinking. I just wanted to sleep. I wanted the racing thoughts to stop. I missed his hands and his laugh and his attention. I missed his smile and hearing his opinion. I missed and missed and missed.

Were under the same moon and I'm sick with that knowing.

@pmak2002 @softhecreator @plutoispurplw @sp1deyyf4ngz @seungcheol17daddy @jesschalamet @vvsdreaming

[editschalamet]

like or reblog; please don’t repost without credits.

[libraryledge]

The Spy Who Loved Me (A Story Inspired By The French Dispatch) Part 2

A/N: I'm having a blast writing this piece and exploring Juliette's antics and point of view. Here's part two of my story inspired by The French Dispatch.

My plan worked perfectly. Not only was Mrs. Krementz an unknowing accomplice in it, but now, I didn't need to sneak into Zeffirelli's home in order to hear his plans for the manifesto. Some people may call this unethical, but to me, this action was for the greater good. It was to support the cause.

Once I was safely back on campus and inside the girls’ dormitory, I placed the radio, which was connected to the hidden microphone, on my ear and tried to catch any snippet of the dialogue. I figured that on my way back to my sanctuary, Mrs. Krementz would have made it inside his house. The usual chatter of my dormmates filled the air, which made it difficult to hear anything. Annoyed, I retreated to a corner of the room to seclude myself from the noise.

As I did so, Mrs. Krementz’s voice filled my ears. She babbled on about her work in the school, and her interest in reporting on student affairs. However, no one at the table seemed to pay her any mind. If she weren't so uptight and close to Zeffirelli, perhaps, I would have felt sorry for her. The conversation droned on, but I was growing impatient. Where was he? Was he not going to join this discussion?

Eventually, after an unusual turn of events, Mrs. Krementz excused herself and headed off to the bathroom, and I assumed it was to clear her mind from the unpredictable dining atmosphere. I sighed. I didn't want to listen in as she took care of her business in the restroom. That was something I didn't plan for.

However, just as I was losing my patience with the entire operation, I heard someone scream. The sound of Mrs. Krementz's quick footsteps transmitted through the radio. Then, I heard a quick swooshing motion, which was followed by a familiar voice. It was Zeffirelli. What was he doing in the bathroom? Mrs. Krementz must have wondered the same thing because she began to interrogate him.

“I'm naked Mrs. Krementz,” he proclaimed. I grinned to myself as his muffled voice filled my ears. They exchanged a few more words, but I couldn't make out what they said to one another.

Eventually, I heard Mrs. Krementz ask, “What are you writing?” Now, we were making progress. 

“Our manifesto,” he replied, and I placed the radio device to my ear, trying to understand what he was saying amidst the noise around me. 

More garbled words projected through. However, I managed to make out Mrs. Krementz saying, “Give it to me.”

I could only assume that Zefferelli stepped out of the tub because a loud scuffling noise was heard, and Mrs. Krementz retorted in surprise. What a strange scene I’d stumbled into! 

It annoyed me that he was letting a figure of authority provide an opinion about our noble cause, but simultaneously, it intrigued me as I might finally learn what his writing consisted of.

As the rustling of papers was heard, I was disappointed because Mrs. Krementz didn't read the manifesto out loud. After a long pause, she let out a sigh and responded, “This is incoherent. How am I supposed to understand what your cause is? It's a little damp.”

I heard the indignation in Zeffirelli's voice as he proclaimed, “Don’t criticize my manifesto!” 

“Oh! You don't want remarks?” she replied in frustration.

“I only asked you to proofread it because I thought you’d be even more impressed by how good it already is!” he retorted, and I had to hold back a laugh. Zeffirelli was used to everyone singing his praises, so this bit of criticism must have blindsided him. 

Truthfully, the entire situation was a huge irony. The leader of the student protests sat naked in a bathtub while a newspaper reporter provided him with notes on the very subject that she was supposed to be reporting on. Here, I was becoming an unlikely accomplice in the entire affair. It felt bizarre, but empowering. Now, all I had to do was figure out what exactly was so damp about Zeffirelli's writing.

[larspinfields]

The French Dispatch (Wes Anderson, 2021)