what do you think about the car?

words: 2K

note: I started this a year ago as a joke but then after some thought the idea grew on me. Enjoy my weird brain.

Timothée found himself in an abandoned storage lot, sitting inside his aunt’s Toyota Camry while he tried to push down the impulse to scream. The location had been the address on a note he had received prior. The handwriting was unsettlingly familiar and read:

Honorable Timothée,

It wold be an honor to have your company at the location inscribed on December 31st close to midnight. Please bring a gift to exchange during the celebration. We hope to see you there.

In retrospect, showing up at all had been a grave mistake. He probably wouldn’t have if he hadn’t desperately craved space from the New Years rager. The holiday season had been a well-desired break from the prying eyes of the public. Unfortunately it also meant an unwavering devotion to every friend and family gathering that could be stuffed into his schedule.

So here he was, risking a shoot out (or more likely, stabbing) on New Years Eve. Just as he had resolved to turn around and leave, there was a knock on his car window. A young man with long curly dark hair waved at him to get out and Timothée sighed, quickly complying. The man’s hair obscured his face, but Timothée felt a chill run down his spine once he spoke.

“You’re Timothée, right?” Timmy nodded slowly. “Is that French, ‘cause that’d be hella tight.”

Timothée froze, finally taking in the thick American accent. “Did you just say ‘hella tight’?” he whispered. The man ignored the question, instead turning towards him and offering a hand. Timothée shook it hesitantly as he tried to find the the gall to look up. 

“‘Name’s Kyle. Nice to meet you, Tim-o-tay.” Timmy looked up so fast he was almost surprised not to feel any whiplash. When he saw his own face he screamed. 

“What the fuck! What the fuck is happening? Is this some sick joke?” Timothée screeched. Kyle sighed apathetically, pulling a hand-rolled cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. Timothée continued to stare at him bug-eyed, half expecting him to glitch or evaporate from his vision when he woke up from this nightmare. 

“Dude, chill. It’s not that weird,” Kyle mumbled, taking another hit. Timothée remained frozen and Kyle sighed again. “It’s too fucking cold for this shit. C’mon, we’re going inside and you better have your gift on you.”

Kyle took a step towards Timmy and Timmy flinched. Aggravated, Kyle grabbed Timmy’s forearm and pulled him inside one of the storage buildings.

The inside of the building was surprisingly cozy with the halls decorated vibrantly for Christmas. Soon they arrived in a room occupied by a Christmas tree, cookies, and an ominous circle of chairs. 

“I have him, so we can get this over with and leave!”

“Apathy has and never will be a good look on you, Kyle,” a new voice said. Timothée turned to meet Elio (or him playing Elio) dressed in his winter time outfit. He tried to set aside the creepiness of Elio’s distressed half-smile that he remembered doing during his takes for the end credits. Elio pulled him into an embrace and Timothée suppressed the urge to wriggle. 

“It’s a joy to meet you,” he said warmly before pulling back. “You’re more handsome than I anticipated.”

“How do you manage to be so narcissistic and so self-deprecating in the same sentence?” Kyle growled. Elio rolled his eyes before taking off his headphones and handing Kyle his walkman. Kyle bitterly put it on before continuing to listen to whatever was playing. 

“What’s going on?” Timmy finally mustered, his throat burning from the screaming. 

“We’re calling it the TC Gift Exchange,” Elio stated simply. “Every year, all of the characters you play come together at an undisclosed location and give each other gifts before departing back into our separate universes.”

Timothée stared at Elio in bewilderment before bursting into laughter. Elio watched him in confusion. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Of course! It’s just that my dopplegangers have teamed up to make me feel insane. Excellent work, but I think this can stop now.”

“It’s true,” two voices say. Tim and Elio turn to face a Billy from Miss Stevens and Zac from One and Two. They both have a cookie in hand with same amount of bites taken. Tim gulps.

“Each year, the universe of the most successful part that year is where we host,” Billy explains. “Last year we partied in Crema…”

“The year before that we had to do it in the ass crack of no where,” Zac mutters. 

“Hey! That spot was next to the road that I sang with Miss Stevens in the car on the way to that theatre conference. And you’re being out of character!”

“Well I’m sorry if I’ve been cranky considering my house was burned to bits!” Zac sneers.

“Boys! You’re literally the same persona set in two different storylines. Find your zen,” Elio says, immediately cringing. “I’m starting to sound like Kyle.”

Timothée shakes his head and moves to take a seat in the circle. The others soon follow suit taking their respective seats that are conveniently in chronological order. Timothée takes the opportunity to take in the others (he’s still deciding whether or not to refer to them as individuals) profiles. Elio sat two spaces to the right of him next Kyle and another doppelgänger that Timothée could only assume to be Daniel from Hot Summer Nights based solely off the fact that he wouldn’t stop rocking back and forth.

Billy and Zac buddy up next to one another beside Daniel, followed by an awkward looking Charlie Cooper and roughed up Jace. Timothée cringed at the familiar backwards cap sitting on Jace’s head next to him. He turned to Elio who had busked himself switching the tape out of his Walkman for Kyle. “This isn’t everyone is it?”

Elio raised a brow but didn’t break his focus. “What do you mean? Timothée bit his lip. He didn’t want to come off arrogant, ironically.

“There’s do roles missing from the circle.”

“Not everyone comes every year. Some are on probation,” Kyle said matter-of-factly. Timothée rolled his eyes. He forgot how much of a douche Kyle was meant to be.

“Some aren’t old enough to come, so we mail them their gifts,” Elio finished.

“But how do you send mail to a completely different universe?”

“You’re asking too many questions. Why is he asking so many questions?” Daniel grumbled, crazed eyes now trained on Timothée. Timothée felt his hands clam up more than they already had. 

“Danny, be civil,” Elio warned, giving him a cautious pat on the back. Kyle rolled his eyes.

“We mail them the same way we’re all able to gather with you tonight. Dumbass.” Timmy nodded slowly, surveying the room of doppelgängers. The more he looked at them the less anxious he became about seeing them, which only made him more anxious about how quickly he was acclimating to his Stockholm of a situation.

“What about the ones on—“

“Probation? We try to keep the celebration to main characters only, since we’re not exactly rolling in it, y’know?” Billy quipped, jumping in before Elio had a chance. “Then some people…”

“Nic can’t come because technically he’s a fictionalized real person,” Elio cut in once again, shooting Billy a cool look.

“And he’s a drug addict,” Kyle muttered.

“Recovering addict.”

“What’s the difference? There’s only one guy missing but I don’t really care if he’s here or not. I’m not a big fan of monarchy or oligarchy or government institutions—“

“—or the government?” Timothée cut in knowingly. Kyle smiled.

“See he gets it.”

A crash of metal silences the room’s chatter. After a moment of silence another doppelgänger, this time with a stylish bowl cut appears. Timothée shivers at the memory of his lost locs. Kyle scowls while Elio beams. The others arrange their reactions neatly between the two margins.

“Hello everyone. I hope you can pardon my lateness. I struggled to drag this sorry lot to the TC Exchange,” Hal declared, ceremoniously dragging in Gatsby Welles from the he-who-shall-not-be-named movie about rain. It was Elio’s turn to grimace while Kyle smirked.

“No foul, your highness. Be seated here. As for him…”

“We can’t keep blacklisting him, Elio.”

“His film didn’t even hit theaters! Mine has an Oscar, Kyle. An Oscar!” 

“You mean the award you campaign for?”

“I don’t mind.” The room turned to Timothée who had chosen to slump comfortably in his seat. He decided to sit up for the sake of his point. “I chose to play him. He still means a lot to me.”

“He’s just Kyle wearing a blazer!”

“He’s more complex than that, Elio.”

“No one if knows what he’s supposed to be like because it’s impossible to watch the movie!” Elio whined. Timothée moved to respond when a familiar click is heard from across the room. They froze to face Jace holding his signature hand gun.

“You better shut your ass, Elliot! Just because you like dick doesn’t mean you get to make all the rules. The man of the hour said he wants Gatsby to stay, so Gatsby’s staying!”

“While I try not to condone violence, unless my advisors misadvise me, I have to agree with as the kids might say Soulja Boy over there,” Hal added causing Elio to crumple further into his seat.  Timothée frowned.

“I understand why you’re upset, Elio. He somehow managed to write a poetry collection during this whole exchange. But I still wanna keep him if we’re gonna be here.”

“I’m gonna name this last one after you, Elio,” Gatsby said softly. Elio gives a small smile.

“Okay.”

“Thank god,” Kyle sighed, “Can we get our gifts now? I don’t want to ring in the new decade with you lot.”

❄️❄️❄️

After an hour of mingling with his counterparts, the goodbyes tugged a bit on Timothée’s heart strings. He learned so much about everyone as far as the group dynamic went. He learned Kyle and Elio were actually quite close considering how much they seemed to rag on each other.

“You should have seen him the first year. An antisocial mess,” Elio reminisced fondly.

“That’s before a realized you have taste. I wouldn’t have shown up again if you hadn’t,” Kyle admitted begrudgingly.

Timothée also learned that while most of his characters felt similar, after two minutes of conversation the differences became glaring. Except for Billy and Zac. They were essentially the same person.

“I hope one day I’ll get a box of serotonin for Christmas,” Billy joked. Zac gasped.

“I asked for a bottle of Serotonin for my birthday!”

As Timothée walked back to his Aunt’s Camry with Hal, he couldn’t fight off the smile that kept creeping onto his face. Hal side-eyed him in solent satisfaction.

“Will we be seeing you again next year? I’m sure Elio wouldn’t mind providing free transit to space.”

“I’ll have to think about it,” Timothée chuckled. “This was…nice. Like really nice. It makes me kinda glad to be an actor. In an unnerving way.”

“I couldn’t have asked for better casting. Next year should be nice since Laurie will be able to come. I think him and Elio will get on nicely, then maybe…”

“Then maybe he’ll stop flirting with you? Still not sure how I feel about that,” Timothée mumbled with a shudder. The man really needs his Oliver.

“Don’t worry yourself about it. I only have one thing to request of you good sir.” Timothée raised a brow, trying not to fidget under Hal’s intense gaze. “Please, consider doing a comedic role in the future. We could use someone to shake things up around here.” The two of them smiled before bursting into fits of laughter.

“You’ve got it King!”

By popular request, why not!

—

Two Ghosts

pairing: reader x timothée

words: 1K

Part 1

Two years moves fast once you find yourself again. The feeling is a comfortable weight as you sit in your local bar’s makeshift backstage. Usually performances had you jittery and chatting with the band, exchanging laughs before tumbling out onto the small stage. The hobby turned side gig had only been a part of your life for a little over a year now. After you had walked away from Timothée almost two years ago, you found yourself picking up writing again. Before you knew it, your small poems became full fledged songs, you started to play your old guitar after letting it collect dust while traveling the past few years, and you were getting sporadic bookings for shows around your city. You even released a homemade EP that was met with an overwhelming amount of commercial success that sparked the interest of some bigger name labels. 

But there was no way in hell you were ever going anywhere near the entertainment industry side of things ever again.

Tonight’s gig was a little different than usual since you’d decided to do a few covers before being on your way for the night—you owed the manager a favor. As the time approaches, you and the band settle yourselves on stage while the manager bounds up giddily to introduce you.

“How’re y’all doin’ tonight?” he hollers, overly gesticulative. You bite back a laugh at the familiar energy while the bar crowd gives an equally energized hoot. “Now this young lady over here is a real treasure, let me tell you. And she’s giving us the pleasure of hearing her play some songs tonight!” The crowd cheers and you grin humbly, bowing your head.

“Are y’all ready?” you say smoothly, resisting the urge to cringe at your own drawl. With another round of cheers, the drummer starts the beat as you launch into your set. The setlist was laidback with folkier tunes—ballads from Hozier, melodies from the Lumineers, and the always-welcome authenticity of Kacey Musgraves. It wasn’t until the last song that you felt your heart constrict. 

“This is our last song for the night. A song that’s meant a lot to me the past couple of years, a kindred spirit to my own music. This one is Two Ghosts.” The drums tumble in as the guitars and bass follow. You take a breath and let your eyes close, singing the first verse earnestly. “Same lips red, same eyes blue, same white shirt, couple more tattoos. But it's not you and it's not me.”

It takes every thing in you not to cry around the chorus, all the feelings of months ago coming in a rush. Your eyes open again and you see in the corner of your eye a new group of people crowding around the bar. They’re rowdy young men, attempting to whisper in a way only drunk people do. You can only make out one of their faces, forest eyes watching you like he had seen a ghost. You pull away, playing your guitar solo before turning your attention on him completely.

“We're not who we used to be. We don't see what we used to see. We're just two ghosts swimming in a glass half empty, trying to remember how it feels to have a heartbeat.” You see Timothée finally return from his shock, his shoulders tensing as he stands straighter. You turn your attention back to the rest of the bar as you croon the last to lines, the final chords hitting their ears. As your met with applause you wave goodbye, following your bandmates off stage. You try to ignore the itch of Timothée’s presence along with the slew of questions bouncing around your brain.

-

“I almost didn’t recognize you. Your look is so…different.” You snort, giving yourself a once over.  The ripped jeans and flowy button up paired with golden chains and multiple rings on your fingers was definitely edgier than the a-line dresses and Mary Jane style heels you used to wear when you were with Timothée. This felt more like you.

“Well you haven’t seen me in awhile.”

“With reason,” Timothée says lowly. You raise a brow, taking a sip from your drink. You had decided to join him at the bar instead of hiding in the shadows until he left with his entourage and out of your life once again. There was something satisfying about his restless state; for once he was the lost one in the crowded room.

“What are you doing in Jersey, T? What’s for you here?” Your voice is even but cold. Timothée shrugs.

“Visiting old friends. I didn’t know you’d be playing tonight, if that’s what you’re wondering.” You hum, satisfied with what seemed to be honesty. You watched him more closely, taking in the familiar mess of curls and lanky figure. His face had matured but he was still lacking in the facial hair. A grin tugs at your lips.

“Well, was I at least any good?” you joke, taking another sip. Timothée smiles, relieved at the lack of interrogation. 

“Absolutely phenomenal. I was blown away. You have a calling or something,” he says earnestly. You roll your eyes and wave your hand dismissively. 

“Definitely not. I’m not going anywhere near industry people ever again.” He laughs bitterly, his smile becoming more of grimace. You take a longer sip.

“Y/N, I’m sorry. Genuinely. The way I treated you—“

“Timmy…”

“No, let me finish!” You jump when he raises his voice. “Sorry, but I need you to understand how absolutely awful I feel about how things ended. I never meant for things to go the way they did. I love you so much and I should have never put you through the pain of making you doubt that.” His jade eyes watched you intensely, but you could see his nose begin to tinge pink.

“I never doubted you loved me. I just didn’t think it mattered.” You see a rollercoaster of emotion read across his face until he crashes into heartbreak. You feel a lump form in your throat. “Don’t you get it? That’s what made it worse. You loved me and you still hid me away like I was shameful or something. I couldn’t do it anymore. I was sick of feeling like I was never really enough for you.”

“Stop that.”

“Stop what! It’s the truth Timothée! You can’t just—“

Everything sped up and slowed down all in one swift motion as he pulled you close, lips catching yours. A slow tender kiss to compliment the rapid beat of your heart and his jittery fingers. You pull away, blush heating your cheeks. Timothée appears equally shocked.

“I, uh, I still love you. I know it’s too late to fix things and that things have changed but I need you to know that. You’re perfect to me and I’m sorry I was such a fucking idiot but I’m absolutely crazy about you still,” he says breathlessly. You stare at him in bewilderment, a smile growing on your face. Before you can stop it, your cackling. Timothée looks at you curiously and grins, allowing himself to chuckle hesitantly.

“You’re such a drama king, Timmy, “ you snicker, finishing your drink before getting up. You see a flash of fear cross TImothée’s. “You’re lucky that I love you so much.” He beams, sitting up straighter.

“You still love me?”

“Always. But I need more time. We both do,” you answer softly. Timothée nods slowly, pausing for moment. You begin to walk backstage again. You need to get home soon, especially now that you have a lot to think over.

“Y/N?” You stop, turning back.

“Yes, T?”

“Two Ghosts, is that your favorite?” he asks. You’d almost swear he sounds melancholy.

First of all, this is so sweet! I’m glad I was able to help motivate (which is ironic since half the time I can’t motivate myself to write ANYTHING). For me, when I’m working on writing a series it usually goes one of two ways: a) I have an idea and I’m just gonna run with it until I give up or reach a good conclusion or b) I have the basic timeline figured out. 

When I know my ending, it helps to outline the journey to get there, but I think to fill in the gaps you have to let yourself roam around a bit. Write whatever you feel like as long ass you’re hitting the objectives you need. For example, right now I’ve been writing a personal project about six seniors in high school. I have a google doc full of notes for the series and general plot points I want to hit, but when I’m writing an episode I just let whatever happens happen, keeping the points I need to hit in mind. 

here it is! I conveniently forget the response button existed.

Queer Eye and Cry

pairing: reader x timothée chalamet

words: 767

“It’s like the gates of hell have been unleashed on my uterus,” you groan for the fifth time that morning. You should’ve gotten out of bed an hour ago, put the pain of cramps was too overwhelming to let you move from a fetal position. You would need to get moving soon though. If Timmy saw you in this state he’d be worried sick.

You hesitantly stretch out one leg from under the covers as the pain subsides for a second. By the time you’re on your feet, it’s almost like the cramps stopped all together. While the mere concept of food makes you feel a bit nauseous, you could definitely manage some toast to at least take some Advil.

“Shit! Fuck!” you hiss, doubling over at the sudden stabbing pain. You clutch onto the side of the counter for balance just as the front door opens.

“I was gonna buy some croissants from the bakery down the street but I thought it might be more fun to go for brunch—Y/N! What happened?” You can hear Timmy’s frenzied steps as he drops his bags and hurries over to you. You let out a pained groan in response.

“Like…tiny devil…prongs.” Timmy hums empathetically, gently placing his hands around your waist and pulling you back up. You smile gratefully when a wave of nausea hits you. His eyes widen with realization as he lunges for a trash can and throws it in front you, just in time to catch the sea of bile that erupts from your throat.

Death. Death is what you crave. And some more sleep too.

“It’s okay, baby,” Timmy says, rubbing your back soothingly. “Let it all out.”

“There’s nothing to let out! I haven’t eaten anything!” you moan miserably. You stand straight up when there’s finally nothing left to vomit. Timmy gives you a warm smile.

“How about you go lay down? I haven’t eaten either, so I can make us breakfast and we can watch Queer Eye.” Your eyes sparkle at the thought of watching the Fab 5 all day.

“Are you sure? We were supposed to go out today and I don’t want to ruin it.”

Timmy waves a dismissive hand. “I just want to spend time with you. I don’t really care what we’re doing. You go back to bed and I’ll track down that electric heating pad for you.”

“The one with the different heat levels?”

“That’s the only valid one. Now leave so I can take care of you. I’m not gonna get this opportunity for another two years anyways,” he teases, poking the ticklish spot on your stomach. You giggle.

“Okay.”

~

It was about the fourth hour into binge watching that you fell asleep. When you woke up again it had been half an hour but Timmy was no where to be found.

“Babe? Babe are you here?” You sluggishly reach for your phone to find a text.

Running some quick errands. I’ll be back soon. Call me when you wake up.

It takes two rings for him to answer.

“Hey babe, I’m walking back now.”

“Where’d you go?” It didn’t matter, but you had a feeling he was up to something.

“It’s a surprise. I promise it’s good. Really good. Give me a second I need to get my keys. I love you.”

“Love you too.” He opens the door just as you hang up, carrying more bags than this morning. He sets all of them on counter.

“Y/N?” You walk out from your room, eyes widening at the large pile of sweet things before you. Cake pops and cake, and chocolate and every sugary pleasure you could have imagined. You reach a hand to rub your eyes and feel something wet. You look at Timmy who’s still beaming at a job well done. He looks back and his face drops.

“Why are you crying? Did I do something?” he asks softly. You run over and give him a hug.

“This is the nicest shit anyone has ever done for me!” you sob loudly. He bursts into laughter and you feel yourself join in as the tears keep coming.

“I guess that’s a challenge for next time right?” he jokes, wiping your tears with his thumbs as you pull back. You smile and give him a kiss that he happily returns.

“You’re right. Next time you’re sick I’m gonna pamper you so hard, you’ll never want to get up again.” He laughs again, promptly sweeping you up to carry you back to bed. You quickly swipe a pack of Oreos.

pairing: reader x timothée chalamet

words: 702

“Y/N, how much longer do we have to walk?” your nephew asks for the fourth time. You had decided for today’s babysitting trip to take him down to the Street Fair.

“It’s just around the corner, Bubba,“ you reply, but you scoop the four year old into your arms anyway. As soon as you turn the corner, you see your nephew’s eyes widen in delight. He waves his hands around excitedly, one of them holding a lego figurine.

“Can we go, Y/N? I wanna go over there!”

“That’s where we’re going,” you laugh, walking into the dense crowd of the fair.

-

You were able to hold out for three hours before you realized the fair was a bad idea. Although you got your nephew to walk on his own again about an hour ago, it took more time to avoid losing him in the crowd. By the time you both escaped, you were almost too worn out to walk.

“That was awesome!” Bubba screeches, jumping around the now empty sidewalk. You sigh in relief. Maybe he’ll have enough adrenaline to walk the whole way home. 

“Wasn’t it! We can come again next time too!” 

“Yay! And Captain Jelly Bean can come too!” Bubba hollers, shaking the lego figure excitedly. It’s a miracle he hadn’t lost it in the crowd. 

As the thought passes your mind, a man in business attire walks past and bumps your nephew’s side. He drops the Captain and the lego pieces shatter on the sidewalk.

“What the…heck…buttface!” you yell, carefully eyeing your nephews shocked face. The man doesn’t even turn around as he disappears. You can hear Bubba start to cry. 

“My lego!”

“It’s okay, bud. We can pick them up and fix him at home, see? Let me-“ You feel someone pull you back just as your hand is reaching towards a stray red lego in the street. As you fall, a Camry whizzes by.  

“Are you okay?” A panicked voice asks behind you. You turn to see a young man about your age. His dark curls frame his panicked emerald eyes. 

“I-Thank you for saving me,” you reply, still dazed from nearly losing a hand. He gives a shy smile.

“No problem. I just saw the car coming and panicked. Do you need help with that?” He gestures towards your nephew haphazardly picking up pieces around the sidewalk. You feel blush burn across your face.

“If you don’t mind.” The young man laughs and the sound makes the tips of your fingers twitch. 

The two of you kneel on the ground, picking up pieces with your nephew until there’s no more salvageable ones within radius.  As you stand, the young man empties the pieces in your hand carefully and gently closes your fist around them. You can feel blush coming once again.

“Thanks again. For saving my hand and his legos.” The man grins, his nose crinkling.

“Again, it’s no problem. I didn’t even introduce myself! I’m Timothée, but you can call me Timmy if you want.”

“You didn’t even slip in an ‘or My Hero’ or anything,” you tease. You wouldn’t have minded if he had. He laughs.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind for next time. If you don’t mind there being a next time?” You cough, barely processing his words. Bubba dances next to you.

“Y/N has a new friend!” he cheers. Timothée grins, doing a little shimmy along with him. You clear your throat.

“Okay. Yeah, I’m down for a next time. Can I give you my number and we can talk about it?” You barely get out it in one breath. He hands you his phone and you awkwardly save your contact, leaving a cheeky pink heart next to your name. When he sees it he smiles even brighter.

“Cool! I’ll see you around, Y/N.” Timothée walks into the Street Fair crowd, but not without giving you a wink that makes your heart flutter.

“So are you and Tommy gonna have a playdate?” Bubba asks, taking a hold of your hand. You pull your gaze away from where Timothée disappeared to look at your nephew’s expectant face. You smile and scoop him up in your arms.