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#what was the makeup team doing
peterstankoffski · 2 months
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How are these all the same man I don't understand they look nothing alike
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dcbnam-aep · 6 months
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wheel of time characters are so morally sound cause if lanfear told me to join the dark id do so immediately.
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hehehehehenrik · 5 months
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Another one bunch of sketches and not really, some of this planned as the full art but nah I’m lazy
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okay I am soooo fucking tired of the whole "how old are you?" "Oh I'm nineteen. Twenty in a couple months." "Aww you're a BABY!"
Happens every single time and it drives me up the wall. I am not a goddamn child, I am an adult and a professional and I'm tired of people devaluing me like this
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pherre · 6 months
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THE THING IS david tennant's crowley hair in gomens s1 was basically his doctor who hair but in ginger. its not that hes older now its just that every time they ask david tennant back on doctor who they seem incapable of recreating his doctor hair. and yet the mfs over on good omens do it flawlessly
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mcdannowave · 1 year
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goldkirk · 1 year
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being the youngest person on my team by like 10 years sometimes is REALLY obvious because everyone is talking about home construction and high school kid sports and stuff and my weekly update is “I got a Razor scooter and some new glitter paint”
#sometimes they totally forget I’m this young bc we’re never on video and I’m not volunteering a lot of personal updates bc of reasons#but when I do it’s really funny bc I’m like#‘I learned how to make stir fry today’#‘I beat a raid in this video game i play’#‘I got a razor scooter’#‘the dog now fetches the cat toys so I don’t have to bend down and pick them up’#‘I tried mangos for the first time’#‘yesterday I learned what ferries are like’#‘this weekend I took photographs of local moss’#and everyone else is like ‘my daughter is home from college’ ‘I have my first grandchild’ ‘the hurricane blew away the port a potty from our#house construction site’ etc etc#personal#someday I’m going to be fully dressed in an actual outfit and do a little makeup and then be on our weekly long team meeting and everyone’s#going to be like YOU’RE Katherine???? You’re what Katherine looks like? you have pink hair and you’re like 17????#and I’m going to be like well I mean I’m not THAT young but yes I do wear like. young person clothes#I get ’you’re so optimistic!’ from some of them on a regular basis and I’m like#well you see I learned that if I’m not optimistic I will die#and also the world is REALLY FUCKING COOL when you’re not terrified of the world all the time#so frankly I think I’m right to be#I think you maybe need juice and a rest and a bigger support system and then maybe you’ll feel a lot better#meanwhile I’ll be a cheerleader hard enough for both of us
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payeehay · 2 years
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Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/40917189
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To be fair, Sam had tackled him first.
Okay, to be totally fair, he had pretty much dared her.
They were set to be heading out to the Nasty Burger, but Sam had needed to put on her makeup first. Apparently she had this new blood red lipstick she'd wanted to try. She'd been "just touching it up" for what felt like the past five minutes, and normally Danny would be patient, but he was hungry, dammit.
"If you keep complaining, I'm gonna jump you," she'd said.
He'd rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't, you're too busy with your face."
And then she was on top of him. He'd reacted on instinct, rolling her over and pinning her wrists.
"Uh oh," she said, dripping sarcasm. And she leaned up and kissed him right on the nose.
Danny gasped, and he sat up. "Hey!" He complained.
"Ooh, my turn!" Tucker exclaimed, and he leaned forward and kissed Danny on the cheek.
Danny was blushing, hard. "You guys fight so dirty," he lamented.
"Yeah, and what's that you're always telling us about ghosts? If it's between fighting dirty and getting hurt?" Sam pointed out.
Danny grumbled, not really having a rebuttal for that.
Tucker laughed. "You have lipstick on your nose, dude."
"Aw, man." Danny rubbed at it.
"Now it's just kinda smudged around," Sam observed, smiling.
He rubbed it again, more vigorously.
"Yeah, you're just making it worse," Sam said.
"You look like Rudolph," Tucker chuckled. "Or a clown."
"Great, thanks," Danny deadpanned. He grabbed a napkin and his water bottle and went over to Sam's big mirror and tried to scrub, but all it did was dissolve the napkin into wet little rolls that fell onto the plush carpet.
He turned to Sam, exasperated. "Okay, how do you get this off?"
She grinned devilishly. "How about...I'll let you use my makeup wipes, iiiiiiiiif..." She paused, grin widening. "...You let me do your makeup, for real."
"That's extortion," Danny complained.
"Come on, you'll look cool! I have an idea that'll look totally dark on you."
Danny sighed. "And you won't just let me use them anyway?"
"I mean, I would, but seriously! You should just let me do it, I promise I won't make you look bad."
He sighed again. It was hard to say no to the genuine excitement and hope in her eyes. Seeing her so enthralled...it made him feel alive.
"Fiiiiine."
She pumped her fist, eyes sparkling. "Yessss. Come sit." She patted the bed next to her.
He did so, and she took out a wipe and started scrubbing his face. When she was done, she reached for the makeup bag and told him to close his eyes.
He bit his lip but complied. He wouldn't be able to see what she was doing to his own face, anyway. He felt her brushing something onto his eyes (probably black, if he knew Sam), onto his cheekbones, and then something with lines extending from his eyes? He couldn't tell what she was doing. It seemed almost like she was writing something on his cheeks, and then she triumphantly declared that she was done.
He opened his eyes in time to see Tucker look up from his phone. "Very goth," he approved.
Sam handed him a mirror. His eyes were indeed black, lined with ecto green, and had lichtenburg figures branching out like lightning strikes. His cheeks were shadowed and gaunt, and 'DEAD BOY' was written across them.
His eyes widened. "Sam! You can't- Write that-" he stammered. "My secret!"
"Relax," Sam reassured him, "Nobody's going to think it's true. Well, except maybe Wes, but that's basically the same thing. People will just think you're being dramatic. Which is kind of the point of the whole look, really."
"You do call yourself dead all the time," Tucker supplied.
"But- My parents are gonna see it!" Danny argued.
"Will they even notice?" Sam asked, not unkindly.
Danny frowned. "I don't know. Maybe."
Sam paused, studied him. "Alright. I still don't think you have anything to worry about, but I can change it. I do have an idea that's considerably less goth," she faux-pouted, "but still pretty cool."
Danny just nodded. "Okay, yeah, that sounds good." She reached for the wipes again, and he closed his eyes once more.
She wiped off everything but his eyes, and then she was brushing more makeup onto his face. He still couldn't tell exactly what she was doing, just that it was something with a lot of little dots. She wrote something else on his cheeks, and then she was done.
When he looked in the mirror, the entire top half of his face was black like a domino mask, covered in white and green stars, some of them with four points, like they were sparkling. His cheeks were still a little gaunt, but written on them now was 'STAR BOY'.
He smiled, relieved. "Okay yeah, that's better. Still not quite my style, but."
"Hey Danny, look," Tucker said.
"Huh?" Danny turned his head, and a flash went off, Tucker grinning behind his phone. Danny's jaw dropped.
"You look very cute," Tucker said, before Danny could recover, and he leaned over and kissed Danny on the jaw.
"Tucker!" Danny exclaimed. Before he could do anything else, Sam grinned, too. "He's right, you know." She grabbed his hand and kissed the back of it. It left a mark, but Danny was too busy blushing to care, deep and dark under his makeup.
"You guys are so mean to me," he uttered, eyes averted, but the corners of his mouth were turned up in an embarrassed little smile.
"You love us," Tucker said, sounding utterly pleased.
Danny rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah," he admitted, and he reached for each of their hands.
After a few seconds, Sam squeezed it and let go, got up off the bed. "You're right, though, your clothes don't match at all." She went over to her closet. "I think I have some tripp pants you can wear..."
"Oh God, we're never getting out of here, are we?" he groaned, but he didn't try to stop her.
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buttbiscuit · 2 years
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Gerard Way does more for "non-binary fashion" than Harry Styles could ever dream of
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applescabs · 7 months
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the t4t girlies btw. if you even care.
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sodacowboy · 1 year
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y’all not many horror things rattle me too much but jesus christ I didn’t even watch the movie and it’s freaking me the fuck out
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julie-andromeda-mao · 2 years
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*whispers* how does he look so fucking pretty and evil at the same time?
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devilishcupid · 10 months
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CARBON COPY | Miguel O'Hara
☆ premise: trying to find miles morales in earth-42, he encounters you. or at least, a version of you.
☆ pairing: miguel o'hara x fem!alt universe!reader
☆ warnings: across the spiderverse spoilers, pregnant!reader, clueless!reader, angst, hurt no comfort, miguel's pov, some swearing
☆ a/n: oh my god. across the spiderverse is literally a masterpiece. into the spiderverse already is, but the spiderverse team said, "we can do better." they didn't have to, but they did.
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"Do you really think this is a good idea?" Jessica asked through the commlink. "This is risky, even by your standards."
"It doesn't matter. The quicker we find Miles, the quicker we get out of here." Miguel muttered into his earpiece as he walked through the busy streets of Earth-42's New York.
"Yes, but blending in? For all we know, a version of us exists here."
"Which is why you need to stop talking and start looking, Jess." Miguel hissed a little too loud, earning looks from a few passerbys. He winced. Jessica had a point. If a version of them did exist in this universe, it would be best not to bring attention to themselves.
"Miguel!"
And... that was now thrown out of the window. Cursing under his breath, he turned around reluctantly to face the person who called him—only to find that it was you.
His eyes widened, and his lips parted at the sight of you. Never in a million years did he expect to see her again. But here you were, the absolute spitting image of her. Your clothes were exactly the same things she would wear, your hair and makeup done the same way.
Finding different versions of people in different universes was not uncommon. There's literally a society uniting the different universes' own Spider-people, for God's sake. But Miguel didn't expect this. He didn't expect a carbon copy of his dead wife on a universe where Spider-Man did not exist.
He should've said he wasn't Miguel, that you were mistaking him for someone else. Hell, he shouldn't have stopped and turned around in the first place. He didn't know what came over him, but in a second, he had his arms wrapped around your body.
"Miguel, hon, are you okay?" You asked, your voice laced with surprise and concern. You had no clue that the man who was hugging you was not your husband. At least, not your husband in this universe.
Miguel grunted in response, his ability to string words together to form a sentence rendered broken by your presence. He squeezed you tighter. He couldn't believe he was holding you in his arms.
You weren't the same woman he fell in love with. He knows this. But he couldn't help himself. You looked exactly like her. Felt exactly like her. Sounded exactly like her. Shit, you even smelled like her.
"Damn it, Miguel, keep it together! She's not your wife!"
Hearing Jess' voice snapped Miguel out of his stupor. Remembering his mission, why he was there in the first place, he pulled away from you. He didn't want to. He wanted to hold you longer. But he knew that if he did, he wouldn't have been able to stop.
"Honey, what's wrong?" You asked, cupping his face in your hands. God, how he missed feeling the warmth of your palms. "You're acting weird."
"I'm fine, sweetheart." He gave you a small smile, his hands wrapping around yours and his lips pressing a kiss on each of your wrists. "I just missed you, that's all."
You laughed. "What are you talking about? You saw me this morning."
Miguel could only chuckle in an attempt to hide his sadness. What was only hours for you was months for him. "Right. I did."
"Are you sure you're okay, though?" You asked again, eyebrows furrowing and the corners of your lips downturned.
"Don't worry about it, darling. I am."
He wasn't. But you didn't need to know that. You didn't need to know that in another universe, the two of you were married. You didn't need to know that you had a daughter together. You didn't need to know that he loved you and your daughter more than life itself, only for him to lose you both.
"Listen, I have to go. I'm having lunch with a friend. But I'll see you later at Doctor Nguyen's, okay?" You placed your hands on your stomach, a smile forming on your face. "I can't wait to see her again."
Miguel swallowed the lump in his throat before forcing himself to smile. Only now he noticed the bump on your stomach, carrying a different Miguel's Gabriella. "Yeah, me too."
With a kiss goodbye on his cheek, you walked away, blissfully unaware that he was not your Miguel. He watched as you disappeared around the corner, knowing it was the first and last time he was ever going to see you again.
But that didn't matter. He'll find Miles. He'll make sure the canon isn't destroyed. He'll make sure another version of himself wouldn't have to suffer the loss of his family the same way he did. He'll make sure you and your kid were safe.
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luveline · 5 months
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gorgeous can we get bombshell reader and Spencer May be the first time he’s snappy with her bc he’s stressed and she’s just so taken aback and May be even tears up? And then just a fluffy ending with Spencer apologizing
thank you for requesting! fem, 2.2k
Spencer Reid is extra kissable when he's frowning. Button up and no suit jacket, sleeves pushed past his elbows and hair on the shorter side, he holds a certain confidence in his hands where they're tucked in his pockets. Sure of himself, and clearly agitated. 
You're always on his side; you don't think twice about easing into the conference room to see what's wrong. 
"Hey," you say with a slight lilt to your tone. You're always on his side, and always flirting. "What's wrong?" 
"Why does something have to be wrong?" he asks. 
Not mean. Not light. Somewhere in the solid middle, his gaze loyal to the laptop on the desk he stands behind. You step close enough to smell the subtle scent of his cologne, wondering if he can smell your perfume in turn, and if it's one he likes. You try to touch his hand and he takes the desk into his grip instead, leaning forward, out of reach. 
"That's not what I meant to convey," you say, still flirting. You're not stupid, you realise his mood, but you're hoping it's somebody else's fault. "But if you aren't happy to see me then I'd definitely suggest there was something wrong." 
"I'm just trying to figure something out." 
This close, to your own credit, Spencer usually trips up. He's been getting better as you've grown closer, your 'torturing' —as the team likes to call it— only prompting the occasional blush or stammer. You don't flirt with Spencer to torture him no matter what anyones says and you never have, you flirt with him because he deserves to be complimented. He's andsome, intelligent, and courageous. What others might miss you see in blaring neon lights: he's a catch. You intend on making your intentions known, and if that means playing the long game or the slow burn, that's okay. You like to dance. 
You put yourself between him and the laptop screen. He can still see it if he cranes his neck, and he does. "You look a little tired, handsome. Looking at a screen all day will hurt you in the end. Neck aches, shoulder cramps, eye strain. Though I can't help with the latter, the former…" His arm is solid under your hand, your fingertips running along the ridge of a stark vein. 
He doesn't quite flinch away, but he moves quickly enough to startle you, lamenting, "Could you give me some space, please?" 
That's all well and good, you rush to do as he's asked and step back because the very last thing you want is to make him uncomfortable and his voice is frankly acidic, but everything is moving too quickly, you're not as aware as you should be —you smash your hand backwards into a cold cup of coffee and knock it straight into the lap of Spencer's laptop. 
"No," you gasp, grabbing the cup before the entirety of it can empty. Coffee wells between the keys and you go to grab it to– well, to do something. 
"Stop it!" Spencer shouts, voice sharp as a knife. "You always do this," —quieter, venomous— "you can't help yourself." 
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"I would answer you if I had the time. I'll be busy rescuing my hard drive before an entire month of work is wasted thanks to your dire need for attention." 
He slips around you and stalks out the door, coffee dripping from the corner of his laptop in a sorry trail that shines in the fluorescent lights. 
Your first rush of tears are driven by indignation; it was an accident, you didn't mean to do that, why would you ever do that? But the second, more encompassing rush is a hot mixture of shame and guilt. What have you done? 
You take a hesitant step toward the door but don't bother following him. I'll make things worse, you think, bringing a hand to your face. Makeup marrs your hand as you wipe your cheeks. You stare down at the stains for a long, long time. 
I'll apologise, you think eventually, rubbing at the mascara like soot on your palm. Just as soon as I look okay again. 
You don't want Spencer or anyone to see you upset. You wear your makeup and your confidence for yourself, not to hide any insecurity but to embolden yourself, to be yourself. But to get to your desk you'd have to leave the conference room bared as you are, and you'd have to face Spencer, and the second option brings more tears. 
This is all so messy, and it's your fault. 
I'm such an idiot. I'm exactly what he thinks of me. 
You sit in the chair furthest from the door with a pack of tissues from the cubby and rub your hot cheeks dry, streaks of mascara in the shapes of your fingertips like soot left behind. It's sitting that gets you —the shock of tears at being shouted at by someone you care about amplifies into a distress you can't explain. It's stupid, it's stupid. You press your face into your hands and curl in on yourself at the table, ears ringing. I'm so, so stupid. 
The inside of Spencer's lip is bleeding, metallic on his tongue. He's white hot annoyance all the way to Penelope's office, choked as he tells her he needs her help. 
"Spencer?" she said. "What happened? Are you okay?" 
He realises what he's done. "Please, Garcia, can you do something? I really need to go." 
He doesn't hear her response beyond her surprised but emphatic Sure, spinning on his heel to walk back the way he came. He rubs at his temple, moving between a slow trudge and a speed walk as he assesses the damage of what he's said. What did he say? your dire need for attention. 
Your sniffing is something out of his fucking nightmares. Who does he think he is? You're sitting exactly where he left you next to that half empty coffee cup, a tissue scrunched in your trembling hands, visible in the small glass window of the door. You must be thinking of what he's said to have missed the sound of his footsteps, or perhaps he's left you too upset to want to look up. 
He sees the moment a sob works through you, watches you hold your breath in a painful effort to keep it down, raising the tissue to your eyes and catching your tears before they fall. You're doing a lacklustre job despite your efforts, the oily shine of mascara iridescent on your cheeks. Or maybe that's tear tracks. It's hard to tell. 
Spencer fights with himself. He doesn't know if deserves to come running back or if it would be more fair to send JJ or Derek in to comfort you. 
"You made your bed," his mom would say, not without affection. "You have to lie in it." 
Spencer squeezes his eyes closed to push away the memory, surveying the damage he's done carefully as he crosses the threshold back into the conference room. Your head lifts at the sound of the door, your stammer visible before you speak, "Spence– Spencer. Is your laptop okay? Did I break it? I'm so sorry." 
Gideon would tell Spencer to be nicer. Hotch would say Reid in that stern shade of voice that's half disapproval and half fondness. They'd both tell him to be better, but neither of them have ever had to see you as you look now, tearstained and sorry, eyes wide with worry but shoulders tense. He has his role models, and yet none of them could possibly give him a way to apologise that could ever make up for they way he's made you feel. 
Little dramatic, Morgan would say. Start with a hug, loverboy. Can't go wrong with a hug. 
He should ask but he doesn't, a second transgression against you. Spencer pushes past chair and the sodden circle of carpet to your chair, pausing in case you're going to tell him to shove it. You lick your lips. "Did I break it?" you ask, as though resigned for a yes  
He can't temper that amount of self-hatred on you. It doesn't suit you. He much prefers you the way you like to be, confident in everything, flirty and funny and soft, in both touch and touches. He takes your face into a careful hand, tilting it toward the light and weary of your shallow exhale. "I…" He begins and ends, stroking your tacky cheek with his index finger, as though brushing away an eyelash. If it were real he'd say make a wish, and you would wish for him or some similar sweetness, salacious smile to boot, or earnestness fit to fill a mountain. I wish you'd realise how pretty you are and stop denying me the pleasure of a beautiful boyfriend, you'd croon. 
His fingers collect at your jaw and slip behind your ear as he cleans your skin with the side of his thumb. You lean into the touch, slashing his hesitancy in two. 
"Sorry," he says, pulling your head toward his neck gently as he leans down to hold you. "I'm sorry. Don't be upset, please. Don't be upset " 
"I'm an idiot–" 
"No," he says, with the facts to back his denial. "I'm an idiot, I should never have upset you like this–"
"I broke your computer, it's just like you said–" 
"I shouldn't have–" 
"–I'm so needy I could've ruined all your hard work," you say, wriggling with guilt like you attempt to pull away. 
Spencer really doesn't want to let you go now he has you, not until he's sure you'll stay in one piece. "If it's ruined, it's my fault for failing to back it up." 
He should tell you that he's sorry for what he said. He knew it wasn't right he moment it escaped him, to speak to you like that, and accuse you of what he did. He basically called you selfish, uncaring. He implied it and worse, and for what? An accident? A mis-step that he practically forced you into? 
"I never should've said that to you," he says, breaking his hug to crouch in front front you, searching blindly for your hand as he holds eye contact, looking up. You deign to frown down. "And I walked away. And you're crying," —his voice fries with sympathy— "because of me." 
Your hand is limp in his. "I'm sorry," he says. 
"It's okay." You sniffle and nod, lips struggling into a smile. 
"It's not okay." 
"Well, I hit your coffee over, so we're even." 
"You accidentally spilled my drink, you didn't deserve to be mocked." 
"Spence…" Your eyes half-lidded, you wince down at the cradle of his hand where it holds yours. "Did I break it?" 
"I don't know. I got to Garcia's office and I knew I did the wrong thing, so I came back." 
You swallow audibly. "I just wanted to make you feel better." 
"I know, angel." He stands again as your eyes well with tears to hug you, kissing the top of your head. "I'm sorry. That was all me, okay? I shouldn't have snapped at you." 
What follows is agony. Spencer patting your back through a panicked bubble of tears, wretched in knowing he caused it, and worse is the look you give him as he wipes your messed up make up away in want of a mirror, like you're grateful. 
"Does it look really bad?" 
"N–no. You look really pretty," he says. 
"Are my eyes puffy?"
A little. "No. You look great." He can't apologise anymore– it won't help you feel better now, it'll just assuage his own worry. What you need is a different reassurance. "It's hard not looking at you, sometimes, you look that nice. But you know that already." 
"I don't mean to do that. I didn't mean to." 
Spencer puts his hand above your heart. "I know you didn't. I really, really shouldn't have said it. I was being cranky and I struck out like a kid." 
"...You're not just saying I look nice to get back in the good books, are you?" you ask. 
Spencer leans in, nearly nose to nose with you. "Of course not." 
You tilt your head as though you might kiss him. He knows you won't and he's delighted anyways. It means you're feeling okay. He's nearly forgiven, or, at the very least, you're not actively upset. "I thought I liked seeing you pissed off, but now I'm not so sure." 
"It's not a good look on me," he murmurs. "But it looks great on you, if you want to get angry with me."
"Well now I can't. I know it's what you want." 
"Can I give you a hug?" he asks. 
You drop all your acts and slide your arms around his neck. He wraps you up slowly, one arm at a time, careful to put all the pressure exactly where you like it. 
"That feels nice," you mumble. 
He bends into you and rubs your back. "Yeah?" 
"Don't," you warn. 
He draws a shape into your back with his fingers, slow, tiny things that make you squirm. "Don't what?" 
"You're tickling me." You don't sound unhappy about it. 
"What?" he asks. "I can't hear you over the sound of me being a huge jackass. Sorry, angel." 
Your giggle is honey into his shoulder, sticky and sluggish as his circles turn to stars.
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writingworlds · 2 months
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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐆𝐄
Pairing(s): Charles Leclerc x Porsche!reader
Summary: The Porsche Princess, that nickname has followed Y/N around since birth. And who better for a princess than a prince?
Warning(s): shitty Google translate
yn_porsche
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yn_porsche Essen und Freunde 🤍
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milaaa Mach keine Witze, du liebst das Essen mehr als ich 😘
papaporsche meine Prinzessin
yn_porsche Ich liebe dich Papa ❤️❤️
mickschumacher and where was my invitation?
yn_porsche sorry Micky but it was a girls only event
username hello??? not mick attempting to shoot his shot 😭😭
username girl I hate to break it to you but mick and y/n are only friends. They’ve known each other for years now
username day 673 of asking for Porsche to rejoin f1 permanently
milaaa 🤭🤭🤭
username milaaa WHAT DO YOU KNOW
milaaa oh nothing at all 🤭
yn_porsche 🫣🫣🫣
username y/n drop the pie recipe because it looks delicious
username y/n drop the makeup routine because you are gorgeous
username well that too
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f1
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liked by porscheagracing, yn_porsche, papaporsche, and others
f1 Welcome to the paddock porscheagracing!
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porscheagracing Excited to be here!
username JSHSHD OMG
username RACING ROYALTY IS BACK BABY
username ….wait…does this mean we will be able to see THE Y/N Porsche in the paddock
yn_porsche no promises but I do hope to make it to at least one Grand Prix!! Most likely the German one 😉
username DOES THIS MEAN THAT HOCKENHEIMRING IS RETURNING TOO
username THE RUMOURS WERE TRUE
username 11 teams f1 is so back
username I CANT WAIT
porscheagracing
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porscheagracing Get to know us!
Who We Are: Originally founded in 1931 by Ferdinand Porsche, Porsche was meant to represent excellence, luxury, and class.
Our story starts with the creation of our first sports car, the 356, to our unveiling of the legendary 911. But those are simply designs of luxury sports cars, they do not encapsulate our rich heritage of motorsport.
We have dominated various endurance championships, most notably being the 24 Hours of Le Mans. It is time, however, to take that dominance to open wheel and Grand Prix racing.
What We Do: We will be competing in Formula One starting from the 2025 season. Our goal is to bring a sense of rejuvenation back to the world of Formula One (and of course take a few world championships while we are at it).
Our team: Holding the words power, precision, and performance in mind we created a team of uniquely qualified individuals to make sure we excel in all aspects.
- CEO: Henrik Porsche
- Team Principal: Sebastian Vettel
- Technical Director: Julia Wagner
- Chief Aerodynamicist: Karl Becker
- Chief Mechanic: Michael Braun
- Strategy Coordinator: Lisa Fischer
Information on our drivers will be released shortly.
Wagen Sie es, sich von Träumen mitreißen zu lassen.
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username is that Sebastian Vettel I see???
username try as he might he can’t escape motorsport 😭😭😭
mickschumacher 🖤❤️💛
yn_porsche F1 BABY
username please please please let Mick Schumacher be one of the drivers
username if his hearts mean anything you might be in luck
username maybe I’m just dumb but did anyone else just realise that the Porsche team colours are the same as the German flag 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️
username it’s not just you I promise 😭😭
username any predictions on how good they’ll be? Cause I’m thinking they’ll start as a midfield car this year and then very quickly work their way up to the top
username i agree, they had Vettel on board as TP so he’ll give them plenty of experience in that regard but otherwise it will probably take them a bit of time to get used to f1 itself. once they do however….the rest of the grid best be prepared
username honestly i just can’t wait till they gain major sponsorship deals
username from twitter i heard they may have deals from Apple, Hermès, and of course Volkswagen
porscheagracing
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liked by arthur_leclerc, mickschumacher, yn_porsche, and others
porscheagracing Please give a warm welcome to your drivers for the 2025 season arthur_leclerc and mickschumacher
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mickschumacher Lass uns gehen Porsche 🖤❤️💛
arthur_leclerc Thank you so much for this opportunity
charles_leclerc Congratulations little bro, f1!!!
username THE LECLERC BROTHERS IN F1 IM GONNA CRY
username NO BECAUSE IM SO PROUD LIKE THESE ARE MY CHILDREN
yn_porsche Zeit, Rennen zu fahren 🫡🫡
arthur_leclerc I am going to pretend I understand what you are saying
yn_porsche someone is going to need to teach you German
milaaa I volunteer as tribute 🫡🫡
yn_porsche ah yes because you are known for your brilliant teaching strategies
milaaa shush
papaporsche Welcome to the team you two! Here’s to an incredible first season in Formula 1
mickschumacher Wir lassen Sie nicht im Stich, Chef
arthur_leclerc Gonna make Porsche proud
sebastianvettel Pleasure to be working with you both 😊
username plsssss he’s such a dad
username and we love him for it
username oh for sure
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Charles Leclerc
alors... Y/N Porsche
Arthur Leclerc
frérot c'est quoi ce bordel
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delulujuls · 3 months
Text
thick thighs save lives (but ruin racing suits) | ln4, op81
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hi! i got this idea from one tiktok i saw today. this one goes for my plus size girlies (including myself lmao) so please enjoy as much as papaya boys would enjoy some pair of thick thighs!
summary: lando and oscar never seen their friend with something tight on, so when it comes to try on new racing suits she have a big surprise for them
warnings: slightly disturbed perception of body image
pairing: oscar piastri x fem!mclarendriver x lando norris
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Y/N sometimes forgot that she was a girl.
At the beginning of her career she tried to make an effort to look good, showing that a male-dominated sport wouldn't take away her feminine grace. Years ago she used to wake up early, style her hair, do makeup and spend a lot of money on fixing cosmetics but unfortunately everything was lost due to sweat, a balaclava and a tight helmet. So the girl decided that this fight made absolutely no sense - she decided to stuck only to lip balm and mascara.
Despite keeping her makeup to a minimum, even her mascara remained treacherous, smearing under her eyes after each race or training session, making her look like a panda. In terms of clothes, the girl didn't have much opportunity to show off either. Her clothes were largely either team tracksuits, a racing suit, or just a baggy orange T-shirt and jeans.
And just as Oscar and Lando looked great after the race despite sweat and messy hair, her post-race glow didn't really existed. On the contrary, she looked as if she had a hard, sleepless night.
It is known that when media days fell on the calendar, the girl tried to look her best. She had light make-up and nicely styled hair, but her body was still covered by loose layers of clothes. It would seem that apart from her physiotherapist and the team doctor, no one around her had any idea what kind of figure the girl really had.
However, everything changed when the break between seasons came. When places had numerous galas and events and you could throw away uncomfortable helmets and team clothes. However, as we know, everything comes to an end at some point and we have to return to the gray reality. This was the case, when the day came and it was time to try on new racing suits for the upcoming season.
Y/N hugged Lando and Oscar upon seeing them outside the entrance to McLaren's headquarters. The trio hadn't had the opportunity to see each other for several weeks, so there was a lot of joy. In a good mood, surrounded by conversation, they went inside and immediately went to the designated place. After a short presentation of costumes, everyone received theirs and went to change, only to come back after a while and report any reservations regarding comfort and range of movement. Y/N took her suit without thinking and went to change. She was surprised when the suit got stuck on her butt and refused to go up any higher.
"What the hell"
The girl muttered under her breath, gripping her fit tighter and jumping in it several times. When it finally slid over her ass, Y/N slipped her hands into the sleeves and zipped up the zipper, sealing the Velcro around her neck. Something was definitely wrong. The girl looked in the mirror at her reflection. The outfit was great and looked amazing, the only problem was that it was a bit tight. Which shouldn't be the case, because the outfits were based on last season's, so the dimensions shouldn't differ drastically. It was impossible to gain so much weight in three months, right?
The girl turned around, looking at the back of her body. The outfit was definitely tight. Just as it was still relatively tight on her chest, it was very tight on her thighs and butt.
Y/N covered her mouth with her hand, looking at her reflection. Have she really always had such big thighs? Did she actually gain weight during the past break?
She was brought out of her thoughts by a knock on the bathroom and the voices of Lando and Oscar outside the door.
"Are you ready?"
The girl felt her cheeks burning with shame.
"I think I have a problem"
Hearing this, the friends fell silent and looked at each other.
"Can we come in?"
Y/N agreed quietly, still staring at herself in the mirror. With each passing second, she became more and more confused about her reflection.
Oscar and Lando entered the bathroom, also wearing their suits. When they noticed their friend standing with her back to them, the first thing they noticed was her butt. Lando quickly looked up at the ceiling and Oscar walked over to the girl, trying his hardest to focus on the reflection of her face in the mirror.
"What happened?"
Y/N bit her lip in shame and silently turned towards them. Her friends involuntarily looked at her, pretending they didn't know what she meant. But as soon as they saw the material tight around her ass from the entrance to the bathroom, they knew exactly what the matter was about.
"My suit is too tight" The girl said quietly, looking at herself "It doesn't fit at all"
Lando wrapped his arms around himself and covered his mouth with his hand. He tried his hardest not to speak, because all he could think about were comments about her thighs and whether she could crush him with them. It didn't get much easier for Oscar. He put his hands on his hips and looked at his friend silently. He was afraid that he would be unable to comfort her in any way, because his mind was completely blank.
Piastri cleared his throat after a while, trying to return from the land of fantasy and behave as if the whole situation was really dramatic.
"Is it very tight?"
"Oh, just look!"
The girl spread her arms and spun around. Lando bit his lip and tilted his head back. Oscar held his breath, having no idea what to say. He was totally mesmerized by her curves.
"I- Uhm, I think it's just a mistake and they'll make you a different one without any problem."
"Different one?" Y/N asked, feeling tears in her eyes. “What if it's not a mistake and I've gained weight these past few months?”
"After all, the tests showed that everything was fine with your measurements."
Oscar said calmly.
Y/N turned to the mirror again and looked at her reflection.
"What a total shit"
"Hey, don't say that" Lando was immediately outraged "You look great"
"Great?" The girl snorted, "Come on, I look ridiculous."
"To be honest, I agree with Lando one hundred percent."
Oscar replied, looking once more at the back of the girl's body.
"My thighs are a disaster! What kind of racing driver has such big thighs?"
The girl burst out, turning again towards them.
"Max has nice thighs," Lando pointed out, thinking for a moment, "I'm sure his thighs are the national pride of the Netherlands."
Y/N wasn't in the mood to joke. Devastated, she looked down her body.
Oscar walked up to her and hugged her without saying a word.
"You look beautiful. And you have a really amazing figure"
Lando walked over to his friends and hugged them as well.
The girl felt a little better with the support of her friends. However, for a moment she forgot that men would be men and nothing would ever dissuade them from having dirty thoughts.
"I agree with Oscar, because you really look great," Lando started. Oscar looked at him, knowing full well what was coming and knowing that he wouldn't be able to stop it. "But with all the respect I have for you as a friend and as a woman in general, holy shit, I would pay extra for you to strangle me with your thighs. And man, that mad bunda, too."
Y/N didn't know what to say for a moment. She only felt a blush creeping onto her cheeks. Did she just receive the strangest compliment of her life?
She freed herself a little from her friends' embrace and looked at Lando's face.
"Seriously?"
He seeing that his comment was not received negatively, quickly nodded.
"You have such a body that-" "Lando meant that you shouldn't worry about what you look like because you look really great."
Oscar interjected, knowing full well that Lando's comments should be kept to himself.
The girl smiled weakly and sniffled. Her friends' words lifted her spirits a bit.
"My only concern now is how I will get this contraption off of me."
Lando and Oscar smirked, involuntarily exchanging glances.
"I think we can help you with that."
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