mousey hair

A Cinderella Story | 01

Min Yoongi | Fluff | Comedy | Smut | ACS!au | Fratboy!Yoongi | 

word count: 10k+

warnings: cumplay, mutual masturbation, phone sex, tribute, explicit language

❝ Your infatuation with Min Yoongi has to be what is the most exhausting part of your life, and in an attempt to help you get over him your friends convince you to join an online adult chat room. Unbeknownst to you the online freak you’ve been sexting for the better half of a year is your childhood crush. Just how much worst could this situation get? One fated night, a confession gone wrong and a lost phone with an almost laughable amount of nudes on it will tell all.  ❞

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harry doesn't smile

he grins, maniacally, the way his father does when the booze is just too good to not finish. he smirks the way cj does, when she’s caught somebody in her web of convuluted lies. he laughs, loudly, and with vigor, the way harriet does when she runs someone through her rusty sword.

but he doesn’t smile. 

at least, not in public. 

he does in front of a mirror, late at night when he’s sure nobody’s watching. fingers poke and prod at lips that stretch gently across a gentle face, and palms rub across the chiseled cut of his jaw, as if trying to mold it into the right shape. knead it into something terrifying, intimidating. but no matter how hard he tries, he smiles and it’s nothing like how his father grins, how his sisters smirk and laugh. it’s soft. as soft as his blue eyes. as soft as his mousey brown hair. as soft as the memory of hiding behind his mothers skirts when the thunder got to loud. 

(sometimes, he finds he can’t remember the sound of her voice. but he remembers her face, the feel of her fingers threading through his hair. her eyes as blue as the sky and her hair as brown as chestnut. she never smiled. 

she was soft. so very soft.) 

(sometimes harry resents her for it. 

other times, he just misses her.) 

no, harry doesn’t smile. he’s too pretty when he smiles, fragile and breakable, delicate in ways that the isle would never accept or allow. so he saunters about, swinging his hook, cj’s swagger in his step, his father’s maniacal grin spread across his face. on days his cheeks hurt, he scowls as fiercely as he can manage, stomping across the docks with all the rage he’s seen harriet carry within her. yet no matter what he does, he can never get it right, can never get the crowds to part the way his family makes them, and on days he can’t be bothered he wonders if it’s because of something he’s doing wrong, wrong, wrong– 

the turquoise haired girl in front of him scoffs. “you’re such a liar." 

he falters. uma doesn’t turn to look at him, she keeps her eyes on the setting sun sinking below the horizon. he watches her for a moment longer, watches the power and the magic simmer deep within her inherited blood, held back by that blasted barrier. against his better judgement, he feels his bravado deflate in giddy awe. 

when the sun disappears and the stars come out, she turns to him. 

"you don’t need to lie to me,” she says, shaking her head. “you don’t need to impress me. you’ve done it already.”

it sounds too good to be true. “then what do you want me to do?" 

"i won’t ask for loyalty. that isn’t something you can find around here.” she shrugs, and harry follows the movement with his eyes, enamoured. “but i’ll offer you a deal– you have my back, through thick and through thin, and i won’t tell anyone about your little mask." 

he blinks. "what mask?" 

uma says nothing, smirk appearing as swiftly as her hand reaches out and lightly flicks a finger across his cheek. the gesture is sharp, the pain it causes immediate and short, but there’s something gentle about it, understanding, playful. harry breathes a sharp intake of breath. 

and smiles.

"aye-aye, captain." 

(later that night, he looks again in the mirror. his hair is unruly because of the sea breeze and his eyes are shining too baby blue in excitement and when he runs a hand down his face, the newly acquired bruise on his jaw is tender. 

but when he smiles, he smiles without abandon. and for once in his reflection, his mother doesn’t gaze back at him.) 

(uma’s right, loyalty may not be something that is found on the isle, yet when he follows behind her, watches the whirlwind of fiery anger and power and strength shine out of her dark eyes, that command in her every step, the sharp edges that fit so well into his soft corners, he thinks he’ll follow her to the very edge of the world if he has to. 

he is her first mate. 

and he is hers.) 


disclaimer: i haven’t read any of the books, so there might be a ton of inaccuracies

I drew this after rewatching “The List” as I thought it would be cute if Arnold taught his grandson the same optimism he learnt, through the same song (and balloons I guess ;))

What do you think of the design of their grandson I came up with?
I tried to make their grandson look like a grandson rather than obviously related to Arnold and Helga (hence the mousey curly hair). I guess he must’ve gotten the nose from Miriam though, and those bushy eyebrows are definitely from Helga ;)

Stay tuned for tomorrow’s work, yet again:

anonymous asked:

can't we be together forever?

(I think I did pretty damn good imitating her style check this out)

“Can’t we be together forever?” I pleaded, clinging desperately to JD’s seven thousand dollar designer trench coat. He smelled like some ridiculously expensive perfume that was handcrafted by angels themselves.
“I’m sorry, Veronica” he uttered softly, his voice like silk. Orgasmic silk. “I’m too damaged. What with my whole vampire thing and all.”
I stared deeply into his bright golden irises, and I nearly fainted. They were so…bright.
He turned suddenly, faster than lightning. I could see him quiver with Teen Angst. Well, 100 year old angst. Same difference.
When he turned around, there were diamonds on his marble face.
“JD,” I murmured, quiet as a mouse. My best friend from fourth grade, Sarah, always told me I had mousey hair. I’m so Plain, why would JD want anything to do with me?
“Veronica,” he glowered. “I can’t resist you. You’re like my own personal brand of cocaine. My human slushie.”
“JD,” I breathed. His gemstone eyes were piercing mine, and I felt lightheaded. “Please, turn me. I want to be by your side for all of eternity.”
JD gazed at me for a moment before turning his head, his dark eyelashes brushing his cheek. In a deep, rich voice, he whispered:

To the Four of Us (Part Twenty Seven)

premise: modern AU chronicling the squad as they make their way through college and deal with general life things.
words: 2,139
warnings: drug mentions, swearing
all chapters: x
tags: @heythereitsloey @anitheunicorn @newyorkyoucanbeanew @lafbagxette @justafangirlwithanavy @iamgrayfox @ordinaryornate @schuylerjoon @georgewashingsin @trashyperson101 @crazydragon15 @but-if-you-had-to-choose @geespilots @marvelous-hamilfan @mynameisalexanderhammyham @panda-powers @and-maria @lafeyettegunsandships @schokoobananaa @allthegoodurlshavebeentaken @aphboi @hell-yes-puns-and-ships @aham-threw-his-shot-away @hesitantcat @nonstopspook @hamrevolution @alexander-did-you-know @allthegoodurlshavebeentaken @spitaverse-burr @angelizaandpeggy @isis278 @idk-destiel @engulfedinstars @hamiltrashuniverse @ahrupe @just-me-an-asshole @readfizz @skeletonmelodies @gum-and-chips @iminwaytoomanyfandoms @hadleyelizabethuley @fictionalboyfriends @ridiculousn3ssfangirl @pleuxvoir @liallow @kanadianwithashippingproblem @bucket-of-kittens @welcometohamilton @forth-schuyler-sister @fanwaffles @ariadne1004 @inspacewmorty @marshmallow-satan @anbu1997 @sinmineral

Alexander knew he fucked up. It was ten o’clock on a Monday morning and he was laying in his bed watching his ex-boyfriend get dressed to make the walk of shame back across campus.

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Cut to the Feeling

Written For: @showingthroughtome

Written By:  @fromherlips

Pairing: Niall/OFC

Word Count: 16,000

Warnings: language, mentions of sexual content and alcohol


Lennox Sloane was always taught that you shouldn’t make assumptions about anyone unless you wanted to make an ass of yourself. Unfortunately, that lesson never stuck with her as much as the lectures on safe sex (no glove, no love), texting while driving (it can wait), and the proper way to consume alcohol (liquor before beer, you’re in the clear).

A story about night classes, snarky remarks, and learning lessons the hard way.

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House of Cards (Pt. 1)

Summary: Being a new transfer cop from a small town to a crime ridden city, you never expected your job to be easy. You are assigned as the partner of a man named Kim Taehyung, who is young, handsome, and a little bit too curious for his own good. Before you know it, what started out as a simple homicide investigation turns into a full blown war against the local syndicates. You learn the hard way that life isn’t always in black and white, and soon find your morals and beliefs tumbling like a house of cards. All because of one man with a simple name: Jeon Jungkook.


Angst/Drama/Some Fluff

Word Count: 1.6k

Part [1] [2] [3]

A/N: This series is a prequel to my other mafia!au series, Cosa Nostra. You do not need to read one before you read another, both are their separate cohesive stories, taking place roughly two to three years apart.

Everyone had told you that you were crazy for becoming a cop, deeming it an “unpleasant job for such a young girl” and that you should consider a different occupation. Your family all practically flipped their shits when you told them that you were being transferred into the big city, where crime was significantly more prominent than in your small hometown. You had ignored their cries and pleas to stay, as you were determine to make the jump in your career from a small town cop with a sharp wit to an assistant investigator for a more prominent city. It wasn’t for lack of excitement that you decided to move to the city. You loved helping people and making a difference, which was something you could only get a taste of in your small town. So you moved to a crime ridden city in hopes of fulfilling your internal desire to make a difference.

Yet for all of your eagerness, nothing could have prepared you for how overwhelming the city’s police station was. You stood gaping as you watched the chaotic work of everyone in the station; you hadn’t even officially started your first day on the job and already you could feel the crushing weight of responsibility on your shoulders.

You shook your head to cast off your nervous thoughts as you scanned the station to find the police chief’s office. Once you found the sign on a door on the far side of the station, you made your way over to the office door and knocked before walking in.

The man sitting down at the desk looked up at you, “Um, hello, how may I help you, Miss?”

“H-Hi, uh, I’m the new transfer?” You began nervously, “I was told that I was supposed to come to the police chief’s office to get assigned to my position…Is this a bad time?”

“Ah, I see,” The man stood up and walked over to you, holding out his hand for you to shake, “You must be (Y/F/N). I’m Chief Kim Jinseok, but you can just call me Matthew for simplicity’s sake, everyone else does.” The police chief flashed you a kind smile, but you couldn’t help but feel intimidated by the man. He was your new boss, so you felt pressured to make a lasting impression, something you felt like you weren’t doing very well.

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Continuation of:

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Behind the Rear Window - Ch.1

Rear Window AU. When injured photojournalist Jughead Jones thinks he sees a man murder his wife from the window of his apartment it’s up to him to convince the police, and socialite-cum-girlfriend Betty Cooper, that what he saw actually happened, and what starts out as an investigation may just be the key to unlocking a few of their own skeletons in the closet.

First chapter of my multi fic! Rear Window is one of my favourite films and when I was watching it recently I realised just how easy it would be to slip these characters into the world of Hitchcock’s movie. This film, for those of you who haven’t seen it, is very observation and conversation heavy, so while the plot is pretty much the same here it’s those aspects where it will differ some. Anyway, I really hope you enjoy!

(special thank to @formergirlwonder for reading over this chapter! She’s an absolute gem!)

Read here on AO3

Jughead Jones had always known that bricks and mortar did not make a neighbourhood. His thoughts were only confirmed every time he regarded the rear windows facing the shared back alley courtyard from the vantage point of his second story apartment. The last hints of pink and orange faded from the sky, revealing another clear, sunny Riverdale day as the clock crept closer to morning. Each window frame became a small screen, most with cracked and peeling off-white paint. As he sat sleeping in his wheelchair, performances played out behind the open shutters and ajar glass panes; the tiny colony was beginning to bustle.

The man who spent his nights camped out on the fire escape, mattress and all, stirred as the first blinding rays cast their glow over his closed eyelids. His name wasn’t known to Mr Jones, but he certainly knew his wife’s was Ginger, given the amount of times he heard it pleaded at all hours of the day and night. To Jughead, he was simply ‘Mr Screw-Up’. The man stretched, rubbing the heel of a palm into his sleep encrusted eye, before standing precariously on his broken spring mattress and wobbling his way to the open window. He glanced furtively inside, checking left and right for signs that he could make an attempt to gain access back into his abode for the morning ritual of washing, shaving, and listening to early morning advertisements on the radio. Guaranteed, he’d be back sulking on the stairwell before eight thirty.

Jughead flinched on the edge of sleep as cawing crows swooped a little too closely to his window. He had left it ajar to combat the oppressive heatwave invading his apartment, which had left beads of sweat balancing in miscellaneous constellations atop his slightly wrinkled forehead, but his effort appeared to be in vain. Blinking into wakefulness, Jughead swiped at the moisture, which tickled while it dripped down his temples. As he came to, still in his chair by the window, he glanced down at his leg, adorned with a cumbersome cast stretching from his toes to his pelvic bone. Jughead sighed; he’d hoped that this time his hindrance really would have been a dream. His eye caught the bold, black pen strokes against the slightly discoloured plaster, and he allowed himself a chuckle as he read once more the words, “rather a broken bone than a broken spirit”, written in the hasty cursive of his superior, Kevin Keller. His chuckle turned to a grimace as a twinge turned to an itch, fate conveniently placing it directly out of reach beneath the bulky aid to healing.

The glint of a copper penny stole his attention, though, returning his gaze to the array of scenes awaiting his audience for yet another day in the listless stretch of weeks that he’d been chained to a chair for. The copper belonged to the girl opposite and to the left, her window a few brick widths higher than Jughead’s. Dubbed ‘Miss Legs’, the girl’s flaming red hair hung past her waist in perfectly arranged waves, often mirroring the light as it swung this way and that while she danced before her window. She was a nonstop whirlwind of kicks and strides and spins, low melodic tunes of her record player, thankfully, barely reaching Jughead’s apartment; but he couldn’t deny even he was captivated by her talents. He assumed, she embodying what was considered conventionally attractive, that most other men would be jonesing for the chance to have a glimpse at her in her brassiere and matching briefs as she paraded herself about her household chores. To Jughead her overly full lips, painted a shudder inducing crimson more often than not, seemed suffocating. The train of dance partners that appeared every so often in his line of sight confirmed his suspicions, however.

As she tripped out of view his eye caught a scurrying of burnt umber as the miniature daschund, affectionately cooed after under the name Caramel by Ginger multiple times a day, set its sights on a neighbourhood cat and decided to give chase. Millimetres above the game of cat and dog, Jughead lifted his scrutinising blue eyes to ‘Miss Lonelyhearts’. Still young, attractive though somewhat plain, the woman that earned such a title made frequent habit of setting the table for two, eating for one, and then crying herself into a stupor as the empty chair opposite failed once again to partake in the evening’s conversation. Her thick, mousey hair frequented a tight twist at the nape of her neck, round glasses perched just so on the bridge of her delicate nose, eyes wide and unassuming. Her usual dress was erring just slightly on this side of try-hard, but Jughead had seen her at her worst – tattered, flowery hand-me-downs shrouding her fragile figure as she knocked back the wine poured for her, and then the wine poured for her date. Having never seen another soul in the apartment in all their days occupying the same courtyard he only knew her real name by her woeful, self-pitying cries of “oh, Geraldine” that always rang out when he was just drifting off, jolting him back from the edge of unconsciousness.

The next curtain pulling up moved his eye away from her tired face to the window directly above. A worn looking man with dark skin and deep set eyes trudged through his apartment, pulling up the shades as if he were reluctant to face another day. His balding head shone with perspiration in the early morning heat, shoulders dropping several degrees as he exhaled a mournful sigh, head turning to his left. An overly long pause passed before he began to move again, disappearing from view for a moment before the shades covering the next window along rippled and rose, revealing a bedroom. Crumpled sheets were occupied by an elegant woman in her mid-thirties, probably once the height of beauty but now looking as if she’d seen better days. Her frame was withered and meek and her hair hung limp and lifeless around her face. Her smile, Jughead noted, had not met the same foibles of time. She beamed at her husband, head tilting to one side as she spoke, looking more the young girl Jughead imagined she once was in that moment. Her husband nodded, slow and mechanical, before moving back to the kitchen, collecting a tray of breakfast foods, and then returning, setting it gently over the ridges of her legs under the blankets. He leaned in to place a chaste kiss against her cheek before retiring to the adjoining bathroom. His attentive, husbandly duties had earned him the title ‘Mr Caretaker’.

The sight of breakfast made Jughead’s own stomach rumble in anticipation. He wheeled back from his usual perch, rolling past the cabinets and shelves holding countless camera parts – flashes, lenses, bulbs – all stacked and presented perfectly. A tower of copies of the latest issue of Life magazine took up the side table by the front door, his photograph adorning their front covers, staring back at him in duplicate. The rest of the apartment was an unorganised disarray of knickknacks and keepsakes. Broken mechanical parts, overly read and worn copies of his favourite books, boxes upon boxes of old yellowing magazines he called ‘inspiration’ flooded the space. His old typewriter, barely breathing amid the flurry of tat on his desk, took centre stage.

The shrill ringing of his telephone pulled an exasperated sigh from Jughead’s lips as he just managed to manoeuvre his way to the kitchen’s threshold. Reversing a couple of inches he shoved the discarded dress shirt out of the way before picking up the shiny, black receiver.

“Jones,” he spoke into the phone, voice slightly hoarse from disuse. He cleared his throat.

“Well, it doesn’t exactly sound like you’ve been celebrating,” the voice of his assignment manager at the magazine, Kevin, crackled over the line, his tone taking on a minor lilt of amusement that had the skin of Jughead’s back prickling, and not from the excessive heat.

“What exactly is there to celebrate, Keller?” Jughead asked, rolling his neck slightly to ease the tightness he’d suddenly become aware of.

“Have I got the wrong day? Seven weeks since Wednesday – that cast should be coming off by now,” Kevin answered, confused. Jughead huffed a disgruntled breath out of his nose, pressing his lips together.

“Right day, wrong week,” he lamented, throwing a dirty look at his offending leg. Kevin’s laugh rung out of the speaker.

“I told you to stand further to the left,” he chastised, referring to the incident that caused Jughead’s current predicament. He’d been given the go-ahead to stand directly on the track for an in-action shot of the racers in the Grand Prix. Only Jughead would have had the balls to do it, Kevin thought, watching him stride purposefully onto the tarmac to get the snap of a lifetime. He’d worked it all out, what he thought was perfectly. What he didn’t account for was the slight nudge one car gave another as it attempted to undertake on the sharp bend, bumper clipping the rear door and sending it winding off course for a moment, long enough to clip Jughead in the hip, throwing him into an ungraceful heap against the barriers.

“Still got the shot though,” he returned, tone and expression equally smug as he remembered the way he cradled the camera against his chest during the fall, concerned only for the protection of the precious roll of film inside. He distinctly recalled the flicker of satisfaction he’d felt as his finger pushed the button, the way the light flashed as it had seemingly heralded the end of his life.

“It’s quite the shot indeed,” Kevin agreed. “Story isn’t half bad either.” The corners of Jughead’s mouth tilted upwards at the deprecating compliment. There was only the distinct static of the line for a moment as neither man attempted to speak. Eventually, Kevin sighed. “Well, if you’re still cooped up for another week then I guess I can’t offer you this assignment.” Jughead’s back straightened as he sat up. He noticed, briefly, that Miss Legs was practicing pirouettes as she scrubbed a dish.

“What’s the job?” he asked, fingers tightening around the receiver, itching to get the camera in his hands once more. Six weeks had seemed an eternity.

“South America, month or so, heading into the camps,” Kevin recited, keeping the details vague. It didn’t matter, however: Jughead was already hooked.

“Can it wait a week?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, leaning ever further forward in his wheelchair until the irksomely hard edge of his cast digging into the soft planes of his stomach prevented him.

“Going stir crazy, huh?” Kevin guessed, a slight note of sympathy creeping into his voice. Jughead sighed, settling back against the leather backing of the chair. Mr Screw-Up was blowing unfurling smoke curls into the air as he rested against the metal railings. He was early today. Jughead briefly considered deducing what Screw-Up had done this time, before dismissing the notion as boring.

“You have no idea.”

“How much time have you spent at that window of yours?” Kevin asked suddenly, catching Jughead off guard. He bristled.

“A while,” he retorted with a stubborn air. Mr Caretaker sat on his couch and put his head in his hands as Kevin’s airy laugh echoed in Jughead’s ears. He felt the sudden, overwhelming desire to hang up.

“Careful, Mr Jones, only the lonesome and embittered spend the majority of their time observing life instead of actually living it,” Kevin joked, and Jughead could practically hear him shaking his head gently in mock disapproval. The words struck a chord with Jughead, the image of his father springing before he eyes before his mind even allowed it.

The old man (salt and pepper beard, greying streaks in his hair, slightly sunken cheeks) drifted before Jughead’s eyes. Even while awake the picture haunted him, bottle in hand and grimace a permanent fixture on his features. He sat, moaning and complaining about the state of the world, sour to the umpteenth degree about the unfair hand he’d been dealt. He chose instead to dish out biting insults and the occasional brisk smack rather than making any effort to fix the mess he’d made of himself and join the rest of society. Moving past the war had taken its toll on everyone who fought, but on none more than F.P. Jones, Jughead recalled as an acrid taste invaded his mouth.

Jughead shook himself out of his revere, telling himself the fading sting in his right cheek was only a mere ghost. He turned in time to catch Caramel hopping into the basket contraption Ginger employed to haul the pup up onto her fourth floor balcony, its little legs unable to handle the climb. Kevin’ voice drifted back to his ears.

“You should get married. They say there’s never a dull moment…” Jughead ignored him.

“Hold the story. One more week,” Jughead commanded, already lifting the phone from his ear. He barely heard Kevin’s exasperated replies.

With a nearly audible eye roll, Kevin muttered, “Who is in charge here?” to no one in particular. A distinct ring cut through the stifling air, signalling that the call was over. 

➳ gryffindor taehyung

part of the BTS X Hogwarts series.
for the other members: click here.
To track Gryffindor!Taehyung, read the #gryffindor!taehyung tag.

Originally posted by bwibelle

it looks like he’s wearing gryffindor colours im dead

Merry Christmas everybody! I had planned a bunch of Christmas themed things for you guys, but as always, I run out of time to write them and I’m the slowest writer in the world- so, I’m really sorry that there could be no real Christmas scenarios or drabbles this year. Next year, however, I do plan on hosting some Christmas drabble games, so, hopefully that is enticing enough for you to stay.

Nonetheless, we’re back with the BTS x Hogwarts series, continuing with no other than Kim Taehyung!

  • Unlike Jimin, the Sorting Hat was fairly fast upon picking Gryffindor for Taehyung
  • Although it was torn between Hufflepuff and Gryffindor, the hat chose the latter and Taehyung was honestly thrilled upon entering the most legendary house
  • He has no real friends in Gryffindor, as he entered as a lone wolf, but he’s one of those kids who makes friends before he’s sitting down after being sorted
  • So it’s no issue, he’s friends with everybody if he can help it
  • I think Taehyung would be one of those students who really wants to prove how worthy he is of being in Gryffindor, so he always works hard in his subjects and is really understanding and supportive towards his housemates in any year
  • First years tend to follow the influence of other students so they’re always too afraid to approach other houses
  • Not Taehyung
  • Taehyung is contagious and everybody in Hogwarts either knows him, is friends with him, or has heard about him. He’s just somebody who unintentionally causes a bit of trouble and can sometimes be the cause of many misunderstandings and disputes, but he’s such a hardworking and loyal student and friend and he’s quick to diffuse any tension if he can
  • Okay, going off into visuals, everybody’s favourite part

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Late Night Snack

Taeyong X Reader

Summary: Late night snacks and heart-to-hearts

Word Count: 1.3K

Genre: Fluff

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Percival Graves x Reader - Rule Four

: Rule Four

Pairing: Percival Graves x Reader

Word Count: 2648

Rating: T

Warnings: None

Sorry for the lack of smut >///< I just wasn’t sure where I would have fit it in with my idea for how to make Percival jealous. I hope you liked it though!!


anon: What’s up! Percival Graves will not get off of my mind and honestly anything about him would be fantastic(beastsandwheretofindthem) haha :)

@thepinupprincesses: Hi! Can I please have a Percival Graves imagine where he gets jealous? Smut isn’t required but greatly accepted.

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Happy Birthday Severeminx!

Please read the tags!! Tagging all OtaBabes!  

Happy birthday my dear lovely vice president @severeminx

“EH! OTABEK!” A loud yell rang through the halls of the Otababe’s offices.

“Yura, keep it down,” a smooth voice said near the blond.

The young Russian jumped, then scowled as his friend smirked back at him.

“I thought you said there was supposed to be a party in here?” Yuri asked, hands shoved into his new red leather jacket.

“There is, but not here. The party is over in the pool house,” Otabek informed his friend. A hand had snaked out and wrapped itself around the smaller waist of the younger man, his cheeks turning the slightest bit pink.

“Oh.. Well let’s over over there then. Has the birthday girl arrived yet?”

“Not yet, she should be here any moment though so we should probably hurry.”

The two wondered through the offices making their way back out. Yuri stopping once to look at a poster on the wall near Jane’s desk. Him dressed in his WTTM outfit, singing into a mic, with the words Unsteady written above. When they got to Phayte’s desk, he slipped the latest edition of Porn on Ice into her desk drawer.

Otabek had already left the vase of a dozen red roses on the birthday girl’s desk. It was why they were even in the offices.

Once they were out, Otabek locked up and they headed across the road to the pool house, where a lot of noise could be heard.

Leo was already working the Dj booth, and Otabek could see his laptop was already set up and ready to go. Seung-gil and Guang Hong were finishing up hanging up fairy lights around area, while Phichit and Chris were stocking the bar. A large selection of wine was already on ice, and ready to go.

Michele and Emil were blowing up water toys, and floating rafts, while Mila and Sara were making sure the rest of the decorations were set. Georgi was helping Victor hang the Happy Birthday sign, as they were tall enough to reach above the patio. Which left Minami and Yuuri manning the grill. The smell was beginning to make Yuri’s mouth water.

“How’s it look Otabek?” JJ asked. He was with Leo at the DJ booth making sure the instruments were ready for the night of rocking out and dancing.

“Looks great Jean. Where’s Bella?”

“She’s making sure all the Otababes are ready,” the Canadian responded.

Just then the doors busted open and a frantic looking woman with blue eyes, mousey brown hair, and a panic expression came in holding a few gifts.

“I’M HERE! Please tell he she hasn’t arrived yet!” 

“Diamond. No, she’s not here. You’re the first,” Otabek said with a small smile.

“Thank the Gods.. I was afraid I was going to be late.”

Yuri helped her take the gifts over to the table Mila and Sara set up for all the presents, and soon the doors opened again to reveal more Otababes as they entered.

After a while, they were all there, then it was just a matter of waiting for the birthday girl herself.


“She’s coming!” Minami said with a squeak. Quickly the room got quiet and the lights were dimmed…

When the door opened a beautiful woman, with black hair, a lovely dress, and wearing her favorite Slytherin sweater comes in.


The whole crowd cheers surprising Minx for her surprise birthday party! 


I got new eyeshadow and eyebrow palettes ✨  Is my natural light brown hair colour cute? I can never decide if it’s ugly or not. People always say mousey hair is gross 😔  Also if anyone creepy dm’s me after I post this I’ll scream

anonymous asked:

hey i love your account and would love to do something similar, however, i have mousey brown hair and have no idea who i could even cosplay as. All help would be much appreciated.


Hermione, Remus, Peter, Neville, Lavender, Hannah Abbott, Seamus, Cedric, Minerva fucking McGonagall, and literally so many more!

I also don’t think hair color should stop you from playing a part. Look at me! I would only be doing the Weasleys if I stuck by canon hair color. 

BOOM! Remus has red hair. 

BOOM! Neville has red hair.


Do whoever you feel comfortable playing, even if they have blonde hair. It’s your beautiful, amazing, magnificent blog and no one gets to tell you how to run it. Tag me in your first post (or message it to me cause sometimes tags don’t show up)!

Good luck out there, comrade.))

anonymous asked:

is stevie naturally blonde or brunette?

Hey anon. Stevie’s hair was light when she was a toddler and it seems to have gotten darker as she grew older. I’d say her natural hair is mousey brown/dirty blond. There are pictures of teenage/very young Stevie with different hair colors, take a look at this post. :)

Sorryyy it's late. Patrick Stump Smut Request.

The boys were on tour and I was feeling terrible, it’s been months since I’ve seen Patrick, we video chat when we can, I send the odd text but it doesn’t stop those ‘needs’. We’ve had fun over the phone but it isn’t like the real thing.
“Hey baby, how are you doing?”
It was so nice to hear his voice again
“I’m okay, I miss you so so so much though… and yeah pretty frustrated sexually”
“That’s it, I’m booking a hotel round the corner and after my signing your coming over! You won’t be able to walk afterwards Miss y/l/n”
My insides started to tingle
“Ok Mr Stump”

Yes, I was so fucking excited.
I went to our bedroom and found his and my favourite underwear. A cute black pair of lacey pants with a bra to match. It constrasted against my skin which is covered with bright, intricate tattoos and my dark hair fell perfectly down my back.
I put on some light make-up and perfume. And just a rain coat and heels with nothing but my underwear underneath.
I grab my car keys and started driving. It was a good 3 hour drive over but I didn’t care if it meant it could touch him again.
I pulled up at the hotel and let the vallet take the car.

After checking my hair and applying lipstick I walked to check-in, it’s actually quite fun wearing nothing but underwear and a coat.

“Hello, um, reservation under Mr P Stump?” I ask tapping on the desk eagerly
“Mr Stump has gone up to the room “This is his girlfriend am I okay to go up?”
“Yeah, he said you were coming ‘y/n’ right? here’s your card”

I ran so fast up those stairs I nearly broke my heels.
I found the room. Ran in and took my coat straight off.
But I couldn’t see Patrick…
There was a knock at the door…
“Hang on, I’m not decent”
I shouted in reply
“Good!” And the door swung open and there he was, his short mousey scruffy hair, covered with a hat and a bottle of champagne in his hands.

I ran up to him so fast, wrapping my arms around his neck and covering him in kisses.
“Hey baby, nice welcome” he grinned at me and put the champagne on the side “I’ve missed you so so much, I love you Mr Stump.”
“I love you too baby, nice outfit by the way, I saw you come into the hotel, very very sexy” he winked and pushed me onto the rose petal covered bed.

He climbed on top of me and kissed me deeply, I allowed his tongue entrance and let out a moan as he bit my lip.
“Oh y/n I have missed this so much”
I couldn’t speak so let out another moan.
He started kissing my neck and biting down, leaving marks and he kissed lower and lower down my body.
He unhooked my bra and started kissing my breasts and sucking my nipple gently biting them.
I was moaning louder and getting wetter and wetter.
And from the tightness of his jeans he was enjoying it too.

“Patrick!” I screamed out
“Yes baby keep screaming my name. I want the rest of the rooms to know who I am! And what I can do to you”

He moved lower down my body and started biting my thighs.
“Please baby, please”
“Not quite yet” as he started rubbing my clit in circles with his tongue, whilst gently pushing two fingers inside of me. Get faster and faster, my stomach felt like it was knotting up, I knew what was coming next.
“Fuck Patrick I’m so close”
“Don’t, not yet. You come when I say you can”
He tooks his fingers out and made me suck them clean.
“Well baby if you’re so good at sucking them lets see what else you can suck”
He undid his jeans and pulled down his underwear.
“And this is what I’ve miss” I said as I sat up and looked him up and down.
“Shh, that mouth is for something else”
I climbed on top of him, kissed down his body and made my way down to his member, I slowly started to rub him up and down, then began licking his hard cock before taking him completely down my throat hollowing my cheeks talking him all in.
All I could hear were profanities followed by my name and then I could taste him as he came down my throat making me swallow all of him.
“Good girl” as he kissed, stood up and lifted me against the way
He slammed himself back inside me speeding up rapidly.
“That’s it y/n, come for me”
My walls tightened around me and I came all over him this sent him off again. We both finished and collapsed on the bed.
“Wow, that was amazing, guess we never needed the champagne”.

The time Teddy Lupin had a crisis

*written when I saw a headcanon* (will try and hyperlink)

Clustered around the shiny wooden table of the Weasley-Potter household, no one saw the ten year old metamorphagus slip from the table as the adults sipped their wine and talked congenially about the war until the man with messy, black hair sat at the head noticed the conspicuous absence of a shock of bright blonde hair.

Harry Potter nodded at his wife and stepped away,placing his glass down on the table with slightly shaky hands. He was confused by the boy’s absence, but he planned to locate the child immediatly.

‘Ted?’ he called, pushing open the door of the living room of his home. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, but there was a conspicuous absence of his god)son. He walked up the stairs to all the rooms, but there was nothing. Attempting to ignore the fear on his heart, he jogged back downstairs and out the glass panelled back door. Harry retrieved a thin wooden wand from the pocket of his robes and muttered an incantation.

The rose bushes lit up, casting soft pools of light on the snow-coated garden. He could just make out a small, skinny figure at the foot of the gnarled apple tree, and he had to restrain himself not to run.

'Teddy?’ he called out, 'Teds?’

The boy ignored him, but he was undeterred. He cleared a patch of snow at his feet and sat down next to the child.

'What’s wrong, Ted?’

The boy looked up at him, and for the first time, Harry saw Teddy with mousey brown hair and tear streaked cheeks.

’M-my p-parents.’ The child stammered, 'I don’t have them a-a-and I might be sort of in your f-family because I can m-make myself look like you but I’m not really l-like anyone b-b -’

'Listen to me,’ Harry says firmly, stopping the tumbril of thoughts pouring into his ears like angry rain.

'Teddy Lupin, I love you, so much. You’re part of my family and always will be; families that you chose are just as important as blood ones.’

Teddy peered up at him.

'Come on.’

The pair went and sat in front of a mirror with a huge book from Aunt Hermione about metamorphagi and photos of Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks, and together, began to settle on Teddy’s usual appearance. According to the book in Harry’s hands, metamorphagi’s entirely natural appearances were decided via genetics, but by the time they were eleven or twelve (coincidentally, roughly Hogwarts age), a usual image could be decided upon and maintained with no effort.

'What colour do you want your hair?’ Harry asked, touching the curly, dull brown locks that made up Teddy’s natural appearance.

'Blue.’ Teddy sounded completely sure, but Harry was taken aback.

'Are you sure?’

'Yes.’ The ten year old was decided, and Harry shrugged.

'Go for it.’

When Teddy came down eventually, Ginny Weasley gave a shriek. The child in front of her sported stunningly turquoise hair that fell fetchingly over the exact heart shaped face of his mother, and he had his father’s strong jawline.

'They’d be proud, Teds.’