peroxide blonde


Blonde Dave Grohl

Dave’s mom: Well, I remember one phase, he peroxided his hair and let it grow halfway down his back (shows a photo).

Dave: Cause that was cool, mom!

Dave’s mom: Nobody else had that.

Dave: Yeah, that’s right. That’s why it was cool. Mine! I owned my bad dye job.


[[ Request: imagine where you’re opie’s old lady and one of his ex’s became a croweater and won’t leave him alone so you beat her ass ]]

“I’m so sick of seeing her scrawny ass prancing around here.” 

You and Gemma looked on at the skinny peroxide-blonde stumbling around the clubhouse. A skin-tight dress clung to her body for dear life, and she could hardly walk in the sky high heels she was wearing. She thought she looked great, but she looked like a mess. Then again, you weren’t exactly being objective about it. That skinny blonde just so happened to be your old man’s ex who had become a croweater for the sole purpose of making your life a living hell. At least, that’s what you had always assumed. She never seemed to leave the clubhouse. She constantly hung around, drank, and made an ass of herself. Oh, and she liked to hang all over your old man whenever the opportunity presented itself. She couldn’t seem to let go of the fact that she was no longer Opie’s old lady. You had taken that title, and after two years, she still hadn’t gotten it through her thick, dumb skull.

“You need to take care of that, baby,” Gemma told you, a stern look on her face. “Need to put blondie in her place.”

You sighed and watched as blondie pranced her way over to the bar. “Yeah. I know.” 


“That little tart is back,” Gemma said, walking up to you as you were restocking the bar at TM. 

There was a party tonight, so of course you expected the blonde idiot to show up there, but it was only two in the afternoon. She had no business being at the clubhouse at all, and she was really starting to piss you off. 

You sighed in annoyance and placed another bottle of Scottish whisky on the shelf. “That bitch is really testing my patience.”

Gemma crossed her arms over her chest and smirked at you in amusement. “I told you how I’d handle it, sweetheart.”

You looked over your shoulder as the blonde tip-toed towards the back of the clubhouse, heading directly towards Opie’s room. He wasn’t there. The guys were out on a run and wouldn’t be back until right before the party. But the fact that she thought she could just go back there, especially now that you were Opie’s old lady, just rubbed you the wrong way.  She had been at the clubhouse every day for the past two weeks, her nose practically shoved up Opie’s ass. She had been glaring at you any time she got the chance. If looks could kill, you would have dropped dead after the first day. Unfortunately for her, you were beginning to run out of patience. You had just about had enough of her bullshit, and you were tired of playing nice. She was going to step on your final nerve soon, and there was no telling what you might do.


“Opie, I swear to God, if she shows up tonight - ”

“I’m sure she won’t, babe.” Opie took your hand and pulled you towards him. He pulled you down into his lap. “She’s just trying to get a rise out of you. Ignore her.”

“Kind of hard to,” you said through gritted teeth. “She’s always at the fucking clubhouse.”

Opie sighed loudly. “Want me to say something to her again?” 

“No.” You stood from his lap. “I can handle it, baby.” You placed a kiss on the end of his nose and smiled devilishly. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 


You walked back towards the bar where your old man was waiting for you. Just as he came into sight, you saw that familiar head full of fake blonde hair, and you felt a wave of anger course through your body. You stopped and watched as she made her way over to your old man, her body barely clothed in yet another too-tight strapless dress. She reeked of desperation. You could smell it all the way across the room. You continued your walk towards the bar. You were a few feet away when you saw her throw an arm around your old man’s shoulder’s and try to slide into his lap. Opie pushed her off, and you could see that he was saying something to her, his eyebrows knit and his face looking angry. But it didn’t matter. It was too late for her. You had had enough. You were tired of seeing her slink around the clubhouse, and you were determined to put an end to it.

“You stupid blonde bitch,” you snarled, stomping up behind her and Opie. Before she knew what was happening, you had grabbed a fistful of her dyed blonde hair. You pulled hard, dragging the surprised croweater away from your old man and down to the floor. She fell hard, squirming and slapping in an effort to be freed. “You think you can keep doing this shit and nothing will happen?” You dug the toe of your boot into her ribs. “I’m tired of seeing your desperate ass hanging around here.” You let go of her hair with a forceful push. Her head hit the wood floor of the clubhouse with a loud thud.

By now, you had caught the attention of nearly everyone in the clubhouse. You stepped back and stared down at her for a few moments before you began to walk off, thinking you had finally scared her off once and for all. Opie stood from the bar, his eyes wide, but he looked amused. 

“Shit!” You could hear Jax yelling as he made his way over to the bar, but you could hardly tell what he was saying. You looked back up to see Opie and his ex yelling at each other, hands shaking and voices getting louder by the second. You crossed towards them. The bitch wasn’t taking the hint, and you were seeing red. Before anyone could stop you, you had buried your fist in the blonde’s face, colliding with her nose and causing blood to pour out immediately. 

Opie’s mouth opened in shock. Jax stood back and stared, his blue eyes now huge.

“Shit,” Opie mumbled. He looked mildly impressed.

She grabbed her nose, her eyes wide. “You bitch!” she screamed, blood now covering her hands. “You broke my nose!” 

You stared hard at her, eyes low and full of rage. “Get out,” you growled, “And don’t you ever fucking come back.” She must have known just how serious you were, because she didn’t protest. She turned, heading for the exit of the clubhouse, hand still clutching her bleeding nose. 

“Well, shit,” Gemma crowed from behind you, a hint of amusement in her voice. Opie and Jax stood to the side, shocked looks on both of their faces. “Glad you finally took my advice, baby.” Gemma walked over and gently grabbed your chin. She turned your face from side to side. “Not a scratch.” She placed her hands on her hips and smirked at you triumphantly. “That’s my girl.” She winked at you. “Now you really are an Old Lady.” 

You turned back to your old man, whose mouth was now closed and spread into a playful smirk. “Damn, babe.” He took a deep breath and wrapped an arm around you. “You weren’t lyin’ when you said you were going to handle it.” 

You shrugged and smirked up at Opie. “I warned you, didn’t I?”

Opie laughed and shook his head at you. “I guess you did, babe.” He picked you up and slung you over his shoulder. “Come on, slugger. You can take the rest of that pent-up aggression out on me.”


these were going to be for a lady penelope paper doll but i’m no longer entirely fond of the way i drew her. i’ll hold onto the files though, but just in case i never get around to completing that project, here is some stuff!

pink lacy underwear (and an alt peroxide blonde pink ombre hair colour), an outfit inspired by her red ‘socialite’ costume, and a reworked version of her ‘action girl’ costume, with a bit more 2004 pink flair.


Persephone exists.
She appears out of smoke and supernovas one day, peroxide-blonde and soft.
Persephone exists. She has a smile like burning paper and a laugh like shaking earth.
Persephone exists. She has a voice like city sound.
She misses her kingdom, a whole world away.
The agents on floor twenty-eight call her ‘quiet’.
Everybody knows it’s just another word for pretentious. Or uppity.
Don’t they know it’s bad form to insult a goddess?
Strange creatures will do bad things to little girls who can’t learn their place.
They say it to scare her into submission, but she howls with a wolf heart, always bigger than they imagine her to be.
Wolves have sharp teeth. Wolves run hungry. Wolves are not dogs – they do not take well to being bound.
She is trying to learn from them.
Persephone exists. She drowns herself in coffee and crashes through glass ceilings. Persephone doesn’t care who she cuts on the way down.
Persephone’s real name is Rose Tyler and Rose Tyler has fistfuls of darkness in her heart, and she clings to that, because she knows that sometimes, change only comes when you’re willing to sink your teeth into something dirty.
She’s willing to drown herself in the filth until she finds her way home – she promised a god as much of her forever as she could grant him, and she refuses to squander the rest of her life in a place where the flowers look like zeppelins.
What does she do when the cracks are all sewn shut?
(she waits.)
She’ll wait forever if she has to.
When the stars go out, a wolf howls hope into her chest.
It’s the first time they glimpse something of the girl she used to be, before she came here – a little girl with flower eyes, laughing bliss in her mother’s field. She strides her first parallel while the zeppelin-lined sky falls to darkness.
She sees things she has no business seeing. Does things she has no business doing.
Hope is a deadly thing – it turns you vulnerable with possibilities.
Persephone is dying to go home.
Persephone dies to go home.
She is reborn on an empty street in the middle of the Apocalypse. There’s a man across the way who she’d like to kiss senseless.
Persephone would run across a thousand universes for the chance to touch wild hearts, and she wouldn’t have missed him –
not for the world.
—  to touch a wild heart | his-braveheart

Q: What in a woman you pay attention to?

Ville: I always notice long hair that’s in a good shape, angel curls. I don’t like hydrogen peroxide blondes. In some level I’m also a shoe fetishist. If the most beautiful woman in the world had awful shoes, it’d be a major turn-off. And it bothers me if a woman can’t walk naturally. The voice is also very important. The catwalk people and a face in a magazine don’t necessarily impress me. You can’t build a relationship only on physical qualities.  - Ville Valo

—  Ville Valo