Joe And Charlie Recording Charlie’s Little Voice Mail Cameo In The Song (from The Visualizer)

the block button is always free. isn't that wonderful?

there was a well-meaning international student (learning english) in my workspace who came up to me and asked "how is your handsome white boy?" and it took me a few seconds to realize she was not in fact asking about my twink spouse but my white dog

pretend at the chain link that I am the wood

What the media won't show

Art by Essi Välimäki

ethel's cheer team @mothercain

not quite sure if its cannon whether or not ethel cain (the character) was a cheerleader but I love the uniform hayden wears in the American teenager mv and wanted to draw her in a theoretical late 80s American small town cheer squad. Maybe this counts as an au, not quite sure. as a non-american, cheerleading has always felt very alien to me. the idea that you guys actually have girls who jump around with pom poms before football games is very sweet. very highly based on this photo posted by Kimberly booth. no, I don't know her, I just found it on Pinterest and thought the faded-film vibe fit my vision lol

✄ Summary: Sal is in desperate need of a haircut, entrusting his locks into your amateur hands despite you butchering a client earlier that week.

✄ Total Post Word Count: 1.2k ✄ Writing Word Count: 1k

✄ Pairing: Sal Fisher & Aspiring Hairdresser!Reader (GN) (Romantic/Platonic, fully up to interpretation) ✄ Reader: You work at the local salon, you & Sal are both about 16-17, several incidents of you cutting your own hair in the bathroom as a kid (I think a lot of us did that though)

✄ Song Suggestion: The Calm - Steve Gabry (Feel free to loop, just ambiance)

✄ Requests or questions about my writing process, formatting/graphics, & anything else are more than welcome <3

✄ A/N: This was inspired by someone's headcanons I saw about Sal cutting his own hair, but now I can't find it anywhere. If that was you, don't be shy, reveal yourself :] Also this is my first jab of writing Sal (or Larry & Ash, though brief), hopefully I proof-read and edited this enough on my own for it to be good

Some Disclaimers: Do not ever use my stuff for AI, or any sort of data set.

Another snowy, winter evening in Nockfell, Minnesota slips by, spent sat next to a stretched out Sal. Your eyes skim the textbook balanced in his lap, physics, it's like another language to you. Slowly he turns the page, immersed in the texts and diagrams printed neatly inside.

Softly, you interrupt his focus, "do you think they'll ever stop arguing?"

Snapping out of his thoughts, his head raises, "Hm? What's happening?"

"Listen." You nod, smiling as you look over to Larry and Ash, a thick black bun piled on top of his head and her reddish-brown hair draped over her shoulders.

"-but charcoal is so much more fun." Ashley grumps, a thin vine-like stick you bought for her birthday clasped in her fingers.

Friendly, Larry quips back, "I'm telling you, graphite is much easier to control, charcoal gets everywhere!" His gestures mimic an explosion, a pencil caught in his hand.

Nearly silent, Sal's raspy voice whispers back, "I see what you mean now."

Shifting, you duck your head closer to his ear, "they've been at it for at least an hour now."

Quiet, he mutters, "They like art a lot more than I do."

You pick at the stray threads wisping from the hole in your jeans, "True, you're much more of a mathematician than the rest of us," you concede, tapping the thick textbook in his lap, "…besides Todd."

"How is that physics class going?" you ask, watching his head move away from your gaze, looking instead to the CD player. Sanity Falls quietly seeps from it- well, as quiet as Sanity Falls can be.

A soft sigh collides against his prosthetic, "It's good, just time consuming," he slumps further into the bean bag, "how's your job at the salon?"

You wince, reflecting on the day before, "…Messy. I butchered someones hair yesterday…"

He hesitates a second, before mumbling, "…ouch"

"yeah…" grimacing, your mind wanders off to the blunt layers and too much hair littering the floor. The cold slowed your hands, between that and your scattered mind… well someone walked out unhappy.

Sal's eyes focus on the pair on the other side of the room, watching their hands curve as lines smooth onto the paper. You may not be able to see his face, but you can tell there's something on his mind.

"…Do you want to practice on mine…?" he offers, bright cyan eyes staring, questioning.

You start to protest, your eyes widening at the trust he offers, "No I couldn't-"

He interrupts, steady in tone, "It's fine, already a mess anyways." His pale hand runs through the shaggy blue mess, overgrown and choppy.

Hesitating, you watch the uneven blue waves settle, "…are you sure?"

"Yeah." His response is simple, firm.

A lull in the conversation follows as you mull over the choice: risk your freinds hair, and improve your skill, or leave it be?

You and Sal may have met in a rather unconventional way, (a burning wig and ringing fire alarm were involved) but you two still get along unusually well. Maybe it's something to do with his desire for styled hair and your need of practice.

"Do you think they'll notice if we leave?" you ask, suddenly twice as nervous as before.

His eyes glitter with humor, "in an hour, sure."

Laughter bubbles in your chest, a happy glow greeting Sal's eyes as he sets his textbook aside. Roaring laughter from Larry bursts the quiet bubble you've had with Sal for the last few minutes, the both of you freezing your struggle from the bean bag.

Breaking the pause, he quips, "better now than never."

Your keys jingle in the lock as it finally loosens, the door swinging open as Sal stands behind you, silent as ever. Green carpet and neutral walls greet your eyes, decorated with family pictures and a colorful rug.

Following you closely behind, his eyes survey the empty apartment, "your parents aren't home?"

"They're busy tonight," you reply, striding to the kitchen, tossing your keys onto the counter with a loud clatter, "do you want something to drink?"

"No, thank you." he replies, as you shuffle through the fridge. Dissatisfied with what you find, you shut the creaking door with a sigh.

"well, then to the chair with you" you gesture towards the small dining table cramped against the far wall, humor laced in your tone.

The chair squeaks as he pulls it from the table, watching you duck into the bright bathroom just off the living room. Folding his arms, he settles his head onto the cold surface, watching a tiny carpet beetle creep across the marbled vinyl as he waits.

It's not long before you flop down into the chair beside him, setting down a black, plastic box filled with your hair tools. Combs, scissors, shears… you're pretty sure you have a curling iron somewhere.

"So… what do you want done?" you start, eyes lifting to the spotless mask that adorns his face- well except the purple-ish pink section across his left side.

"uh… whatever works best…?"

You stand, his gaze following your movements. Yours on the other hand are more concerned about his choppy layers, adjusting his gaze forward and down.

"hm…" you hum anxiously, fingers brushing the straps holding his mask in place, "can this come off?"

Relief floods your veins as his hands reach up, working the clasps loose. A glimpse of exposed sinew reflects in your eyes as he sets it onto the table, his hands resting on his knees.

Slowly, blue hair floats and collects on the ground, minutes ticking by as you work, your hands warm and mind clear. Finally, you finish, guiding him to your bathroom and trying not to run him into every wall on the way there. Your hands rest on his shoulders, the both of your expressions reflected in the mirror.

"You can open your eyes now." You say, tapping the fraying burgundy of his shirt sleeve. His eyes crack open, jaw popping wide as he leans forward to inspect your handiwork. Your hands slip from his shoulders, pride gleaming in your smile.

He turns to you, disbelief across his expression, "I don't believe you butchered that clients hair at all."

You just smile, a bit cheeky. Many mannequins, and incidents when you were five, desiring new bangs, led to this skill of yours- though Sal's bangs are much more impressive than the ones you did when you were five.

BOOO, Surprise. Have a fav piece of artwork I found. Thanks for reading till the end <3

The Pope, desperate to avoid ever interacting with JD Vance again, went to the one place the Vice President couldn't follow: heaven.

what I think will happen if I message my mutuals

i think one of the biggest misconceptions about the story narrated in preacher’s daughter is that isaiah cannibalizes ethel as an act of love.

there is nothing romantic about it. isaiah is sadistic and manipulative, and ethel falls right into his trap. the warm and idyllic love describe in “thoroughfare” is nothing but ethel’s romanticization of her own abduction.

isaiah knows how to play this game very well. he’s practiced. he knows exactly what he is he doing and he picks ethel because she is vulnerable, alone and needs a place to stay, someone to trust. and in fact, she does trust him.

ethel feels bliss in this reality he offers her because it’s been so long since she last felt a sentiment even remotely similar to love. he tells her to be happy and grateful, so she is. (“I'm happier here 'cause he told me I should be”)

he has done this plenty of times. hayden basically confirms it in the demo of “strangers”, when she says “when you chewed me up and shit me out like every bitch you’re done with”. his plan was always to kill ethel. he drugged her and pimped her and when she was starting to become hard to handle, he killed her and ate her.

there was nothing loving about isaiah eating ethel.

he ate her because he was hungry.

┃preacher’s daughter - ethel cain