How Does One Develop Discipline In The First Place. It Seems Like Discipline Requires Initial Discipline

not that joe keery isn’t a very attractive man but i absolutely love the mythos the fandom has constructed around steve’s beauty like he’s somehow simultaneously the most beautiful creature you’ll ever encounter in your life and just some guy. fic writers become divinely possessed by the muses when describing this guy’s moles. i’ve never felt more secure about my own brown eyes than when i read what people write about steve harrington’s otherworldly beautiful brown eyes. he’s both unobtainable handsome and your boy next door.

"Oh you had a plague? Come back to us when you had a World War, brand new unconventional weapons, and a new international order."

'you still listen to music from 10 years ago 🤨?' bitch if prehistoric humans had audio recording technology id be sat up here listening to grog and unga bunga's greatest hits don't play with me

rainy day

"i'm tired of seeing-" use your filters.

"but there was an icky ship-!" use your filters.

"i don't like that tag-" use your filters.

don't like what you're seeing? use. your. filters.

Wrote this in an ice cream shop

to be honest i got extremely annoyed when i see people express empathy for like. actual police dogs more than brown people because like the police using dogs at all is animal abuse but also the police is relying on people loving dogs to justify why they had to shoot that suspect they were hurting their doggie woggie :( (they kicked the dog away because it was gonna rip out their throat which it was trained to do)

I fuck with EMT Steve. It’s the perfect job for him. He’s used to dealing with out of control patients and high pressure situations. Just give that man training and send him on his way.

Bonus points if Eddie becomes a nurse after being ripped to shreds as he really owes his life to the nurses that kept his heart beating.

Neil Josten coded

✄ 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