#that's jo harvelle btw

[mrcowboydeanwinchester]

oh god, you're in my kitchen/it's been so long, don't we look different

(close one - FIZZ) jo is resurrected in 2016 and her and dean get sloppy drunk late at night in the bunker kitchen.......

[420technoblazeit]

jo and dean's dynamic is so interesting to me because their development kind of goes in opposite directions. dean meets jo when he still buys into the narrative that hunters are heroes, that their dad did the right thing raising his kids in the life. and as the series goes on and he meets other hunters like gordon and processes his trauma he begins to realize that hunting eats you up. that being a hunter means watching your friends and family drop dead until one day you do too. and going out in a blaze of glory isn't something to hope for

but jo doesn't have that arc. she's an echo of dean, a younger version of him who can't wait to get out there and start hunting. she's restless and desperate to prove herself and tired of sitting on the sidelines. nevermind that the father she idolizes died on a hunt. nevermind that ellen's worst fear is that she has the same fate. and when she does die and dean survives he has to live with the knowledge that he went behind ellen's back and encouraged her to keep hunting. that he could've pushed her away from the life that killed her and he didn't

[deer-motif]

jo harvelle pride icons 💕

I heard that today was Jo’s birthday! to celebrate, I decided to make some simple edits of headcanons I’ve seen regarding Jo’s sexuality and gender! happy birthday Jo!!

[iwantnonfiction]

jobela jennifer's body au. doesn't end like the movie and they go on a cross country murderous road trip together. 

[godsprettiestprincess]

In my mind Jo would actually make a better Lucifer vessel than a Michael one (young blonde rebellious daughter) but does that stop him from constantly bringing it up in reference to how stubborn she (and Dean and Adam) is? No.

[c1eepypas1a]

C1eepypas1a's masterlist №¹:

(a/n: my first ever masterlist!!!, fluff/smut/angst/dark, I do it all just ask ❤️❤️❤️)

Supernatural:

Dean Winchester:

Sam Winchester:

None yet xo

Castiel:

None yet xo

Charlie Bradbury:

None yet xo

Jo harvelle:

None yet xo

Claire Novak:

None yet xo

Rowena:

None yet xo

Gabriel:

None yet xo

Michael:

None yet xo

Lucifer:

None yet xo

The vampire diaries:

Elena Gilbert:

None yet xo

Jeremy Gilbert:

None yet xo

Damon Salvatore:

None yet xo

Teen wolf:

Scott McCall:

None yet xo

Stiles stillinski:

None yet xo

Jackson Whittemore:

None yet xo

Lydia Martin:

None yet xo

Kira Yukimura:

None yet xo

Liam Dunbar:

None yet xo

Theo raeken:

None yet xo

YouTube people/influencers?

(a/n: I write for male/female, I could try non-binary and I do write for trans people!!!, also I will be posting all my fanfics on Wattpad!!)

[mrs-padalecki2341]

Spn Ladies!!!!!

Okay, so there's this blog I really, really like called @bluelikesad and I love their art sm, and they have this one series called "Spn Ladies" that they're doing and I noticed there's no masterpost for it so I decided to make one for them a. so they have it and b. because I love the series and want it on my blog bc it's so good lol. I will update this as they post more to the series ig. All credit goes to Blue for the art <3.

Update: Okay, so I got an anon message saying that it's rude to do this even if you include the artist because it still brings less exposure for the artist, so since I will be removing the pictures for this post for that reason, just go to Blue's blog, and search the tag "#spn ladies" and you will see all the posts for it. Anyways thank you to anon for mentioning this, I didn't even really think about that, and I want Blue to get their full credit and exposure they deserve so thanks! And you weren't being a bitch by saying this btw.

Update #2: I figured out recently how to make links to posts (hence my masterlist) so Imma add the links to Blue's art. Once again, love your art gurlieee!!! (idk if that's your pronouns but I call everyone gurlie and gurl)

Cassie Robinson <3

Anna the angel <3

Joanna Harvelle <3

Rowena McLeod <3

Donna Hanscum <3

Meg Masters <3

Meg 2.0 <3

Ambriel the angel <3

Jessica Moore <3

Chrissy Chambers <3

Eileen Leahy <3

Amara The Darkness <3

Carmen Porter <3

Bela Talbot <3, Bela Again <3

Claire Novak <3, Claire Again <3

Kaia Nieves <3

Lily Sunder <3

Harper Sayles <3

Sister Jo (Anael the angel) <3

[sanguinewolves]

ok tumblr is trying to tell me my updated pfp description is too long for my bio (which is BULLSHIT btw i was able to put it in my bio on my other acc 🙄) so im just putting it here

[pfp id: a smiling emoji with a mouth that reaches up to wrap around its eyes. It has a purple wizard hat on and the trans flag edited over it. troy and abed are high-fiving in the bottom left. there are 8 pictures of gerard way and 1 of troy barnes strewn about. black text reads “in the face of extermination say FUCK YOU”. a blue and green gay flag is in the upper right, with a dinosaur and “MEN” in flaming text edited onto it. there are 2 pictures of dean winchester in the bottom left, one in the top left, and one in the top right, and two of castiel in the top left and one in the top right. there are three pictures of jack kline: one near the center; one in the bottom left, only half his face visible; and one in the center bottom, a trans flag edited onto his cheek. there’s a picture of annie edison in the top left, and one of charlie bradbury in the bottom right. there's a picture of crowley from good omens in the top left, and one of aziraphale in the top right. there’s a picture of sue sylvester in the middle right, and one of britta perry nearby. there’s a picture of jo harvelle in the center bottom, along with one of laura jane grace in the center bottom. there’s a picture of claire novak in the center top. there are 5 gilbert baker pride flags strewn about. there’s a screenshot of a discord message from me in the bottom right, reading "im a men im allowed to have men moments" in all caps. end id.]

[missourielephant]

Valentine’s Day AU Part 2

Laurel/Joanna de la Vega: Laurel’s the DA and Joanna is big time corporate lawyer, raking in the big bucks. Thea agrees to watch their daughter Sin while Laurel and Joanna go out to Star City’s top restaurant (Thea helped get them the reservation, the Queen name still opens doors), they even get a private corner of the restaurant. Then Malcolm Merlyn and his remaining goons show up, turns out he blames Laurel for Tommy’s death and for Thea hating him (neither of which could be his fault, noooo). Joanna deals with his goons (she’s dating the Black Canary, of course she can fight) while Laurel attacks him and finally gets the better of him (she’s the Black damn Canary and he’s nowhere near as good as he thinks he is), and then does what Oliver kept refusing to do and just chops his head off. The press has a field day, the DA killing the city’s worse mass murderer makes her even more popular, and the restaurant gets some good publicity as the place where he died. Joanna thinks Laurel killing the man who murdered the people they tried to help and destroyed their old place of business is the best Valentine’s Day present ever. Laurel thinks the best gift is Joanna’s method of showing her...appreciation. Nyssa and Sara meanwhile are annoyed, each of them wanted to give the other Malcolm’s head. Thea doesn’t mind, she knows who her REAL father is, Malcolm is nothing to her.

Laurel/Dean: Their Valentine’s Day...isn’t. They couldn’t get anyone to watch Sin, Timmy, and Grace (Thea has plans with Roy, Sam with Eileen, Sara with Nyssa, Charlie with Jo [Harvelle, not Joanna] and that’s all the people Dean trusts with his kids). With no babysitter, it’s just another day. Dean spends the day doing laundry, cleaning the house, finally fixing the water pressure in the shower, and of course watching their young daughter. When Sin and Timmy come home hipped up on sugar from all the candy they ate at school during Valentine’s Day parties, he settles them down and makes sure they still do their homework.

Laurel works late, first in the courts to put someone away, and then in the office making sure the evidence is rock solid, and that everything for next case is ready. She gets home exhausted and he has pizza waiting and makes sure the kids hug her. She quickly eats, kisses them goodnight then goes out as Black Canary, and naturally Cupid shows up to make this day longer and more difficult. She gets home late, and he’s waiting for her. They gently make love, and as she lies with him after, she tells him how much she loves him, how happy she is that this is her life. He visibly struggles before simply saying “Ditto.” She just chuckles, and they go to sleep content.

That’s how you show your love to your soulmate when you’re already married and have kids. It’s cleaning up the house, taking care of the kids, and making sure there’s food on the table when your wife gets home late. It’s working late to ensure you have a house and food. It’s making the world safer for your children, in the courts and then risking your life on the streets. It’s staying up for your wife until she gets home. It’s knowing that your husband loves you, and not needing him to say it. It’s all these things, and that’s enough.

Sin, Timmy, and Grace are Dean and Laurel’s children in Becks_Rylynn’s where you are wanted verse.

[freakwiththeknifecollection]

Growing up with adhd/autism is constantly fluctuating between being too much and not enough for people like. Okay people have told me I'm annoying when I talk too much. But how much is too much? Because my normal is "too much" apparently. I'm just not going to talk at all and let them set the pace. Okay now everyone's saying "you're so quiet". Now I'm the weird quiet one who never talks. Fuck. But now how do I strike up a conversation? It's been too long without talking to them to get to know each other. I'm just going to wait for them to talk to me and then I can ask questions from there. Yay! They're asking me about myself! Wait. I said something wrong and they're not talking to me anymore. Fuck. *new person comes along* Okay. Don't talk too much and also don't talk too little and don't reveal too much about yourself because they'll think you're weird and stop talking to you and also-

[roublardise]

hii!! i'm starting a redbubble for my visual art, which is mainly flowers photography and (coming soonish) flowers photography with poetry! 🌼💐 it's for little decorative cards, but it works very well on notebooks as well

i'll add things to it over time but you can already check it out ⬇️⬇️

[mrcowboydeanwinchester]

🧡 The Past and Pending 🐎

jo & young claire fic - 4.7k - rating: G - canon compliant - read on ao3

Jo watches the family hold hands over her shitty bar food and close their eyes in grace, in prayer. Even when they’re all hungry they take the moment to thank their god for their meal. Claire looks like a little blonde angel as she mouths along to her father’s amen. Jo supposes she once looked like that, too.

16th May, 2004. Nine years to the day since Jo's father's death, she is nineteen and working her usual shift in the Roadhouse bar. The Novak family stop by during a summer storm as they travel through the state, and Jo has the chance to bond with a seven year old Claire over horses, their love for their fathers, and leather jackets.

written for my 2024 jo's joyous birthday celebrations!! prompts were orange, horse girl, and leather jacket, which were fun to weave in. enjoy <3

read below the cut!

16th May 2004.

It’s been a slow day at the Roadhouse, the tepid May heat turning beers warm but the bouts of summer rain keeping Jo from her usual restless walks outside. The bar is gloomy and a little stifling and it’s nine years to the day since the death of her father. 

By the evening Jo is working the bar, in view of the entrance. Every time the door scrapes open and the creaky floorboard goes, she is hit with one of two alternating images. The first is her father, home from his hunt, leather jacket fitted on his solid body with a smile on his face. His arms are spread wide waiting for her hug. Each time it is not him, she is forced to remember how his leather jacket is hanging emptily from a hook behind the bar and that every time she pictures his face she gets it a little more wrong.

The second image is of Uncle Bobby, hunched and sad, his grief silhouetted in the doorway light as he brings the sorry news. Her dad’s leather jacket in his hands, all that was left of him. What news does he bring this time? How many dead? The first image fills her with sorrow, the second with fear, both memories rising to the surface on the anniversary like crumbs in beer.

Jo mindlessly wipes down the bar, any tears that land on the countertop instantly disappearing beneath the cloth. It’s just one of those days. Ellen is in the back, unpacking the delivery that came in the morning, also quieter than usual. At least they’re not screaming at each other. That’s something. 

The front door scrapes the floor as it swings open and Jo is called back to the present. She brushes her eyes once with the back of her hand, the one holding the rag, as if she’s only wiping sweat from her forehead. When she turns to face the new customers Jo knows no one will be able to tell she was crying. She’s good at things like that. 

“Heya, what can I get for you?” she calls over the bar, and then instantly sighs as she sees the newcomers. Neither of the images in her head have materialized, but a third, more frustrating one has: civilians. 

A man and a woman, married, but still fairly young, hover uncertainly in the doorway. The wife’s hair is that uninteresting midway between blonde and brunette, cut sensibly to her shoulders but clearly styled. The husband’s hair is much darker and would probably curl if not for his serious and slick side parting. The first thing Jo notices about them is their hair because this is the most immediately interesting thing about them; other than that, they look incredibly boring. Normal. 

Then, from behind the man’s legs, peers a young girl. A child with a sweet tangerine gingham dress and curious eyes, maybe seven or so. Jo watches the girl take in the Roadhouse, with its burly, surly hunters hunched uninvitingly over tables marked with the questionable stains from fights and alcohol which make every surface slightly sticky. 

The husband is shaking his head, gesturing round at the bar with a displeased hand. “We should go,” Jo catches him saying, “this isn’t our kind of establishment.”

Jo is too used to this happening to be offended. Besides, she always thinks why cater to civilians anyway, when they’re a hunter bar first and foremost?

But the wife stands her ground. “She needs to eat, Jimmy. We all need a break, we’ve been driving for so long. And the sooner we get home, the sooner we outrun that storm.” 

Jimmy sighs, then nods. The trio shuffle awkwardly towards the bar, the child nervous at her father’s heels. She’s very blonde, as blonde as Jo. 

“I know we look like it, but we don’t bite,” Jo says, mainly to the girl. She earns the trace of a smile for her troubles.

Jimmy has the decency to look a little regretful. “I’m sorry, it’s been a… long drive. We haven’t had to travel quite this far before.”

“Well, that’s what the Roadhouse is here for. What can I get you?”

The options are limited, so it doesn’t take long for the family to decide on burgers, fries, and juices all round. Jo manages to keep her face straight at the drinks order. Most of the Roadhouse clientele would drink the rainwater outside rather than order fruit juice. If it wasn’t obvious enough already, the glimmer of evening light making its way through the window catches on the cross pendant visible through the open top button of Jimmy’s collar, and confirms the family’s faith. 

They go and find a table, choosing one by the window, to sit and drink their juices at. Jo sets about sorting the rest of their order, pottering about between the kitchen and the bar to serve it all up. 

She’s halfway through plating the fries when movement catches the corner of her eye and she spins to see the young girl clambering up one of the high stools at the bar, the seat teetering a little under her weight.

“Hey,” Jo says, maybe a little meanly. Mostly caught by surprise. “What are you doing?”

The girl’s face falls into a round, guilty oh as she finally settles, kneeling, on the seat. “I just wanted to see what was behind.”

Jo nods, calming now that her initial panic at the girl’s movement has subsided. “That’s fine, just make sure you’re careful up there, alright? It’s a tall seat and you’re a—a small little body.”

“One day I’m going to be bigger and every seat in my house is going to be a tall seat,” the girl decides with a jut of her chin. 

The comment hits Jo at such an angle it cracks her, and she barks out a laugh. “Sounds like a plan, kiddo. What’s your name?”

“Claire,” she answers. Then, with the precision of a child who has had politeness strongly instilled in her, asks, “and what’s yours?”

“Jo.”

“I thought that was a boy’s name.”

“It is,” Jo says. She gets a familiar burst of pride with it, but it feels awkwardly shallow with Claire looking up at her, so she follows with, “but it’s a girl’s name too. My full name is Joanna-Beth.”

Claire breathes a little woah . “That’s such a pretty name.”

“Huh. Um, thanks,” Jo manages. She’s never liked it, the way her mom only uses it in anger, the way her dad never used it. Joanna-Beth is someone else. Joanna-Beth is a bad daughter. Claire, though, doesn’t know any of that. 

As Jo’s cheeks tinge pink, Claire’s mom comes hastening over, ready to lift Claire down from the bar stool and back to the table. 

“Is she distracting you? I’m so sorry. Claire, love, come on—”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Jo placates earnestly. “I really don’t mind it. I was enjoying our chat.”

Claire beams at her. “So was I, mommy.”

Claire’s mom looks between the two of them—Jo wonders what goes on in her head as she does, two such naive-looking girls set against the backdrop of the Roadhouse—and then nods. “Well, you just give me or Jimmy a shout if you need a hand.”

“Thanks. I’m not great with kids, so I might need to,” Jo answers with a smile. It’s the truth; she’s never had much practice.

The woman raises a doubtful eyebrow. “Well, you seem to be doing a good job so far.”

Jo nods, unsure what to do with the praise. 

“I’m Amelia, if you need me,” supplies Amelia instead.

“I’m Jo.”

“It’s short for Joanna-Beth,” Claire pipes up, the awe still palpable in her voice. 

Amelia laughs, nodding, and runs a hand through Claire’s sleek pigtails. “Pretty name,” she tells Jo, before heading back to her husband at the table. 

It’s the complement of the hour, it seems. Jo nods again, head bobbing unassuredly like one of the lame figures in Ash’s room, as she gets back to plating up the meals under Claire’s careful surveillance. 

“You’ve got horses on your butt,” Claire says after ten full seconds of silence. 

“What? Oh,” Jo laughs, turning in vain to glance at the horses embroidered over the back pockets of her jeans. She found them in the thrift store in town. They weren’t cheap, the horses stitched in mid-gallop over the pockets boosting the price considerably. But it’d felt wrong to leave the horses trapped in the sterile light of the thrift store. They deserve some warm lighting, Jo’d thought, where they can complete their run for freedom when no one is looking. The jeans are just a tad too small, so the plushy middle of her stomach bulges over them slightly, but she tries not to mind it. Anything for the horses.

“Do you like them?” she asks, wiggling her butt a little, much to Claire’s delight. 

Jo normally keeps her movements minimal, behind the bar, knowing how hunters’ eyes glue grossly to all the places she’d least like them look. She often feels like somewhat of a dancing monkey because of it, but here it’s an innocent movement with no repercussions other than Claire’s laughter.

“They’re so fun. I wish my dress had horses on like yours,” Claire says with a plaintive sigh which sounds amusingly beyond her years. 

“You like horses?” 

Claire nods eagerly. “For my next birthday mommy says I can have a riding lesson.”

“Woah! That’s so cool!” Jo says, and she’s genuinely quite excited at the idea. “I’m jealous, I wish I could ride. Then I could saddle up and go wherever I wanted all by myself.” California, she’d decided sometime long ago. Or maybe Arizona. Just somewhere west of this wasteland.

“I’ll come back and teach you once I know,” Claire answers, so earnestly Jo knows she fully believes it. 

Somehow, she can see it: Claire with her little arms crossed staring up at Jo perched precariously on a horse, calling instructions up to her. “I’d like that,” she says with a grin. “Where will you ride to, once you can ride absolutely anywhere?”

Claire considers the question deeply, the cogs whirring away visibly behind her eyes. “Well, I’d have to teach daddy and mommy how to ride too. I don’t want to go anywhere without them. But then I don’t mind.”

Jo hums. It’s a cute image, the three of them as one family riding off into the sunset. Not lost, because they’re together. It feels distant, familiar in the way the memories of a dream are; foreign. Whenever she has those fantasies of riding away now, she’s alone. She supposes that wasn’t always the case.  

“That sounds real lovely,” she finally gets out, staring down at the burger she has started stacking. She hadn’t really realized she was doing it, just running on automatic. Thinking of her father and running on automatic, the story of her life since she lost what Claire still has. 

But Claire’s concentration has dwindled and she wriggles in her seat. “Are you going to be done soon? I’m starving .” 

“Hey, you’re the one distracting me!” Jo rebuts, shaking her head clear with an exaggerated sigh for Claire’s benefit. “But tell you what, I have an idea to help you grow bigger so you can always sit on the tall seats.”

“What?” Claire asks, perking back up with excitement. 

Jo hunkers down to Claire’s level on the bar, resting her chin on her arms so they’re completely eye to eye. “If you help me carry the food to your table it’ll be like lifting weights and then you’ll get big and strong,” she says, voice low like she’s letting Claire in on a secret.

“You mean it’s ready?”

Jo pulls away with a roll of her eyes and fishes the basket of burger and fries from the countertop to present them on the bar. Impatiently, Claire reaches out to grab one, but Jo bats gently her hands away. 

“Hey, kiddo, gotta get down from the seat first.”

“I can do it myself!” Claire protests. 

But still, she doesn’t struggle as Jo comes around from behind the bar and helps lift her to the floor, Claire steadying herself against Jo’s arms. Once her feet have touched the floor, she prods at Jo’s toned tricep again with a podgy finger. 

“Your arm isn’t soft,” she points out, rather frankly. 

Jo gives her arm a squeeze in the same place Claire just did, to feel for herself. She always thinks she is too soft, too willowy; china doll in a bull farm. So although she trains as much as she can, shooting with her bow and arrow in the yard and sparring with the other hunters when they pass through, it never feels like enough. At least Claire thinks differently. 

“It’s because it’s all muscles,” she explains. She give the smooth, plushy skin of Claire’s arm a gentle poke in return. “See, you just haven’t got any yet.”

Claire frowns as she squints down at the difference between them. “I didn’t think girls could have muscles.”

Sometimes Jo looks at herself in the mirror and wishes she’d never trained at all. That she looked like all the other girls her age. Even like Claire. Here she is, jealous of a seven year old, yet knowing that this world of comparison is what Claire will inevitably grow into. Distantly and regrettably, she reminds herself of her mother.

“All girls can have muscle if they want to, and train enough,” she says, trying to keep her words on an even keel. It feels important. But she attempts to imagine little Claire in her gingham dress with muscly arms and fails. 

Claire giggles, gorgeously oblivious as she jabs at Jo’s arm again. “None of the girls at school or Sunday school are like you, Jo.”

Her throat gets a little dry. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Just a thing,” Claire notes absently, before taking the basket of greasy food from Jo’s distracted hand and sauntering over to her family with it clutched tightly in her fists. She hands it straight to her dad, who runs an affectionate hand over his daughter’s head.

“Thank you, sweetheart, this looks very lovely,” he says patiently, as she scrambles over him and onto her own seat. “Have you been kind to the nice lady?”

Jo doesn’t like that word but doesn’t have time to deal with that, recovering as she is from Claire’s rapid-fire insights. She follows the kid to the table and slides Amelia and Claire their portions, receiving grateful smiles from both Amelia and Jimmy. 

“Thank you,” the family chorus, their voices naturally falling in a pleasant harmony. 

Jo’s voice is lonely in comparison as she asks if she can get them more drinks. They turn down the offer and thank her again, Claire’s eyes glued to her food now that it’s properly in front of her. Slowly, Jo returns to her spot behind the bar, unabashedly gazing at the family from across the room.

She watches them hold hands over her shitty bar food and close their eyes in grace, in prayer. Even when they’re all hungry, when Claire has confessed dramatically to starvation, they take the moment to thank their god for their meal. Jo doesn’t think any food prepared by her hands is really worth it, but the prayer comes out in a low and sincere murmur from Jimmy’s mouth. Claire looks like a little blonde angel as she mouths along to her father’s amen . Jo supposes she once looked like that, too. 

**

The next half hour passes with little incident, aside from a repeat round of whiskey for Shawn, Jake and Caleb in the far corner. Jo mainly watches Claire and her family eat their blessed dinner and chat, the flow easy between them. They don’t talk like most people in the Roadhouse do. They sound posher, somehow, their sentences free from apostrophes and curses. Jimmy eats his burger with a knife and fork. 

Another shower of summer rain falls, the noise heavy on the Roadhouse roof. Jo expects it to pass, but instead the weather settles like that, a consistent rumble over the bar. The storm she heard Amelia mention earlier must have caught up with them, despite their desire to outrun it. 

Jimmy and Amela must notice this too. They peer out of the window by their table into the ever-murkier evening, resignation growing on their faces.

“We need to make a move,” Jimmy says. “Get ahead of this before we get stuck.”

As if to emphasize the point, a crack of thunder echoes out around the Roadhouse. The sound travels potently over the flat Nebraska plains and the din of the first clap gives even the hunters in the corner a start. Claire lets out a small yelp and buries herself into her father’s side. 

“It’s just thunder, sweetie,” Jimmy pacifies.

Claire mumbles something into his middle in return, but Jo can’t make it out. 

“You guys finishing up?” she asks, walking over and clearing the baskets. “I’d head out before it gets worse.”

“Yes, we’d like to,” Amelia agrees, “but someone here is a little bit scared of the thunder.”

“I’m not scared,” Claire grouches, lifting a protesting head from her dad’s chest. Jo knows a liar when she sees one, knows it as she knows herself. “I just don’t want to get wet.”

Jo choses bravado and Claire choses nonchalance, but it looks like they both bury their fear. She remembers the performances she used to put on for her father to show she was capable enough to keep up with him, how loved it made her feel when he believed in her. An idea, easily shattered, starts growing in her mind, and she surges forward with it before it can break. 

“So we gotta get you out to the car without getting wet, hmm?” Jo poses quizzically. Claire looks at her suspiciously, but nods along. “I have an idea,” Jo draws out, hands on hips. “We’ll have to go behind the bar to make it work…”

Claire leaps up from her seat, curiosity winning out over anything else. Jo hasn’t even got to ask Amelia and Jimmy’s permission, their looks of gratitude are already enough. They start gathering their jackets as Jo leads Claire around, to the tantalizing world behind the bar.

“Cool,” Claire whispers. It’s the closest thing to slang she’s said all day.

Jo smiles despite herself, then readies to go through with her idea. She’s sharing the one thing of her father’s which is truly hers. If it were anyone but Claire, she wouldn’t be doing it, but something about Claire makes it feel different—makes sharing feel more like a gift which grows rather than diminishes. 

“This,” Jo says, gently lifting the supple material from where it hangs dutifully on its hook, “is my daddy’s leather jacket.”

She takes a deep breath and kneels beside Claire, offering the leather up to her for her little hands to touch. Despite the warmth of the day, the leather is still cool, and Claire’s smile grows as she slides her chestnut-sized palms along the smooth material. 

The leather is brown and worn, but still in pretty pristine condition for a jacket now going on thirty years old. Jo doubts Claire even notices the small set of hand stitches around the collar from when she stupidly tore it and needed to fix it up. It had taken her a whole afternoon tucked away in her bedroom to stitch it back together, but she’d played her dad’s vinyls the whole while and the time had spun away quickly. Even her mom was impressed by Jo’s handiwork, in the end. This jacket is the one thing of her dad that Ellen lets Jo keep, and Jo keeps it well. 

Claire’s blue eyes are wide and wondrous in her head. “It’s very nice,” she says shyly.

Jo smiles. “I know. And it’s really special to me, because my daddy isn’t around any more, so we’re going to take good care of it together.”

“Why isn’t your daddy around?” Claire asks, her forehead wrinkling with the question. She’s a kid clearly trained in courtesy, but the constant frankness to her questions give her a harder edge. If the questions didn’t sting so much, Jo would love it about her. Claire continues, “my daddy loves me so much I think he’ll be around forever.”

“Well,” Jo says carefully, slowly, stringing her words along the tightrope of her taut throat. “Sometimes it’s not a choice. My daddy died nine years ago.” She swallows the ‘today’ she could add onto the end of that sentence, feeling that detail might be a little too much for both of them in this conversation. “Here’s something I find very important to remember: just because someone leaves, doesn’t mean they stop loving you. And it doesn’t mean you stop loving them.”

Claire looks as if she might start chuckling, but then catches onto the sincerity in Jo’s tone. Her mouth falls open slightly and her plump fingers squeeze tighter at the leather jacket. “I don’t want my daddy to leave me.”

“I bet he won’t,” Jo says, placing her hands over Claire’s. They’re so small beneath her own. Warm too, like holding a little heart between her hands. 

Jo looks up at Claire, at her sandy blonde hair tied neatly into pigtails and the pretty orange gingham of her summer dress. Seven years old and so sure her daddy will never leave her. It is only the crystal blue of Claire’s irises that differ from the umber of her own, but even then, Jo supposes that they both have their father’s eyes. 

“I think we’ve got the best daddys in the world,” Jo whispers. “They love us all the time. When they’re out at the shops, when they’re away with work, when they’re up in heaven. They love us right now.” 

She swallows, hard, blinking away the tears that are refracting rainbows in her eyes. There’s a burning in her throat but she’s glad she managed to say those words, to finally get them out into the precious ears of a young girl. She smiles. Her vision is still slightly watery but clearing when she realizes Claire is giggling, a sweet blush on her cheeks. Her laughter is light and bubbly, like a stream tumbling over rocks in the sun. Like if Jo bathed in it, she would feel clean.

“Come on, we can use my daddy’s leather jacket as an umbrella to run out to the car,” she says, the idea finally coming to fruition as she stands back up again and dusts the Roadhouse floor muck from her knees. “I’ll hold it over your head so you don’t get wet.”

Claire rolls her eyes, something Jo wasn’t sure seven year olds knew enough to do, but apparently so. “But then you’re going to get wet!”

“Don’t worry about me, I’m big and strong! I can take some rain.” Jo makes a performance of flexing her arms, the odd proportions of her wide-muscled shoulders and lean frame suddenly a cause for celebration rather than insecurity when looked at through Claire’s eyes. 

“Hmm.” Claire ponders hard at Jo’s words, those cogs visibly turning again in her brain. “Okay. But you’ll have to be fast to keep up with me!” 

The kid makes a dash for the door and is surprisingly speedy on her little legs, her gingham dress swishing behind her. Jo starts after her, pitching both arms upwards so the jacket hangs from them like a tent over Claire’s head. They dash out the front door and into the delicious rain, giggling all the way until it turns into full belly laughter. The lights of the car flash when Jimmy unlocks it, and Claire kicks up water as she runs to fling open the backseat door. Jo’s jeans are splattered with it, but the rain is coming down in sheets so her whole body is soon soaked through anyway. 

Another roar of thunder booms across the open space but Claire doesn’t even notice, too busy sheltering under Jo’s jacket as she scrambles up into the car. Jo slides the leather jacket on to free up her hands and help Claire wriggle into the backseat. The girl is a step ahead of her, and clicks her seatbelt into place with a smug little grin at Jo.

“See, I am faster than you!” 

Jo laughs, feeling rainwater pool in the corners of her mouth as she does so. “Okay, you win. But I did help keep you safe from all the horrible rain and thunder.”

“Yes, you did,” Claire concedes graciously. She clearly has a self-righteous streak. Smiling, she opens her arms wide for Jo to hug her, but Jo backs away.

“I’m very wet still, I don’t want to make you damp after all this.”

“Oh, okay,” Claire says, looking crestfallen. “But I want to hug you anyway.”

Jo pauses. “You sure?”

“Of course!” Claire says, the words come on, silly, evident in her tone. 

Jo grins, and wraps her drenched, leathery arms around Claire. Squeezes her tight. With her face buried in Claire’s hair, she inhales the strong and familiar scent of strawberry shampoo, the kind she used to use when she was small. She’s got a young girl’s warm body in her arms, and the scent of her dad’s leather and her childhood shampoo mix in the May evening air. 

“I want to be just like you when I grow up,” Claire’s voice whispers in her ear. 

Jo wants to sob, but doesn’t. She instead gives Claire one last, big, humongous squeeze and untangles herself, her arms leaving damp patches across Claire’s dress. Claire doesn’t seem to mind, she’s only seven. 

“I was just like you when I was small,” Jo manages to reply. She doesn’t know if that’s a good or bad thing anymore, or if it’s just—as Claire said—a thing. Some small part of her feels like she’s damning Claire as she says this, to a life like her’s. But then again—maybe it’s just a thing, and her life is neutral. There does not have to be a curse to pass on. She smiles. “It’s been really nice to meet you, Claire.”

“And it was nice to meet you too, Jo!”

They do a final high-five (Claire’s hands only spanning Jo’s palm) before Jo steps back into the rain proper, closing the car door in front of her with a wet thunk. 

The driver’s door opens and shuts beside her, Jimmy having climbed behind the wheel. Amelia’s footsteps splash around to the far side of the concrete and then the whole family is sheltered in the car, safely stowed together behind the windows.

In the low lighting of the Roadhouse sign, for a moment Jo looks into Claire’s window and only sees herself, rain pouring down her face and shoulders wide enough to fill her father’s jacket. Then the driver’s window rolls down and Jo steps to meet it. 

“Thank you,” Jimmy says. He has dark hair and a face she will meet again. “You were very good with her. Your parents should be proud.”

Jo goes to shake her head but then allows herself the nod, to tentatively agree. Her wet hair is plastered to her scalp, but the rain isn’t cold; it’s just right. 

“Have a safe journey,” she calls. Then repeats herself as the man revs the engine so Claire, winding the window down too, can still hear her. “Have a safe journey!” 

To where, Jo realizes she isn’t quite sure. 

Both her and Claire wave like wild things as the car turns back out onto the road, Jo chasing the car for a few meters, to Claire’s growing grin. As the car pulls away Claire’s blonde pigtails are the last thing Jo can make out of her.

She stands there, in the parking lot outside the Roadhouse where the dust is being beaten into the road by the summer rain. The taillights of the car rumble out of view and Jo still stands, waving, unsure if she’s just met the past or future, until her mother comes and beckons her inside. 

[bitethehandthatneedsme]

projecting onto my favorite characters but not in the ‘projecting my emotions’ way but in a ‘i like this so this random character that i am attached to is going to like it too’ way.

[knifelesbianjo]

jo harvelle is a lesbian btw

[bibuckaroo]

Female Faves

List 10 different female faves from 10 different fandoms, then tag 10 people. I was tagged by @dumbfilmschoolkid <3 who showed her awesome taste in her own post and now I’m feeling pretty inspired to share mine, thanks so much for tagging me<3 (they are in order btw, from the ones that I love to the ones I love the most):

10. Moira - The Handmaid’s Tale

Can we just talk about how much of a badass she is? She literally fought tooth and nail, didn’t take shit from anyone and made it out of Gilead! And she is still fighting on outside!

9. Josie McCoy - Katy Keene

Her character grew so much on me on the little time we had together on Katy Keene, I already adored her on Riverdale, but seeing her on Katy Keene being all independent and shit and going after what she wants? Getting the screentime she deserves?? Sign me the fuck up!

8. Spencer Hastings - Pretty Little Liars

You don’t understand how much I loved her!!! She was 100% my favorite liar, she was clever, she was sassy, she was resourceful, she was loyal and she deserved better after all the trauma she was put through!

7. Prudence - Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

I mean, seriously, look at her power! Do I need to say more? She deserved the whole entire world, loved her scenes and how confident she was <3

6. Laura Moon - American Gods

I have to admit that I hated her in the beginning, but there’s just something about her that by the end of s1 I completely fell in love with her, I really went from “wow, she’s such a bitch” to “she’s a bitch and I love her”!

5. Hermione Granger - Harry Potter

Okay, it’s a classic and I just had to put her, can you blame me?? Harry Potter was my whole childhood and I love and identified with Hermione so much when I was younger, she’ll always have a special place in my heart<3

4. Jo Harvelle - Supernatural

I just loved her so much, okay??? My biggest loss, she was my baby girl! Deserved so much better, didn’t take anybody’s shit, was snarky as hell and should be respected<3

3. Amy March - Little Women

You don’t understand how much I love her! She is judged so much and ofr what? Because she was trying to make her way into a society that was and still is awful to women in general, because she saw an opportunity and took it?? Because of her strong personality?? Because of her beauty and grace??? Come on, I’ll wait!

2. Toni Topaz - Riverdale

I know she’s the third character from the Archiverse, but I couldn’t just not put her! And they are all from different shows, so it’s okay! I would just like to say that she has done nothing wrong ever in her life and that she is always fighting for what is right and deserves only the best things in the world and now she’s finally getting the recognition she deserves as a main character, as she should<3

1. Sansa Stark - Game of Thrones

MY QUEEN WHO DESERVES EVERYTHING HER HEART DESIRES! Also don’t understand all the hate for her, she was loyal to her family, she just wanted to be reunited with them, and her mistakes were mostly rooted on naivety, she loves and protects fiercely with all the intelligence she possesses and I love her with my whole heart<3

Okay, it was really difficult choosing between all my favorite ladies and have to rate them, but I made it! So now I’m just gonna tag some mutuals that are welcome to do this too: @sonof-thrain @joshhutcheron @folglore13 @javierpcna @meetyouafterdark @goldenevermore @pagesturnandsticktoeachother @paqerings @conjoinedchaos @nocakesformissedith​

[darkshrimpemotions]

I've seen a number of people reference that Kripke had described Dean's type (and subsequently Cas fits the type) but I've never been able to track down the source. Can you help me track it down, please?

Of course! You’re in luck, because I had such a hard time finding this damn quote last time I remembered it existed that I took a screenshot when I did, which is the only way I was able to track this down again. Big thanks to @destielhallow for putting that quote on one of their gifsets and linking out to the sources, without which I would NEVER have found it, either time.

BTW, you should definitely check out their Eric Kripke tag if you want more absolutely batshit things the man has said over the years (including one where he talks about his fascination with intense friendships between straight men who resort to violence because they can’t express their emotions. Like...dude. GET THERAPY).

Ahem. Anyway, the full quote is:

"In hindsight, Dean wouldn't be attracted to that character...(...) He'd be attracted to someone who walked in the door, slaughtered everybody and walked out, and then he would say, 'Who's that?'"

The quote is listed on the Superwiki on the page for Jo Harvelle, under the trivia section. It was originally taken from Supernatural: The Official Companion Season 2 by Nicholas Knight.