Today I got a bunch of errands done in preparation of the upcoming semester. Starbucks finally brought back their Pumpkin Spice Latte, and I bought some autumnal themed makeup to really get back into the fall season. Hope everyone has a good start to school <3
TROPE: "All I want is a normal high school life, but I'm always getting caught up in fights! Still, I finally have a place that I belong to."
• Study Group
• Wind Breaker
Guess who has almost finished watching Strangers from Hell?
Lee Dong Wook is such a pretty man — even when he’s playing a murderous dentist, apparently. I just couldn’t help myself.
I feel like I’m having five simultaneous epiphanies when it comes to my art and it’s a little overwhelming. But hey, I’m making a lot of progress so I'm not complaining.
"If you're going to try, go all the way/ There is no other feeling like that/You will be alone with the Gods/And the nights will flame with fire"
- Charles Bukowski
Today's thoughts are on Jess and Jo. It's a love letter of sorts on what they mean to me as a fat butch woman, and it's quite personal, so if you're expecting my usual headcanons this isn't for you.
(PHOTO ID: It's a photo young girl, about for or five years old,dressed in a red mechanics outfit, playing with a toy drill and a red construction table. The girl is me.)
Growing up, I didn't have anyone that was a lesbian in my life, let alone anyone who looked like me on the TV. I didn't even know being a lesbian was an option for anyone until I was thirteen (when I came out.) and I think that a lot of newer media, like Hearstopper, and OITNB has helped with this massively but I still don't see butch characters that don't struggle with their identity. I still dont see plus-size butches that aren't 'the funny fat one'.
Until ALOTO. Jo and Jess genuinely changed my life and gave me a newfound confidence in my own gender and sexuality.
Jess is unapologetically butch, and It's so important that she is. She's never had to play by the rules because nobody particularly cared in Moose Jaw, if you could work, then you were valued. She comes into the league, not caring and not understanding that Charm School is there to weed out the Queers because she's never particularyl been othered. She laughs and she jokes about how stupid it all is, until she is told to get with it or get out. Then she struggles. Jess shows this amazing range of vulnerability as she realises she just can't do it, she cant conceal who she is for their rules. It's almost painful for her to do and that shot where she completely loses it in the middle of a street is so important and so telling. Jess is so loud, and rowdy and weird but she stays true to herself until the end, she pays the fines that she has to, she wears her hovers, she drinks beer and smokes wherever she pleases and for that, she is celebrated. She gets this amazing relationship with Esti, and with Lupe. She makes these connections and is absolutely honoured when the peaches help Jo. I wish I was more like Jess when I was younger, and I hope to be more like her in the future. Her unapolagetic butchness is mine.
(PHOTO ID: It's me again, but older now. I'm climbing out of a white vintage car dressed in a grey three piece suit and a blue shirt, with a pink tie. I've got short blue hair. It's prom night.)
Jo is amazingly well written with so many layers that I can't even begin to understand but she means so much to me as a fat afab. I've never seen anyone in modern media who is gay, plus-size and a good person until Jo. She's the epitome of a gentle giant, who is funny and kind and has the biggest heart. Shw treats everyone she meets with raw, unfiltered kindness whilst also not letting herself be pushed around, which gives her major respect. She's strong and has this funny flurty banter with Maybelle whilst trying so hard to not be the predatory gay, which I really relate to.
In short, ALOTO has helped me (and countless others) feel so much better just for being who they are and if any single show needs to be renewed, it should be ALOTO.
never thought i’d meet you here (it could be love)
She and Jo take the morning train. Greta was ready to run anyway, and they ended up deciding that a fresh start might be best.
Greta spends the rest of her pocket money on the tickets because she wants, needs Jo to come, and knows that it’s what Jo needs too, even if she doesn’t know that yet. She's looking to see the world, and she wants to see it with Jo, wants to see if there's more for them out there than Brooklyn has to offer.
After that day, Greta doesn't stop traveling the world until Rockford- until Carson. Greta and Jo have been waiting on the world to change for a while now, and maybe, just maybe, that time has arrived.
(Or, the places Greta has been and the place she finally settles down. A Greta character study.)
[read it on ao3]
Title: There Was No You and Yet I Was Still Alive
Fandom: All of Us Are Dead
Pairing: Lee Suhyeok/Choi Namra
Tags: Pre-Canon, Coming of Age, Character Study, Angst with a Happy Ending, Redemption, Secret Crush, Mutual Pining, Violence, Teenage Drama, But the zombie apocalypse happens anyway, Bullying, Stupid Kids Making Stupid Decisions
Updated: Feb 3, 2022
Namra points soundlessly, moving her finger towards and away her own lip so he can see.
It’s the first time she’s ever acknowledged him. He’s transfixed.
‘Blood,’ her pink lips move to mouth.
Startled, Suhyeok pats his finger against his own lips, pulling it back to confirm that, indeed, he is bleeding.
“I, uh,” he stumbles, still staring at her with wide-eyes. “Fighting. I got it… from a fight,” he says the latter weakly, and gives a thumbs-up to prove that he’s perfectly fine.
(Or, It takes Suhyeok a bit too long to realize he's friends with Bad People.)
Inspired by this prompt:
"Bridge the gap between Su-hyeok-who-hangs-with-the-school-bullies to Su-hyeok-newly-reformed-school-boy-going-to-school-in-his-blazer, possibly influenced by a certain model student who happens to be very pretty."
leave a kudo, review, bookmark, or fic idea if you want! <3
Jo was 10 when her dad was killed on May 16th, 1995. She turned 10 in April, so that means she was almost finished with 4th grade.
I imagine Ellen would've had her take absences for like 2-4 weeks. But when she got back to school, everything was different. All of the sudden, everyone in her grade knew she existed, and they'd offer condolences (as best as 10 year olds can) and classmates who never gave her the time of day before were suddenly being super nice to her. She didn't fit in before, but now she stuck out like a sore thumb. And what's worse, everyone pitied her. Gawking at her in the halls, the cafeteria, and the playground, as though she was a 3 legged puppy in an animal shelter ad.
Her grades took a nosedive. After all, she'd been behind from the time she missed and she couldn't bring herself to care about making any of it up. Ellen received calls from the school about her behavior more and more. Things like not completing her homework, refusing to participate in certain activities, "disturbing imagery" (as her teacher put it) in her work, even picking fights with other students on occasion.
It wasn't any easier at home. Apathy seeped into every facet of her life. Things she used to enjoy didn't interest her anymore, and they only reminded her of her dad. Ellen was there for her as much as she could be while still running the Roadhouse, since they couldn't afford to take time off. She had been angry since the day she told Jo he'd died- though, Jo was used to her mother being angry while her dad was hunting, so for her to be angry after he died while hunting made sense. She had no reason to even consider she was really mad at John. But she didn't understand why her mother would get upset if she mentioned him or asked if he would be stopping by sometime.
Ellen and Jo had always butted heads, but it only got worse with Bill's absence. Bill served as the mediator between them, so without him, there was no one to translate the other's perspective. Jo started shutting her mother out and isolating.
One day while Ellen was busy working downstairs, Jo went through her father's things and found his journal. She hid it in her room and read it whenever she got time alone.
Over the years, whenever she missed him, she'd reread his journal. Eventually she had it memorized, but it still brought her comfort to see his handwriting, to hear his voice in it. She felt as though she was back in his arms, sitting on his lap as he told her the epic adventure of his latest hunt across the country. It was the only thing that made her feel close to him again.
insomnia. 2021, 165 mm x 165 mm on geossed Moleskine for ‘ LABYRINTH OF DREAMS’
Skfhhdjs Moira Overwatch is officially my favorite she's such a terrible person I love her and her mad (medical) science vibes
jo, aged 13, removes nail polish behind a locked bathroom door
1000 words. read on my ao3
One afternoon she sneaks into her mother’s room and can’t help looking over her shoulder as she slides nail polish out of the bag in the dresser, making sure to cover her tracks completely when she shuts the drawer with barely a bump and leaves the door the same angle of ajar Ellen had.
She hurries back to her own room on quiet feet, hunter feet, padding fleetingly down the rug on the hallway in pink spotted socks, nail polish bottle feeling clunky in her hand the whole way.
For some reason she can’t quite place, she feels like she’s doing something wrong.
Her bedroom door clicks shut behind her and her heart feels like a bird caught in a net in her chest. Cross legged, she sits herself down on her bedroom floor, unscrews the cap of the bottle while telling herself to take deep breaths.
How can she ever be a hunter if she can’t even steady her breath when painting her stupid nails? The girls at school have them painted all the time; it’s not like it can be that hard.
The brush feels foreign in her hands, the plastic warming against the fleshy insides of fingers which expect the cool smooth of a knife hilt. But she tries to forget about metal and monsters and men for a moment and thinks instead about cheap plastic and smelly nail polish and boys at school, like she’s sure the other girls do.
She decides to think very hard about the things other girls do.
Her thumb goes alright, she pictures the boy who sits next to her in math, the one who always avoids her eyes. But that’s okay, if she unfocuses her eyes when she looks over at him sat there in his leather jacket he looks a little bit like a picture her mom once showed her of her dad when he was young.
Or maybe her dad looked like the boy and it’s the other way around. She’s not so sure these days.
She’s trying very hard to think about things other girls do. Other girls don’t think about their dead dad, but that’s mostly because other girls’ dads are alive. They think about their alive dads.
Whatever, she’s just painting her nails.
She’s on her index finger now, streaking pink across it like it’ll get all these things in her out of her system. And she does the next finger after that too; she does all of them, one coat each. One after the other, like a runaway train, her brain making the screeching sound of wheels breaking against the track.
All the while her hands, so steady when she shoots rows of cans off the fence, won’t stop shaking. Fingers that can nock an arrow in a bow before the last has even hit the target aren’t nimble enough to keep the paint on the nail.
Why is she even trying?
She blanches and runs to the bathroom before they even get the chance to dry, washing her hands with soap in the sink and washing her hands with soap in the sink and washing her hands with soap in the sink to try to make the nail polish - and damn if it’s not a bitch to remove - come back off.
There’s a part of her, hazy quiet and floating above the whole scene, that flinches at the idea of the girl scrubbing sparkly nail polish off in the bathroom sink using the word bitch .
And there it is again, the rough hand squeezing her gut feeling, like she’s doing something wrong.
She ends up sat on the toilet, squirting soap onto loo roll and scrubbing it against her nails. The polish keeps sticking to the paper and there’s heat all over her cheeks and she wonders what her dad would say.
There are far more men in her life than women. All her uncles at the Roadhouse; she talks to them loads, would never ask them about makeup. But she feels, and she doesn’t understand it at all, that if her dad was here she’d know how to paint her nails.
By the time only an acceptably small amount of nail polish remains she’s remembered they probably have nail polish remover somewhere. Too late to find it now.
Her nails are weak and splintering as she flushes the clumps of wet toilet roll down the toilet, watching them all the way to make sure they go down. And then waits another minute to make sure they don’t come back up. It would be bad enough if her mom caught her painting her nails, but worse if she caught her removing the paint and removing it wrong.
She catches herself in the bathroom mirror before she unlocks the door again, holds her own gaze back until she figures her cheeks look normal coloured. She knows how much blotchiness she can get away with, feels like somewhat of an expert about how much red her mother won’t notice.
She nods at herself and strolls out of the door with her shoulders back in case her mom is coming up the stairs. She isn’t, so Jo hurries back to her room again, feet skittish over the creaky floorboards she knows to avoid (good practice for when she starts hunting in haunted houses, she always thinks); grabs the nail polish and places it exactly back where it was in her mother’s drawer.
She spends the rest of the day glancing down at her hands and feeling guilty. Her nails had looked fine before and now they’re cracked and fragile.
What kind of a girl even is she?
Some of her uncles drop in that evening, though, and while she’s serving them their beers she watches their leather scarred hands and oddly angled fingers wrap around the glasses. Their nails are short and cracked and battered too. She has nails like a hunter. Hunter nails.
And she figures some girls are built different than others.
Some girls can paint their nails in perfect pink on the first try.
Other girls have dead dads.
had a breakdown over essentially nothing [convinced myself i am incompetent & stupid & predestined to fail academically after... literally doing great on my exam... -> I Am Tired (TM)]