#JO HARVELLE / ic.

[melodicwitchlight]

riighteousman ☀️ dean winchester :

❛ Hey, comin’ through. ❜ Dean presses a kiss to the side of Jo’s head as he makes his way by her. Living with her there, in the bunker, could almost trick Dean that they were living a normal life. They were both currently bustling in the kitchen, preparing food as Sam went out to restock the drinks.

He had been injured on a job and Jo was patching wound ; D : “ you don't need to do this, seriously. it's just a scratch. i'll be fine. “ J : “ yeah, but out here, you get that thing infected, you're dead before next week. “

They had become quite the little family in time; so no – their lives weren’t normal, but Dean would never complain – as long as he had the people who made him whole. ❛ Don’t forget to throw an extra cutlet on, in case Sammy comes back with someone else. ❜

jo has on a red and white flannel shirt, as she is cooking meat cutlets in pan at kitchen. as he walked through the bunker, and kissing her head as she was cooking meat in pan. ‘ morning, princess, ‘ she says. ‘ how did you sleep? ‘ he was stitched up, his arm criss-crossing the wound of a bullet piercing the skin. ‘ you’re a butcher, ‘ he had growled, as she sewed the meat of his skin. they had been fighting the horsemen of the apocalypse, war. the bunker, men of letters was a calming respite from the endless motels.

her silver knife ( her late father’s, in remembrance of his staying with her and engraved with his initials - w.a.h. ) was on the kitchen table.

‘ my sleep was fine, prince, ‘ he joked in response, and it was true. he usually had nightmares, of his time in hell. the sleep he had, he talked to his father, john. understanding what jo said as she said her knife and hunting was her way of being close to her father, william.

she put another cutlet on the pan, the cutlet sizzling in the heat, at hearing dean say sam was coming here with his girlfriend.

JO HARVELLE : WORD DOCUMENTED TUMBLR CLASS;

I. Posted as originally stayed new posts on my multimuse in 2019.

II. Evidenced to be long since deleted, and stored on my word documents, due to timestamp on date modified and looking at stayed new posts as tagged/found on my navigation in a time of clarity.

III. Can write through rubble : Brightening Navigation xKit.

IV. Remains on my multimuse as reference cabinet.

V. Can refer to it when writing stories.

[melodicwitchlight]

Jo had survived the wound the hellhound tore into her stomach, claws ripping through her grey shirt. as she walked back to save dean, who was having a hard time in fending Meg’s dogs off. he had searched around the supply closet, and added thicker cloth to press to her wound.

‘ why would I discount your beer? ‘ she says, as meg asks her if she could, as she comes into the roadhouse. there was a vase of pink flowers on the counter, in which meg places a flower on her blonde hair with pink bloody tips.

she had been to hell, the devil’s gate opening in the cemetery, and she as a black plume of smoke, had seen dean kill her father, azazel, in the forehead with the colt in slow motion ( the bullet had a star engraved on it ).

she says to meg that she had an anti-possession star tattoo on her chest near her shoulder, showing her the grey star of david in her skin ; pinking on edges of emblazon, ‘ so don’t even think of possessing me, ‘ she glares.

“—-Hmm? You mean, thorny beauty? Oh yeah, I heard Cas describe you as one, once. Or twice.”

An understatement. Jo thought, in annoyance. Violent and brutal, these beasts were. She then tilted her head in confusion, at Meg’s next words. “You don’t like how your hellhounds look? Aren’t they your ‘pets’? Alright, I’ll make a note to discount your beer.”

Jo didn’t like the sarcasm heavy tone in Meg’s words. “And resilience is a bad thing, how?”

“It couldn’t be helped; Azazel needed to be stopped. Who’s the new head honcho, that English suit guy? What was his name…Crowley?”

“Oh, wow, uh, we can try to hide you from the demons?” That was quite a big thing to run from, all these demons out to sic Meg. She could only hope that they didn’t find Meg, and she could try to help her as well.

"Maybe disguise yourself?”

[frcshkills]

"Jo...?"

He hated himself for sounding so hopeful, so desperate. Last time he'd seen that face was in his nightmares. Anemic and ghastly, with flushed eyelids no different than the ones that he now owned. Bright pink and permanently stained, these remnants a less ugly scar than the ones he hides under his bandages.

Sam's irises briefly darted towards Lucifer, the devil invisible to all but his true vessel pacing with an approving expression on his gaze behind Jo's back. Quickly he bounced his weight from one leg to the other correcting his gaze on Jo, brows arching. He wanted to ask more than just one question, but words failed him - his own voice dying in his throat, eyes locking on the archangel that folded his arms across his chest and kept pacing left and right behind who he still considered a loyal friend. A friend he'd failed.

"Oh come on Sammy, this isn't a trick of mine." Lucifer rolled his eyes. "It's a little redundant at this point."

“s-sam…?" jo managed to quietly choke out. his sudden entrance had startled her. forehead scrunching, her eyes raked over the man's slightly different appearance and then after a moment, glanced over her shoulder. he was staring at something that wasn't there and seemed confused. this wasn't right. jo slowly began moving to the coffee table where her phone was to call dean. maybe he knew what the hell was going on. swallowing, "are you alright?" ( @hell-sam )

[artyandink]

𝙾𝙻𝙳 𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳 | bartender!dean winchester

Summary: Dean Winchester needs a job after his little brother left for Stanford, and he’s good at mixing drinks. You happen to work at Harvelle’s Roadhouse, which is the place he chose to work at. He finds a family. He finds a new life. But he also finds you. But you have problems of your own.

A/N - My first reader series, do make sure to comment and/or reblog feedback. Set with S1/2 Dean cause I love our baby boy 😁 and pretend group chats exist on old phones lol

A/N 2 - Chapter’s kinda short, sorry guys 😬 I’ve been ill nonstop, and that sapped my creative juice

Warnings: Blood, gore, alcohol, chaotic group chat, angst, some fluff, Charlie being Charlie, mentions of abuse, Benny isn’t a vampire, Ruby and Meg aren’t demons, everyone got an out from hunting and the Apocalypse, Azazel doesn’t come after the Winchesters

SERIES MASTERLIST

three - french 75

You and Dean were working the bar the following Tuesday with Bela and Benny, a surprisingly chaotic duo while, as usual, the rest of the gang lived it up in a booth nearby.

After the Roadhouse closed up, all of you agreed on what you knew would be a chaotic night of strip poker, almost guaranteed highlights being Ruby’s victory gorilla grunt, Jo throwing her cards down when she lost and Bela’s painfully obvious ‘poker face’ which consisted of her smirk that was strained with poorly restrained giggles.

It was tradition, really.

“Is this place looking for vacancies?” There was a redhead at the bar, her locks cropped to her chin and she sported an eager expression. “If not, that’s ok. I need a way to make some extra cash.”

“And you are?” You asked with a broad smile, pouring a glass of whiskey for a patron.

“Charlie. Bradbury.” She replied with an equally as wide smile. You already took to her well; she seemed like another lost soul who needed a family, but someone you could easily warm up to.

“Ok, Charlie Bradbury. Behind the counter.” You let her in, starting to show her the way in, out, up, down and around the drinks lined behind the counter, showing her the baseball bat in case she needed to ever, y’know, start swinging.

Charlie seemed like a go-getter, already prepared to start flipping bottles and mixing the drinks like nobody’s business.

“This place is cool.” She grinned widely, and you gave her a warm smile and pat on the back as you handed her over to Benny, who took the reins while you and Dean dissolved back into giggles.

Dean nudged you, nodding to Ellen, who looked a lot happier than usual. “Y’know, I think we did Ellen and ol’ boy Bobby a solid. They both seem more like cheery old souls rather than just… old souls.”

“Jo said she actually saw Ellen blushing. Blushing.” You nudged him back. “We play good matchmakers, no?”

“Damn right. We just have to choose our next victims.”

You and Benny were clearing up the bar after closing, the low rumble of your chatter being the only available ambience. The door opened, and without looking up, you and Benny said the exact same thing.

“We’re closed.” You both chorused, but an exhilarated gasp came from whoever walked in, and as your heads looked up, both of your veins turned to straight ice. A woman with flowing, perfectly coiffed brown hair, creamy olive skin and doe eyes was standing there, dressed in white with a longing expression.

You and Benny shared a look, instantly standing closer to one another as you swallowed thickly on a dry throat, the feeling stinging and scratchy. “Andrea.” You whispered, setting the broom against a table while Benny’s eyes misted over with nostalgia and barely restrained heartbreak.

Andrea Kormos. Benny’s ex girlfriend.

“Dre.” Benny breathed, his hand gripping your forearm protectively, putting himself in front of you while your hand discreetly reached for underneath the counter for the concealed weapon, holding off a panic attack as the sight of Andrea brought back unwanted memories. “What are you doing here?”

“My love.” She took a step forward, making Benny fully shield you with his body. “I’ve searched for so long.”

“Why are you here?”

“To bring you back.” Andrea insisted, tilting her head and gazing at Benny as if she was obsessed. “Our family misses you. My father misses you.”

“Tell him to go to hell.” Benny growled, your hand closing around the weapon amid rasping breaths that got shorter each time, heart pounding in your parched throat. Your thoughts drifted to the scars on your neck, the ones that you desperately hid with a good coverage foundation.

Blood draining out of you, your limbs going limp as the thick fluid dropped onto the floor, hungry tongues licking up every inch…

That didn’t help in the slightest.

“I have to bring you in by force if necessary.” She announced, her head held high. “You knew what you got into once you came to our house.”

“I didn’t.” Benny shook his head determinedly. “You said you were just taking me to meet your father. And I find this poor thing in a side room!” His finger pointing at you, blind fury on his face. “I didn’t know what the hell I was getting into.”

“Force it is.” She muttered before teeth, sharp, hooked teeth emerged as she snarled and charged for Benny. Amid gasping breaths, a pounding head and constricted lungs, you yanked a machete out of its holster and swung your dominant arm.

Andrea’s head made a dull thud as it hit the floor, even more so when her body did the same, and before you could collapse against the counter and start sobbing until your voice went hoarse you were drawn into Benny’s arms as he patted your hair, chin on your head as he shushed you. “You’re safe, sweet.” He murmured in a strained voice, torn because who he once thought his love was now lying on the floor.

A piece of his heart might have gone with her.

“Listen to my heartbeat, angel.” He told you, and the thump of his heartbeat filled your ear as you desperately timed your rasping breath with the steady rise and fall of his chest. “Attagirl. Doing so well, sister. I promised you they’d never hurt you again. Didn’t I? And you handled yourself so well. So damn well.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

You repeated that pattern until your head cleared, and you gave Benny a thank you squeeze. He held you for a few more moments before wordlessly sitting you down, getting you a tall, cool glass of water.

Normally, you’d find pin drop silence uncomfortable.

Now you welcomed the change.

The icy liquid seemed to calm your nerves as you gulped it down, Benny’s calloused hand smoothing your hair back an anchor made of the strongest material your brain could think up when it wasn’t all muddled up.

Your lungs gradually releasing the grip it had on your oxygen supply.

“You sit there, sweet.” Benny murmured with a kiss to your crown. “I’ll clear all this up. Like it never happened.”

Your parents had a baby before they were turned into vampires. That baby was you, but they decided to do something else with you.

They made you a lure.

Raised you to coax people into being fed on, and when crop yield was low, you were their supply. That was until Benny got lured into the nest by Andrea, found you and fought like hell to get you both out.

You both stumbled into the Roadhouse, covered in dust, grime and blood, but found a home for life.

You owed your life to Benny, but he insisted that he did the bare minimum and refused any attempt where you tried to repay your internalised debt, and through that you both found an older brother and younger sister figure to rely on.

But only the gang sans Dean and Charlie knew. You’d rather Dean not know where you really came from. He was too innocent for that.

You thought of him, with his million dollar grin, billion dollar flashing eyes and trillion dollar words. If you had to put a tag for his worth on him, he’d be, well, priceless.

A gentleman towards you, a grade A flirt (which you didn’t mind as he lobbed compliment after compliment your way) and he looked at you like you were the only girl in the room. And he never failed to make your heart flutter when he reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear when you were working and it obstructed your vision.

You didn’t know why he’d suddenly reach out to take whatever task you were doing and do it himself. All you knew was that it was only a matter of a few weeks and you were already down bad.

Down bad for Dean Goddamn Winchester.

No. No, you couldn’t be. He was too good for you. Even if all those thoughts flew out of your head the moment he called you ‘sweetheart’.

Sweetheart. You hated that name but loved it at the same time. You hated it because it dragged you deeper into the rabbit hole that was Dean and you knew there was no way out. You loved it because the feeling was like a gulp of whiskey after months of not touching it.

Intoxicating.

bDe: who’s managing shift this weekend

charlie weasley: I am!!!

ScarJo: I’m free to manage shift

Queen B: That’s good, cause me, Ruby, Meg are going on a girls trip

You: Where’s my invite hmmmmm

Ruby-gina George: Fine, you can come

You: YAY

Megolodon: There’s gonna be lots of booze

ScarJo: Kind of regret taking shift now

Ben Dover: Too late, darling, you’re stuck behind the counter

ScarJo: I hate you

You: LET’S GET DRUNK

Queen B: THAT’S THE SPIRIT

Casanova: I’m guessing that you’ll need someone to pick you up.

Megolodon: That’s right, Cassie baby

Casanova: I’ll wait for your call, then.

bDe: a gentleman at his finest, yall

Ruby wondered whether she was ill or something. On a grocery run, she found herself tempted to buy women’s swimsuit magazines because the ladies looked pretty. And another day, she found her heart practically somersaulting when she saw Meg’s lips close around a straw as she drank a vodka and soda.

Goddamn.

Now, Charlie was a newbie, but she’d been open about how she was, y’know, batting for the other team. She liked girls. And that meant that Ruby could ask her for advice. And Jo, because Jo was the classic glue of the group and somehow had advice for every damn thing under the sun.

“Jo.” Ruby sat down in front of Jo, who was in animated conversation with Charlie. They both turned to her in surprise and identical raised eyebrows. “And you, Charlie. I need advice.”

Maybe Charlie could help. After all, she was an expert in the field Ruby needed advice on. This was an extremely unfamiliar topic, even though she’d grown up in a family full of suspiciously close women.

Oh, god, this was nerve wracking.

Jo looked concerned, but nodded, and Charlie did the same. “Sure, go ahead.” Jo gestured for Ruby to continue, while Charlie sat eagerly forward in her seat, waiting for Ruby to speak.

“Ok.” She took a deep breath, her eyes briefly flicking to Meg. “What if… what if I…”

“Liked girls?” Charlie finished the sentence with a wide grin. “Don’t worry, takes one to know one. Clocked you the moment I saw you.”

“Gee, thanks.” Ruby drawled, but Jo covered her hand reassuringly.

“We are really proud of you.” She grinned. “No joke there.”

In the meantime, Dean had ducked out to take a call. You saw him through the window, a frown on that gorgeous face. Then it morphed to a rather docile one as he mouthed ‘sorry, sir’, which got you thinking. Who the hell was he talking to?

“I don’t wanna come back, sir.” Dean muttered dejectedly, but heard John’s voice on the other end of the line.

‘Ain’t your choice to make, son. You’re gonna come back and keep hunting. With your brother gone-’

“Sammy’s out. I should get one too.”

‘You’re a born hunter. You’ll stay that way.’ John’s voice half inclined Dean to drop to his knees and beg for forgiveness.

Hell, he itched to, with how messed up and crappy he was, he ached to.

Then he saw you come out of the bar, brow furrowed in the sudden sunlight. His new home. The one he felt tentative, but safe in. Not like everything was an urge he needed to fight. With you, he just gave in.

And so he gave an exhilarated smile, cut the call and acted as if everything was ok.

Because it was.

You were around.

Sam was nervous. He was at a restaurant with Jessica, wearing his best suit and adjusting his tie, while she looked stunning, in a blue, floor-length dress that brought out her eyes and her beautiful features. The warm lights flickered in the ambience while Sam ordered a round of champagne just as Jess came back from the bathroom, quickly slipping something to the waiter.

“This is a very rare date night.” Jess quipped, her manicured hands (she went for an emergency nail appointment) resting over one another as she gave Sam a knowing look.

He gave her a light scoff and a defensive look. “Hey, hey, I take you on dates all the time-”

“I’m kidding!” She giggled, waving him off before resting her head on her palm. “This is just fancier than usual. It’s a change from our coffee dates. Don’t get me wrong, I love those too, it just makes me think there’s a special occasion.”

That was his cue.

He signalled to the waiters, who brought out Jess’ favourite champagne. She delicately sipped as they talked, of Stanford, how Sam was doing and their chosen courses.

When a small metal thing hit her lips.

She gasped softly as she took it out, seeing a shiny diamond ring and then Sam on one knee, taking her hand and kissing the knuckle.

“Jessica Elizabeth Moore, will you marry me?”

TAGLIST:

@hobby27 @jackles010378 @deans-spinster-witch @kr804573 @eexphoria @onlyangel-444 @mxltifxnd0m @iloveyou2mia @snowayumi @itssofiasstuff @yallgotkik @aylacavebear @muhahaha303 @k-slla @thegirlwholoveslivesfanfiction @star-yawnznn @mrsjenniferwinchester

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[cynids]

about me!

minor

asian

fav characters:

dick grayson, midnighter, constantine, starfire, donna troy, raven, rose wilson, stephanie brown

dean winchester, jo harvelle

stiles stilinski, lydia martin, isaac lahey, liam dunbar

burial mounds gang

slytherin skittles

mike ross, spencer reid, tony dinozzo, danno williams

what i mainly post about/repost:

dc (mainly dick grayson + wonder twins, teen titans and batfam, with a love for wonder + arrowfams & rouges too)

teen wolf + tvd

winx, barbies, bratz, monster high, ever after hugh

formula 1 (charles leclerc, alex albon and oscar piastri (rip logan ily boo)

nhl & goalie loving hours (canes fan since birth, krakens + avs)

college hockey (umich + cornell)

models (v.s and 90's models)

volleyball, figure skating, ice dancing, ballet, gymnastics

an occasional string of aesthetic (or depressing) posts whenever im feeling fancy

media i'm currently obsessing over:

911 + lone star

white collar

moon night

voltron

praying to GOD they dont fuck this new dynamic duo movie u

asks always open!

[stormlit]

❝ so the rich and powerful paid millions to get shut underground and become lab rats? fuck. ❞ look, jo doesn't like vault dwellers — present company excluded, she guesses — or the concept of vaults at all. it's another example of elitism and folks of the old world thinking money could let them walk all over everyone else. because fuck the general population having to survive in the post-apocalypse, right, as long as they're safe with their false cheer and lacquered hair? she certainly doesn't want them venturing out into the wasteland now, trying to use their corporate bullshit to try and take over, or save the earth, or whatever bullshit lucy said her vault's mission was.

that doesn't mean she thinks human experimentation is okay. that doesn't mean she thinks anyone should go through that. ❝ and that was all...sanctioned by vault-tec? they wanted that? ❞ for a moment, she has to stop walking just to digest that. jesus; that's the kind of shit she wants to stop. it's not all hunting big mutant monsters.

a deep exhale and she's setting off again, running her hand through her hair. ❝ how'd they get a garden to grow underground? they barely grow up here. ❞ vault life is so alien, to jo, something she can barely wrap her head around. mostly, she didn't know it still existed, that they hadn't all died in their tin cans like sardines. but people persist, it seems. people always find a way to survive. ❝ you make it sound much more heroic than it is, like some superhero holo. the day to day's gritty and messy and dangerous. but i don't know anything else but this world. ❞ what else is there to do but be a hunter? she can't imagine anything else. ❝ half the factions up here just want to kill anybody who's not them. that always seemed wrong to me. ❞

        lucy grimaces. “i used to think they were all like mine. it's what vault-tec told everyone, back in the day. but...it wasn't the truth.” it's a reality lucy is still grappling with herself, all that she learned about the vaults down in vault 4. “i sort of stumbled into a different vault a while back and...it was awful. or used to be awful.” she swallows. “the people in charge of it originally were scientists. they experimented on the residents. spliced their dna with animals trying to create more radiation-resistant humans...” 

        she exhales, shivering as she remembers the dim, quiet room filled with cryochambers holding all those poor people. “so...no. they aren't all the same. i don't know how many are like mine and how many are...well, a lot worse.” 

        she smiles wanly at the comment about board games. “i got more out of working in the garden, personally.” and that's been the one bright spot about being on the surface: times like this, when she's surrounded by green growing things. proof that even after the bombs, life can still find a way.

        “i don't think it's bad to want to change things for the better,” lucy says, earnestly. “it's good to do what you can to keep people safe. i just hope you're careful while you do it.” she likes jo. they seem to share a lot of the same values. it's hard to say that about too many people up here, and it's a relief to find someone who seems to agree that caring about other people is actually important. “maybe it's naive of me, but i think it matters what we do for each other. maybe even especially now. after all the bombs.” 

[bloodsaltedshifting]

@tvintedspvrk || bruises and bruising || accepting!

[care] – sender provides physical care for receiver’s bruises (ice pack, wrapping them up, etc) { from jo harvelle ? 👀 }

dean got yanked into a back room of the roadhouse soon as he stumbled on inside. shoulda seen the other guy was right on the tip of his tongue (sam woulda quoted him if he wasn't in just as bad shape and being taken care of in another room) and shoved right down onto a chair with a scrunch of his face and a pout that said hey that hurt without having to say a word. yeah, yeah. showing up at the roadhouse with a bunch of caked, wet, semi-wet and kinda drying blood on his face, neck and various other parts of his body now hidden by a torn up shirt cause his coat was shrugged to the floor in a glare of a command might've warranted this kinda urgent care treatment but--he didn't want her to panic.

"i'm okay... we made it outta there. and the bad guys.. well. they're not bad guys anymore." they're not anything anymore. but a pile of ash and fur and bits and pieces of bone that are ground into ash and dust. no bite marks. no scratches. just dead things that used to go bump in the night but now? more like.. plop and woosh! oh look! he made a joke. in his head. cause the look on her face said he better keep that one locked up in the dean's thinking it but better not sat it category. cause it's close to five o'clock in the morning and she kinda looks like she might've been in bed by the time they wandered in.

no patrons. the sign off. the sun about to be on the horizon.

oh damn.

"great pajamas. the flannel pants look? suits ya. is that a creedence shirt? please tell me i'm rubbing off," he can't see if it is. but he's trying to prove he's alright. just sore. still bleeding a bit and swelling in a couple spots. "just needed a reason to come by and see my favorite lady..."

[ao3feed-destiel-02]

My Best Friend's Wedding

My Best Friend's Wedding https://ift.tt/InEPjQg by JustHadezzz "Dean is getting married." Charlie blurted out before covering his mouth with his hands, Jo gave him a disapproving look and Castiel froze. "Charlie!" Jo scolded her, then looked from her to her friend. "You just had to know, he was killing me not to tell you..." Charlie said apologetically. "I, um." Castiel took a long drink of his whiskey. He cleared his throat and looked at her friends. "Okay. I'm fine, it just took me by surprise." "We found out this morning." Jo said making a face. "We saw the invitation in the mailbox." Charlie nodded. "And he didn't invite me." Cas said more to himself, nodding. "Well, things got a little weird between you guys, didn't it?" Jo asked. "Yes..." Castiel had his gaze fixed on his glass, it was already empty and the ice was beginning to melt. 15 years have passed and Castiel thought that he would never hear from Dean Winchester again. Words: 2629, Chapters: 1/16, Language: English Fandoms: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: Multi Characters: Bobby Singer (Supernatural), John Winchester, Amara (Supernatural), Kelly Kline (Supernatural), Meg Masters, Mick Davies, Bela Talbot, Naomi (Supernatural) Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Bela Talbot/Dean Winchester, Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle, Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester Additional Tags: Childhood Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Inspired by My Best Friend's Wedding (1997), I love Julia Roberts movies, Charlie Bradbury Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Alcoholic John Winchester, Firefighter Dean Winchester, Doctor Castiel (Supernatural), Songfic, 80s romantic songs, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Coming Out, Engaged Dean Winchester, Cas and Dean are best friends, inspired by To Build a Home, Internalized Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, It's been 15 years since they saw each other via AO3 works tagged 'Castiel/Dean Winchester' https://ift.tt/KtpmAd6 June 24, 2023 at 06:43PM

[bleakfated]

INTERACTIONS. HEADCANONS. PHOTOS. IISMS. WISHLIST. OPENS. SC.

STATISTICS

BASICS: name: ellen louise harvelle age: late 30s-40s gender & pronouns: female, she/her sexuality: heterosexual faceclaim: samantha ferris occupation: hunter, owner of harvelle's roadhouse location: broken bow, nebraska until the bar is destroyed

PERSONALITY: positive traits: strong, loyal, resourceful, diligent negative traits: sarcastic, overprotective, stubborn, cautious

APPEARANCE: scars: long scars on stomach from wendigo, faint line from right nostril to upper lip from breaking up a bar fight tattoos: antipossession behind ear, dagger along spine piercings: none

VERSES

BIOGRAPHY

TL;DR

Ellen Mercer was born into the shadow of her older sister Catherine. Nothing she did was good enough in comparison to her sister's pristine grades and social interests. After high school, Ellen was lost on what to do with her life and found a simple bartending job and small apartment in town to get away from her parents. It was here that she caught the eye of Bill Harvelle, a hunter in town for a case. After some persistence on his part and her seeing a vampire nearly drain a body in front of her eyes, she agreed to go on the road with him. They hunted together and opened up a bar for hunters, which Ellen stuck to while they raised their daughter Jo Harvelle. After Bill's death on a hunt with John Winchester, she gave up the trade completely and stayed in the bar, hoping to dissuade her daughter from getting into it herself.

FULL BIO

Ellen was born to parents Robert and Emma Mercer on January 2, 1969. She had an older sister named Catherine but they were never very close. Catherine seemed to always consider herself far superior to Ellen, which hurt Ellen when she was younger, but she stopped yearning for the sisterly bond somewhere around her sophomore year of high school. By then she had her own friends and her own life, her sister didn't have to be a part of it beyond rather quiet family dinners. Other than that, her childhood went by rather uneventfully. She had decent grades and was involved in chorus and basketball for a stint of time. Other than that she primarily spent time hanging out with friends and sharing music while ignoring her parent’s snide comments of wishing she was more like her sister.

After high school, Ellen didn't have the slightest idea what she wanted to do with her life. Overall, college seemed like a waste of time to her. She didn't have any plans for being a doctor or a lawyer, so she figured that she could figure out the business aspect of things without going to college. She had seen that many people had the right skills to get what they wanted without wasting so much money and time, forced to learn things that didn't matter so the universities could make more money. She was always the no bullshit type of person, which was what left her grades decent rather than fantastic. She was practical. Around a year after graduation, she had already worked up to a management position at a locally owned bar around her hometown.

Ellen would agree that her life got a lot more interesting after she had caught the eye of one particular patron around the time that a string of deaths rocked the small town. Though she had found him pretty attractive, Ellen hadn't been the type to be too worried about getting married off to anyone, that was Catherine's doe-eyed dream. She hadn't played hard to get intentionally, at least not fully. Still, the mysterious man from out of town persisted in his attempts to get her to go out with him. He came to the bar nearly every night with only one goal in mind. It wasn't creepy, but, sweet, which Ellen could appreciate. After a lot of witty banter, a few romantic gestures, and watching him slice the head off of a vampire near the ice machine behind the bar... Ellen said yes to his advances.

Initially, her stomach churned at his explanation of what she had witnessed, and the real reason he had been in town. Maybe she shouldn't have asked. He explained all about the supernatural, what had really happened with the murders that had started happening a few weeks before he came to town. He hunted them, his family had taught him. Her strong-willed nature often overpowered the sweet heart underneath and there wasn't much of a question on her part of what she should do with the information. They could give their relationship a go and she would learn to help him hunt down these monsters. It felt like maybe she had found something that could give her a life's purpose, no matter how bleak a life of surrounding herself by death might have sounded.

Ellen quit her job and packed up her stuff from her small apartment in town. She never looked back to the small Missouri town she grew up in or any of the people she had known. Her parents were alright enough, but often too involved in Catherine's business to pay much mind to her anyway. She has never really gotten the itch to check in to see how their lives turned out without her, either. Ellen and Bill hunted together and grew their relationship. She found herself happier than she had ever been, despite being surrounded by the dark world of the supernatural. Sometimes it was easy to get lost in remembering all of the good that she and Bill were doing, but it was easy to gain that back whenever they looked upon the catalogue of monsters they had taken out together.

Her life took another turn when she fell ill, or so she thought at the time. It didn't seem to go away, she was throwing up all the time and the thought of food repulsed her for most of the day. On top of that, she was so tired regardless of how much sleep she got. It dawned on her after a few days that this didn't feel like the flu or some strange case of food poisoning. She waited until three pregnancy tests confirmed it before she told Bill. Despite her insisting that she didn't need a god damn ring just because they were having a kid, that their love didn't need to be quantified by it, they got married. Which, Ellen was admittedly pretty happy about, even if it didn't mean too much for hunters, other than she could introduce him as her husband.

As they prepared for the baby, Bill came up with the idea of having a bar where hunters could drink and relax and network. For the most part, hunters only met each other on cases, which wasn't always a good thing. Ellen was confident with her knowledge from her small stint at the bar back in her hometown that they would be able to figure it out. The Harvelle Roadhouse started up shortly before the birth of their daughter Johanna. While Ellen still hunted some, she preferred to not leave her daughter too much, which left Bill open to take cases with other hunters when they needed it. She regrets nothing more than letting his friendship with John Winchester flourish. She knew his head was a bit too focused on the concept of revenge for her liking.

While on a hunt with John, Bill was killed in a ploy using him as bait. Ellen's whole world shattered in that moment. She screamed at John for a long time, a few solid punches completely shattered his nose. She told him she never wanted to hear from him again. For a long time, she didn't. Heartbroken, Ellen threw herself into managing the bar and taking care of her child, she barely wanted to converse with the other hunters. Talking about hunting, thinking about it, it only made her heart burn for Bill. Whiskey became one of her best friends. A few years later, a man that called himself Ash stumbled upon the bar one night. He was a young guy and had gotten completely hammered. When he ended up passing out on one of the pool tables, rather than kick him out she had some men help her get him to one of the guest rooms.

The next morning she made him a nice breakfast. A good deed balanced by her throwing a bag of frozen peas on his head to wake him up. He complimented the bar and thanked her for her hospitality. Ellen had picked up on a certain type of emptiness in his eyes, one a lot different than she saw in the eyes of hunters. After a long conversation, she realized that the man knew nothing of the supernatural. A man had suggested the bar could use his expertise when he helped him out with some computer program. Rather non-delicately, Ellen's style, she broke the news to him. Although he was a little freaked out at first, he agreed to make the spare bedroom his and stay on to bartend. He really didn't have anywhere else to go. He was a computer genius that was ready to put his skills to work to help out the bar's patrons.

John Winchester ended up contacting her many years after Bill's death asking for a favor. Reluctant at first, though she had forgiven him for Bill's death to let herself make peace with it, she decided that Ash would be able to help her help John. If she helped him get revenge for his wife, he might not get anyone else killed in the crossfire. She left him a voicemail but never heard back. Instead, his sons walked into the roadhouse before it opened. Hostility marked both her and Jo's mannerisms initially. When Ellen found out who they were, she introduced them to Ash who decided to take the data that John had compiled on the yellow-eyed demon and get to work. Meanwhile, she gave them a case that she had been saving to give to one of her friends.

She warmed up to the boys because she knew that she was unnecessarily trying to keep them at bay. They had lost their father and she wanted to make sure they had someone there for them. Ellen always invited the boys to stay, but they often declined. Dean and Jo seemed to have something going on and she wanted to keep her daughter as far away from hunting as she could, given the fate of her husband. Continually, she warned the boys not to keep anything from her. Around this time Jo started to show interest in hunting, but Ellen quickly passed her research over to other hunters. Despite her wishes, Jo went to try out the hunt anyway.

A call to the Winchesters revealed that she had been taken by the spirit she was hunting. Ellen took the next flight out to get her daughter back. After an altercation, she told Jo she wouldn't be hunting under her roof and Jo left. She revealed to the Winchesters in her worry and sorrow that she didn't blame them for her daughter's adamant interest in hunting and that she didn't blame John for Bill's death, that she had forgiven him, even if it still stung. Despite her angry words about Bill's death to Jo, she wished that John had been able to forgive himself for what happened. His conversations with her after that night had been brief and he never really made full eye contact with her after that. She continued to manage the bar alongside Ash after Jo left. That was until the demons sabotaged it and burned it to the ground.

Distraught, Ellen showed up at Bobby Singer's house, explaining that she had been out buying pretzels when it burned down. Not only had she lost everything but her ring and her daughter to remind her of Bill, but Ash had been inside. The man wouldn't have died had she not taken him in. She had lost one of her closest friends that day. But, she had his research, which had been locked in a safe. She took solace in the fact that she knew he would be happy that at least his work would live on. Without any other responsibilities, she got in contact with Jo and started to hunt alongside her daughter, helping out the Winchesters and Bobby whenever they needed it. At least she could be there to try to keep her safe. However, a few years into hunting together, Jo was injured fatally and Ellen stayed by her side as they exploded a building to help the Winchesters get away from hellhounds.

[frcshkills]

“it's a good thing you're already friendly with me then.” jo quipped and then her expression slowly turned serious at his words, eyes flicking up to meet his. dean had a way of putting things in perspective for her when it came to the hunting lifestyle. her father's death had sent her on a self destructive path, wanting to go it alone, kill the violent monsters that lurked in dark corners. the one's that stole father's from their daughters. but dean was right. she couldn't help anyone if she was dead. “safety in numbers. i get it.” jo told him, opening one of the files. "plus, being alone out there can get boring real fast."

" well, to put it bluntly, if you wanna survive in this life of work, you gotta learn how to make friends you can count on when y'er ass is on the line. you do this alone? you won't make it past thirty. " his point of view had changed over the years. for a short time, he thought he was capable of carrying on by himself ; now he knew he didn't ever want to resort to that.

[melodicwitchlight]

darlingmoore:

            ❛ I saw Sam just a minute ago ——- ;

                   & I think Dean’s in the kitchen. Why? ❜

 "I wanted to ask ‘em if they had any new cases. Perhaps, I could help…?"

[fangirlingtodeath513]

The Christmas Date by fangirlingtodeath513 Posting Tuesday, December 18th

A Destiel Christmas fanfic

Summary: Christmas is one of Dean's favorite times of the year. It means spending some quality time with his family and enjoying their company, even though it's only for a few days. So when Cas mentions he's not going home for Christmas, the thought's barely crossed his mind before he's asking Cas to come with him to Kansas. Maybe there was an ulterior motive, like spending more time with the guy he's come to like a little more than just a roommate, but Cas doesn't need to know that. At least, if Dean's kind but meddlesome family can stay out of his business, that is.

read an excerpt below the cut!

“You really didn’t have to invite me. I would have been okay here by myself,” Cas insists for what’s got to be the millionth time since Dean extended the invitation.

Dean rolls his eyes, not even bothering to hide his exasperation anymore. “Man, c’mon, it’s Christmas. No way was I letting you stay here alone just ‘cause your family is homophobic and gross.” Cas opens his mouth to reply but Dean cuts him off with a hand held up between them. “My family’s been dying to meet you anyway, and maybe it’ll do you some good to actually be social for once,” he jokes, elbowing Cas’s side lightly. Cas pouts at him but goes back to packing his suitcase, so Dean’s counting that as a win.

What he’s not counting as a win is the fact that they have to fly to his childhood home in Kansas. He’d tried to get time off from work so he could drive but hadn’t gotten it, and with Cas coming along, it would’ve been more trouble than it was worth.

That doesn’t mean he likes it. He’d rather be literally anywhere else, but the next morning finds the two of them boarding the plane shortly after eight in the morning.

“You alright?” Cas murmurs to him as he slides his boarding pass across the desk to the flight attendant. Dean nods, too nervous to manage a verbal response. Cas must sense his nervousness--he reaches out and squeezes Dean’s wrist lightly, which really shouldn’t be as comforting as it is, but he doesn’t have the brain power to think any further about that at the moment. Cas takes his boarding pass back which means Dean’s up next, which means he’s one step closer to getting on this stupid metal death trap, which- “Come on, Dean.” Cas takes Dean’s boarding pass back from the flight attendant and gently guides him onto the plane, smiling reassuringly.

They find their seats and toss their carry ons in the overhead storage before settling into their seats. Dean buckles himself in immediately, to Cas’s amusement. Dean glares at him, but there’s no heat behind it. “These things are not meant to fly, man. Shoulda just taken the extra time off and driven home.”

Cas hums, fastening his seatbelt. “It would have been nice to road trip, admittedly. If it’s any consolation, we’ll be at your parent’s house sooner.”

Dean mutters under his breath, “yeah, if the plane even makes it there.” Cas doesn’t seem to hear him, already absorbed into the book he’s reading, so Dean pulls his earbuds out and hastily plugs them into his phone, putting some music on in the hopes that it will help drown out his nervousness.

It doesn’t. By the time the plane levels out in the air, Dean’s pretty sure Cas’s arm will have several crescent-shaped scars. Dean smiles apologetically at him, but Cas waves him off with a smile as he returns to his book.

[girlbossdean]

one minute you're excitedly posting about a mutual's song about jo harvelle and the next you're on a six hour train ride to get ice cream with your wife in a random city in germany

[stormlit]

they both know how to shoot, at least; jo is taking her silver linings anywhere she can get 'em, right now, and it's much better to be stuck trying to escape some faction base with a guy who can protect himself. none of the ghouls she's come face to face with have ever been this...lucid; usually they're trying to eat her face, or throw their own radioactive body parts at her. she guesses they aren't all feral, not at first. and right now, she'll take it. she might be quieter, alone, but it's easier to fight with another. even if she doesn't trust him.

❝ yeah, ❞ she agrees, crouching to liberate a rifle from the nearest corpse before heading the way the ghoul indicated, pausing at a doorway to carefully peer her head around; nothing shoots at her and jo darts past it. one room clear, god knows how many that may not be. ❝ you know what they want? aside from us dead. ❞

As they make their way out into the hallway, their way is clear, but not for long. And mere moments before he levels his own weapon at the movement ahead, she's already taken care of it. It's then that he decides there are worse people he could be stuck in this situation with. If nothing else, she's a good shot and that will come in handy...always assuming she doesn't intend to turn it on him once they're out of trouble.

He'll keep one eye on her just in case, as they move toward the next hallway. When he reaches it, he puts his back against it, edging up to the corner to peer quickly around it. As soon as his head pokes out, a shot goes off and blows plaster and drywall all over him. He drops to the floor and turns the corner again, firing a shot back and connecting with his target.

"That way," he says, gesturing down the opposite hallway from where the shots came from. He's sure there will be more coming before too long.

[freakwiththeknifecollection]

Saturday Morning

Jo Harvelle/Dean Winchester | Rated: T

Words: 289

Hug Prompt from @creativepromptsforwriting! Prompt: Hug from behind

Summary:

A little soft slice of life ficlet ❤

The sizzling of the eggs and crackling bacon muffled Dean's footsteps as he came up behind her; his hands snaked around the front of her torso as he buried his face in her neck, peppering her skin with soft kisses.

"Quit it," she said between giggles. "We have a lot of stuff we have to get done today."

"Mm," he hummed, "I know what I want to get done today..."

Jo switched off the burners and spun around in his arms to face him. "How about..." she trailed a finger down the center of his chest, "If we get everything done today, we can do whatever you want tonight."

He stared down at her pensively for a moment like he was willing to forego the whole thing entirely if her to-do list was too arduous. "What kinda stuff do we have to get done today, anyway?"

"Well..." She placed her hands flat against his ribs and filed through her mental checklist. "We should really tackle the bathroom tile first. That'll take the longest."

"Uh huh… as fun as that sounds… counter offer: what if we take our breakfast, go back to bed, watch some TV, do what comes naturally… then we take a nap and before you know it, it's dinnertime. We could order in, watch a movie, have some ice cream…"

She cocked her head to the side, a hint of a fond smile upon her lips. "So, basically, just stay in bed and eat all day."

"That's the plan, yeah."

Jo rose to her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek, "Keep dreamin, buddy." She patted him twice on the chest with a grin, then released herself from his arms to grab plates from the cabinet.

[stormlit]

between herself and ash — and, more importantly, the network of hunters online who love any excuse to brag — jo has a pretty solid way of finding out information. she probably could have reached the rugaru conclusion without armand's help...eventually. and that's just it, isn't it? eventually doesn't really cut it when people are dying, and someone who's been alive god knows how long has more information than she could ever hope to find from a bunch of too-drunk, too-past it guys with shotguns.

it's just easier when she doesn't think too hard about what armand is. because she likes him, and he's useful, but she thinks her daddy would be turning in his grave if he knew she was friendly with a vampire. sorry, dad, but i'm doing it my way, too.

jo shrugs a shoulder, but it's probably no secret that that's exactly what she's asking. armand probably doesn't need to listen to her thoughts to figure it out, either. ❝ maybe. depends on what it'll cost me. ❞

armand has no interest in drawing the violent attention of hunters to himself. there are some, he knows, that would kill him, that would kill every vampire in his nest and reduce it to ash for their existence alone. he keeps a close eye on hunters that might seek to cause him harm, relies on the whispers of others when hunters start eyeing his home with ill-intent. he has no mercy for hunters that want him dead. he trusts that jo wouldn't turn on him for no reason at all. just as he trusts if harm came to her here, there would be the modern equivalent of pitchforks at his door.

but that isn't all that drives him to help her. if he didn't like her, he could easily turn her away ( there were absolutely hunters he would quickly slam the door on, rather than invite them in ).

❝ i hear it's worse than vampire hunger. the craving just grows and grows until they can't resist it. ❞ the idea of being a monster hungry for human flesh would have made his mortal stomach churn, and even now, he's grateful for his taste for blood, over the tragic monstrosity of a rugaru. his brow furrows when she looks up from her book, the statement catching him off-guard, because he can see where this may be going.

❝ yes, ❞ he replies, leaning back with his elbow resting on the arm of the chair. he breathes a sigh, ❝ are you trying to ask for my help? ❞