Ellen Harvelle's Journal

Player Information
Name: Jen
Age: 24
Messenger handles?: AIM: snarkypetrelli
E-mail: machinedreams@gmail.com
Standard Time: Central
Was Your Character Held: Yes
How Often Should You Post?: At least once a month

Character Information
Name: Ellen Harvelle
Age: late 40s
Fandom: Supernatural
Occupation: Will be finding something after her arrival
Housing: Two-bedroom, and yes to a roommate
Point In Fandom Taken From: Season four-ish, though obviously off-screen
Brief History: Ellen is the widow of William Anthony Harvelle and the mother of Jo Harvelle. She was the owner of Harvelle's Roadhouse, which served as a gathering place and information center for hunters. For a long time, Ellen blamed John Winchester for her husband's death, as it was a mistake he made that resulted in William dying.

She helped the Winchester brothers several times, both with information and giving them a place to stay (though Dean turned down her offer of the room). She eventually admitted to Dean that his father wasn't responsible for William's death and that she forgave him a long time ago.

She tried to keep her daughter Jo out of the hunter lifestyle, but that wasn't meant to be -- Jo went off on hunts on her own, even, causing some strife between mother and daughter. She still loved Jo, though, and worried about her a great deal.

The Roadhouse was destroyed in an explosion, and it wasn't known where Ellen was. Later on, the brothers discovered that Ellen had been out on a supply run at the time. Not long after that, she helped the brothers and Bobby close the Devil's Gate, but not before hundreds of demons escaped.

PB: Samantha Ferris

Writing Sample (minimum of 100 words please) Being a Hunter isn't for everybody, but being a Hunter's loved one is for even fewer still. You don't even run the risk that you'll eventually lose them, because it's damn near an inevitability. The only thing you don't know is when it'll be.

That's why I hate that Jo became a Hunter. I dread a phone call from the police telling me that she's never coming home. But even more than that, I dread that I may not get a phone call. Because it's a very real possibility that something will take her out and leave her body by the side of the road (or in pieces, or in a pile of goo, or eat it and not leave it) and I'll never know.

I can't stop her, though. As much as I'd like to, as as much as I'd like to simply make the attempt... I can't. All I can do is wait.