No secrets or half-truths here.

blue-myrian:

Harvelle’s Roadhouse

hunteralaric:

breakoutthewhiskey:

“Whoa there cowboy. I know it’s after midnight somewhere in the world but right now it’s a little early for anyone to be as skunked as you are.”  Ellen shakes her head as she leans back away from the smell of vodka, thinking she didn’t need to order a drink because she could get drunk from just being next to this guy. “Now I don’t know about you but I’m starving and that burger you haven’t touched looks good. So I’m going to order one of my own and how about you and I have lunch together.” 

Maybe it’s years of habit from the Roadhouse but she’s seen that look before on the face of other hunters and it makes her want to take care of the stranger as best she can. This bar isn’t her place but it’s pretty universal she figures, get food in them, black coffee and sober ‘em up a bit. “I’m Ellen by the way.” 

As she orders her food and a black coffee she looks around the bar, people are looking at her, looking at the guy next to her and no one has a real happy expression. A close knit community and she’s a stranger that looks like she just came off a work detail she figures and now she’s talking to the town drunk. “What did you say your name was?”

The matron ring to her voice made him sober up, almost instantaneously. He felt a sudden rush of regret—mixed with a healthy dose of shame. He nodded over at Matt—holding up two silent fingers to indicate he’d pay for his meal and hers. Trying to at least give a decent show of professionalism, he straightened, head still buzzing with the aftershock of cheap alcohol. “Stuff’s like rat poison,” He mused to no one in particular, but since she was there, Ric supposed he addressed her.

Now that he looked at her— actually looked at her, there was something about her that was strikingly familiar. If he had been sober, he would’ve caught it right away, but in his current state of inebriation, he was none the wiser. “You look familiar…” His voice was caked with a heavy layer of exhaustion sweeping through every syllable. From the moment she came in—he suspected that she wasn’t a local. Even with the population of hybrids, vampires, werewolves, and now ~dead ghosts~; Alaric could still retain the ability to tell the difference.

“I’m guessing you’re not from here…?” He straightened, as best he could, offering the stranger a grimace which he hoped resembled a smile. “… and since we both seem to know each other, would you mind jumpstarting my memory by telling me your name?”

A low chuckle rises up in her as she watches the poor guy try and straighten up, she can see the struggle in his eyes to pull  himself together and she gives her head a small shake as she pushes her hair back behind her. It’s times like this that she misses the Roadhouse the most, if they were back there she would have already had this guy in one of the back rooms, passed out on a cot, he sounds tired, worn down and it’s not just the alcohol that’s making him look that way as well.

“Ellen Harvelle and nope, I’m not from here, originally from Nebraska but that’s another story for another time. What about you? What’s got a decent looking fellow like you work’n so hard to pickle his liver?” She raises a brow at him as she smiles to the young man that brings out her plate.

Eyes scanning the room behind her as she let’s her fries cool she casually watches the people, it looks like a normal small town but there’s something just not quiet right. Plenty of people talking but the atmosphere feels somber, almost heavy as everyone goes about their lives. 

hunteralaric:

breakoutthewhiskey:

Getting out of the car Ellen stretches, three days of driving and researching has brought her here to this place called Mystic Falls. Shutting the car door she felt lucky that her old car was right where she left it and that she still had the keys and enough cash in her pocket to get her here as she heads for what looks like the local bar. It’s as good as any place to start her search for answers, town gossip and alcohol. 

Stepping inside she walks over to the bar, taking the only open seat left. “Whiskey.” She tells the kid working behind the counter and she looks to the man sitting to her right, the feeling of deja vu hitting her. “Do I know you?

He hasn’t been back a week – and already he’s falling into the same routine. Having come back to his corporeal body, Ric’s having the time of his life adjusting. Day old circles linger under his eyes, and the piss poor girl’s vodka that he’s chugging down does nothing to get him drunk. Maybe whisky? Perhaps some Puerto Rican rum? Anything but bourbon. He sits alone, messy brown hair painted along the side of his face, dark eyes glazed and spiteful.

No one makes conversation. Matt’s got the decency to put a burger in front of him, but that goes untouched. He’s not hungry much these days. All he sees is red, a dark grotesque figurine of himself hurting the people he loved most. Every time he shuts his eyes, it’s the same image over and over. Plastered as he was, Ric stiffened when the seat next to his was occupied. By the scent alone, he knew it wasn’t Damon. She ordered a whisky, — the tone in her voice made him frown. The familiarity of it hit him like a thousand bricks—so overwhelmed that he almost knocks himself back when she speaks to him.

She’s exactly the kind of woman you’d expect to see in a bar. Plaid shirt, blue jeans, calloused palms, — all she was missing was the cowboy hat. He squints, leaning in a little too close to get a better look—and squinting does nothing to further aid his lack of vision. In the end—he’s confused, disoriented, and maybe that bottle and a half of Russian Vodka hit him harder than he’d previously thought. “I- I don’t think so.” Tongue swept over his lips, index dragging circles around the rim—a habit he’d picked up from Jenna.

“Whoa there cowboy. I know it’s after midnight somewhere in the world but right now it’s a little early for anyone to be as skunked as you are.”  Ellen shakes her head as she leans back away from the smell of vodka, thinking she didn’t need to order a drink because she could get drunk from just being next to this guy. “Now I don’t know about you but I’m starving and that burger you haven’t touched looks good. So I’m going to order one of my own and how about you and I have lunch together.” 

Maybe it’s years of habit from the Roadhouse but she’s seen that look before on the face of other hunters and it makes her want to take care of the stranger as best she can. This bar isn’t her place but it’s pretty universal she figures, get food in them, black coffee and sober ‘em up a bit. “I’m Ellen by the way.” 

As she orders her food and a black coffee she looks around the bar, people are looking at her, looking at the guy next to her and no one has a real happy expression. A close knit community and she’s a stranger that looks like she just came off a work detail she figures and now she’s talking to the town drunk. “What did you say your name was?”

Getting out of the car Ellen stretches, three days of driving and researching has brought her here to this place called Mystic Falls. Shutting the car door she felt lucky that her old car was right where she left it and that she still had the keys and enough cash in her pocket to get her here as she heads for what looks like the local bar. It’s as good as any place to start her search for answers, town gossip and alcohol. 

Stepping inside she walks over to the bar, taking the only open seat left. “Whiskey.” She tells the kid working behind the counter and she looks to the man sitting to her right, the feeling of deja vu hitting her. “Do I know you?

The sun was bright overhead when she opened her eyes. Vague memories  filled her mind for a moment, Bobby, the salvage yard, a wedding band on her finger again and for a moment everything felt to real, but then sounds of a falling rock distracted her and like most dreams when she tried to remember what she was thinking about, those memories were gone.

Looking around Ellen could see the remains of a town, long since abandoned. The building faces dirty and unwashed, the streets and sidewalks over grown with grass and weeds. Turning around she stands in front of a burnt out shell of a store and a chill runs down her spine. 

Carthage, Missouri. It’s the last place she remembers clearly and she knows she shouldn’t be here, that her body was torn to shreds by the blast, that she died with Jo. Calling out for Jo, she waits hoping, praying that she gets an answer but not she’s surprised when no one answers. 

“Well at least I know where I am and with any luck one of these junkers will have enough gas to get me some place to figure out what in Hell is going on.”

(via killdem0ns)

humnoo:

2x05 Simon Said | Supernatural: a cap and a quote per episode

bowlingforskittles:

The Hunters Of Supernatural

↳ Ellen Harvelle

(via prisseusjackson)

iswearinitalian:

This is the scene
Where a mother knows all hope is
Lost for her.

But all hope for humanity
Rests with those who she
And her child die for. 

(via letmesayiloveyou)

I will carry you with me,
‘Til I see you again