Okay, let’s talk about my fav gal. The badass blonde. The goddamn queen with a sick knife collection. The smart, beautiful, and brave
Jo. Fucking. Harvelle.
Jo Harvelle, the girl with snark and bravery, the girl who knew what she wanted and went after it. Jo’s view of the hunting world was different than the Winchesters. Instead of becoming a hunter based on a thirst for revenge, Jo’s drive to become a hunter was born of respect. Respect for the hunters she knew growing up that had become family and friends, and most importantly her father. Being a hunter was an important job. One that deserved honor and respect. A job she practically hero-worshipped.
I was still in pigtails when my dad died, but I remember him coming home from a hunt. He’d burst through that door like, like Steve McQueen or something. And he’d sweep me up in his arms, and I’d breathe in that old leather jacket of his. And my mom, who was sour and pissed from the minute he left, she started smiling again. And we were… we were a family. You wanna know why I want to do the job? For him. It’s my way of being close to him. Now tell me what’s wrong with that.
She just wanted to fight the good fight, because being a hunter, to her, was the most honorable thing she could do with her life
Jo, in all her sass, stubborn dedication and drive to do what’s right always reminded me of Dean. They both loved hunting, both wanted to make their father proud, both thought that being a hunter was what they were supposed to do with their life.
Her death was real. She went down fighting with everything she could. In the moments before her death, she was a brave and courageous even if she was at her most vulnerable. Jo and Ellen went out fighting for what was right. She went out a hunter. The only thing she ever wanted to be.
She was no wallflower. She was no damsel in distress. Joanna Beth Harvelle knew what she wanted in life and she was willing to fight to the death for it.