InsaneJournal

Tweak says, "Shotgun shuts is cake hole. "

Crowley went and got attached (sinbroker) wrote in wariscoming,
@ 2014-01-04 20:12:00

Entry tags:

adrian ivashkov, dean winchester, diana prince/wonder woman, hal yorke, harry lockhart, loki, lydia bennet, martha jones, niklaus mikaelson, parker, radical edward, rebekah salvatore, regina mills, rose tyler, ruby winchester, sam winchester, sidney prescott

WHO: EVERYONE!
WHAT: Mission: Rescue Hellbound
WHEN: Tonight- sunset.
WHERE: Cemetery of Doom
RATING: who the hell knows?!
STATUS: Possibly exploding!

This be the post for reactions post Hell.

For those who haven't read it yet THIS is what happens in the cemetery for the ritual to get people back.

For those in the Cage, THIS is what Hell has been like for you!

I shall now do a couple of subheadings for things, lemme know if you think we need another one (comment on my OOC post about the ritual to keep things neat!) Go forth and enjoy!

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Harry Lockhart, 1/2

bad_narrator
2014-01-06 12:51 am UTC (link)

Harry kept losing track of things. He always had been a bit scatter-brained but here, it was harder. Time seemed to repeat and overlap. He kept on telling himself it wasn't real, that this was Hell, this was the cage, just trying to fuck with him, and that he just had to hang on and wait for the others to come. Because they would come, they wouldn't leave them in here. It became his mantra; it was the one thing that couldn't be taken from him because it was his own thought.

It wasn't real when his dad, who'd died six or seven years ago, appeared, ranting about the company he kept these days, or his mother, eyes wide and fearful, told him she was afraid for his soul. All these unnatural people, vampires and witches, the power he'd wished for, this was against God's will and he was burning for it. He should have been better, sought better company, avoided all this other and the inherent sin associated with them.

It wasn't real when he'd relive moments of his teenage years, sitting with Harmony as she poured out all her fears on his shoulder, tears streaming down her face. Talking about Jenna and her father and how he hurt her and Harmony didn't know what to do to stop him. All the while with Harry trying to ignore his raging boner, trying not to feel hurt or offended that she slept with every other guy at their school, but only ever saw him as a brother. It was sick, and he knew that, and he hated himself for it. He cared about her, loved her and always had, and he'd rather die than hurt her, but he couldn't help wanting her even when the last thing she needed was another guy trying to get into her pants.

It wasn't real when he found himself in a market of some kind, surrounded by beautiful things, rare things, valuable things, and he could feel his palms itching, wanting to see if he could pocket something without getting caught, wanting that thrill of adrenaline, but the moment he touched something it burned into ashes, leaving him twitchy and ill-at-ease. Or he'd see something of his: his favorite leather jacket, his photo albums with pictures of his family, the used car he'd and been so proud of for buying it himself without any help or any thievery to afford it. His flat at the complex, and the one at Piffy's place. And it would all burn down around him.

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Harry Lockhart, 2/2

bad_narrator
2014-01-06 12:51 am UTC (link)

It wasn't real when he'd suddenly be in Lawrence again, shining happy faces surrounding him. John and Sherlock, Rose, Spike, Amy, Greg and Regina. And Piffy was back, and Perry and Harmony and Tony. All his friends were there, and it was all okay, it was safe now. But it wasn't real. Because behind the elation, they were empty. The others who'd been stuck, they were welcomed back with open arms, genuine joy. But time would pass, and their smiles would grow colder, their eyes less loving, and finally someone would say it, that they hadn't meant to save him, just the others. He should have been left behind. They hadn't wanted him back. And then they'd hold him down and tear his heart out and show it to him before he'd black out and it would start all over again.

It wasn't real when he'd see familiar faces, Dexter and his hired guns, the ones Harry had killed. He'd see their families, their children, their hearts never broken, fathers and husbands and brothers and sons, all of them. They'd have killed him, they'd hurt others, but they were still people too. And they were dead because of Harry, and their families suffered for it. He'd see what could have been, and then he'd see their dead faces. Mr. Fire, across the room. Five shots, a glance at a girl laying dead on the floor, and a crash of glass, and there was his first kill. The man outside the clinic - Harry hadn't meant to shoot him, just scare him. And his stupidity had ended with the guy getting shot in the face.

It wasn't real when he'd find himself standing, gun in hand, with the others. Amy and Rose. The Winchesters. Acquaintances and friends of friends, and he knew they would have to die. Only way out, or they'd kill him first. He'd go cold and silent, raise his gun, and ignore how much he hated himself every time he pulled the trigger. Was this the kind of man he was? The kind who'd kill first to save himself? But it wasn't real, it couldn't be real. He wasn't like that. And they weren't real; this was hell fucking with his head, they'd show up again later and it'd start all over. They had before. They would again.

It wasn't real.

It wasn't real.

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