you need a big god, big enough to hold your love

[nonecanexcel]

Inhuman Beings Openpost
because we're sad.

Throw any and all of your inhuman beings in and get at least mostly other inhuman beings in return. Deaths, Eldritch things, the Days and their ilk, the hungry things who need a group name, whatever else we come up with.

Cause one day we'll have a verse that we don't stuff to the brim with random things that come to mind, but today is not that day and this verse is not that verse.

Comments

TL: Not long after hooking up with Kosch

[darkgathersin]

He's still adjusting to not being hungry.

It's strange, to have a steady source of food, a source that he doesn't feel like he's hurting when he takes from it. It's...actually very, very nice and a little scary at the same time.

He's waiting for him to send Theta way, to tell him he's had enough or there's nothing left for him to take.

For now, he's trying not to let his mind wander into dark places, sad, lonely, hungry places. Instead he's sitting outside the building they've claimed, playing with a tennis ball and watching people pass by, enjoying the feeling of simply watching, rather than trying to hunt.

TL: Baby eldritch meeting Hannibal

[onlytheremains]

Today he's dozing on a bench. He knows he shouldn't be, that people are likely to come bother him but he's too tired to care. He's been up for a long time, longer than he should have been, and between that and being hungry, he just needed to rest for a while.

Besides, the park is home, at least for now, and he can slip into it's cracks if he really needs to, fall into the shadow of some child playing and hide there until they have to go back to their family.

He's not entirely asleep though, and he can sense something passing by the park, something old, something...not like him exactly but something close.

He picks up his head and focuses in on Hannibal, eyes curious and wide, his head tilting.

Hi.

He doesn't speak, not out loud but he offers a greeting, just in case the other would think he's rude if he didn't. He's not sure what the rules are for this sort of thing but he's going to try and be as nice as he can.

TL: I mean, pre-canon but we knew this.

[anarchyinyourthoughts]

He hates this.

Not just his son being gone, but ht lengths he’s going to go through to get him back. The worst part though? The thing that is funny and frustrating in equal measure, is that he’s not thinking twice about it at this point. He’s getting his child back to him, and he will do that by any means necessary.

SO here he is, calling on one of the old beings that stalk the Earth. Deaths aren’t enemies, but he doesn’t call an o them friends either. At the very best, they're colleagues that work in the same strange, twisting set of ideals.

But he knows this one a little more than most, has seen him pass here and there and has had dealings before. He’s willing to give him this offer, to trust him enough o see if he can get the job done and know that if he can’t, Lucifer will not be anymore fucked than he already is.

“So,” he says, approaching Hannibal, a human disguise stretched across his features. Even then, he looks just a slight bit distorted, like if you looked too closely, you’d see the cracks there. “What do I call you these days?”

He won’t chit chat for too long, but he feels a reintroduction is at least somewhat in order, since it has been a while.

TL: It's...Yeah, we know when this is.

[amistillenough]

What he wants, more than to go home, or to see his father again, is to be angry. TO feel so much rage that he could burn the world down, could reshape it, or tear a hole in the reality and race into another.

But the fact is, he’s not angry, he can’t bring himself to raise a hand to anyone, not even those who had him bound, who hurt him and kept him in blinding light or such deep darkness he couldn’t think through his own screaming brain.

No, he’ snot angry at all. Instead, he’s so much fear coursing through him, he’s not sure there’s anything else in there anymore. His father said he could grow, become something powerful, strong and exist through anything that was thrown at him.

But Barnaby doesn't feel that way, not at all. He feels hurt and small, broken and tired. Fuck, how tired he is.

There’s always a little tremor in his hands, always uncertainty in his steps, even now that he’s free. He’s waiting for something to happen, for this false peace to end and the Eternal to either tear him to pieces somehow, throw him back to his previous captors, or just abandon him to find his own way.

He could probably deal with the last one, if he can keep out of anyone else’s line of sight. Which well, he is pretty shit at, so who knows.

He presses himself into a corner of the couch, turning pages but not actually reading one of the books he’d found. Aesop’s Fables, even now, can bring him a crumb of comfort and sooner rather than later, he finds himself folding around the book, curling into a tight ball, as if somehow if he protected this one thing, he could feel that same safety.