#American Gods imagines

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

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+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

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Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[oifaaa]

While we’re on the subject of Alfred sucks: Au where deadbeat adult Tim travels back in time and is stuck. To avoid messing with the timeline he creates a new identity: Alfred Pennyworth. Tim was Alfred the whole time

it would explain why originally alfred just kinda appeared one day also why Alfred doesn't like Jason and why alfred decided to give robin to this random kid he just met

[vanilla-bean-buttercream]

"Allies should be okay with hearing hard truths that we have been suffering through for years, because if a child has to experience it, they as an adult can take the time to understand it with their adult brain and their adult emotions, and if they cannot handle that, I shouldn't have to be okay with handling their feelings gently."

and

"Sometimes we go too hard on allies because they're the only person who benefits from the problem who will listen to us, and the anger that we have carried from being wronged for years should not be put solely put on the shoulders of people trying to help us, and they should not have to be okay with being mistreated with the same hatred that people have aimed at us."

Can and should coexist actually.

[doodlepede]

i just think it's annoying that the discourse around Goncharov is centered around whether it's queerbaiting (it's not, the hays code was in effect only ten years previously, and everyone knows there's conflicting info about how long the film was in development hell 🙄) when we COULD be talking about how the characters relationships represent contemporary fears regarding international relations. that's where the real conversation is

like why do you think katya is like that? yes because she's bisexual but more importantly, 1973 hello, that's cold-war era and where does the film start? the collapse of the soviet fuckin union. obviously her relationship being strained by goncharov's obsession with andrei is a reference to that conflict, hence homoeroticism with sofia. DUH. Italy had the largest communist party in Europe at the time the film was made like this doesn't even need explaining just fucking watch it, it's there, like i can't. like please get real can we talk about this

[soundleer]

being a mii main in mario kart is so funny bc i can just coordinate with friends and invade the lobby with a singular mii

like good lord there's 3 of them

attack of the tunners

[bearwriting]

Gusset

Start Here Previous Chapter

Summary: Bruised and bloodied, you end up with the last person you thought you'd turn to, and the kudzu is speaking.

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Car crash, mentions of broken limbs

The wolf’s yellow eyes scrutinized her mistress before turning her gaze back to the water. “What will happen to them?”

Circe shook her head. “Would that I knew. I can only hope they get there in the end. We will need them for what’s to come.”

The journey from Circe’s island was even more oppressively silent than the trip there. In fact, the first time you or Sweeney spoke was nearly six hours after you’d left Florida and had passed into South Carolina.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Why did you kiss me?” you blurted. “On the way to Circe’s.”

Sweeney, who was taking his turn in the driver’s seat, stayed quiet, but you saw his grip on the steering wheel tighten and watched a muscle in his jaw tick.

Your mind reeled as you considered his possible answers. What if—

“I heard somewhere that kissin’ someone, while they’re panicking, can help ‘em catch their breath.”

You stared at him. “You heard that? Where, Teen Wolf? What the hell is wrong with you?”

He glanced sidelong at you. “It worked, didn’t it?”

You wanted to backhand the smug expression from his face.

“If you don’t shut the hell up…”

Sweeney scoffed. “You’re just pissed because I’m right. An’ I didn’t see you complaining, besides.”

At that moment, you dearly longed to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze, but, unfortunately, you were quiet for just a beat too long.

“You liked it, didn't you?” he said, a cheeky smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth.

You could feel the heat in your cheeks and knew your face had to be beet red. Maybe, for once, the old man would turn up when you actually wanted him to and end this moment.

If only the Norns would bestow that luck upon you.

A hundred witty remarks and jabs raced through your head, but all that came out of your mouth was: “Fuck you, you old cunt.”

Sweeney cackled and slammed his foot on the accelerator and your beloved car screamed down the freeway.

Passing through Boone in North Carolina, you finally felt like you could breathe a little more easily. The first fourteen hours of your journey had gone by mercifully without any incident. You knew better than to let your guard down, of course, but it seemed like Circe’s wards were holding.

The peace didn’t last. It never did. You were about two hours north of Boone when your luck finally ran out. You were driving, the needle on the speedometer hovering just around the 80mph mark, when something slammed into your car, sending it careening into a ditch and pitching you hard against your seatbelt. The material bit into your chest angrily and your skull slammed back against the headrest. You blinked stars from your eyes in time to see Sweeney’s head crash into the dashboard and hear the nauseating sound of bone snapping when he tried to brace himself.

“I told you to wear a seatbelt,” you managed to wheeze.

A groan was all you got in response.

Black was creeping around the edges of your vision, but you knew you both needed to stay awake. One or both of you having a concussion was not unlikely, and while dying would most certainly solve most of the problems you were currently facing, you knew that even death wouldn’t bring you peace.

You untangled yourself from your seatbelt and dragged yourself to the other side of the car, bracing yourself as you dragged Sweeney out onto the blacktop. He moaned pitifully, crying as you jostled his broken arm.

“Shit, shit, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you mumbled, your mind racing as you tried to sort through your options. First and foremost, you needed to splint Sweeney’s arm and check him for a concussion. You patted his cheek.

“How’s your head, chief? C’mere, follow my finger.”

His gaze managed to follow your finger steadily as you moved it back and forth across his field of vision. You braced a thumb against his eyebrow and peered into his eyes with the penlight in your pocket.

He flinched away, rubbing his eye with his good hand and shaking his head to clear it. “What, are you trying to blind me?” The red mark on his forehead where he’d smacked the dash was already fading.

You snorted. “There are better ways to do that. But the good news is it doesn’t seem like you have a concussion. Looks like your luck’s holding.”

He looked past you. “Yours is too,” he said. “Look at your car.”

You whirled around and saw her sitting on a mess of tangled kudzu vines and greenery. Her front bumper was dented, but other than that, there wasn’t a scratch on her. Or on yourself, for that matter. By rights, you and Sweeney should have been grease spots on the road, especially Mr. Seatbelts-Are-For-Pussies, and your car should have been a twisted hunk of steaming metal. And yet, here you were. Granted, a little worse for wear, but you were alive and present nonetheless.

You stared, bewildered, at your companion. “I’m fine?”

He cocked an eyebrow but remained silent. You chewed on the inside of your cheek trying to come up with a workable hypothesis, but before a thought could form, the mass of leaves and vines under your car began to snake towards you.

You tried to haul Sweeney to his feet but only succeeded in falling into his lap. The two of you scrambled backward, Sweeney’s face turning a sickly green with the pain of his arm.

“What the fuck is that?” you demanded. At this point, you didn’t even have it in you to be properly afraid of whatever the hell was happening now. Mostly, you were just annoyed.

“Ah, for fuck’s sake.” Sweeney’s good hand reached out and took hold of your bicep. Even with his broken arm, you could feel his muscles coil, readying for a fight.

As you watched, the kudzu surrounded you and began to take a humanoid shape. As it did so, vines shot out and wrapped around you tightly, effectively freezing you in place. Before either of you could react, Sweeney was bound and gagged. He looked at you with wide, bewildered eyes. This was certainly a new one for you both.

“Mad Sweeney and his witch.” The seething mass of plant matter spoke with a voice that resonated through the concrete and up into your body through the soles of your feet. “My lucky day.”

“You’re lucky, he’s lucky, I’m lucky, we’re all lucky!” you muttered.

A kudzu vine crawled across your cheek, the pale green tip of the tendril hovering just above your cornea. It darted forward and you flinched, hard, but it only brushed your hair away from your face.

“You don’t know who I am,” the kudzu said, disappointed.

The vine wrapped itself around the shell of your ear and began to probe at your ear canal. Desperately, you wracked your brain for anything that might help. There was a name and it danced on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach.

“Please, Elder,” you gasped. “Forgive me. I know not your name, but I know you. I know you in the creeping dark, I know you on lands abandoned. You are the kudzu, what remains when all else is gone.”

The vine uncoiled from your ear. You took a deep breath.

“Please, hear us—“

A green shoot stabbed into Sweeney’s shoulder and he roared against the mess of plant matter crammed into his mouth.

“I care not. What could you have to say that would be of any import to me? No, I think I will consume your dear friend here.” The kudzu gag unfurled from Sweeney’s mouth and was replaced by a tendril snaking down his throat. You could hear him gag and choke and it made your palms sweat.

You opened your mouth to scream for your leprechaun when a name finally surfaced in your memory. You remembered lying on the parlor floor of Ibis and Jacquel with Bast curled against you, purring like an engine. You were reading a book on ancient East Asian deities. If you could just…

“Baku.”

The amalgamation of vegetation stilled. You pressed on, praying you were right.

“My lord Baku,” you said breathlessly, “forgive me. We meant no disrespect.”

The old god peered at you. Or at least, you thought it did. “You ought to be more careful,” it hummed. “The Black Druid has promised a great reward for the one to deliver you into his custody.”

Your mouth went dry. After everything else, now there was a bounty on your head? Was an asteroid going to strike you next?

“My lord, please, listen to me. The Dark Man will not deliver on his promises.”

The concrete vibrated with Baku’s voice. “Even if that were true, I could still consume you. Between you and your leprechaun, you would more than satiate the emptiness of being forgotten. Although, I suppose it would be a tragedy to lose such a legacy.”

You blinked. “Legacy?”

Baku raised an eyebrow. “Your legacy. You’re ——— “ His next words disappeared under the sound of cracking static.

Never in your life had you been more confused. “Excuse me? How did you make that sound? What the hell are you talking about?”

Baku came closer. “Oh, now this is interesting,” it mused. “You can’t understand it, can you?”

“I can’t understand when I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Baku chuckled. “I think you will find out. Sooner rather than later, I should think.”

You stared at him and then shook your head, trying to clear your mind like an Etch-A-Sketch.

“I grow bored of this,” Baku announced. The vines around Sweeney began to squeeze and the vine in his throat twitched, making him gag again. You felt ill. Baku squeezed even harder and Sweeney’s face began to turn a sick shade of purple, his eyes rolling back in his head. If he hadn’t lost consciousness yet, he would soon.

“Wait!” you screamed. “My lord, please.” You had no earthly idea what you were going to say next, but the god’s attention was on you and the vines around Sweeney had stopped squeezing. You scrambled to find your words.

“Lord Baku, what if I told you I could give you something that the Dark Man never could?”

The vines around you yanked you forward until your face was inches from the silhouette that was Baku.

“What would that be?”

You swallowed. The next words from your mouth were going to be insane, possibly one of the stupidest things you could say, but you didn’t know what else to do.

“I can give you belief.”

A stillness swept over that stretch of highway. The god was listening. You could barely hear yourself think over the blood pounding in your ears. You had promised the one thing old gods like Baku craved. Power. Sustenance. Belief.

“How would a thing like you manage to keep such a promise?”

At this point, the inside of your cheek felt like it had been through a paper shredder, but you kept chewing on it.

“The people here, they don’t see the kudzu for what it could be,” you began slowly, grabbing the words one at a time, “only as something that consumes and suffocates. They don’t see the life it brings, the sustenance it provides. Please, give me a chance to show them what the kudzu could be.”

The old god tilted its head, considering you carefully. After a few moments, the kudzu around you loosened and set you down gently on the pavement.

“You promise me believers?

You swallowed. “Yes.”

“How many?”

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “I can’t promise an exact number. I can’t even promise that the number will be significant. But I can promise that I will find them.”

Kudzu snaked up your neck and around your ears again, probing gently at your temples and cheeks and lips as though searching for any ill intent.

“You have a deal,” Baku said eventually. “But do not tarry. The kudzu will give protection as far as my borders. When you pass Massachusetts in the north or out of east Texas, towards the west, there will be nothing more I can do for you.”

You knelt before the kudzu, bowing and touching your forehead to the ground.

“Thank you, my lord,” you said as you clambered to your feet.

The kudzu retreated from Sweeney and he collapsed on the concrete, retching and moaning.

You bowed again to the old god and then dashed to your car, pulling Sweeney’s bottle of Jameson from the glove compartment and sprinting back. “An offering, my lord,” you intoned as you let the whiskey spill onto the road and into the soil.

Baku hummed approvingly. “Do not forget our deal, witch,” its voice reverberated in your skull. And then the old god of the kudzu was gone, disappearing into itself in the brush on the side of the highway.

As soon as you were sure it was gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding and ran to Sweeney, who was barely clinging to consciousness as he lay in the dirt.

“Fuck, dude,” you hissed.

“I can’t believe you poured out my Jamo.” His voice was hoarse like he’d been gargling gravel.

“We were already pushing it, we needed an offering,” you told him.

“Can you just get me patched up please?” he rasped.

“Right, right.” You darted back to the car, digging through your duffel until you unearthed your first aid kit.

“Okay, let me just—“

“Splint my fucking arm first, I’m about to black out.” His voice was muddy and his words weren’t as clear as they should have been. You groaned and chucked a roll of gauze at his head.

“I should just let you bleed out,” you snapped.

“Hm.”

You rolled your eyes and went hunting for a stick that was the right size to splint his arm. When you found it, you first held it out to him. He looked at you with an expression that said What the hell am I supposed to do with this?

“Bite down,” you instructed. “I have to set the bone and it’s going to hurt like a bitch.”

He sighed and did as you said, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Okay, ready?”

He nodded.

“On three. One—“

Crack!

Sweeney snarled against the stick, his body jerking away from you. “You bitch,” he hissed, spitting the wood from his mouth. “That wasn’t on three.”

“You’re welcome. Now stay still, shitass,” you murmured as you set about placing the splint.

“Fuckin’ hurts,” he mumbled.

“Well, if someone had worn their seatbelt like I told him to—“

“Enough about the goddamn seatbelt!”

You glared at him. “Fine. Maybe next time I’ll get lucky and you’ll go flying through the windshield.”

He glowered right back. “Just fix my shoulder so we can go.”

“Ungrateful,” you muttered, but you still cleaned the jagged hole in his shoulder, gingerly picking out the leaves and plant matter that had been left in his flesh. You carefully taped a square of gauze over the wound on his front and his back and sat back, assessing your work. “Honestly, it probably needs stitches, but this was the best I could do. It’s gonna leave a nasty scar.”

He shrugged. “What’s one more?”

You snorted and hauled him up by his good arm, helping him into the car.

Back in the driver’s seat, you white-knuckled the steering wheel, wringing it nervously. The silence in the car was tense. He was mad at you.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sweeney demanded eventually, his brash voice shattering the silence like a bowling ball thrown into a china cabinet. “Have you lost your mind? Where do you get off promising him believers?”

You slammed your palm against the wheel and pointed at him, anger and annoyance flooding your veins like lava. You’d had it.

“How about a thank you for keeping the kudzu from fucking consuming us?” you snarled. “What the fuck was I supposed to do? The Dark Man has a bounty on my head now, I had to do something.”

The leprechaun groaned in disbelief. “So you promised him believers? Are there worms in your head?”

You snapped your teeth at him before stomping on the accelerator, relishing the thwack of his head hitting the headrest as the car leaped forward. “I didn’t want to watch you become a shriveled husk on the side of the road or watch you get ripped apart from the inside, although I cannot for the life of me remember why,” you bit out. “Why are you picking a fight with me, anyway? Did you decide it had been too long since you got on my fucking nerves?”

“Because I’m worried about you!” he shouted. “You’ve got this thing in your head that no one seems to be able to figure out, you’re making deals that you can’t possibly hope to keep with beings that could obliterate you with a snap of their fingers. You’re wound tighter than a nun’s bunghole—“

“I’m wound up?” you shrieked. “You’re the one that’s about to snap like a goddamn rubber band!”

“You’re watching my back,” he snapped. “I need you to pull it together. I know all of this is shit and it’s scary, but if you get me killed, I’m—“

“You’re taking me with you,” you mocked. “I’ve heard that one before. Can you please just be quiet until we stop for the night in D.C.? I’ve got a connect there, we can crash with them.”

“Who? Charles Entertainment Cheese?”

“No, fucknut. Hester’s there.”

He blinked. “Now how in the hell did you make that connection? No one’s seen her in forever.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You smirked.

He glared at you and pulled a clove cigarette from his shirt pocket, tucking it behind his ear. Then, he paused and stared at you with a petulant and mulish look on his face. You knew that look.

“Don’t you dare,” you growled.

Moving slowly and deliberately, he brought the cigarette to his lips and then put a lighter to the cigarette. The cloying odor of cloves and tobacco filled your car as he blew a thick cloud into your face.

You coughed and slammed the brakes, the stink of burning rubber mingling with the miasma of the cigarette.

“Get out,” you snapped.

He stared at you. “What?”

“Did I stutter? Get. Out.”

His head kicked back. “You’re not serious.”

You reached across him and opened the car door. “Don’t make me repeat myself again. I’m sick of being disrespected. I’ll see you in D.C.”

Sweeney’s jaw hung open. “What, I’m s’posed to walk the three hundred miles?”

You shrugged. “Or take a bus. Might be faster.”

He spread his hands. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is what I get? You’re the most ungrateful—“

“Ungrateful?” you snarled. You climbed out of the car and circled to the other side so you were standing over him and stabbed a finger at his chest. “I barely wanted you to come in the first place!”

The two of you stared each other down, glares matching in ferocity and anger.

“And you’d be dead without me,” he spat. “Aside from everything else, haven’t you noticed your luck? You think that’s a coincidence? You think that doesn’t have anything to do with me?”

You didn’t answer and he scoffed, standing so he towered over you. “You know, you’re more like the old man than you want to admit.”

You shoved his chest with both hands, not caring about his arm or the kudzu wound. You’d absolutely had it. He stumbled backward and when he regained his footing, surprise was written all over his face. The two of you had fought and argued before, but you’d never actually laid hands on him.

“I thought something had changed after Circe,” you seethed. “I thought maybe you’d finally pulled your head out of your ass, but good to know you’re just as obnoxious and disrespectful as ever.”

“You’re the one that came to me for help in the first place!”

Your laugh was verging on hysterical. You’d been awake for far too long and you were dying to take a swing at him. “I wouldn’t have asked for your help if I’d known you would keep throwing it in my face.”

He loomed over you, but you refused to be intimidated. You’d had enough of his bullshit, friends or not.

“Get to D.C. on your own,” you said as you got back in the car. “Or don’t,” you added. “Fuck if I care.” And you sped off, leaving him alone on the side of the highway like an abandoned dog.

As soon as he was in your rearview, you let yourself burst into tears. You cranked your stereo, rolled your window down, and screamed into the night, all the fear, anger, and frustration you’d been feeling tearing from your throat.

Why was he like that? Why did he have to pick fights and antagonize you and argue with you like that? Although, come to think of it, why did you? You were no better than he was, the way you’d kicked him out of the car, an action that you were already regretting. He just had a way of burrowing under your skin and playing your nerves like a goddamn fiddle. It was infuriating that he’d gone and made himself important to you and it disgusted you, how much you relied on him. Because he’d been right. You would be dead without him, and you’d gone and left him and his luck on the side of a highway in the middle of the night.

You groaned. “Ah, fuck.”

You yanked the steering wheel, executing a U-turn that almost flipped your car, and sped back the way you’d come.

He was going to be insufferable. You’d kicked him out, only to immediately come back. You were never going to hear the end of it.

But he wasn’t there. You were where you’d left him, but your ginger giant was gone.

You cursed loudly, beating your palm against the steering wheel. That asshole.

Throwing yourself from the car, you walked in circles calling his name, but no answer came. You swallowed your growing panic and focused instead on your anger. Granted, you’d told him to walk, but you should’ve known that he actually would. Jackass. Fine. If he wanted to disappear, you weren’t going to look for him.

That didn’t stop you from sitting in your car for an hour and a half, hoping that he’d come stumbling through the trees.

“Fuck this,” you muttered. You turned the key and your car’s engine roared to life. You’d either see him in D.C. or you wouldn’t. No skin off your ass.

And yet…and yet. You couldn’t shake the regret, nor the expression of genuine hurt on his face beneath the surprise and outrage.

You flicked through the radio stations, but everything you landed on felt like nails on a chalkboard. Eventually, you gave up and spent the next few hours in silence.

Halfway between Mt. Airy and D.C., somewhere in Virginia, you stopped for gas. You leaned against your driver’s side as the tank filled. Two pumps down, a guy was filling his truck's tank. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t look up. Regardless of who or what he was, you didn’t feel like dealing with it. You just wanted to get to Hester’s. If she’d even let you stay with her. Your relationship was…tenuous at best.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the guy moving towards you. You swore under your breath and fingered the cool metal of the knife in your pocket. You really needed to get a proper weapon for situations like this so you could defend yourself with more than just a dinky utility knife.

Especially now that you’ve chased off your bodyguard, said a voice in the back of your head.

You shoved the thought from your mind and turned to the stranger. “May I help you?” Your tone was polite but icy.

He held up his hands and stopped ten feet from you. “Actually, I was thinkin' I might be able to help you.” You arched an eyebrow. “You’re Wednesday’s gofer, right?”

You bristled. “I am not his gofer. What’s it to you, anyway?”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat and leaned against the gas pump. He looked you up and down, his gaze appraising. You hated it.

“I’m sure you know by now that everyone and they mama is out to get you for the Dark Man’s bounty.” His voice was smooth and rich, like butter tea, and he had a thick Appalachian accent.

“And you aren’t?”

He shrugged. “The guy hasn’t actually specified what the reward is. I don’t trust like that. And I don’t work for Wednesday either,” he added, seeing your mouth open.

You studied his face carefully. The guy was huge, easily several inches over six feet, with broad shoulders to match. His strawberry blond hair was carefully braided away from his face and his beard was also tidily plaited and finished with a silver bead. His gray eyes were sharp, taking in every tiny detail. He was beautiful, but he set your teeth on edge. Something about him, his eyes in particular, felt familiar in a way that made your skin crawl.

Sensing your unease, he inclined his head. “An unfortunate family resemblance,” he said mildly and doffed his Appalachian State baseball cap. “Miley O’Danson.”

That couldn’t be right. “So…son of the son of Daniel? What kind of name is that?”

He just looked at you.

Miley O’Danson. Miley O’Danson.

Meili Odinson.

The pieces clicked and you groaned. “God. Dammit.” You wanted to tear your hair out. “When will you people leave me alone?” you asked tightly.

Miley chuckled. “You know, you’re lucky my father didn’t find you first.”

The growing lump of unease in your throat was threatening to choke you. “What do you want?” You were proud that your voice came out sharp and certain.

“You’re traveling, aren’t you?”

"In a warded car.”

Miley tilted his head. “Doesn’t seem to be doing a very good job,” he pointed out.

For a split second, you wondered how he knew about the drive to Florida, but then you saw him looking pointedly at the kudzu vines still trailing from your car’s undercarriage.

“I’ve already got protection,” you said firmly.

He pointed to the kudzu. “A dying god and magic that’s spotty at best. And I notice your attack dog is conspicuously absent. Where is that thumpin’ gizzard anyway?”

You flushed a dull red. “I’m not his goddamn babysitter.”

He smirked. “Right, of course not. Look, Baku’s protection will only get you so far. What about when you’re outside of his boundaries? What then?”

“How do you know—“

He tapped his nose. “The roads are mine, kiddo.”

You grit your teeth. “What do you want?” you asked again. “I already promised the kudzu believers, am I doing that for you too now? Am I some kind of proselytizer?”

“I don’t need believers,” he said. “I have plenty. Everyone that prays for safety on their journey is praying to me, whether they realize it or not.”

You snorted. “So you’re what, the god of car insurance?”

His eyes narrowed. “Do you want my help or not?”

“You still haven’t told me what you want,” you pointed out.

He pouted. “I can’t want to help from the goodness of my own heart?”

“Absolutely fucking not.”

He sighed. “I s’pose that’s fair.” He paused. “Nothing, for now.”

Your eyes narrowed. “But later?”

His expression was inscrutable. “If you ever get your memory back, give me a call. We’ll talk then.”

His words made no sense. Gods always wanted something and you knew better than to accept a vague deal.

“Nothing about this feels like it’s going to end well for me.”

Miley scuffed at the ground with his heavy work boots. “Think whatever you want. I’m just a guy with daddy issues trying to throw a wrench in his father’s plans.”

You snorted. “See, now that I believe.”

He spread his hands in front of you in what you assumed was meant to be a pleading gesture. Not that Odin or any of his sons would ever plead with anyone.

“Look, I’ll give you whatever protection I can. All I ask is that when I call, you answer.”

You still weren’t convinced. “Sounds like the job I already have with your dad.”

Miley’s jaw clenched and he flexed his hands like he was fighting the urge to swing on you.

“Christ, you’re spending too much time with that leprechaun,” he muttered.

“Watch it.”

Miley scrubbed his hands over his face. “This is getting us nowhere. Look, I’m not asking you to be at my beck and call, all right? This is a one-and-done deal.”

“So I’ll owe you a favor.”

He groaned. “Call it what you like. You can take my offer or you can spend your days constantly looking over your shoulder waiting for the Black Druid to break into your head.”

He was right, you both knew it. You needed all the help you could get.

You considered the man in front of you carefully. “You promise he won’t be able to find me?”

Miley shook his head. “As long as you’re traveling, he’ll have a hell of a hard time of it, but I can’t promise he won’t find you at all. Your magic will still act as a beacon, so use it sparingly.”

You said nothing.

“Do we have a deal or not?” he asked.

This was a bad idea, you knew it was, but what was the alternative? You held out your hand.

He grinned wolfishly and shook it. “And that’s the deal.” As he spoke, electricity raced up your arm from where his hand clasped yours. Whatever reservations you may have had, there was no backing out now.

Miley handed you a small amulet with a spoked symbol carved into it. “Wear this.”

“What is it?”

“It’s a protection sigil. You need as much help as you can get.”

You hung it around your neck. The amulet lay on your sternum right below the pendant Sweeney had given you, which laid snugly in the hollow of your throat. Your chest tightened.

“Take this, too,” he said, handing you a business card. It was a sleek matte black with three figures sitting cross-legged side by side, each holding a slender needle and what appeared to be an ink pot. Each figure was dressed in elaborate costume and their skin was decorated with ornate ink. The words Tatū Maya were embossed in metallic gold across the top.

“You’re not afraid of needles, are you?”

“Oh, I hate this. No, I’m not afraid of needles.”

He tapped the card. “How do you feel about getting some ink?”

“Excuse me?”

He spoke to you like you were an idiot. “Swing by this place and ask to speak with the owners. They owe me a favor, so just tell them I sent you and I’m cashing in.”

You stared at him. “You’re cashing in a favor for me? Why?”

“Same reason I offered to help in the first place,” came the response.

You clenched your jaw. You hated these stupid games, but once again, you found yourself backed into a corner. He may have been presenting it as a choice, but he wasn’t asking.

You ran your thumb over the raised letters on the card. “How will I…” Your voice trailed off as you looked up and realized Miley was gone. You hissed and kicked one of your tires. “I have got to start thinking this shit through better,” you mumbled to yourself.

You examined the card, searching for an address that would give you your next location, but there was only a phone number. Of course. It was nearing four o’clock in the morning, there was no way anyone would pick up. You briefly considered ignoring Melli’s request, but something told you that choice would not be well received.

Annoyed, you approached the payphone tucked near the air compressors and dialed the number on the card, cringing at the stickiness of the plastic receiver.

As you predicted, your call went unanswered, but the soothing voice on the recorded message, after thanking you for calling Tatū Maya, read off an address in Richmond, Virginia. Two hours south, when you needed to go north. It would throw off your timing to meet Sweeney in D.C., but you supposed it wouldn’t be by much.

You let your forehead rest against the casing of the payphone as you tried to steady your breathing.

“Well girl,” you said to your car, “I guess we’re headed to Richmond.” You threw yourself into the driver’s seat and revved her engine. “This should be interesting.”

Tagged: @kind-wolf @imaginethatneathuh @cosmiccandydreamer

[geekynerfherder]

'Zorya' by Yoann Lossel.

Art from the Suntup Editions limited edition of the novel, 'American Gods', written by Neil Gaiman.

[godsworstson]

they look like frat bros

[mumzbasemnt]

roblox drabbles

[y0urfav0r1te-girl]

❤️Got my little red party dress on everybody knows that I'm the best I'm crazy ❤️

[hbo--spn]

"I prayed every day. I begged God to help me, to fix me, to make me better. But He never answered."

[kierancaz]

Guys I’m going insane again over Yuu being from our world and twisted wonderland having nothing in common with their world.

Like imagine them referencing the Lorax or Glee or FUCKING AMERICA OR HAMILTON and then when no one gets it they have to explain as best they can wtf Glee was without any reference material.

[buddietommys]

"Why not?"

"I wish you were a girl."

[nightingale2004]

Bro, imagine if all the gods from different religions and mythologies from different cultures were so competitive against each other to find out who was the best at what, so they created the Demigod tournament. Once every hundred or thousand years or so. The gods assemble their childrens camps of different mythological cultures, from the Greek mythology camp half blood all the way down to the American mythology camp half blood.

A team of demigods is handpicked by the gods to see would be worthy enough to compete. The contest is to test everything that makes a demigod. Strength, speed, agility, durability, reflexes, stamina, teamwork, power, etc.

Every time this event is held, it's a humongous deal in their world. It's the one time in centuries where demigods from other camps around the world come together, and both compete against one another and get to know one another. But the gods see this as an opportunity to see which mythology is better so they can rub the other gods' faces in it...All...The...Time.

The tests for this tournament change every century that the tournament is held, so no tournament is the same as the last, and it's changed by the gods who won the previous game.

All the gods set up the tournament but also had little temporary cabins for their children to sleep in, along with places where they can get food. The tournament is also recorded live for both gods' entertainment and for the demigods who are not participating. There's also commentary boxes with translators just in case, and it's protected by a dome shield of the gods' creation so that no threat of any mythology can intrude or interrupt when the tournament is held.

They also have games and activities for every demigod to do when those who aren't participating are not watching the tournament.

Let me know what you think

[beigetiger]

It’s fucking over you guys. What the fuck.

[vizjpmdose]

"What a sassy filthy mouth you have there, my dear.. Indeed filthy."

You and James arguing and he sees no valid point in your excuses so instead, he turns away and grabs a drink to calm him down while you still continue to prove your point, shouting at him. You could not help but admire his figure and his elegant body movements as he pours himself a drink, as he lets out a heavy sigh after drinking the alchohol and as it runs through his system. The dim light of the suite highlighting his features, him also making sure you can feel the seductive atmosphere that he's about to fill this room later with the help of that heavy raspy sigh he made and with him literally making it look like to you that he doesn't wanna hear your blabbering and would just like to see you submissive like a little doe. Just like how he always pleases to see you. He even knows how to manipulate you with actions only. The number 1 best seducer.