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misswonderfrojustice · 1 year ago

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Uhhhh...so let me take a crack at The Tarantula King. Imma whoop dat thicc ass so hotdamn fast from here to Timbuktu!!

I'mmmm gonna beat 'em and eat 'em!!

Where are my Sock'Em Boppers!!??

Hail to the King

Chapter 1: The Spider Man

Summary: Miguel O’Hara is the head of the biggest mafia family in Nueva York, scaring almost all of its citizens. Except you. And that’s exactly what he needs.

TW: smut, oral (m receiving) cursing, Miguel is a bit of a creep and a dick.

You stood outside the restaurant for a moment, staring at the dark night sky.

What just happened?!

Tears fill your eyes, threatening to spill over as you grind your teeth for a moment, practicing self control over your overwhelming upset and hurt. Was that even legal?

You sniffled and balled your fists. Fuck this guy, with his expensive looking suit and obvious God Complex.

You muttered obscenities as you walked home, not getting in the car and waiting like he ordered you to. Fucking ordered!

Two blocks down and you sighed, getting to the subway and finding a train to take you to your apartment, located in a less-than-safe part of Nueva York. But you didn’t care, you could take care of yourself.

Eyes tired from holding back your need to cry, you walked up a few flights of stairs to your floor, you convinced yourself it was good exercise. Twisting your key in the somewhat broken lock, you pushed into your doorway and slammed it shut behind you with the deadbolt.

That’s when the dam broke and the water works started. You’d gotten so lucky with such a great job, and now some power-drunk prick with a nice face ruined it without a solid reason.

He didn’t like you, so he decided to hire you? What backwards bullshit was that?

Not bothering to take your makeup off, you pulled off your clothing and slumped into bed with no plans of doing anything tomorrow morning. It was going to be a day to process and plan your next move.

Loud banging on your door made you fall out of bed, practically jumping out of your skin as the sudden thunderous sound was terrifying without warning. Grabbing your baseball bat from your coat closet, you tugged your hair into a messy bun and swung the door open.

“You’re late.” The big guy from last night? “And you apparently don’t answer your phone either.” His voice was unamused, blunt, and you didn’t care for it.

“How the fuck did you-“ you yelled, then remembering that apparently he was close to Peter, who had all of your information from hiring you. “You’re a sick fuck, now you’re stalking me?”

“Watch it, I’ll fire you.”

“I don’t wanna work for you, now leave!” You screamed and moved to slam the door, only to be stopped by a large hand holding it back. Miguel opened the door with a swift push and you stumbled backwards, caught off guard and off balance from his strength. It was like he was barely moving a cup, not even moving a muscle.

“I’ve decided that you’re going to work for me, and I always get what I want.” He spoke, stepping inside of your small apartment. “Now get dressed, so you can get to work.”

“Go fuck yourself.” You spit back at him with venom you didn’t know you hate. You hated him. “Go find some other girl to obsess over and creep out.” You continued and swung the bat, him catching the wood and staring down at you.

“Obey me and I’ll reward you generously.”

“I’m not your dog, I don’t need to ‘obey’ you!” You groaned out as you yanked the bat backwards.

“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars a year plus bonuses when you complete certain tasks.” He spoke almost too fast.

The words passed by your ears in a blurt as white-hot rage filled your mind. The devil and angel on your shoulder fought and you didn’t know which one was fighting for what.

“Fine. Three hundred thousand a year. Bonuses, access to our facilities, a new phone, and an apartment on the west side.” He added.

“What the hell will I be doing? You don’t even know if I’m qualified, or if I’m a normal person. I could be a murderer.”

“That’s doubtful, as you couldn’t even hit me with a bat, and I’ve seen all I needed to. You’re most definitely qualified.” He answered, still offending you in a strange way. “Now get ready. I’m late because of you, and if I weren’t the boss, I’d rat you out.” He fixed his suit and sat in one of your dining chairs, the squeak of its legs making him scrunch his eyebrows in annoyance.

You huffed and moved, accepting that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. “I’ll call the cops.”

“That won’t work. La policía and I have an understanding.” It seemed like nothing was working and he knew it. “Are you done?”

Maybe if you played along for a bit, he’d get the idea and fuck off. Grumbling, you trudged into your bedroom.

“So what will I be doing?” You called to him as you went to your closet and pulled out a random blue dress shirt and black pants.

“You’ll be my right hand. Like an assistant but much more involved. You’ll work closely with my second, Lyla, and head operator, Jess.” He gave a full debriefing as you slipped on the clothes and moved towards the bathroom. “I’ll send a few of my men to help you move tonight, I don’t need you getting jumped out here in the slums.” He spoke with a certain disgust in his tone and you rolled your eyes.

“Your men? Second? Are we in a war or something?” You laughed, but he was quiet. No sense of humor, noted.

“Something like that.” His voice was lower, almost like it was a secret he didn’t want anyone around him to hear except you.

“Not that I care, but why me?” You brushed your teeth and waited for his answer, but nothing came. “Hello?”

“You’ll figure it out soon enough. Just know that I will not accept your refusal. You will work for me.” His speech was almost flattering, if he weren’t so infuriating. You dotted on some makeup and walked out to meet him. Slipping on a pair of low, black heels, he was already at the door. “Let’s go.” He nodded and opened your front door once more before walking ahead of you into the elevator. You hurried behind and almost missed the door as he stuck a hand through to stop them from closing. Your eyes didn’t meet him, avoiding having to thank him for such a small gesture of kindness after all the rudeness you’d endured. “And by the way, they call me Spider Man.” He said calmly as the doors shut and suddenly, your pounding blood was in your ears.

Spider man…?

As in… the most dangerous Mafia leader in Nueva York? The leader of the O’Hara family and the rumored Spider Society? A man infamous for murdering people with his bare hands, constructing some of the greatest hits on politicians and leaders all over the state?

Your body turned cold as you began to sweat. You were in the presence of a man known for being a brutal killer and a money-hungry demon who ruthlessly destroyed lives.

And he wanted you.

The trip to his headquarters was silent, sweating nervously as all of the rumors you’d heard about him came back to you. How he once almost killed a fifteen year old because he “ran out on a tab,” but luckily Peter paid it for the poor boy. Now, apparently, that same boy works for him. Peter told you the story on your first day, how some of the Spider Society frequented their restaurant, but it never occurred to you that this was him.

You remembered Gwen telling you over drinks after your first shift about how a lot of the staff of your restaurant had once been or still were low ranking members of the Society. You had said you just wanted to make your money and get on with your day, to which she laughed and said “that’s how I was too.” You left the conversation there and talked about other things, but now you couldn’t stop repeating her words over and over.

It was like the city was overrun by Spiders, all answering to the Spider Man himself. A man you were currently trapped in a moving vehicle with. A man you knew wouldn’t hesitate to kill you if you even so much as messed up his coffee order.

Nothing felt real as your leg bounced with anxiety. Sure, you’d always been mouthy and stubborn, but the idea that those small flaws could have made you a target for him, it was almost too much to understand.

“Hello?” He called out and you turned your face to him. “Are you listening?”

“Sorry, I was thinking about… what I have to pack tonight.” You lied, to which it was obvious he didn’t believe you, but he ignored it anyway.

“I was saying, when we get there, I have a meeting with a few of my subordinates. I need you to stay and listen. Lyla will be recording the meeting, but you just need hear it and start understanding everything. It won’t be hard, but it might be a lot so pay attention, entiendes?” He spoke and you nodded. “Once the meeting is over, I’ll introduce you to Jess and she’ll give you a tour of the building and your office. You’ll be working a room over from me. While that’s going on, I have an appointment, and once that’s over, I’ll start explaining the rest of your work.” His words felt unreal, like you were having an outer body experience. Nothing could have prepared you for this and now you were thrown into his web with no way out. Was the universe playing some sick joke on you? Throw you into the arms of a cold blooded killer and laugh about it later?

The numbness in your bones began to settle in and you sighed inwardly.

This was going to be a long day.

Walking into a bustling lobby, your eyes were overwhelmed with an excitement you couldn’t help to feel. The smell of clean air, the crisp modern design, everything screamed class and high end. Almost as if this wasn’t a den of crime and murder. Who would let a kingpin rent such a beautiful and upscale building? And didn’t mafia bosses usually do business out of their homes or secret offices hidden behind a bookshelf?

Ok, maybe you watched too many movies…

No, this was the next level of an efficiently run business. Everyone looked focused and intelligent, some seeming like they were educated at an Ivy League college or politically invested.

You followed the largest man and watched as everyone parted to make way for him, scanning him and then dropping their gaze to you.

You, who looked so out of place and childlike next to the refined crowd.

Your name broke you from your trance and you bumped into Miguel, who was no longer walking. “Stop looking around like a lost puppy. I hired you because of your fire and bite, now bring her back or I’ll toss you back out of here on your ass.” His threat was obvious, and you puffed up your chest after he turned around.

He was somewhat right. You belonged here, you got here by accident and that had to count for something. Other people around you seemed like they wanted to be here, strived for their positions and fought to climb up the latter. Meanwhile, you didn’t even want your position and you got it because of your loud mouth. As much as you hated this all, you knew that some of the roughest and cruelest human beings stood in this building, but he decided to pick you.

“But we will need to buy you new clothes if you’re going to work here. I don’t want to see you in anything less than a thousand dollars. Is that clear?” He said as you two walked into the elevator.

“And where am I getting these thousands of dollars from? You got me fired.” You grumbled, annoyed at his arrogance and assumptions.

“I’ll have Lyla put it as a tax write-off and give you a company card. Your limit is fifty thousand, and you’ll only shop at places from a list she’ll give you.” He stared straight ahead as he spoke, barely even seeming like he was speaking to you. What a dick. You rolled your eyes and he glanced downward, a brow quirked upwards. “And save that attitude for the meeting. Everyone here is cut-throat, and you’re here to give them a humbling piece of your mind. I don’t do politically correct-ness. If you think it, say it. The only person you need to answer to is me, and I want you to give some of these sons of bitches a good verbal beat down. If they get out of line, I’ll give them something to really be scared of, so don’t hold back.” His words seemed to hold weight as the elevator doors opened once more and people separated like the Red Sea to let him and you through. Catching up to walk by his side instead of behind him, you kept a straight face and put your shoulders back.

Reaching your new office was exhilarating, seeing as you hated the situation, but began hating everything less and less. Miguel had been right about the meeting, ignoring what everyone else said as you sat and listened to him discuss plans for a new import deal and a possible new business venture. His words were sharp and sliced through everyone in the room, so there wasn’t much room for conversation as most of the people in the room didn’t want to pull the trigger and be the target. You nodded along and made mental notes, adding certain ideas to your cavalry and deciding between when to speak up or not to.

After that, he’d introduced you to Jess and Lyla, who both seemed too kind and cheery to be in this business. How could such funny and smiley women work for a man with so much blood on his hands?

Jess gave you a proper tour as Lyla followed and made snarky comments about certain people, places, and things. Often times, they were about Mr. O’Hara and every time, it made Jess snort with laughter. The three of you talked and laughed, even trading phone numbers with both of them. Lyla excused herself when she was summoned to the fourth floor for a call about a transport, and you and Jess finished the tour back at your office. She showed you briefly how to use your new computer and tablet, both of which had a schedule that you, Lyla, and Mr. O’Hara could see and edit.

“Alright, I have a gynecologist appointment in 30 minutes, so I’ll be gone for the rest of the day, but call me if you have any questions.” She waved and you gave her a goodbye before beginning to type up some of those mental notes from the meeting, sharing them with Miguel’s email to add him in and let him look.

An hour went by and you heard a ding on your tablet, signaling a private meeting in Miguel’s office that had started 20 minutes ago. You rushed, seeing as you didn’t get the notification earlier and now we’re late. Pushing open his office door, you blinked at the sight in front of you and gulped down a new feeling. Dread. Embarrassment. Pure fucking confusion and unshakable mortification.

A woman, thin and blonde, had her back to the door and was kneeling before Miguel. Hands on his thighs as he spread his legs, she bobbed her head up and down as he had both of his arms around the expanse of the couch, head back a bit in enjoyment.

The shock finally settled into humiliation and you felt your stomach lurch with anxiety. He must have heard you step backwards as his eyes opened to stare into yours, an unreadable expression on his face. You shifted your thighs, moving to take another step as your face burned with a blush that could rival most makeup brands. Eyes as wide as saucers, you kept eye contact with him to avoid watching the woman’s mouth move up and down his cock. And he didn’t dare look away either.

He slipped a hand from the back of the couch to her hair and shoved her head down a bit, making her gag, and as the sound reached your ears, you choked a bit in sympathy. He hissed out a soft ‘good girl’ and you felt drool pool on your tongue, closing your mouth before it could drip out. He fucked up into her mouth as his eyes stayed on yours and before you could register it, he was groaning with a tight jaw and finishing. She sputtered as he came down her throat and as the realization of what you’d walked in on had hit you, you’d spun on your heels and slammed the door shut behind you.

Hands shaky, you wobbled back to your own office and sat in your chair, hands holding up your head as if it were too heavy to stay upright on its own.

What the fuck is going on?

#miguel x reader #miguel spiderverse #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara #miguel ohara smut #miguel fluff #atsv miguel #across the spiderverse #anansi the spider #spider #spiderman #freaking out #tarantula king

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yeosanitycheck · 25 days ago

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hi:))

I was wondering if you could make something with ot8 ateez having a caribbean so/. I just think that it would be interesting to see.

If you so make this thank you alot

-🌥

hi!! i really enjoyed writing this. ty for requesting, i hope u like it <3

bf!ateez with a Caribbean significant other

pairing: bf!ateez x caribbean reader

warnings!: none, fluff

a/n: im in the process of finishing up current requests!! then i have another text fic coming up :)

hongjoong🌶️

The relationship with Hongjoong feels like a continuous exchange of artistic ideas. He’s intrigued when you introduce him to Caribbean beats—especially reggae and soca. He can’t help but play around with the rhythms, blending them with his own music. One evening, as you both sit by the beach, he plays a melody he’s been working on—a fusion of traditional Korean sounds mixed with a hint of reggae.

Hongjoong: nervously, holding his breath “I... I hope I did it justice. Do you like it?”

As the first few notes play, you smile and start dancing, feeling the beat blend both cultures perfectly.

You: grinning “Hongjoong, it’s amazing! You really listened—you got it so right!”

Hongjoong: relieved, lighting up “Really? That means everything. So, should we add lyrics together? Korean and... maybe a bit of Patois?”

This collaboration becomes something you both do regularly, and soon, he surprises you with a track dedicated to the beauty of Caribbean culture and his love for it.

—

seonghwa🧚

Seonghwa is the type to become a true student of your culture, eagerly asking you to teach him your language and food traditions. His first big step? Definitely mastering a family recipe. He watches you intently as you walk him through the steps of making jerk chicken or curry goat, jotting down notes and even taking videos to get it right.

Later, he surprises you with a full Caribbean-inspired dinner, complete with homemade roti.

Seonghwa: nervously, serving you “I... I did my best. I hope it tastes just right.”

You take a bite and nod with approval, savoring the flavors.

You: smiling “Seonghwa, it’s perfect. You really got it down!”

His face breaks into a wide smile, and it warms your heart that he cherishes these parts of your life.

—

yunho☂️

Yunho loves the excitement of Caribbean festivals, especially Carnival. When he finds out you’re planning to attend this year, he’s beyond thrilled and insists on joining. He goes all out, even asking for costume tips and trying to get the dance moves just right.

On Carnival day, he’s like a kid in a candy store, soaking up the colors, music, and energy. You notice how he draws people in with his infectious laughter, becoming the life of the parade.

Yunho: “This is incredible! I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Later, you sneak away for a moment on the sidelines, catching your breath as he pulls you close, his eyes sparkling with pure joy.

Yunho: “Thank you for sharing this with me. Can we do it again next year?”

—

yeosang🪽

Yeosang’s quiet curiosity leads him to ask about Caribbean folklore. Under the moonlight, you start by telling him the tale of Anansi the Spider. His eyes widen, utterly enchanted by the characters and stories.

Yeosang: smiling “And he really tricked the tiger? I love how clever he is.”

When he finds out some of these stories were told to you by your grandparents, he’s even more drawn in. On lazy weekend evenings, it becomes a routine for you both to share stories, and he insists on a new one each time, sometimes even adding his own twist.

Yeosang: grinning mischievously “What if Anansi had a little help this time?”

You laugh at his imaginative additions, feeling the magic of the tales all over again.

—

San🗻

San is immediately drawn to your family’s warmth and community spirit. During your family’s big cookout, he jumps right in, chatting with everyone, from your younger cousins to your grandparents. He’s fascinated by the different flavors and insists on helping out in the kitchen, peppering your relatives with questions about recipes and traditions.

San: enthusiastically, to your grandma “Can you teach me how to make this? I want to learn everything.”

Your grandmother takes a special liking to him, calling him her “honorary grandson.” Later, as everyone gathers for music and dancing, San joins in effortlessly, even trying out new moves.

San: whispering to you later “This is one of the happiest days of my life. I’ve never felt so at home.”

—

mingi🩰

Mingi’s excitement is contagious as you both head to the beach for some snorkeling. He’s insistent on diving right in, and his face lights up at the coral reefs and colorful fish beneath the water, even though he fumbles a bit with the snorkeling gear, he’s quick to laugh at himself.

Mingi: coming up from the water, laughing “Did you see that fish? It looked straight at me!”

Afterward, as you both relax on the shore, he chats non-stop about the experience, already planning the next adventure.

Mingi: smiling, eyes bright “What’s next? Paddleboarding? Steel drum dancing?”

His energy makes every outing feel like a new adventure.

—

wooyoung👹

When Wooyoung joins you for a family event, he’s instantly in his element, charming everyone. Your aunties can’t stop laughing at his jokes, and he has your cousins teaching him local dances. As the evening goes on, he’s fully immersed in the festivities, asking everyone about their favorite memories and foods, making each person feel seen and valued.

Wooyoung: dancing with you, laughing “Am I doing it right? Just don’t let me embarrass myself!”

The night ends with everyone declaring him an honorary family member, and he whispers to you as you both leave.

Wooyoung: gratefully “I’ve never felt this welcomed. I love your family already.”

—

jongho🧸

Unlike the bustling gatherings, Jongho’s favorite moments are the quiet ones spent exploring secluded beaches. One evening, he brings a picnic, and you watch the waves together, taking in the night air. He’s amazed by the serene beauty of the ocean at night, and it inspires him to open up to you in ways he usually doesn’t.

Jongho: softly, staring at the ocean “I’ve never felt this kind of peace before. It’s like the ocean is holding everything we’ve been through.”

You: nodding “This is where I feel closest to home.”

He squeezes your hand, grateful to share these peaceful moments with you, bonding over the beauty and simplicity of your island home.

#kpop x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez ot8 #ateez scenarios #hongjoong x reader #jongho x reader #mingi x reader #san x reader #ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #yeosang x reader #wooyoung x reader #yunho x reader

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kiaraspeaks · 4 years ago

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Mr. Nancy x Female!Reader: Prey to Me.

You hunt Gods and he is tricky, slippery, and sly. The Gods in America are worn down and bent out of shape. Some Gods are too lazy, having had sacrifices laid at their feet for hundreds of years. Others pick up jobs, live as humans do until they're eventually forgotten in the minds of all those there, slowly they fade away but not him. Your family has been hunting the God that swindled your great great grandfather but to no avail.

Anansi.

The name feels wrong on your tongue but you've finally found him, or more so you feel that he has found you. You tracked him to a weekly poker game, after that he returned to a humble little apartment above a shop in the dingy part of town. He hummed a little song as he spun into his place. He looked at you, and then directly through you. It's a chilling feeling to be so small, to stand in the room with the God who could easily end you, and have them think you not worth the time. You never really will adjust to that no matter how many times you do this.

"So which one are you supposed to be?" He asked and plucked his hat off his head. You had been sitting here with this gun in your hand, bullets imbued with enough strength and energy to kill a God. Yet he seemed indifferent to you, the gun, and quite possibly by the idea of death itself. He could as easily be talking to you about the weather.

"You swindled-"

"Your great-great grandfather Jebidiah. Won all his land in a card game.” He said and snickered to himself while placing the hat on the coat rack, he slipped out of his jacket with ease. At this point you should be shooting, blasting your guns until he’s left bleeding and writhing but you don’t. You hate yourself for it but you’re a bit enamored, years of training and back breaking labor has led you to this moment. It’s also caused a bit of an obsession, you've learned all you could for this moment, and he doesn’t look like the creature from legend, at least not yet. “Which story they tell you? Obviously not the true one.”

“Watch your tongue, shifter. I know how you lie.” You said and he turned to look at you, and without even a wiggle of his fingers your chair is sliding across the floor towards him slowly. He’s playing with you, toying with you the way predators toy with their prey before devouring them. You felt something crawling up your hand and jumped, you mean to shake whatever off your hand and somehow sent the gun sliding across the floor like an amateur. One moment he is in front of you without it and the next moment it’s in his hand and he's far too close for comfort.

“I deal with a lot, but not rudeness.” He said and twirled the gun like a cabaret girl and then aimed it at you. He pretended to pull the trigger, taking pleasure in the way you flinched if the brilliant smile on his face meant anything. “I wonder if these bullets could even kill a human?”

“Nothing wrong with a healthy dose of curiosity, as long as it stops there.” You said nervously.

“That land he lost, he lost fair and square. Of course ol’ Jeb is always telling half stories.” Anansi said and walked across the sparse, tidy living area and disappeared down a dark hallway before reappearing with two glasses and a bottle, you barely paid attention to the third hand holding the gun. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I came to kill you, and you’re offering me something to drink?”

“You really gotta stop thinking the worst about everybody you meet. Some of us actually have manners. Now, relax.” He said and then sipped from both cups. “See, not even poisoned.”

“What do you mean by half stories?” You asked, you finally move from the comfortable leather chair and take the drink, he could kill you and he hasn't and he's had the upper hand all evening. You don’t drink it but the least you can do is take it.

“Jeb bet his life for mine, in the end I just took his land, half his land, the other half went to his mistress who threatened to come forward if he didn’t give her what she wanted.” Anansi said. “It’s quite dull actually, a direct beginning middle and end, I’m offended to even be included in it.”

“So I’m not going to kill you today?” You asked, you only kill God's who deserve it, not that the council likes that, you have a code and the Council hates that. They want you to kill with impunity but you don't see the reason to hurt those helping humanity.

“You have walked past so many awful Gods just to get to me.” Anansi said and placed his hand over his heart, or where you thought his heart might be, “I’m honored, but saddened your hatred was built on a lie. All that misplaced passion.”

“How am I supposed to know that’s the truth?” You asked, you knew he had no reason to lie to you but you couldn't bring yourself to just believe his words. He was the Spider. Trickster. Story teller. Anansi. But he was a God too, and they saw no reason to lie to humans. Humans weren't worth their weight in salt to Gods.He held your life in the palm of his hand all night, why would he bother lying to you?

“A Kiss.” He said

“You’re a pervert as well as a swindler. I’m old enough to be-”

“I stopped counting in years long ago, of course I am not trying to bed you, at least not yet.” He said and held out his hand to you. Perhaps everything has been leading up to this, when you’re foolish enough to trust a trickster. Anansi. The word swarms around in your head like an angry little bee, you're a fool to trust him but he has the gun, the power and upperhand in this moment.

Still, you slipped your gloved hand in his, he places his other hand on your hip and pulls you closer and it comes to you in flashes. His lips are warm, and his breath sweet and fresh as if he has been chewing mint leaves. He's really good at this, for a moment you forget the world, it's just you and Anansi. Then you see it. You see the sprawling land, the mistress, even the card game where Jebidiah did his best to cheat and swindle Anansi out of his Godhood.

You know how the rest of the story goes.

Damn. Damn your entire lives being based around a lie. All that time wasted and nothing to show for it.

Damn the council for probably knowing the truth and allowing you to waste valuable time training.

“How did...you do that…” You said and felt as if you have been pulled both in and out of your body all at once. Your lips still tingle from the heart of the kiss, and he's still holding you close to him.

“Jeb had the same question, it’s not a party trick or something I share with Godhunters.” Anansi said, and he hasn’t let go of your hand yet. You’ve been ordained by others to hunt the Old Gods, to spill their blood, but your fury and rage has been cooled in this moment. Perhaps what you mistook for a predator playing with their food was something more. But are you still prey? If you bed a God then the council would be severely disappointed with your actions, but then again the council still believed you were a virgin. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt. “What are you thinking, Godhunter?”

“Why did you let yourself be caught?” You asked, it's a foolish line of thoughts. Bedding Gods has led greater humans down more desperate paths, is that what you want? For the first time in your life you're not sure what you want, you’re not guided and molded by vengeance anymore. Still the idea is there, and he is still so close, and the kiss of a God is still as sweet and forbidden as the Council warned you it would be.

“I am the Spider, I am never caught in my own web.” He said and ran his thumb along the top of your hand. It elicits a single shiver down your spine which you're sure he feels. You've yet to move back away from him, "But Jebidiah was an interesting human.”

“You believe you’ve caught me.” You said.

“I know I’ve taken root in your mind, and what more can a God ask for.” He said, and damn him to ten types of hell he'll never see but he's right. He is there, he's been there your entire life planning this moment. From a young child bouncing around your grandparents home while they regaled tales of remaining vigilant against spiders, to a buxom teen waving off the stories as nothing more than make believe, and through hard training through your early twenties and thirties. He’s always been there and you’ve had no other choice than to accept him and let him in, but how far are you going to take this? You can see him watching your realization and relishing in it.

"Gods always ask for more." You said, it’s never going to be just enough that you won’t be chasing after him. He wanted you and you were going to give him what he wanted, but no tricks involved this time...you hoped.

"Can't blame us it's in our nature." He said. He's still close. Your lips still burn from the kiss. Going against your very nature from hunting Gods to being seduced by one. You're not just allowing it, you want it. "Just like it's yours to destroy what you don't understand."

"You don't know that."

"I think I know that well enough." Anansi said, you watch each other for quite a while before you finally take his challenge, you raise the glass to your lips. "The council will know now that I'm not dead.."

"I think the council has always known about this...you... us." You said bitterly, "They just needed another fool for their cause. Well I've embarrassed myself enough for one lifetime I think it's time I go, unless you don't plan on letting me leave."

"You're welcome to leave." He said, he dismantled the gun quickly, removing the bullets and the one in the safety before taking it apart. No, you never stood a chance against him if the rate at which he moved meant anything. "Or you can stay and I can tell you more about Jeb."

"You're trying to use my deceitful great great grandfather to get in my pants."

"Is it working?" He asked and began to unloosen his tie.

"You're just interested in fucking one of the Godhunters."

"And you're avoiding the question." He asked, "You're not the first of your kind to show up on my doorstep with a gun and a chip on your shoulder."

"But I am your first Godhunter?"

"I forgot how interested you humans are in numbers. Counting. Math." Anansi said and took a seat, no he won't be dying tonight. Shit. She really had planned on killing him but she also hadn't planned on questioning the council tonight as well. "So, are you coming to dinner?"

"Dinner?"

"I know you didn't eat tonight." He said, it's true, you had a bowl of soggy cornflakes earlier than that morning but nothing else since. So you allow yourself to be taken to dinner, and you eat, and you laugh and you do end up fucking a God that night. You don't suppose you can go back to the council after it's all said and done. Later that night he lays in bed, exhaling smoke from a cigarette you never saw him light. "I think I'm going to miss you following me all over this country."

"I was focused and committed." You admit, "But now I have a new task."

"And that is?" He asked, he killed the cigarette in the ashtray next to him.

"I never questioned why they wanted God's dead, just that they did." You said, "I want to know what they're up to."

"Be careful." He said, "The spider rarely makes the fly aware of it's plan."

"I'll be subtle." You said, you cover your face with your hands for a moment as the entire night dawns down on you. "At the worst I'm banned because they'll know I ...shit, I've really done it now haven't I."

"If that's what the kids are calling it." He said and snickered.

"What have you done to me?" You ask, your mind is still very much your own but you have so many questions, questions you never had before. He slides back between your legs with ease, but not to ravage your body one last time, he looks down on you before leaning in to kiss. You see the world, the future, the past, and the council and the Gods that sit atop it. Shit.

"Oh my, you have your work cut out for you.” He said.

"Seems I do." You said and look up at him. A God you spent most of your life loathing is here. And looking at you like you're anything but his death. You lean up to kiss him but it's different, it's not for secrets or to unlock a hidden past. When you leave here you'll never see him again, you both know that. You want to make the most of your time before hell descends down on you.

"But you'll be able to do it."

"Let's do something else first." You said, you both take advantage of the moment. You've hunted Gods all across America, and the Trickster is the most honest one. How many Gods have you destroyed upon a lie? When you're done being teased and titliated you'll make this right.

But for now it's just you and Anansi, the way it has been for quite some time.

#American Gods #ag fic #fic #writing #Mr. Nancy #Anansi #Mr. Nancy x Reader #Anansi x Reader #i don't go here anymore i promise but i do love anansi he deserved much better and a bigger fandom

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years ago

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Imagine Anansi coming to you in times of trouble.

“Anger gets shit done,” Anansi reminded you. And you were right - you were angry.

You were angry at injustice. You were angry at police brutality. You were angry at the president. You were angry at the people who defended racism like it was an opinion rather than a hate crime.

So you took up your sign and you marched. You blended in with the hundreds, thousands of other people in your city doing the same, with Anansi marching right beside you, reminding you that this was how change happened. You might not be able to change everyone’s mind, there was always going to be at least one voice against yours, but goddamn it, you could be louder than them. You could make sure that your message was heard. You could make sure that your anger was placed into productivity. You could shout on behalf of the many people who were not here anymore because of prejudice.

And most of all, you would walk down those streets because your tax dollars paid for those streets, for these corrupt police officers, and you would show them that you were not going to be done being angry until change was made. You were not going to give up, or let yourself be silenced.

Anger will get shit done.

#Anansi #Anansi x reader #Anansi imagines #American Gods #American Gods imagines #nonrequest #imagines #x reader

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mrsarnasdelicious · 4 years ago

Text

Daily Show Drabble - Freyasday

Prompt From This List

Anansi

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Oh you bet Mr. Nancy uses toys. Especially on you. He loves being in charge and to absolutely overstimulate you. And you bet he will use all sorts of tools. Of course he can do it without, but he is a trickster and he loves to play. Toys are an integral part of that.

He sure as hell won’t do anything to you you don’t consent to. He might be a Trickster, but he grew up in a land where women rule and he will always bow down to the women in his life. In fact, Anansi likes it when you ask him for it. Tell him exactly what you want him to do to you and with what tool.

Nancy’s toybox is overflowing. From Buttplugs to Cockrings and much much more. He is not afraid to use what he wants to have fun with you!

#Anansi #Mr Nancy #Mr Nancy x Reader #American Gods #Orlando Jones #smut under the cut

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oonajaeadira · 2 years ago

Text

Share it With Me (Thief and Locksmith 6)

Fandom: Casillero del Diablo Wine Commercials. You heard me.

Pairing: The Thief x f!reader (the locksmith)

Rating: T

Warnings: Hard truths. Angst. A monster of flame and rage. Fire and burning, suffocation. Like my usual bullshit, there’s some jumping back and forth in time. Sorry if it’s confusing.

A/N: This is it, kids, the final chapter. Almost a year to the day I couldn’t help myself and wrote a fic based on...not even a commercial. A teaser for a commercial. And then I wrote something more for these two and then...it became a thing. But a thing where I got to write free-form and make up the story as I went, jumping off details in the tiny source material, letting the characters surprise me. Sorry it took so long to end it. But I’m personally happy I waited. I enjoy this result.

The number one question I get asked about this series is about their history. And while it’s been ramping up to solving the mystery, it’s that history that takes center stage here.

Note: Pedro Urdemales is a trickster character from South American--predominantly Chilean--folk tales. He’s very much like Coyote or Anansi. The story in this chapter is original and not part of his pantheon.

And, finally, please let me gush over my cover image!!!!! The Thief, among the saints, commissioned from @mjpens a million years ago with the promise that I would release it as a teaser for the final chapter. Well eff that. I love it so much that it needed to be a part of the fic, plain and simple. I love him, I love Maia, and I love their work. Please go tell Maia how precious they are in this fandom. I need them to know.

The unintended Thief x Locksmith series is here:

What Do You Want

I Know You Can Do It

Come With Me

Let Me Show You Around

Have Any Interesting Dreams?

The extended commercial is here.

Summary: How they met, how they loved, how they hurt, and how they defeated a demon.

A cough echoed from far off, down a story or two through the main atrium of the library, the archival stacks around you mostly muffling it before it reached you, filtering the sound and light from the vaulted space as if through time itself.

The library had been your home for weeks, the closest you’d been to obtaining your goal, so close you could almost close your greedy little fingers around it. The preceding year had been a ramp up in your research–tracking down a rare book connected to your family–and it brought you here, to the archives of the central library, where you were obtaining knowledge legitimately for once.

Since you took up the quest ten years prior, you’d become adept at distraction, going unnoticed, and found you had something of a talent with puzzles and locks. Not totally surprising with your lineage, but many thought all the magic might have bred out of your bloodline long ago. It showed up in you now and then as an intuition or awareness, a receptiveness that you couldn’t quite always receive clearly, but which you also couldn’t ignore.

Which is why you found yourself annoyed to have his eyes on you once again.

It didn’t matter where you set your workstation for the day, you’d look up and find the same man reading or pulling article boxes off the shelves in the same section that you were occupying. Every time you turned toward him, his face was turning away or dipping below the rim of a book. And every time you looked away, you felt his attention back upon you, awareness circling your mind in waves, like the buzzing and bumping of a lazy fly.

A week of that incessant hovering.

All you knew was that he had brown curly hair. Broad shoulders. Thick hands.

And an obvious interest in you. Or, rather, your work.

It had gone on long enough.

Closing the cover on your sensitive notes, you took a stretch, got up, and sauntered over to the sitting area, plopping down in the leather chair opposite his matching one, and waited.

The periodical lowered slowly to reveal deep, mischievous brown eyes. A prominent nose. A patchy, graying beard and mustache that framed just the shadow of a smirk.

“You’re looking for the book.” He had the audacity to show no shame at being caught.

“And you’re watching me do it.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

This lips curled around a smile without your permission and you took the opportunity to reveal your family name, trusting that he probably already knew it, but the offered confidence would prompt him to do the same. Correct. A two-word exchange across a zipline of locked eyes.

“So are you here to offer to help me, or were you planning on letting me do all the work and then running off with the answers?”

“Who said I was after the book?”

Your eyebrows were the next to defy you. “So you’re here for me?”

“I think I might be.”

From that first day onward he spoke in diversions, making you feel special in order to get what he wanted out of you. And you let him. Because from that first day you understood the magic between you, knew what ran in both ov your family lines, you with your intuition, and he with his cunning.

He was never a difficult puzzle to solve. He’s a thief. Well. He couldn’t steal your heart if you give it to him willingly, now could he?

“Fine. Watch if you want, but the book is mine. When I’m done with it, it’s yours if you want it so badly.” You got up to go back to your research, but there was something that stopped you when he said–

“Let me help you.”

–something that told you that a time would come when this stranger would not be a stranger and a time when he would need you to say the same thing.

“You should have started with that. But with all due respect, sir, I don’t know you.”

“Would you like to?”

A bold question. Surprising. Maybe not as surprising as the fact that you knew the answer in an instant as you turned back to catch a distinctly attractive twinkle in his eye.

Of course you’d like to. But just because he asked didn’t exactly mean that he was offering.

Damn your gut instincts.

You ignored this knowledge.

You smiled. “I’ve been managing just fine on my own so far. But thanks.”

________________

Opening your eyes in the huge four-poster is disorienting. Something has brought you back from sleep. The light from the fireplace throws long shadows over the faces of the saints and statues and holy artifacts gathered around your bed in the west wing ballroom, shadows that flicker and move, curling Mary’s lip or causing Bartholomew to look askance at you. The further into wakefulness you come, the more you get the feeling you’re not alone here and you scan the collection, waiting to find eyes that are not made of wood or stone, the blue eyes of a demon, or the blackened ones of–

He’s here. That’s why you were dreaming of him. He has to be.

But this one was a pleasant dream. A memory of your first meeting, not the nightmares you usually have when he’s near…

Oh.

Now you remember.

You turn over and lay a hand lightly upon his bare chest, rising and falling in sleep beside you.

His heart beats, but oddly, shallowly, slowly, like an echo from down a never ending corridor. The firelight favors him, glints off the silver in his beard, settles on him like a cat seeking warmth now that he is still and not trying to evade it. His nose and chin cuts into the glow, his lips slightly parted, relaxed, breathing, kiss-swollen.

Your heart pulls.

As much as you want to curl yourself up into him, waking him would be a tragedy. You assume that he doesn’t have much need for sleep altered as he is now, but the act of rest can still be a pleasure.

And you’ve spent quite a lot of time in his arms already tonight.

Looking past him to the fireplace, you know you should sleep too. You’ll need it for what’s coming.

She would have felt the key in the lock. She would be on her way now.

She is made of fire.

She’s wearing his soul on her finger.

He’s been doing just fine by himself so far, but he’s in need now. It has to be someone else. Someone who cares enough.

Someone he loves.

It has to be you.

Let me help you.

The locket lays heavy between your breasts.

You have to make a plan.

________________

The first time you ever woke up next to him, he was almost smiling, but the happiness that should have been waiting at the threshold of his eyes was somewhere else, tucked away. You wouldn’t know it until later, but he was afraid of hurting you, of having something good and having to give it up. Such is the life of a thief–take what’s valuable and either hide it or liquidate it so you don’t get caught with it. Or so you don’t have to bear the pain of having it stolen from you..

Later you would understand that he couldn’t hide or trade you…he didn’t know what to do with you. Didn’t understand you were a treasure he could keep.

“Have you ever heard of Pedro Urdemales?” He asked, rousing his voice from its sleep.

“No.”

Inhaling deep, he pulled you tighter against himself, fitting your chin into the curve of his shoulder. “He is a trickster character in Chilean folklore. A man who travels alone and can fool anyone to get what he desires. There are tales of him stealing from the devil himself.”

“Mmmm. What could someone possibly want from the devil?”

That curve tightened around your face as he shrugged, allowed you to press your lips into it and he folded his cheek to yours. “Lots of things. Riches. Endless wine. Or unlimited power. Eternal life. Wishes to have anything you wanted. Wouldn’t you take that if you could? What would be worth the risk?”

“The only reason I’d tangle with that guy would be to take back anything the bastard stole from me first.”

He laughed then, softly, adoringly, teasing you. “And what do you have that is worth so much he’d want to steal from you?”

You only had one answer to that. And you didn’t even know if he was really yours. So you picked the closest equivalent. “My heart.”

His laugh was more playful then as he tumbled you over onto your back. “Fragile thing. Is it really so precious?”

“Jeez, fine, you letch!” You squealed as he buried you beneath himself and you struggled to escape the tickle of his nips and kisses. “Forget I said anything!”

But he always remembers what you say. That exchange was no exception.

________________

He had his own home, but he preferred to spend nights at your place, dropping by when it was convenient for him or when he was hiding from a potential client or inquiry. “Your bed is more comfortable, Angel,” was his only answer.

He also preferred to work alone, but once you’d begged to help him with a heist and he found out how your skills complimented his own, he was the one who would come begging. You were an amazing lookout, picked up on minute details, quick thinking and good at causing a distraction. Not a great actor, but able to follow directions.

And you were amazing with locks, which particularly excited him. Any heist that required you to disable or foil a locking mechanism would guarantee he would be in your bed that evening begging again...albeit for other things.

He may have done well to learn from you, but he was too busy salivating over his prizes. You, on the other hand, took the opportunity to observe and glean from his set of skills.

So once you knew the location of the book, you took off on your own.

You convinced yourself it wasn’t because you didn’t trust him not to take the book and run. You wanted to do the job alone because you had an irrational need to impress him. To see pride in his eyes. To show him you were a worthy partner in all things.

Going off the grid. Tracking patterns. Noticing the details. Points of entry. Cameras and sensors. Signs of dogs that might bark or bite. Everything you’d learned.

In the end, it was easy. The book was being kept at a grand estate that was mostly unoccupied for the season. Getting past the groundskeeper was nothing. Evading the cameras and disabling the security systems was simple. Eyes on the prize, get in, only take the one thing, get out, cover your tracks.

It was a little disappointing in the end, to be honest. Hardly a grand adventure. The most difficult thing had been the years of research and tracking the damn thing down.

But that was before. There were two timelines now. Before the book, and after.

One was more bitter than the other.

________

You’d returned to your place after your solo heist only to find him cozy in an armchair, glass of wine in one hand, a familiar notebook in another. He’d looked up when you came in, but smiled back at the pages. “How long did it take you to create a completely second set of research notes?”

Ah. So you were right not to trust him.

You knew he’d come to your place now and then when you weren’t there. You could just tell by the air in the room, a prickle in the light, could practically feel the fringe of the carpet pushed down just a little further where he’d stepped, a book just a millimeter pushed in from where it usually rested on the bookshelf, things picked up and set down just outside their rightful footprint.

And he knew that you knew.

It became this quiet game between you–his breaking and entering, you pretending not to notice. At first you thought it was sweet, a test of your intuition, a calling card to tell you he felt at home where you lived…until you started to notice a pattern.

He would pick up one thing and put it down again. Always in a different room. He knew you’d be able to tell and it would draw your focus. Was designed to draw your focus. But you could swear when he’d done this that he’d always also been in other rooms, and his purpose there wouldn’t be so clear. He’d put a hand behind a bookshelf. He’d lifted the bedcover up. He’d pulled the clothes in your closet aside. Just the disturbance of dust or a stray wrinkle or too-neat hanger placement left a trail.

He was looking for something.

Your notes.

Well. He wanted your notes? He would get your notes.

After the first day you’d met him lurking at the library, you’d gone back and coded them. Swapping out place names and dates here and there, randomly putting in whole pages of completely made up facts and figures. Only you knew what it all meant and which parts were authentic.

So you took them out from your usual hiding spot under the packs of frozen veggies in the freezer and tucked them behind the books on your shelves and let him find them.

“What’s the matter?” you smirked. “Didn’t find anything at the Castor estate?”

His smile deepened, seasoned only slightly with the mildest touch of annoyance as he took a sip of his wine and set the glass down. “I thought we might do this together. Clearly you thought otherwise.”

“And yet, you still went looking for the book on your own, didn’t you.”

You made a quick grab for the notebook, snatching it out of his grasp, only to have him trap your arm in the process, springing like a snake. But instead of fangs, this snake had lips that landed gently on your inner wrist and sly eyes that chastised up at you. “I went looking for you, Angel.”

It was a clumsy maneuver, the way he pulled you down onto his lap. The more delicate dance lay in the footfalls of your trust, how you would follow his lead, but then take it back, your intuition reminding you that love could be blinding. That every time he promised you could both have everything, you could end up with nothing and a broken heart to boot.

“Well, my brave girl,” he breathed into your hair. “Did you find your heart’s desire?”

You sank yourself into him. “I did.”

________________

When your eyes open again, it’s not far from morning. You don’t need to turn to him to know he’s awake too.

“You never trusted me, Angelita.”

“You stole my book.”

“Even before that.”

Clamping your stinging eyes shut, you roll your face into the pillow. You can feel what’s coming, dawning on you as slowly as the literal encroaching sunrise outside the great gray windows, your last dream bringing out in stark hindsight your grandest mistake, all this time later. He’s about to peel your denial from you like a layer of dying skin, slowly, lovingly, painfully.

“If I had asked to see your notes, you would have accused me of trying to steal the book,” he whispers at your back, his breath pulsing against your spine. “I knew you wouldn’t share what you’d learned, so I had to go looking for it. I knew you wouldn’t trust me to come with you, so I thought I would follow you in case anything went wrong.”

“It was easy. Nothing went wrong–”

“And I am more grateful for that than you will ever know.” Warm arms slip around you from behind as bitter tears find their way across your cheek and soak into the pillow. It’s the closest he’s ever come to expressing his love in words, but the joy of it is soured by the pinch that comes with knowing that he’d always loved you, that he never betrayed you as much as circumnavigated your mistrust of him. “Nothing was more important to you than that book. Not even me.”

“That’s not true! The book held the spell, summoning the demon….before you, I was going to make a bargain to regain my family’s abilities. But then after meeting you, I planned to restore the whole tree. We could have had everything together. Everything–” without your consent, denial wraps itself around your heart, squeezing until you can only grind out “--and you took it for yourself!”

“Angel–”

“No!” Sitting up and moving away from him on the bed, you continue to avoid looking over your shoulder at what you assume is a wounded face. Though you should. Should look into those eyes swirling with dark figures and find acidic glee in the fact that his betrayal won him an infestation of the soul. “Years! I gave years of my life to find it and then I was going to share it with you and you? Just? Took it. Like the thief you are!” The hurt is taking hold, coursing through you like hot neon, gripping your throat in a sorrowful ache. “And then you left with her, the book was gone, my chance was gone!”

“Angel–!”

“And then more years! But this time just the opposite, years just trying desperately to let go! Trying to understand that my time had been wasted and I was always going to be the one who let the magic just seep out of my line forever. That I would never be anything but this–” you lose the battle, the frontlines breaking to let the sobs through “--a girl going back and forth from a tiny apartment to a tiny store every day of her life, fixing locks and getting yelled at by bitchy uptown women with more in life than I’d ever have–”

“If it’s riches you wanted, I would have–”

“I don’t fucking want your jewels and paintings, god dammit!” The blasphemy should have all eyes on you, but the statues remain stone in the lightening room, no chastisement, no empathy, no presence whatsoever. An empty room with a heartless man and a woman crying her very wounded heart out into the hands covering her face.

He says nothing for a long while. Perhaps because he still can’t say everything he wants to while the stone containing his soul sits on the finger of a demon. Or perhaps he has nothing to say other than to acknowledge his part in all of this, understanding the hurt you’ve been carrying, letting you grieve. But when he finds his words, they are not what you would expect.

“I’m thankful that I don’t have to sleep often. Because every time I do, I dream of that night when she took me. Every time. For years. But I wouldn’t change it for anything.”

It’s like a swallow of hard spirits, knocking you silent, catching your tears in your throat, mid-whine. The cocktail of resolve and regret in his tone is intoxicating enough to finally face him. “Why not?”

“Because I was able to keep you safe.”

It doesn’t matter now what you say, what you ask him. You know he can’t tell you.

But you see your own reflection in his swirling, black eyes, and you already know every answer, the flaying of your denial complete.

He wasn’t the snake. You were.

He had been honest from the very first day.

So you’re here for me?

I might be.

Your obsession with the book–with your plan to use the demon–it was flawed, but there was no way to derail you, you were too driven to prove yourself. He’d taken on the curse himself not only to shield you from it, but to enhance the powers of his family line, to become the world’s greatest thief, to give you everything you could ever want without the danger of dealing with the evil entity. But dark magic has its price and that price is never so straightforward.

Had he spent these last few years in as much torment as you? Wanting to tell you but unable to? Just as unable to stay away, annoying the hell out of you when he shows up here and there, yet leaving you alone for much longer than you can stand. You should hate him more than you do, but you’ve never been able to. Impossible.

Has he been watching over you all this time?

As you hold his gaze and play with the locket on your chest, you know for certain now that there are three enchantments on it.

The slowing of time. The sharing of dreams.

And protection for the wearer.

“Tell me a story,” you whisper.

His fingers reach to find yours, hold them, draw a thumb across your knuckles. “If I can, I will. What do you want to know?”

“Tell me how Pedro Udemales stole from the devil.”

________

After a fight, there was always a moment of quiet. Either you would step away from each other or you would curl farther in. There were never apologies, never words needed said. One of you would always ask for something, and if the other gave it, then it meant all was on the way to being forgiven. Or at least accepted.

The requests were always granted.

Some things never change.

“There are some who say the Devil keeps an elixir of immortality,” he begins as you curl up against his side, “a drink as rich and filling as wine.

“One day Pedro Urdemales was boasting to a friend about his great escapades, his cunning plans and all the treasure he’d stolen.

“His friend was unimpressed. ‘You’re poor as a bone and skill-less to boot,’ his friend laughed, ‘you couldn’t steal an egg from a blind hen.’

“Pedro had an ego on him and tasked his friend with giving him an assignment. ‘Anything you want stolen, I will bring it to you.’ And so his friend said, ‘Bring me the elixir of immortality.’

“So Pedro Urdemales went to the Devil and asked him for the elixir. The Devil laughed. ‘Why would I give that to you?’ ‘I can trade for it,’ said Pedro, ‘I will rid the world of whatever you hate the most.’ The Devil laughed. ‘You could not get rid of all the holy water in the world. It would mean you must rid the world of all its water and all its prayers, for holy water only takes water and words.’

“‘Then I will give you what you want most in this world,’ said Pedro and the Devil said. ‘I want your soul.” Pedro answered, ‘I will give you my soul, but I wish to have it for a few days more. Come find me at the island where the turtles roost in three days time and bring the elixir. I want a fair trade.’ And the Devil agreed.

“It took Pedro two days and two nights to dig a pit on the island where the turtles roost. When the Devil came on the third day, Pedro asked if he might make a prayer to ask for forgiveness before the exchange took place while he still had his soul and God would still listen. The Devil, amused, allowed it.

“And when he sat down to pray, Pedro Urdemales blessed the waters surrounding the island so that it was surrounded by the blessing, encasing the Devil there. Then he splashed some at the Devil, causing him to drop the elixir and fall blindly into the pit. By the time the Devil crawled out of the hole, Pedro was in his little boat and rowing back to shore, and the Devil was trapped there for some time.

“Pedro took the elixir back to his friend and allowed him to take a drink. They say that man lives still. Pedro himself was too clever to do so, knowing that the reward of a hard life is a long sleep. So after a week and a day, he returned to the island where the turtles roost and the Devil sat pouting and Pedro returned the elixir. Because he hadn’t taken any for himself, the deal was broken.”

“Why didn’t the Devil just kill him then?”

Your thief smiles, gives an illuminated shrug, a halo of firelight around his head and shoulders. “He needed a ride back to land.”

Time is running out, but somehow the urgency has yet to shake you. This is the time when you can feel yourself coming into your own, trust our own ability has taken full root. Your thoughts swirl, working on the puzzle, picking the lock of your circumstances. It’s here, the answer is here, you just need to home in on it. You look around at the statues and relics he’s collected here to keep you safe--to protect you--and finger the locket at your throat that does much the same. “So maybe we need holy water.”

His smile fades. “Doesn’t work on her unless you’ve got a pool full of it to push her into. She may look human, but she’s made of fire. A splash would merely evaporate with a flick of her hand. Seen it happen myself.”

“Really,” you cock an eyebrow, reaching out to lay a fingertip on a disappearing dimple. “Get bold and try to escape?”

“A mistake I didn’t repeat. There’s no worse hangover than having the air sucked out of you.”

There. There it is. This is part of the power that runs through your bloodline…by some supernatural means of attraction, that answer has come flying at you..

“My beautiful thief,” you whisper. “Do you by any chance have an air-tight safe?”

_______

The demon’s abilities are limited while it’s on earth in human form. While she can wield some supernatural powers, she blessedly does not have the ability to travel in an instant, weighted down as she is by the souls she carries, souls that are more bound by this material plane.

All the same, she is on her way.

And you are on yours, nearly running to keep up with your Thief, shoes clicking on the marbled floors and jacket fluttering behind him as he takes long strides on his way back to the main hall. “It’s a strange place for a wine cellar, but she wanted it close by her fireplace so I wouldn’t have the excuse to go far if she wanted me around.”

Back in the demon’s sitting room he moves away from the fireplace toward a gaudy painting and tips a golden statuette on its pedestal revealing a hidden door that swings inward to a hiss of a hermetic seal and the one-two-three illumination of a series of overhead lighting.

Rows of wine racks line the small room, but it is otherwise pristine. Austere.

“It’s air-tight?” you ask.

“As a tomb,” he answers.

“It’ll do.”

It should have been you that night. It should have been you taking on the curse. You deserved this fate, not him, that much is finally obvious. Watching him now, his broad shoulders filling out the floral jacket, much more colorful than he used to wear, though something you might have chosen for him. The pout of his lips when he speaks, teasing even when he’s serious, a spark of sass, just enough to cover any doubt or concern, of which he has in perpetuity. The way he always gives you his focus, watches you, you can see his eyes following the curve of your ear, the corner of your eye, the cannon of your lips–

And you’re watching me do it.

The pleasure’s all mine.

You should have trusted him. Protected him. Shared your dreams with him. Taken your time.

“...it’s a safety system–it won’t shut on its own, someone has to manually throw the lever.”

You stare past him at the golden statuette, still tipped to a 45 degree angle, a cherub caught mid-fall from heaven. It’s okay, little one, no need to fall any further, I’ll take over and make the hard landing. “Then you’re going to have to be the one to do it.”

“Angel, no. You’re forgetting something–”

“That the air gets pumped out of the room when the door closes? That’s the point. No air, no fire–”

“And no breath for a human girl.”

“I just have to hold out longer than her.”

For the first time since the night of fire that took him from you, the blackness of his eyes recedes just a little, the swirling there recoiling in fear. His fear.

“Angel.” It’s been so long since his voice has been this gentle, you almost forgot what it sounded like without the subtle sub-roar of the demons that infected him. Before tonight you would have said with certainty that his voice has always purred with mischief. But you know that’s only because you let your bitter disappointment color the past.

But now, now you remember. He used to be like this, just like this. Your charming, gentle thief.

“Angel, there has to be another way.”

“You brought me here to fight a demon. It was always going to be dangerous. What did you expect?”

“I brought you here to outsmart, to use your skills–” He stops when you reach up to unclasp the necklace.

“If you don’t like my methods, then perhaps you should do this heist on your own.” You both look down sadly at the little locket in your hands, its tiny golden gears sparkling through its crystal housing. “But you can’t…can you. Even if you found a way for her to drop the ring or leave it behind…you’re not allowed to take it yourself.” The tiny golden key attached to the clasp winks in the light from the sitting room fire. It fits so beautifully in the locket, as if it was made for it and not the other way around. “It needs to be freed from her by someone other than you, someone who cares for you, and given to you, handed to you, like you did with Blackwell.” His eyes snap to yours, a chaos of fear, hope, love. “And you put three spells on this locket, didn’t you. Time and dreams…but also protection. What happens if I call on them all at once?”

His hand shoots out to grab your wrist before you dare turn the key. “Don’t.”

You smirk. “All you have to do is tell me the truth and this all ends.”

You can see it in his sad but sly grin. He understands your game, knows he can’t win it. But at least he can play. “My wish was to be the greatest thief so I could just easily take what I wanted. Including your heart.”

“Liar,” you wink and twist out of his grip as you turn the key. “Don’t you dare open that door too early.”

The flames in the fireplace slow from a flicker to a wave before settling into a lava-like crawl. Knowing he doesn’t have the power to stop you with words, he hasn’t even tried, his sad eyes on you, the swirling in them slowed almost to stopping as time bends out of frame.

The slowing of time. That’s one.

The banks of lights in the wine cellar flicker slowly as you make your way down the aisle in front of you, running your fingers over the glossy bottles and linen paper labels as you find your spot at the back of the cellar that’s not in a cellar but behind a painting in the house of a thief.

Here, standing straight and sure, you close your eyes and breathe.

Let’s draw her in a little faster, shall we? Make sure she knows exactly where to go.

Two. The confluence of dreams.

When you open your eyes, what you see is not from this time and place. Once again, you’re looking through his eyes, somewhere in the past. No. Sometime in the past. The where is clear: your apartment. Specifically your living room, where a working altar is set up on your coffee table.

His hands are writing, an ordinary pen on ordinary paper, surrounded by candles, a few other trinkets, a teacup with a thimblefull of blood–his own–and the book. This is the moment before the fire, the preparation of the summoning, the creation of the wish to be granted.

It is in my bloodline–this same blood I offer–to want, to want more, to never see my want slaked. My heart has been under a lock since birth, a greediness that I can’t shake, part of the curse of my family name. I wish to have the skill to take whatever is needed to protect and provide for the one I love, to enhance my powers of thievery only and to keep her pure.

And to covet nothing in the world but her.

He finishes by writing your name in sigil script, finishing it off with a scribbled circle of warding, then something that must be his own name, although you can’t see what it is, he is signing it unseen, his eyes closed as if he is swallowing down the thought of what he’s about to do.

Once the wish is folded and sealed, his fingers hold the paper to the candle flame, confirming that the fire will indeed consume it before placing the burning contract into the teacup to mingle with his blood offering.

After that comes the scene that you remember. You, coming into the room, accusing him. Him, running to protect you as the fountain of fire shoots out of the book, a pillar of flame among your bookshelves–

–which are strangely shifting, twisting, becoming wine shelves–

–in a cellar full of dark, gleaming bottles–

And now--! Your eyes are truly open and seeing only what you yourself see.

And she is here, before you. A monstrous beauty with sable hair and blood red lips.

Even if you had time to twist the little key again, it may not slow her down as she rushes at you, bright white teeth and scarlet-tipped nails bared, blue eyes glowing dark in fury and the fire churning beneath her skin.

It’s over so fast there’s no time to process the fear that electrifies your veins. There’s only a moment, a split second to shield yourself with your arms, pressed against the wall at the back of the aisle. As you go down, you can see past the demon to your thief in the sitting room, dragging himself off the floor where she had knocked him down, gasping for breath and flailing for hold on the little statuette as the flames reach you and burn burn burn–

It takes a hundred years. A thousand. You can feel the singing of each pore, the burning down of each hair on your body like tiny wicks. The skin bubbles and breaks and bleeds and fuses and the scream that razors through your throat is ragged and raw.

But then, you see the words, written on the backs of eyelids that are no longer there.

to keep her pure nothing in the world but her.

The pain doesn’t matter anymore.

In her rage, the demon has burst into a violent flame, hell-bent on devouring you and everything around you in order to regain the key to her box of souls. It is an enormous output of elemental energy.

But soon enough her shrieks of rage begin to wither, to sputter out at the end and she whips around in fear, pulling at the shelves, but they only twist and melt, providing her with no fuel–

The air is leaving the room and she shrieks as she shrinks to nothing. She’s burned all the way through the small reserves.

Good. Good. The job is done and you can sleep. It’s surprising how fast it pulls you under, a dizziness, and then, gone.

________

It’s nighttime in the west ballroom when you awake in the fourposter. The stars are twinkling through the high windows and the fire has gently warmed the room. The sheets are silk and feel cool and smooth against your bare skin–

Your skin. Intact. Unmarred. Pristine.

A protection, a warding of evil. That makes three.

Reaching up to the locket that kept you safe you find it…gone.

Did it burn in the fire? Did he take it back? Was it only yours until it served his purpose? A piece of you wonders if it ever existed in the first place. And if it wasn’t for the fact that you were in this theological museum of a ballroom you might question if any of it happened. But then. You feel his eyes on you. You scan the faces.

Saint Christoper. Saint Anne. Francis. And, among them, your thief, the firelight making an exhausted saint of him too, throwing his curls into carved relief and highlighting every crease of care and concern.

Of course he’s here.

“She’s gone?”

He nods. Somber. “She is.”

“But the villa’s still here.”

Another nod. “It is. She may be gone, but the contract is still intact.”

“I see.” You’re not sure what this means. Of course you know he needs you to hand the ring back to him, but then? He can be free of this curse and free of you, go find someone who can trust him like he deserves, can love him like he….Perhaps that was a question for another time. “Then you still need me? One last task for my thief.”

A third nod. This one comes with a bittersweet smile. “I need a ride back to land.”

__________

The wine cellar is void black. Not only are the lights gone, but every surface has been charred. All but one.

As your thief follows you into the room with a candelabra, three shadows of you fall upon a fourth; an untouched portion of the wall holds the silhouette of your cowered frame.

The wine racks are all melted horrors of scaffolding, grotesque skeletons of long-lost creatures in the darkness. Candlelight catches on bits of broken glass here and there, melted into little cruel shapes. The smell of burned wine hangs in the air.

On the ground though, are ten perfect rings. Unmarred, each with a huge sparkling stone. Ten souls, baptized in flame. A thought occurs to you as you pick up the one with the deep crimson stone–

��Did you feel it? The fire?”

“Yes.” It’s quiet, almost an apology, as if he knows that it couldn’t have hurt as much as being bodily bathed in it.

But still. You lift the ring to your lips and kiss it, bestowing all your love into it. Taking his hand, you place the jewel in his palm, curling his fingers over it along with your own. “There now. Back home.”

He only looks down at your combined hands. A moment that seems to stretch into portraiture for all its stillness.

You’re not sure if you should be the one to break the silence. But it seems he cannot do it himself.

“Are you…okay? Do we need to do something else? Another step?”

Shaking his head, he’s quiet for only a moment longer. “If I put it on my finger, the ring just disappears. I get my soul back. I belong to myself again.” Then he raises his swirling black eyes to yours. “But right now it’s still mine to do what I want with it.”

He sets the candelabra on the ground, freeing up his hand to gently take yours.

And slips the ring on your finger.

“Share it with me.”

The shock takes your voice, leaving nothing but air as you whisper, “What?” But then all that air comes rushing back in a gasp as you look into his eyes.

His brown, chestnut eyes.

“Share it with me. Let’s have some fun for a little while longer.”

Without ownership of the demon, its little minions have left him. His eyes are now filled with…you.

“Share what? The villa? The book? Your soul?”

“Sure. All of it.”

He anticipates your protest, but you do not get to make any of it but a “mmmf” before he silences you with a kiss.

And when he breaks away, one corner of his lips pull into a smirk, and one finger comes out to playfully flick the little crystal heart that has not-so-mysteriously reappeared around your neck. Key included.

The ring sparkles on your finger. On a significant finger of your left hand. “So…you’re just fine with me having dominion over you then.” Holding it up for emphasis, you match his game. “You’re basically mine to command. That’s what you want?”

He nods evenly, but his eyes give away something like contentment. “That’s what I want.”

“Hmmmm.” Unsurprisingly, the mischief rises in you. “So…when the demon had this, did she ever ask you to…you know.”

He gives you an even, truthful stare. “Not once.”

“I see. Aaaaand…what if I did?”

“Give a human ultimate power and they’ll abuse it for the basest gratifications,” he sighs, cupping your jaw in his hands. “You don’t need the ring for that.”

A good many minutes and a good many kisses later, you finally let a realization tear your mouth from his. Keeping your arms locked around his neck, refusing to let him go, you admit, “I still don’t remember your name.”

He shrugs, just as unwilling to unwind from you. “You can call me anything your heart desires. I’ll answer to it.”

“Mmmm.” Your eyes fall on the other rings glittering in the darkness of the ruined cellar. The pull of the key on your neck tells you there are many more in a little porcelain box nearby, a few dozen souls now under your maintenance. “What about these other ones?”

“Should we hunt them down? Return them to their owners?”

You smile. “Is that a scheme Pedro Urdemales might get behind?”

The crinkles at the edges of his eyes deepen, and his beautiful, rich brown eyes gleam with trouble. “Perhaps.”

“Well then, Pedro. Let’s go and steal from the Devil.”

________________

LOCKSMITH SERIES MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

#the thief #locksmith and thief #casillero del diablo

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domxmarvel · 4 years ago

Text

Knight

Masterlist

Requested by:@tokufan400

Pairing:Kagami Tsurugi x Male!Reader

Words:270

Request: Kagami's male S/O admitting that in a fairy tail, he would be the damsel in distress and her the prince who comes to his rescue.

A/N: Sorry it’s so short

One of your classes was canceled,which meant that your lunch break was longer than usual. Somehow you all ended up talking about the akumatized villains you saw. Alya talked about her sister who turned into Anansi,a giant spider. But also how Nino protected her even without super powers.

"You could say he's my knight in shining armor" She laughed. The rest of them kept going,telling their stories. Until you were the only one left,the truth was you didn't have a story,Kagami had been akumatized but you weren't there when it happened.

"What about you Y/N?"

"I don't have a story" You said

"Yet" Alya added. "But I'm sure you'd defend Kagami the way Nino defended me"

"Actually I'd be the opposite" Everyone looked at you,confused. "She'd be the one defending me" You laughed.

"So she's your prince,that's so sweet" Rosé said,leaning against her girlfriend.

"If it was a fairytale I'd be the princess and she'd be the prince" You explained,but were interrupted by the bell.

***

The class ended up working in groups,you ended up with Alya and Marinette. You were at your place working on the project after school. After two hours,you decided to take a break.

"So doesn't it bother you?" Alya asked

"What?"

"That Kagami would be your prince,and not the other way around"

"Not really" It never really bothered you that she was clearly the stronger of you two. "I've never felt that way around her,she never makes me feel like I need to be the prince I can just be myself"

#kagami tsurugi x reader #kagami tsuguri #kagami tsurugi #kagami x reader #ml kagami #ml kagami x reader #mlb kagami #ML #ml x reader #MLB #MLB imagine #mlb x reader #domxmarvel

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whiskey-writes · 5 years ago

Text

Imagine Bucky helping you learn Russian and accidentally saying one of the Winter Soldier’s trigger words...

Summary: Bucky helps reader learn a new language, and when things go wrong reader is there to support him.

Warnings: Obscene amount of fluff. Bucky being a precious bean. Mentions of past trauma.

A/N: Hey loves! It seems I am firing off another one today! Requests and tag lists are open. Stay healthy!

Story dedicated to Anansi.

~x~

“Hey doll, whatcha up to?”

Bucky’s voice drew your attention away from the papers scattered around you. (Y/N) looked up from where she sat on the floor in front of the couch, flashing him a smile that he could not help but return. Try as he might, there was no hiding the fact that he was head over heels for you. Tony would often joke about how sick he was of seeing stars in Bucky’s eyes whenever (Y/N) even so much as looked in his direction, practically reducing the super soldier to a puddle at her feet with a bat of her lashes. Bucky Barnes was absolutely smitten, something it seemed everyone but (Y/N) was aware of.

“Hey Bucky!” She answered, getting to her feet as she spotted the empty coffee mug in his hand. It was Bucky’s favorite, slate gray with big bold black lettering that simply read “BASTARD.” Sam had given it to Bucky as a gag gift, and he had laughed so hard there were tears in his eyes. It was one of (Y/N)’s favorite memories of Bucky. Taking the cup from his hand, she gently dismissed his quiet “thank you” and started putting a pot of coffee on for the both of them.

“I was just studying. Did you have a good run?” She turned around to face Bucky, looking absolutely angelic in the early morning light filtering in through the floor to ceiling windows.

“Yeah, I went with Steve and Sam.”

“Oh no.” (Y/N) chuckled, pulling the bread from the cupboard to make some toast. “And is Sam still with us?”

“Very funny, (L/N).” Sam said as he walked into the kitchen, gently shoving her with his shoulder as he reached for a box of cereal. “For your information, I lapped these grandpas twice.”

“He tripped and fell flat on his face in front of two girls on a jog while trying to race Steve.” Bucky said with a grin, while Sam made a face at him. The sound of your laughter took his breath away.

This. This was peace. Right here, in the kitchen, watching you and Sam bicker back and forth as Sam held the butter for your toast just out of your reach. Bucky still found it surreal sometimes, to have such happiness in his life. It had taken him a second to realize you were holding his coffee mug out to him, the sound of his name bringing him back to the present. Sam coughed, hiding a grin behind his fist, earning him a glare from Bucky.

“So uh, what are you studying?” Ignoring Sam’s not so subtle eyebrow waggles, Bucky followed you back to your place on the floor in the common area, carrying your plate of toast for you.

“I am learning Russian.” She declared excitedly, pulling a throw pillow off the couch and making a place for Bucky beside her. “Do you think you could help me out? Natasha promised she would help me practice by having conversations with her in Russian, but I am still working on getting familiar with this new alphabet, so I am not so good at pronunciation just yet.”

“Sure thing doll.” Bucky grinned, absolutely delighted to help you with this. Your excitement was infectious, he couldn’t help but smile at it. You were practically buzzing. “Where shall we start?”

“Well, I was just reviewing some of these words here...” She said, pulling a sheet of paper from her notes and handing it over to Bucky, taking a small bite out of her toast. “I wrote some basic vocab down from the app I am using so I can review them later.”

Skimming the list, Bucky nodded, and handed it back to you, getting comfortable. “Why don’t you start by reading off the words on the list and we go from there?”

“Thanks Bucky!” She was beaming, abandoning her cup of coffee and toast in favor of studying. “Okay, so this one here is pretty easy. Мама.”

Bucky nodded, stealing a slice of toast. “It’s pretty much the same. The accent will fade the more you get used to speaking Russian, but where you are at now with that word is just fine.”

(Y/N) could barely suppress a quiet squeak of delight at hearing Bucky give her praise, even on something so little. When she came to Natasha asking for help on learning the language, she had admitted to the redhead that she hoped it might help her get closer to Bucky. But this was better than she could have ever dreamed of.

“Okay, how about ‘medic’ next, ‘meh-deyuk’?” The word felt clumsy on her tongue, and she made a face that Bucky found absolutely adorable. He hid his smile behind a sip of coffee. “It is almost like someone tried to say ‘medic’ and ‘meh duck’ at the same time.”

Bucky let out a soft huff of amusement, leaning forward and setting his coffee down on the coffee table in front of him.

“Медик.” He repeated slowly, as she carefully studied the way the word formed itself on his lips.

“Медик.” (Y/N) repeated, eyes lighting up when he smiled and gave a nod.

“Good job.”

“Thanks. This one is really funky, the app says I am pronouncing it correctly, but-” She gave a sigh, brow furrowing as she scratched at the corner of her eyebrow. “I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right on my tongue.”

“Go on and give it a shot, I’ll let you know.” Bucky said, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back against the seat of the couch.

“грузовой вагон? Which I guess is freight car? I don’t know, it just-...Bucky?”

Ice dumped into his veins the moment the words had left her lips. A cold sweat broke out across his skin and his whole body tensed, unseeing eyes focused on his lap. His heart raced, as fear spiked at the back of his mind. The snow. The biting cold. The drop in the pit of his stomach as he fell. Even worse, the feeling of slipping away as he lost his grasp on his own soul.

Those ten words may have lost their power to awaken the Winter Soldier, but they had not lost their power over him.

“Bucky, look at me.”

The sound of her gentle command broke him from his stupor. He lifted his eyes to meet beautiful (E/C). (Y/N) knelt before him, concern and compassion coloring her expression. Shame washed over him to have worried her, yet Bucky was grateful to not see pity in her eyes as she looked at him.

“I’m sorry, doll.” He said, to which she firmly shook her head. He had no reason to be sorry.

“Was that one of the...?” (Y/N)’s voice trailed off, her expression darkening momentarily as realization dawned. It wasn’t until that moment did she connect the dots to understand the weight behind that particular trigger word. It made her sick.

“I’m sorry.” She said, pulling Bucky in for a hug. There would be no erasing the trauma he had endured in his past, but (Y/N) hoped Bucky knew he did not have to face it alone.

“Thank you.” He whispered softly, wrapping his arms around her to return the embrace. Bucky had never felt safer, or as happy than he did as they held each other.

~x~

Steve and Sam looked on at the scene before them, Bucky and (Y/N) oblivious to the world around them, glad to see his best friend was so happy. Lingering for just a moment longer to take it all in, he turned, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder.

“Let’s go.” Steve said with a smile, glancing back once more at his best friend. “He’s in good hands.”

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #sam wilson #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #bucky barnes imagine #marvel x reader #marvel imagine

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blazogirlsoneshots · 5 years ago

Text

The Gift (Apocalypse!AU) (Peter Parker x Reader)

The air was too warm for it to be December 24. There was no way it was winter time if you could walk around in the middle of the deserted New York City in a tank-top, but yet here was Y/N strolling down Times Square sweating on Christmas Eve. The beat-up watch on their wrist that was somehow still working even said it was December 24, but it didn’t make any sense. If it was Christmas Eve then Y/N needed to find Peter a present.

Y/N climbed over the piles of rubbish as they thought about what to do. Y/N and Peter had been best friends since Kindergarten. They had bonded over a love for Star Wars and science and quickly became inseparable. Peter would joke that they were the brains of the operation and he was nothing more than the henchman would do whatever she said. It wasn’t completely true but neither one of them wanted to argue over it. That was just how their little world worked, Peter would spew out little random facts of knowledge and Y/N would come up with a way to turn it into a project. At least, that’s how things used to work.

Y/N arrived at the little makeshift camp the two had set up in the basement of their old apartment building. Peter had gone out, most likely looking for supplies, so Y/N had the place to themselves. Checking carefully that no one had come in while they were out Y/N went over to a hole in the wall and pulled out a dented lockbox.

In all honesty, it was a miracle that the box had survived for so long. Over the past year, the world has become a nightmare that wasn’t designed for the sad little box. It’s hard to explain what happened but some kind of sickness caused governments to collapse and the climate to drastically change. It was like a parasite was leaching the life out of the Earth, taking our protagonists' parents and loved one while leaving them solely to their own devices.

Y/N reached up with trembling hands and grabbed a key off of a chain around their neck. With a little struggle, she got the box to open, the treasures of the two seemed to grin up at her. After the first wave of destruction, Peter had come up with the idea to lock up anything the cared about deeply in the box so they could have some sense of security. Their passports, money (that didn’t have any worth anymore), and little things like action figures from the first grade had made the box their new home.

There was also one more item that Peter didn’t know about that Y/N took a little too much pride in. When Y/N was only 13 years old, their mother gave her a small dagger. It was a gift that made no sense at the time, but now it was the perfect item for the new world.

“Y/N? Are you here?” An 18-year-old boy crept down the stairs. He had messy brown hair that covered the eyes that were filled with too much sorrow to belong to a boy his age.

“I’m here Pete,” Y/N slipped the dagger up their sleeve as she quickly shut the box. “Did you find anything interesting today?”

“Material? No, but news? Yes,” Peter flopped down on the old dust couch that took up most of the room.

“Explain please,” Y/N collapsed next to Peter. It would have been easier to ask if the news was something they wanted to hear or not, but then they wouldn’t have heard the news because there was no such thing as good news anymore.

“Remember when I told you about Mr. Stark?”

“You mean the amazing Mr. Stark who you never shut up about, why?”

“Well, he’s opened up a safe haven upstate and if you pass a test you can win a semi-permanent spot in the community.”

“What kind of test?”

“Probably something on your health and mental capacity.”

“That sounds rather sketchy,” Y/N got up and rummaged through their “fridge”. “And how would we even get there?”

“We walk and I know we’d both pass,” Peter climbed out off the couch and joined Y/N. “We both know that there’s nothing left for us here and if we go now, we have a better chance of getting in.”

“But leaving?”

“Leaving ghosts and rubble, how is that not better than staying? What more do we have in this basement? A shelter that’s going to collapse on us in our sleep is all we have here.”

Y/N gave Peter a long stare. “It’s not that I don’t want to leave, but walking all the way upstate? We could be killed.”

“We could be killed here as well.”

“I know that,” Y/N slammed the fridge door shut and marched back to the couch. “I just don’t want to abandon a perfectly good hid out for a scam. But if this is what you want then I’ll see you off.”

“And if it’s not a trap?”

“Then I’ll stay with you. After all, why would I leave my best friend?”

Soon the duo was off, out in the great unknown with death and destruction almost certainly following them all the way. The once-great city was now nothing more than a pile of rubble.

The thought of Christmas was still ever-present on Y/N’s mind. It had been a little tradition of theirs to have a little competition to see who can out due the other with their gift. Neither of them had thought about it since last year and now Y/N couldn’t keep their mind off it. What could they get Peter that would really blow him away? Even if they could find the perfect gift for him how would they buy it? Nothing they owned would get them anything, well almost everything.

They felt their dagger through her sleeve. What could they get by trading away the last reminder of their old life? What would Peter even want?

“You’re being rather quiet, what’s wrong?”

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“Christmas.”

“Oh. OH, that’s tomorrow, isn’t it? Well, I haven’t gotten you a present if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I was actually worried about what I was going to get you.”

Peter took Y/N’s hand in his, “If you really want to get me a present, then stay with me. I know you don’t trust the entire idea of this trip, but I would feel much better if you wouldn’t leave me. I always feel better when you’re with me.”

“Would that win me the prize?” Y/N asked slyly. “I quite enjoy winning and I just want verbal confirmation of my victory.”

Peter did nothing but laugh, “Who knows, I might find something that tops that. Maybe I have a signed copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.”

“Do you really?” Y/N shouted.

“I meant hypothetically!” “Hypothetically? Then no.”

“Y/N!”

“What!”

Peter just simply laughed and held Y/N’s hand tighter. It wasn’t all that bad to be stuck in the apocalypse with your best friend.

The journey would’ve gone on without a hitch if it hadn’t had been for the worst Christmas gift ever. They were walking down a deserted highway a man dressed in all black appeared and began walking towards them.

“Peter,” Y/N whispered. “Is he going to try and talk to us?”

“I don’t know,” Peter muttered back.

“Hello there!” The man bellowed down the road.

“Umm, hello?” Y/N called back nervously. They locked eyes with Peter as they shared a silent prayer.

“I didn’t think anyone was left anymore, but look! I meet two young folks just a strollin’ down the street.”

“Peter, you should stay here and I’ll go and talk to him.” Y/N began walking towards the man but was quickly stopped by Peter.

“No, I should go,” Desperation filled his eyes as they both traveled to the worst possible outcome.

“It will be okay, I promise. And if it turns out that I’m wrong then you can have the satisfaction of saying ‘I told you so’ a million times.” Peter tried to stop them but half of our duo was gone.

“Well hello there, what can I help you with?” The man in black asked as Y/N stood next to him.

“Nothing much, that is if you can tell me what your name is and what you want with us?”

“What do you mean by what I want with you?”

“I’m not stupid,” Y/N crossed their arms and then quickly uncrossed them to stop herself from falling on the dusty ground.

The man copied Y/N’s form and smiled with a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes. “Why you are a smart one, aren’t you? Those who survive an interaction with me usually call me Anansi,” Anansi smirked.

“Was that a threat?”

“It depends, where are you going and what are you giving me so you can actually get there?”

Y/N wasn’t good with sacrifices. When their mother had contracted the virus she had been in so much pain she had screamed at Y/N to kill her. Her mother knew that she wasn’t going to get better no matter what Y/N kept on promising. Y/N understood that if she didn’t do what her mother asked Peter and themselves would end up as sick as their mother. Finally, a man broke into their apartment and he shot Y/N’s mother before Y/N could shoot him. They had thrown up four times that night and didn’t talk for a month.

Here they were, with a decision that would definitely result in sacrifice and they could already feel the bile building up in the back of their throat.

“We just need to keep going down this road, I’m guessing that you want money to let us pass,” Anansi just laughed and pulled a revolver out of the coat.

“What would I do with money? My darling, you’ll have to try harder if you and your friend want to get to your destination alive.”

The dagger in their sleeve was growing warmer and warmer as the thought of what they had to give up grew clearer and clearer.

She drew the weapons and held it out to the man, “Would this be a good enough payment?”

Anansi jeered at dagger as a small smile stretched across his face. “This is enough payment for one person, call your friend over here and we can see what he can give as your fare.”

Half-heartedly, Y/N called Peter over.

“What’s going on?” Peter asked with a small smile on his face. When it came to stressful situations, Peter preferred taking the humorous route as an attempt to smooth out any feeling of animosity in the air.

“Peter, this man won’t let us pass if we don’t give him something as payment.”

The smile vanished from Peter’s face and was replaced with a stare that was trying its hardest to incinerate Anansi. “What’s the price for one fare?”

“For the nice fella, it’ll cost you more than you can imagine sony.”

“I’ll pay.”

“Peter-”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Peter gave Y/N a comforting smile. “It’s okay.”

“I’m so glad you think that,” Anansi said with a laugh. “Because it’s so difficult to do business with folks who lean towards the hysterical side of their emotions.”

He yanked the dagger out of Y/N’s hand and drove it into Peter’s chest.

Time froze as the boy fell. Y/N couldn’t move, couldn’t scream. They could just watch as their best friend, the one person they had left in the world, hit the ground as the dark earth mixed with the crimson blood falling from Peter’s chest.

Y/N fell to the ground as they frantically tried to find some sort of pulse. “No, no, no, no, no. Peter, you promised. You promised!”

“Would you look at that, you didn’t need to give anything up. I was going to let you go freely my dear after messing with you, same with the boy. But looky here, he seemed like a right little brat. So look, I’ve saved the world from one more prick and you have one less person to worry about,” Anansi laughed. He had lost his soul far too long ago to worry about the feelings of one girl. “And Merry Christmas!”

masterlist

A/N: I’m really sorry

#peter parker x reader #spiderman x reader #spider man x reader #spider-man x reader #spiderman #spider man #spider-man #peter parker #Merry Christmas #spider-man: far from home #spider man homecoming #marvel #mcu #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #angst

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rotationalsymmetry · 4 years ago

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About recommendations. There is a thing, where, if Mary reads a book (a novel -- I’m talking fiction here) and recommends it to Jane who recommends it to Tom who recommends it to Bob who recommends it to Alice -- this is called word of mouth, it’s actually hugely important to book sales, ads don’t do nearly as much as word of mouth when it comes to which books take off and which don’t -- and I hope I don’t have to spell out that book sales are directly connected to who gets another book deal and who doesn’t -- if any one person in the chain is like “oh, Tom probably isn’t interested in a book that deals with feminist issues” or “Bob might not like a book that’s mostly about black characters” or “oh, Jane isn’t going to like this book because she’s straight” then the entire chain gets broken. Which means, if Tom just doesn’t like stories that have too much of “that feminist garbage” and won’t read it or recommend it, then the chain gets broken. If Tom would be fine with that feminist stuff but Jane just nervous enough that he might not be that she recommends something “safer” instead, the chain gets broken. If Tom is embarrassed to read a book with a pink cover in public, so he reads it but won’t admit to Bob that he read it, the chain gets broken. Which means that certain kinds of books -- books with feminist themes and pink books and books where everyone’s queer or everyone’s black or whatever -- don’t get as much word of mouth, or only get it through chains of people who ALL like feminist books, pink books, books with black protagonists, etc. And who all know that the person coming after them in the chain likes that kind of book. Etc. (I was going to use Neil Gaiman’s book Anansi Boys as an example, but...I think that’s probably a major exception to this. An author who writes one book centering black characters in a sea of books that don’t, and who’s gotten well known off of those other books, well, that’s different from an author who centers black characters in every book they write, you know? And for people who like Neil Gaiman, any Neil Gaiman book is a pretty safe rec.) And you can’t undo that. You don’t even know it happened. Even if everyone in YOUR network will pass along feminist stuff, other people don’t, and that affects sales negatively. You can’t counter it by being neutral. You have to counter it by preferentially passing on those books. Especially to other people who will preferentially pass those recs along. Which might mean “this show is so great because it has (detailed list of characters’ demographics/because it handles x in y way)” but it can also mean “this show is so good, I love the way romance is handled and I just relate to the characters so hard and it keeps me guessing about what’s coming next” but you know that part of why you’re recommending it is (detailed list of characters’ demographics and how it handles x in y way.) I mean, presumably you’re not only recommending it because of the sj stuff, it’s the sj stuff plus its other good qualities, right? I’m listening to LeVar Burton Reads. I believe I found that recommendation from being an avid Captain Awkward reader. And, a podcast with short stories read by LeVar Burton isn’t a stretch: I love Geordi LaForge in Star Trek TNG, I loved Reading Rainbow as a kid, I love listening to short stories, it’s all good! And, I’ve noticed on several stories he takes a moment after reading it to talk about how the story’s ideas and themes connect to his personal experience, sometimes as a father or some such, sometimes as a black man. And...I wonder. I wonder at the factors leading up to me getting a recommendation like that, vs not getting it. How easy it would be to never have heard about it at all. I hang out with people on the liberal to radical side of the political spectrum. I don’t think I even know anyone who would deliberately not recommend a podcast because the host talks about being a black person. I don’t think I know anyone who would deliberately not recommend a book because it featured black characters. I don’t think I come across as someone who wouldn’t be interested in something like that. And yet, the books I’ve read that were written by black people or center around black characters, there are not many of them. (A lot of bookstores that I’ve been into in the last few years have started centering writers of color, and there’s short story magazines that are prioritizing writers of color and other marginalized folks, and this is new, this was not happening 10 or 15 or 20 years ago, not on the scale it is now. Maybe it happened at some point in the past, but not in my past, not in my adult past.) And yeah, all the times I played up Brandon Sanderson or Terry Pratchett (who...does write about feminist themes? But he’s a guy so it’s different?) and didn’t mention Mercedes Lackey or Anne McCaffrey because I’d never actually met anyone else who liked Mercedes Lackey or Anne McCaffrey. It’s not even that I didn’t recommend them to men. I didn’t recommend them to anyone. Because no one recommended them to me.

#yeah I was one isolated teenager #but also I remember dating on OK cupid #and using an interest in fantasy and sci fi as a starting topic #and the guys always only ever mentioned male authors #always #and my flute teacher recommended sherri s tepper #and there is just no bridge between neil gaiman as lovely as he is #and sherri s tepper #media #books #recommendations #feminism #antiracism #lgbtq+ representation #poc representation #black panther is objectively the best movie ever created well not really but easily the best marvel cinematic universe movie #long post #discourse #effective action

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kiaraspeaks · 4 years ago

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Anansi x Female!Reader: In a flash we'll meet again.

You hope that he understands one day, his father is a complicated man. Man? That's a stretch of the imagination right there. You loved Anansi, loved him more than anything and anyone else in the world, besides Charlie, but, you couldn't stay with him. Children only are able to see what you put in front of them, and Anansi painted just enough of a vision of himself to hide his world from your child. Children. What a fucking mess that is. There are days that you wished that you hadn't met him but that's a pointless line of thought, Anansi desired you, to know you, to have Charlie, long before any war. He may have driven you up a wall at one point but he was family, and you knew that despite any differences when you called he would always come.

After all that's how you met, you weren't trying to summon a God. But praying for somebody, anybody, to stop this man chatting you up in the bar. You came for a quick drink at Randy's Divebar, Anansi materialized nearby (or perhaps he was waiting in the wings the whole time, just waiting, as he had done your entire life) what might be a hideous green and yellow floral pattern worked for him, long lean lines that might make someone else seem imposing made him even more inviting despite the man yammering on and on about himself.

"Bothering you?" He said, he inhaled on the cigarette and blew smoke into the face of the man hassling you. Whichever meathead that was hassling you didn't take kindly to it, but Anansi didn't care, had never cared, didn't care that he was thinner and obviously more breakable. He out maneuvered everyone before ever setting foot in any room, that included you too. "Move."

"Or what?" They said, he'd been hunched over you for the better part of the night but he was standing up rod straight and cutting an imposing figure. First, Anansi smiled, something you learned much later masks more pain and irritation than any human body could tolerate. Next, he picked up his glass and drained it and turned it over in his hands a few times. You heard it, the sound of the glass shattering, the crunching of the bones in his face, and finally saw the mess of the meathead's face. They ran out screaming, bleeding and crying. You should've been positively frightened but you weren't. Not even as Anansi plucked glass out of hands and tossed it into the drink of the man who had annoyed you.

"That wasn't necessary." You said and nursed your drink. The bartender didn't say anything, clearly they had some type of understanding. They moved further down to tend to other customers.

"Maybe so," He said, the cigarette perched perfectly in the corner of his mouth. He pulled out the splintered shards of glass like it didn't hurt, the blood didn't bother him. He raised his bloody hand and signaled for two drinks. "But it was fun."

"For you."

"Well maybe I'll have to work harder to impress you next time." He said.

"What makes you think there will be a next time, and why would you try?" You said, he smirked, didn't smile. His smirks were harmless, adorable, thoughtful. It's dangerous to know a God so closely. You would call it fate, but Anansi hated such words. After all he thought the only stories that were written in stone were penned by him.

"You're Mr. Nancy's girl, why not try?"

"And who is Mr. Nancy?" You asked, two drinks are placed between you both and then a small container of gauze. Anansi grabbed the gauze and one of the drinks, he poured the liquor over his wounded hand and allowed it to drip perfectly into the glass with the bloody shards. He doesn't wince, sigh or suck in deep breaths of air as the booze washes over his wounds.

"Someone important, snappy dresser, charming, and I hear that he might even be single."

"If I'm his girl how is he single?" You asked,he wrapped his hand with an ease that told he got into these types of scuffles often. Again, you learn Anansi doesn't take on any war that isn't already won, that includes your heart.

"Well that sounds like a proposal if I ever heard one." He said.

"You're Mr. Nancy?"

"My friends call me Mr. Nancy, but you, you can call me whatever you want."

"What's your name?" You asked. Another charming smirk, no madness in the eyes, he tapped the growing mountain of ash into the glass with the shards and the blood and tainted alcohol, he killed the light on the cigarette and topped .

"Have dinner with me and I will tell you." He said.

"You don't even know me, Mr. Nancy."

"Well, I want to get to know you, otherwise we wouldn't still be having this conversation." He said, "Do you want to get to know me?"

"I think so." You said, he held out his undamaged hand to you and you shook it.

"My name is Anansi, and it's wonderful to finally meet you." He said and bowed his head and kissed your hand, and when he asks your name you tell him. You don't know it then but you love him, someone so in love with who you are, starting with your name and every other story that you're apart of. You expected dinner much later, perhaps in a couple days but it didn't take much prodding to get you out. Randy's food at the divebar wasn't very good and you didn't feel like fiddling with the oven tonight.

----

You wished that you could properly explain to your son that his father was a God and that made him half and if he chose have kids that would make them a fraction and yet with all the potential of full Gods. There just never is enough time and never a correct way. Even you struggle at times, Anansi appears to just be a man, impeccably dressed, always on time, and two steps ahead at any given time. You had time to walk away, if anyone could imagine doing such a thing, but you knew something was diffferent, something was wrong. Anansi warned you that he got mixed up with some bad people, that bad times might be coming eventually, gave you time to leave, time to ask questions. Maybe you didn't want to know, perhaps you thought you already knew, you suspected he was a criminal but never a God.

Sometimes he's in two places at once, some times things fall to the floor, teleport across the room, but there are times when he is so far removed from you, nothing can bring him back from that place. You were tired of being ignored, once upon a time being Nancy's girl meant something but now it meant going to bed alone and waking up alone, sometimes with Anansi having not moved from his spot in a chair at all. You came in, surprised he wasn't in a haze, he seemed to be waiting on you.

"You're late." He said. An observation and an accusation. You weren't cheating on him, you could, there were so many who wanted you and yet here you were...alone in your own relationship. The perks of being Nancy's girl.

"So." You said, he went days at a time in the same household and yet not saying a word. How dare he get up for going one night without seeing you. You'd met up with co-worker, Higgler, went out for drinks. No harm in that.

"I waited."

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"I must be confused," He said and stood up and walked into the the kitchen and came to stand beside you. "Is something wrong?"

"No, you tell me, Anansi."

"Are you drunk?" He asked, yes, you were but that wasn't why this was happening. This conversation was begging to be had for a while now.

"Does it matter? Would you even care?"

"I care. Of course I care." He said, then said your name softly and pulled you into his arms. You stay still for a moment but it's hard to resist him, always has been since the moment you met him.

"Why won't you just talk to me?" You asked softly into his chest.

"Would you believe me if I told you?"

"You've never struggled with being convincing before." You said and looked up at him. Then he smiled at you, looked through you and then pulled away.

"Take a seat."

"What's wrong?"

"I'm about to tell you who I am and you should probably sit down." He said, so you do and he does tell you. Your head doesn't split open and you don't die but initially you think he's lying. He can't be a God! He just can't be! It's your human nature to emphatically deny what you don't understand.

It takes more than him politely explaining who and what he was. He sighed heavily and walked away from you. He stood in the center of the kitchen and raised one hand and touched the ceiling and flattened it, then his other hand and used his weight to pivot and climb the ceiling. If that wasn't enough, his forehead was lined with eyes and large fangs extended from his mouth. A birth defect? A disability, possibly. He can see this is a lot and came to sit at his feet.

“This can be a lot for most people.” He said.

“I’m not most people.” You said.

“I know, that’s why I chose you.” You looked down at him and took the cigarette from his hand and he lit it for you.

“What type of God are you?” You ask after a long while, you go through two more cigarettes before you feel steady enough.

“Jack of all trades.” He said. “The people need to be safe and laugh.”

“You make them all laugh?”

“I can change the story but not completely remove it, important parts have to stick. Humans are sticky and linked to one another, I can only ease the journey.” He said. “Wisdom in the form of entertainment has been easiest, you know it’s hard to tell a stupid motherfucker they’re doing something wrong.”

“Are you apart of my story?”

‘Do you want me to be?” He asked, you stand up and he doesn’t look away. Perhaps, reflecting during these final moments you see what it is. Blind faith. He believed in you. Despite him hating fate, kismet, whatever you wanted to call it, he always knew you’d choose him. Like a good book, you’d always return, even if there was an entire ocean separating you. If you couldn’t then he’d come to you. He couldn’t unmake himself a God, much like your boy won’t be able to burn away that part that calls out and sings so sweetly. You held out your hands to him and he took them.

“How long can you stick to the roof?”

“It’s not a party trick.” He said and wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight and spinning around with you. When he placed you back down you were standing in the bedroom.

“Says who, spiderman?” You asked and you both laugh. It’s a period of adjustment like nearly everything in your life.

----

You ultmately wish for your boy to understand that everything has a sunrise and sunset. You loved Anansi inspite of every red flag you ever saw crop up, and there came a time where loving and being in love wasn't enough. He was your husband, your best friend and beacuse of that you came to a proper agreement. A moment would come when this world and this war was too dangerous. Your boy, charlie, loathed his father because they were too much alike, both parading around in facades, both busybodies in the worst ways, both too damned pigheaded to say what was on their mind truly at times.

"So you're going to leave?" He asked, it was one of the dumbest thing you'd heard him say. You were finally debased to obvious observations, he was always so well spoken and right now he was holding up a wall watching you in your living room. You'd moved from Chicago to Florida, created a life for one another, brought a child into the world, spoke truth into the world only to watch it crumble away partly due to an invisible war you never saw and the fact Anansi spent more times chasing stories than keeping you happy. Those stories always came in many faces, younger, healthier, livelier people who seemed so different from you.

"Bags are packed. This is where we should leave things."

"You're being very cordial about this."

"And you're smiling, are you happy about this too?" You said and pointed out, he ran his tongue over his teeth and tried to remove the smile but failed. He was angry, but so were you for so many reasons you'd never share. If he loved stories so much he could keep up with them without embarassing his son every forty five minutes and neglecting his wife, he'd always be a God and you'd always be a human who might have bit off more than she could chew. Charlie was a God too, no matter how shy and withdrawn he'd became.

"I know what you're thinking." He said and slid his hands into his pcokets.

"I assure you don't." You said, "Maybe in another time but I can't--"

"Can't what?"

"Can't play second fiddle forever to whatever story you're chasing." You said, "Not for you or for any man."

"Maybe not a man, but a God?" He asked. He pushed off the wall and walked over to you. After years together charm wears off, the butterflies die but familiarity never changes. Falling into step has become second nature, you are so far from the young woman impressed by the cool headed man with brute strength who won every battle before he ever picked an arena. "I know you think you're making the right choice."

"And what do you think?" You asked, "And I want you to really tell me, no cheating, no looking into the future."

"I think that no matter where you go, all you have to do is call and I'll come."

"You'll have three more people moved in before the end of the week." You said, you need to say it so that you know this is really over.

"Doesn't make it any less true." He said and you hold out your hand to him.

"When I'm gone, promise you'll be here for him, he'll need you." You said, he took your hand and dropped down onto one knee and kissed the back of it.

"I'll do my best."

"That's all I can ask for." You said and placed your hand on the top of his head and then pulled away and lifted up your last bag and started towards the door. "If I ever call...it will be to say goodbye."

"So this isn't goodbye." He said and teleported beside the door.

"No, this is just farewell for now." You said and walked out. You don't look back, you don't need to, you don't know exactly what binds him here but hopes he finds something to free himself.

----

You hope one day he understands that his father is not a man and will never behave like one. He doesn't have to, he's not even bound to this planet let alone it's rules, but you hope one day that Fat Charlie realizes he is so much more than just a man and to live the life he really wants to. You can feel when the life starts to leave you and you want all your affairs in order. You move across the country and then out of the country and Charlie followed. He grew bitter and irritated with his father seeing his flambouyant and exuberant personality as a flaw instead of something to carve out in himself. You don't expect cancer to take you, but you've lived a full life and hope Charlie does the same.

You don't expect Anansi to actually show, you don't expect the band, or the kiss that would knock you off your feet if you weren't already in bed plugged up to machines. The nurses enjoy the change in pace and so does Christine, your roommate. Anansi is lively and brings a bottle to celebrate your new change in life, or so he calls it that.

"I'm sick." You said, "I'm dying."

"You're all dying, but it's not a bad thing, and I'm right here, like I promised."

"Still a man of your word down to the parade." You said, you thought the times you got drunk and waxed poetic he hadn't paid attention. You were glad some things hadn't slipped through the cracks. "Talk to Charlie?"

"No, no, you know how he is. Always on about something."

"He's your son and when I'm gone he's all the family you got left."

"You consider yourself family?"

"You wouldn't cross an ocean for no reason." You said. He slid his chair closer, placing his hand over yours.

"You look good." He said, he's older now, or that's what he wants you to think. A little sag here, a bit more hunched over. You've watched him shift his entire body to fit his agenda, this is no different.

"I'm old and bald, Mr. Nancy." You said,

"Call me Anansi."

"Or whatever I want, right?"

"Right." He said and laughed. "But you look good regardless of what you've got. If you could do anything, what would you do?"

"Besides live?"

"Yes, besides that." He said and held your hand in his. His hands have grown harder, rougher. Less story telling, more fighting, much more hard work than he ever should've been used to.

"I want to travel, really see the world, you know I always talk about it but things got in the way, and then Charlie came and I couldn't just take off."

"Yeah, I think I'd lead that boy to an early grave." He said and you both laugh together. A hearty laugh that you didn't know you needed. "Well let me get some things in order first and you'll have it."

"Look, Anansi--"

"You're Nancy's girl, right? You'll have what you need." He said, and you believe him. A spinner of tales he might be but never a liar, at least when it came to you. "Say it."

"I'm too old for this shit."

"No, I'm too old for this. You're exactly where you're supposed to be." He said and you smile, it's been so long since you've done that, you've done more smiling now than you have in the last couple of years. "Say it."

"Say what?"

"You're Nancy's girl."

"I'm your girl." You said and smile again, you mean it, after all these damn years away from him, only an hour together and you've fell back into patterns.

"Kiss on it?" He asked, ever the slick and sly trickster. It has been many years since you've kissed him, it's not just flesh to flesh, he can pour something into you that you didn't know you needed.

"If that's why you came then sure."

"No not the only reason but you know you got what'll make a man sell his soul to the devil and cross the sea." He said, he stood up and leaned over you, not making you work too hard. He leaned on the button helping you lean back and pressed his lips to yours, tilting your head up. You feel it, a tingle, something that starts to brighten and jump to life inside you. You are not a spring chicken anymore, but he makes parts of you spring to life as if you were in the first bloom of your life. "Damn, girl."

"What are you on about?" You asked.

"Nothing, you called, I came, like I told you I would. I've got to get back before anyone knows I'm missing."

"Don't forget to say goodbye to your son."

"Oh, I won't." He said and raised your hand up one final time and kissed the back of it. You watch him go and know you'll see him again but you won't be among the living, this is your last time. You are unsurprised when your tests come back negative and you're discharged. The cancer is gone, dead within seconds, and when you return home you find plane tickets waiting on your counter. Anansi is more than a man and that's okay, you hope Fat Charlie sees that.

-----

You are dead. You know that. You hope Charlie can learn to forgive his father for being so boisterous, larger than life and embarassing, but he is his father's child and it is hard for them to see eye to eye on any damn thing. You rise from the hotel bed and walk over to the balcony and you wait for him because you know he's going to come, or you're going to find him. The land of the dead is silent, there are others, you can see them walking about, playing in the park, running with their dogs, kissing and holding hands, going on strolls. For a moment you think you won't see him, you leave, no need to gather your things, you won't need them.

Anansi once told you about the after life, about what may or may not await you depending on which road you walked. You knew he said he'd never be far behind and you believe that, you believe in him. You step out of the hotel, turn right and walk, going purely on intuition, the hotels and beach towns wash away, through the forests you continue, climb the necessary hills. As you come upon a different world you note your knees don't hurt, your feet don't ache and neither does your back. At the top of a hill is a cave, you pass through the mouth of it and felt something shake and shimmer over you as you enter the room.

It is a large single room, a grate pit in the center of the room surrounded by cushions. There are portraits on the orange walls and shadows dance about the room, you're sure exactly from where. He is laying back on the cushions, his head is pillowed on his arm and staring up at you. He is different, more himself, his true self. His hair is longer, and he has many eyes that line his forehead, and many arms that line his torso. He has a book hand, is weaving with another and waving from a completely different hand.

"You found me." He said.

"For now, I don't think I can stay here, can I?" You asked.

"Not the end of your journey, I'm afraid. Soul like yours comes around once in every few flashes."

"Flashes?"

"It's complicated. You'll learn. All afterlifes are the same in one way or another."

"How much time do we?"

"Oh, as much as you want." He said and dug between the cushions and held a bag of sand. "Sand of times, snatched it off some kid on the way home. Felt like we'd need some time together."

"For what?"

"Whatever you want."

"And Charlie?"

"He'll be fine, smart kid with a good head on his shoulders." He said, he pushed himself up and kept tossing the bag up in the air.

"Tell me what you did when I left." She said.

"Now that is a story..." He said, you walked over to him and the things he semed to be doing to keep himself busy disappeared. He welcomed you with open arms, when you wrap your arms around him the room changes with a snap. You are back in the bar you met in, you pull away and look up. Yes. This is Randy's. Same dumpy dive bar where he inserted himself in your life and you let him. He walked away and over to the bar and picked up the glass of bloodied glass shards, tainted alcohol and ash from his cigarette.

"WHat's is this about?" You asked. He picked up the second glass and poured it into the concoction.

"Drink it."

"You think I'm crazy?"

"You trust me, right?" He said and held it out to you, "Besides, you're already dead."

"There's so much worse you can do."

"Says who?"

"Says whoever you snatched that sand from." You said.

"Touche." He said, but you drink it anyway. A drink. A potion. Whatever it is it makes your head spin, you feel whatever entity you are shift and turn inside out and the sound from Randys came back but it was different. Not a dusty dive bar but the scent of it is still the same and so is the chipped bar. You and Anansi stood at the back of the crowded bar, someone at the front was tearing it up on a saxophone.

"I made arrangements." Anansi said.

"For?"

"Our boy." He said, and yes, why it is Charlie but he's different. Alive in a way you could never put your finger on as his mother. But you see it, at his core, what makes him a God and a man and they're not at war with one another.

"True to your word, why does that make me feel like we're coming to the end of our journey?"

"We'll meet again, a soul like yours, shines too bright." He said. You nod your head in agreement, you sip the drink again and feel yourself start to break and shift. Charlie climbs down from the makeshift stage and tries to part the crowd, but you are dust in the wind.

Blood.

Glass.

Liquor.

Ash.

----

You are flesh, bone and free will, but you do not have direction. Perhaps that's why you hover here at Mausoleum of the fallen. The entities that are sculpted here are beautiful some made of marble, others onyx, you walk by and sense that you are not alone. You know you are a flash, a shift in the cosmic energy and a rarity, you will continue to hide amongst of the morals, walk between the worlds of Gods and mortals....and then there they are far in the back of the Mausoleum.

"What are you?" You asked.

"Choice." They said, the God walked out, impeccably dressed, "Always on time, I see."

"I don't understand."

"You will."

"Gods have never come to meet me before."

"This is different and I'm not just any God," He said.

"How many flashes have we suffered one another?" You asked, you're not sure but instinct in not something you need to find. This multi-eyed creatures stares at you with fondness.

"Seventeen."

"That is not chance, that is planned." You said.

"Yes."

"Why is this different?" You asked, They held up a tumbler of alcohol with ash and glass shards floating in it. You look away back to the statues, there are handfuls of Gods that are necessary, some haven't been seen in eons, they play it fast and loose and are wild cards. You wonder which one he'll be.

"Just is." He said, you have no reason not to trust him despite being gifted with these instincts. You reach for the tumbler but he pulled it back away from you. "The past couple times I meddled but now you have a chance, a real chance."

"You don't think I'll choose you." You said and tilted your head to the side to study them. "Even though you chose me all these cycles."

"The last cycle was different, you walked away, for good, only called when you were about to die."

"And so you wanted to know that now I'd choose you."

"Yes."

"Fascinating."

"How so?" He sked.

"Even Gods, in all your wisdom and knowledge, have your insecurities."

"We invented them, mortals just inherit them."

"Now what will we do afterward?" You asked, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bag full of sand.

"We have time to figure that out." He said and this time when you reach for the glass he allows you to take it. You drink it down down, swallowing the glass and ash and tainted alcohol, with each swallow you remember a different life, a different flash, eons of you doing this dance with him, each time you're different, the circumstances are different but the last time is by far the most daunting. Charlie. Oh, how many years has it been? Did your baby boy live well? "How do you feel?"

"Cold." You said and looked down and noticed you were naked. "I bet you think this is funny."

"Only in a cosmic way."

"Is Charlie--"

"He's fine, he's fine. Two wives, three kids, a bar. Living the dream." He said and shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over your shoulder. "We have time to catch up on him later, I've missed you."

"What do you want to do?"

"Lets go to a club, I need to stretch my legs."

"Which ones?" You said and then scoffed as you followed him out of the afterlife. You weren't sure where you were going but you trusted him enough, had trusted him after thousands of rebirths, what was so different this time? For so long you two had been together, maybe now you could stay together without the cruel hand of fate intervening. As you reached the portal you thought of one last thing. "Whatever happened to that war?"

"Oh. I ate the people that were pissing me off.. " He said.

"You're kidding."

"Only a little." He said. "No worries, no war this time, just you and me."

"The way it's supposed to be."

"The way it's always been."

#Mr. Nancy #Anansi #Anansi x Reader #Mr. Nancy x Reader #ag fic #ag

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random-imagines-blog · 4 years ago

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Imagine Anansi making you a suit.

“Let me tell you a story,” Anansi said, as you sat in your usual attire upon his couch. It was richly upholstered, and represented his style, just like everything else in the room. He was working away at his sewing machine, making you something that would fit your exact measurements.

“So many stories,” You said, wrapping your arms around the back of the couch. “You should get into the screenplay business, you’d make a killing.”

“That’s not the right way to tell a story! It doesn’t have the ... the panache! It doesn’t tell you anything, it shows you.” He complained, licking his thumb before moving the fabric around. “This is a story about that dang dirty robe of yours.”

“There’s nothing wrong with tradition,” You sniffled, looking at the clothes that you had been known for. That your statues showed you wearing. That art had depicted you in over the years.

“No, no, nothing wrong with tradition, that’s the argument us old Gods are sticking to. But there’s sometimes room for a little something...new.”

With a flourish he removed the fabric and held it up to examine his own handiwork. “Try this on, and you’ll be feeling like a new God.”

You did, and you had to admit, it was a good fit. When you stepped out from behind his curtains, and he examined you closely, you felt pretty good about yourself. It was more comfortable than you had imagined. And warm against the cold nights. “There, now you’re out there, looking like an ethereal in your power suit,” Anansi said, clearly proud of himself.

“And how much do I owe you?” You asked, knowing nothing came free.

“Land of opportunity, milk and honey, honey.” Anansi said, running his thumb against his bottom lip. “An opportunity to dress you is pay enough.”

Requested by: Anonymous

#Anansi #Anansi x reader #Anansi imagines #American Gods #American Gods imagines #request #imagines #x reader

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smashpages · 7 years ago

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Nominees for the 2018 Eisner Awards announced

Comic-Con International has announced the nominees for the 2018 Eisner Awards, presented annually in San Diego at the convention.

Monstress by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda and My Favorite Thing Is Monsters by Emil Ferris each received five nominations across various categories; other comics with multiple nominations included Mister Miracle, Black Hammer, The Flintstones, Grass Kings, Eartha and Hawkeye.

Check out the complete list of nominees below.

Best Short Story

“Ethel Byrne,” by Cecil Castelluci and Scott Chantler, in Mine: A Celebration of Liberty and Freedom for All Benefiting Planned Parenthood (ComicMix) “Forgotten Princess,” by Phillip Kennedy Johnson and Antonio Sandoval, in Adventure Time Comics #13 (kaboom!) ”A Life in Comics: The Graphic Adventures of Karen Green,” by Nick Sousanis, in Columbia Magazine (Summer 2017), https://ift.tt/2I41VPy “Small Mistakes Make Big Problems,” by Sophia Foster-Dimino, in Comics for Choice (Hazel Newlevant) “Trans Plant,” by Megan Rose Gedris, in Enough Space for Everyone Else (Bedside Press)

Best Single Issue/One-Shot

Barbara, by Nicole Miles (ShortBox) Hellboy: Krampusnacht, by Mike Mignola and Adam Hughes (Dark Horse) Pope Hats #5, by Ethan Rilly (AdHouse Books) The Spotted Stone, by Rick Veitch (Sun Comics) What Is Left, by Rosemary Valero-O’Connell (ShortBox)

Best Continuing Series

Black Hammer, by Jeff Lemire, Dean Ormston, and David Rubín (Dark Horse) Giant Days, by John Allison, Max Sarin, and Liz Fleming (BOOM! Box) Hawkeye, by Kelly Thompson, Leonardo Romero, and Mike Walsh (Marvel) Monstress, by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda (Image) The Wicked + The Divine, by Kieron Gillen & Jamie McKelvie (Image)

Best Limited Series

Black Panther: World of Wakanda, by Roxane Gay, Ta-Nehisi Coates, and Alitha E. Martinez (Marvel) Extremity, by Daniel Warren Johnson (Image/Skybound) The Flintstones, by Mark Russell, Steve Pugh, Rick Leonardi, and Scott Hanna (DC) Mister Miracle, by Tom King and Mitch Gerads (DC) X-Men: Grand Design, by Ed Piskor (Marvel)

Best New Series

Black Bolt, by Saladin Ahmed and Christian Ward (Marvel) Grass Kings, by Matt Kindt and Tyler Jenkins (BOOM! Studios) Maestros, by Steve Skroce (Image) Redlands, by Jordie Belaire and Vanesa Del Rey (Image) Royal City, by Jeff Lemire (Image)

Best Publication for Early Readers (up to age 8)

Adele in Sand Land, by Claude Ponti, translated by Skeeter Grant and Françoise Mouly (Toon Books) Arthur and the Golden Rope, by Joe Todd-Stanton (Flying Eye/Nobrow) Egg, by Kevin Henkes (Greenwillow Books) Good Night, Planet, by Liniers (Toon Books) Little Tails in the Savannah, by Frederic Brrémaud and Federico Bertolucci, translated by Mike Kennedy (Lion Forge/Magnetic)

Best Publication for Kids (ages 9–12)

Bolivar, by Sean Rubin (Archaia) Home Time (Book One): Under the River, by Campbell Whyte (Top Shelf) Nightlights, by Lorena Alvarez (Nobrow) The Tea Dragon Society, by Katie O’Neill (Oni) Wallace the Brave, by Will Henry (Andrews McMeel) Best Publication for Teens (ages 13-17)

The Dam Keeper, by Robert Kondo and Dice Tsutsumi (First Second/Tonko House) Jane, by Aline Brosh McKenna and Ramón K. Pérez (Archaia) Louis Undercover, by Fanny Britt and Isabelle Arsenault, translated by Christelle Morelli and Susan Ouriou (Groundwood Books/House of Anansi) Monstress, by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda (Image) Spinning, by Tillie Walden (First Second)

Best Humor Publication

Baking with Kafka, by Tom Gauld (Drawn & Quarterly) Batman/Elmer Fudd Special #1, by Tom King, Lee Weeks, and Byron Vaughn (DC) The Flintstones, by Mark Russell, Steve Pugh, Rick Leonardi, and Scott Hanna (DC) Rock Candy Mountain, by Kyle Starks (Image) Wallace the Brave, by Will Henry (Andrews McMeel)

Best Anthology

A Bunch of Jews (and Other Stuff): A Minyen Yidn, by Max B. Perlson, Trina Robbins et al. (Bedside Press) A Castle in England, by Jamie Rhodes et al. (Nobrow) Elements: Fire, A Comic Anthology by Creators of Color, edited by Taneka Stotts (Beyond Press) Now #1, edited by Eric Reynolds (Fantagraphics) The Spirit Anthology, edited by Sean Phillips (Lakes International Comic Art Festival)

Best Reality-Based Work

Audubon: On the Wings of the World, by Fabien Grolleau and Jerémie Royer, translated by Etienne Gilfillan (Nobrow) The Best We Could Do, by Thi Bui (Abrams ComicArts) Calamity Jane: The Calamitous Life of Martha Jane Cannary, 1852–1903, by Christian Perrissin and Matthieu Blanchin, translated by Diana Schutz and Brandon Kander (IDW) Lennon: The New York Years, by David Foenkinos, Corbeyran, and Horne, translated by Ivanka Hahnenberger (IDW) Spinning, by Tillie Walden (First Second)

Best Graphic Album—New

Crawl Space, by Jesse Jacobs (Koyama Press) Eartha, by Cathy Malkasian (Fantagraphics) My Favorite Thing Is Monsters, by Emil Ferris (Fantagraphics) Stages of Rot, by Linnea Sterte (Peow) The Story of Jezebel, by Elijah Brubaker (Uncivilized Books)

Best Graphic Album—Reprint

Boundless, by Jillian Tamaki (Drawn & Quarterly) Fantagraphics Studio Edition: Black Hole by Charles Burns, edited by Eric Reynolds (Fantagraphics) Small Favors: The Definitive Girly Porno Collection, by Colleen Coover (Oni/Limerence) Sticks Angelica, Folk Hero, by Michael DeForge (Drawn & Quarterly) Unreal City, by D. J. Bryant (Fantagraphics)

Best Adaptation from Another Medium

Beowulf, adapted by Santiago García and David Rubín (Image) H. P. Lovecraft’s The Hound and Other Stories, adapted by Gou Tanabe, translated by Zack Davisson (Dark Horse) Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, adapted by Christophe Chabouté, translated by Laure Dupont (Dark Horse) Kindred, by Octavia Butler, adapted by Damian Duffy and John Jennings (Abrams ComicArts)

Best U.S. Edition of International Material

Audubon: On the Wings of the World, by Fabien Grolleau and Jerémie Royer, translated by Etienne Gilfillan (Nobrow) Flight of the Raven, by Jean-Pierre Gibrat, translated by Diana Schutz and Brandon Kander (EuroComics/IDW) FUN, by Paolo Bacilieri, translated by Jamie Richards (SelfMadeHero) Ghost of Gaudi, by El Torres and Jesús Alonso Iglesias, translated by Esther Villardón Grande (Lion Forge/Magnetic) The Ladies-in-Waiting, by Santiago García and Javier Olivares, translated by Erica Mena (Fantagraphics) Run for It: Stories of Slaves Who Fought for the Freedom, by Marcelo D’Salete, translated by Andrea Rosenberg (Fantagraphics)

Best U.S. Edition of International Material—Asia

Furari, by Jiro Taniguchi, translated by Kumar Sivasubramanian (Fanfare/Ponent Mon) Golden Kamuy, by Satoru Noda, translated by Eiji Yasuda (VIZ Media) My Brother’s Husband, vol. 1, by Gengoroh Tagame, translated by Anne Ishii (Pantheon) Otherworld Barbara, vol. 2, by Moto Hagio, translated by Matt Thorn (Fantagraphics) Shiver: Junji Ito Selected Stories, by Junji Ito translated by Jocelyne Allen (VIZ Media)

Best Archival Collection/Project—Strips

Celebrating Snoopy, by Charles M. Shulz, edited by Alexis E. Fajardo and Dorothy O’Brien (Andrews McMeel) Crazy Quilt: Scraps and Panels on the Way to Gasoline Alley, by Frank King, edited by Peter Maresca (Sunday Press) Foolish Questions and Other Odd Observations, by Rube Goldberg, edited by Peter Maresca and Paul C. Tumey (Sunday Press Books) Sky Masters of the Space Force: The Complete Dailies, by Jack Kirby, Wally Wood et al., edited by Daniel Herman (Hermes Press) Star Wars: The Classic Newspaper Strips, vol. 1, by Russ Manning et al., edited by Dean Mullaney (LOAC/IDW)

Best Archival Collection/Project—Comic Books

Akira 35th Anniversary Edition, by Katsuhiro Otomo, edited by Haruko Hashimoto, Ajani Oloye, and Lauren Scanlan (Kodansha) Behaving MADly, edited by Craig Yoe (Yoe Books/IDW) The Collected Neil the Horse, by Arn Saba/Katherine Collins, edited by Andy Brown (Conundrum) Fantagraphics Studio Edition: Jaime Hernandez, edited by Gary Groth (Fantagraphics) Will Eisner: The Centennial Celebration, 1917-2017, by Paul Gravett, Denis Kitchen, and John Lind (Kitchen Sink/Dark Horse)

Best Writer

Tom King, Batman, Batman Annual #2, Batman/Elmer Fudd Special #1, Mister Miracle (DC) Matt Kindt, Grass Kings (BOOM! Studios); Ether (Dark Horse); Eternity, X-O Manowar (Valiant) Jeff Lemire, Black Hammer (Dark Horse); Descender (Image) Marjorie Liu, Monstress (Image) Mark Russell, The Flintstones (DC)

Best Writer/Artist

Lorena Alvarez, Night Lights (Nobrow) Chabouté, Moby Dick (Dark Horse); Alone, Park Bench (Gallery 13/Simon & Schuster) Emil Ferris, My Favorite Thing Is Monsters (Fantagraphics) Cathy Malkasian, Eartha (Fantagraphics) Jiro Taniguchi, Furari, Louis Vuitton Travel Guide: Venice (Fanfare/Ponent Mon)

Best Penciller/Inker or Penciller/Inker Team

Isabelle Arsenault, Louis Undercover (Groundwood Books/House of Anansi) Mitch Gerads, Mister Miracle (DC) Gary Gianni, Hellboy: Into the Silent Sea (Dark Horse) Ramón K. Perez, Jane (Archaia) David Rubín, Black Hammer #9 & #12, Ether, Sherlock Frankenstein #1–3 (Dark Horse); Beowulf (Image)

Best Painter/Multimedia Artist (interior art)

Federico Bertolucci, Love: The Dinosaur, Little Tails (Lion Forge/Magnetic) EFA, Monet: Itinerant of Light (NBM) Jean-Pierre Gibrat, Flight of the Raven (EuroComics/IDW) Cyril Pedrosa, Portugal (NBM) Sana Takeda, Monstress (Image)

Best Cover Artist

Jorge Corona, No. 1 with a Bullet (Image) Nick Derington, Mister Miracle (DC); Doom Patrol (DC Young Animal) Brian Stelfreeze, Black Panther (Marvel) Sana Takeda, Monstress (Image) Julian Totino Tedesco, Hawkeye (Marvel)

Best Coloring

Emil Ferris, My Favorite Thing Is Monsters (Fantagraphics) Mitch Gerads, Mister Miracle (DC) Ed Piskor, X-Men: Grand Design (Marvel) David Rubín, Ether, Black Hammer, Sherlock Frankenstein (Dark Horse); Beowulf (Image) Dave Stewart, Black Hammer, BPRD: Devil You Know, Hellboy: Into the Silent Sea, Sherlock Frankenstein, Shaolin Cowboy (Dark Horse); Maestros (Image) Rosemary Valero-O’Connell, What Is Left (ShortBox)

Best Lettering

Isabelle Arsenault, Louis Undercover (Groundwood Books/House of Anansi) Clayton Cowles, Bitch Planet: Triple Feature, Redlands, The Wicked + The Divine (Image); Black Bolt, Spider-Gwen, Astonishing X-Men, Star Wars (Marvel) Emil Ferris, My Favorite Thing Is Monsters (Fantagraphics) Stan Sakai, Usagi Yojimbo, Groo: Slay of the Gods (Dark Horse) John Workman, Mother Panic (DC Young Animal); Ragnorok (IDW)

Best Comics-Related Periodical/Journalism

Alter Ego, edited by Roy Thomas (TwoMorrows) The Comics Journal, edited by Dan Nadel, Timothy Hodler, and Tucker Stone, tcj.com (Fantagraphics) Hogan’s Alley, edited by Tom Heintjes Jack Kirby Collector, edited by John Morrow (TwoMorrows) PanelXPanel magazine, edited by Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou, panelxpanel.com

Best Comics-Related Book

Deconstructing the Incal by Alejandro Jodorowsky and Moebius, by Jean Annestay and Christophe Quillien (Humanoids) How Comics Work, by Dave Gibbons and Tim Pilcher (Wellfleet Press/Quarto Group) How to Read Nancy: The Elements of Comics in Three Easy Panels, by Paul Karasik and Mark Newgarden (Fantagraphics) Line of Beauty: The Art of Wendy Pini, by Richard Pini (Flesk) Monograph, by Chris Ware (Rizzoli) To Laugh That We May Not Weep: The Life and Times of Art Young, by Glenn Bray and Frank M. Young (Fantagraphics)

Best Academic/Scholarly Work

The Comics of Charles Schulz: The Good Grief of Modern Life, edited by Jared Gardner and Ian Gordon (University Press of Mississippi) Ethics in the Gutter: Empathy and Historical Fiction in Comics, by Kate Polak (Ohio State University Press) Latinx Superheroes in Mainstream Comics, by Frederick Luis Aldama (University of Arizona Press) Neon Visions: The Comics of Howard Chaykin, by Brannon Costello (LSU Press) Picturing Childhood: Youth in Transnational Comics, edited by Mark Heimermann and Brittany Tullis (University of Texas Press)

Best Publication Design

Akira 35th Anniversary Edition, designed by Phil Balsman, Akira Saito (Veia), NORMA Editorial, and MASH•ROOM (Kodansha) Celebrating Snoopy, designed by Spencer Williams and Julie Phillips (Andrews McMeel) Monograph, designed by Chris Ware (Rizzoli) My Favorite Thing Is Monsters, designed by Jacob Covey (Fantagraphics) Will Eisner: The Centennial Celebration, 1917-2017, designed by John Lind (Kitchen Sink/Dark Horse)

Best Digital Comic

Bandette, by Paul Tobin and Colleen Coover (Monkeybrain/comiXology) Barrier, by Brian K. Vaughan and Marcos Martin (Panel Syndicate) The Carpet Merchant of Konstaniniyya, by Reimena Yee (reimenayee.com/the-carpet-merchant) Contact High, by James F. Wright and Josh Eckert (gumroad.com/l/YnxSm) Harvey Kurtzman’s Marley’s Ghost, by Harvey Kurtzman, Josh O’Neill, Shannon Wheeler, and Gideon Kendall (comiXology Originals/Kitchen, Lind & Associates) Quince, by Sebastian Kadlecik, Kit Steinkellner, and Emma Steinkellner, translated by Valeria Tranier (Fanbase Press/comiXology)

Best Webcomic

Awaiting a Wave, by Dale Carpenter and Nate Powell, features.weather.com/us-climate-change/arkansas (The Weather Channel Digital) Brothers Bond, by Kevin Grevioux and Ryan Benjamin, www.webtoons.com/en/action/brothers-bond/list?title_no=1191 (LINE Webtoon) Dispatch from a Sanctuary City, by Mike Dawson, https://thenib.com/dispatch-from-a-sanctuary-city (The Nib) The Tea Dragon Society, by Katie O’Neill, teadragonsociety.com (Oni Press) Welcome to the New World, by Jake Halpern and Michael Sloan, www.michaelsloan.net/welcome-to-the-new-world/ (New York Times Sunday Review)

#comic books #Smash Pages #eisner awards

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starwarsnewsit · 7 years ago

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Eisner Awards 2018: poco "Star Wars" tra le nomination

New Post has been published on http://www.starwarsnews.it/2018/04/27/eisner-awards-2018-star-wars/

Eisner Awards 2018: poco "Star Wars" tra le nomination

Eisner Awards 2018. Verrà assegnato a breve uno dei premi più importanti del panorama fumettistico. Quest’anno tra le varie nomination c’è anche qualcosa legata a Star Wars, ma veramente poco…

Eisner Awards 2018 – Tutte le nomination

Best Short Story

“Ethel Byrne,” by Cecil Castelluci and Scott Chantler, in Mine: A Celebration of Liberty and Freedom for All Benefiting Planned Parenthood (ComicMix)

“Forgotten Princess,” by Phillip Kennedy Johnson and Antonio Sandoval, in Adventure Time Comics #13 (kaboom!)

”A Life in Comics: The Graphic Adventures of Karen Green,” by Nick Sousanis, in Columbia Magazine (Summer 2017), http://magazine.columbia.edu/features/summer-2017/life-comics?page=0,0

“Small Mistakes Make Big Problems,” by Sophia Foster-Dimino, in Comics for Choice (Hazel Newlevant)

“Trans Plant,” by Megan Rose Gedris, in Enough Space for Everyone Else (Bedside Press)

Best Single Issue/One-Shot

Barbara, by Nicole Miles (ShortBox)

Hellboy: Krampusnacht, by Mike Mignola and Adam Hughes (Dark Horse)

Pope Hats #5, by Ethan Rilly (AdHouse Books)

The Spotted Stone, by Rick Veitch (Sun Comics)

What Is Left, by Rosemary Valero-O’Connell (ShortBox)

Best Continuing Series

Black Hammer, by Jeff Lemire, Dean Ormston, and David Rubín (Dark Horse)

Giant Days, by John Allison, Max Sarin, and Liz Fleming (BOOM! Box)

Hawkeye, by Kelly Thompson, Leonardo Romero, and Mike Walsh (Marvel)

Monstress, by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda (Image)

The Wicked + The Divine, by Kieron Gillen & Jamie McKelvie (Image)

Best Limited Series

Black Panther: World of Wakanda, by Roxane Gay, Ta-Nehisi Coates, and Alitha E. Martinez (Marvel)

Extremity, by Daniel Warren Johnson (Image/Skybound)

The Flintstones, by Mark Russell, Steve Pugh, Rick Leonardi, and Scott Hanna (DC)

Mister Miracle, by Tom King and Mitch Gerads (DC)

X-Men: Grand Design, by Ed Piskor (Marvel)

Best New Series

Black Bolt, by Saladin Ahmed and Christian Ward (Marvel)

Grass Kings, by Matt Kindt and Tyler Jenkins (BOOM! Studios)

Maestros, by Steve Skroce (Image)

Redlands, by Jordie Belaire and Vanesa Del Rey (Image)

Royal City, by Jeff Lemire (Image)

Best Publication for Early Readers (up to age 8)

Adele in Sand Land, by Claude Ponti, translated by Skeeter Grant and Françoise Mouly (Toon Books)

Arthur and the Golden Rope, by Joe Todd-Stanton (Flying Eye/Nobrow)

Egg, by Kevin Henkes (Greenwillow Books)

Good Night, Planet, by Liniers (Toon Books)

Little Tails in the Savannah, by Frederic Brrémaud and Federico Bertolucci, translated by Mike Kennedy (Lion Forge/Magnetic)

Best Publication for Kids (ages 9–12)

Bolivar, by Sean Rubin (Archaia)

Home Time (Book One): Under the River, by Campbell Whyte (Top Shelf)

Nightlights, by Lorena Alvarez (Nobrow)

The Tea Dragon Society, by Katie O’Neill (Oni)

Wallace the Brave, by Will Henry (Andrews McMeel)

Best Publication for Teens (ages 13-17)

The Dam Keeper, by Robert Kondo and Dice Tsutsumi (First Second/Tonko House)

Jane, by Aline Brosh McKenna and Ramón K. Pérez (Archaia)

Louis Undercover, by Fanny Britt and Isabelle Arsenault, translated by Christelle Morelli and Susan Ouriou (Groundwood Books/House of Anansi)

Monstress, by Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda (Image)

Spinning, by Tillie Walden (First Second)

Best Humor Publication

Baking with Kafka, by Tom Gauld (Drawn & Quarterly)

Batman/Elmer Fudd Special #1, by Tom King, Lee Weeks, and Byron Vaughn (DC)

The Flintstones, by Mark Russell, Steve Pugh, Rick Leonardi, and Scott Hanna (DC)

Rock Candy Mountain, by Kyle Starks (Image)

Wallace the Brave, by Will Henry (Andrews McMeel)

Best Anthology

A Bunch of Jews (and Other Stuff): A Minyen Yidn, by Max B. Perlson, Trina Robbins et al. (Bedside Press)

A Castle in England, by Jamie Rhodes et al. (Nobrow)

Elements: Fire, A Comic Anthology by Creators of Color, edited by Taneka Stotts (Beyond Press)

Now #1, edited by Eric Reynolds (Fantagraphics)

The Spirit Anthology, edited by Sean Phillips (Lakes International Comic Art Festival)

Best Reality-Based Work

Audubon: On the Wings of the World, by Fabien Grolleau and Jerémie Royer, translated by Etienne Gilfillan (Nobrow)

The Best We Could Do, by Thi Bui (Abrams ComicArts)

Calamity Jane: The Calamitous Life of Martha Jane Cannary, 1852–1903, by Christian Perrissin and Matthieu Blanchin, translated by Diana Schutz and Brandon Kander (IDW)

Lennon: The New York Years, by David Foenkinos, Corbeyran, and Horne, translated by Ivanka Hahnenberger (IDW)

Spinning, by Tillie Walden (First Second)

Best Graphic Album—New

Crawl Space, by Jesse Jacobs (Koyama Press)

Eartha, by Cathy Malkasian (Fantagraphics)

My Favorite Thing Is Monsters, by Emil Ferris (Fantagraphics)

Stages of Rot, by Linnea Sterte (Peow)

The Story of Jezebel, by Elijah Brubaker (Uncivilized Books)

Best Graphic Album—Reprint

Boundless, by Jillian Tamaki (Drawn & Quarterly)

Fantagraphics Studio Edition: Black Hole by Charles Burns, edited by Eric Reynolds (Fantagraphics)

Small Favors: The Definitive Girly Porno Collection, by Colleen Coover (Oni/Limerence)

Sticks Angelica, Folk Hero, by Michael DeForge (Drawn & Quarterly)

Unreal City, by D. J. Bryant (Fantagraphics)

Best Adaptation from Another Medium

Beowulf, adapted by Santiago García and David Rubín (Image)

H. P. Lovecraft’s The Hound and Other Stories, adapted by Gou Tanabe, translated by Zack Davisson (Dark Horse)

Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, adapted by Christophe Chabouté, translated by Laure Dupont (Dark Horse)

Kindred, by Octavia Butler, adapted by Damian Duffy and John Jennings (Abrams ComicArts)

Best U.S. Edition of International Material

Audubon: On the Wings of the World, by Fabien Grolleau and Jerémie Royer, translated by Etienne Gilfillan (Nobrow)

Flight of the Raven, by Jean-Pierre Gibrat, translated by Diana Schutz and Brandon Kander (EuroComics/IDW)

FUN, by Paolo Bacilieri, translated by Jamie Richards (SelfMadeHero)

Ghost of Gaudi, by El Torres and Jesús Alonso Iglesias, translated by Esther Villardón Grande (Lion Forge/Magnetic)

The Ladies-in-Waiting, by Santiago García and Javier Olivares, translated by Erica Mena (Fantagraphics)

Run for It: Stories of Slaves Who Fought for the Freedom, by Marcelo D’Salete, translated by Andrea Rosenberg (Fantagraphics)

Best U.S. Edition of International Material—Asia

Furari, by Jiro Taniguchi, translated by Kumar Sivasubramanian (Fanfare/Ponent Mon)

Golden Kamuy, by Satoru Noda, translated by Eiji Yasuda (VIZ Media)

My Brother’s Husband, vol. 1, by Gengoroh Tagame, translated by Anne Ishii (Pantheon)

Otherworld Barbara, vol. 2, by Moto Hagio, translated by Matt Thorn (Fantagraphics)

Shiver: Junji Ito Selected Stories, by Junji Itotranslated by Jocelyne Allen (VIZ Media)

Best Archival Collection/Project—Strips

Celebrating Snoopy, by Charles M. Shulz, edited by Alexis E. Fajardo and Dorothy O’Brien (Andrews McMeel)

Crazy Quilt: Scraps and Panels on the Way to Gasoline Alley, by Frank King, edited by Peter Maresca (Sunday Press)

Foolish Questions and Other Odd Observations, by Rube Goldberg, edited by Peter Maresca and Paul C. Tumey (Sunday Press Books)

Sky Masters of the Space Force: The Complete Dailies, by Jack Kirby, Wally Wood et al., edited by Daniel Herman (Hermes Press)

Star Wars: The Classic Newspaper Strips, vol. 1, by Russ Manning et al., edited by Dean Mullaney (LOAC/IDW)

Best Archival Collection/Project—Comic Books

Akira 35th Anniversary Edition, by Katsuhiro Otomo, edited by Haruko Hashimoto, Ajani Oloye, and Lauren Scanlan (Kodansha)

Behaving MADly, edited by Craig Yoe (Yoe Books/IDW)

The Collected Neil the Horse, by Arn Saba/Katherine Collins, edited by Andy Brown (Conundrum)

Fantagraphics Studio Edition: Jaime Hernandez, edited by Gary Groth (Fantagraphics)

Will Eisner: The Centennial Celebration, 1917-2017, by Paul Gravett, Denis Kitchen, and John Lind (Kitchen Sink/Dark Horse)

Best Writer

Tom King, Batman, Batman Annual #2, Batman/Elmer Fudd Special #1, Mister Miracle (DC)

Matt Kindt, Grass Kings (BOOM! Studios); Ether (Dark Horse); Eternity, X-O Manowar (Valiant)

Jeff Lemire, Black Hammer (Dark Horse); Descender (Image)

Marjorie Liu, Monstress (Image)

Mark Russell, The Flintstones (DC)

Best Writer/Artist

Lorena Alvarez, Night Lights (Nobrow)

Chabouté, Moby Dick (Dark Horse); Alone, The Park Bench (Gallery 13/Simon & Schuster)

Emil Ferris, My Favorite Thing Is Monsters (Fantagraphics)

Cathy Malkasian, Eartha (Fantagraphics)

Jiro Taniguchi, Furari, Louis Vuitton Travel Guide: Venice (Fanfare/Ponent Mon)

Best Penciller/Inker or Penciller/Inker Team

Isabelle Arsenault, Louis Undercover (Groundwood Books/House of Anansi)

Mitch Gerads, Mister Miracle (DC)

Gary Gianni, Hellboy: Into the Silent Sea (Dark Horse)

Ramón K. Perez, Jane (Archaia)

David Rubín, Black Hammer #9 & #12, Ether, Sherlock Frankenstein #1–3 (Dark Horse); Beowulf (Image)

Best Painter/Multimedia Artist (interior art)

Federico Bertolucci, Love: The Dinosaur, Little Tails (Lion Forge/Magnetic)

EFA, Monet: Itinerant of Light (NBM)

Jean-Pierre Gibrat, Flight of the Raven (EuroComics/IDW)

Cyril Pedrosa, Portugal (NBM)

Sana Takeda, Monstress (Image)

Best Cover Artist

Jorge Corona, No. 1 with a Bullet (Image)

Nick Derington, Mister Miracle (DC); Doom Patrol (DC Young Animal)

Brian Stelfreeze, Black Panther (Marvel)

Sana Takeda, Monstress (Image)

Julian Totino Tedesco, Hawkeye (Marvel)

Best Coloring

Emil Ferris, My Favorite Thing Is Monsters (Fantagraphics)

Mitch Gerads, Mister Miracle (DC)

Ed Piskor, X-Men: Grand Design (Marvel)

David Rubín, Ether, Black Hammer, Sherlock Frankenstein (Dark Horse); Beowulf (Image)

Dave Stewart, Black Hammer, BPRD: Devil You Know, Hellboy: Into the Silent Sea, Sherlock Frankenstein, Shaolin Cowboy (Dark Horse); Maestros (Image)

Rosemary Valero-O’Connell, What Is Left (ShortBox)

Best Lettering

Isabelle Arsenault, Louis Undercover (Groundwood Books/House of Anansi)

Clayton Cowles, Bitch Planet: Triple Feature, Redlands, The Wicked + The Divine (Image); Black Bolt, Spider-Gwen, Astonishing X-Men, Star Wars (Marvel)

Emil Ferris, My Favorite Thing Is Monsters (Fantagraphics)

Stan Sakai, Usagi Yojimbo, Groo: Slay of the Gods (Dark Horse)

John Workman, Mother Panic (DC Young Animal); Ragnorak (IDW)

Best Comics-Related Periodical/Journalism

Alter Ego, edited by Roy Thomas (TwoMorrows)

The Comics Journal, edited by Dan Nadel, Timothy Hodler, and Tucker Stone, tcj.com (Fantagraphics)

Hogan’s Alley, edited by Tom Heintjes

Jack Kirby Collector, edited by John Morrow (TwoMorrows)

PanelXPanel magazine, edited by Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou, panelxpanel.com

Best Comics-Related Book

Deconstructing the Incal by Alejandro Jodorowsky and Moebius, by Jean Annestay and Christophe Quillien (Humanoids)

How Comics Work, by Dave Gibbons and Tim Pilcher (Wellfleet Press/Quarto Group)

How to Read Nancy: The Elements of Comics in Three Easy Panels, by Paul Karasik and Mark Newgarden (Fantagraphics)

Line of Beauty: The Art of Wendy Pini, by Richard Pini (Flesk)

Monograph, by Chris Ware (Rizzoli)

To Laugh That We May Not Weep: The Life and Times of Art Young, by Glenn Bray and Frank M. Young (Fantagraphics)

Best Academic/Scholarly Work

The Comics of Charles Schulz: The Good Grief of Modern Life, edited by Jared Gardner and Ian Gordon (University Press of Mississippi)

Ethics in the Gutter: Empathy and Historical Fiction in Comics, by Kate Polak (Ohio State University Press)

Latinx Superheroes in Mainstream Comics, by Frederick Luis Aldama (University of Arizona Press)

Neon Visions: The Comics of Howard Chaykin, by Brannon Costello (LSU Press)

Picturing Childhood: Youth in Transnational Comics, edited by Mark Heimermann and Brittany Tullis (University of Texas Press)

Best Publication Design

Akira 35th Anniversary Edition, designed by Phil Balsman, Akira Saito (Veia), NORMA Editorial, and MASH•ROOM (Kodansha)

Celebrating Snoopy, designed by Spencer Williams and Julie Phillips (Andrews McMeel)

Monograph, designed by Chris Ware (Rizzoli)

My Favorite Thing Is Monsters, designed by Jacob Covey (Fantagraphics)

Will Eisner: The Centennial Celebration, 1917-2017, designed by John Lind (Kitchen Sink/Dark Horse)

Best Digital Comic

Bandette, by Paul Tobin and Colleen Coover (Monkeybrain/comiXology)

Barrier, by Brian K. Vaughan and Marcos Martin (Panel Syndicate)

The Carpet Merchant of Konstaniniyya, by Reimena Yee (reimenayee.com/the-carpet-merchant)

Contact High, by James F. Wright and Josh Eckert (gumroad.com/l/YnxSm)

Harvey Kurtzman’s Marley’s Ghost, by Harvey Kurtzman, Josh O’Neill, Shannon Wheeler, and Gideo Kendall (comiXology Originals/Kitchen, Lind & Associates)

Quince, by Sebastian Kadlecik, Kit Steinkellner, and Emma Steinkellner, translated by Valeria Tranier (Fanbase Press/comiXology)

Best Webcomic

Awaiting a Wave, by Dale Carpenter and Nate Powell, features.weather.com/us-climate-change/arkansas (The Weather Channel Digital)

Brothers Bond, by Kevin Grevioux and Ryan Benjamin, www.webtoons.com/en/action/brothers-bond/list?title_no=1191 (LINE Webtoon)

Dispatch from a Sanctuary City, by Mike Dawson, https://thenib.com/dispatch-from-a-sanctuary-city (The Nib)

The Tea Dragon Society, by Katie O’Neill, teadragonsociety.com

Welcome to the New World, by Jake Halpern and Michael Sloan, www.michaelsloan.net/welcome-to-the-new-world/ (New York Times Sunday Review)

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queen-of-deans-booty · 7 years ago

Text

Tall Tales- Part 4

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1,663

Warnings: Typical Supernatural violence, language, minor character death, blood, you know the usual, Gabriel feels, comedy, bitchy and whiny Winchester brothers (come on, you’ve all seen the episode)

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. If you’re a junkie for this sort of thing, then a tag list is the right thing for you! If you want to be a Queen, I’ll add you to that list too! Any and all comments on these are appreciated. I really want to hear what you guys think about this one!

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together.

Tags at the bottom

“Did you take his computer?” Bobby asked Dean, feeling like he had to act like the fucking grown up for a bunch of 5-year-olds.

“Serves him right, but, no.”

“Well, I didn't lose it because I don't lose things.” Sam said, sighing.

“Oh, that's right, yeah, because he's Mr. Perfect.” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, okay. Why don't you just tell me what happened next?” Bobby said with a sigh, rubbing his temples. You got up and got out a cold bottle of water, handing it to him. He smiled at you and took a sip, ready to hear more.

“There was one more victim.” Dean said.

“Right. Now, we didn't see this one ourselves, either. We kind of put it together from the evidence. But this guy, he was, uh, he was a research scientist. Animal testing.” Sam said gently, easing Bobby into this.

“Yeah, you know, a dick. Which fits the pattern.” Dean said, getting into the story.

There was another victim who was, according to the police, was bitten and killed by something in the sewer. They didn’t release the cause of death but you needed it for the hunt so you had to go to the morgue to figure it out. You held the flashlight for Sam as he used his small knife to open the window. When he got it open, he got in and you tossed him a flashlight.

Dean helped you inside the window and then he was next, closing the window when he was in.

“Alright, this should be easy.” You said, looking around the room. Dean opened a body drawer and shined his light in, grimacing.

“Let me guess, you found the body?” You asked.

“Yeah.” Dean said, sliding the drawer out and peeling away the blanket to reveal extremely mangled remains of the professor.

“Okay, that’s nasty.” Dean said, sighing. Sam gagged at the smell and covered his nose and mouth with one hand, trying not to breathe through his nose.

“Uh, yeah,” Sam said, his voice muffled. The scent was bad but you sucked it up and leaned in closely, inspecting it.

“Mutilated?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, it looks like something was hungry.” You said, seeing teeth marks on what was the body.

“They identify him yet?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, uh, a research scientist at the college. Guess where his office was, by the way. Crawford Hall, same as the professor.” Sam informed.

“That's right where the frat boy had his close encounter.” Dean said, thinking.

“Hey, would you hand me a magnifying glass, please?” You asked, looking at the marks carefully. Dean handed you one and you took it, looking at the marks more carefully.

“What is it?” Sam asked.

“Looks like a... belly scale?” You said, confused.

“A belly scale? From what?” Dean asked.

“An alligator.” You said, even more confused now. You had an idea of what could be doing this but you didn’t want to say it until you were for sure.

“An alligator in the sewer. Come on.” Dean said with a scoff.

“She’s not crazy, you know.” Sam said.

“Yeah, it’s a classic urban legend. A kid flushes a baby gator down the toilet, and it grows huge in the tunnels.” You said, looking at the brothers.

“But no one's ever really found one. I mean, they're not real.” Dean said, stuttering a bit.

“Well, neither's alien abduction, but something chomped on this guy.” Sam said with a sigh.

“Have you two notice that it’s weird that only urban legends are being acted out?” You said, thinking about what could have done this. You remember reading something in Bobby’s books but you didn’t want to say it.

“Maybe we should get some help. I'll call Bobby. Maybe he's run into something like this before.” Sam suggested.

“Sure, I’ll call him over when we get back to the motel.” You said.

“Oh yeah, I’m sure he’s seen this. Just your typical haunted campus, alien abduction, and alligator-in-the-sewer gig. Yeah, it's simple.” Dean said sarcastically.

“Well, did you find anything before I got here?” Bobby asked, looking at you.

“Well, Sam and Dean took the sewers, splitting up and I looked above ground, just in case, you know? And I did find something.” You said.

“Oh, yeah, this son of a bitch…” Dean muttered before you told the rest of the story.

“Did you guys find anything?” You asked when Dean emerged from the sewers.

“Not a thing.” Dean said with a sigh.

“Where is Sam?” You asked, noticing the missing Winchester.

“Went back to the motel to see if he could find anything else.” You sighed and walked back over to the Impala but gasped when you saw what happened to her. All four of her tires were slashed but nothing else was damaged.

“Son of a bitch!!” Dean said, rushing to the car, seeing something shiny on the ground. You rushed to him and saw him pick up a money clip with the initials ‘S.W’ on it. Sam did this? No, he wouldn’t.

“SAM!” Dean yelled into the night.

“Hey, you know he wouldn’t do this.” You said, rushing with him over to the motel room. Dean barged in and glared at Sam who was reading a book.

“You think this is funny?” Dean asked, angry.

“It depends, what?” Sam asked. You walked in and closed the door.

“Sam, Dean is fucking pissed.” You said, looking at Dean who was red in the face.

“Th-th-the car!” Dean stuttered.

“What about the car?” Sam asked as if he didn’t know what he was talking about.

“You can't let the air out of the tires, you idiot. You're gonna bend the rims!” Dean complained.

“Whoa, wait a minute. I didn't go near your car.” Sam said, standing up.

“Oh, yeah? Huh. Then how'd I find this?” Dean asked, showing Sam the money clip. Sam patted his pocket and frowned, looking at Dean.

“Hey. Give me back my money!”

“Oh, no, no. Consider it reparations. For, uh, emotional trauma.” Dean said, backing away from his brother who reached for it. If Sam didn’t do this, then who did? And why did Dean find his money clip?

“Yeah, very funny. Now, give it back.” Sam said, reaching for it again.

“No,” Dean said, moving it away from his brother.

“Dean, I have had it up to here with you!” Sam exclaimed.

“Yeah! Right back at you!” Dean argued. They had a stare off and Sam reached for the money once more but Dean retaliated. Sam growled and tackled his brother to the bed, trying to grab the money. You sighed as they started to fight like kids.

“Come on! Get off me!” Dean yelled out, struggling to get away from his brother.

“Give it back!” Sam yelled back. You rolled your eyes and walked over to the brothers and snatched it from Dean’s hands, putting it in your bra.

“Now none of you get the money!” You said, the brothers stopped fighting to look at you.

“Okay, I’ve heard enough of this.” Bobby said with a sigh.

“You know, I still never got the money back.” Sam grumbled.

“You can have it back when you learn to behave.” You said, giving him a smug look.

“You showed up about an hour after that.” Dean said to Bobby.

“I'm surprised at you two. I really am. Sam, first off, Dean did not steal your computer.” Bobby said.

“But,”

“Shh, shh, shh, shh! And, Dean, Sam did not touch your car.” Bobby said, stopping Sam from talking.

“Yeah!” Sam said, sticking his tongue out at his brother.

“And if you two bothered to pull your heads out of your asses, it all would have been pretty clear.” Bobby said.

“What?” Dean asked, confused.

“Well, what we’re dealing with.” You said with a grin, getting up from the bed.

“You know what we’re dealing with?” Sam asked, looking at you, shocked.

“Well, yeah, it’s obvious.” You said with an amused smile.

“And you didn’t think you need to tell us?” Dean asked, shocked as well.

“Oh, come on, this was too fun. Watching you two go at it, was so much fun to watch.” You said with a laugh. Both Sam and Dean gave you a bitch face which you stopped laughing once you saw it.

“You got a Trickster on your hands.” Bobby said, revealing the monster.

“That’s what I thought.” Dean said, scoffing.

“What!? No, you didn’t!” Sam said, looking at his brother.

“You two were the biggest clue there was!” You said, sitting next to Bobby.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked.

“These things create chaos and mischief as easy as breathing, and it's got you so turned around and at each other's throats, you can't even think straight.” Bobby said, taking over.

“It used you through the laptop and the tires. It knows we’re onto him and I think I might know who it is. You know, that janitor gave me weird vibes. I think maybe it’s him.” You said like it was obvious.

“But what is a Trickster?” Sam asked. You didn’t have the answer to that and you looked at Bobby for help.

“Well, they are more like demigods, really. There's Loki in Scandinavia and there's Anansi in West Africa. Dozens of them. They're immortal, and they can create things out of thin air. Things as real as you and me. Make them vanish just as quick.”

“You mean like an angry spirit or an alien or an alligator.” Dean said, fitting the pieces together.

“The victims fit the M.O., too. Tricksters target the high and the mighty, knock them down a peg, usually with a sense of humor or deadly pranks, things like that.”

“What do these things look like?” Sam asked. The janitor looked human but you needed to be sure.

“Lots of things, but human, mostly.”

“I think we need to pay that janitor a visit.” You said, getting up and grabbing your jacket.

The Queens:

@maddieburcham1 @ginamsmith @mogaruke @whit85-blog @inlovewithbja @spn67-sister @kdfrqqg @jarpadandjensenaremyheroes @roxyspearing @supercalifragilistic26 @mishamigose @cobrakai1967 @essie1876 @wishedworld @crispychrissy @laqueus-ludovicus @nostalgic-uncertainty @jerk-bitch-and-an-angel @potterhead1265 @starswirlblitz @untitled39887 @ta-n-ja @deans-fallen-angel-boy @scarletluvscas @notnaturalanahi @tahbehonest @stay-in--place @dreaminofdean @posiemax @donnaintx @mikey1822 @alexandriajanae4 @li-ssu @just-another-winchester @obsessivecompulsivespn @emoryhemsworth @newtospnfandom @mizzezm @goldenolaf25 @jessikared97

The Dean Beans:

@akshi8278 @mega-mrs-dean-winchester @winchesterandpie @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @carribear31 @tacklesackles @oreosatmidnight @not-naturalfangirl @missselinakitty @iam-a-cutiepie @kristendansmith @milo-winchester-4ever @jensenackesl @codyshany316 @pheonyxstorm @helllonearth @juniorhuntersam @pouterpufftrain @ruprecht0420 @shut-ur-face-and-get-in-the-car @carriemichelle2012 @aubreystilinski

Series Rewrite Junkies:

@helllonearth @amyisabellal @deanwnchstr @caseykitten6 @quixoticcat @supernaturalblogging @notmoose45 @crowleysminion @mina22 @tahbehonest @hadleymcallister2177 @destielsangels @spnhybrid @oreosatmidnight @valerieshubin @seninjakitey @flyonlittlewinchester @aubreystilinski @rocketqueeens

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