#Anansi deserves a very big fandom

[kiaraspeaks]

Anansi x Female!Reader: Small Towns, Old Gods

The south is littered with old Gods. Gods who came with certain people and then were left in these small towns in America, intent and memory bind them to these tiny patches of lands. When you were a girl coming to visit your grandmother’s people here in South Carolina he was here, never seen in the same outfit twice. Always at every function from fish fries to funerals, never without a kind word or a hearty laugh. You always believed that everyone knew but never said anything.

He protected them, and they didn’t want to anger him, or maybe they respected him, at times it felt like a bit of both. But like all those small towns that crisscrossed America this one also saw it’s declined as the people and industries left. From time to time people blew in and out but overtime the stories became gentrified tales made from superstition or remixed fairy tales. Deep down, despite three kids and a shitty ex-husband, you still believe. The world can be cruel but those stories are more than balm for a soul weathered by too many disappointments. There is truth in every word, every story, and in every God chained to these lands by the ghosts of those with far too much hope. 

So when you make the trip back down south to clear up any issues with your grandmother’s estate you’re not surprised to find that his little shop is still there and the lights are on. It is completely unchanged by time but still sharp as a tack. You pass the little shop and have a desire to stop, to pass on some form of history to your children but you don’t. You make it to the house safely, you give your children free reign of the town and beg them to stay together just as your grandmother had before. Your friends from too many years ago have long since moved away, creating families and stories of their own. So you walk the old familiar streets alone until you happen upon the humble old shop. 

The bell chimed overhead as you step inside the shop frozen in time, it had looked the same when you were an adventurous child, a head strong teenager and even a young woman in your twenties confused about the world and what it might hold. He walked from the back of the shop sticking his head out with an infectious smile on his face.

“Now this is a rare occasion,” He announced in that magical way only he could, and then he stepped from behind the counter. “I thought I’d seen the last of you years ago. What brings you back here?”

“Grandma passed, we were getting things in order that my mama and daddy couldn’t handle on their own.”

“Eula. Yes. I heard she went peacefully.” He said and reached for your hand, there’s static in his touch, but his kind always vibrate a bit higher or so you've been told. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“I appreciate it.” You say, then time stands still for a moment as he watches you with a closeness you’ve never felt, not even with your husband, or any of those fumblings in the dark you had before him. You stand before a God and try not tremble like a sapling in the wind. You fail. 

“So.” He said and placed your hand slowly back to your side. He spun away, in one fluid motion with the grace of a skilled dancer, you’re still unsure how he does it. But whatever had been initiated between you two disappeared just that easily, almost as if you imagined the entire thing. “What brings you here.”

“Well grandma–”

“No, I mean my little shop. Here.” He said and headed across the room where he placed a lilac colored dress on a mannequin. He watches you as he dressed the mannequin, just out the corner of his eye. 

“I brought the kids, thought a family trip would be nice.”

“It’s lovely this time of year,” He said softly, “But I don’t get the feeling that’s what brought you here.There’s a fair a few miles North of here, and a concert’s happening down in the town square, hell even that old candy shop is around, but you’re here with me.”

“Maybe I wanted to hear a story.” You say.

“Folks in hell want ice water too.” He said, perhaps it’s because he’s probably been here in this town longer than your entire family has been alive, but it seems he knows what you’re thinking before you’ve even gathered your thoughts. “Funny that the kids aren’t around.”

“I wanted them to get to know the old place.” You say and walk deeper into the shop and take a seat in one of the comfortable arm chairs. 

“Let me tell you a story.” He said while sewing white buttons on the dress. You’re always amazed at how fast he moves without missing a beat, “Once upon a time before man ruled there was a Goddess who married a Boy-God, she left her home, traveling across the sea to a new land. The land was beautiful, her new citizens were nice but at night she wept for her land and her own people.”

“And what’s supposed to be the moral to that story.” You say.

“It wasn’t that her people were that much different different from the Boy-God’s, but she was homesick and when she left her world went on. It changed, and maybe she wanted something familiar to go back to.”

“Are you implying I came here for you? Why am I not surprised that you somehow think my world revolves around you?” You ask, but have you not had him on your mind? You knew that through everything that changed he would be there, and here he is, the unchanging and steady trickster. God of Chaos to some and God of stories to others. His name rest on the tip of your tongue but you don’t dare utter it. 

“Marriage didn’t work out to that boy from where the fuck ever, kids are growing up, and maybe you’re getting older and getting certain ideas in your head.”

“About?” You question, you try to be playful but he is a trickster. You can never outwit him, he’s been at this longer than you’ve been alive.

“About what happens after. And your white Jesus and his promises just ain’t cutting it anymore.” He said, you watch as he moves about the shop bringing it life. A light here, a strip of fabric moves by itself there while he sketches on an aged legal pad. “So you came home like everybody else does eventually, looking for something they’ll never find again, but you’re not like everybody else. You’re special.”

“How so?” You ask, part of it is that you’ve spent half of your life being sold snake oil wrapped in bullshit from men like him, and then the other half is that you know he’s no man. A God. You itch to call forth his name, raise his power, but you remember what your grandmother told you; ‘Names have power, girl. Don’t let the old Gods use you unless you sure you can handle what they wanna give you, child.’ 

“You believe.” He said and came to stand in front of you, even as he spoke he’s giving you that look from before. A God stood before you who looks at you and sees you’re enough despite what the rest of the world said, your grandmother’s words and warnings fade from memory. “Those stories they told you about me, about what I might do, how I might get myself out of situations and save my people, you still believe. You came back because you believe, and I’m flattered.”

“So you did all of this to pat yourself on the back?” You ask, now he’s close enough to touch when he’s always seemed so untouchable your entire life, he always seemed larger than life but he’s here and focused solely on you. He hunches over and places his hands on the arm rests of the chair, and you don’t dare to look away from him. You are no longer just a face in the crowd, and here you are, old enough to understand all these feelings and know you’re meddling with something bigger than you.

“Nonsense,” He said, “You’ve done the hard work; through two recessions, a marriage to a man who didn’t deserve you and made you put your career on the back burner, three adorable kids who will eventually leave you and make their way into the world, you still believe when you should be hopeless.”

“But there’s always hope.” You say before you can stop yourself and he smirks, it’s devilish and charming, then he kisses you, a soft generous kiss that you’ve apparently been waiting for your entire life. Men have given you heated looks, but not Gods, you’re walking into an entirely different arena this time and you’re not sure if you’re prepared.

“That’s what I like to hear, there might be hope for this town yet.” He said between tender pecks. And as if it was just a trick of the lights you jump awake suddenly, sitting in an aged but abandoned shop. The windows are broken, the walls smashed in, the door is smashed to bits and graffiti is everywhere but in the corner of the room you see it.

A lilac dress on an aged mannequin is just the smallest amount of proof you’re not losing your mind and hallucinated this entire thing. You know he’s there somewhere, and you rise from the chair, it seems to be the only thing in tact in the entire store and grab the dress before leaving. You don’t know what the rest of this visit might hold but hope wells up inside of you.

As you leave, walking through the streets of this old town his name flows freely from your lips.

Anansi.