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deanwritings · 1 year ago

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The Guest House - Prologue

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Series Summary: Dean Winchester is going through a nasty divorce. He doesn't have much left to his name, but what he does have is his house. Leave it to his soon-to-be ex wife to find a way to even ruin that for him. Enter Y/N, who is looking to get away from life for a bit, and stumbles right into the middle of it all.

The Guest House Master List

Word Count: 2,225

A/N: Welcome to the start of The Guest House! This little bitty came to me while I was staying at a lake house and relaxing, so really excited to dive in.

Chapters will be posted weekly on Wednesdays.

If you would like to be tagged in the series, just leave a comment or shoot me a message and I'll get you added.

Enjoy!

You dig your nails into your fingertips as they sit in your lap underneath the table. Your heart was finally leveling off as your review was coming to an end. So far your marks had been glowing; your metrics were up, your peer reviews were stellar, all that was left was to hear if they would be promoting you.

You’ve been working for that next step for a year and a half now. After most of your team quit, you took the opportunity to show your bosses that you could run the department with a can-do attitude and hard work. You’ve brought up a promotion a few times at your check-ins with your boss, and she assured you it would be a topic of conversation at your next review, which would be ending in the next few minutes.

With a polite smile, you look across the table at your direct manager and her boss.

“Any questions?” Your boss asks plainly, and your brow furrows as you look between them. If you didn’t know any better, it sounded like they were wrapping up the meeting.

Your lips fall apart and your heart jumps into your throat as you realize what’s about to happen.

“Uh,” you start as you squeeze your fists together. “I was hoping to discuss my possible promotion.” You loosen your smile as you try to keep your eye contact divided between both of them.

The two share a small look.

You’re not getting promoted. Is what that looks says.

Your boss’ boss clears his throat as he readjusts in his seat.

“After reviewing your performance, we do not feel a promotion is appropriate at this time.” He says with a tinge of forced sorrow.

Your stomach plummets as your jaw clenches.

How could they not be promoting you? You’ve been working the job of at least three people for over a year now without complaint. You’ve spent countless days staying late and making sure projects didn’t fall wayside while the company took their sweet ass time looking for replacements for your team.To their own admission, your metrics were good, so why the hell wasn’t your hard work being recognized?

“I don’t understand.” You swallow to keep your voice from shaking. You never pushed back on your bosses. Ever. But you thought today was the day you were finally going to be rewarded for everything you’ve done for them.

“You just said that my metrics were up and I was performing above expectations. What is hindering him from getting a promotion then?”

The two look at each other again and you can feel yourself beginning to shake as they bide their time for an excuse.

“Y/N, you have performed well this past year for the most part, but there were concerns with your performance in January.” Your boss folds her tanned hands on the faux wood tabletop as she speaks up. “You let things fall through the cracks and were distant from your work. We feel that is not reflective of someone who should hold a Senior Management position.” She offers a soft smile and a shitty excuse.

It takes your brain a moment to catch up with what they were talking about; January. Two months ago. Your aunt passed away suddenly from a heart attack as she was making dinner. You can still hear your mother’s cries over the phone as she called to tell you the news that her sister was dead. And at only 52.

You were only able to take one day off from work for her funeral, as you were in the middle of a project launch and it was all hands on deck. When you returned, yeah, you were “distant.” You were mourning the loss of a woman you loved dearly while trying to help your mother and cousins navigate their grief as well. Your aunt’s passing also made you scared for your own mother, who is a few years older, and some night’s you couldn’t sleep as you thought about life without your best friend. It took you weeks to shake free from the heartbreak and anxiety that had engulfed you, but you came back strong and started excelling once more.

And there your bosses sat, in the all-glass meeting room of the shared workspace your company rented out because they were too cheap to get a full-blown office, throwing your aunt’s death in your face and using it as the excuse as to why they would not be promoting you after more than eighteen months of slaving away for them with barely a thank you.

You laugh through your nose and shake your head as you swallow hard.

“We’re happy to talk more about this in a few months at your next check-in.” Your boss jumps in, and you bite down on your lip. “We know you’re committed to this company and role, and we want to make sure we help you get to the next level.” She smiles at you like she actually believes the bullshit she’s spouting.

You take a deep breath and genuinely smile back. You always prided yourself on keeping a cool head, especially at work. But a line had crossed, and even for you, enough was now enough.

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Your boss ticks her head at your words. “Because I quit.” You stand up and smile down at the two asshats you gave everything for, and now realize, you would never get anything in return from them.

Both of their mouths fall open as they share a shocked look between them.

“Y/N, let’s not do anything rash.” Your boss’ boss stands as well, holding his hands up. “There’s no need to jump to something like this. I’m sure there’s something we can work out”

You push your chair in, your smile not wavering.

“I feel that this review is not reflective of a company I want to work for anymore.” You throw their words back to them. “I’ll have no issue finding a new role that values my hard work and dedication, and won’t use a family member’s death as a reason to squirrel out of a rightful promotion.”

“Best of luck filling my role.” You turn on your heel and hurry down the hallway to your shared office. A few coworkers glance up at your haste entrance, but you ignore them as you grab your purse and start grabbing the few personal effects that would fit on your tiny, shared desktop; just a single, unframed picture of you, your parents, and your brother, a few fidget toys, and your favorite pens. The rest belonged to the company, just like you had.

Without a word, you fling your purse onto your shoulder and with your head held high, carry yourself out of the office without a single glance back. As you step onto the elevator, you smirk as you watch through the all-glass walls as your bosses shout at one another before the doors close.

“You what?” Your mother gasps through the phone at your news. You knew your parents weren’t going to take this well, and you were prepared for it.

“I quit.” You repeat, even though you know she heard you the first time.

“Y/N, what on God’s green earth would make you quit without another job lined up?” She huffs.

You think about your Aunt Rose, how your bosses used your grief as an excuse not to give you a well-earned promotion. She was always free spirited, having career-jumped her whole life. She started as a bartender, then worked as a sous chef for a catering company before she decided she wanted to be a radio DJ. Years before she died, she had gotten her real estate license and was working as an agent right up until she passed. You had always been the opposite, very much a mirror of your mother. You went to a good college and got a business degree. You had worked for a few companies over the years, but you always stayed in the same field, working your way up the ladder. You never wanted to take a risk with your career, you had worked too hard. But working hard got you nothing but late nights and a bullshit yearly review.

To say you were exhausted was an understatement. And you can barely recall the last time you got together with your friends, let alone a date. You had married your job and it had been a toxic and loveless relationship.

It was time to start fresh and take some time for yourself. Which is exactly why you had seventeen tabs of house rentals open on your laptop screen as you half-listen to your mother as she continues to admonish your rash decision.

“It’s going to be good for me, mom.” You cut her off once you’ve finally had enough of her harping. You loved the woman to death, but my god once you wind her up, she doesn’t stop.

“I have enough savings to comfortably get me through six months without a job. I’m going to take a few weeks off to reset, then I’ll hit the ground running with the job search.” You cross your legs as you languidly swipe through rental photos.

After a few more minutes, you finally hang up the phone and start seriously considering your options.

You wanted to get away upstate, not so far away that you couldn’t get back for anything important, but far enough to feel like the city wasn’t in your rearview mirror. You figured a month would be the perfect time. Four weeks of a quiet town to relax and rediscover your love of reading and writing. It’s been ages since you actually sat down and read a good book. You were never good at art, but maybe you’d even find a studio to do some painting or finally give pottery a try. For the first time in your life, your time would be your own to sleep in and do whatever you wanted with your days.

As you click through listings, you notice one that is significantly cheaper than the rest. Curiously, you click the link and a gray-sided cabin with a red tin-looking roof brightens up in front of you.

NEW LISTING! Private Guest House, Hot tub included.

One bedroom guest house available for rent. Relax in the peacefulness of upstate while being a short driving distance to town. The guest house has a full bathroom, complete with tub. There is also a hot tub on the patio that is for guest enjoyment. 10 minutes from downtown with plenty of bars and shops to keep you busy. The owner lives on the main property, but will keep to themself unless you need anything. Perfect for anyone looking to getaway!

As you click through the photos, you’re greeted with a warm, wooden interior, a wood burning stove, a fairly updated kitchen, and a queen bed with an adjacent master bath.

The cabin feels a little too good to be true for the price, and you click “Contact Owner” at the bottom of the page.

“Hello,” You start your chat. “I’m interested in potentially renting your guest cabin for four weeks. The place looks lovely but I wanted to ask if there are any issues I should be aware of since the price is so much more reasonable than other listings on this site.”

You were hoping there were no gimmicks, you’ve heard horror stories before, and with no reviews, you wanted to do your due diligence.

After you send the chat, you step away to make a quick dinner, chicken and ramen, comfy and warm, before you settle back onto the couch to watch your favorite reality show. You’re about to press play when you notice a response in your inbox.

“Hi there. Totally understand your concern. I just put the listing up today and am offering a discounted rate for the first few renters to help get traffic to our rental and start getting reviews. Let me know if you have any questions.” You shrug at the perfectly reasonable response and you click on the circular picture of the brunette next to the message, opening the owner’s profile.

LISA BRAEDEN (Host)

0 Reviews | 1 Month Renting

Lisa’s confirmed information

Identity ✓

Email address ✓

Phone number✓

Proud wife and owner of a unique property. I am a certified yoga instructor and have been teaching and practicing for over 15 years. I love a good glass of wine, a well-cooked meal, and traveling to new places.

You stare at the picture of the smiling, long-haired, tanned brunette. She’s absolutely beautiful. Probably a few years older than you and seems down to earth in a regular tshirt.

Honestly, considering you were out of a job, the discounted price would really come in handy. Then you wouldn’t feel so guilty taking a full month off before you started your job hunt.

You click back to the rental’s profile and put in your dates. You take a deep breath before clicking RESERVE and putting in your payment details. Your rental has been confirmed. The message pops up. With a thousand-watt smile, you shut your laptop and settle into your couch. In just a few days, you would be on your way to a new beginning.

Keep Reading

A/N: Fun fact, the first half of this was inspired by true events. Sadly, I didn't quit on the spot, but I did shortly after with a 10x better job.

And know we didn't get to see Dean yet, but I promise he will be in the next chapter!

Anywho, stealing this from the lovely @zepskies

NEXT TIME:

“I’m calling the cops!” She shouts, her phone in hand, music blaring from the speaker as her fingers are ready to press the three numbers as she stares at him with fear in her Y/C/E eyes.

“Take it easy,” Dean holds his hands up, and the woman looks like she’s going to have a heart attack as she notices the gun in his right hand. Realizing his mistake, he quickly tucks it away into his waistband and holds his empty hands out to her, wanting her to know he’s not a threat.

“First off,” Dean holds up a finger at her. “If anyone should be calling the cops, it’s me.” He points back to himself. “Secondly, what are you doing in my house?”

“Your house?” Her voice drips with confusion as her brow furrows.

“Yes my house.” He echoes, emphasizing his ownership. She continues to frown.

“Well if it’s your house, you would know I’m renting your guest house for the next four weeks.” She crosses her arms defiantly, confusion and fear gone as she challenges him.

“What are you talking about?” Now it’s Dean’s turn to be confused. He’s never rented the guest house out, nor would he ever.

Tag List

Forever

@iprobablyshipit91 @likesiriusly @kittyque @findingfitnessforme @wonderange @captainemwinchester @xtina2191 @smoothdogsgirl @mogaruke @chin-up-love @tsunadesenjuuchiha @lyarr24 @globetrotter28 @krazykelly @roseblue373 @k-slla @stephv213

TGH

@suckitands33 @deans-baby-momma @tristanrosspada-ackles @twinkleinadiamondsky @spnbaby-67 @jackles010378 @itsdesiree86 @becca-rebel38

#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean imagine #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean x y/n #dean winchester fic #the guest house

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dragons-bones · 3 months ago

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FFXIV Write Entry #3: Levinstrike

Prompt: tempest || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: Spoilers through the beginning of zone five. Mentions of someone throwing up, but said mention is non-graphic.

*stares contemplatively at this prompt fill* ...yeah, I'm gonna run cover.

*runs for cover*

There were a lot of reasons for why Rereha was finding herself very much not liking Yyasulani.

First and foremost, of course, was the giant purple dome of fucking doom that had engulfed the region, spat out murderous magitek automatons led by an equally murderous patricide with a chip on his shoulder, and resulted in the heartbreak and misery of a multitude of Turali, including her darling new not-so-little sister, Lamaty’i. (Lamaty’i had dibs on Zoraal Ja’s head, but Rereha would gladly do a live retelling of how she’d killed Zenos at the edge of the universe with her bow, using that warmongering asshole as her “assistant.”)

Second was the fact that Erenville, normally a bastion of cool-headedness and acerbic wit that rode herd on them all better than even Heron, Queen of the ‘I’m Not Mad Just Disappointed’ Face, was currently a spooked, jumpy, and generally upset young man. With every step they took, Erenville grew tenser and tenser, until he was practically vibrating with it, and unable to mask just how shaken he was to see his home so strangely aged and decrepit. Rereha did not like to see her friends (even the ones who refused to acknowledge they were, actually, friends) upset. Someone needed to be made miserable for this. (Probably Zoraal Ja.)

Third was all the gods-forsaken levin within the confines of the dome. Static snapped and crackled and popped (hah, that had a nice ring to it, actually) across all of them, and across every surface, and the only reason they likely weren’t shocking themselves was the sheer amount of levin aether soaking into everything, even making it difficult to breathe. Synnove had summoned Ipomoea, and the unaspected carbuncle was carefully perched on her person’s shoulder while maintaining a light shield around their group to lessen the pressure of so much fucking levin on them.

Fourth, and newest on the list, was the fact that little Roksana—not quite so little as she had once been like a bitty squishy Heavensturn mochi, the steady infusions of aether over the years ensuring she and her sister were now two-thirds the size of Galette—had just spontaneously manifested at Synnove’s feet.

Alone.

That is, by herself.

No Amandina.

Which had never, ever happened before.

Ever.

Synnove’s face was doing the kind of journey between expressions that would likely result in a pulled muscle and would, under any other circumstance, be funny to witness, but right now just made Rereha feel ill.

Mommy, Roksana warbled, eyes huge and teary, something’s wrong with Amandina.

“Oh, fuck this place in the ear,” Rereha said under her breath as the party dissolved into chaos.

They had hurriedly backtracked to Yyasulani Station and holed up in one of the decaying buildings. Synnove had folded herself onto the floor cross-legged, her bracelet of carbuncle foci cupped in her hands, and had spent a full bell coaxing Amandina into manifesting.

The black pearl carbuncle looked terrible as Synnove gently cuddled her. Her ears and tails were drooping, the aetheric glow of her coat was dim and dusty with no sign of the pretty purple among the black strands of her fur, and her eyes and nose were gummy and crusty and just gross. The poor baby looked like how Rereha felt after one of those stupid parties she used to attend as a dumbass socialite fuckwit in Ul’dah, and she resisted the urge to swipe at her own nose.

Mommy, I [have a tummy ache.]

Amandina’s harmonic had warped and rippled, ringing with multiple tones of trying to translate an untranslatable concept. Now Rereha wanted to reach into her own brain and scratch frantically to relieve the itchiness hearing that had left in her grey matter.

“What,” Lamaty’i whispered, arm raised up to rub her temple across the leather embossing on her collar as her ears twitched at high speed, “the fuck.”

“Your mind essentially force-translated Amandina’s aetheric harmonic into words you can understand,” Krile said, blinking rapidly and reaching up to rub at her eyes.

“At least into the closest approximation,” G’raha said, scritching frantically at the back of his neck until Alisaie swatted his hand away.

Amadina groaned, turning in Synnove’s arms and pulling herself up so she could burrow her face into her mama’s neck. Synnove carefully adjusted her grip on the carbunclet, one hand supporting her butt and the other stroking her head and ears, while Roksana, who had been draped atop Synnove’s head like a weird hat, practically oozed down on top of her twin. Ipomoea, perched on Synnove’s knee, wore an unfocused expression that meant she was still in the middle of running a full diagnostic scan.

“It’s all this fucking levin,” Synnove growled. “Her aspect means she’s already highly sensitive to levin aether, sure, but none of the carbuncles have ever been somewhere where they’ve been exposed to such dangerous levels of their respective aspected aethers.”

“Not even in Eureka?” G’raha said, ears perking. “I would have thought Anemos and Pyros would have posed some danger to Galette and Ivar.”

Synnove shook her head.

“The density of elemental aether was unprecedented at the concentrations encountered on Val,” Krile said, “but it does not compare to what has happened to Yyasulani. Despite each region of the island being warped to reflect their elemental aspects, they were also balancing one another, which allowed such diversity in wildlife to continue thriving. The amount of levin here has essentially rendered Yyasulani…”

“…ecologically dead,” Erenville finished, voice flat and eyes shuttered, even as a shudder briefly shook his frame. Lamaty’i pulled him into a one-armed hug and for once, Erenville didn’t fight it.

(Rere wondered if Lamaty’i was adding items to her mental tally of crimes for which to hold Zoraal Ja responsible. Rere certainly was.)

[Suggestion: Mistress Synnove,] Ipomoea said, her harmonic oddly distant as she continued her scan of Amandina, [a temporary ward on Junior Construct Amandina’s aetheric input sub-array may provide relief of symptoms. Estimation: effectiveness currently calculated at fifty-three point six five seven percent.]

“We’ll get started on mapping that once you’ve finished your diagnostic,” Synnove said, continuing to stroke Amandina’s ears down along her spine. “Amandina, do you want to de-manifest?”

Noooooooo, Amandina whined. Mommy cuddles feel good.

[Observation: physical contact has decreased hazardous levels of levin in Junior Construct Amandina by three point eight percent.]

“Hmm, might be actually be siphoning it off,” Synnove muttered, then sighed. “Carrying Amandina isn’t ideal as we’re reconning, but perhaps—”

Static SNAPPED through the room, causing them all to jump. Amandina whimpered.

Mommy, I think I’m gonna throw up.

There was a flurry of movement as Roksana scrambled off her sister and jumped into Rereha’s outstretched arms, Ipomoea leaped backwards, and Synnove scrambled to her knees, pulling Amandina off her shoulder as Heron dove forward with a pot yanked off Erenville’s gleaner pack. Heron got the pot beneath Amandina’s face just in time, and the poor carbunclet made an awful HRRK noise as levin aether so concentrated it was a liquid poured from her mouth.

Synnove twitched, jerking her head up to the stare at the ceiling even as she kept petting Amandina and making soothing noises in her throat. Heron had gone grey, and Rereha distantly noted similar expressions on Alakhai, Alisaie, and G’raha.

Who was she kidding, she was wearing it, too. Good to know she wasn’t the only one fighting back a bad flashback to certain events on the First.

Seriously, fuck this place in the ear. With something hard and sandpapery.

…I kinda feel a little better. Amandina’s harmonic very softly drifted through Rere’s mind. The carbunclet’s upper body was still mostly in the pot, until Synnove carefully picked her up and set to cleaning her face.

“Mages, on me,” Synnove snapped. Krile, G’raha, and Alisaie darted into motion, with Alisaie digging into Synnove’s pack and emerging with chalk, graphite sticks, and scrap paper as Krile and G’raha began clearing a spot on the floor. Synnove walked forward on her knees, then sat again with Amandina curling into a miserable, sniffling ball in her lap at the edge of the new workspace. “We’re making that ward now, and I’ve even got an idea on how to adapt it for non-aetheric individuals like ourselves to make this shithole less awful for us. Sorry, Erenville.”

“No, you’re right,” the Shetona said, forcing himself into motion to begin setting up a temporary camp for them all. “This is a shithole now.”

“I’ll give Zoraal Ja an extra punch for you,” Lamaty’i said solemnly.

“I actually appreciate that,” Erenville said wrily. “Rereha, could you dispose of the pot? I’ve got another and I’d rather not try to salvage that one.”

“Can do,” Rere said, tucking Roksana under her arm and darting forward to grab the ruined pot by the handle. “Come on, kiddo, let’s go dig a hole.”

Oooooh, digging, yay!

Awww, the sound of Amandina’s grumbling followed them out the door. Being sick stinks.

#ffxivwrite2024 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #dawntrail #spoilers #7.0 spoilers #oc: rereha reha #oc: synnove greywolfe #synnove's carbuncles #dt's writing #okay i didn't mean to do two days in a row of what is essentially Sick Fic but here we are #also yeah since i first hit heritage found i had decided this was gonna be the zone of suck for amandina #i am sorry but also not because it makes for good storytelling #i shall now run like hell from the angry mob

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bettyfrommars · 2 years ago

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I'm on Fire

biker!Eddie x fem!reader Part 2.5 🚨18+Only, smut, angst, sex with someone other than reader, penetrative sex (protected), maybe also fuckboy!eddie? But he doesn’t want to be. 90's music & nostalgia, insomnia, smoking, mention of cheating (not on reader), Eddie is having a hard time, but I promise it will get better.

wc: 1.7k

Series Masterlist

🔸To the handful of cherished readers on this ride with me: this is a 2.5, a little bitty part, because I posted Part 2 yesterday early and realized I wanted to add more. Chapter 3 will be done by this weekend xoxo

ALSO, the Erika mentioned in this chapter will be introduced more later, but it's NOT Erica Sinclair, my god I would never.

This was not the night Eddie had in mind for a first time hanging out with you. There was admittedly a long list of regrets in his life thus far, but deciding to invite you to the Hideout of all places was now up there somewhere at the top. That dive never used to be like that. Back when he was a teenager, it wasn’t so rough or so full of angry burnouts ready to rage. The only drunks who used to frequent it were sad and polite, and almost half dead.

You handed him and Steve a few tissues from the front seat because Steve’s nose was dripping blood and Eddie’s lip was split. Neither one of them felt a thing, though, not in that moment---the adrenaline was still pumping hot.

Eddie didn’t say much for the rest of the drive, except to ask Katie to take them back to Munson’s Garage so they could take a truck over and pick up their bikes once the chaos died down.

This whole connection he thought maybe the two of you had was not a good idea. For fucks sake, you had been a hair away from getting a secondary blow from the brawl---he couldn’t handle the thought, it made him sick to his stomach. He got the feeling that you were bothered by his silence on the ride back, but there was nothing he could do about it at that point: he was shutting down. He was hammering nails in the boards over the windows inside of him where people (you) could peak in. It was a survival technique he’d been forced to learn when he was a kid.

Katie reminded him that she was Danny Clayton’s older sister, and he had been one of his old D&D buddies—reminding him of a time in his life that he missed. He barely had time to practice his guitar these days, let alone fuck around as Dungeon Master in a role-playing game.

In a haze, he remembered thanking you, but then you said something else to him as he was bent over lighting a smoke, headed toward the garage, and he just kept walking, pretending not to hear you. Once he shut the door, he regretted it with a curse, and went back out to see if he could catch you, but there was nothing but brake lights in the distance.

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve asked Eddie once they were in the transport truck on the way back to the Hideout.

Eddie had a cigarette pinched between his lips and he looked offended. “What is there to talk about?”

“Listen, man,” Steve adjusted his vest and sat back in the passenger seat. “You might not want to give me credit for knowing you as well as I do, but I can tell when you’re slipping over into the dark side.”

Nothing but silence from Eddie.

“You like that girl, or what?” Steve kept talking, because much like you, he wanted the old Eddie back.

“What’s not to like?” Eddie responded under his breath, flicking his cigarette out the window. “I’m sure I’ll never see her again. It’s for the best.”

“Oh, I doubt that man---look what I got,” and then Steve stuck his tongue out and held up the Wrigley’s gum wrapper with Katie’s phone number on it. “You said they’re roommates right?”

Eddie looked over at the number, and then he looked up at Steve’s excited face, and he shook his head, but there was the glimmer of a smile there.

After they brought the bikes back, Steve took off to take care of some family stuff, and Eddie sat on the old couch up in his apartment above the garage, staring out the window with nothing but snow static on the TV. He’d been watching the Dave Attell show Insomniac with a frozen bag of peas on his punching hand, but it ended, and now he was in his head again, a place that he dreaded lately. He knew he wouldn’t get more than 2 or 3 hours of sleep again that night, he could feel it in his bones, and it didn’t matter how exhausted he was.

So, in order to keep himself from thinking about you, he called up one of his faithful booty calls: her name was Erika.

She’d been a long time groupie of his band and she had a kink for guys on motorcycles. He always treated her good and made her cum, but he never let her sleep over.

He never let anyone sleep over.

And he was always gone by daybreak if he happened to pass out in someone else’s bed.

He had this way of going out of his body, so to speak, when he had intercourse with these women he didn’t love. It was like he hollowed himself out and became someone else. He became exactly what they all wanted; this dominant force who choked them a little and fucked them rough and made them beg for more.

That night, with Erika, he kept thinking of you, and it made him stop a few times to blink and catch his breath. “What’s wrong, baby?” She’d ask, just as she was on all fours and his cock was inside of her, the condom straining at the size of his girth.

He shook his head and kept going, but at one point, he was doing her missionary, and in the dark of the room, with his eyes closed and his forehead pressed against hers—he could pretend it really was you.

He went slow, he kissed your face, your eyelids, and down your neck. He imagined that it was you with your hands in his hair, telling him how good it felt, how close you were to cumming. That it was your voice that said, “don’t stop, baby, you feel so good,” and he kissed your mouth, tongues searching deep, as he buried himself inside you with a strangled cry. He imagined that he didn’t have the condom on and you wanted him like that; to pour his seed into you and make you his.

He trembled as his orgasm overtook him, and he came so hard that time, he worried that he forgot to put the condom on.

When it was over and he opened his eyes, all of his intrusive thoughts came rushing back and the light behind his eyes was all but snuffed out.

------

“That was amazing!” You shouted at Katie, rubbing her shoulder, thanking her for the stealthy getaway while Cryin’ by Aerosmith played on the radio.

You turned around in your seat to say something to the guys, and then immediately started pulling tissues out of the Kleenex box in the middle console.

“Aw shucks, it’s just a flesh wound,” Steve joked, quoting Monty Python as he gargled blood in his throat.

Eddie was directly behind you, and when you twisted your body to hand him some tissues, he took them and looked down, not wanting to meet your eyes.

“Well, that was...intense,” Katie said from behind the wheel, slowing down for a stop light after checking in the rear view mirror to make sure there were no cops behind her.

“Just another day for us,” Steve chuckled, and then he pulled up close behind her seat to compliment her getaway. Katie didn’t say anything back, but you could see her blush. Katie had been a bit of a wild child back in her day, but adulthood had changed her, as it did most people.

From behind you, Eddie mumbled, “god, I hate this town.”

For the most part, Eddie was abnormally quiet in the back seat, and so you tried cracking some jokes, but Steve was the only one who engaged with you.

“Who was that guy?” You asked Steve, because you couldn’t bear the silence.

“Just some douche bag,” Steve responded, a piece of tissue stuffed up one nostril. “I accidentally had an affair with his wife almost a decade ago, and I guess he never forgot about it.”

You couldn’t help it, you laughed. “How does something like that happen accidentally?”

“Well, for one,” Steve sat forward in his seat and clamped one hand on the back of Katie’s chair. “She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. And two, I’m not sure I would’ve cared at the time, even if she had.”

That response elicited a bit of a scoff-chuckle from Eddie.

Munson’s Garage wasn’t too far from where you’d just been, and Steve jumped out to open the security gate before climbing back into his seat.

As the car idled in front of the main entrance to the building, white exhaust filling up the darkness, you heard Eddie get out, and then you waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He shut the door, and then you felt him hover there.

He leaned down into your open window, his head to the side and his hair hanging down. He met your eyes for a flash, but then he was trying to hand you something, and you opened your fingers so he could press something cool and tiny into your palm. “Hey, I’m really sorry about tonight. I think you dropped this the other day.”

You were too busy watching his face, the curve of his lips, the dark moon of his cuticles from residual grease stains, but when you realized he had just slipped you your missing earring, it caught you by surprise.

You could barely get out the words “wait...thank you,” before he turned on his heel and slipped a smoke between his lips, head down as he pulled his keys out to unlock the door.

“It was good to see you,” you called after him, but he was already inside the building and the door shut with a thud and a clack behind him.

Steve had been over at Katie’s window talking to her, but once he straitened up and came around to your side, he looked confused. “Where the fuck is Eddie? Did he go inside already?”

You didn’t answer him, you just waved goodbye as you rolled your window up.

“See you around, girls!” Steve called out from the center of the driveway, holding the hand in the air that had the gum wrapper number in it.

“Boys,” Katie said, shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she exited the complex and turned to head home. “They’ll be the death of me.”

-------

Part 3

____

#eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #steve harrington #90s au #the 90s #eddie munson series

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tails-and-scales · 2 years ago

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Centaurs Bitties

Daybreak

Centaur Dream

3 feet from where skeletal body starts to hooves, including the skeleton portion of their bodies, they’re 5 feet skull to hooves

Weighs around 200 lbs

Doesn’t need a stable to live in and loves to be indoors with their owner.

These bitties are able to be trained as service bitties

Great with children

They’re quite excitable and love to run and play, they’re also quite sweet and love to help as much as they can.

Lets people that are small enough ride on his back, or will even play tag with them.

Has a fair bit of energy, but also enjoys the chance to just relax and rest.

Very imaginative and loves trying to get the Twilights to play with them, granted it usually ends with snuggling down together and listening as the other reads aloud.

----

Twilight

Centaur Nightmare

3 feet from where skeletal body starts to hooves, including the skeleton portion of their bodies, they’re 5 feet skull to hooves

Weighs around 200 lbs

Doesn’t need a stable to live in and loves to be indoors with their owner.

These bitties are able to be trained as service bitties

While not the fondest of being climbed on without getting permission, if his owner has a little one he’s fond of, he will let them ride around on his back until they get too big.

He enjoys laying in the shade of a tree during the day with a book in hand and his family is allowed to rest their head on his side.

While often quiet, he loves to learn of stars and talk to his owner about them

Very good with healing and wrapping injuries, prefers to help with any injuries he can.

----

Nightfall

Centaur Corrupted Nightmare

3 and a half feet from where skeletal body starts to hooves, including the skeleton portion of their bodies, they’re 5 and a half feet skull to hooves

Weighs around 215 lbs

Doesn’t need a stable to live in and loves to be indoors with their owner.

These bitties are able to be trained as service bitties

Not fond of children trying to climb on him unless they’re part of his owner’s family. Even then he does need to warm up to them to guarantee that they won’t try to pull on his tentacles or tail.

A bit of a bookworm, but will patrol the area around his home as he feels a need to protect and keep his family safe.

Does well with other bitties, mainly the ‘Bad Sans’ types, but will do his best to protect any bitty, and surprisingly any child that he may find that is being mistreated.

Dreamtale belongs to Joku

Art by @calmchapsart

#Dreamtale #bittybones #bitty master list #dream sans bitty #nightmare sans bitty

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jayedshifter · 1 month ago

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Sherbet Bitty

Rank: Alpha

Type: Gaster

Species: Liger

Personality- Excitable, Playful, hyperactive, alert, jumpy

Difficulty- Advanced

Height-

Mini- 8 Inches

Bitty- 12 Inches

Bara- 8ft 7Inch

Likes-

Sturdy toys

Exorcise

Affection

Attention

Playing

Climbing

Reading

Swimming

Hunting

Classical musics

Tea

Body positivity

Consistency in workout

Dislikes-

Being alone

Confinement

Being ignored

Being board

Being dirty

Rude comments

Body toxicity

Healthy protein shakes

Toxic comments

Being surprised on his blind side

Info-

These bitties are extremely large and are more dad bod type, but that doesn't mean they aren't strong in the slightest, lifting up to 3x their body weight.

These bitties have High bone density and high fat density! They are able to take hits from other bitties without care, this makes it difficult for them to gage their own strength against others.

Due to their high energy intake and their need to play a lot these bitties are much more excitable then normal Gaster types, almost like a Swap.

These bitties ecto body are large, more strong dad bod then the typical pure muscle of alphas you would see.

Compatibility-

These bitties are BLIND on the right side of their face, please use caution when approaching from this side as they can get easily startled if you're not loud enough!

These bitties have high amounts of strength and energy, often times needing several hours of playtime and enrichment a day, heavy, durable and scented toys are a high must! Puzzle games and strenuous activities also will help to burn off energy.

These bitties, if not careful, can harm other bitties very easily with both their weight and strength, unintentionally or not, you should take this into great consideration when trying to find them a playmate.

These bitties love swimming and climbing as well as hunting, they can be extremely active and often have a prey drive, it is preferable for the bitty if you hide treats in different places where they can climb and let them hunt and dive for fish as well as catch small rodents.

These bitties can get lonely easily and often are extremely physically affectionate, requiring at least 3 other bitties which they can bond with.

Bara Form Hight: 10’8

Bara Form time limit

3 Hours on an Empty stomach

8 Hours on a full Stomach

10 Hours with snacks in Between

⚠️ WARNING ⚠️

Constant replenishment of snacks causes extreme exhaustion, and will force a 48 Hour period where he will not be able to transform into a Bara form

Diet- Meats, Bones, Raw Eggs, Fish, high Concentrated Magic Vitamin Powders, fish oils

Note: this bitty eats about 4x its body weight

#bittybones #my bitties #golden den bitties #masterlist #master list #Sherbet #alphatale #AlphaTale variant #Alpha bitty #Alpha #Gaster

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aylish91 · 2 years ago

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Grand Master Post

Now that I am starting to post more than just Sea of Hope, I figured it would be easier to find all my stories if they were all linked at one place. ; )

Enjoy!

Sea of Hope, Master list : piratetale, x skelereader, multiple aus

Story, funfacts, side bits, and fanart

Leviathan Au : nightmare x reader, ...

Mafia Aus : Nagamob/NagaMafiatale, Mafia Nightmare, ...

Zombie Apocalypse Au: zombie skelereader, multiple aus

Dreamtale aus: nightmare sans, Dream sans...

Error Aus: Error x reader, ...

Bitty Aus: Horror bitty x reader bitty, underfell bitty x reader, ...

Pirate Aus: Underfell Papyrus x reader, ...

Coming soon...

Reapertale/Death aus

Any suggestions/requests? Asks are always open!

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ryin-silverfish · 7 months ago

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LMK Fanfic: The Wild Son

AO3 Mirror

Nezha-centric one-shot. Or, "how the Third Lotus Prince learns to stop worrying and enjoy the exploration of death."

CW for suicide and extensive discussions of it. Similar to my previous story, this is very FSYY-inspired, which is shorthand for "pretty fucked-up".

Y'know, with the novel's version of Nezha's suicide being the most graphic and all.

...

The Devaraja of the North has a wild son, who bows not to his father, only the Buddha. The Buddha knows of his stubborn unreason, and sets upon his father's left hand, a pagoda.

——Su Zhe, "Nezha"

Over the years, he had really come to loathe That Look.

You know, when these brats (technically, all mortals are kids to him) learned of his suicide and just gaped at him in wide-eyed horror. Usually followed by an "I'm so sorry" or "It's not your fault" or the slightly less grating "Man, your father sucks."

Duh, Dragonhorse Girl. Duh. But anyone who talked shit about Li Jing was in his good books, and he could at least appreciate Mei's straightforward nature.

Still, whatever prior impressions he left, he knew he was now seven years old and hurting again in their eyes, and would never stop being so.

And it drove him nuts, because 1) it didn't even hurt all that much, and 2) why is offing yourself suddenly such a big deal? Apart from some ol' Confucian bores' rants about unfilial conduct, no participants in the War of Investiture had ever batted an eye at his death and resurrection; the problem was with what he did immediately afterward.

That said, death in the War of Investiture wasn't final, logical, or that big a deal either, until it suddenly was.

...

Unlike killing, death didn't get less confusing even after you've kicked the bucket once. Nor was spending your time as a spooky ghost and getting your godhood rudely interrupted helpful, when it came to understanding the boundary between gods and ghosts, and how some people could come back but not the others.

Well, according to The Patricidal 7-years-old's Guide to Death and Deification:

People die when they get killed.

At which point they turn into a ghost, and float around going "Woe is meeeeee!" for a while before moving on to their next lives.

Unless they don't want to move on. In that case, they just haunt the living out of spite, and to get free stuff.

But wait! If enough people treat the ghost like a god and give them offerings, they'll become one and...dunno, make a new body outta faith or something.

If someone's name is on The List, it's totally okay to kill them because they'll become gods after death.

Wait, isn't that dragon prince's name on The List too? Then why is his dad so angry when he killed him?

And sometimes, a Daoist master just pops a pill into the recently dead guy's mouth and they are alive again.

It took him a surprisingly long time to realize that The List was not all it's cracked up to be, and was basically the Poor Man's Godhood. Or that knowing someone would come back in the end didn't make their absence hurt any less. Or that they could come back, but would remain forever out of reach, shackled by the duties of godhood and the chains of causes and consequences.

And even when a quick resurrection was possible, every death scarred the soul, making it fray and tear at the seams. Seven was the maximum. After dying and coming back seven times like poor Senior Uncle Jiang Ziya, not even The List could take your soul without it exploding into a billion little ghostfires that had more in common with ambience Qi than any living spirits.

He wondered if his inability to understand this fuss around offing yourself had something to do with a scar, too.

But which one? Was it the first and most gruesome one, where returning your flesh and blood also meant ripping out the itty bitty pieces of souls that were embedded in them, clinging to your father and mother like muscle membranes on a bone? Was it the one that looked like an ugly crack on a gilded statue, widening, spreading, until it shattered altogether? Was it not a single scar, but a bunch of little holes in his essence, like wormbites on a leaf, or a pool of oozing sludge left by the Blood-melting Knife?

Assuming he still had a soul in the first place, of course. Maybe instead of a soul, there's only one huge patch of scar tissue where his three souls and seven spirits used to be, red and fibrous and angry.

Yeah, try pulling *that* out of his body with a spell, suckers.

...

A popular god gains new domains like new year gifts. Namely, you seldom receive the ones you want, are stuck with the ones you were tired of, and have no idea where that pile over there even came from.

Sun Wukong shared a domain with him as the protector of youth, a fact he was strangely okay with. He took the silly and mischievous ones, while Nezha dealt with the moody, rebellious ones. An amicable arrangement, as far as dispute between overlapping domains went; were they ever to switch places, the result would be a disaster.

This, however, was when a joint operation would be really helpful.

Alas, he had no such luck. So here he was, sitting in the Megapolis Children's Hospital's inpatient ward, next to a girl with owl-like eyes and tubes inside her nose, who asked him "Being dead, what does that even mean?"

...

Nothing, 'cause it's something that happens to other people. That was how he would have answered this question, back when he was still a real kid, and not an 18-foot-tall immortal plant construct who could choose to look like a kid.

He did wish people would recognize him as something other than "god of youth", though. Or realize his older forms existed too. Somehow, when Jinzha's master appeared as a little boy with five hair buns, people didn't stop worshipping Old Dude Wenshu or Graceful Bodhisattva Wenshu, but one too many adaptations later, Nezha was just THE Kid God, and not also the Three-headed Six-armed War God of Setting Things On Fire.

Bah.

But this was about Nezha the human (was he ever human, though, with the whole Spirit Pearl thing?) and Nezha the kid, not Nezha, Marshal of the Central Altar. Who didn't quite realize death was real, as in, a thing you should try to avoid for both yourself and others, and had been told that it was his destiny to dish out death to people in some epic upcoming war.

Master Taiyi, bless the old immortal, was a perfect case of someone who clearly cared so much, yet still managed to fuck up so badly.

For all his grudges against Jinzha's master (less about the whipping, and more about his damn cat killing the Jade Emperor), Wenshu made some good points: You did not tell a kid that you would protect him from all the consequences of his actions, then set him loose and expect him to not wreak havoc on unintended targets.

...

"What do you mean?"

He'd admit, this was not his finest hour. You weren't supposed to answer a question with a question, at least not in a way that didn't make you seem all mysterious and wise.

"I..." She trailed off. "I mean, I feel dead people all the time. Brushing past me, being all chilly and stuff. Since I'm gonna be joining you guys soon, I just wanna know...how it's like." The corner of her mouth twitched; either a grimace, or an attempt at smiling. "And you feel nicer than the others. Warmer, too."

He was no god of medicine, no matter how much he wished he could be one right now. Yet he could see the flames of her three souls, dimming with every passing second, as well as the blocks in her Qi flow, with one right behind her eyelids. Her sight was already gone, and in a week, these flames would go out entirely.

Sickness, he could heal, but not a passing ordained by the Book of Life and Death. As tempting as it was to pull a Sun Wukong, if he was to remove the name of one person, what was stopping him from removing another? And another? Before he knew, he'd be striking the name of every good person off it, and only chaos could result from that.

His gaze shifted to a small charm, fastened onto the bedframes with red strings. Made of peachwood, glowing gently in his vision, accompanied by the wisps of a prayer. Please watch over her, and take away her pain. Please don't let her face this alone.

Slowly, he extended a hand towards her, a tiny spark of pink flame dancing on his fingertip. If there were still ghosts in this room that hadn't fled when he first came in, they were definitely gone by now, as the darkness dispered in a surge of Yang-aligned Qi.

"...Wow." She visibly relaxed, with a sigh. "Thanks."

"No problem."

"Are you...also a kid, when you...you know? You sound like one."

"Yeah. But I've been dead for a long time. Long before this hospital was built." He let out a dry laugh. "I guess you could say I'm a professional at this whole 'death' thing."

"Huh. I thought after a while, people just...move on."

"They do, if they aren't trying to avoid the ghost cops. The Heibai Wuchang," he said. "Nowadays, they dress like cops too, but they show up for everyone, to take them to the Underworld. Not just bad ghosts that need to be arrested."

"What's the Underworld like?"

"Dunno. Never been down there." This was partially true. At the time of his death, the Underworld bureaucracy did not exist yet. Most of his knowledge of its workings came from chatting with Huang Tianhua, whose father was deified as the King of Mt.Tai, former head of the Ten Kings. "But you seem like a good egg, so they would send you straight to the Naihe Bridge, and onto your next life."

"That's...good to hear," she said. "I wanna know more about the, uh, ghost part, though. Does it stop hurting when you die? I've been...hurting for so long, I'm starting to forget what it's like, before...this."

"Yeah, the pain stops," he answered, "but so does everything else. You just stop feeling things altogether. Smell, touch, warm and cold and all that jazz." He paused. "Being a ghost is very, very boring."

"And you still don't wanna go with the ghost cops?"

"Well, I killed myself, and that gets you stuck in the City of Wrongful Death." He blurted out, before realizing that this was the worse moment to be honest, and braced himself for the awkwardness to come.

"Sounds like an awful place."

"Pretty much. They said it was just full of depressed ghosts, being depressing together," he chuckled. "Yeah, thanks, but no thanks. I think I'll pass."

"Glad I didn't...go through with it, then." She said, then quietly added, "I nearly did, when the pain got too much, and the cost just kept rising."

Well, that wasn't quite what he expected. But he wasn't too surprised, either.

...

They thought his suicide was an act of despair. It was insulting, honestly. Both to the strength of his will and spite, and his unconventional problem solving skills.

See, when people said that your body and skin and hair were given to you by your parents, the implicit message was So you can't do anything to them, and They own you, every bit of you, and above all, Obey.

You weren't supposed to give them back, not so flippantly. Yet it was the simplest, most obvious solution, in the same way beating up the dragon king who tried to sue you was. (Guess he really was Taiyi's student.)

At the heat of the moment, it was quite thrilling. Almost liberating. Like a snake shedding its skin, a baby bird breaking out of its eggshells. As the raging storm and roaring tides drowned out Fate and Destiny's ever-tolling bells, for a second, he really felt like this was the end.

No more Spirit Pearl, no more unruly child, woe of his mother, doom of his lineage. No more Li Jing, no more questionable advices from Taiyi, no stupid dragon kings, and none of that Vanguard of the Zhou Army crap. Just a kid sacrificing himself, laughing and laughing until he chocked on his own blood.

Just Nezha.

But obviously, things didn't end here. Death rarely was the true end, nor did it tie things up neatly, like cutting through a knot with a sword. It was more akin to what you got when you broke a lotus root in half, full of sticky, near-invisible threads, stretching on and on between the scattered pieces.

...

Believe it or not, this wasn't the first time he had to deal with suicide, kids, or suicidal kids. Especially after gaining one of his more recent domains. He is the protector of all young people, regardless of who they fancy or whether their bodies match their souls, it was just that those who didn't fit the common denominator tended to get a lot of shit for existing.

(As annoying as the "Third Princess" nickname was, he had no problem with people finding strength and comfort in his legends, in severing ties, defying norms, and blossoming inside a changed body. After all, that was what gods were; a mirror that reflected the worshippers' beliefs and needs back at them.)

A few decades ago, he was summoned by a teen, standing on the bank of a river, holding a stick of incense. Dunno where, just that it was a Hokkien-speaking area and one of his temples was nearby.

They gave him a hopeful look when he showed up, emerging out of the water like an actual lotus plant, yet remaining miraculously dry. As hopeful as someone in their circumstance could manage, at least.

"Is it okay if I ask you to curse my parents?"

"If that's what you want, you are praying to the wrong god," he replied. "And the kind of gods who accept such requests will make you pay a price you are never ready for."

"Damn. Guess I'll just have to come back and haunt them myself, then."

They knelt down to stick the incense into the mud, then started wading their way into the shallows. He sighed, and they were promptly dragged back by his red sash, struggling furiously.

"Let go of me!" They screamed, muddy water splashing beneath their sneakers. "W-Why? I don't get it! Why are YOU stopping me? You, of all gods! The child who hacked himself to pieces, and tried to kill his asshole dad——"

"And got a burning pagoda dropped on him for his troubles." He said flatly. "Need I remind you that it all took place a thousand years ago, and I'm no longer out for his blood?"

"Oh, so they'd beaten it out of you! Good for you, I guess." They snapped. "But not me. Why would you even care if a freak like me died or not?"

"gin-na, you just admit you are gonna become a vengeful spirit. And I literally have 'subduing demons and harmful spirits' in my job description. So maybe, maybe, I'm gonna have a problem with that?"

"Even if they totally have it coming?" They retorted. The first two buttons of their collars had come loose in the struggle, exposing the ugly patch of bruised purple around their neck, as well as implications of worse things. "I thought gods were all for karmic justice."

"Especially if they have it coming," he said. "Which is why I'm stopping you. It's not gonna work."

"What does that even mean?"

"Ugh. Look. Suppose I let you drown, without alerting any ghostly officials. Suppose that you come back, haunt your parents night and day, and don't get yourself exorcised. Suppose that you inflict on them the same torment you were subjected to, and drive them to madness or some other gruesome ends." He said. "Then what? What are you gonna do afterwards?"

"I'll just...move on, I guess."

"To do that, you 'll have to cross the Naihe Bridge. And the Underworld officials won't let you off the hook that easily, not after you've accumulated all this negative karma by haunting the living." He shook his head. "I heard they take 'Hell is other people' quite literally, and punish people who hated each other by throwing both parties into the same Minor Hell, giving them a pile of lethal weapons, and resurrecting whichever side that gets killed. Over and over again."

He leaned closer. "Is that what you really want? Getting stuck in the same pit with your parents for centuries to come? Mind you, even if you get tired of the violence, you are not allowed to quit until the Underworld officials let you."

Came to think of it, that was the War of the Investiture in a nutshell. No one was allowed to quit, not even in death.

"...No," they mumbled, after a long silence. "But it's still tempting. At least I'll get to do something to them."

"Well, here's a thing you can do to them."

"What?"

"Live."

"That's it? Seriously?" They stared at him in disbelief. "Because I own it to them? Because my very existence is a mistake or something?"

"No. Because you own it to yourself," he said, "and it is only a mistake if you believe so, and if they think you are a mistake, there's no better way to prove them wrong and rub it in their faces than keep existing. Think of it like this——you ain't gonna help them get rid of you, are you?"

"Well, if you put it that way..." they paused. "But I'll still be depriving them of their favorite punching bag, at least."

"Is that what you think you are?"

"It's what I have been for the past few years."

"Yeah, sorry, but hell no. You can be way, way more than that." He grinned. "Why be a punching bag, when you can be their worst nightmare instead?"

"I thought you don't want me to haunt my parents?"

"Oh, no. You are gonna drive them nuts in a whole different manner: by growing into a successful, well-adjusted adult they no longer have any power over," his grin widened, "And watch them age into bitter, miserable old farts who'll die alone and forgotten, knowing that the moment they die, they'll be dragged straight into one of the Hells in chains, suffer for untold eons, and probably spend their next life as ants."

"That is...satisfying, not gonna lie." They bit into their lips. "But until then, I'll still be stuck with them. Thanks for the reassurance, though."

"Does that mean if I let go of you now, you aren't gonna dash into the river?"

Upon receiving a nod, he whistled, and his sash loosened around the teen, floating back onto his shoulders. They staggered back; he prepared himself, watching out for tensed muscles and all the little tells of someone who was going to make a run for it. Thankfully, he spotted none, as they retreaded their steps back onto dry land, one muddy footprint at a time.

He wasn't entirely convinced that they wouldn't change their mind later, but it was a good start. And he had just the idea to make it an even better start.

His fingers started twisting in a mudra, weaving together threads of pink and golden light into the shape of his signature seal. No, he definitely didn't enjoy the kid's quiet gasp of wonder, as a lotus-patterned token fell out of thin air and right into his hands. It wasn't like he was a show-off or anything, unlike that ape.

"Here. Take this. Go to—" He paused and cursed himself. Dammit, he kept forgetting that mortals couldn't just sense temples and their giant beacons of faith. "Do you know there's a temple over there?" He pointed east, "Like, in that direction?"

"You mean Taizi Gong? Yeah." They nodded. "Grandma used to take me there."

"If you ever need a meal, or a place to stay the night, just show this token to the staff, and they'll help you out." He narrowed his eyes, and said the next sentence very slowly. "Also, if your life is ever in serious danger, like, no-time-to-call-the-cops danger, just hold it tight, say my name, and point it at whatever is threatening you. Do. Not. Use. It. Lightly. Understood?"

He intentionally let out a bit of his killer aura, as he uttered the last few words. Not hard to muster, considering the circumstances that first drove him to develop this token system. It was always awful when he was too late in his interventions, but he swore to the Three Pure Ones, if anyone ever triggered the spell with a prank call, when he arrived at the scene, they'd wish they got caught in the explosions instead.

They paled and nodded in quick succession, then started to turn away. Before remembering something, and coming to a halt mid-step.

"I...I don't even know how to thank you." They shook their head. "If it was too early for that. If 'Thanks' is even enough. But if you are right and I do find my way out of this mess, I'm building you a temple, Third Prince."

...

A temple. Build me a temple, mother. Build me a temple, mother, for I'm cold without a body, hungry without a stomach. He remembered himself crying out, once. Build me a temple so I can be back at your side again, isn't that what you want? What you said you would give up everything for, as you picked up my pieces and buried them in a shallow grave?

Build me a temple, or you'll never know peace again.

The most frustrating part wasn't how much he sounded like the sorts of ghosts he'd beat up later, a lot, as Marshal of the Central Altar. It was the lack of context. As in, there was no memory of the before and after. Just words echoing in a vaccum, with neither pain nor sensations attached.

It was the same whenever he helped a mortal. It was the feeling he got when, twenty years later, he stood in front of a temple gate, watching the person in a suit cut the red ribbons during its opening ceremony, and thought, I've done something like this before, long ago, inside my first temple.

But I can't remember what it was, or for whom.

He knew that was how ghosts became gods. Three souls attracted by the fragrance of incense, seven spirits nourished by the ashes of burnt offerings. Ten shades of a person, molded back together into something more than the sum of its parts, by countless mud-stained, callused hands, clasped together in prayer.

He'd watched it happen before, on the coasts of Fujian. Little Lin Mo Niang, disappearing beneath the waves, only to rise out of the tides later as Mazu, guiding fisherfolks and sailors to shore with her gentle red light, just like she did in life.

Or maybe he had more in common with Guan Yu. The fugitive, the warrior with the might of a thousand man, the loyal companion. Who, despite his promise in the peach garden, did not die on the same day as his sworn brothers. Specifically, how his vengeance and fury used to hang over Jingzhou like a plague, how his name was once whispered in fear, before it became the synonym of loyalty, brotherhood and martial virtue.

Perhaps ghosts became gods when mortals poured pieces of themselves into them, filling up the holes in their psyche. Making them more human than they ever were, and could be.

Thanks to Li Jing's destruction of his idol, he'd never know.

That——that was what sent him onto his roaring rampage of revenge, right after reviving in his lotus body. After everything else had been bled dry, rage was all he had. Like thick black tar, sticking to the bottom of a broken jar.

...

"What stopped you?" He asked, without really knowing why.

"My legs. Literally. They don't work anymore. And I'm...gonna die anyways, it's not really worth the effort..." Her breath hitched in her throat, yet she still managed to squeeze out the last few words, "Then my mom came back."

"I...I'm still a little mad that she left in the first place, like, long before this. But she had a nice singing voice, when she wasn't crying, and," she sighed, "didn't start arguing with dad again. She said I had a new little brother, and showed me the photos...and I was just like, hey, he looks like a raisin, and they laughed, and I haven't heard either of them laugh in a long, long time..."

She was starting to look dazed, stuck in that liminal space between dream and awakeness.

"And I, I wouldn't mind hurting a lil' longer, if it means I get to have more moments like that."

What if you don't? A part of him wanted to ask. What if those moments are no more than baits on a straight hook, carrots on a stick, making it so that you are willing to hurt longer and longer until it's not even fleeting happiness you seek, just the mere promise of release?

But that was the bitterest, crueler part, and it could fuck right off.

"I'm sure they are glad to have you, too." In the end, that was all he managed to say, in a whisper she might or might not have heard, and only got a small yawn in return.

"Well, you sound like you're about to doze off. So I won't keep you up any longer," he said. "Any last questions, before I go?"

"What do you...look like?"

"Huh?"

"When I die, I'll get to...see things again, right?" She asked. "And you can't be the only kid here. Just...wanna...go over and say hello, before the ghost cops come."

"Oh, I'm very recognizable. You don't see a lot of folks with twin hair buns nowadays." He laughed softly. "And I promise you, when the time comes, I'll be right here, inside this very room."

"Thanks," she nodded. "G-G'night, ghost friend."

"Farewell, and sleep tight."

...

When did you stop being fun? Sun Wukong asked him, once.

When you started being nothing but jokes, he wanted to scream back. When you shut yourself in your cave for five hundred years to take a depression nap, while I drain just as much power answering the prayers of mortals as I get from their worship, and my true body is stuck guarding the fire that burn away worlds. When Yang Jian had stopped giving a crap about everything that happened outside of his precious Sichuan, me included.

When I grow the fuck up, monkey. We all do, sooner or later, yet you never seem to.

But then he remembered the look on Sun Wukong's face, as the mountain came down. A look he had seen on the faces of so many souls, as they were called up the Terrace of the Investiture.

It was Ao Guang clutching onto his son's tendons with trembling, scaly hands. It was his mother kneeling in the dirt, begging for his life and unlife. It was him handing Huang Tianhua's head back to Huang Feihu. The eldest of Zhao Gongming's three sisters, muttering a quiet "Sorry, brother" before she was swept away by Lao Tzu's scroll. Guang Chengzi looking Yin Jiao in the eyes, as they dragged his plow up the hill.

It was a monk postponing his Buddhahood in favor of the path of the Bodhisattva, swearing a vow that, for every life, he should learn the meaning of compassion anew, and teach it to others.

A pig who was once a marshal, too weighed down by his desires to attain enlightenment, who nonetheless went on to live a good life, full of good food and few regrets.

A soldier made into a monster after one simple mistake, who decided he was better than that, and, with quiet determination, followed his brother and master into samsara as their guardian.

It was a white dragon, destined to set things aflame and be consumed by flames, yet burning brightly all the same, a goofy grin on his face.

So he just gritted his teeth and kept on fighting. It was what he was made for, what he always did.

And it wasn't enough.

...

But when was anything ever enough? When did Fate or Destiny ever pat anyone on the head, and tell them they did a good job, and they'd be free of suffering, just like that?

When were there ever easy answers, for mortals and gods alike?

Azure Lion thought there would be one, that the right person on the throne could magically make it all better, and he shattered trying to make himself into that person.

One step at a time. One answer at a time. A promise kept, a visit made. That was how you do it.

After all, the great lump of molten colors Nüwa used to seal the cracks in the sky——they were but little pebbles too, once upon a time.

...

"Told you I'll be here." That was the first thing he said, as he unsummoned his wheels and sat down in midair, cross-legged.

"Oh. Well. I," The translucent girl let out a small laugh. She tried to scratch her head, before realizing she couldn't anymore. "I certainly wasn't imagining this, when you said 'twin hair buns'."

"Do you have reasons to, though?" He asked. "People usually don't see the Third Lotus Prince on their deathbeds."

"No. But it's pretty obvious in hindsight, with the warmth and all these little hints." She shook her head. "Dangit. Now I just feel kinda dumb. Still, it's good to see you again, sir...Third Prince?"

"Nezha would do. I suppose I make much better company than the ghost cops, right?"

Behind the hospital screen, the man wearing a tall black hat grumbled something about people not appreciating their jobs, before being cut off by a "Ha! Checkmate, Lao Fan!"

"Yeah. It's a little distracting when you were dying, and two guys were just having a chess game five feet away," she said. "The cheerful one is a better player, though."

"Only because you keep giving him tips!" The man snarked back. "How does it feel like to cheat via a dying kid, Xiao Xie? I bet you feel real proud of yourself right now."

"How does it feel like to lose to a dying kid?" His colleague laughed, sticking his tongue out way further than any living humans were capable of, or comfortable with. "She gave you tips too, you just aren't good enough to use them well. And she's good. Real good. This one thinks she may just be a chess champion in her next life!"

"Thank you, Mister Xie. I learned it from my grandpa."

It was such a blessing that these two didn't exist yet, at the time of his death. As grim and thankless as their duties were, Xie Bi'an and Fan Wujiu were also the most annoying pair of ghosts he ever met, the former taking nothing seriously and the latter taking everything way too seriously.

"Hey. You two, shut up and show some respect." He snapped, before turning to the girl. "I'm sorry you have to endure their presence."

"That's right, Xiao Xie! Even the Third Lotus Prince tires of you and your constant jesting!"

"This one thinks if we pay our proper respect to everyone that has ever died, we'll have no time to actually do our job." Xie chuckled. "Besides, he is clearly talking about the one who is constantly yelling, and incapable of losing gracefully. But alright, this one shall do as you command."

"...Let's go talk somewhere else." He sighed. "These two clowns are giving me a headache."

She giggled a little, as the screen parted with a wave of his hand, revealing the two psychopomps sitting on the nearby bed. "Their hats do look like clown hats."

"The clowns can hear you, you know?" Fan snarked, before picking up his baton and making a gesture in their direction. "Whatever. Begone. And remember our deal: you have four hours. Not a second more, not a second less. Understood?"

"Did you just admit to being a clown too?" Xie grinned. "This one does think a red nose will suit you well."

"Sometimes I seriously wonder why I ever agreed to become your sworn brother, Xiao Xie."

He led the girl out of the room, just as medical personnels started coming in, carefully concealing his presence from the mortals' eyes. The girl made a face when her hand passed through the doorframe, but quickly recovered.

"Where are we going?"

"Anywhere you like." He replied. "Your home, your old school, that really cool arcade or amusement park you never get a chance to visit...and you don't have to choose one. Distance is not a factor at all," with a blaze of pink fire, his wheels were back under his boots again, "when I'm the god of speedy drivers. So take your time."

"Hmmm. I think," she said, after a long silence, "I wanna go see my mom, and my little brother first. Is that okay?"

"Yes," he nodded. "Let's be on our way, then."

"Alright. Leeeego!"

#lego monkie kid #lmk fanfiction #nezha #lmk nezha #journey to the west #investiture of the gods

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