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luveline · 9 months

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𝐚 𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐠𝐧 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

things aren't the way you planned coming home with your newborn, but you have eddie there to lean on when things get hard (and an unlimited supply of 'munson-style' hugs). requested here. infatuated dad!eddie x mom!reader, 3k.

cw post partum recovery, reader is suffering from some symptoms of post partum depression

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

"You're sure you can manage?" Wayne asks, his voice buzzing down the line.

Eddie peers out of the kitchen into the living room quietly. You're sitting on the sofa in a shape that can't be comfortable considering your recent stitches, the baby on your thighs where you've brought them together, your hands delicately posed on either side of his head.

"I think so," Eddie says, answering Wayne's questions with honesty. "She's feeling a little better today."

"It's hard, Eds. You take care of her and call me if you need help, okay? I'm proud of you. Both of you."

It catches Eddie off guard for a moment. He's done enough crying lately, clearing his throat to say, "Thanks, Wayne. Call me tomorrow."

"You call me, I don't wanna wake anyone if you're sleeping."

They say their goodbyes. Eddie leans against the kitchen doorway to spy on you and the baby. Babies cry more than he ever could've imagined despite the warnings, but it's quiet, too. There are moments of peacefulness like this one breaking apart the chaos.

You're whispering something. Eddie stands very still, wishing the dishwasher would magically silence itself. He strains to hear you.

"I love you," you say. "Sorry I'm tired, honey. I promise I'll be better. You're so beautiful."

Eddie bites his cheeks, wondering if his family (his family!) aim to make him cry and little else tonight. He gives himself a look in the mirror magnet on the fridge framed by a We Love Michigan border, rainbows and cute elk surrounding something less pretty. His hair is frizzy but that's nothing new, greasy at the top and dry at the bottom. He scrapes it back into a scrappy bun and wipes the oil from his face with his sleeves. He's in dire need of a shower.

Resigned, he steps out of the kitchen, new socks slippery on old linoleum before finding stability on the crush of carpet in need of a vacuuming in the living room. You look up and bless him with a smile.

You've had a bad case of the baby blues, though the midwife assured him that was normal, and not to worry unless it continued past the first few weeks.

Well, Eddie will worry. Any depression you experience breaks his heart, no matter the cause, and no matter how temporary it may be. Just 'cos a cut might heal doesn't mean it didn't hurt when you got it.

"How do you feel?" he asks cautiously.

You make a face that he knows precedes a lie. "Don't worry about me."

He sits on the arm to look down at the baby —his baby, his son— in your hold, your face moving immediately to rest on his thigh.

"I'm okay, teddy," you say.

"How about you?" he asks the baby, taking his hand gently.

The baby doesn't open his eyes nor answer the question, well and truly asleep.

"Do you think Charlie was the right name?" you ask, stroking his small face lightly.

"If we hate it, we can just call him Wayne."

Eddie's out of this world lucky that you'd liked the name and loved him enough to name the baby after his uncle. Charlie Wayne Munson, born six pounds and two ounces, the smallest baby they saw all week in Hawkins General.

"He looks more like a Wayne than a Charlie," you say, rubbing your cheek into Eddie's sweatpants.

"He's so fucking beautiful," Eddie says, getting his hand behind your shoulders. He gives your back a loving rub, up and down the whole stiff length of it. "Would you relax? Or tell me what's wrong? Please?"

"Nothing's wrong… Look how perfect he is, I'd be a freak to act like something was wrong," you say, the exhale of your words warming his leg.

Eddie rubs his hand up with a tad more roughness until the cinch between your shoulders has flattened.

"You're having a biological reaction," Eddie says, leaning down to press his lips to the top of your head. "Don't feel bad about feeling bad, sweetheart. This is a physical thing, that's all it is. You're not a freak for feeling wobbly."

You relax even more, pad of your thumb swiping Charlie's smooth cheek.

"Want me to make you feel better?" he asks.

"How?"

"I'm not sure yet. I was thinking we'd make a list. Starting with a hug, quickly followed by something amazing to eat before Wayne wakes up."

"Charlie," you correct with a small laugh.

"Is there a nickname for Charlie?" Eddie asks. "What are we gonna call him? Lee?"

"We'll think of something," you promise.

Eddie isn't worried about it. He figures there's at least five years of nickname time to get one that sticks. For now, he has a list to make and things to do, and the first is making sure you're as well as you can be. He starts with the hug, pulling what you want for dinner from you one soft kiss to your temple at a time. Chicken pot pie? Ramen noodles with a fried egg on top? Sesame chicken? Triple cheeseburgers?

You can't decide. Eddie chooses breakfast for dinner. It won't take long —he can fry the sausage, eggs, turkey bacon and toast in one pan.

He keeps the door open to watch you, though nothing is actively wrong. You're deflated now rather than tense, petting and fawning over the baby as much as you can without waking him up.

"Just as handsome as your dad," you say.

It's a lovely sentiment but Charlie does not approve. He blinks awake, signified by your saccharine, "Hi, baby boy," followed by ten seconds of awe-filled cooing. Eddie's frying some bread in the pan but dinner can wait, he wants to see the baby with his eyes open again.

By the time Eddie reaches the couch, he's crying.

You move him carefully into a rock-a-bye hold and shush him. "It's alright," you say.

"He sounds like you."

"What?" you ask between shushes, hand tapping a slow and gentle rhythm into Charlie's swaddle.

"He sounds like you when he cries," Eddie insists.

Not your pained screams a few days ago nor your heart wrenching tears when you're feeling at your worst, but your hormonal sobbing. Like when you saw the commercial about the new 'shoplifters exposed' program on CBS that featured an old lady who stole a tangerine from the grocery store and got arrested despite her having alzheimers. She didn't mean to, Eddie, why would they make her cry like that? In fairness, it was a very upsetting commercial, but you cried for four hours, and for days afterward your eyes would well with tears and he'd know exactly what you were thinking of.

"When you're on your period," he explains. "When you know you wouldn't usually cry."

"You think so?" you ask.

"I think the solution is the same, too."

You nod your agreement. "He's hungry."

You and Eddie feed the baby with varying levels of success. Charlie doesn't wanna latch even though it's a bottle teat, causing some confusion —is he not hungry? Is he cold? No, sweetheart, he's not cold, he's got two blankets and the thermostat's at 68 Fahrenheit. Maybe he needs a new diaper? You check. His diaper's clean.

You're looking more and more defeated by the second. Eddie sits beside you to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. Babies are hard to look after, but he knows you'll both grow into it. You're exhausted from nine long months and a turbulent half day stint of pushing and crying and turning the bones in his hands into powder, your hormones are going crazy, and you're having a tough time. This won't be your forever feeling (though if it were to last, Eddie would stay at your side through that, too, that's not a question).

"You know what else works when you're not feeling good?" Eddie asks, offering his arms. He isn't some muscled herculean shape, but when you hand Charlie over, his arms look strong. Capable. Holding Charlie feels just as perfect as holding you. "A Munson-style cuddle," he finishes, trying to speak to his wailing son in that same bubbly parentese you've started talking in.

Eddie did a lot of talking to your bump while you were pregnant, but he was usually just trying to make you laugh. There were times where he'd lay with his nose against your hip and his arm under the bump, wondering about moments like this. What was the baby going to look like? What colour would his eyes be? What will it feel like to hold the baby in his arms?

Charlie feels lighter than Eddie first prophesied. Small. He has eyes like yours rather than eyes like his and he couldn't love it more.

Eddie takes the bottle when you offer it and sandwiches the baby to his chest. He doesn't want to condescend you, doesn't want to shoo you off, but Charlie's crying around the bottle and you look veritably miserably.

"Do you wanna go and make sure the food isn't on the turn?" he asks. When he realised the baby wasn't going to go down easy again he put your plates on a baking sheet and put the oven on low to keep it warm.

You hesitate. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know. I think so, sweetheart. We're barely a room away, alright?"

He's called you sweetheart more since the birth of your son than ever before, which is insane; Eddie's called you sweetheart likely twice a day since the day you met. That's a whole lot of sweethearts.

With the baby's changing mood comes a change in the weather. Eddie pats his little back, a quiet thump thump thump, while rain lashes the closed windows. The baby finally decides he's hungry, and the mood turns from frenetic to ambient almost immediately.

"You make sure you eat if you're hungry!" Eddie calls to you.

"Are you sure?"

"I think…" He drifts off, distracted by Charlie's long eyelashes, the way they skim under his eyes and the tiny noises he makes as he suckles. "Aw, baby," he murmurs, "good job. I knew you were hungry. You sounded just like your mom." He can't help grinning. Eddie is really talking to his kid right now, his real life baby. "You made her super emotional, but you're her whole world now. You're mine, too, obviously, but I'm cooler than this." He sighs. "No. I'm not. This is the coolest thing ever."

"What do you think?" you ask softly.

Eddie looks up. You're standing at the door, staring at them like they're made of sparkling diamond, every inch precious.

"Right. I think that we're gonna have to start eating when we can. Wayne never had a baby, but he said I was bad enough as a teenager, and Steve said he's lucky if he gets to eat a hot meal some days."

"Steve does have three," you say, frowning. "We really can't eat together anymore?"

You ask like you're less bothered than you are. Like a gimmicky Oh, man. Eddie knows it hides a real worry, and right now he's trying to give you the world on a silver platter, so he dots a little kiss on Charlie's head and says warmly into his skin, "No, that's not true. You're going to be such a good kid, me and mom will be eating together all the time. Isn't that right?"

Eddie looks at you with his head still tilted down. "I wanna eat together, okay? Everything's changing, but dinner doesn't have to. I just wanted you to eat 'cos you left half of your waffles at breakfast."

"I can wait."

"Then let's wait. You wanna come and hold him?"

"No, he's settled. I don't wanna mess it up again."

"You didn't," Eddie says, firm and sweet at once. "Sweetheart, come here. You didn't mess up, okay? I'm serious, come and sit with me."

You hesitate in the way. You're still unsteady on your feet despite the few days you've had to recuperate. Though your hair is cleaner than his it certainly isn't clean, nor are the clothes you've pulled on. Eddie read up and asked around on what would be comfiest for you, debating nightgowns and silk pyjamas at length, but all you've wanted to wear is a hoodie you've had since you were a teenager and a pair of sweatpants with fraying cuffs. He loves it —you look like an adorable dork.

Your stomach visibly churns. Eddie thinks you might chuck up, is already pulling the baby to his chest to place in the bassinet when you take a short, quiet gasp for air.

"Sorry, I don't know why I feel so on and off. I know it's just hormones. I promise I feel happy– I feel happy–" You gesture an open palm toward him. "He's gorgeous, Eds, he's everything I wanted and so much more, I just– I just feel like crying and I don't know why," you confess, blinking to suppress tears, shifting your weight uncomfortably from foot to foot.

Eddie detests seeing you this uneasy, and he swoops in to correct it.

"Come here," he says again, no hands free to hold out to you. He hopes his voice is inviting enough.

You shrink into yourself. "I'm being weird."

"I like when you're weird. I kind of love it. I don't think we'd be in the mess if I didn't love it."

"It's a mess?" you ask.

"It's perfect."

You finally smile, creeping around the bassinet and the needlessly baby proofed coffee table to sit on the edge of the couch with him. Charlie makes a sound in the back of his throat.

"Hear that? He knows you're here," Eddie murmurs, making room for you hopefully.

You sidle up to his thigh and lean on his arm, careful not to knock his elbow. You watch Charlie drink his bottle for as long as there's milk left, two ounces knocked back like it's nothing.

Eddie eases the teat from Charlie's lips carefully. With care but a clumsy imprecise manoeuvre, he lays Charlie down in the bassinet. He has a lot of hair for such a small baby, enough to stroke back from his forehead, soft under Eddie's fingertips.

"He's really, really beautiful," Eddie says quietly.

"I know," you say, an anxious hand on your cheek. "I can't believe something as good as him could come from someone like me."

Eddie stands between your legs, resting a loving hand at the slope of your shoulder. "Why would you ever think something like that?" he asks, his voice as soft as it's ever been, but with a smile in case you don't want to talk about it any more.

"He's… I'm just not…"

Eddie gives you time. You've needed it ever since you went into labour, time to piece things together.

"I really thought I was ready," you say, looking up at him with a pinch between your eyebrows.

He brings his hand up to cup your face. You don't lean into it. "Alright, I'm going to talk for a little while, 'n' I know you won't agree with everything I'm saying but I need you to know that this is how I really feel, yeah? Buckle up." Eddie bends down, unafraid of embarrassing himself because it's you. "I know you think these feelings are your fault… that this is some failing, like you're–" He drops his voice to a whisper, "Like you're being a bad mom already, but it's not the truth."

You startle at being read so easily. "Eds," you mumble.

"We knew this might be how you felt afterward, the midwife talked and talked about baby blues and you said–"

"I said I couldn't understand how I'd ever feel sad once he was born," you say, looking at his neck rather than his face.

"And that's fine, you know? You're not a bad person for thinking it would be perfect and then changing your mind."

"But he is perfect," you say.

Eddie rubs your cheek. "He's perfect, but this is hard. Being a new mom with your stitches and your aching tummy and all the gross fluids–"

You laugh through a groan, pressing your eye into his hand.

He leaps to keep it going. "This isn't how you expected to feel, but that's okay. There's nothing to be ashamed of. Cry if you feel like crying and don't feel fucking guilty about it, this sucks. You had to do the world's most tumultuous campaign for the last nine months and suddenly you're standing at the start of a new one that takes up, like, a gazillion pages with half health and an equally useless companion."

Your lips press into a thin line, but your eyes are soft and bright despite their obvious fatigue. You bracelet his wrist with your fingers and push his hand further into your cheek.

"My dork," you murmur.

"You understand it, don't you? Makes you an even bigger dork."

You nudge your nose into his palm. "I understand. Thank you, honey."

Eddie's not done. "You said you don't know how something good like him could come from someone like you? I don't think bad was a possibility."

Your second thank you is better. The first wasn't inauthentic, but this one sounds as though you genuinely believe him. Eddie bows down into a crouch to wrap his arms around you, the majority of his weight on your shoulders and avoiding your sore lower region, and the entirety of his love pressed to your cheek, a long, mindless kiss.

"I love you," you say.

Eddie tucks his head against yours, ignoring his protesting knees. "I love you, too."

Your food turns to dry mulch by the time you remember it in the oven. You're too distracted by Eddie's hug, his offering for a shoulder massage, and the subsequent second hug that ensues, your back to his chest, dozing in the sanctuary of his arms. Munson-style cuddles are his expertise.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thank you for reading!

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woso-dreamzzz · 6 months

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Locker Room

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Just another day in the Chelsea locker room

You kick your legs in boredom, sitting on the sofa as your parents mill about trying to get everything ready of the day.

You hum, making your girl-swan kiss your girl-elk because girls like Momma and Morsa kiss each other a lot. Your shoes are already on and so's your jacket.

Morsa's shoes are still on the rack and Momma's jacket is lying on the kitchen table, waiting for her.

It happens like this every gameday.

Morsa and Momma get you ready and then run around trying to make themselves presentable.

"What you doing there, princesse?" Morsa says as she sits next to you, pulling on her shoes.

"They're kissin'." You say, pressing your toys together again," Like you and Momma." You smush their faces together in glee.

Morsa laughs slightly before hoisting you up into her arms while Momma grabs your matchday backpack from its hook by the door.

●～●～●～●～

The trip to Kingsmeadow is super boring so you make your girl-swan and your girl-elk kiss again, like Momma and Morsa do when they think you aren't looking.

You're pulled out of the car unceremoniously by Momma, who snags onto your coat hood when you try to wander off, spotting Jessie entering the facility.

"No, princesse," Momma says," You know the rules. Hold my hand."

You roll your eyes and do as she says, while Morsa is given the important job of holding your girl-elk and girl-swan as well as your backpack - where your boy-swan and boy-elk were stuffed inside this morning with your snacks, water bottle and fuzzy mittens.

Morsa and Momma greet people as they pass but your impatience at seeing Jessie already makes you want to see who else is already here so you tug Momma's hand and try to make her move quicker.

You're partially successful but Momma still takes too much time and you all divert slightly because Morsa stops to talk to someone else she knows.

"Momma," You whine, tugging on Pernille's sleeve," Wanna go."

"Just a minute, princesse," She replies," Morsa is talking to someone."

"You are not Morsa," You say stubbornly," Wanna go."

"Just a little longer, y/n," She says in a tone that you know means you'll be in trouble if you continue.

You sigh a heavy sigh and scuff your shoes on the floor of the hall. Your sighing gets progressively louder and Momma looks like she's trying not to laugh at you until Morsa finally notices that you're squirming in impatience and she excuses herself from the conversation.

You slip your grip out of Momma's hand as soon as you see the door to the locker room, reaching your fingers up and pushing it open.

●～●～●～●～

Magda watches you rush in like you have places to be and smothers her laughter even though Pernille doesn't.

A shriek of laughter is heard as Millie flings you up into the air and catches you again. She does it two more times before ruffling your hair and letting you scamper off to greet Jessie.

You fling yourself onto the Canadian before you make her help you take off your coat. You point excitedly at her hair and then your own.

"It's the same!" You say.

She looks at you in faux surprise, like you've just told her something shocking. "Oh, wow! You're right!"

"I know!"

With your excitement of Jessie disappearing, you skip back across the room to your parents.

Morsa seems to know immediately what you want because she's holding your bottle and helping you drink. You pull away, gasping for air and do little to fight it when Momma kidnaps you into her cubby and changes you into your jersey.

When you first came to London, you can remember your parents fighting over whose special Not-Wolfsburg jersey you would wear but Miss Emma had quickly put a stop to it by giving you a jersey that says 'Assistant Coach' on it.

You where it to every gameday.

With your jersey on, Momma lets you free again with your backpack.

You find yourself on the side of the room with Jonna and Zećira. They welcome you with open arms easily and switch to Swedish, even though you know that Morsa and Momma don't like them doing it when they're at work.

You plop yourself down on the floor in front of them with your swans and your elks.

"They're fighting," You tell Zećira in Swedish," 'Cause the boy toys are mean and evil and don't want the girls kissing anymore."

She laughs slightly as she sits down, crosslegged on the ground with you. She picks up your boy-elk and lightly hits your girl-swan with it.

You giggle uncontrollably and make your girl-swan peck it back. You and Zećira play back and forth for a few minutes before Jonna joins you, finally dressed in her kit and seemingly bored of whatever conversation she had been having with Niamh.

"They seem to be fighting a lot," She says to you in Swedish, ignoring the pointed look that both Magda and Pernille give her," Why don't they be friends now?"

You gave her a withering look - so reminiscent of Magda being angry on the field that she almost cowers away from you - as you pass her your boy-swan. "They can't be friends, Jonna," You say with a strange patronising voice that she hadn't really expected from one so young," The boys are...are..." You forget the word in Swedish for a moment but you know it in Danish so it takes you a second to translate. "Are...homophobes."

Your Momma taught you that word when she played for Wolfsburg and a boy in your nursery class made told you it was wrong and bad that you had a Momma and a Morsa.

"But my girls are in love," You continue on in Swedish," So they're beating up the boys because boys are icky." To punctuate your point, you slam your girl-elk into the boy-swan that Jonna is still holding. She doesn't move the boy-swan to retaliate. You sigh. "You're not playing properly, Jonna! They're meant to be fighting!"

"Yeah, Jonna," Zećira teases," They're meant to be fighting."

Jonna rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue at the goalkeeper but moves your boy-swan to lightly tap against your girl-elk.

Your face lights up and you go back to fighting - although you're more accurately slamming two stuffed animals against each other.

Across the room, Morsa is giving one of her special captain speeches that she always gives at a Not-Wolfsburg match and sometimes at home when Momma forgets to do the laundry.

Zećira and Jonna are meant to be listening. You know this because Momma once told you that everybody needs to listen when the captain gives a speech and Morsa's a captain so they should be listening.

They're not though - too preoccupied with complying with your wish that your boy-swan and boy-elk are now angry with each other because neither can beat your girl toys, who are now kissing again.

Zećira makes your boy-elk hit your boy-swan. Jonna takes offence to this because she hits back a little harder. It goes back and forth for a while with Zećira and Jonna getting increasingly more aggressive with their fighting.

You keep making your girl-swan and your girl-elk kiss.

A shadow falls over you and you look up. Morsa smiles down at you.

"Come on, princesse," She says," Emma needs her assistant coach. Let's get going."

You smile and nod. You take Morsa's hand before turning to face Zećira and Jonna. "You should put them both in timeout," You say to them," So they know that fighting each other is bad and not letting girls kiss is bad too."

You don't wait to watch because Momma has joined you. She takes your other hand and with Morsa's help, they swing you off the ground every few steps all the way out onto the pitch.

#woso x reader #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #woso community #woso #woso imagine #woso fanfics #The Big Adventures Universe

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upsidedownwithsteve · 7 months

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Love Sucks III. The Hunt

Vampire!Steve Harrington x fem!reader He’s just a gloomy, little guy.

The Masterlist 🩸

Honestly, it probably didn’t help that everyone was standing in a line, a front row audience to what Steve deemed a very nerve wracking moment in his afterlife.

“Ignore them, son,” Wayne gruffed, waving a dismissive hand at his nephew and all his friends.

“But, Eddie has a camera,” Steve responded with weak offence. Eddie grinned and waved, the video camera balanced against his shoulder. He refused to answer to anyone who asked where he got it from, but Nancy spoke loud and frostily about a handheld that had been stolen from the newspaper’s office last week. “He keeps pointing it at me.”

Eddie laughed.

You stepped in, scowling at your friends and smoothing your hands over Steve’s cheeks in what you hoped was a calming gesture. He was cold, almost icy, that forever faded summer tan paler than ever. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin underneath rose and lavender. He looked more like a vampire than ever.

He was hungry.

“Hey, hey,” you were frowning, something Steve hated to see on you but you were growing more concerned by the day. “I can tell them to leave, if you want?”

Steve glanced over at the kids, all sitting with snacks and chatting excitedly, their boots covered in mud and buried in the piles of leaves. Robin was perched on a low tree branch beside Jonathan and Nancy was talking to Hopper about the deer population.

“No, it’s okay,” Steve murmured. His words sounded slurred, sluggish, too thick for his dry mouth. “You’ll stay back though, right? I don’t want to hu—”

You let your hands trail down his shoulders, catching his cold fingers and squeezing. “You won’t,” you promised him. “But you need to eat. Let Wayne and Jim help you, yeah? Rabbits aren’t cutting it anymore, handsome.”

And they weren’t, Steve knew that. And he hated how sad he got once he bit into their soft fur, the small amount of blood not doing much more than breaking his heart. You told Wayne about it one day when he came back from hunting and the older man huffed and ranted tiredly about the overgrown population of deer, elk, wolves.

“Tell your boyfriend to catch some of those and we won’t have a problem.”

Except Steve had stared wide eyed at you at the suggestion. “An elk? I don’t know how to catch one of those.”

And that’s why you and your friends were in the middle of the woods on an October afternoon, just before evening fell. Hopper had swept the clearing for other hunters, dog walkers, campers and once he was satisfied, he gave Wayne a thumbs up.

“Okay, let’s go, Dracula,” Wayne announced and Steve frowned, offended. He pointed. “You see it’s neck? That’s where you wanna aim, got it?”

The “neck” was non-existent. Joyce Byers’ old exercise bike was sitting in the mud, padded out with pillows tied with string. Someone (Mike) had draped a blanket over it and someone else (Max) stuck branches to the handles, faux antlers, much to Steve’s dismay. He spared a glance back at you, looking forlorn before Wayne snapped his fingers and whistled.

“Hey, concentrate. You wanna jump it, right? Now you don’t got no gun, or crossbows, but I know there’s some heavy weaponry in that mouth of yours, so you gotta use it.”

Steve looked glum, lifting his fingers to rub at the sharp fangs he’d let protrude from his gums. They felt brittle and dry, ready to feed. You stepped closer, nudging yourself into Steve’s space until you could wrap your arms around his waist. He was icy under his shirt, almost too told to touch but you loved the way he relaxed into you at the touch of your hands, warm and soft, sneaking up the insides of his sweater.

So Steve nodded and then the rest of the evening was spent in a mess of semi-hilarity and frustration. Steve scowled and kicked at the dead leaves as Hopper egged him on and Robin and Wayne took turns in pretending to attack the bike, throwing themselves at the pillow padding, miming biting the fake neck.

Eddie caught everything on camera.

Eventually Steve relented and you watched as he paced around the fake animal, sulky looking with his red rimmed eyes and frown. But he seemed to move a little faster than you’d see him do before, his movements not superhuman, but definitely unnatural. Then he’d pounce, throw himself onto the bike and swear as pillows fell off the sides, the makeshift antlers poking him in the ribs as he scrambled for the bike's handles/neck.

People cheered, Eddie cackled, you kissed his pale cheek and Steve rolled his eyes with the impatience and embarrassment of a teenager going to his first prom.

“This is stupid,” he muttered but the next night he slipped into the woods to feed and he came back satiated.

He returned covered in mud and pine needles, with a drop of blood or two on his jeans and his shirt was torn from a scuffle from an animal that he deemed a monstrous size, but your boyfriend was pleased with himself and that’s all that mattered.

Two days later, Eddie made him watch Bambi on the VCR and Steve was horrified, declaring that he was going vegetarian.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington oneshot

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hrmnrmpfh · 1 month

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Sinner! Adam is the first person to not mistake Alastor for a deer, change my mind

Adam: the fuck are you losers doing?

Angel: me ’n Charlie wanna know if playing deer alarm calls will make Bambi freak out

Adam: you’re wasting your time

Charlie: it’s worth a shot, and this could help us get to know Alastor better!

Adam: like, do whatever, I don’t give a shit, but at least do something relevant to elk or shit won’t happen

Charlie: that’s what we’re doing?

Adam: he’s an elk, bitch, not a deer, so deer calls won’t work

Angel, scoffing: yeah, ’cuz you’d know more about Alastor in six days than us in six months

Adam: uh, I fuckin’ would know! I named the animals, course I know the differences between ’em. That red edgelord is an elk!

Alastor, appearing behind Adam: *sips Zestial-style out of his ‘oh deer’ mug like the pun negates Adam’s point*

Adam, visibly unimpressed: *plays an elk bugle*

Alastor, becoming rapidly less congruent with reality as he grows building sized: *destroys a wall and loses his entire shit in a show of power that would scare Lucifer*

Adam, who fears not even God himself: ha! I was fucking right! Dick-fucking-master! Hey, why are you two running away? Sore losers!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel memes #hazbin hotel incorrect quotes #incorrect hazbin hotel quotes #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel angel dust #hazbin hotel charlie #hazbin hotel alastor #who’s hoof prints and antlers and sounds all match an elk more than a deer #sinner adam

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elsewhereuniversity · 5 months

Note

I made a mistake...?

I'm not sure how scrying mirrors work so I'll say this as quickly as I can.

Last Friday I was challenged to a drinking contest by a stranger in a bar, and woke up after the weekend in the arms of a sleeping Fae Lord with a golden torc around my neck. I have no recollection of what happened at all. Though I'm positive the man I woke up next to was equally, if not more drunk than I was, since his face is still reder than cherries.

I'm in a room larger than my entire house filled with wonders and treasures, and I'm dressed in finer clothes than I'm sure most nobles have ever worn in history.

I think I got married in my drunken state, and I've no idea how this happened, where I am, or what I should do now!

I am a very weak willed man and my new husband(?) is incredibly tall, fantastically handsome, and horrifically horny! Not in that way, I'm too scared to peek! I mean he has elk antlers and ram horns that are huge and very pointy!

I REALLY wanna see where this goes but my common sense is screaming at the back of my mind like a tornado siren and I need advice real quick before he wakes up! Should I get it off here or should I stay and see where this takes me?

~Grace

Elk antlers AND ram horns is very horny indeed. Man's not got room on his skull for features. It's a miracle you didn't take an eye out while you were sleeping.

Look, you could flee through the window - he has a helpful trellis blooming with violet clematis which you could scramble down. if you want to be coy about it you could leave something at his place so he has something to find you with later, Cinderella style. Or... you can wait to see what happens if he wakes up. If he's as drunk as you were, this might seem just as much a problem to him, and waking up married to someone who has already fled in horror will surely be a cruel blow. Perhaps sober you can figure things out together.

What's guaranteed, though, is that you've caused a lot of political drama. However things do shake out, some scorned suitor of his is almost certainly going to try and poison you at the next event you attend, whether or not you break things off. So, you know. Watch out for that.

#vignettes #romance

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poetthewriter · 5 months

Note

HELLOOOO!!! 🌘 ANON HERE >:333

I was meant to re-send my oneshot request a few days ago but I forgot...

Anyways!

Could I request some esmpS2!Jimmy x gn!reader angst to fluff :3

Like, Jimmy getting bullied by the other empires and the reader finds him in a secluded area sobbing so they comfort him as much as they can

Jimmy ends up sleeping on the reader's lap and it's just adorable :DD (maybe even add someone finding them and just taking a picture, the next day they show it to the reader and tease them about it)

I deeply apologize if this doesn't make any sense TT

Don't overwork yourself and don't forget to take care of yourself aswell! <3

-🌘 anon

The Ruler Of The Taiga

hello again moony! <3 (fun fact I was originally going to make the reader a tropical biome ruler if you would like to see something like that tell me!)

jimmy!E2 x Gn!Reader (Reader is a fox or wolf hybrid but could also read as a dear reader)

𝑬𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒔= 𝑺𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒔&𝑻𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒔🥮🍡🍯

The ruler of the taiga, a biome filled with beauty of all sorts, foxes prance around, sweet berries grow along the paths and enchant structures and statues litter the flora grounds. the sound of grainy foot steps march across the lands as you walk with peace, your delicate crown lays atop your hair and the wailing wind makes your cape fly behind you.

a basket rests in you hands and swings as you continue on your way, your biomes berries, fruits, vegetation, and herbs all pile in you basket as the sun starts to fall, as the sky darkens the temperature drops as if the ghosts have come out to play.

because of your empire being well known as the lands of the folk the air is always quiet, the ground you stand on and rule is known for its stories over thousand's of years this place has been known for its magical and haunting aura.

your ears perk up at the sound of the wolfs and coyotes that help you protect your empire howls, hearing the call of the sharp creatures you head back to elk village. paces quicken wanting to reach your home, all the views of the forest pass you as you scower but a flash of color makes you stop in your tracks.

on the soft plush soft fern filled ground the sheriff of the mesa lies, his hands run through his gold hair and his body is tensed. "Jimmy?" you speak up you voice quiet and soft but very welcoming, looking up jimmy sees you staring down at his stressed figure and looks away a little embarrassed putting his hands over his face.

It only takes a few swift moments and you are now sitting beside him you can already see that he is stressed, his posture is weak, his eyes are tired and his hairs is all ruffled. "hey, are you ok?" you voice is gentle making sure he feels at least a little more comfortable.

soon after you talk he dimly responds in a strained voice "I'm fine". its quite obvious he was ether yelling, crying or tired. his body slowly fades in and out of conciseness "I'm sorry for being here Y/n I just needed to get away from things for a bit" he continues speaking voice breaking every few words.

"Hey don't be sorry, I can tell your not fine so you wanna tell me what's wrong?" you hum.

"im just tired of everyone ..."

" i know how hard it can be to deal with everyone, and i know that you know that your alot more then what they say you are"

Your head lays on the dirt of the hill behind you two and you rest an arm over you friend, "its hard when everyone is on you tail but why let the jokes and remarks decide how you feel, am i right?"

"thank you" jimmy looks up again as you lay back in the grass, small berries and wormwood spread out across the glade and jimmy slowly lays back with you, soaking in your presents.

-----------

a smaller male bard walks through the dim taiga in hopes to find you but instead he finds a new sight Infront of him, Oli usually comes by for the wonderful trades you present him but I guess today he's out of luck cause right in front of the jester like man, you and the sheriff himself lay sleeping in peace as the sunrises over the horizon.

Oli snaps a photo of the two of you and laughs quietly with a smirky face.

"photo for a trade" he whispers thinking of the deals he could make with this new found piece of blackmail, as the sun almost reaches above the trees Oli skips away giddily.

A/n I’m sorry this took so long I’ve been working and some stuff has been going on but enough with the exudes I hope to finish the reast of my requests<3

#hermitcraft x reader #og mcyt #hermitcraft #empires smp #jimmy solidarity #x reader #3rd life #empires #empires s1 #empires s2 #mcyt #esmp #empiresblr #mcyt x reader #hermit x reader

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vylad243 · 6 days

Note

Hii!!! I wanna know more about Lyric's relationship with her parents any headcannons you have? :3

Alright! You know me. I'm the headcanon goblin

Lyric loves to try and mimic the sounds Alastor and Vox make, but she fails most of the time. She can make fawn and deers noises, but can't make elk noises like Alastor can.

Vox is fully aware of everything Lyric searches on the Internet because he knows what everyone searches in the hotel. The internet is hooked directly to him, so she can never surprise Vox with secret presents she ordered online

During Alastor's ruts, sometimes he gets really paranoid and they have to drag Lyric in to calm his instincts. Lyric doesn't quite upstand why Alastor has this phase once a year, but she doesn't care enough to question

Lyric can't whisper stuff into Vox's phone to convince him to have another kid, so she goes the extra mile and points out ever cute/polite kid to him to try and catch his attention

Vox is fully aware of what she's doing

Lyric tried to do the same trick to Alastor, but he stared at her for five minutes straight after she pointed at the first kid and was very creeped out

Lyric can not cook but can bake!

If Lyric is in the bed with them when Vox had nightmares about Valentino, they lie and tell her that Vox drempt about losing her

Lyric knows they're lying but doesn't push it

Vox was pissed when he found out Rosie fed Lyric sinner meat and deer meat because "that was supposed to be Alastor's job!"

Vox knew that Alastor basically ignored their child for a good few years, but he doesn't hold it against Alastor. They had a conversation before where Alastor said if he had to pick between Vox or the baby, he would pick Vox

Vark likes to lay on Lyric and basically crushes her every chance he gets

Lyric hates it when people adds an 's' to her name

Lyric has a pen with 12 different colours that Vox gave her

Alastor taught Lyric how to murder people efficiently and how to torture them 💖 family bonding

Vox didn't want to go because after having Lyric, blood made him sick

Vox is on medical leave still. Papermint mostly rund VoxTech, but not because Vox won't return. No. Vox was banned from VoxTech until he was healthy. Vox still gets paid plenty though, don't worry

Bee likes to visit the hotel to hang out with Vox and watch Lyric

Lyric was really tiny as a kid, but once she hit her teen years, she skyrocketed upwards and is about the same height as Alastor now

Alastor hates it

Sorry it ain't exactly what you wanted but I'm not sure how much else I can describe her relationship with her parents. She has a really healthy one despite the hell she went through at first!

#anonymous #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #a month in rut #radiostatic #AMOR #Lyric hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #vylad's random headcanons

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stardayzzing · 1 year

Note

I wanna know more about the deer!

Sorry this took so long!! This is a bit long and Im just gonna recycle the art for it but heres some more in depth information about the deer and elves!

(Sorry for any typos too!)

So for starters, EVERY greenwood/mirkwood elf has a deer. They are in a since like a piece of said elf's soul.

•The elves have a "coming of age" type situation with deer, when they reach an age similar to the age of about a 5 year old, the deer will often appear to them. Some have taken longer than others.

• The deer can express emotions similar to their elf, and even share opinions, such as not liking certain vegetables or liking the same colors!

•All deer are SLIGHTLY different. Wether their noses are a different shade, or their tails a brown color or their antlers larger or smaller. Even eye colors do not line up.

•Legolas's mother was the only elf with a doe who had blue eyes and a bright pink nose and ear tips!

•The gender of the deer does not apply to the elf though! Tauriel, who prefers she/her pronouns, has a large white buck as her deer. Legolas of course, has a doe.

Another thing about them, is that, while they are connected to a specific elf, if the elf dies or the deer dies, the other will not.

• If a deer dies, their elf will however feel extreme pain that can last many many years, though slowly fading to nothing but a dull throb. They cannot obtain a new deer though, even if the death was not their fault.

•If an elf dies and has no young offspring, they will leave and become wandering deer of the forest, though skittish of all but elves, and may at times help young ones back onto the paths.

•While elves cannot reconnect with deer, it is also not unknown to see a long forgotten deer grazing beside a deerless elf who may have been enjoying the wildnderness alone for a while.

While random deer cannot connect with random elves, some situations are different!!

•If a mother or father passes before their child reaches a certain age, it is mostly common that the parents deer will move on to be with the child instead.

•This happened with Legolas! His mother's deer watches over him now.

•Thranduil is in a similar situation.

Thranduil's, the Elk

•Despite all other elves having a deer, The first of the elvish leaders in the forest had an elk, which survived long enough to keep following the path and eventually end up Thranduil's despite everything.

•The elk, like in botfa, does die, and when it does, causes Thranduil great pain, however we all know he's capable of handling it. However, there is a mourning period to the loss of a deer/elk and afterwards, it oftens feel like losing a family member, considered almost as painful even as the loss of his wife.

•While the elk will eventually be reincarnated, should Legolas have offspring, until then, there would be no more elk.

•When reincarnated (a rare but not impossible thing that happens when some deer/elk die) instead of appearing, grown and mature, they will appear to their new elf as a fawn, small and fragile. This is the sign theyve been reincarnated rather than being a new deer.

Deer are very important to elven culture as well!

•Like how people see dwarven braids, and such things, deers are seen similarly!

•Only family can touch the deer, and a loved one. The deer seem to share this idea, steering away from strangers, huffing and puffing. Even friends can not get close to them often times.

•The only exception to this is if they are riders, which then sometimes others are brought onto their backs or enemies may of course touch them in battle. Riders have their own designated ways of still expressing their importance however, just differently from the gentler deer of the other elves that do nit see war.

•Deer will befriend another elf's deer, often times if the deers' elves are friends, but this will not allow the other elves to touch them.

•Tauriel and Legolas's deer are often found grazing and oacing together, but neither Tauriel nor Legolas will ever be able to touch nor approach them, as they simply do not feel that way for each other mutually.

Interracial children

•So this is of course a concern. Will children of say, an Elf and a Dwarf have a deer like their elven parent? The short answer? Maybe!

•The long answer? It depends purely on luck! Sometimes, a half-elf will receive a deer, though it will not be quite the same as an fully elf child.

•Often times, half elf children get deer who have bright splotches of colors, mismatched eyes, and similar. There's nothing wrong with these deer, but their elven magic is not as strong as those in the forest, which makes them look a tad different!

Other Facts:

•When outside of the forest, the deer of the elves will often times transform to appear as horses. This is because the deer are poached at times, so to protect themselves, they disguise themselves to the outside world.

•Most deer are bigger and stronger, a fully grown elf able to ride even a doe into battle if they needed.

•Sickly elves, with ailments that can not be easily healed, would be the ones to have deer of weak builds, smaller and more frail, but still strong and happy often times.

[This is an Elf OC of mine with their buck]

#the hobbit #legolas #lotr #tolkien elves #thranduil #legolas greenleaf #mirkwood deer #concepts

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someone-took-lost · 6 months

Text

delphox time tm

i wanna be the very best. but i already am- anyways! tadaaa! foxes. foxes but like in a pokémon font! i love delphox, but i don’t like anthro designs for things that don’t necessarily need to be on two legs. so! i have made it so that delphox is able to be quadrupedal or bipedal. for the whole line in fact~ except fennekin. hes perfect as is.

i think certain designers look over how pokémon are meant to be “evolutions,” and not just bigger-older versions. so i think fennekin evolution is meant to adapt to becoming more “apex predator” of woodland areas. fennekin used to be very common in ancient city areas, but over time moved to more villages with less need to be sneaky little creatures. so now they’re a little better, and becoming smarter. tool based little guys who can stand on back feets for some time in order to use twigs and sticks to conduct a bigger flame.

with this new utilization of their abilities, braixen are medium sized vulpes creatures who hunt prey that are usually just a little smaller than them. i imagine they’re probably just about the size of a german shepherd or a small wolf by now. this body has much easier capability to breath in hot weather and heavy exercise despite the thick coating, but is still able to keep in all the internal flame that they use to survive. they dwell in mostly forested areas, and will occasionally sneak into human towns to steal food. or if they are in a mated duo, they’ll have one distract humans while the other catches food.

delphox is the biggest of the evolutions. he’s the apex of the forest, no one willing hunts ‘em unless for sport or competition. the population of these have become dwindling as delphox hunts have become a common sport for those nearby, even festivals have evolved around them. called the “fire spirits hunt.” they’re known as the fire spirits of the forest, keeping a sort of silent presence despite how big they are. they are about the size of a large buck, or a small elk. and they mostly feed on sawsbuck or bunnelby. their large size is due to their adaptation to being able to use their speed and leaner bodies to their advantage, while also having a larger heat chamber within themselves to create blasts of fire.

mostly solitary, it’s incredibly rare to find wild delphoxes. they live to about 13-15 years in the wild, and 17-19 in captivity. but professors of the galar and kalos regions are working hard to bring them back to their natural habitats.

i hope you guys enjoyed this little spheal, round boi- i like doing these little headcanon creatures thing. i think next i will be doing altaria, but if you guys have any suggestions let me know! i am always up for a challenge <3

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sednonamoris · 1 year

Text

pony up

Pairing: John Marston x gn!reader

Summary: John and Abigail continue to argue. You and Jack are both stuck in the middle, so you make the best of it by teaching him to ride.

Warnings: Toxic relationships, arguing, strong language

Word count: 1,464

A/N: Two chapters in one day - PHEW!! I have to say I’m pretty pleased with how this one turned out. If you didn’t catch my earlier post there will be a bit of a break between today’s updates and Ch. 15 so I can take a moment to read and rest and make sure the coming chapters are as good as they can possibly be. I feel like a broken record saying this but thank you all so much for your support!!!

Series masterlist • AO3

—

You take to the Heartlands like you were born to endless green and not the cracked desert of your youth. Valentine makes boasts of civilization, despite Hosea’s stance on its mud and morons, but the wilderness that surrounds it is what captivates you. Sprawling and wild. Half-tamed and raw. Unbroken. The chirping cry of the eagle and mournful bugle of the elk command a symphony in your soul that begs to be set free. Each night your heart stampedes the open plains with the wild horses, and each morning it returns when the songbirds first sing.

Then the fighting starts.

“You ‘n me is one thing, but you could at least show up for the boy!” Abigail says this morning.

“Jesus, woman, quit naggin’ me!” John snipes back. He’s supposed to meet you to go fishing. You have a feeling that might not happen.

“I ain’t naggin’! If you would just—”

“I don’t have time for this. Ghost and I—”

“I don’t wanna hear another goddamn word about Ghost!” she all but screams. You flinch, even over by the hitching posts as you are. “What about me, John? What about our son?”

John’s eyes go hard. “What about you?”

It’s a low blow, even for him, and the backhanded slap that hits his face a moment later is no great surprise to anyone.

What is surprising is that when Abigail marches away, she marches toward you. You shift a little in place but don’t run, much as you’d like to. She points an accusing finger and doesn’t stop until it jams into your chest.

“You—” she chokes past the tears in her eyes, but when she sees the look in yours she can’t finish the sentence.

Because what is there to say, really? That she would kill for John to spend as much time with her as he does with you? That she wishes he would wait out for her when she goes into town, or comes back from the creek with baskets full of laundry that he’ll help her carry home? You know that already. The same as she knows, deep down, that you’d give anything for him to look at you with that same want in his eyes when he sees her. To have him come to your bed every night and wake together every morning. And isn’t it just sad? And aren’t you just fools?

“You watch out for him out there,” she finishes lamely, and you grasp her hand that’s still on your chest and squeeze the apology that’s lodged in your throat.

“Sure, Abigail. Take care.”

You let her go and she walks away, glaring at anyone who dares stare. John doesn’t say a word when you hand him his reins and head down to the river.

—

Days later, you’re sitting next to the fire enjoying a morning smoke with coffee strong enough to feel in your teeth. Pale, pre-dawn yellow streaks a sky marred only by your curling whisps of smoke. For once it is blessedly, blissfully quiet.

“Morning!” a bright voice chirps.

You close your eyes and take a deep, calming breath before turning to snarl at them, only to be met with an unexpected face.

“Jack,” you say, trying not to sound surprised. Or mean. “Where’s your ma?”

It’s not that you dislike the kid, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t try to steer clear of him most of the time. Just seems better that way.

“She’s at the river. Reverend is supposed to play with me but he’s sleeping again.”

Fuck. Of course he is.

You look around to see if someone - anyone - is around who can watch him instead, but most folks have already headed into town, and the girls are surely with Abigail doing the washing at the river. Fuck.

“Well, hey,” you fumble, “why don’t you ‘n me do somethin’ while we wait for him to wake up?”

“Really?” He sounds so excited. It breaks your heart a little.

“Really.”

You’d been planning to ride out, maybe find a horse to fence, but instead you while away the morning playing every game imaginable with little Jack. He’s way too smart for you, listing off the wildest names you never heard of while you play pretend. You’re Penelope. Telemachus. Charybdis. He always gets to be Odysseus, who must be the hero. Then he wants to go hunting for bugs, so you dutifully lift rocks only for him to squeal when centipedes and beetles come creepy-crawling with all of their legs and pinchy parts. Then he tells you it’s your turn to pick something. You try to wrack your brain, but the only thing you can think to ask is if he knows how to ride on his own yet.

You smile when he says no.

“About time you learned, then.”

With a sweet chestnut Morgan who sometimes packs for you on hunting trips as a model, you take your time explaining how important it is to take proper care of your horse. How to brush with the grain of the hair. What every piece of tack does. You thought he might get bored, but the kid absorbs information like a sponge. He asks question after question, until finally he hits you with one you aren’t expecting.

“Why are you called Ghost? Aren’t ghosts scary?”

“What,” you say, “I ain’t scary enough for you?”

He suddenly looks nervous, so you smile and ruffle his hair.

“Relax, kid. I only scare bad guys and little shits who don’t mind their ma.”

“What’s a ‘little shit’?”

You raise a brow at him. “Take a guess.”

He laughs.

There’s just enough room at the edge of camp for you to work in, so under watchful eyes you let Jack lead the mare over. He’s terribly proud of himself.

“Ready to mount up?” you ask, then don’t give him a moment to think about it before lifting him up and into the saddle.

He stares at you with wide eyes, scared and excited all at once. You remember the feeling.

“Breathe, kid,” you remind him. “And get those feet in the stirrups. Sit deep. Shoulders tall.” You touch a hand to his stomach. “If you’re strong here, it’ll help you both balance. Less likely to fall.”

He nods, trying to do everything at once. He’s only halfway successful, but it will all come with practice. You lead the mare in between and around picketed horses, twisting and turning but keeping a steady pace. Every few strides you remind Jack to tilt his heels down, or square his shoulders. His little brow furrows with concentration.

You don’t even realize how much time has passed until the sun sits high in the afternoon sky, and Abigail returns with the girls and baskets and baskets of laundry.

“Reverend!” her shout rings through the clearing. “Where the hell is my son?”

“Over here, Mama!” Jack calls from atop his mount.

He’s graduated to guiding the mare in circles off the lead, but you’re still close by. She’s being a wonderful sport about it, eyes half closed while she putters about barely registering the butterfly kicks her young rider gives.

Abigail stops short when she sees you. Before she can say a word, Jack smiles and cheers for her attention to show off his new skills. He makes the mare turn left, then right, then beams over at the both of you.

“That’s,” Abigail starts, “Well, that’s real fine, Jack. Did you say ‘thank you’?”

“Thanks, Ghost!”

“Sure, kid. Any time.”

The emotion that shines in her eyes is hard to place, but it brings a fragile smile to your face that she mirrors.

You help Jack down and he runs up to hug her skirts, smelling of sweat and horses, you’re sure.

“Should Jack help cool her out?” Abigail asks.

You huff a laugh. The mare hasn’t broken a sweat. “I’ve got it. You two go on now.”

They turn to go, Jack racing off ahead, but Abigail stops and turns back. “Ghost?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” There’s so much packed into those two words, years of misunderstanding trying desperately to heal the pretty blue hurt in her eyes. The desert cracks in yours.

You tip your hat, nod in understanding, scared that if you try to speak no words will come.

—

John finds you later.

“Heard you an’ Jack had fun today.”

You cut your eyes at him but keep your head on straight at the shirt you’re mending. It’s a botch job, but at least the hole will be gone. “Sure. Good kid you got there.”

“Ain’t so sure he is mine.” His laugh is humorless. Caustic.

“Does it matter?”

He’s silent for a long moment before admitting on a sigh, “I don’t know anymore.”

You don’t either.

#john marston x reader #rdr2 x reader #rdr x reader #ghost story #fran writes #ch. 14

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