#hoh!steve

[devondespresso]

Mr. Crayola Henderson

T | 1791 words | ao3 link | cw: minor ableism from a side character, also they swear, I always forget f-bombs bother some people sorry guys | STWG Prompt: Telling a story to get out of trouble

EDIT: I NEARLY FORGOT thank you @pearynice my beloved for the brainstorming GENIUS and @hairstevington for the sensitivity read! You guys are awesome!! Also thank you @saradika-graphics for making free dividers!!

((little bit of context for extra clarity: this universe is vaguely canon divergent, post season 2. Steve is hoh (hard of hearing) and already adopted by the Hendersons, and in this one they're in the middle of a sort of family reunion/gathering))

Steve went to duck inside the house, holding the door open for Aunt Tracy on her way back out into the backyard where the majority of the gathering was taking place. She smiled and said something, probably just a thank you that he would’ve heard if the batteries in his hearing aids hadn’t died. He smiled back at her and gestured to his ear and she nodded again with a smile that did its best to not be patronizing.

She left and Steve went inside, sighing a little and tried to not hold it against her, the lack of filter seemed to run in the family, but it was moments like that that made him grateful his mom was the most laid-back of the Henderson women.

Steve went over to the media room and dug through the little bin of batteries under the phone, pulling out an opened pack that had just enough left. He took both aids off, changed the batteries, and put them back on to make sure they worked.

He heard a strong thud from his bedroom, followed by muttering.

Steve put the dead batteries down on top of the table and stared at his bedroom door. The muttering escalated to hushed bickering.

Steve walked closer to the door, hearing the bickering more clearly, then opened the door.

Dustin and their cousin Aiden both jumped and turned to look at the door, Dustin relaxing when he saw it was him. Steve paused for a second, looking at both of them crouched on the ground, bright pink paint on their hand and clothes and the carpet around them with no bottle in sight.

Steve leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at Dustin.

“We were just… snooping through your shit. ” Dustin said.

Steve glanced back down at the paint everywhere, and gave him a look.

Dustin just smiled like a little angel, which worked on mom and maybe Steve-from-two-years-ago, but not now.

“Oh no, you found my secret stash of… bubblegum pink paint.” he deadpanned.

“The cheap kiddy bubblegum pink paint.” Dustin corrected, looking down at the carpet. “It’ll wash out.”

“Of course.” He looked over to Aiden, who had relaxed significantly as he realized Steve wasn’t going to blow up on them. “And… why is there totally washable pink paint in my room specifically? Weren’t you guys sticking to dicking around outside to avoid doing stuff like this?”

Aiden opened his mouth to give a better excuse, but Dustin started tapping his shoulder excessively to get his attention.

“He’d help us.”

Steve raised his eyebrows, not arguing because odds were good he’d end up doing something, but he still played it up like he wasn’t already planning to.

Aiden was turned mostly towards Dustin and muttered something he couldn’t catch, throwing a glance at Steve.

“Trust me, this is like a walk in the park compared to–” Dustin said.

“Hardly a fair comparison, man.” Steve interrupted. 

“–compared to the other shit he’s helped me with.”

Aiden thought about it, then glanced towards Steve. “And he's not going to jump ship afterwards and get us in trouble?” 

“Of course not, right Steve?”

Steve looked at the two of them and ran a hand over his face.

“You know step one of not getting in trouble for stupid shit is not starting stupid shit, right?”

Aiden groaned but Dustin agreed immediately, “Yes, 100% understood.”

Dustin elbowed Aiden, and he nodded despite his clear annoyance. 

Dustin smiled and looked at Steve.

He rubbed his temple one last time before throwing his hand down.

“Okay. Step two then.”

Dustin jumped up and shot him a thanks before running around him towards the kitchen. Steve watched him go then turned back to Aiden who looked just as confused.

“What’s he doing?”

“I don't know.” Aiden lied, looking at him curiously, “What's step two?”

“Find me and let me finish the stupid shit.”

“Huh.” 

Dustin came running back with a slice of deli-meat in one hand.

“Dustin, this isn’t looking much better than last time.”

Dustin paused his mad dash for just a second to look at him.

“It’s significantly better, I swear.” he said, then ran to sit back down, dropping the slice of meat on the floor in front of him, and waited.

After a few seconds of nothing, a fuzzy little white face poked out from under his bed. Cautiously, a opossum with pink paint splashed on its back came waddling out. It sniffed at the food given to him, nibbled at it, then opened its mouth as wide as it could to awkwardly chomp at its new snack.

It was a wild animal, Dustin brought in a wild animal inside, during a family gathering with some of the most worry-wart mothers he’s ever met–

But god, the tiny opossum was really fucking cute.

Dustin beamed at the little guy like a proud mom, then up at Steve. Steve shook his head in disbelief and joined them carefully around the opossum. He picked up the deli meat and placing it on his hand to get the little guy used to it.

“You’re crazy, Henderson, you’re fucking crazy.” He grumbled, playing up annoyance to avoid losing his better judgment. 

Dustin said something probably cheeky as hell, but he didn’t catch it.

“One more time.” he said, looking away from the opossum for just a second.

“And what does that make you, Henderson?” Dustin smiled, definitely cheeky.

“Reluctantly, also fucking crazy.” he sighed, shaking his head before moving the deli meat further up his hand to lead little Mr. Opossum onto it.

He lifted Opossum gently, letting it have the rest of the deli meat so he could use two hands to hold it steady. He stood up slowly, and started walking towards the bathroom.

Dustin and Aiden went around him to get the door, lights, and sink ready– apparently, to continue where they left off. There were pink handprints around the edge of the sink and a bottle of dish soap sat next to the hand soap.

“Wow, I wonder what happened here.” Steve deadpanned. He looked over at the both of them, not a hint of guilt in their eyes. “And this is why there aren’t two Dustin Hendersons.” he bitched with no real anger, and set Mr. Opossum down gently in the sink.

 “You mean this is why there aren’t two Aiden Haults.” Aiden said, leaning over the sink.

“Nope, Dustin gets the credit for this one.”

Steve closed the drain to make a pool of water and Opossum gravitated to it immediately, taking a drink before waddling into the pool and almost rolling in the water to get his fur wet.

Steve tried and failed to bite back a smile.

“His name is Sir Crayolan.” Dustin said.

Steve had no choice but to bark out a laugh.

“Sir what?”

“Sir Crayolan.”

“Oh god, I heard you correctly.”

“It’s a great name!”

“You know Sir Crayolan isn't staying, right?”

“Yeah, we were gonna let him go after we washed him, we just–” 

Aiden muttered something and tugged on his sleeve, pointing out the bathroom doorway towards the back door.

Just out of the window, Aunt Tracy was caught in conversation with someone, looking like she was laughing, but clearly stopped just before she was going to come inside. Steve quickly rinsed some of the minimal paint on his fingers, careful not to scare Mr. Crayola or whatever.

“Does she know you’re in here?”

“No, we hid in your room–”

“Good, you guys wash him, carefully and quietly, I’ve got the rest.” He whispered, wiping his hands off on a towel.

“You’re the best, Steve.” Dustin said, giving him a quick side hug to avoid getting paint on him.

“Oh really? I’m gonna need that in writing.” He smiled and Dustin stuck out his tongue. Steve returned the gesture and slipped out of the bathroom, straight across the hall and into his bedroom.

He turned off the lights immediately to hide the pink mess on his floor and waited to hear the front door. 

He heard Aunt Tracy’s laughing rather than the actual door open, heard her wave off whoever it was she was talking to through the door. He took one hearing aid off before he walked out of his room, closing the door behind him. He made his way back to the abandoned dead batteries and put his aid back on, messing with it a little longer than strictly necessary.

“Oh, Steve, there you are. Everything okay?” she said, joining him by the tv room. 

“Yeah, just had to find batteries. What’s up?” 

“Oh yes, well– now, I know I could be overreacting, but I haven’t seen Aiden anywhere for– oh, for god knows how long–”

“He was with Dustin earlier–”

“I know, I know, but they were near those woods weren’t they? And you know there were those missing kids stories–”

“Trust me, I know.” he said, dropping the dead batteries into their battery jar. “I can help you search for them if you want, but I don’t think Dustin’s ever gotten lost. He carries around a compass like it's his wallet. Worst case scenario? They’re messing around in the woods somewhere a little too far away and they’ll come running back once they realize we started eating hotdogs without them.”

“God, you know Claudia said the same thing, I just worry…”

“Ron just lit the grill, right? Let’s give them twenty minutes,” he checked his watch, “Until five… five fifteen-ish. If nobody sees them, I’ll help you look.”

“Twenty minutes, alright, I’ll tell Claudia.” She said, and circled back to the door.

“I’ll join you guys in a second, I’m grabbing a coke.” he called, jutting a thumb back towards the kitchen.

She called something back with a wave and Steve just waved back until she disappeared out the door. He walked over to the kitchen and grabbed a cold can for himself and a diet pepsi for mom, then circled back to the bathroom.

He checked over his shoulder once real quick before tapping on the door and opening his coke.

Aiden answered the door, cracking it open just enough to stand in the doorway.

“You got all that, yeah?”

“Twenty minutes, we’ve been exploring in the woods.”

“Yup. Release your critter out the front door and circle around. I am not joining a search party for you guys today.”

Aiden nodded and gave him an overserious salute. Steve threw a more casual one back.

“Tell Mr. Crayola I said ‘bye’.” he said, then turned around to leave as Dustin came to the opossum’s defense. He hid his smile by taking a sip of his coke, and went back out the door.

(obligatory disclaimer uhhh dont pick up wild opossums please ok thanks guys love ya)

[sunshinesteviee]

omg hard of hearing steve in class but since he can’t hear he obviously has a hard time taking notes which leads to him failing some test. eddie notices and for the first time starts taking notes just to give them to steve at the end of the day so he won’t fail

obvs u don’t have to do this i just thought ur idea was really good!!

omg. SO i don't know that i would write a whole steddie fic (though i do love a good steddie fic hehe), but i do love this idea!!

eddie would notice (bc he notices everything) and would start taking notes, but he wasn't sure how to give them to steve because why on earth would the two of them interact?? why would eddie do something nice for steve harrington? so he finally decides to start putting the notes in steve's locker.

steve's confused about the folded up notes from history class about the previous day's topic that keep showing up, falling out of his locker when he opens it. he has no idea where they came from, or who's writing them. it's not handwriting that he recognizes. but he's not going to take it for granted, because he can never hear what's going on, and even if he did take notes, his handwriting is usually too messy to read anyway. he starts using the notes, and his grades get better. not great, but better than they were. he wants to thank this mystery person, but has no idea who it could possibly be.

until one day he stays after school later than he normally does for whatever reason, and sees eddie munson putting something into his locker...

[arelliann]

Them <3

[whathehonestfuk]

Steve absolutely refusing to wear his hearing aids, even Robin and Dustin have not managed to bully/guilt him into it so Eddie decides to try his hand

He demands in his dm voice for Steve to sit down, it should be loud enough and clear enough for Steve to hear but he pairs it with a asl down, Steve does listen but argues he's not a fucking dog up until Eddie straddles his lap and leans in getting super close to his ear brushing his hair out of the way before placing his hearing aid

Whether it's just the one or he repeats the process on the other side doesn't matter Eddie just pops out of his lap and taps his head with a simple good boy

[hawkinsbnbg]

Steve: Please come out! I just want to talk! I'm not here to hurt you!

Eddie, a vampire who's been living in Steve's closet for years: I'm gay!

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

eddie, about to make it big with Corroded Coffin, intercepts an email from one Robin Buckley, a sign language interpreter in training who insists there be an interpreter at their next show, one that her best friend in the whole world won tickets to and is bringing his little brother along since he's such a huge fan.

Steve's hoh already and his hearing's only getting worse. he'd never make a stink about it but Robin is, says even though cc isn't his cup of tea normally, that she wants him to feel included.

eddie agrees, but only if robin is the interpreter that night

color eddie surprised at how hot this steve is, the only guy at the barricade (maybe the only guy in the whole arena) that's wearing noise canceling headphones. those big chunky ones that they give out at the gun range, or that people who work with heavy equipment wear.

he finds himself drifting closer to where steve is smiling up at robin on the stage as she signs their lyrics, jumping with the music and air-guitaring like her life depends on it every time some of them has a solo.

Steve's head bobs along with what Eddie belatedly realizes must be the bass he can feel coming off the speakers, and every time he skirts by, Steve's attention is pulled away from his best friend and onto every part of eddie he can get his eyes on.

during the last song, when the spotlight follows him to the edge of the stage and illuminates the crowd in front of him, he can see the blush on Steve's face when eddie throws him a wink.

eddie makes sure steve and dustin are allowed backstage when the proverbial curtain falls.

[paceprompting]

a ballad in translation

written for ‘sing’ | wc: 1000 # | steddie | rated: t | cw: no archive warnings apply | tags: 90s era steddie, established relationship, singer eddie, deaf steve, domestic fluff

@steddieholidaydrabbles

Eddie didn’t get home until late.

It was his own fault. They actually finished recording early, and rest of the band headed out with their unusual gift of free time. But Eddie, since they’d paid for the time anyway, stayed behind to work out some of the kinks in a song he’d been working on in secret.

Melodies and lyrics were easy enough to do in his head and on paper, but when he pulled out his sweetheart, someone always wanted to listen. Steve, especially, liked to sit close to one of the speakers, and feel the vibrations along with the little bit of sound he could still hear. Liked to watch Eddie’s fingers dance across the strings and the frets.

The studio had been the best place to finally lay down what had only been in his head. Hear it out loud and figure out the parts that needed a better transition, or where he might fit in an echo of the main melody somewhere in the bridge.

By the time he finally finished, an hour past their original reservation, the song wasn’t done yet—but it was getting there.

Eddie flicked the lights twice as he walked into the kitchen, offering an apologetic smile when Steve turned from the sink.

Steve set his hands on his hips, frowning.

Eddie raised his hands to his chest, signing meekly, ‘Hey, Stevie.’

In response, Steve tapped his fingers on his sides.

‘I ordered Chinese. Extra spring rolls. Should be here in,’ Eddie checked his watch. ‘Ten minutes?’

Steve stepped forward, eyes narrowed as he considered Eddie’s bribery.

‘Recording go long?’

Eddie bit at his lower lip. Steve raised his brow.

‘Sort of?’ he answered. Steve cleared his throat, clearly wanting more details. Eddie flexed his fingers, and said, ‘I was working on something. Just me losing track of time.’

Something other than the kitchen lights sparkled in Steve’s eyes. For all that Steve had bemoaned Eddie’s taste in music—both listening and creating—he jumped at every opportunity to be the first to know about anything and everything Corroded Coffin put to track.

‘New song?’ he asked, a true smile forming on his lips.

Eddie rolled his eyes, knowing he was caught. ‘Yes, you dork.’

He’d somehow managed to keep it a secret from the man he lived with for about three months. Cat had to come out of the bag sometime.

‘Can I listen?’ Steve had crossed the room into Eddie’s space, his hands signing frantically.

Eddie danced away, playfully narrowing his eyes as he signed back, ‘Not finished yet.’

Steve reached out for him, curving an arm around Eddie’s waist and pulling him back against his chest. He swept Eddie’s hair out of the way and tucked his nose against Eddie’s throat, dragging up until his lips grazed the shell of his ear.

“Please, Eds?” Steve whispered.

Over the years, they fallen more and more into signing. At first, just so they could both learn ASL as quickly as possible by making it their primary form of conversation. The only times Steve did speak out loud was when Eddie walked off while in the middle of signing, forgetting that Steve had to see to understand him, and then Steve had to call out for Eddie to come back and repeat himself.

And, of course, when he really wanted to get his way.

Steve learned quickly, way back when, that Eddie’s weakness was the low timbre of Steve’s voice and his wide palms over the span of Eddie’s ribs. Even if Eddie wasn’t already up for most anything Steve could come up with, it wasn’t hard to convince him when Steve was involved.

Steve had…not taken it well when the doctors told him he was starting to lose his hearing. Between all the concussions and the still-unknown extent of the symptoms from dealing so closely with the Upside Down, the doctors had acted like Steve was getting off easy compared to the recovery from the demobat scars.

But when they’d finally started to think maybe the bullshit was over and done with—all those years from ‘83 into ‘87 had come back once again with a vengeance.

Most days were better now.

Steve still hated wearing the hearing aids. He also hated not wearing them, especially when everybody was over and he struggled to be part of the conversation, as much as Eddie could keep up with his signing. But not everyone had the everyday practice, as much as they all tried with ASL.

Although, they both enjoyed this particular activity that had come from Steve losing his hearing.

It wasn’t all gone. If Steve sat close enough to speakers with his hands and head pressed against them, he could heart the drums and the bass, and sometimes the vibrations of the vocals.

Steve could hear Eddie sing, if he laid his head against Eddie’s chest.

Eddie turned his head toward Steve, nodding.

They moved together into the living room, Steve only releasing his hold so that Eddie could sit first on the couch. He joined beside him, ducking under Eddie’s arm as he laid it across the back of the cushions and settled with one hand on Eddie’s thigh and his head laid near his collarbone.

He traced an ‘ok’ into Eddie’s leg when he was ready.

Eddie took a slow breath and began to sing.

It was more of a ballad than anything else he’d ever written. Not too slow, but focused on the guitar going along with the vocal melody, rather than a chaos of drums and quick series of chords.

He didn’t have all the words yet. Some completed lines about getting through by following these deep brown eyes through hell and back. What he didn’t have figured out, he hummed the melody for.

The entire song was in his deepest register and a low key.

So, even without his hearing aids, Steve would be able to hear or feel every word, every note.

After all, it was for him.

[dynamic-power]

Steve is mostly deaf by the time he is 20. One more concussion during the last stand against the upside down stole his sense from him.

It's a struggle. But his friends are amazing. Robin and Dustin and Eddie learn sign language with him, and eventually, all of the party knows enough that he never feels left out of conversations.

He can still hear some low sounds. Robin's voice is lost to him, but Eddie's is low enough that he can still hear the timbre of it. He can still hear music with low pitches, too; he develops a new appreciation for rock and metal music.

It gives Eddie an idea. One afternoon, he drags Steve to Gareth's garage, where he sets up Jeff's bass guitar and an amp. He shows Steve how to hold it, how to pluck at the strings, and how to play a basic scale. Half an hour later, Steve is laser focused, sitting on the amp and listening and feeling the low thrum of the guitar.

A week after that, Steve drags Eddie to Indy to buy one of his own.

He sets it up in his garage, and he and Eddie spend hours playing together. Eddie teaches him as much as he can, but there is a lot that Steve has to figure out for himself. He's never had a challenge quite like this one, and he finds himself loving it.

He finds himself loving his time with Eddie, too. Eddie is funny and awkward and talkative, even with his hands. He's passionate about music and is an eager and enthusiastic teacher. They add dinner nights to their routine afternoon jam sessions, and Steve discovers Eddie is also very physically affectionate when he doesn't have a guitar in his hands.

One evening, as they are reclining on Steve's couch with the radio turned up way too loud, Eddie starts to sing along with the song. Steve doesn't really think about it. He just leans over and presses his ear to Eddie's chest, listening to the low pitch of his voice. If Eddie thinks it's weird, he doesn't say anything. After a while, his arm wraps around Steve's shoulders and holds him close. The song changes, but Steve doesn't move, and Eddie doesn't stop humming along.

It's easy after that. Easy to exist in Eddie's personal space, easy to fall for his goofy smile, easy to realize his new favorite spot is sitting in his garage beside Eddie.

And when Eddie's hands are flying as he tells Steve about this new song he's writing, it's easy to lean over and kiss him.

[alltheseredroses]

Eepy guys

[estrellami-1]

Steddie Week 2024

July 6th Prompt: Dizzy

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 7

@steddie-week

Steve stands up, and that’s where it all goes wrong.

His intent was to grab more drinks from the fridge, but when he stood, he blinked a few times. “Whoa,” he murmurs.

“Steve?” Robin asks. She sounds like she’s at the end of a long tunnel.

“Steve?” Eddie asks. He sounds closer, but not as close as he should.

“‘M fine,” he says, “jus’ dizzy.”

Then he’s waking up in the hospital. “What,” he asks, then doesn’t complete the thought because Robin and Eddie are both standing over him, one on each side, holding each of his hands, and he’d feel so much love if he could feel anything besides general panic because- “I can’t hear you,” he says, breathing picking up. “I can’t- please, I- I need-”

Eddie shuts up, staring at him with wide eyes, and after a second of hesitation, places Steve’s hand, palm down, on his chest. He takes deep, purposeful breaths, and Steve can feel his hand moving, feel the breaths, feel his heartbeat-

He takes a breath. Another. Another. By that time, Nancy had gotten a doctor.

Later, he’ll learn this is something they’d been watching for, but couldn’t be sure of until he woke up. Later, he’ll learn that Eddie lays awake at night, sometimes, hearing the sound Robin makes.

All he knows right now is how to keep breathing, how to keep holding Robin’s hand, how to believe he’ll be okay, because he has to.

He has to.

He stays with Eddie upon his release, because they’re together most days anyways, and it’s a certain kind of torture on Steve’s heart because Eddie’s started carrying around a notebook and a pen just to write to Steve whatever he was gonna say, and Steve doesn’t think he could love another person more than he did, but here’s the proof, apparently.

They’re sharing a bed, because Wayne had previously called their couch “older than Jesus,” and Steve lasted for all of an hour on it before slipping into Eddie’s room.

The good thing about sharing a room is it helps curb the nightmares for a time.

Eventually, though, they come back with a vengeance.

Steve’s laying in bed, like he does every night, when he rolls over to face Eddie. “Eddie?” He asks. Eddie’s always last to sleep, so Steve’s not hesitant about asking, except Eddie doesn’t answer.

“Eddie?” He asks again, jostling Eddie’s shoulder a bit.

Suddenly he shoots up in the air, and Steve bites back a yell.

Suddenly there’s a voice that sounds like it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere, reverberating off the corners of the room, echoing louder and louder. You took everything from me. Eddie’s arms snap, and Steve yells, scrambles up, music, except what’s his favorite song—that puppet one, metal, come on brain, think—but there’s nothing here but country, bluegrass, stuff Wayne likes, and Steve turns to watch the blood drain from Eddie’s face as another gristly crunch echoes, louder than anything so far. So I’ll take everything from you!

Something reaches out for him, grabs his shoulder, and he yells, twists around, pushes away, hard enough he falls on the ground. He opens his eyes to see Eddie on his bed, Steve sitting just off it, eyes wide and hand reaching to help, stalled halfway. Illuminated by the lamp, too, which wasn’t on half a second ago.

Steve blinks at him, looks at the room. No floating Eddie in the middle of it.

“Dream?” He asks. Eddie nods. He stifles the sob and practically launches himself onto the bed, into Eddie’s arms, lets himself shake apart because he can.

Eventually he feels reverberating in Eddie’s chest that he knows means words, means speaking, so he looks up at Eddie, who’s looking at the door.

He turns to look, too, and sees Wayne. “S-sorry,” he tries, still sniffling.

Wayne shakes his head at him, walks into the room, sits on the edge of the bed. Offers his arms out in a hug.

Steve thought he was done crying. Trust Wayne to prove him wrong, because he’s tearing up all over again as he leans into Wayne.

His new position means he can see Eddie, who points at him, makes a talking motion with his hand, then points at himself and Wayne. Steve frowns. “You… want me to tell you?”

Eddie points at Steve again, insistently, and Steve understands: your choice.

“I can,” he agrees. “We were in bed and I was tryin’a talk to you, but you didn’t answer, and I kept trying to get your attention, but suddenly you- you were up in the air, and your arms and legs broke, and a voice—it was Vecna, I didn’t recognize it in the dream—said I’d taken everything from him so he was gonna take everything from me. And I was trying to find music, but I couldn’t remember the name of your favorite song, and the only stuff in here was Wayne’s stuff, country and bluegrass and stuff like that, and…” he sighs out a broken sob. “I couldn’t save you.”

Eddie reaches for his hand, but suddenly that’s not enough, he needs to be able to feel his heartbeat, have his breathing move Steve’s hand, so he tips over into Eddie again, gets his hand on his chest and his face in the side of his neck.

Eddie says something, but before Steve can move Wayne’s got a comforting hand on his back. He removes it after a minute, and Steve can feel the shift in the bed of him getting up, but before he can mourn the loss, Eddie’s got his arms wrapped around Steve as he carefully lowers them back down. He rubs a hand up and down Steve’s spine, slips the other into Steve’s hair.

Steve falls asleep like that.

He wakes up in almost the same position. He tries to apologize, but Eddie waves him off, hands him some clothes and points to the bathroom before pointing to himself and miming cooking.

Steve’s heart clenches at the thought. “Okay,” he whispers.

Robin comes over later, and they sit on the front steps as he recounts what had happened. “He’s just so sweet,” he sighs. “And I’m an idiot who’s letting my heart get involved.”

Robin wraps an arm around his shoulders and kisses his temple. It doesn’t help as much as he’d hoped it would, but he appreciates the gesture anyways.

Later she leaves, and Eddie pulls out his dedicated Steve Notebook.

I’ve got a friend in Indy who knows sign language. I could give her a call, if you want? He writes, and again Steve’s all but overcome with love for this man.

Instead of anything he wants to do, he just nods. Eddie grins and hops up to use the phone.

He’s back in a couple of minutes, collapses onto the couch with the notebook before furiously scribbling and handing it to Steve.

I spoke to my friend. She says sorry and it sucks, first of all. Steve snorts and nods. She’s willing to talk to you, get you started, maybe even get you some books. Does tomorrow work?

Steve gapes up at Eddie. “Tomorrow?”

Eddie nods and grins, then points at Steve in a gesture Steve knows has come to mean you decide.

“That would be great,” he says. “Seriously, I- thank you, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him off, but Steve can see the happy little blush on his cheeks.

They head out the next day. It’s probably twenty minutes into the drive, and even with Eddie sitting next to him in the driver’s seat, it feels lonely. He never realized how much he’d miss the sound of tires on asphalt. He wasn’t ever truly into music, like Eddie is, but he misses the radio. He misses the wind rushing past, the silence that’s possible to share when both people can hear-

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s pulled over, a hand on his cheek and a concerned expression on his face. “Sorry,” he tries. Eddie shakes his head, presses his palm more firmly to Steve’s cheek. “Fuck,” he mutters. “‘S stupid. Just… felt alone. I dunno. There’s, like, a million little things you hear every day that you don’t think about, like the way your hands tap the steering wheel when you turn, or the way your clothes shift and rub against each other, and it’s all silent now, and there’s not even music, and-” he takes a deep, shaky breath. Lets it out as evenly as he can. “I just… felt really alone all of a sudden.”

Eddie brushes his thumb along Steve’s cheekbone as he thinks. Suddenly, he grins and moves his hand, shoving a tape into the deck and cranking the sound. He demonstratively puts his hand on the door. Steve laughs and does the same, gasping when he feels the vibrations of the song move through him. He can’t tell notes, but it’s something, and then Eddie carefully reaches for his hand, keeps his grip relaxed until Steve smiles at him and tightens his own fingers around Eddie’s. “Thank you,” he whispers.

Eddie smiles, nods, and gets back on the road.

They arrive at his friend’s apartment in no time, and Steve would be jealous at the length of the hug if Eddie didn’t immediately step back to grab Steve’s hand again. Based on his hand motions, he’s introducing Steve.

She asks Eddie something, and he turns bright red, pulling a strand of hair across his face as he glances at Steve before looking back at her and answering.

She invites them in, scribbles on a little chalkboard, and hands it to Steve with a smile. Hi, Steve! My name is Nicole. It’s nice to meet you.

He grins up at her. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

She takes the chalkboard back, scribbles something else. Eddie tells me you recently lost your hearing. Do you mind me asking about that?

“Not at all,” Steve says, then frowns, somehow just now realizing he doesn’t know the full extent of what happened. “Honestly, all I know is I stood up and got really dizzy, and then I was waking up in the hospital.” He shrugs. “I’ve had a couple of pretty bad concussions, and I guess whatever made me pass out also just… took my hearing.” He shrugs.

Eddie shakes his head, grabs for the chalkboard. Almost. He bites his lip. You passed out, and I wasn’t fast enough. You hit your head on the floor. He looks away, takes a deep breath. I’m sorry.

“That is not your fault, Eds,” Steve tells him firmly. Eddie won’t look him in the eyes, so Steve grabs his chin. “Hey, look at me. Not your fault. I don’t blame you. Okay?”

Eddie shrugs, pointing to himself with a self-deprecating smile, and Steve knows what he’s trying to say. I do.

“Well I don’t,” Steve says. “But if- if you need to hear it. I forgive you, okay?”

Eddie nods, eyes big and wet, and Steve pulls him into a hug.

Eddie suddenly laughs, pulling away to wipe his eyes before saying something to Nicole.

Right. They’re not alone. “Sorry,” he tells her, but she waves him off, handing over the chalkboard again. I think we’ll start on the alphabet today. That way you can at least finger spell what you need, even if it’s slow.

“Sounds good,” he says, and she nods, talking the chalkboard to write the alphabet.

Slowly but surely, she teaches Steve and Eddie the alphabet. They get a little tripped up on some of the letters, most noticeably p and q, until Nicole takes pity on them and makes a p. She uses her other hand to draw a line down both her extended fingers, then tracing her own legs. She taps her thumb, peeking out between the two, and with a mischievous grin, points between Steve and Eddie’s legs.

They share a look and burst out laughing, but they don’t forget those letters again.

By the end of the day, they’ve gotten through the alphabet with enough regularity that Nicole feels they can practice on each other.

Steve pauses before they leave. T-h-a-n-k, then a pause, then y-o-u.

Nicole smiles, presses her fingertips to her lips, then brings her hand down to chest height, palm up. She does the motion again, and Steve copies her, grinning when she nods excitedly.

“Thank you,” he signs and says, grinning even wider when she pulls him into a quick hug before waving at him and Eddie.

They wave back and pile into the van, Steve’s hand in Eddie’s before Steve can practically blink. He smiles, unbearably fond, and squeezes to get his attention before signing, “Thank you.”

Eddie just smiles back, throws the van into reverse, and starts home. 

They practice more while they make dinner, throwing words like spatula and stir and chop around, and Steve didn’t realize learning could be this fun.

He’s watching Eddie stir the broth, hips moving in a little dance to a song only Eddie knows, and his heart is so full, he has to say something before his heart bursts. “I’m gonna say something that’s gonna sound incredibly sappy,” he says. “But just… please just listen until the end? And try not to tease me too much.”

Eddie just smiles, grabs his hand and squeezes, and Steve takes a breath before starting.

“I’m glad it’s you. I’m glad you were there that day, I’m glad you were there when I woke up at the hospital, I’m glad you were there when I realized going home meant being completely alone. I’m glad you made a complete fool of yourself in the hospital lobby, doing charades to let me know I could stay here.” He takes a breath. “I’m glad you have Nicole, because it lets me talk with you easier. I’m glad you never once let me feel like I’m alone, or like I’m going through this alone. I’m glad you’re learning with me. I’m glad you’re making this fun. I didn’t know learning could be fun, but it is with you, and I-” he takes a breath, swallows the three words that want to come out. “I’m glad it’s you,” Steve whispers, “here, at the end of all things.”

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Eddie’s hands are cradling his cheeks, wiping away tears. Eddie’s just as teary-eyed, though, and he pulls away, looking for the notebook. Please don’t punch me.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed, to watch Eddie spell something. I l-o-v-

That’s as far as he gets before Steve gasps, understanding, or hoping he understands, and pulls Eddie into a kiss.

He pulls back almost immediately to check that’s correct, that that is what Eddie was trying to say, when Eddie pulls him back in, dinner be damned, crowding him in against the counter and doing his best to lick into Steve’s mouth.

Steve lets him, pulling away for a sharp inhale before diving right back in, fingers tight in Eddie’s hair and the back of his shirt, and there’s a sudden vibration that he just knows means Eddie moans, and suddenly he’s dizzy again, but this time he welcomes it, because this time he’s not passing out; this time, he’s dizzy because he’s drunk on love.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Something something, modern AU, the guy sitting with his back to Eddie at the airport is chatting on his laptop with his speakers turned up to full volume and it's driving Eddie nuts.

Only when he finally snaps and stomps over to confront him, it turns out the guy is a) super cute and b) hard of hearing and now he's all flustered and apologetic because he didn't realize he was annoying the entire terminal with the stupid beeping sounds and Eddie feels like an asshole. Edit Jan 2024: Now with microfic!

[sunshinesteviee]

ooooh oooh ooooo for the HoH steve it makes TOTAL sense after all the shit he's been thrown around in the upside down and everything else. the rest of the gang tho!!!!! when they finally find out (because ofc he'd hide it for as long as he can) they just make sign language classes the designated after school club and steve just goes😳🥺😭🥰🫶with all the unbelievable love and support

YESSSS i definitely think that steve tells robin first (or maybe she points it out to him, and then goes with him to the doctor for moral support 🥺) and she immediately signs them both up for beginner asl classes. but YES when everyone else finds out they're all so lovely and supportive & immediately also want to learn how to sign too <3333

[steviewashere]

Okay, I'm getting on here to be a little bit pissy. I'm sorry in advance.

I am so in love with the headcanons regarding Steve's hearing, whether it be that he's hard of hearing, actively in the process of losing his hearing, deaf with a hearing aid, or just completely deaf—every version is fucking fantastic. I'm hard of hearing myself, it's fucking great that this representation is being written or drawn. I love it.

However, I'm going to hold your hand as I say this, stop using language such as "when he learns to lipread" or "eventually learns to lipread." Please stop.

He shouldn't have to learn to lip read. That shouldn't be an eventual skill he learns.

And, gonna give you a little bit of history here, it's historically ableist to require a deaf/hoh person to learn lip reading. From the late 1800s and into the late 1960s, there were literally programs across America that would force deaf children to write, speak, and lipread English—they were punished for signing to others in their schools, in public, in their dorms. And that didn't change until "Total Communication" was brought forth as a possibility, a philosophy that declared children would learn better using their preferred communication—whether it be oralism (the practice of writing, speaking, and lipreading) or via signing. However, oral schools that implemented total communication into their core programs had sign language that was structured with English grammar, this is commonly known as Exact Sign Language, or Exact English Sign Language. It's not American Sign Language.

Also, children who were approved for Coclear Implants in the early 1990s, were sent from residential deaf schools into day schools (public schools) that had a primary focus on oral teaching; pushed into day schools with little to no support, were discouraged from signing with even their parents. This was due to the fact that it was believed that signing at home would slow down their learning.

I am such a fan of deaf Steve or HoH Steve, but you have to be careful the language you're approaching his character with. If he has a sign language interpreter, then he most likely already knows sign language and will, also, most likely rely on an interpreter for communication with hearing people. If he is going deaf (maybe because of head trauma, maybe he gets into a traumatic accident, maybe he gets sick and just loses his hearing, maybe he listens to music too loudly and damages his ears that way), Steve will most likely already have the skills to write and speak in English, but lipreading is a skill that's difficult to garner.

I'll say, too, lipreading is fucking difficult because hearing people are so used to speaking (most of the time. I'm not talking about non-verbal hearing people in this conversation)—hearing people will typically talk fast, which makes lipreading muddy and indecipherable. I've been trying to learn this for years and I'm fucking over it, I can't do it. I speak and write, but I also use ASL, too.

Saying that Steve needs to lipread, that's ableist. Saying that he eventually or finally learns to lipread, that's ableist. Fuck it, I'm gonna say this, too—requiring or not giving Steve the option to decide whether or not he wants a hearing aid or implant device is also inherently ableist. Deaf people are (and should be) allowed to have a choice on having to hear. My own sibling made the decision recently to stop using the cochlear implant they've had their entire life because they weren't even given the choice to get one in the first place (and decided they were done with it), they hated the feedback the cochlear had, and it was just irritating in the sense that it would fall off, the volume control would change all on its own, and they just didn't like it. That's their choice. It's important to give a character that choice.

I let this get away from me, but I despise how people talk about his options for communication sometimes. It just rubs me the wrong way. And I think it's best we all reanalyze how we approach his characterization, especially how we can approach crafting the characterization without alienating a group of people.

*this post has been approved by my deaf sibling (who was born deaf), and obviously by me (somebody who can only hear out of one fucking ear. seriously be careful about volume control on your ear buds. and also wear ear plugs at shows. it hurts like hell to damage your ear drum.)

Here's a whole Wikipedia article about deaf education in the US (just in case you wanted another reason to hate America, but also if you're curious. definitely something everybody should learn).

[whathehonestfuk]

Rockstar! Eddie and transfem! Hoh! Stevie

Eddie being aggressively enthusiastically publicly in love with her because that's his fucking wife! (No matter if they can't get legally married because Stevie can't change her gender marker and gay marriage isn't legal yet)

Eddie getting worried for all of five minutes when the transphobia and abelism start rolling in but Stevie is a mean girl and a bitch at heart and puts it to good use

Robin being Stevie's go to asl interpreter who signs all the stupid shit people say so she can laugh at them with Stevie

Corroded coffin refusing to be interviewed or photographed ect by anyone who has been openly transphobic or abelism to anyone not just Stevie

Their poor pr manager whose trying to get them to tone it down a little bit to be more "mainstream and palatable to people" which only gets them to double down because fuck that

[unclewaynemunson]

After Vecna is defeated and the world goes back to normal for good, Steve thinks he can get on with his life. And for a while that's exactly what happens: his scars heal and, against everything he would have ever expected, Eddie heals right beside him.

But a year later, his life gets turned upside down in a whole new way. He gets one more hit to the head. It's a stupid accident, really, something involving a broken lightbulb, an old stepladder and an unfortunate fall. He loses pretty much all his sight. His once expressive brown eyes become hollow shells, one staring right ahead and one turned sideways, but both equally useless.

At first, the darkness is scary. It's frustrating, to be robbed of one of the few things he could always rely on. He has to get to know the world around him in a whole new way. There are days when he hates it, days when he wants to stay in bed in his room forever. There are days when he wants to scream, even days when he wants to cut his own eyes out like Victor Creel did before him.

But slowly, little by little, he learns to live with it. He grows a new appreciation for beautiful music and good food, things that stimulate his other senses that he now relies more heavily on. He develops a sharp ear for people's voices and intonations to make up for the loss of seeing their facial expressions. Where he used to love seeing Robin's bright eyes and Dustin's excited smile, he now treasures the sound of Dustin's laughter and the scent of Robin's cologne.

The one thing he will never stop missing, though, is Eddie's face. The way his eyes light up when he smiles. The way his mouth curves into that mischievous grin that Steve once fell in love with. The way his fluffy curls cascade over his back. Those are the things he misses the most.

There's a lot that makes up for that loss: he can cling to Eddie's arm whenever he wants, without having to worry about people taking their affectionate touches the wrong way. He gets to rely on Eddie's helping hand and to bask in Eddie's scent. And, most importantly: he gets to listen to Eddie's voice all the time, when he describes what's happening around them in lively phrases and with passion in his voice like the true storyteller he is.

“Do you know that there's one thing you're always leaving out when you're describing things to me?” Steve asks him one day, when he feels Eddie's hands move through the air around them during his excited monologue about the orange cat that is currently visiting their garden, chasing after butterflies and going after its own tail in the flowerbeds.

“Huh?” Eddie sounds confused.

“You're always leaving out the most important part,” Steve continues. He lifts his hand and slowly moves it to find Eddie's face. He feels his curls underneath his fingertips, then slides them further over Eddie's features.

“What do you mean, Stevie?”

“You never mention how you look. Only what you see. But if I could see, I'd be looking at you, Eddie. I'd watch your face. I can still remember that curve of your mouth, that crease between your eyebrows...” He lets his hand linger on the places he mentions. “But it's all becoming less clear. I'll never see it again. I don't wanna lose that.”

Steve feels his hand getting covered by another one, lets his fingers be guided across Eddie's cheek.

“You won't,” Eddie tells him softly. “There's no way I'll let you lose that.”

Steve can already feel the change in temperature underneath his fingers before Eddie speaks.

“I'm blushing right now, Stevie. Cause of what you said. And...” He guides Steve's hand further down over the uneven skin of his scarred cheek. “I'm smiling. Just a little bit. Not that wide smile I have when I'm messing with you, but the smaller one, the one that's just for you.”

Eddie squeezes his hand before he lets go. A moment later, his lips brush softly against Steve's, something that's not quite a kiss. Steve can feel that Eddie is about to pull back before it becomes anything more, but he presses back into Eddie's space, chases his warm lips with his own, and wraps his arms around Eddie's body to pull him closer.

Kissing is best without looking anyway.

[riality-check]

A continuation of this post. Part 3

ao3

As that long-haired guy walks away - his friend onstage called his name, but Steve didn’t catch it - Robin nudges Steve.

“Asshole roadies,” she says, sing-song.

“Get fucked,” Steve says with her.

It’s tradition, that little chant. Every gig, there’s always one venue where someone with far less experience says something. Steve knows he was blunt and probably shouldn’t have said anything with that tone, but after too many times, his patience is exhausted.

He can’t even blame the blunt thing on ASL. If anything, he’s meaner in English.

It makes sense. He knows English a lot better. He and Robin only started taking the ASL classes two years ago, when he really needed it. His left ear had been pretty much gone for a while (fuck you Billy Hargrove for putting ceramic in his scalp), but he sucked it up and started learning when his right ear started going, too.

Honestly, he has no idea what caused that.

Two years of ASL means he and Robin aren’t fluent yet. Not even close. But between that, his residual hearing, and the lip reading he’s relied on for longer, Steve does alright. If he wasn’t at a gig, he’d bring his hearing aids, but that’s a recipe for disaster and broken equipment.

Plus, he’s learned he can’t focus on his job when he hears as well as feels the music.

Robin taps his arm again. You good?

I’m good, he signs back.

They finish setting up before they grab a snack. The venue is pretty tiny, a standing room only place that serves pizza and a few drinks, and that’s it.

The pizza is really good though.

They finish up their slices before they go back to the booth. Robin is particular about not eating around the equipment, and Steve has long given up on fighting her.

Their jobs are pretty easy, in all honesty. The light cues are pre-written, and sound check was an hour ago. All Steve needs to do is hit the cues, and all Robin needs to do is adjust mic levels and turn them on and off as needed.

This leaves plenty of room for a healthy amount of fucking around.

As Robin, always on his right side, starts telling him a story about her friend’s ex’s (who is also her friend, because lesbians are just like that) latest date, Steve watches the crowd file in and nods along.

His mind, however, goes back to that guy. Someone always says something, and it’s always someone new to touring. Steve can just tell. All the rookies do the same thing; they look at the stage with wonder in their eyes. This guy was no different. Just some rookie giving Steve a problem, like always.

Except that this guy was different.

Rookies tended to want to prove themselves. They wanted to show off their fancy knowledge and make it clear that they belonged there along with everyone else who had a career. They wanted to catch Steve off guard, make him thank them for helping him out.

This guy didn’t do that. He was nosy and pushy and pretty and rambled a lot, but he wasn’t trying to be a dick. He was trying to look out for Steve, even if it was none of his business, even if he didn’t know him.

He ended up being a bit dickish, but he wasn’t trying to be. If Steve were a nicer person, he’d think that might count for something.

Steve is trying to be a nicer person, with emphasis on trying.

His watch vibrates, jolting him back to the moment. He lowers the lights, cueing the openers to go on.

The set list, along with Steve’s cues, is in in a binder between him and Robin, lit by a book light with a battery that’ll die at least twice, with their luck.

The first opener is a band Steve has never heard of called “Corroded Coffin.” If they’re any good, he might listen to their music.

Big emphasis on might because he’s not a big fan of metal. Punk has better bass lines, one that Steve likes to feel in his chest.

He hits the cue when they start their opening song, lighting them in reds and purples and-

Oh. Shit.

That guy wasn’t a roadie. He’s part of the opening band. He’s a guitarist.

A really good guitarist.

A really hot guitarist.

Steve is so caught up in stating that he nearly misses the next cue. He doesn’t, though. He’s a professional.

Robin elbows him, and he turns to see her signing. For one hopeful moment, he thinks she’s signing “hungry” and will offer to get them both more of that really good pizza like the wonderful friend she is.

But then she repeats the sign, again and again, and Steve smacks her before hitting the next cue.

“I am not horny!” he whispers, clearly loud enough for Robin to hear through her earplugs because she laughs.

You think he’s hot, she signs.

Steve rolls his eyes.

I’m right! she teases.

Steve faces away from her for the two seconds it takes for her to tug him back.

“Not fair,” she says, and Steve only gets it because it’s light enough to read her lips.

The band has gone through two songs, and the lead singer, a tall Black guy, is saying something to the crowd. Steve hears it just fine with all the mics, but understanding is too much of a struggle to bother.

He doesn’t really care anyway. He likes feeling the music and hearing it with what he has left (his audiologist said it won’t accelerate his hearing loss, so any hearing protection is a waste of money), not listening to whatever the bands have to talk about.

Anything important? he asks Robin.

She shakes her head.

Steve turns back to the stage in time to hit the next cue, casting the band in blue as the guitarist starts playing a really low intro.

Did you hear his name earlier? Steve asks.

Robin says something, but it gets lost in the music and the dim light.

“Hettie?” Steve asks aloud.

Robin shakes her head. Sorry.

She finger spells, messing up once and throwing it out with a wave of her hands.

“Eddie?”

She nods.

Steve hits the next cue and uses the rest of the time to appreciate the view. Eddie really is hot, in his dark jeans and tattered tank top, grin on his face and quick-moving fingers. And Steve has never had a chance to talk to the talent, even if they’re nosy.

But Eddie was nosy because he was worried. It would almost be sweet if it wasn’t so condescending.

He didn’t mean for it to be, the terrible little rational part of Steve’s brain pipes up. And he apologized. Multiple times.

The bigger part of his brain reminds him that it doesn’t matter what Eddie meant it as. Steve effectively tanked any hope when he snapped at him before the show.

Oh God.

He has to do a whole tour with this guy. Who he was a total dick to.

Yikes. At least he has Robin, who is-

Currently staring at him and signing “horny.”

Steve smacks her again, which she laughs at and returns instantly before they focus back on their jobs. They’re professionals, goddammit.

Professionals who are already on less than stellar terms with one of the openers.

He’s so not looking forward to the next few weeks.

Tag list (this is not a regular thing for me but it was manageable this time!): @just-a-tiny-void @weirdandabsurd42 @satan-is-obsessed @honeysucklesinger @coyotepup345 @gayafmermaid @thegingerrapunzel