#and she's deaf

[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.

[feelingemotjons]

Viv is one of those women who say "girls support girls" and yet she'd still make fun of a fat girl or a disabled girl because they don't fit her Lana del ray coquette aesthetic

[no1pornstachefan]

Wade and logan 100% share a bed and keep Al up all night with their fucking fighting

[ubercharge]

Is gator gals tail sensitive?? It looks so pillow worthy...

what if tail pillow ... 😳 apparently crocodilians, despite having thick skin and scales, are pretty sensitive to touch! i won't go into detail, but look it up if you're interested. to tie into that, a gator-human hybrid would be more sensitive than a human being. mostly to pressure on the scale areas (scales being like armour, so it wouldn't feel like having your skin touched) and sensitive elsewhere but especially the face (and underside of tail)

tl;dr if you grabbed her tail she would squirm

[judesstfrancis]

makes me crazy when queer people specifically think the shape of water was too weird of a film. like that's you, actually. both historically and explicitly. that is supposed to be you. historically, queer people have only been able to be portrayed in film as villains or monsters. the dracula the swamp monster the fish man that is YOU. explicitly in the movie the fish man is a stand in for people who are Other. that's why the first woman to care for him is a mute woman who has been ostracized by everyone EXCEPT FOR other people who have been othered in society mainly octavia spencer and her gay roommate whose names I forget currently. and that's why the minority characters in that film are trying to help elisa and the fishman escape the government and live happily ever after. bc they are the same. he is them. tell me u get that

[immortal-cataclysm]

pizza time with the fam yay 🙏

[some-pers0n]

I might be poking at a bear here but I kinda really dislike the "all or nothing" attitude the WoF fandom has. This character is evil the worst piece of garbage imaginable or is secretly a great character and you're just a fool for thinking otherwise. It's ridiculous at times

Like I recall the stuff with Secretkeeper a while back. Now, call me crazy, but I don't think she's some horrifically abusive and neglectful parent. She did the best that she could. Was it great? No, but she was trying to keep her daughter safe in a hostile world that she was terrified would reject or, worse, hunt her. Her leaving Moon alone for days was bad, yes, but she wanted to keep Moon free from the horrors of the volcano. She loved Moon and clearly took care of her a lot. You can't just look at a character and paint them as being a "horrible abusive POS" for something that, let's be real here, is much more forgivable and understandable than anything Coral, Scarlet, Diamond, Cobra, Jerboa, or Kestrel did

[saturnvs]

tried out my new watercolors! i had to paint the 30 year old horse i saw at the stable where i have my therapy, she was so sweet (and ancient looking)

[deafsignifcantother]

Stardom

♥ prompt: them sneaking into your bedroom window to see you - @urfriendlywriter

♥ summary: alastor's childhood best friend is a movie star and they have a bond between emotionally distant ppl awww so cute (she is trying her hardest to express affection but is internally screaming at her fruitless attempts and he thinks it's funny). wrote this as a warmup for an assignment

♥ relationship: alastor x feminine deaf reader

♥ word count: 2.8k

♥ notes: reader's mother is a prominent character and she's a kind person, alastor's mom is prominent too, scenes from childhood -> teen -> adult, alastor is just a romantic man, stone-faced reader

One day, there was a knock at his front door. His mother opened it after drying her hands, stepping away from the kitchen. Behind the door was another mother and child at the door. Alastor peeked from behind his mother, seeing you with your head down. He immediately recognized you when his mom took him to the theatre. You were nothing like you were on the screen. Your timid posture caught him off guard immediately, as did the blank expression on your face. Your mom was there to apologize for your manners after you had continuously thrown your unwanted toys into their yard.

Alastor watched from his window every time you did, analyzing the look of frustration you had. He would smile to himself; his dimples presented themselves to no one but his reflection until, one day, you looked up at him. Your expressions were dazzling to him, though you are the same age, you know more about presentation and physical articulation than he ever could.

You hit the big screen in his teenage years. It was like you were born to be a scene's star. But his fascination with you genuinely deepened when he saw you off-screen with your resting, blank expression. 

.

Flash. Flash flash.

The light drowns you. You cover your eyes with your hands, shielding yourself from the bright glow from your window. The lamps in your room are switched off—of course they are—and you have been trying your hardest to sleep. Tossing and turning is the worst part of stressful nights. 

Behind the beaming light, you see a pair of pearly whites. Alastor watches the smile grow on your face. 'Smile,' that's how he likes to describe it. It's more of a smirk, one that twitches whenever you try and hide it. If he wasn't so close to you, he'd think you were plotting against him, which makes his heart even more drawn to that smile of yours. His closed-off, stubborn demeanor threatens to crack, though he's waiting to see if you'll initiate a peril to the friendship: companionship. His internal struggle, torn between his defensive nature and growing affection for you, is a constant battle. 

"Alastor," you breathe out before opening the window and sliding it up. The night wind shakes his hair, and his button-up is buttoned to the collar. He throws the flashlight aimlessly and it lands on the bed. Once he fully steps into your room, he unbuttons the top and rolls up his sleeves while you close the window behind him. He flicks the lamp on.

"It's midnight," you sign while his eyes lock on your hands. 

"And I wanted to see you. Were you sleeping?"

"No."

"I thought so."

You let out a laugh through your nose. 

Not even an hour pasts before Alastor sits cross-legged on the floor, his gaze fixed on the walls. Beside him, you hold a handful of playing cards, staring intensely at them to see your next move. He has already put his card down. 

"When do you leave?" He signs, gaining your attention. "In the morning or afternoon?"

You sigh, your expression changing, your hands dropping the cards. "Don't think about that right now."

"I will. You know you don't have to go."

"This movie is my chance. My chance to do something extraordinary, something that could change everything."

He just nods. "I understand. And I'm happy for you." The quietness of the room starts to bother him. The only sound is the slight hum of the lamp. Each moment stretched like an eternity as they played cards.

Finally, you reach out, your hand finding his. "I'll come back if living in a damn movie trailer is that bad." You sign, the smallest smile on your face.

"Stardom." He signs.

"Win some, lose some." You chuckle, the sound a bittersweet melody in the stillness of the night. "Beats the weather here."

His smile forms into a lopsided, childish grin. Louisiana summers are the worst, both for the weather and how during that time, your mother would whisk you away to introduce you to filmmakers. Alastor would look out the window at the empty house. Even as a teenager, he imagined you'd return to whisk your childhood toys into his yard. 

More hours pass, after he wins the game (as usual), the weight of goodbye hangs heavy in the air; you find solace in knowing that your absence won't be forever, however long it may seem. You both sit on your bed and read in perfect silence. Your eyes constantly flicker at him, the curve of his nose and the sharpness of his jaw. He's attractive; it almost draws you in.

Before he leaves, you finally go through your closet and throw him a shirt he left behind the last time he was in your room. He doesn't catch it immediately, and it hits his chest; he hugs it.

You lift your chin. "I'm giving it back before it becomes mine."

"Oh, no worries there." His eyes sparkle when he notices the combining smell of yours and his. When you turn to face the closet again, he holds it up to his face and inhales an extended dose. His eyelids droop, his grip tightens. What a lovely scent. He even lets out an audible growl while eyeing the back of your head. When you face him again, you find his eyes locked on yours.

His aura looms within the confines of your bedroom. His eyes are round and youthful, and his forming smile lines are even more visible in the yellow-toned lighting.

"The days are coming to an end." He signs. Your lips tighten, a juxtaposition to his. Beneath your calm exterior lay an intensely beating heart and a distant mind. One person had managed to pierce the armor around your nature.

Alastor, stop thinking about that damn movie.

But the movie is always on his mind. The weight of impending farewells feels like thorns. You're going to disappear from the neighborhood, while your face and your body will be on his mother's tiny television; Alastor knows he won't be able to see the light in your eyes or the individual hair on your brows like he can when he stands close to you. 

When dawn paints the sky in hues of pink and gold, casting long shadows across the room, Alastor stares outside, opening the window, his brown eyes reflecting the colors. 

"Don't fall," you sign while helping him swing his feet past the window seal.

"Will you stay if I do?"

"I don't know, but if you injure yourself my mom will definitely think I did it."

Alastor tilts his head with a twisted grin, which forms into a smile as you squint at him. He slides a bit forward, his thighs off of the ledge, watching your expression. His feet dangle dangerously before his fingers close around the wooden seal. He slides back towards you, lifting a hand to sign. "Just kidding."

With your voice, you jeer sarcastically, "Ha-ha-ha."

After he safely drops next to the tree he used to climb up, his head started spinning, he carries with him the memory of your voice; he had never heard it before.

.

Gosh, did you make it big. Every time Alastor walks to school, he can see your face plastered on the front cover of newspapers. He tosses a nickel at the storesmen, buying a copy each week.

You never ended up coming home, staying in the city to live out your ever-blooming career. But thankfully, your mother adored Alastor and was appreciative that you had such a close friend. Every time you moved locations, she let Alastor know. Both your and and his mother dreaded the idea of you two losing contact.

His mother teases him about you all the time. 

"She's so pretty." "How could you not tell she liked you?" "So, how's that little charmer?" "Maybe you should be in movies, too." "How about you send her some fan mail?"

By his mother's advice, he started writing you letters.

Your mother hands you them whenever she finds them in the P.O. box. With how hot Houston has gotten, the letters are warm once you get them. The stamps were 32 USA, the same image of a timey radio. He definitely has a doctor's handwriting. You've kept each letter in a drawer under your bed, ensuring their safety.

.

Cameras stand poised, ready to capture the magic of the scene about to unfold. Among the hustle and bustle of crew members and actors, you are the one that stands out the most with your fake, radiant smile and the judgment in your eyes.

As the director calls for action, you step into the scene, slipping effortlessly into your role. You immerse yourself in the story. In these silent movies, you have your own unique shine.

Meanwhile, Alastor paces nervously in his hotel room, constantly cleaning his glasses—a nervous habit—and smoothing his hair behind his ears. He has been counting down the days until he can surprise you, a result of teamwork between his mom and yours. With a bouquet of flowers and an old (and very tacky) friendship bracelet, he makes his way to the movie set.

The director waves his hands to signal a cut. All he gives you is a thumbs up. He doesn't know anything else. You breathe, your face falling into its usual, aggressively neutral look. 

With his voice, the director announces to the rest of the crew the schedule for the rest of the day and the time: noon, which means the beginning of the lunch break. All you can do is stand impatiently waiting for a signal of dismissal. The dress you have on is holding your diaphragm tightly, and your headpiece is pinched too close to your skin. This movie is testing your limits.

One motivator that keeps you staying in these uncomfortable positions is representation. You're blessed to be able to be both loved and openly deaf; in this era, others are not as fortunate. In your imagination, one day, you can stand beside Charlie Chaplin and Granville Redmond.

Gosh, what a dream.

As Alastor arrived, he marveled at the grandeur of the production—its sheer magnitude was enough to amaze him. Alone, he navigated through the maze of trailers and equipment until he found himself standing at the edge of the set, watching you and keeping an eye on your crossed arms and hard stare. 

"Cher..." he whispered to himself. And at this moment, he knew he had to see you, see you close, and tell you just how proud he was. Seeing you within a fantasy realm while maintaining your usual glare is beautiful. Your costume makes you look like a princess, but your face makes you look like a queen.

Alastor waited for the perfect moment to make his entrance, ha. And as the director called for the break, he seized his chance.

Once you turn to leave, your eyes widen in surprise, and you see Alastor standing before you, a smile lighting up his face.

"Alastor!" Your hands sign his name quickly. With the grace born of pure joy, you take a step closer, testing the boundaries of contact. You haven't initiated touch with someone in a very long time. Your eyes are locked on the flowers in his hand. He holds them out, and with elegance, you take them. 

"I had to see you," Alastor signs with his now free hands, his face filled with admiration. "I couldn't bear to be away from you any longer."

You gaze up at him through your eyelashes, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion coursing through your veins. You can almost kiss him. "Thank you." After signing, your fingers touch the petals of the bouquet. "What a lovely surprise! What's the occasion for the flowers?"

His thoughts of you are more than just friendly, but for now, he is content to bask in the warmth of your presence. His eyebrow twitches. What's the occasion? You always say the strangest things.

"Just wanted to brighten your day," he replies, his eyes dropping to the flowers. Their vibrant colors perfectly match the costume. 

"They're beautiful, Alastor. Thank you."

You walk towards the door he entered through, and he follows you, letting you lead the way. 

Your cozy trailer now smells of fresh blooms. 

A familiar, harsh glow of fluorescent lights casts shadows across the room, painting your temporary home in hues of yellow and gold. You sit perched on the sofa's edge, fingers tracing delicate patterns on the fabric, your heart fluttering like a caged bird.

Beside you, Alastor sits with an air of casualness that disguised the storm of emotions within him. There's a newfound curiosity; perhaps his mother's words are getting to him. His feelings are uninvited, unintentional, and unwelcomed. His gaze lingers on you, drinking how your eyes sparkle in the dim light, the curve of your fingers soft and inviting. The minutes last for eternities as you sit quietly. There is a faint sound of the people walking outside, and for Alastor, it heightens the tension of you two being alone together.

You have nothing to say. If you even look at him, you worry that your face will flush. His words, I couldn't bear to be away from you any longer, repeat in your mind's eye. His signing is always so delicate, so beautiful. Oh, how you've missed him. You didn't even realize how much you cherished him.

Finally, unable to bear the weight of the silence any longer, he puts a hand on your knee and keeps it there while his other signs. "Your thoughts are loud."

Are they?

You turn to him, your eyes searching his for any hint of truth. "You've caught me off guard," you admit, hesitant to show what you'd consider vulnerability, something you refuse to display. He instantly notices how different your demeanor is from what he knew.

Your gazes lock, the air crackling with electricity as you dance around the ridge of something unspoken, plain, and nowhere near sudden.

With a tentative hand, you grab his wrist and remove his hand from you. You don't let him go. The air seems still. And then, in the space between heartbeats, you bring his hand up to your lips and place a small kiss along his knuckle. The world around him fades into insignificance, and he loses himself. His mother is going to think she's psychic.

You release his hand, noticing the friendship bracelet you had made all the years ago, and it takes him a second before he returns it to his lap.

You sign. "I greatly appreciate this... and you."

Is there a but?

There's a significant pause before your next sentence as if you're going through all his possible responses. "I've missed you dearly."

He smiles. "I'm glad."

The look on your face reads as if you're confessing a secret. All you can do is nod and stand, adjusting your costume. "Good, so how long are you staying?"

.

You found yourself embarrassed at how you acted when he had come to visit. You were closed off in a way you promised you'd never be to him, you know it's due to the months spent away from him (and with annoying strangers). You embark on a mission to express your affection in the most simple, traditional way. On the nights you can't sleep, you spend hours crafting a heartfelt letter, each word carefully chosen. You don't want your intentions to be obvious, but you also want him to be able to infer what you're spelling out.

The summer heat gives you a headache as much as your mother's cocky smirk does when you hand her the letter. You roll your eyes, "Just send this to him."

She looks over the envelope, signing with one hand. "A love letter, huh?"

"Maybe."

She lifts her chin and shakes her shoulders.

His mother opens all of his mail except for the ones you send. Days after your mother sends it, his opens her mailbox and immediately she recognizes your handwriting and the regular postal stamps you use.

When she tosses it on the table in front of Alastor, a bright smile lights up on his face. He opens it carefully to keep your current address intact and his mother watches with a calm smile. His expression softens as he reads the words penned with care, soft poetry that only an artist can write. 

"Is it what I think it is?" His mother asks. 

"Mother." He grits his teeth, and she giggles, giving him mercy for his attitude, but only this once. She's happy to have won in the continuous teasing.

.

Amidst the falling leaves and the whisper of the autumn breeze, when his response letter gets handed to you, you open it as soon as you can. Your forbearing attitude remains intact but your breathing noticeably quickens with the silent symphony of love. It's as enduring as the changing seasons. Fall has begun; you're going to see him again.

With a strange affection, you hold the letter to your chest. You note his last line: "I'll see you soon, my love."

[3dsben]

Layton23

[artharakka]

"I didn't think anyone would come for me."

"I was always coming for you. Only for you."

[icarusredwings]

An average night with Wade Wilson is catching him awake at 2 in the morning making pudding while he vigorously mixes brownie batter.

"What are you doing? It's 2 in the morning!"

"Making pudding."

"Why?"

"Because I lost control of my life and they yell when I sleep"

"Who the fuck is they??"

"I cant tell you. Theyll get you."

"Whos gonna get me?"

"You don't wanna know!!"

and then the same man up at 6 am screaming Will Wood word for word at the top of his lungs while fully suited up and burning your eggs.

"🎶Take my tea with formaldehyde for my feminine side since the day that I died. While I whittle my bones until I'm brittle- Am I pretty now?

For some reason, I find myself lost in what you think of me and too confused to choose who I should be and now you've got me thinking-

I wish I could be a girl! And that way you'd wish I could be your girlfriend! Boyfriend, am I pretty enough to lie to?🎶"

[myokk]

1930s AU continued💓💓

[princessstevemunson]

All this talk about shovel talks and nothing about Claudia Henderson. Like where’s her giving steddie shovel talks?

Claudia is eternally grateful to Eddie for saving her Dusty’s life, but she sees the pain her boys were both in after his sacrifice. She hears the screams at night from Dustin’s room. She watches as he either radios whoever was sitting with Eddie—usually Steve—or calls if the person doesn’t have a radio. Always asking for updates in the morning. Making sure the other boy is still there. Still alive.

Steve on the other hand is hiding his pain as he always does. She still sees Steve sitting vigil at the young man’s bed when she comes to bring real food and good coffee to Steve, Wanye and occasionally Dustin’s middle school science teacher Mr. Clarke. She sees the way Steve took extra care washing the other’s vest. All under a guise of being a good friend and not wanting Eddie to wake up alone.

When Eddie starts tagging along with Steve to their dinners occasionally she slowly watches as the two go from friends to pining to something else entirely. It’s when she’s certain that Eddie and Steve have become EddieandSteve that she starts doing it.

She would never give a shovel talk to Eddie. Steve’s a grown man, and can protect his own heart, but she’s already seen the pain Eddie had unwilling caused him. She’s seen the way Steve held the metalhead’s vest as it was his anchor to this world. She knew Eddie would never cause him pain like that again, but that doesn’t mean she can’t have a little fun scaring Eddie.

It starts innocently enough, she’s just sharing fun facts.

“Did you know,” she says to Eddie while Steve and Dustin are clearing the table, “that pigs can eat a human body. It can take some time, but sixteen pigs can do it in about eight minutes actually.”

She hides her smile as the younger squirms uncomfortably and replies “um, no I didn’t know that.”

She didn’t think anyone else but Eddie heard her, but she was wrong. Dustin says something about remembering going to Claudia’s cousin’s farm shortly after his dad left them, and thinking it had pigs. She had an even harder hiding her smile after Eddie went as white as a ghost with that information.

She continues to give Eddie little fun facts like that, and one time confirming that Eddie is in fact allergic to cinnamon, because she’d hate to forget that when baking him something.

She’d never ever be the cause of Dustin and Steve’s pain, or give her new found friends Wayne and Scott the panic she had in spring break not knowing where her Dusty was, but she does like seeing Eddie squirm on occasion.

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

I'M DEAF

[pimsri]

This is Havi and she is not very smart