deafsignifcantother - Tumblr blog

deafsignifcantother · 9 days

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reading this in my deaf little asl way as usual i can imagine instead of husk saying something that angel was just sign hussling at one point tbh LMFAO

imagine alastor and you thinking ur the only ones in the hotel who know sign while the entire time angel, as mafia use sign often historically shoutout, just sign hussles and tries not to make it obvious when he fights the urge to gag at the pure affection

K hear me out, a wife! Reader x Alastor and Charlie finds out they had a kid when they were alive. (I don’t mind what the kids name is but make them young and passed due to Spanish flu, dark I know)

omg this has been sitting in my drafts so long, i love requests like this </3 im sorry if it seems rushed, i really wanted to finish it!

Mourning Dove

Alastor x Reader (angst, slight comfort at end) TW: CHILD DEATH, child sickness, reader referred to as a woman but doesnt effect story too much join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

You sat yourself unceremoniously at the bar in the hotel lobby, shoulders slouched and cheek squished against the cold countertop. You weren’t one for alcohol, but you didn’t mind the company of Husk. He didn’t say much unless prompted, but that didn’t bother you. It was nice, honestly, after a day of dealing with the others.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Okay. Nevermind about him not saying much.

“Hmm?” You responded, barely peeking up from your finger that dragged patterns in the surface you laid against. “I’m good.”

“You don’t look it,” Husk observed, and you knew he was referring to the discoloration of your eyes and the residual dampness of your cheeks from crying. Your hair was a mess, too. Yeah, you looked like shit. “Tough day?”

“I guess, yeah,” You sighed, pushing yourself up and leaning back in a stretch while your fingers gripped the countertop to steady yourself. “Just thinking about… Y’know.”

He didn’t pry, and you were thankful for that. Husk did know a little, actually, and knew better than to push for more details. After being stuck with Alastor for so long, with the guy owning his soul and all, he inevitably learned some deep shit about him and, by extension, you. He just grunted in response and went back to spot cleaning his bottles of booze.

“(Y/N)!” A chipper voice called your name, and you squeezed your eyes shut in frustration. You thought you were done with all of this for the day, and you were so ready to just go to sleep. “I wanted everybody to join me for dinner today! We have a few new residents, so I want everybody to meet each other.”

You squeezed your lips to prevent a harsh word from responding to Charlie’s invitation. You were so tired. You feigned a weak smile and looked at her. You wanted to say no, to say you needed to sleep, but those huge, pleading eyes of hers caught the rejection in your throat. You tried to reason with yourself that Charlie doesn’t host stuff like this very often. It would just be one night. You’ll survive.

“Okay.”

She clasped her hands together and jumped on the balls of her feet, thanked you, and took off to find the next resident to invite. You held your head against your hand and you sighed dramatically. Husk looked at you from the corner of his eye, but opted to remain silent. You stood up after a few more minutes of quiet sulking, deciding you should fix yourself up for dinner.

In your room, you gently fixed your hair and threw on a casual outfit. Nothing super nice, just in case food started flying–knowing the antics of some of the hotel residents, it wouldn’t be a surprise.

You slowly made your way to the banquet room, which Charlie had installed for events like today. You could already hear the low murmur of small talk, and you were surprised to see a few new faces. Not a whole lot, just about five, alongside the familiar faces of your friends. Charlie’s hotel was, slowly but surely, becoming more successful.

You spotted Alastor quickly–he was hard to miss due to his height. You settled yourself in a chair next to him at a long table that Charlie had dragged into the room for everybody to sit at. You felt your skin prickle with the familiar sensation of static, which increased slightly as his attention turned towards you. He gave you a grin before focusing his eyes on the racket that was already picking up. You watched his smile curl, a bit sinister, as the sound of shouting caught your attention.

“-my fuckin’ business!” You picked up the tail end of Angel Dust fuming at Vaggie, one pair of arms crossed under his chest. He had a third hand on his hip, with his fourth hand jabbing an accusatory point at the woman in front of him.

“Guys, please!” Charlie pleaded, pressing her shoulder against Vaggie’s in an attempt to move her away from Angel. “I don’t want to scare my new guests away!”

“Tell this bitch to keep her nose outta my shit! I can’t have my fuckin’ life on the line because she doesn’t like my job!” Angel spat. There was a dangerous, maybe even frantic, look in his eyes. Before Charlie could say anything, Angel had spun around and stormed to the table. He ripped the chair out and slammed his body down. All four of his arms were crossed now as he glowered at the wooden tabletop.

You sighed, and felt a headache already forming.

Angel’s spirits quickly changed when Husk sulked into the room. He had his paws stuffed in his pockets, and glared at the air in front of him. He sat down at the other end of the table, but Angel was quick to stand up and saunter his way over to sit next to the cat. You couldn’t quite catch the flirtatious remarks that made Husk roll his eyes.

You observed them for a while, watching as Husk slowly grew more comfortable in the small talk he and Angel shared. He would never admit it, but you knew Husk didn’t hate Angel’s company. Husk seemingly said something about you to Angel that made him whip his head up to look at you. You quickly averted your gaze.

Charlie had been standing by her own chair, and a cough from her throat made the chatter die down. You didn’t really listen to the overly sappy speech she had started to give, your mind drifting away in absent thought. You picked your nails into the edge of the table, fidgeting with the light cloth.

Alastor caught your attention by lightly nudging his leg against yours. You trailed your eyes up to his, meeting his red gaze. There was a hint of worry in his eyes, and his grin twitched at the edges as he looked at your exhausted face. He tilted his head in a silent question.

You merely shook your head in response, and mouthed a quick “it’s nothing” and hoped that he wouldn’t press. He didn’t, but you knew he’d ask again in a private room.

Charlie sat down again, and Vaggie rubbed her shoulder, murmuring a silent praise. You dragged your eyes across the table, making note of the handful of new faces. None of them seemed to take Charlie very seriously, but that didn’t come as a surprise. They probably just liked free food.

The food in question seemingly materialized out of nowhere, and you chalked it up to her “princess of hell” type powers that she didn’t use very often. You smiled gratefully and, though you didn’t have much of an appetite, you started slowly picking at the plate in front of you.

The room once again began to rumble with small talk, but at some point the multiple conversations began to melt together until the whole table was talking to each other in one. Charlie was doing most of the heavy lifting with keeping the conversation going.

“-the deal with the Radio Demon and that gal next to him?” You perked your ears when you heard this reference to yourself. One of the new guests, some sort of lizard demon, had a finger pointed at the two of you. He had a slight country drawl in his voice. You saw Alastor’s smile widen when the attention of the table turned towards himself.

“My darling wife,” Alastor stated simply, briefly placing a hand on your shoulder. His eyes were closed as he smiled proudly. You silently nodded with a light, polite smiling. “We knew each other in life. It’s only natural for us to remain together. It would have been a shame for death to do us part.”

“Didn’t think you was the type…” The lizard said slowly, eyeing the two of you carefully. You didn’t blame him; what kind of nut job would marry the Radio Demon? Though, as Alastor said, you were married before Hell, and he wasn’t so… infamous back then. He was actually rather sweet, besides the whole serial killer thing–which, in your defense, you weren’t even aware of till he was shot to death.

“Didn’t think ya were the type to have a kid, either,” Angel piped up absently, one arm thrown lazily over the back of his chair. You watched as Husk tried desperately to shut him up as he continued to speak, but you barely heard the words over the sound of your heart picking up pace, and the increased radio frequency of Alastor’s. His body had stiffened and his eyes had shot open, quickly narrowing as his smile strained and curled dangerously, his gums visible in a snarl. His eyes were not on Angel, but on Husk, whose ears were flattened against his head and a nervous look in his wide eyes.

You weren’t really paying attention though, but you felt the intense tension and rapid prickling on your skin. Your breathing became more labored and you pointed your face to the table to try to hide the building tears in your eyes. You had tried so hard, all day, to push back the memories that kept threatening to resurface. What are the chances that on the same day, the topic was brought up, destroying the wall you had built to contain the anxiety, regret, grief…

You were kneeling by the wrinkled, messy sheets of the twin bed your son had been in for the past couple days. Your heart was tight, and you could barely breathe as you looked at him. He gazed blearily at the ceiling, following the path of the rocking fan. Every breath he took scratched at his throat, as if there were pebbles blocking the path. He barely had the strength to cough. His lips were dry and cracked, and his graying skin still had a flush of fever. You used a damp rag to clean the dried snot under his nose.

You had tried everything. Every recommended antibiotic, every treatment, therapy, exercise; nothing had worked. Nobody knew how to treat the illness. You had even tried to work with witch doctors that Alastor knew. You had spent so much of what little money you had trying to save your little boy.

Alastor was often gone during this time, being the one to go out and find something new to try. You never left the room, even when your husband tried to push you to go outside to stretch your legs or take a shower. He promised to watch over your son. But you just couldn’t, not with David laying on these dirty sheets, looking so frail, weak, and small. You had often called him little dove, and it made you sick to think that your nickname was now like a cruel adjective to describe his current state. A sick, frail baby bird. He had barely eaten in the past eight days, and you didn’t want to admit to yourself that any scratchy breath he took could be that last one.

You stiffened when his head rolled over towards you, and his eyes struggled to focus on you. His cracked lips grimaced for a moment, followed by a sharp, grating cough that made your heart drop and your eyes sting. You reached a shaky hand forward to smooth down his knotted hair.

“Am I going to be okay,” David said weakly. His voice caught on the tightness in his throat multiple times. “I feel really bad.”

“I know baby, but you’re okay,” You said tenderly, continuing to stroke his hair. “Your dad is getting you some new medicine. You’ll be okay.”

You were lying to him, and to yourself. But you couldn’t help but cling on to a morsel of hope–it was all you could do, really. David just looked towards you, his eyes flicking around slightly, unable to truly focus on anything.

“I’m tired.” He said. His breathing was labored.

“I know.”

Your emotions threatened to spill from your eyes as you watched him turn his head back towards the ceiling, eyes shutting. You didn’t want to cry; you couldn’t, not in front of him. You needed to stay strong for him.

You pressed the back of your hand to his burning forehead, and then trailed your hand to his chest, lightly pressing against him to feel his heartbeat. It was slow, and slowing. Your own heart picked up in response.

You heard the door in another room open, shut, and footsteps quickly pace towards the room. The door cracked lightly, and the tall, thin frame of your husband peeked in. He held a brown back tightly in his fist. With one look into your eyes, he knew something was wrong. Or, well, more wrong than usual.

You clenched your jaw to prevent any sob from escaping your lips as he sat the bag down on an end table and kneeled next to you, gripping your waist tightly as he looked at David. The boy’s breath had gotten dangerously quiet.

You watched as his eyes opened again.

“I’m tired.” He repeated, weaker this time.

Both you and Alastor leaned towards the bed, his hand on David’s leg as you gingerly lifted the boy’s head into your arms, pulling his light body towards yourself. You shifted yourself up into the bed with him, trying to wrap as much of yourself around your son as possible. You could feel his heartbeat getting slower with every weak breath he took.

“Sleep, then,” your voice trembled. You felt Alastor grip your shoulder, his other hand softly rubbing David’s arm. You couldn’t describe the expression on his face. “I’ll see you in the morning, little dove.” You lied.

“In heaven?” He responded. Your breath hitched at his words. He knew, somehow, that he was dying. How sick it was, for such a young boy to be aware of his impending death. How cruel God was.

“Yeah, I promise,” Was all you could muster. You worried that any more would destroy the dam that held back your tears.

It broke, though, when you felt David’s heart finally stop. You choked on a sob once, twice, before finally you started wailing. Screaming. You held a vice-like grip on the boy, both your arms and legs secured around him. Alastor was still quiet, but he had sat across from you on the bed and pulled you towards him, securing you and David’s still-warm body in an equally tight grip. You could feel his strained breathing and tight jaw against your head. He said something, but you didn’t hear him.

Your mind rushed back to the present when you felt a hand on your back. Your head whipped towards Alastor, who was looking at you. The table was dead silent, and there was still a look of rage in his eyes, but his smile held a softness that was only ever given to you. Your heart still beat strongly, and you struggled to breathe, but you were at least glad that your mind was still back in the present.

Evidently, barely any time had passed. Angel had a nervous look in his expression, which he tried and failed to mask as Husk cursed at him. Charlie was looking at you in worry.

“(Y/N),” She said softly. “...How come you never-”

“Truly, there is no point in speaking of life before death,” Alastor interrupted her, the usual cheer in his voice lilted by a masked emotion. You knew he felt the same grief as you, but he was a million times better at acting naturally. “What a waste of time and emotion.”

Alastor stood quickly, his hand trailing against your shoulders as he walked past you and towards Angel and Husk. Husk’s ears flattened to his skull again as Alastor loomed over them, hands behind his back as a smile twisted his features.

“Husker, my friend,” He said, the cat demon visibly flinching at the mention of his name. “Let’s take a walk.”

Husk didn’t move, and the room grew heavy with tension with every second as the sound of radio frequency got louder and somehow sharper. Alastor bent at the waist, his snarling smile inches away from the panicked expression on Husk’s face.

“Is the tomcat getting too old to hear?” You barely picked up Alastor’s words, but you definitely heard the threatening tone in his voice.

The cat swallowed hard before standing up. He shot one last infuriated look at Angel, before whipping his head back to attention when Alastor tapped his cane against the ground impatiently. The two of them left the room, and the tension in the air immediately lifted when the door shut.

Charlie startled you when she placed a delicate hand on your upper arm, and she guided you to your feet and out another set of doors. A weak smile touched her expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked as you both went up the stairs towards your hotel room. You shook your head silently at her offer. She only nodded back, and said nothing more. She opened the door to your room for you, and waited till you settled down in your bed before saying a string of comforting words that you didn’t really pay attention to. The door clicked softly, and you once again began to sob.

Only a few minutes passed before you felt your skin prickle with a static-like feeling. You had grown to find comfort in the odd sensation, and felt incredibly relieved when you knew Alastor was sitting next to you. You didn’t even hear him enter the room.

He pulled you wordlessly against his chest, lying the two of you down. You twisted yourself in his grip till your ear rested against him, listening to the odd drum of what you assumed was a heart.

“Has David been troubling you all day?” He asked you when your sobs slowed and you caught your breath. You nodded. Alastor rubbed a soothing hand on your shoulder blade. You recognized the tone of grief in his voice as he spoke. “What a pesky boy, even all these years later.”

You wrapped your arms tightly around Alastor’s neck as tears began flowing again.

Though you would never tell him, you often hoped Charlie’s idea of redemption would work. Your husband himself would likely never follow that path; you knew he saw no point and enjoyed the power he held in Hell. But, you wished every day to see your son again. To see your little dove.

You had promised him.

#hazbin hotel #x deaf reader

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deafsignifcantother · 9 days

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Alastor to y/n; dear, if you play radioactive one more time…

(Y/n holding back tears from trying not to laugh)

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deafsignifcantother · 10 days

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deafsignifcantother · 10 days

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*sees Alastor and Vox arguing*

Gen!Z reader: Gurl bye, it’s giving enemies to lovers😭✋

*arguing stops*

Alastor: 😃???

Vox: ..It’s giving WHAT?!🤬

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deafsignifcantother · 11 days

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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."

#x deaf reader #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #alastor #chose the gif bc it looks like she's signing deer

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deafsignifcantother · 11 days

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deafsignifcantother · 11 days

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val fics with no slander send me to heaven bruh i love this so so much

let’s get clean 🛁⋆˙⟡♡

bathing with hazbin! characters (gn reader)

contains: lucifer, lute, vox, sir pentious, alastor, valentino, adam,

warnings: a suggestive comment but its brief.

꩜ lucifer

When the king of hell isn't alone, he prefers to soak rather than to take a quick shower. Showers become too complicated when you have to keep switching places. Where's the romance? Where's the fun? If he needed to be fast he'd shower alone.

I imagine he'd have a luxurious bathroom, given his status and fortune. A night full of romantic candle lighting and warm bubbly water. You could take turns washing one another's hair and back as you relish in the closeness and intimacy of it all. Perfect. Just you, him, and the multiple rubber ducks staring holes in your back.

꩜ lute

"Showers should take five minutes!" ass. ouh it stink....Okay, maybe I'm overexaggerating but there is nothing exciting about her routine.

"I'm going to shower." "Can I join?" "Why?"

She loves you too much to tell you no. That warrior spirit dies the second you say please. She's pretty punctual about her daily routine so if you take too long then don't be surprised when she leaves to shower without you. Other than hair care products, she's an unscented soap user. No fancy body scrubs or bubbles. Please introduce her to fun.

꩜ vox

Suspiciously excited about the offer. Keep an eye on this one.

It's likely that he's the one that initiated the joint shower in the first place and he's very proud of himself once you accept. Huge smile glued to that screen. You know the one I'm talking about. He'll gladly wash your hair for you. If his hand drifts lower you can always ward him off with the shower head.

If you believe in the possibility that Vox's head isn't waterproof then put a plastic bag over it and cut out some holes for the eyes. He'll be fine. Probably.

꩜ pentious

He's canonically slimy so have fun trying to navigate around that! Investing in shower shoes is a lot cheaper than a hospital bill. Follow for more tips.

He's so honored that you presented him with this offer. So happy he could give a speech! He's trying so hard to please you that it's taking the opposite effect. Pentious is tall and his tail takes up and insane amount of room. The water has gone cold and he's crying. Where the hell did that egg come from?

꩜ alastor

For all that is holy DO NOT let him wash your hair. Those claws are sharp. Micro abrasions on the scalp cause hair loss. You don't wanna look like him do you? Didn't think so.

He's not thrilled about the whole ordeal. No you aren't washing his hair don't even ask. If he's feeling affectionate he'll give your shoulders a light massage as he washes your back...right after he gets soap in your eyes. Apologizes, but probably did it as an incentive for you to not ask this of him again.

꩜ valentino

Not sure why you'd want this but look who's writing it! Seems like I can't judge.

If he truly loved you and had no desire to cause you harm then I believe he'd be one of the more pleasant people to bathe with. A Valentino fic without slander? I bet you weren't expecting that!

CRAZY shower routine. This moth has 900 luxury soaps and shampoos. A romantic at heart who would most definitely enjoy some pampering from his partner. He'll massage your scalp and in return you can rub his big bald head like a genie. I imagine he hates to get his wings wet so blow drying them after could be a fun task.

꩜ adam

Adam would be another "showers should only take five minutes," guy if not for the live performance he's giving to the wall.

He uses whatever soap you buy so don't forget or all of heaven will suffer. Do bad smells even exist in heaven? You'd better hope not. if Adam falls from grace we know why! pee yew.

All jokes of course! but this is still not a pleasant experience. He doesn't wanna sit still long enough for you to wash him and if he washes you it'll be half assed. The show must go on! He's singing regardless of whether you're there or not. Being an exorcist in this situation would benefit you. You may need that self defense training as you dodge the microphone (half full conditioner bottle) that he's throwing around.

a/n; a bath?? not sure hazbin fans have ever seen one! /j 🫧

#no dialogue

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deafsignifcantother · 11 days

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this is probably what Vox would do if shining a bright flash of light at Val doesn’t work 💀

meow

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deafsignifcantother · 12 days

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thinking about how dated a lot of fics are gonna be if we get a human alastor name reveal

#hazbin hotel

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deafsignifcantother · 12 days

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the baby

♥ summary: almost loosely based off of this by @ukor02. This is really just a small little writing thing I did at 4am. ♥ relationship: no direct romance really, just some cute stuff between Lucifer and reader. ♥ word count: 1.6k ♥ notes: no childbirth mentioning and this is written like just as summaries of the situation tbh, almost like a bullet point format without the bullet points, the entire cast are characters, hospital scene, I made Alastor a main character and her main bestie because of course I did, reader is happy to be a mother

You wanted to give your baby a chance to get into Heaven, even if it meant they'd leave without you. Hell is no place for a child. Both you and Charlie knew that.

"What a pleasant surprise," you sign to Alastor when you see that damn smiling demon right outside your hotel room.

He laughs; aw, you're describing his arrival as pleasant. Did he make a good impression on you when you saw him last when he introduced himself in person in Pride Sign Language? You never seemed to have paid any mind to him, giving one motion signs as responses whenever he tried starting a conversation. But even when you interacted with him like that, he couldn't help but wonder why you always looked at him with your sweet, shy gaze. It's not on purpose, which is the worst part.

Pleasant, you called it a pleasant surprise.

"It's good to see you too, my dear!" He signs, bowing a bit and pushing past you into your room. "What have you been up to?"

What an obnoxious question.

You close the door, squeezing the doorknob tightly. This is going to be a long evening. When you turn back to Alastor, he's in your living room examining the decor, your random art pieces taped to the walls and organized together, though not concisely.

He waves his hands. "I love what you've done with the place."

"I've been bored." You sign with a slight nod to yourself. It's awfully isolating, which is obvious. Still, it has never hit you as hard as it does now as you watch another person walk through your chambers.

"I'm glad I can be in your company then." His smile widens, and the static he emits gets heavier. His ear twitched a bit, which you noticed but tried not to directly look at. Was it a good or bad thing?

"But it's often relieving to be alone," you start and look him up and down.

"You're quite used to being alone, aren't you?"

Your lips tighten, your hands stiff, and you are unable to finish your sentence. Absentmindedly, you rest them on your plump, pregnant belly. Alastor does his best not to let his eyes draw down to analyze it. Still, his head tilts, even just a little. He hates looking at your hands when you touch your stomach. Did his mother hold her belly like that when he was inside of hers?

"Don't you have others to talk to?"

"They're out on their little journeys, you know them."

"Of course."

Alas, he lets his eyes trail down to your stomach. It's not quite full, but it's obvious enough to gain attention from others. Charlie will put her hands on it every day, waiting for the baby to show its presence. She can feel the heartbeat, and so can you and Vaggie, though everybody else can't feel a thing. Alastor refuses to put a hand on your stomach. Life is precious and loud, and the few who were never human understand that differently than the others.

"I wanted to check in on the baby."

A twitch of your eyebrow makes his smile widen.

"Why?"

The day before, Lucifer arrived.

You try on your best clothes, laying them flat against your front, looking at your belly in the mirror. For the king, should you try to hide it or show it proudly? He has a daughter, but does that affect his thoughts about Hellborn pregnancies? Gosh, what do you have to worry about? So stupid.

With the other people, your new friends, you stood with your head proud.

He swirled with the dragons and hugged his daughter as if he hadn't seen her for years. What a kind man, unusually kind. His eyes... Those soft, precious eyes. And when they landed on you, your heart almost stopped. He looked at you as if you were an angel. When his lips started to move, the smile you didn't even know you wore faded.

Charlie put her hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him. And there came Alastor, saving the day.

"The idiotic king was just telling you how happy he is for you." With the signs came the grinding of his teeth.

Lucifer approached, his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. He addressed Alastor with aggressive hesitance. 'Tell her...' he said.

Charlie smiled excitedly, Nifty kept nodding, and Sir Pentious's eyes started tearing up.

Alastor grimaced. "He's asking if he could feel your stomach."

As always, you've put a thorn in the flow of interactions.

Still, you put on a smile. "Of course."

And there you stood, the King of Hell's hands gently holding you. You could feel the cold of his touch even through the fabric of your shirt. The heartbeat vibrated through both your body and his. The baby was alive and well; you could tell through the pure glee that spread across his face. Beyond your tiny ounce of worry, you knew he'd find hope within your baby.

Alastor watched with a terribly strained smile.

"Why?" You ask again when he doesn't answer. "What's with the sudden worry?"

"Worry? No, no." Alastor waves you off. "More like..."

You watch with interest as he trails off, a vulnerability you love.

He squints his eyes and clenches his fists, but only for a moment. His lack of vocabulary kills him. "...Intrigue."

You crack a smirk. "Are you finally gonna feel my stomach?"

Another pause. Alastor considers it, but all he can imagine is his claws accidentally drawing blood.

"No."

"That's okay." Again, your hands rest on your stomach.

Alastor has been watching it grow, but so has Lucifer. Charlie's father scarcely visits, and you've convinced yourself it's to see you. Every time he enters the hotel, he asks how you are. He tries to lift his hands to sign but finds no words forming. A language was created in his world, and he has yet to learn how to learn it.

Whenever he presses his hands against your belly, he can feel the liveliness of the soul forming inside you, and he can feel your appreciation at his care.

Begrudgingly, he always has to ask Alastor for advice on communicating with you. Alastor always has a cocky smirk when he teaches.

Charlie has to ask Alastor for help, too, but more willingly. Alastor raises his chin and squares shoulders when people ask him for help. Charlie went to him for help on a conversation you knew she was going to start with you:

"You're not going to stay here for the battle."

"I know." There was no argument on your behalf. Charlie's cheeks still went pink.

"But I have to figure out where it's safest for you. Alastor told me Cannibal Town, but uhh... Maybe not."

"They'll all be here anyway. Maybe they'll distract the angels from going over there."

Her bright eyes widen a bit. "Do you think so?"

"I can stay over there, even if they try to eat me." They won't, and even if they try, they know Alastor would end their lives, don't they?

She fiddles with her fingers before lifting them up again. "I suppose..."

She's so quickly convinced it's cute. You're right, though, of course. Cannibal Town might be the safest place, specifically under the hands of Rosie, who Alastor had previously told you would be more than willing to help you. You can imagine her smile at seeing your belly, twice the size as when Alastor first told you about her. Unbeknownst to Charlie, he's been planning this for a while.

Your stress for their safety irks you more than you expected.

You place a hand on Charlie's, lifting your other one. "I'll be okay."

Before you left for Cannibal Town, you met Lucifer once again, a more loving side of him. He cradled your head and held the back of your neck as he did. His cold body felt like warmth to you. He whispered things to you; you could only tell from how his breath constantly brushed against your ear in sing-songy waves. Was he singing to you? A lullaby? He pulled away and finally signed to you. "You're going to be a great mom."

A moment before, Alastor finally put his hands on your belly. His hands were warm. Like Lucifer, he was whispering to himself, holding silent words from you. In another life, you'd imagine they were prayers. At that moment, only an instinct, you put your hands on his, and he allowed it.

The stress of their safety worsened when they were left alone in Cannibal Town without a word of winning or losing.

The winning of Hell was all you wanted to focus on when you noticed the contractions getting worse, spaced out in purposeful ways. Oh goodness, you found yourself thinking, oh my God.

What if Lucifer dies on the same day your child is born?

But after the battle, he was right there to cradle the baby in his arms, his heavenly grasp relaxing the tiny baby. The rest of the group sat in your room, Sir Pentious absent, tears in their eyes at both the birth and the death.

Beyond Lucifer's cradling, Husk was the only one who touched your child that day. He placed his furry paw against the baby, feeling the body heat that they admitted. Life could be beautiful, he decided.

Vaggie's sense of revenge deepened. She sacrificed Heaven to save a child, and now she's even more than willing to kill her sisters to save yours.

While Charlie stares at your baby with tears, Alastor smiles warmly at you. He knew you could do it: birth something beautiful and worth protecting.

Your eyes are locked on Lucifer. He's an amazing, supportive dad to Charlie, and your heart begins to swell. Your heartbeat increases, and a blush weakly forms on your already flushed face. His rough hands hold a forgiving softness. He's beautiful.

#x deaf reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #lucifer #alastor #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader

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