#writing Deaf/deaf characters
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Writing Deaf Characters
I am making this a series now so pls drop requests if there is something you’re curious about!
Disclaimer: This is all based on personal experience and research, all of which relate to the American Deaf experience. It’s not perfect, nor is it representative of a global experience of d/Deafness. If you plan to write a d/Deaf or hard of hearing character, please do your own research! This is intended to give people a few ideas about where to start.
Vocab
Deaf = Refers to the cultural experience of being deaf and immersed in Deaf communities.
deaf = Inability to hear some or all sound.
Profoundly deaf = Inability to hear almost all or all sound.
d/Deafblind = Inability to hear some or all sound and as well as having some level (usually high) of visual impairment.
Hard of hearing or HOH = A person whose inability to hear may not rise to the level of deafness or profound deafness, or simply may not identify with the term.
Deaf of deaf = A Deaf child born to Deaf parents.
CODA = Child Of Deaf Adults. This refers to hearing children, not d/Deaf children.
Manualism = Refers to the belief that d/Deaf children should be taught only sign language and should not be taught or expected to learn to speak.
Oralism = Refers to the belief that d/Deaf children should be taught only to speak and should be discouraged from learning or using sign language.
Bilingual-bicultural or bi-bi education = A school of thought that combines oral and manual education for d/Deaf children.
Mainstreaming = The belief that d/Deaf children should be educated in the same schools and classrooms as hearing students. (More widely refers to the belief that disabled students in general should be educated in the same schools and classrooms as nondisabled students.)
Deaf gain = The Deaf community’s answer to the term “hearing loss.” Rather than losing hearing, a person is said to be gaining Deafness.
Cochlear implant/CI = A medical device implanted into the inner ear which (debatably) produces sensation that is (somewhat) analogous to hearing.
American Sign Language or ASL = An American system of communication consisting of hand shapes, hand movements, body language, facial expressions, and occasionally, vocalizations.
Signed Exact English or SEE = A manner of communicating that directly translates English words into signed equivalents.
Home sign(s) = Signed communication that is specific to the signer’s home or community, which may not exist or be recognized in the wider world.
Identity First Language or IFL = A system in which someone is described first by an identifier that they choose and feel strongly connected to. Examples include describing someone as an Autistic woman, a disabled individual, or a Deaf man.
Key Elements of Deaf History
Can’t emphasize this enough - this is a VERY abbreviated list! It is also not in order. Sorry. That being said:
For a long time in America, Deaf children were not educated, nor was it considered possible to educate them. When this did change, American deaf children were educated in institutions, where they lived full-time. These children were often taken from their families young, and some never regained contact with their families. Some died and were buried at these institutions, all without their families’ knowledge.
In the early 20th century, oralism became popular among American deaf schools. This mode of teaching required lip reading and speech, no matter how difficult this was for students, and punished those who used or attempted to use sign language. Pure oralism is now widely considered inappropriate, outdated, and offensive.
Hopefully you’ve gleaned this from the above points, but d/Deaf schooling, education, and the hearing world’s involvement are a very sensitive subject. Proceed with caution. It’s unlikely your d/Deaf character would have a neutral relationship with schooling.
Helen Keller is probably the most famous deafblind person in America. In her time, she was also known for being a socio-political activist, a socialist, and a vaudeville actress. There are dozens of other famous d/Deaf people who are a quick Google search away. Give your Deaf character Deaf heroes, please.
The Americans with Disabilities Act, or ADA, was passed in 1991, and represented a landmark victory for disabled activists in America. Among its provisions were closed captioning for Deaf individuals, ASL interpreters for public services, and the right for d/Deaf children to attend accessible, accommodating public schools. The ADA is a HUGE deal. It’s also not perfect.
In 1961, cochlear implants were invented. I was going to write more about cochlear implants here, but it’s too long. New section.
Cochlear Implants
Massively massively massively controversial in the Deaf community. Always have been, potentially always will be. For people who strongly identify with Deafness and the Deaf community, CIs are an attack on their identity, their personhood, and their community’s right to exist.
Do not allow people to “hear.” The input that a person receives from CI can, with physical therapy, training, and time, be understood and processed in a similar way to sound. This does not mean it would be recognizable to a hearing person as sound. It is often described by people who have them as being metallic, buzzy, or robotic. YouTube is a great resource for sound references.
In order for a cochlear implant to be effective, a personal will have to participate in years of training and therapy to correct process, understand, and interpret the feedback given by the CI. This is not negotiable. Even if your character just lost their hearing in an accident last week, a CI will not allow them to instantaneously regain that hearing. Nothing that currently exists in the real world will do that.
CIs, to be most effective, are almost always implanted when the recipient is very young. This decision is often made by hearing parents. This, again, is massively controversial, as Deaf activists argue that it violates the child’s bodily autonomy and is inherently anti-Deaf.
A cochlear implant, once placed, irreparably destroys any residual hearing that the recipient may have had. This is because it penetrates the inner ear in order to function. This residual hearing cannot be regained, even if the cochlear implant is not used.
Deaf people do choose to get cochlear implants of their own accord. Many d/Deaf people are very happy with their cochlear implants! It is still a highly charged choice in light of the political history surrounding d/Deafness and hearing.
Notes About American Sign Language
ASL is not a signed version of English. It is a distinct language, with its own vocabulary, slang, and grammar. Just a sentence would not be constructed the same way in Russian, Spanish, or Tagalog, a sentence in ASL would not be a direct translation of its English equivalent.
Deaf people have historically lower rates of literacy. This is not due to a lack of intelligence; it is because ASL and English are two different languages. ASL has no written equivalent. In order to be able to read or write, d/Deaf children must learn an entirely different language. This means that it is not realistic to always be able to communicate with d/Deaf people through writing.
As ASL is a visual language, many signs started out as very literal gestures. This means that many older signs are continuously being phased out as they or their roots are recognized as stereotypical or offensive. Please be careful in researching signs. I recommend Handspeak or Signing Savvy for accurate, relatively up-to-date information.
Many online “teachers” do not have credentials to teach ASL, and especially due to the prevalence of “baby sign,” home signs, invented signs, or false information spreads unchecked. If you see multiple different signs advertised for the same English word, please be diligent in checking your sources.
Not every English word has a distinct signed equivalent, and not every sign has an English equivalent.
SEE is almost never used by Deaf people. It’s rarely used and is generally thought of as a “lesser” version of both English and ASL.
ASL is a complete, complex, nuanced language. A character would not switch into SEE for a technical conversation or really any reason. Complex ideas, technical terms, and even poetry can all be expressed in American Sign Language.
Just like in English, there are some signs that are only considered appropriate for certain people to use. For example, the sign for “Black” when referring to a Black person has a modified version that is only used by Black signers. This does not mean it is a slur or the equivalent of a slur. It is a sign reserved for Black signers referring to other Black people.
Things to Consider/Avoid/Be Aware Of
I hesitate to tell anyone to avoid anything, because I don’t think I have that authority. That being said:
The Deaf community has a complicated history and relationship with cochlear implants and the concept of being “cured.” What message are you sending when you write a story in which a d/Deaf character is “cured” of their d/Deafness?
Generally speaking, d/Deaf people do not identify with the “disabled” label. Each person has their own preferences, and those preferences should always be respected. Your character(s) may choose differently than their real life community, but you should put thought into why that is.
Generally speaking, d/Deaf people use IFL. This means that a majority of d/Deaf people in America would describe themselves as d/Deaf people, rather than people with deafness, people with hearing loss, people that are hard of hearing, etc.
Okay I lied I’m going to tell you what to do here: Do not use words like mute, deaf-mute, or dumb when describing d/Deaf people. Hearing impaired is also not ideal but is considered outdated, rather than outright offensive.
The best lip readers are judged to be able to catch 30% of the words people say. How realistic is it to have a character that relies 100% on lipreading? What do you gain when you write a character that lipreads, and what do you lose?
Yes, Deaf people can drive. I don’t know why so many people wonder about this. It’s okay if you didn’t know, but please don’t come into my ask box about it.
Assistive Devices/Aids
Cochlear implants ^ see above
Interpreters. Will have gone to school for years, might have specific training for certain environments or technical terms, etc. For instance, an interpreter that works with Deaf people that have mental illnesses would be fully fluent in ASL as well as having requisite mental health training in order to interpret for them. Interpreters could be a whole other post actually, but I won’t tackle that now.
Closed captions. Self-explanatory.
Alarm clocks, fire alarms, and doorbells that use light instead of sound. This is sometimes a typical flashing light, but particularly fire alarms in predominantly d/Deaf spaces can be overwhelmingly bright. Bright like you’ve never seen before. Bright enough to wake someone from a dead sleep.
Some assistive devices also use sensation - alarms that actually shake bedframes exist and are the best choice for some people!
Service dogs - can alert people to sounds like the above - fire alarms, doorbells, knocking, etc.
Hearing aids. Generally not controversial in the way that CIs are. Only effective if people have residual hearing. Do not really expand the range of sounds people can hear, just amplify sounds in that range. Very, very expensive.
Microphones. If a d/Deaf or HOH person is in a crowd/lecture setting, the speaker will want to use a microphone. If this is a frequent occurrence, the microphone may be linked to a small personal speaker or earbud used by the d/Deaf or HOH person.
TTY: Much less frequent now that everyone can text and email, but stands for Text Telephone Device and was/is a way to send written communication over a telephone line. The message is sent, the phone rings, and a robot voice reads the message. Obviously, this is not effective for d/Deaf people communicating with other d/Deaf people, but it was often used to communicate with hearing people/hearing establishments, as when setting up appointments.
Media About/Including Deafness
No media is perfect and unproblematic, but here are somethings I have seen that I can verify do at least a pretty good job -
CODA is a movie that features Deaf actors, ASL, and a story about growing up, family, and independence vs. interdependence.
The Sound of Metal is a movie that features ASL and a story about identity, recovery, and hearing loss/Deaf gain.
A Quiet Place is a movie features ASL and Deaf actors, although Deafness itself is not necessarily integral to the story.
BUG: Deaf Identity and Internal Revolution by Christopher Heuer is a collection of essays by a Deaf man that discuss a wide range of topics. This book is not always up to modern standards of political correctness.
Train Go Sorry by Leah Hager Cohen is a memoir by the granddaughter of a Deaf man, which discusses the intersections of the hearing and Deaf worlds.
Far From the Tree by Andrew Solomon is a research book about the effect of horizontal identity on parent/child relationships and features a chapter on d/Deafness. This is a good look at how d/Deafness can impact familial relationships. Some aspects of the book are outdated, and it was written by a hearing author, albeit one who extensively interviewed Deaf and hearing parents of Deaf children.
If you made it this far, congratulations! Thank you so much for taking the time to read through my lil/not so lil primer :) If you have any questions, comments, concerns, or feedback, please feel free to hit me up! If you have any requests for a diagnosis or a disability you’d like me to write about next, I’d love to hear it. Happy writing!
#writing disabled characters#writing disability#writing advice#longpost#deafness#deaf characters#writing deaf characters#disability writing guide#hard of hearing#hard of hearing characters
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CREATING AUTHENTIC DEAF AND HARD OF HEARING CHARACTERS: A WRITER'S JOURNAL
Introduction
Creating authentic characters in your writing is essential for engaging storytelling, and this includes characters who are deaf or hard of hearing. To craft a character that accurately represents this community, it's crucial to do your research, gain a deep understanding of their experiences, and portray them with sensitivity and respect. In this journal, we'll explore how to write a deaf or hard-of-hearing character, including key information and preparation steps.
Understanding Deaf and Hard-of-Hearing Characters
Research: Start by researching deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals' experiences, challenges, and culture. Read books, articles, and personal stories, and watch documentaries or interviews featuring members of the Deaf community.
Consult with Experts: Reach out to members of the Deaf community or experts in Deaf studies to gain insights into their experiences. They can provide invaluable guidance and help you avoid common misconceptions.
Diversity Within the Community: Understand that the Deaf and hard-of-hearing communities are diverse. Some individuals communicate using sign language, while others rely on lip-reading, cochlear implants, or hearing aids. Be aware of these differences when creating your character.
Character Development
Backstory and Identity: Consider your character's background. Were they born deaf, or did they become deaf later in life? How do they identify within the Deaf community? Understanding their identity and experiences will shape their character.
Language and Communication: Decide how your character communicates. Are they fluent in sign language, or do they primarily rely on lip-reading and spoken language? Their communication style will influence their interactions with other characters.
Cultural Awareness: Explore the cultural aspects of the Deaf community. Understand the importance of Deaf culture, including its history, art, and values. Incorporate these elements into your character's life when relevant.
Writing Tips
Dialogue and Communication: When writing dialogue for a deaf or hard-of-hearing character, be mindful of their unique communication style. Use visual cues, body language, and facial expressions to convey emotions and context.
Access to Information: Consider the challenges your character may face in accessing information. This could involve issues with closed captioning, subtitles, or accommodations in educational or work settings.
Social Interactions: Depict social interactions realistically. Show how your character navigates conversations, group dynamics, and social events within their community and with hearing individuals.
Preparation
Sensitivity Readers: Consider hiring sensitivity readers who are part of the Deaf or hard-of-hearing community to review your work and provide feedback. Their insights can help you avoid stereotypes and inaccuracies.
Learn Sign Language: If your character uses sign language, take the time to learn at least basic signs. This will not only enrich your writing but also demonstrate your commitment to accuracy.
Beta Readers: Seek feedback from a diverse group of beta readers who can assess the authenticity of your character and offer constructive criticism.
Engage with the Community: Attend Deaf community events, workshops, or online forums to immerse yourself in the culture and better understand the perspectives and experiences of deaf and hard-of-hearing individuals.
Creating a deaf or hard-of-hearing character that resonates with readers requires dedication, empathy, and thorough research. By following these steps and embracing the rich culture and diversity of the Deaf community, you can create a character that is not only authentic but also promotes understanding and inclusivity in your writing. In addition, when writing dialogue for your deaf or hard-of-hearing character, remember:
It's important to clarify why, when writing dialogue for a deaf character, you should continue to use structured English grammar and not sign language structured grammar.
Maintaining Structured English Grammar:
Readability: Writing in structured English grammar ensures that the text remains accessible and comprehensible to all readers, including those who may not be familiar with sign language or Deaf culture. It avoids potential confusion that could arise from using sign language grammar in written text.
Universal Understanding: English is a global language, and adhering to its grammar rules allows for a wider audience to understand and engage with your story. Sign language grammar varies between different sign languages, making it less universally applicable in written form.
Respect for the Medium: While sign language is a rich and expressive mode of communication, it is primarily a visual and gestural language. Attempting to replicate sign language grammar in written text can be cumbersome and may not fully capture the nuances of sign language communication.
Balance of Realism and Readability: Striking a balance between authenticity and readability is crucial in storytelling. Maintaining structured English grammar while depicting a deaf character's interactions helps convey the character's experience without compromising the reader's ability to follow the narrative.
As an illustration, consider the following text:
Dialogues with Descriptive Sign Language:
Sarah greeted John with a warm smile, her hands moving gracefully as she signed, "Hi, how are you?"
John returned the greeting in sign language, his expressions mirroring his words. "I'm good, thanks. Did you see the new movie?"
Sarah's eyes lit up as she signed back enthusiastically, "Yes, I loved it!"
In summary, using structured English grammar when writing dialogue for a deaf character is a practical and respectful choice that ensures your writing remains inclusive and accessible to a broad audience while still authentically representing the character's identity and experiences.
Furthermore, it's essential to avoid creating a character who is overly perfect or one-dimensional. In real life, we understand that everyone has imperfections and complexities, regardless of whether they are deaf or hard of hearing. Therefore, it's entirely acceptable to depict your character as a villain with a hearing issue if that aligns with your storytelling goals.
#writing deaf characters#hard of hearing#writing tips#writing resources#sign language#bsl#asl#auslan#fiction writing#building a character#writing guilde#writing characters with disibilities
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Look, is anyone willing to adopt these guys?
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Hello! Thank you so much for your work and this amazing blog.
I have a question: are there any visual indicators to a person being deaf/Deaf/HoH beside hearing aids and/or using a sign language? Mostly asking for the visual storytelling purposes - I wonder if there are any ways to visually hint at a character status as a deaf/Deaf/HoH person. Maybe some popular home assistive devices, or common little quirks/habits in regards of how a person carries themselves? I'm wondering if there are any telltale signs that hearing people often miss but that are obvious to other deaf/Deaf/HoH people. Something that makes you go like "oh, I do this thing too all the time!" when you see it.
Hello,
visual? Hm... Well, deaf people tend to turn their heads more, since they need to check their surroundings with eyes. They tend to place more importance of eye contact and see lack of eye contact as end of conversation. Instead of calling for someone, deaf people pat on the shoulder or wave to get attention.
Devices - vibrating watches, light based alarm clocks and doorbells.
People born deaf often have so called "deaf accent".
Lot of Deaf people make loud noises while signing, they really aren't silent at all.
Hope this helped,
Mod T
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Hey! I have a deaf character, and I’m not sure how to especially do dialogue grammar wise. I usually use ‘She signed “how are you?”’
This is obviously a very basic example sentence, but I was wondering are there better ways to write this? Should I be using dialogue tags? I’ve heard of some people doing
‘She signed how are you?’
But I don’t want that to be confused with inner thoughts, because that’s the same style I use for inside thoughts like—
‘I can’t believe she would do that. She thought to herself.’
I’ve also heard of (I think) ‘She signed <<how are you?>>’
Is this something of importance to the Deaf community? I might post this work eventually on here, and she’s one of my main characters that drives the plot forward. I don’t want to disrespectful! I usually use dialogue tags out of convenience, but I can switch it up in my edits if there’s a better and more respectful way to do it!
Hi!
Regular dialogue marks are just fine! The “signed” dialogue tag should cover it. :) [smile face]
(I have seen some books write in ASL GLOSS but this is generally clunky to audiences who don’t know ASL, and, if the author isn’t fluent in ASL, usually wrong.)
You also don’t need to just limit yourself to “signed”. Once you’ve established that your character signs, you can use whatever you want. (If she uses multiple modes of communication, just clarify which one she’s using in which scene / when she switches modes.)
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how do i write a character using sign language?
Hello here are some Tipps ✨
1. Research Sign Language: Start by researching the sign language that your character uses. Sign languages vary from country to country, so identify which sign language is relevant to your character's background.
2. Consult Deaf and Hard of Hearing Individuals: To create an authentic representation, it's important to consult with individuals who are deaf or hard of hearing. Seek their insights on sign language, Deaf culture, and the experiences of people with hearing impairments. This will help you avoid stereotypes and misconceptions.
3. Develop a Backstory: Create a backstory for your character that explains their relationship with sign language. Were they born deaf, or did they lose their hearing later in life? How did they learn sign language, and who taught them?
4. Show, Don't Tell: When writing a character who uses sign language, show their communication through actions and dialogue. Describe the signing gestures and expressions, and convey the nuances and emotions of their interactions.
5. Include Interpreters: Depending on your story's context, you may need to include interpreters to facilitate communication between your signing character and those who don't know sign language. Describe how this interaction works within the story.
6. Highlight Cultural Aspects: If your character is part of the Deaf community, explore the cultural aspects of that community, such as shared values, customs, and experiences. This can provide depth to your character and the narrative.
7. Diverse Personalities: Just like any other character, make sure your signing character has a unique personality, with strengths, weaknesses, goals, and motivations. Avoid reducing their identity solely to their use of sign language.
8. Respect and Sensitivity: Approach the portrayal of a character who uses sign language with respect and sensitivity. Be cautious not to sensationalize their deafness or make it the sole focus of their character.
9. Subtitles and Descriptions: If your story is written, consider using subtitles or descriptions to convey the signing character's words and expressions to the reader. This allows you to depict both the sign language and the dialogue in a way that's accessible to all readers.
#writing#writer on tumblr#writerscommunity#writing tips#character development#writer tumblr#writblr#writing advice#oc character#writing help#deaf character#writing inspiration
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i guess i have to say it a million times since people insist on being dense: gale is just as much of a victim as the other companions. this isn't the trauma olympics. everyone has been through shit and deserves healing and redemption.
gale is not the self entitled, manipulative abuser people are painting him as. he's a lot of things, but nothing so heinous. he was groomed by a goddess who has a history of preying on wizards that threaten her power, and as a result, gale's ambition and faith was what drove him to discover the netherese orb. what he did was for mystra - in his mind, it was to prove his love by restoring her missing power - and by extension for the betterment of mortals. his actions were never malicious or selfish, in fact he puts himself so low on the priority list it's pretty much non existent. he was never going to use that power to usurp her, but mystra definitely saw it like that, which is why she didn't hesitate to present suicide as his only solution. he never crossed her personal boundaries in the way people are twisting it, he only wanted to cross the boundaries she put on wizards and their power.
people who insist he's all of these things and more clearly only spoke to him once or lack the reading comprehension to see past how much of an unreliable narrator he is. i can understand first impressions might put some people off, but you can say the same about the other companion introductions. i don't like comparing but since people insist on doing it; gale is one of the easiest companions to get along with just by being a good person, yet his honesty and selflessness makes people think he's secretly evil? while the companions with the capacity to be evil don't even try to hide it? how are people being so backwards about this? it's genuinely baffling and tiring to see people continuously spit out incorrect takes all too confidently.
no one is forcing anyone to like him, but it's unfair to completely mischaracterize him because you refuse to learn critical thinking. i promise using your brain is not as scary as it seems, or you can just. not talk about things you don't understand.
#all of them have issues but that doesn't mean they're irredeemable monsters. unless you push them to but that's on you#people are shocked that astarions ascended ending is so bad. yeah what did you expect from a soul sacrificing ritual for power lol#i cannot stress this enough. i don't care if people don't like gale. i care and am annoyed about the complete lack of media literacy skills#to the point where people are ruining such interesting characters. its a shame people can't appreciate good writing when we finally get it#anyway whatever idk if this makes sense its like 4am and ive looked at this post for too long#i have so much more to say but again its like not worth telling if it falls on deaf ears#gale dekarios#baldur's gate 3 spoilers#bg3 spoilers#baldur's gate 3#bg3#six speaks#and no obviously im not saying the others are worse im just saying how do people accept astarion when hes Actually manipulative but not gale#i love star but we cant pretend hes not like that . and we cant pretend that gale is
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something like bones and glass
warnings: homophobia; religious homophobia; f slur (several times); brief mention of pedophilia; past child abuse and neglect; violence/fighting; blood; rough sex
also on AO3
Steve’s parents come home. Without warning.
Usually they call a few days in advance, just to let Steve know, probably because they assume Steve has friends over, has parties that he has to clean up after, but it’s been a while since that happened. It’s still nice to know when they’ll be home, just so he can prepare himself. So he knows what day he can hole up in his room or escape to Robin’s or Nancy’s.
But he hears their car pull into the driveway as he’s kissing Eddie against the wall by his bed, as Steve is pushing his hands under Eddie’s shirt to press into his skin, as Eddie is pulling his hair, and they both pull away at the same time to blink at each other in confusion.
“Nancy?” Eddie questions, still gripping Steve’s hair, and Steve shrugs.
“She didn’t say she was coming over.” He pecks Eddie quickly before letting go and going to the window. Eddie leans against the wall, watching him smooth his shirt down before he freezes, his eyes widening. “Shit— It’s my parents.”
Eddie’s stomach drops.
“What?”
He crosses the room, joining Steve at the window to see Cathrine and Walter Harrington, pulling suitcases out their car, talking across the roof of it.
“Fuck,” Eddie says, stepping away from the window in case they look up. “Uhm. I can— I can hide up here.”
“Your van in the driveway,” Steve says. His voice is almost distant, and he’s still looking out the window, his face fallen.
“You can say you borrowed it from someone,” Eddie suggests desperately. “Or— Or I can say I’m doing maintenance work? I know about, like, electrical work, we can say your A/C wasn’t working, or—“
“Eddie.”
“Or I— I know about cars, I can say I was working on your car and you invited me in for— for water or something, and—“
“Eddie.”
“And I mentioned music so you’re showing me your tapes, or, like—“
“Eddie.”
Eddie shuts up, staring at Steve with wide eyes, his heart pounding. The front door opens. Steve takes a shaky breath, his gaze unwavering from Eddie’s as something clatters downstairs.
“It’s fine,” Steve says quietly, firmly. “It’s…”
“Steve,” Eddie says softly.
“It’s fine.” Steve shakes his head. They can hear his parents’ voices downstairs, muffled by walls and doors and distance. “We… We’re friends. Right?”
Eddie exhales and nods.
“Come meet my parents,” Steve says with a little eyebrow quirk, and Eddie scoffs. Steve’s smile is fake. Eddie can tell.
“They’re gonna hate me,” he says quietly.
“I don’t care,” Steve says, his voice sharper, and Eddie’s eyes linger on the way his jaw is set, the way it clenches as he looks at Eddie intently. “I don’t— I don’t care what they think. You’re mine.”
Eddie stares at him, his eyes flickering to Steve’s lips.
“Fuck. Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Okay. Following your lead,” he says softly, and Steve smiles weakly, tugging him in by a necklace for a lingering kiss.
“Hey,” Eddie says as Steve is moving toward the door, and Steve pauses, his hand on the doorknob. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Steve says earnestly.
Eddie follows Steve out the door, hesitating to rip off his battle jacket and throw it back into Steve’s room. He smooths his shirt down and rolls his eyes when he realises what he’s wearing (Judas Priest; there’s a hand holding a giant razor blade, and he wonders why he didn’t just wear a plain black shirt). The chains hanging from his ripped jeans rattle as he walks down the hall and down the stairs, and he tucks his necklaces under his shirt anxiously before he smooths his hair back. Steve pauses at the bottom of the stairs and looks up at him.
“What are you doing?” he asks quietly, glancing at his chest, at the absence of necklaces.
“Trying to look presentable,” Eddie whispers. Steve stares at him, smiling softly.
“You’re adorable.”
“Shut up.”
Cathrine and Walter’s voices get louder as they head into the living room, where they’re both standing with their suitcases. Eddie lingers by the door, pushing his hands into his pockets in tight fists.
“Hi,” Steve says like he’s asking. Eddie watches his shoulders tighten like he’s bracing himself.
Catherine’s hair barely moves even though she whips her head around to look at Steve. It’s tall and curly and fluffy looking but stiff with hairspray, and she’s wearing a grey pantsuit, her shoulders boxy, and her heels wobble on the carpet of the living room. Walter is also in a suit, his tie loosened, his hands in his pockets.
Eddie takes a deep breath, repressing the simmering anger in his chest as he looks at them, trying hard to keep a neutral, friendly expression.
Steve’s told him about them. About how they left him at home starting when he was nine, and how he was left with nannies and teenage babysitters before that. How they’d lose their shit if he spilled juice on the kitchen floor, if he stained or tore a shirt. How he raised his voice when he was eleven and saw the back of his father’s hand and then the floor, and the gold band around his finger haunted Steve’s dreams.
How his mother constantly, shamelessly, told him it was his fault she wasn’t young and beautiful anymore. That he was the reason his father wasn’t loving and caring, as though Steve ever has any say in his own existence.
“Whose van is in the driveway?” Walter asks sharply, sans greeting even though it’s been a few months since he’s seen Steve.
“Uhm.” Steve turns slightly toward Eddie, who steps further into the room, raising a hand and suddenly wishing his nails weren’t painted.
“That— That’s mine,” Eddie says lightly, putting on a smile.
Catherine’s eyes widen, and Walter stares, facing Eddie. The room is silent except the quiet ticking of the clock on the mantle.
“Steven,” Walter says in a careful, measured voice, his eyes trained on Eddie. “Why is there a killer in my living room?”
Eddie’s stomach drops further, his cheeks flaming, and he shoves his hand back in his pocket as Steve says sharply, “He’s not a killer.”
“Steven—“
“He’s not,” Steve snaps, and Eddie looks at him. “Those charges were proven wrong, and dropped, and Eddie’s one of my best friends.”
Eddie stares at Steve, at the firm set of his jaw like he’s just daring his father to argue.
The room is silent again, tense and awkward.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“Walter,” Catherine says quietly, breaking the silence, placing a gentle hand on Walter’s shoulder as he and Steve stare each other down. “Let’s be polite to… Steven’s guest.”
Eddie blinks at her, trying ignore the pressure behind his eyes that always comes when he remembers that people actually believe that he’s a murderer. His hands are shaking.
“Your name is Eddie, right?” she says, sickly sweet and so kind it makes Eddie feel nauseous. It reminds him of the way kids in school used to feign interest in D&D, used to ask questions and prompt him to tell them excitedly about it just to make faces at their friends while he talked. Just to complain about how weird he is.
“Yes, ma’am,” Eddie says tightly.
“Would you like to stay for dinner, Eddie?” she says like she’s speaking to a child.
Eddie looks at Steve.
Who’s staring back, his gaze intense, his expression firm, and he nods slightly when Eddie silently asks him.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says again. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
She and Walter leave to take their luggage upstairs, and Steve tugs Eddie’s shirt, pulling him into a secluded corner in the living room, and their eyes lock. Steve looks like he wants to cry, and Eddie can hear the way his breath is trembling, and Steve’s lips are pursed to keep them from quivering.
“‘S okay,” Eddie says softly.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve says weakly, still clutching at Eddie’s shirt.
“No, stop,” Eddie tells him gently, moving closer. “It’s not your fault, Stevie.”
Steve inhales sharply, pressing his lips together.
“They are assholes,” Eddie says softly, reaching up to touch Steve’s cheek. “And that’s not your fault, you got it?”
Steve nods, swallowing.
“Yes.”
“Come here.”
He pulls Steve into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“You’re doing so good, baby,” he murmurs as Steve’s arms wrap around him tightly. “And after dinner we can say my van broke down and you can take me home.” He pulls away to look into Steve’s eyes. “And you can stick with Wayne and me for a while. How’s that sound?”
Steve nods, his mouth twisting, and Eddie’s heart aches because Steve is trying not to cry.
“I love you so much,” Eddie whispers. “‘S gonna be okay.”
“I hate them so much, Eddie,” Steve says. His voice wavers.
“I know, baby.” Eddie kisses him. “I know. But after this we’ll go home. And we can get high if you want.”
“Will you fuck me?” Steve asks in a small voice.
“Absolutely.”
“Cool.” He exhales and pulls Eddie into a kiss. “Love you.”
“Love you too, sweetheart.” Eddie kisses him again, pulling back when a door shuts upstairs, but Steve tugs him close, kissing him chastely before he carefully pulls Eddie’s necklaces out of his shirt.
“Don’t hide.”
Eddie melts a little bit.
Eddie fidgets with his necklaces while Catherine scours the fridge and freezer for a dinner to her liking, complaining about how unhealthy pizzas are and just sighing when Steve points out that he babysits children. She settles on a lasagna that she finds buried in the freezer and some lettuce. Without dressing. (Eddie thought rich people were supposed to eat better.)
Steve sits next to him at the dinner table. Eddie’s never seen plates on this table. It’s usually filled with cards or dice or maps and drawings and crayons. Steve stares sullenly at his plate, poking at his food with his fork as Eddie chats with his mom as best he can. He can still hear the ticking from the clock in the living room as they talk.
He tells her that he met Steve through Dustin, that he knew Steve at school because everyone loved him, and then he found out everyone loves him even outside of school. That the kids he babysits practically worship him. He catches Steve fighting a smile as he speaks.
The conversation dies down after a while. Under the table, Steve sets a hand on Eddie’s thigh and squeezes tightly. He’s shaking.
Eddie subtly reaches under the table and squeezes his hand, rubbing the back of it gently.
“Mr Harrington,” he says politely when they let go of each other. “Steve said you had work in, uhm, was it San Francisco?”
“That’s right,” Walter says dryly.
“I’ve never been,” Eddie says, trying desperately to keep his voice light. “How is it?”
Walter sighs, taking a bite.
“Not as nice as it used to be.”
“Oh,” Eddie says, taking the opportunity for a real conversation. “Why’s that?”
“Not as clean,” he says. Eddie hates his voice. So pompous and dry like the world bores him. “Posters and banners everywhere, all these fags walks around the streets holding hands. Disgusting.”
Eddie’s blood runs cold. In his peripheral vision he sees Steve tighten.
“Oh.” He twists his fork, seeing Steve’s hand grip the table cloth tightly. “Sounds real different from Hawkins.”
“Sure is.”
Eddie shifts so he can press his foot to Steve’s because he can’t lean over and kiss him. There’s a long stretch of silence. Eddie counts seventeen ticks of the clock before he speaks again, the silence unbearable.
“Mrs Harrington, Steve mentioned that you collect pottery.”
When he mentioned it, he said he wanted to smash all of it. Eddie doesn’t say that.
“I do,” she says brightly. “I started collecting when I was nineteen, after I married Walter—“
“Why is it disgusting?” Steve interrupts abruptly, looking across the table at his father. Catherine falls silent, staring at him. Eddie says his name softly.
“I’m sorry?” Walter says, lowering his fork.
“The fags,” Steve says coldly. “If they’re just holding hands. What’s the problem?”
Walter stares at Steve, a challenge in his eyes, but Steve keeps his ground, staring back, unblinking.
“You know why.”
“No. I don’t.” Steve lifts his chin defiantly. Eddie wants to marry him. “Tell me.”
“It’s not right.”
“Why?” Steve says, but it’s hardly a question. He almost growls. Eddie shifts in his seat.
“Men are supposed to be with women,” Walter says, his voice measured like he’s lecturing Steve. Eddie can hear the way Steve is breathing, can see his fist trembling as it grips the table cloth. Eddie kind of hopes it rips. “Homosexuals— They— They go against God’s word.”
A small part of Eddie is happy to see him get flustered.
“Right,” Steve breathes. “God’s word.” He’s nodding, his jaw tensed the way it does when he’s particularly mad. It’s hot. Eddie sets his fork down. “Because God always wants the best, right?”
Walter just stares. Catherine’s hands are in her lap.
“That’s why priests rape little boys when they go in for Sunday school, right? Because they know God’s word.” Eddie looks at him, taking a deep breath. “That’s why you married an eighteen year old when you were twenty seven.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, and he looks at Catherine, who clears her throat delicately and wipes her lips with her napkin even though there’s nothing there. Walter’s face turns red.
“God also says don’t get drunk,” Steve continues, his voice strong. “And we all know you don’t have an issue with that.”
“Steven,” Catherine says firmly, but Steve doesn’t spare her a glance. The air feels like it’s tightening, like they’re all holding their breaths.
“So what’s the problem with fags?” Steve asks, his cheeks red. “Why do you hate them so much? You’re not better than them.”
“Why are you so defensive—”
“Because I am one.”
Steve is yelling.
Steve never yells, not like this. He yells to be heard over rambunctious bickering and laughter, he yells to be heard across the trailer or the house. He doesn’t yell out of anger. But he is now.
The rooms falls silent. Eddie looks from Steve to his parents, to their wide eyes, and he slowly reaches for the knife next to his plate. He grips it in his hand, his muscles tense the way they were when he was fighting the demobats with Dustin. Ready to move at any given second, like his veins are stiff with adrenaline.
“What are you saying?” Walter says coldly, quietly.
Steve scoffs, humourless.
“I think that was pretty clear.”
“Steven—“ Catherine tries to say, but Steve interrupts.
“But you want me to be clearer? I can be clearer.” He pushes his plate away, toward his dad, and leans over in emphasis. “I like men. And I’ve known for years, and I never told you because I knew you’d try to beat it out of me, but you can’t do that anymore.”
Walter throws his fork onto his plate with a clatter, his mouth twisting, and Steve just grins.
“I can be more specific,” he says in a low voice. He leans back, moving his arm to run his fingers through Eddie’s hair more gently than Eddie thought possible at a time like this. “This is my boyfriend, Eddie,” Steve says. Eddie smiles at him. “And I love him more than life itself, and I love when he holds my hand, and when he kisses me, and—”
Walter interrupts by moving out of his seat, the chair scraping loudly on the floor, his face bright red, as though anything Steve’s said is scandalous. Steve seems to have the same thought, pulling his hand away from Eddie and standing too, his eyes following Walter as he moves away from the table.
“I can tell you more,” he says loudly, defiantly. Eddie scoots his chair back, watching raptly, just in case. “I love it when he fucks me.”
Catherine gasps, and a laugh bursts out of Eddie as he watches Walter’s face redden even more.
“And he fucks me hard,” Steve continues, ignoring his mother as she says his name weakly and begins to cry. “And I fucking love it. And I bet that pisses you off even more, doesn’t it.”
He’s breathing hard, and his whole body is trembling, and Eddie feels prouder than he’s ever felt in his life.
“That I’m the one taking it,” Steve says, quieter as Walter stares at him. “You always wanted me to be a man, but I love it when my boyfriend makes me his bitch.”
Heat pools in Eddie’s stomach. He slides his tongue across his lips, wanting to pin Steve to the wall and kiss his breath away.
“And aren’t you angry,” Steve breathes. “That you don’t have another son to fix the Harrington name.” He’s moving closer to Walter, and Eddie watches carefully. Walter’s hands are shaking, his chest rising and falling with each breath that rattles around in the quiet room. “Because you’re an only child,” Steve says thoughtfully, like it’s a new discovery. “And you only had a faggot,” he adds quietly, close enough to press two fingertips into Walter’s chest as he whispers, “Harringtons end with me.”
The air snaps.
Catherine screams when Walter’s fist hits Steve’s face, and Eddie stands from his chair, his vision red, moving quickly as Catherine cries Walter’s name. Walter is trying to hit Steve again, and Eddie grabs the back of his jacket, jerking him off and holding him back as Steve takes a breath.
His eyes are shining in a way Eddie’s never seen before, with malice and rage and twenty years of anger boiling and bubbling out of him. His cheek is already blooming red, and Eddie can see the subtle mark of Walter’s wedding band. Eddie jerks his jacket again, holding him in place.
“I’m not fourteen anymore, Dad,” Steve says evenly.
The crack of his fist on Walter’s face echoes around the room, and Eddie finally drops the jacket, but not before shoving Walter against the wall hard to disorient him. He steps away as Steve punches him again, watching.
Catherine is yelling at them to stop, her voice shrill and high, but Eddie just… watches.
He’s heard Dustin and the others tease Steve for not winning fights. Losing the fight with Jonathan Byers, the fight with Billy Hargrove. But he’s also heard them all praise Steve for beating demodogs with a baseball bat. And he’s seen Steve throw a demobat into the ground by gripping its serrated tail, seen him step on its wing and rip it right in half before flinging its body away and spitting its blood on the ground. And Eddie’s known, for as long as he’s known this Steve Harrington, that he pulls his punches.
But he isn’t tonight.
Walter’s face and Steve’s hands are painted red with blood, and the sound of them both yelling and Cathrine sobbing and the sound of bone and blood are echoing around the kitchen until Walter is dropping to the floor.
Steve is gripping the front of his blood stained shirt, hitting him and hitting him and hitting him, and Eddie startles at the sound of the front door breaking in, blinking hard and realising that the room is lit up by red and blue flashing lights, that Catherine isn’t in the room.
He steps forward to pull Steve away, his vision focused on Steve as shouts fill the room, but Steve shoves him back and Eddie gets a glimpse of his face.
His top lip is split, bleeding, and his cheek is darkly bruised, and he’s crying.
Tears mix with his blood as they slide down his cheeks, and Eddie knows it must hurt as a tear hits his lip, and even though Steve must not be able to see well, he isn’t stopping. Eddie desperately shouts his name, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him away from Walter, who falls onto the floor, weakly saying something about Steve being a bastard. Catherine is sobbing in the doorway as cops pull Walter off the ground, and Eddie holds Steve back.
Steve is sobbing too, and Eddie’s whole body hurts. He’s saying Steve’s name, trying to get him to look at Eddie, wants to prompt him to breathe in all the way, but Steve won’t look at him, his arms straining against Eddie’s grip. He’s still yelling.
The cops push Walter toward the door as one of them, Powell, moves toward Eddie. Eddie recognises him. He was there when Eddie came back, when Hopper came back. He arrested Eddie once when Eddie was fifteen, but he didn’t seem to hold a grudge was Hopper and Joyce Byers filled him on the shitshow that been going on in Hawkins for the past few years.
Powell is staring, wide-eyed, at them, his mouth hanging ajar with an unspoken question.
“He threw the first punch,” Eddie says, gesturing to Walter’s wriggling body as he’s led outside, his voice shaking.
Walter is yelling at Steve, even though he can’t see him. Calling him a bastard, and a faggot. Yelling that Steve isn’t his son.
As soon as he’s out the door, Steve’s body relaxes, and Eddie pulls him close, tugging him into a hug. He’s breathing hard, and shaking so hard that Eddie can feel it even though Steve’s fists are gripping his shirt tightly. The cop looks at them, watching, but Eddie doesn’t care. Let him see.
Eddie holds his face gently when Steve’s crying slows, and he watches the flashing police lights reflect in his glistening eyes and his tears. Eddie wipes a drop of blood from his lip, nodding when Steve’s chin quivers.
“You’re okay,” Eddie murmurs. His hands are shaking too. Steve takes a deep, trembling breath, his eyes flicking back and forth between Eddie’s.
“My ear’s ringing.”
Eddie’s eyes widen, and he reaches up to Steve’s right ear, touching it gently. There’s some blood in his hair above it, and anger flashes in Eddie’s chest. He wants to go outside and beat Walter some more, regardless of the cops, regardless of his already garbage reputation. But he doesn’t. Because Steve is clutching to his shirt, and he’s crying.
“Can you hear me still?”
Steve nods, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Eddie pulls him into another hug, moving so his mouth is above his right ear, and he knows he’s getting blood on his face, but he doesn’t care.
“‘S gonna be okay,” he says softly. “I got you, sweetheart, you’re alright.”
Eddie closes his eyes, and they sway, and they can still hear the distant, unintelligible shouting of Walter outside. Powell waits next to them patiently until they part slowly. Steve is sniffling, and Eddie wipes his face, under his eyes, under his nose, wipes away the blood on his lip.
“Steve,” Powell says gently. “You gotta tell
me what happened.”
Steve takes another deep breath, swallowing thickly before he looks at Powell, setting his shoulders and jaw again.
“I’m queer,” he says firmly. Powell doesn’t react, just looks at him. “I told him.”
“He hit you first?” Powell asks, reiterating what Eddie said earlier. Steve nods.
“I…” He hesitates, reaches down to take Eddie’s hand, and Eddie laces their fingers, squeezes tightly. “I provoked him. Taunted him.”
Powell pauses, looking out the window to see the cars outside, and he slides his tongue over his teeth, seething.
“Wait here a minute.”
Eddie nods, and Steve leans against him as Powell leaves. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve tightly, pulling him close.
“God, you did so good, Stevie,” he murmurs in his good ear. “‘M so proud of you, baby.”
“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. His voice is rough. Eddie kisses his forehead gently.
“I know, baby,” he says just loud enough that Steve can hear him. “But it’s done, okay?” he says. He looks into Steve’s eyes. “You’re done with him.”
Steve exhales, closing his eyes.
Eddie shifts, pulling to guide him to the table, but Steve tugs at his shirt, opening his eyes and leaving a hard, lingering kiss on Eddie’s lips. Eddie closes his eyes, holding Steve until he pulls away, and when Steve looks at him blearily, he lets out a soft laugh that seems out of place.
“I got blood on you,” he says quietly. Eddie scoffs.
“I’ve had worse bodily fluids of yours on me.”
“Gross,” Steve says, grinning, and he winces when it stretches his lip. There’s blood in his teeth.
“C’mere,” Eddie says, pulling him over and pushing him to lean against the table between Eddie’s and Catherine’s plates before he goes to get a paper towel. Steve snatches it from his hand as he stands between his legs, and Eddie lets out a small indignant noise, but Steve shushes him, reaching up to clean blood off his lip. Eddie waits, holding Steve’s hips.
“Love you so much,” Eddie murmurs.
“Love you too.”
“Is your ear still ringing?”
Steve shakes his head before he pauses, tilting his head and closing his eyes as his brows furrow. Eddie takes the paper towel.
“Little bit. Not as bad. I think it’s fine.”
Eddie gently, tenderly wiping blood off Steve’s lips before he presses it to the split, watching Steve wince slightly. He can feel Steve’s heartbeat against his fingertip. It’s still fast.
“Deep breath,” Eddie says softly. Steve closes his eyes, inhaling deeply. “I got you, baby.”
Steve’s hand finds his waist, holding him tightly as he exhales.
Eddie leans in and kisses his forehead softly, feeling Steve fall forward against him. He pushes his fingers through Steve’s hair, kissing across his forehead, kissing his temple, tilting his head to kiss Steve’s ear tenderly. He whispers to him quietly.
When Powell comes back in, Eddie has to nudge Steve’s cheek gently to make him open his eyes, and Steve turns his face slightly. Eddie pulls away the paper towel. His lip doesn’t seem to be bleeding anymore.
“He’s being held overnight,” Powell says, pushing a notebook into his pocket. “Paying bail, should be released around noon tomorrow.”
Steve nods.
“Your mother’s going with him,” Powell continues gently, like he can see the anguish it causes in Steve’s eyes. “She’s staying at a friend’s tonight.”
“Okay.”
Powell hesitates, looking from Steve to Eddie.
“You have a place to stay?” he asks. Eddie guesses it’s unspoken knowledge that Steve can’t stay here.
“Yes.”
Eddie knows Steve knows he can stay at the trailer for as long as he has to. And Claudia Henderson’s offered her guest room, as well as Joyce and Hopper. Robin’s offered her bedroom floor. Nancy’s offered her basement.
“And you?” Powell asks, looking at Eddie. Eddie starts for a moment, blinking at him blankly before he nods.
“Uh, yeah.”
“Okay.”
Powell hesitates for a moment longer before he looks at Steve, his eyes shining earnestly.
“He shows up again,” he says carefully. “At your work, or wherever you stay, if he threatens you… Or tries anything.” He points at Steve, so serious the air feels tense again. “You come to the station. You tell me, and if I’m not there you tell Flo, and she’ll find me, okay?”
Steve nods, staring at him, biting his lip.
“I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay,” Steve says quietly.
“And if you need another place to stay,” Powell adds. “Let me know. My wife and I have a spare bedroom.”
Steve smiles weakly.
“Okay.”
“You too,” Powell says to Eddie. “Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Eddie says, smiling softly.
Powell claps Steve on his back gently.
“You’re a good kid, Steve.”
Steve pulls Eddie closer when he leaves, and Eddie moves between his legs again, touching his hair gently. The blood above his ear is dry.
They stand in silence as they listen to the cars leave the driveway. Three cars. After a moment the red and blue lights are gone, and Eddie exhales.
Eddie gazes at the bruise on his cheek. His lip is a little swollen, crusted with dry blood. After a moment, Steve leans forward, resting his head on Eddie’s sternum, and Eddie runs a hand over his hair gently.
“What do you need?” Eddie asks quietly. “You wanna shower? Go to bed?”
Steve lifts his head and looks up at him.
“I need you to fuck me.”
Eddie stares at him, looks back and forth between his eyes, watching them shine earnestly, and he stands up straight, tossing away the paper towel.
“Turn around.”
Steve grins and stands up, turning around to face the table, already tugging his shirt off and tossing it across the room. Eddie steps up behind him, tugging Steve’s hair to make him tilt his head before he presses kisses along the side of his neck.
Steve hums breathlessly when Eddie pushes him so the fronts of his legs press to the table, and Eddie reaches around him to unbutton and unzip his jeans.
“Colour?” he asks roughly, pausing as he grips the waistband of the jeans, and Steve whines, his head falling back to Eddie’s shoulder.
“Green, baby, please.”
Eddie grins, shoving Steve’s jeans and boxers down his legs and pushing at his back so he bends over the table.
“Spread ‘em,” he says, kicking at Steve’s foot, and Steve spreads his legs, groaning softly and turning his head so his cheek presses to the table. “Pretty boy.”
“Eddie,” Steve says weakly. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby,” Eddie murmurs. He leans over and kisses his back, down his spine. “So fucking much.”
He kneels on the ground behind him, running his hands over Steve’s ass and his thighs, squeezing and kneading before he leans in to bite at him for a moment before he licks across his hole, holding him tightly.
Steve whines loudly, pushing his ass back toward Eddie, who snickers quietly before eating him out in earnest, licking and sucking and nibbling as he listens to the sweet sounds Steve makes above him.
Steve is groaning and whimpering and whining, and Eddie has to pull away to laugh when a plate falls from the table and shatters on the ground.
“Fuck, sorry,” Steve says, laughing, and Eddie stands to find him gripping the table cloth tightly.
“‘S okay,” Eddie says, breathing hard, tugging Steve’s hair so he stands up again, and Steve releases the table cloth. Eddie wraps his arms around him, kissing his neck. There’s some blood on the table cloth, and Steve is drooling, and Eddie smiles. “Love it when you get all wild. My perfect boy.” He lifts a hand, presses two fingers to Steve’s lips, and Steve whimpers, opening his mouth.
Eddie bites his neck as Steve’s tongue swirls around his fingers, pressing desperate kisses around the back of his neck until he reaches his right ear.
“You have any idea how amazing I think you are?” Eddie asks softly. Steve moans, his head falling back as Eddie pushes his fingers deeper into his mouth, pressing into the pooling spit under his tongue. “Love of my fuckin’ life.”
Steve reaches up and pushes his fingers into Eddie’s hair as soft noises escape his throat.
“You feel good, sweetheart?” Eddie asks. Steve moans quietly, nodding. “You wanna feel better?”
Steve smiles around his fingers, giggling softly, and he tugs Eddie’s hair as he nods.
Eddie pulls his hand away from Steve’s mouth and takes a moment to look at Steve’s spit dripping over his fingers before he reaches down to press a finger inside him.
“Fuck,” Steve groans loudly. Eddie beams.
“Yeah?”
“Fuck, Eddie, I need— Gimme more, baby, please—”
“I’ll take care of you, Stevie,” Eddie murmurs into his ear. “I got you.”
“Feel so good, Eddie.”
Eddie smiles again, biting at his neck, fingering him open as he whispers to him. Tells him how pretty is. He gets three fingers in before Steve finally whines, tugging sharply at his hair.
“Eddie,” he gasps. “Please, please, I—”
“Bend over.”
Steve grins again, leaning to lay on the table again, resting his head so his right ear is up.
Eddie kisses his back before he steps back, unbuckling his belt as he moves to the the counter, noisily opening and shutting cabinets until he finds what he’s looking for.
Steve whines Eddie’s name, looking up at him, and Eddie pulls his belt from the loops of his jeans, shaking the bottle of olive oil at him with raised eyebrows. Steve snorts loudly and lets out a childish, juvenile laugh, grinning and hiding his face in his arms.
Eddie’s always hated this olive oil. It’s Catherine’s, expensive and fancy and ordered from Italy, always hidden away in her special occasions only cabinet. But Eddie thinks this counts as a special occasion, because the man of his dreams is bent over the dining table and Eddie doesn’t want to go all the way upstairs for lube.
Steve’s fists grip the tablecloth when Eddie pushes in, the same way he clutches at the sheets when they’re in bed. The cloth comes up, and a glass falls the floor, shattering, and Eddie laughs again, setting the olive oil down.
“You’re makin’ a mess, baby.”
Steve just lets out a long groan.
Eddie gazes down at him, at the scars that cover his back and backs of his arms, at the mess of his hair. He slides a hand over his back, smearing oil over his skin.
“How do you want it?” he asks breathlessly.
“Hard.”
“Got it. Hold on.”
Steve giggles, gripping the tablecloth, and he lets out a sharp gasp as Eddie snaps his hips into him.
Eddie loves when Steve gets like this. All loose and relaxed, going with every movement Eddie makes. Unfiltered and loud, groaning and whining and almost screaming when Eddie really gets going, his hand to the small of his back. He’s always like this, even when Eddie fucks him softly and kindly like the first time they had sex (or made love, as Eddie put it dramatically once they’d finished. Steve shoved him away and then promptly pulled him closer to tuck his face into his neck.), tangled in blankets in the back of Eddie’s van, breathing into each other’s mouths, whispering and giggling.
Another plate falls from the table.
Eddie is grinning down at him, watching, listening as he swears and moans.
“Eddie,” Steve wails. Tears are sliding down his face, staining the tablecloth.
“Yeah, baby,” Eddie says roughly, his hands gripping Steve’s hips tightly. “What do you need?”
“Fuck, spit on me,” Steve whimpers. “Make me yours, Eddie, please.”
Eddie exhales, running a hand down his spine tenderly. (That night in the van, Eddie also learned, to his delight, that Steve is even kinkier than he is. It’s fun.)
“You are mine,” he says gently. “Always.”
He fucks into him three more times as he gathers spit in his mouth, and then he pauses, letting it drip over Steve’s back. Steve lets out a soft yes, almost hissing it, and Eddie smiles down at him, rubbing the spit into his skin as he moves again.
“Eddie, right there—”
“I got you, baby, I know.”
“Eddie, please, Eddie, EddieEddieEddie—”
He presses his hand against Steve’s back hard, fucking him harder, faster, until Steve is sobbing, until the two remaining plates and the bottle of olive oil fall to the ground and shatter to pieces. Eddie laughs again.
Steve comes on the table cloth. Eddie lifts him up to wrap his arms around him when they finish, and Steve’s head falls back against Eddie’s shoulder. Eddie doesn’t pull out, just holds Steve close and pulls his necklaces around to hang backwards so they aren’t pressing into Steve’s bare skin.
“You okay?” he asks softly after pressing a soft kiss to his earlobe. Steve exhales.
“Holy fuck.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He presses his hand over Eddie’s forearm, slides it down to lace their fingers.
“Look at that, baby,” Eddie says softly, nudging him so look at the table. Steve’s eyes flutter open, finding it. A mostly empty glass, rolling on its side in spilled water, the pale blue tablecloth uneven and folded and stained with blood and oil and come. “That’s all you.”
Steve exhales, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder.
“I’d say you helped.”
Eddie snickers into the side of Steve’s neck, his arms tightening, and Steve moans softly.
“Smartass.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
Steve sighs. Eddie can feels his pulse on his lips. It’s slower.
“What now?” he asks quietly.
“Shower,” Steve says, squeezing his hand. “And pack.”
Eddie hums and kisses his neck tenderly.
“And then we’ll go home,” he murmurs.
Steve smiles.
“Then we’ll go home.”
They shower slowly, carefully washing each other’s hair and bodies, washing away blood and sweat and come in the hot, running water. Steve’s shampoo smells warm, like cinnamon and other spices Eddie’s never been able to afford to keep in his cabinets. (Nutmeg? Allspice? Eddie doesn’t even know what he would use them for.) After they dry off and dress, Eddie stuffs the shampoo, along with his conditioner and body soap, into a plastic bag to take with them. Steve adds two cans of Farah Fawcett hairspray.
Eddie helps him sort through his clothes, pick what to take and what to leave behind. He finds one of his own sweaters in Steve’s closet as Steve is stuffing a bag with underwear and socks, and he giggles to himself before throwing it at Steve. Steve’s cheeks flush pink, and he wordlessly stuffs it into the bag.
Steve packs most of his shirts, except a few he says his mother picked out, and most of his jeans. Eddie gets a garbage bag for the clothes Steve doesn’t want anymore, and he laughs as makes his way through the kitchen, looking at the mess he and Steve made and next behind. They aren’t going to clean it up. Just because.
Steve’s room is pathetically empty by the time they finish packing. It was already pathetically empty before, if Eddie’s honest. No framed pictures, no keepsakes. No stuffed animals or childhood toys. Steve’s bags, a duffel bag and a backpack, are both stuffed with clothes and soap, with a bottle of cologne and a copy of the Hobbit that he tried to hide from Eddie.
Eddie finds it, of course. And looks up at Steve with a beaming grin, even as Steve rubs the back of his neck, blushing bright red.
“You love it so much, I just…”
Eddie crosses the room and wraps his arms around his neck, swaying like they’re dancing.
“Do you like it?”
“I’m trying to.”
“You don’t have to like it,” Eddie says, grinning. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, pulling him close. “It’s fine if you don’t.”
“I know,” Steve says shyly, swaying with him again. “Think I’m just a slow reader.”
“‘S okay, baby,” Eddie says softly. “You don’t have a due date or anything.”
“Thank God.”
They go to bed in the Harrington house for the last time.
Eddie wakes up to Steve’s lips pressing down his neck, and he smiles at the ceiling without opening his eyes, tilting his head back to give him room. He hums softly.
“Whassa time?” Eddie mumbles weakly, reaching blindly to find Steve’s hair.
“Six twenty-seven,” Steve says before he licks a slow line up his neck. Eddie groans.
“Forgot I’m in love with a morning person.”
“‘S sweet,” Steve says lightly. “Just relax, baby.”
Eddie sighs, tugging at his hair again, but his hand falls when Steve moves, tossing the blanket up so he can duck under it. Eddie shivers at the gust of cold morning air that hits his body, and then he shivers again as Steve tugs at the waistband of his boxers.
“I’ll make you coffee,” Eddie says breathlessly when Steve comes back up from under the blanket, cracking his eyes open to find Steve grinning brightly at him. His split lip doesn’t bleed even as he smile. The bruise on his face is colourful, reddish purple and blue, and somehow achingly beautiful even as it makes Eddie’s chest hurt like he’s been shot.
“I’d like that,” Steve says softly.
They get out of bed slowly, lazily, and Eddie tugs on one of Steve’s hoodies as he yawns.
Steve always looks beautiful in the morning light. Even in gray mornings like this, he seems to glow brighter than the sun.
Steve goes to the bathroom while Eddie goes down to make the coffee. He finds Steve’s favourite mug in a cabinet, the cute blue one, and he leans against the counter as he waits on the coffee, looking at the dining table and smiling to himself.
He’s shaken out of his thoughts by a car pulling into the driveway.
He blinks, tilting his head to listen like he can’t tell where it’s coming from, and he turns around, leaning to look out the window to see Catherine.
Anger flares in his chest, and he’s swinging the front door open before she’s even out of the car, careless to the fact that he’s in his boxers.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” he asks sharply as she approaches the door. Her eyes skim over him, her hands folded in front of her. Her hair isn’t as nice as it was yesterday, and Eddie can see traces of her makeup that ran down her cheeks last night.
“It’s my house,” she says primly.
“Well we’re not gone yet,” Eddie snaps. “Come back in a few hours.”
She takes a breath, opening her mouth to speak, but Steve’s voice interrupts her.
“Eddie?” Eddie turns sharply, looking to see Steve coming down the stairs, and Steve’s face hardens when he sees his mother on the front step. “Oh.”
“We don’t have to deal with this, baby,” Eddie says quickly. “Just get your stuff, we can go.”
Steve pauses, staring at Catherine coldly, his mouth twisting thoughtfully before he says, “No. Let’s have coffee,” in a voice that’s far too calm, too light.
He continues down the stairs and turns wordlessly into the kitchen, and Catherine steps past Eddie.
Eddie shuts the door, his stomach knotting, and he follows them to the kitchen. Steve is sipping from the mug, leaning against the counter, and Eddie joins him, watching with a suppressed smile as Catherine looks at the table.
“What do you want?” Steve asks coldly.
“What happened to the table?”
“Eddie fucked me on it. What do you want?”
Catherine’s face turns red, and she looks away from the table, clearing her throat delicately.
“I wanted to talk.”
“So talk,” Steve says dryly, sipping the coffee. He’s still staring at her, almost seething.
Catherine hesitates, taking a breath and looking at the floor, eyeing the broken bottle of olive oil, but she doesn’t say anything about it.
“I know,” she says slowly. “That what happened last night is not… reversible.”
She looks up at Steve.
“But you are still our son,” she says kindly, and Eddie scoffs. “And I want you to know that you still have a home here.”
“No.”
She blinks.
“No?”
Steve inhales deeply, biting his lip, and he carefully holds the mug out to Eddie, who takes it as Steve crosses his arms.
“I have never had a home here,” Steve says calmly, “Mom.”
“Steven,” she says softly. Like it hurts.
He shakes his head, pressing his lips together.
“I’ve never felt…” He pauses, swallowing. “I’ve never felt safe here. Or— Or loved. I’ve never felt fucking— at home here. This has always been just— just a sad empty… lonely house for the sad empty lonely little boy.”
Eddie looks at the floor, biting his lip as he focusses on the heat of the mug in his hands.
“I know you don’t mean that, darling,” Catherine says softly.
“You don’t know anything about me,” Steve says coldly.
“Steven, of course I do—”
“No, you don’t,” Steve shouts. Eddie flinches, and he turns to set the mug on the counter. “No, you don’t,” Steve repeats, breathing hard. “You don’t know shit about me. You know my name because you picked it, but you don’t know who I am.”
“Steven—“
“You left me,” Steve interrupts, his voice shaking. “You— You left me. Here. With— With teenagers, while you went off on holidays and fucking business trips, you left me here, while I was trying to grow up, and then I had to figure out to be a grown up, all by myself because you weren’t here.”
His lip is quivering, and he steadies it between his teeth.
“You don’t know me,” he says again, quietly.
“Steven, you’re my son,” she says softly.
“I’m half deaf.”
She blinks.
“What?”
“One of my ears,” Steve says slowly, “has no hearing.” He stands up straight, off the counter, and gestures to his ears with a hand. “Can you tell which ear it is?”
She stares, wide-eyed.
“Steven—“
“Can you tell me,” he says shakily, “when my hearing started going?”
Silence.
“Because I can tell you,” Steve whispers. “The fucking day.”
He moves closer, his breathing unsteady.
“July sixteenth,” he says quietly. “Nineteen eighty.”
Eddie grips the counter, biting his lip as he watches. Catherine’s are welling with tears, but Steve doesn’t seem to even notice.
“When your husband gave me a concussion,” he continues, whispering. “And I looked up to see you leave the room, and shut the door behind yourself.”
Eddie’s eyes jump to Catherine, his vision red. Her lip is quivering. Eddie doesn’t care.
“I have had four concussions in my life,” Steve says, holding up four fingers before he lowers two of them. “Two of them… were from your husband. And both times, you left.”
“Steven,” she says weakly, but Steve snaps.
“You left,” he shouts. Catherine flinches. Eddie doesn’t. “You picked him,” he says, pointing toward the door. “Twenty fucking years, and you picked him, again, and again, and again.” He chokes, and his voice breaks. “My whole life,” he says weakly. “You picked a man, who never loved you, over your son.”
Eddie’s eyes burn, and he looks at the ground, swallowing thickly.
“And last night you picked him again,” Steve says.
Catherine stares at him. A tear slides down her cheek.
“So no,” Steve says after taking a breath. “You don’t know me, and you don’t get to. This is all you get.”
He stares her down for a moment, and Eddie blinks his tears back, watching proudly.
“Fuck you,” Steve says softly. “And fuck him, and fuck this house. I’m fucking done.”
“Steven, please,” she begs quietly. “You don’t have to come here, or— or see him, but I still want to be… a part of your life, darling, I—”
“You’re not better than him,” Steve yells, crying. “You let him, you let him do everything he did to me.” He’s panting, and Eddie’s chest tightens. He stands up straight. “You made me hate myself before I was old enough to understand why you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you, darling—”
“Well you don’t fucking love me either,” Steve yells. He stops short, blinking like he’s realises it just as he says it, and Eddie wants to pull him into a hug, but he also wants to find Nancy’s gun and shoot both his parents for ever making Steve feel like this. “Even if you think you do,” he says softly. “Whatever kind of love you think you have for me. I don’t want it.”
He stares for a moment longer before wiping his face hard and shaking his head.
And he leaves.
Eddie holds his breath, listening as Steve storms up the stairs, listening as Catherine cries quietly, a hand pressed over her mouth. Steve comes back down after a few moments with his bags, and he pauses in the doorway, looking at Eddie, who looks up.
“Go to the van, I’ll be there in a minute, babe.”
Steve looks at him for a moment before he steps close and tugs him by his shirt into a kiss, sliding his tongue into Eddie mouth and holding him close desperately. Eddie pushes his fingers into Steve’s hair, closing his eyes and exhaling, tasting the coffee on Steve’s breath.
They’re both breathless when they part, and Steve looks into Eddie’s eyes. Eddie nods, touching his cheek.
Steve goes outside.
The door shuts behind him, and Eddie hears the van door open and shut. And then he just hears Catherine’s soft breaths. And the ticking of the clock in the living room.
He leans against the counter, looking at the floor, hesitating before he looks up at her.
“He is… the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Eddie says slowly, softly, his voice almost echoing in the kitchen. “He is the bravest, kindest, strongest, most— most selfless person I have ever known.”
She’s still crying. But she’s looking at him, listening.
“And you…” He pauses, taking a deep breath, his hands shaking, his lip quivering. “And you fucked… every chance you got to have him in your life. Twenty years. You got twenty years of chances, and you fucked them all up.”
He stares for a moment.
“I can tell,” he says softly, “that there’s… a small part of you… that cares about him. Somewhere in there. So to that… small part.” He steps forward, his eyes burning. “I swear, I will… love him, and care for him, and look after him, and do everything I fucking can to make sure he feels as loved and protected as he is.”
He points a trembling finger at her.
“Because that is a privilege that I have.” He’s breathing hard, his eyes burning, his heart pounding in his chest. “And I will do everything in my power to not lose that privilege.”
He hesitates a moment longer, watching her cry before he turns around and picks up the mug and dumps the coffee in the sink. He rinses the mug quickly and shuts off the water harder than he needs to.
And he leaves. Without giving her a second glance.
He hands Steve the mug as he slides into the driver seat, and Steve laughs wetly, taking it.
“Thank you,” he says softly.
Eddie looks over at him, biting his lip. His face is tear-streaked, his lashes clumped, his cheeks and nose rosy red.
Broken and slowly pieced back together.
His eyes are gleaming, and he looks so awfully exhausted that Eddie wants to tell him to get in the back of the van to take a nap, but he also looks so relieved that Eddie just pulls him into a kiss.
“I love you,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together. “With all my fuckin’ heart and soul, baby.”
“I love you too,” Steve whispers back.
Eddie kisses him again, sucking on his lower lip for a moment and holding his chin gently, and he pauses when they part, taking a soft breath.
“You’re not wearing any pants,” Steve says, laughing tearfully again, and Eddie scoffs, blinking tears back as he pulls out of the driveway.
“Who gives a shit?”
Steve giggles, clutching the mug to his chest.
“Let’s go home.”
“Okay.”
#needed to write steve and catharsis#i have a very specific idea of what kinds of people his parents are and i needed him confronting them#especially his mom i actually considered writing a part two just about her life bc I Know Who She Is#(should i do that would anyone read that)#(lmao a character analysis of what is essentially an oc)#anyway#pls let me know if i missed anything that needs a warning#take care of yourselves ily <3#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#steve harrington fanfic#deaf/hoh steve harrington#eddie munson#eddie munson fanfic#eddie x steve#steve x eddie#stranger things#stranger things fanfic
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deaf bakugou is like my favorite thing ever
#🔪 - mello talks too much#or partial deaf#like idk it just fits his character#and it’s so fun to read about him cursing in sign language LOLIL#i love that so many ppl write about it#if u have any fic recs with him being deaf send them in 🙏
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One In A Medallion
Chapter 1: First Day
Summary: There's a smoothie shop right outside Moldak State Park. Familiar faces enjoy frequenting the smoothie shop. Smoothies and friendship await!!!!
Very specific, sit-com style modern AU of @heroesspirit! @wildsage00 came up with the idea and I made it into words hehe
Chapter 1 Summary: Eras has his first day at his new job. Twilight gets a smoothie on his way to work. Kiri drives a large number of children to school. 2.7k, fluff.
Excerpt under the cut :D
Eras steeled himself as Sky pushed the key into the lock and then twisted the sign to display OPEN. His first day at his new job just officially began. You can do this, he reminded himself. A smoothie shop couldn’t possibly be more difficult than an active war zone. Surely.
“Show time,” one of the other employees said. It was the teenager with pink hair— Legend, he remembered. He flipped the switch to turn the drive thru on then pressed a button on his headset to connect it. Beside them, Herb finished setting up the last of the smoothie equipment, head bouncing to the beat of the music playing through their headphones. They tapped on the order display screen in front of them and it flashed to life.
Sky joined Eras behind the counter and sat on one of the stools in front of the register screen. Eras rested his cane against the counter, low enough that it wouldn’t be seen by the customers, and settled on the other stool.
“You don’t have to worry about hiding your cane,” Sky said kindly. Eras glanced at him nervously, ears pinning back against his head.
Sky smiled softly. “I mean, I’m not going to make you show everyone who comes in, obviously. But I want to be sure you know this is a very disability friendly workplace. I’m disabled, and so are most of the people I hire.”
“Oh,” Eras said. His chest filled with warmth at Sky’s words, pushing out some of his insecurity. He was still learning to navigate his disabilities, so he wasn’t yet confident enough to share them with the world.
“No pressure,” Sky said. His ears wiggled slightly as he spoke.
Eras racked his mind for a proper response. Once again, he was saved by a ringing; this time, it was the bell above the door. The sound was enough to let the employees know someone was entering, but not too sharp of a noise.
Eras straightened his back, nerves alight in his chest, and glanced at Sky. Sky’s posture was relaxed, one leg casually resting over the other and his elbow on the arm of the stool. Beneath the end of the leg of Sky’s pants, Eras could see brightly colored, long socks with cartoon birds on them. He smiled, and turned to face the first customer.
“Hi, welcome to Gold Medallion! What can I get for you?” Sky asked.
The process really was simple. Sky put the orders into the computer and took the payments, then Herb and Legend made the smoothies. There was one drive thru order that Legend took while Eras was watching, but he didn’t focus too much on that. He wouldn’t be trained on drive thru for a few weeks.
“You think you’re ready to try on your own?” Sky asked.
Eras took a deep breath. “Yes.”
Sky beamed. “Great! I’ll watch the first few while you get the hang of it, so don’t worry if you forget something.”
“Okay,” Eras said. There was no one else in line, so Eras rehearsed the words in his head with the background noise of smoothies being blended.
Hello, welcome to Gold Medallion. What can I get for you?
Of course. Do you want to add anything to that?
Can I get a name for the order?
Your total is… Are you paying with cash or card?
The door bell rang. Eras watched as a man in a cowboy hat walked through the door and made his way to the counter.
“Hello, welcome to Gold Medallion. What can I get for you?” Eras asked.
“Can I get one mangonada and one grassamel, please?” The man asked. He had an accent Eras couldn’t place. His voice was smooth— Eras had to hold back a smile at the unintentional pun.
“Of course. Do you want to add anything to those?”
“Nope, just as they come,” the man said with a smile.
Eras tried to smile back, but he was pretty sure it didn’t work. He was too focused on pressing the correct buttons on his screen.
“Can I get a name for the order?”
“Twilight.”
#HEHEHEHE#I love this au so much#smoothie ranger au#one in a medallion#heroes spirit#hs eras#hs twilight#tweras#linkshipping#ravioli#malink#groozelink#obviously#its me#hs sky#hs herb#<3#hs legend#hs Cori#hs sailor#hs piper#hoh character#deaf character#autistic character#they’re all disabled don’t worry <3#hs Taylor#hs Ravio#hs sparks#Ace writes#hs wild
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the clans use salt for healing and cooking if i remember correctly.
im only saying this because would someone ever name their kid "saltkit"
Yes! Saltkit is a valid prefix in BB, but only after moving to the Lake.
Before then, they make a sort-of-salt out of burning dandelion root. They consider this material a kind of soot, fine ashes produced by burning something. The rough translation of this spice is "soot-salty-taste."
Salty (taste) = Byyle
(Comes from blood-taste)
Soot (ashes produced by finely burning something) = Keybo
(Used alone in artsy contexts, usually describes bistre, a pigment made from soot and water.)
Plant Salt (of coltsfoot or dandelion) = Keybyy
To specify if it comes from Dandelion or Coltsfoot, you'd say Keybyy Raerra or Keybyy Hakprru. There aren't two dedicated words for the difference; these are both considered "types of dandelions" by Clan cats.
Dandelion = Awpo
Any flowering ground plant with fluffy yellow petals.
This is why they didn't previously have a word for salt itself! They would only ever encounter raw salt as an animal lick, which they'd call Byylebon. Salty-useful-rock. Because it was associated with humans, they wouldn't steal them or interact with them much.
Rraash is a Townmew loanword, a word they adopted for raw, powdered salt during their time trading with BloodClan. At the Lake, they now collect raw sea salt during "Salt Patrols," which are beach trips where a big collection of apprentices are brought to the ocean to learn how to collect and process salt.
So, depending on how the parents would like to name their child, those translations could be;
Byylemew = Saltykit
The taste of salt. Could refer to the flavor of blood, the taste of the ocean, or the spice made from burned dandelion roots. Has a very food-y connotation, probably named by gourmands.
Keybyymew = Saltkit, Spicekit, Seasoningkit, Rubkit
This is a very ThunderClan sort of name. They traditionally used a lot of keybyy in their recipes, as it's very important for a good marinade and making ham. Though, it wouldn't be too surprising to see it used in WindClan too.
Rraashmew = Saltkit, Brinekit
Raw salt. Made from boiling ocean water during large expeditions to the sea called a "Salt Patrol." Used as a medicine AND as a spice, important in controlling parasite infestations, fighting infection, and preserving food. Could just be referring to an off-white colored pelt, food, or even strength in battle for its association with treating wounds.
#Clanmew#BTW I decided to publish this one today just for fun. I'm quiet because I'm answering a bunch of the asks I got on Clanmew Day.#A lot of them seem to be flavor-related so I'm also considering just making a whole Clan Culture pack for ''muzzlesense''#Because I actually have a lot to talk about#Like HOW tracking works and the BEHAVIORS of a good tracker#I think it'll work as more than just a clanmew entry but also as a decent guide for how to 'think' like you have muzzlesense#And ergo how to effectively write a character interacting with the world who has it#Especially helpful for blind and/or deaf cats#btw person who asked me about how to adapt a blind riverclan cat I am thinking of you specifically#Because I got the ask and thought about it and realized that like#I kinda have to start from an earlier point than your ask#Because FIRST it's important to understand how MOST Clans work with muzzlesense#and THEN talk about how living in and around water affects a sense humans don't really have (not in the same way)#Aaaaand a bunch of other asks I got make me realize where I SHOULD start#But only AFTER starting at Step 1 and Step 2 can we get to Step 3; A blind RiverClan cat
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I would like to start this by saying that I love your writing. However I am curious as to if you are a part of the Deaf community? I saw your fae!Roach stories where you added sign and I like the idea of that but you also give him a sign name and it rubs me the wrong way. I don’t mean to be rude about it and just want to make sure that you are aware. It’s just that giving a sign name as someone who isn’t in the Deaf community is super disrespectful.
Hi! I've been learning asl on and off for about 4 years, but I'm not part of the Deaf community.
I want to start by saying being disrespectful to the Deaf community wasn't my intention. My intention was only that as a fae Gaz would never finger spell Roach's name, and would have to use a signed nickname for him. I suppose I could have, and perhaps should have, simply not had Gaz signing with Roach. However, since Roach is selectively mute, I felt like it would have seemed one sided for Roach to be signing and Gaz to be speaking. I want the 1fae1 to meet Roach where he is instead of expecting him to accommodate them.
I don't know how much overlap there is between the Deaf community and mute folks, so I don't know exactly what to say in terms of sign names there, but I'll drop the 'G' from Roach's nickname and just use the sign for insect. BSL is part of Roach's identity within the story, I don't want to drop it entirely, but I understand your concern.
Also if you know the BSL sign for cockroach I would love to use that instead because I could not find it even after like an hour of research.
#ghoul speaks#this again just boils down to#i want to treat my characters with the kindness and respect they deserve#and that includes allowing mute characters to stay mute#i actually want to retcon that Logan is mute since he doesnt talk in the games#anyway ive never liked when mute characters are forced to write out their sentences#because it always seemed like#if your friends cared theyd learn sign#im learning asl for my uncle because he's deaf and it makes me really happy to sign with him#because it brings him joy to be able to communicate with someone on his terms#thats just my two cents
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(I’m gonna do a countdown on names)
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Hi! 👋🏼
First off, I just wanted to thank you for all that you do on your blog, not only has it been helpful to keep things in mind when writing, but I also genuinely enjoy learning more about sign language; I’m trying to self-learn it because it’s just that interesting to me hehe. (Also my church has a Deaf Service and I’d really like to be able to talk to the people there.)
I do have a question, but feel free not to answer; I’m currently working on a story where a very young child has acquired deafness after a severe illness (vaguely Hellen Keller vibes), and I was wondering if you know of any things I should specifically keep in mind when writing about the aftermath (immediate and long-term) of it? The setting is mildly fantasy where sign language exists, but hearing aids and cochlear implants have yet to be invented.
Thank you again for your blog, and the care you put into all your posts!
You're very welcome, and thank you! ☺️ It's always lovely to hear that people are helped by this whole... [insert vague hand-wave at my blog] thing I'm doing
Things to consider with a young character who loses hearing after illness
I don't know anything firsthand about what it's like to go deaf, so the first thing I'll recommend is to find stuff written by people who do. A search on r/deaf for "lost hearing" brings up a lot of different threads; for example, this post where people discuss things they wished they'd done/known when they first lost their hearing might provide some good insight.
As another starting point, Jessica Kellgren-Fozard has a fair few videos on her channel about her experiences as a deaf person, and specifically as someone who lost her hearing in her late teens. These two in particular might be helpful to you:
So You're Losing Your Hearing...
youtube
This is a video for people who think they're losing their hearing, but while it's not strictly about lived experience, it could certainly be helpful to note both the issues Jessica discusses and the solutions to them.
For example, she mentions isolation is a big problem, and talks about the importance of using the tools provided by the internet to find communities of people in the same boat. Even without the internet (or some fantasy equivalent), people are very community driven and prone to bonding over shared experiences, even if those experiences aren't wholly analogous. Are there other disabled characters in your story that your recently deaf character could speak to? Other d/Deaf characters? Who does she have by way of support and community? – these are all good things to think about.
Why I Don't Sound Deaf
youtube
In this one, Jessica talks about her experiences and her relationship with speech and sign languages as someone who lost her hearing. With applying this to your character, her age is important – the "golden period" for acquisition of a new language is typically thought to be before ten years old. Theoretically, the younger someone is when they lose hearing, the easier it will be for them to learn sign language. As Jessica points out in the video, sign language has a different grammatical structure, and because of this she finds it easier to use Sign Supported English instead of BSL. A much younger child, if given immediate or near-immediate access to sign language, is likely to take to it far more easily.
More on speech and language acquisition (or: the evils of consonants)
The impact of hearing loss on speech isn't something I can speak to (pun unintended) with great knowledge or certainty, but I can sort of extrapolate based on personal experience with learning to speak while not being able to hear well. (I had speech therapy, but that was as much to do with my narrow jaw + teeth overcrowding as with language difficulties caused by deafness). I misheard a lot of words and phrases – I spent years thinking that the "big girl swings" were "barbecue swings" 😅
It's worth looking into what level of speech your character would have based on her age, and using that to work out how much verbal proficiency she could retain (if any). Muscle memory accounts for a lot, so if your character already knows how to say certain words or phrases ""properly"", she could retain that ability. It's not an automatic or effort-free process, though: I'm in my twenties and I still have to consciously think about how my mouth is shaping sounds every time I speak. I don't think that will ever change.
If your character is young enough that she's still learning to speak, there will likely be a more marked impact on how her voice sounds. Different phonemes – units or "parts" of sound in speech – are uttered at different frequencies, which affects how easy/difficult they are to hear and therefore learn. This is, AFAIK, one of the biggest causes of the slurred/indistinct speech that people tend to expect d/Deaf people to have. Consonants are evil little fuckers, by which I mean they're spoken at higher pitches so anyone with loss in the high frequency range (hi!) is more likely to miss them. There are different types of consonants, too! And yes, each type presents its own challenges, because consonants exist purely to vex and frustrate everyone with high-frequency hearing loss and/or speech difficulties. For example, labiodental fricatives (e.g., the 'f' in fan and the 'v' in van) are particularly tricky, because they sound virtually indistinguishable.
StudySmarter has an easy-to-understand comprehensive breakdown of phonetics. You don't need to become an expert in phonetics, but reading through this will help you understand how sounds are formed in speech, which is helpful to keep in mind when thinking about your own character's speech. Pay particular attention to the phonemes that sound similar (like the aforementioned fan/van) or are soft/breathy (like the 's' in 'sound' or 'h' in 'half') – these are the most common problem areas, as are distinctions between 'sh' and 's'. If they feel soft or breathy in your mouth, they're probably going to be harder to hear.
Deafness and illness as trauma, and adjusting to change
Last thing I'd suggest thinking about is the experience your character has with the illness itself, and how she feels and copes with the changes to her life caused by acquired deafness. Illness can be a traumatic experience, especially when it has long-term after effects. If you've ever lost the ability to do something you can usually do, even temporarily, you'll probably be familiar with the frustration, and sometimes humiliation. It's also hard to overstate just how much auditory information there is in the world, and how much hearing people rely on that information without knowing it. Suddenly losing that ability isn't going to be easy, even if your character is young enough that they won't be able to remember anything different once they're grown up. Add to that the realisation that your body isn't as reliable as you thought it would be, that you suddenly can't trust your own health, and possibly not being able to understand why that's the case. That's a lot to deal with! And you shouldn't be afraid to show your character going through it!
Thinking back to my own childhood experiences, the strongest emotions connected to my deafness are confusion, embarrassment and alienation. Confusion because the world can be confusing when you're constantly missing auditory cues; embarrassment because unfortunately not everyone is kind and accommodating when you make mistakes due to missing aforementioned auditory cues/information (and sometimes even if people are lovely about a mistake, you can feel stupid for making it anyway); and alienation because of a sense that I was somehow "different". Thing is though, this was normal for me. I have never known anything different. But my relationship to and understanding of deafness as an identity has evolved hugely throughout my life. So, once again, age is going to be a deciding factor in how your character adjusts.
From some rudimentary googling and fuzzy memories of my brief stint as a Psychology student, children develop social awareness (awareness of how others think and feel) and self-awareness (awareness of own existence and how others perceive you) fairly early on, but these awarenesses take time to develop fully. Basically, this means that your character’s age will influence the scope of their reaction to acquired deafness. Some examples as a frame of reference:
A two-year-old is going to be primarily focused on their immediate emotional experience – they can’t hear things they could hear before, it’s confusing. They will also likely be aware if people treat them differently, but unlikely to have a socially-installed idea that they are now different.
A four- or five-year-old, on the other hand, has probably developed enough social and self-awareness to understand that certain people in society get treated differently. They might already have a sense that this is unfair, or they might still be trying to understand why this is the case – it depends on what they’ve learned about disability from adults around them.
(I mentioned above that you can feel stupid/embarrassed for making a mistake even if people are genuinely supportive regardless. The first time I vividly remember someone making me feel stupid and embarrassed for not hearing something, I would have been 4 or 5. The first time I can recall feeling stupid because I was aware that other people didn’t have that problem and that I’d made a social faux pas, I would have been about 7 or 8)
By early adolescence (ages 10–13), children are more aware of, and possibly more susceptible to, peer pressure and social norms [1]. Any understanding of and biases/prejudices concerning disability will be more deeply ingrained, as will concerns about the social impact of going deaf.
The support network that your character has access to is going to be crucial to how they manage this change at any age, so think about the characters in their immediate family/community and how they’ve acted towards disability and social difference.
[1] In a fantasy setting, you as the author are in charge of what those social norms and attitudes are, and I always encourage authors to examine their own biases when worldbuilding them. How are disabled people viewed and treated in your world? Have you made it similar to your own social and cultural experience? If yes, is that because you see that as the norm, or is there a narrative or worldbuilding reason for that? Are there any assumptions about the current or historical treatment/existence of disabled people that have influenced your worldbuilding?
Tropes to watch out for
There are three main tropes to be wary of when a character acquires a disability of any kind:
The acquired disability as an inherent tragedy akin to a death sentence and nothing else. As I’ve already said, an acquired disability can be significantly emotionally difficult, especially if the circumstances around acquisition were traumatic. Acknowledging and exploring this is important. The problem is when writers leave it there – the character is disabled, their previous way of life is lost to them, and therefore the character no longer has any worth to the story (and, by implication, to society). Think of the trope of the ex-athlete (or any other hobby/profession, although fighters and athletes are the most common components off this trope) who acquires a disability and then becomes a bitter, depressed hermit who lives in a state of misanthropy and misery because their life is effectively over. (This happens to Will in Me Before You by Jojo Moyes. Content warning for assisted suicide there). The main issue with this trope isn’t its content, per se, but its execution: Writers rarely examine why someone might end up like this (hint: institutional and internalised ableism, and lack of structural support for disabled people), and instead treat it as an inevitability because they cannot conceive of disabled existence as anything but inherently miserable.
The second trope is when a character manages to “throw off” the disability. These characters either only remain disabled as long as the disability is narratively useful, are magically cured, or overcome the disability by an act of willpower (sometimes only for narrative effect). The issue here is the content: the idea that disability can be overcome or cured by sheer willpower (or yoga, or the right diet, or religion) is pervasive and actively harmful to real-life disabled people, because it implies that disability is somehow our fault. Closely related to this trope is the one where an acquired disability never tangibly impacts a character (or only does so when it would be dramatic); you see this primarily with characters who use prosthetics effortlessly or, in the case of the latter, characters who appear abled until their disability can cause tension or drama in the plot. Again, the content is the issue: disability is flattened to nothing but a plot device, with no thought given to how it affects characters (and therefore real disabled people).
Finally, there’s the idea that an acquired disability is actually a “blessing in disguise” as a type of inspiration porn. That’s an icky trope, but I think it has some itty bitty grains of potential – crucially, the fact that there can be joy in disabled existence. Someone who acquires deafness might not see it as a blessing in the same way as some congenitally deaf people do, but they may still come to appreciate and embrace (aspects of) Deaf culture. Or perhaps they just manage to develop a neutral relationship with their acquired deafness. That’s fine, too!
A solution is to all of these is to consider the practical and proactive aspects of recovery, as well as the emotional fallout. Consider:
How does your character adjust?
How do the people around her adjust?
What support does she have? / What support systems are available?
How does she make sense of her new reality?
What accessibility aids does she have access to, and what are they like to use?
Long story short, nuance and consideration of different aspects of the disabled experience are key.
Hopefully this’ll help! (I’ve also wanted to talk about acquired disability in fiction for a while, hence the wall of text lol). Best wishes for your writing, anon ☺️
#writing deaf characters#disabilities in sff#acquired hearing loss#worldbuilding for deaf culture#acquired disability
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A Rose Amidst Thorns #17: Dirt and Oranges
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This chapter is a bit chunky! Hope it makes up for the wait LMFAO.
word count:3.9k
CW: emotional whump, gaslighting, dissociation, some amnesia, ableism, POC whump, fade to black noncon, self deprecating, hand feeding, confinement, captivity, mentions of minor whump (blink and you miss it), aftermath of hand whump, disability whump, let me know if I missed anything
The hayloft wasn’t too bad. He had a thin blanket for the night time and every few days, Xavier or Jesse switched the manacle on his ankle to the other so it didn’t chafe too much. All he had to do was behave. Wake up with the sun and when he saw the top of their hair above the ladder, he waited on his knees. His knees were bruised constantly and so was what little was left of his ego.
Xavier had started to let him down in the barn to clean the stalls, start polishing the saddles, and cleaning the tools. He’d even been given a bucket and a towel, told to clean his own blood off the barn wall. Blood stained. Migel didn’t know that before he started to scrub at the wall with cramping hands. Ah yes. His hands. His hands were, quite plainly, fucked to all hell. His left hand was better off. It always felt tight and there was a scar right in the middle of his palm, circular where it always hurt the most. His right hand. His right hand was the worst of it. It had been set as best as it could, but his fingers still looked wrong. Some of them still bent a little the wrong way. That was the least of his problems though.The problem was the way his hand was curled like he was about to make a fist but stopped midway through. Straightening his fingers outward was excruciating and curling into a real fist was also painful.
Looking at them too much made his skin crawl and his stomach twist. So mostly he just avoided looking. But signing had become an arduous process too. It made him angry, even though it wasn’t allowed. Somehow, Xavier had been patient with him when he was figuring out how to grab the rake to clean out the stalls. Even offering advice and helping him figure out a grip. Xaviers mood swings made Miguel dizzy sometimes.
There was a brightside. Jesse was still mostly the same. The torment was the same. Fake sweetness followed by an angry backhand to the face. Mocking the state of his hands and then softly massaging them so that they felt better. The push and pull was familiar. He was used to that. Xavier had been oddly sweet… Just sweet. Providing words of encouragement and comfort. He hadn’t hurt him in weeks. Miguel preferred him when he was playing mind games. Maybe it was because he had stopped fighting. He didn’t know. Most of the time.. He was too tired to really try and figure it out either.
Today the rays coming through the barn window were soft and warm on his face as he awoke. He half wanted to go back to sleep. But they would have his head if he was still asleep when they came up the ladder. He pushed himself up on his cot, tried to do the exercises for his hands that Solomon had given to him. When that failed, he stared at the wall, trying to remember what got him here.
Miguel had lost time. That much he knew. There was a period of time he didn’t remember. After Jesse.. In Solomon's bed.. He shook himself free of the memory. It was better if he didn’t remember. He could stand missing time. It had happened many times before. To be honest, Miguel didn’t remember much of his first year here. The entirety of his thirteenth year of life was a distant blur, only recalling bits and pieces. He didn’t feel like trying to remember. It wasn’t worth it.
There were certain memories that stood out among the rest. A gun hot and heavy in his hands pointed at Xaviers face, burning pain on his chest, the smell of melted skin, and lots of darkness. He spent so much time blindfolded when he was thirteen, unaware of his surroundings. Moving through the darkness like drowning in a lake. Miguel mostly just accepted that he would never know exactly what they did to him that year.
He did wish he remembered some things before he was taken. He had siblings once. He knew that. His sister's faces were fuzzy. Sophia had dark hair that curled into a nest on her head and was shorter than him even though she was older. Marisol’s hair was longer and more brown. She had soft hands. He remembered Jaime the most though. He was smaller than him. The smallest of the four of them. Jaime used to run around a lot. His father used to call him travieso, but he would smile while he did. Miguel assumed that was because for all the mischief his brother liked to cause, he was harmless.
Harmless fun. When was the last time he had that? Before Xavier? Before he could remember? Miguel tried to hold onto their faces, to the way they looked when they laughed. But they were fading. All of them were fading away from him like water through his hands. The tighter he held, the more they slipped away from him. It had been eight years since he’d seen their faces or felt their touch. All of it seemed to escape from him. They never came for him. He remembered that. His parents gave him up to a devil, demiono, and never even tried. Miguel shouldn’t be thinking about them at all. Yet here he was, lost in his thoughts, wondering what life could have been if they had at least tried.
It wouldn’t have made a difference, but at least he would have known he was loved once. Real love. Not whatever Xavier and Jesse had to show him. Jesse’s constant need to be feared and loved at the same time. Xavier’s desperateness for Miguel to rely on him for everything. None of it was real love. He wondered if the two of them ever had been held or hugged. If someone had hugged them when they needed it, would they have been different? Could they ever be different?
Miguel was thinking too much again. He did that sometimes. His mind always moved faster and faster until they dug him into a hole he couldn’t get out of. Sometimes, when he thought too much, a sinking feeling would rise in his chest. Make him feel like a cave, hollow and dark. When he felt hollow, he would go to Solomon, help him with his chores. Make up new ones to keep himself occupied until the feeling passed. If the feeling didn’t pass, sometimes his chest collapsed. It never actually collapsed, it only felt like it did. Like all the emotions and memories were sitting on his chest at all times and sometimes they broke his bones. Then everything was painful and it was hard to breathe.
It happened sometimes before he came to the ranch. When it did, his father would hold him close to his chest, make Miguel feel his pulse, and hum. The vibrations were always calming, following along with the pulse, his fathers steady breathing. Solomon would hold him sometimes. But now all he felt was a sinking emptiness in the pit of his stomach the longer and longer he spent alone in the hayloft. He’d grown so used to company. To the feeling of other people around. Especially Solomon. Miguel had forgotten what it was like to feel lonely.
Loneliness was killing him. So much so that he had begun to look forward to his visits from Jesse and Xavier. Heart racing when he saw them. Even if it was just to make sure the manacle hadn’t chafed his ankle too much, give him food or water, and take out his waste bucket. Simple things like Xavier running a hand through his hair, or Jesse wrapping a hand around his throat made him ache for more touch. More anything. At least now he had jobs to do. Taking care of the barn, cleaning the saddles and boots when they came back from rides. He cherished his time down from the hayloft. Even if he was watched like a hawk all of the time. Even if no one dared to talk or look at him.
Today was no different. When he saw the shocking red hair appear from the ladder, he got on his knees. At least they didn’t hurt anymore when he did it. Or maybe they did, he was just used to it by now.
Jesse had a bucket in one hand, and his other hand was behind his back, hiding something. What was he hiding? It made his stomach sink to his knees too.
Morning mutt, Jesse said, grinning from ear to ear. Walking toward him and putting down the bucket with a thud. He looked up and squinted at Jesse’s face. He seemed chipper. Happy and less angry. There was something wrong here. Miguel moved to look at the bucket but Jesse grabbed at his hair, pulling him back and making his neck arch painfully. He whined, breathing picking up. Maybe Jesse is in a mood today.
Jesse lifted Miguel to be face to face with him, making Miguel grunt and one hand wrapped around Jesse’s wrist.
Close your eyes and open your mouth for me kid, Jesse said, licking inside his ear again just to see him squirm. Miguel came to a realization of what he wanted from him. Was this the reason for being so chipper? He just wanted a hole to fuck? Open them and I’ll get out the blindfold and the bridle and I’ll leave you like that to do your chores.
It wouldn’t be the first time Jesse’s done that. Left him to his own devices when he’s blindfolded. He wouldn’t doubt that Jesse would do it again. So he just closed his eyes and tried to relax. Let his mouth hang open as Jesse slowly lowered him back down, releasing his hair. Miguel only wanted to be done. Get his breakfast, do his chores, come back and sleep. That was all he wanted. The darkness was enough to try and consume his thoughts. He waited for the salty taste of sweat and come on his tongue. Nothing came.
Not for a while at least. Miguel’s mouth was getting dry from sucking breaths in through it. Then something was placed in his mouth, soft and almost pillowy. A finger under his chin pushed slightly to make him close his jaw. Miguel bit into the citrus in his mouth, cool juice exploding over his tongue. The taste was sweet and tart, spreading into every corner of his mouth. He chewed and he let it sit a bit longer before he swallowed. He opened his mouth again eagerly, awaiting another slice. A finger tapped against his eyelids and Miguel opened his eyes, staring up at Jesse with an orange in his hand.
He was smiling. Good right? You want some more?
Miguel kept his mouth open, nodding. He wanted more of that orange, he hadn’t had much more than stale bread and water for his time in the hayloft. It was the sweetest thing he’d had in a while.
Two more slices of orange were placed in his mouth and he chewed greedily. Tongue slipping over Jesse’s fingers that sullied the taste a bit with dirt. He didn’t care. Miguel no longer cared about much anymore.The shattered remains of his dignity were on the floor in front of him. Along with drops of his blood. And the last of it was being stolen from his body from fingers that tasted of dirt and oranges.
He could barely remember what it felt to be a person anymore. If he ever was one in the first place.
You’re being real good today aren’t you? Here’s some more, Jesse said, an amused smile on his face as he gently placed another slice on his tongue. With every slice, Miguel could feel himself slipping deeper and deeper into desperation. He was desperate for more of the sweetness, even if it was made slightly bitter by the taste of dirt. Dirt and oranges. Was this what had become of him? Begging for scraps.
My uncle got them for Hen. She asked for some from the market. I managed to steal some from the crate before– Miguel didn’t see the rest of what Jesse said. He had turned away from him and Miguel whined as Jesse stepped back. Jesse wore that same grin as he did, wiping his hand on his pants to try and rid himself of the juices from the orange. I don’t have any more, mutt. If you’re real good today, maybe you’ll get some more before I take you back.
With that, Jesse flicked out his hand. The man tilted his head slightly to the side. Clean my hand, you can have the last of the juice.
Miguel burned with shame as he moved, grabbing Jesse’s fingers and sucking on them.
Dirt and oranges. He wished Jesse always tasted like this. Jesse’s fingers were rough and calloused, but he did his best. Swirling his tongue around them, in between, trying to get at every last taste of orange. Jesse pulled his hand back and a trail of saliva came away, connecting Miguel's mouth to Jesse’s hand. He almost retched at the sight. Disgusted with himself.. with Jesse. With his predicament. All of it was almost too much. He was angry and tired and he just wanted to sleep.
Instead, Jesse moved to unlock the manacle from his ankle. The skin there, angry and red. It was time to switch legs when they got back.
The rest of Miguel’s day went in a blur. He was far away. Following instructions. Cleaning the horses, washing them as Jesse watched with mock interest. He cleaned the bridles, including the one that was reserved for him. He didn’t think about it. Miguel found that when he didn’t think as much, everything got easier.
Brush, clean, walk. Brush, clean, walk. Taking walks with Jesse or Xavier had become normal as well. Jesse walked with him around the ranch, taking the black draft horse with them. It walked behind them at a leisurely pace. They didn’t talk. Jesse was unusually quiet and it filled Miguel with dread. Sinking into his stomach and into his legs. They turned around to go back to the bark, a breeze making the day cooler. A minor help from the brazing sun hot on the back of neck.
Jesse waved to get his attention and Miguel looked at the other man.
Do you ever think about them? Your family before you came here?
Miguel frowned. He wasn’t allowed to think about them. Let alone talk about them. He narrowed his eyes at Jesse, cautious. Why was he asking this? Why did Jesse look so tired? What was happening outside the hayloft that was making Jesse ask questions that weren’t allowed? The hair on the back of his neck raised, sensing some sort of danger. Miguel shrugged in response to the question, an attempt of playing it safe.
Sometimes I think about my mother before I came here. Do you think about yours?
A memory shattered through the fog in the back of his brain. His mother running her hands through his hair, untangling the curls. Gentle fingers rubbing his earlobes, the soft rumbling vibrations that meant laughter. The tiredness that came from being safe in his mothers lap.
Miguel found himself nodding without his permission. Jesse nodded along with him. It was almost normal. A conversation he would have had with a friend. Precious and intimate. Miguel couldn’t let himself feel like that though. If he started to think of Jesse as more than just the person who hurt him, he’d never make it out alive.
Don’t worry. I miss my mom too. I won’t tell Xavier.
He took that sentence, those words and held them close to himself. Jesse was just another person who missed his mom. Miguel didn’t know what to do with that information. He could throw it out, leave it with the rest of the darkness he didn’t remember. Or he could keep it close, a reminder that Jesse was just a person. A bad person. But a person nonetheless. Miguel decided that he would save a decision like that for later.
The man walked on. Leading the horse back to the dreaded barn, back to the hayloft. Back to where everything would be awful again. He suppressed a shudder. Keeping his head straight, not looking at Jesse. Not ignoring him but not inviting him in for more conversation either. Miguel no longer wanted to think about mothers and fathers and brothers. He just wanted to put the horse back in the stable and make it back to the hayloft in one piece.
Something caught his eye, a movement to his left. It made his heart stop, his stomach drop. Miguel's hands tightened their grip on the lead of the horse, the pain somewhere distant. Everything else was distant. Solomon was walking out of the house, down the steps. Staring at him too. How long had it been? How long since he’d even been allowed to ask if the man was alive? Something in him compelled him to let go of the horse's lead. He took a step toward Solomon. Solomon took a step toward him. Signing something, saying something.
His face was bruised to all hell, brown skin covered in fading green and yellow blotches. Solomon's eyes looked so tired. So fearful. Miguel couldn’t help himself. He ran toward the man. The man who helped him, who raised him, who never once left his side unless he was forced to. He took only a few steps before a hand wrapped around his waist and yanked him backwards.
Solomon stopped in his tracks. Literally feet away, if Miguel reached he could almost touch him. He wanted to touch him. He wanted to hug and let himself be held by the only person who ever provided any true comfort. But the arm around his waist started to drag him backwards.
Something in him ignited. He fought, kicking and dragging his heels in the dirt. Nails digging into Jesse’s freckled skin on his arms. Drawing blood. There was a sinking feeling as Jesse continued to drag him. Solomon took a few steps forward, reached out to him. Miguel reached back out to him and their fingers touched. A tingling spread through him and he could feel his throat tighten. He was so close, so close and he was being dragged away again.
Was it worth it? To hug the man he considered a father? Was it worth the punishment that awaited him? His body seemed to act again without his permission as he threw his head backwards. Skull cracking against Jesse’s lips. Jesse’s arm around him loosened and he wiggled out of the hold, sprinting toward his caretaker until his arms were wrapped around Solomon’s waist. Breathing in his scent.
Solomon always smelled of earth and rosemary. Arms wrapped tightly around him and Miguel buried his face into the man's chest. Solomon was warm and safe. Every memory he had that was ever good of his time here included Solomon. He didn’t want to let go. He couldn’t. If he did, he was afraid that he would never be able to see him again. Something in his chest broke. Shattered right into pieces. And it released out his eyes and mouth, flowing out of him like a river. Was he screaming? Wailing? There was wetness on Solomon's shirt and Miguel wailed harder. Hands curling into the soft fabric of his clothes. His whole body shuddered with his cries.
Slowly, gently, Solomon lowered them both to sit on the ground. Miguel in his lap and curled into his shirt. Sobbing softly at the warmth of another person. Solomon slowly rocked Miguel back and forth, holding him like a small child, until his cries stopped. When he stopped, Miguel finally found the courage to look Solomon in the eye.
Hello she’awee. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay. Jesse’s going to take you now. You go with him. You go with him and you live and you keep on going. Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up. Miguel took in a shuddering breath as Solomon wiped his tears. Jesse’s cold and calloused hand yanked him by the shirt into a standing position. Shoving him to move forward. Away from Solomon who stayed on the ground. He forced himself to look ahead, to not look back. If he looked back he wouldn’t make it. With every step a part of him faded deeper and deeper into itself. Until when they were back into the barn and the world smelled of horse manure again, he was no longer there.
He was outside his body, watching Jesse march him up the ladder. Watching as Jesse shoved him down to his knees and locked the manacle around his ankle again.
Don’t fucking.. Come back. You asshole, Jesse said, slapping him across the face. Miguel blinked and he was back in his body. Seeing it through fresh eyes. Looking up at Jesse. You with me?
“Yes.” Miguel answered lamely with his hand, tears welling in his eyes again. A sharp pain came across his cheek.
Don’t you dare fucking cry. You fucking ran. You went to Sol, you’re not supposed to do that you fucking shit. I thought Xavier burned those rules into you. You aren’t even supposed to mention him and you fucking ran toward him.
Oh. Oh he really was in trouble wasn’t he? Xavier was going to kill him this time. Or worse, kill Solomon. Jesse grabbed his chin with a bruising grip and he leaned in real close. Even his breath smelled of oranges and dirt.
I won’t tell if you act like you want it. If you’re real convincing, I might even be gentle, he said, shoving Miguel backwards on his back. The wind knocked out of his chest. Miguel instinctively crawled backward. Are you angry yet Miguel? Jesse asked as he pulled tighter on the chain that held him. You can be angry. I promise. You wanna go back out? Go see Solomon? Come on.. he drawled, crawling over Miguel on the floor. Hovering over him. Or do you wanna stay with me?
Nausea rose in his throat and he whimpered. But he brought a hand to Jesse’s chest and looked up at him
“I want to stay with you,” he signed slowly. One hand snaking behind Jesse’s neck to pull him close. Pressing their lips together.
Good boy.
And Miguel closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wooden floor.
He focused on the smell of dirt and oranges. He pretended that the scent was something comforting. Something easy to stomach. When Jesse was done, Miguel was hand fed another orange. He told himself he was content with that.
He was still hungry.
Do not give up yet. Please. For me. Don't you give up.
Miguel wouldn’t, but he wasn’t sure how much left of him there would be by the time hope came round again. But maybe it would. Maybe it would and there would still be a piece or two left of him to save. He could be a better dog for someone else. For someone kind.
__
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#whump#whumpblr#sunshine writes whump#poc whump#disability whump#deaf main character#ableism#hand whump#aftermath of hand whump#gaslighting#emotional whump#hand feeding#captivity#fade to black noncon#intimate/creepy whumper
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I mean, if Jia is mute, I can add a deaf character to my fic without any problems, right? It's a genuine question because maybe it's very inconvenient for some, even though the fanfic is mine (incredible, isn't it?
#I really want to develop a deaf character it's in my plans since last year!#I mean imagine her and Jia talking in sign language#I really like Jia's character#I don't know why but she captivates me#I REALLY DON'T KNOW WHY I LIKE HER#but I like it and that was my inspiration to make my character deaf#The point is that this is such a sensitive subject and I have been working on a way to address it#I think I can do it I mean it's easier than writing a gigantic lizard destroying cities don't?#jia andrews#monsterverse#legendary godzilla#legendary monsterverse#godzilla#godzilla x kong: the new empire#kong x godzilla
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