lizard-ratt

[lizard-ratt]

So this is something I’ve been think about for a while and it’s just been sitting unfinished in my drafts but…

What if, after the events of season one, Barb’s disappearance was considered much more suspicious by the townsfolk? After all, she was last seen at the Harringtons’ and that’s where her car was found still. The Harrington name was a popular one, and Mrs. Harrington was well loved in town. But still…it’s an open secret what their son gets up to when they go away.

Barb was last seen in the company of Steve Harrington, and though the cops haven’t indicted the boy with anything, rumors are a nasty thing. Pretty soon, whispers about the youngest Harrington start passing through town. Maybe it starts in the school, maybe it starts by nosy neighbors. In any case, people start giving Steve the side eye.

Maybe people start treating him differently. Some with disgust, some with fear. Maybe Tommy and Carol start distancing themselves from him long before Billy shows up because they don’t want to be dragged down with him. Maybe by the end of his junior year, Steve has been ostracized by his classmates.

And he tries, right? At least at first. He tries to pretend everything is normal, that the rumors and reactions of others don’t upset him. But maybe even Nancy is having a problem with it all. All the reminders of Barb, Steve just trying to ignore everything, and everyone asking her why she’s still with her best friend’s killer.

And maybe part of her does blame him, just as she blames herself, and his not trying to prove he’s innocent is just too much for her. Maybe she doesn’t fully break up with him yet, but she’s definitely pulling away, unable to deal with the painful memories. Or maybe she does break up with him, which only sparks the rumors about him more. Steve, hurt and depressed even though he tried to pretend otherwise, falls even deeper.

By senior year, he’s an outcast. The town treats him like a killer, he has no friends, and his parents would rather take an extended vacation than deal with the issues in the town. After all, everyone is on their side and sympathizing with them, so it’s not like their name is being tarnished. So Steve is all alone. An outcast. A loner. A loser. A freak.

Maybe Steve is fully in depression mode, maybe he’s grown a little prickly and jaded. First day of school, maybe someone spray paints his locker, or his car. He’s had to drop out of all sports, his already mediocre grades plummeting further.

Nancy isn’t cruel. She and Jonathan try to do damage control, try to help, try to explain that Steve is innocent, but it also just makes Nancy want to get to the bottom of it all more. She gets distracted by that, like a bloodhound with a scent, and Steve is just trying to survive his last year of high school.

Except Barb wasn’t the best friend of just Nancy.

Robin Buckley doesn’t trust Steve. She’s been devouring all sorts of true crime articles, knowing that Ted Bundy hadn’t been suspicious either, was considered attractive by many too (she didn’t get it, even without being a lesbian), so she could see how easily Steve could do what they said he did.

So maybe she starts observing Steve, following Steve. Sure, she and Barb had gone different ways, but she still loved her former friend. If she could catch her murderer before he strikes again…

And then there’s Eddie. Eddie who has been watching and listening since he returned for his second senior year. He gloated at the downfall of Hawkins Golden Child at first, but even he could admit things didn’t add up. And…well, what was he supposed to do? He was Freak King after all.

Maybe it (quietly) gets out that Eddie has started selling drugs. Maybe Steve goes for some weed, something to take the edge off. Maybe Eddie is a little worried, but he agrees to meet with him. Maybe they get to talking. Maybe Eddie offers some advice, from one freak to another. Maybe Steve isn’t as bad as he always assumed he would be.

Maybe Steve starts sitting with Eddie and the Hellfire boys at lunch. The town always hated him, so why not? Not like he had popularity to lose, his reputation already in shambles. It would be nice not to have to hide in his car during lunch.

Billy is still an ass when he comes to town.

He heard about Steve, the once Top Dog at Hawkins High, and immediately does what everyone does to establish rank: squares up. Except Steve isn’t alone anymore. This time, Steve has someone in his corner who won’t back down when one of his little sheepies needs help.

And maybe Steve repays the favor by acting as Eddie’s guard dog during his deals, a tight smirk behind dark sunglasses as hands grip a bat with nails in it.

Nancy isn’t entirely enthused with Steve leaning into the rumors of being dangerous, of hanging out with a known drug dealer, and maybe they have a row about it. Maybe Steve accuses Nancy of never having actually loved him, pointed out how quickly she moved on to Jonathan, and that Eddie was the one who stuck by his side and not her.

And of course afterwards he feels back, even though he probably shouldn’t. But he still wants to apologize. So he still goes to Nancy’s to do so, and Dustin still grabs him for help with D’Artagnan, and things continue much the same there…except.

Except Robin still doesn’t trust Steve. Still finds something suspicious. Still been following Steve secretly. And him hanging out with a bunch of kids? Definitely suspicious.

Of course, things start making a little more sense when she follows them on her bike to the junkyard and is almost eaten by a weird dog-like creature with a flesh flower full of teeth for a head. The only thing that saves her?

Steve Harrington and his nail bat.

Things continue on pretty much the same after that. Except Robin is there with Steve and the kids when Billy shows up and she tries to help Steve but gets backhanded and called a dyke by Billy, and Steve goes down and then Billy too. Max still drives to the tunnels and all that.

But after, Robin’s eyes are wet and she asks Steve, flinching slightly when his grip on the nail bat tightens, what about if Billy was right about her. Steve looks at this girl who was drawn into hell because of remembered love and loyalty for a childhood friend and knows that it doesn’t matter if she likes boobies or not, what matters is if she’s okay.

They’re inseparable after that. And maybe Steve starts questioning things about himself too, about why he likes hanging out with Eddie so much, but now’s not the time to bring it up.

Eddie definitely gets drawn in early too, of course, but I’m thinking not until S3. After the truth of the lab being linked to Barb’s death, public opinion of Steve gets slightly better. But only slightly, because he’s already crafted a new reputation for himself, and some people don’t fully accept that he wasn’t to blame at least in part.

So people stop accusing him of being a murderer, but they don’t entirely trust him.

His mom pulls some strings though and he and Robin still work at Scoops, except they’re already besties by this point. And maybe Eddie (and maybe occasionally the rest of Hellfire) come hang around a bunch too.

And maybe, after the Russian torture,the bathroom confession isn’t about Robin’s love life, but about Steve’s.

And Eddie isn’t there with the Russians but he gets dragged in because he and Steve and Robin had plans to meet up after their shift and they never arrived. So he goes to the mall to see what’s up.

Maybe he overhears Steve confessing. Maybe he only heard part of it (maybe just the end part where Steve talks about how Jonathan had been part of his bi awakening and thinks Steve has a crush on Jonathan instead) but he’s there now and now it’s his turn for a crash course in Upside Down 101 while running from Russians and having cars thrown telepathically around.

Does any of this change Billy’s fate? Probably not. I think Billy’s death, and the mall fire in general, might be enough to stir up old rumors about Steve again. Not quite to the same extent, but people are wary of what they’re being told.

And then, idk, S4 happens and besides Robin pining over Vickie, Steve is also pining over Eddie, and they’re both useless about their crushes.

But then Chrissy dies, and maybe Steve was finally going to take his own advice after that terrible date with Brenda, but when he shows up Eddie is already gone and he has a dead cheerleader on his hands.

And fuck. This isn’t going to help the rumors at all.

Aaaaand that’s all I’ve got. This was honestly longer than expected because it was originally just gonna be me going “lol what if people suspected Steve of Barb’s murder and they treated him like how fans write the town treating Eddie post-S4 and Eddie taking him in” and then it became me trying to figure out how that’d work out for the plot.

But yeah. Barb really was last seen at Steve’s so like…it would make sense for him to be a suspect. And it takes basically a full year for the truth to come out, so…yeah. Just a thought I had several weeks that would not stop churning in my head.

Tagging my permanent list, my Hostage Hotties:

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-weirdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes @hiei-harringtonmunson @estrellami-1 @nebulaoz @renfrisol @tinyplanet95 @hairspraywhore

[lizard-ratt]

Again? Pt. 2

Chapter One

Content Warning: References to child abuse (though nothing is described), nightmare (poorly described), panic attack (probably also poorly described, suicide (he gets better), death (he will get better), vomiting

I'm posting the first draft, then it'll be edited and posted to AO3. Take it all with a few grains of salt, and as always if you see any typos or plot holes, no you didn't <3

WC: 2,172

The contentment of the night before didn’t stick. The nightmares came back. The gun, the pain. He woke up disoriented, but he wasn’t alone. Benny knelt by the bed, speaking in calm, quiet tones. Steve couldn’t get his breath back under control. Something blocked his throat, it pressed on his chest, and he couldn’t breathe.

Benny was still talking, but the words blurred before they reached Steve’s ears, and the world was fuzzy, and the panic built up around him, layering on his skin like sweat. 

Benny slowly reached out, the motion dragging on for a while, and gently grabbed Steve’s hand and brought it to his chest. Through Benny’s sternum, Steve could feel him take large, measured breaths. In, out, in out. It took Steve a second to realize that he was subconsciously following along. In, out, in out. 

The panic eased away, dripping through invisible cracks. It became less all consuming and more manageable. After a while, he could pick up on what Benny was saying. He was counting his breaths, peppering encouragements every other sentence. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve got out. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorry…” 

“None of that, now. You had a nightmare, it happens. Nothin’ to be sorry for.”

Steve choked down his tears, and frowned at his free hand. “But I woke you up,” Steve said. 

“I’m glad you woke me up. I wanna help you,” Benny responded. “C’mon, let’s get you some water.” 

They sat in the kitchen, music playing softly from the radio, sipping at water. The sun cast the horizon in red and orange, and Steve silently hoped that this time would stick. It was the day that he always went back. The day Al and Randy would break into the house and Al would shoot Steve. He changed it, though. He’d be safe

He’d be safe, he’d be safe, he’d be safe.

Benny made breakfast for them, and promised Steve that they’d figure things out. He told Steve that they needed to go back to the police station, and promised that when they were done, they would come back to the house above the Diner, and they’d get some more rest.

At the police station, they were greeted by a nice lady in a button up and slacks. It looked like something his dad’s secretary would wear. They all three walked into a small room with a table and a few chairs. Steve sat down, and the other two followed suit.

“Hello Steve, my name is Marjorie, I am going to be the one working on your case, okay?” 

“It’s nice to meet you, ma’am,” Steve said, because he had good manners. “But, uhm, what case? I thought they caught the bad guy.” 

Marjorie smiled, but it looked a little pained, like Steve said the wrong thing again. “I just want to ask you a few questions about your parents, okay? We have some concerns about your home.”

“Oh. Is someone else going to try to rob it or something?” He asked.

“No, no, nothing like that. I just need you to answer honestly, and we’ll help you however we can.”

Steve looked over to Benny, who nodded encouragingly, so he agreed. “Okay.”

“You stated to Officers Andrews and Callahan that your parents are on a work trip and did not give you a way to contact them directly, is that true?” 

“They gave me their secretary’s number, in case of emergencies,” Steve said. “They said it had to be an actual emergency since they’re so busy, so their secretary is there to make sure I don’t waste their time.”

Majorie’s smile tightened. She nodded and jotted something down. “Okay. Now, you told Mr. Hammond that you didn’t have a babysitter or someone hired to check in on you, is that correct?” 

“I’m old enough to take care of myself. I’m too old for a babysitter,” he argued. 

Benny and Marjorie shared a look, and Steve got the feeling that he was failing the test.

“When was the last time that your parents were home?” Marjorie asked.

“Sunday,” Steve said. What felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like a big and immeasurable Before. Like reaching the peak of a giant hill, and slowly going down. Things were fundamentally different in a way that Steve couldn’t describe; in a way Steve didn’t have the words to describe. 

Marjorie wrote something down. “Do you ever get scared when your dad or mom are upset?” 

Steve didn’t answer for a long time. That felt like a dangerous question. The way she phrased it, the edge in her voice, the way she was looking at him. He rifled through his memories to pull out his mom’s people lessons. 

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.��� It makes people rethink their question. If they press, they’ll have to rephrase it in a way that’s more clear, so you can gather their intention. Then, you know whether or not to answer. 

That look again. Benny and Marjorie gave each other a look that Steve couldn’t figure out.

“Steve, do your parents ever hit you?” 

Steve didn’t answer. What was he supposed to say? There was an edge to her tone that made him think if he answered incorrectly, he’d be in big trouble. No. No, right? He was supposed to say no? Or maybe she was making sure they disciplined him correctly. Was he supposed to say yes, then? To show that his parents were doing their job? 

The silence stretched on for a little bit longer.

“Steve, you’re safe. You can answer honestly.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Steve said.

“The truth,” Marjorie answered. Steve thought it over, but before he could answer, someone knocked on the door.

“We have the Harringtons on the phone,” someone called through the door.

Marjorie sighed. “One moment,” she said. She stood and walked to the door, lowering her voice in what was probably supposed to be unheard to Steve. “In a minute, we’re in the middle of something.”

“They want to talk to their son, and unless he explicitly states that he doesn’t want to talk to them, we can’t restrict their communication,” the person at the door said.

Marjorie sighed again, heavier. “Okay. I’ll let him know.” She turned to him and gave him a tight smile. “Your parents are on the line for you, right now. Do you want to talk to them? Know that you don’t have to.”

Steve nodded. “I want to talk to them.” 

Marjorie's face fell. “Okay. Come with me, then.”

They brought him over to the phone and handed it to him. “Mom? Dad?” 

“Steven, what have you been telling these people?” his mom’s shrill voice came over the phone. “They think that we’re neglecting you.” She was upset. Really upset. 

“I didn’t say anything!”

“Clearly you did, Steven. They’re investigating us for child endangerment,” his dad’s voice cut in. “Don’t say anything else. We’ll deal with this when we get home. You’re lucky we were done with our work, here.” The call disconnected, and Steve was left with the dial tone ringing in his ear. Slowly, he reached out to put the phone back on the hook. He gave the lady there a weak smile, and walked back to the little room.

“Steve? Is everything okay?” Benny asked. 

“I’m not supposed to tell you anything.”

Marjorie and Benny’s faces fell, but they didn’t look mad. Just resigned. 

“Are you sure there isn’t anything you want to tell us?” Marjorie asked.

Steve nodded. He was already in trouble, he refused to make it worse on himself.

“Okay, that’s all, then. Thank you for your cooperation. I’ll be talking to you soon.” She turned to Benny. “You’re free to go.”

Benny nodded and guided Steve out of the station. They went back to the Diner, and Steve went into the guest room for a while. He didn’t nap, but he laid there and tried not to think about any of it. Not the weird cycle, not the way his parents sounded, none of it. He failed.

When he “woke up” from his nap, Benny swooped in to keep Steve distracted. It wasn’t hard to tell. He asked about school and friends, and what Steve liked to do. For lunch, he asked Steve to help. When Steve agreed, Benny carefully walked him through each step, patiently answering every question Steve asked. 

Steve made a mental note of a new recipe that he could try to make by himself, for the next time his parents went on a work trip. 

It felt nice to eat food that he helped make, even if it was mainly Benny. The food was more than edible, it was good. He ran through the process in his mind a few times to cement it. He watched tv for a while, and then messed with his toys that he packed. He helped make dinner, too. He stayed the night again. 

The next day looked the same. It was nice. Benny was really, really nice. He asked Steve how he was and actually wanted an answer. He showed Steve how to cook. He was patient and he cared. He hoped that he’d be able to stay with Benny for a while. He wanted to push off the confrontation with his parents for as long as possible, but he knew they were on their way back.

During their time together, Benny kept the Diner closed. He said he could afford a few days off, and he wouldn’t listen to Steve’s protests. He said he wasn’t sure what was going to happen, and that he wanted to spend time with Steve.

It was on the third night that he was at the Diner with Benny that his parents showed up, looking smug. It was the look they both got when they made a “deal”. They never explained what the deals were, but it always made their moods improve. Marjorie, who showed up with them, looked devastated. 

She approached Steve and knelt in front of him, lowering herself enough that she was looking up at him.

“You’re going to be going back to your parents,” she told him, like it was bad news. Like she lost something. “But you need to know that Mr. Hammond, here, has my number. If you need help with anything, you can ask me, and you can ask Mr. Hammond, okay?” 

Steve agreed, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he would need her help with. She looked a little relieved and patted his arms before standing back up. 

“Steve, I hope you get everything you deserve, okay?” She said, like that was supposed to mean something. “You deserve good things,” she added.

He left with his parents, and he was in trouble. They went off about how that could have left a black mark on their record, and how he made his family look bad. He apologized, and apologized, and apologized some more. 

He didn’t like thinking about what his punishment was, but he promised himself he’d never do anything to deserve it ever again. After thinking about it for a little bit longer, though, he decided it was better he went home with his parents rather than staying with Benny. He didn’t like the idea of Benny punishing him like that. If he stayed with Benny for any longer, he knew the man would stop being so nice.

Despite everything, he preferred leaving it the way it was.

Steve’s parents stayed home for a while after that. He turned thirteen with little fanfare, and he kept his head down. He didn’t know what exactly he had said that made his parents so mad, so he swore to himself that he wouldn’t talk about any of it, just to be on the safe side. August came, and so did the first day of school. His parents went on another work trip with firm instructions to “be good”. 

Steve went back to the diner the second he had the chance. Benny was there, serving food. He welcomed Steve into the back and asked him a whole bunch of questions about school, even though it had just started, and about how Steve had been. He had that tone, when he asked it. The dangerous one. Steve told him he’d been good, and hoped Benny would leave it that.

Steve was a little disappointed when he did.

Benny gave him a free slice of pie. He said that Steve was welcome to stay over whenever, and then they moved on. Life continued. Steve made friends with Tommy H and Carol Perkins. He saw that boy, Eddie, around, but he always looked busy. He smiled so much, and Steve didn’t want to make it worse, so he stayed away. 

He visited Benny often, and he ignored any reminders of the Week That Wasn’t, and he didn’t think about it. 

He started High School, and Tommy and Carol changed. They got meaner. Steve wasn’t proud of it, but he got meaner, too. He didn’t even see it happen. It was such a slow change that it just hit him, one day in his Junior Year. He said something, he couldn’t even remember what he said, because his mind suddenly got clouded with the thought that it was something he knew his dad would have said. 

He went to Benny’s Diner, where he had a key, where he was always welcome, and let himself in. He figured at worst, Benny would be busy. He just needed to be somewhere that wasn’t his house. Somewhere warm, welcoming. He needed to curl up on Benny’s couch and listen to the little radio that was always too quiet. 

“Benny?” He called, chucking his backpack on the dining table. “Benny, you there?” Nothing. Weird, he decided. “Benny?” He called. Ice poured down his spine, panic overtaking his thoughts. “Benny?” Still, nothing. He checked each of the rooms, but there was nothing.

Next, the diner. He was probably just working inventory or something. Nevermind the fact that he did the dishes throughout the day and he never worked past a certain time. Nevermind that that threshold hit over an hour prior.

“Benny?” Steve called again. He stepped into the kitchen, then the pantry, the walk in fridge, still nothing. He found Benny in the dining room, sat at one of the tables head pillowed on the top. Relief slammed into Steve’s chest prematurely “Benny, c’mon get up. You’re gonna ruin your back like that.” 

Steve stepped further into the dining room than the doorway and froze. Red. It pooled under Benny’s head and splattered out from his head. 

“Oh god.” 

There, gripped loosely in Benny’s hand was a small revolver. 

Before Steve even realized it, he was heaving over the nearest garbage can. Tears pricked up in his eyes as his stomach emptied itself. Then, he was crying; full sobbing. Benny, he was- he- 

Steve heaved again, nothing but bile and spit coming up. It burned his throat, coating his tongue in the foul taste of wrong, like his brain couldn’t process it beyond the fact that he wasn’t supposed to be tasting it. 

“Oh god,” Steve repeated, voice rough. Benny was gone. Steve stumbled to the phone in an almost pathetic display, and quickly dialed 911. 

For a brief moment he was twelve again, scared, and so, so small. Then, the lady picked up and it broke. He was sixteen again, standing in Benny’s Diner trying desperately not to think about the Diner’s namesake and what he looked like in the dining room. 

“911, what’s your emergency?” 

“I, uhm, I’m at Benny’s Diner, he’s, oh god, he- he’s not moving. I think he-” he stopped himself. “I just, I need an ambulance. Can you send an ambulance to Benny’s Diner?”

“Of course, sir. Can you tell me who I’m speaking to?” She asked.

“Steve Harrington. Benny gave me a key, so that I could visit, I swear I didn’t break in,” he rushed to tell the lady. It looked bad, he knew. Benny’s being closed and Steve being the only one there. 

“Okay, Steve. Can you take a deep breath for me?” 

Steve took a breath like he forgot how, deep from his chest. The oxygen slammed into him and it hit him that he was hyperventilating a little bit. Tears built up in his eyes, again. Blurring his vision. 

“I think he’s dead.” Dead, dead, dead. The word rang through his head. “He shot himself.”

Without his permission, his mind dragged him back to that summer when he was twelve. Shot in the head, in the back, in the chest. Bullets, he knew, hurt. What could be so bad that Benny would- that he’d do something like that? 

The lady was speaking, probably trying to reassure him or something, but his mind fuzzed it out as the idea popped up. Benny was dead, but he didn’t have to be, right? It couldn’t have been a coincidence, that when Steve died that week, he woke up the Monday before. Maybe, just maybe, he could fix it. He could do… something and fix it. Anything, really. 

“I think I hear the ambulance,” Steve said, cutting the lady off. His voice was flat. “I’m going to go… stand out front and greet them.” 

“Steve,” she started, voice cautious, “The EMTs won’t be at your location for another-” 

He hung up. He walked over, pace steady and stilted. He was barely in control of himself as his legs carried him to Benny’s- to Benny. He gently pried the gun from Benny’s hand and pressed it to his temple. 

“This better work,” he muttered, desperate and he squeezed the trigger. The bullet exploded from the barrel, piercing through Steve’s temple. 

He woke up in bed, alarm blaring beside his head and agony pounding at his skull. When he pulled his consciousness together through the haze of pain, he swore that he would save Benny.

[lizard-ratt]

[lizard-ratt]

If you're a NYC voter, I urge you to rank @zohrankmamdani and @brad.lander at the top of your ballot for mayor. Now is the time for Democrats to build on what the Democratic Party used to do before it tried to move to the “center.” Comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable. Strengthen safety nets. Take on corporate greed. Make the super-rich pay their fair share. Fight for unions. And shepherd an economy where profits are shared with the workers who make them possible. Because there is no center between a government of oligarchs — and a government of the people.

[lizard-ratt]

Robin: Who is this?

Steve: Oh him? He's Eddie.

Eddie: Hey :)

Robin: And you two dating?

Steve: Uh-huh.

Robin: But you're not gay?

Steve: Nah, that's my boyfriend.

Eddie: I am very gay.

Steve: See?

Robin: I'm gonna call the cops.

[lizard-ratt]

[lizard-ratt]

Reading my own fanfiction is basically just a rollercoaster of emotional whiplash.

20% of the time: “Hold on. I wrote this? This is fire. This is emotionally devastating in the best way. This scene is dripping with tension. I’m a literary perfectionist. Someone give me a book deal.”

80% of the time: “Straight to jail. Immediate prison. Why is everyone’s breath hitching?. I used the word ‘gaze’ three times in one paragraph like I was possessed. Did I think 'his eyes darkened' was profound? Why is everyone clenching their jaws? Why is someone whispering 'their name like a prayer' again?? No one talks like this. What is this dialogue. Why are there so many weird metaphors and em-dashes…”

[lizard-ratt]

Guys, let's make a sandwich. I'll start:

Bread

[lizard-ratt]

just a heads up to my fellow writers out there that AO3 is currently fighting off bots commenting on people’s works to tell them that AO3 will delete their fics “due to the works being deprecated”, and the deletion will affect their accounts unless the authors delete the fics themselves first. IT IS A SCAM. AO3 will NOT delete your works. please do NOT fall for these bots!

I’ve been told the reason why these bots are doing this is due to copyright infringement issue where they’re trying to steal your works (possibly to train AI but this is just a guess) ‼️‼️‼️and once you deleted your fics, it will be either very difficult or impossible for you to claim ownership of your own fics when they were already deleted.‼️‼️‼️

a reminder that AO3 will never contact you through your comments section (in case they claim to be one of the moderators). AO3 will only contact you through your email address which you use to register your account, and it will be from AO3’s official handle. not some sketchy ass @

so if you get a comment telling you you should “delete your works to protect your account because AO3 is doing blah blah blah” report that comment. don’t delete your works.

PLEASE DO NOT FALL FOR THESE SCAM.

AO3 IS NOT DELETING WORKS.

DO NOT DELETE YOUR WORKS JUST BECAUSE SOMEONE CLAIMS THEY KNOW SOMETHING.

[lizard-ratt]

Again?

Because I am incapable of not writing new fics while working on my old ones, I have written a first chapter for a new fic idea. It's heavily inspired by Time Loop fics. I cannot promise it is good. Thank you for your understanding.

WC: 4,083

Content Warning: Death (he gets better, I promise), Descriptions of child neglect, phantom pain

Steve Harrington was six years old the first time he died. It was the first time he had been left home alone, though at that time it had been an accident. His parents forgot to hire a nanny while they went on a weekend trip. He tried to call, but he couldn’t remember what number to call, so he gave up pretty quickly.

Steve did remember his parents telling him to be good, so that’s what he did. He ate a lot of cereal, and he didn’t touch anything that didn’t belong to him. What he did touch went right back in its place, right where he found it. He was careful with his toys, but it was still really boring, so he swam a lot.

It was the middle of summer, sun beating down on the back yard, but Steve loved it. He could slip into the swimming pool and mess around for hours if he wanted to. He swam until he couldn’t anymore. On the way out of the pool, his foot gripped onto the pool ladder wrong and he fell. His head hit the corner of the pool and things went dark.

He woke up in his bed, pain pulsing behind his temple. He coughed and coughed, like he was trying to expel something from his lungs, but he couldn’t figure out what. They burned, too. He stayed in bed after that. He hurt too much to do much of anything, so he focused on not crying. Harrington men didn’t cry. Echoed in his mind over and over again. He didn’t realize what happened, and later the memory would be so fuzzy he wouldn’t make the connection. 

The next time it happened, Steve was home alone again. He was twelve years old, and there was no nanny. This time, it was on purpose. Apparently, a year old child was old enough to take care of himself, and Steve didn’t want to disappoint them, so he told them he could do it. They left him a hefty stack of cash for groceries, which he shoved into a shoebox underneath his bed, and told him to be good.

The week went on as normal. He tried to make himself something simple instead of ordering out (again), and it didn’t taste awful. He swam, having gotten over his uneasiness with the pool, finally. He took his bike out to Benny’s Diner and got a free slice of pie and a nice talk with Margaret for his effort. 

Steve was having trouble sleeping, about two days before his parents were set to come home. He wandered his way to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. From where he stood, sipping at it, he got a good view of the two men sneaking into the house. They wore all black and had giant, empty backpacks strapped to them. They looked like burglars.

Slowly, hoping to not get the men’s attention, he eased himself out of sight. Or, at least, he tried to. The man on the left caught the movement, and in one quick movement, the man had a gun pointed at Steve. 

Given the chance to predict what might have happened that week, Steve never would have guessed that he’d be held at gunpoint by an intruder. He also wouldn’t have guessed that he’d be shot, square in the face and wake up with a pounding pain behind his forehead. 

The pain was too much. It blurred Steve’s existence down to a single point, making it impossible to really tell what was going on. He might have screamed, cried, or a million other things. The pain didn’t fade, but after what could have been hours, Steve managed to become more aware of himself despite it. He was still in bed, drenched in sweat, and he figured that it was a nightmare. Right? That made sense. Nevermind the lingering pain and how real it felt. Nevermind how wrong the explanation felt.

Steve pushed himself to get up, ignoring the nausea that swirled in his gut at every movement. He dragged himself into his bathroom and took a cold bath. It helped, a little bit. It gave him enough relief to think.

Steve took his sweet precious time scrubbing the sweat from his skin, then got dressed and moved to his calendar. His calendar that marked how long it had been since his parents had left and when they’d be back. The one he could have sworn that he marked off every day. According to the calendar, though, his parents had left just the day prior. 

He shook himself off and decided he only thought that he’d marked the calendar. He fixed his mistake and moved on.

That week felt like it took longer. His headache took its time in fading away. (It did, however, fade. It eased from the explosion of pain behind his forehead to something much more manageable). His parents didn’t come home when they were supposed to. Steve wanted to call to ask what the holdup was, but they were clearly very busy. They were so busy they didn’t even call to let him know they’d be late, like they’d promised they would do. So Steve just let it happen. He tried cooking another meal, and it was edible. He swam some more.

The nightmare came back a few times, but none of them felt as real as that first time. They were hazy, the details were blurrier. Even though it felt real, it didn’t take him too long the next morning to tell himself it was fake. 

About a week after the first nightmare, he was in bed. He couldn’t settle. Something buzzed beneath his skin. 

He got himself a glass of water. 

As he stood in the kitchen, the buzzing in his skin got worse. Like he was waiting for something. The men came into the house, and they looked exactly the same. The same outfits, the same backpacks. Carefully, Steve placed his glass down and turned to run. He wasn’t quite enough. Shouts followed after him. He made it to the door, but something exploded behind him, and pain slammed into his back. 

He hit the floor hard. He tried to drag himself up, but his legs wouldn’t follow his commands. After a split second of observation, he found he couldn’t feel his legs at all. His ears rang, but through the haze, he could hear an argument. He couldn’t tell what they were saying, words too muffled to decipher, but it was angry.

Someone came up from behind Steve and flipped him over to his back. He whimpered as the pain flared so much worse. It was too much. He barely even noticed the growing wet spot beneath him.

The man was speaking to him. He said something, but Steve could barely make out the individual syllables, let alone the words that they were a part of. As gently as possible, the man lifted Steve up. It hurt, like everything hurt. Steve might have cried out as he was jostled. Finally, his ears cleared enough for him to hear what was being said. 

“-taking him to a hospital,” the man addressed the other burglar. “Do what you want. I won’t say anything, but he needs help.”

“I can’t let that happen.” Something else exploded, the man fell back, dropping Steve in the process. Steve, that time, heard himself cry. It was ugly. The other burglar walked forward, stopping a few feet away from Steve. He lifted the gun to point at Steve’s face.

“Sorry, kid. It’s just business.” A third and final explosion rang out. Steve woke up, and the headache was back.

His head screamed at him, but this time, his back screamed at him, too. His legs hurt just as bad, if not worse. With a shaky hand, Steve reached out and pressed a finger into his thigh and he prayed that it would work. 

A barely there pressure broke through the pain in his body, and that was enough to tell him that he could feel his legs again. He gave his foot a little jiggle and regretted it immediately. He stayed in bed that day, working his way through the breathing exercises that he’d learned from his P.E. teacher. Doing nothing but breathing made it pretty effective.

It took Steve a while to get to his calendar. When he did, he froze. He could have sworn that it was well past the day his parents had left. He also could have sworn that he had marked off every day for the last two weeks, but there in front of him was an unmarked calendar showing the last week in June. 

The question popped up: what if he did mark off the calendar that first time? What if that nightmare was real, and he got sent back in time and found himself back to the Monday of the last week of June? What if he did it a second time?

He kept a closer eye on things. He pried himself out of bed, dragged himself across the floor (it still hurt too much to move his legs) and took a cold bath. It helped, a little bit. He managed to feed himself. He didn’t swim, and he waited for some kind of proof that he was wrong, but it never came. His parents never called.

He hid that night. He hoped that he would wake up the next morning. He stayed underneath his bed, the pain in his legs had finally eased to a dull ache, and he didn’t want to bring any of the pain back. He hid and listened. He heard the two men discussing what they had found. He heard them call each other “Al” and “Randy”. He heard them discuss the value of what they found. 

His bedroom door creaked open.

“Jesus…” Al said. “The Harringtons must hate whoever lives in this one…” 

“I think it’s their kids,” Randy responded. “See? There’s summer homework on the desk.”

Steve heard papers being shuffled around. 

“I don’t think the kids room will have anything valuable,” Randy went on. “We have a good haul. Let’s get outta here.”

Al stopped him. “Not quite so fast. This isn’t just any kid. This is a spoiled brat. Check under the bed first.” 

Steve froze. Al wasn’t the one checking. Randy was clearly upset by Al’s actions before. There was a chance that Steve would be fine. 

Randy shuffled, kneeling down beside the bed. A flashlight beam hit Steve and he gave Randy a look, silently begging the man not to say anything. Randy froze, for a brief moment, he stared at Steve. He nodded gently, barely perceptible. He swept the flashlight beam up and down for a moment, then stood back up.

“Nothing. Just blankets and other kids shit.”

Al went quiet, then in a dangerous tone said, “Now why don’t I believe you?” 

“Because you’re a paranoid son of a bitch?” Randy fired back.

Steve could barely breathe. Al was a Bad Man, and if he looked under the bed, Steve was toast. He would die and wake up Monday, fresh pain burning through him, and he’d have to try all over again. He really didn’t want to try all over again. 

Apparently, luck wasn’t on Steve’s side. Al knelt down and shined a flashlight directly on Steve’s face. Steve shut his eyes before the bullet hit him in the chest. It made things a little bit easier. 

Monday morning, Steve decided to call the police. Problem number one was telling them something that they would believe. If he said something like he died and got sent back in time so he knows that two men named Al and Randy are going to break into his house and rob him, he’d get in trouble. Problem two was telling the truth. It’s illegal to lie to the cops. He could get in trouble for that, too. 

In the time it took to wait for the pain to go away enough to exist, he came up with a truth-lie. He’d tell the cops something that was true, but made them think something else happened. 

 He took a cold bath to help with the pain, then carried himself to the phone and dialed 911. 

“911 what’s your emergency?” A lady answered. 

“I think someone is going to try to break into my house,” Steve said. “There were these men and they talked about taking stuff. I think one of them had a gun.” 

“Okay, may I ask who I am speaking to?” She asked.

“Steve. Uhm, Steve Harrington,” Steve answered.

“Okay, and where do you live, Steve?” Her voice was soft, but professional. She kind of sounded like his teachers. 

He rattled off the address. “What’s your name?” 

“My name is Melissa. It’s nice to meet you. The police are on their way right now. Can you describe the men to me while we wait? Is there any way we might be able to identify them?”

Steve hesitated. Randy was nice. Randy wasn’t Bad like Al was. He didn’t have to tell Melissa everything, did he?

“One of their names is Al, I think. One of them called the other Al. Does… does that help?” 

“Yes, that does. What did Al look like?” 

He described the man. Dark hair, dark eyes, tall, a beard. He also described the first man, but only because the lady asked. He wasn’t supposed to lie to the police lady, either. 

“Ok. The police are a minute out. You have been a huge help. We will do everything we can to make sure you’re safe, okay?”

“Okay.” 

“You have been very brave, telling me all of this. You should be very proud of yourself.”

A knock sounded at the front door. “They’re here.”

“Okay. Go ahead and let them in. Stay safe and have a nice day.” 

“Bye.” 

Steve hung up the phone and made his way to the front door. There were two men there. One a little older and one a little younger. They looked at Steve like they were a little surprised that he was the one to answer the door.

“Hey, there kid. My name is Officer Andrews and this is Officer Callahan,” the older one said. “Are there any adults in the house?” 

Steve froze for a minute. That sounded like one of those trick questions, but he couldn’t fathom why it would be. “No, they’re on a work trip right now. I can give you their secretary’s phone number if you need to talk to them, though.”

That was the wrong answer. Both Callahan and Andrews got visibly more upset, but looked like they were trying to hide it. 

“Sorry…” he said. He hunched his shoulders, tipping his head down.

“It’s alright,” Callahan said. It wasn’t. “Can we come inside? We just have a few questions, then we’ll figure out what comes next.”

Steve stepped aside. In all honesty, he didn’t think he’d make it that far. He was waiting for them to yell at him for lying, but they seemed to be taking him seriously. He wondered how long that would last. 

He guided them into the dining room to sit down. Way too late, he realized he was supposed to offer them something to drink. 

“Do you, um, do you want something to drink? I can, uh, I can make coffee. We have water. Juice?” His voice got quieter as he spoke, in a way that would have had his dad shouting at him to speak up, but the cops just shook their heads. They still looked upset. 

“Tell us what happened, exactly,” Andrews ordered.

Steve nodded, swallowing his anxiety. “There were these men,” he pointed to where they came in every time. “They talked about taking stuff. One of them had a gun. They, uh, they didn’t see me. I like to hang out in the backyard, ‘cause there’s a pool and stuff.”

Callahan wrote in his little notepad. “Can you describe to us the men?” 

Steve swallowed again, mouth dry. “One was really tall. Dark hair. I think he had a beard? Uhm. The other guy called him Al. He was the one with the gun. Al looked really mean. Like he would, uhm, like he’d use the gun on the other one if he made him upset.” 

Callahan nodded seriously. “Do you think this Al is making the other man join him on the job?” 

That would make Randy innocent, right? He wouldn’t get in trouble? Steve grabbed on the chance with both hands and nodded, almost too much. “I don’t know anything else.” He told them.

Andrews reached out to put a hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve flinched, and Andrews froze. At a slower pace, he placed his hand down, projecting his movements more. “You did good, kid. Do you have somewhere you can stay while we investigate this?”

Steve didn’t like that question. His parents were still out, and would be until he fixed whatever was broken. His friends were strictly for school, so he couldn’t stay over at their houses. He didn’t have any aunts or uncles or cousins or whatever. Did it make him a loser to say no? Would they be upset?

Steve took too long to answer, and Andrews nodded. “That’s okay. You can stay at the station until we can figure something out, for you. Okay?” 

Steve agreed. 

“We’ll get in contact with your parents,” Andrews went on. “We have you until then.”

They told him to pack a bag for about a week, including some toys and things to distract himself with. Andrews sat at the door while he packed, watching carefully as Steve gathered his things. Callahan was on the phone, trying to get through to the secretary and seemed to be having issues.

Steve knew it was rude to listen in on others’ conversations, but it was difficult to not keep an ear out, when Callahan was getting progressively louder. 

“Someone could be robbing the Harrington’s house, putting their young child in danger!” Callahan snapped. “He’s not making it up! That boy was terrified! He’s not just asking for attention, he saw a man threaten another with a gun.” A pause. “Sure, yeah, leave them a message. Have the day you deserve.” Callahan slammed the phone back on the hook. 

“Come on, Callahan, let’s go.” Andrews gently pat Callahan on the shoulder as they headed out.  

On the way to the station, Steve got to sit in a police cruiser, which was cool. He was in the back, where criminals went, but Andrews and Callahan assured him it was because there wasn’t any more room up front. He still felt uneasy sitting where bad people sat, where people like Al sat. 

“We’ll find the men,” Andrews tried to reassure Steve. “We’ll keep you safe.” 

Steve nodded, and followed quietly as Andrews guided him to a couch with a little table in front. 

“We’ll find someone who can watch over you. Until then, stay here. Okay?”

They left him there for a while. A nice lady checked on him every once in a while, but she was busy. Callahan and Andrews were coming and going a lot, and it was a lot. Steve stayed quiet, waiting. He was good at waiting. He could be quiet, make himself small, make himself unnoticeable. 

After what felt like years, Officer Andrews came up to him with a picture. “Is this the man you saw?” he asked. “The one with the gun?” 

It was a headshot of Al. The man was holding a sign that said, ‘Al Munson’. Steve nodded.

“Yeah. That’s him.” 

Andrews nodded grimly. “Okay. Thank you,” he sounded genuine. “You’re being a huge help. We’re still looking for a temporary guardian for you. Do you think you can wait here just a little bit longer?” 

Steve agreed. He was good at waiting. He was getting tired, but he could keep waiting. 

“Thank you, Steve.”

“You’re welcome.”

They left him there again. Through the windows, Steve saw it was getting dark, but he didn’t get into his pajamas. They brought him something for dinner, and they brought him a blanket so he could sleep on the couch for the night while they kept looking for someone. It was late at night, while Steve fought the onslaught of sleep that they brought in Al Munson and his son. 

They brought Al in first, shoved off somewhere that Steve couldn’t see. He could hear, though. He could hear Al’s angry shouts. He said mean words and insulted everyone in sight. He swore up and down that he hadn’t been anywhere near the Harrington house.

Next, there was the other boy. He was angry. He crossed his arms and didn’t respond to anything that the cops said. He even told them to “fuck off”, when they pressed. One of the cops, not Andrews or Callahan, looked very angry. They guided the boy over to Steve and told him to be good. Steve didn’t stare, because staring is rude, but he did take a passing glance. The boy was skinny, bony. His clothes were a bit too big on him and fit oddly. His hair was buzzed and he looked miserable. Steve wanted to hug him, but he got a feeling it wouldn’t be welcome.

“What’re you in for?” The boy asked.

“They said my house wasn’t safe,” Steve said, “and I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

“Are you the rich kid my dad was gonna rob?” 

Steve nodded. “He was mean to Ra-” Steve stopped himself. “He was mean to the other man.”

“Randy, right?”

Steve glanced around to make sure no one was listening in. “Yeah.”

They went quiet, both a little lost in thought. “What’s your name, Rich Kid?” 

“Steve. You?” 

“Eddie.” 

They sat together for a while. Neither of them had anything to say. After a little bit, an older man came in, looking harried. “Eddie?” he called. 

Eddie shrunk in his seat, head dipping low. 

The lady at the front desk pointed back to them, and the man’s gaze snapped over to Eddie. He rushed over and pulled him into a tight hug. The man only had eyes for Eddie, not even seeing Steve. “Eddie,” the man repeated.

“Hey, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie muttered into the man– Wayne’s– shoulder. 

Steve looked away, choked up. He didn’t think about his own parents, who were still unreachable, or his nanny who used to hug him like that. He didn’t think about any of it. It wasn’t important. 

Wayne gestured for Eddie to get up. Eddie followed for a few paces, but stopped. He turned to Steve and waved. Steve waved back, and they were gone. A little bit later, Officer Andrews came back and kneeled in front of Steve. 

“We found him,” Andrews said, like Steve hadn’t seen the entire scene play out. “He had written plans to break into your house, and the other man, a man named Randy Olsen, agreed to testify against Al. We’re going to make sure he goes away for a long time.” 

They did, eventually, find someone to watch over him. Benny Hammond of Benny’s diner, they said, had an emergency foster license and would look after him. He tried to ask about his parents, but the cops got all shifty. They said they were still trying to get in contact with them.

Steve liked it at Benny’s. Benny was really nice, and he gave Steve some ice cream, even though it was past his bedtime. He did ask some weird questions, in the tone that Steve’s parents got when they were testing him, but he couldn’t figure out what he was being tested on. 

“Do your parents leave you alone a lot?” he asked. 

“Do they hire babysitter’s?” he asked.

“Do they ever get too busy for you?” he asked.

Steve answered honestly, because Benny was nice, and lying was bad. Benny nodded through everything Steve said, then told him he was brave, but Steve didn’t know why. He didn’t do anything hard. Maybe because he went to the cops about Al Munson? But he would have said that before the weird questions. 

Steve still said, “Thank you,” because it was a compliment.

Soon after, Benny ushered him to bed. He told him to sleep in, since it was a late night. Steve thanked him for that, too. When he fell asleep, he was content.

Chapter Two

[lizard-ratt]

Inspired by this post by @0nemorestranger Hopefully close enough to what you had in mind

Lost Media

Steve didn’t realize he’d been humming along to anything until the music cut off suddenly and looped around to start over. The opening riff played for about three seconds before it cut off again.

“Wait, who’s humming?” The question came from one of Steve’s younger co-workers. A part-timer working his way through college. Steve couldn’t remember his name.

“Uh, that was me. Sorry,” he tacked on the apology as an afterthought.

“You know that song?” the kid asked. He sounded like Dustin.

“It’s called Plane of Shadows. I think it’s a DnD reference,” Steve answered. “Band’s Corroded Coffin. Haven’t heard them in years.”

That wasn’t strictly true. Every once in a while, Steve would play the tape he still had. Think about that one summer he’d spent as an unpaid, unofficial roadie. Daydream about what could have happened if he’d known himself a little better back then.

Not too often. Steve wasn’t that much of a loser.

The kid came over and plopped down in Robin’s empty chair. She was out sick today, getting over the flu Steve had picked up last week.

“It is. A DnD reference, I mean,” the kid said. Steve probably needed a better thing to call him; he was probably Erica’s age. “Shit, one of my friends posted that clip to this metal bulletin board. We've been trying to identify it forever. How do you know it?”

“They’re from the same small town I am. We all went to highschool together.” Not that Steve had known their music in highschool. “I don’t think they ended up with a record deal, but they did have an EP they used to sell at concerts. I can bring it tomorrow if you want.”

*********

Steve brought the tape, along with the souvenirs he’d saved from that summer. A couple of photocopied flyers. An ad clipped from a local Bloomington paper for a concert. A wristband from a bar that had marked him as too young to drink. Also his Walkman. Steve wasn’t sure if kids still had cassette players now that CDs were everywhere.

“This is so cool,” the kid - Brian, apparently - gushed when Steve handed him the shoebox he’d brought it all in at lunch. “Is it alright if I scan these? And can I borrow this tape? I want to digitize it and share the full song with the board.”

“You can do that?” Steve really needed to learn more about computers. Just not from Dustin who couldn’t teach anything without turning into a condescending asshole.

“Yeah, just record from the Walkman like it’s a mic. I’ll burn you a copy of the whole EP. That way you won’t have to worry about wearing out your tape,” Brian offered. “I would never have guessed you were such a metal fan.”

“I’m not, really,” Steve admitted. Brian blinked at him, surprised. And, well, it wasn’t the eighties anymore, and they weren’t still living in Hawkins. “Massive crush on the lead guitarist.”

“Oh, uh, thanks for telling me.” Brian leaned over and patted Steve’s shoulder. “So you and Robin aren’t-”

“Strictly platonic.” Maybe Robin was right and they should get signs for their desks.

*********

It was nearly a month later when Brian grabbed Steve at the water cooler and dragged him over to his desk, saying “You’ve got to see this.”

This was a post on the Brian’s metal bulletin board:

Crazy to hear from a buddy that our old band is a minor Internet sensation. Thanks, all. If you guys had been around back in the day we might have managed a full album. Or maybe not. Gareth’s parents would have killed him if he dropped out and Jeff actually wanted to go to college, so maybe we still would have broken up in ‘87. Regardless, we’re all thrilled our music is bringing joy to today’s metal heads. As the primary songwriter, and with the agreement of the rest of the band, I grant permission to upload and download the entire EP. We think any money we might potentially have made on it is worth less to us than the value of preserving what could have been lost media. Just make sure to credit us if your garage band turns one of our songs into a hit. Anyway, if you guys have any questions about Corroded Coffin, or the songs, reply to this post and I’ll do my best to answer in a timely fashion. Aside to OP: Is your preppy co-worker who had all our stuff a handsome former jock with spectacular hair? Because I’d love to get back in touch with our old roadie. -EM

“Oh my god,” Robin squealed, leaning over Steve’s shoulder as he read. “Please, you have to give Eddie Steve’s email. Or get Eddie’s email to give to Steve. Or both. Both would be best. That way at least one of them will have the balls to reach out first.”

“Eddie’s already reaching out,” Steve said. “And I thought you said it was anti-femminist to use testicles as a proxy for courage.”

“Stop quoting me when I’m being right, Steven.”

“So I should get his contact info for you?” Brian asked.

Steve hesitated. Real life was not some romantic comedy where attraction was always mutual and true love overcame all obstacles in the end. But it wasn’t like he’d spend the last decade pining. Even if it was nothing more than getting a friend back, it would be good to get in touch with Eddie again.

“Sure,” Steve answered. “Why not?”

[lizard-ratt]

I think I am officially Fandom Old. I am so worn out from the arguments on who’s the top or the bottom (who cares), what is allowed to be written (anything you want, bejeebus), what is Problematic (I know, just tag it), what other people Should Do (they Should live their lives free of judgment). There isn’t a Right Way to do things. Tag your stuff appropriately, don’t read stuff you don’t want to read, and leave other people (me) alone.

[lizard-ratt]

Johnathan Byers <3

I don't see enough people putting respect on Jonathan's name. Jonathan might honestly be one of my favourite characters because he is just one of the best people ever??

His relationship with Will is so important to me and has been since I started watching the show. He is constantly supportive and never gives up on his brother. When he believes him to be alive in season 1 he NEVER stops trying to find him; he does everything he can to try and get his baby brother back. He takes it upon himself to create and distribute missing posters when his mother doesn't have the time, he visits the home of his abusive dirtbag of a father because he'll be damned if he doesn't check even the worst possible option if there's any chance that he'll find Will there. In season 2, he comforts Will, listens when his little brother expresses his frustrations with people treating him "like a baby" and, unlike most people, who would tell Will that they're ‘doing it for his own safety', he adjusts his behaviour to keep his brother happy and feeling independant while also making sure he knows that needing support is ok. In season 3, he drops everything the moment Nancy even insinuates that Will might not be safe and puts his own life at risk without second thought to protect his brother and the other kids. Season 4 speaks for itself because, even while he's dealing with his own issues in some noooottt so healthy ways (being stoned all the time) he still takes notice of his brother's distress and pain, apologises for his own behaviour and makes sure Will knows he is loved and always will be loved no matter what (I could go on for days about that scene alone, makes me cry every time).

Also not strictly about Jonathan himself but I just adore the fact that, in season 4, we can see how Will has picked up on some of Jonathan's tendencies and habits as a brother and emulates this in his relationship with El (the protectiveness, methods of support, and even some of his body language and facial expressions in certain scenes resembles that of Jonathan’s).

(And I love that we also see Jonathan treat El like a sister immediately. The Byers-Hopper family are my Roman Empire I love them).

I know some people will disagree but I also think he is honestly a great boyfriend. (Yes he has his flaws in season 4 with the college application and his keeping of this information from Nancy but I can totally see the reason why he does it and it's honestly heartbreaking that he's willing to sacrifice a place in his dream college to support his family). Not to ramble about shipping in a character appreciation post but I think Jonathan and Nancy work so much better than Nancy and Steve because their relationship is truly founded in friendship and mutual respect. Jonathan clearly fell in love with Nancy at some point when she was still dating Steve but he never acted on it until she did. He treated her with kindness and supportiveness regardless of circumstance and that's what made her fall for him. I think the biggest evidence of Jonathan being a fantastic boyfriend is actually their fight in season 3. After both being fired from the Hawkins Post, they're frustrated with each other for equally valid reasons. Jonathan had a right to be angry, as did Nancy, but he showcased his brilliant boyfriend material by recognising that they were both right and wrong and choosing to take responsibility, apologise and he and Nancy worked it out together. Because of both of their openness to understanding one another, they were able to reconcile and work it out (communication which is extremely important to maintaining a healthy relationship!!)

I am going to quickly mention the photo-taking session because, while I understand that it was wrong of him to do, I fully stand by the opinion that he felt terrible about doing it and didn't take the pictures for any malicious reason (or any reason at all seemingly? The way the show presents this scene as a whole is just really confusing to me tbh). I think the most telling thing is that Nancy herself seemed neither creeped out or especially upset by the photos themselves and very quickly forgave Jonathan. I'm not saying what he did was good and it definitely was an uncalled-for invasion of privacy, but I hate it when people act like his character is 'irredeemable' when he did one morally dubious thing that he clearly felt completely awful about very shortly after. I like Steve as a character and 100% think he redeemed himself from season 1 but I can't handle it when people praise Steve for his development and change, excusing his actions entirely, then turn around and call Jonathan a bad guy for this one act.

I don’t think we talk about Jonathan’s character nearly enough and, resultantly, I think his own problems get swept under the rug both in the show and in the fandom. I see so many people insulting him for being stoned in season 4 and ‘having no personality’ throughout the series and it really makes me sad. Jonathan cares about his family SO MUCH that he’s willing to give up his dream college he’s wanted to go to since he was six years old so that he can stay behind to support his mother and family. He turns to drugs to deal with his own problems, which, as unfortunate as it is, is a very common coping mechanism and completely understandable for his character. He is trying to deal with his own trauma, personal problems and general life while maintaining a healthy and committed (now long-distance) relationship with his girlfriend and acting as a carer to now not one but two siblings. It’s a hell of a lot for anyone to deal with and I’m sick of people sympathising with just about every other character’s trauma and understanding their coping mechanisms but seemingly refusing to do the same for Jonathan.

Anyways I could genuinely go on about this character for days because I just adore him. I think he’s an amazing brother, son, boyfriend and all around person and I want to see people appreciating him more. I am a Jonathan Byers defender, apologist, protector, lover and stan until the end.

[lizard-ratt]

its crazy that a lot of what we call 'video essays' these days are basically low budget documentaries on increasingly weird and niche topics. no network approval no tv budget just one guy with maybe a hired editor/writer and a couple of friends willing to read voice lines. and then they put it on youtube like its no big deal. insane.

[lizard-ratt]

Has anyone figured out what’s so viscerally wrong with this woman yet

[lizard-ratt]

steve’s pre-bi awakening was a rough time

[lizard-ratt]

If you're heading to a protest tomorrow, it's important to know your rights. Consult this information from the ACLU. Be peaceful. Be safe. Be careful. Be strong.