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ronancebible · 1 year

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The point is, Steve can’t hear.

A person can get hit in the head only so many times before it takes effect and does permanent damage. Steve’s incessant claims that being in the front row when the fight breaks down does nothing to him, that he’s safe and alright as long as everyone else is, mean very little in the face of cold, evident facts.

His hearing isn’t intact. It takes him a while to adjust to this reality, but with the help of his friends, he eventually does. Thanks to Nancy’s fierce bullying of the government guys who come to Hawkins to assess the situation and cook up some half-assed excuse for everything that’s happened, Steve now has a small army of well-paid doctors that really seem to be eager to help. He also gets state-of-the-art hearing aids that, well—they work, but Steve’s range of possibilities is still quite narrow. Let a few people into the room, let them speak simultaneously and all he can hear is static, rustles and crackling.

But he’s pliant. He listens when Robin tells him they have to get in the car and hit the road to get to his appointment on time. He lets her help with inserting the aids properly on the days he’s just too impatient and too bugged about how they feel and look to even care if they help him hear. He’s not dismissing her enthusiasm when she starts learning sign language before he even gets a chance to discuss it as his option.

He’s doing a lot of things for her, even if they’re supposed to be important to him first. To be honest, these days it’s mostly doing things for Robin that keeps him going. He would have gone completely numb ages ago if it weren’t for her and her unique ways of picking up the severed pieces whenever he crumbles.

He’s also doing it for Dustin. If Robin is his twin sister, Dustin is the little brother he’s never had. And Dustin… It’s just been too rough on him. It’s been rough on everyone; how could it not be if the only thing they seem to be able to do is wait? Wait for the lab guys to figure out a way to end this. Wait for the panic to cease. Wait for Max to wake up.

Wait for the grief to pass.

They wait and wait, but it never stops—on the contrary, it brings fresh, equally unwanted feelings. They’re always there, lurking behind the corner like a kitten that wants to launch itself at an unsuspecting owner – only with them, there won’t be any playtime involved. Steve recognizes this feeling. It’s the same feeling he’d had in that Winnebago when he was dropping off Max, Lucas and Erica at Creel’s doorstep. An awful anticipation of doom waiting to happen.

He doesn’t like it. He’d like to find a way to do something about it, but he can’t seem to get to the core of it.

Maybe that’s why he thinks he’s hearing things when he really can’t be hearing them.

At first, Steve writes it off as him being paranoid. It happens only when he’s home by himself, so it’s the only logical explanation – he takes off his aids, he gets too attentive about his surroundings, right? He thinks he hears something, but it’s only his tired mind playing tricks on him.

Especially because what he hears are mostly usual, non threatening things. The sound of water running in the bathroom (he goes inside, everything is dry and quiet). The sound of kitchen drawers being opened (he goes to the kitchen, the cabinets are exactly the way he left them). The sound of cutlery being dropped on the floor (but he hasn’t even taken anything out in the first place).

He even gets used to it. Things happen, his brain is weird. It’s confusing, sure, but hasn’t he seen worse things? He definitely has.

But it doesn’t keep him away from sleeping with his bat perched on the side of the bed. If he sleeps at all, if a sudden sound of breaking glass doesn’t keep him awake until his morning shift with Robin, when he can finally leave this goddamn house and take his mind off of things.

Steve tries to ignore it. He really tries, but the point is—Steve can’t hear things like running water in the bathroom when his aids are off. Hell, he only makes it out if he focuses on it when they’re in, so why the heck can he hear it so well? Why are the sounds multiplying?

It goes on for weeks. He avoids the topic for as long as possible, trying to shoo away the obvious similarities between his house and the house that made him hate spiders and cringe at fireplaces not too long ago.

It gets a little too real on just some random Tuesday, when his kitchen positively explodes with sounds the second he gets the hearing aids off. Cabinet doors slam left and right, mugs fall to the floor and shatter, forks and spoons seem to be getting thrown around like ragdolls—but Steve sees nothing. He hears it, he hears it so loudly it hurts, the cacophony of noises he’s never even heard before, but his eyes register no proof of it. He curls down on the floor, expecting sharp glass pieces to cut his skin, but nothing happens. Nothing’s here.

He still covers his head, tucked away in the furthest corner of the kitchen, waiting for it to just stop, to leave him alone—

Steve doesn’t know how long it takes, but when it’s finally done, his knees are shaky and his breathing is ragged. He snatches his aids and takes off, straight to Robin’s house. He doesn’t even lock the door, a thing his parents would kill him for if they knew.

It’s the first time he explains everything to her. It would be hard not to, because she sees right through him. His panicked, restless eyes are enough indication of things not being right.

“Maybe, uh—I think I’ve read something about hearing loss and auditory hallucinations? That they happen, sometimes, especially if the loss of hearing is sudden?” she says, already flipping through her notebook where she keeps all Steve-related stuff and pacing around the room with enough force to make a hole in the carpet.

Steve’s not convinced. “It seems pretty real to me,” he mumbles and frowns. “But that’s the point of it, right?”

Robin shrugs. He notices that she has a small set of wrinkles around her eyes. Steve looks at them for a second in total disbelief. They already have some worry wrinkles, and they’re not even well into their twenties.

He’s gonna lose all his precious hair in a span of months if this doesn’t stop.

They decide to bring it up during his next appointment, still hoping that it’ll maybe go away on its own. Robin tries to make him get a consult straight away (what if it is rabies after all, Steve, like a really really really weird, belated presentation of rabies?), but he waves it off. The option of hallucinations doesn’t soothe his nerves, but as long as it’s not a chiming clock, he can avoid confronting it for a while longer.

It doesn’t go away, though. Steve can’t quite pinpoint it, but it almost feels like—well, it obviously doesn’t feel like it’s real enough to be real. But there’s something that accompanies the sounds, the lack of evidence, the missing of this ominous feeling that Creel’s house inflicted on him.

The sounds—it feels like they bear a presence. Steve’s still scared and gets spooked by them whenever they happen, but he’s no longer truly afraid of them.

Some of them are even comforting. The sound of his pillow being fluffed up before he gets to bed, the sound of pen scratching on paper whenever he leaves his journal open on the desk, the whooshing sound of a lighter being opened and closed – they all make this eerie place his parents have left him a little less empty.

He rarely lets himself think about it that way. He may be a little kooky, but admitting that he’s lonely enough to find hallucinations comforting would be way too much to handle at the moment.

So Steve can’t hear, but he learns to accept the fact that, apparently, sometimes he can. He doesn’t know how it works—to be quite honest he doesn’t know a lot about experiencing hearing loss at all, despite now being hard of hearing himself—but it just makes its place in his life.

He thinks about it a lot, but he tries not to overthink it too hard. It just happens. Things fall to the floor in his house, curtains get torn, the fridge gets opened frequently. He just can’t see it. His mind hears it, but his eyes don’t get the memo. He lives for longer than a week. It’s probably a good sign; nothing’s going to make his bones snap in two now, probably. Hopefully.

Things change suddenly.

Steve tries to spend as much time with Dustin as possible. Between work, his appointments and Robin, Dustin, Max and the kids are his top priority. He doesn’t think he would be able to function if he let himself take a breath and step down from his piled up responsibilities that he chose to take on himself. They keep him together. They keep him going.

Besides, Mrs. Henderson gets really worried. Sometimes it’s just better for Dustin to stay with Steve, and Steve is more than happy to be with him, even though it seems that Dustin doesn’t really like his cold house either.

It’s one of Dustin’s quiet days. He gets them, sometimes—Steve knows that trying to get him to talk on one of those days is a lost cause, and his ears are killing him. He was in such a hurry this morning he didn’t take the time to put the aids in properly. Work was overflowing with people, too, so now his temples are throbbing from trying to pick up the chatter from the static. Seriously, how is it possible that people still spend so much time watching movies in the face of almost-apocalypse, Steve doesn’t know.

“Would you mind if I took my aids off for a while?”

“Go ahead,” Dustin mumbles, bending over his new book.

Something flips inside Steve’s chest. He knows it’s not supposed to be like that, it’s unlike Dustin to be so… not himself. But what can Steve do? He can’t make him talk. He can just wait, nothing else.

He gets up to leave his aids on the counter and pour himself some coffee. He should probably start making dinner soon, but he decides to take a few peaceful sips first.

It’s weird. To sit with Dustin Henderson, of all people, without a single word. Steve glances at him every once and again, but Dustin either ignores him or genuinely forgets that he’s there.

Steve’s so deep in his thoughts about Dustin, he doesn’t even look to the side when a sudden sound of kitchen chair toppling over cuts through the silence. His eyes are trained on the kid.

Who flinches. And frowns. Steve can swear that he fights the urge to look around.

Each and every chair Steve keeps in the kitchen is standing where he placed them in the morning after breakfast. Nothing real has happened. But Steve heard it. And, apparently, Dustin did too.

Steve’s brain is working overtime for the rest of the evening, and he desperately tries not to show any of it. He’s jumping into conclusions. It was an accident; dumb luck. It’s nothing. He’s working himself up, nonsensically.

But it doesn’t feel like it’s nothing. It was only one chair, one sound, but the feeling that accompanied it was strong. Too strong to be nothing.

He waits to drop Dustin off at home like he’s on pins and needles, fumbling with his fingers and keys and pacing around. Maybe it’s better that it’s one of Dustin’s quiet days, he mostly gets away with it, getting only a few side glances.

When gets back home, it’s late, but he’s buzzing with anticipation nonetheless. He can finally do something. He discards his aids haphazardly, not nearly as carefully as he should, and starts running around the house. The house his parents built is huge—but the kitchen turns out to be quite small when he’s finally done with arraying at least a dozen lamps there. He has to raid three of his father's garages to get enough extension cords.

When he turns them on all at once, he has to take a step back and shut his eyes, because it’s too much light.

Just the right thing he needs.

His heart is beating so fast he can almost feel it ramming against his ribs. That’s about how far he’d thought this plan through.

“Come on,” he says and clears his throat, trying to gauge how his voice may really sound now. He repeats himself, hoping that it’s louder this time.

Nothing happens for a while, but he knows he’s close. The feeling is here. The presence that hasn’t left him in months. It’s here.

Steve walks around the kitchen, moves the lamps a little, shakes some of them. His hands are clammy and it feels like he’s chewed through his cheek at this point, but he can wait. He’s waited for a long time. He can wait a while longer.

When the microwave beeps, he stops breathing for a second.

Until it beeps again. And again.

“Oh god,” he breathes. He doesn’t know if he speaks clearly or not, he doesn’t even care. “Come on, show me that it’s you. Come on, come on—”

The lamp furthest to the left starts blinking, slowly at first. Then the one next to it, then another one, and another one, like someone’s walking around and making them flicker one by one.

They’re blinking so much one of the bulbs goes out. Steve doesn’t hear it hiss, so he knows it went out here, now. He knows it’s real.

“Oh god,” his hand goes to his mouth. His eyes are weirdly itchy. “Oh god, is it really you, Eddie?”

The lamp directly in front of Steve goes wild. When he reaches out, it’s almost like he can touch the presence that’s here with him.

And it’s Eddie. Eddie’s here with him.

#steddie

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ronancebible · 2 years

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Flashbacks in Stranger Things: When, Why, and How They Are Used (Long Analysis)

sit back and relax everyone. this is gonna be my longest post yet.

disclaimer before anyone proceeds--i have not tagged this post with any relationships other than byler so if you do not like this pairing please just scroll past this post! i never cross tag because i truly want a safe fandom space for everyone. this is just my analysis of the show and my own brainrot.

I’ve thought about the usage of flashbacks in Stranger Things a lot over the past few weeks. I saw a post by user @girlskth on Twitter (HUGE shoutout to them for this very eye-opening post, please go check it out their tweet and give them all the love!!), who mentioned the contrast between Max’s scene in Dear Billy (running up that hill → from Vecna), versus El being trapped by the vines in 4x09. First: we need to talk about flashbacks as they have been used throughout film and TV history as a key literary device. Here are some articles that I found that explain why flashbacks can be so important to understanding characters:

This quote is vital:

"Flashbacks are really a function of character, not story…the visual image we’re seeing is what the character is thinking and feeling at that present moment…it illuminates a character’s point of view.”

Flashbacks are never pointlessly placed. There is always an intent behind reverting back to the old material to demonstrate something about the character’s current mindset.

These two scenes are clearly parallels (complete credits to @girlskth for bringing this up), as both Max and El are encountering the same situation–being trapped in Vecna’s lair and hearing a monologue from him. The scenes are not only plot parallels but visual ones.

However, there is one thing lacking in this parallel, and @girlskth brilliantly points out what it is—their emotional connection. Max relies on flashbacks of her happiest memories to free herself from Vecna’s trance and come back to reality. There are MANY flashbacks of her platonic relationships (her friendship with El being the most significant), and her romantic relationship with Lucas, which is ultimately what gives her enough time to run away from Vecna.

Now, going into El’s scene, I as a viewer was EXPECTING that they would show flashbacks of El’s happy memories with Mike during his monologue. This is coming from someone who does not ship these two characters together at all.

I like them as friends, and I was still waiting for them to show us moments from their kiss at the snowball, from Mike giving Eleven the name “El,” from Mike calling her for 353 days in season 2, from Mike saying “No, El, you’re not the monster–you saved me,” from El saying she loves him at the end of season 3…but nothing.

Absolutely no flashbacks were shown apart from the scene of the boys finding El in the woods. This is extremely odd for a couple who has supposedly been the centrepiece of Stranger Things for four seasons, or, in the words of people who ship these characters, have been “built up for four seasons.” But no. Nothing.

This is an INSANE contrast to Max’s Dear Billy scene, which went out of its way to show her history with all of these characters over the 3 seasons her character has been in the show.

The concept of “show, don’t tell,” is critical in understanding this parallel. Take Max’s relationships that are highlighted when she is in Vecna’s trance: these flashbacks all occur because she knows they will give her strength. She is never verbally prompted to think about these memories because she has confidence they will help her fight in her darkest moment. Here’s some more information on show don’t tell and how it is used in media:

If we apply Max's unconcious logic to El’s scene in Vecna’s lair, being able to pull from her happy memories with Mike should have been something that came relatively naturally to her. Except, this didn’t happen. What did happen? El’s memories with Max DID come naturally, and those memories ultimately saved Max’s life.

Zero Flashbacks to Mike/El's Past Seasons' Dynamic

While waiting for volume two, even as someone who likes this pairing platonically, I was excited to see flashbacks to season 1 Mike/Eleven once they reunited at the Nina Project. I’ll always be nostalgic for seasons 1 and 2 and I wanted to see some of their friendship dynamics from those seasons come back. I was literally expecting there to be some sort of “still pretty?” flashback, or some other cut back to season one. Again, I am saying all of this entirely as someone who 100% believes in a byler endgame for this show. I was still very surprised by this, and it is clearly intentional on the writer’s part.

Some would argue that the lack of flashbacks is due to the varying perspectives in Mike’s monologue scene. We see Mike’s, Will’s, El’s, and Jonathan’s POVs switching between each other in this scene. When peeling back the layers, we learned that Mike's monologue utilizes the miscommunication trope in a big way. Let’s analyze:

Mike is under the impression, because of Will, that “these past few months she (El) has been so lost without you…You make her feel like she’s not a mistake at all–like she’s better for being different. And that gives her the courage to fight on.” —Will, 4x09

First and foremost: Mike’s monologue would not have happened without Will’s veiled confession in the van. He believes Will’s feelings are El’s, and it is these feelings that make him think that what he says is what El needs to hear.

Mike is TOLD (not sure if he entirely believes it especially after the final scene in the cabin when El walks away from him, but we’ll have to wait for more scripts to see the truth), that El has been “lost” without him and that she “needs” him to be able to fight.

This is what he is TOLD by Will about El, and this is not true, as NOWHERE during any of El’s scenes at school in California, or once Mike comes to visit, or during her time at the Nina Project, or during her battles with the military + Vecna does El EVER give the impression that she somehow needs Mike in her life to keep fighting, or that he gives her courage. In fact, given all of the parallels El draws between Mike's "what did you do?" and Brenner's "what have you done?" I would say what Mike gives her is the opposite of courage.

El keeps fighting because she has come into herself and she is powerful and strong, not because she needs Mike there to help her. And Mike, prior to Will’s confession, knows this is the truth, as seen by the line in the official script that was cut out from the show:

If El truly needed Mike to “fight on,” as Will implies with his own feelings, I believe that more flashbacks would have been utilized, regardless of the multiple perspectives in the scene, to show how Mike has supposedly helped El “fight” in the past. But none of this was shown BECAUSE El’s battles have always been about her personal arc and growth. In the past seasons, El has never relied on or needed Mike to help her fight–he has been misled because of Will’s veiled confession.

Perhaps the best example of El’s battles being about her own growth is in the 2x09 scene where she closes the gate: you'll see here that all the flashbacks she has during this critical battle have to do with her personal growth and past trauma. The same is true of her fight with the Demogorgon in season 1, of learning from Kali in season 2, of fighting Billy and the Mind Flayer in season 3--her relationship with Mike is not critical to any of these battles. It is her friendships and familial love that motivates her as well as her own coming of age.

The miscommunication about El "needing" Mike to be able to "fight" explains a lot of things, including, at least to an extent why Mike VISIBLY HESITATED when saying “I love you” for the first time in his monologue. There are obviously other reasons to this that have been analyzed by many other people, but I feel this miscommunication is critical.

This is something that has really been annoying me ever since season 4 came out: the whole plotline about Mike not being able to say he loves El should be extremely clear to audiences about what it implies. I love romance and I KNOW that the Duffers can write amazing love stories (Lumax, Jancy, Jopper…).

Lucas and Max never once say they love each other but it is clear to audiences–they SHOW it in their own ways.

True love is shown, not told–especially in media.

That is how the most popular romantic pairings are so believable to audiences. Showing, not telling your love for someone, makes it feel real. And boom: ever since season 3 and ESPECIALLY after season 4, there have been hundreds of thousands of people saying that Mike/El's dynamic seems "off" somehow.

My point here is that if you love someone unconditionally, if you are truly, deeply in love with them, you would not hesitate for a moment to say that you love them, especially if they practically beg you to say it while crying about that very fact. You would also not call them “ridiculous” after they start crying and then you proceed to deflect blame about a situation you caused onto other people.

Love is powerful. To me, it’s one of the most powerful things that exists in this world. And I believe that the writers of this show feel the same way: Love Conquers All. I’ll insert one of my favourite quotes from Avatar: The Last Airbender to display how I feel about this topic:

"You have indeed felt a great loss. But love is a form of energy, and it swirls all around us. The air nomads' love for you has not left this world. It is still inside of your heart, and is reborn in the form of new love." -Guru Pathik, Avatar: The Last Airbender

Real, romantic love is never something that should be questioned at critical moments. Let me emphasize: I do not question that Mike platonically loves El. He clearly loves her a great amount as shown by what he has gone through with her over the course of the show, just as he loves Lucas, Dustin, Max, Nancy, etc.

Millie literally said in an interview for ST4 that “Mike is not loving Eleven the way she wants to be loved.” This situation for El is honestly extremely heartbreaking because she truly deserves so much better than what she’s been given. El is one of my favourite characters and I love her dearly, and seeing her suffer because of this relationship as well as the bullying at school hits very close to home for me. She deserves so much happiness and I hope she gets to have endless amounts of it by the end of season 5.

How else have flashbacks been used in Stranger Things?

The article I cited earlier holds true to the Stranger Things writer’s perspective on flashbacks. Remember: "flashbacks are really a function of character, not story…the visual image we’re seeing is what the character is thinking and feeling at that present moment…it illuminates a character’s point of view.” Utilizing flashbacks as a literary device in this manner has been seen multiple times in the show at key character moments.

Will and Joyce

This flashback is key to showing Joyce's relationship with her son and how much she loves him. It holds true to the article in that it SHOWS that while searching for Will, she thinks back to the time they spent together in Castle Byers.

Jonathan and Will

Jonathan's relationship with Will is key to season one and remains one of the most beautiful parts of Stranger Things. This flashback, just like the ones with Max and Joyce, happens naturally. Jonathan associates The Clash with Will and can't help thinking back to their happy memories together once he hears the song play. This simple scene shows the depth of their relationship.

Hopper and Sarah

In my opinion, this is by far the most effective use of flashback Stranger Things has used to date. When I watched season 1 in 2016, this was the scene that made me cry my eyes out. I still think about it to this day as the catalyst that started my long-running love for this show. While trying to revive Will, Hopper is reminded of his daughter Sarah's struggle with cancer which led to her death. This flashback is a perfect representation of Hopper's development.

Hopper's arc in seasons 1 and 2 was one of my favourite things to watch: he starts as someone cold and isolated who drowns himself in drugs and alcohol to cope with his past trauma. Eventually, he learns to love again in all sorts of ways once Joyce comes back into his life. Hopper's drive to find Will and his love for Joyce inadvertently led him to El, and as he says in season 3:

"For so long, I'd been stuck in one place...And then, I left some Eggos out in the woods, and you came into my life. And for the first time in a long time, I started to feel things again." -Hopper's Letter, 3x03

In summary: flashbacks are used with intent and to SHOW the audience a character's internal struggles and thoughts. Stranger Things follows the textbook way to use flashbacks effectively, and has clearly been selective for a reason when it comes to which moments they choose to remind us of, as well as when, how, and why these moments are used. They have juxtaposed two very similar scenes and how the characters have escaped from the series' antagonist, Vecna, using these flashbacks/memories to their advantage. The final battle between El and Vecna was driven by El's love for Max. Mike was under the impression that what he said was what El needed to hear because it was veiled in Will's feelings. While these ideas have been widely discussed, showing how flashbacks have been effectively used throughout the show and comparing them to their usage (or lack thereof) in season 4 gives us excellent insights into El's headspace, as well as what the future holds for these characters. I put my blood, sweat, and tears into this analysis so I really hope you enjoyed it! Please give it a reblog if you can and leave your thoughts in the comments. I'd love to know your interpretation :) Thank you so much for reading! <3

#omg this is fucking fantastic i love it

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