Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

There’s never going to be another Stranger Things.

Sure, there’s going to be plenty more derivative 80s themed media looking to represent the feeling of those times, the tropes and the character archetypes we all love, but I really do acknowledge that the Duffers created something beyond that. The attention and care given to each shot. The details I missed over and over that I didn’t notice until my fourth or fifth rewatch. The precise edits, genius scripts without an ounce of fat on them, dialogue exchanges and scenes the exact length they needed to be. I’m a sucker for the subtle queer messaging, the ever expanding themes of grief and guilt, and the way they’ve built on sci-fi fantasy’s depiction of the monsters we must face inside and out. I’m sure I could list a million and one more reasons as to why this series made a home in my heart, but there’s no need to. If you’re also one of the fans of this piece of media who feels it, the words aren’t needed.

All that to say, that’s not what my fan work will be. It seems right to acknowledge from the start that although the title gives the impression it’s full of “better things,” it’s certainly not meant in a way to suggest that what I create will be able to surpass what the Stranger Things team managed to craft. Really, the title was just lifted from one of the songs that’s woven into the story. It helps that it’s one that manages to capture the message I hope to carry through my work.

Like many fan projects out there, I expect it to be equal parts self indulgent and deeply personal. I’m pretty new to fandom, but I feel like those are the main reasons anyone makes these types of things. I’m also brand new to online publishing and never allowed myself to really dive in to any of these spaces. I can acknowledge that jumping headfirst into a project of this scale as my first publication is a bold choice.

But from the moment Season 1 dropped and El was put on screen for the first time, I resonated with her on a level beyond what I felt for similar characters from other media I’ve consumed. Aside from the fact that I literally go by “L,” I saw a reflection (albeit exaggerated) of my younger self. Raised in isolation, sheltered from the realities of the outside world, and trying her hardest to become stronger in the face of a seemingly never-ending string of compounded traumatic experiences. She doesn’t understand the expectations of her gender, and spends the seasons trying to navigate through social structures and constructs that are entirely foreign. Maybe anyone who’s neurodivergent and was raised conservatively enough relates to El in this way, but in every step of the story’s progression, I found myself being placed back in her shoes nonstop, in ways I didn’t expect.

It got to the point where even in my dreams, I began to “wake up” and see myself as El. Anyone who knows me offline knows that aside from being plural, I’m a life long astral projector/lucid dreamer, and as someone who’s explored unnumbered dream dimensions and lived countless lives in my sleep, it wasn’t too big of a shock. I think everyone has media dreams at least a few times. I’ve had plenty of one-offs exploring with the likes of the Scooby Doo gang or fighting through a level of a favorite video game.

Coming to this alternate version of Hawkins felt different, though. There’s something about the powers my friends and I had that felt explicitly linked, and perhaps even amplified, by the fact I was asleep and aware of my tether to an alternate reality. Astral projecting in its simplest form acknowledges that consciousness itself is a form of energy, one that with practice, can leave its vessel. Once beyond the body, many limits disappear. It’s possible to share headspace, manipulate objects, bend electromagnetic fields, direct currents of electricity, and even time travel. It’s no surprise then that a large portion of what I seemed to explore in this alternate Hawkins was just how far, and in how many different ways, these powers could be pushed while accessing them through the astral lens.

Every time I came back and experienced something new, this variant timeline of events warped and stuck to me even more. I’d awake to find myself feeling a grief for the people that were now missing from my life, the smell of someone’s shirt when we hugged or a whiff of their perfume still fresh in my brain. I brought back with me the feeling of straining to use my powers, or later on, an effortless ability use them. To be there was to be completely free. While I don’t find myself in those dreams as often these days, when we do manage to awake in the perspective of El or Eddie or anyone else, there’s a gentle sense of belonging. Creating this universe in tangible form is another way I hope to capture that feeling for myself, and hold it close long after Season 5 airs and the world moves on to whatever popular media comes next. If anyone else appreciates it, and holds that feeling close too, I’ll count it as a plus.

This version of the Stranger Things tale that I’ve been writing and illustrating snippets of since 2022 is inevitably a reflection of our own lives and inner worlds. It’s unapologetic in its queerness, heavy on slice-of-life type interactions and emotionally driven at its core. I can imagine how the wild deviations from cannon might not be to everyone’s taste. Since I’m the type of writer/artist who looks to get to the heart of what I experience inside myself, that result often doesn’t look or feel like what a comic “should be.” My history is as an illustrator —not a comic artist, so I’m learning as I go. I anticipate these things could bog down my work a bit, but considering the premise of our source material revolves heavily around celebrating being different and rooting for the underdog, I feel a conviction to create it anyway.

My only desire for Better Things, if nothing else, is for the first time to give full love and attention to a piece of media that has literally changed my life in such an indescribable, meaningful way. It sounds fucking stupid, but I am a better version of myself because of Stranger Things and those who reside in its universe. So as thanks to the people I love so much, I’ll share their gentle ending. If there’s deep hurt, let there also be deep healing for them. Let me show my love to every friend and family member I made on this unexpected journey. I’ve met such soft, vulnerable versions of these characters inside myself that deserve a chance to see the light, even if only for my own eyes.

To anyone else who finds comfort here, I need you to remember that you deserve a kind, loving, beautiful, rewarding, complicated, freeing, crazy life, too. Surrounded by people who have an unabashed dedication to fight for you, with you, and to love you. Don’t ever let them go.

-L

Chapter Text

Thanks for taking a look. Part one of Chapter one coming up soon :^)

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“Nah, the scrirmmich was fine —boring, honestly. You know how it is in pre-season, there’s no real stakes yet, so everyone’s limping around the court and playing chicken.” Eddie did his best to avoid eye contact with Wayne. As soft and caring as the guy could be, his gaze was like steel. No, maybe like lasers that could cut steel. Like Superman, but without the perfect chiseled face and great hairline. Maybe if Clark Kent had never discovered he was super, he could’ve ended up as someone like Wayne: working the same job for decades on end in Small Town USA, spending your only fun money on a pack or two a week to get through it all. While it’s true that Wayne looked no different from any other burnt-out 50 something in all of Indiana, he was a hero to Eddie. Which is why lying to him sucked even more. 

As Eddie pulled the slices of toast out burning hot, Wayne managed to corner him in the narrow alcove of the kitchen. “I wasn’t born yesterday, son. I know what a fresh shiner looks like.” He wasn’t dumb. God, Eddie knew his uncle wasn’t dumb. But after he’d tried so hard to get his shit back together this year, he couldn’t bare the thought of letting him down. Without turning to face him, Eddie held out the paper plate with two slices of warm bread, hoping Wayne would take them and just drop it. As if.

Chapter Text

“You don’t got anyone to prove yourself to, E.” 

“That —that’s the thing, though,” Eddie said joining Wayne by the fridge, and despite his previous attempts to keep his cool, he looked like at any second he might rip his own hair out. “I don’t WANT to prove anything, I’m not even TRYING to be in anyone’s face, these assholes do it on their own!” As he leaned his head into his hands, the events of the day swirled around in his mind. It was all he could do to ground himself in the present moment, quiet the flashing lights and sounds. Wayne had known his nephew long enough to know what the start of one of Eddie’s episodes could look like, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He hoped his silent gesture came off as the reassurance he intended. No words passed between them. 

It felt embarrassing, being 17 and still needing to be comforted like a fucking kid. Eddie couldn’t believe himself sometimes, and yet, he was grateful to have this kind of support even if he’d never admit to it. He kept his eyes on the floor, massaging his fingers over his face, trying not to wince from the pain. Thoughts started blurring together and his head was spinning.  

Chapter Text

“It like…junior year just started and I already can’t wait for it to be over. Is it ever over? It feels like it’ll never be over. I wish I could just—”

“Don’t even say it.” Wayne finally broke contact, walking over to the coffee pot to punch the power button.

“I’d be fine though, and you know it! You told me yourself that you left school sophomore year to go get a job and then your GED. Isn’t that enough?” Two more pieces of bread popped out of the toaster, and without thinking, Eddie grabbed one to nibble on while he sat on the breakfast bar. The man buttered his toast, looked on with a slight tinge of disapproval. Until he saw it. When Eddie stared back, eyes dark and brimming with discontent, they hardly looked like his own. It was a look he’d seen before, in another Munson’s eyes…the revelation urged him to take a softer tone.

Chapter Text

“Well sure, it’s technically enough. There’s plenty of work I did even without a GED, but that ain’t the point. The point is, look where that gets ya.” Eddie wasn’t quite sure if the gesture Wayne made was supposed to be at himself, the trailer, or their broader existence in general. “Now I’m not sayin’ you need to roll up to Beverly Hills or anything kid, but at least if you can graduate, you’ll have a hell of a lot higher chance of getting out of here. Better yourself. Have the kind of opportunities your dad and I never got to see.”

He realized too late that the mention of Alan sucked the air out of the room. Wayne always tried his best not to bring him up around Eddie, as hard as it was. If nothing else, he never wanted to hang the threat of “ending up like your father” over Eddie’s head. Heaven knows he believed with all his heart that the two were nothing alike; Eddie couldn’t wind up in his shoes even on his worst day.

Chapter Text

Intending to apologize, it was no use. Wayne could tell by the way Eddie was tapping his fingers against the countertop that his mind had already traveled onto the next destination.

“What if it’s true though, you know. The kind of shit they’d always say when you were a kid.” Eddie batted his eyes and picked a crumpled napkin off the countertop, placing it around his hair like a headscarf while trying to put on his best southern drawl. “‘Oh you know Martha, God just built him a lil’ different from the rest of us, that’s all it is.’” The act was dropped as quickly as it began. “But what they really meant —what they couldn’t say was ‘he’s not cut out for school or polite society or…anything else.’” Wayne felt a lump in his throat as Eddie tore the dirty scrap away from its perch, crumpling it back into a tight, unrecognizable ball.

Chapter Text

He made a shot for the overflowing trashcan across the room, missing horribly.

It’s true, he knew all too well what it was like to be different. School wasn’t exactly a breeze when Wayne was coming up, either. Whatever growing pains Wayne had felt though, he knew that Eddie was feeling them in an even deeper way. Times were changing, and on most days, it seemed people somehow found ways to become more cruel. The canyon in the boy’s heart widened every year, filling up with the discarded self loathing thoughts of others. That’s all bullies did in Wayne’s eyes. Park their own trash somewhere it didn’t belong. Too self-absorbed, or more often, too scared to deal with it. And as much as he tried, Wayne worried he was running out of ways to help hold it all together. It was no secret that Eddie was as close to a son as he was ever going to get; he’d do anything for him, if only the stubborn kid would let him. 

He turned his attention back to the coffee maker as the last drops trickled into the pot, filling the silence. In this house, about ten mugs were within reach at all times, lining a myriad of shelves and surfaces, but there was one Wayne’s hands reached for without thinking. A left handed mug with three horizontal stripes in shades of blue, green and brown.

Chapter Text