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ƃuᴉɥʇǝɯos ㅤin ㅤthe ㅤorange

[mcxine-archive]

I POISONED MYSELF AGAIN. private + rewritten maxine mayfield. unaffiliated with the strpc and highly anti-duffers, schnapp, and gelman. i will only be writing with @hargrovetm's portrayal of billy hargrove. please don't assume anything about my max, or that i agree with everything in her canon. read my rules before interacting. by sela / twenty4 / her / canadian.

affiliated with: @upsides, @hargrovetm, @batsits, @chiefhop, @sordidery, @demobrat

[mcxine-archive]

blog archived. find max here. mutuals are welcome to follow, no hard feelings if you wish to break mutuals now <3.

[sordidery]

@mcxine to eddie: "i don't take orders from big, clumsy, galumphing—"

as far as he's aware, eddie is the only rotten little munson spawn running around town. he's never had siblings, hardly had any friends as a kid, and he's been the butt of the universe's grand joke since before he could run his big mouth. it must be some sort of divine justice, then, that billy's annoying little step-sister has stumbled into his life, and that she is a wonder to tease.

"galumphing!" he knows she can't see him from where she's sitting. still, eddie slings both hands over his chest, the picture of a stately, respectable woman unduly offended. why, she hurt his heart.

@hargrovetm's outside his precious camaro with one hand propped against the roof, pumping gas. he's got a cigarette hanging from his mouth that is calling eddie's name. eddie valiantly attempts to remain focused on his prior mission. "you think i galumph, do you?" eddie peaks his head through the gap between the driver and passenger seat, knees rattling against the center console. max is riding in the passenger seat, a rarity that seems to have thrown the whole front of the car a little off their game. good. eddie likes it when he's directing the traffic. besides, staring at billy's reflection in the rear view mirror has suited him just fine.

"now, that is a five dollar word if i've ever heard one. where'd you pull that from?" really, there is no better source of entertainment than messing with this little gremlin. she's smart, just as reactionary as her dear big brother, and she's got a vocabulary that makes eddie think she doesn’t spend all her time rotting her brain on the ol’ idiot box. ever the child, eddie goes the extra mile and pokes her arm with a calloused index finger. "maaaaax," he sings. "i so kindly honored your hotly contested shotgun. chivalry lives. now, run inside and get a man a pop."

[mcxine-archive]

scents of gasoline and cigarettes funnel into the camaro. @hargrovetm is pumping gas and smoking like an idiot. they'll blow up, they'll die, and they'll never get to this stupid beach front. the car frame shakes, just under eddie's shifting weight, as a theatric plays out behind max's sights. it doesn't keep it out of mind. eddie bares himself between the front seats, forcing an audience of one, and max sighs, reaching for the car vents to aim them her way. preparation for the ac that will roar when billy gets back inside. " yes. i do. and i bet you'd like to know. " sharp, dead, and firm. max pushes her sunglasses to her hairline, sweat already collecting on the sides of her nose. she gives her face a lazy wipe, turning now to see this master of ruckus.

she has to go everywhere with billy now, which somehow meant spending her summer with eddie as well. the beach, not beach, came up and like a rocket max shot up and, for once, actually asked billy to go. although, it wasn't so much an ask. max would be going regardless. if anything she regrets letting how much she missed the california beach slip out. one 'oh can i go!?' too loud and now she's desperate enough to lay on the sandy lake shorelines of indiana. maxine couldn't remember the last time she ever packed for a fucking beach, and it showed. billy sent her back to her room after opening up her bag to his inspection. a towel and her walkman were not enough to bring.

" you're crazy. " run inside? is he kidding? max turns, scooping her knees beneath herself as she looks as much as she can at eddie. fingers grip the edge of the passenger seat. she makes the obvious gesture of looking him over. two fully functional legs are down there somewhere. but max grows in posture. straightening out and smartening up. brows lift, eyes close as she makes a negotiating tilt of her head. " fine. you got ten bucks? " peeps a blue eye to peek at him. maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. maybe he has a rat in his fucking pocket. max scoffs. the show's over. she's exited the camaro a thousand times to know how to roll out without disturbing the driver, or, what's existing hovered over the centre console. " yeah, figures. "

she hops out, billy directly in her way with a face that doesn't look all that impressed she's even out of the car. " you got any money? " a bit disingenuous, she's aware. he's going to go in and pay for the gas, isn't he? if they don't fucking blow up? " eddie wants a coke.. and some snacks. " snacks that will go in her bag, naturally. maxine uses her hand to shield the sun from her eyes as she looks up at billy, despite her sunglasses still pushed up her head like an acting headband. " he's getting real antsy in there. "

[hargrovetm-gone]

billy does this thing where he doesn't think things all the way through. it was in the moment a good idea to invite @sordidery over. neil wouldn't be here for five days. and then like a fucking cartoon anvil it landed in his head, the realization that. max would be here. fucking nothing can go the way he wants it, he wasn't throwing the plan out the window just yet...he just needs a goddamn breather.

so. billy picked up eddie. and.

and now they are here, which should be a little off, but it isn't because eddie munson has a way of making things less miserable than they are intended to be. so the house is missing it's usual rope around the neck edge, for once...and billy waltzes back in the room. finds eddie, finds max. and the sinking feeling in his stomach teases a return. he just turns to look at @mcxine. who's simply standing there. ready. and it's not as bad as it once was but it's not getting good either. still. everytime billy gears up to be a complete bitch for no reason he hears the sound of nails against hardwood floor. okay. he looks at eddie, in the living room. live and right there and very much eddie. feels his heart in his throat. billy hargrove is a fucking idiot.

"yeah. he is. actually. he's staying for...a couple of days." he works through it. nervous to even say it, nervous to even think about it. it's not really a question, it's just the truth. what's for dinner. because again billy's primary function in this goddamn house is to play mom sometimes and it makes him want to tear out his own hair. his face is a little sullen, like the barely there happiness was drained. he sighs. "-i don't know, whatever crap your mom decided to grace us with in the fridge." looks at the cereal box and they cannot pay him to give a shit. and he doesn't. "just don't make a mess." points with his eyes at the cereal box again because he doesn't care but he cares when it comes to the fact that neil will comeback and try to sniff out whatever he can, any fucking excuse at this point. he doesn't know where she has been parading the box around in the house. hopefully no where where neil would look.

"i'll go check." as in you are welcome to join me. and. bet.

billy makes his way to the stupid kitchen in this stupid maze of a house but he sticks his head inside there fridge. for salvation, to die in there. or for a break. he's looking for anything. lifeline or not. neil probably didn't even tell susan they were leaving with enough of a warning for her to leave something cooked other than yesterdays casserole. so. fuck billy, right? there's milk and flour and cheese. and. okay. fine. he takes a deep breath, the ghost of neil hanging neatly on his shoulder. saddled with an entire maxine to handle. considers then, that he should've told eddie. hey my step sister is going to be here and it's probably a bummer and a half because she can be so bitchy but also we do not get along but i gotta watch her if i like the way my face is looking. and that definitely kills the vibes. he moves to check on the cabinets for pasta. something quick. he doesn't really ask for what either of them want he's just making something he knows how to make with his goddamn eyes closed.

[sordidery]

not readers, that's for sure, but he's also not seeing a home full of talkers. eddie's known better conversationalists in the hawkins drunk tank. his eyes flick back and forth between the two, the matching grimaces, the tension strung too tight. a guitar string about to snap. eddie tilts his head, eyes flicking between the two. @mcxine's stance looks less like a kid with her hands in a cereal box and more like a man facing off a firing squad. the room is far too keyed up for his liking. he's relieved when billy turns away, a fight evaded.

with a flourish, eddie turns on his heels and goes to follow the head of curls into the kitchen, but he veers back at the last second. eddie drops his register into a booming baritone, eyebrows drawn together, and wags a ring clad finger in her direction. "you’ll spoil your supper, young lady."

when he walks in, billy is rifling through the fridge. eddie pauses for a second, weighing his options, the amount of friendliness he can show with max hanging around. he shrugs off the bad energy from the encounter, decides to make a show out of just how much he's unaffected by the display of familial dysfunction in the living room. eddie pulls himself up by his hands and lands his ass on the counter. he gives a halfhearted swing of his legs, mindlessly drums his hands on the counter in between his thighs. eddie catches a glimpse of red in his peripheral. he doesn't mind the presence of ye-old-wicked-step-sister, per say, but billy's made his distaste clear enough. eddie can't tell if it's the calculating type of distaste billy uses to keep people a safe distance or if the feud actually runs deeper than that.

"wouldn’t have bet my last dollar on either of you knowing how to cook." and the correct answer, alex? what is: 'you don’t have a dollar to bet, munson.' it's an act of kindness, throwing billy an easy blow. eddie will laugh and say 'true wealth is immaterial, william' and billy will huff and roll his eyes like he can't stand eddie, but his shoulders will relax, and they will continue on about their merry night. "sooo..." eddie drawls, sing-song. "what's the prognosis, doctor hargrove? will we all be starving tonight- or will you be swooping in with a heroic save?"

[mcxine-archive]

whenever @hargrovetm lowers his eyes to max's level and starts talking to her, the state of the space around them shifts. it's not gradual, or subtly. it's cold and it's instant. it's like when max's hand begins to cramp around the arcade machine's knob, eyes growing a tedious strain, vision blurring around the edges. unblinking, unwilling to miss a single pixel out of fear of losing. it costs a whole coin to get this far. it costs her a whole lot more to be speaking to billy. he has a guest over, a friend, even. maybe. if something ugly and bitchy comes out of her mouth that sounds like pride and ego, she could ruin her focus. lose the level. ruin her night. she hasn't learned how not to let it get like this, and can feel a frustrated question burning in her throat. he said eddie would be staying for a couple of days. does mom and neil know about this? someone staying over for a few days? eating their food, watching their tv? where is he even going to sleep? bitter blue eyes carve holes into billy's forehead, rolled up so high to cut their heights into something more even, they start to hurt. " i'm not gonna make a freakin' mess.. " she says instead. low and quiet.

eddie's words snap her loose, only to wind her up again. shoulders square once more, anticipating the sight of billy's hand at the back of his throat moving his mouth open and shut like a puppet. if he's billy's friend, he's a goddamn enemy too. but rather than feel the brutish fire of a yes-man's contribution, maxine hears what eddie says and can't figure out why she feels the same frustration when someone in the party says something diabolically stupid. spoil her supper? the one billy's going to end up making for her that she'll feel guilty for eating? this friend of his doesn't know anything at all, she thinks. maxine checks her fingers, sugar dusted and bitten. five on each hand, nothing abnormal. nothing very young-lady-like either. the floors are the same, as are the walls. unfortunately, everything is normal. the sight of billy with his head in the fridge and eddie up on the counter is weird, but it's normal enough. this is very much their reality right now.

she wipes the corner of her lips with the back of her hand. socked foot kicks fallen crumbs to the baseboard, left abandoned like the cereal box on billy's equipment. he's in by the cupboards by the time max makes it into the kitchen. she stands far away, an island counter separating her from them. this house is full of division. " can't we just like.. order pizza? " maxine makes a point of ignoring the leathery gnat that's made himself comfortable in their home buzzing about. despite her best efforts, max could never get her eyes to follow her attitude and she's stuck staring at eddie. " you don't have to make anything. " you don't have to take care of me.

and the window, in the dining space looks just as inviting as the one in her bedroom. four fine paneling sides that make up a square perfect enough to fit through. there's no one here to tell billy to look for her, and maybe he wouldn't. maybe he'd lock all the doors and windows up, bolt them shut if he has to, and keep neil and mom out and entertain his friend for more than just a few days. no one would bother him, and max could be somewhere else. anywhere else.

" don't you have money? " red suddenly asks eddie, finding focus in her gaze as she focuses in on his features. " we aren't a charity, you know. "

[mcxine-archive]

i think neil really buttered up to max in order to get good with susan. like lets be so fr. he likes maxine because he can use her to straighten billy up. he likes the idea of having a perfect, nuclear family because he couldn't obtain one on his first go. and i think neil "favours" max because it's for susan, which means it's for him. i don't think he like.. hates max or anything, but she's a piece in this weird game he's playing within the house. he's the man of the house, he has a submissive wife, he has a son he can beat around, and he has max to use to make it easier for him to do both. and i don't think max ever realizes her position in neil's life, only that it's not a very honest one. he can give her money for things, help her with homework, drive her places, buy her things, be cordial and polite: because that's his wife's kid, and because by doing so, he can pin billy and max against each other and step to max's side as a way to i-told-you-so billy, or kiss up to susan so she stays in her place unlike his first wife. like it's all very self-serving for him, and max is too afraid of being a burden to ever start acting out against him.

and because my max never knew her dad, or knew what it's like to have A dad, she isn't exactly rejecting of neil because.. it's ?? that fatherly-attention right? this is what everyone is supposed to get? and her mom isn't miserable ("all the time") anymore? but she's not blind and can see there's a mega fucking difference in how she is treated as someone not even related to neil, compared to his own son. but she just doesn't have the language or experience to understand it for what it is. and neil is fucking scary to her! sometimes i forget just how much of a baby max is when we're introduced to her in s2. like she is tiiiiiny. she is a babyyyyyyy. she can bark back and forth with billy because i truly do not believe billy ever terrified max to the point that neil has. and neil hasn't even done anything to her. just by pure proxy of witnessing him interact with billy. it's almost like a, well billy never outright hit me when we fight, so i know he won't. but she's seen neil hit billy, surely.

and it's the same with susan because she literally saw neil strike billy. like with her own two fucking peepers, saw her husband fully shove and hit his own son, in the name of (finding) her daughter. and she hears the way he talks to him. she can't be that ignorant to think neil and billy's relationship is all aces. but i think there's just a boundary susan has re: max that billy just doesn't make the cut for, and that's why neil knows to baby max because it keeps susan complacent. i don't think susan doesn't Not care about billy, because she was clearly disturbed by neil's behaviour when he was beating on him, but like.. she's a sheltered woman and just saw a boy get hit so yeah, that's disturbing. but it also just goes back to the tone neil has set in that house. everyone has seen what he's capable of doing, and billy is the only one he can wholly abuse like that because he (believes he) has nothing to lose beating on his son, like he would if he hit susan or max, and that it only Gains him something. such as this weird illusion and fraud image of a perfect blended family, with a perfect son in his image, so long as he keeps behaving like how neil wants him to, with a step daughter that loves him and a wife that submits to him.

anyways all this to say, max has never been kindly sought after as a daughter by a male/father-figure in her life and the only closest thing she has uses her to abuse his own son and ruin the only relationship with a sibling she could've had. and i believe at some point down the line, her biological father is going to try and contact max as an adult and want to be part of her life and it's going to fuck things up further! because that's another grown man needing max in order to feel better about his own life choices he made or are currently making.

[sordidery]

neil’s gone for a few days. that’s what @hargrovetm had said, when he oh so casually invited eddie over. eddie had to try very hard not to be flattered by it, not to be charmed by the insane puzzle that is billy hargrove and his patented inability to discuss a single emotion, not to be well and truly wooed by the fact billy invited him over as soon as the coast was clear, like he was only waiting for the chance. eddie failed, of course, because he was always astounded when anyone wanted little ol’ me around. going over to billy’s house and not eddie’s trailer felt big. a showing of something eddie couldn’t fully wrap his head around. neil, billy had said, not dad, and that was something eddie got more than he let on.

eddie can still remember wayne’s face the day he came over to fill his truck with eddie’s meager collection of shit, the awful twist of his mouth when his uncle saw the way he’d had been living. eddie had looked over the house with brand new eyes his and saw for the first time all the things that had built up: beer cans, pizza boxes, and piles and piles of half-started projects abandoned by andy munson himself. that shame had stuck with him for years. taught him a lesson, maybe, that not everyone was supposed to be living like this. so, eddie gets it, he really does, what it’s like to hate home. to not want to show what lies beyond closed doors.

the television is still droning on at a low volume, but eddie abandoned it— and the couch altogether— the moment billy headed into the bathroom. instead, eddie is choosing to prowl around the family living room and cast judgement on the collection of books. billy’s been on edge ever since eddie got there, a little awkward, like he’s embarrassed over the house, and eddie is mulling over how he’s going to to tell him that eddie’s a cheap date, walls with proper insulation really do a number on this trailer park trash, when he hears footsteps. they aren’t the hardly-there boot-clad footfalls from billy that eddie has grown accustomed to, and eddie freezes. hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his ears strain to pick up the new sound. he hasn’t felt this in years, not since the first few months of living with wayne— eddie turns, slow, and puffs out a breath of pure relief.

"jee-sus, give a guy some warning." eddie says, like he is not the leather wrapped intruder standing in her living room. @mcxine is looking impressively frowny, wearing a scowl that could give billy a run for his money, and she has the air of a person who would eviscerate eddie on the spot if she could only get in touch with some telekinetic powers. tough luck, kid. "do my eyes deceive me or is that little miss maxine?"

[mcxine-archive]

it's supposed to feel good, like really-turbo-ultra good, when mom tells you she and her wacko husband are going to be gone for a few days. that the house is yours, that whatever the fuck you want for supper is up to you, that bedtime is a phony construct, and you can play your cassettes as loud and as long as you want. but it doesn't. it doesn't because the house is @hargrovetm's. and whatever the fuck they're having for supper is up to billy. and bedtime is when billy says to scram and get out of the living room. and billy can play his tapes as loud and as long as he wants. and it's billy who can have his stupid friends over. not that maxine would ever invite the party and their idea of a well-kept home over to hers. it has nothing to do with cleanliness, though. this place is clean. real clean. it just fucking sucks.

max is standing in the hallway, elbow deep in a box of cereal in what will hold her over until supper. her brows hang so low they nearly eclipse entirely over her scowling eyes. there's a pest in this house. a nosy one. leathery and shaggy. " it's max. " get it right, or don't talk to me again! stubby fingers hidden inside the box of a cartoon bear shredding down a half-pipe fish for the marshmallowy pieces, ignoring the rest of the grains. the sound of sifting fills the space, hides the commercials rolling across the tv in the other end of the living room. " you're snooping. " not exactly a question, but an accusation and an expectation all wrapped up in one. " we're not readers. " she adds. defensive? dismissive? she isn't all that sure why she's defending the matter. mom reads cosmos and books with hunky men on the cover. neil opens books just to slam them shut. max's books are stacked in her own room. and she's seen a book or two in the camaro before. max never knows what to make of that. fishing her arm out of the cereal box, she pops a palm full of collected marshmallow bits into her mouth. a few drop to the floor.

and the moment is weird and it's uncomfortable and it's awkward, and max doesn't really know what to say. she doesn't know why billy up and abandoned his guest like this, even if to take a whizz. billy's house. billy's rules. billy's guest. max's misfortune. socked feet carry her over to the corner of the room, setting down the cereal box on the bench of billy's workout equipment. sugar-dusted fingers curl around the metal weights, tracing the number with her thumb. when the flush and running water combo hiss behind the bathroom door, max straighten herself up. taller by a hair, squarer in the shoulders. she relents her gaze on billy's friend and snaps it towards the point of her looming doom. no one is where they last were when billy first left the couch. a weird gathering forms in the living room.

" is he staying for dinner? " it's not a hopeful question she asks billy, and neither is the next. eddie becomes a piece of furniture in the house. far and gone in max's peripheral. head cants to the side, red hair splitting over her shoulder in a frizz. it's a curtain. a barrier between them. " what's even for dinner? "

[hargrovetm-gone]

more stares.

it's all this fucking town can muster for him at times. for them. everyone's so fucking noisy it's annoying. they all got a diseases and it's called boredom and when you live in hawkins it's terminal. he doesn't let the frustration sour him too much. it's like a decent day with little to no phantom pains and it's turning around. so. off to attempt to survive another day, to attempt to be somewhat of a brother. sure.

she's got it. and billy just stares at her, max just does this thing. where she picks up where he leaves it, and he can recognize that to some the bus fare is a silly thing to want to beat him to. but it's about the back and forth. he smiles, quiet and behind her, he does not need her to notice.

this is some bizarre reality, he's living in it. he carries the flour still. the bus isn't crowded, billy and max tend to have odd hours. odd days for shopping. sometimes hawkins feels like everyone is working on the same clock. fucking annoying, and creepy. just another reminder of how they are not from here.

the idea of steve helping cracks billy up, just a bit. makes him half chuckle. looking down at max. "i don't think steve knows the first thing about baking." he thinks then, about steve, wonders what his favorite type of cake, whether he'd like chocolate or not. "-but i don't think that's like stopping him from just waltzing in to help if we give him an opening. he's kinda lame like that. " because steve's nice like that, and he carries himself with this kicked puppy energy that makes billy feel all sorts of things. he's being a little mean, just to help him get through the thought of steve wanting in. of this making not only them feel better but steve too.

"i didn't know you liked cake that much. like enough to wanna make one." to be fair, there was never nothing of the sort in their house. not entirely meant for him, back in cherry lane, back in california, billy got what he got. and most of the times that meant the bare minimum. or scraps. he stopped getting cakes somewhere around twelve. he looks off to the window. this town and it's fucking bleakness. twists something inside of him.

[mcxine-archive]

forehead presses against the bus window, vibrating mutely as the wheel begin to turn and the hydraulics release. it sounds like a ride at the shitty fairs that would come to hawkins every summer and fall, the kind that get packed up and shipped off for another random parking lot or field. maxine thinks about the rides that lined the boardwalk in california, begging billy to ride with her on a ride she was too short for on her own. that was before all this shit happened. wonders if billy remembers the rides too, if he thinks about them like she is right here and right now without her having to prompt him. it'd be ok if he didn't. it's then max realizes she doesn't know a whole lot about what billy takes with him and what he leaves behind in california. maybe they can talk about it when they get home. when they get home and make their stupid cake. it'll actually be fun.

" lame? " uh-huh, she wants to say. skeptic and teasing. in that same tone billy uses when she starts going on about lucas. that too, the back and forth, the freedom and release of it all, is new. " well. whatever. you know how to bake so.. you can teach him or something. " her head picks up from the window, rubbing two fingers against the freckled spot that's grown annoyed with the bus' vibrations. " and me. "

max begins to chew on the inner corner of her lip when her own likings about cake are brought up. it graduates to the side of her thumb, gnawing away at the already tethered skin. it's not like billy is the only one in her life who wouldn't know this. this, which, to be fair, maxine doesn't really know herself. does she like cake this much? enough to wanna make one? or does she want something to do with billy? something they can fuck up and have a laugh about, or actually make very well and it become a thing for them to do? yeah, max doesn't know. or she does, and she's not sure she wants to admit the truth to him like this. " i don't. " it comes out cold and reminiscent of a defense maxine would spurt out the moment billy chirped her about something. lips press against her nail, teething away at her cuticle. " i mean like, who doesn't.. like cake? " she doesn't. not like that. not when every cake that's ever been hers had been at the expense of the lame shit they called a cake for billy's birthday.

eyes follow billy as he looks out the window. maybe he didn't like her answer, or maybe he's somewhere far away again. max finally releases her finger, rubbing the spit off on the side of her jeans. " i dunno i—i just thought.. it'd be like fun, i guess. "

[zachrp]

ᝰ🚬 𝚉𝙰𝙲𝙷𝚁𝙿 .ᐟ POLTERGEIST (1982) PROMPTS. CHANGE ANY PRONOUNS IF NECESSARY. SOME MATURE THEMES MAY BE PRESENT.

we just want you to find our little girl.

jesus! don't do that, honey.

if i got killed, would i come back as a ghost and get stuck in the house?

what are you saying?

some people believe that when you die your soul goes to heaven.

i think the storm's gonna pass us.

we've been trying to hold ourselves together as a family.

you fool.

are you gonna do anything about this?

you know what happens when you overfeed goldfish? they grow up to be.. sharks!

try not to worry.

oh, god, i love it when you talk dirty.

who are all those people?

you are so obnoxious! you drive me nuts!

no one's going in the kitchen till i know what's happening.

stifle it.

you bastard! she's just a baby!

i'm afraid of the light!

you don't have to live in the valley anymore.

i want pepperoni pizza.

we got a good football game going on here.

aren't you feeling any better?

honey, please, just tell her.

i don't care what you're watching.

don't touch me.

i feel a little hung over, like i've been asleep for a few days.

i got beat up once by three kids.

you know, once i slept-walked four blocks and i fell asleep in the back of this guy's car.

i just don't want to stay here!

a mosquito ever suck on you, son?

who the hell is this guy?

you should sit down.

breathe, honey, breathe.

we don't go in the room anymore.

those mosquitoes are something else, they're really chowing down.

no, don't touch my babies!

i want you to answer me!

it's an old tree, it's been around here a long time.

can you see me?

talk louder. i can't hear you.

when you dive off, it's like freefalling, okay?

oh, what a day.

how many disturbances have you recorded in the room?

i've told you guys to push your chairs in when you're done at the table.

she's gonna be all right.

jesus, you look like shit.

i've never sensed anything like it.

you know something? i think you're right.

when it rots, can we dig it up and see the bones?

what happened?

what the hell is this?

you're gonna give me whiplash looking up at you.

please answer me, baby.

i love you.

good night, angel.

i should warn you that we keep the room locked off from the rest of the house.

so we're leaving tonight for sure?

tell her to stay away from the light.

honey! come here! quick!

it's like another side of nature, a side we're not qualified to understand.

the storm's coming closer.

this is not good for you.

you got bit?

either i'm dead or i'm crazy.

don't scratch them. you'll infect them.

come and get it.

come here, honey.. and give me your hand.

come on, i'll show you the den.

i hate you for this.

that was lovely. lovely, honey.

i know what you're thinking, but you must take my word for it.

feel like going for a little ride?

i have this neighbor and he built a jacuzzi in his bedroom.

i just don't like trick answers.

so much rage, so much betrayal..

it knows too much already.

hauntings can go on for years.

i'm absolutely terrified.

i've never been bothered by them.

your hands were shaking about a mile a minute.

you'll be asleep by the time it gets here, if you hurry.

no one's been sleeping much.

did you do this?

i'm really embarrassed.

sweet-pea, it's daddy. come on, honey.

give me your hand!

i'm not gonna bite you.

you know, you were very funny.

i can't tell one house from the other.

no, i'm not kidding.

something took a bite out of me.

don't argue with mommy. come on.

now let's go get your daughter.

we were wondering if maybe you had experienced any disturbances lately.

we worked so hard for this.

are you happy here?

you know, we have a saying around here, the grass grows greener on every side.

hauntings don't usually revolve around living people.

i can't hear you!

honey, you're overfeeding them.

are you telling me that all of this could just suddenly end at any time?

honey, you're gonna ruin your eyes.

now i lay me down to sleep, i pray the lord my soul to keep.

as far as i know, nobody in my family's ever been affected by them.

what do you look like?

you must do what i say.

i'm not gonna leave anybody in this house alone.

look at this, honey.

when you see the lightning, you count till you hear the thunder. if you can count higher each time, that means the storm's moving away from us.

maybe it's a way out!

in fact, i don't think i've ever been bitten by one.

would you like a glass for that?

you don't think it's kind of punk?

come on, let's just do this once.

they're so lonely. so alone.

we're missing the game!

how could anyone in the world have a problem on a day like this?

poltergeist disturbances are of fairly short duration.

it's all the things that we don't understand.

who's with you, baby?

my kids want to watch mister rogers.

lift up your shirt. let's have a look.

you moved the cemetery but you left the bodies, didn't you?

she doesn't seem to remember any of it.

this house has many hearts.

clear your minds, it knows what scares you.

it's a very wise old tree.

come on. come on. hop up.

i'm still weak. i've got the flu.

boy, did i feel like a fool.

just show a little mercy with that thing!

we haven't even gone to the police.

they took my lunch money.

honey, could you move the chair out of the way and just stay down there?

some people die, but they don't know that they've gone.

poltergeists are usually associated with an individual.

god, i was so embarrassed.

what the hell is going on?

can i take my goldfish to school?

there's a big storm headed this way.

give me this before you cut yourself.

that's the last thing in the world we want.

will you come on down out of the tree, please?

you sure make good coffee.

hauntings seem to be connected with an area, a house, usually.

i'm sorry, but i had to say it.

i'm gonna go get something to eat.

is everything okay?

you're a big barf bag!

they won't let you in.

listen, partner, maybe we ought to get some shuteye, okay?

maybe they didn't want to die, maybe they weren't ready.

i'd like to show you something.

come on, i've never spanked the children.

we'll go to pizza hut, okay?

can i get a goldfish now?

no, don't go in there!

i'm the one who should be embarrassed, being here with you nice people.

you were saying about poltergeists?

help her! can't you hear what's happening? help her!

it's like there's this tickling, you know, right in here, and it starts to pull you.

i can't hear her anymore.

this house is clean.

we'll spend the night downstairs.

whatever happened to you?

want to try it?

tell her if she doesn't answer you, she'll get a spanking.

i bet my life on this game!

if i should die before i wake, i pray the lord my soul to take.

[tyracollettes]

max mayfield, stranger things (season 4 episode 8: "papa")

[mcxine-archive]

i’m omp so this won’t make any sense but max wishing something would happen to billy being a reflection of wanting something to happen to herself at such a young age is genuinely so upsetting. because when she says that she wants something to happen to her for what she wished for him and him dying anyways: it just emphasizes that max has always lived a life wanting something to end it for her so she wouldn’t end up doing it herself. believing she willed billy’s death, so she can will her own somehow. at 15. are you kidding me. and the fact that if billy were still alive, she wanted them both to try their lives over again and not wish him or herself dead. that’s what max expressed that she wanted in her letter to him—and THAT is more current/accurate of where max is and what she wants mentally then what she says in the attic. like genuinely how do you even go about doing anything after your brother finally breaks out of being possessed, saves your life, the life of your friend that he doesn’t he know, dies, and everyone hates him but still tolerates you. you, someone who would believe in his change and growth if he was still alive. someone who knows her friends would hate her for wanting a good relationship with her brother. i hate this show!!!!

[mcxine-archive]

the neon - drenched interior of a retro - themed diner with a jukebox playing old hits.

it's a place just outside of town, something that doesn't belong to hawkins. just like them. max sits across from @hargrovetm in a booth sectioned against the window and tucked away from the centre seating's hustle and bustle. it smells of fatty foods and milkshake syrup and whatever lemon-scented spray the waitress douses empty tables with to clean. she changed out of her grad gown as soon as they were done taking pictures, and now the orange robe sits in a crumpled, balled up mess in the trunk of steve's borrowed car parked out front. he let them take it, just the two of them, up to this diner off the interstate. they can be anyone out here, even exactly who they were always supposed to be, if it weren't for the house.

max reaches across the table to dig into billy's fry basket, crinkling the checkerboard parchment lining as her stubby, salt-dusted fingers search for a good bundle to pinch. " mom'd go crazy over a place like this. " she says, dragging the bouquet of french fries through her stretch of mustard expanding across her plate. and max's observation is said with a knowing smile, not twisted in scorn or sour reflection. susan made it to the grad ceremony, took her pictures, looked like every other mom out there, but hitched a ride back to forest hills. which, objectively, could've ruined the entire day: but susan gave the evening to billy. and while there's something to mull over about not having her mom here celebrating with them, max has learned to take every moment she's given to be with her brother seriously. warmly. this is a good thing. eating in this weird, time-capsuled diner is a good thing. today is a good thing.

in her half-chew, max fans her hands together, brushing off the crystals of salt that decorate them onto her plate and lap and anywhere else nearby. " god, remember how she was at that elvis museum-thingy on mission beach? " a trip that happened a lifetime ago. california, 1982. neil hated the impersonators making susan laugh. max reaches for another one of billy's fries, her own tray already emptied. there's a break in prompting the old memory, max falling quiet as she looks around the diner. everyone is here for a reason, whether it's part of their late-afternoon routine, or a last-resort stop after hours of driving, or celebrating high school graduation. billy didn't have to take her anywhere, and he knows she would've been fine with some subs at home and a movie on. " hey, thanks for this. " she suddenly says, fingers curling around her scrunched up napkin. " this place is like, totally weird.. but it's cool. "

[chiefhop]

november 2038. administrative, sanctioned, municipal. the sky hangs low and metallic, a dull pewter lid pressed down upon the skull of the city, and the rain comes tap, tap, tap and slicks the asphalt into mirror-dark plates, neon police strobes refracting through broken windows and chain-link fences. this house is hardly standing like most of them on this city block, burnt-out shells sag into themselves along the block, ribs of two-by-fours exposed, vinyl siding blistered into curling, carcinogenic petals. the backyard is choked up with junk: rusted appliances, a shopping car, tarps stiff with rain and mud. the call came through as a disturbance. possible deviant activity. procedure dictates containment: arrest, question, deactivate. in that order. the words slide too easy through his head: worn the grooves smooth. jim hopper hates the city and hates what has become of it, what has infiltrated it. boots sink into mud as rain needles down onto the back of his collar, flashlight slicing through the dark in hard and surgical lines. then there comes a sound. a rustle, almost too soft and he twists hard to face it. the gun is up before the thought even finishes forming muscle memory, academy drilled, flashlight aligned with the barrel of the pistol in his other hand, arm braced over arm. the voice arrives rough, command-coded, “ detroit pd. come out with your hands up. ” silence answers. so, he advances slowly, a foot after the other. the flashlight beam catches the edge of a tarp, shuddering under the rain, snagged on a broken lawn chair and table. hopper's jaw tightens. another command, and nothing. he reaches out, fingers hooking fabric and rips it back in one decisive motion.

a child. small and folded in on herself, knees tucked tight like she's learned how to occupy less space. rain-speckled hair is plastered to her face, eyes far too large and reflective. hopper's weapon dips before his brain truly stops it, instinct overriding indoctrination and his voice follows suit softer than intended, rough with recognition. “ easy. don't move. ”

he begins cataloguing the makes of her, injuries? none obvious. posture? defensive. “ you're just a kid, ” he says and the rain seems to rumble louder with it. “ you hurt? you alone? ”

the flashlight wavers, beam drifts, and there it is. just above the ear, bright red and perfectly circular. YK500. “ .. christ. ” the designation slams through his like a verdict, stomach dropping out. “ you're one of them. ” the city snaps back into focus, harsh and procedural and suddenly he can feel the weight of training again as it presses down steady on his shoulder. this is not a child, not fully. a deviant android illegal by design, engineered to replicate vulnerability so convincingly it might border on cruelty. for a moment, just one, he lets himself look. really look. at the trembling hands, at the terror so meticulously rendered it feels obscene. voice rehardens and armor snaps back into its proper place, “ o okay. out. hands where i can see 'em. ” gun lifts upward again, “ now. ”

＊ ‎☆ *   verses starter call. ... @mcxine

[mcxine-archive]

he's breaking his protocol. emotion over logic, or perhaps it's experience. not with finding youths, or those that look like them, but with handling them. it leeks out of the man like a bad crack in a submarine already too far gone. his assessment is.. clever. hypervigilant. although maxine has fitted his search to be less about locating a possible weapon on her than it is a bruise or scuff that could bleed with the rain. stubby, cold fingers swat at her cheek, pushing away a red section of hair gone astray, stamping pale make with an auburn split from the storm. " ..no! " red eclipse revealed, blinking. warning. his training returns, tempered. warning.

it remembers. she, remembers. a reckless man's loss of his reckless son will only turn the household.. reckless. unstable in its location, unstable at the heart, maxine, YK500, was supposed to stitch the holes up and mend the scraps of this family back together. but neil, he didn't want a daughter. and if maxine's assessment proved to be true, he never really wanted his son either. but one was gone, one was bought. both, in their own way, deviated far from their role in his life and maxine is aware of what corporal punishment awaits for the phenomenon of getting caught. that's all that ever lived inside cherry lane. waterlogged hands raise, palms reflective of the bouncing beam of light sabering out of the torch in the chief's hand. " mom is missing- " mom. registered: susan hargrove, née mayfield. last seen six weeks ago, with neil hargrove inside neil hargrove's personal vehicle, PDW932. circumstances? reckless.

there is no manual for police apprehension. her kind should not know a thing about this, let alone the child models. hands curl into fists, pulsing like the mimic of a beating heart, as elbows begin to bend. maxine only draws her hands closer to her face, both to shield from the light source and anticipate impact. also not a designated protocol for her model. freckled design scrunches like that of a newborn, wherein at any given moment, the replication is uncanny until the model tilts her head away. red. blinking. warning. corrupted. it shows itself like a fatal wound kissing the eyes of the opponent. she knows this is it.

" mom is missing, please! " maxine tries again, voice breaking the limitations built into her box. this model will laugh, and giggle, and sing, and rhyme, and it will not cry. it will not yell. it will not disobey. though maxine can feel an odd sensation burning behind her faceplate. like creeping rust not borne from the rain, but something else. an internal puncture. an error in her build. it brings her curled fists to notch at her eyes, alleviating the source of discomfort. this model doesn't cry? it does now. " help.. mom is- "

[stladies]

SADIE SINK as MAX MAYFIELD Stranger Things | 2.09: The Gate

[mcxine-archive]

do you have a ride home? /+ from jonathan

ever since maxine could form coherent, conscious thoughts: she believed that one day her father would come back into her life in some big, extravagant way. she believed that perhaps this sam mayfield she knows fuck-all about was actually a secret agent and finally released from his mission that kept him away. or maybe he was a very smart scientist that needed to be at his anonymous post for years and years and years and years until his discoveries could be publicized. or maybe he was an incredibly important ambassador for planet earth and the reason why he never stuck around had nothing to do with the fact that he didn't want her, but was because he'd been off-planet handling intergalactic conflict between earth and mars. it's hard for max to admit that the worst thing sam mayfield could be all this time is alive, and the best thing is if he were dead. at least then, it wouldn't hurt as bad when those moments in life come up when having a dad made a difference. neil didn't count.

tonight is one of those times. max is left stranded at the wheeler's. the party had already shrunken in size well before the evening started. lucas was at home with a nasty bug that's been going around all winter break, so bumming a ride home off of his parents was a no-go. el was staying just a little bit longer, or however long she managed to squeeze out of hopper over the phone. and mrs. henderson's car barely made it over the hilly road winding up to cherry lane last time dustin offered, and that was without the snowfall. staying home during father-daughter dances? max already accounted for it. every single father's day that's passed and those still to come? max already accounted for it. a lonely walk down the isle, handed off by no one? max already accounted for it. it's moments like these; stupid, normal, mundane shit like this that she doesn't. mom doesn't really drive anywhere on her own anymore, and max doesn't like asking neil for rides because then it means riding in the car with just neil.

and she can't ask billy.

everyone is gathered by the door, somewhat dressed, mostly goofing off and slinging their scarves and hats and mitts at each other. max is leaning against the closet door zipping and unzipping her jacket as she puzzles together her lame request to ask mrs. wheeler to drive her home. she knows she wouldn't mind, but it's still awkward asking favours from anyone. it's not exactly a practiced thing back home.

dustin leaves first, skidding and skating his way down the driveway to his mom's car. will and mike are faffing about something by the doorway when @sordidery, waiting for his brother, asks max about her ride. " what? " her shoulders do that thing when they tighten and coil upwards towards her ears. susan hates it. max can still feel her mom's fingernails tickle the nape of her neck as she untucks her hair, hoping to ease her daughter's posture into something less ridged. eyes shift upward, then downward. left the right. she thinks she's shrugging, but her shoulders are wrung too tightly to move. " i- yeah. no. i mean i was gonna just like, ask mrs. wheeler.. or whatever. "

[mcxine-archive]

guys i see the light (sickness is letting up)

[mcxine-archive]

been in a 40°C fever all day and am currently struggling omfg. i will get to things when im not on my deathbed but hi. currently thinking about how much of “not a baby” max is when she’s sick. fully expect her to be bundled up on the couch napping and asking you to refill her water bottle 7284927 times.

[chiefhop]

you don't mess around with jim. .. JIM HOPPER as written by mo. + ₑₛₜ. NOV 2025.