#the hawkins indiana psychic baby boom

[marypsue]

Would you be amenable to sharing a snippet of former heroes or the stoncy bodyswap au 👀 No pressure of course, love your work! 💖

Oh hello! Yes, always, and thank you for asking!

From former heroes who quit too late:

...

“What do you mean, you can’t find him?”

“I mean,” El says, from behind the blindfold, with way more patience than Max currently has for Mike’s bullshit, “I can’t find him.” She sounds worried. Badly worried.

Max can’t blame her. “You found Billy fine just yesterday.”

“I know,” El says. She sounds so miserable that Max instantly feels like a shit for saying anything.

“Is there something we can do to help?” Mike asks. Max hates that he said it first. “Do you need it quieter?”

Dustin turns to Lucas and shushes him, loudly, with a finger to his lips. Lucas shoves him in the shoulder.

“Try looking for somebody else,” Will suggests, tucking his knees up in front of him on the couch. Somehow, they all ended up in Mike Wheeler’s basement for this. Again. Max still isn’t sure why they always seem to default to here. “Somebody you know you can find. That way you’ll know if the problem’s with you, or with Billy.”

El pushes the blindfold up on her forehead to give Will a long look. Max kind of wishes she could borrow Mike’s power for a second or two, just so she’d have some idea of what that face means.

Will just looks steadily back at El.

“With all the other weird stuff going on? My money’s on Billy,” Lucas says, to El, ignoring Dustin giving him a shove back.

From the little grateful smile El beams in his direction, Max wishes she’d thought to say that first, too.

“Can the Mind Flayer even have two spies?” Dustin asks, which is, honestly, a really good question. “It can’t be affecting Heather and Billy. Right?”

“It did control all of those dogs at once,” Lucas says.

“Demodogs, Lucas! How many times!”

“I’m just saying. Who says it couldn’t do that to people, too?”

“Max?” Mike asks, and Max realises with horror that he’s giving her a look that almost seems concerned.

“I am not worried about Billy,” she warns him. It’d be stupid to try to convince Mike of all people that she’s not worried at all, not now that he’s obviously noticed. “But none of this sounds good. Even if we still don’t know for sure that it’s the Mind Flayer, I think it’s time. We should tell the others.”

She looks around at El, at the boys, and can’t say she sees much disagreement. “Barbara’s premonition – the mall fire’s happening tonight, right? The Fourth of July? We’re running out of time. And whatever it is, there’s definitely something strange going on.”

“Always is,” Will mutters, under his breath.

[marypsue]

find the word!

I hadn't even heard of this kind of tag game until @monsterhunting tagged me! What a great idea.

The words Grace gave me are lean, stare, change, pull, and trust. I have to see if they show up in any of my WIPs, and then post the snippet they appear in if they do. This was an exercise in discovering how much I overuse certain words, so I sort of...picked a WIP for each word, and then picked the best snippet if there was more than one result. Samples under the cut!

lean

From why can't we be ourselves like we were yesterday, the Steve/Nancy/Jonathan bodyswap AU:

“Great.” Robin hands him the video she’s holding, piling it on top of the stack in his hands with a careful little pat, before starting to back away. “Just – man the counter, do those rewinds, and don’t – go anywhere.” “Where do you think I’m going to go?” Jonathan asks, but Robin’s already hurrying towards the door behind the half-wall with the garish neon Family Video sign. Robin pauses just long enough to lean back around the wall and catch Jonathan’s eye. “Just don’t go anywhere!”

stare

From that same small town in each of us, the Stranger Things ageswap AU:

“You know something,” El says, her face getting scary again, and just like that, the decision’s made for Mike. “Not about Joyce,” he admits. “But my friend Dustin didn’t show up for school today. Nobody knows where he is. The last time anybody saw him was leaving this after-school science club last night.” Mike meets El’s scary stare, and adds, “And I know he doesn’t have…gifts.” Will’s voice, his eyes, are sympathetic, but his words are definitely not. “If the lab’s people shot El – maybe Dustin and Joyce were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” “What – are you saying he’s dead?” “He could be,” El says, all soft, like that makes any of this better.

change

From former heroes who quit too late, the third and final part of the AU where (almost) all the Stranger Things kids have powers:

“Why did you say,” Lucas starts, cautiously, “ ‘while I’ve still got the chance’?” Mike looks up. He’s a little surprised Lucas even noticed that. He’s a little surprised Lucas has to ask. “One or more of us dead. That’s what Barbara said, right?” Lucas frowns at him. “That was if we can’t change it. It’s not guaranteed.” “Yeah. But we haven’t changed it, yet, have we? We don’t have the spy, we don’t know what’s going on with the Russians, we haven’t even been able to tell Hopper and Mrs B…and it’s already the fourth.” Mike laces his fingers together and pulls his palms apart, looking down into the basket he’s made with his hands. “We’re going to stop – whatever it is. I know. That’s what we do. It just – I just -” “It feels like you’re running out of time,” Lucas offers, and Mike shrugs. “I guess. It’s just – if the Mind Flayer really is back, or if there’s another monster, and it goes after us…” He has to swallow, hard, suddenly. Trying to breathe in this entryway is like trying to breathe soup. “El’s going to fight it. You know she is. She’s gonna be right out there in front of us, throwing the first punch.” Lucas nods. Mike pushes himself up out of the chair. Suddenly, he can’t stand the scratch of the woven fabric against the bare backs of his knees. “It just feels like I should say something, first. But she’s not making it easy. Come on, we’re gonna cook alive in here before Nancy and Jonathan get back.”

pull

From Something Borrowed, Something Blues, the sequel to Reincarnation Blues:

After a moment of apparent deliberation, one of the dryads gestured, and the branch Mabel had been trying to pull away from the woman’s face suddenly slithered away. The rest of the vegetation webbed around her started, creakily and in lurching, jerking movements like old stop-motion animation, to retreat into the soil. Two of the dryads had already gone to join their sisters trying to battle the flames. The third paused only long enough to catch Mabel’s eye and give her a long, hard stare, before hurrying off to join them. The second she was free, the woman Mabel had taken for Grenda gasped in a breath and then asked, almost demanded, “Mira?” She was looking right at Mabel. “No, sorry,” Mabel said. “Hey, how’d you get inside a tree?”

trust

From Blood Will Out, the The Lost Boys pseudo-sequel-slash-reboot fic featuring an OC sister duo and vampire girl gang because I am nothing if not Predictable:

When Edgar comes back, it is, unsurprisingly, with an implement of vampiric destruction. But the stake he holds out to Jamie is offered blunt end first. “Keep this on you at all times. Especially while you’re in Santa Carla. It might just save your life.” Jamie hesitates for a moment before taking it from his hand. It’s a beautiful piece of woodworking, unadorned, a little more than a foot long, turned and varnished so smooth and perfect that the grip sits satiny and comfortable in her hand with no risk of splintering. The end is sharpened to a point so fine she nearly pricks her finger on it. It’s surprisingly heavy in her grip, too, solid and dense. “Thanks, but -” Edgar cuts her off before she can finish the thought. “Don’t let my presence and my fearsome reputation lull you into a false sense of security. There’s still a serious undead element active in this city.” He pauses for just a moment, the only sign he’s uncertain at all, before adding, “And you can’t trust your sister.”

I'm going to tag @daddygrandpaandthebeaver, @mickeymagpie, @amethystunarmed, @enquiringangel, and @gretchensinister, and my words for you are: sharp, take, moon, pile, and dream.

[marypsue]

While we're all here, I want to say a huge, huge thank you to @andreacsenge for translating the kids aren't alright into Hungarian! She's translated the entire work and will be updating every two weeks, on AO3 and Merengő. This is an intensely cool and exciting thing and I appreciate it a whole lot.

[marypsue]

Also an itty bitty tiny little bit of former heroes, because I promise I'm still making progress on it!

...

El nods. She watches Will’s face. His words are reassuring, but they sound unhappy. And he doesn’t meet El’s eyes. Not since they left Mike’s house.

While they walk through the woods behind the cabin, she asks. “Why does Mike say you don’t like girls?”

Will makes a face, and walks a little faster.

El hurries to catch up with him. There’s something cold in her chest. “Will. I’m a girl.”

Will stops walking so fast El nearly runs into his back. “Yeah. Yeah, you are.”

The cold thing in El’s chest snarls and snags at the look on his face. “You don’t like me?”

“What? No! Mike was being an asshole,” Will says, finally looking at El in her eyes. “Of course I like you.” He turns back around and starts walking again. El scrambles after him. “Just not the way Mike does.”

The cold knot in El’s chest untwists, a little. But she still doesn’t understand. “What do you mean?”

“What do I – are you kidding? Have you seriously not noticed?”

“Not noticed what?”

Will gives a branch hanging in his way a particularly vicious shove, not looking back to see where it’ll snap back. “The way he looks at you.”

El doesn’t know what to say to that.

She’s not stupid. Of course she’s noticed Mike’s been different. Not bad-different. Not exactly. But different.

But so has everything else. Home is different, with Sara there. Hop is different, with Sara there. Even Will is different, now that the boyfriend is the fiancé, and staying with him and Jonathan is different too. Jonathan and Steve and Nancy are different. Max and Lucas are different. Dustin is different.

El is different.

No one’s stopped being her friend. El knows they won’t. It’s not like before. And – part of her likes Mike’s attention. A lot. It feels good when he asks her to do things together, or gets so happy around her it starts catching, or she looks over and catches him smiling at her.

But it feels like there’s something – something he’s waiting for her to say, or do. And El doesn’t know what the right thing is. She doesn’t know what happens if she gets it wrong.

She doesn’t know if she wants everything to change again, so soon.

[marypsue]

It's Sneak Peek Sunday! And I totally forgot to put up a sample to celebrate finishing chapter eight (of a planned fifteen total, so now we're more than halfway through!) of former heroes who quit too late! So here's that!

...

Chrissy’d never thought she’d honestly be relieved to see Billy Hargrove. But then, she’s never had to close down the whole pool and fish out a turd that turned out not to be a turd, either. Today is just full of firsts.

There’s something about Billy that just puts her on edge. Nothing Chrissy can put her finger on, exactly. Heather thinks she’s being paranoid, that he’s a garden-variety jerk whose looks more than make up for every time he opens his mouth. And she’s probably not wrong. There’s plenty of those at Hawkins High.

It’s just – there’s something intense about him. Something Chrissy’s never really noticed in Jason, or Patrick, or, like, Steve Harrington or whoever else is riding on his looks to excuse his mouth this week. Something she thinks maybe Heather should take a little more seriously.

She has to concede one point to Heather, though. Billy Hargrove is not hard to look at. Too bad there’s no way Jason’d ever grow out his hair.

Still, the relief that sweeps over Chrissy when she looks up from the test strip she’s checking and sees Billy standing on the other side of the pool is unexpected. And it’s also short-lived. Billy doesn’t look like he’s here to pick up his abandoned shift at all. He doesn’t have his bag with him, and he’s not wearing swim trunks, or his lifeguard tank. Actually, those might be the same clothes he was wearing yesterday. Chrissy thinks that’s a twig caught in the dishevelled tangle of his hair. There are visible beads of sweat standing out on his forehead, and he’s all flushed, even though it’s not that hot out.

And he’s just – standing there. Watching her. Like a creep. Chrissy’s not really sure how long he was there, before she noticed. Or how long it’s been since the last time he blinked.

“Billy?” she asks, setting aside the water testing tools slowly, so she doesn’t spook him. Abruptly, and for no real reason, she’s reminded of the horses at the mountain lodge resort her parents took her to the summer after fifth grade. Of how the riding instructor had warned them all never to approach a horse in its blind spot. How if you startled a horse, it’d kick.

There’s something about Billy’s eyes, as he seems to shake himself awake, that makes Chrissy think of startled horses. Of their eyes, big, so wide the whites are visible almost all the way around, rolling with mad, helpless terror. It makes her wish Billy would look anywhere else.

But he doesn’t. Just says, flat and even and steady, “You need to come with me.”

Chrissy swallows the inexplicable lump of nerves sitting high in her throat. “Uh oh,” she tries, with what she knows is a weak attempt at a smile. “Do I need to get the mop and bucket?”

Billy doesn’t react to her admittedly kind of pathetic joke. Or actually answer the question. He just keeps standing and staring until Chrissy stands up. Then he turns without a word and starts walking toward the storage shed.

Chrissy looks over at Heather, who’d retreated into the shade of the building after she’d burned her back so badly. But Heather doesn’t seem concerned at all. She just meets Chrissy’s eyes and nods in the direction Billy just went, waiting until Chrissy starts to walk around the pool before coming over to join her. She keeps pace beside Chrissy as they both follow Billy over to the storage shed, but she doesn’t look over at Chrissy once. Chrissy tries not to feel like she’s being escorted, like she’s got bodyguards.

Like she’s being herded.

Billy’s waiting beside the door of the shed when Chrissy reaches it, pulling off the padlock and chain that’s the only thing keeping an army of kids in Jams and water wings from poisoning themselves with chlorine. He steps aside as Chrissy comes up to the door, with a sweeping little gesture and the first hint of an expression Chrissy’s seen him wear since he looked up from the pool. It’s his usual slow, sarcastic grin, crooked and somehow mocking. But somehow it seems stiffer than usual. Takes a little longer to spread across his face. “After you.”

Chrissy looks up at Heather. Heather doesn’t react at all. There’s a shadow of a smile on her face, too, patient and curiously vacant.

“We already re-treated the pool,” Chrissy says, to Billy. She still doesn’t think he’s blinked. “And it wasn’t even a real turd. Just somebody’s nasty prank.”

Billy’s smile doesn’t shift an inch.

“Chris,” Heather says, sounding vaguely annoyed.

Chrissy takes a deep breath in. Whatever practical joke these two are planning, Heather’s her friend.

Even if she doesn’t seem to take Billy seriously enough, she wouldn’t help him do anything that would actually get Chrissy hurt.

[marypsue]

Sneak Peek Sunday, and this one's fanfiction! Yes I can do that. I have a permit.

Have a chunk from former heroes!

...

The bell doesn’t stop ringing even for a second as Steve steps out of the backroom. Actually, it only gets more frantic. Steve has to actually reach out and put his hand over Erica Sinclair’s on the bell to get her attention. She’s busy looking back over her shoulder, out at the dining room and the food court beyond. The yelp she lets out when Steve grabs her hand, the way she jumps as she spins around, the multicoloured beads at the ends of her little braids clacking against each other, is almost enough to make Steve jump too.

“Erica?” he asks, and the scared-rabbit look in Erica’s wide eyes suddenly resolves into something closer to the pushy, demanding junior mallrat he’s used to seeing at this counter.

“Let me back there,” Erica says, with all the haughty self-possession of a queen.

“What?”

“What’s going on?” Max asks, from behind Steve, who sighs without turning around.

“Thought I told you two to stay put?”

“What’s going on,” Erica snaps, her usual sarcasm undercut by impatience and what Steve thinks is a shiver of genuine fear, “is that some creepy, old white guys in suits have been following me all over the mall, and I can’t get rid of them. So you’re going to let me back there, like I know you let Lucas all the time, before they catch up!”

“Wait,” Dustin says. “Men in suits? What men in suits? When did you notice they were following you? Did any of them have Russian accents?”

“Can you ask whatever dumb questions you want after we all go back into that nice, hidden back room?”

“Steve,” Max says, urgently.

Steve looks where she’s looking. Out in the food court, weaving their way through the crowded tables dotting the dining area with smiles and small niceties, are two men dressed in three-piece suits. One navy blue. One beige. They’re moving with a purpose and determination that nobody else in the food court is, looking all around them like they’re searching for something.

As if he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, the one in the navy blue suit looks up, and directly into Scoops. He catches Steve’s gaze and holds it for an endless second, before looking down.

Down toward the counter, where Erica Sinclair is still standing frozen in place.

“Okay,” Steve says, already moving to open the hatch in the counter. “Get back here. Henderson, you know how to get into the service hallways, right?”

Dustin nods, already motioning Erica ahead of him towards the back. “Meet you at the car?”

“If I don’t catch up with you first.” The guys in suits are definitely making a beeline for Scoops Ahoy, now. Steve waves for Max and Dustin and Erica to move faster. “Go!”

The kids disappear into the backroom, not a moment too soon. The men in suits are just entering the dining room as the sole of Max’s shoe vanishes around the corner. A few of Scoops’ customers look up with mild interest as the two men march straight up to the counter, but it’s interest that’s just as easily lost.

Steve fixes on his best winning smile, looking back and forth between the men in suits. They don’t look particularly Russian. Then again, he doesn’t really know what he was expecting Russian spies to look like. “Welcome to Scoops Ahoy, I’m Steve, I’ll be your captain on this voyage of flavour. What can I get you?”

“Do they make you say that?” the guy in the blue suit asks, with a twist of a smile. His accent is perfect, pure Midwest. “Or did you come up with it yourself?”

“We’re looking for someone,” the guy in the beige suit says, without any kind of smile at all. He also doesn’t sound like he’s ever been within a thousand miles of St. Petersburg. “Young woman. Rainbow overalls. Braids. We want to talk to her about some merchandise that’s gone missing from a few of these stores. Seen her?” His face doesn’t so much as twitch as he lies.

Steve cranks his grin up another couple of notches.

He has to be careful not to put too much power behind it, to keep it a subtle suggestion, when he says, “Nope. Nobody like that’s been in here since I opened the place up this morning.” He taps the bottom of the handle of his scoop against the display case, before ducking down so he can discreetly wipe his nose. “You sure I can’t interest you gentlemen in anything? We do offer free samples, we’ve got all eight flavours you see here, and our banana boat sundae -”

“Thanks,” Beige Suit says, cutting Steve’s spiel short. His stare has gotten piercing. “Unfortunately, we’re on a deadline.”

“Otherwise we’d definitely have to find out what a banana boat sundae is,” Blue Suit says, with a flash of gleaming teeth. He starts to turn, to walk away from the counter, only to stop and spin on his heel, wagging a pointed finger back at Steve. “Steve Harrington, you said?”

Steve’s pretty sure he didn’t. “I haven’t been doing any recreational shoplifting in my spare time,” he says, warily, as he straightens up.

“No, no, of course not,” Blue Suit laughs, like the very idea’s absurd. “No, your name just came up in a recent meeting with Scoops corporate. Everybody’s very impressed with what a good job you’re doing.”

It’s not like Steve didn’t know they were lying. But now he knows they’re lying.

If his “Oh. Really.” comes out sounding less than convinced, he’s not making too huge an effort to cover it up.

“No, really!” Blue Suit says, with a bit of a chuckle, like he can’t quite believe it either. Steve’s got to hand it to him, the guy’s good. “There might have been talk of a promotion. I’m really not at liberty to say.” He actually winks. Steve considers just telling them both to go away.

Beige Suit is nodding his agreement. “But promotions don’t go to people who aren’t team players. People who put their own interests ahead of the good of the company. We just want to talk to Erica Sinclair, Steve. Bring her out.”

“She’s not here, man,” Steve says, giving it a little more oomph this time. He hopes the annoyance in his voice will cover the shiver of unease. “I don’t know what to tell you. You’re gonna have to go look somewhere else.”

Beige Suit blinks a little, taking a halting half-step back from the counter. But it doesn’t last. Steve’s already reaching for a tissue when Beige Suit steps back up to the counter, leaning across it and into Steve’s space so aggressively that Steve has to take a step back. His partner shifts, leans casually back against the counter so that he’s blocking the hatch. Boxing Steve in.

“Wrong answer, Steve,” Beige Suit says, low enough that the corner booth beside him will probably only catch his even, reasonable tone. Not his actual words. “We know what you’re trying to do. And believe me. You do not want to fuck with us.”

He leans forward, resting an elbow casually against the counter. The movement makes his suit jacket fall open. Giving Steve a clear and obviously intentional view of the shoulder holster he’s wearing under it. The heavy black handle of his handgun.

“Do we understand each other?” Beige Suit asks, conversationally, his eyes never leaving Steve’s.

Steve swallows. It takes him two tries.

“I’m gonna go get Erica,” he says.

“Smart kid,” Blue Suit says, still with that annoying, aren’t-we-all-having-such-a-good-laugh grin. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his pants, apparently getting comfortable where he’s leaning against the counter. It doesn’t escape Steve’s notice that he’s blocking the hatch more completely. “Knew you were going places.”

[marypsue]

Hello friends, foes, and followers, time for another Sneak Peek Sunday! As usual, here's an out-of-context teaser from former heroes who quit too late:

...

The gate across the entrance to the pool is shut and locked. But the door into the little office at the entrance is standing wide open.

Dustin gulps audibly as they peer through it. The office is empty. There’s no sign of Heather or Sara or the strawberry blonde girl or any of the other lifeguards. The July issue of Seventeen is facedown on the counter, and there’s a white bottle of something with a wordy label covered in hazard symbols lying open on its side on the carpet. The chlorine stink is strong enough to make Max want to sneeze.

Nothing moves.

“I don’t feel good about this,” Dustin says, as Max ventures into the office a step. No new and astonishing information presents itself.  

“When do you ever feel good about anything?” Lucas shoots back. “And why did you have to drag my sister into this?”

Erica Sinclair sticks out her tongue at him even as Max, privately, agrees. “Worried I’m gonna make your superpowered ass look like a scared, little baby?”

“Will said it was urgent, when he radioed,” Dustin says. “And I wasn’t just going to leave her at my house. Alone. With Russian spies after her.”

Lucas groans, and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything else to argue.

“Coast looks clear in here,” Max says, before the boys can find something else to bicker about. “Any sign of Will and El, yet?”

“Here they come,” Mike says, and then starts waving his arms at the road, like he’s guiding a plane in to land instead of waving at two people who definitely know how to get to the pool and can see them all standing outside. It’s Max’s turn to roll her eyes.

“Great. It looks like we can get through here to the actual pool. Come on, they’ll catch up.”

The actual pool, it turns out, is just as dead as the office is. There’s something deeply eerie about being out here, in the middle of a hot summer day, in the baking sunshine, with no one else around. And no sound but the rustle of trees outside the fence, and birdsong, and the odd car passing by, and the quiet slap of the gently-rippling water against the pool’s tiled sides. It’s almost like the whole pool is holding its breath. Waiting for something.

“Anybody else kinda tempted to do a cannonball?” Erica asks. Mike shushes her.

Max isn’t sure what makes her hang back, as the others head inside to the changerooms and the exercise room, talking about how they’re going to trick Heather into the sauna, whether they’re going to bake the Mind Flayer out of her or just find out what it wants, or maybe just find out if it’s really her it’s using at all. At this point, Max is pretty sure it is her, but she doesn’t really need to argue the scientific method with Dustin about it.

She’s not sure why she’s hanging back, staying in the sunlight, in the open air, to be able to hear the sound from the storage shed. But she is. And she does.

“Guys?” Max says.

She doesn’t think any of the others hear her. Lucas and Dustin are busily bickering about how the temperature controls on a sauna work, both of them talking over each other. They’ll be outright yelling in a second, despite Will’s attempts to referee – or maybe just egg them on. Max is never entirely sure with Will. El’s already disappeared around the corner into the building, with Mike close behind her.

“Guys!” Max tries, one more time, a little louder, before heading for the shed.

The sun must have passed behind a cloud or something, because the brilliance of the light fades a little as Max approaches the shed. The sky doesn’t get any less blue and blinding overhead, but all the colours around Max darken, ever so faintly, the shadows getting softer and less sharp in contrast. A little of the heat seems to leak out of the sunlight beating down on her back, making her shiver in the barest breath of breeze. Somewhere in the woods around the pool, a single cricket or grasshopper chirps almost frantically, before suddenly falling silent.

As she gets closer, Max can see that the storage shed door is ever so slightly ajar. The stink of chlorine is burning the inside of her nostrils again.

The sound that had made Max come investigate comes again. A sort of wet, rattling gasp, half-choked. This time, Max is sure it’s coming from inside the shed. It’s awful to listen to.

It sounds like somebody’s dying in there.

Max’s feet drift to a stop, just before they would have carried her around the door to where she could see through the inch or so it’s cracked open. To where who or whatever’s in there could see her.

She considers calling out for the others again. And quickly decides against it. They might not hear her. But whatever’s in there definitely will.

Slowly, cautiously, tensed and ready to spring back at a moment’s notice, Max starts to lean around the storage shed door –

And nearly jumps out of her skin when a voice behind her says, “Max?”

“Jesus!” Max claps a hand over her pounding heart as she whirls to face Lucas. “Holy shit, stalker, way to give a girl a heart attack -”

And then the door swings abruptly back, a rough grip grabs her upper arm, and she’s yanked off her feet and sideways into the storage shed.

[marypsue]

for the ask game: 10, 11

+ 76 with the hawkins indiana psychic baby boom series. i know it's not done yet, but anything that didn't make into the first two parts and won't fit into/make sense in the 3rd one either?

love the way you write xx

[from this meme]

I've done 10, but I'll gladly do the other two! (And thank you very much!)

11. Link your three favorite fics right now

Ooh, that's a hard one. Like I said, I have a list that I need to get caught up on. I'm liking the 'right now' on this very much, though. It's doing some heavy lifting.

I've already mentioned @maddie-grove's Tonight, Tonight, The Highway's Bright, so for three other ongoing fics, I'm going to plug Wavelength, by @bixxelated (Stranger Things season 1 AU where Mike also has psychic abilities) because it's so much fun, and there is a bigger mystery unfolding than I've been able to see the full shape of yet, i bet you think about me by @rocketnebulas (Stranger Things, Steve/Jonathan, they broke up but still share a Spotify account AU) because I just love the way this author writes romantic relationships, and A Stumble by @definitely-not-a-bug (Stranger Things, post-season 1 - season 2 AU where El got caught when she went back to Mike's house after the events of season 1, and it changes everything and nothing) because the character work in that one is just killing me and it's frankly criminal how little attention it's gotten.

76. Did you have any ideas that didn’t make the final cut of the Hawkins, Indiana psychic baby boom?

There's actually a scene I've been sitting on that I cut from part 2 because trying to make it fit was making the story drag! I was hoping to shoehorn it in somewhere in part 3, but the more I write, the less it seems to fit what's going on between the characters at this point in time, so it very well might just end up on the cutting room floor.

...

“So, tell me. When the Brain says ‘if you need anything at all’, does that include help digging up a pumpkin patch by hand?”

Joyce sighs, jabbing the point of her shovel into the dirt and leaning heavily against the handle. “Why do you have such a problem with him? And don’t try to tell me it’s just that he’s too good to be true, again.”

Whatever answer she’s hoping for – and even she’s not sure – she doesn’t get it. Hopper just goes back to throwing shovelsful of dirt out of the steadily-growing hole at their feet and doesn’t meet her eyes.

“I worry about you,” he says, finally, to the dirt.

“Worry about - ! Hop, he’s the biggest sweetheart I’ve ever met. Nothing at all like -” Joyce bites off her own sentence. “Honestly, sometimes I wonder what it would even take to make him get really angry.” Honestly, sometimes, some perverse part of her wants to push. Wants to be cruel enough to find out.

Even thinking it, trying to put it into words, just makes it sound crazy even to Joyce. God, what is wrong with her. Bob’s seemingly endless reserves of calm patience should be reassuring, not anxiety-inducing.

Joyce just – she doesn’t know where his limits are. Doesn’t know if maybe she’s already found them. She’s fallen for one lying, manipulative sonuvabitch already. The more helpful and understanding Bob tries to be with each new thing Joyce has to put him through, the worse the nagging worry gets. That maybe he’s putting on a friendly face to get something out of her. Or quietly stewing over the best way to hurt her back for something Joyce didn’t even realise she’d done. That maybe it’s all about to blow up in her face –

That sounds paranoid. It sounds paranoid, and Joyce knows that’s not what Bob’s like. She trusts him, he’s never given any sign that he’s anything other than exactly what he seems to be, anything other than genuinely kind. It’s just –

Sometimes, she just doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

If only he’d blow his top every once in a while, draw a hard line of how much more he’ll put up with, maybe then Joyce would be able to tell where she stands.

“That wasn’t what -” Hopper huffs out a sigh, resting a foot on the head of the shovel and leaning against the handle as he looks Joyce in the face. “You got him right in the middle of everything. Keeping him in the dark’s gotta be a full-time job. Especially right now.”

“That’s why I don’t want to, anymore,” Joyce says. That’s part of the truth, anyway. “He’s part of my life, now. I – I want him to be a part of my life.”

[marypsue]

You know the drill. It's Sneak Peek Sunday, have some Party dynamics in action from former heroes!

...

The silence hangs over them all like the heaviness before a thunderstorm, as they collect their bikes and Max’s board from the carport. Whatever lightness there’d been in everybody’s moods earlier, there’s none of it left now. Just simmering resentment and an uneasy, barely-tamped-down worry that they’re all sharing.

Which is why it takes Mike by surprise when, while Dustin and Lucas and Will are checking the walkies and coordinating channels, Max slugs him in the arm. “You better bring my boyfriend back in one piece, Wheeler, or the Mind Flayer’s gonna be the last thing you have to worry about.”

“Great. There goes my master plan to feed my best friend to an interdimensional monster,” Mike deadpans back into the teeth of Max’s flat, sarcastic glare. “Are you gonna give Will the shovel talk too? Since apparently you and El are joined at the hip? Or have you and Will swapped friendship bracelets now, too? Just Lucas wasn’t enough for you, you have to monopolise all of my friends?”

Max’s disbelief curdles into annoyance with a speed that she only really seems to achieve when Mike talks. “Ugh. Why are boys so stupid.”

“I’m not included in that, right?” Lucas asks, as Max rather pointedly turns her back on Mike to tangle her fingers with his. Mike doesn’t think it’s a stretch to feel like she’s doing it on purpose.

“Are you kidding? Of course you are.”

But neither Max or Lucas are actually mad, when Lucas leans down to brush his lips against hers. Mike is never going to understand the two of them. Not even if he lives to be a hundred.

“Be careful,” Lucas murmurs, drawing back just enough to look Max in the eye.

Mike doesn’t think Max realises the little smile she’s wearing is there when she answers, “You too.”

It’s stupid to be envious of them right now. Mike doesn’t dare look over at El and see what she’s looking at, where she’s directing that curiosity. Instead, he ends up catching Will’s eye. He looks about as impressed as he feels, and Mike has to look away again.

“Hate to interrupt your very important spit-swapping,” Will says, a little overloud, when clearing his throat pointedly a few times totally fails to get Max and Lucas to break apart for good, and not just keep going back for one last little peck, over and over and over. Honestly, Mike’s getting almost as irritated as Will is. “If you could spare a couple minutes to focus on the alien monster that might be eating people as we speak? And the Russian spies that’re planning to burn down the mall in twelve hours or less?”

Lucas gives a heavy sigh as he takes a step back away from Max. But all he says is, “You’re right. We should get moving.” To Max, he adds, “Look out for Dustin, will you? Make sure he doesn’t walk straight into the monster’s mouth because he wants to see its teeth better.”

Dustin flips him the bird.

[marypsue]

🌪️💧

[from this meme]

🌪️Sum up a WIP with a few fic tropes/Ao3 tags.

Oh, this is fun, because a thing I've been doing lately (along with outlining and not posting until the thing is done from start to finish) is mocking up AO3 metadata and summaries for my WIPs. So I have a bunch of these locked and loaded!

For former heroes who quit too late, part three of the everybody-has-powers AU, I have (checking) 28 additional tags prepped. But I think the salient ones are:

Canon Rewrite, Everybody Has Powers, okay almost everybody has powers, Possession, Government Conspiracy, dumb teenage romance bullshit (but less so than in canon), Karen Wheeler Deserved Better, annnnd Children In Peril.

(Children In Peril isn't a canonical tag, but I think it should be. I think that would be funny.)

💧Share something romantic/hot from your WIP, or just something sweet if it’s gen.

From the same WIP, this snippet of a scene that I haven't written far enough to find a place for yet:

“It’s okay, man. She’s your girlfriend -”

“And you’re my boyfriend.”

Steve can’t totally explain the thrill of exhilaration that races through him at Jonathan’s words. Can’t totally stave off the burst of guilt that almost immediately joins it, mingling with the thrill and making it ache sweetly in his chest.

“Say that again,” he demands, and Jonathan smiles all slow and sleepy and leans toward him until their noses brush.

“You’re my boyfriend,” he murmurs, low and almost smug, his breath a warm ghost against Steve’s skin, before his eyes flutter closed and he presses his lips against Steve’s. It starts out soft and quick, a hesitant drag against Steve’s mouth, and Steve reaches up to grab the back of Jonathan’s head and hold him in place as he pushes down into the kiss.

“Hell yeah I am,” Steve says, a second later, when they break apart. Jonathan’s flushed from his hairline down into the collar of his shirt, breathing too fast, his hair mussed from Steve’s manhandling, and the pride and desire that swell through Steve at the sight are only slightly spoiled by another flicker of guilt.

“You’re my boyfriend,” Jonathan repeats for a third time, and okay, now he’s just showing off. “And Nancy’s my girlfriend. And I’m not picking sides.”

He shoots a wry grin at Steve as he takes a step back, adding, “It’s never gonna make sense to me that you think this is attractive.”

“What, getting you all hot and bothered? Damn right I think that’s attractive, Byers.”

[marypsue]

I have been so very productive today. And I'm definitely not procrastinating on finishing either of the jobs I have on the go by finding and posting a snippet of former heroes for Sneak Peek Sunday.

Nope. Not me. Never.

...

Steve’s not sure how, exactly, so much of his life ended up revolving around kids.

Henderson’s kicked him and Robin both out of the back room, since all his little friends showed up. Pointing out that Henderson doesn’t actually work here had absolutely no effect, except to get Steve a glare from Nancy’s little brother, like Mike was trying to work out why Steve was even talking to them. The shitheads are starting to get entirely too cocky, in Steve’s opinion. Although, it’s not like they haven’t been pushing him around since the first time they all piled into his car.

“It’s kind of adorable how little respect they have for you,” Robin says, as Steve hands off a triple-scoop maple walnut cone to a giggling redhead in a blinding colour-blocked neon shirt and a double scoop of bubblegum to her equally giggly, equally garish friend.

“Do you want to scrub out the freezer? Because I could always make you scrub out the freezer.”

“Try it and I’ll tell Barbie on you,” Robin says, entirely unconcerned. And then, “Oh, great. Mallrats at six o’clock.”

“What? It’s barely half-past two -” Steve looks up, to see Erica Sinclair and her posse approaching the counter, and groans. “Don’t you ever get tired of ice cream? Wouldn’t you just love to go annoy the guys at the Orange Julius instead?”

“Nnnnope,” Erica says, popping the ‘p’, as she leans both arms from the elbow down against the counter in a clatter of pastel bead bracelets. “You’re the only suckers in this food court who give out free samples. Suckers.” She looks up at Robin and gives her lashes a too-innocent bat. “Speaking of which. How is the cherries jubilee flavour today?”

“No hablo inglés,” Robin says cheerfully. “Sprechen du Deutsch?”

Erica narrows her eyes at her.

And then turns that glare onto Steve.

Too many little sample spoons to count later, thankfully, the cluster of broke ten-year-olds around the counter is split by an actual customer. Steve gratefully ignores Erica’s complaints as he turns all his attention to – “Hey, are you even supposed to be here?”

The girl who’s apparently somehow both Hopper’s kid – yeah, the dead one – and Eleven’s sister raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Steve. “Look who’s talking.”

Steve kind of can’t argue with that.

“What’s your poison?” he asks, whipping his scoop out of its holster on his hip. Robin made fun of him for hours over that particular modification to the horrorshow that is the Scoops uniform. And wrote him up for both uniform and hygiene violations. Given that she’s somehow pulled the shift manager position, though, she’s really the only one reviewing those writeups, so Steve is pretty sure she did it entirely for her own amusement. She hasn’t missed a chance to make fun of him since last fall. He’s not sure why she’d start now.

Sara surveys the offerings in the freezer case. “What flavour is – ‘Blue Moon’?”

“It, uh -” Words fail Steve. “You really just have to try it.”

“I would also like to try the Blue Moon,” Erica pipes up, as prim as a church lady, but Steve’s got a paying excuse to ignore her, now.

He gratefully turns his back on her stuck-out tongue as he digs under the counter for another little box of sample spoons. “Sorry, for some weird reason we just keep going through these things.” He scoops up a little of the bright blue ice cream and holds it out for Sara, who takes the spoon, pops it into her mouth, and then frowns thoughtfully.

Robin, apparently, has been lurking in the food court watching for something to dispel the mallrats, because she passes by Erica and her friends on her way back in, Barbara in tow. “Hey, Steve, if you’re done with those -”

Sara turns around to see who’s coming up behind her, pulling the sample spoon out of her mouth with a sucking pop. Robin stops in the middle of a step and the middle of a word, blinking at her owlishly. “…hi.”

“Hi?” Sara repeats.

When Robin doesn’t say anything more, she half-turns back to face Steve. “You’re right. I have no idea what to call that flavour. Other than ‘blue’.”

The laugh that bursts out of Robin at that is strangled and high-pitched and too loud. She bites it off when she realises Barbara and Steve and Sara are all looking at her.

“I’m going to go scrub out the freezer,” she says, a little too fast, and then vanishes behind Steve and into the back.

[marypsue]

A little Sneak Peek Sunday from former heroes, apropos of this post:

...

There is not, as it turns out, any pizza left over from last night. There is cherry Kool-Aid, though, and Will knows where Mike’s family keeps the glasses. (In the cupboard beside the fridge, not by the sink like at Max’s house. Barbarians.)

Max is halfway through her glass before she dares to ask, deliberately not looking at Will, “Are you upset about your mom getting married again?”

There’s no missing the bitter edge in it when Will answers, staring into his own glass. “No. Why would I be? Everybody loves Bob.”

Max takes another long sip of her Kool-Aid, leaning back against the counter as she turns that over in her head. Her first impression of Will’s mom’s boyfriend, she has to admit, doesn’t seem to have turned out to be right. He really does seem to actually be just that nice. Definitely he’s no Neil.

But…

“It’s okay, you know,” she says, and risks a glance over at Will. “If it’s weird. Even if you actually like him.” She considers that for a second, giving her drink a swirl, before adding, “I mean, I guess it probably is. I never liked Neil, so I wouldn’t really know.”

Will cracks a rueful little smile, at that, with a cautious glance over at Max. Max returns it defiantly. She doesn’t really care who knows how much she hates her mom’s worthless scumbag husband.

Will drains about half his glass in one long swallow and then stares into what’s left like he’ll find the secrets of the universe in there, if he just looks long and hard enough. It takes Max a second or two to realise that, every time he taps his index finger against the frosted pattern of vines on the outside of the glass, there’s a little blue-white spark.

It feels like eternity before he admits, grudgingly, “My mom wants to know if we want to change our last name.”

Max nods, slowly.

Will keeps talking down into his glass. “Jonathan’s all for it, he hates our dad, but…Will Newby?” He makes a face. His tapping index finger stills on the glass, and Max can hear a snap as another blue-white spark, bigger than the others, flashes between his fingers. “I don’t know who that is. But it sounds like somebody else.”

He flashes Max another sliver of a smile. “But you’d know exactly what I mean, right? Max Mayfield?”

Max isn’t sure what to say to that. So instead, she just raises her glass in a silent mock toast.

Will clinks the rim of his glass gently against hers, and they both finish off their Kool-Aid in companionable silence.

[marypsue]

You know the drill, it's Sneak Peek Sunday and I'm here with samples from former heroes who quit too late, the third and final part of the AU where (almost) all the Hawkins kids have powers. Enjoy! Or don't, I'm not the boss of you.

...

It’s finally summer, and Robin Buckley is bored out of her mind.

Obviously she didn’t expect that working a minimum-wage job at a mall food court was going to be a font of constant entertainment. But she’d kind of hoped working with one-fourth of Hawkins High’s own resident superteam might mean at least a little excitement. The odd caped villain popping up to monologue dramatically on top of the freezer counter. Alien invasion in the storeroom. Little things, to break up the monotonous mundanity of existence.

Instead, her sole intellectual stimulation’s coming from helping Steve Harrington help his gaggle of impressionable youths sneak into movies without paying, and arguing with him over who has to refill the toppings. The only time Robin’s even seen Steve play the superpower card is to drive off the other gaggle of impressionable youths who like to hang around the food-court fountain and abuse Scoops Ahoy’s free sample policy. And even then, they’re always back in a day or two. Some superpower.

When Robin points this out to him, though, Steve just says, “I could make you do the toppings refills every time, if you really want,” and she realises she doesn’t need to see his powers in action that bad, after all.

She doesn’t even get to see Barbie all day, despite working in the same food court. The smoothie place Barb’s working at wouldn’t hire Robin too, and the manager is a tyrant and a sadist and never lets Barb take her breaks when Robin has hers. All they can do is cast commiserating miserable glances across the rows of tables in the middle of the food court when Robin has to mop the front, and swing by each other’s fine establishments to talk on their breaks. And the Orange Julius Caesar shoos Robin right off if she doesn’t buy something while Barbara’s working. Robin’s spent way too much of her hard-earned Scoops money working her way through every flavour they offer, and started again from the beginning. If she never sees crushed ice again in her life, it’ll be too soon.

So of course Robin’s interested, when she catches Steve and the toothless one with the curls – Henderson? Robin’s pretty sure it’s Henderson – hiding in the breakroom and playing a tape of nonsense, over and over and over again.

Okay. So ‘interested’ might be a slight overstatement. Maybe ‘pissed that Steve’s abandoned her to deal with the mall maggots alone, again’ is more accurate. But still. They’re doing something, and Robin would literally rather set herself on fire than keep manning the counter for one more second.

“Hey, shitbirds!” she announces, storming into the back room and grabbing the tape player from the middle of the shitty card table before either Steve or Henderson can stop her. She holds it over her head, out of at least Henderson’s reach, still spilling its weird droning message. “At least one of you is getting paid to be out front right now. Enough word puzzles.”

She doesn’t really have a lot of patience for the nonplussed look Steve and Henderson trade over the table.

“…word puzzles?” Henderson asks her, at last, and Robin frowns at him.

“Yeah? The week is long, doofus, but it’s not over yet, and if you dillweeds haven’t cracked this thing yet, then sitting back here staring at it isn’t going to make it happen. Do your job.” This she directs at Steve, who has the nerve to frown at her like she’s not making sense.

“Buckley,” he says, squinting at her the way he used to squint at the blackboard in Clicker’s class, “what the hell are you talking about?”

It’s Robin’s turn to stare at him like he’s not making any sense. Because he’s not.

“Your job?” she tries, after a moment. “I mean, I didn’t think you wore that outfit just because you liked the way it looked, but -”

“Hey,” Henderson interrupts, with growing excitement. “Forget about the job for a second. Can you understand what the tape is saying?”

And now Robin gets to stare at him like he’s not making any sense. Because neither of them are.

“I’m not solving your stupid puzzle for you,” she says, at last.

“Not the message, okay! Just the words. Do you understand the words that are coming out of that tape.” Henderson says it like he’s explaining a particularly simple concept to a particularly stupid child. “Do you recognise them.”

Robin glances over at Steve, but sees no help coming from that quarter. “…yes? Is this some kind of trick question?”

“That’s cool,” Steve says, breaking into a grin, like everything makes sense now. “Hey, Buckley, you’ve been holding out on us. You never said you could speak Russian.”

“What? I don’t -” Robin starts, and then sees what she’d seen but hadn’t taken in: the notebooks strewn across the card table, the open dictionary, the scribbled notes… “Wait, this is Russian?”

Henderson nods. Steve nods. Robin looks at the tape player. Now that she’s listening for it, she can tell they’re right. The words spilling out of it definitely aren’t English – the syntax and pronunciation are all wrong. But the message, nonsensical though it is, is coming through loud and clear.

“…huh,” she says, putting the tape player back on the table. “Must be similar enough to – Spanish, I guess.”

Henderson’s giving her some kind of eyeball. “Russian and Spanish are nothing alike,” he informs her imperiously, like he’s the polyglot here. And then his eyes go wide. “Steve. Robin Buckley – wasn’t she on Nancy’s list?”

“Whoa, whoa,” Robin asks. “What list?”

The bell at the front counter dings four or five times in quick succession. Steve huffs out a sigh, and yells, “Coming!”, pushing himself up out of his seat. Robin follows hard on his heels.

“No way. No. You are not getting out of this that easily – Harrington! What list!”

[marypsue]

🤭🌹

[from this meme]

From the third and final part of the Hawkins, Indiana psychic baby boom series, former heroes who quit too late:

"Maybe if we -" Steve starts, and Robin interrupts. "If the next words out of your mouth are going to be 'tie the bedsheets together', I don't want to hear it."

[marypsue]

8. ♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP

[from this meme]

You didn't specify a WIP, so...you know what, this is really hard, actually! I have all kinds of scrapped ideas for fics that I've completed, but going through my WIP notes, there really isn't anything standing out as 'scrapped' that isn't just being worked into a slightly new form and used.

Oh, though, in former heroes who quit too late, I did briefly float the idea of having Owens be trapped as a prisoner at the lab and ending up being part of one of the 'teams' for the third act. But it ended up introducing too many complications and moving parts too late in the game, so I'm going in a different direction.

[marypsue]

Hello!! At the risk of sounding quite whiny I’ve got the rona and am quarantine and I was wondering you any sneak peek Sunday/Tuesday itd bits you could share?

Not whiny at all, anon! I'm sorry to hear it and I hope for a speedy and complete recovery for you! Have a dash of Max and El friendship from former heroes.

...

“You’re sure he’s not coming back here?”

El nods her head. Her bangs are sticking up over the top of the borrowed bandana she’s wearing as a blindfold. Even with her eyes covered, Max gets the eerie feeling that El’s looking right through her. Like Max isn’t even there. Or maybe like El isn’t. “He’s…stopped driving. There’s a sign. No…” She frowns, and the drop of blood under her nose threatens to drip onto Max’s carpet. Max hands her a tissue, and El presses it to her nose. “No Tree- Tress…”

“No Trespassing?” Max asks, and El nods. “Great. Then he’s out getting baked in the woods behind the lab with that loser Tommy. He won’t be back for a couple hours.” She grins, and leans over to turn off her boom box, which has been blaring static noise at them for the last five minutes. “Perfect.”

“What are we looking for?” El asks, pushing Max’s bandana up onto her forehead. It makes the ends of her bangs stand straight up.

Max shrugs. “Anything that looks Russian, I guess. Come on.”

She puts out an arm to stop El before pushing open the door to Billy’s room, ignoring the KEEP OUT sign on it just as surely as Billy’s ignoring the No Trespassing – Government Property sign at the lab right now. “Careful what you touch. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of Billy’s garbage is actually radioactive.”

El frowns the frown that Max has come to know as ‘storing a new word to look up later’.

“Radioactive,” Max repeats. “Hazardous to human health. Like nuclear waste. Or the contents of Billy’s trash can.” She thinks about that for a second, and adds, “Oh, and if you see a tissue or a sock crumpled up somewhere? Do not touch it.” She shudders. “Trust me.”

El looks at her with solemn horror in her eyes, and nods.

Unfortunately, there are no convenient letters written entirely in Cyrillic or mysterious envelopes full of cash or anything lying around. Billy’s room is a veritable buffet of nothing, nothing, and more nothing. Also, it reeks of cheap cologne, smoke, and teenage boy sweat.

“Ugh,” Max says, slamming the drawer of Billy’s bedside table on the stack of dirty magazines inside. She’d leafed through all of them, just in case Billy’d tucked secret Russian correspondence in between the pages thinking nobody’d look there. But all she’d gotten for her trouble was an eyeful of a whole bunch of tan, lean, half-dressed women who all seem to be contortionists, and (disgusting!) sticky fingers. And the information that Billy’s got a Playgirl stuffed way in the back of the drawer, hidden behind the Maxims and Penthouses. Max is storing that ammunition for future use, if necessary. Billy will probably kill her for snooping in his room if she ever has to use it, but. Mutually assured destruction. “This is getting us nowhere.”

She leans back against the bedside table, crossing her arms as she thinks. “If I thought Lucas could get anywhere near Billy without Billy trying to murder him, I’d say the best way to find out would be to just ask Billy and see if he lies, but…”

El looks up from the heavy metal cassette she’s been studying with all the apparent focus and concentration of an archaeologist examining a mystery object pulled from a grave site. “Billy tries to kill Lucas?”

Max huffs in the back of her throat. She almost chokes on it. “Has tried. When you left to close the Gate, last fall?” She hugs herself, and then remembers what must be on her fingers and winces, holding out both hands at arm’s length. “He’s a homicidal nutcase. You really won the stepsibling lottery.” She looks around the room again, at the total lack of incriminating evidence, and makes up her mind. “And I have to go wash my hands.”

El puts the tape down and follows Max into the bathroom in thoughtful silence. Max is just drying her hands off on a towel when El asks, apparently out of the blue, “How do you deal with Billy? When he…” She seems to struggle for the right words for a moment, before saying, “When he’s trouble?”

“It’s been a lot easier since I offered to nail his nuts to the floor,” Max says, and El’s eyebrows shoot up. “Sorry. That probably doesn’t help you. Sara’s probably fluent in languages other than violence.” She pushes open the bathroom door, leading El back out into the hall. “Why? Is something going on with her?”

It takes El until they’re all the way back in Max’s room to answer that.

“No,” she says, just when Max is starting to think she’s not going to answer at all. “I don’t know.”

El spins the silver bangle on her wrist around once, twice, three times, before she says, “It’s not – with Will and Jonathan. It wasn’t…” She waves a hand through the air, frowning in frustration, like she’s trying to brush away the cobwebs between her and the words she wants. “Like this.”

“Like it is with Sara?” Max asks, and El nods. “Okay, but that wasn’t the same situation, either, was it? I mean, yeah, you kind of live with Will sometimes, and his mom looks after you…but he and his brother don’t come stay with you.”

“Will stays over, sometimes,” El says. “When you all do.”

“Not the same. And Hopper hasn’t been looking after them, not the way Mrs. B does for you. Right?”

El frowns a little more, putting her head a bit to one side as she chews that over. “Right.”

“But Sara’s living with you. She came out of nowhere, you barely know her, but suddenly there she is, sharing your house. Sharing your dad. Sharing your life.” Max gives her head a shake, flopping onto the bed. “Of course it feels weird. It’d be weird if it didn’t feel weird.”

El lowers herself onto the end of Max’s bed, carefully folding first one leg, then the other, so her ankles are crossed and her knees stick out to either side. She grips her ankles with both hands and leans back a little, still frowning thoughtfully at nothing much in particular.

“But I do know Sara,” she says, after what looks like the most careful consideration she’s maybe ever given anything in her life.

“Yeah, now. And living with somebody’s always different from just knowing them. Trust me.” Max rolls her eyes. “You don’t really know anybody until you’ve run into them coming out of the bathroom in their underwear in the middle of the night.”

El gives that a dose of consideration, too, and then a solemn nod.

“Joyce helped me make Hop a robe. For Christmas,” she says, a slow smile blooming over her face as she leans toward Max like she’s going to share a secret. Max leans toward her, too, listening carefully. “He needed it.”

Max tries, and fails, not to conjure the mental image. She gives an exaggerated wince and a shudder, and El laughs.