#greetings from mayview!

[wowiezowiebaby]

More mayview townsfolk ! Just wanted to work on some basic colors for them to better visualize their appearance ..

[djadecutie]

Never brainrotted at someone elses oc before🧐🧐🧐

Fun new time!

The store boy reminds me of howdy from welcome home💕💕

Also lyle is making my brain combust😗

Just thought i should share

@wowiezowiebaby 's oc

[gatortavern]

The Jang and the Snowball Spectacle

Yo @godhatesverizon, I was your @pnatsecretsanta this year! You said you liked some good ol’ fashioned Jang and some snow, and who doesn’t love some seasonally appropriate shenanigans from the Mayview bullies? Apologies that this is so late, but I hope you enjoy the lunacy these goofballs get up to!

For all its quirks and oddities, one would expect the weather itself to be one of the last things to distinguish a town such as Mayview from its neighboring areas. This would, of course, be incorrect for freak hurricane-related reasons, but also for the small fact that in its geographical niche, the temperature can jump from pleasantly middling weather to negative five degrees in the span of half a night. So it was that when the people of Mayview awoke from their slumber that they were greeted with so much snow it buried their feet, when mere days before it was only cool enough to warrant a jacket.

The whoops and hollers of children and children-at-heart alike echoed in RJ’s ears as they set off for Johnny’s place, bundled in their warmest snowflake-patterned hoodie and steel blue gloves. The rest of their friends greeted them with a wave as they approached his house, and the group pulled into a huddle to discuss the day’s proceedings. “So what’s the plan for dealin’ with the mutant nerds today?” Stephen asked as the group turned their eyes to their crimson haired leader.

Johnny took a deep breath.

“Nothin’.” “WHAT?!” Ollie and Stephen cried in unison.

“We’ve been goin’ over this for too long and we’re clearly gettin’ a little burned out. I had ta force ya to sleep yesterday, Stephen, and the rest of us weren’t much better. So this is gonna be our day off. No thinkin’ about weirdo flyin’ people, or shootin’ lightning, or purple gunk. It’s just gonna be us an’ the snow. Tomorra’ we’ll look over everythin’ with fresh faces an’ we’ll get all the info we need outta the nerds. Today…” He threw his arms out, inviting the rest to take in the white wonderment surrounding them.

“Today we make the biggest ball of death this town has ever seen!” If the fire in the group’s eyes could leave their ocular prisons, there would be no snow left.

“YEAH!” Stephen whooped. “We setting it loose on Wicker Road again?” “Can we please not push the whole thing uphill like last year?” Ollie said through his smile, knowing his plea would be futile.

Purple gunk? came the message from RJ’s phone. Their leader’s eyes flicked to it for a second, before sliding to the side, as if unsure. Within an instant the phone was put away and the message forgotten, his wide grin returning and the flare in his eyes reigniting.

“Trust me, it’s gonna be the biggest and best ball we’ve done yet! NOW LET’S GET TO IT!” “YEAH!!” the others shouted, and the four took off to mold doom from the innocent fluff.

---

After ten minutes, the Jang regrouped to see the fruits of their labor and to pick a starting ball. Stephen’s ball, barely bigger than the palm of his hand, was the smallest of the lot. He attributed this to thinking he had found Mothman prints, but closer inspection had just revealed them to be raccoon tracks. Johnny tried to move his ball a little more and groaned when it fell apart in his hands. Ollie’s was bigger than the rest, but rebelled against its circular bretheren by taking the shape of a football. RJ’s ball was the roundest of the four, if a little on the smaller side. The group set RJ’s ball off to the side, and held somber eulogies for the other failed balls.

The subsequent pummeling back into the powder they were born from was markedly less somber.

The beginnings of the Deadly Doom Ball of Ultimate Destruction (named by Stephen) were humble, as the small orb graciously munched the snow laying neatly behind Johnny’s house. Its appetite grew with its size; by the time it devoured the last white flakes daring to exist in Johnny’s backyard, it reached RJ’s torso. The desecration of snow spread as the ball, now guided by two pairs of hands, absorbed the fallen flakes lying beside the sidewalk, making its way up the street.

“So,” Ollie said, turning to stare at Johnny, who was eyeing the path ahead for obstacles, “we taking it to the Usual Spot, or somewhere new?” “Can we not do the steepest hill again? That was so disappointing,” Stephen said, remembering how the previous year’s ball went only a few feet before cracking in half.

“Yeah, pushing that thing up there was a nightmare,” Ollie added, reminiscing on the four of them desperately digging into the snow with their backs to the ball, taking victory in inches.

“Nah, we’re gonna go partways up t’ the school and run it down the road!” Johnny cried out.

“Ngh..I really hope it doesn’t break this time,” Stephen huffed.

The four continued up the street, the ball greedily adding to its mass as they huffed and chatted about things such as potential fort designs and seeing how many snowballs they could throw into Jeff’s hair.

---

As the Corner Store came into view, a sniffle caught Johnny’s attention, and he turned to examine his pals. With his red nose and cheeks, Ollie looked like he had just walked out of a Christmas card, his face as puffy as his jacket. Stephen wasn’t much better, trying to hide his shuddering beneath his grape scarf and Jersey Devil jersey, and RJ kept rubbing their face with their sleeve. The small sneeze from RJ cinched it. “A’right, detour time. We get this ball to the store and then we get ourselves some goodies. Stephen, you still got that ten dollar bill in your pocket?” “Yep.” “Cool. You three go in and get yerselves some’n warm, an’ I’ll guard the ball.” The bully bunch made it to the edge of the store’s door in due time. Stephen, Ollie, and RJ dashed into the store, eager for something warm to slide down their gullets.

“Ho ho, little elves!” cried the wiry shopkeeper as he slid onto the countertop, decked in green and jingling bells. “What can I do you for, on your fine detour from Santa’s Shop?”

“Got anything warm?” Ollie asked as he tried and marginally succeeded at preventing Stephen from ransacking the isles.

The spark in the man’s eyes immediately threw this decision into question. As the green elf declared that he had just the thing and dashed up the stairs, the boy wondered what he just got them all into.

He barely had time to ponder calling for Johnny when the man returned, arms full of small packets, the lid of a small pan, and a coffee pot filled with piping hot...water? Before Ollie could say anything, the man had already ripped the small packets into pieces with his teeth, scattering the dust-colored powder into the pot. He then leapt onto the counter with a flourish, slammed the pan lid onto the pot with a clank!, and began to twirl. The pot quickly frothed with a chocolate swirl as he spun and spun, giggling manically all the while.

Ollie couldn’t figure out when the snowman-adored styrofoam cups had manifested onto the counter, or when exactly the other two had joined him, and at this point he was almost afraid to question it.

The three stared in a mix of bewilderment and awe as the shopkeeper slid backwards, filling each cup to the brim with small dips and pivots. He then threw himself backwards, his face underneath Ollie’s chin. “That’s three for five dollars, or four for seven,” he said without skipping a beat.

“Four, please,” Ollie said, at a loss for anything else to say.

Money changed hands, another batch was poured for Johnny, conversations about agents of Krampus were held, and the three turned to head out the door with the warmth in their gut once again matching the fire in their hearts. Their eyes caught glimpse of the new kid, his jaw set tight and his face as red as theirs were upon entering, although perhaps for different reasons.

Their gazes met. Seconds went by as the group and the nerd stared each other down, Max’s bewilderment fading back into his usual snarky look as he entertained their glares.

Wordlessly, the three turned and headed out the door, finding their fourth member with his back to them, staring at their not-so-little orb of doom.

“Yo bro, you’re not gonna believe what just happened in there!” Stephen called out to Johnny. The bully swirled around, and for a second the three glimpsed his mouth hanging askew, eyes wide with pinpoint pupils, face a touch paler than when they went in. Then his gaze darted from their faces to the cups in their hands, and he relaxed, his hand reaching for his share. With flailing arms and just a tad exaggeration, Stephen shared the details of the shopkeeper as the rest sipped their cocoa.

“And as we left, we fell upon the mutant new kid! I think that store guy did some kinda psychic damage to him ‘cuz he looked totally freaked out.” As if on cue, Max groan from inside the store fell upon their ears.

“We let him off though, ‘cuz of the pact.” “Mmm.” “Then he talked to Stephen for like ten minutes about Krampus and Santa’s secret ninja squad. Had to practically pry him out of the store,” Ollie added.

RJ pulled out their phone and showed them the image they got of the clerk, caught in a perfect backslide, the delicious liquid forever frozen halfway into its destination. The group oohed and aahed at their friend’s impeccable ability to take super clear shots with a little flip phone camera.

With a few more gulps of their cocoa and a desire to finish the rest on the way up, the bullies repositioned themselves and resumed their slow ascent to the top of the hill. RJ spared a glance at Johnny, who was staring daggers at the ball.

Johnny, in the meantime, put all of his focus on the conversations of his friends and on making sure the ball didn’t go off course.

He was not gonna mention the weird hissing that started when they got near that store.

He wasn’t gonna mention the purple thing that had taken an interest in the ball.

He wasn’t gonna think about how the purple thing had a human face and a child’s voice.

He definitely wasn’t gonna think about how all of that just disappeared right as the purple thing looked at him, as if it was never there, right in front of him.

He had made a pact with his buds and he was gonna keep it.

No weird mutant stuff today.

---

Pushing an ever-growing snowball up one of Mayview’s hills with only one hand quickly proved more difficult than expected. Ollie found it easier to lean into the mound with his shoulders providing leverage. RJ and Stephen followed suit, guzzling down the last of their now nearly lukewarm beverage and jamming the empty cups into their jacket pockets. Johnny, having chugged down his cocoa at the urging of his friends, merely rammed his entire frame into the ball. The slow rate of movement up the hill was matched by its growth, though by this point it had begun to dwarf its creators. By the time Johnny mentioned that he could see the school, it had overgrown Ollie by half a foot. Muscles strained and groans and grunts abounded as their fight against gravity reached its zenith. With one last shout from the children, the damned, doomed sphere nestled itself peacefully on the level footing of the school pavement.

The Jang locked eyes on each other, whooped, raised their fists triumphantly in the air, and promptly leaned on each other for support. As breath was sucked down their lungs and muscles left to rest for the first time in hours, the bullies gazed at their creation.

“She’s beautiful, guys.” Stephen said.

“She’s bigger than last years for sure,” Johnny beamed.

“...I don’t think what we just did is reasonably possible.” Ollie said, “and I don’t care.” “YEAH, physics is for WIMPS and NERDS and she doesn’t even have any lunch money!” “Physics is why pushing this thing back down is satisfying at all, Stephen.” “OI!” Johnny called out. “Getchur butts round Deathknell Mk. II! RJ wants a pic!” “Aww, that wasn’t what I called it earlier!” Stephen called out as he ran into position. So it was that a snapshot became immortalized (using Ollie’s phone, as it had a wider screen and a timer) of the four youths, burning cheeks accentuating beaming grins around their carefully cultivated sphere of chaos, Ollie’s one hand slung as high up on the ball as it could go. This was soon followed by pictures of each of them perched atop the ball mid-manic cackle, of Stephen splayed across the top frozen in triumphant shouting, of the group split into stacked pairs on both sides miming a struggle, and many more.

At last, after each photo was evaluated and deemed acceptable, the moment arrived. With more grunts and heaves, Deathknell Mk. II took position in the center of the road, adopting bits of gravel as it went.

“THREE!” came the cry as the ball inched forward.

“TWO!” came the shouts as the slope drew nearer.

“ONE!” came the call as the ball perched on the last few bits of level ground its front end had.

“GOOOOO!!!” With one last running shove and a cry, the obliteration orb teetered..

and tilted…

and slowly slid forward.

As momentum took hold, all caution was thrown to the wind as the deadly orb rocketed down the slope. Trees and buildings flew by as it claimed the hill as its own, tiny smushed white packets on the pavement the only sign it was there. The boys and RJ, with cold-kissed hands desperately clutching onto hoods and hats in the wake of the creation’s tailwind, could scarcely hope to keep up with its joyride as it spun down the hill with the pitter-patter of an army of spiders. It whizzed past the Corner Store in seconds, blew the soft covering of snow off the nearby oak and elm branches, turned slightly to the side as it neared the lower residential areas and chose what would be the bearer of its wrath.

A godawful scrunching brought the ball to a stop, and as the Jang neared it, their jaws fell open and their whoops died in their throat as they drank in the scene.

There at the curbside sat a jet-black SUV, toppled onto its side, buried on all fronts by piles of stone-colored, gravel-filled, leaf accented snow. Its side could hardly be called that now, crumpled and twisted into a metallic sinkhole and probably what Ms. Baxter would call “concave”; one would think an elephant had T-boned it. The lamppost behind it lurched forward with a broken spine, its light shining over the body in fits and spurts over the fresh body, as close to wincing as it could get. A wheel, badly misshapen and hissing something awful, fell into the mound with a plunk.

“I-is that…” Ollie started. “Principal Pleezdo’s car!” Stephen cried in shock, his mittens at the sides of his head.

The house beside them began to wail, a spine-tingling siren that wouldn’t be half-bad as an air raid warning.

“RUN!!!” Johnny screamed, and the bullies hurriedly scrambled as fast as their legs would carry them away from the crime scene, through slush and streets and powdered panic, eager to relive their revelry in the safety of Stephen’s living room.

[paranaturalsecretsanta-blog]

To Find a Star to Build an Isaac

Hey, @lilypupart! I was your secret santa this year! I hear you and I share a common love of Isaac O'Connor, so I hope you enjoy reading this fic as much as I enjoyed working on it! Merry Christmas, and a happy new year! <3

by @iamwhelmed

The day after Thanksgiving was one of the worst days of the year, not only because his parents had demanding (too demanding) jobs and he would almost always be left alone in a large, spacious home– but because it was up to him to put up every Christmas decoration the O’Connor family owned. Now, after seventh grade, Isaac’s powers had given him a bit of leeway with the lights he’d drape over the rims of his roof and the tall tree that stood towering over his driveway, but the actual Christmas tree, the most important spectacle, was still just as difficult as it always had been years previous. Should he try to launch his way up to the top to place the golden star at the tip of the tree with his handy-dandy wind powers, he’d likely launch himself through the ceiling, into the master bedroom above. So, every year, he had to lug the ladder in from the garage, which in and of itself was a feat considering his preteen height and its home atop the large blue cabinets that greeted the family Ferrari when they pulled in. He had to stack empty moving boxes to reach the first step of the ladder, because a hole in the roof of the garage was just as bad as a hole in the living room ceiling.

After that, he’d get to lugging the boxes upon boxes of ornaments down from the attic, where his mother was very stubborn about putting them (“because they might get crushed in the garage”). So, he’d jump up and pull the attic ladder down, climb up, then he’d have to find the right boxes among cobwebs and boxes of old toys he’d outgrown (he’d more than once placed his foot over one of his old roller-skates, and more than once he’d promptly slipped back down the ladder and down the staircase adjacent– the attic was dark). Once he’d located all 5…teen… boxes of ornaments, he’d have to measure out just the right amount of wind to set them delicately upon the lower ground, which still, he guessed, was easier than awkwardly climbing down the ladder with an arm full of fragile orbs.

And then, after all of that was done, and he had the ladder from the garage, and he’d somehow managed to carry all fifteen boxes of ornaments down his staircase without tumbling to his death, he’d be ready to decorate. He’d take every sentimental, hand-me-down ornament and place them along the tree, then he’d be sure to put up the reds and keep them separated from the golds and the blues, and he’d have to be sure to disperse them evenly around all sides of the tree, top-to-bottom. Then, he’d find the time to piece together popcorn on silver lines of string, then drape them over every branch strategically so the lines fell in a swirl from the lowest branch to the highest. And then, he’d fish the star out of whatever box he’d stuck it in the year before, climb the ladder for the final time that late November, and place it on the top of the tree, like a box gifted to the perfectly boxed gift. Afterwards, he could step back and admire his work, enjoy the beauty granted by the twinkling lights adorning the O’Connor Christmas tree; this usually meant grabbing a manga volume, a mug of green tea (with honey and lemon), and plopping down on the couch to watch the sunset, the room growing dark and the tree growing bright.

And then, this year, for whatever reason, he couldn’t find the flipping star.

“But I don’t understand!” Isaac tossed tinsel over his shoulder from one box, then scooched to his left and dug through another. “Where could it have possibly gone? We never put it anywhere else! It has to be in one of these boxes– what the flip!”

He sat there for a good, eh, twelve, maybe thirty minutes scrounging through box after box after box, only to come up empty-handed each and every time. Isaac sat back on his knees, hands reaching up to grab at either side of his head, jaw unlatched.

“No. No no no. This can’t be happening. How did I–? What did I–?” He twisted around to face the staircase. “I must have left a box up there! That’s it! There’s no way I–!”

He raced up the stairs, faster than he was sure he’d ever willed his legs to move before, then climbed up the ladder to the attic fast enough he could have been climbing the wall of a trench. As soon as his feet hit the floor, he was off and grabbing at whatever, tossing Mom’s wedding dress aside, Dad’s old bowling shirt down below, and even the smaller, older glass tank of his pet fish Sasuke; everything that could have been in his way had been moved out of his way thrice times over, and by the time he’d given up, the attic was an unorganized, disastrous mess, and he was pretty sure that tank had shattered at the bottom of the ladder– he’d have to be careful getting down.

Isaac fell to his knees in the dead center of the room, hands folded in his lap, eyes wide as he stared down at… nothing.

“I don’t understand. It should be here. That star is– it’s– it’s the most important part! How could I have lost it? Mom and Dad are gonna kill me!”

He could see it then, their distasteful faces as they walked through the front door to see their Christmas tree woefully incomplete. He could hear himself begging for mercy, feel the leather of his mother’s skirt in his hands as he tugged and pleaded for forgiveness. He could hear Dad huff, and see Mom stick her nose in the air.

“You had one job, Isaac, one!”

“What a disgraceful child we’ve had, dear.”

“Indubitably.”

He screamed, tossing his head back and clenching his fists.

Max cocked an eyebrow when he half-carried himself into the corner store, and even seemed to think for a moment before saying anything– but of course, he still had to say something. It was Max.

“Out black friday shopping?”

Isaac slumped over to the small decorations aisle towards the beginning of the end of the small store, mirroring Max’s raised eyebrow. “No. Why?”

“You look…” Max eyed him up and down, the snorted into his hand. “You just look… different is all.”

Isaac glanced down at himself, finding with mild contempt that one of his pant legs, which was meant to be sitting at his ankle, was instead sitting just below his knee in a bunch, and his jacket sleeve had fallen midway down his arm, and he might’ve been covered in red and blue and gold glitter, if Max could see it from a foot away.

“…Shut up.”

The corner store decoration aisle was about as expansive as one might expect, filled from one end to the other with tins for cookies, stocking stuffers, huge (gigantic) squares of peppermint bark, and wrapping paper, accompanied by a handful of stick-on ribbons. Isaac sighed. It was worth a try.

Max came round the corner, for some reason carrying his scooter, because that wasn’t weird to have on-hand or anything. “What are you looking for?”

Isaac slowly twisted to him, then mimed the shaped of a Christmas tree, pointing to the top of the imaginary shape he’d conjured. Max squinted at him, and he hissed through his teeth. “…star topper.”

“A star? Like, to put on a tree?”

“Thought I made that pretty clear, Max.”

“Wow, geez, somebody’s snippy.” He shrugged, then gestured to the front sliding doors with his thumb. “We don’t have any here, but I think there’s a collection of them down the street at–” Isaac had already run by him by then, leaving nothing but a gust of wind (and a small cloud of glitter, which Max stuck his tongue out at and waved off) in his wake. “Would ya let me finish my flipping sentence? Geez!”

  He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He knew black friday was a huge deal, and that adults went nutso bonkers over it every frigging year, but he always figured it extended to half-off widescreen televisions and clothes and collectable figurines– never, in a hundred-million years, did he think it would extend to tree toppers of all things.

Isaac stared blankly, pale-faced, up at the rows and rows all along the aisle that were completely devoid of any and all tree toppers. He blinked, then tilted his head, and tried to speak, but the words just weren’t there.

An employee put to stocking passed him by, cart full of things he needed to be stacking on shelves. He was a gangly teen, with widely-rimmed glasses and an elf hat, which he clearly detested wearing, sitting snugly to the corner of his head. He looked from his cart to Isaac, then to the empty shelves, and whistled. Isaac didn’t respond, just stood there, staring. The employee set another box of “Mister and Misses Clause” salt and pepper shakers on the shelf before taking the cart by its handle and moving forward. “Man, dude, people are nuts.”

Isaac nodded wordlessly.

  Five store, three small Christmas Decoration stands, and two gas stations later, Isaac was more than dumbfounded– he was completely, utterly, entirely aghast. Why in the world did everyone in Mayview just– just up and decide they all wanted to spend money on tree toppers? Where did such an inane urge come from? Why would they waste their black friday savings on that when there were bath bombs to be purchased? Mattresses to get warranties on? New cell-phones to purchase and be proud of before inevitably growing tired of it and yearning for the newer model?

No matter what way he looked at it, it made no sense. He’d never known Mayview to go so crazy over stars– lights? Yes. Fake deer for the lawn? Yes. The actual trees to put the stars on? Yes– but never, never had he ever seen the entire city of Mayview go haywire over the flipping star that goes on the tree, the final part, the thing most people have without a doubt.

So he got to thinking. Had it been stolen by some Christmas-star-loving poltergeist? A ghost longing for its favorite holiday? Maybe the entire town wanted stars because they’d all somehow simultaneously decided that their older toppers were boring and old?

Isaac exhaled into his freezing, mittenless hands; he’d forgotten to grab some on his frantic rush out the door. It didn’t really matter why all of Mayview suddenly decided they desperately needed new stars, what mattered is that he was walking home empty-handed, and his parents would no doubt attempt to legally disown him. Christmas had always been his thing, the one thing he could do to impress them, to really wow them and knock them off their feet every year without fail. He’d grow more creative with the lights and reef and light-up Santa each November, and they always seemed to love it more and more and… as much as he did.

And this year, he’d disappoint them.

As it was, he’d felt the entire dispersal of lights in the front yard leading up to their home had been less than ideal, and placing the Santa at the front gate had to be the least good place to put him, in hindsight (he imagined the gate opening and the car rolling in, only for them to unintentionally flatten and pop Santa on their way up the driveway, Santa’s limp, balloon-like body bending further and further back until eventually the smallest bit of spwee would signal the tear of a hole where air could escape). But the tree– the tree had always been where he shined. Somehow he’d manage to make the tree increasingly awe-inspiring with every year that passed. And now? Now, even the tree would be a let-down, and he’d be a disgrace to the O’Connor name.

“Oh, Isaac! You’re home! Want to help your darling mother set the star on the tree?”

He skidded to a halt, nearly forgetting to close the front door behind him. His mom smiled from her place by the ladder leading right up to the tree, blonde curls bouncing as she hopped around in one of his dad’s nightshirts and a pair of fuzzy socks. But what was perhaps the craziest thing about the situation, the closest he’d ever gotten to a Christmas miracle in his thirteen years of life, was the brand-new, white-as-snow star in her hand, every bit as shiny (shinier, even) as the one he’d lost. “Wh– bu– where did you get that star?”

She giggle and waved him over, taking one of his frozen hands in hers and scolding him for a moment about the cold of his skin. She placed the star in his hand and grinned. “Darling, you know how I love those home decor magazines, don’t you? Well, they said that gold stars were out season. White stars are in!”

Isaac blinked, then shook his head in complete confusion. “Wait, hold on, you threw out the old star?”

“It was older than you are, champ.” His dad entered the living room from the archway of their kitchen, careful not to bump into the ladder that took up a quarter of the doorway. He seemed equally as relaxed as his mother, dressed in khakis and an ugly Christmas sweater he was sure his grandmother had knitted for him– complete with light-up reindeer nose. He took a sip of what smelled, from where Isaac stood, like hot cocoa and glanced at Isaac over the rim. “It was time for a change, anyway. That thing was starting to rust over.”

Isaac pointed in the direction of their front door. “Bu-but where’d you get that? I’ve been all over town! I– I couldn’t find tree toppers anywhere!”

His mom laughed through her nose, moving out of the way so he could climb the ladder. He took the invitation and raised one hand to climb, careful not to drop the brand new star on the ground on his way up. “They start selling Christmas decorations in early November, Isaac. You think I’d wait until black friday to buy a tree topper? Please! I’m not a heathen!”

When he reached the top of the ladder, he took a deep breath. A quick glance down, and he saw his mother and father staring back at him, his mother with hands folded under her chin, his father still staring up at him over the rim of his gingerbread man mug. With a smile, he placed the snow white star atop the tree, then pulled back down the ladder to admire his handiwork. His mother set a hand on one of his shoulders, and his father came to set a hand on his other.

The entire room seemed to open up more, and Isaac had to squint, dare he risk being blinded by the twinkling lights of the tree, or the mesmerizing glare of the star.

His father squeezed his shoulder, and his mother giggled to herself. “You’ve outdone yourself this year, dear.” She used her other hand to reach down and pinch his cheek, and had he been in a worse mood, he might have battered her away– but he didn’t. His father pulled away, then padded in his socks over to the archway into the kitchen, gesturing for them to follow.

“I made more than enough hot chocolate for all of us. Don’t make me drink it all myself. I will do it.”

Mom carried on ahead of him, positively giddy in her step, and Isaac was relieved to find his heart was skipping right along with her.

[iamwhelmed]

Win One, Have Two: Chapter 5

Didn’t think I’d get it done today, but here it is! Now to just finish (start...) my secret santa project!

Here it is on AO3

Here it is on fanfic.net!

It was lucky, especially for somebody as extraordinarily unlucky as him, to find a small quaint home deep inside the forest on the outskirts of the park. Even luckier, it was abandoned-- had been for some time, from the looks of it. Dust littered the bookshelves in the family room that greeted Isaac when he stepped-- stumbled, fell maybe-- through the front door with the broken lock. The wooden floors were darker than they might have been had they been mopped, and he could see dust bunnies peeking out from under the leather brown couch that sat before the cobweb-filled fireplace. He might have thought the cabin was a relic of the olden prairie days, but there was a radio sitting atop the coffee table, and when he’d fumbled his way into the kitchen in search of a bathroom, he’d found a microwave and electric stove. No TV, but he wasn’t going to ponder on that for too long.

Once he’d located the bathroom down the narrow hall that lead to the bedroom, guest room, and office, he’d fallen to his knees and huddled over the toilet, hands clutching at his stomach. He threw up again, or tried to; there was only bile, a reminder that he hadn’t eaten in the last two days. He couldn’t even stomach the toast he’d nabbed off of someone’s finished tray-- and that was before the nausea started. Isaac steadied himself on the toilet seat with one hand while he took slow, deep breaths, and tried to settle the tremble of his shoulders. His abdomen was in pain again, more than it had been since he’d cauterized it. He winced and pulled up the bottom of his jacket, cursing under his breath to find it’d opened up on him again. “Bandages. Gotta find…” He used the hand on the toilet to steady himself to stand, then used the other to lean against the bathroom counter “...bandages.”

He opened the medicine cabinet, and inside only found pill bottle after pill bottle. Hey, maybe there’s something for pain relief? Not exactly what I need right now, but it’s something… The first three bottles he pulled down, one of which was half full, was labeled “melatonin”; the other four or five bottles were labeled “risperidone”, and were completely empty-- not that he would have taken any without knowing exactly what “risperidone” was. He was desperate, not stupid.

With a grunt, he carried himself into the kitchen again, hoping against all hope there was another cabinet in the house that had some form of first aid. If worse came to worst, he could cauterize it again. Isaac flinched; that wasn’t something he wanted to do. He opened up the first cabinet at the edge of the hallway first, then the one next to it, and found only tupperware and canned foods-- which was great, but he needed medical equipment more than he needed food. He opened the next cabinet and exhaled upon seeing a couple of ace bandages sitting in unopened boxes. Those weren’t the right bandages, per say, but they would certainly do. He grabbed both boxes and slid to the floor, going to work unwrapping his eye first.

It took him awhile to bandage himself up, but time had become a stranger to him; he glanced at the clock to find it was 3:14-- school would have let out a few minutes ago, had he still been in Mayview. Isaac raised one hand to the kitchen counter, using it to hoist his heavy body off the murky tile floor. He winced, pressing his other hand to his abdomen, hoping to ease the sharp, burning sting as he got up. His next stop would have to be the bedroom. He needed to rest, just for a little while… Isaac squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head in a futile effort to ward away the dizziness that’d fallen over him, like a weight hanging from either of his ears, dragging him towards the floor. With a breath-- shaking, breath-- he carried himself down the hall, using the hand he’d pulled himself up with to lean against the rest of the way against the kitchen counter, and then the hallway wall when he came to it. He swallowed hard, noting with indifference how sore and dry his throat felt. He’d need to raid the kitchen when he woke up.

Once he’d found his way to the bedroom again, he pressed his entire body weight against the door, following it to the wall as it swung open, nearly stumbling over his own feet. He inhaled, sharply, and placed one hand on the oblong dresser that sat to the side of the bed. “Just a--” he coughed “...little farther.” He paused in mid-slump, closing his eyes and hoping to steady himself for a moment. The hand he carried his weight on was starting to grow sore, and he wondered how long it must have taken him to go from one end of the house to the other. He took another step forward, hand dragging only the way, until the tips of his fingers brushed something wooden, something cold. Isaac opened his eyes and turned his head, slowly because even a normal turn would have set him into another wave of nausea and vertigo. On the dresser sat a picture frame, a photo of a woman no older than Mister Spender, her dull brown eyes the color of the frame she sat upon. She was smiling, but he knew that smile, knew how the small curl of her lip was fake. What caught his attention was her hair, the orange hue, like a brighter chestnut, not quite as vibrant as an orange, but calmer, like his own. Subconsciously, he raised a hand and wiped away the dust that’d gathered over the frame, over her face, then pulled away and carried on towards the bed.

The bed was firmer than he would have liked, but the cushion still was miles and lightyears better than a bus-stop bench or the bend of a highway bridge, and his body relaxed the moment he hit the mattress. He didn’t even realize that he’d sighed, or that his muscles, which had been near constantly constricted, faltered and released. The heaviness of his eyes grew even starker, and Isaac squeezed his fingers through the sheets, as much as they smelled the mildew, and tangled them in the softness of cotton. It’d be nice to sleep in a real bed again, abandoned home or not.

His gaze fell upon the nightstand, eyes drawn to the black notebook that sat halfway open, like it’d been tossed aside in a hurry, in a panic. Maybe a clue? This place looks pretty untouched, so maybe they left in a hurry? Couldn’t pack? Well, if nothing else, it was reading material to fall asleep with.

Isaac took the notebook in one hand, then crawled under the covers, sighing again as his back hit the cushion and his head hit the pillows. He snapped the book open, surprised to find that most of the pages had been torn out-- all of them had been torn out… but one.

My dearest Norman,

I know you’ve been there for me. I know you’ve been trying. I just can’t do this anymore.

You don’t believe me. When I look into your eyes, when you’re holding me, I can tell. I keep telling you that I’m not seeing things, that I can touch them, that these shadows talk to me. And you had me convinced, just like everyone else, that I was crazy, that I needed medication. That I needed help. Mom was wrong, Dad was wrong, and Norman, you were wrong. And I’m tired. I’m tired of taking all of these stupid meds and I’m tired of you walking on eggshells around me, like I’m going to do something stupid! Like I’ll hurt myself! Like I’ll hurt you! Do you know what it’s like? Do you know how it feels to know the man you love is scared of you? To know he wonders if he’ll wake up the next day because he shares a bed with you? I’m not. crazy. And if you don’t believe me, if none of you are going to believe me, then I’ll find someone who does. I’m going home. Don’t bother looking for me-- and if Mom and Dad ask, pass it on.

“In other news, it’s been a little over a month since eighth grader Isaac O’Connor has gone missing--”

The TV blinked, and died, like a flash, and it took Zoey a moment to realize what happened. She pouted and twisted around the couch, leveling Max with her best glare as she eyed the remote in his hand, finger noteably pressed against the big red “power” button.

“Hey! Turn it back on!”

Max scoffed and climbed over the back of the couch to plop down beside her, lidded eyes staring her down. She lunged forward, reaching for the remote, but he was older than her-- and stronger, and a boy-- all he had to do was place his forearm below her chin and raise the remote out of grasp of her short, stumpy hands. “Shouldn’t you be watching something happy? Like a cartoon about ponies or something?”

Zoey huffed, nose scrunching. She fell back against the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. The glare stayed, though. “You don’t understand!”

“What? The basic interests of a gradeschool girl who wears her hair in a side pigtail and owns literal shelves of Baxborough Girl Dolls? Sorry, guess I missed the puberty memo. Oh wait… you’re too young for that still!”

“They found Isaac!”

Max’s sardonic grin fell away near instantly, jaw going slack as he hurriedly pressed the power button in direction of the TV, eyes wide, hands shaking. It couldn’t be. There was no way. Zoey misread something. Misheard something. Got Isaac’s case mixed up with another missing kid with ginger hair and baby blue eyes-- they couldn’t have found him!

“At around 2:30pm today, at Centerfly Park in Michitan City, local citizens spotted what appeared to be a young boy, no older than twelve years old.”

The station cut to a heavyset woman and her lanky boyfriend, who seemed just as aghast as two murder witnesses might be. The woman was shifting from side to side, tongue in cheek, shaking her head; her boyfriend had his hands and eyes on their golden retriever, scruffing the hair behind its perked ears, fingers nervous. “There ‘as something wrong with him, ya know? I wasn’t payin’ too much attention, but Mack and I heard a” she clapped her hands together “flap, and we turn, and there’s this boy on the ground, and there’s this circle around him…” She sucked her cheeks and shook her head. “He got up and ran. Looked freaked out.”

The camera gave a lengthy overview of the park, of the bathrooms, of the people wandering the stoned path lined by streetlights. “Locals say Isaac had a distinct wound over his right eye, and that he’s wearing jeans, a blue shirt, and a white jacket. He ran somewhere in the direction the the Centerfly Park forest, but he has left a trail of blood behind, and police are currently investigating where it leads.”

Spender closed the door to the principal’s office behind him, then sighed. Well, I suppose that went about as well as it possibly could have. He turned and carried himself down the hallway, notebook full of strategies tucked under one of his arms. We’re lucky the principal herself has been witness to shades, otherwise, I’d have been met with more of a challenge… and heaven knows things are complicated enough as it is. Now that they had the greenlight from the head of the school, they’d have to find a way to implement spectral courses into the curriculum. But before they even began doing that, they had to notify the students-- and parents-- that things were about to change; the issue was convincing the children who hadn’t been exhibiting spectral growth, and their parents, not to rat the entire paranatural world out to spectrals. The parents of actual spectrals, like Max’s father, they’d be swayed to keep their lips tight for fear of what might happen to their child if word got out-- nobody wants to envision their lineage being dissected under laboratory lights and scalpels; the parents of children with no spectral abilities, well, needless to say they wouldn’t have the same incentive. Spender raised a hand to readjust his glasses. How in the world would they pull this off?

“It’s simple.” Zarei crossed her legs under the cafe table, raising her teacup to her lips, savoring the earl grey-- its smell, its taste, its color-- in its entirety. Spender laughed under his breath, running a hand through his hair. “We’ll just have to convince the students who aren’t spectrals that they are.”

“We can only keep that ruse up for so long…”

“Even so, it will buy you time.”

Spender took a small bite of his vanilla cheesecake. His appetite had long since diminished, and he had a feeling he’d have little desire to box it come time to head home. It would sit in his fridge for a few days, grow even more unappetising, he’d put off throwing it out because he promised himself he’d eat it later, then eventually, inevitably, throw it out with a heavy heart because what was once a perfect slice of vanilla cheesecake had grown old (green?) and disgusting.

He set his fork down.

“Instead of changing the story for each parent depending on their child’s status as a spectral, give them all the same story, and insert every child into whatever curriculum it is you’re concocting with the school.”

“Don’t you think the other children will notice that they’re not seeing auras like their peers are? Like their friends are?”

Zarei raised an eyebrow at him behind the rim of her teacup. “Convince them that their powers are coming, then.”

Spender laughed, halfheartedly, and settled his chin in the palm of his hand. “So this entire plan revolves around telling a handful of middleschoolers that they’re late bloomers? Children believe that scarcely.”

“Perhaps. But it’s something their parents will buy and reiterate.”

He sighed and lifted his fork, taking small stabs at the cheesecake, toying with the frosting lining the outtermost layer. His whole body had felt heavier lately, or maybe he just felt weaker. “I suppose so…”

Zarei looked up at him again, crooked brows turning to furrow instead. Her lips pursed that way they always did when she was worried-- worried about him. She set her teacup down, resting her pinkie on the table just before the bottom of the cup, deafening the clitter. “Richard.” She exhaled. “It wouldn’t be too much trouble for me to join you at the school-- take on half the workload. I’m quite starved for something to do since my tool is out of commission, anyway. I’m more than capable, at least until we can find somebody better suited than I.”

He was able to muster a smile, a genuine one, and the slightest tinge in his stomach signaled that his appetite had somewhat returned. “That would be a tremendous help. I couldn’t thank you enough.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” She smirked, a twinkle in her eye, and she reached out to open her silverware, ready to start on the salad she’d ordered. “Though, I can’t help but sense that there’s something else the matter.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play coy with me, you know I hate that.” She took a bite of her salad, and he took a bite of his cheesecake, if only to avoid answering long enough to come up with something to say, or at least throw her off the tracks of whatever it was she was prodding him to find. He often thought archeology would have been a nice fit for her, with such a tendency to dig. “There’s something else bothering you. What is it?” He winced, and her eyes drew to his torso. “Is it your chest? Is your wound bothering you again?”

“Er, no… in fact, it’s pretty much cleared up by now.” He gave her an awkward, half-toothy smile, then glanced at the television hanging on the wall behind her head. The rest of the televisions were displaying various sports, or even cartoons for kids less preoccupied with their food and more preoccupied with screaming for the attention of an inattentive parent. How lucky he was that he and Zarei had taken seats by the one TV displaying the local news-- or maybe she’d planned it that way, somehow. At first glance, the channel was covering the weather, after all they were getting into the autumn months, now, and hotter temperatures were dwindling away just as summer was. And then the next segment began, and his heart all but dropped into the lowest, furthest confines of the most acidic parts of his stomach.

Zarei’s nose twitched, and she turned around to look at the TV. “Now what could possibly be so important that you drop off mid-conversation--?”

Her eyes grew wide, and her jaw locked.

The school newspaper, funnily enough, had gotten no easier since the attack, and Suzy still hated the last words she typed up for the last article of the latest paper. She groaned and blew a raspberry, using the mouse to highlight the final paragraph in its entirety before deleting it. The part of her that’d spent hours and hours wording and rewording that paragraph screamed and threw things off the desk and cried over wasted time, but the perfectionist in her wielded a mental whip, and cracked it at the first sign of disobedience.

Suzy stretched her arms over her head and leaned back in her desk chair, watching Collin take bites of his breakfast bar, which was more a mid-afternoon snack than an actual breakfast. The sun was setting, and they should have left a good hour or two ago, but she was nothing if not stubborn, and she meant to finish that last paragraph even if it killed her. Collin looked up, eyes meeting hers, and she opened her mouth to say something, start a conversation--

Then Max came bursting through the clubroom door. “Isaac--!” He gasped then bent in on himself, hands at his knees as he began panting. Suzy leapt from her chair, and Collin all but fell backwards in his on his way up.

“What? Max, what?”

“They-- they found…” he huffed, then ran right up to her, eyes darting between her and the computer. It took her a moment before she realized he was asking for permission, which she granted with a frantic nod and two steps back. Max all but jumped at the keyboard, fingers moving so rapidly, she almost felt bad she’d restricted him to camera-guy in her fantasies. Collin came to stand at his other side, and in moments, Max had the local news station website up on the club computer. Max pulled up a video, then finally said: “They found Isaac!”

The video ran, and ran until it finished, and began again until Suzy reached out to stop it.

“Is there still information coming in?”

Max shook his head “No, they lost him, but at least we know what city he’s in.”

“That’s--!” Collin gestured around the room, eyes wide, panicked. “That’s not any help if he’s flipping dying!”

Max’s wide eyes turned dark, and the finger he raised to point at the video was rigid. Suzy squeaked and moved out of its way. “The video didn’t say he was dying. They said he was injured.”

“He left a trail of blood, Max!” Collin seemed unfazed, and Suzy was almost proud to see him level such a scary face, proud that she’d rubbed off on him, probably. But her attention was, first and foremost, on the article tied to the video. She’d skimmed it over, and then skimmed it over once more, but Collin was right… “People who aren’t dying don’t usually do that.”

Collin’s voice softened at the end, and Max fell silent. Suzy, strangely enough, couldn’t find a word to say, couldn’t look Max’s way for fear of the look on his face, the kind of worry that seeped into the bones and stayed there. Max’s hand fell from the monitor, then sat limply at the side of the desk.

There was a creaking sound, and it jolted Isaac awake.

The room was dark; the sun must have fallen while he was asleep, but realizing this and recognizing this did nothing to steady the vertigo that greeted him the moment he opened his eyes. The entire room spun, and rounded him in a blur. The overpowering smell of mildew was no help, and for a moment he thought he’d throw up right then and there. Sleeping was supposed to help him, let his body recover as he rested, but he felt even worse than he did before he’d snuck under dirtied and mussed covers.

He squinted, then closed his eyes and reopened them to a much clearer room-- to the much clearer vision of a woman standing at the doorway.

Isaac leaped up, grabbing the covers and tossing them off, and the stranger raised her hands in defense, taking a few steps forward into the light of the night sky peering in through the wall-length window of the bedroom. His aura flared, wide and wild, like an uncontained fire over his body. She chuckled, and he could hear she was nervous, but she still held her ground. “Hey, hey, hey! I’m not here to hurt you!”

She was young-- maybe in her mid-twenties, dressed like it too. Who wore a leather jacket with fingerless gloves-- oh right. She took another step closer, and he could see a streak of purple in the black bob that was her hair. Isaac pressed his back to the headboard, raising one hand cautiously to keep her at bay. “That’s fine. I have to leave now, and I need you to not call the police.”

“I can’t do that.”

Isaac sighed, and slid one leg over the side of the bed, readying himself to make a quick escape. He had no idea who this woman was, why she was there, or how she found him in the middle of a forest in an abandoned home… but it was sketchy, and he had more than enough injuries. “Look, you don’t understand!”

“I do. If you just let me explain, I can help you.”

Isaac frowned, and raised his hand higher, but nodded for her to continue. She sighed, and let her raised hands fall just a bit, elbows at waist-length, no longer at her chest. Her smile was calm, and confident, and he found himself interested in what she had to say.

Then there was a creak in the floor, and the stranger hadn’t moved.

Isaac whipped around, lightning cracking at his hand, blue entangling and covering his fingers. He could only make out of the vague shadow of a tall, broad-shouldered man, and then the world around him went dark.

The club, upon a call from Mister Spender, had collected in the clubroom, and were then watching him pace back and forth, chin in his hand. Max had been the first to show, before even Spender had made his way to the clubroom, and met inquiring glances with a grimace and a shrug. He sat huddled on the couch, one leg (which Spender would usually demand be set on the floor) pulled to his chest, other swinging lifelessly over the side of the couch. Isabel sat to his right, then Dimitri, both looking confused, though Dimitri was far deeper in thought.

“None of this makes sense.” Isabel leaned forward, elbow on her knee, cheek in palm. “How did Isaac get outside of the barrier?”

“That doesn’t matter just yet.” Dimitri hummed, eyes narrowed, somewhere far in the distance, passed the wall of the clubroom. “What matters is that they found a trail of his blood.” Isabel sluncked back into the couch, sliding in on herself as she fell silent. “We need to take the train out to him as soon as possible.”

Max shook his head. “We can’t.”

Dimitri blinked, eyebrow arched. “Why not?”

Isabel waved a dismissive hand, eyes shifting to the side. “Some things happened and the train is in a tool right now, recovering.”

“If it’s in a tool, that means it can be used.”

“Not without Doctor Zarei,” Isabel crossed her arms, lips in a thin line. There was a twitch in her, like her entire body couldn’t settle, like her nerves were fried and she couldn’t think straight. Dimitri was already watching her, but Max eyed her from the side. “Besides, we shouldn’t anyway! Isaac made that choice and he’s just gotta deal with it now.”

Spender halted in his pacing, turning on her with wide eyes, and Dimitri’s held no less surprise.

“Isabel…!”

“Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?”

Isabel shrugged, squirming under the unwanted attention.

“Okay, you know what?” Max sat up, and Isabel lurched backward when he prodded his finger in her face, an inch from her nose. His aura began to fester around him, black, so black it might have been growing darker with every bit of him that grew anxious, that grew angry. “Holding onto a grudge is one thing, I get why you’re mad at him-- but actively not helping him when he might be bleeding out somewhere is-- is--!”

Isabel’s aura flashed, hot, bright red against Max’s black, teeth grinding, fists clenching. It took everything in her not to chomp down on the finger he stuck in her face, and so help her if it got any closer she might. She smacked his hand away and leaned closer, close enough that she could throw her head into his if she wanted to, leave a big bruise on his stupid face!

“Isaac is a traitor! He tried to sell us out to the entire world! Just because you got over it doesn’t mean I have! He could have gotten us all kill--!”

“Isabel.”

She froze. Mister Spender rarely spoke like that… spoke like that to her. He was a funny man, a kind man, and when he was mad, his voice was deep, guttural, and every bit as tremble-inducing as her grandfather’s. She bit down on her tongue, hard enough to make it bleed; she turned to look at him.

He was standing stiff, and though she couldn’t see passed his glasses, she could tell, she knew, she could feel the anger flaring there, the power she sometimes forgot he had. She couldn’t so much as twitch, she was paralyzed, staring back at him. He’d never been mad at her before, never like this. She felt a sting behind her eyes, and it was like she was a little kid, some stupid brat getting scolded for not sharing her toys, and she hated it. She hated being scared. Being guilty.

Spender turned away from her and walked to his desk, all at once releasing her from her prison and wringing her heart. She slumped further into her seat, biting down on the inside of her cheek. Max lost interest and turned to watch Spender, but Dimitri continued to stare.

Spender picked up his phone and dialed someone’s number, back turned to them. “I’m going to give Zarei a call. We’ll go searching for him tomorrow morning. Hopefully we won’t be too late.”

[vickyvicarious]

max, johnny, and the future (bmw 7)

bullymagnet week, day seven: older

read day one, day two, day three, day four, day five, and day six first. also available on AO3.

.

Johnny got over beating up nerds a few years ago, but he’s never quite left the habit of terrorizing innocents behind. Max, balancing on the handlebars of his boyfriend’s parked bike, sighs as he watches him leer menacingly at two freshman.

“It’s really not fair of you to be their first impression of high school,” he comments when Johnny finally finishes up his conversation. “They’re gonna have nightmares tonight, yanno.”

“I was givin’ them valuable advice ‘n life guidance,” Johnny retorts, shoving Max in the middle of his chest. He wobbles, but doesn’t quite fall. “Also directions to the science lab.”

“If that’s even remotely true, you wouldn’t have done that thing with your face.” Johnny scowls at him, that crazy-eyed snarl only he can pull off. It’s by far not the most frightening expression he can make, but it sure is disconcerting. “Yeah, that right there.”

Johnny yanks him by the shirt this time, his brute strength overpowering Max’s anyday. He tumbles down, but refuses to hit the ground, just latching on to Johnny’s side and clinging. Undignified, maybe, but it gets Johnny to crack a smile for the first time all day, so hey.

“Get off me ya circus freak,” Johnny laughs, and Max tightens his grip.

“No way, the floor’s lava. Carry me to class, would you?”

“I’m gonna be lava ‘f you don’t let go,” Johnny grumbles, but his body doesn’t actually heat up and he starts to walk. They get a few weird looks on the way into the school building, but mostly only from the new students; this isn’t the first time this has happened by a long shot.

Of course, there’s a method to Max’s madness – for all his complaining, Johnny clearly adores when Max clambers all over him. He loves physical contact a ridiculous amount, in general. He pretty much will crawl into everyone’s lap during movie nights, he regularly greets people by hanging on them, he likes to high five and hug and hold hands and just, cuddle. With Max in particular, all of this is doubled if not tripled, with the bonus addition of his getting really embarrassed whenever he’s called out on it. He’s like, super into PDA, and also very scandalized by the thought of it when he actually realizes what he’s doing. It’s genuinely adorable.

And, sure enough, the clinging does the trick for at least the time being: Johnny’s scowl melts away, replaced by that hilariously equal split of obnoxiously proud yet blushy he gets whenever Max does this in public. Max is well aware this is far from a permanent fix, but Johnny’s been moody for several days now without explanation and it’s getting to the point where he’s legitimately bothered about it.

They don’t share a homeroom this year, so Max is expecting Johnny to shake him off at some point, but instead he delivers Max all the way inside his room, drops him on top of his desk, and then kind of just hovers there for a second with his hands on Max’s hips, watching him.

“Hey, you okay?” Max asks quietly. The smile he receives in response is truly angelic, in the way that only Johnny’s fake ones ever are. Years of staring in fascination at his boyfriend’s elastic face have given Max a very thorough comprehension of his expressions, and Johnny only ever smiles with his mouth closed when he doesn’t mean it. When he’s actually happy, he exposes his freaky medium sharkteeth in this huge manic grin that’s just, really impossible not to smile back at.

“When’m I ever not,” Johnny scoffs.

“Are you my teacher?” Max scoffs right back. “Don’t test me.”

Johnny’s teeth peek out at one corner in a half-grin, and without warning he drops his forehead down to Max’s. He closes his eyes and sighs.

Overcome by a wave of concerned fondness, Max kisses his nose.

“HYAGN,” Johnny yelps, leaping a foot straight back and going bright red. He stage-whispers, “Stop this is school.”

The rest of the class don’t even bother looking their way.

“You’re gonna have to tell me what’s up sometime,” Max threatens pleasantly. “I’m not above making out in the middle of lunch.”

“I tolja I’m peachy!” Johnny snaps back, retreating fast in the face of such a prospect. In the doorway, he hesitates. “But uh unrelated I got somethin’ to ask ya after school so consider yourself bookmarked.”

“That’s not h-” The door slams shut behind as Johnny bolts into the hallway. Sighing, Max slides down into his chair.

He’s a little scared about what this could be.

It’s not that he really thinks Johnny is going to break up with him. For all his numerous flaws, Johnny is marvelously talented at making people feel loved and appreciated when he wants to. Watching him interact with his gang was kind of the reason Max started to crush on him in the first place, and seeing his growing relationships with the Activity Club didn’t help. He actually realized he was a goner because of Johnny giving him comic books he wanted Max to pass along to PJ – once Johnny actually really likes a person, he pretty much constantly goes out of his way to make them happy, and never even considers it as especially thoughtful or special.

So Max, who has been the recipient of Johnny’s extremely intense if awkward devotion since seventh grade, pretty much never feels unwanted. It’s really, really nice, to be so secure in the fact that your boyfriend loves you even if he’s never actually said the words. Max is pretty sure he’s tried to, a couple times, but knowing Johnny it’ll be another three years before he hears them all said at once in the right order. He could probably speed up the process if he said them first, but he’s not exactly all that much better at this, so he’d kind of rather just let Johnny tackle that hurdle first. It’d be way preferable to just casually say, ‘yeah, me too’ back when the time comes.

Anyway, the point is that he doesn’t need the words to know… but, at the same time, somehow despite all of Johnny’s extremely effective affection, Max manages to have doubts popping up on the regular. He doesn’t actually believe any of them, when he stops to think, but sometimes it’s hard to trust in the better thing. It kind of goes against his whole nature, really. Max is so used to being the cynical pessimist that just being happy feels like he’s massively beating the odds, and whenever any hint of trouble on the horizon crops up he gets anxious.

He never talks about those nerves, mostly because Johnny would take them as a personal failure when it’s really nothing to do with him. It’s all Max’s, and he knows it, and he tries not to let it sabotage him anymore. He already messed things up for like two years just by being oblivious and then doubting what was painfully clear to everyone else in the world until Johnny finally confronted him with a demand for a date that Max knew was a date. And yeah, that whole conversation was very romantic and all, and his fourteen year old self swooned for like a week straight over it (not that he’d admitted it), but he’d rather not have such grand gestures be necessary again, not when he apparently broke Johnny’s tweenage heart a couple of times before he got so fed up. So he tries real hard not to spend all day thinking that Johnny wants to break up with him. He reminds himself of the many and varied ways Johnny has no chill about loving him, that Stephen at least would never have been able to keep something like that hidden from Max, refrains from making out in the middle of lunch but does lean a little heavier than usual into Johnny’s side and enjoys the automatic way his boyfriend supports him and starts feeding Max his French fries without even pausing in his conversation with Stephen and Ed, doodles in his afternoon classes and thinks about Johnny’s snaggly smile.

None of it quite does the trick, but Max’s got himself pretty much under control all the way up until school lets out and Johnny meets him at his locker, looking genuinely nervous himself.

They gather up their stuff and head out, wandering off the road and into the woods about halfway home. Johnny knows his way around every inch of Mayview, maybe especially the wild parts, so getting lost isn’t a concern. What is concerning is the way Johnny hasn’t looked at him in fifteen minutes, his grip on Max’s hand verging on painfully hot.

“You ready to fess up yet?” Max asks once all he can hear is their feet crunching through the leaves. There are a few owlish spirits in the branches above them, but otherwise he and Johnny are completely alone. “What’s taking up all the space in that puny brain of yours?”

“I’m gonna punch you.”

“Wow, real estate must really be lacking if that’s all the thinking you can take.”

Johnny lets go of his hand to punch Max in the arm. Max dodges. They hold hands again and keep walking.

“’S just… my uh, guidance counselor was askin’ me about college plans,” Johnny mumbles. “An’, um, I wanna y’know tell you about it and stuff.”

“Okay, so tell me,” Max says.

“I… I wanna be a teacher,” Johnny declares. Max turns to stare at him; he flushes, and rushes out, “like, little puny kids, like six or seven or eight or whatever. Y’know, when they’re still a good size to just pick up and throw an’ all, and… um… I don’t have to know too much complicated stuff so I think I could prob’ly do it –”

“Oh god,” Max says. “You’re going to get them all worshipping you.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I can see it.” He really can; Johnny grinning terrifically behind twenty or so equally hyper kids, god probably at least half of them are gonna have dyed red hair and want to punch their way through all their problems, he can see it so well. “You’re going to be terrifying.”

“Issat. Uh, good?” Johnny asks in this very small voice, and Max is pretty sure his heart physically wrings itself out in his chest.

“Yes, you doofus,” he laughs, “Johnny, you’re so good with kids. That’s perfect.”

Weirdly, Johnny doesn’t look very relieved. He doesn’t stop walking when Max tries to either, just clinging onto his hand and tromping along through the leaves.

“Well, good,” he sighs. “But Ollie’s, y’know, going off to win the Nobel Prize and whatever, and I was thinkin’ ‘bout you.”

“Me?”

“Leaving,” Johnny says very bluntly. It takes a few seconds for Max’s brain to even process the word, because. Because the idea of Johnny, confident down to his core Johnny having any doubt about Max is stunning, and impossible, and he feels incredibly guilty that he could’ve ever let it happen, and – what.

“I’m not leaving,” Max says, uselessly. He feels like it’s probably time to stop walking around aimlessly and continue this conversation face to face, so he turns to his boyfriend and grabs his other hand too. “I mean, I don’t know what I’m gonna do, but I’m not–”

“Fixed the Ghost Train,” Johnny says, head tucked down. “You can, ‘f you want. That’s fine.”

“…Say what?”

“I, jus’.” Johnny looks up finally, and, oh. That’s… his face is bright red, and sure that happens fairly regularly, but this is a whole nother level, Max is pretty sure he can feel heat waves. He’s pretty sure he could literally fry an egg off this blush. But still, Johnny’s eyes are focused right on his, and his words are firm when he says, “Go wherever ya want. Just come back here.”

“Johnny,” Max says. He’s been burned before, literally, so he doesn’t touch his boyfriend’s face even though he wants to, just grabs his hands a little tighter and leans in closer and, what the hell, they’ve just barely started senior year.

“I’m prob’ly gonna buy us a house,” Johnny announces a second later. “Also.”

Max is dying here.

“J-Johnny,” he manages, after about two full minutes of strangled nonsense, “we’re seventeen, what– ”

“You’re fine with it though right?” Johnny demands.

“I – I mean I guess, sure, that’s. Yeah.” Max’s everything is on autopilot right now, he can’t function at all, he really wants Johnny’s face to cool down so he can smack it and also kiss it a lot. “Y-you realize you’re basically proposing right now?”

“Don’t hafta get married to live together,” Johnny huffs, in a voice Max recognizes as ‘quoting from Stephen’ – “Marriage is a government scam an’ tool of the patriarchy, anyway.”

He hesitates.

“But I mean if yo-”

“STOP,” Max shouts, flinging all caution to the wind as he slams both hands over Johnny’s mouth, “oh my god don’t say anything else, don’t actually propose to me.”

Johnny’s brows knit together.

“’Mnoff,” he denies. Max still doesn’t feel like it’s safe to let go.

His heart is beating so fast he can feel it bouncing off his ribs. He feels hypersensitive to everything: the slight breeze in the air, the far-off whisper of dry leaves sliding across the ground, the uncomfortable warmth of Johnny’s mouth under his hands.

“You haven’t even said ‘I love you’ yet, but you’re planning to buy a house,” Max wonders out loud. “Y-you’re incredible.”

“Thanks, love you too,” Johnny snarks back, shoving Max’s arm off his face and also shattering every last bit of composure left in him (and also, stealing his line).

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JOHNNY,” he shouts, grabbing him by the collar and just shaking him. It does disappointingly little good. “I don’t even know what I want to do! I’m not legal for, like, anything right now! I can’t be expected to be making major life decisions at this stage!”

“…’Kay,” Johnny mumbles.

“T-that wasn’t a no. I mean, sure, after my hypothetical out-of-town college life I’ll move into your theoretical future house paid for with an elementary teacher’s imaginary salary, but, Johnny, why?”

“Apartment wouldn’t have enough room for m’ true hearts foreverboys, and whoever. Plus I wanna cat and a dog.” He says it in a combative kind of way, like the mere prospect of one person owning both is groundbreaking and more than a little scandalizing.

“Not what I meant, but, fair enough.”

“I mean, I get it,” Johnny scrubs a hand behind his head, shrugging. “Yeah, it’s really early and stuff, but. I just wanted you to know I’m uh, I’m thinking about it.”

This is more than Max can physically take.

“Well I am too now,” he grumbles, reaching up and fanning Johnny’s cheeks. It takes a second, but the heat starts to fade as he catches on, though they remain flushed. Max puts his hands on them, tilting in until their foreheads are touching. “And yeah, sounds good. I just can’t believe you’re planning something.”

“Shaddup I’ll punchya boi,” Johnny says.

Max kisses him.

“You’re a huge weirdo,” he says, after breaking away. Then, self-recriminating: “I’m even worse for liking it.”

“Heheh,” Johnny snickers. “Thanks.”

“That wasn’t a compliment–”

“Kinda was.”

“Stop,” but Max knows he’s grinning, wide and manic to match Johnny’s stupid pointy smile, knows he doesn’t actually want Johnny to ever stop really (even if in this moment, yes, he needs to quit), knows he’s just as in love as Johnny is, knows now much to his surprise that at some point in the next five to seven years they will be living in a house together. RJ in their basement recording death metal, most likely, and a cat and dog with no doubt either a very combative or codependently close relationship, and Max will be doing [redacted] while Johnny is molding the minds of young Mayview children, lord help them.

How the hell is he gonna be the resident cynic now.

[twilighteve-writes]

How about younger Max practicing unnecessary stunts with his old pals.

*rubs hands* ok here goes.

Just a heads up, I headcanon Sam as the lil black girl with pigtails and eyeglasses and Doghouse as another of Max’s friends. Why? No idea, but somehow it just fit in my head. Let’s wait until canon disprove this. *shrug*

Long post ahead, read under the cut!

Night hadlong since fallen in the hills of Mayview skyline, though it still shone withthe purplish-black that slowly accentuated the shine of the twinkling stars. Onthe second floor of the corner store, inside his room, was Max, chattinganimatedly with his old friends over the phone.

“Look,guys, I’m sorry I couldn’t visit Baxborough this weekend,” the boy sighed, twirlinghis cap in his hand. “Something came up, okay? I’ll tell you when I can go, butright now it’s not possible.”

Sam’svoice immediately inquired. “Does this have anything to do with that girl wholocked you up in the storage closet in the first day of your school?”

“I toldabout that,” Doghouse’s voice quipped before Max could ask.

Max wassilent for a moment before answering, “Well… I guess, yeah, it does havesomething to do with her.”

Doghouse barkeda laugh. “See? I told you she’s the reason why. Pay up.”

Sam grumbled.“Ugh, and I was so sure it was something else. Fine, I’ll pay when I got themoney.”

Max frowned.“You two were betting on me? Guys, Shred Eagle wouldn’t like it.”

“Yeah,well, the show was cancelled.” Max could imagine Doghouse shrugging withoutcare.

“Doggy,you still got the moves we copied from the show,” Sam pointed out. “We all do.”

“Yeah,well,” Max began, “as interesting as this conversation is, I gotta hang up nowbecause I still have some homework. Talk to you again tomorrow?”

“Okay. Don’tforget to tell us when you can visit!”

“Will do.”

Max disconnectedthe call and put the phone on his table, sighing. He kind of wanted to tell hisold friends about all of his spectral business (if it could even be calledthat) but he doubted they’d believe him. “Hey guys, so the reason I can’t visitis because I’m apparently this kind of weird psychic kid that can interact withghosts and spirits and there’s a barrier around Mayview that keeps people likeme and spirits and ghosts from going in and out, so yeah, maybe sometime.” No,that sounded absolutely ridiculous.

“Mr. Max,who was that?”

Max yelpedin surprise as he turned to face PJ, who had floated beside him. He still wasn’tused to how silent the ghost could be at times. “They’re my old friends fromBaxborough,” he answered. “We practically grew up together.”

“Oh,” PJmuttered, before his eyes sparkled. “I bet you guys were really close.”

“Yeah, I guesswe were,” Max chuckled. “We learned parkour together watching Shred Eagle. Someof them are pretty reckless and stupid, now that I think about it, but we lovedit. We thought it was cool.”

“Stupid?”PJ repeated in confusion.

Max fellsilent as he suddenly remembered the time when he went to a park to meet Samand Doghouse, full of confidence that he would be able to do a difficult ShredEagle stunt that he knew was really hard to do. He saw them near the stairs atone corner of the park and rushed to them in excited burst.

He foundSam crouching on the ground, perfectly balanced on her roller blades, while Doghousewas doing his favorite stunt – a simple but flashy spin on his skateboard thatsomehow looked like a dog trying to get comfortable inside a doghouse – hence thename.

“Hey,Max,” Sam greeted when he got closer.

“Hey,guys,” Max greeted back. He bounced on the tips of his toes in barely containedexcitement. “I’m gonna do it today.”

Sam’s jawdropped, and Doghouse nearly messed his landing. He steadied himself and staredat Max. “Bruh, you serious ‘bout this?”

“Yeah, it’llbe awesome,” Max replied confidently. “I’m going to land this.”

“Well, ifyou’re so sure.” Sam fidgeted uneasily. When Max turned to climb the stairs,she turned to Doghouse and whispered, “Get ready to call his parents in casethings go wrong.”

Doghouse gaveher a thumbs up. “You got it.”

The stuntMax was about to do involved jumping and backflipping two times over astaircase and using the handrail to propel oneself up again, doing anotherbackflip before landing. It was risky, and Shred Eagle had said that this wasparticularly dangerous so kids shouldn’t evertry this at home, pressing on the matter more than usual. But Max wasn’t tryingthis at home.

Max walkeda distance from the staircase to have his own runway so he could gain enoughmomentum to backflip and started sprinting, mentally calculating his moves ashe jumped and spun in the air. He succeeded on the running, jumping, andbackflipping part, but he couldn’t find his footing on the rail when he wasabout to do the next part of the stunt.

Momentum andgravity worked in tandem, and the position Max’s foot had resulted in a twistedankle, a crash to the staircase, numerous cuts and scrapes, and a very loud boywailing in pain. Sam quickly rushed to pull him to a safer position, given thatMax was still sprawled over the stairs, while Doghouse ran to get Max’sparents, whose house wasn’t far away from the park.

It hadbeen the first and only time Max’s dad banned him from going to the park afterhis ankle healed, and the only reason he could go after that was that he keptjumping around the house and knocking over furnitures.

Max snappedback to the present. “Yeah, little me was plenty reckless and stupid,” heconcluded.

“How?” PJasked, sounding genuinely curious.

Max contemplatedanswering before scrunching his nose and shaking his head. “Nope, not touching that one,” he said instead, pulling outhis homework to work on.

[bullymagnetweek-blog]

Day 2: Johnny is the nerd and Max is the bully AU by kabaedactyl

A/N: I’M LATE HOHOHOHOHO I hope this is OK to submit!!! (+ i hope the format is okay umu;;)

Maxwell Puckett was known for his flamboyant father and prodigy younger sister. It’s not like Max was special in comparison, he was annoyingly plain and bland. He was unbuttered popcorn. No one really liked him as much as others but they wouldn’t object to him on sight. Unlike sour Skittles. Those things were the devil’s food.

He had come to a new school in a new city and immediately acquired a gang he liked to call the Mang. You know, like, the “Max gang”? The mang? It sounded cooler in Max’s head. And it’s too late to change it.

The mang consists of Max and three others. (with a special guest sometimes!) It was Max, Isabel, Ed, and Isaac. Isaac wanted to be called lightning Naruto but the name (unsurprisingly) didn’t stick. The special guest was a teacher named Mr. Spender, but he only did it because the mang just so happened to be in his activity club. He didn’t really like the whole “we’re gonna say a lot of dumb things and a few popular anime references and then punch you in the kisser” thing. But they didn’t punch him so he didn’t mind too much.

The mang hasn’t caused much damage, and mostly it’s been a bad cop/good cop scenario if that scenario included four bad cops and zero good cops. Their usual routine consisted of scaring freshman by making their spectral auras glow at enormous and frankly ludicrously heights. Normal humans can’t see them, but they can feel the ominous aura being emitted from the squad of bad cops.

(Did I mention they’re spectrals? Haha, yeah.)

As the mang scouted today, January the second, for new—erm—victims, Max spotted Johnny. Johnny Jhonny. His absolute favorite. Isabel eyed Max and gave him her signature smirk, and patted him on the back. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

Johnny probably sensed bad things his way, but he didn’t make any attempt for a morning sprint. Instead, he spoke to his friends. RJ and Ollie, with one of his companions missing from temporary suspension. Apparently bad talking capitalism and communism alike wasn’t looked upon happily by peers.

“Hey!” Max shouted, his voice getting acknowledging groans from the group. “Johnny, my loose term of a friend!”

RJ rolled her eyes and Ollie gave Max some space. Johnny didn’t seem deterred, but his pace did fasten a little. “‘Ay, Mux.” He greeted lowly. “My loose term of a buddy.”

“How are you, friend?” Max had now caught up with Johnny, keeping up to whatever pace Johnny used to escape. Whether it was a short sprint, or a sudden stop, or attempting to climb up any trees at the entrance of the school. “I see you aren’t busy.”

“Mh, yea’. What’cha need, buddy?” Johnny had tried ridiculous outlets, trying to derail Max. But it hadn’t worked, so he waved off his friends. He might be able to derail Max with his friends, but it wasn’t worth a shot. He had tried that a lot of times, and it ended up with a lot of noses broken and a lot of absurd means of payback.

(Max really liked little toy scooters, okay?)

“I need you and your buddies to give me and my buddies tips on how to do that tactical formation squad. Like, the thing you did, when you look like you’re trying to form the ultimate Super Saiyan from one of Isaac’s anime. You know the one. With Ollie cradling you in his arms and RJ clinging to his leg.”

Johnny stared at Max for a while. This is not happening. He, Johnny, is getting asked how to do his formation squad by Max, who named his gang AFTER HIM. This is laughable. “‘M, sorry? ‘M sorry? You … Mux, wanna know how to do the formation squad?”

Johnny can see a member of Max’s gang—Isaac—looking over rather hopeful. Like being a Super Saiyan is a dream come true and although this is stupid, he can’t really say no. How could he? Johnny isn’t one to refuse boys who want to be their favorite Dragon Ball Z character and god darn it he’s not going to be one today.

“Well, yeah. I mean, it’s kinda cool. Lame, too, but cool.” Max looked deterred suddenly, but he didn’t let that stop him. “To Isaac. And Ed. And Isabel, maybe, too. Sorta.” He added quickly, now staring at the floor rather than Johnny. But he was still keeping pace.

“… Why not, Mux? Sure. I’ll have to talk to Ollie an’ them, since, y’know. Ollie wants to keep up his good grade and RJ may be busy but they’re usually good on this sorta thin’. So, I’ll, I’ll … contact you.”

Max, as soon as Johnny answered, was looking back to his friends and giving thumbs up. Isaac yelled something, probably the opening to Dragon Ball, and Isabel smiled satisfied. Max promptly looked back, grinning at Johnny. “Just, yell for me. I’ll probably hear you. Mayview isn’t that big so if you yell loud enough I’ll hear you.” And then he left. Right then. To go back with his friends.

“What was that about?” RJ asked as soon as they got back, and Johnny was a little stunned.

“I dunno. Mux wanted to know how to do the tactical formation squad. An’ something about anime? ‘M not too sure. But it doesn’t really matter, yea’? He’s just a .. weird, not-too-good-at-it bully. We don’t have to worry about it.”

[wowiezowiebaby]

When the May is Viewing !!

[wowiezowiebaby]

The hosts of the Mayview Mellow Hour ! And some bonus drawings of miss Pumpkin Patch !!

[wowiezowiebaby]

Girlboss

[wowiezowiebaby]

Doodled quick full body sketches of all my characters from the story in which Pumpkin Patch appears !! I did draw pumpkin, but tumblr only allows me to post 10 pictures at once .. But yeah !! Silly characters yay !!

[wowiezowiebaby]

Live Kadence reaction

[wowiezowiebaby]

Sorry for drawing her so much it will happen again

[wowiezowiebaby]

More Mayview doodles ! This time its the Three hosts of MMH , the Mayview Mellow Hour ! A beloved local radio show !! Kadence and Mick run the show every afternoon to talk about a plethora of random topics .. Fun stories, listener calls, bringing in celebrities , general talk, yada yada .. its just a show purely for entertainment ! The hosts are like local celebrities .. well, at least kadence and mick are ! Finnegan doesnt tend to make appearances much on the show anymore, hes much more reclusive than the other two and just prefers to work in the background, but he'll make an appearance occasionally !

[wowiezowiebaby]

More mayview characters ! Maggie and Presley !! Your average mischief enjoying losers .. whenever they're bored at work you'll most likely find them making prank calls to whatever poor unfortunate person they happen to call .. Well, Maggie's usually the one to make the calls, never trust Presley to try and prank call someone because shes horrible at it .. she'll ask someone if their refrigerator is running and when they say yes she'll just be like "oh cool ! Thats good" and then hang up while Maggie stares at her questioning what kind of prank that was supposed to be .. shes a loser .. I have to say they're both complete losers but I love them anyways !!