#maybe because every time i was forced to watch the superball in the us i just read fics on my phone 😂

[elialys]

i've worked on my chapter for 3 hours straight and wrote the entire 2nd draft in one go

[voxymoxyboxy]

Drabbles for my Various Sam and Max AUs 01- Ghost Max AU

Hi there! I wanted to actually publish my writing for once, so I decided to write a whole bunch of drabbles of my various Sam and Max AUs! I’m gonna try to make at least one for every AU, so wish me luck! Here’s the first one!

P.S. If you wanna hear more about them, please ask! I wanna talk about them! Don’t be shy!

TW: Mentions of Death and Cursing 

Drabble 01- Ghost Max AU

Max had never really seen himself as a ‘people’ person.

When he was a kid, the only ones who’d ever tolerated his presence were his parents and a handful of his siblings, and even then it sometimes felt like that was stretching it. That had been fine by him. Playing too roughly with others usually sent him to time out while playing by the rules bored him out of his mind. At the end of the day, it just seemed easier to keep to himself.

The lagomorph had even preferred it, regardless of that weird pang in his chest.

In all of his life, Max could honestly say that he had grown fond of his workmates. Would never openly admit it, but the signs had been there. Whenever the rabbit teased Sybil, poked fun at Superball, eventually turned into something akin to affectionate after a year of knowing them. Hell, the lagomorph remembered the days he’d spent trying to get them together, leaving notes and gifts as the other.

There was a small part of him that yearned to go back. If anything, they were the only things worth living for.

Being dead put a damper on all that, of course.

In the beginning it had been great! Being a ghost was amazing! No responsibilities (taxes who?), all the free time in the world to do whatever the lagomorph wanted. Sure, not being able to enjoy the luxuries of food was a bummer but flying was pretty neat! It was only when Max tried leaving when it hit him. Literally.

What appeared to be some kind of force field prevented him from leaving his little ramshackle apartment. That hadn’t bothered him at first. After all, learning what ghostly powers he held could keep the rabbit entertained for hours! Could being the key word. While fun to start, progress was slow then came to a stop completely when it became fruitless. Roaming the same halls grew boring. Floating lost its charm. The yellow of the walls started taunting him almost.

Going to Heaven would’ve been preferable to the pseudo-hell he was trapped in.  

A tiny sliver of hope came when the corpse cleaners came a few days after his death. Hermit that Max was, someone must’ve finally called the police after the smell became too much to bear. They’d burst in, covered head to toe in white before getting right to work. Which was weird, but not unexpected. Someone was making sure that his death was but a blip to be forgotten.

That was okay. The lagomorph planned to have the last laugh.

Opportunity struck. Jumping in one of their paths, the rabbit had snapped at the man, laying out every insult in the book (that he’d written, by the way). Imagine the look on his face when the fucker simply walked through him, face set in stone as if he hadn’t heard a damn word.

Because he hadn’t, Max had realized, horror thrumming in his core.

Nobody could.

They left. A few more people entered. The lagomorph tried everything. Shouting, yelling, kicking their kneecaps, pushing a tumbler off the kitchen counter like in those old horror movies his ma told him not to watch. Nothing. No flinching or yelps of pain left their mouths. Only sounds of exertion and mumbling before they too were gone, leaving the rabbit in silence.

Quiet. It was too quiet. Noise kept Max busy, kept that small ball of darkness from spreading through his brain like poison. Silence, for some, was comforting.

For him it was deafening.  

Forced to see the same things day in and day out, the rabbit soon discovered the pang was back in full force. When exactly had it disappeared? The thought, while elusive during the day, always crept back at night, when Max couldn’t sleep to keep it at bay. It grew, evolved into what-ifs and questions he had no answers for.  

How had Sybil and Superball reacted to his death? They had to know it was murder, right? A little bump to the head was the last way he wanted to go out, right behind getting shot but ahead of choking on a gummy bear. Were they looking for the bastard that did him in? A tiny voice from who-knows-where told the lagomorph that the pair didn’t care enough.

Max tended to agree.

What of his family? Funnily enough, getting offed made the rabbit more appreciative of his family. They certainly weren’t the most loving or caring, but there were hints here and there. A kiss on the forehead, an older sibling giving him the slightly bigger half of a cookie, little Milly coming to climbing into his bed during a particularly bad thunderstorm. Despite not thinking about them for countless years, Max couldn’t stop the memories from playing over and over.  

It didn’t take him long to learn that they kept him sane, let him forget the pain in his chest.

(Let him forget how lonely he was-)

It hurt to confess that he desperately craved contact. With humans, animals, anyone! Even a scrap would last him a lifetime at that point-

You could say Sam was Max’s saving grace, as pathetic as that sounded.

The day the dog moved in was perhaps the happiest moment of Max’s- well, not life, but whatever the ghost equivalent was. Non-life? Existence? Guy was noisy for sure. Talked through mundane tasks, whistled random tunes, turned up the tv to the point where the lagomorph was sure the neighbors could hear every gunshot from the noir films Sam was so fond of, all of it blended into a wonderful symphony of cacophony.

Max loved it. Even his terrible banjo playing. Found it endearing even, but he would take that lil’ tidbit to his grave… If he could find it, that is.

The rabbit had watched from afar. Not really a point to creep on the guy up close when the chance of seeing him was zero percent. He was used to stalking people from afar anyway (obviously), so it felt nice to fall into a rhythm.

Watch Sam wake up. Morning routine included bathroom necessities, of which Max had only peeked once (by accident!). Least he could do was give the poor dog some privacy. After that was breakfast. Usually a slice of toast or bowl of cereal (something sugary and tooth-rotting, so the rabbit knew he had good taste) along with the essential cup of coffee. It amused Max to no end that it was more a glorified cup of milk and sugar, yet it was-dare he think it- kinda cute actually.

From all his observations, Max could only assume the dog was a detective of some sort. His oak desk was covered with endless amounts of papers and folders, of which he would spend the entire day looking through until Sam came home to do the same. Almost felt like he was some kind of housewife waiting for her husband.

Almost like he actually meant something again.

If he’d met Sam when he was alive, what would’ve been different?

Everything. There was no doubt about it.

Sam was special.

Max just hadn’t known how much until that special night….

Maybe ‘people’ weren’t that bad after all.