#psychonauts fluff ?

[that-weird-skeleton-bastard]

taking a break of the angst to give you some fluff <3

as a treat ^^

[tumbleinthenet]

"just you."

(cw: pregnancy, light discussion of sasha and milla's traumas)

sasha nein's going to be a father. he's handling it about as well as he can.

"I'm pregnant," Milla says, a private, vulnerable smile gracing her lips, and the axis of Sasha's world abruptly tips about 45 degrees, knocking him right off the surface of the planet and out into orbit.

Or, so he thinks.

In reality, he stands there gaping at her, stood so still she privately suspects he may have gone completely into shock, straight into power saving mode, all circuits are busy, please try again later. Her brows furrow. She knows Sasha better than anyone at this point in his life, and she's never seen him have a reaction this dramatic. Sure, they hadn't been trying, but they'd said if it happened by some mistake or miracle.. well, they more than likely wouldn't say no.

She supposes he wasn't expecting it to happen so soon. ..or at all.

Carefully, telegraphing her movements to him, she slides a gloved hand up to cup his face, stroking along a high cheekbone with her thumb. "Sasha, my darling, come back to me? I'd very much like if we could have a talk about this, once I can reach you from wherever you've squirreled yourself away." She waits for him. She always waits for him. (it's never a burden. Many years ago, he was the one who waited for her.) 

She's not going to prod him through their telepathic link; she'd clamped down on her end beforehand, severing their connection to allow him the privacy of his own thoughts. Admittedly, it's partially for her. She'd prefer not to know if his immediate reaction is negative.

Of course, this means that she doesn't know, cannot know how he's actually feeling. Which is mostly very overwhelmed. Milla is.. they're going to... he's going to be.. Frankly, if he finishes any of those thoughts, he might have to go psiblast the nearest window and hop right out of it. 

..She can't be. Well, she can be, and she is, and it's genuinely a very exciting thought, except for the part where Milla becoming a mother is the first step in the actualization of his greatest fear.

If Milla has a baby, that will make her fallible. She’ll no longer be the woman he met, powerful in her confidence and care. She’ll be vulnerable. His father always spoke of his mother (on those few rare occasions he was willing) as if she’d been completely untouchable, as though she’d made the sun shine and the flowers bloom. If she’d been so wonderful, so capable of anything.. what had been the variable that led to her demise? It had to be him.

He doesn’t want to be the nail in the coffin for another woman he loves.

Milla is already a mother in many ways; she treats every child at Whispering Rock as her own, much the same as she did for the children in the orphanage, a long time ago. There’s also the obvious. Morris. It’s not the same with him. She is his mother in name and in role, but their relationship has always been in a gray area, something between parent and confidante.

So he worries, now, what bearing a biological child will do to her. Many would think it’s foolish, but it’s a superstition he’s carried for as long as he remembers. Mothers are cursed.

He remembers too late he has to actually respond to Milla, that she must be worried sick, thinking he doesn’t want her, doesn’t want them to have a family. He shakes the fog out of his head, and attempts to give her all the attention she deserves.

"..You," Sasha croaks, coming back to himself, and Milla nearly jumps as he seems to remember where he is, what conversation he’s having. "really?"

Her expression softens. There’s nothing she can do now but nod. "I wouldn't have told you if I wasn't sure, baby."

He gives her a headlong, flustered look. She catches a glimpse of how wide his eyes are behind his glasses. "And you're..." He gestures vaguely, prompting her to answer a question he doesn't know how to ask.

"Fine. ..Tired, but I'm healthy." She catches his hand, sliding their fingers together. She very nearly manages to put a smile on his face, which she’ll count as a win. "And happy. Very happy."

His free hand hovers about her, unsure and unwilling to reach out to her. Gently, she guides the questing hand down to her hip. That's safe for both of them, and frankly very hard to miss. "Are you happy?" She asks him, and preps herself for any answer he could give.

"It's incredibly complicated," he responds, and that's not one of the answers she'd been anticipating, but she listens to him without judgment. "I... love you, and I wouldn't turn down an opportunity like this. But I'm inclined to be.. afraid. That something will happen to you. ..it's unavoidable."

After hearing something so sweet, Milla simply can't help herself. She surges forward to kiss him silly.

He squawks in surprise and embarrassment, and she only kisses him harder, willing him to spend just a moment without overthinking. When she pulls away, his entire face is flushed. She likes that she can do that to him.

“You’re such a gentleman,” she coos, and she thinks her cheeks are starting to hurt with the force of her smile, “so kind. So considerate. We’ll do this together, yes? My knight in shining armor will be there to lend an ear if I have concerns?”

“Always,” he says, and his response is so swift that it makes her want to cry. “I’m just worried that I’ll lose you.”

Milla shakes her head, gently nudges his chin so she can kiss him properly on the forehead. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. You won’t lose me. I won’t let that happen, darling. Put a bit of faith in me.”

“All of my faith, and everything else. I’ll give you everything you need.”

She kisses him again, bumping their foreheads together. “I already have what I need. Just you.”

[2hoothoots]

"Dion! Dioooon!" Mirtala’s voice rang out across the campsite; clear like a bell, pleading like a kitten’s mew, and shrill in the way only the cries of a five-and-a-half-year-old girl could be. Dion winced. Nona had always said, ever since the day Mirtala had been born, that she had ‘a good pair of lungs’. Dion thought that was a nice way of saying that she was loud. She’d been a loud baby, and now she was a loud little girl, who didn’t seem to have realised that she didn’t need to yell all the time. Especially when the person she was trying to talk to was only a few feet away through an open window. He sighed, fixing his own grim expression resolutely in the mirror. “What is it?” Mirtala’s bells jingled, and in his peripheral vision he could see her stretch up to put her little hands on the edge of the dressing-room windowsill. "I have a question," she announced. "Can it wait?" "No! It's important!" "I'm kinda busy here, Tala–" "But it's the importantest!" This was not a battle he was going to win. Dion put down the pot of pomade, and turned to where Mirtala's huge blue eyes were peering up at him through the open window. "Fine," he said. "What do you want?" Mirtala, with some ceremony, tucked her hands behind her back and tipped her head. "Are crabs fishes?"

i've been off work this week, so finished up this long-neglected wip! a couple years before the events of the games, Dion takes Mirtala and Raz to an aquarium.

[gizmocreates]

i was figuring out how to draw raz for a multicrossover project, here’s a page of doodles in a winter outfit, and of him using his different powers and stuff

[razzle-zazzle]

1654 Words; @tuxedokit's Cry Me a River AU

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BESTIE!!!! 🎂🎉🎉🎉

AO3 ver

The water frothed, bubbles all fighting to rise to the surface as fast as possible.

Dion stared, careful not to stand too close, as the bubbles kept rising and eggs at the bottom of the pot failed to do anything interesting.

“Don’t stand so close to the fire, bambino.” His mother cautioned. “And put the lid back on.” She herself was busy with the watercolor set she had gotten for her last birthday, taking the free time to try and paint while the eggs boiled and the children played and her mother-in-law napped and her husband tended to the two year old. That didn’t stop her from keeping an eye on things, though, nor did it stop her from gently reprimanding her twelve-year old son when he got too close to the fire.

Dion put the lid back and stepped away, nodding his head. The image of the bubbles still lingered, small as they were between the eggs resting at the pot’s bottom. It brought to mind imaginings of bodies resting in their watery graves, deep down where nobody could see them. Dion shook his head to try and clear the thoughts, and stepped even further away from the fire and the pot and the boiling water.

His family was cursed to die in water. This was an unassailable fact. Dion had seen it, the watery hand that reached out for his siblings when they got too close—the Hand of Galochio, from the family that had cursed them. But that didn’t mean they couldn’t use water to launder their clothes, clean their bodies, or boil eggs. They just needed to be careful.

Careful most certainly didn’t include opening pots to stare at the boiling water and the eggs contained within, but Dion had been curious. He’d started helping out with the cooking, recently, though for the most part he was relegated to the easy tasks like grabbing ingredients and stirring mixes. And he did like eggs, and really wanted these eggs to be done soon so he could have one and then lord over Raz and Frazie how he got one first, because of course he would, because he was the eldest and the most dutiful child and didn’t wander off where nobody could find him to do god knew what—

But there was little to do, while eggs were boiling and lunch had passed and dinner was still a ways off. Mom was painting, Dad was busy with Mirtala in the caravan, Nona was asleep in the shadow of the tents, Frazie and Raz had wandered off on another one of their “super secret meetups, Dee, you’re not allowed,” and Dion was bored. He did a cartwheel to try and burn some of the nervous energy bubbling in his limbs, then another. And another.

The creak of the caravan door drew Dion’s attention, and he watched as his father emerged, Mirtala tucked into one arm and staring wide-eyed at the world with a toothy grin. Dion’s father pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek as a way of greeting, eyes darting down to the small canvas before her. “Beautiful as always, Дорогая.” He commented, shifting his hold on Mirtala to accommodate her squirming, his free hand drifting down to rub gently at his wife’s stomach.

Dion turned away from his mother’s flirty response with a grimace. Adults were gross. He hoped he wasn’t half as bad when he was finally grown up—something that seemed so close in his mind.

Giggling and footsteps broke Dion from his thoughts, drawing his attention to Frazie and Raz, emerging back into the camp. There were leaves and twigs in their hair, mud smeared on their knees and hands and arms. There was even some mud on Raz’ face as he grinned up at Frazie, walking along without a care in the world.

Something sharp lodged itself in Dion’s chest. He stood before them, hands on his hips in an approximation of his mother, and pitched his voice loud enough for his parents to hear. “Where were you? You can’t just wander off like that!”

Frazie kicked at the dirt nonchalantly, not phased at all by Dion’s attempts at authority. “Around.” She sniffed, as though she had better things to do than entertain her older brother. At her side, Raz nodded. “Yeah,” He squeaked, “Around.”

“Well, next time you’re around,” Their mother’s voice cut across the camp, “don’t wander so far away.” She took in the state of them, her lips pursing slightly. “Now go clean up, you’re all muddy!”

Dion smirked at Frazie, who only rolled her eyes in response. A frustration he had no name for lodged itself in his throat as his sister turned tail, her skirt flaring as she launched into a cartwheel. Something like envy crept into his brain—but for what? Dion shook his head, trying to clear the feeling. He had other things to worry about—the ringing of Mirtala’s bell as she was set down on the ground was the only warning Dion got before he was tackled from behind by his baby sister. Dion yelped as he fell to the ground, and he shoved his cackling sister away while scooting backwards.

It pressed against Dion’s chest, begging to be let out. He hissed, crossing his arms as though the motion might keep it contained. He swallowed, trying to will the feeling away, to keep himself together. Mirtala lunged forwards, shouting an approximation of his name while reaching out with chubby toddler hands, and Dion’s chest surged and sloshed in response.

Dion shouted, grabbing Mirtala under her arms and lifting her in the air. She laughed, and Dion set her back down, his chest still pounding. That was close. Really close. But he held together, and he could feel the waves receding, ebbing away as his chest loosened.

His mother scooped Mirtala up, eyes alight with amusement. “Let’s not terrorize your big brother, okay topolina?” She turned her attention to Dion, and he did his best to look cool and unaffected. This wasn’t the first time his baby sister had tackled him to the floor—though he really hoped it’d be the last. Still, his mother tsked and leaned in, licking her thumb to rub dirt off of Dion’s cheek.

“Mooooom,” Dion whined, making a face. His mother just chuckled, before turning and setting Mirtala down, softly directing her daughter’s attention to Dion’s father, who was busy appreciating the half-finished painting. Mirtala giggled, before running off with all the speed she could muster. That handled, Dion’s mother turned her attention back to Dion.

“You should go find your siblings, bambino.” She suggested. “We need to get everyone ready for afternoon practice.”

Dion nodded. “Yeah!” He turned to the tents lining their camp, walking off to go do just that, ignoring the soft waves in his chest. His whole family was careful around water, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have any on hand. Water was needed for a lot of things, like clothes and hands and eggs. Still, Dion found his steps slowing as he approached where his siblings were washing off the mud by a low basin, talking in hushed tones. They didn’t notice his approach, so Dion slowed his steps and strained to try and make out what they were saying.

“...lucky it was just mud.” Frazie murmured. “And stop knocking me over when I’m rolling around!”

“It was just a puddle.” Raz huffed. “Balance better next time.”

Frazie poked Raz right in the middle of his forehead. “Don’t tell me what to do, Poots.” She frowned, reached a hand out, and lifted a loose leaf right into Raz’ face. Except she never touched the leaf—

Dion took a step back. He… he’d caught Raz doing this stuff, a few weeks back, but Frazie—

The Aquatos were cursed to die in water. This was a fact. But they had been cursed by fortune tellers, who moved things with their minds just like Frazie did—but they’d promised to stop—

The pressure in Dion’s chest returned anew. It sloshed around like so many storm-swept waves, the push and pull of it slow and steady and threatening to tear Dion apart. Bubbles fought their way out from his center to his skin, and his whole body seemed to shake. He trembled, stumbling backwards a step—

The world exploded into nothingness with the sound of water rushing through his ears. He tumbled, spinning endlessly as he fell, until he finally felt a shuddering vibration as the ground rose to meet him. He shuddered, ripples chasing across the dirt, pushing in every direction in an attempt to be anywhere but here. Fear hammered in a chest that didn’t exist, and he seized up entirely.

No no no not again I tried so hard—

He needed to focus. He needed to relax. But how could he do either, when he could feel the very beginning of a familiar tugging? When that distant feeling he had recognized since he was ten was back and trying to coax him into the shape his family feared the most? But he had to focus, he had to relax and calm if he wanted to pull away from the tugging of a family curse and return to himself—

Dion gasped as he pulled together, the dirt cold under his hands and knees. He stared at it, at dry dirt that only moments before was horribly muddy because of him—

Dion’s nails dug into the dirt as he breathed, frustration pricking the corners of his eyes and tightening his throat. Stupid, stupid! He wasn’t supposed to let it spill out, he had to be better, solid, what if someone saw—

“Dee?”

Dion's head snapped up. Frazie and Raz were staring at him with wide eyes, Frazie's arms wrapped around Raz protectively. Oh no. Oh no. They—they had to have seen—but surely they hadn't—but what if—"Dee," Frazie stepped back, "What did you do?"

[thenecropolix]

Maybe I've just yet to find someone who's done this already but

Has anyone considered a sashamilla alien au where either Sasha or Milla are aliens?

I'm thinking of it like a Star Trek situation where the psychonauts are an intergalatic psychic operation or something and it would be cute to see either human sasha be immediately enamored with cute alien Milla that's his new coworker (first out of excitement cause holy shit he gets to me an actual alien but then he gets to know her and falls for her) OR sasha himself is an alien with a special interest in humans and upon being paired up with Milla just subtly studies her and asks her about humans in general and he gets more than he bargains for as she excitedly shows him all things fun

This was just something that came to mind based on Sasha's interest in aliens and I figured a space au would be interesting with him

[sxrrandomfanfics]

Latest Chapter of "Earth and Sea" - 1 December 2024

[razlili]

everyone warns you about meat circus. but no one told me of the pain that is fighting the den mother on xbox.

[studiomkm]

Line work so clean you could eat off it

(September 3 - September 30, 2024)

This was quite an eventful month. Here is what I drew during it.

Sasha is happy, he's just bad at expressing himself.

@cosmicheartz's OC, Dixie Hoofburger, who is J.T.'s little sister. Thank you for letting me draw her.

Cackling fiend

Drawing nice Bobby feels weird, but it's a nice change of pace.

I got a little distracted.

I tried out an application called Wigglypaint, so naturally I drew Quentin.

Milla told him to stop enabling her suicidal tendencies with violence. (Original here)

I listened to "Stargazing" by Tayla one night and became inspired.

Sister's request. I think Sam and Dogen communicate in a manner completely incomprehensible to anyone besides them.

[rodyaaquata]

Make it as separate post bc first one was writed to reblog and wouldn't be showed in tags

Me yapping about Mouthwashing+Psychonauts crossover because they both rot in my head

I know i already made a post abt it (i readed all comments i really liked them btw) and...well...i had one idea with Raz going inside Jimmy's mind- "because what hadn't i see already?" he say to himself but after everything he saw he regret all his own existence

Also, I'll be honest, i have nasty idea with sasha/jimmy but...not romantic don't get me wrong, it impossible for these two folks tolerate and don't kill each other for a second but rather something more sinister, you know....Sasha need to give that man what he deserves.

I have pic. But it's not really understandable i think.

Most of them have good relationships with each other, except Jimmy ofc (not including Curly, they insane for each other)

Maybe i need to think about some fluff/comfort fic with Milla and Anya. Both of them sharing their worst life experiences. And maybe they're lesbians for each other. Idk.

Also i had swap idea. It's really, really raw and i didn't thought deeply.

Please i beg give me mooore of this crossover. I just. I really LOVE both games. And i need them to meet each other. Badly

+silly doodle with bastards

[moldymeat]

Some thoughts I had while playing Psychonauts 2 for the first time that I wanted to write down somewhere because I cant just keep info dumping to my dad. :]

Spoilers, duh

TL;DR this is my new favorite video game :D

I cringed so much through the whole process of turning Hollis into a gambling addict, I know Raz is just a kid and that they make up afterwards, but its so hard for me to play a video game and the character you play as does something I'd never do.

the music that plays in Hollis' Hotstreak reminds me of something from The Incredibles for some reason. Side note, I ADORE both PN1 and PN2's soundtracks and I do listen to them just as background noise. my favorites are all the circus tracks, Meat Circus, Flea Circus, Aquato Family Caravan

Me first hearing the main bad guys name was Maligula at the beginning of the game: "haha, Maligula kinda sounds like Amygdala, the part of the brain that controls emotions, especially fear! I sure love all the punny names in this game! I'm sure this will have nothing to do with this characters lore!"

In my head video games and film are kind of in separate categories, so hearing Jack Black and Elijah Wood, very prolific film actors voicing characters in this seemingly random video game was kinda jarring. I know now that Jack Black is friends with the creators of PN and has acted in other double fine games, buts its still kinda weird to me. (I still liked them tho)

In the Psi-Kings Sensorium, Helmut says "My Bobby" about Bob and my immediate thought was "something a little fruitys going on here" and then later on they show Bob and Helmuts marriage and stuff and I was like "oh something a LOT fruitys going on here". I think I was just so prepared for any kind of relationship for Bob and Helmut to have to be only subtext that I forgot this game came out in 2021 and they could show gay if they wanted to.

Psi pops are definitely sour grape and green apple flavored and dream fluffs are little condensed balls of cotton candy.

In hindsight, Gristol was totally trying to mail his own body to himself for safe keeping, but also he was the only mail worker so how did he think the package was going to get him? he didn't know he was going to get an intern and its not like he could walk down to the mail room as Truman without blowing his cover. My mans did NOT think this through.

The conversation Raz has with Dion is really sad and stuff, but when you're idling around Dion one of the things he says is "look at me and my psychic goggles!" and I literally laughed out loud when I heard that.

"Hey why do all these lice have little signs lol" "Lucy those were peaceful protesters!" "OH, UH OH."

I really loved Comptons Cookoff! it was way different from all the other regular old platformer levels, and I'm a sucker for timed cooking games. I only wish that you could replay the actual game show part in the collective unconscious.

In Cassie's Collection there are all the little paper fairy tale characters right? Well two of them, Shakespeare and a dragon, are played by the same actors who played Snorpy and Chandlo in bugsnax, so hearing the paper characters talk I was like "hey, I know those guys!"

Its a little pet peeve of mine when a character in any media is supposed to come from a specific country and they don't have that country's accent. Obviously Grulovia isn't a real place, but Nona has a nondescript eastern European accent, so why wouldn't the other Grulovian characters? I guess Augustus could have trained it out of himself or something, but Gristol? As much as I like Elijah Wood as Gristol, he's the gzesarevich and loves his country! there's no way he would train himself out of the grulovian accent. I've heard some other people say Gruman has an accent when Maligula was released but eh, I don't hear it all that much.

While finishing the game I (only!) shed a tear three times, once when Maligula was holding Marona's dead body, once when Raz got his junior Psychonaut badge, and once when the credits starting rolling.

i think Cosmic I and Welcome to my Mind are going to be stuck in my head for weeks.

[that-weird-skeleton-bastard]

i saw this palette and immediately went "oh that's the sasha x milla palette right there" so here you go

FUCK I FORGOT HER EARRINGS-

[spectatingspectacle]

What is.......................

Your lore? /silly

(I meant about the whole library spectator deity thing it looks and sounds really cool, mb gang <3)

(I thought it'd be funnier to be vague about it xD)

Ah! My Library!!!!! Okay! So! I've always had a VERY wild imagination! Ever since my little brain could form a thought it's been other-worldly.

My library is basically a look into my head! A collection of every piece of media my brain has latched onto!

I'm a deity because me (and my dad) think they're cool, that's literally why I got into CotL! More specifically I'm a spectating deity because I consider myself as someone who hangs back and watches more than participates.

So! Putting two and two together I spectate the world around me and fun little universes full of fluff, angst, comfort, hurt, happiness, sadness, rage, you name it!

the books in my library are two things, one, fanfiction, two, little portals into it's respective world. It is VERY important they stay in order, otherwise one character from say, Psychonauts, will end up in the Amazing Digital Circus and a character from A Hat In Time will end up in She-R and the Princesses of Power and it's a whole mess to clean up! Yeah the shenanigans are fun, but the cleeaannnuuupppppp...

Tumblr's the first door I have opened into my Library, and I am so happy people are stopping by! The only door I have leads right into the CotL, since I'm obsessing over it right now and it has literally helped me so much in some of my darkest moments.

Maybe doors to the other sections will open up when I'm comfortable enough soon, but for now you can enjoy the CotL section ^_^

Thanks for asking Joff! I'm always happy to infodump it's just the anxietyyyyyy :3

[bcdrawsandwrites]

[ID: A Psychonauts fanfic cover. On a reddish-black background we see a stark white version of the Motherlobe, the carved eye in the center of its brain appearing alive--the swirl representing its pupil is turned downward and glowing yellow, and its sclera is black. At the bottom and in front of the Motherlobe is a silhouette of a somewhat younger Ford Cruller (during the time when he was still running the Psychonauts). The Motherlobe's eye is casting a faint yellow beam over Ford's silhouette. Above the Motherlobe is the fic's title in glowing yellow lettering, reading "Like an Unwanted Astral Projection." /end ID]

Fandom: Psychonauts

Rating: K+

Genre: Angst

Characters: Ford Cruller and Morceau Oleander

Warnings: PTSD, dissociation, mentions of canon character death

Description: It was hard enough for Ford to remember who or where he was half the time, let alone run an entire organization. He could hardly rely on his own mind these days… but that didn't stop others from relying on him.

Beta Readers: @jaywings and Pinky G. Rocket

Notes: Takes place pre-canon during the time Ford was Grand Head of the Psychonauts. This one is heavy on the angst, but at least we have the knowledge that things got better for everyone.

---~~~---

It was not one of his better days.

Ford blinked, finding himself standing in the corner of his office with a broom in one hand and a dustpan in the other. He let out a cry of disgust and threw both items to the floor.

"Get it together," he growled, pressing his palms onto his forehead. "You still got a successor to train. You got an organization to run. Keep it together."

Shaking his head, he stepped up to his desk and stared down at it. Focus, focus, focus. What was he supposed to do today? ...What day was it? Was it Tuesday? Tues... no, Thursday. He had to finish reading the report on Truman's latest mission by Friday. Where was it?

Ford squinted down at the desk and hummed in disapproval. Dream fluff wrappers were scattered over cluttered stacks of papers, some of them stacked or paperclipped together, but two different reports were mixed together. Not to mention there were four different pens—at least one of which was out of ink, and he couldn't remember which one, and he kept forgetting to throw it away—a notebook he couldn't remember the contents of, a dishrag—why was there a dishrag, why was it still wet, what was it doing here when the café was on the first floor—

Dishes need washin'. Can't let 'em pile up. Gotta break out the dish soap—don't forget the gloves, you nincompoops, you wanna get your hands peelin'? Should get some a' those fancy dishwashing pods—

Ford blinked again, finding himself elbows-deep in the sink, with some of the café staff eyeing him. Gritting his teeth, he drew his hands out of the water, peeled the rubber gloves off of his normal gloves, and turned to face the workers. "Right. Just thought you needed a hand. Gettin' busy out there with the..." He glanced out into the dining room, frowning at the lone couple milling about. "...brunch rush. Anyway, I'll let you get back to it."

Another blink, and he was back in his office, glaring down at the desk, hands pressed against the wood and fingertips digging into the sides. Focus, focus, focus. Keep it together. Read the report. Not hard. Just have to... have to...

Who left this place such a mess?! Back in his day he'd never allow for somethin' like this to happen! He'd been a janitor for twenty years now, dagnabbit! He knew how to clean a—clean a...

Once again he found himself holding the broom, and in a blast of green light it was on the other side of the room and smoldering.

Ford’s breath came in slow, labored gasps, his bones trembling as his chest burned and his mind stretched thin.

Air. He needed some fresh air.

And immediately he was outside, staring out at the flooded quarry. He stood off to the side of the main entrance, past the deck, hiding under the shadow of the Motherlobe’s great pillars as he watched other agents arrive. He was not in the mood to deal with starry-eyed junior recruits stuttering over him in awe, or the older members who knew, trying to stare at him out of the corner of their eyes as though he were an unwanted hobo lingering on their property.

Ducks honked off in the distance, and a goat trotted lazily across the deck, chewing on a discarded sock. The natural sounds were interrupted by the hushed chatter of gossiping agents as they headed to their shifts. Ford turned away from them, trying to focus on everything else—anything else other than this organization that he was somehow expected to run. The squirrels chattering in a nest below, the trees rustling above the quarry, the gentle breeze causing the water to lap against the—

Freezing water lapped at his ankles, grabbed him by the wrists.

With a strangled gasp he stumbled back, one hand forward and the other at his temple, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe in the chilled air that wasn't actually chilled because he wasn't there but his lungs were burning anyway and his skin burned and his eyes burned and please, please, he didn't want to go through this again, not again.

"Ford...?"

The voice wasn't one from that time, and it was enough to shock him out of the memory. Blinking wearily, he turned to find a squat figure staring at him from the deck. His arms dropped to his sides, and he stepped back, resting his drooping shoulders against the pillar behind him.

"Morry," he acknowledged without a nod. He was afraid if he attempted it, he wouldn't be able to raise his head again for a while.

For a moment he stared back out at the quarry and waited to hear what Morry had to say. The kid had finished his training some years ago, but usually came to him to talk about missions, or ask for advice, or even just to chat. Yet now, he was silent, and when Ford glanced at him again, he found he'd barely moved.

In a rare moment Ford’s mind pulled into focus, and he straightened himself, brow furrowing. "You okay, son?" he asked, trying to take a better look at him in the shadows of the Motherlobe.

Morceau was rooted in place and faintly shaking. He held a sheet of paper in one hand, and his good eye didn't seem to be focused on anything.

Frowning, Ford stepped closer to the young agent, snapping his fingers in his face, which seemed paler than usual. "Morry? Talk to me."

Though Morceau jumped at the sound, he fell out of focus, as though falling into a trance. It wasn't a look Ford was unfamiliar with. "I... I..."

"...Your mind ain't there, is it."

Morceau swallowed, and waved his free hand over his head.

"Mmm-hmm." For certain Morry wasn't astral projecting—the body didn’t tend to wander unless the brain was entirely absent—but Ford knew the sensation. Like you were astral projecting, but with nowhere to go, leaving yourself hovering above your own body.

It also didn't happen for no reason.

Ford's eyes darted down to the paper in Morceau's hand, and he snatched it from him, looking it over. It appeared to be a letter—was it mail he'd received? How late was it now? Had the mail already come in? How did he—

Don't you know stealin' mail's a federal offense? Kids these days! Think they can go about stealin' from mailboxes—little hoodlums! Now he'd have to go out and figure out who this was supposed to go to. Who turned off the lights in this blasted place?! Well, they're workin' up here, so let's see now…

He gazed down at the cursive handwriting written in a shaking hand:

My dearest little Morry,

I'm so sorry. I would've called, but I don't know if I can speak.

Your father—

The writing blurred and twisted and spiraled.

Lucy is dead. She is never coming back.

Ford stumbled, staggering back into the shadows as his mind reeled, the icy wave of grief hitting him all over again. Foggy memories of a battle over a frozen lake—over the body of a slain friend—flooded his mind, followed by even foggier memories of the smell of wet dirt and the weight of a shovel in his hands. He came to a stop at the same pillar he'd been resting against earlier, and slid down into a sitting position, his legs failing to support him.

He wasn't sure how much later it was, but someone else—Morry—sat next to him, silently taking the paper out of his hand. It was a moment before he recalled the message that he had read on the letter—the message that had brought back his terrible memories.

Said awful memories were not done. When he looked to the side, he did not see his former mentee. Instead he saw the tear-streaked, reddened face of Bob Zanotto, expression slowly shifting from fury, to wild, soul-wracking grief. He felt the younger man grip his arms, alternatively sobbing and screaming into his chest.

Morry didn't do that. He remained still, staring out at nothing, his mind likely floating a foot or two above his own body.

Ford remembered the sensation, having felt it as he stood in Green Needle Gulch, alone, still feeling the phantom dirt and blood on his hands while not feeling as though his body were a part of him at all.

He hadn't known what to do then. He hadn't known what to tell the still-grieving Bob.

He didn't know what to tell Morry.

But, recalling what little he had done for Bob, he reached out, wrapping an arm around Morry's shoulders.

Morry gave a start, and his good eye began to focus. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he dropped the letter, covering his face, alternatively sobbing and snarling into his hands, sounding almost like a wild animal.

Ford sighed, leaning closer to the young man as his mind dragged in exhaustion. He hoped Morry wasn't expecting any words of comfort, because he had none to give.

How could he, when he himself was still grieving so many years later?

Past the shelter of the Motherlobe's upper deck, the sky seemed to be growing darker. Whether it was because it was getting cloudy or late, he wasn't sure. Either way, Truman's report would have to wait.

But it couldn't wait forever, and neither could the rest of the Psychonauts.

The sky grew darker overhead, and the shadow of the Motherlobe engulfed them.

[lesbomaticlove]

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterpost

For me to keep track and share all of my jjk related projects.

Planned Projects

You're Not In on the Joke - nobamaki, college au, fluff and humor, background Itafushi

Fear of Dying - nobamaki, ghost au, hurt/comfort, background Inuokko

Psychonautics - nobamaki, dreamwalking au, angst with a happy ending

Unnatural Selection - satosugu, hunger games au, pure angst, comic format

Directory

[jnixz]

Do you think absorbing the Mental Health/Mental Energy helps recover good vibes(emotionally) in your brain in psychonauts?

If so, I need me some of that. Or a fuck ton of Psi-pops and Dream Fluffs because boy does mine deplete fast.

(I mean in games the mental health is mechanically usually for being able to focus on astral projecting into a mindscape, and the emotional stuff is probably whatever affects and happens to whatever the inside of your mindscape is like be it landscape, denizens or enemies.

Hmmm, that makes me think... if some good ol mental health candies were given to a person and did indeed send good vibes(emotionally), I like to imagine a visibly improving mindscape level on a level of like, symbolically small comfort of a candy)