bcdrawsandwrites - Tumblr blog

bcdrawsandwrites · 2 days

Text

[ID: A Team Fortress 2 fic banner featuring a silhouette of Pyro using the stock flamethrower and setting things on fire. Pyro is light gray with darker outlines, with its class symbol and canister markings in orange, and its lenses yellow-white. They are on a dark gray background with faint gray text behind them reading numbers from 999,996 to 999,999. The title is in the top right in yellow-white text on a darker background reading, "CHAPTER ONE: PYROMANCY." /end ID]

Flickering

Fandom: Team Fortress 2 Rating: K+ Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship Characters: Spy, Pyro, Engineer, Heavy, Sniper Warnings: General references to trauma, TF2-typical violence Fic Description: After the events of the comics, the mercs try to go back to how things were, but it’s never that easy.

Spy can see his teammates going through their own struggles… but something seems to be very, very wrong with Pyro in particular.

And since no one else seems to be doing anything about this, Spy makes it his mission to get to the bottom of what is troubling Pyro. For no particular reason. Beta Readers: @mechmolar, @gonturan0, @junuve Notes: I have no idea what was supposed to happen in the final comic, so for the sake of my sanity I'm going to have the mercs go back to business as usual, somehow.

---

Chapter 1: Pyromancy Summary: In which Spy takes on a new mission.

---

After everything was said and done, the scars they endured were more than physical.

Sniper had been the first to admit it, quietly mentioning during the chaos between rounds the fact that he sometimes still felt the pain of bullets long-gone, and not the ones they endured from their usual matches.

(The matches had resumed, even after the death of all three Mann brothers. It was a touch of normalcy that they all needed.)

Heavy made frequent trips to Medic's office, not for any treatment, but just in case there was still some Australium left in that brute's veins and he came after them again.

Spy, meanwhile, had escaped unscathed and had absolutely nothing to hide from anyone.

But as for the others, this was, of course, all very normal. They'd all been through a lot of strange events—or stranger than usual—and a bit of lingering trauma was to be expected. Nothing to be concerned over.

Except for one thing.

Spy had noticed it during a match. An enemy merc had been preparing to sneak up on Pyro, who was removing a sapper from a sentry. But the second they got too close, Pyro swung around with its homewrecker, striking the merc again and again until they despawned. On the surface it had seemed little different from how Pyro usually handled things. Even so, something about the incident felt... off to Spy.

So he decided to keep an eye on things. During matches, whenever he could, he would take a moment to observe Pyro. He observed it charging into battle, firing its flare gun with impressive precision. Efficient, and yet...

Another moment he caught was when it had a brush with an enemy spy. The spy had just attempted to backstab Pyro when it swung around, striking with its ax and slashing, again and again. When the bloody remains disappeared, Pyro stared blankly at the red stain they’d left behind for a few uncomfortable moments before moving on.

At this point, Spy wasn't even sure what he was looking for, or why he cared, beyond the fact that it was his part of his job to study people's behavior should he need to imitate it later. No one else had taken notice of any of this—or if they had, they said nothing of it. If he just dropped the matter, likely no one would care, and they could continue to move past the mess from the past six months.

...But a little poking around wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like the Administrator was sending him off on any high-profile missions right now.

Engineer's workshop was meticulously organized, and a place Spy did not typically set foot in, for good reason. Instinctively he cloaked the second he heard the beep. The sentry's gun was trained on him anyway, but, recognizing a friendly merc, did not shoot.

"I'd say it's funny seein' you here, if I could see you," Engineer said, following his sentry's eyeless gaze.

With a snort, Spy de-cloaked.

Engineer's gaze darkened as he rested the Gunslinger over the top of the machine. "You ain't here to practice with those sappers of yours, are ya?"

"What? No. I have no need for that."

"Huh." Withdrawing his prosthesis, he relaxed slightly. "What can I do ya for?"

"I seek... information." Spy strode closer, idly lighting a cigarette. "You often work with Pyro, no?"

Engineer shrugged. "Well, sure. Don't need to explain to you how we collaborate on the battlefield. Sometimes collaborate here in the workshop, too. That fella's got a knack for makin' new flamethrowers, and it'll sometimes ask for my input." He tilted his head. "Why? You lookin' to partner with it for something?"

"Ugh, no." Spy shuddered. "No. I was wondering if you had... noticed its behavior on the battlefield as of late."

At that, Engineer leaned forward, rubbing a finger against his chin. "Lately? Mumbles's been doing pretty well on the battlefield. Better than I can remember, even." Shrugging, he sat back. "Guess it's been missin' the usual matches, pointless as they are, same as the rest of us."

Exhaling a stream of smoke through his nose, Spy looked the Engineer in the goggles. "And outside of battle?"

"Dunno. Haven't seen it much."

"Do you find this... concerning?"

"Nope." Engineer looked away. "I know I was pretty much out of the fray for all of that, but it sounds like all y'all had it pretty rough. Don't blame anyone for wantin' to take a bit of time to themselves. I'm sure it'll come around."

"Perhaps." Sighing, Spy turned, heading back toward the door. "I'll leave you to... whatever sort of contraptions you have here."

"What are you worried about?"

Spy stopped in the doorway. "What?"

"You ain't the type to come in to ask about someone for no reason."

Spy glared over his shoulder. "I worry about nothing."

"All right," Engineer replied, and resumed tinkering with the sentry. When the fellow merc said nothing more, Spy went on his way.

No, he was not worried. But as his mind wandered back to their short time imprisoned in Gray Mann's base, he was wondering. And there was someone else who might be able to satisfy his curiosity.

Medic's lab, in contrast to Engineer's space, was cluttered and chaotic, not helped by the doves nesting and perching wherever they could find space, nor the young baboon scampering around the floor. The sight of Heavy sitting on a chair made Spy pause, wondering if he was interrupting something, only to realize that the Heavy was only reading a book. He did not look up when Spy entered. The baboon, meanwhile, scampered up to Medic (who was studying something at his desk) and tugged on the hem of his coat.

"Ah, Aristotle. Did you find it?" Medic asked, bending down to accept a small red vial from the baboon's paw. "Let's see..." Adjusting his glasses, he peered at the vial's label, only to frown and toss the vial aside, where it shattered on the floor. "Aristotle! I told you I needed an O-positive blood sample, not another B-positive!"

The monkey, evidently named Aristotle, gave a sad chirp.

"Now, now, try again," he said, and shoo'd the monkey off. "Unless you want this experiment to fail, anyway." He watched the monkey scurry back across the room and run past Spy, and did a double-take. "Ah, Spy! I didn't hear you come in."

"I should hope not, or else I'd be doing my job poorly." He sidestepped the broken glass as he approached.

"Are you recovering well from your emergency blood transfusion?" Medic asked, flipping through some papers at his desk.

"Actually, I had a question about that."

The Medic's face lit up. "Ah! You're in luck!" Setting the papers down, he gestured excitedly toward a series of vials lined up in front of him. "I'm currently working on a method of separating different blood types that may have gotten—hmm—mixed together, by some means, and I needed a human test subject to—"

"No."

Medic's expression immediately soured. "Oh." He turned away, flipping through the papers again. "Well what do you want? I'm very busy."

"You also performed an emergency transfusion on the Pyro, did you not?"

"Oh, yes!" Medic smiled as he held up a paper; Spy was able to spot the Pyro's class symbol on it. "Yes, it's always fascinating working with that one."

Spy didn't have to ask what was fascinating about the only non-human mercenary on their team. "Did you notice anything... unusual when you performed the operation?"

At that, Medic scratched his head. "Well now... I was quite busy at the time, trying to prevent everyone, including you, from dying from blood loss, you know. I didn't have time to focus on the details."

"But you did open Pyro's suit to slice it open and fill its chest cavity with blood."

"Yes, yes. Your point?"

"And you didn't see anything strange when you did this?"

Medic clicked his tongue. "I told you, I had no time to focus on the details!" Sighing, he turned back to his desk. "Besides, it's hard to notice anything past all that soot."

Spy paused. "Soot?"

"Yes, it gets everywhere," Medic replied, as though that had answered the question. "Anyway, why do you ask?"

Tempted as he was to ask about what on earth lied beneath that suit, he held himself back, and very nearly shot back a "classified" at the doctor. However, something else struck him, and he hummed. "You worked with those other mercenaries for a time. Were you familiar with their pyro?"

"Oh, Beatrice?" Medic chuckled. "Yes, she was an interesting one. Quite sadistic, I would say. But what does this have to do with—?"

"She interrogated our Pyro for an extended period of time, and I am wondering if this may account for its strange behavior."

"Strange behavior?" Medic echoed, then laughed, the noise grating on Spy's ears. "No, our pyromaniac is just as crazy as it ever was, in case you haven't noticed! Perhaps you could do with a head examination." In one swift motion he retrieved a clipboard. "I could put you in for next Tuesday—"

"No, thank you." And with that, Spy strode out of the lab, nearly stepping on Aristotle's tail on the way out.

As he crossed the base, he tossed his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it as he passed.

This was ridiculous. Was it not obvious to anyone else? Or was he really just looking for something that wasn't there?

He found himself glaring out a window, staring out at the desert. It was growing dark, now, and he had no reason to be hanging around here—several of the other mercs had already gone home, or to whatever hole they slept in.

The hair stood on the back of Spy's neck, and he whipped around to see someone staring at him from the other end of the hall. He shuddered. "Don't do that."

"Am I not allowed to look at people without a scope up to my eye?" Sniper asked, approaching Spy. He held a cup of coffee in his hand that fogged up his glasses as he brought it to his mouth. Nonetheless, he joined Spy in looking out the window. "You're here late."

"As are you." Spy glared out into the darkening twilight. "Don't you have a van to sleep in?"

"Don't much feel like sleeping," Sniper answered, taking another swig of coffee.

"Then go somewhere else to produce your jarate."

The Sniper only heaved a sigh. "Went to the phone again."

"Yes, very exciting." Spy continued to glare out the window before it struck him what the man was talking about. His annoyance quickly melted. "...Oh." He hesitated for a moment before glancing at Sniper. "My apologies."

"Been a minute since I've done that," he said, and shook his head.

The two stood in awkward silence for a moment.

"...Since you're here," Spy said, "perhaps you could help me with something."

With a lifeless shrug, Sniper did not look away from the window. "Shoot."

"Tempting as it would be to kill you right now, I must decline," Spy said, eliciting a chuckle from the other merc. "Have you paid any attention to Pyro on the battlefield?"

"Some. It watches my back sometimes. Why?"

"Have you noticed anything... strange about it?"

"Hmmm." Sniper turned to face him, and Spy nearly got his hopes up. "Why, have you?"

Spy grit his teeth. "At this point, I'm starting to wonder. Its behavior seems unusual to me for some reason, but no one else in this stupid base seems to think so."

"Everyone's been actin' different, mate. Including you."

Something snapped, and Spy pounded a fist against the windowsill. "Can you answer the question or not?"

Sniper was silent for a moment before he tipped his head back, draining the rest of his coffee. "If somethin's up with Pyro, it hasn't said anything to me about it."

"You—!" Spy sputtered, but Sniper was already leaving. He glared after him, fuming, before spinning around and storming toward the base's entrance.

But as he neared the door, he froze.

It hasn't said anything to me about it.

That was it.

The next day, during their match, Spy kept a closer eye on Pyro than before.

The merc was charging through the map, blasting its flamethrower at anyone and everyone who came near it. If a fellow merc was ever on fire, it quickly put them out before going straight back to setting everything else on fire.

Months ago, when committing such atrocities, it would typically be giggling and laughing and whooping in glee as it stormed through the burning destruction.

Now, it was dead silent, its movements sharp and hurried as it set every enemy in sight ablaze.

Spy, who was cloaked, nearly gave himself away, laughing as his suspicions were confirmed. Yes, something was for sure wrong with Pyro, and he was not going crazy. Satisfied, he resumed his role in the match as normal, decloaking and backstabbing a soldier that the Pyro had missed.

But as the match came to an end and the team returned to their base, it dawned on him: Yes, he'd confirmed that something was wrong with Pyro.

But he still didn't know why.

#tf2 spy #tf2 pyro #tf2 engineer #tf2 medic #team fortress 2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 #my art #my writing #fanfic #flickering fanfic #don't forget to read the prologue!

40 notes · View notes

bcdrawsandwrites · 4 days

Text

Day 11: Fainting / Paralyzed / Adrenaline Characters: Gloria von Gouton Warnings: Reference to death/suicide Summary: The news came before she had time to process it, let alone tell anyone.

All of her lines had emptied from her head. All thoughts of the entire performance had. All she could see were the papers in front of her, the silhouette in the photo.

"Miss von Gouton!" a voice called, as though it had been calling for some time. "You can look at your fan mail later—the show starts in two minutes!"

She could only stare at the stage manager as he glared at her from the doorway. Her mouth opened, but no answer came out.

"Come on!" he exclaimed, storming into the room and grabbing her hand. Before she could protest, he was pulling her out into the hallway.

Gloria felt lightheaded, but managed to stop in her tracks, nearly causing the stage manager to stumble. "I..." she began, and it was as though an understudy were speaking for her. "I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?!" the manger cried, tossing up his arms in exasperation. "We sold out, and one of the biggest critics in the country will be here!"

She felt herself swaying. "My mother—"

"Your mother paid a lot for your education and she'll be very happy to see you put it to good use. You can't let a bit of stage fright get to you. Now get out there!"

The next thing she knew, she was on stage, and the curtain was rising. There was noise all around her, deafeningly loud, and even in the darkened theater she could see the faces, but the shadows cast over them were sinister. The lights were hot. She didn't even remember which play this was supposed to be.

The applause soon turned to silence.

The stage lights were hot.

She had to do something.

The silence turned to murmuring.

Your mother wished she could be in your place. Now she's a puddle on the street below a skyscraper.

The lights dimmed, and the curtain fell just after she did.

#gloria von gouton #psychonauts #my writing #fanfic #here's another one #I'm just posting these whenever I feel up to it #also gonna go back to working on some of the other oneshots I have

12 notes · View notes

bcdrawsandwrites · 7 days

Text

Day 10: Branding / Scarring / Collar Characters: Lucrecia Mux, Augustus Aquato, and Donatella Aquato Warnings: Blood, references to death/drowning Summary: Shortly after "Marona" and Augustus join a new circus, an accident occurs. But this might turn out to be a blessing rather than a curse.

Marona's first thought had been, I told the ringmaster it was a terrible idea to have two acts going at once.

She didn't get the chance to have a second thought, as the moment she saw the blood, her mind went blank.

"GUSSIE!" she screamed, bolting past the bleachers to her so as he shakily raised himself up on his arms. Blood dripped freely from his face.

"Agh..." he hissed, then tried to raise his voice. "A-all part of the act!"

No one believed it, of course—several members of the crowd were rushing out of the tent, and the rest were gawking. Marona didn't care one way or the other at the moment—she wasn't seeing them, anyway. She was seeing the Deluge, and her husband...

"D-don't cry, I'm okay!" Augustus said, covering half of his face and smearing blood all over his hand.

There was a whistle from the ringmaster, and suddenly the knife throwers and other acrobats were hurrying Augustus and Marona out of the tent, while a parade of clowns filled the ring.

"Someone help my poor Gussie!" Marona cried, holding her son close to her side as they stepped out of the tent and hurried to the caravan.

"I'm sorry," one of the performers—the knife thrower—said as he walked alongside them. He was staring at the bloody knives in his hands, which trembled badly. "Th-this was my first time performing—"

"Does it matter?!" a young lady—one of the acrobats—snapped as she shoved him aside. Without another word, she snatched one of the knives out of his hands and grabbed a piece of her own elaborate cape.

Marona cried out, but with one swift cut the acrobat sliced off part of the cape before turning toward Augustus. "Hold him still, please."

Not one to argue over the kind of help she was given, Marona did as she was asked, kneeling down and holding Augustus upright.

"Grazie!" the young lady exclaimed.

"You didn't need to—mmmph—" He was cut off as the other acrobat used the fabric to clean off his face. She then maneuvered the fabric to a clean side before holding it firmly against the cuts.

"Hold it there, please," she said, and Augustus complied, holding the fabric against his face.

"You... didn't have to cut your outfit like that," he mumbled.

"And you didn't have to cut your face, yet, here we are."

"Are you all right, Gussie?" Marona asked, looking down into her son's face. It looked less terrible now with the blood cleaned off, but the knives had sliced right over his eye, and...

"I think so," Augustus replied. "They just grazed me, I think. My eye doesn't hurt, though."

That nearly made her melt with relief, but this shouldn't have happened in the first place. "That will leave a scar..." she said, glaring at the knife thrower, who yelped and scurried away.

"Oh no!" the young lady exclaimed, throwing herself back dramatically. "He'll survive with a handsome scar! How terrible!"

Augustus snapped his head up. "W-with a what?" His face was turning red, but not due to blood covering it this time.

But the acrobat was already walking away, tossing the knife she'd swiped at the feet of its performer as she passed. Before she was out of sight, she cast a glance over her shoulder and flashed Augustus a smile.

"...Mother, I know that went badly, but..." His gaze was trained on where the acrobat had been. "I... I think I like this circus."

Marona followed her son's gaze, and her thoughts were on Lazlo again. While the memories were strangely fuzzy, she found herself thinking of when she'd first met him at the circus so long ago. Smiling, she drew her arms around Augustus in a hug. "Very well," she said. "Perhaps we will stay with this one a little while longer."

#lucrecia mux #augustus aquato #donatella aquato #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers #my writing #fanfic #here's something cute for you

17 notes · View notes

bcdrawsandwrites · 8 days

Text

Day 9: Scar reveal / Interrogation / Presumed Dead Characters: Sheegor, Truman Warnings: References to abusive relationships, depictions of anxiety Summary: Sasha, it turns out, was not strictly allowed to hire people on the spot, and Sheegor realizes her employment must be cleared with the Grand Head of the Psychonauts. Which is... fine. She's not worried or anything. Or missing Mr. Pokeylope. It's fine.

Sheegor wished Mr. Pokeylope were here.

She also wished she could have done her hair better.

She hadn't exactly had the luxury of being able to do anything with her hair in a long while—it wasn't like they had a lot of usable hair products in the asylum, and it was a miracle she managed to keep it clean at all. Miss Vodello had offered to style her hair for her, but she'd refused—Miss Vodello had been more than kind enough to take her out shopping before they'd arrived (much too kind, and she didn't want to wear out that kindness so quickly), so she could get a nice, clean outfit and new gloves. (The gloves felt so nice—she loved her mittens, but she could move her hands more freely in these, and they felt so comfortable.)

Suddenly realizing she had been wiggling her fingers in her gloves again, she put her hands down firmly in her lap, sitting up as straight as she was able.

Meanwhile, Mr. Zanotto took a seat on the other side of the table, and straightened up some papers. "Soooo Miss... Delucca, is it?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, only to cover he mouth when Mr. Zanotto leaned back in surprise. "I-I mean, yes, Mr. Zanotto! Um..." She wrung her hands anxiously, her gloves squeaking in the process. "Um... you can call me Penelope if you want, or... or Sheegor."

"Sheegor?" he repeated, brow knitting.

Feeling her stomach beginning to tie into knots, she shook her head. "I mean! You don't have to call me that! I mean—c-call me whatever you want!"

Mr. Zanotto frowned at her, and she winced. But he went on: "Well, Miss Delucca, as you know, Agent Nein is not technically supposed to hire people on the spot."

Sheegor shivered, nodding. Oh yes, Sasha had admitted such to her before they'd left, and she hadn't stopped thinking about it since.

"We're fortunate that I have to be the one conducting this interview rather than Hollis." The man chuckled, and Sheegor wasn't sure what that meant. "I'm sure she'd love this situation if she heard about it first."

"U-um..." Sheegor swallowed. "Wh... what did you need to know?"

Mr. Zanotto chuckled again, shaking his head. "Of course, I'm sure you don't want to waste too much time with this."

Wait—did she hear that right? Did he... think this was a waste of time? That she was a waste of time?

"So, let's get right into it!" Settling back into his chair, Mr. Zanotto held up the short stack of papers in front of him. "Let's see... So you're applying—or, well, Sasha offered you the job—for lab assistant." He looked up at her with a raised brow. "Why do you think you're qualified for this job?"

Sheegor gave a start—was that an interview question, or was he really questioning her? (Why couldn't Mr. Pokeylope be here...?! He would know what to do!) "I-I... I am qualified, sir! I really am!" she replied, gripping the edge of the table. "I can work really, really hard!"

"I'm... certain you can," Mr. Zanotto said, leaning back. "But could you give me some specifics?"

"Um—I—uh... I-I did a lot of work before! I'm really, really good with brains!" She tried to smile at the man, but quickly took note of his shocked look. "I-I mean—I don't have to do anything with brains! I'm not going to steal any! Oh—I mean, not that I've stolen brains before, that was just Dr. Loboto, but I don't work for him anymore, and um—I mean—!" The blood drained from her face, and she clamped her mouth shut.

"It's all right, Miss Delucca.” Though Mr. Zanotto's expression seemed to be very clear that it was not all right. "Perhaps you can tell me about some of your other previous work history?"

"Um... uh..." She wrung her hands, looking left and right as she tried to remember. Work history—she worked for Loboto for so long, but before that she'd worked... at the Asylum? But should she say that? Maybe he wouldn't want to know she'd worked at Thorney Towers—there was a reason it had closed down, after all. And before that she'd... been a patient there, and before that... she... she didn't remember, but she'd worked somewhere, probably, right?

It took her a moment to realize she was staring down at the floor, her hands gripping her head. Frantically she sat back up in her seat, looking Mr. Zanotto in the eyes, but he looked so horrified—of course he was, she couldn't even tell him her work history. This was a disaster—

"...Miss Delucca," Mr. Zanotto said slowly. "You should know that this is just a formality."

Sheegor took a shaky breath, trying to fight back the sobs that choked her throat. "Y-yes..." she squeaked with a little nod. "I understand..."

"There's no need to be—"

"I know, I know!" she cried. "There's no need for this..." Sniffling, she backed away from the table. "I'll tell Mr. Nein that I wasn't hired."

To her surprise, Mr. Zanotto stepped out from around the table, holding up a hand to stop her. "Wait," he said, and she stepped back. "Miss Delucca—or, would you prefer I call you a different name?"

Looking away, Sheegor wrung her hands. "I... um... you can call me whatever you like."

"But is there one you would like to be called?"

She couldn't wrap her head around why he was asking this, and the question itself made her head hurt. "I-I don't know. I think... I like..." Her voice went quiet. "...Sheegor?"

"Then that's what I'll call you." Mr. Zanotto went on: "Sheegor, when I say that this is just a formality, I mean you've already got the job. I trust Sasha's judgment—most of the time, anyway—and I just wanted to make sure we have all the paperwork, and that I can tell Hollis that we've conducted an interview so she'll be happy."

Sheegor blinked, looking back at Mr. Zanotto, who was staring at her with a look that was still definitely not happy—a look of... concern?

He sighed, glancing out the window and down at the atrium. "Sasha told me that you've been working for Dr. Loboto—"

"Not anymore!" she cried, shaking her head. "I never want to work for him ever again! I-I can't, anyway... now that—"

Mr. Zanotto held up his hands. "I know, I know. He told me about the hostage situation and that you'd had... a rough time under his employment."

"Y-yeah..." Sheegor admitted, looking down, only to stomp her foot. "He was so mean to Mr. Pokeylope! And to the patients, and to the brains, and—"

"And to you," Mr. Zanotto finished.

The rage Sheegor felt quickly drained, and she looked down at the floor. "I... um..."

"This will take some getting used to, I know, but here, you won't be treated the same way you were under his employment. We want you to be happy, as well as safe."

She looked at him again, and he looked so... serious. Like he really meant what he was saying. It was like... Mr. Pokeylope.

Were there really that many other people... like that?

Sheegor stared at Mr. Zanotto for another long moment before slowly nodding. "...Okay, Mr. Zanotto. I hope you're right."

He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled. "Welcome to the Psychonauts, Sheegor."

#sheegor #truman zanotto #psychonauts #my writing #fanfic #have another one of these #(it's an interview rather than an interrogation)#(but poor Sheegor FEELS like it's an interrogation)#i still have like 17 more of these to post #plus multiple more polished oneshots

26 notes · View notes

bcdrawsandwrites · 9 days

Text

Day 8: Panic attacks / Dissociation / Seizure Characters: Ford Cruller, Helmut Fullbear, Bob Zanotto Warnings: Panic attack Summary: It had always been someone else helping him. Helmut had never had to help someone else with one of these before.

"Helmut?" Compton said, glancing over at the untouched tea cup sitting by an empty bean bag chair. "Could you check on Ford? He seems to be taking a while with the mail, and his tea is getting cold."

"Hm? Sure." Helmut levitated off his own bean bag chair and carefully TK'd his teacup to the floor before turning to Bob. "Wanna come with?"

Bob shrugged, hopping up as well and linking hands with his husband. "Hope it's just another case of him being mad I ordered more fertilizer," he said once they were out of the Heptadome.

"Maybe," Helmut said, then hummed. "Though the last time that happened, he just teleported to your greenhouse and told you to pick it up yourself."

Chuckling, Bob rolled his eyes. "As though he couldn't just teleport it himself." His voice took on a slightly higher pitch in imitation of Ford's: "It's the principle of the thing! I'll teleport myself fifty feet up in the air if I gotta, but you can move your crap yourself!"

Helmut laughed, but Bob grew quiet as they neared the woods. "You all right, Bobby?"

"Yeah, but... um..." He was suddenly very interested in the grass at his feet. "You think it... could be news?"

"Oh." Helmut forced a smile. "Well, maybe it's good news! Maybe Lucy's on her way home! And Ford's just... so excited he forgot to tell us?"

The insects were awfully loud today, and the noise itched at the back of Helmut's skull.

"...Maybe there's no news at all," Bob finally said.

"Yeah." Helmut squeezed his husband's hand. "Maybe."

They stayed quiet as they made their way down the forest path toward their mailboxes. Just as Helmut was about to remark how strange it was that they hadn't seen or heard Ford yet, a sound reached his ears.

The sound of panicked gasping.

Helmut's eyes widened, and he let go of Bob's hand, charging forward to find Ford bracing his hand against a tree, his face pale as his chest heaved. His eyes had gone unfocused, looking in different directions.

"FORD!" Helmut cried, hurrying up to his friend and placing a hand on his shoulder. "What happened?!"

Ford did not answer, or even acknowledge Helmut in any way.

Helmut felt his skin crawl—he had never seen Ford like this. Ford was always so down-to-earth, he hadn't thought it possible for him to ever get this shaken. Frantically he turned to Bob, whose attention had been drawn to a pile of mail on the ground. It didn't take him long to piece together what might have happened.

Taking a deep breath, Helmut guided Ford away from the tree. "Okay, okay... C'mere, Ford-truck."

Ford was shaking badly, but did not stop Helmut as he helped him down to a seated position on the ground.

"You're gonna be okay." Gently Helmut wrapped an arm around Ford and squeezed one of his hands. "I've got ya."

Though he tried to keep calm outwardly, inwardly he frantically tried to recall the methods Bob would use to help him through his freakouts. There was also the fear of just what was in the mail that caused Ford to react this way, but he tried to push that aside and focus on the more immediate problem.

"Just slow down, breathe," Helmut went on. "I know you're freaking out right now, but you're not alone, all right? Bob and I are here to help, and Cassie, and Compton, and Otto—"

"O-Otto..." Ford stammered, taking a few more breaths. "Otto... c-couldn't... h-help his way out of a..."

Helmut laughed, some of the tension loosening in his chest—it was good to hear Ford talking at least. "Well, we'll see what Otto can do."

"Pah..." Ford waved a shaky hand dismissively. But shortly after, he fell into trembling quietly again, his head hanging and eyes staring at nothing.

Meanwhile, Helmut realized he was being watched, and his head shot up to find Bob holding one of the letters in his hands, his face pale. "...Bob?" he whispered, his heart hammering in his chest.

"We gotta talk... to the others," Ford said, his voice distant.

"What?" Helmut looked down at Ford, eyes wide, though he was almost certain what he would hear.

Finally Ford looked up, staring Helmut in the eyes. "It's Lucy."

#ford cruller #helmut fullbear #bob zanotto #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers #my writing #fanfic #have another one of these #do you ever think about the Panic Attacks in Cruller's Correspondence?#because I think about the Panic Attacks in Cruller's Correspondence #also yes Helmut calls Ford 'Ford-truck'#all of these people have stupid names for each other

31 notes · View notes

bcdrawsandwrites · 10 days

Text

(Please reblog if you want to, do not repost! Do not post to Pinterest!)

[ID: A Team Fortress 2 fanfic cover featuring a render of Pyro and Spy standing back-to-back in profile, with Pyro facing left and Spy facing right, standing against a dark purple background. Spy is smoking. Both characters have a yellow/orange rim lighting. Above them is the title of the fic, Flickering, glowing the same glowing yellow/orange. /end ID]

Fandom: Team Fortress 2

Rating: K+

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Friendship

Characters: Spy, Pyro, all the other mercs, and Miss Pauling (primarily Spy and Pyro, but everyone else has important moments too)

Warnings: TF2-typical violence, PTSD, panic attacks, trauma in general (none of these guys are okay)

Description: After the events of the comics, the mercs try to go back to how things were, but it's never that easy.

Spy can see his teammates going through their own struggles… but something seems to be very, very wrong with Pyro in particular.

And since no one else seems to be doing anything about this, Spy makes it his mission to get to the bottom of what is troubling Pyro. For no particular reason.

Beta Readers: @mechmolar, @gonturan0, @junuve (Teeth (mechmolar) also did the render for the cover!)

Notes: This fic is legit like around 80% complete already because it takes me forever to actually post anything these days. I'll be posting new chapters as I feel like it. It'll be around 10 chapters in total. Also, Pyro is nonhuman and uses it/its pronouns in this fic. Okay? Okay.

---

Prologue

They were pretty sure they knew what awaited them when they got to Gray Mann's base. Or, Spy was sure, anyway. Mann was after the same Australium they were, and they'd be interrogated for what little they knew. And he wasn’t going to get that information out of them easily.

Spy’s tongue nudged one of his fake teeth. The time would come for that eventually.

His suspicions were confirmed when Demo, still distraught from the loss of Sniper, was dragged out by a couple of the enemy mercs, who snickered over the ways they could "make him talk."

That left him, Miss Pauling, Soldier, Zhanna, and Pyro, all of them chained up in a tiny room, waiting out their fate.

Well, until that thing entered.

It was the other team's pyro. Their Pyro perked up with an interested hum when it saw the other, only to jump—as much as it could with its feet chained to the floor—when the enemy pyro removed its face.

Spy had, admittedly, been caught off-guard, but rolled his eyes immediately after. This was not like their Pyro. This one was a human—a woman, her face scarred with old burns and one eye missing, her hair pepper gray with half her scalp scarred over. The fact that she was human had startled him more than any disfigurement could have.

Of course, he had to remind himself that his team was the exception, as always. They'd become so accustomed to the incredibly strange nature of their comrade that it felt eerie to actually see a human behind a similar mask.

Pyro must have felt the same, with the way it tilted its head with a hum of consternation.

The woman stared at it in turn. "Hm. This one seems promising."

Miss Pauling's head shot up, but Spy nudged her and subtly shook his head.

Unfortunately, Soldier was not on their wavelength. "That one? HAH! If you need a building burned to the ground, maybe! But Pyro doesn't talk!"

One of the woman's eyebrows raised in interest. "Really."

Spy shut his eyes, imagining himself flipping open his butterfly knife and driving it through Soldier's throat.

"Nope! It's completely incomprehensible! It can’t tell you anything! The rest of us won’t, either—we will not yield under torture, especially not me. Though I'd love to see you try!"

"Soldier, no!" Zhanna cried. "I must be tortured first!"

But the enemy pyro did not respond to them—likely still staring at their Pyro. "It doesn't, eh?" she said, putting a heavy emphasis on the pronoun. "Good. I like a challenge."

Seconds later, several robots filed into the room, immediately heading for Pyro and unlocking its shackles from the floor. Pyro mumbled something at them.

"Wait, no!" Soldier cried. "Pick me, pick me! I'm a good challenge!"

But the robots paid them no mind as they escorted Pyro out, and Spy cracked an eye open to see it showed no signs of worrying about what was about to happen. The door slammed shut, and he let out a sigh, tipping his head back. "Soldier, you are going to get us all killed."

"We're gonna die anyway!" Soldier protested. "We can at least go down fighting!"

"We are not going to go down fighting, you imbecile. We are—" He stopped himself there, deciding he didn't particularly want to reflect on their fates with someone who wasn't going to care anyway.

"Poor Pyro," Miss Pauling murmured. "What are they going to do to it?"

Spy shrugged. "Better it than us." He lowered his voice. "With luck, they'll waste several hours trying to get information out of it before they realize Soldier, idiot that he is, was more-or-less telling the truth. That may buy us some time."

"You think we can still get out of this?" she whispered, hope edging into her voice.

"Not likely. We're probably delaying the inevitable." His tongue nudged one of his molars.

"We'll have to hope.” Miss Pauling sighed, staring at the door. "I guess Demo or Pyro could break out."

Spy barely resisted the urge to snort. "The drunkard? Not likely. Pyro? Who knows."

"I still can't imagine what they would do to it."

Spy tipped his head back to regard the ceiling for a moment. "Who can say? Waterboarding, perhaps?” A random guess, and he snorted at the absurdity of it. “Though I struggle to imagine what could break that creature."

"Neither could the Administrator. That's one of the reasons she recruited it." Miss Pauling shook her head. "If that's the case, maybe it'll find a way to break out. And break us out of here."

"Unless it decides to burn down the whole base with us inside. Regardless, resisting torture and breaking free are two different things. But we shall see."

Soldier groaned. "But when's it gonna be my turn to get tortured for information?"

"Will be our turn soon," Zhanna reassured him.

Spy heaved a sigh, and Miss Pauling shut her eyes.

They sat in uncomfortable silence (save for Soldier and Zhanna's chatter) for some time, Spy keeping an eye on the door while Miss Pauling stared at the floor, lost in her own thoughts.

The minutes ticked on. For how long, Spy was uncertain—he couldn't reach his watch to read it, and the feeling of dread in the air was not helping with their perception of time. Next to him, Miss Pauling occasionally muttered to herself, and every so often he could pick up phrases.

"...and we could go back to Australia, and..."

"...if Scout or Heavy are still out there..."

"...and Sniper could... wait, no..."

Sighing, he almost considered tuning her out, but it was a good distraction from his nicotine cravings, at least.

At some point, she raised her head. "Where is it?"

Spy raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Pyro. They've been keeping it for a long time."

"Yes. Demo has been gone for some time, too."

"Yeah, but... they can get information out of him." She turned to face him again, and an unspoken question hung in the air.

Spy returned her gaze. "Miss Pauling, if you are under the impression that we are in the hands of anyone other than violent sadists, I do not know what to tell you."

Before she could react, the door burst open.

“I VOLUNTEER!” Soldier cried, straining against his manacles.

But instead of their captors, Pyro stumbled into the room.

Spy would have hoped that it had indeed broken loose and come to rescue them had it not been for the fact that its hands were shackled behind its back.

The robots escorted Pyro to the end of the bench, where they shackled its feet to the floor. Meanwhile, the enemy pyro stepped into the room.

"Finally!" Soldier exclaimed. "You've had your turn, Pyro. Now it's mine!"

"Our turn," Zhanna corrected.

With an unfriendly smile, the woman turned to face them. "If you insist."

While the robots got to work escorting the two least intelligent people out of the room, Spy and Miss Pauling looked over their recently-returned companion. "Pyro?" Miss Pauling whispered. "You okay, buddy?"

Pyro said nothing, sitting still on the bench and facing forward.

"...Well, it looks okay, anyway." Miss Pauling shrugged. "Guess the Administrator was right."

"Hm." Spy's eyes narrowed as he continued to look Pyro over. While it was true that it looked more-or-less uninjured—the suit was a little roughed up, but that was it—he couldn't be too sure that it was unharmed. The enemy wouldn't have just done nothing with it, and the way Pyro did not answer them, nor even respond to its surroundings, was not encouraging.

Nor was the fact that it was trembling.

But before he could analyze Pyro's behavior any further, the doors burst open again, and this time a barely-coherent Demo was practically dragged into the room.

In the whirlwind of events that followed, the torture that their fellow mercs had endured was nearly all but forgotten.

But it would not stay that way.

#tf2 spy #tf2 pyro #miss pauling #tf2 soldier #team fortress 2 #my art #my writing #fanfic #art collab #FINALLY I AM STARTING TO POST THIS #also yes I am still planning on posting the 20-some-odd complete Psychonauts fics I have on my computer #maybe I'll post one of them tomorrow or something #flickering fanfic

49 notes · View notes

bcdrawsandwrites · 27 days

Text

(Please reblog if you want to, don’t repost! Do not post to Pinterest!)

[ID: A series of sketches of baby Charmanders. In the first sketch, it is sitting up with its front paws on the ground and its large head hanging. Its skin is baggy, its spine is bumpy, its tail is stumpy, and its eyes are bulging but closed like a baby bird’s. The caption above it reads “Horrible ugly baby!!” In the second sketch, a trainer’s finger is poking at it (emphasized by the word “poke!”), and it leans away, curling its tail and lifting its left paw, its head tipped away and its mouth open in a squeak of protest. In the third sketch, it is lying on its belly with its head partially tucked into its left arm and its feet spread out behind it. In the fourth sketch, a flashlight is held up to a Charmander egg, revealing a tiny embryo inside, which is looking up at the light source. The caption beside it reads “turning up to look at light when candled.” In the final sketch, a Charmander egg is lying on its side with the hatchling poking its head out and grabbing the side of the shell. Its egg tooth is still attached to its snout, and the caption above reads, “How do you fit in there?!” /end ID]

I was watching a friend candle some chicken eggs last night, and it occurred to me that while I’ve seen plenty of art of “realistic” Pokemon training, I’ve never seen art of a Pokemon trainer candling an egg. So, also inspired by art I’ve seen of ugly hatchling baby Charmanders, I drew some hatchlings myself, and a sketch of a trainer candling a Charmander egg.

(…The “BC” in this username stands for BabyCharmander. The name’s not for nothing. :P)

#charmander #Pokemon #my art

21 notes · View notes

bcdrawsandwrites · 29 days

Text

[ID: Four eggs on a metal rack. The first is red and has Pyro’s class symbol. The second is red-orange and has Sniper’s class symbol. The third is roughly dyed like a green Yoshi egg. The fourth is blue and has Spy’s class symbol. The class symbols are all yellow/orange. /end ID]

Dyed some Easter eggs! The Yoshi one didn’t quite turn out exactly right (it’s impossible to see where you’ve colored white on an egg!) but I think I did a decent job overall.

#tf2 pyro #tf2 sniper #tf2 spy #Yoshi #team fortress 2 #Mario #my art #sorta

48 notes · View notes

bcdrawsandwrites · 1 month

Text

Day 7: Flatline / Restrained / CPR Characters: Calilgosto Loboto, Sasha Nein, Razputin Aquato, Lili Zanotto, Morceau Oleander, Milla Vodello Warnings: None Summary: Loboto, who had stowed away on the jet after blowing up Charlie Psycho Delta, inadvertently gives away his position, only to realize he isn’t as far away from his problems as he’d hoped.

His first mistake was taking this blasted job to begin with.

His second mistake was not planning a better escape.

His third mistake was letting himself fall asleep, but who was counting?

The next thing he knew, the compartment door sprang open, and Loboto tumbled out onto the airplane aisle.

There was a very, very long pause, followed by a cacophony of voices.

"Loboto?!"

"Cal?!"

"I'M GONNA KILL HIM!"

"Lili, darling, please—!"

"Everyone, quiet."

That finally shut everyone up. The tall green man was approaching him, and Loboto pushed himself up on his arms, cocking his head. "Ah!" He gave what he hoped was a pacifying grin. "You must be the leader of this operation! I would just like to say that this was all just a big misunder—"

A blue transparent hand was suddenly around his middle.

"—standing," he wheezed.

"That is doubtful," the man said. A chair inched toward Loboto, and in a quick motion, the hand lifted him onto it and readjusted its grip, pinning him to the back of the chair.

Loboto grunted. "How much does it cost for a first class upgrade? Can't even sit in these chairs..." He shifted in his seat as much as he was able, which was very little.

The green man stared down at him. "It is good that you're here, however. Your help will be instrumental in sorting everything out."

"Help?" Loboto echoed. "Well, I can certainly take a look at your teeth, but after that, we'll have to schedule an appointment! Not to mention the paperwork..."

"No, Loboto," the child next to him said gently. "He's talking about what happened with Truman."

"Who?"

Everyone around him turned to look at something off to the side. His loupes twitched over to follow their gaze, and he gave a start.

There was the curly-bearded man whom he'd... operated on. Except it wasn't him.

For a split second, one of the man's eyes opened a slit, and stared at him directly.

Loboto went rigid, straightening his back and facing forward. Visions of watery serpents and rain and oceans and the scariest woman he'd ever seen flooded his mind, and he began to tremble. "Never met him in my life!" he said, his voice taking on a higher octave. His loupes twitched every which way while simultaneously avoiding anyone else's gaze.

"Yeah, we definitely didn't see you holding him captive," the army man—who was in a mermaid tail that he was in the midst of coloring green for some reason—stated, narrowing his eyes.

"Of course you didn't!" Loboto said. "I had nothing to do with this! I was an innocent bystander!"

"Innocent?!" The scary little girl who bore a striking resemblance to the one he'd captured a few days ago suddenly hopped off her chair, storming up to him. Loboto leaned back as much as he was able, and felt himself sweating—not because he was scared of course, but because the temperature around him was oddly rising. "You'd better talk, you big weirdo, or I'm gonna—"

"Lili!" the boy cried, and she stopped, holding herself back, but keeping her fiery gaze on him. Mercifully the temperature dropped down a few degrees, though he was still sweating.

"Well!" Loboto said, jerking against the psychic grip on his middle. "I hate to leave so soon, but, see, Crispin's got an appointment that he's had booked for months in advance, and he hates it when I'm late—"

"You're in an airplane, Cal," the army man grunted.

Loboto stared at him. "So?" When everyone stared blankly at him, he went on, "Get me off of it."

"I... don't think that's a good idea," the little boy said. "Not unless you want to fall into the ocean, anyway."

"The... ocean?" Loboto echoed. He wished that scary girl were trying to set him on fire again, because suddenly he felt very cold as he saw himself plunging into the salty water, and icy fangs sinking into his ankle and dragging him deeper into the depths. The water was cold and numbing and he couldn't breathe, the serpent was wrapped around him, he couldn't—

"Dr. Loboto?"

With a start Loboto realized he was still on the plane, but the psychic hand was still keeping him pinned to the chair, and the person who had the power to make him die the most horrible death with the snap of his fingers was sitting just a few feet away, listening to every word he said. He swallowed, his throat dry. "G... get me out of here."

"We've still some time before we reach our destination," the tall green man said, from what sounded like several yards away. "We'll exit the jet at that point, but until then, I'd like to ask you some questions, Dr. Loboto."

Loboto struggled against the psychic grip around him. "Get me out of here," he repeated, slightly louder. He felt cold, and he could so easily see the blue psychic energy around him as blue serpents coiling around his body. "Get me out, let me go—"

"Caligosto, you're going to be all right," came a woman's voice. "We just want to ask you a few—"

"LET ME GO!" he shrieked, kicking out his feet and throwing himself against his restraints, which refused to budge. "GET ME OUT! I WANT OFF OF THIS PLANE!"

"S-Sasha, what are you...?"

"Just hold on."

Loboto ignored the rest of what they were saying, using all of his energy to fight against his restraints. "LET ME GO!"

His client was listening. If he slipped and told them anything he was going to die. He couldn't get out of here, he couldn't get out of here, he couldn’t—

Something was in front of his face, and he yanked himself backward. "AH!"

"Don't worry," he heard the green man say, as the device began to emit a soft purple light and warbling noises. "You're just going to take a rest."

Before he had time to panic further, Loboto found himself staring into the device, trying to discern its usage. But as he did so, he felt his muscles relaxing, his head drooping. "I can't..." he mumbled, but he was so tired, he couldn't even remember what he was trying to say. "I... have to..."

The world faded, and he dozed off.

#caligosto loboto #sasha nein #gristol malik #psychonauts #psychonauts 2 #psychonauts 2 spoilers #razputin aquato #milla vodello #lili zanotto #morceau oleander #my writing #fanfic #i'm tired of not having anything posted so have one of these fics I wrote months and months ago #i have like twenty of them

25 notes · View notes