powerpayback

[powerpayback]

Fuck it, OC brain rot won. Get ready for the Secret Ask List

1) Does your OC have a voice claim, if so who?

2) Who's your OCs best friend? How did they become best friends?

3) What song describes your OC?

4) What song describes your OC and their partner/love interest?

5) Do you ship your OC with a Canon character? If so who?

6) If your OC is in a fantasy setting, what profession would they be in the modern day?

7) Vice-Versa! If your OC is in the modern day, what fantasy class would they be? Would they be a different race?

8) What hobbies does your OC have? What do they do to unwind?

9) How does your OC handle their physical health? Do they take care of themselves?

10) How does your OC handle their mental health? Do they take care of themselves?

11) What was your inspiration for your OC?

12) Does your OC interact with other people's OC? If so, who's their best OC friend?

13) Does your OC have a rival? How did it start?

14) Who's a character your OC cannot stand! It's on sight when they see them!

15) Will your OC ever retire? Do you see them making it?

16) How's their relationship with their parents? Are they alive?

17) If your OC has kids, are they a good parent? Do they ever feel guilty if they have to leave them?

18) What are their pronouns? What would they like to be called?

19) What's their sexuality? What's their love language both giving and receiving?

20) If they fight, what's their weapon of choice?

21) What song best describes their relationship with their enemy?

22) Fight or Flight? Are they a lover or a fighter?

23) Is your OC reliable? Can I call them up at two in the morning if I have a flat tire?

24) Can they play any instruments? If so, what do they play?

25) Are they the kind of person who can't resist a good song? Can I catch your OC singing to themselves while they do the dishes?

26) What flower do you associate your OC with?

27) What's their spirit tamagotchi? Or an animal you associate them with?

28) What clique would they be in? (Draw them in the clothes of said group!)

29) Imagine a mood board for your OC! What's on it? (Make it if you want!)

30) My OC and your OC are friends. This isn't a question. I'm not asking. (How do they respond?)

[powerpayback]

#fictober24 - day twenty-four

"You didn't do anything wrong."

original fiction (power payback) (continuation of yesterday's prompt)

word count: 740

Magni stared up at the ceiling. The house was too loud for him to sleep tonight. 

His hearing had always been sensitive. Before his parents split up, he would catch the arguments that they thought they were keeping quiet. The sounds from the family computer - the strange, fragmented pieces of information that his technopathy picked up - had kept him up from the room next door until he turned it off before. 

But he knew that the noise of his mom and Delia in the kitchen was not the only thing keeping him up. 

He had thought about that… thing his dad had dragged him to how mad his mom had gotten about it and kicked him out their house, again. 

His mom told him time and time again that having a Talent didn't mean there was something wrong with him.

And Magni thought he still believed her. 

He pushed aside the covers and climbed out of bed. He couldn't help himself, creeping toward the door. 

He heard Delia, just as boisterously loud as her daughter, upon opening the door a mere crack. 

"Seriously, screw that guy," Magni heard her say. 

"That was my problem in the first place," his mother grumbled. "My mother was right. I should have stayed in Temecula and kept Marcel out of his life." 

Now he wasn't surprised by that. Grandma Georgia made no qualms that she was no fan of his father. But he wasn't sure what his life would be like if she hadn't come back to Bright City. 

Magni's grip on the door tightened. What if she wanted to move back? He didn't want to be ripped away from his only friend, people who would understand what he was going through. People who would understand what he was. 

"I haven't told her," his mother continued. "About Magni. I'm no better than him, am I? I mean, I feel like I'm screwing this all up, Dee."

"You didn't do anything wrong." Magni heard the sound of pouring. "If I had some sage advice for raising kids with Talents from dealing with Prim and Daisy, I'd pass it down to you. But all I can tell you to do is love him." 

His mother took a moment to respond. He counted the seconds - five, ten, twenty. 

"I do. But it doesn't feel like enough." She let out a heavy breath. "Do you ever just want to hold them tight, to try and protect them? Like you don't feel like anything you can do will keep them safe from the world outside?" 

"All the time. I know how this city looks at them - at us," Delia answered solemnly. "But my girls are too stubborn for that. Too headstrong, just like me. I just can't do anything about it. They gotta run free." 

"I know." His mother's voice was shaky. "When I found out he was a Talent, I was scared - scared for my boy. I knew it wouldn't be easy for him. But I never thought that Marcel, his own father, would be who I'd have to worry about." 

"I'll admit to you, Irene, I always knew that guy was bad news. I got a bad feeling whenever he looked at me." Delia sighed. "I never wanted to badmouth him to you, 'cause he is Magni's father. I get why you wanted to keep him in his life. But I don't think he was a fan of his son's best friend being a Talent." 

Magni heard a sniff. "Much less that he was one." 

"I'm sorry, Irene." The chair scooted back. "I'll get you a tissue."

Just as Delia turned into the hallway, he tried to step back from the door. But it was too late. She put her hand right in the crack, keeping him from shutting it on her without squashing her hand. 

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, please don't tell my mom," Magni squeaked. 

"Relax, kid." She didn't seem mad. Instead, she looked a little worried. “Were we being too loud?” 

“Kinda,” he answered. “I couldn’t sleep, anyways.” 

“Sorry for keeping you up.” Delia smiled. “You oughta go back to bed.” She patted his shoulder. “We’ll be quieter.” 

Magni nodded as she moved her hand, and closed the door. He grabbed his MP3 player and put his headphones on. Soon enough, the sound of Evanescence drowned out the conversation in the kitchen, the computer next door, and all the thoughts in his head.

[powerpayback]

they call me chihuahua the way i shaking and shivering and crying so much

[powerpayback]

#fictober24 - day twenty-three

"We can fix this, I know we can."

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 1239

Of all the people to visit Magni, his dad was low on his list. 

It made sense that his mom would reach out to him. After all, being a Talent, learning that he was a technopath, was something a dad should know about. 

Despite the fact that they hadn't lived under the same roof since he was in the first grade, he tried to make an effort. Weekend outings, camping trips, attending swim meets and birthday parties - checking in on him now shouldn't have been strange. 

But still, Magni got a weird feeling when he opened the door to Marcel Sempers. 

"Hey, there, kiddo," he said, smiling. "I heard you were taking a few days off of school."

"Yeah," Magni said. If he had known that his dad was going to swing by, he'd have changed out of his pajamas and tried to do something with his hair. But for now, he moved out of the way to let him in.

"Is your mom around?" his dad asked. 

"No." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "She thought about working from home, but then she realized I wouldn't want to hear her laptop." Besides, he was thirteen. He didn't need his mom babying him when all he really wanted was to be alone. 

Marcel nodded. "Right. Your Talent." 

He sort of understood his father's confusion. Technopathy was a newer Talent. It had taken three different talantologists to find someone experienced in super-sensory abilities that could put a finger on it. It felt good to have an answer. But now, he had the problem of trying to avoid computers for the rest of his life. 

"Yeah." He walked to the kitchen, dropping down at the breakfast nook. "Did Mom tell you?" 

"She called, yeah." Marcel sat across from him. He leaned his forearms on the table with an air of casualness, but he didn't quite believe it. 

"Are you… mad? That I'm a Talent?" Magni asked. 

"I'm not mad, Magpie. Just… go get dressed. I want to take you somewhere." 

"I don't really feel like going out," he said. 

"Come on. I'm going to help you." He smiled again. "You trust your old man, don't you?" 

His chair screeched against the tile as he pushed it back. "Alright."

As Magni went into his room and changed, he wondered what his dad had in mind. Maybe surprising him with ice cream and a nice father-son talk. But he doubted it. His dad was not the "let's talk about our feelings" type.

Once he was out of his pajamas and in semi-nice clothes, he let his dad lead him out to his car. He always felt strange climbing into his Lexus, out of place. 

"Are you going to tell me where we're going now?" Magni asked as he started to pull out of his and his mother's driveway. 

"You'll see," he said. 

Marcel drove out of Westside, going from familiar streets towards the more suburban areas bordering Bright City. He knew this was around where his father had moved after he and his mother split up. Was he taking him back to his townhouse? 

But instead, he stopped at the church he attended. Magni and his mother weren't that religious. However, sometimes she allowed his father to take him to Sunday service. He wasn't a fan of this church, not really. 

"Why are we here?" he asked. 

"I said I'd help you." He started unbuckling his seatbelt. "Let's go." 

Magni peered out the window. His talantologist had urged his mom to help him find support groups, fellow peers who were Talents. It wasn't like he didn't have Sprout and Primrose, even though she was much older than them. But maybe this was one of those. 

He followed his dad into the church. It was a Wednesday afternoon, but the front rows were occupied. He caught the eye of another kid his age, a boy with sad looking eyes. The woman beside him, presumably his mother, gave him a pitying look. 

He had a feeling this was not one of those support groups. 

Marcel led them to a couple of seats in the very front row. Magni sat down beside him, digging his nails into his knees. Cell phones, the service they got, weren't too loud. But in a higher volume like this, so close, with nerves already making him hyperaware, it only made him want to run. 

The pastor, the guy whose name he could never remember, came to the pulpit. "Welcome, all of you. I'm grateful you could make it here today. I see Brother Marcel has brought a guest to our service today." 

Magni felt the blood pounding in his ears, almost like he had a sixth, no, seventh sense for the people's eyes landing on him. He wasn't sure to acknowledge him, frozen to the spot. 

"Come on, Magni, don't be shy," his dad said. The tone he took made him feel like his dad was urging him to play with the other kids at the park, not announce himself at whatever this was. 

"Hey," he said, raising a hand. 

"Are you joining us to clear the impurity you've come in contact with?" the pastor asked. 

"What- what impurity?" Magni asked. 

He heard a snicker from the row behind him. He wasn't aware he had any impurity. Never had he tried to look up porn on the family computer or even masturbated. The only thing he could think of was-

"Your Talent. Surely that's why your father has brought you here." 

Magni turned to his dad. He was unconcerned, listening intensely to the pastor. "Oh, no- I-" His words turned to mush in his throat, choking any attempt to argue. "I-"

The pastor stepped down and held out a hand. "Come here, boy." 

He did the only thing he knew what to do. Magni stood up, and ran down the aisle, into the lobby, to the ancient payphone still installed on the wall. 

At least he'd brought his wallet, he thought, putting two quarters in and dialing his mom's work number. 

"Hello, this is Irene Quinn with Levy and Pierce. How may I help you today?" 

"Mom?" he asked. 

“Magni?” His mom sounded stressed. “Are you alright? What happened?” 

He glanced over at the door as it swung open, his dad reappearing. “I just- Dad came over, and he took me to his church-” 

Marcel lifted the phone out of his hand. “Hi, Irene.” There was a pause, where he supposed his mom was expressing her discontent. By yelling. “Yeah, yeah, I know, but- Okay, I’ll take him home. I just- He’s my son too, you know.” He covered the receiver. “Magni, go wait outside.” 

Magni hesitated. But he started to trudge towards the door. Slow enough that he could catch more of his parents’ conversation, at least on his dad’s end. 

“No, listen to me. We can fix this,” his father was saying. “I know we can.” 

He stopped, hand against the door handle. He wished he could hear his mom’s reply. 

“You know what? Fine. We can pick this conversation up then.” Marcel slammed the phone back into the receiver. 

Magni pushed the door open before his father could turn back and went outside. His dad would be back out any moment. But just a second, he shut his eyes and let the sun warm his face.

He didn’t feel broken.

At least, he thought he didn’t.

[powerpayback]

kicked out of the bdsm scene for saying “you got it, boss!” in an old timey henchman voice whenever someone tells me what to do

[powerpayback]

#fictober24 - day eighteen

"You always have a plan."

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 572

“Careful, careful.” Sprout peeked her head over the box they were carrying in. “Don’t run into that wall.”

“I’m not-“ Magni bumped his back into the short wall dividing her kitchenette and the rest of her apartment. “Okay. I guess I was going to run into that wall.”

They navigated the box for her bedframe to the space she’d cleared out, among all of her stuff. So far, her apartment was a mess. But the small studio was the first space Sprout had truly had to call her own. 

Leaning against the box, Magni asked, “Why didn’t you just pay someone to come deliver and build this for you again?”

“Less expensive,” she answered. “And I’m pretty handy.” Sprout started to pull her gloves off. 

“You’re handy, but-“ He went to grab the box cutter from her counter. “Did you forget your hands don’t have the same attitude?” 

She crossed her arms. “It’s assembling a bed, not rocket science. Besides, that’s why I have you here. In case I need a precise hand.” 

Magni sighed. “You always have a plan.” He went over to the box and sliced it open. “Sometimes, I wish I had some of that determination.” 

Coming over to help him, Sprout snorted. “What do you mean? You’ve got a plan.” 

“Not really. I know you have your five year plan - Bright City College, then onto UNBC to get your bachelors’ in criminal justice and ignore my mom’s suggestions of law school to finagle yourself into a nice internship that will set you on the right foot for getting your private investigator license.” He tore the flaps open. “Meanwhile, I’m just doing the kinesiology program at UNBC because I don’t want to go into computer science.” 

“You can always change your major. I got my plans, but I’m not stuck to them.” She shrugged. “Look what happened to my first set of plans.” 

He looked up at her. “You couldn’t have known-”

“That I would screw myself over playing hero?” Sprout asked. “Yeah. It’s kinda hard to predict that.”

“Just as hard to predict that developing technopath would throw off any plans to be an Olympic swimmer?” 

“I think my plans were more achievable than yours,” she told Magni. “But I admit, I chose criminal justice because I like mystery novels too much.” 

“You don’t have to lie to me,” he said. “Not about that.” 

Sprout didn’t answer, focusing her attention on the inside of the box. She knew her reasons for becoming a PI were deeper than that. It was hard to find someone who’d be on your side as a Talent. The Bright City police department outsourced on lots of cases having to do with Talents, but mostly to prove their guilt further. 

Irene Quinn told her that her talents - not her botanokinesis, but her personable nature - would suit her better in the courtroom. Hell, maybe she’d change her mind. Plans weren’t solid. 

But she hand’t been fully lying. Being a private investigator just sounded more fun.

She pulled out the instructions. “Let’s get this bed built so I have a place to sleep tonight.” 

“It’s about 3,” Magni remarked. “Seems like your plan wasn’t so well thought out.” 

“That’s another reason why I have you. To get it done faster.” Sprout grinned. “Teamwork makes the dream work.” 

“Yeah, you’ll regret that when we’re pulling out each other’s hair over figuring out how to build this thing.”

[powerpayback]

So sorry you have brainrot; mine is growing new leaves, roots, et cetera

[powerpayback]

#fictober24 - day seventeen

"Strangest thing I ever heard."

original fiction (power payback) (continuation of this fic)

word count: 1837

tw: general medical stuff

“Your friend is a botanokinetic, right?”

Magni turned in his chair to see Hillson hovering over the edge of his cubicle. “Yes. Why do you ask?”

“Odd call just came in. There was a guy found half-dead in his apartment by his coworker. BCPD suspect foul play, but the guy is a burnt out botanokinetic.” Hillson rested his arms over the top of his cubicle wall. “I told them I’d send a guy for a second opinion.” 

“Yeah, I can do that.” He saved what he had been working on and stood. “I’ll head down to the station now.”

“Oh, no. You’re going to Bright City General.” 

Damnit. Magni hated hospitals. Although, he hadn’t met many with a perverse love for them, so maybe that was just the general opinion on them. 

“Fine.”

“I’ll tell Detective Pallas that you’re on your way. She’ll be happy to see you.” Hillson gave him a grin that didn’t reassure him. 

As Magni drove from the office to the hospital, he wondered what exactly his boss thought it meant that his friend was a botanokinetic. He guessed it was fair; he’d spent enough time with the Marottos to learn how botanokinesis could manifest. But he was far from an expert. 

Detective Pallas, a tall, Black woman with lots of curly hair, was waiting for him when he came in. She seemed impatient, foot tapping as he walked up. He could guess her cooperation was not voluntary today. 

“Mr. Quinn,” she said. “I thought this case might be a bit too organic for you.” 

“I have experience with botanokinetics,” he told her. 

“Mm.” As he signed in as a visitor, Pallas gave him the run down. “Our victim, for the moment, is Chester Holt. 25, male, works as a sales rep for a dentistry equipment company. His coworker, Fernando Diaz, stopped by to check up on him and found him unconscious.”

“So you think it’s foul play.” He stuck the badge to his chest. 

“Might be. The paramedics on the scene gave me the run-down. Strangest thing I ever heard.” As they walked to the elevator, she explained, “The obstruction in his throat was a bunch of flowers. Loads. Fully rooted down his airway. They had to operate on his airway to try and remove them.”

Magni winced. “Sounds painful.” 

“Yeah. Vic’s still recovering, can’t really speak. The coworker who found him offered to talk to us, but he has a different story.”

“Okay, let’s hear him out.” 

As they went up to the third floor, Magni recognized where they were heading - the Talent ward. It’d been about a decade since Sprout had been admitted for her burnout, when he’d spent hours here trying to cheer her up. 

The hospital room Detective Pallas led him to similarly held no life. He wondered if they’d enforced the same “no live flowers” rule or if it was just too soon. 

The man in the bed - presumably Chester - was hooked up to a ventilator, his eyes opening slightly as they walked in. He was pale, black curls played out on the pillow under him. The glimpse of his eyes that he got revealed multicolored irises - one bright emerald, the other warm brown. 

Beside him, another man sat with an anxious look. There were bags under his dark brown eyes, his chestnut hair rumpled. He stood with wide eyes when he saw Detective Pallas.

“Am I being arrested?” he asked. 

“No. I just want you to give your testimony again.” Pallas seemed to remember that Magni was standing there. “This is Mr. Quinn, one of our consultants for Talent-based crimes. Mr. Quinn, Fernando Diaz.”

Fernando sat back down. “Right. Okay. I don’t know much about Talents, but I heard what his talantologist said. They don’t think it was someone else.” 

Magni was inclined to believe him, but Pallas asked, “Mr. Diaz, if you can just tell us what happened again?” 

“Yeah. So, I was coming by Chester’s place to bring him soup. He was feeling under the weather the day before. I thought it was just a bad cold. But when I knocked, he didn’t answer. I was worried. He had sounded awful, and I thought- I don’t know what I thought.” He started to wring his hands. “The door wasn’t locked, so I came in.” At this, he glanced at Pallas, like he was ready to be reprimanded. 

“You were just trying to see if he was alright,” Magni said, only to receive daggers from Pallas. “What did you see?” 

“Blood.” Fernando laid his hands out on his knees. “The bathroom door was open and the sink was covered in it. That, and flowers. Little purple ones?” 

“Geraniums?”

“What was the state of the victim when you arrived?” Detective Pallas asked, ignoring him. 

“He was laid out of the couch. I didn’t see anything in the throat, but I could tell he was having trouble breathing. And he wasn’t conscious, I couldn’t wake him up, so I called 911.” 

She glanced over at Magni. The testimony wasn’t helpful, but he asked, “Were you aware that Mr. Holt was a Talent?” 

“No. I never suspected.” 

He looked over at Chester, who had closed his eyes. But he could tell he was still awake. That information wasn’t a surprise. 

“Did you think he was keeping any secrets?” Detective Pallas asked. 

“No, Chester would never. He wasn’t that type of guy. I guess aside from being a Talent, but-” Fernando sighed. 

Chester’s eyebrows furrowed. Magni wondered what he was thinking about. It must have sucked to be talked about when you couldn’t even respond. 

“You said you talked to his talantologist. Do you remember their name?” 

“Dr. Merlo. I think.” 

Now that was a familiar name. 

“Thank you, Mr. Diaz.” Magni turned to Detective Pallas. “I’ll talk to her.” 

“Alright. I have a few more questions for Mr. Diaz here,” she said. 

Magni nodded and stepped out into the hall. He was ready to go to the nurse’s station when he caught the doctor stepping out of another room. It hadn’t been that long since he’d seen her; Dr. Merlo wasn’t his doctor, but he’d had to ensure Sprout didn’t skip out on her appointments enough that he saw her around. 

“Dr. Merlo?” he asked, stopping her. 

“Oh. Hello.” Behind her round glasses, she blinked, before recognition set in. “Yes. Magni Sempers. I remember you.” 

“It’s Quinn, now, actually.” Magni cleared his throat. “I’m with Hillson and his consulting agency now, helping the BCPD look into what happened with Chester Holt. I know you can’t say much on his Talent and his previous burnout, but-” 

Dr. Merlo straightened her coat. “I understand. Can we step into my office?” 

“Yeah, of course.” 

He followed her into her office - a small space that seemed more like a closet, with just enough space for them both to sit. But it provided a nice bit of privacy. 

“Just like with Ms. Marotto, I was Chester’s talantologist at the time he had his burnout. It was a few years after hers. It was an odd case - the flowers had began germinating inside his lungs and started to choke him out.” Dr. Merlo folded her hands on top of her desk. “You know how kinetics’ abilities can be triggered by emotions, even without their realizing.” 

“I know.” 

“That was what his mother had suspected. Whereas sometimes it can be anger, or fear, grief can be just as strong of an emotion. The reasons Talents often experience burnout in their teenage years isn’t just because they don’t have as much experience with their abilities, it’s because their emotions can be so much more intense. Add hormones, and-” She mimed an explosion. 

“So what happened?” 

“Burnout by broken heart,” Dr. Merlo answered. “And it manifested just like this.”

“You never thought there was any foul play,” Magni said. 

She shrugged. “That’s what I told the detective. I’m just not sure what could have triggered a flare up.”

He thought of Fernando, the slight pain in Chester’s expression when he talked about if he had any secrets. “I think I might know.”

When he headed back to Chester’s room, he went up to Detective Pallas. “Can I have the room to talk to Mr. Holt alone?”

She looked at him skeptically. “You’re not gonna get much out of him.” 

“I’ll get what I need.” 

“Alright.” Detective Pallas sighed. “Mr. Diaz. Mr. Quinn needs the room.” 

“Okay.” With a wary glance, he followed the detective out of the room. 

As Magni took Fernando’s seat, Chester opened his eyes again and looked over at him. 

“Relax. I’m not here to shake you down.” He crossed his legs. “I talked to your doctor.”

Chester closed his eyes again and leaned his head back into the pillow. 

“That Fernando’s a good guy. He sat here with you this whole time?” 

He nodded, or as much as he could with the ventilator. But he didn’t meet Magni’s eyes. 

“My friend says I can be a little too saccarhine for my own good. I love a love story, you know? And Dr. Merlo told me that your burnout, the one that planted those seeds, was set off by a broken heart.” 

This time, he looked back over at him, eyes more aware than they’d been the whole time he’d been here. But there was no anger, only sadness. 

“You love him, don’t you?” 

Chester raised his hand, gesturing towards the pen and paper on the table. Magni handed the pen to him, holding the paper steady as he wrote: DON’T TELL HIM.

He sighed, leaning against the edge of his bed. “I’m a terrible liar, so I’ll just be honest with you. I can’t keep your secret. Unless you want the police to keep chasing an attacker that doesn’t exist. But if we’re being real…” Magni glanced out the door. “I don’t think you’re such the fool that you think you were. If your choice of flower means anything.” 

Again, he beckoned him to bring the paper close. THANK YOU. 

“You’re welcome.” Magni stood back up. 

As he left the room, Fernando came up to him. “Did you get anything out of him? What happened?” 

“Ask him yourself,” he told him. 

Detective Pallas narrowed her eyes, walking beside him to watch Fernando go back inside. “What did you do?” 

“Nothing. Just confirmed that it wasn’t foul play. And maybe played Cupid.” 

“Damn. Who knew a techno-geek like you was so soft-hearted?” she asked. 

“Rude.” He stepped back. “I’m going back to Hillson. I’ll send you a detailed report and the invoice for my excellent matchmaking skills.” 

“Jesus.” 

Once he was out of the hospital and back in his car, Magni took out his earplugs and opened his phone. He ignored the technochatter of a dozen notifications and called Sprout. 

“Hey. Remember those fanfics you read in high school?” he asked her. 

“How do I know you’re about to tell me a wild ass story?” Sprout replied. 

He grinned. “Trust me. You’ll love it.” 

[powerpayback]

the thing abt having a story so long is that u look at an OC n their multiple incarnations and just realize. that you’ve made them go through more and more shit every version of the story

[powerpayback]

#fictober24 - day fourteen

"Let's try this."

original fiction (power payback) (continuation of yesterday's prompt)

word count: 1059

Sprout tapped her fingers against the paper cup of coffee in her hands. She wasn’t thirsty, but she’d grabbed it when she came in to have something to hold. 

That had been a mistake. It put her gloves on full display in the circle of chairs, unable to hide. In this room, however, she doubted they caught the same glances they had the few times she’d had to leave the house before this. 

Not all the teens in the room showed the mark of their burnouts. The ones who did were kinetics like her; the pyro whose face was covered in partially healed burns, the electro whose arms bore Litchenberg scars up to her neck. She seemed particularly upset to be there, more angry than anything. When Sprout met her eyes, she bared her teeth. 

The counselor took the last empty seat, next to the pyro with the face burns. He looked out at the small selection of teens. “Thank you all for coming today. I see a new face, so I’ll introduce myself. My name is Dr. Lynwood, but you can all call me Jerry.” 

Sprout shrunk in her seat as he turned in her direction. He extended a hand. “Would you mind starting us off?” 

“Um. Hi.” She dropped her hands, still holding the cup, to her lap. God, she hadn’t expected to be put on the spot so soon. “Daisy Marotto. Sprout. That’s what everyone calls me. Botanokinetic. Formerly. Ha.” 

“How long ago was your burnout?” Jerry asked her. 

“It was late February. So about three months ago.”

“You don’t have to talk about what happened if you’re not ready. But can I ask how you’re feeling about it?” 

“Lost.” The word, four little letters, felt like she had to force them out of her throat. “Like I no longer have the one thing that made me me.”

He nodded serenely. “Feelings of loss, especially loss of identity, is common for many Talents who’ve experienced a burnout. But being a Talent is not your whole identity. Let’s try this: what are some other qualities about yourself that you like?” 

“Uh…” As she tried to think, she ignored the electro girl’s chuckle. “I’m a good student. Even though I’ve had to miss school since it happened. My friends think I’m pretty funny. And nice.” Sprout decided not to mention that those friends were just Magni and Basil, who wasn’t even talking to her right now.  

“That’s good,” Jerry said. “Dwelling on the things you still have, that’s a good way to handle those feelings of being lost.” 

The electro girl raised her hand. “Jerry?” 

“You don’t have to raise your hand, Kitty.” 

“Sorry. I always forget.” Kitty smacked her gum in a way that made the therapist flinch. “Aren’t you always telling us that shoving those feelings to the side isn’t good in the long run?” 

“This isn’t me asking Sprout to shove her feelings to the side. I am saying that focusing on the positive can help her move on and find something that she can identify with.”

Kitty flopped back into her chair, scratching back against the floor. “Fine. Doesn’t sound like that to me.” 

“Well, how would you advise Sprout on how to handle those emotions?” Jerry asked. 

She turned to look at Sprout. Her hair was a mess of yellow and red dyed sections, the brown peeking through at the roots. “What you’ve got now, that’s kinda boring. You’re just gonna be miserable if you focus on how good of a student you are. Find something new-” She glanced back at Jerry and added, “Not to try and fill the hole with dangerous behavior or something illegal don’t worry, Jerry-” before looking back at her. Her hazel eyes were intense as she said, “Find something new that will make you wanna keep living life.” 

Something new. It was those scary two words that taunted her. Once, she’d had her future sorted out - following her mother’s footsteps. But Kitty made it sound like it wasn’t some frightening concept, but new fuel - something to keep her going. 

“That was some good advice, Kitty. Thank you.” Jerry chuckled. “Though I’m glad you added the part about not doing anything illegal.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what gets you sent to juvie, so-“ She flashed Sprout a grin, tossing her multicolored hair. 

She was suddenly wishing she’d worn something nicer than sweats. 

At least she was out of the hot seat when Jerry turned to the shy-looking girl two seats from her, who looked like she wanted to vanish into her hoodie. Literally. 

Sprout let the rest of the meeting go by in a blur, listening to the variety of her peers. The shy girl, Cresida, was a camoflaguer who’d burnt herself out hiding too long, while the pyro, Bernie (and she thought her name was bad), was slowly urged by Jerry to open up more about the lead-up to her burnout. 

She was just glad she didn’t have to talk about the incident with Kent yet. Hopefully, Primrose, her mother, and Dr. Merlo would be satisfied by her progress before it had to come to that. 

Finally, the meeting was called to a close. Sprout was ready to duck out and call Primrose that she was ready to leave, but Kitty cut her off. 

“Hey there, newbie,” Kitty said. 

“Hey,” Sprout said, shutting her flip phone. 

Smacking her gum, she grinned. “Don’t look so scared. I’m not gonna take your lunch money.” She looked her up and down. Mostly up, since the girl was half a foot shorter than her. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a nerd.” 

Sprout crossed her arms. “I’m not a nerd.”

“‘My best quality is that I’m a good student’,” Kitty said. “That you?” 

“Okay, maybe I am a bit of a nerd.” 

She extended her phone. “Gimme your phone. Don’t worry, I won’t blow it up.” 

Sprout did so, though reluctantly. “Why?” 

“I’m adding my number. In case you need someone to talk to.” Kitty pressed in her number and handed it back to her. “Or need someone to hotwire a car for you. I’m your girl for either.” 

She chuckled. “Alrighty.” 

Kitty took a cookie from the table near the door, before stepping out into the hall. “See you around, Sprout.” 

Okay. Maybe these meetings wouldn’t be so bad after all.  

[powerpayback]

was trying to open my notebook in peace for class and. i don’t remember why i decided to write this down in the middle of me working on a draft for a writing assignment but so true @ past me

[powerpayback]

#fictober24 - day thirteen

"That's not the point."

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 643

Sprout opened the door to Primrose’s sedan and plopped into the passenger side seat. “I can drive myself, you know.” 

“I know that, Daisy. But Mom wants me to make sure you’re not skipping your meetings.” 

She rolled her eyes, pulling her seatbelt on. “I wouldn’t.” 

Primrose sighed, sliding her shades back on. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.” 

Sprout mouthed ‘we’ mockingly, crossing her arms. It wasn’t like Primrose was coming in with her to these things. 

Dr. Merlo had suggested, not so subtly, that Sprout go to these burnout recovery support meetings. 

“Just try a few,” her talantologist had told her, handing her the flyer. “Losing your Talent can be a traumatic experience. Talking with a group of your peers who understand can help you process.”

Nevermind that her brain had blocked out most of it. Nevermind that she barely remembered anything from the moment she’d fallen into the rose bushes to waking up in the hospital. She had gotten the story herself from a third-hand account; Basil telling Magni what he’d saw when he’d gone to him for help, then Magni telling her when she was recovered enough to handle his story. 

Kent, of course, told a very different story. He said that she had attacked him unprompted, then tried to use the vines she had conjured to strangle him further. Which she hadn’t been. But the scars on her hands only showed the pulling, not where she had been pulling. 

Sprout shut her eyes and leaned her head against the seat. Her gloves chafed against the scars on her wrists, which weren’t so nerve-damaged as her hands. She was still getting used to not having them all covered by bandages. Primrose had oh-so-kindly suggested she cover them up before going to the meeting, just as she had suggested she not show up in her sweats and an old Marotto Family Nursery t-shirt. 

She had complied with most of those requests. But she hadn’t parted with her sweats. 

“These meetings aren’t a punishment. That’s not the point,” Primrose piped up, breaking her out of her thoughts. 

“Then what are they?” Sprout asked. 

“I know you don’t want to talk about it. And you don’t have to talk about it with me,” she said. “But I also know you’ve been having nightmares.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve been staying in your room, Daisy. I can hear you screaming. We all can. You said you don’t remember it, but I think some part of you does.” 

She looked down at her hands, curled into fists in her lap. “Do I scream?” she asked softly. 

“Yes.” Primrose was quiet for a long moment, until they reached a red light. “You won’t even talk to Magni about it.” 

“Well, I’m sure the sight of me passed out in a pool of two people’s blood was pretty traumatic for him too.” 

“Ms. Quinn made him talk to the school counselor about it. Did you know that?” she asked. 

“He told me,” Sprout said. She had known about that, obviously. He had mentioned it in passing during one of his visits to the Marotto household, quickly, as if he didn’t want her to worry about it. “What about Basil?” 

“Mom doesn’t want to press him,” Primrose answered. 

“He won’t even look at me, Primrose,” she told her. “Did you notice?”

“Maybe that’s something you can unpack in this meeting.” She turned into the community center parking lot. 

Sprout was silent until she pulled up in front of the building and unlocked the door. 

“Avoiding it won’t make it go away,” Primrose told her. 

She opened the door. “I know.” 

When she stepped out, she made sure to slam the door to her car. Hard. 

Next time, she’d be sure to inform their mom that she was capable of driving herself to these things.

[powerpayback]

Sorry I Spent all mY spoons this week already and it's fucking Tuesday. We're heading to the knives

[powerpayback]

#fictober24 - day eleven

"Well, that worked out great."

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 1682

It was rare that someone sought Magni out when it came to cases he consulted on. 

When the phone on his desk rang, he was caught off guard. No one called his work number. Not even his mother when she was desperate to reach him. 

Reluctantly, he removed an earplug and lifted it off the cradle. “This is Hillson Consulting Services. I’m Magni Quinn. How can I help you today?”

“Magni Quinn?” the voice on the other end repeated. It was a woman’s voice, deep and raspy. “My name is Ms. Fay. I have some information about that string of robberies you’ve been investigating. The ones in Westside?” 

He leaned back in his chair. “I’m not the detective on that case. I just gave counsel on possible Talent involvement.” There had been none, at least that he’d found. The shop owners had just called them in because Westside had the most Talents, where he’d grown up. Just the kind of nonsense job Hillson sent him on when he did get tired of sitting behind a computer. “I suggest you call Detective Pallas if you have any details pertaining to those robberies.” 

“Ah, but-” She paused. “Nevermind. I thought you just might be more willing to take me seriously.” 

Magni looked around the small office. Hillson’s door was closed, and his coworkers were busy with their own cases or out. “What is it?” 

“I’d prefer it if we talked in person,” Ms. Fay said. 

“You and me both,” he muttered. Though the phones in Hillson’s office still ran on old-fashioned landlines, he still hated calling people rather than talking face to face. “Where do you want to meet?” 

“Oh, no.” She laughed nervously. “You need to come to me. My address is 7118 Geffen Road.” 

As he jotted it down, he wondered if he was being pranked. “Alright. When-”

“Any time. As soon as you want.” 

“Fine.” Magni sighed. “I will-” He glanced at his computer. The case of finding who was diverting links on the Studio 99 website to the Youtube video for Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” seemed much less interesting now - and that was saying something. “I’m heading over now.” 

“Thank you.”

He hung up the phone and stuck his other earplugs in. Magni locked his computer and grabbed his keys, but his escape wouldn’t be that easy. Hillson opened his door right as he stood up from his cubicle. 

“Quinn! Where are you going?” 

Magni opened his mouth to say something, but shut it quickly. “I’ll be back,” he decided on, nodding. 

“You’re an awful liar,” Hillson told him. 

“I didn’t even try to lie,” Magni said, leaving his cubicle. 

“I know you were trying to.” 

That was fair. But Hillson didn’t stop him as he headed towards the door. 

Ms. Fay’s place wasn’t in Westside. It was closer to the Resorts District, which meant he had to cross Bright City Boulevard and the traffic that always plagued it just to find her address. When he did finally find 7118 Geffen Road, Magni realized why the police didn’t take her seriously. 

The two-story house faced the street, the glowing sign in the window clear for any passing tourist to see - “PSYCHIC” with the outline of a star. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He parked on the street and walked up to the door. Living in Bright City, Magni should have been used to the weird. But as many Talents as he’d met, both on and off the job, he knew psychics weren’t real. 

Still, he was here now. 

Magni knocked on the front door. From inside, he heard the voice from the phone call, “Come inside! I’ll be with you shortly.” 

He opened the door and stepped inside the entry. A staircase led up stairs, with a narrow entry and an archway that opened to - well, it should have been a living room, but calling it a parlor seemed more accurate. Heavy curtains shrouded the room in darkness. A fancy but worn red couch was pressed up against the wall, under a tapestry of violet and crimson knots. 

Without his earplugs in, he heard a couple of smartphones, a computer somewhere deeper in the house. 

Magni stepped into the parlor. It was empty, but another pair of curtains separated it and another room. He figured that must have been where Ms. Fay did her business. 

He sat on the couch tentatively and nearly thought about texting Sprout. But this wasn’t the kind of thing to text her about. She’d think he was dying if he had to text her about it. No, it would be a better story to tell her over dinner. 

The curtains parted just enough for two young women in their twenties, one with a ‘bride-to-be’ sash over her short dress, to step out. “Thank you, Ms. Fay.” 

As they walked out, giggling, Magni tapped his fingers against his knee and wondered if this was really worth the scoop. Shit, he wasn’t even the actual investigator on the case. And what would Detective Pallas think if he did pass it along? Hillson was right, he was a terrible liar. He just had to hope she would actually believe him if he said he got his information from a psychic. 

The curtains opened again. He wasn’t sure who had expected the woman who had called him to be. Maybe an older white woman with a touch of cultural appropriation. Instead, a short, Black woman walked out. She definitely wasn’t much older than him, with thick, black curls with no touch of gray. She wore a deep purple dress that nearly brushed the ground and billowed with every step she took towards him. 

“Magni,” she said, before he could even stand to greet her. “I hope you can overlook your skepticism. May I interest you in a reading?” 

He tried to say no, but she was already disappearing back into her reading room. 

With a sigh, Magni followed her in. The room was lit by candles, making him feel a little disoriented in the dim light. “I don’t want a reading-” 

“I know,” Ms. Fay said. “You want your information. You think this is a waste of your time, and that I’m not what you expected, which- I’m only 31. And you must be gay, because most straight men notice my cleavage first.” 

He struggled to find the words to answer any of those claims, but only one answer came to mind, which she so helpfully filled in as well.

“And by now, you’ve figured out that I’m a telepath.” 

Ms. Fay smiled as she took a seat at the circular table in the room, looking at him expectantly. 

“Yes.” Magni took the seat across from her. “Are you going to talk over me the whole time?” 

“No. But please excuse my impatience.” 

He laid his hands on the table. “Is this reading the only way to get you to talk?” 

Ms. Fay picked up the deck of tarot cards in the middle of the table. “Let’s call it trust building.” As she started to shuffle them, she asked, “You’re a Talent, right? You work for Hillson.”

“Yes. Technopathy.” 

“Then I think you understand why I operate like this.” She met his eyes, hands still moving deftly. “My therapist said I’m an agoraphobe. I just think it’s too loud outside.”

He sighed. “Now that’s something I understand.” 

Ms. Fay spread the deck out in front of him. “Pick three cards and don’t look at them. Just hand them to me, in the order that you pull them out.” 

Magni did as she asked, picking at random. He’d never done one of these before. All he could hope was that it led to some kind of helpful outcome. 

She laid out the three cards for him, straightening up the remaining cards. “Here’s my secret, Mr. Quinn. Tarot is a symbolism game. I read the thoughts of my clients - what they desire, what they don’t even know they desire, what they fear, what they- well, you get the drill.” 

Ms. Fay flipped the first card over. “Five of coins. Someone’s fallen on hard times. They can’t keep a job. They get kicked out their apartment and have to crash on their cousin’s couch, down on Westside.” She turned over the next. “Seven of swords. They come up with a plan. Break into a few pawn shops in Westside. No one will look at them. They’re just a normie. Flying under the radar.” Finally, she flipped over the third. “Two of wands. They didn’t think this through enough, though. Everyone knows what’s been stolen. They can’t sell what they’ve stolen. They need guidance, ‘cause they think they’ve outsmarted you and Detective Pallas, but not enough. They need to know their next move.” 

“So the suspect came here?” 

“Bingo. I heard all that, did a little googling, and-” She picked up the next card on her deck, and grinned. “Huh.” Ms. Fay turned it around. A figure sat on a throne, a sword in one hand and a set of scales in the other. “Justice. Well, that worked out great.” She set the card down. “Think this was a waste of time now?” 

Magni leaned back in his chair. “You want the honest answer?” 

She laughed. “You ask like I don’t already know. Your perp’s name is Jerome Grover. I have his number and his credit card information, but you don’t need that last part. And if you do tell Detective Pallas about my parlor tricks, don’t tell her all my secrets.” 

He stood. “You know what they say. Honor among Talents.” 

“I thought it was honor among thieves,” Ms. Fay said, writing down Jerome’s name and number.

“If it were, I think you’ve broken that code, Ms. Fay.” He took the card from her. “If that’s even your real name.”

“Yes. It’s real. Althea Fay.” She rose. 

“What do I owe you?” 

“Nothing. Just being a good Samaritan. And hopefully, finding someone who understands.” 

Magni stuck the card in his pocket with a smile. “I think I do.” 

[powerpayback]

sorry for how I acted when there were multiple noises happening at the same time

[powerpayback]

#fictober24 - day ten

"Don't listen to me, listen to them."

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 549

tw: parental abuse

"On a scale from one to ten, how is your pain?" 

"Uh…" Hugo tipped his head back to stare up at the ceiling. "Seven. No, eight. I think." 

Dr. Coello sighed. He couldn't blame her. Regenerative healing made him a bad patient. It wasn't like he wasn't used to getting hurt; bruises healing up quick wasn't much of a deterrent for his father. But long-lasting pain like this, like a bullet in his fucking leg, that was a different story. 

"Eight," he repeated. "It's an eight." 

"That means you're still not healing," Dr. Coello told him. 

"Yeah, I know," Hugo said. He'd been crashing on the futon in the Coello-Sterlings' den for the past day, hoping his dad wouldn't come knocking on the door and trying to ignore the pain in his left calf. Crashing and burning out, really. His muscles and skin had knit them back up neatly, but his Talent didn't know what to do with the foreign object in his leg. 

At least, that was Dr. Coello's theory. 

“I’m trained in talantology, but without being able to take a look at what’s actually going inside your leg-” She stood up and crossed her arms. “We need to take you to a hospital and tell your father what’s going on.” 

Hugo pushed himself up to argue, but Haley piped up first from where she’d been keeping vigilance. “No way! If Mr. Gardner was gonna do anything about it, he wouldn’t have had to come to us. He’s never even let him get formally diagnosed as a regen.”

“Haley,” Dr. Coello chided. “Please.”

“Fine. If you don’t listen to me, listen to him,” she said, glancing over at Hugo.

“It’s true. I’m not- my dad never wanted it in my records. The only outcome he wants out of this burnout is for me to never have my Talent again,” Hugo answered. “And you know, some part of you knows, that he would just let me suffer and burn away. He would rather do that than let his reputation be blemished by the fact that his only son is a Talent.” 

He didn’t realize he’d started crying under Haley was passing him a tissue. That was embarrassing, even if it was only in front of his friend and her mother. 

“If you take me to the hospital, they’ll send me back to him before I’m ready. When he’s still pissed at me for running off. And if my Talent does come back-” 

“It’ll be hell for you,” Haley muttered. 

Dr. Coello let her arms fall away from her chest. She took the unused tissue in his hand and dabbed at his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Hugo. If I had known it was that bad, I… You can stay with us as long as you like.” 

The offer was tempting. To stay forever, with Dr. Coello’s maternal advice and Mr. Sterling’s cooking. It felt more like a family than he’d ever had, even when his mother was alive. 

“Thank you, Dr. Coello,” Hugo said. “But once I’m all healed up, I’ll be out of your hair. By then, he’ll have cooled off, maybe. And if I don’t get my Talent back-” His face broke into a grin, though he didn’t feel happy about what he was saying, “-it’ll all be okay.”

[powerpayback]