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Cats are my spirit animal

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love looking thru my notes app on my phone and finding tidbits like a note titled "crimes against emery (aka his trauma)"... frankly it's worse reading it and seeing that i in fact need to update it

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the problem with trying to worldbuild effectively is making entire family trees for OCs that don’t ever show up or have any impact on the main story

anyways i might be posting a thanksgiving story abt magni’s family that i have no business writing

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in the club wondering if people can tell i’m traumatized by the way i carry my body

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i want that dark souls character. NON-BINARY BEEF WANTER!

- julia

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this has been sitting in my drafts on this blog for a while but fun fact for the week: i changed the name of kent brasher like in the middle of writing my first draft n thus had to go through n change the names one by one since i use a writing software without a full find n replace feature

which i already knew was gonna be tough (i cross referenced with a doc i did save n found like 70 instances in what i had written until then) but i forgot i had THIS exchange in chapter nine in which i had to change. every name

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so the role that my OC red for power payback has like. been a lot of different characters throughout the years and in trying to re-organize my google drive i found a less-old outline that listed out some minor characters as well

and i found the character that was probably the closest tie to red like when i envisioned them and after me remembering how this story started n jokin abt how close they are to killer frost reading that this proto-red character was sprout's ex killed me immediately

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i think 'I trust you with my life but not your own' as a trope is one of the ones that can always fuck me up no matter what

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woah this character is so cool i wish they were covered in blood their whole body trembling with a look of absolute horror on their face as theyre struggling to breathe in panic

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out in public looking tortured

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#fictober24 - day twenty-nine

"How did this happen?"

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 1358

a/n: happy birthday @ginger-canary! i promised i would send emery to therapy for your birthday fic and um. technically he did go to therapy. also idk if i can do spoiler warnings for parts of my own novel i haven't released yet but this takes place post-SftS and thus kinda gives some things away abt emery's fate (but does not ruin the mystery dw).

Emery had never been a fan of doctors’ offices. He’d spent plenty of time having to pop into one Talent clinic or another - for his leg, for the various aches and pains he had when it got too cold or a storm started to roll in. 

Hell, over the past few years, he’d become a frequent flyer at one near the Vons he used to work at after particularly bad fights. They never asked questions, just checked him out and gave him prescriptions for pain meds that he never actually filled. 

The office of the therapist Dr. Coello had sent him to was no different. 

He sat in the waiting room, staring blankly at the sudoku in front of him. Bea had had good intentions when she told him he should see Dr. Lynwood. He was the type of therapist he should’ve seen after his burnout; Dr. Lynwood’s speciality was actually helping Talents overcome their post-burnout trauma. 

But this was post-burnout trauma, just… many years after the fact. 

She had been concerned that he couldn’t talk about what happened. However, therapy didn’t help with a legal agreement that he wasn’t allowed to discuss what had happened to him outside of a Silver Spade-approved story. That was the price he’d paid to have his medical bills paid, including covering the cost of a nice prosthetic to replace the lower half of his leg that doctors had been unable to salvage. Not that it was ready for him to actually use yet.  

“Emery Gori?”

He set down the newspaper he’d picked up and grabbed his crutches. Figuring out how to live with a leg and a half was no biggie. After all, he’d basically been living that way since he was 15. But he hated the looks that the receptionist gave him, cloying pity. 

At least he still had his other scars covered. 

“Dr. Lynwood’s office is down the hall, second door to the left,” she informed him. 

“Thanks.” 

When Emery reached the door, he just knocked, not wanting to accidentally make a fool of himself. Thankfully, the therapist didn’t just call for him to come in, opening the door for him to make his way inside. 

The office was simple, but cozy. Sunlight seeped through the open window, filling the room with natural light. 

“Emery. I’m glad you could make it.” Dr. Lynwood was an older man, maybe in his 60s, if he had to guess. His long, white hair was tied back in a ponytail. But the rest of his vibe was proper - not uptight, but proper. “You can sit over there and we can begin. Have you ever… done something like this before?” 

“Talk therapy? No.” Emery took a seat on the couch, leaning his crutches against the chair. It was always kinda strange to figure out what to do with his legs when he sat now; there was just enough left of his leg that leaving it dangling over the edge of the couch made him feel exposed. But he tried to clear that out of his mind, to get out of his head about it. 

“Okay. We can start slow.” Dr. Lynwood sat down in the armchair facing him. “Let’s just unpack why you’re here. Such as… how did this happen?” 

Emery tried to weigh what he could say and what he couldn’t. He could be sparse enough and not unpack all the details. “I was abducted and kept hostage. And they wanted to make sure I couldn’t run, so-” He swallowed. “My dad shot me in the leg when I was young. And the bullet never got removed, I-” He tugged down the mask he was wearing. “Yeah.” 

Dr. Lynwood didn’t flinch. He remembered the therapist had dealt with many burnt out Talents; this was probably the least gnarly thing he’d seen. Okay, maybe not least gnarly. “So they did something to the bullet in your leg.” 

“Uh-huh. Sorta… pushed it in more. Pushed it in wrong. So then my leg was even more jacked up than before and they amputated it. Just thought it’d be easier.” 

He scribbled something down in the notepad on his lap. Emery wondered what he had found of such note. “How recent was this abduction?” 

“A month ago? Maybe more like a month and a half.” He tucked his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “My friend’s mom suggested I see someone because I’ve been having night terrors. Like, bad ones. But I don’t remember them.” 

Dr. Lynwood raised an eyebrow. “You don’t remember them?” 

“No. Apparently I just wake up and try to run, but obviously-” Emery gestured to his bad leg. “Someone has to stop me or I just hurt myself.” 

“Well, you were held captive for- how long?” 

“A week. Around that.” 

“Yes. Even what might seem like an inconsequential amount of time, a week, can still leave quite the impression on one’s psyche.” He tapped his pen against his notepad. “So you haven’t been remembering your nightmares?” 

“I’m not sure if they’re nightmares. Or if I’m just…” He tried to figure out the best way to put it into words. “Forgetting. That I’m not there anymore.” 

Dr. Lynwood didn’t look convinced. He jotted something else down and met Emery’s eyes. “Have you had any other incidents like this? In your day-to-day life?”

“Not really. But I’ve been pretty reclusive since I got back from the hospital. Aside from going in for appointments and getting fitted for my prosthetic, this is really my first time leaving the house.” Emery sighed. “Maybe I don’t need to be here.” 

“If you’re having these terrors, it’s probably a sign that there’s something else going on. We don’t have to discuss the details of your abduction if you’re not ready, but do you… remember everything?” 

Emery seriously considered lying. Then if he didn’t talk about something, couldn’t talk about something, he could use that excuse. Instead, he nodded. “Yeah. Every moment.” 

He wrote something else down into his notepad - yeah, he was gonna regret being honest there. “Would it feel better if you did discuss some of those details?” 

He wondered what he could say - what he was allowed to say. But he thought of one. “I wasn’t the only one. I wanted to get out so bad. Even with my leg, I was going to try to make a run for it. They had tied me to the bed and I had been rubbing at my wrists to try and make a file.” Emery’s fingers dropped down the rash-like scars that covered his inner wrists, under the cuff of his hoodie, grounding himself in the tactile sensation. Trying to remember that it was real, but that it was in the past. “But I heard one of them talking to her. And I knew who it was, she’d gone missing before me. And I knew I couldn’t just leave without getting her out too, but I was gonna barely be able to get myself out. And I felt helpless.” 

Dr. Lynwood handed him a tissue. He felt mildly embarrassed that he hadn’t noticed he was crying. The realization that Misty was there, like it wasn’t something he’d had a hunch about but now knew was true, was something he hadn’t told Haley, or anyone else. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he’d given up there. Misty hadn’t been locked up the same way - no, the methods used to contain her and her Talent had been demeaning in a different way. But he hadn’t known that then. 

Emery, who had made it a point to never give in, whether against his dad or the pain that set in with every step, had given up.

“But you got out. You’re out now,” Dr. Lynwood reminded him. “And she’s out too, yes?” 

Emery nodded. “Yeah. We’re out.” It had been an ordeal, but they were out. 

“And now, you can heal. You can both heal.”

“But healing hurts,” he muttered. 

“You’d certainly know much better than me. But Emery, it’s not something to be scared of.” 

Emery wiped away the last of his tears. “I’m not scared. I think I’m ready.”

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i felt like tumblr would enjoy this shirt

Shortcuts, by Emma Ivansson, 2021. embroidery and paint on cotton/polyester

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#fictober24 - day twenty-seven

"Let me remind you."

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 902

For a moment, Sprout had thought she had forgotten the way to her family’s nursery. 

Of course, once she pulled up to the parking lot, she knew she could never forget it. The first sixteen years of her life had been spent here: watching her mom work her botanokinesis to create plants that could withstand the harsh desert heat, sitting with Magni under the gazebo near the back of the property to do homework under Primrose’s watch, working the counter during the summers for extra allowance. 

Crossing the gate, ignoring the CLOSED sign, felt like breaking a rule. The sun was starting to set, the darkness making the plants look more menacing than beautiful. Sprout tucked her hands into her pockets, pulling them closer to her. 

She went to the shop and knocked on the staff only door, already feeling her heart pounding in her chest. 

This was a bad idea. Thinking she and Magni could strike out on their own was a bad idea. Coming back here was a bad fucking idea. 

The door swung open. 

“Daisy?�� Primrose asked. Despite the fact that her sister had probably been here since opening, she still looked pristine in her smart pale pink dress. It helped that she’d claimed handling the paperwork and keeping her own hands clean once their grandmother had passed. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hey.” She took out the folded HELP WANTED sign from her pocket. “Heard you were looking for a part-time cashier.” 

Primrose sighed. “Before I tell you no, let me remind you. Grandma said you weren’t allowed to work here. Ever.” 

“I hate to remind you, but Grammy Rosemary’s been dead for, I don’t know, eight years now.” Sprout crossed her arms. “You can just tell me no. I kinda knew it was a lost cause. But if you hear me out-” 

“This is highly unprofessional. Come in.” 

She followed her sister inside to the small break room. Luckily, it seemed like it just been her; no sign of their parents, her brother-in-law, or, what she was most grateful for, her own brother. If Basil had been here, there was no chance Primrose would have even tried. Not that she blamed him. 

Primrose sat at the table, picking up the mug that had been there, still steaming. “Did you fill out an application and bring your resume?” 

“Yes, and yes.” She pulled them out from another pocket - thank God for cargo pants. It might not have been professional enough for her sister to unfold them, but she had more tact when it wasn’t with family. And wasn’t sure she was walking into failure. 

She took the papers from Sprout and smoothed them out. Her face was still as stone as she read them. She wasn’t sure what Primrose could learn from her resume that she hadn’t learned from family gatherings where her dull job verifying insurance claims was one of few safe topics. 

“Hm. You graduated magna cum laude from UNBC’s criminal justice program. Very promising.” 

“I’m sorry that it wasn’t summa cum laude. My statistics professor at Bright City College was a hard-ass.”

Primrose glared at her from over her resume. It was a smart ass comment, she knew, but Sprout couldn’t hold her tongue. 

“I hate to inform you, but the position’s already been filled,” Primrose said, finally setting down the papers in her hand. 

Sprout balked. “So why did you have me come in here to string me along?” 

“Because I know why you came here. I heard about you and Magni’s detective business. I can’t give you a job, but I can try to help. Consider it… part-part-time.” 

She sighed. “It’s better than nothing.” Straightening up, she continued, “I mean, thank you. So much.” 

Primrose passed her resume back over. “I’m just surprised you actually came to me. You refused to let Mom and Dad help you pay for your first apartment, or Bright City College. And I know Dad had to pressure you into letting him co-sign your student loans.” 

It was true. She loved her family, but she didn’t want to feel obligated to them. Once, she had placed her whole future in upholding their legacy. Now she knew, even in this capacity, she would never be a part of that. 

“It’s rough. Magni and I don’t have many savings, and it’s hard to find cases when you’re newbies on the scene. Lots of PIs, you know, they were already with police, and have some credence there. Magni at least worked for Hillson, and people know him there. But he can’t take too many technopathy cases and I- I feel like I’m not doing anything,” Sprout confessed. It was the most raw she’d been with her sister since she had her burnout. “I just want to keep our bills paid.” 

She stood up. “I’ve always admired that about you. That you just… don’t give up. It’s annoying as hell sometimes, but you don’t like to accept defeat.” 

Sprout leaned back in her chair. It was rare that she got the chance to look up at Primrose. “I accepted defeat when Grandma banned me from working here.” 

“But you came back.” 

She grinned. “Okay. I did.” 

“Don’t block my number. I’ll call you when I need you.” Primrose picked up her mug. “And… I’ll break the news to Mom and Dad.” 

“And Basil?” 

Guilt washed over her face. “And Basil.”

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oh that gap in my resume is cuz i was out killing people

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#fictober24 - day twenty-five

"It consumes me."

original fiction (power payback)

word count: 1004

tw: implied sexual content

Emery hated waking up in Red’s bed. 

It wasn’t the experience itself that was bad. Emery enjoyed being with Red - in the moment. The heat that built up when he was in their cold arms, barely waiting until they pressed the threshold of their apartment before he was ripping the buttons off their stupid suit-

Okay, not ripping. Red would kill him if he messed up the buttons on their silver silk button-down. 

But waking up the next morning, shivering in the cold and filled with guilt was something he never liked. 

Beside him, Red had pulled the covers off him to huddle in. They were a total blanket hog - understandable, but still annoying. He sat up, wishing he remembered to put his shirt and sweats back on before he went to bed, ever. It was a mistake he made, over and over again. 

Emery saw his sweats where he’d left them, near the door. Of course. He stood to grab them.

Or tried to. The moment he put his weight on his left leg, he winced, sitting back down on the bed. “Shit,” he whispered, leaning over to grab where the bullet embedded in his calf was. He’d fought Kent the night before, and always felt the effects of his ferrokinesis the day after. In the moment, the adrenaline and his Talent kicking in to heal his other wounds generally left him numb to the pain. 

He heard Red inhale, sitting up with a yawn. They rested their chin on his shoulder, placing a cold hand on his bicep. “Hey. You’re still here.” 

“Yeah. I was just getting ready to go,” Emery said. “Where do you keep your Tylenol? My leg is acting up.” 

“It’s in the medicine cabinet. I’ll get it.” 

As they pulled away, he shook his head. “No. I can find it.” This time when he stood, he was more prepared for the pain that shot up his leg. But he couldn’t hide the flash of pain that crossed his face with each step as he limbed to Red’s bathroom. 

Emery knew his habit of slipping out on Red was probably even worse than sleeping with them. It was one thing to risk getting them fired and himself thrown out of being allowed to compete at the Argenti Lounge. It was another thing to be a dick in the process. 

He shook out a few pills into his hand and threw them back, not bothering with water to wash them down. As he shut the cabinet, he met his own reflection. His hair was a mess, curls frizzy and askew. Shit. It was Saturday. Haley wouldn’t be working this morning. 

Emery turned on the sink and wet his hands, trying to tame his curls somewhat. His right hand was stiff as he scrunched his curls back into something decently presentable. 

When he stepped back into the bedroom, Red had thrown on a robe. They sat on the edge of their bed, braiding their long hair idly. But they looked up from their task as he came back in and went to grab his clothes. 

“Do you have work today?” they asked. 

“Nope.” Emery pulled on his shirt. 

“I don’t have to be at the Spade until 6.” Red finished braiding their hair and stood. “We could go grab breakfast. Or I could try to make us breakfast, though I’m a shitty cook.” Their smile was so genuine it hurt. 

As he sat down to pull on his sweats, he considered their offer. The thought of Red in that silky black robe, laughing as they burnt pancakes, was somehow more irresistible than the confidence as the Argenti Lounge’s grand ringleader that he had fallen for in the first place.

No, not fallen for. Been drawn into. Because Emery Gori was not in love. 

“I don’t know,” he answered finally. “I should probably head home.” 

Red’s smile fell. “Oh.” 

It hurt, to let them down. More than he wanted to admit. 

“I-” Emery stood up to pull his sweats up, then walked over to them. He tucked one of the stray strands of red hair behind their ear, meeting their pale blue eyes with a sigh. They had gone frozen as ice, barely reacting as he did. “Red-” 

“No.” They stepped back. “That’s fine. You know, I thought that maybe this could be more than a fling, but-” Red turned back, their robe twirling as they walked towards their closet. 

“Isn’t it easier this way?” he asked. “Weren’t you the one who said Ms. Eld would never let it go if she learned that you-” 

The speed at which they turned back to him was frightening. The ice was gone from their eyes, fiery fury taking its place. “Don’t you dare use my duty to Ms. Eld against me. You wouldn’t understand. What she expects out of me - it consumes me. But you-” Red blinked, maybe as if holding back tears. Or maybe realizing they said too much, their countenance freezing up once more. “If you don’t feel the same way, just leave.”

Emery sat back down on the end of the bed. “That’s my problem.” He messed with the hem of his sleeve, avoiding meeting their stare. He didn’t like catching feelings. The best relationships, the best sex he’d had, came with a rigid agreement with a clause keeping things from getting too personal. When things got too personal, too many questions got asked. He got hurt. And not in the way he liked. “I like you too, Vee.” 

That softened them up. They tucked their hands in the pockets of their robe. “You sure have an odd way of showing it. Ditching me before I wake up and all.” 

“Sorry.” There was no good way to explain himself, not that he’d been running from his problems since he was 17. Not that Red was a problem, either. It was just his stupid feelings. 

“Well.” Red sighed. “Is that a yes on breakfast?” 

“Yeah.” Emery smiled. “That’s a yes on breakfast.”