#and they said that he was to damage her internals with his telekinesis without breaking the skin

[qm-vox]

Sigilverse Fanfic - Death by Misadventure

Author’s Note: After ten thousand years I am ONCE AGAIN PROCRASTINATING ON OTHER OBLIGATIONS to bring you the unasked-for fourth chapter in this Sigilverse fanfic. Previous chapters, in order, include What You Think of Death, In It To The Death, and Death Warmed Over. Sigilverse continues to be provided by @periakman whose latest book Legacy of the Sigil just dropped. Like queer YA that grapples absolutely fucking directly with trauma, recovery, and injustice? Give her a glance and your money.

Content Warnings: Child abuse, violence, mentions of suicide, extrajudicial murder, drug use

Vellkill Island, Grevelt. Late Autumn

Monika was intently working her way through her linguistics assignments when Deirdre punched her directly in the back of the head, not hard enough to see stars but definitely hard enough that the young apprentice’s hunched-over seating posture became her best imitation of a human-skin rug.

“The Void was that for?” Monika asked with her mouth against the stone floor of her room.

“Don’t die of shock, but science,” Deirdre commented. “Notice how you actually got hit?”

“I was there, I remember.”

“How often have you actually been hit in the last two months you ass?” came the acidic rebuttal.

Monika considered this. It certainly hadn’t been for lack of trying on Deirdre’s part or, she had to admit, the various soldiers the two of them had cajoled into helping explore Monika’s affinity. The apprentice’s telekinesis seemed to rely on existing movement, but it could nudge and exaggerate motion with incredible efficiency. Fists, feet, blades, sandbags, hurled bricks (while wearing a helmet, obviously), all had simply nyoomed right past Monika without so much as disturbing her dreadlocks. Deirdre had vetoed attempting to shoot Monika with a crossbow bolt; when Monika had tried it anyway using a rope and pulley system, the bolt had went right past her too.

“Yeah, well - I’d like to see you try it again,” Monika muttered bitterly.

“I’m going to,” Deirdre admitted.

“Why?”

“Science,” Deirdre answered, and then she aimed a savage kick at the girl.

Monika’s previous training paid off; she rolled away from her master’s boot and up into a fighting stance. Deirdre wasn’t in her typical armor, which meant among other things that if Monika hit her it’d actually hurt, except -

- hold on -

“Are you wearing padding?” Monika asked in outrage.

“We’re in a stone room and I expect you’re gonna toss my corpse around like old laundry, of course I’m in padding,” Deirdre answered. “You gonna hit me back or what?”

“What’re we testing?” Monika answered; the two circled each other warily, automatically edging away from Monika’s bed and kicking books out of the space where a fight might happen without taking their eyes off of each other.

“Focus,” came the reply. “I need to know if you can fight and do that at the same time, and how long you can do both or either. What’s the rule?”

“Report any feelings of pain in my head or eyes, halt if you call a halt, magic can hurt me and I need to not be hurt for no reason,” Monika answered dutifully. “I’m no good to you if I have a stroke.”

“You’re no good to yourself if you have a stroke, little patriot. Now hit me.”

So Monika hit her.

Like a speeding carriage.

Deirdre took the shot in the solar plexis and hit the stone wall with a whump. Dust shook loose from the rafters while the teen stared in vague shock. Deirdre slid to the ground slowly, collapsing onto her ass and sucking in deep, steady breaths.

“Change of plans,” the Silencer managed in what Monika could only call ‘her voice’ for lack of a better word. “I’m just gonna try to hit you and if anyone asks what happened to me, your obstacle course got me.”

“...Yeah, okay.”

This plan went fantastically for Monika. Deirdre not so much.

The teen watched as her master attempted to hit her to absolutely no avail. Deirdre kept her movements small, precise, laying out a flurry of controlled jabs and strikes that all missed by the barest fraction of an inch. For bigger things Monika could usually feel a twinge, the sensation of her affinity being accessed, but here it was more like a background noise as her kinesis just chugged along.

Things got wild with the bigger hits. An attempted haymaker sent Deirdre sprawling into the wall in an ungainly heap. A stomp kick fit to break down a door hit the wall instead, folding the Silencer in on herself like a paper fan and blowing the air out of her lungs. Deirdre tried to wave off Monika’s sheepish attempts to offer her a canteen of water but her body won out over her pride.

The attempt to throw the canteen at Monika sent it sailing out the window and into the presence of the world’s least fortunate chicken and luckiest enlisted man, respectively.

After what felt like an eternity, but the shifting daylight insisted was about an hour, Deirdre collapsed onto the bed with sweat plastering her red hair to her neck.

“You’re not even tired,” the Silencer complained.

“Nope,” Monika agreed. “I’m only just now feeling any pressure in my head and even then it’s more like I’ve got a cat on me.”

“...This might complicate things.”

“Isn’t it a good sign?” Monika pressed, voice full of hope.

“Depends, how into dying on accident are you in the name of science?”

Monika didn’t answer that.

“You know what I’m about to ask.”

Monika didn’t answer. She just left the room.

*

Monika had long since given up on looking for Ysabelle anywhere but the infirmary; the healer slept there, on a narrow cot that she insisted was her own choice and preference, thank you very much you nosy brat. On the average day there weren’t actually all that many patients, and today there were none. Monika walked in on Ysabelle putting a kettle on for tea.

“That beast finally find a way to maul you again?” Ysabelle asked without looking up, her voice flat.

“I don’t like you talking about her like that,” Monika said in a low voice. “...But no. I wanted to ask you about magical injuries. Erm. Injuries from using your affinity, that is.”

Wordlessly, Ysabelle left the kettle, but when she came back with two cups and set them down Monika knew she was invited to stay. The apprentice sat down cross-legged on one of the medical beds and waited for the healer to speak.

“Understand that I say this in the most technical sense I can,” Ysabelle began after a moment. “The question you’ve just asked is completely useless. Some affinities are inherently dangerous. Some are dangerous because they’re in bodies that aren’t suited to use them, or only partially suited. The Reaper puts his bones straight through his own skin and muscle, and even though he’s adapted to handle that it still hurts. Is that the sort of affinity injury you’re asking about?”

Monika frowned, holding her empty teacup and staring down into it. The porcelain was thin and unusually fine; once again, the apprentice considered asking Ysabelle why she had such an expensive tea service, and once again Monika discarded the question as likely to open up realms of bullshit beyond her imagination. “No, not...well...maybe? What happens to telekinetics?”

“Ah. Hrm. You’re wondering about your limits?” When Monika nodded, Ysabelle started to hrm her way through preparing the tea; picking out the blend she wanted to use, getting out stale cookies (’Why are your cookies so shit when your tea is so expensive?’ was another one of those questions Monika forced herself not to ask on a nearly daily basis), and fetching her cream, butter, and sugar. With the service fully set, the healer once again settled down to look at Monika. “That is...also complicated. Esoteric applications of magic can cause brain injuries, but they don’t always do so. Over-use of magic in general causes damage to what I will, for lack of a better term, classify as the soul, the fallout of which can range from acute depression, catatonic or fugue states, dissociation, or even death. Part of the reason ritual magic is so tightly controlled is because of injuries of this kind.”

The teen nodded, and then frowned again. “Wait, for lack of a better term? Do you not believe in souls?”

Ysabelle gave Monika a wan grin. “I did most of my learning in Haldon, where we have other ideas. That beast training you could tell you more, if you care to ask.”

Monika bristled, and when she saw Ysaballe tensing up in turn the apprentice let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and willed herself to calm down. Lots of people had reasons to dislike Deirdre. Void, Monika disliked Deirdre! Just let it go. Leeeeet it gooooo.

“In your opinion -” Monika began, and then she stopped. Ysabelle said nothing, but when the kettle started whistling did move to make the tea at last, giving the teen a lot more time to think. Getting a warm cup how she liked it (to wit, with enough sugar to kill nine men) to hold in her hands was a comfort of its own. “My master is concerned that if I can’t find a way to regulate my power, I could cause myself brain injuries. Maybe even those soul ones you’re talking about,” Monika explained at last. “How would I be able to tell if I’m close to danger?”

Comprehension dawned over Ysabelle’s expression; the healer added butter and sugar to her tea and stirred it slowly, clearly looking for the words she wanted to say. Monika had seen this look before, when trying to diagnose a tricky problem or injury and explain it in a way her patient would understand. “You probably don’t,” Ysabelle admitted after a moment. “Pain in the head without a clear cause could be one sign, but it might not be; a lot of the brain has no pain receptors, and if you’re bleeding internally you may not know until you have a stroke or even die. Fatigue can also be a sign of excessive magical expenditure, but given your affinity...”

“...I’ll probably be exhausted for other reasons,” Monika finished with a nod. “Hell, even just doing training with Lee leaves me exhausted.”

“Mister Lee puts you through your paces,” Ysabelle agreed. “And if you end up in battle, as you inevitably will given your master’s profession, the emotional toll can make self-awareness even more difficult. Your master is correct - you are in fact in an unknown amount of danger from yourself, and this danger of necessity will need to be addressed.” She and Monika took sips of their tea at the same time, each with expressions of Intense Contemplation on their faces. “If you could be so kind, please explain to Deirdre that you had this conversation with me, and that I may be able to suggest resources to the both of you on this matter which would require her rather more comprehensive powers of requisition. I am willing to speak to her at her earliest convenience.”

“Civilly?” Monika pressed.

Ysabelle sighed.

“Civilly,” the healer agreed, at last.

*

Vellkill Island, Grevelt. Midwinter.

The teleporter arrived without much fanfare, to the immediate panic of those posted there. Monika’s first clue that something was wrong was the mad scramble to put everything up to code, as if some kind of inspection was coming. She had just been about to find Deirdre and ask what was happening when her master found her instead.

“Uniform up, we’re due downstairs,” Deirdre ordered briskly. “And your books have arrived.”

“These related?” Monika hazarded, even as she moved to obey.

“Very. Try to be on your best behavior, the Colonel’s going to have a stick up his ass.”

‘Downstairs’ turned out to be the fort’s parade ground, where the soldiery were assembled in crisp formation. The Colonel (Monika went into her breathing exercises; stay calm, staaaay calm) was conversing in low tones with a tall, bald woman with skin just as dark as Monika’s own, a first since arriving at this Void-curst island. As they got closer, the apprentice noticed the dagger tattoo on the woman’s hand, just like the one on Deirdre’s.

Another Crimson Dagger. Oh no.

“Silencer,” the tall woman greeted with a nod. “Monika of Westkill. My name is Serethen of Javier. I have brought your requested materials.”

Monika bowed. Deirdre just nodded, and then opened her mouth: “Didn’t expect those until spring opened the seas up. What do you want?”

Serethen laughed and favored Deirdre with a faint smile. “Your reputation precedes you, Silencer. There is an ulterior motive, but it will wait. My journey has been long, and I am exhausted. You and your apprentice will take lunch with me tomorrow, and then we can discuss things.”

“I will have my rooms -” the Colonel began.

“Not you,” Serethen interrupted.

“That is hardly your place, Agent,” the island’s lord and master hissed, only to be forced to fumble and curse as a sealed envelope was thrown at him. He glared at the tall teleporter, and then at the envelope.

Later, much later, Monika would treasure the exact look on his face during darker times in her life.

“Not you,” Serethen repeated, and then she set down the heavy pack on her back. She gestured between it and Deirdre and then swept away with a quiet dignity and no small amount of self-satisfaction.

“I think I might want to be her when I grow up,” Monika said after a moment.

“Same,” her master echoed.

[feroluce]

TakeRitsu Week Day 7: Choose

aka RiMomo, aka Peach Sorbet, aka Feroluce continues her fond tradition of beating the tar out of Ritsu.

Warnings: Bruises, a single vague mention of a knife/blood, dehydration, starvation. We’ll say the genre for this Pick Your Own Day is Romance. Its basically the Comfort part of the Hurt/Comfort. Some plotless fluff.

Parts 1 and 2 can be found under #Latent Toxicity on my blog, or #feroluce on @takeritsuweek2017.

Everything is dark and grainy. He recalls an immense pressure and the blissful relief when the gasket finally blew, but not much else. For now, he's content to simply drift in the ether.

There's something bright and warm, something that feels and sounds like home, sinking into him and lifting him up, up...

"Ritsu, please wake up. Please..."

Shige. Ritsu opens his eyes, finds a near mirror image looking back at him.

"Oh, good. I need your help. I-I don't think I can do this by myself." His hair is swaying up above his forehead in an invisible current. "I don't know what happened or what's wrong with Momozou. I don't know what I need to do. And he...he's still out cold."

Ritsu is suddenly a lot more awake. He turns his head, finds him immediately. Momozou is laid out next to him on the floor, looking brittle and frail and all too easy to break.

"Ritsu, are you OK? You look like you got hit in the head." It's nice of his brother to be concerned, but he's sure he's not even concussed and waves it off easily. It can be dealt with later.

Momozou doesn't even stir as he's settled onto the living room couch and Ritsu has to remind himself this is normal. He's a deep sleeper, once he's able to actually fall asleep. He's slept through small earthquakes before. He's fine.

He watches his chest rise and fall for a few seconds, just in case.

He’s been here since Friday, according to the phone and the spirit... Shit, did he have any food or water in that time? Ritsu leans down closer, takes a quick inventory of the face in front of his. His eyes are the most obvious part. Momozou has always had dark circles there, they're a permanent feature. Now, though, they're far darker and dip even further towards his cheekbones. His eyes and cheeks are sunken in, he looks sickly and exhausted. Ritsu runs a thumb over his lips and they're chapped to the point they've split down the middle.

"Shige, get a glass of water. There are straws in the drawer next to the sink." After being given actual instructions, his brother's shoulders visibly sag with relief. His dark hair is still billowing upwards, but he doesn't look as close to 100% now, at least. It strikes Ritsu then why Shige had probably needed help so badly. Its hard for him to keep calm on his own and he does better with others in the lead. Had he tried to take care of everything by himself, he might have exploded and they're not sure what Shared 100% would do to Momozou in this state.

He has to shake Momozou by the shoulders for far longer than he's comfortable with before he'll wake up. His eyes are slow to open and his voice is cracked when he asks, "Ritsu...? Am I dead?"

"No. You're pretty badly dehydrated, but I think you'll be OK."

"Dammit... So close."

Ugh, he shouldn't have worried so much. Ritsu shoves the glass up next to the couch cushion, the end of the straw brushing one sunken cheek. It takes some help, he's too sluggish and uncoordinated, but Momozou manages to grip it between his lips and sucks down several gulps before he has to catch his breath.

Afterwards, he turns his head back towards the ceiling, rubbing at his bloodshot eyes. At the moment, all Ritsu wants to do is climb onto the couch and not let Momozou out of his sight, but…

"Ah, Momozou…? Why is your fridge empty?" There are other things to be taken care of first. Like the fact that Momozou's refrigerator is apparently broken and there's nothing but instant noodles in the cupboard. Shige leans over the back of the couch to give him a look…which does little because Momozou has already passed out again. Both brothers sigh as Ritsu surveys the damage. There are small items thrown around the kitchen and living room, a disgusting red smear on the glass doors, but that's about the extent of it. The evil spirit had obviously never stood a chance.

"I think we should take him home with us. Mom went grocery shopping yesterday, we should have something we can feed him there. Instant noodles will probably just make him sick right now."

"Mm. And because you don't want to leave him alone, either, do you?" Shige smiles and pats his head, something he's recently picked up from the conman. "The two of you are so close. I'm glad." Ritsu ignores the warmth in his face as he hauls Momozou up onto his back, forces invisibility to cover both of their bodies. Flying will be much faster, especially if no one notices them. "You go ahead of me. I'll pack some stuff for him and walk back."

Ritsu brings him home and repeats the process. He lays Momozou on the couch and then shamelessly curls up on top of him, deciding to use his powers to bring water and a straw to them. This time it's the weight of another body that wakes him up and he's just a little more alert after he's drained the glass.

"Ritsu...your face..." His voice is still weak and raspy as he lifts clumsy fingers, brushing them across a bruised forehead and swollen jaw. Ritsu tilts his head to lean into the touch, decides the throbbing pain is worth it. "Did I do that...?"

"Hey. No, you didn't do anything. You had no part in any of this, except for the part where you saved us." His face isn't important, anyway. He wonders how much of it all Momozou remembers. (He knows he sure as hell doesn't want to be anywhere near that pocket knife for a while.)

...What happened to the evil spirit? Is it gone? Telepathy has become easy, its second nature between them after knowing each other long enough.

Yeah. We...Shige got it. Its gone for good now. Ritsu looks up towards the kitchen, just enough to see what he's levitating to start making soup. Momozou is going to need more than just water.

Thank you. That was...an experience. (He should be telling that to Shige, not him.) Ritsu refills the water and manages to get him to drink a little more before he passes out again.

By the time his brother comes home with an overnight bag, Momozou has managed to down all of the soup (and nearly die a second time choking on it) and change clothes. He's currently asleep on the couch again, sitting up with his head tipped back and arms crossed in front of him, while Ritsu stands in the kitchen and cooks an actual meal. Shige is the one to shake him awake this time because watching Momozou’s arms flex and chest push against Ritsu’s too-small T-shirt is doing weird things to his heart.

"Momozou...I know you're sleepy, but I think you should wash up. You'll feel better after and then you can eat again." Momozou rubs at his eyes (they look better after so much water) as he grumbles something below Ritsu's hearing. Shige extends his hand and hauls the other boy up, both of them stumbling from the upset of balance. His brother appears by his side a moment later, offering to help.

Ritsu startles and nearly squeaks when he suddenly feels a body press up behind him, two arms engulfing his neck and his shoulders as Momozou's cheek rests on top of his head. He must be really exhausted to be quite this clingy.

"Ritsu, you wanna come help me shower?"

He must be really, really exhausted. Momozou seems to think it's hilarious to fluster Ritsu at all times of the day, but he usually watches himself around Shige (at least, more than he does anyone else). Ritsu swears he can hear the mental brakes screeching in all three of their heads.

...I said that one out loud, didn’t I?

You dumbass.

"I'll come help you, Takenaka. No problem." Shige's voice and face have both gone flat. Well, flatter than usual.

PLEASE TELL ME HE KNOWS I DIDN'T MEAN ANYTHING BY THAT.

Sorry, dude, tough break. What kind of flowers do you want on your grave, “Takenaka?"

"That, uh... That's OK, Shige. I think I can actually do it on my own."

"Of course not. I insist." Momozou  doesn't resist when Shige takes his arm and starts to help him towards the upstairs bathroom.

I can’t believe I survived an evil spirit and now this is how I die. Tell my mom I love her.

Ritsu waits until he hears the door shut to bury his steaming face in his hands (and then quickly recoil from the pain there. He'll do something about it later.) Thank god Shou and Teruki aren't here. With Shige he'll never live it down, but between those two he'd never hear the end of it. They tend to egg each other on when they're together.

After he's packed away all of the food, Ritsu drags himself into his bedroom and flops down on the bed as he pulls his shirt off. He should really change, he's still in his uniform, but now that he's laid down its difficult to get back up again. His body feels as though he's been hit by a truck and there's weariness and exhaustion worming through his skin and down into his bones. Maybe he'll just rest his eyes. Just until Momozou gets out of the bathroom.

He wakes to the sound of his bedroom door opening. Momozou comes stumbling in wearing the clothes Shige brought from his apartment, with two bowls of food and glasses of juice balanced in his arms, trying to settle everything on the desk in the corner. Ritsu catches them twice with his telekinesis before there's a mess on the carpet. "Hey, there. I brought up dinner. You haven't eaten yet, have you? You were too busy taking care of...me..."

He's staring. Ritsu follows his gaze down and curses internally when he realizes he had fallen asleep without a shirt. His torso is more black and purple than it is actual pale skin color.

"...It's fine, Momo. They're just bruises. You should eat."

He clenches his jaw, looks like he wants to say something more, but ultimately Momozou goes out on the window balcony with the food while Ritsu finally changes out of his high school uniform and into sweatpants and a hoodie. When he follows, though, he goes right back to staring, his cheeks stained red.

"Uh, Ritsu? I think that's actually mine."

Oh, no wonder it felt a little big. Ritsu pinches and pulls at the fabric, smoothing it out to its full length. The end of the hoodie easily comes down past his hips with the sleeves flopping over his fingertips. He nearly gives it back, but Momozou insists, so he keeps it on as they sit on the landing together to eat.

As soon as they're done, Momozou all but drags him to the bed and pulls him down next to him. Ritsu goes willingly, squirming and kicking around until he can keep Momozou pressed up against the wall and away from the outside. He curls in close, runs his hands up under the back of Momozou's shirt just because he's warm and alive and because he can. There will probably be a lot to talk about later, but for now there's warm breath tickling his hair and legs tangled up with his and it's enough. Everything else can wait.