bringing dust to life

nothing you see will amount to anything at all for the rest

[bloodmoonscall]

zhan // they/them lesbian or somesuch // medium powered fandom hag // self-appointed rhiyo captain // overclocked word anarchist // annoying motherfucker

ao3 \\ bluesky \\ main blog

kayfabe compliant // wrestlingverse AU // full AU // tumblr exclusive

[bloodmoonscall]

The Setback.

Rating: Teen Pairing: Rhea Ripley/Iyo Sky CW: N/A Wordcount: 2.5k

Summary: Being away from Iyo is not Rhea’s favourite thing in the world. They’ve only got tonight, and then they’re back to being in different places. Damn her if she’ll waste it on a trip to the emergency room to get something checked out that’s probably just a little sprain.

AO3 Crosspost

Being away from Iyo is not Rhea’s favourite thing in the world to begin with. They both knew there would naturally come a time when they’d have to work apart - as much as Rhea would sometimes love to say to hell with it and ignore everything else, relegating herself to tag teaming with Iyo for the rest of time, that’s a moderately selfish thing to do. Okay, supremely selfish. Her girlfriend is the best in the world, and deserves to be able to chase down singles gold without feeling like doing so is stifling Rhea.

Not that she’d mind, but Iyo has her own thoughts about the kind of opportunities Rhea should be having. That impasse only left one option.

It hadn’t been pleasant, with far more days spent saying their good nights and good mornings through a phone than face to face. Wednesdays became an oasis for Rhea, every other moment a heat haze daze that felt more like a mirage by far than the feather-soft press of Iyo’s lips against hers did. Not long ago, only the ring felt concrete - everything, everyone else would come and go but it. Love was the fleeting falsehood.

Then Rhea feels a twinge, her weight not quite settling right when she places her foot down on the canvas. She turns to dodge an attack on yet another front, thinking of how Iyo’s going to be facing down her own 3-on-1 odds in a matter of days. The thought is met with an ache, as is the motion. It’s nothing - Iyo is watching from backstage. Rhea’s going to win this again for her. Stubbornly alone, just to prove that she can.

By the time it’s over, and she’s standing tall, her knee won’t fully straighten.

She masks the limp backstage, hoists her girlfriend up and ignores the physical pain in favour of emotional catharsis. They’ve only got tonight, and then they’re back to being in different places. Damn her if she’ll waste it on a trip to the emergency room to get something checked out that’s probably just a little sprain.

Iyo notices when she gets out of bed the following morning, weight buckling for just a second. “When did you hurt yourself?”

“I’m fine,” Rhea insists.

“Go get it looked at,” Iyo raises her voice for the first time since their relationship properly began.

There’s only an hour before they’re set to leave to different cities, and they spend all of it arguing. Rather than apologize or inconvenience everyone else, Rhea wraps herself knee up in a compression sleeve for the next couple of shows and hopes that’ll be it.

//

“It’ll heal on its own just fucking fine, Iyo.”

They’re arguing again. That’s all they do now that Rhea’s been pulled off the road to rehab her screwed up knee. She’s almost grateful for the start of every week to get a couple of days of peace away from the worrying.

Circumstances being what they are, the last thing Iyo should be concerned with is Rhea’s health. She has like, 80% movement. There’s lots she can do with no issue, walking isn’t bad in short spurts - Rhea can even run around a bit, and climb, juggle a soccer ball around. So what if she can’t plant that foot and extend her knee at the same time without screaming pain?

Nobody else is worried about how it’s progressing except for Iyo, who says things like, “MRIs can be wrong, Rhea. I do not think it is-”

“You’re not my doctor.” Rhea cuts her off. They’ve gone over this again and again. Iyo needs to give her some space, and go tape review against Liv fucking Morgan for both their sakes.

“I have had knee injuries before,” the Japanese woman circles back on the same point like she thinks reiterating her personal experiences will magically make Rhea’s situation worse than it is. “You keep hurting it more.”

She’s keeping herself limber and ring-ready, like she should. There’s a difference. “I am not getting surgery just because you think I should. Nobody agrees with you.”

That’s the crux of the issue. Iyo is convinced that Rhea is afraid of going under the needle, and she’s brushing things off and underreporting her symptoms because of it. Not true. Yes, Rhea’s never had surgery before, and yes, she’s opted against it in the past when advised that recovering without would be a 50-50 shot. And yes, she gets stressed out whenever any of her friends have to undergo emergency procedures for the various injuries that inevitably occur in their field of work. And finally, yes, she does lose her mind with overwhelming anxiety whenever she watches her girlfriend walk out to the ring by herself, knowing that the difference between safety and jeopardy is held in split-second decisions alone.

Rhea isn’t scared. She’s not allowed to be.

Iyo glares at her so intensely that it rips open a different poorly healed wound from ages past. The Australian’s heart squeezes up into her throat, unable to find a way to get her girlfriend to chase after opportunity without troubling herself over Rhea’s not-problem. It feels like she’s terribly close to getting that, but only through driving them apart for good.

“I love you,” Rhea murmurs, reaching for her. “Please don't worry about me. I don’t need it.”

The smaller woman folds into her instantaneously, standing as tall as she can so Rhea doesn't have to go through the mild pain of stooping to kiss her. The fight is done, Iyo's tongue swiping away any of the nagging thoughts in her head, at least for the time being.

//

Rhea’s not in good enough shape to travel to Minnesota, let alone provide any amount of backup to her girlfriend. Watching through the TV as the centre of her universe is defeated rips through Rhea savagely.

It’s Rhea’s fault. Iyo’s always been there for her, and now when she’s needed to return the favour, she’s stuck in their living room watching the Genius of the Sky, Queen of the Ring, Best There Is Regardless Of Gender - the woman she loves more than anything - get stepped on by the weakest woman she’s ever known.

Seeing Iyo cry is divine punishment for not listening to her. The surgery is scheduled for four days away, and maybe had she just gone for it in the first place, everything would be different.

But she’s a fool. They went on their own paths specifically so that they could have it all without either of them sacrificing for the other, and now they’ve both lost everything, precisely because of one another.

The problem is, Iyo won’t even yell at her anymore over it.

//

“We are cursed,” Rhea mumbles into her mountain of pillows. The painkillers are doing their thing, turning the whole of the world into a hazy mess. There's a lot of the past 24 hours she doesn't remember clearly - sometimes her eyes close on a blink and then she wakes some time later with Iyo's fingers still stroking through her hair.

Apparently they've had this conversation before, because Iyo sighs wearily and says, "Danhausen's curse is not real."

There's like, a mountain of evidence to disprove that. Before she can really think about why Iyo might not believe in such a thing, Rhea's bumbling on through a fog, "You won at Night of Champions, though."

Despite her eyelids being terribly heavy, she fights to keep looking at Iyo. The smaller woman is perched on the edge of their bed - Rhea doesn't remember them leaving the hospital - looking just as tired, and exasperated to boot. "I won because I am better than Liv." Her girlfriend says, tone brokering no room for disagreement.

Rhea realizes late that putting that victory down to a curse is a weird, backhanded insult, "I didn't mean-" and her eyes flutter, and won't open back up. "-you would've won any... fair fight..." She can feel Iyo dabbing a cool cloth against her forehead. The sensation is glorious. “...the best.” A moment later, her girlfriend is gently pecking at her cheeks and nose, and she's back to feeling floaty and weightless and unconcerned with what's happening outside their bubble.

"American drugs," the Japanese woman complains to the empty room, "are way too strong."

//

Once Rhea starts weaning off the pain meds, she comes to agree with Iyo's statement, though not to her benefit. Now it's not just her knee that hurts when she does specific things - everything feels swollen and angry at her. Her body is filled to the brim with knives and sandpaper and mosquito bite-like sensations.

Frankly, Rhea's thankful she didn't blow her knee out in Japan.

While sipping away at a cup of soup Iyo had prepared, she lets herself finally listen to the woman’s injury stories properly. Hers, and all the women she's worked with over the years. Hears about the maintenance they train on, and how the size and shape she keeps allows her body to be a bit more forgiving with her than it would be if she was six foot tall and heavily muscled.

Rhea's doing her best to be receptive, but she still flinches when Iyo brings out a set of kneepads and covers, patterned after her favourite sets of gear. They'd talked about this way long ago, and she'd weaseled her way out of using them with the excuse that she didn't tend to take any impacts to her knees, so was perfectly fine without. It was a stupid hill to die on then, and now, it's an I-told-you-so.

Iyo's been kind enough not to literally say it to her face, though her expression says it all.

"You might have that brace for a while." Her girlfriend reiterates what the doctors had. It all depends on their evaluations of her conditions in the coming days, and how physio goes. Not a shocker, she's worked a lot with Charlotte, seen Dakota and Tegan and many others with worse injuries than hers wearing their braces for years after being cleared. But she's also seen Iyo rebound from something similar to her injury in a matter of months, and look no worse for the wear on her return.

Point being, there's a lot up in the air, and Rhea's done being a shithead about it. "Yeah. Probably will." It's hard to admit to, even through her teeth. “Sorry I’ve been an idiot.”

"Not an idiot,” Iyo shakes her head, “I should have been nicer.” The prospect of her girlfriend somehow perceiving herself as mean to Rhea in any way is offensive, and they’re certainly going to have to circle back on this later on. For now, though, Rhea lets it go, since she’s tired of squabbling with Iyo about who loves one another more. It’s a stalemate.

Still, Rhea shakes her head to show she doesn’t agree, and lifts the soup to her mouth to finish draining now that it’s cooled to an ideal temperature.

Iyo looks at her with wry amusement, reaching forward with a napkin in hand to pat at the sides of Rhea’s mouth. “Messy,” she chides, moving to clear the dishes away.

By the time she returns, Rhea’s managed to push herself into a sitting position, legs dangling off the edge of the bed. While the thought of getting up over the past few days has sounded awful, sitting around is starting to be as well.

“Do you want to try walking around the house a little?" Iyo offers, already moving to assist.

Rhea slides her arm over Iyo's shoulder, and lets herself be hauled upright for the first time in a long while.

//

The injury is terrible for many reasons that Rhea could vent about for ages. So too is Iyo getting distracted from the destroy Liv Morgan objective. But, Rhea has to admit, she might kind of be glad it all happened. The timing was fucking awful, but it was always going to be, with how they've worked themselves to the bone for their careers, sacrificing body and mind in the process.

No longer does she have to eke by on a couple sparse hours of sleep, live out of a suitcase, and fight to maximize her time together with her girlfriend.

Now, they can sit in a park, giving Rhea's knee a bit of rest time before they complete the loop back to the car. The summer heat sinks down onto them, condensation wicks off of their water bottles. A whole gaggle of kids go running around the jungle gym, screaming and laughing and making Rhea's ears ring just a bit.

She leans back against the bench, turning to look at Iyo.

"What?" The smaller woman tilts her head, smiling. Her sunglasses sit low on the bridge of her nose, enough so that Rhea can peer over them to the deep, interested gaze below. They look almost maroon in the light, setting off the scarlet glow of Iyo's hair.

"You want kids, right?" She's never directly asked that before, though with the way Iyo interacts with children - specifically girls - it's hard not to imagine so. But just because she's great with them, doesn't mean she wants any of her own. Or, it could be just a question of when, and how, because Rhea knows her girlfriend is at the top of her field and she'll never want to step away from it.

"Are you offering?" The way she asks makes Rhea think back to how they'd discussed marriage. Not 'if' but 'when', the 'when' dictated by nothing concrete. It could happen a month from now or ten years, as unpredictable as the rest of their lives.

"Yeah," Rhea says, finding it easy to offer up casually.

Across from them, one of the kids starts trying to scurry up a tree, as unafraid of heights as Rhea imagines Iyo was as a child. It doesn't take long for an exasperated mother to jog up to the trunk, arms waving wildly. The kid doesn't budge. She laughs, seeing a bit of herself in that attitude. Iyo laughs alongside her, their shoulders brushing.

"Ok. Deal," her girlfriend agrees, watching in amusement as an older sibling walks up to the tree, climbs it, and bodily hauls the kid back down. Rhea remembers - Iyo's the pain-in-the-ass youngest sibling in her family, mirroring Rhea as the oldest. Despite that, their relationship feels the inverse, like Iyo's always the one looking out for her, while Rhea ensures they both have a bit of fun along the way.

Who knows what it'll look like when they settle into parental roles. It's a bit of a mindfuck.

The Japanese woman reaches over to interlock their hands. They sit and people watch for a while, until the sun starts to get too much for Iyo, who doesn't fare well when the heat isn't accompanied by a sea breeze. She stands to stretch her legs and shoulders out a little, twisting this way and that - reaching her arms up above her head to roll out her shoulders.

Rhea watches, catching the slight lift of her tanktop, exposing a strip of muscled abdomen, and wonders.

//

She has plenty of time now to do a bit of dreaming, and a bit of research.

[bloodmoonscall]

god help me, we may fall into the tatum/jacy pit one day

[bloodmoonscall]

hi!!!! I just wanted to pop in to say that I Love your rhiyo writing. it is so beautiful. there is not a single bit of bad writing on this blog I swear

the way you bring the characters to life (kind of ironic considering they're technically actual people but yk what I mean) is just. *chef's kiss*

I have no words. it's so good and amazing and exquisite and splendid an-

thank you ;-; i try my best with it even when it is just silly little things

i get what you mean, and well, wwe's writing is itself a bit bad so lol it does take some will to spruce the characters up into not just one-dimensionalness. the wrestlers obviously help with that a lot there and the bits of them i nab for complexity, but sometimes u gotta squint at some side characters to figure out how to make em ... not cardboard. lol.

love you <3 thanks for dropping by

[bloodmoonscall]

victory lap

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Rhea Ripley/Iyo Sky CW: N/A Wordcount: 2.1k

Summary: "Congratulations, champion," Iyo murmurs, kissing her softly. She curls her fingers under the hem of Rhea's trunks, tugging her closer to press their bodies together. "I knew you could do it.

"Not without you," Rhea says, low and a little throaty. "It's yours, too."

AO3 Crosspost

The stage is loud. Backstage even moreso, with the whole world coming and going - congratulations thrown at Rhea, a passerby offers to document the moment of victory with Iyo pressed up against her hip. There’s food to be scarfed down after hard work, drinks to toast. Everything bustles and froths. Tomorrow isn't even a thought on anyone's mind, not even when midnight comes and goes.

Collective celebrations are usually like that. Iyo's not too into it, even when it's her on the receiving end of the attention - perhaps especially. She waits it out, patiently flitting through the peripheries. She whittles away the hours by meeting with the friends that she rarely has the opportunity to see anymore, come to town for the festivities, and just as high off the spectacle as anyone who got to walk the stage. They have the stars in their eyes, thinking of a day that might be them. Iyo plays her part of the mentor, praising their work and offering encouragement, and she doesn't tell them the cost of it.

There's always a trade-off.

It's just past one when Rhea shoots her the text.

Headed back.

Simple and to the point. Iyo makes her excuses that aren't technically false - she does work tomorrow, even if she's not actually banking on getting much rest beforehand. She promises to grab a meal together before they all have to go their own ways back to opposite sides of the globe. And then she's climbing into a taxi back to the hotel, a hoodie and cargo pants and ball cap replacing the glitz.

She's beaten Rhea there, but only barely. By the time Iyo grabs a couple of bottles of water left to chill in the fridge and found where she's left the ibuprofen in case Rhea hasn't been tended to yet, the new champion's slipping in the door with her spare keycard.

Rhea's not bothered to fully change out of gear. She's thrown on a cover-up, but beyond that she's still carrying the trappings of the ring. The duffel bag slung over her shoulder gets dropped to the floor with a loud, metallic clatter, belt already forgotten about. That won't do.

"Come here."

Iyo has to stretch up to get to Rhea's shoulders, but the height difference is second nature by now. It doesn't take much for her to shrug the jacket off. Next comes unzipping the loose jeans, which fall easily past hips that are a hint bruised. She's still got tape around her wrist, the I-Y-O printed across it standing out proudly, black on white. The only thing from the ring that hasn't come with her is the makeup, wiped off somewhere between the arena and hotel. The faint freckles on the bridge of her nose, across her cheeks, make her look so much more her age. A world of opportunities still lay before Rhea.

"Congratulations, champion," Iyo murmurs, kissing her softly. She curls her fingers under the hem of Rhea's trunks, tugging her closer to press their bodies together. "I knew you could do it."

"Not without you," Rhea says, low and a little throaty. "It's yours, too." She tilts her head toward the bag on the ground, heavy with gold, but her gaze doesn't leave Iyo's. She runs her thumb over the swell of her lower lip, almost reverent. "Thank you."

"Anytime." Iyo's mouth is quick to catch Rhea's thumb before she can pull away, biting down on her nail and sucking it between her lips. Rhea's breath rattles out of her, worsened by the drag of Iyo's palms down her rear and to the backs of her thighs. "Sit for me?"

It's not a request, really. Iyo knows how to play her hand, and Rhea's pliant when she wants to be. The younger woman takes her time toeing out of her boots, and sinks onto the mattress, watching while Iyo slowly undresses herself, flitting through their things to find what she's after.

The strap's not new. While it's gone untouched for the last couple months, it's never left a discreet corner of Iyo's luggage. It's Rhea's weakness, the sight of it enough to make her thighs shift. She's a good, eager girl, easing down her trunks. Beneath, she's mostly bare, just torn fishnets left to cover her cunt. The glistening skin of her lips is visible, but even so, Iyo's going to make sure she's prepped and ready.

Iyo kneels in front of Rhea, stroking her cock for show while she admires the view. "Open." Rhea obliges, spreading herself for Iyo to see. Iyo purrs in approval, tracing the outline of Rhea's cunt with a fingertip. "So pretty."

Rhea bites her lip. "You don’t have to-"

"Relax, it’s okay," she assures her, easy and confident. The smaller woman dips down to brush her mouth along the inside of one of Rhea's thighs. "My pretty girl."

There's something incredibly satisfying about taking Rhea down a peg, even when she's won it all. The breath rattles out of the champion's chest in preparation as Iyo snags her fingers through the ragged mess of her fishnets, and rips. The fabric pops, Rhea's fingers curling into the sheets. Iyo gives them a second tug, and the rest shreds, leaving Rhea completely bare and vulnerable to her. Her skin's flushed, hot beneath Iyo's gaze.

The smaller woman leans in, her first lick slow and flat over Rhea's slit. Her tongue probes between Rhea’s lips, feeling her out. The noises that come out of Rhea are heavenly, soft and encouraging. "Oh, Iyo," she sighs, her hips rolling into her mouth.

Her hands splay across Rhea's thighs, holding her steady. Iyo doesn't mind taking time here, teasing her back open, tasting her, the salt of sweat and slick on her lips. Rhea's easy to work up, her hips jerking in response to every swipe of her tongue, each suck. She fights against Iyo trying to keep her pinned down, thrusting up against her girlfriend's face eagerly. When Iyo finally pulls back, her lips feel swollen and the tip of her nose is cold and wet.

"Fuck," Rhea whines, "You're so - oh -," she says, eyes wide and glistening as she takes in the look on Iyo's face. She's panting, her abs flexing as she tries to stay still. Her face colours. "I didn't mean to - sorry."

Iyo just smiles, licking at her lips to chase the taste. "I like it." She takes a step back, watching the shift in Rhea's expression as she steps towards the duffel Rhea had discarded so callously. From it, she fetches the belt - something they had once fought over viciously, now cradled in her hands like a precious gift. She brings it over to Rhea, who's sitting up to welcome her, not the gold she carries.

Not for the first time that night, Iyo fastens it around Rhea's waist. This time, though, there's no cameras or audience. She touches the gold, the bright metal a stark contrast against Rhea's pale skin, stones glittering and sharp. Then, Iyo takes up her post at the head of the bed.

"Does Mami want to be on top?" Iyo coos, Rhea rolling her eyes in answer. She's quick to climb over her girlfriend, though, straddling her hips.

"Don't start," Rhea warns. She takes Iyo's cock in hand, rubbing the head through her folds. "You know I hate it when you use that against me."

She doesn't mean it. It's a game between them, this push and pull.

Iyo's hands glide over Rhea's sides, finding her hips to encourage her descent. "My champion." She punctuates the title with a push up, Rhea sinking down onto her cock in one long, slow motion. The younger woman sighs breathily, nails digging into Iyo's stomach to help keep her balance.

With the title pressed between them, cold against Iyo’s heated skin, there’s no way to forget the work that’s been done to get here. One year to the next - privately, Iyo would’ve liked this herself, but she’s not jealous about her girlfriend’s success. Far from it. The discomfort mixes with bliss, and is all the more potent for it.

Rhea's quick to start moving. She thrusts her hips down, head tilting back. It takes Iyo a moment to get the hang of her rhythm, to help push up into her. Once she does, Rhea's eyes flutter shut, her lips parted. She looks nothing short of euphoric. This is what she deserves - to be worshipped, taking her pleasure as she sees fit. Iyo enjoys the sight of her, hair falling in waves around her bare shoulders, arms flexing with each jerk of her hips. Iyo’s chest swells with pride.

"You look so good riding me," Iyo tells her, reaching between them to rub Rhea's clit. The younger woman moans, movements growing a little more erratic.

"Iyo," Rhea rasps. She’s so incredibly attractive to Iyo: a vision of aching need, pace unrelenting until she manages to capture what she’s after. That is the essence of her, in many ways. Rhea’s a woman who feels everything fully, chasing her desires without shame.

Iyo could never fault her for that. They're alike in that sense.

"Perfect," Iyo continues praising, "So beautiful. Powerful." The title’s pressed tight between them, near to becoming a nuisance. A part of Iyo wants to rid Rhea of it, so she can feel the woman’s heartbeat against her chest. But she can suffer through for the sake of this moment in time. She strokes Rhea's clit with her thumb, and keeps thrusting up to meet Rhea's movements. Iyo wants her to feel every inch of the toy inside her. "Good girl.”

"Oh, fuck," Rhea groans. “Yeah, I am.” She grinds down in short, quick little loops, chasing the orgasm threatening to overtake her, legs shaking around Iyo's waist. To take a bit of the effort out of it - Rhea has spent the evening fighting, after all - Iyo leans forward, letting Rhea brace herself against her elbows instead.

"I love you so much," Iyo pants. Her stomach clenches, the heat in her belly spreading outward, sizzling every nerve ending.

There’s something incredibly psychological at play when it comes to fucking Rhea like this, regardless of any physical stimulation Iyo receives back. Her girlfriend is quaking, teetering on the edge, not because of some toy, but because it’s her on the other side of it, responding to every small change fluidly. Rhea arches her back; Iyo places her hand supportively under the small of it, holding her up where she needs to be when Iyo fully sheathes herself once more.

Rhea comes with a soft, punched-out cry, head thrown back in time with her body seizing. Iyo fucks her through it, rubbing her off until Rhea's dripping down the strap onto her lap. As soon as her palm lifts away from the other woman's cunt, Rhea topples sideways onto the bed with a groan.

"Holy shit." Her legs are splayed carelessly. The gold glistens prettily in the dim light. Glory suits her. The mop of dark waves framing her face only highlights that further, regal even in her mess. It’s as Rhea said. She was made for fighting.

"You deserve it," Iyo leans down to breathe against Rhea's mouth, gently enough to be lost if they weren't so close.

Bits of their hair, damp with sweat, stick to one another’s skin. Iyo kisses her girlfriend deep enough for their teeth to scrape, nips at her lip. The champion whines into her mouth, Iyo swallowing the sound greedily until her shoulders are pushed on, dislodging her from the quest to love Rhea more fully than anyone ever could.

“Love you too,” Rhea replies belatedly, the hazy blush across her cheeks not quite gone. There's a limpness to her, the tension of the night erased and overwritten with satisfaction.

They lie there together for a moment, breathing through the aftermath as two halves of a whole. Eventually, Iyo rises to strip off the torn remains of Rhea’s tights. She unbuckles the title belt, sliding it off of Rhea carefully. It gets settled gently onto the dresser - the strap following it in short order. They'll both need a wipe down later, but Iyo's got other priorities.

She hands her champion one of the water bottles she'd prepared earlier along with a handful of painkillers, well aware Rhea’s going to ache more in the morning because of her, not less.

"I've got to get you cleaned up," Iyo points out, her tone still fond, watching Rhea take slow, smooth sips. Her throat bobs deliciously, plastic crackling until the bottle's drained.

"In a minute," Rhea counters, putting the cap back on and tossing the empty into the trash nearby. Then she's pulling Iyo back into bed, more doting than a woman of her standing has any need to be. "I still have a partner I need to thank."

[bloodmoonscall]

courtesy call

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Rhea Ripley/Iyo Sky CW: Name-calling, Semi-public sex Wordcount: 1.8k

Summary: The rules are: nothing sent digitally that would be harmful if leaked. But, that doesn’t mean they can’t still have fun.

(Rhea is generous with the concept of privacy.)

AO3 Crosspost

They have a deal.

When they're in different time zones, it's not unusual for Iyo to wake up to a 💗 emoji or two in her texts from Rhea. At a glance to anyone else, they’d seem overly sappy with one another, but nothing overly inappropriate if seen by the wrong eyes. The two of them are pragmatic about how their relationship has gone up to this point. Yes, there’s always going to be a bit of privacy lost to the public, but for every bit of themselves they give up, Iyo’s determined to keep the remainders all the safer.

So, the rules are: nothing sent digitally that would be harmful if leaked. But, that doesn’t mean they can’t still have fun. The emojis are just that - signifiers of a bit of fun had when apart.

The nearer to one another they are, the better Rhea is at keeping her hands off of herself. In fact, on the road, she’s fully capable of staying chaste, chasing the anticipation of whenever the dam might next break. Left to her own devices, though... not so. Iyo learned that about her early on, and hasn’t done anything but make it harder on her since.

Still, no matter how much fuel Iyo gave her to get by before she left, six times in one night is excessive. It’s not all in one go, either. Judging by the time stamps, Rhea’s been stealing moments to herself all through the day, with the frequency only increasing as her afternoon has dragged on. Iyo's face colours, wondering if she’s happened to have a slew of spare time, or if they're quickies taken in the midst of press and show prep.

Iyo wishes she had more context, but part of the rules is not talking explicitly about anything where it could be seen. The workarounds are a bit inconvenient - and not always the most effective, given how suspect their texts already look given the responseless spam that’s going on. Rhea keeps to the letter of the law, but she certainly bends the spirit of it - there would’ve been no harm done by waiting until Iyo was actually awake to notify her that she’d cum a billion times thinking about her.

The phone buzzes in Iyo's hand, a seventh throbbing heart appearing in a row.

Mindlessly, Iyo responds with a 🤙, surprised when it takes a full five minutes for the phone to actually ring. Her girlfriend is truly an enigma.

"Sorry," Rhea responds at once, breathless and husky. "Had to get somewhere."

"You were not already... 'somewhere'?" Iyo questions, trying to remember the finer details of Rhea's schedule to figure out where she might be, how she could have had enough privacy to masturbate, but not enough to call her right away.

Rhea laughs soft and warm, the way she tends to when she's really fucked-out. The fuzzies. "Kind of? Not really," she laughs again, this time sounding more self-conscious, voice dropping to a low mumble. "I can get away with a lot with a hand in my pocket, you know."

Iyo blinks, the confession going straight to her gut. "Where are you?"

"Radio station. Interview," the Australian explains further. She knows Iyo won't let this go anywhere without a proper answer. A stab of distress races through Iyo before Rhea sets about trying to reassure her. "The hosts didn’t see anything. They don’t even pay any attention to me when they’re going through their ad reads. No camera, either, so... y'know. Got bored. Mind wandered."

"Rhea," Iyo chides, appalled, filling in the blanks. So incredibly foolish. Also, kind of hot, but in a way she definitely won’t praise. "How long until you have to go back on?" She glances at the clock. It's just after eight in the morning for her, so Rhea's got to be around four in the afternoon.

Chances are good Rhea wasn't actually expecting a response to her needy texts. It certainly sounds like she doesn't have time to be doing this, but then: she did call. They have codes of all kinds for can't right now, for every reason that could ever be. None of which Rhea utilized.

"Mm, they’re running ads again. They can always stall with a song or two after that anyway...," Rhea rambles distractedly. Over the phone, Iyo thinks she hears the latching of a deadbolt. At least the younger woman’s found some real privacy now. "Five minutes, maybe?"

That's greedy, and an overstatement. The call has already been running for two minutes. Human needs or not, people are going to be ticked if Rhea's any longer than three more, even if the reality of radio is an overabundance of anything but what the listening public wants to hear.

But, Iyo's not letting her go like this. It’s already ruined her to imagine her girlfriend touching herself in public to the thought of her. She can help, and therefore she will. "Fingers on your clit. Then tell me about your day."

Rhea does exactly as told, the soft sigh that comes with the first pass of fingers enough for Iyo to get a rough image of her state. It's nice to hear her breathy. After this, no matter how wanting Rhea is, she'll wait until she's back at her hotel room to really sate this appetite she's worked up. Iyo thinks she can definitely skip out on lunch plans for that. "Woke up from a dream about your mouth."

"Oh?" Iyo questions, knowing exactly which. The same one Rhea has, again and again. Iyo devours her, demanding so much more than Rhea feels like she can give. Just like reality, Iyo knows how far to push it without breaking down the fragile walls between them, pockmarked with compromise. The lack of shame Rhea feels in sharing her imagination’s workings with Iyo is wonderful; in exchange, Iyo does her best to turn them into reality for her.

"Came before I even woke up," Rhea confirms, voice pitching up higher as she gets more into her rhythm, clearly working herself up again. The sounds of her fucking herself are faint, but there - Iyo's ears keenly attuned to the rhythm Rhea favours. Always so impatient.

Iyo's stomach clenches, slipping her hand between her legs to toy with herself. Like Rhea, she awoke thoroughly soaked, and everything since hasn't helped any. It's as easy as could be to slip two fingers into herself, and set about feathering her walls. "You had to rush to get ready."

"Fuck, yeah," Rhea huffs, another soft moan. "Didn't have time to do anything about it. Not properly. So I-"

With a quick scroll through their texts, Iyo confirms the next timestamp, and the time they tentatively have left together at once. "You thought about me for two hours, and then found somewhere to touch yourself."

Rhea's voice breaks a little on her affirmation. "Yeah. So, so wet. Needed you."

"Where?" Iyo presses, knowing the answer already. She’s worked up enough, weeping slick into her palm when she adjusts her position, scissoring herself open gently with her fingers. The moan she lets out is met by a sharp inhale on the other side of the line.

"Backstage, waiting for my turn in the makeup chair. Found a storage closet, managed twice." She's starting to pant, fingers moving faster, chasing her pleasure. Iyo mirrors her, pushing her thumb to her clit and rolling it, hard and slow. "Got through meet and greets, thought I could make it through the show, but..."

"Remember when we fucked in gorilla?" Iyo coos low, knowing it’ll get her. It’s the one and only time they’ve really taken a substantial risk together - the voyeurism thing is Rhea’s gig, not Iyo’s. Even so, worth the reaction it gets.

Rhea keens, a staccato moan. "Oh, fuck, yes."

“Tell me you've been thinking about it.” She prods a bit more, recalling the day herself. Rhea’s hot, damp breath against her palm, the cacophony of the stage beyond, rhythmic business chatter of the corridors behind. The dark curtains blanketing one area from the next had been their only safeguard then. That, and knowing their timings to a T.

"Every day," Rhea admits, a whimper this time. "Fuck, Iyo."

Her girlfriend’s going to cum any second, and all Iyo needs is a little push to follow in her stead.

"You wanted to get caught, huh?" She's breathless herself, slowly losing her grip on the phone but unwilling to let the call go. "You were so loud. I had to push my fingers down your throat to keep you quiet." She punctuates the statement with a muffled groan, imagining it. It's such a clear memory, the feel of Rhea's throat clenching around her fingers, the way she drooled and whimpered and soaked through her gear.

“Just want,” Rhea explains, struggling to hold back from the edge. How very polite of her. “Everyone to know…”

Always a possessiveness thing with her. Wanting to stake her claim, wanting to be wanted. “I know, sweetheart. Texting me so many many times, touching yourself everywhere. Tch,” Iyo tuts, teasing. The tension builds higher in her gut, walls starting to tense with the anticipation of release. “You know what that makes you?”

"Fuck, Iyo, fuck," Rhea's pleading now, her breathing laboured, the sound of her fingers in her cunt deliciously sloppy. "I'm- your-"

"Slut," Iyo hisses, letting herself cum, legs twitching where they're tangled in her sheets. She doesn’t have to be quiet, so she isn’t, keening and sighing and panting through her release.

It's clear Rhea's cumming too, though she doesn't make a sound beyond the soft, final hiss of a breath in, holding it as she plummets off the edge. The sound of her movements slow, and then her breathing returns, evening out with a long, shaky sigh. "I'm so fucked," she laughs, almost deliriously.

"Yeah, you are," Iyo agrees, just as breathless. "We both are." She glances at the phone again. They've definitely run over their time. "Rhea-"

"I know, I know," she rushes. "I'm gonna go, but... hey. I love you?" She says it soft, a little cautious, like she always is in the moments after, when they don't have the benefit of being physically with one another. The little insecurities Rhea has are much easier to dispel when Iyo’s in her arms, looking into her soft, benevolent gaze.

Iyo smiles into her next breath. "Love you more." It would sound casual if anyone were to be listening in. It's not. She ought to be shouting it, really, and that would be one thing Iyo’s not overly worried about sharing.

"Text me later," Rhea requests, and then she's gone. Iyo's left with a dial tone, and her heart pounding in her ears.

It'll be weeks before they're together in the same place again, long before they can act on this the way they'd really like to. But they'll make it work, each moment like this an appetizer for the reunion that will inevitably come about.

Iyo lays back in her bed, thinking of the next time she'll get to have Rhea panting in her ear, when there are no deadlines, no one waiting for them. It'll be even better than the last time, like always.

Her hand slides back over her stomach. Round two is only fair.

[pjackk]

Whats up tunblr basically i just wrote this book with tons of dope fan fiction trope buzz woeds and gay characters fucking & sucking each other the entire book U will like it automaticaly i think since it has those blaze ths shit imediately🔥🔥🔥

[bloodmoonscall]

Boo

Rating: Teen Pairing: Rhea Ripley/Iyo Sky CW: Ghosts/Demons, Non-Euclidean Spaces, Non-Consensual Kissing (Ghosts are bastards) Wordcount: 7.3k

AO3 Crosspost

Authour's Note: Happy birthday, Kay!

“Can you hold that a little higher?” Rhea asks, herself peeking through the windowpane on tiptoe. 

Right, let me just grow half a foot, Iyo grumpily thinks to herself, the beam cast by the flashlight in her grip sagging momentarily. She’s already balancing on the lip of the courtyard’s lone stone fountain, far enough back that hardly any illumination actually carries through to the abandoned hotel. 

“We can go in, Rhea.” Some blunt irritation seeps into Iyo’s tone. It’s a wonder that the younger woman even managed to convince Iyo to accompany her in the first place; the grim and macabre is not Iyo’s idea of a good time. There’s plenty of places she’d much rather go on a date: she’s hinted about La Brea and Santa Monica a dozen times, and gotten a trip to Universal Studios in the daytime and this by nightfall.

The goth stops herself from doing a chin-up along the ledge to get a better look, hop-skipping down the garden bed back to the cobblestone path visitors are meant to keep to. “You’re angry,” she says, pitifully, “This is dumb, let’s just leave.”

Iyo tosses the flashlight down to her girlfriend, delicately descending from her perch until they're back, side-by-side, like they ought to be. 

“No,” she insists. There’s scenery she’d rather be experiencing, sure, but not without Rhea. Even this haunted hotel is better than their own rental house, atmosphere plagued by the stifling worry that’s been cloaking Rhea for days. “This is important to you.”

To that, Rhea nods, head continuing to bob like she’s rationalizing this choice to herself, too. There’s not much explanation she’s given about why they're here, leaving Iyo to fill in the blanks. This is the second time Rhea’s been to this place. The first was over a year ago, when this thing between them was still new. Rhea hadn't felt assured enough to ask Iyo along, then, even if it was a group thing. Nor had she been willing to talk about why she was off for the whole week following. Eventually, she got over whatever ailed her, and all has been well since. Up until their travels decided to bring them back here, anyhow.

Best Iyo can guess, it’s a pride thing.

She gestures up the stone steps, towards the heavy wooden doorway that stands arrestingly above. The brass knocker, cast in the shape of a puma’s head, seems to command them in with its haughty gaze. 

Rhea doesn't budge.

Iyo pokes her. “Are you okay?”

Suddenly, Rhea laughs, then scoffs. “Course. Um,” she rights herself, breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth slowly - self-soothing the anxiety she’s failing to obscure. “Thing is we gotta go in through the window, though.”

Iyo laughs before realizing Rhea isn't joking. “Pardon me?”

The taller woman shoves her hands in her pockets and shifts from foot to foot, drifting circuitously back toward the window ledge they’d tried peeking through. 

For some reason, Iyo’s assumed this is a touristy haunted attraction - the type with a guest book and a gift shop, where someone might pop out in costume to impart a traumatic memory on visitors. Not an actual, honest to goodness condemned hotel that Rhea’s broken into before. Suddenly things start to make more sense. 

“You are crazy,” Iyo stares up at the place. If not because of ghost-related reasons, for all the pragmatic ones. What on earth could be worth this amount of headache? Nothing fun, that’s what.

Rhea reaches up, digging her nails into the brick. “Not too late for us to go.” 

They should. Except, if Rhea’s not doing this for the memories, turning their back on this place is only going to continue to plague her, and therefore, Iyo. Besides, of all the crazy things she’s done… This still isn’t the worst.

Iyo wanders closer and takes a knee. “Come on, I’ll boost you up.”

//

The manager’s office is fully furnished, but it’s seen better days. All the upholstery on the fancy, velvet-backed chair is motheaten, and the curtains have fared no better. 

Iyo takes the time to nose through the desk and filing cabinets while Rhea goes through her breathing exercises again. As soon as she does, she realizes it’s fruitless. All the bits of paper are deteriorated, and handwritten in smudged ink besides. There’s no chance that Iyo can make sense of any of it, nor does she really have a reason to care about whatever happened here back in the 1950s.

She lifts one sheet of paper with a hole clean through the middle, stares at Rhea through it, and prods, “What are we looking for?”

The answer she expects is something vague, like, proof ghosts exist. 

“I dropped a bracelet somewhere in here,” Rhea answers instead. She’s worrying her lip, and looks about ready to start pacing, eyes darting along the floor all over, then toward the door - which is when Iyo realizes here means anywhere in the hotel at all, and the reality of the evening ahead sinks in hard.

Money is not an issue for Rhea, so losing a piece of jewellery a full year ago can't be vexing her unless there was something sentimental about it. So Iyo nods, trying to remain sympathetic even though her girlfriend is absurd. That Rhea asked her here means Rhea trusts her, needs her in some form she isn’t saying. And she does look absolutely stressed out of her mind. 

“How did you lose it?” Iyo asks, knowing the answer. 

Rhea looks away shyly this time around. “We heard something, then saw something, and then we started running and, dunno. It was just gone.” It doesn't actually sound like that’s the full story, but good enough for now. 

Iyo walks over to the taller woman, wrapping her arms around her and swaying them like she’s pitifully small. “I will protect you.”

//

After a few more minutes of Rhea nervously surveying the office, not touching a thing, she calms down enough for them to move further within. Immediately, she starts hugging the walls as an insecure shadow. 

The lobby is a much larger, more open place to explore, an open mezzanine above promising a variety of grand suites beyond. Though no expert in American architecture, Iyo’s struck by the impression that this hotel’s much older than it appeared from the outside. Oil paintings of figures in uniform on horseback add to the impression of tracing back to the advent of North American imperialism. One she expects closely even seems to have a painted over flag - once British, she bets, now shaky pinprick stars and stripes. Anachronistic with the red officer’s coat the main figure dons, most definitely. Odd they wouldn't just toss it out if they hated the memory of the pre-independence era so much. 

When Iyo reaches out to feel the spots on the canvas she suspects are doctored, Rhea calls out to her, “I don't think you should touch that.”

Curiously, Iyo puts her hand down and turns. Clear across the room, Rhea lurks behind the bannister of the stairway to the second story. 

“It’s just, things here are weird. All over. It’s not special, don't worry about it,” she reasons. That sounds like a paltry excuse if Iyo’s ever heard one, especially when she’s near-cowering.

“It is a painting. It won’t bite me.” Iyo turns back, and as though to make a point of it, goes to poke the artwork, only to find her wrist snatched in-air.

“You’re freaking me out,” Rhea says, grip tight around Iyo’s hand. Despite the space she crossed in the blink of an eye, she doesn't seem to have exerted herself in the least. Rather, her wide eyes and the slight quiver of her breath is like Iyo is the one acting peculiarly. For a second, Iyo thinks to question it, but the flicker of long-dormant lights within the chandelier overhead robs away their shared attention.

"Huh," Iyo regards the ceiling curiously.

"Uh-uh," Rhea objects. "Stop doing that."

Rationally, Iyo could point out that a place like this must be maintained somehow. Nobody actually full-scale abandons a building this size in California for the better part of a century without someone taking responsibility. There's a chance there's a generator or something on the fritz. Iyo thinks about saying as much, and wonders if that's what Rhea expects of her: to be a grounding force. That's not exactly who Iyo is though.

"Hello, ghost?" Iyo calls out playfully.

"You’re lucky I love you," Rhea grumbles, her deathgrip on Iyo's hand becoming slightly more aggressive as she's hauled away to the stairs.

The second floor shows more of the damages of time. Elaborate indigo fleur-di-lis wallpaper is torn at random intervals, each injury starting to curl back and expose layer upon layer of renovation beneath: paisley on chevron on toile, down and down to the bone of the dingiest yellow; dust cloaks everything from the little paper leaves sticking off the wall, to the mahogany railings enclosing the too-narrow walkway. Even walking through the open air feels grimy. This, Rhea doesn't notice, or at least doesn't complain about. A set of heavy double-doors lay in each true direction, with two smaller ones with faded plaques dedicated to what Iyo can only guess are separate wings of the hotel. 

The first master suite they approach has an intact lock. Rhea plucks out a pin from her hair and tries her luck. Iyo hovers against the door, holding her breath and listening for the click-click-click that the movies depict so vividly. Dead silence, at least until there's a soft crack, and Rhea's hand comes away with only half the pin.

"Good try," Iyo consoles her. She takes her turn evaluating the door, peeking through the keyhole in hopes of seeing something, even if just the jammed bit of metal, to no avail. "What's next?"

They circle the perimeter to check the remainder of the rooms. The next is open, but a mess. It’s clearly been trashed by unintended visitors at some point. Animal or human, Iyo can't tell - either way, it smells faintly of stale urine. They don't bother taking more than one step in before deciding it's a write-off.

The third is marginally better. It's open, but only because the entire door handle is missing, and the door itself is splintered where it used to be. There's a few pieces of canvas luggage still in the room, neatly arranged as if waiting for their owner's return, despite the style being far from modern. A wonder no moths have managed to get at them, but perhaps even they are intimidated by the heavy, claustrophobic aura emanating from every inch of the room.

Rhea tries a light-switch on the wall, and startles when they surge to life. "Motherfucker."

Iyo startles because Rhea startles, instinctively backhanding her across the shoulder. Then, she realizes the lights are strobing. Not rapidly, like a rave, or a flicker, but a slow, heartbeat-like pulse, dimming down to nearly nothing over the course of a handful of seconds before coming back to life until it's nearly too bright to stand. "Turn it off," she orders.

The taller woman obeys - flicking the switch down. Nothing changes.

Iyo stares at Rhea; Rhea stares at the light switch. Flicks it up, then back down again, twice. All that happens is the strobing speeds up.

"Baby," Rhea whines.

The distress in Rhea's voice does something to Iyo's gut. This whole situation might be of Rhea's own making, but that doesn't give this stupid, spooky place the right to freak her girlfriend out.

Iyo stares up at the lightbulb, now flaring a few times a second. "Stop that!" she demands. And then, the bulb explodes, glass shattering across the room, and the filament within goes dead. "Thank you."

It takes a second for Iyo to realize Rhea is not with her, having bolted the instant of the bang. "I hate this," the Australian complains from the hallway, covering behind the frame of the door. "I really, really bloody hate this."

Iyo extends her hand out, flexing her fingers to beckon her startled girlfriend back in now that the room is back to normal-ish. It takes her eyes a little while to adjust to the darkness again, the illumination of the moonlight through the velvet-curtained windows dispelling most of the menacing feeling. Rhea isn't keen to leave her post, eyeing the now-dead light fixture warily, and slinks in only once Iyo makes her impatience clear. 

As her hand slips back into Iyo's, she relaxes some, following diligently alongside Iyo as she treads across the broken glass toward the window. She pulls the curtains back more fully to let the night sky better fill the space with ambient lighting, then fumbles one-handed with the window latches until they come loose and the windows swing outward, allowing the fresh, cool night air to rush in and whisk the musty atmosphere away.

"Better," Iyo comments, and settles onto an upholstered shoe bench nearby. It's in oddly good condition.

Sighing gratefully, Rhea joins her, and leans her head on the smaller woman's shoulder, curling one leg up onto the bench. Her twitching foot and sweaty palm remain indicators of her nervousness, but Iyo can tell that, for now, the crisis is averted. She doesn't seem to want to move any further than this, so they sit, and begin to unravel the events that lead Rhea here in the first place.

"Did this happen before?"

"Not really. Well, sort of." Rhea stares stubbornly out the window, eyes tracing along the horizon rather than remind herself of where they're sitting. Looking at the sky, they could be anywhere at all. "We, uh... there were other people around. Asshole types. So it was easier to convince myself at first it was just them screwing with us."

"Us?" Iyo presses curiously. They weren't together back then, but Iyo has to wonder why she's the person to get roped into this now, when there were others Rhea had experienced this with before. Again, she muses whether Rhea thought she might cast some skepticism on the situation. But Rhea listens when Iyo talks about Obon, and has always had a healthy curiousity about her concept of life, death, and the various in-betweens.

Rhea sighs. "Yeah, um... me, Raquel - it was a whole thing Zelina roped us into. Nikki dressed up like a sheet ghost. I dunno. It was supposed to be fun, but it became like a weird contest to prove we weren't scared, or something. And Raquel was the only other one that was like, hey, this is messed up, but well..."

Iyo nods in understanding. Raquel definitely would not come back if something happened. She's curious about one thing though. "Did you break in then too?" she asks.

Rhea laughs a bit, but there's an edge to it, "Yeah, kind of anyway. Most of us stayed outside, and they unlocked the front door for us."

"Hmm." Iyo hums and strokes her thumb along the inside of Rhea's palm, thinking it over. It still seems like Rhea's leaving bits out, trying not to sound crazy, or worry Iyo. Not particularly helpful to their pursuit. "You can tell me anything, you know."

The taller woman's head droops. "I know." She takes a deep breath. "I'm just worried if I talk about it here - you know how these things are, right, you say a name and summon something you're not ready for. This doesn't feel - it's not a ghost, Iyo." Rhea's voice dips so low it's barely audible, like that will keep the spirit away. "It's..," Malevolent, she mouths, “I think.”

"It has your bracelet." Iyo points out, the pieces starting to click into place. Rhea is absolutely certain there's something here, and is worried that not taking the opportunity to cleanse all signs of her intrusion might come back to bite her, even if the rest of her physically escaped the first time.

"Yeah."

They sit like that for a while longer, watching the moon until its glacial, methodical movement across the sky becomes clear. Iyo chooses not to point out that Rhea would be safer in the company of a stout disbeliever in the supernatural. If there's one thing spirits love, it's interacting with those that they know will pay attention. Though some might respect Iyo's outright acknowledgment of their presence, and enjoy it in the same way a child might seek admonishment when interaction is otherwise in short supply, there's others that might just see that as a challenge.

Iyo decides on two things. One, no matter how prideful she is, she will avoid instigating any more supernatural contact than strictly necessary. And two, "You should leave," she tells Rhea.

Her girlfriend stares at her in abject horror, like she's been replaced with a demonic entity herself. "No way."

"It's more dangerous for you." Iyo tries to reason. She starts to stand, trying to pull her hand from the other woman's grasp, but Rhea keeps a hold of her.

"What the fuck do you think I'm going to do? Go wait outside while you get yourself killed?" Rhea snaps, eyes flashing indignantly. "I didn't ask you to come to be my shield, or a hero, or something."

"Then why?" Iyo challenges her. It's the question she's wanted to ask since they got here, between all of Rhea's evasive answers. There's a million smarter things she could've done than bring Iyo, sans any knowledge or equipment that would make this trip less absurdly reckless, to follow Rhea around while she freaks out and refuses to make a single intelligent choice.

Rhea huffs, like the answer is obvious, and then stares at her like it should be to Iyo as well, before her shoulders droop and she finally admits, "You just make me feel safe."

Iyo feels a blush rise to her face. "Oh." She should feel more pleased that her presence has that effect, but in this situation it's hard not to feel like Rhea might've made a grave miscalculation. Just because she's flattered, doesn't mean she's going to accept horror movie-levels of bad decisionmaking. "...can we come back during the day?"

Rhea blinks. She didn't think about that possibility, because of course she didn't. "Uh, what if we get caught breaking in?" she asks, like that will retroactively justify the idiocy, and like anyone would be checking for intruders here by day any more than they are right now.

She doesn't, however, put up any fight when Iyo marches them back downstairs, through the lobby, and straight out the front doors into the night air. The puma's head on the door knocker grins at their exit, regarding them as cowards, rather than the determined, clever, totally-coming-back-with-protective-charms sort of people they truly are.

//

They stop in at the nearest IHOP to drown themselves in a pile of syrupy carbs and crispy bacon, keeping their vigil until the safety of sunrise in an environment that is far too mundane to be sinister. The pot of coffee and a few cups of cheap Lipton tea makes the all-nighter less miserable, and before long, a good and proper plan starts to come together, a shopping list forming in Rhea's phone to make the seriousness of the venture concrete.

When they step out onto the concrete again, they are no longer the same vulnerable women that scampered away the previous night, prey to a force they don't understand. They're ghost hunters.

//

The hotel lacks teeth in the daylight. Its copper-limned rooftop is at first eye-catching, but the longer Iyo looks, the more signs of disrepair she finds. The whole building's foundation seems to be canted to the side ever so slightly, like the whole of it might sink at the next great quake. Several windowpanes are cracked or entirely missing, the one overlooking the front courtyard itself spider-webbed and pockmarked with signs of thrown stones, red velvet curtains drawn against the nuisance of outsiders.

It's just a run-down ruin, she reminds herself, hands tracing the bits of protection that sit in every one of her pockets. Salt, cold iron, a full lighter, crushed turquoise, and a small stack of ofuda. Rhea stops beside her, brushing the hair off of her neck to regard the new bit of jewellery that hangs there: a gold cross, borrowed from Rhea herself.

"Are you sure that double dipping won't backfire?" Rhea frets, considering her own stack of paper charms, prepared at the nearest temple they were able to find. "What if it gets like, mad at the wrong thing-"

"It's fine," Iyo interrupts her. Evil knows no creed, she's resolute about that. If any of the baubles work, they all must, due to the simple power of intent, not the cultural origin of the demon in question. After all, every civilization on earth has its own ghost stories, and most seem to fare about the same.

Rhea nods and tries to reassure herself by re-checking that she's got everything she needs in her messenger bag. They've doubled up on the lot of it, prepared for the worst-case scenario where they get separated, or run out. The only difference being that Rhea insisted that Iyo get the wearable cross, leaving herself to tote around a good old-fashioned wooden crucifix.

The plan, however, is to not run into any spirits at all, hoping they're well asleep in the daytime and that Rhea's bracelet isn't too far off the main lobby. As they pick their way in through the foyer, it all looks much the same. All the rooms have windows, but the internal passages do not, so it's every bit as dim in the daylight hours, but it still feels better.

They re-check the manager's office, the welcome desk, the mudroom, even the small adjoining common room-combo-library. Nothing, unless informational brochures about various 1950s-era attractions can be counted. A lot of them still exist, though most have changed enough that the documents are useless. Interesting though, that while the entrance is firmly dated, the further into the hotel they get, the more confused it all becomes. As they circle back, they stop to check out a few more of the paintings. Now that Rhea's not so freaked out, she's more amenable to trying to figure out the history. A lot of the older fare seems Spanish in origin, unsurprisingly.

There's a few small, bronze placards beneath each, complete with names and dates stretching even further back than Iyo could guess. Neither of them are history buffs, so they're surely missing some of the finer details at play. Eventually, Iyo has to give up the ghost.

"Glad you aren't zoning out again," Rhea teases.

Iyo's not sure what she means by that, making a little sound of confusion as they stop in front of a portrait of a woman.

"Yesterday? You stared at that English guy in red for ages," she clarifies.

"No I didn't," Iyo insists light-heartedly, thinking it just a bit of teasing. Thirty seconds at most, no different than what they're doing right now.

Except Rhea's brow furrows, mouth opening as though to say something, then stopping, looking across at the painting in question and then back to Iyo again. "Iyo. After I told you not to touch it, you started petting it. For like, three minutes." Her tone is flat. Serious.

She turns back to look at the painting herself, mystified. In that moment, she remembers that one second, Rhea was scolding her, and cowering on the other side of the room. The next, Rhea had her hand in a vice grip, looking dead scared. Staring at the painting, she sees it as though through someone else's eyes. A painted flag, flapping in an invisible breeze, a horse's flank heaving with exertion, and Iyo, feeling bad for the beast, extending out a fingertip to soothe it. There, there, horsey, you poor thing, she mutters under her breath, not hearing each call from her girlfriend, louder and more desperate with each step Rhea takes across the floor, until she's being all but shaken.

Iyo looks at the Rhea of the present, finding her looking nearly as concerned as she did then. "You were right. I should not have touched it."

Rhea shakes her head minutely, and takes Iyo's hand gingerly. "It's okay. We'll stay out of trouble this time. We got this." She squeezes, and leads them up, to the fourth of the main suites, as of yet uninspected.

It's almost more of a mess than the second, in a different sense. Every bit of furniture has been dragged toward the centre of the room and toppled over into a giant, ringed pile.

For a moment, Iyo's not sure why, until Rhea's eyes widen. "Holy shit." She whispers.

Then, peeking between a bedpost and a wardrobe, she sees what the debris is blocking. A giant hole in the floor, straight down to the lower level. The wooden flooring is splintered in, like something had fallen at great speed from this floor, despite the ceiling above being intact. Iyo can't imagine anything that could create that much force so quickly.

Rhea notices a different, but even more peculiar detail. "Iyo, shouldn't we be right above the entrance hall?" She points at the ground below, and Iyo just barely is able to make out the door to the mudroom.

"There wasn't a hole in the ceiling," she responds, pointing out the obvious that both of them already realize. How, exactly, is this hole a one-way view?

A scraping noise echoes through the space, one of the chairs in the pile shifting ever so slightly. In tandem, they back out of the room, closing the door firmly behind themselves.

"Was it like that last time?" Iyo whispers, even once they've edged far away, and there's no sign of any more activity.

"No," Rhea shivers, "This is way worse - if it was anything like this I would've run like, ten seconds into Zelina's stupid trip. It was just a bunch of normal, dusty rooms, up until things started flying." Iyo thinks back to Rhea's story of last time. This is a detail Rhea has been intentionally leaving out. "The lightbulb, the hole, this is way more of a warning than before."

Again, Iyo wonders if she should push for Rhea to leave, in case her repeated presence is coming off like a taunt to the inhabiting spirits. But then again, this is Iyo's second trip in, so they might be just as irked by her. Albeit to Iyo's knowledge, she at least didn't leave any remnants of herself behind. Unless they've got a hold of a strand of hair - but she can't let herself think like that. She's got to be the confident one here, for both their sakes.

The main suites accounted for, they have only the adjacent hallways to inspect. The nearest wears a plaque declaring itself the Staff Wing, the smaller door opening into a narrow, carpeted hallway, filled on both sides by rows and rows of smaller rooms with little doors. There are a few open, with no locks to secure them, and they're all small, and either barren or destitute, fitting Rhea's descriptions of her previous experience here. Dust and cobwebs and not much else, each lit by lazy, mote-filled sunlight, up until they get to the very end.

The final room, unlike the others, has a small doorknocker and a wooden sign hung on the wall next to it that reads, Manager's Quarters in faded, painted lettering. Not as official as the plaque, by far, on the wing itself or the office on the ground floor.

"Think this used to be something else?" Rhea muses aloud, mirroring Iyo's exact thoughts on the matter.

"Probably," she replies, though she's got no idea what.

They open the door, finding an entirely different sort of scene than the main suites. The entire space is pristine, a wide bay window across from the doorway letting in copious sunlight. A few electrical light fixtures dot the room as well. Despite their previous troubles, Rhea tries the switch - on, then off, like normal. A bit of tension goes out of her shoulders.

Iyo circles around to the left of the door, taking in a small sitting area, with two velvet armchairs, and then a small writing desk and a fully stocked bookshelf, lined with various classics as well as some tawdry, of-the-time mass market paperbacks. The last resident had a taste for sultry romantic fiction, evidently.

Meanwhile, Rhea parts from her side to inspect an antique, cabinet-style radio next to the bed. She flicks it on, and from out of it bursts a smooth, jazzy tune in near-perfect quality. It's jarring, and perhaps surprising that the station it was set to years ago happens to be playing something of the era even now. But then, Rhea experimentally twists the dial, and nothing at all happens. The song keeps on, and the needle doesn't budge.

"What station is that?" Iyo asks, while leafing through one of the paperbacks, finding the margins filled with a scrawled hand she can't make out.

"Says 1953 AM," Rhea answers, before flicking the thing back off. "I don't think the numbers are supposed to go that high."

Definitely not so exact, either. "Is this English?" She crosses over to Rhea, handing the book off so she can see the loopy script. Rhea takes one look, and shakes her head. Iyo sets it on the bedside table, but mentally adds it to her inventory of oddities.

They work their way toward the window, checking each corner with just as much wary care. The dresser is full to the brim with clothing that looks brand new, despite the dated style. A makeup table, too, with all sorts of fancy powders and lipsticks, most of which have gone crusty and dried up in the intervening years, but suggests a female inhabitant at one point, nonetheless. Considering the dresser is full of suits, that leaves the wardrobe next to the window as the only other major furnishing yet to be investigated. It might confirm a married pair, or something of the sort.

Her girlfriend, from within the en-suite bathroom, calls out, "There's a clawfoot tub in here!", while Iyo notices that the wardrobe door is already open a crack, the slightest bit of light slipping through from within.

"Rhea," she calls back, reaching out to fully open it up. "Come look."

Within hang a handful of dresses, a fur coat, a set of heels sat on the bottom, and behind it, a piece of backing wood not fully flush. A false back.

She reaches out, pushing at it, the second Rhea goes, "That shouldn't-"

The panel gives way, dramatically splintering in on itself with such sudden force that Iyo careens forward, tumbling into the wardrobe. The whole of it shakes, floor and ceiling and walls quivering in uproarious laughter, up becoming down and inside becoming outside, the same moment Iyo realizes what Rhea meant.

The wardrobe, backed onto an exterior wall, should lead nowhere at all.

The ground greets her, cruel and achingly. At first, Iyo thinks she must've fallen clean out the side of the building, but then she realizes the ground below her is hardwood, and she's staring up at a pressed tin ceiling, golden-painted crown moulding encasing the whole of it. Her eyes trace along the edge, finding yellow, yellow, yellow. Unmarred by anything. No gaping, splinter-filled hole for her to have fallen through, no windows, no doors. Just a solid, square room, elaborately furnished, a lit candelabra on the bedside table providing the only flickering light.

Iyo stumbles to her feet and runs to where she fell, reaching her hands up to feel the wall. There must be a false panel that slid back into place, but she can't find it. She bangs on it, calling, "Rhea! I'm stuck!"

No answer.

"Rhea!" She tries again, pounding her fists against the wall, all over, hard enough to bruise. Then she repeats it for each one, until her voice is hoarse. Nothing at all. Not a single sound. And, as she circles and circles, nearly nothing at all adorning the walls. All that's there is a portrait of a conquistador, moustache curled up in cheerful mockery, and, Iyo realizes with no small amount of dread, a dumbwaiter. It's small, even for her, but she would fit if she curled her knees into her chest.

Iyo lifts the door, staring at the rope pulley.

"Rhea?" She says again, quietly. Her hand finds its way to the cross around her neck. Then she climbs in, squeezing into the space with a good amount of difficulty, and tugs at the rope. Down, or up, it doesn't really matter, she supposes, since she has no idea where she even is, spatially.

The pulley whines and groans, angered at being awoken after so long, but eventually the box begins to shift.

She travels down for a good minute, before the dim outline of another door appears, a small bit of ambient light coming through. This, Iyo opens immediately.

Iyo nearly sobs in relief to see a hallway, dragging herself out of the box before she even evaluates her surroundings. She flops onto the wooden floor, gaining her bearings with another dreadful surge of confusion. It's much the same as the room above is, but with gas lanterns covering both walls, spaced out every few feet.

As Iyo picks herself up, the smell of rancid smoke makes her nose twitch in irritation. Not a vent in sight. She tries the nearest door. Locked. And the next, and the next, and the next, and all the others in the hall, until it bends a corner, and keeps going. The sconces seem to glow brighter in each section she moves through, snaking to and fro in a confusing mess.

"Rhea," she reverts to trying helplessly to make contact in any way she can as the sense of disturbance comes back over her. In response, the lights pulse brighter. "Rhea?" Iyo calls again, and this time, the flames roar out of their sconces, erupting into startlingly tall pillars that lick the ceiling, tin dripping down the walls.

"No good ever comes of a fire," a soft voice sounds, right in Iyo's ear, and she whirls on her heel, ready to flick a handful of salt out at whatever has snuck up on her. Instead, she comes face to face with a wall.

When she turns back, the hall has closed in on itself - once more, there is no apparent passage for her, a mirror on the wall reflecting the small closed passage she's in, her own reflection utterly absent. Each column of fire keeps growing, catching everything they can. The smoke, once little more than a nuisance, has thickened to an oily black sludge that makes Iyo choke with each inhale, burning the insides of her throat. She's not sure what will kill her first - that, or the fire itself, and the blistering heat that's started to fill the space.

Iyo's never thought much of what death would feel like, or how she'd actually go, but she knows right then, this isn't it for her. Instinct takes over fully, the desperate bid for survival winning out over logic in a place without any. She stares at the mirror, where she is not, and goes running headlong into it.

The second it breaks, glass tearing into her shoulder, palms, and shins, the world turns again, and out Iyo falls, back into the very same room she and Rhea last shared, though not an exact match for the memory. For one, the furniture is decrepit, and as she flips onto her back to stare at the abominable wardrobe, it's utterly mundane, and bare of any possessions. Above, the lights flicker, timed like a laugh, ha ha ha.

Static cuts through the ringing in Iyo's ears. For the umpteenth time, she pushes herself to her feet, each gouge in her skin stinging with pain. Moving carefully so as not to slip in her own blood, Iyo makes her way towards the culprit - the radio. This time, it's set to the surely fictional 1846 AM. Just like Rhea, Iyo tries turning the knob. Nothing. Then, she tries turning it off, and it won't budge. Figures. She takes a last detestful look around the room, glaring at the tattered book on the bedside table she had put there in perfect condition seemingly only minutes prior.

At this point, she doesn't care. This place can keep its mysteries and its curses. Iyo wants Rhea, and then they'll go. Simple as that.

She makes her way out into the hallway, noting with a pit in her stomach that in place of the rooms she and Rhea had inspected so dutifully, each and every door is nailed shut with planks. Fortunately, the door at the end of the hallway comes soon, and has no such nonsense attached to it. Only one way to go, Iyo steps out. It takes her but a moment to realize she's on the complete opposite side of the building that she should be. She shuts the door firmly, like it will keep the worst of the past at bay, and regards the plaque reading, Be Gone, with complete disdain.

"Give me my girlfriend, and I will," Iyo speaks to the Thing for the first time that day.

In answer, the creak of a door hinge. The once-locked suite that foiled them initially cracks open, falling ajar as though by a breeze. Iyo catches the line of a shoulder from within, and her breath hitches in response. "Rhea?" She asks, and in response, the figure edges the barest bit closer, and there she is. The woman she loves, expression unworried.

Ignoring all the physical pain that comes with moving, Iyo sprints to her girlfriend, into the dark, candlelit room that seems so much calmer, and more normal than anything they've encountered up until then.

Instantly, she's enveloped in Rhea's warm, loving embrace. Iyo squeezes Rhea's waist tight, afraid to let go, even while Rhea pulls back a touch to brandish her wrist. "Look what I found."

The bracelet that caused so much trouble isn't much to look at. It's handmade, a series of purple and yellow beads of various hues knotted together in a simple pattern. Despite Iyo's tight grip around Rhea, the woman dislodges her hands like it's nothing, slipping it off of her wrist and onto Iyo's.

"Looks better on you," Rhea explains, and then kisses her.

The feeling is like falling all over again. Her stomach lurches, her mind reels, but there's no resulting impact, just a feeling like floating as Iyo's heart tumbles about. The aches of her body are instantly a far-away thing. Iyo must be dripping blood, smearing it all over Rhea with how tightly they're wound around one another, but she doesn't seem to notice, or rather, doesn't seem to care about anything but seeing to it their reunion goes undisturbed - shutting the door to the outside calmly.

Rhea guides her further into the room, not parting from her for a moment in the course of leading her to sit on the plush, warm bed within. The smell of smoke trapped in Iyo's nostrils is replaced by soothing lavender - Iyo's eyelids feel unbearably heavy, like she ought to let Rhea lay her down, do what she will, and then rest forever, perhaps. A hot tongue slips past Iyo's lips, coaxing shuddering breath out of her. Her girlfriend tastes so honey-sweet, like nothing Iyo's ever experienced. Hazy ecstasy, like a good dream. It goes on and on, forever and ever. Iyo doesn't ever have to leave, she can have Rhea here, to kiss, and hold, forever. Why had she ever wanted to leave, when she and Rhea could just stay here, together?

A hand worms its way around Iyo's neck, stroking her pulse. It's cold. Unconsciously, Iyo shifts her weight around from the unpleasant feeling, and the necklace Rhea gave her earlier falls from where it was nestled in her shirt. She feels it, like an extension of herself, collide with that hand, and suddenly, Rhea flinches back viciously.

Iyo's eyes flutter open. The room is dark. The lips of the creature above her are smeared with crimson.

In a panic, Iyo rolls off the bed, landing hard on the floor, the impact jostling the satchel of salt in her pocket loose, so it spills all over the ground, and into her wounds, stinging something awful. But it burns the creature too, diving after her with a fury. It hisses, reeling away - just long enough for Iyo to get her hand into her rather shredded, bloody hoodie, coming out with an ofuda. She slaps it directly onto the thing's snarling face, and then kicks it, hard, in what passes for a torso.

"Iyo!" It screams, voice distorting from something like Rhea, into something unlike anything, man or beast.

The doors to the room thunder open, beams of light streaming in from the chandelier, silhouetting another figment of Rhea. This one brandishes a wooden crucifix, and her own handful of ofuda, and is cursing in an angry, increasingly Australian manner. In response, the thing goes running, or flying, or some manner of something, bursting out the window to a now-darkened abyss. The last thing Iyo sees is the flick of a tail, almost serpentine in nature, and then it's gone.

The other Rhea rushes to her side, kneeling down in the blood-stained salt, tears immediately tracking down her cheeks. There's lipstick stains on her neck, Iyo realizes distantly, but that's of little concern, as is the rest of life. She's not got any fight left in her.

"Please tell me you are you," Iyo mumbles, head foggy.

Rhea nods vigorously, scooping her arms carefully under Iyo's shoulders, and knees. She lifts her with ease, cradling her head in against Rhea's shoulder. The taller woman smells a bit like sweat, but mostly like stale diner coffee. It's her, as human as ever. "Yes, god yes."

Belatedly, Iyo realizes she ought to show off her little bit of victory - and make sure it's still there, for that matter. It takes almost all of her energy, but she lifts her wrist, showing her girlfriend the bracelet they went to all this trouble for. She'll never know why that creature gave it back, but that's secondary to the glimmer of disbelief in Rhea's eyes.

They don't stop until they're back outside, starlight above them and nothing but empty earth and gravel at their feet. The air feels clean and right and real again, though the taste of ash still coats Iyo's mouth. She tries to rub at her lips to get what's left of it all, and only then does she cry. The whole of her body shakes, a mess of adrenaline, relief, all wrapped up in the horror of a betrayal she should've expected. 

Rhea packs her gently into the car, tearing strips of fabric off of her shirt to temporarily bandage the worst of the gouges in Iyo's arms and legs, kissing the smaller woman’s forehead when she leans over to buckle her in, wiping away Iyo’s tears with fire-stained fingertips.

"It's okay," she says on the way to the hospital, holding Iyo's hand while consciousness comes and goes. "Me too. You couldn't have known. You're okay. We're okay."

It takes months and months of healing, but eventually, the words start to make a difference. By that time, the old hotel has burnt down, taking with it a group of deliriously brave, completely unfortunate souls. Somehow, Iyo knows that's not the end of it. The building was just that, a container for horrors. There are far more where that came from, and there always will be.

[luna-azzurra]

The thing about a good character flaw is that it has to be the same thing as their greatest strength just turned up too high. the person who loves deeply and therefore controls. the person who sees everything and therefore trusts nothing. the person who is so loyal they lose themselves. there are no clean villains and no clean heroes and once you understand that in fiction you can't unsee it in people. everyone is just their best quality at the wrong volume.

[bloodmoonscall]

thinking thoughts and debating things for future personal use... my regional library offers print services ...

if anyone happens to wanna do cover art for queenslayer or knows anyone lmk LOL im brainstorming but once done i wanna get a copy printed for myself. paid of course.

[bloodmoonscall]

i hope amongst the awkward rhiyos queenslayer has become, yall enjoy a bit of closet drag race fan damian priest, rheakota friendship, and crazy lyra bc thats kinda what we've got on tap......

[gross-dada]

how high is your pain tolerance? (flirting)

[verbenadreams]

the pope is right. i need to finish my loustat fanfiction

[brainstreams]

[corseque]

romance 101 — it’s not enough to hinge the whole thing on ‘will they or won’t they’ the real interest is the lack the characters have within them, and how they fill that lack with the help of/because of the other person. We’re not looking at two people kissing, we’re looking at the characters getting assistance, guidance, emotional completion, maturation, transformation, spiritual apogee, building new foundations, physical/emotional safety, old wounds healing, becoming a stronger and braver person because they met their love.

[heywriters]

Exactly! Because otherwise we could switch out the love interests with anybody else and it would still be the same story.

[bloodmoonscall]

fyi since i haven't seen it translated by anyone. iyo's statement to liv was, essentially: "I'll show you, hey. Belittle me all you want, but if you mock Rhea, I'll never forgive you!"

[bloodmoonscall]

reminder to be nice on the internet :) people can see when youre not :)