#misc fic

The kid doesn’t fold her gear.

These Makehen girls… Kana can’t believe them sometimes, the amount of things that no one taught them how to do. She’s not about to lash them the way she would’ve gotten it, but really. When they started getting sent to WAVE regularly, Kana did not think it would lead to her teaching a sullen kid the ins and outs of laundry. Shouldn’t this fall under Mio’s purview?

As though sensing her critical thoughts, Io raises her tanuki-coloured head and catches Kana’s stare. Her hands are still holding the crushed-up silver and gold costume, her expression unchanging, but Kana can practically hear the thoughts whirring in her head.

“Is something wrong, President Kana?” she finally asks, her tone light and nonchalant. What a little punk, sometimes. She's lucky she doesn't have to regularly deal with a promotion full of women who would eat her alive for far less than the playful sass she brandishes against Kana.

Which is exactly why she's here, in the semi-independent realm, unknowingly cradled under Kana's wing. Her personal life is her own, so the details are foggy to Kana, but Io's a clear example of one of those people who gets into trouble the second she doesn't have something to occupy her attention. A good heart underneath, yes, but that won't earn her mercy from anyone else.

Kana puts her hands on her hips and takes a moment to really look at the kid, letting the silence stretch. Okay, so kid's not the right word for her. She's outgrown that sort of cuteness, or at least has started pretending she's beyond it. A tiny thing, especially in comparison to her lankier sister. Fox and tanuki, that's how they style themselves, and it fits. Io's still got a bit of that baby fat in her cheeks that makes her look like a teenager, and that mischievous look in her eye that Kana can't help but be fond of, even though she's tried a hundred times to get her to tone it back.

"Give it to me," Kana huffs, holding out a hand.

Io hesitates.

"You'll make us all look bad if you start showing up in wrinkly, stretched-out gear. When's the last time you washed this?" Kana demands.

Io's cheeks turn pink and she looks away. She does, however, stretch her arm out to hand the bundle of cloth over to Kana. It's still damp with sweat. 

They're gonna have to go through Io's bag and clear it out of any other gross bad habits. Thankfully, Mio's not this bad. But then, she had a little bit of time to grow up and be an adult before they started up their wrestling careers, instead of diving in headfirst.

So no, Io's not quite a kid. But she's certainly never figured out how to be an adult.

//

Throughout her life, Kana’s worn a lot of hats. She doesn't think about it much; to her it all either falls into the category of hobbies, or careers destined for failure that she decided to set aside before they could.

Some things Kana likes to talk about, and others she’s embarrassed by. Mio’s got the picture. Io doesn't. It’s all worth interrogating to her.

Like right now, where she’s sitting in the chair at Kana’s salon, bleach doing its silent work, and asking a million questions about her previous work. “Did you do any art for Professor Layton?”

At least they’re not in front of the other women this time. The only mercy they show Kana over things like this, is waiting until Io’s gone to really put her through the ringer, barbed comments lancing through her about everything from her commitment levels to her too-broad skillset. It might be better if the girl saw their behaviour for herself, so she’d take Kana’s stories about those sorts of dynamics seriously. But that would also mean saddling Io with guilt that she’d given them ammunition.

She can keep the cute innocence, at least for now. 

Kana entertains the question, wracking her brain. The thing about being a freelancer in life is that her work is broken up into snippets. A bit here, a stint there, a match she thinks won't matter until it turns into ten, and then one day she’s being asked by Mio over a beer, what if we formed a team? 

Like anyone sane, Kana assumed that meant a two person tag team. What about your sister? she’d asked worriedly back, wondering if the kid was giving up like she once had, or was being left in the dust. Mio had looked at her like she had a centipede on her face. 

Triple Tails. They're not ready to debut the stable formally yet. There’s loose ends Kana has to tie up first, strained partnerships to be violently dismantled. Women that terrify her who she has to be sure don’t associate her acts of rebellion with the Shirai sisters. Then they can open the new chapter. 

Needless to say, it becomes difficult to keep it all straight. It’s easier for Kana to obsess about tomorrow than spend time reflecting. She doesn't recall doing any design work for a game like that, though. 

“No,” she stands, walking over to Io to regard her scalp. Healthy as ever. If there’s one thing she’s learned from Kana lightning quick, it’s hair care. The bleach looks like it’s about ready; she waves the colorist back over and stands a couple steps away. “It’s not the exciting stuff, you know? I worked on user interfaces a lot.”

Io closes her eyes while the hairdresser works. She doesn't like to see the result until the end. “I still think that's cool. The posters you make are really good, too. There’s nothing you can't do, Miss President.”

That stupid nickname again. It makes Kana feel so much older than she is. This time, though, Kana knows Io’s trying to show respect in her own weird way. In private, she skips out on honorifics altogether, thinking that regarding Kana as a friend means more than her word choice. Kana’s never corrected her.

The thing with Io is, she’s different from Kana. Whereas Kana feels like she’s tried out everything there is to in the world, Io’s interests are… simple. Athletics, animals, food, sleep. Apparently, puzzle games.

She ought to encourage when a new one rears its head. They’ll be a team soon enough, after all. “Do you want me to teach you how to design a shirt?”

Io’s eyes shoot open, lightning quick, a grin following like thunder.

//

The venue they're in has wifi access, which doesn't matter much to Kana, but apparently means everything to Io. She’s set herself up on a folding table, and has been glued to her laptop since. 

Meanwhile, she and Mio dart around setting up all the chairs and double-checking the ring ropes are tightened adequately. At first, Mio had looked mildly annoyed, like the kid’s slacking. But Io’s got her game face on, looking just like she does when the lights focus down on her. So Kana shakes her head at Mio, just once. Their universal silent way of communicating, lay off. Io’s better at tearing down than setting up anyway, with the way she tends to get quiet and tense before matches.

When Kana slips behind Io to grab some bottles of water to stage underneath the apron, she glances at what she’s up to. There’s a website open, sparkly pink, and a rich text box nearly full to the brim. A photo of the three of them catches Kana’s eye. 

She leans down to get a closer look. “What are you doing?” 

Io jumps. She spins around in her folding chair, clutching at her heart. Oops, Kana thinks, right as she catches a glare coming from Mio. She didn't mean that to sound so -

“Is that your blog?” she tries again, forcing a smile. Poor thing still looks like she’s halfway to a heart attack. Maybe part of the arrhythmia issue, or maybe Kana really is scarier than she thinks she is. Either way, she feels guilty.

Io reaches for one of the bottles of water. Kana lets her take it, leaning down to scroll the trackpad while she gulps down a bit to soothe herself. They need to work on some breathing exercises sometime. 

In the mass of text is date, time, location, a personalized briefing of the night’s event, the photo of the three of them, and one Io had taken of herself some time before. Looks like Kana interrupted her in the middle of her signoff, pricing interspersed with wishes to see their prospective audience there. 

“Last minute promotion,” Io explains, “The advance ticket sales seemed a little low, so I thought-”

Kana ruffles her hair. “Good job.” 

For all of Io’s weird little quirks, she is a hard worker. It’ll serve her well, especially in today’s world. Sometimes even Kana has trouble keeping up with the constantly shifting methods of fan engagement, and she’s supposed to be the experienced one of their bunch. Honestly, the writeup reads as exceedingly professional too. Io’s got a way with words.

“Show her the one where you call her voluptuous!” Mio teases from near their ramshackle merch stand. More and more these days, she takes the opportunity to tease Io like that. Whether it’s about her taste in men - which Kana privately agrees is unconventional - or … well. 

Io goes bright red, dimming the laptop screen to near-black. “I was talking about an impersonator…” she clarifies. Mio laughs chirpily, since that explanation doesn’t dismiss her point any.

Maybe later on, Kana will check in to see who's telling the truth between the two sisters. But maybe not. Everyone deserves to have their secrets, even the poorly veiled ones.

//

More and more moments like that sneak in. Sometimes it’s a harmless bit of fanservice that Mio suggests in an attempt at humour. If it had been anyone else, maybe it would be. Not that anyone is made uncomfortable by it, just that… Kana knows Mio well. She’s starting to know Io well, too.

Things are complicated when a fan, a young woman of Io's age, approaches her at an after-show mixer. Kana watches the interaction in her periphery, the same way she always does when she senses someone’s interests in Io are more than strictly friendly. Normally the kid is godawful clueless, too stuck in her ideals of what romance is to engage with it, always setting things up for failure right from the get go. 

Clueless is the right description of this time too, because Io doesn’t seem to know she’s being flirted with, and doesn’t know she’s flirting back either. The drink in her hand’s empty, and being refilled past where Kana knows she can tolerate it. 

She excuses herself from the older gentleman she’s talking to. He’ll take no offense if he sees her walk off towards Io and another woman, but she doesn’t want to draw any more attention in that direction than she needs to, so she calls over one of their guests to take her spot first. 

After this, Kana will owe Miyuki some kind of explanation. She’ll cross that bridge when she gets to it.

Kana steals Io’s drink from her seamlessly, introducing herself to the other woman with the same polite detachment she does everyone. Io’s face flashes with poorly contained irritation, then resignation, as the virtual stranger makes her own excuses in response to Kana’s interruption. 

“Why did you do that?” Io’s brow furrows up in the cute, indignant way it does.

Do what? Kana thinks about asking, to see if Io can even put words to it, yet. If they were in private, she would. But they’re not, so she says, “We should be getting you home, soon.”

Io bristles even more at that, because she hates being seen as the tag-a-long kid sister, even though that is exactly what she is. Always will be that, until one sister gets fed up with the other and the whole thing collapses around them. “I can make that decision myself.”

If only she had that backbone everywhere and with everyone, Kana wouldn’t worry about her so much. She looks around briefly, catching that Mio’s got the whole world in the palm of her hand, as per usual. She’ll be alright if they manage to get away for a second.

“Come outside with me,” Kana doesn’t wait for Io to agree, because she won't. But she’ll follow.

And she does. Her cheeks are puffed up like an angry chipmunk’s, going red with a combination of anger, embarrassment, and the chill of evening air. Kana turns and leans against the brick wall of the building. Io hovers, then joins her, standing straight up. Then Kana hands her back the drink she'd all but confiscated, a sip or two lighter than it had been to begin with.

"When you're ready to talk about it, please come to me." Kana says simply. She can't say what, exactly, she's referring to, if Io still doesn't know yet. 

The younger woman isn't dumb by any means. A bit head-in-the-clouds, yes, idealistic and naive, but still exceedingly critical of herself and everyone else. Io’s moral compass is strong enough that it will get her in trouble one day when someone prods at her, expecting soft submission and getting an undergrown punk's barbed tongue instead. To that end, Io already knows what she's about, it's just whether she's lined up all the dots into a picture.

Io opens her mouth to give Kana one of those tongue lashings, but then closes it and looks away, taking a long drink to hide her expression.

"You can't tell her." She finally manages, voice quiet.

Kana's heart breaks a bit, because she can provide no reassurances there. Family is one issue she's not sure of herself. Despite everything, Io's a diligent daughter, and tries her best to be a good sister, yielding in a way she isn't with Kana. "That will always be your choice to make."

"I had a chance, huh?" Io says, her breath coming out in little puffs, coloured by the bar's outdoor lighting. "With that girl."

"Yeah," Kana admits, "You did."

Io nods and slumps back against the building, leaning her head on Kana's shoulder to share what little warmth there is to give.

//

They all knew when they got into this stable that it wouldn't last, but it went by way more quickly than Kana assumed it would. For that matter, the way the end unfolds is a little surprising, actually.

Io’s out. 

For the last bit, the sisters had seemed to be drifting apart. Kana anticipated it. One sister outgrows the other, and decides to go her own way. She just didn't think it would be Io that cut ties.

A singles career is a respectable thing to want, but it’s not like Kana’s work starts and ends with Triple Tails - Io could do both things as a freelancer if she wanted to. 

This isn’t that, though. She’s headed into the lion’s den.

“You can't trust anyone there,” Kana says in the middle of Io explaining the offer she was given. Once the words are spat out, she realizes she's angry. 

Until then, she’d been the neutral ground between the sisters. Always patient with Io, and always Mio’s confidante. For the first time, she’s not the halfway point, she’s standing in opposition. Three independent forces, all pulling their own way. 

Mio startles, her own irritation flagging as she sizes up Kana. She grips Kana’s wrist and tries to get her to sit back down from where she’s suddenly standing. 

Kana tears herself loose. 

Io’s moon-eyed. Did she think that Kana wouldn't react this way? There’s been so many stories she’s shared of the difficulties she’s gone through. Burdens she’s shouldered and then broken away from. And her doesn't-even-know-it protege is saying, to hell with your way, I like being the world’s whipping dog fine. Your pain means nothing to me.

She won’t last. Io’s not got the nerve to defy, nor the courage to endure long. They're going to chew her up and spit her out, and this thing Io’s become good at will turn into nothing but a failed career to look back on, and cringe at when some well-meaning young woman asks all her questions and then says that this painful portion of Io’s life was cool. 

Kana can’t let it happen to her, the righteous fire in her veins stoked molten. Her hatred and pain misplaced, erupting and aimed right at the woman she wants to protect. “You’re not cut out for that world.”

Mio stands then, knowing where this is about to go, wheeling a few steps back right before Io loses it, the punk kid finally let run rampant. 

Never, ever tell her she can’t, Mio had told Kana once way back when. All it does is turn her into a terror, and then … the crash after isn’t pretty, either. Positive reinforcement only.

Exactly why Io won’t be able to handle the likes of Stardom.

Io’s nose to nose with Kana, drawn up to her full height and bolstered by her boots, yet still a hair short. “Don’t be a bitch to me just because you failed.”

Kana doesn't flinch. Her gaze doesn't waver, remaining focused on Io’s nose as she paints on the war face she used to be accustomed to. All that does is make Io madder, seeing how Kana looks down on her. She always will, no matter how many times Io tries to prove herself, because the kid hasn't lived Kana's life. Fine then, to let her go, and drown in her own mistakes. Once Triple Tails is over, the Shirais will still remain sisters. But Asuka? All she'll be is a bad memory to this kid.

Kana smiles unfriendily. “Just a teaser of what you'll get out there.”

“You two,” Mio tries to get in, but she's ignored. “Settle down.” 

All of the little things that led Io to this decision are forgotten, replaced by this fight and the will to resist. Baby bird, thrust out of the nest to crash on broken stones below. Kana turns on her heel, not caring to look back.

When Io thinks back on their time in Triple Tails, she'll be able to blame the woman she can replace, instead of the one she can't. 

//

It feels like no time at all before the kid lands herself in trouble, proving once more that she is a kid. Or at least, an easily played young woman, who has chosen to dash away the company of someone who cares about her, and cater to someone who does not. 

That, at least, Kana sees coming. Just as Io’s completely clueless with women, she’s undiscerning with men. Kana might’ve told her once they have their own locker room dramas, but she didn’t stress that theirs didn’t come to the fore with subtle, behind-the-scenes abuses and sabotage. Men are dangerous in a much louder way, such that even their conspiracies turn to absurdity. 

Kana watches the press conference from afar, pain roiling through her at the sight of Io’s desperate tears. She maintains her innocence the whole time. No sane onlooker believes her. Nobody who knows Io intimately disbelieves her. It’s a conundrum. Kana herself lands firmly in the second camp. That’s not Io’s kind of trouble, first of all. Second of all, she’s not that goddamn stupid. In a painting, of all things?

Still, it doesn’t look good.

Io insists she’s not considering leaving the industry, but then, it’s not really her choice. Best case, Kana figures, she’ll manage to avoid being prosecuted but have her contract dissolved for the trouble. 

Maybe then, Kana will reach out, offer her condolences, tell Io that she believes her, and help her find work elsewhere. Some office job, maybe, though Io would go stir crazy. Something else then, on her feet, working with her hands - the salon. Io’s good enough with her own hair. As far as Kana’s concerned, she’d have a permanent role there. 

Kana won’t even bring up that she warned Io. It’s cathartic enough to see the younger woman’s watery gaze as she declares, firmly, that she has ended her relationship. 

That is Kana’s kind of justice. 

//

He never does defend Io. But her pleas do their work on one person of import, and soon enough it’s almost like it hadn't happened.

Io’s career goes on, but Kana’s frustration frosts over into dead silence; she’s not the only one to ice the woman out this way. Hell, it seems she doesn't even notice the difference when it comes to Kana. 

Late at night, after Kana has hung her gear out to dry and dressed whatever wounds she might've sustained from seeing her life’s work through, she wills Io’s failure. Wills, at least, her apology to those she’s wronged with this embarrassment. 

Let them return to how things were. Truly alone in a place where she shouldn't be, Io will see the truth of it soon.

//

The day Stardom tears itself apart is one Kana watches with the rapt attention of one observing a train derailment. Kana’s evaluation of the differences between women and men is wrong, after all. The grim spectacle of violence can be delivered by their kind, too. An abyss forms in her stomach, sucking in the first surges of fascination and righteous excitement, leaving behind only the mute throbbing pain of fear. 

A young woman is hurt, and badly. That should be enough to turn her to nausea. Something in Kana must be broken, though, because that’s not what tips things over the edge. That woman could've been Io.

More than anything, Kana wants to be sure Io is alright. Surely now, she’ll see Kana was right. Surely now she’ll leave.

Io answers the call with a weary sigh. It’s the first time they’ve spoken in years. “Hello, Kana-sama,” she says politely, strained as it is.

“She is involved, isn't she?” is out of Kana’s mouth before she can help herself.

Io says nothing. The silence answers for her. 

Another version of Kana, stripped of years and pain, would apologize for opening that way. This one keeps her silence too, for two long minutes, until Io ends the call.

The strange thing is, four years ago, Io would've yelled at her first. When Kana attempts to call back, she gets sent straight to a factory set voicemail. Her Io wouldn't have blocked her, either.

Time really does change people. 

//

Asuka’s too busy defending her title to keep up with what’s happening a world away. Her reputation means little, so she makes it a point to defend as much as she can. Even though that's not the way they do it here; days matter more than the number of matches do. 

If days mattered, and if Asuka were paying attention to those who are dead to her, she might take note of the reign which started three months and nine days before hers, keeping pace with her number of defenses. 

A year comes and goes, records gone to dust, while Asuka remains the exception. The ones who came before her are only memories. This is her own path, her way, and her world to endure alone. 

Things aren't so different, in some ways. Her accent goes misunderstood in two languages instead of one. Most of the respect she earns comes through stoking animosity, first. She isn't one of the group. Asuka is, as Kana was, at the top of her own mountain, even when some of the hatred turns to admiration over the course of her immortal run. 

Her days of being President are long over, her future is as Empress.

Loneliness doesn't matter. 

Five hundred days, and Four hundred. Asuka has to surpass it.

She’s jeered even now. The patience that intrigue brings fades into disdain for her legacy. They're tiring of this game. Asuka tires of it too, until the days float through her head, taunting her. Things she’s never done caught in her periphery. 

Maybe that woman is just as maddened by the contest. Asuka hears rumours of contracts and tryouts. She can't be the only one watching her rival at work. 

Five hundred and nine.

Contract offer. Asuka’s blood goes cold. She hears it from Mio first, mercifully.

Io has to drop the title soon.

Five hundred and forty-six. No more.

Odd she did so before the tournament even took place. Mio calls again.

“They took it back,” she explains, a few days before Asuka and the rest of the world should know. 

Confusion licks through Asuka, a million questions summoned at once. Why revoke a contract offer like that? Why let go of the title? Doesn't Io care to keep their contest going, in absence of the rest of their chase?

“It’s her neck,” Mio keeps on when she realizes Asuka can't bring herself to voice anything that isn't frustration. “She’s stopping to fix it.”

“They just paused the offer, then.” That makes more sense. Rehabbing can't take long. Looking at how Io moves, it’s clear the injury isn’t retirement level. They’ve all seen that; Mio’s experienced that. Her voice doesn't carry that kind of weight. Io might miss the tournament, but she doesn't need it to show this side of the globe what she’s made of, anyway. 

“No,” Mio says, head shaking across so many kilometers, but Asuka can still hear it. The Shirais have a particular way of sounding annoyed with her. “The offer is gone. She just won't take no for an answer.”

Asuka goes stormy quiet. Some kind of righteous anger emerges in her again, but at who, this time, she can't say. 

“Why tell me, then?” she bites. It’s not been all smooth sailing between her and Mio, either. In the end, it’s business, and business gets between everyone. 

The aggravated tch on the other side of the line makes Asuka’s skin crawl. Everyone expects something different from her. Hasn't she shown them enough times she’ll defy anyone to prove she needs no one? 

Asuka grits her teeth and is about to really start up a fight when Mio rips the blinders off of her. “Because she asked me to.”

//

The next month goes by in a blur. Asuka’s not used to Io’s voice through the phone anymore as is, but the firm, determined tone she has is unfamiliar too.

Their conversation is brief, once the awkward pleasantries are out of the way. Io congratulates Asuka for her successes the way a kohai should. Asuka says nothing of Io’s. Stardom has been Io, but the root of all of Asuka’s disdain goes unaddressed, so those accomplishments aren't worth anything to her. This woman is almost a stranger, with how smoothly she talks, and how little she rises to the subtle slights Asuka levies her way.

Not her Io. This one asks for a favour. Asuka’s got no reason to care at all, but for the memory of times past.

For her Io, she will make sure Kairi is cared for.

//

Five hundred and ten, and then it ends, but not through defeat. 

She’s eked Io out by a single defense, though Asuka will really never accept that, when she knows the calibre of competition is less consistent. Even if she can't bring herself to say that she respects what’s happening back in Io’s Stardom, Asuka can be objective about that.

Some of her criticism lessens once she properly meets Kairi, anyhow. It’s not right to degrade Io like that in front of one of her friends. That’s what Kairi calls them. 

Half of Asuka finds she’s jealous, the other half finds she’s relieved. She’s heard and seen things that suggest the stranger inhabiting her old kohai’s body has figured out how to flirt at last. Io spends her time now poking at other young, awkward women who are as clueless as she used to be.

Kairi’s charming, in her own way. It helps that they don’t have the chance to cross paths as competitors, and despite holding some accolades that Asuka never will, Kairi is everything Io is not. Quietly kind, respectful, heeding all of Asuka’s stories with rapt attention and taking only what she offers of herself. She doesn’t make Asuka feel annoyed.

Asuka finds it all a bit boring. Once she’s healed up, she’s unleashed onto new pastures, still undefeated. But the fights aren’t what she’s after. No one moves like they know her inside and out. Their words don’t touch Asuka, either. 

She won’t admit what it is she wants. 

But she listens when Kairi tells her news from home, the ambition in her reigniting when the gentle woman says the words, all clear.

//

At first, the more space that Asuka builds up between herself and Io, the more comfortable she feels. She’s got no qualms about having indirectly taken Io’s tag team partner from her. Kairi doesn’t know she’s a pawn, and Asuka does care enough about her feelings to let that bit go unacknowledged. 

They still don’t speak directly, no matter how many times Asuka catches Kairi on the phone with Io when they’re on the road, and hears, “Io asks how you’re doing”. She wonders if Io gets the opposite side of that, even though Asuka has never once asked.

She does wonder, though. It’s starting to feel like Io’s stagnating. Maybe Asuka was wrong; Io might not see her as a rival to chase behind, motivating her as it motivates Asuka to stay ahead. 

The small bits of admiration that Asuka had let grow wither. Io’s not even alone the way that Asuka was. There’s no excuse for failure, even if the world has started to close up around them, taking the cheers that Io thrives on with it.

Again, Asuka is reminded that Io is nothing but a stranger to her.

When she finally sees the fire light in Io again, it has nothing to do with the grand slam Asuka’s achieved. She barely even acknowledges it, because she’s too busy staring up in defiance at some young, disrespectful punk that doesn’t care in the least that Io is her elder. All over again, it’s like Asuka is hearing the soft click of a line gone dead.

Io wins gold again; Kairi leaves them both behind. In her absence, Io no longer asks how Asuka is doing.

Maybe she never actually did.

//

The overgrown punk ends her run. Io, yet again, has done something Asuka cannot.

She’ll never forgive either of them.

//

Iyo Sky truly hates Asuka. She has to, if she’s willing to follow obediently in Bayley’s footsteps, but not hers. 

It’s like rubbing salt in the wound to choose that loudmouth. Not a single thing about that woman is genuine. Not when she was an overeager, faux-positive hugger, and even now that she seems to be speaking her mind, there’s still something quietly insidious behind the immature insults. 

Iyo’s never been a stupid woman, so for her to align herself with Bayley has to have a point to it. Since Asuka can make sense of things no other way, she rationalizes it’s a personal slight against her. 

All evidence points towards it. She partners up with a bitter rival in Dakota, keeping gold away from Asuka and besting her at seemingly every turn. Even when Asuka gets one back on her, it’s a bitter pill. She’s beaten into submission at WarGames only to be carried off by Rhea - because of course, of course she can manage to laugh and smile with everyone but Asuka. 

And still, she carries herself as though she doesn’t see the snakes around her, even when Bayley and Rhea start to make blatant they don’t value Iyo’s loyalties in the least.

Asuka watches, beaten and battered from outside the ring while Iyo chases down yet more gold of hers, briefcase in hand. When she sulks off to the back to lick her emotional wounds, Iyo spares her only a glance, eyes a storm that Asuka can no longer read at all.

//

For some stupid reason, Kairi thinks Asuka should attend her re-housewarming. 

“They’ll be there.” Over the last months, Asuka’s stopped pretending to be anywhere close to on good terms with Iyo, even for Kairi’s benefit. That damn woman does everything she can to get under Asuka’s skin - even now, stealing her tag team partner away for Iyo’s damn faction. 

Damage Ctrl is Iyo’s now, no matter how Bayley stalks along the edges, loudly proclaiming different. Every achievement they have is tied back to Iyo Sky. If she doesn’t see the knife that’s about to be buried in her back, that’s her fault. And how Asuka will watch gleefully as it happens.

Kairi doesn’t raise her voice any, her voice as neutral and placid as a quiet lakeshore. “Of course. They’re my friends. Iyo is family.”

Acid coats Asuka’s throat. Family. She doesn’t think Iyo ever considered Asuka that. So much of her wants to inflict pain, to take everything away from Iyo. Allies, friends, family, accolades - all of it, flaying bit by bit back until she’s left as bare as Asuka feels under her withering gaze. 

Kairi’s eyebrows tilt up and her lip shakes a little. “Please, Asuka-chan.”

She’s going to kill Iyo at this thing.

//

When Kairi asks Asuka for help in the kitchen and Iyo’s nowhere to be seen, her duo of loudmouths happily barking away in the living room, Asuka knows she’s being conned. Kairi’s not got a killer bone in her body, so it can’t be a violent trap. Even Iyo’s not cruel enough to mislead the Pirate Princess like that. 

She’s ready for a fight of any kind, though, when she steps in. Iyo’s right there at the island, expression as guarded as usual. Behind Asuka, she hears the door click - turning to see Kairi’s slipped out and shut it behind her. Asuka scrambles to push at it, expecting only to be fighting Kairi’s body weight, but finding instead the thing is locked. 

That’s the last time she underestimates Kairi Sane. 

She swivels back on her foot, hands coming up to guard, a litany of shouted curses ready on the tip of her tongue. 

Iyo slips past her arms like water, pushing her back against the door with a hollow thud. Her hand clamps down over Asuka’s mouth, eyes flashing at her in that addictingly defiant way they haven’t in a decade.

“I need your help, Kana,” she hisses into Asuka’s ear, no honorific to be spoken of despite the urgency of her plea.

Everything in her goes liquid and hot. At last. She nods, the movement stiff and exaggerated under the tightness of Iyo’s hold. While Asuka could have gotten out of it if she truly wanted to, the effort is impressive, much improved from the last time they’d grappled it out in the ring. 

Iyo eases her hand off of Asuka’s mouth, but otherwise makes no other move. She’s staring carefully up at her, like Asuka is the snake to be cautious of. 

Asuka grins deliriously, thinking already of how beautifully Bayley will fall to ruin.

Their Damage Ctrl, now.

//

For one, perfect moment, they were back on top of the world together. Just like before, it’s gone in a flash, before Asuka can remember to fear the end.

She watches from across the ocean as Iyo, alone, sets everything to ruin. Every title gone, and every further opportunity lost. The woman is mad with the responsibility of it, swivelling between broody frustration and destructive fallout. That’s the Iyo she so carefully avoided summoning, the one Mio always warned her carefully about, but Asuka never truly saw firsthand.

She’s a delicious mess.

It’s too bad that Kairi and Dakota are stuck without a stable figurehead to follow behind. They love Iyo, that much is clear. When her moods finally settle into something like peace, they move with her, as though the last years of trickery meant nothing. Loyal kohai… something Iyo still doesn’t know anything about cherishing.

Time flows. With it, all the killer instinct drains into cheerful complacency. Friendship seems to be enough for those three, results continuing to escape them. 

Then comes the hurt. Once, then again. Iyo escapes, immortally unscathed, and is once more alone.

In absence of happiness, she returns. The one that Asuka knows, and loves so. She might let herself savour it, if not for that fire once more being summoned up by the woman that Asuka can’t stand above all others. Rhea Ripley. 

Gold dangles from Iyo’s grip on the grandest stage possible. Asuka is almost proud, until she remembers with the abruptness of hitting a retaining wall that she was supposed to stay ahead of that undergrown punk. 

Iyo’s not just caught up, she’s surpassed. And it’s not Asuka who is her rival, the reason for the fire in her gaze. Nor is she the reason it turns back to tenderness in no time at all, falling into the arms of the very woman who had already taken so much from Asuka. 

//

Ruining Rhea is a pleasure in itself, but hearing her cry out for Iyo takes whatever glee she feels away. 

Damn her, Iyo doesn’t even seem to care that she’s lost everything. Her faction, her title, even Kairi. All she cares about is that accursed woman, and all that accursed woman cares about is Iyo in turn. They’re fools, and Asuka hates that the one thing they have is the one thing she can’t have.

“Asuka-san, would it be so bad if we let Rhea-” Kairi begins, and ends with the blow of the older woman’s palm across her face. 

Over her dead body, will she accept Rhea Ripley into their family as Iyo’s… she can’t even bring herself to think it. The next misting will be worse. She’ll make them both regret ever letting love bloom where it won’t for Asuka. Don’t they know what a hideous thing pride is? 

They ought to be ashamed, and fearful, like Kairi is. If they won’t learn, then this woman will in their stead.

“I’m sorry, Asuka-san,” she mumbles, hand cupped along her split lip. If Asuka closes her eyes, she can imagine Iyo saying so, too. “I just want us to be happy again.”

For how clever Kairi can be, she can also be so incredibly dense. “You idiot,” Asuka laughs, seeing all the years of envy and pain roll by, sapping the colour from her life. “I was never happy.”

//

She could be, maybe. If only she could go back to that first time she was cruel, and snuff the anger out. But she can’t, so it must continue.

//

Even when Rhea leaves Iyo, the woman still remains steadfastly loyal. It’s then that all hope that this will ever change slips through Asuka’s fingers like sand. 

Kairi notices the change immediately, the careful new rules she’s learned to live by shifting underfoot. Suddenly, all Asuka wants to do is talk about Iyo and the precious few memories they have together. No longer is her name a curse, but a sad, forlorn conclusion. Teach a woman to defy, and she will elude forever. 

No amount of punishment will crumple Iyo. Not at Asuka’s hand. Every condemnation calcified her will, each and every moment of silent rebuke formed into a wall that keeps Iyo - the real, true Iyo - out of harm’s way. In her darkest moments, she’s learned to endure, carefully waiting for her openings while Asuka has frothed impatiently for war. 

Her cheerful smile hides a world of carefully considered plans, having learned that the dangers in plain sight are easier dealt with than uncertainty. 

Asuka hates who Iyo has become, but wasn’t it Asuka who made her that way? Isn’t it Asuka’s traits, mirrored in Iyo, that she detests the most?

A stubborn woman, forging her own way.

Shame floods Asuka, trapping her in a hateful moment of self-reflection. For years, all she’s wanted is to be needed, not realizing that she’s unneeded only because Iyo had already taken everything from her she could have all those years ago. All that’s left is to see the final test through. 

“Kairi,” Asuka begins, not knowing how to undo what’s been done. “I don’t know who I am anymore.”

Kairi’s eyes are soft, and sad, and Asuka can see every thought within them. Guilt overcomes her, because she doesn’t see any hatred for her at all within them. 

“Neither do I, Asuka.” Kairi leaves it at that, tracing her cool fingertips along Asuka’s jaw before she stands, and turns away for perhaps the last time. 

When Asuka thinks back on this moment, she’ll only have herself to blame. But, if she drops into the catatonia of pity, that’s all she’ll ever have: a last, feeble memory of the people she loves most.

“I’m sorry,” she says to Kairi’s back. She’ll have to say it so many times more before it means a thing.

//

It wasn't a sin eater. Even Lightwardens, as intelligent as they may have been, could not resist the lure of so much living aether to sup. They would have been attacked while organizing for the lift back down or while on the shore waiting for the ferry.

Ghost was the word passed around. An old concept from before the Flood when there was enough darkness to half see apparitions in. It enjoyed a new heyday with the return of the Night, but a ghost in the brightness, that strange contradiction, was in a way perhaps even more unnerving. Everyone needed to rest. In the confines of the Crystarium, so guarded for a full century without a breach in the walls, rest would come easier.

At least, for those not burdened with the truth. For those that didn't have a bellglass in their heads, the sands dropping one by one. If they tarried too long, never mind a breach in the walls, the Lightwarden, or worse, would be born within those walls. The Flood would complete its ruin, and the Calamity that the Exarch and so many others had worked centuries to prevent would happen anyway.

So rather than rest, they poured themselves into research.

Without the coming and going of the night, the constant brightness made days feel like bells. How long had it been since she had gotten any shuteye? She looked at Thancred, resting his head on his chin, hands crossed but still holding onto a mothbitten scroll. The man was hardly an academic, but the skills had come back to him after some practice. Alphinaud by her side, splayed across the table, a priceless ancient tome for a pillow. Urianger had left to peruse the archive in the Ocular, how long ago? Was it a bell? Three bells? A day? Her tea had long gone cold and the biscuits were all eaten. She looked at the pile of books in their reshelve pile. They had raided half the Cabinet of Curiosity and Moren would undoubtedly throw a fit whenever he would next check up on him. The next day? What day was it. Y'shtola was aware of the feeling of needing to remember a bellglass. They were working against time... for what?

She shook her head to clear her thoughts as the gate to the forbidden section that she and the Scions had inhabited for at least a day. Perhaps three.

"Alisaie, is that you? Have you brought us poor trapped souls more tea?"

Silence.

Alisaie didn't have the patience to sit and scour tomes. She and Ryne were running over all of Nordvandt to look for solutions. Y'shtola tried to focus. Perhaps they could be back from the Inn at Journey's Head by now.

But Alisaie was not very good at being silent, especially when addressed. Nor did she usually carry something heavy enough to drag behind her. The scrape and clang of metal on metal steps made Y'shtola glance at the two men at the same table with her aethersight, not turning her head from the stairs. No they didn't seem to rouse despite the sound. Was she dreaming? Was this a dream?

The thoughts of the ghost returned to her. Didn't they say it looked like a knight? Didn't it whisper something? "Run.." "Where..." and "Stolen..." were the repeated sentiments, reportedly.

Y'shtola prepared for the worst. She raised the tome she had been reading from defensively and wished she had brought her staff down here.

As the figure came into view, her mind's eye was overwhelmed with brilliant light.

Y'shtola turned and threw an arm up in an attempt to shield from the light instinctively before remembering that her sight didn't work that way. She willed herself to shut off her aethersight and was shocked to see even then some Light leaking into her head.

It was certainly in the shape of a knight, she recognized the armor to be of Ishgardian make, not in a remote way similar to the armored knights of the First. It dragged behind a large block of steel that could maybe pass for a greatsword. This was the ghost all right. And Y'shtola put a few things together quickly, even as sleep deprived as she was.

"Why, you must be Fray."

"Shtola..."

Despite her present circumstances, she clicked her tongue in irritation, "You know better than to call me that," Even if this was a dream, she had standards. She lowered the book and placed it back on the table. Shtola, stolen, ah.

"Where..."

It occurred to her that there was something wrong. Fray was dressed in black armor, Xiao had told her. Not the gleaming white, dripping with astral aether here in front of her.

"Shtola... run..."

Y'shtola pinched herself. Definitely not dreaming here.

"Absolutely not. Besides where shall we run? Shall we run to the ends of Nordvandt and have you destroy the First from there? Shall we run back to the Source and wreak all sorts of ruin there? Jumpstart the next Calamity there and now? I think not."

"Where..."

For that, she had no response. The Warrior of Light was a bomb now. No different from the firekin that traversed Vylbrand, mayhap with but a little more self control. Y'shtola questioned for a moment how much control the bombs had to contain their explosions. Or was it all down to one errant slip?

"...Where is Xiao? Well, let's go bring you back to her, shall we?"

* * *

Her hand went numb. As if with the cold, but Fray's gauntlet wasn't cold. Jolts of fuzzy pain went up her arm like she had fallen asleep in an awkward pose and had compressed it under her body. She tried not to think about what her hand must look like.

As luck would have it, it was past clock midnight, meaning the rest of the Crystarium was largely asleep. Few people would see her escorting the ghost trailing and dripping with light aether to the Pendants. And even then, the Sorceress from Rak'tika aiding a ghost? Better her than them. She kept her aethersight on and gripped her mostly unfeeling hand harder to avoid looking back at what was a small sun in her mind's eye. The amount of aether cast strange shadows in the Musica Universalis.

The Manager of the Pendants of course was awake, but if he was surprised by the ghost that Y'shtola led by the hand, the Elf did not show it.

"You'll be headed to Mistress Longbao's room, I presume?"

Y'shtola nodded, now aware that her arm was completely numb to the elbow and somehow the numbness radiated to the small of her back. The manager went ahead to unlock the door and ushered the two, and the sword, in. Discretion was perhaps his greatest strength.

Xiao was in bed, seemingly slumbering, her expression troubled. Y'shtola, Ryne, and Alisaie had stripped her from her armor to her smallclothes and wiped the raw light aether from her body before doing another sealing of the Light and covering her with a blanket. The rags were burnt afterwards but Y'shtola remembered how stiff and brittle the cloth became. She wondered what was happening within the Warrior of Light.

"Shtola... Where..." The voice came from both Fray and Xiao simultaneously.

Letting go of Fray's gauntlet, Y'shtola kneeled by the bed and grasped Xiao's hand, entwining her fingers delicately and kissing the coarse, battleworn knuckles. Xiao did not squeeze back, but the troubled expression lessened. Her hand was still warm, warmer than Y'shtola's as usual, And if anything, the numbing that holding on to Fray's (or the thing that resembled Fray, Y'shtola there was none of the snide eloquence that Xiao had previously described) hand caused lessened.

Y'shtola still couldn't look at her directly with her aethersight, however. She was still far too bright, brimming with Light.

"Urianger found poetry in the Oculuar. Did you know they wrote poems and songs about us? The Warrior of Light and her Sweet? Apparently I die in your arms and you follow not long after. Very tragic. Very touching."

She placed her head on Xiao's chest, listening to her breathing, still deep, not shallow or pained. She didn't let go of Xiao's hand.

"Unfortunately I do not aim to be immortalized in sappy poetry anytime soon, so no dying in my arms, you hear?" Y'shtola said to Xiao's slumbering form.

She must have stayed there for quite a while, fingers locked with the other Miqo'te, for when she awoke again the specter of Fray had disappeared, whether it wandered off or returned to whence it came, she could not tell. Despite the awkward position in which she slept, she was refreshed, at least in the mind. Her back and knees were killing her.

Xiao also looked much more at peace, her brow was light and her mouth seemed curled in a slight smile. Y'shtola extracted her hand, all feeling returned, and left quietly. She needed more tea and biscuits and another tome to devour.

Star Trek

Jim Kirk:

Pardon My French

How To Punch Your Captain in the Face and Not Get Discharged

Leonard “Bones” McCoy:

Star Trek: Schism Master Post

Project: Eros

Feels Like Home

Like A Lovesick Kitten

Face The Music

One Day at a Time

Fairytales Are Overrated

Bubbling Over

I’ve Got a Date with the Rain

Starlight, Star Bright

Green-Blooded Matchmaker

Marvel

Skurge:

Light of Valhalla, Fire of Hel Master Post

Courters and Kisses

Urban Misc.

Cupid

Follow Your Arrow

Black Hat/Vascar

Captain Flap

Gavin Magary

All Good Things Are Wild And Free Masterlist

Believe Me

Random Thoughts

MusiKat’s MultiUrban Cuddle Pile

Drabble Game

Whumptober 2018 Masterlist-- Coming Soon