devolusion

[devolusion]

They suppose they'd wanted him to argue, some selfish part of them — to insist that he had trusted Sucrose, that they'd misunderstood. It would have frustrated them in its own way, but it hurts to hear the truth so plainly. That he had doubted — and doubted so deeply — their abilities. This relationship and his trust has done so much to strengthen their thread - bare confidence; to find that that trust didn't go as far as the alchemistress had thought aches. Perhaps their confidence in themself is misplaced as well, then. Perhaps Albedo was right; they wouldn't have been able to help him. Perhaps Albedo was right, to see them as weak and shrinking and pathetic, the way they'd felt for so much of their life. Perhaps they wouldn't ——

Eyes squeeze shut; it makes the tears flow faster and makes their head throb, but it also stops the thoughts in their tracks. They'll never know what would have happened, had Albedo spoken to them plainly, if there was a mechanism available that might have caused less pain. Albedo assured that. Sucrose takes the handkerchief and presses it to their eyes. They're hurt and angry and guilty and embarrassed and ashamed. But they love him, still. And he loves them. They want to —— have to believe that, if nothing else.

And his is a love that can bend towards lies, if he believes it's for protection. A love that can bend towards causing them harm if he believes that would keep them safer. Their head shakes.

"You don't want to leave me," Sucrose hedges, voice steadying some. It's a little strange, how perfectly human Albedo seems now. Begging that they believe his desire to remain with them, somehow not seeing the obvious exception the data presents them. "But —— in a situation where you felt that the best way to keep me safe was to leave...would you?" It would break Sucrose far more surely than any danger, but he must have realized that this farce of a trial would do the same and he had still chosen that for them. "The data — and your lack of trust...indicates that the answer is yes." They feel the sudden, pathetic urge to beg him, beg that he not leave. It hurts to quiet it. They reach out, hesitantly, and take one of his hands in one of theirs, shifting just barely closer, knees almost touching. Their ears droop and their eyes lower to match.

They want to be proven wrong. If anyone can do so, it's Albedo. "I'm sorry, that I...ever gave you cause to doubt my...loyalty, or my abilities. But...I want...I can't....I don't want to be left behind." Softly, "I couldn't bear it."

he sits and he — listens. listens to the breakings of a tender heart / listens to the agony he's forced her into through his own selfish actions. her points are sound and logical, the answer they were both aware of: he did not trust she would be able to handle it. he had not trusted in the love of her heart and he had not trusted in her combative prowess. he had cultivated doubt in the garden of their relationship, there is no doubt. and so, albedo sits and he listens and he bears the weight that was: the crushing of their reality. 

head bows, uncomfortable in the face of his own short sightings. it's not often he is so —— wrong. ❛ you're right. i did not have enough trust in you or in your abilities. i did not want to involve you in my familial affairs. ❜ a cruel confession, a heartless admission but one that must be said if there was to ever be any proper step forward. ❛ i wanted to involve as few people as possible, with as little information available. i did not trust you would be able to differentiate us, nor did i trust your ability to attack a fellow citizen of mondstadt, or even myself. i worried you wouldn't be able to deal a fatal blow, the way they surely would to you. ❜ would she have been able to perform well enough to fool himself, had she known the situation? the answer doesn't matter, as he'd force his own upon the dotted line without consideration for herself.

❛ but my intentions and reasoning do not matter in the face of our broken trust, as colleagues and partners. ❜ hand reaches for the inner pocket of his coat, where his handkerchief is found and offered ( it would be too brazen of him to do anything more than this. ) ❛   i have always believed in your capabilities but my actions have gone against that. i have undermined your intellect and your ability, and i apologize. ❜ the tears / the distance / the unstable ground they find themselves standing on — these are also the results of his experimentations.

❛ my words hold little weight now after everything, but i would never leave you. i would never leave, everything i've done has been to ensure that i can stay here. ❜ there's a strange lilt to the tone, a change in octave. the idea of isolation ( again, the idea of isolation again ) has an uncomfortable sensation settling deep within the confines of his chest. he, who has been abandoned: how could he ever abandon in return? ❛ if you were to only ever believe one last thing from me, believe in that. i beg of you, please believe in that. ❜

[devolusion]

the funniest voiceline to me is still the one where kaeya suggests that sucrose is a pervert for some reason

[devolusion]

@ruinedheart from ———— x.

She stiffens, reddening further — somehow!! — when Albedo gently brings a hand to her face and praises the very same. Little details, the sort she typically doesn't want others to see — she never wants anyone to look at her too long. But he speaks of her fangs, her smile, her ears the way he speaks of art, or a beautiful discovery in the natural world. Almost reverent.

Ah. Nobody's ever...

He kisses her, and she leans forward to meet the small affection, head tilting to make it simpler; despite how flustered the small alchemist may be, this is, by now, simple and easy and familiar. Warm and fluttery, like sugar candies dissolving in her mouth, but no longer shocking or totally overwhelming. She keeps expecting it to stop feeling so right and wonderful to kiss him, but it hasn't, yet. She's only a little breathless when he pulls away.

"Um —— that's..." Sucrose isn't sure how to communicate how grateful she is, how honey - gold she feels. He sees her, and that doesn't make her want to shrink. What comes out is, "I love you."

Ah, wait, she's never ——— it's the first time either of them has said that. Her lips part, those fangs showing, eyes widening. She feels — embarrassed, overwhelmed, but not...afraid. How strange, that she isn't afraid. It's easy, to speak the truth with him. "Ah —"

[devolusion]

sucrose is my shipping bicycle she can kiss anyone ever. alberose? peak. kaerose? peak. venrose? peak and nobody sees my vision. rosarose? they match baby. monarose? geniuses. give me a character and i give them the most perfect girlfriend ever born

[devolusion]

@ruinedheart / albedo & elysia!

"I'm not an alchemist —— I dabble in a little bit of everything, so I know the basics, but I must admit I prefer the...harder sciences." Despite the words, her voice is giddy with excitement as she moves through the alchemist's lab, studying everything — oh, it's so exciting! It's so rare, that she meets anyone who is half the scientist she is, even if their fields are more parallel than congruent. She looks away from his beakers back to Albedo, grinning, huge. Like a child in a candy store. "But what you can do is —— gosh, I can't even begin to — it's like magic!"

She can make life, too, in her way — the artificial heart in her chest built by her hand and pumping blood steadily through a body much the same. But not the way he can!! If she gets any more gleeful, she'll pass out. "Tell me, how essential is it that you perfectly understand the cellular and physiological makeup of what you create? Is there room for improvisation? My engineering affords me a great deal of creative freedom."

[devolusion]

There's more distance put between them than there should be / less than there should be, maybe. It's Rosie's trust at war with Sucrose's well - worn breaking. It's a lover's care caught between a lover's lie. The information makes their head spin —— Albedo has always been glorious, but he is more than that, he is an act of genius, a beautiful work of art, and there's so much Sucrose wishes to ask about the new lifeform Albedo has created / replanted, a tender seedling into better soil. But Sucrose will have time for study later. Rosie's heart is the one on the line, and the final answer ( i had to lie to you to protect you ) is —— not satisfactory.

They inhale harshly to keep the tears at bay for as long as possible. Their head dips, ears lowered. They inhale. They exhale. "Thank you for telling me," they say, and they mean it, even if there's no heart to the words. Understanding helps. The strange behavior slots into place, and knowing ( hoping, hoping, he's lied to you before — ) that the actions were taken without intent to harm is...something. "Knowing what you are doesn't change how I feel about you." And yet, they feel her fanged teeth grinding behind their mouth.

"But Albedo —" a risk, Albedo rather than Mr. Albedo, and their ears flatten further at that danger. There is ample data that Albedo loves them. There is also ample data — and a confession — that that love has come at least partially without understanding. "That course of action makes no logical sense unless you...unless you believe me to be less competent than I am." And that's it's own old sting, Timaeus — many of the knights — thinking them weak and inept, as though they ever feel confident in anything aside from their alchemical abilities. It stings from their colleagues. It breaks from their lover. "When we argued before, when you and the traveler discovered Festering Desire. You said the same thing then. That you'd kept me in the dark to protect me. And I told you that I didn't want to be protected if it kept me from knowledge. I certainly —" ah, their throat is so tight, "— don't want to be kept from knowledge about my partner. I am every bit the scientist you are." Would they be able to say that under any other circumstance? But it's true, and they know it. "If you thought me to be your equal, you'd have ——"

They blink and they're crying, ah, weak thing. A hand rises to scrub at their eyes. "Partners are supposed to face such danger together. It breaks my heart that you — that you went through this alone." Not alone / he had the other knights / JUST NOT YOU. "You didn't...trust me. And it hurts me th - that you...if I was at risk, if someone was trying to harm me or my loved ones, you would want to know, wouldn't you? You would hate to know I was facing that without you. And —— and if you'd keep me in the dark about this, how can I ——" Their hands curl in their lap against their knees. Tears hit them as they drip from their chin. "If you won't trust me and my strength enough to be honest with me, to let me in when things are difficult, how can I trust that you won't leave me?" And if there's one thing Sucrose could not survive, it would be being abandoned by yet another person that they love. "I don't want your protection. I need my partner's ——— trust."

he faces the confession of emotions with more reverence than when he had been standing before the court / knows this was the real trial to be faced: but there would be no one to assist his pleas here. there would be nothing to rely on but the truth behind his actions, and the depths of his emotions. it would be difficult against sucrose, who was logic and critical thinking / intelligent enough to elicit envy and ignite competitive sparks. but sucrose melts into the agony of rosie and albedo wonders if anything would truly make a difference in scavenging what remains of shattered bonds — there would be no return to what once was.

fingers itch to reach out and provide comfort / to brush away incoming tears and offer solace with a hand to the cheek, another on the small of her back. but hands remain unchanged from where they rest by his sides, and albedo does nothing but stand in their reprimands. ❛ you have no reason to apologize. it's i who owes you— multiple apologies. and a proper explanation. ❜ should she want it / should she decide it was a virtue to be sent his way. the only monster left atop that mountain resides within these walls, so there was no more reason to fear for her wellbeing. the only fear would now stem from her response to the information.

he moves to where the loveseat rests by the window of his office, moves a hand to invite her to sit beside her. he does not take a seat until she does the same, accepting however much distance she wishes to leave between them. 

❛ i’m unaware of how much you've been able to deduce, so forgive me if details are repeated; you are correct in your claim that i am not human. to continue from my previous explanation, i am the successful result of the primordial human project. the researcher responsible for the creation of durin and the mimic is the same researcher responsible for my own creation. in this sense, they are my family. ❜ there is a degree of fondness blanketed around the words, a level of care that he does not shy away from— and in this, lies the truth of his matter / lies the truth that albedo continues to carry love in his heart, despite the atrocities. 

but that does not equate forgiveness. there is still more to be said. ❛ realizing durin’s intentions after the absorption and revival of my brother, i began to prepare the plan for the inevitable detainment of the incoming dangers. ❜ a strange sort of protectiveness flares at the idea of mentioning the freshly revived durin still recovering within the comforts of his personal home, but this is a show of trust and confidence. there would be no more secrets. ❛ and there was something else i had hoped to accomplish. during the closing celebrations of the windblume festival, i successfully retrieved durin’s heart from dragonspine and revived the dragon in a human body. ❜

the pinnacle of alchemic achievement, the apex accumulation of knowledge and ability: it is the only logical step forward. ❛ it's all i could do to ensure the safety of the citizens of mondstadt. the secrecy was needed to keep you safe from the horrors of my family — they would not have treated you kindly, rosie. the mimic had already approached you too many times for my comfort, i couldn't risk more. it was selfish desires on my end, and for that, i apologize. it is no longer my place to ask, but i hope you believe me when i say the intention was never to hurt you. ❜ but he still did, and that is a fact he has to shoulder.

[devolusion]

sucrose experiences body dysmorphia, and has for much of their life. their anxiety relating to their ears is merely one expression of it. growing up, their unique physiology left them isolated and made them feel weird and wrong and bad. that translated into a general disdain for most parts of that body and a desire for control over it — there was nothing they could do about the ears, broadly speaking, but for chunks of their life they did display behaviors in line with anorexia nervosa and, more rarely, bulimia. this was more of a desire to control their body and make it less than a straightforward desire to be "be thinner," though that played a part as well. they no longer intentionally starve themselves, though they do still, habitually, eat less than they perhaps ought to. eventually, with support from loved ones and a lessening of their dysmorphia, this will change and their body will get a little softer.

nowadays, rather than dislike of their body, sucrose tends to feel completely alienated from it. it seems...unfamiliar to them. they look at their body in the mirror and can't parse that it's theirs or as a body, and they couldn't even really tell you what it looks like. most days, they don't hate it or feel anything negative about it aside from the discomfort inherent in not recognizing your own body. it's an improvement over the abject hatred of their youth, but it's still not great.

this all being said, sucrose does quite like their hair —— they take good care of it, and part of why they haven't cut it ( despite the fact that long hair isn't particularly ideal for field work ) is because it's one of the few parts of their body they do like. they think their hair is very pretty.

[devolusion]

5.6 pov

[devolusion]

cutie :)

[devolusion]

Her hands are gentle in Klee's hair while the girl cries. It's very important that she be gentle. Intentional. She barely processes the girl's sobs — how she clings to Lumine's side — the flames that burst against the child's wrist every few seconds. Focus on her hands, and keeping them gentle.

It's nice that she doesn't have to lie with her face. She's bad at it. She can let her face be blank as she looks over Klee's head. It's chilly, this close to Dragonspine at night, where she'd followed the sobbing child, but she can't feel it. She can't feel anything. There's no sensation in her hands, and that's why she has to work so hard to keep them gentle.

"B — Big brother ———"

"Mhm..."

They remember, just a little, Aether doing this with them. They held him, too, while he cried. But it was mostly her doing the crying and him doing the holding. Maybe that's why he left. Maybe because she cried too much. Needed him too much.

"He almost got taken away — !!"

"No, Klee. He was never in danger." Their voice isn't comforting like Aether's was. Aether was a person in a way Lumine's never been. "He just lied. It's okay."

Klee is crying. Lumine's hands are gentle. Lumine doesn't feel anything, and they can't even care that it's fucked up that their little sister is sobbing in their lap about the hurt Albedo has inflicted on them both and they feel nothing at all. Everyone wants an object. An object shouldn't have to feel. It isn't fair.

But he keeps his hands gentle.

"Big — big brother Albedo isn't leaving, right?" Klee pulls away, still crying. Lumine tries to arrange their expression into something that a person might wear. He realizes that the girl's tears are as much flame as they are saltwater. They leave burn scars down the child's cheeks. "He isn't leaving, right, big sister Lumine?"

"Oh — Klee..." His hands leave her hair, find her tiny shoulders. She's so little, the poor thing. "He isn't leaving yet."

Klee nods, as if expecting that answer.

Lumine continues, "and you're a strong girl. You'll be okay."

Red eyes widen — but then she nods again, seeming relieved, somehow.

"Little sisters have to live on, even without their big brothers." Klee knows the score, Lumine realizes as they speak. That's why her face is so clear, even as she cries. That's a kind of relief. Klee knows big brothers always leave. Not yet. But they do. Klee knows to expect the abandonment. Lumine hadn't. Maybe the knowing will make it hurt less when it happens. Lumine doesn't feel anything — not the chill, not their hands, not grief for Klee's hurt. But they're relieved. "That's why we have to be strong."

Klee knows the score, Lumine realizes. Klee knows lots. She looks up at the Traveler. She asks, still crying, eyes huge and hurt, "Are you — living on, big sister Lumine?"

Lumine doesn't feel anything. But their eyes widen, just a little. Their lips part. Klee knows lots of things. For a moment, they almost forget about their hands. But only almost. They don't feel anything, but they keep their hands gentle.

Lumine manages a smile, finally. Her head dips. "Let's get you to a healer, Klee. You're burning yourself."

[devolusion]

He's sorry, and he means it. They know him — despite the lies, they have to believe that's still true — and he is sorry. But not sorry enough not to harm them. ( had he simply not cared enough to consider the harm? or had he understood that it would once again break sucrose to lose another and done it anyway? which is worse? ) Not sorry enough to be honest with his partner. Who he's held, kissed, seen anxious and small and nervous. Their partner, who's touched the naked body that Sucrose so rarely loves with something like reverence. ( rosie likes their body far better. thanks to him. ) Not sorry enough to ——

—— an echo, of the first deception. Is he lying to keep me away? Is he lying because he thinks I'm incompetent? Is he lying because he trusts me so little that he thinks I would abandon him once I saw all of him?

His love, who he's seen and loved, and who's always wanted to see all of him. It hurts them, that he imagines them to be so fickle. It makes them sad for him, that he is too afraid to let them in.

"I've known the whole time," they say again, "and my opinion didn't change. I loved you knowing. It doesn't change anything." She doesn't want to be cruel. ( no. rosie doesn't want to. sucrose feels slightly and hurt, insulted by both her lover and someone who should respect her intellect. ) She just wants to be respected / trusted / she wants to stop fearing that this distance precedes yet another abandonment. ( he would lie to me, let me hurt, if it was convenient — would he leave? )

—— an echo, a well - worn guilt. I didn't see that he was hurting. ( he didn't tell me. ) I didn't see the copy. ( he could have told me. ) He was alone in this battle. ( he chose that. he would prefer to be without me for what hurts. )

Years of well established connection could easily become unfrayed, not in the face of a monster : but in the face of a lie.

"—— I was so scared." They're more Rosie than Sucrose, now, eyes lowering, hands twisting together. "I was so afraid — to lose you. To be alone again." Their lips press together tight for a moment. Is that selfish? To think their lover should have chosen the risk of honesty rather than the safety of their fear? They don't want to cry, but their throat is tight. "I was so afraid I was going to lose you. And I'm still afraid, right this second, that you're — going away."

it plays out as he imagined it would. there had been a handful of people admitted within the walls of secrecy regarding what would befall mondstadt, and sucrose had not been one of them— a choice he consciously made. a plague intentionally thrown atop the sprouting relationship, a death song that rings with finality.

as is the natural state of every living thing. the moment of birth / the state of being always so fleeting before succumbing to the petrifications of death— this is no different.

but she refers to him with the honorific tacked back into his name, and so albedo can make simple deductions of what that is meant to mean. ❛ i did. to ensure every piece perfectly fell into place, information had to be withheld from a multitude of individuals, yourself included. ❜ spoken as albedo, chief alchemist and captain of the investigation team. but then, features soften ( the untrained eye would not be able to spot the difference ) and he stands before her now, just albedo. ❛ i’m sorry. ❜

that she had long uncovered the truth of his self does not come as a surprise, for sucrose had always been a mind to rival his own. but the wording had been vague, indication that information beyond the basic understandings were still shrouded in mystery; and why wouldn’t they be? the title of inhuman is more than enough for him.

❛ it wasn’t a confession i ever properly planned to make. ❜ it wasn’t something intentionally kept from her — albedo was a creature born from logic and reason / a sentient alchemic equation thrown into a world of life; he does not play games with chance unless victory is mathematically proven to take his side. confiding in the traveler had been the first uncalculated risk taken, a decision born from the trembling hands of familiarity— but sucrose was perfectly human. years of well established connection could easily become unfrayed, not in the face of a lie: but in the face of a monster.

❛ i was worried opinions would change, should people learn of my true origin. ❜

[devolusion]

@ruinedheart / my lover mister albedo & rosie surcrose.

They feel — that rare thing, anger. Not rare, truly, but it so rarely stays anger; it translates to irritation or curiosity or hurt, sometimes, far more than it sits in their stomach as raw resentment.

It's not that that he's never kept things from them. Part of what initiated the honesty that lead to a proper relationship was their conflict over his hiding things the first time on Dragonspine, after all. And yet — he hasn't lied to them like this since they began that same relationship.

Maybe he has, they think, eyes lowering as they pull him by his wrist into the lab. Maybe he's been lying to me without reprieve and I just don't know.

An assistant has no right to resent their employer keeping secrets. But surely a lover does. They'd been so incredibly afraid. He'd put them through that fear, even knowing how much abandonment terrifies them. Maybe an easy decision to inflict on an assistant. It shouldn't have been for a lover.

"— You lied to me, Mr. Albedo," they say, once they're alone, finally. "Again." They feel anger, and Rosie is sweet and loving and kind, but he hadn't treated them like Rosie, who is his partner. He'd treated them like Sucrose, who is his assistant. And Sucrose is data - driven and intelligent and knows far more than any of them think. Sucrose is not as kind as Rosie.

They will treat him like Mr. Albedo, their teacher, if that's the level of honesty to be shared in this relationship. "So I wanted to free you from having to maintain another lie. I know you're not human. I've known since the beginning."

[devolusion]

She expects it to be Kostya, when she hears the bedroom door open. But even like this, half out of her body ( her body? her body? is it hers anymore? ), Elysia processes quickly that these aren't Kostya's footfalls. There's only a moment of clawing panic before she realizes whose footfalls they are.

She turns in bed to face the door. Niya's expression is strange — the wounds are tended, and even the most extreme are, by now, mostly healed. But she looks at Elysia's body like it's still covered with injuries. And like she doesn't like that fact at all.

"Niya," Elysia says softly. "Kostya didn't tell me you were coming."

Niya takes a seat at the edge of the bed, their hand reaching out to gently brush Elysia's bangs from their brow. "I didn't tell them. I heard from one of my informants about what happened and rushed over too fast to send a message." They laugh. "I'm surprised you didn't hear us arguing. They didn't want to let me in. They think I'm a bad influence."

Elysia smiles weakly. So much is unfamiliar and broken now. Their body feels a stranger again, persistent pressing paranoia that it can't be hers after Dottore has been inside it. They close their eyes and see the doctor's scalpel / smell their own blood / hear the bandit's laughter. They're half-asleep; they barely move somedays, aware in some distant way that their mind is attempting to defend them from facing the hurt, the same way it's repressed everything else. The tension between the pressing memories and trying not to look at them is fogging up her skull. Niya's kindness isn't surprising, exactly. Elysia has known for a long time that Niya isn't as much of a villain as she makes herself out to be. It is a relief. She feels quietly pathetic for how grateful she is — that monsters like Niya and Kostya are on her side. That they want to defend her, in whatever ways.

"I'm important enough for news to get to your informants," Elysia says, almost - joking. Niya's smile softens.

"Your and Kostya's escape was a big deal. I hear Dottore is spitting coals." She doesn't respond to the way Elysia winces at the Harbinger's title. "Good on you."

"Yeah." A beat. She reaches a hand up — the organic one — and gently grasps the side of Niya's throat, guiding them to lay beside her. Niya lets her. They haven't touched each other like this in a while, Elysia thinks idly. "It doesn't...feel good."

Niya's hand brushes gently through Elysia's hair as they speak. "I know. He opened you up?"

Elysia's hand moves from Niya's throat to fist in their shirt against their metal chest. "Mhmm."

There's something fathomless in Niya's pale eyes, Elysia thinks, and they're grateful, again, that this monster is at least sometimes on her side. "'M Sorry. Most of the doctors that experimented on me were Scaramouche's bitches, but some of Dottore's men played with me, too. They were always the worst."

They can't be surprised at the basically - confession; Elysia figured out a long time ago that Niya was ex - Fatui, long before Kostya's defection and their fighting confirmed it. Kostya was put through so much remaking. Why wouldn't they do the same to Niya? Were Elysia less exhausted / empty, they think they'd be angry on the assassin's behalf. As it is now, all they can do is frown, head shaking.

"I — I'm sorry," she murmurs, but it's not what she wants to say. "When —" A pause. It's a cruel question on her tongue. Niya smiles, charmed and indulgent and too shattered to break any further.

"Ask. I can take it."

"How did you...how long did it take for your body to feel like...yours again?"

Those pale, fathomless eyes widen — then she breathes out a slow, tight sigh. Elysia feels her expression go despairing as she realizes the answer. Oh. Oh.

"'S not the same," Niya says, taking Elysia's hands in her clawed ones, voice a little frantic, trying to convince them. "I was raised for them, Ely. I never got to be a person like you. I was always just a body for the Fatui." Niya's hands are trying to be gentle, but the claws press, almost break skin. Elysia can't find her voice to tell her. Never, never, never.

"My body feels — like his. Like it belongs to him. I can't stand it. Are you — your body never feels like yours? After they opened you up, you never got your body back?"

"That doesn't mean your body is going to feel like his forever," Niya soothes. Elysia can see their sharp teeth this close. "We're different. I've got no baseline to go back to. And you're better than me."

Elysia wants to believe that. They feel selfish for that thought, but if they let themself imagine that they'll feel this unbearable empty terror forever they're not sure even Kostya could stop them from —

— they're not sure even Kostya could stop them.

Elysia may be better, but Niya must be stronger, to have endured a lifetime of this sinking unfamiliarity and still live.

"How long did it take last time?" Niya asks, almost conversational.

"What?"

"When you lost your body. When the bad guys took it from you." Elysia winces, eyes closing, doesn't want to know how Niya learned about that. It probably wasn't hard for someone so well - connected. "How long did it take for your body to feel like yours again?"

Elysia doesn't cope. Elysia doesn't think about what aches. Their head is full of static with the effort it takes not to remember. The static breaks, gives way to the memory, six months of a chest opened to the air and pain and screaming and having no choice but to put her life in the hands of the brothers who hurt her. Years, after, adjusting to and making adjustments to the new arm and chest, relearning a body that they'd made from scratch. Years. Years.

She's surprised to hear a sob in her voice when she whimpers, "Years." Tears track down her cheeks. She can't breathe, suddenly, back on that operating table / back in her parent's childhood home. Niya's claws break skin when she tightens her hold on her hands, and the pain is good, grounding, Elysia gasps as she shifts closer to the monster, face hiding in her neck.

"Years. It's better than forever."

Can't breathe. She's hyperventilating. If it takes years again — years of this misery, this fearful paranoia, distrusting her own body and her memories and her head. Never feeling safe / never / never feeling comfortable or truly alive. YEARS. YEARS.

"It's not like last time," Niya continues, voice calm, almost blank. "You're stronger. You have Kostya. You can endure it."

MAYBE. MAYBE. Elysia thinks she might throw up.

"You have to endure it," Niya murmurs into her hair.

[devolusion]

›       TENSION   LINER   PROMPTS     

"I   dare   you   to   try."

"Do   you   always   get   close?"

"You’re   pushing   my   limits."

"Stop   looking   at   me   like   that."

"I’m   losing   control   here."

"You   have   no   idea,   do   you?"

"I   can’t   resist   you   anymore."

"Stay   back,   or   don’t."

"I   know   what   you   want."

"This   is   getting   dangerous   now."

"You’re   too   tempting   for   me."

"I   shouldn’t   want   this,   but…"

"I   don’t   play   fair,   remember?"

"Careful,   you’re   testing   me."

"You’re   just   making   it   worse."

"You’re   too   close   for   comfort."

"Do   you   always   push   buttons?"

"Stop   before   I   kiss   you."

"You’re   making   it   too   hard."

"I   can’t   stop   thinking   about   you."

"I   want   you   too   much."

"You   know   exactly   what   you’re   doing."

"I’m   not   playing   games   here."

"You’ve   crossed   the   line   now."

"Keep   pushing,   and   you’ll   regret   it."

"This   is   dangerous,   isn’t   it?"

"I’m   trying   not   to   care."

"Don’t   make   me   regret   this."

"You’re   playing   with   fire."

"You   don’t   know   what’s   coming."

"I   shouldn’t   be   this   close."

"We’re   getting   dangerously   close   now."

"I   can   feel   the   heat."

"Don’t   test   me   right   now."

"I   want   you   too   badly."

"Don’t   make   me   chase   you."

"You’re   distracting   me,   you   know."

"I   won’t   fall   for   this."

"I   want   you,   but…"

"What   do   you   want   from   me?"

"I’ll   never   give   in."

"I’m   trying   not   to   care."

"You’re   playing   with   my   patience."

"Don’t   make   this   harder,   please."

"I   can’t   stop   this   feeling."

"I’m   already   in   too   deep."

"You   won’t   walk   away   unscathed."

"You’re   walking   a   fine   line."

"I’m   trying   to   stay   calm."

"What   are   you   doing   to   me?"

[devolusion]

niya is so weird. niya's relationships are so weird

[devolusion]

they invented romance for real @gonchayas

closeups under the cut!

[devolusion]

She chokes back a curse — fear still so much louder than anger / the past still louder than her rage / but anger going bright. Her teeth bare while her expression contorts, tears not stopping, trying just to keep the sobs in her throat. She half - succeeds, staring up at the light. Can't look at her chest. Can't look down at her own ribs and muscle and gore again. The pain is agonizing but it isn't yet as bad as last time. That's something. That's something. Elysia can't breathe, and she knows from experience that she only has so long before the pain and panic rend her near - catatonic.

They test the straps against their arm binding it to this operating table, focus on anything but the pain — but the memory — but how much Kostya will hurt, how afraid he must be, how desperately he must be trying to find her, but

—— how is the black hound faring these days?

"Don't f - fucking speak about them!" The words — growled, sharp like the metal ribs he's exposed to the air, too terse and dangerous to be a shout — are past her mouth before she even fully processes the way the anger gets louder than the fear, if only for a moment. Their head tilts, fast enough it hurts their neck, gold eyes burning when they land on the monster. ( for a moment, the mask gives way in their eyes to the smile they can hear. )

NONE OF THESE FUCKING MONSTERS HAVE ANY RIGHT TO KOSTYANTYN. NONE OF THEM HAVE THE RIGHT TO SPEAK ABOUT ELYSIA'S LOVER. She feels her lungs straining against the air, paper - thin. "They're not the fucking Black Hound anymore! And if I don't crush your th - throat for th - this, they will." Despite how much Elysia might wish otherwise, they know Kostya will come for them, into this den of fucking vipers, and that very few people will survive the encounter. It's just a matter of if they get here before or after the doctor has gotten bored of playing with Elysia's body while Elysia still breathes.

bargaining.  thrashing.  oh,  and of course,  trying to reason,  as if that’d halt any of his work.  nothing he hasn’t heard before.  the doctor doesn’t entertain an answer,  doesn’t even acknowledge the sound of her own fear.  he dries his hands with the causality of a different,  much more mundane situation,  picks up the leather-bound notebook on the cart second shelf,  and begins writing.    (    a brief reprieve for her,  maybe.    )    by no means a mercy.

fragile, she says, like any other body couldn’t crumble the exact same way. it almost makes him laugh. “  that so?  tell me something i don’t know.    ”    the script of his mother tongue is written haphazardly,  the sound of pen against paper stopping briefly just so he could glance down at his handiwork,  refine his thoughts.    ( patient’s pulse remains consistent despite severe stress.  nervous system appears to be—    ) “    you think of this more as an interrogation rather than invasive surgery,  don’t you?  no need to worry,  i don’t need to waterboard answers out of you when i can find them myself.  besides,  my colleagues’ subordinates could do worse—  but i’m sure you’ve heard all about that.     ”

the cam of the pen drums against the notebook.  his mouth doesn’t need to be seen to hear the smile in his smile.    “    speaking of…  how is the black hound faring these days? ”