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tenderwatches · 29 days ago

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Viktor looks over at his partner now; Jayce has pulled the blanket up under his chin. He wants to hold the picture of his partner in slumber in his cupped hands. His rest is soft and precious; Jayce has been so attentive of him in the weeks since learning his prognosis, to the point of overbearing. More than anything, however, Viktor finds himself coming apart thinking of the other man asleep at his bedside, still splattered with his blood, only able to find rest with his head bowed into Viktor’s lap. The two of them are intertwined in this, like lifelines irrevocably bound, but they don’t have to take their young protégés with them. “I want you both to know there’s always a choice.” Sky stands, drawing herself to her full height, which isn’t terribly taller than Viktor’s seated position, but he admires her confidence. “With respect, Viktor,” she starts, showing the flash of steel he recognises from having to constantly assert oneself in the exhausting environment of Piltover’s circles of influence and self-importance. “It’s not much of a choice. You’re asking us to either help or stand aside and watch you die.”

Chapter 21: Recursive Impulse

Each breath feels like falling—not the sharp plummet of danger, but the slow surrender to gravity. To inevitability. Every day he wakes to a struggle against himself—where will he win out? Will he relinquish yet more of himself today, or will he claw back some small autonomy?

Dying entails some loss of control; he’s known this ever since death became an assured part of his reality, but he’s always imagined doing it alone. In the contemplations of his future, he’s never had to consider the feelings of others. Never had to imagine what they might lose with his absence—what they might contend with as he sinks down into the velvet press of mortality, awaiting him like a greedy watcher.

Viktor passes the blueprints Thomas has drawn under his hands, tracing out the lines and following the sketched circuitry with the end of his pen. He gives them a quiet hum of approval after the assessment. “This appears sound, Mr. Prescott,” he compliments, his voice low as to not wake Jayce asleep on the nearby couch. Having shed his fitted jacket and tailored shirt, Jayce had laid down in just his undershirt for “just a minute” two hours ago, at least. Viktor can’t blame him; lately, they’ve all been trading sleep for adrenaline and the electric surge of possibility.

Since their discussion at the botanical garden just days ago, Thomas has thrown himself into designing a containment chamber based off their current readings of the Hexcore’s energy. There’s a chance this work could all be for naught if introducing shimmer changes everything, but Viktor has hedged his bets on the nature of living, breathing, bleeding things being more compelling to the Hexcore than the drug might be.

Thomas takes the blueprints back, beaming. “Thank you,” he returns, and Viktor sees how the praise makes the young man rock on his heels in a way that reminds him of Jayce when they were younger, always so eager to please. “I think, if the subject’s system is like a network, we can’t just flood one area with energy, can we?” He lays a clear sheet down over one of Sky’s vascular plant diagrams, tracing out paths as he speaks. “We would need to create pathways, like we do with electrical circuits.” He grabs another sheet, layers that on as well, and continues drawing. “Maybe the runes could act like nodes, directing the flow?”

They both lean back to admire his handiwork. Viktor flips the top sheet back and forth, noting how Thomas has indicated how he predicts the ‘nodes’ will change the energy flow.

“We still need a way to measure vital signs and tissue response in real time,” Sky pipes up from across the room. “Oh, sorry,” she whispers as Thomas shushes her, gesturing with wide arcs at Jayce, whose brow knits in his sleep as he tosses an arm over his eyes. Even in slumber, he’s reaching out as if to steady something, to fix what’s broken. Always trying to protect, to help. To save.

Viktor pauses to pull a blanket from the foot of the couch up over Jayce’s waist; it’s not cold in the lab, but this small action tempers the urge he feels to caress the man’s face as if there aren’t two lab assistants helping him work out the particulars of a dangerous, unethical, and possibly illegal series of experiments they’re about to undertake.

Sky glides across the lab on a wheeled stool, stopping to survey the work Thomas has done. She nods as she regards it, her finger tapping the cupid bow of her lips as she thinks. “Yes, good thinking.” She turns to Thomas, and for a brief moment, Viktor is but an observer, witnessing two young, intelligent scientists on the edge of something extraordinary. “Can you set up monitoring points? We need a failsafe, too, in case the vitals become critical.”

Concentration contorts Thomas’s expression as he works through what Sky has presented. He hums thoughtfully before moving to shuffle through the notes they’ve taken over the weeks. “Like a circuit breaker? So we can cut off the flow if the readings spike.”

“Exactly!” Sky encourages as she wheels back to her own work. The scratch of pencil on paper, the quiet murmur of collaboration—Viktor finds himself appreciating their synergy as he watches them work. An ache of memory blooms in his chest; how many nights had he and Jayce spent like this, lost in the possibility of what they might achieve together? Those nights had been full of effortless wonder, when their only tethers were their own imaginations. Over time, they’d begun to gain stakes—first, simply considerations greater than themselves, then, consequences that held them down. These stakes reigned in their dreams and ambitions, leashing them to the whims of the council. Now, they’ve broken free, but the stakes are higher than ever, and devastatingly personal.

Sky’s enthusiasm reminds him of himself at that age, the burning desire to push boundaries for the sake of progress. But he remembers, too, standing in another lab, watching Rio suffer through experiment after experiment with no failsafes, no consideration for what pain survival cost her. He’d been too young then to do anything but walk away.

That guilt of that abandonment has never left him, and the recent understanding that they need to bring shimmer into their work has only resurfaced it. “The mutation must survive,” Viktor murmurs, then stiffens when he realises he’s spoken aloud. Neither assistant seems to have heard him, but these words from his childhood, echoed in his own voice, make him nauseous.

The disquieting parallel of his position doesn’t escape him—he’s become both the mutation and the scientist. Each time he reviews the calculations, notes the acceptable risks, he feels himself descending ever closer to a line that shouldn’t be crossed. The shimmer introduces variables they can’t fully control, dangers he understands too well.

“Miss Young, Mr. Prescott.” The two break from their rapid, hushed conversation, Sky’s eyes curious and Thomas’s a bit confused at the interruption. “I wanted…” Viktor clears his throat, willing himself to continue before he loses his nerve. These bright young minds remind him so much of himself and Jayce, and that is precisely why he must speak. “To remind you that there is no obligation to do this work.” Sky’s expression turns determined, and he recognises the pride in it. He holds up a hand to still her. “We’ve discussed the risks many times before, I know. But with the introduction of this new variable, and what subsequent testing will bring… Neither Jayce nor I will fault you for stepping away.”

Sky stands, drawing herself to her full height, which isn’t terribly taller than Viktor’s seated position, but he admires her confidence. “With respect, Viktor,” she starts, showing the flash of steel he recognises from having to constantly assert oneself in the exhausting environment of Piltover’s circles of influence and self-importance. “It’s not much of a choice. You’re asking us to either help or stand aside and watch you die.”

Viktor falters, caught between Sky’s reproach and a reflexive need to deny the weight of what he’s asking. He wants to say it’s not as serious as that, but he knows that’s a lie. Her words aren’t an exaggeration, only a reflection of the truth.

Thomas shifts his weight from one foot to the other where he stands next to Sky. “She’s right,” he acknowledges as he first glances at Jayce’s sleeping form, then back at Viktor with uncharacteristic steadiness. His eyes are wide, a tiny quaver to his lips betraying his nerves, but he’s so far from the little Piltie who couldn’t look Viktor in the eye for weeks. “And… it’s not just about you, in the end. We’re working on something that could change so many lives. It might even be something to—to connect our cities—I mean, city—well, you know what I mean.”

Viktor’s fingers close into tight fists until he forces himself to breathe and ease his grip. These words feel so like the passionate arguments he’s once made himself, so like the words Jayce has used to rally their stakeholders behind Hextech. Their success, seemingly inevitable, always made progress seem to be worth any price—but now, being the one to lead others into murky ethical waters, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing against his chest alongside the usual difficulty breathing.

“The consequences—” he starts, but Sky cuts him off.

“Are ours to face, if it comes to it.” She’s gentle, but firm, and Thomas nods his assent alongside her, his hand on her shoulder.

“Just like they’re yours,” he adds. “Just like they’re Jayce’s.”

Again, the realisation that these young, brilliant minds are applying themselves for his benefit. It’s his life they’re fighting for, even if, as Thomas pointed out, they ultimately may be able to save many more. In this moment, it would be a lie to say that they aren’t all acutely aware of the clock solemnly counting down the months over their heads.

“Alright,” he finally concedes, and a strange sense of relief flutters through him. He has never wanted to do this alone, even if he resigned himself long ago to that probability. “But we document everything. Every variable, every outcome. We think of everything that could possibly go wrong, before it happens, and we do everything in our power to mitigate risk. If you’re going to do this with us, you must take every precaution.”

Self-interest in his own survival aside, he can’t imagine what this ordeal would put them through, should the worst happen. Despite his warnings of consequences, the worst outcome would mean—well, his death. He’s never had to concern himself with the repercussions, but now… Viktor watches them turn back to their work with renewed focus, anxiety tangling with a small kernel of pride in his chest. Across the room, Jayce stirs slightly in his sleep, the blanket slipping from his shoulder. Viktor moves to adjust it, his fingertips brushing against the skin of the man’s shoulder. His touch lingers—just fleeting seconds—longer than necessary.

—·—

The next day, Viktor makes his way through the promenade, the place where the border markets blur the lines between the Undercity and its topside counterpart. Though there are some who pointedly look away, as if merely acknowledging his existence might stain their carefully curated world, most here don’t give him more than a passing glance. Windows of buildings on the promenade gleam with morning sunlight, glass panes lit like shining faces. The shops of the Skylight commercia entice passersby from upper and lower cities alike, eventually blending into the Bridgewaltz, where Glasc dance hall and others like it dot the lively landscape. Here, fewer stares land upon him, his crutch, or the oxygen canister at his side.

He makes his way to the bathysphere now, its patchwork iron and glass frame a hypnotic blend of Piltovan aesthetics tempered by the practicality of Undercity construction. It’s a bridge between worlds, and he finds himself almost light with anticipation as he approaches. If he’s honest with himself, he can admit that going to the Undercity always has the sensation of coming home. Even directly after being ousted from the Academy, after he’d spent years thinking of an apartment in Piltover as ‘home’, returning had been a familiar embrace. Not quite comforting or warm, but something recognisable that called to a part of him that can never truly leave.

As he approaches the platform, the air grows heavier, the first tendrils of the Gray seeping up from below. Even in these daylight hours, the chem-lamps stay lit in an effort to drive it back. Viktor stifles a cough in his handkerchief, pausing to grip the railing and rest against his crutch a moment. He needs to be careful, take his time, lest he overextend and prove Jayce right.

Jayce only deigned to permit him to leave after prying a begrudging return estimate of ‘around lunchtime’ from him, and that, still, was only after ensuring Viktor took a newly made, custom designed rebreather. He removes the mask from an inner pocket now, figuring he ought to attend to it before he descends.

It’s attached to one of his oxygen canisters sitting in a metalwork holster looped over a simple, thick leather strap. Jayce presented this to him with a surprising bashfulness, as if he were gifting something sentimental. Perhaps‌ he was. He’d insisted this was ‘temporary’, and that he’d craft Viktor a ‘better one’, even when Viktor insisted this one was perfectly serviceable, and had certainly taken too much of Jayce’s time already.

Besides, though he won’t tell Jayce, the apparatus makes him look distinctly out of place in a part of the city he’s known since childhood. Though Jayce was self-satisfied at not having put any unnecessary flourishes on the mask, the material it’s made of is too fine, too new, and the construction is distinctly Piltovan, to say nothing of its obviously bespoke nature.

After sliding the cannula tubing through the channels on the inside of the mask, he tucks the leather straps back behind his ears. It fits well even without adjustment, better than most masks ever have, and the resultant supply of clean, uninterrupted oxygen hits him like a physical force. Much to his disappointment, the journey has taken more out of him than he’s given to admit, and he, begrudgingly, makes note that he’ll have to thank Jayce later for insisting.

As the bathysphere descends, the gradient of the landscape shifts from Piltover’s pristine facades to the Undercity’s weathered iron, glass, and stone. Each mechanical groan echoes like the protest of Viktor’s joints, shaken free by the tremors of their passage. Even the air changes, growing yet more substantive, heavy with memory and chemical tang. The differences above and below carve themselves into sharp relief. Piltover and the Undercity may share many foundations, even claim to be one city, but they are not sisters, not twins—barely even distant relations. They are strangers who happen to occupy the same space, separated by more than just the layers of rock and metal between them.

Never has Viktor felt the contrast more sharply than he does now. His lungs strain against the increasing pressure, each breath a careful battle even with Jayce’s precisely engineered mask filtering the worst of it. When he steps down from the bathysphere, using his crutch to anchor himself, he notices the wary eyes upon him, the way they dart up to the rebreather secured against his face. He pulls his coat more tightly around himself, ensuring it covers the oxygen canister. At least Jayce’s “makeshift” solution frees his hands for use, even if anyone who spots it might take him for a mark. Good metal is increasingly difficult to find in the Undercity, and though Jayce might consider this piece to be subpar even for the work of holding a single oxygen canister, there are plenty here who would find a use for it.

It’s ironic that this should be how he’s viewed in the Undercity, when above, the same details single him out for his disability and provenance. Faces rush past Viktor as he makes his way through the lanes, each person too caught up in their individual stories to pay anyone else much mind. Viktor is guilty of this, too. He spares some curiosity, thinking he might see a familiar face, but he recognises none. Though it’s not as if he’s kept friends, there are people he would remember on sight, might even be pleased to see. If nothing else, running into them would prove that he’s done something of note here. He’s done what he can—using the knowledge and skills he’s gained to design better safety mechanisms, ones that require fewer resources whilst operating faster. It’s no small feat, but it never feels like enough. His guilt hunkers down, steadfast in his chest alongside the Gray, as he sees people here shuffle past with shoulders bent by more than gravity. He can’t help but wonder if he’s become what he once despised—another stranger, worth nothing more than empty promises.

The Undercity, for as large as it is, has always been a network of communities. It’s made up of pockets of activity, hives and clusters of people and factions, affiliations. Anyone he knows from the College of Techmaturgy is likely within its ever-reaching spires, and the factory foremen who have practical familiarity with his work are likely down below.

He heads for the Rising Howl, the public hydraulic descender to the levels below the Lanes; most Piltovans don’t even realise it exists. It is an ugly contraption, far more complicated than the sleek bathysphere above it. Where the bathysphere looks like a glittering insect, the Rising Howl looks like resembles something you’d find in a dark corner under the bed. Years of daily use, multiple repairs, and augmentation have created a wild and spindly thing that groans and grinds with every metre it traverses in the crevasses of the Undercity.

As he continues his journey, he measures each step against his breath, as if subjecting himself to this meticulous rhythm is caution enough against overtaxing himself. The bustle of Drop Street, where the Rising Howl lets off, parts around him like a rushing river. It’s as though he’s a turtle, slowly making his way to his destination, heedless of how he might impose upon those around him. It seems everywhere he goes these days, he just takes up too much space.

Viktor doesn’t need to go this far down—his old “friend” keeps closer to the ravine by the Cliffs, but he’s factored in enough time for a quick visit. He observes that the Entresol is much as he left it, though the Gray permeates with such thickness that even with the rebreather and the oxygen, he feels a little lightheaded. He checks the canister at his hip, all flowing well, but opens the aperture slightly to induce a more concentrated stream.

Everything is alright. He can do this.

Winding streets and iron bridges spread out like spines of cavern-dwelling creatures. Networks of buildings bite off the horizon line, homes stacked upon one another or on spindly legs like long-legged spiders slipping into cracks. Where there’s a rare sliver of sunlight, someone has almost undoubtedly established a cultivair, and the glass domes that encase the plant life inside are as precious as emeralds.

Viktor pauses as he passes the mouth of Emberflit Alley, the location of his childhood home. Though he still has the legal right to it, years of disuse and assumed abandonment makes the property, as far as he sees it, rightfully an asset of the Entresol itself. He hopes it does some collective good, at least—though he does wonder if his books still line the shelves, if there are still trappings of his parents’ trade inside. Surely, by now all the trinkets and artefacts his parents crafted so meticulously are long gone, either scrapped for parts or melted down for materials. They were artisans; his parents had made things that were beautiful, even as members of the Undercity, they were expected to make things that were practical.

They had always been talented, marrying the two much as Jayce does. Viktor struggles to justify the point, even as his very soul seems to rebel at the though that art or beauty doesn’t warrant the effort. It’s difficult to fight the logic that he has little enough time as it is—he can’t afford to seek such frivolities out.

Jayce is always swift to remind him that a life without beauty is simply a sequence of events. He sees this, sees how the body takes in nutrients from the food consumed—disperses it, breaking it down through chemical reactions.

These things make us warm. They make us human. But what makes us truly ‘alive’ is our ability to appreciate the wonder of beauty.

But there are things like the warmth of a summer sunset, the pinkening of the sky. Something that turns his very bones into something soft, something that keeps the weight of hardship at bay, just for a moment.

In the end, he doesn’t go down Emberflit Alley. He’s not yet ready to see what it might have become, whether it has remained empty over all these years (least likely), or if it has been taken over (more likely).

Viktor knows these streets intimately—the in ways and back ways, having spent so many years as a child mapping them out over the painful hours it took him to traverse them. It doesn’t take him long to find the path to one of his favourite haunts, a place where the river runs almost clean. Tucked away in the reaching arms of the rocky cliffs, just before the place where the sky opens up above it, there is a gap so small as to be easily missed if one were not looking for it.

The first time Viktor found it had been an accident. His boat had followed the current, and down it had gone, and Viktor with it. Instead of climbing through the steepness of the city, this route clings to the cliff face, winding like a lazy serpent ducking through small tunnels of rock.

That was how he met this strange man who, much as he has now, had found a mutation that he insisted “must survive”. He’d introduced himself as ‘the doctor’, which Viktor had not thought to question at the time. He had been enamoured with finding someone whom he believed was like him—isolated, spurned by others for thinking or behaving too differently. Viktor had spent some time under the doctor’s tutelage, learning to care for the creature under the man’s custodianship.

Navigating over slippery rocks is more difficult with his crutch than it was with his cane, perhaps because he has to lean more of his weight on it, perhaps because now he also has to deal with the contraption connected to the mask on his face—this thing that has, throughout this journey, made him feel like an outsider. It’s obviously not ‘Piltie’ enough for Piltover, but too cleanly welded and bespoke to be of the Undercity. There’s a part of him that wants to rip it off, to declare, No, I belong here. I was born here! But he can’t fool himself—and if he can’t fool himself, he can’t fool them. He doesn’t belong here any more than he belongs in Piltover.

Eventually, the path resolves in a small chamber with pockmarked walls that suggest it was either naturally formed or crudely excavated. The light creeping in from above is an uneasy blue, lending the underground space an otherworldly beauty.

The doctor’s cavernous lab remains largely as he remembers it. It is perhaps darker than he recalls, more crowded, with shelves of jars in a variety of sizes lining the walls. Inside of them float… organs, he thinks—but he doesn’t let his gaze linger. It’s best not to know. As he makes his way deeper into the lab, the sound of his crutch reverberates, stone, the sound amplified when he fails to lift it quite high enough and nearly trips over a step.

When Viktor enters, he harbours no hope of seeing the waverider he used to visit, once sleek and lavender, glistening with streaks of blue and pink light. She couldn’t have survived these years; the last he saw of her, she had been a wasting thing, miserable and sickly.

The truth proves infinitely more horrifying.

She’s contained like a specimen in a tube, technically alive. Her body is twisted, her scales, once a healthy shade of pink, now pallid. She exists but doesn’t live, like a human stripped of the artistry and beauty that transforms mere increments of time into memories. He wishes he had not seen her at all.

“You made it down.”

Viktor jumps as the words echo against the stone walls, whirling toward their source. The doctor—a man he’d once considered a mentor, much to his regret—materialises from the shadows. How long had this man stood there, watching Viktor absorb the nightmare of Rio’s existence? A shudder runs down Viktor’s spine at the question. Though the doctor has never given Viktor reason to suspect or fear him, other than his callous and cruel treatment of the waverider, Viktor does not relish spending any more time here than necessary. His former mentor’s gaze rakes over him slowly, taking in his face, his hunched shoulders, crooked leg trembling with the day’s exertion. He seems to be cataloguing all the ways in which Viktor has grown, changed, and how the illness of his childhood has left tally marks on his bones for each year since.

“How was the trip?” He walks towards Viktor, at ease, as if the Undercity lies just around the corner rather than beyond long trips on snarling metal contraptions, bookended by exhausting treks.

“I need your help.” Viktor cuts through all pretence—he’s not pleased to be here, but the doctor offers a unique perspective they would be hard pressed to find elsewhere. He’s another Academy mind, one even admired in his day, a mind of calibre ready to go where others do not yet dare. Yet despite the value of his insight, Viktor senses the doctor will draw out their conversation if given the opportunity.

The doctor is much more ragged than Viktor remembers him, though he’s hardly one to judge. When their eyes meet, Viktor’s teeth clench behind the rebreather in an effort not to turn away. What he sees there doesn’t quite have the emotional attachment of pity, but a deliberately measured curiosity.

“You do seem as though you’re not well.” The doctor looks Viktor over with the analytical gaze of one assessing whether a wayward experiment is worth salvaging. He stands close now, and another step brings him closer—too close. It forces Viktor to look up in order to maintain eye contact. Viktor suppresses the impulse to retreat; he fears tipping his hand and giving his former mentor further advantage over him. The calculating eyes that hold his are cold, as are the steady hands the doctor lifts to his face, tilting his chin up to the sickly green light. Surprise chokes away any protest, and dry fingers brush Viktor’s cheek as his former mentor finds the straps of his mask. “I have found ways to… improve the air quality in the lab,” the man murmurs in a tone that might be meant to soothe, if it were coming from anyone else. With slow deliberation that reminds Viktor of handling delicate equipment, he unfastens the apparatus. “You won’t need this.”

The mask comes away, and cool air rushes against Viktor’s exposed skin, where it’s still slightly damp from his own breath. He inhales sharply, almost a reflex born of alarm, but he doesn’t feel the characteristic burning he’s come to expect from the Undercity’s air ravaging his already tattered lungs. Instead, his tongue tastes bitterness that mingles with a sickening sweetness in the back of his throat. He almost gags, but it’s no more difficult to breathe than the oxygen had been.

The man remains close enough that Viktor can see the web of old chemical burns across his throat above his collar. He tries not to think about what might give the air its particular quality, or why this clinical tenderness feels like a violation. Before he can say anything, the doctor pulls away the canister by the strap and sets it down next to the mask on a nearby table, the oxygen tubing looped beneath it.

Viktor shakes himself out of his inertness, reaching into his coat to remove two thin boards bound together with a bit of twine. He unwinds it, revealing a withered leaf pressed inside, still branded with the recursive scars from its interaction with the Hexcore. It leaves an imprint of itself on his hastily copied over notes on the adaptive rune matrix, giving enough context to be useful, but not enough to be misused. “It’s about this.” He holds out the leaf to the doctor, who takes it with an air of disinterest until he sees the notes beneath.

The doctor’s demeanour shifts as he studies the diagrams, his eyes sharpened with focus. “Fascinating,” he murmurs aloud, “I would very much like to see the device… This… Hexcore.”

“That may be difficult to arrange.” Viktor grips his crutch and coughs, his body shuddering with the force of it. Each spasm feels like it’s trying to tear something loose inside him. He has to take a couple of deep breaths before he’s able to continue. “I have tried every combination of runes, but it’s always the same. The subjects wither and rot.”

“Perhaps the error resides not with your calculations, but… with your subjects.” The doctor traces one finger along a particular equation, then looks up at Viktor with unsettling focus. “Nature has made us intolerant to change, but fortunately, we have the capacity to change our nature.”

The words extend into the distance between them, suspended in the unnaturally still air. He feels the ghost of the doctor’s hands on his face, at his jaw and chin. ‘You won’t need this.’ Viktor tenses, seeing now what his former mentor must have recognised in him earlier—the same willingness to push boundaries, to break rules, to do what others won’t.

Viktor knows how far he’s willing to go in pursuit of progress—of survival. More importantly, he knows how far he won’t go.

“We believe it’s not the change itself, but the rate at which it occurs.” His voice sounds distant to his own ears. “It burns too much of the subjects’ resources. It cannot keep up with the transformation. I…” Viktor hesitates, hating the words even as he forms them. “I thought of your work with shimmer.”

His eyes drift back to Rio, floating in the glass canister against the far wall. The weight of what he’s asking settles in him, burrowing deeper with each step he’s taken in this progression. He will not let it come to that—he won’t sacrifice another living being to become such a terrible wretch. His staunch resolve fortifies him as he studies the glass canister, the metal base. Waiting for the doctor’s response has him twisting his hands around the neck of his crutch. He lets his engineer’s mind go to work, breaking down the problem into its component parts: the bolts that hold it together, the connection points of the pipe recycling the water, the careful arrangement of tubes that keep her tethered between life and death. Each detail logs in his memory as he mentally takes it apart in the way Jayce has described habitually doing when he is idle.

“That… could work. I have a variant that should provide everything one needs to survive a violent transition.” Viktor’s skin crawls at the quality of the doctor’s voice; it’s almost kind in a way that reminds him of how Dr. Granet had reviewed his options for care in this last year, or half, of his life.

“Will it work on plants?” The question sounds weak even to his own ears, this pretence of scientific distance. They both know what he’s really asking—what he’s really offering himself up for.

“You aren’t here about the plants, are you?” His former mentor’s eyes catch his, filled with that terrible certainty. “I know the look of a doomed man.” He takes another step closer, and Viktor tenses against the reflexive impulse to step back. “I must warn you. If you take this path, they will despise you.”

Viktor thinks of Jayce, the assistants who are already on this path with him, of their staunch determination and resolve to get this done. He questioned, endlessly, what cost they would bear, why they were willing to sacrifice their own legacies—all so he might live. Those questions had seemed impossible to answer.

But now he sees it clearly. Jayce, bent over their workstation at three in the morning, refusing to leave until he’s solved just one more problem. The same Jayce who looks at him with such naked concern when he thinks Viktor won’t notice, who tries to hide his fear behind determined optimism. He thinks of Sky meticulously documenting every trial, every failure, her hand steady even when her voice shakes. Of Thomas learning to anticipate what Viktor needs before he asks, determination slowly replacing his fear.

None of them are driven by the raw desperation that Viktor bore alone when first working on the Hexcore. They each chose this path—chose him. They’ve already given him their answer with every late night, every newly derived equation, every time they looked at him, deteriorating, and did not look away.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve such loyalty, yet here they are, making themselves complicit in whatever comes next. Making his survival their cause, even knowing what it might cost them. The weight of their potential sacrifice settles in his body alongside his guilt, but it feels warmer, somehow. More compatible.

“I understand.”

And he does understand. Not just the doctor’s warning—which should frighten him more than it does—but that he is worthy of being saved. [first chapter | previous chapter | next chapter on AO3]

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fishymom-art · 1 month ago

Note

I FINALLY MADE IT IN TIME

This isn’t really a request but I wanted to ask what your process is for making digital art. I just got a tablet and I’m also knew to art so I wanted to know if you have any tips.

Love your work and rest as long as you need!

Sorry that it took me so long to reply!

I’ve been drawing digital art for a long long time, first using a tablet that connected to my laptop, and now using an IPad. Both required different techniques due to different settings, positioning, etc. I suggest you first find the most comfortable way for you - right sensibility settings for the pen, a brush you feel most comfortable using in your program, etc. The program that I used for the most of my journey was Krita - not the best in the world, but it’s free and veeeery good for any artist of any level.

My drawing process is always sketch, line art, colors, rendering, background (if any). Here are some general tips:

- take advantage of layers. Use as many as you need.

- Use different colors for sketches even, if it will help you to tell apart where’s what.

- take you sweet time, don’t rush your work

- save your art in either jpeg or png format. I save mine in png, but some people say that jpeg is better, idk tbh.

- examine other people’s art to learn, if you need! Don’t straight up copy, but if there is something you want to learn, it’s good to watch speedpaints and drawing progress, if there’s any.

- USE REFERENCES! For poses, for colors, for literally anything. This will help you a ton, trust me.

Here, have a speedpaint of a commission I did for my girlfriend a while back! The drawing took me a bit over 3 hours, but it’s also coz I have all the comfortable settings and am pretty fast in general. Otherwise, it would take maybe 5 hours or so. So don’t stress if it’s taking you too long.

You can also find speedpaints of my comics and ref sheets in my Fix a Beast google drive! They’re in the “Random Doodles” folder!

#fishymom-ask #speedpaint #drawing tips #digital artist #hazbin hotel oc

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midnightdawn17 · 8 months ago

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COTL Drawtober 2024 | Day 13: Underwater

Day 4: Lose Your Head (Start) -> Day 13: Underwater -> (End)

Yea.... this is like... really late, sorry about that. In good news, I will finish the one piece per week that I planned to! In bad news, how long it will take is a bit longer than was intended. Apparently I just want to do big pieces for this challenge so that's what's happening! However, big pieces take me a little longer (not as long as the time gap between the first one and this, that was just me being busy). I make no promises on when the rest will get done, but they will get done! Anyway! Onto the piece! I heavily referenced/copied for the arch (I added the moss myself tho!) I did the back pillars myself but used a reference for their position (I basically surgically attached two screenshots together for a reference for this one.) I really like how the front came out (especially the arch cuz it turned out so pretty) but I'm looking at it now (I finished at like midnight) and I think I should have added moss, cracks, and maybe some shading (bc guess who forgot to shade their piece) and that would have made the pillars look so much better. I might fix it at a later date but I need to move on so I don't get stuck in underwater hell. (Also I probably should have added some jellyfish bc I like them and the backround is very empty) I do like how the water effect turned out though, both the backround and the overlay. Turns out just copying the backround layer and turning the opacity way down works wonders! (Also if tumblr keeps autocorrecting backround to background I'm going to scream. I know how it's spelled tumblr, IT'S INTENTIONAL.)

In progress pictures below the cut! 💜

Sketch/Outline (aka the stage where I probably should have added some jellyfish)

Flat Color

Added some glowing!

#artists on tumblr #artwork #art #digital art #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl lamb #cotl kallamar #cotltober #underwater #cotl anchordeep #cotl red crown

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silver-embersss · 1 year ago

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If its not too much to ask, whats the drawing process you use for your RGB screenshot redraws?

its not too much at all! its pretty simple really, i dont consider myself much of an artist so this probably isnt a great way to go about it but hey ho. i'll use my most recent one as an example :]

the first thing I do is essentially cut around each character/body part that I wanna move, and mess around with their positions until it more or less looks right.

then I use that as a basic reference to get my sketch lines down, and fix some glaring anatomy issues/stuff I dont like (like ray's hand here, I tilted it up so it looks more like its resting on the wall)

I then put the edited screenshot in the reference window and use my sketch layer and the screenshot to slowly and agonisingly create some relatively okay lineart (this part took the longest. I hate it. I suck at art.)

the rest isnt complicated - I just colour picked from the screenshot for the colours, and since its a flat/simple, cartoony style I didnt have to do any complicated shading/rendering or anything.

for the background/parts of the characters that dont line up with the original screenshot, I just colour picked what was in the background and coloured it in, blurring it into the screenshot. it looks kinda goofy without the drawing in front of it lmao

and then the last thing I did was export the drawing by itself without a background into a different project and compress the everloving shit out of it, to match the quality of the background and make it look more like a real screenshot, putting it back in the first project once i exported it.

there you go, hopefully this made sense! like I said, im not really much of an artist so i probably could never make a fake screenshot from scratch/without a reference tbh, this is just for fun, its not supposed to be completely perfect/original! lmk if you have any more questions :]

#art sillies #asks and answers #ember says shit #the real ghostbusters

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fmp2ocatherinek-g · 3 months ago

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Sketching and refining page 2

I wasn't overly happy with the original page concept I came up with as it looked quite disjointed and lacked in cohesion between the elements I was trying to portray within it so instead of sticking to my first idea and finding ways for it to work, I decided to completely scrap it and come up with another composition which I think is more visually interesting and unique. Much like how I started my first comic page, I used a thumb nail sketch I had previously done to roughly map out the panels and draw all of the key elements on the page. When doing this part of the process, I didn't aim for neat and tidy sketches as I was just trying to get each scene into the panels so I can get an idea of what the page will look like.

After I had finished the preliminary sketch, I went in and started refining specific details in the first three panels which I did this by adding actuate anatomy and character details. One of the main characters this page focuses on (not referring to the creature) wasn't one I had designed before hand as I didn't intended to use him in multiple scenes (only as the dead body in the first comic page) so what I had to do was come up with his design on a whim, adding details hear an there as a went on with sketching everything out.

With the first three panels refined, it was time to move into the main focus of the page, "The Creature". The pose I chose for it to be in turned out to be quite challenging as I had to figure out the perspective working on the character which lead me to rework certain elements (head, face, ect...) of the creature multiple times as I just couldn't seem to get them right. Bellow are progress shots of how I re-worked and adapted parts of the pose to make it look better and less awkward.

One I was finally happy with the pose and how The Creature looked I got to lining and cleaning up all of the sketches. I did this by dropping the sketch layers opacity so I could trace it and upping the stabilization on the pen I was using to help me get smooth and crisp lines.

This was the final line art however after getting some constructive criticism, it was brought to my attention that The Creature still had issues when it came to it's position, specifically its face. I was aware of this however I didn't think it looked too bad and was willing to make peace with the fact that it didn't look 100% correct but with some help I was able to work through the issue. The main thing was that the head didn't look connected to the body so to sort this out, I took time to analyse where the problem areas were and funnily enough I didn't have to completely re-do the face to fix it. All I had to do was move the right ear up which made the face more centered, change it's jawline and carry the hair on onto the back of it's neck as apposed to it just being on the edge. I also flattened down one of the shoulders just to make the pose look less overly-stiff.

Final line art:

#development

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coreypettengillconceptart · 8 months ago

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I started this project like the last, by sketching out some basic ideas based on the many memories that came to mind. I was able to get something down for 3 of those by the time I had my tutorial with Neal. Fishing for crabs at the beach near my grandparents’ house with my sister and 2 of our cousins (1&2). I was starting to reimagine this one as a boss fight in a kids on bikes/Goonies-esque game where the levels are all based on children’s games. With 3&4 I was trying to design a vehicle where the only passenger seats were “the way way back” (the rear facing, fold away seats found in old station wagons). Then the last few were based on the year I had a procedure done on my heart to fix an aspect of the heart condition I was born with. I started off this idea with designs of a robot/cyborg powered by a visible heart. After the procedure my sister and I would jokingly say that I was a cyborg now (a small metal and fabric device was implanted into my heart); and later that year near Halloween I had to wear a heart monitor that at 12 years old I thought was very visible, and told kids at school that it was part of my robot costume. With five I was trying to work in the shape of the device that was implanted, but it didn’t feel like the right direction.

When I went over these Ideas with Neal he gravitated towards the memories tied to my heart procedure. They’re very personal to me and somewhat unique, and I agreed that it was probably the way to go. So, I started working on more robot designs, with a focus on making them look more childlike, since I was 12 at the time. I also started exploring more subtle (less gruesome) ways to represent the heart. I found a design I liked (4), sketched out some ideas for a keyframe based on the day (while wearing the monitor) that my dad and I caught a faint glimpse of the northern lights, to bring more positive, nostalgic vibes into the memory. Then as I was gathering reference and composing something along the lines of 7 I just hit a wall and realized I really didn’t want to do something based on having heart surgery as a preteen. So I went back and started making some character designs based on My sister, cousins, and me. The idea of a game where you play as children fighting their way though larger than life imaginations had kind of charmed me anyway, and felt like it had a better chance to feel "nostalgic."

The first set of designs I felt came out decent considering the cartoony style I was going for isn't how I normally work. 1-4 ended up looking more teenaged than they should so I gave them a second go this time looking for examples of cartoony styled illustrations on pinterest to help. I also tried to make the characters' "weapons" look more like they were beach toys. I wanted one character to have magic, so that honor went to my sister because she's the oldest.

Keeping with the toon style I wanted to do a bit more of a 2 tone approach to rendering. So what I ended up trying was a to add an adjustment layer where I shifted the local colors darker and cooler, then using a layer mask to paint back in the light.

A little while ago I watched a video by the Youtubers/artists Drawfee (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vuX18Sbtv58&t=722s) where they were experimenting with new mediums and one member (Jacob Andrews) tried making pixel art for the first time. At this stage I was getting inspiration from that video and the look of games of my youth to try that myself. I didn't think I had the time though, so I opted to cheat it using a mosaic filter, though it really didn't have much effect in a mosaic size that was still readable. If I were to continue this project in the final doing actual pixel art would be the way to go. Though I don't know how worthwhile that would be as it's not something I want to explore as part of my development as a concept artist. It's more just something that seems fun at the moment.

The last thing I did before review (honestly mostly because I didn't feel I had much to show) was start to make thumbnails of a possible key frame based on this idea that I could work on if I continue this project. I'm not currently feeling like that will be the case though, as the style I chose for this project isn't really how I generally work, nor is developing that kind of style necessarily a goal I have for this course. Though the rendering technique I tried is definitely something I can find a use for in the future.

References:

Pinimg.com. (2025). Available at: https://i.pinimg.com/736x/ad/74/b5/ad74b561169dae577eb28459f3aa745d.jpg [Accessed 9 Jan. 2025].

Yoonji Choi (2014). bathman-my shortanimation. [online] Behance. Available at: https://www.behance.net/gallery/13557469/bathman-my-shortanimation.

TB Choi. Life drawing and doodle , TB Choi. [online] Pinterest. Available at: https://uk.pinterest.com/pin/1053209062861714695/ [Accessed 9 Jan. 2025].

Leadershipfreak.blog. (2025). Available at: https://leadershipfreak.blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/crab.jpg

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lindsayschrctrillstrion · 1 year ago

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Thumbnails Process Part 2

this is the reference i used for the landscape (not the best reference in terms of perspective)

to add a population to the city, i created many duplicates of these blobs for coyote civilians to add to the background by holding alt and dragging each drawing.

i then went and thickened the lines by magic selecting the entire outside of the layer and hitting select inverse and drawing around the selections. i then placed a layer underneith and filled the selections with white so they dont blend in with the background.

i then put together the wireframe of the character running towards the camera using the reference seen to the right.

i then sketched together the character walking towards the viewer despite the reference above as i feared have the characters back to the view would make it a challenge to understand who the character was and such

i also included the sword and cape where the cape is shaped like a werelynx which is where i wanted to connect the contrasting sides of the normal lynx and werelynx

this is the end result of all the elements together.

to reflect, this was my favourite to work on and it took me the longest to complete due to the complexity of the background and the elements being put together. i struggled the most with the pose as i was unsure at the rotation the chest and abdomen should be considering the placement of the limbs.

for the 2nd poster, i used the same sketches from the 1st thumbnail and put the title to the middle and rotated it 90 degrees.

i then drew over the sketches with slightly more refined drawings of the character in his two forms

i felt the drawings were too small compared to the negative space in the post so i enlarged them to make them the centre point

we took these refined thumbnails and displayed them as A3s up on the wall for groups of 3 to each critique each others work. the response to mine was nearly twice negative constructive critiques to the positive constructive critiques. (10 to 6) the main critique was regarding the drawings themselves and how it was difficult to decern what things were within the posters such as the poster in the top right being difficult to decern the character amongst the crowd of other people in the poster and most likely not noticing the cape being shaped like a werelynx. the other critiques were how the character was too blended in with the crowd and needed the front stage more. in response to these critiques, they were very fair but i was more looking for more compositive critiques rather than how clear the drawings were due to amount of time i allocated to each poster not being as much as they couldve been. using these critiques i will make the character more apparent and centre stage to the image

i chose to refine and work on more towards the final product as i liked this one the most and wanted to improve it.

this is the first variant i adjusted where i changed the size of the character and removed the characters in the background

this variation is where i made a tilt to the horizon line giving the poster a dutch angle

for this variant i fixed up the sketch and make the cape shred up into the air into shapes of a werelynx rather than a were lynx being in the cape

this variation is similar to the previous one however i made the title smaller to fit a coyote civilian up top a building smoking to create some visual interest and balance.

the third variation is the choice i decided to develop into the final poster.

Poster Creation

i began with the line art of the background using the thumbnail seen above. a technique that i used through out in order to get straight lines on angles, i would draw on top of the center of the horizon line and holding down shift before letting go of the pen while still holding shift and clicking on an area i would like to make a straight line to which created a long line from the point to the center horizon line. this was an easier alternative to rotating the canvas and simply just drawing straight angled lines using the rotation canvas button.

despite having trouble with drawing straight lines on angles, i was able to easily draw straight lines vertically and horizontally. the center cube is inspired by the black cube seen above at the top of this post.

while creating these buildings, i wanted to play around with the size, position and distance of each building to create interest. seeing these straight angled lines running through the drawing, you can see where it was veing used

i then added more detail to the buildings and added a big open area to the building seen on the left (this would be changed later on as it was making the building appear paper thin)

i added more detail to the top of the buildings and expanded out the closest one

i rotated the background to create a dutch angle and added a few more buildings to the background to create some interest.

i began with creating values and creating each dark and lightest shade in individual layers using the reference of the drawing of the sun seen in the corner to have a consistent lighting.

i then progressively added more values while also making sure each shade was on the right layer (this happened often)

for the buildings on the right i wanted them to have darker overall shading in contrast to the buildings on the right. i also considered which parts the light would hit and where it would bounce off to such as sides of buildings.

i then created the line work of the ripping cape that would turn into a shape of a werelynx using a reference seen above.

i then went ahead and put together lines that connect to the shoulders while also considering the silhouette.

using the pose as seen above, i put together a new pose of the character walking towards the viewer, i did however find trouble with this as i was wanting to make them appear hunched over. and their shoulders up in order to look sneaky but had trouble without a proper reference.

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elanorfmpimedia · 1 year ago

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Trialing the magician card, My idea is having the soldier pretending to surrender, while his friends are setting up to ambush. Indicating trickery and confidence. I've decided to draw it up digitally and see how it goes.

Also trying out different potential layouts. Thinking of using rank chevrons to indicate the number of the card in relation to the reading

Using this as a reference for his uniform.

Starting with linear, using the sketch lines as guidance and reference, as well as the British soldier uniform as reference for the layout, making some changes such as the three packs and harness. Using a pistol Luger pistol as reference for the linear.

Trying to draw on the title card but i'm finding it to be too messy, where as I have plans to make it come across Metallic, need to find a new brush.

Finished lineart for the time being and moving to flats. A lot of my work with flats before hand has been pretty bad. Beforehand with flats I used to not colour in the whole character or space with one base colour, this would usually lead to a lot of white gaps which would take me ages to clean up. With this I went for base colours, wanting to fill the whole screen before starting to detail and add different colours to spaces.

Completed flats, everything on the screen is covered, no rogue white spots visible anymore. Working on the ground beneath took a couple of tries to layer up and blend properly, as I didn't realise all colours had to be on the same layer.

Attempts at lighting, the light source is from the moon directly above them, trying different colours and drawing on a soft light layer to get the look I wanted.

Added two different layers of shading, one lighter shading for the lines in the clothing, the bottom side of the helmet, and darker shading around the crotch and abdomen based on position, as if the moon is above them, the part furthest from it will be the darkest. It's a good start but requires revisiting.

Cleaned up lighting, shading and added dirt and blood to the uniform.

Dirt and blood was relatively easy to add, blending a few shades of black, brown and red together in spots the uniform to really give the sense that he's been through it.

Also improved the helmet. Removed the puddle because I had a hard time figuring out how to make it look right at night. Attempted to "shade" the mound behind but I couldn't make it look right. Worked on the shadow being casted on the ground by the main soldier. Tried fixing the metallic card on the front with some more attempts at metal lighting, removed the lineart for it, but it still doesn't look great.

Removed the shading on the mound, didn't like it.

Shaded out the back two figures, highlighted the background soldiers and the main one, experimenting with a "spotlight" effect. to have the attention.

Removed the spotlighting for now and created a simple white border, the only thing breaching it being the metallic insignia at the bottom. Also worked on the type for magician, giving it a white border and reorganising the layout of the words, making THE much bigger, just to have the hierarchy of it feel better, filling the space within the medallion.

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catboii · 1 year ago

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((old and new progress shot

literally just tracing the old screenshot (with some adjustments) but this time I'm sticking to outlined bc lineless is just rly hard (I'm stuck in no real art style limbo) and this is too uhhhh what's the word. ambitious! yeah. way too ambitious. it was supposed to be a lineless experiment where I was ALSO trying to work out how to shade/colour with overlay or smth. but it was.... not going how I hoped.

I did kinda like how it was looking the last time I worked on it. I got quite a bit further than the screenshot I took. I did some experimental shading, had the other wing mostly coloured in and the tail blended. I think I even had some of the face defined somehow,,, I ALSO redid the feet like 5 times over bc I didn't like the way they were looking. but I lost the progress and only have the screenshot with the sketch layer turned on. so. trying to turn it into a positive, at least I can fix anything that was bugging me but I got too far to change c:

(there's also another screenshot, that I forgot to turn back on for the progress shot, of an even earlier face sketch that I liked better but it wasn't flipped and fixed so that's why it's a little wonky and needs fixing)

#ooc post.#.vat file #vatta doodles.#mun draws.#readmore.#there are some lines I need to erase obv but I needed to take a break so I decided I'd post a lil thing #it's face is so fluffy I love it #the ref is a Magpie Sphinx from Flight Rising #but I wanted to make it kinda blue instead of reddish idk lol #Communism's headbutting my hand bc he's hungry now ok dinner time for everyone!

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lemontartc · 2 years ago

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Rum Update #3

Okay I did layers 2 and 3 of her faceup today and more... learning experiences, lol.

Layer 2 was kind of a disaster. First, I definitely did too much shading/contouring on layer 1. I also did too much MSC (it was my first time spraying it, I had no idea what I was doing), and my droplet/blotting incident made one side streaky and trying to blend it out only made the splotchiness from the rough texture worse. I really like how the eyeshadow I did came out, but trying to blend the splotchy side of the face made it obviously darker than the other and in the end I... gave up. I tried to erase it, which made the splotchiness worse to the point I went scorched earth and got acetone. That was very touch and go and honestly I still haven't decided if that was a good or bad call. I think neutral because it kind of wrapped back around to where it started, meaning it's no worse but still a time waste. Anyway I washed the whole side away twice trying to make it less splotchy and match the side I liked more. I decided to go ahead and seal in what I had eventually because I needed the MSC back to give the clean side tooth again before I could try to build it up.

That took me about an hour. I let that sit for half an hour before going in for layer 3, which took me about an hour and a half. That one went... better, although the left side of the face still has enough splotchy/streakiness that all the undoing kind of felt pointless, especially since it made her eyeshadow suffer on that side too and I really like how it looks on the "good" side.

I was getting nowhere with her yellow eyes on the orange vinyl until I remembered you can wet the watercolor pencils to get more color and that helped with payoff. Unfortunately, I don't have the reds and oranges I need to pull off my plan, and I'm honestly not sure how possible it is without paint, but I locked in my base colors and I plan to go back for one last layer fixing up the lips and brows (they're only loosely sketched in rn) and adding the highlights and details into the eyes as much as possible. She's also supposed to have a soft white stripe down the center of her face that I tried to do but really doesn't show up on camera so I'm trying to decide if I'm leaving that as is or going to try committing more to it.

Here she is right now. Behind her is my original plan for her faceup. Color is a little blown out from my lighting but she's coming out way better than I worried she might! I was afraid I'd be terrible at this and I think I'm just learning right now and it'll get way better with practice :) I'm planning to change the black stripe placement to cover up some of the stripey/splotchiness on her left cheek (you can't really see it head on, just from that side. Unfortunately my doll shelf is positioned so that's the side facing me in the room). I'll bust out paints for the stripes and probably - eventually - use them on the eyes too, I just don't have any right now. I was waiting to see how I liked this and if pencils were enough before spending more money but I'll definitely be doing more of these so it's worth it lol.

#custom: rum #wips #og

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starstofillmydream · 1 year ago

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I'm so behind on my comments and reblogs I'm so sorry 😅

The tension interspersed in this chapter is unmatched.

I felt so stiff and on edge in Kazi and Magistrate Aro's conversation, Kazi and Neyti's encounter when Kazi picked her up from school, and Kazi, Neyti, and the commanders' interaction back at the house. It momentarily dissipated when Kazi's past was detailed, but it cut right back to the tension immediately. Brilliant!

Having attended the University of Cybersecurity and Analytics on Ceaia, Kazi graduated in the top three percent of her class. Professor recommendations and near-perfect test scores earned her a position at Ceaia’s top-clearance security bureau. There, she worked as a military analyst: data collection, research, analysis, dissemination. She worked with some of the Outer Rim’s best analysts and agents.

An educated queen 😌 I also love how quickly Kazi can counter Wolffe in an argument, especially in volatile topics like Imperial politics and philosophical debates. I could never—I'd be way too intimidated haha.

This line in particular struck me:

One of the most surprising, and frustrating, difficulties about being a caregiver was her inability to intervene and fix each problem through logic. Logic relied on rationalization and problem solving, and it allowed an individual to retain control over a situation. There was a reason Kazi studied analytics in school and was good at it. Logic was her strong suit.

I've told you this on multiple occasions, but I LOVE Kazi as a character. You're challenging stereotypes of FMCs with her by giving her traits that are typically heralded as "masculine" (even though, in reality, they are not exclusive to just men): stoicism, focusing on logic, physical and mental strength, assertive. It's incredibly refreshing—and I've come to notice that her and Wolffe are two sides of the same coin. They are both unrelenting and guarded and I always look forward to them interacting because of their quick instances of verbal sparring that cut deeply. The argument at the end of this chapter is a perfect example of that!

“Why doesn’t your kid talk?”

DAMN. Wolffe's lack of filter literally makes me anxious. Like a bomb was dropped in the middle of a conversation that no one can take back or forget, even if they tried.

“How was school?” Commander Cody asked. The openness on his face, and the kindness in his tone, made Kazi grimace.

Sweet Cody 😭 I don't know what is going to happen to him over the course of this story but I hope he gets all the good things.

Scratching the top of her head, Neyti considered her for a long moment. Her eyes darted to the sketch. She lifted it, tongue poking out the corner of her mouth, most likely imagining the sketch placed on the fridge. Neyti smiled. A small, toothless smile. But a smile, nonetheless.

This warmed my heart too 😭 Something as seemingly trivial as putting her artwork on the fridge made her brighten with a toothless smile just makes me happy. Just the imagery of a little girl with a toothless smile is so CUTE.

I'm continuously impressed by your worldbuilding and how intricate the lore is behind Ceaia and Eluca and their politics. It's so intriguing and adds a beautiful layer to the story.

My thoughts were all over the place lol but this story just makes my thoughts incoherent because there's just so much cool stuff to talk about and unpack and analyze 😌 incredible job as usual, Alli!

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter III

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers.

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 5.7K

Beta. @starstofillmydream

23 Nelona

One-hundred kilometers from Hollow’s Town, the Security Institute of Eluca was located in the heart of the capital. Kazi landed the job through Fehr’s connections. She was more than qualified for the job; however, a government application required listed experience. Experience she couldn’t admit to.

Four years at the Bureau prepared her for the most classified military projects.

Until the Purge.

Revealing any connection to Ceaia’s government—admitting to her work experience—was a direct path to an ISB interrogation. And subsequent imprisonment. Possibly execution.

So Kazi relied on Fehr’s connections. She completed ten interviews, passed the analysis and mental tests, headed a small project, and soon found herself working for the Security Institute as a data analyst for Imperial exports. Specifically, she was tasked with tracking exports within Veridian Sector’s military bases to ascertain stolen goods.

It wasn’t until two weeks before the clones’ arrival that Kazi learned why Fehr had paid special attention to her.

The rebel network wanted people inside as many Outer Rim governments as possible. Kazi was Fehr’s—and by extension, the network’s—best chance at an Elucan spy with access to Veridian Sector confidential data.

Fehr convinced her the job was fairly safe. Expectations were simple: report any suspicious government activities, important security decisions, persons of interest, and, when able, retrieve necessary intel and/or scrub incriminating data.

The latter part of the job was the most difficult. The first time Kazi scrubbed intel she spent ten minutes retching in the ‘fresher. Endangering herself meant endangering Daria and Neyti.

Now, she regretted it. Regretted the decision to seek aid from the network in order to evade Imperial capture, and regretted the decision to scrub data from Imperial records.

Shifting in an uncomfortable wooden chair, Kazi assessed the bare office. Plain white walls. Windows to her left overlooking Canopis. Dark gray buildings built from stone. Kilometers of jungle expanding to the horizon.

The lack of intrigue inside the superior’s office shifted her attention back to her worries. She replayed the three instances in the past month she had scrubbed or stolen intel.

Bypassed security clearances, offline cams, reconfigured data to appear untampered. She was careful, methodical, in her approach.

Someone must have discovered her, though. It was the only explanation for this surprise meeting.

The door behind her swished open and Kazi stiffened. Rising to her feet, she mustered an easy smile and then froze. A human man—someone who was not her superior—strode inside.

“Ms. Kazi Lucien?” the man asked.

Over the months, she had grown accustomed to the fake last name—the name she gave the network to protect her identity. She extended a hand. “Yes, sir.”

The man smiled—a disarming smile bracketed by bright white teeth that belied the deadness in his eyes—as he accepted her hand. “Magistrate Aro.”

Dumbstruck, Kazi could only shake his hand. His palm and fingers were cold, his skin dry and smooth. Symbolic of a life behind a desk rather than the typical farm or mining work expected of most Elucans. Then again, this was Magistrate Aro, a native to Eluca Moon One.

The magistrate settled himself behind the polished wooden desk, waving for Kazi to sit. Adorned in a purple robe with black-and-white hair mussed stylishly, the magistrate was charismatic and good-looking. And yet he was commonly disliked by Eluca’s locals.

Three years ago, Eluca fell victim to a global plague. More than half of the small population died, leaving the planet vulnerable and weak. Eluca Moon One took advantage of the planet’s momentary weakness to initiate one of their own as interim magistrate. Due to government subsidies and a general inability to resist, the remaining Elucans begrudgingly accepted the term.

They hadn’t known “interim” would lead to permanency.

Skin gold and eyes pale gray, Magistrate Aro carried himself with a confident aura that bordered self-absorbed. Like a macaw—chest puffed in a show of domination and pride.

Kazi gleaned from the locals in Hollow’s Town that the magistrate’s greatest fault was his immigration status. He lacked Elucan culture and tradition. He lacked their devout loyalty. He was too brash in his political endeavors, and too impulsive in his decision-making. His refusal to sanction local holidays as paid time off convinced most of their dislike.

With a probing look, Magistrate Aro gestured to the bar behind his desk. “Would you care for a drink?”

Kazi fixed a polite smile on her face. “I’m fine, thank you.”

The magistrate poured himself a glass—recently imported wine from Alderaan, if the tag were to be believed—and then sat back in the ornate seat, crossing an ankle over his knee. He swirled his wine while regarding her.

Did the magistrate suspect her of stealing intel? If he did, why would he meet her without security?

“I reviewed your file,” the magistrate said. He arched a brow in friendly curiosity, and yet Kazi noted the subtle shrewdness in his gaze. The slight tilt of his head as he assessed her. It set her on edge. “You immigrated here back in Kelona?”

Political coyness was not her forte, but years training to be a socialite had taught her the art of masking. So Kazi forced herself to relax in her chair. “I did. Eluca is a lovely planet. I’m glad to be here.”

The magistrate nodded, taking a sip from his wine. “And how would you describe your time here? Has it met your expectations?”

It was obvious the magistrate wanted her to elaborate on the locals and her interactions with them, perhaps as a result of his paranoia. Her mind betrayed her focus, though. Her thoughts shifted to the past month and her cohabitation with the clone commanders.

Kazi thought that first day would be the last time Commander Wolffe interrupted her morning routine. She was wrong.

Sometime after her morning swim, when she was showering, Commander Wolffe appeared in the kitchen. He sat in the same stool in nearly the same outfit—white work shirt exchanged for gray or black—and was always drinking a cup of caf. A dark roast.

They never exchanged a greeting. Kazi pretended he didn’t exist while she prepared breakfast for herself and Neyti, and Commander Wolffe ignored her, opting to read his datapad as he sipped his caf. And while he was distracted, she quickly yet politely ate her porridge.

However, as she washed dishes or prepared Neyti’s lunch beside the sink, curiosity encouraged her to peek at the commander’s datapad. Each morning contained something new. Files on military strategy and battle tactics. News updates across the galaxy. Manuals on ship parts. Schematics detailing a prison. They were files she expected a soldier to read.

One morning, about four weeks ago, she snuck a glance at his ‘pad and did a double take. He was reading an article on adolescent mental development. The subject was so surprising she didn’t look away in time. Commander Wolffe lifted his face, found her blatantly staring at his ‘pad, and scowled.

That morning, he finished his caf at the wooden table in the backyard.

True to her routine, Kazi relied on the HoloNet news reports to fill the silence between her and Commander Wolffe. More often, pieces of news caught her or the commander’s attention. Whenever he found her staring intently at the flatscreen, he commented on the subject. His comments weren’t something she could ignore: blunt, cynical. He seemed to comment simply to make her respond.

And she did. Because she had to explain why his opinions were objectively inaccurate.

Their arguments vacillated between the niche and the extremes:

Would a new emperor prove a more benevolent ruler?

What qualifies as a just war?

Is the Empire’s current existence sustainable?

Does military might guarantee ultimate success?

How does morality play into lawmaking?

They spent one morning debating the merits of Empire-controlled pharmaceuticals and healthcare. The commander argued it would prove ineffective, and increase dependency on the government. He further argued the government couldn’t be trusted to provide effective healthcare to every species. Ultimately, the Inner Rim would retain priority.

It was one of the few times Kazi agreed. So she remained silent, her pride unbent.

Another morning they argued the legality of tracking. Kazi argued it an invasion of privacy. Commander Wolffe argued the placement of tracking beacons in a public space negated the law of privacy, and he further argued security a more pressing concern than protection of privacy.

Rolling her eyes, Kazi said it was an ethical dilemma, and to her surprise, the commander agreed. But it was a pointless argument. The Empire neither respected civilian privacy nor abided by ethical deliberation.

From their debates, Kazi mentally constructed a character profile of Commander Wolffe.

He…confused her.

The commander clearly didn’t like her and yet he joined her every morning.

He didn’t trust the network and yet he ran operations out of her house.

He thought rebellion was pointless and yet he rescued deserting clones from the Imperial military.

He scorned absolute authority and yet he defended the Republic’s position on the Clone War.

She wasn’t the only one forming a profile. It was clear from pointed questions and probing comments that Commander Wolffe was studying her. Testing her.

She only hoped she was as unsolvable as he was.

The other clones were less enigma and more intrigue.

Commanders Cody and Fox were civil whenever Kazi interacted with them. The former was the friendliest—in a subdued manner—and he didn’t shy from engaging Kazi or her sister in small conversation.

The latter was reserved, though his quiet was more contemplative rather than mistrustful. Kazi came across him twice in the sunroom, whittling a piece of wood into an intricate carving. He merely nodded at her but she could tell her presence unsettled him.

Most weeks the clones were gone for days at a time. They returned from their missions with only a handful of deserted soldiers. Those soldiers recuperated for a day or two and then left.

Interactions were rare. When the commanders were recovering from their missions, they kept to themselves. Most nights they played card games and drank at the outside table.

Kazi knew little of their daily habits considering her work schedule, but Daria had mentioned the clones spent little time at the house, returning from day-long hikes sweaty or from the Marketplace with groceries.

Their daily activities were odd. Normal. She thought, since they were soldiers, they would spend their recovery hours doing soldiery things.

Their habits bamboozled her, and a piece of her wondered if her perception of the clones was inaccurate. Possibly skewed. The thought troubled her, and so she paid more attention to the commanders. Analyzed them like she would her intel.

Her assessment revealed one common denominator: the clones were weary. They hid it well. Reddened eyes, lined foreheads, burdened shoulders. Small ticks most people would overlook.

But Kazi saw the strain—she recognized the hollow look in Commander Wolffe’s eyes each morning. She knew it well. It was the same look she saw every time she stood in front of a mirror.

Cohabitation was easier for her sister. Ever the kind and gentle host, Daria developed an easy rapport with the new soldiers. Neyti, on the other hand, remained shy and suspicious.

One morning, Commander Wolffe retrieved a cup from an upper cabinet, offering it to Neyti. She glared at him. And then, with a determined scowl, she climbed onto the counter and grabbed a new cup. A cup with a different color and pattern.

Child-like wariness aside, Neyti was curious. She might have glowered when the clones attempted to engage her, but she spent most interactions studying them. Gray eyes narrowed shrewdly. Nose scrunched in deep thought. Kazi wanted to pick her mind on her observations but Neyti’s refusal to speak made it impossible.

“My time here has been easy,” Kazi answered the magistrate.

The magistrate took another sip from his wine. “When you think of Eluca’s future, what do you imagine?”

Kazi frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“Come now, Kazi.” She didn’t like the sound of her name on his lips, and she didn’t like his knowing smile. “Humor me.”

“I imagine a future…of peace and justice, security for the people,” she said slowly. “A future based on advancement—”

Magistrate Aro snapped his fingers. “A future based on advancement. Spectacular.” His smile widened, like a cave grinning open, eager to swallow sailors astray. “We want the same thing, you and me. We want Eluca to rival the other planets in our galaxy—we want Eluca to stand above all else. We are the future of the galaxy’s success and prominence.”

Voice rising in feverous passion, Magistrate Aro leaned across the desk. “Can you see it? The future where Eluca is no longer considered a measly backwater planet? The future where Eluca is the most advanced and well-bred planet in the Outer Rim? The future where Moff Harpy and her sycophants bow their heads to me, in reverence and respect?”

Kazi bit the inside of her cheek to hide her shock. She had heard the rumors of the magistrate’s paranoia—heard the rumors of his delusions and greed—but she hadn’t realized the severity of it. His current political position proved his cunning nature, and with too much power, he could pose a threat to the rebel network, to Eluca, at large, and even to her and her family.

The magistrate paused his speech. “Well?”

Kazi blinked. “I’m not sure—”

“Can you see it?” The question was sharp, underscored by a hint of distrust bordering suspicion.

“Yes,” she answered. The lie was smooth, buttered with a cold smile. “I can picture it easily.”

The magistrate held her gaze, body tautened from leaning so far forward, and then he exhaled, settling back into his chair. Good-natured suave replaced fervent greed.

“The future we imagine is being threatened.” Magistrate Aro set aside his wine and steepled his fingers together. “Poor leadership, rebel scum, ineffective political backstabbing. I have a vision for Eluca but this vision can shatter too easily if it’s not properly protected.”

Feigning sympathy, Kazi nodded in agreement.

Magistrate Aro eyed her. “The Elucans lack proprietary for their future. They are too localized and culturally aligned; their traditional sentiments prevent them from being assets to the Empire. Do you know what worries me?”

Before she could answer, the magistrate continued, “Local disgruntlement. Their grumblings foster rebellious behavior, and rebel existence on Eluca would hinder our desires for security and peace.”

Kazi internally scoffed. Rebel existence would ridicule the magistrate’s rule. Make him look incompetent and weak. His self-effacing behavior was a politician’s façade to disguise megalomania.

“I fear rebel sentiments have infiltrated our ranks.”

A spike of fear punctured her lungs and it took effort to remain still. To force her features into confusion and surprise.

Did he suspect her? Was this the purpose of the meeting?

“Are you certain?” Kazi asked.

“Unfortunately.” Magistrate Aro shook his head, false disappointment belied by the vexed glint in his eyes. “The Elucans are an untrustworthy bunch.”

It took a moment for Kazi to realize his unspoken intent. He didn’t suspect her. Rather, her immigration status made her desirable. Someone he believed he could trust.

Political backstabbing was rampant among Imperial ranks. Most Imperial officials maintained high-levels of secrecy to achieve greatness, and to protect their backs from their supposed allies. They were, after all, motivated by the same things: money, power, recognition.

“Have you seen anything of suspect?” the magistrate asked.

Kazi pretended to think, her eyebrows stitched together and lips pursed. She started to shake her head. “I haven’t noticed anything.”

A flicker of disappointment crossed his face. “Rebel activity is increasing across the Outer Rim. Outright terrorism in some places. I am committed to eradicating rebellious sentiments. I can rely on you to keep your eyes open?”

One of the reasons the Empire succeeded in authoritative control and subsequent oppression of the people was its fearmongering.

Fearmongering allowed the Imps to uncover legitimate rebels more easily. And could easily turn a population against certain ideologies. It also convinced the people to turn on one another.

Rumors were ubiquitous and truth difficult to determine. People were scared, and to protect themselves and their loved ones, they turned on neighbor. Or coworker.

It was easier to betray a stranger than endanger your partner, or sibling, or parent, or child.

“I’ll do my duty,” Kazi answered. She brushed her clammy palms down her trousers, prepared for the meeting’s conclusion.

“One last thing”—the magistrate leaned back in his chair, his smile sly—“I am increasing your duties of responsibility. You will remain on your current team, tracking exports, but I want you to split your time on a separate project. A confidential project.”

Nonplussed, Kazi cocked her head to the side. “What type of new project?”

“It shouldn’t be too difficult for someone of your caliber.” The magistrate slid a datastick across the desk. “I want you to analyze the desertion of clone troopers.”

Kazi tensed.

The magistrate gestured to the datastick. “You have the necessary records there. I want you to track the locations of desertion, the timeframes. See if there are any patterns.”

“Is this sanctioned by Moff Harpy?” Kazi asked casually, pocketing the datastick.

“It’s our secret.” The magistrate winked. “Can you handle it?”

Aware of the subtle threat in the magistrate’s question, Kazi grinned. “Patterns are my specialty, Magistrate.”

Hollow’s Town boasted a population of five thousand. It was one of a dozen towns that survived the epidemic, and both population and workforce were booming.

Primarily an agricultural-based town, the community was convivial. Helpful and close-knit. Outsiders, though, were ignored. Kazi didn’t mind. The Marketplace vendors were always nice to her, and she didn’t care enough to make friends.

Her only concern was Neyti.

Hollow’s Schooling One—a primary school for younglings aged five to ten—was one of two primary schools in Hollow’s Town. Located on the west side, and therefore the closest to the house, Hollow’s Schooling One enrolled roughly 150 students. In Neyti’s class: 30 students.

School started at the beginning of the year, in Elona. Neyti arrived a month late, and, as a current six-year-old, was placed into a class full of students who spent the year prior together.

Kazi worried about Neyti: lack of friends, bullies, loneliness, schoolwork. The last point wasn’t too much of a concern. Neyti was studious, and her grades reflected her hard work.

However, there were times Neyti struggled with her homework. Instances when she threw her stylus at the table and stomped to her room. Instances where she didn’t understand a problem and her lower lip started to tremble. She never asked for help.

Kazi had two theories. One, Neyti preferred to solve problems on her own. Or, two, Neyti didn’t know how to ask for help, and/or was too afraid to do so. It left Kazi feeling incompetent.

So she made sure each evening, after dinner, to work at the kitchen table while Neyti completed her schoolwork. To help, in case the need arose.

But Kazi couldn’t help Neyti at school. She didn’t know if Neyti had friends, and any related questions were met with silence and an embarrassed shrug.

But younglings were driven by emotions. And Kazi couldn’t force other younglings to like Neyti. She would, if she could.

Having left work early and after warning Daria she was picking up Neyti, Kazi arrived at the small school. Low-squatting and built from a mixture of dark wood and gray stone, the school sat alone on its street.

An elaborate playground bordered the school. Twirly slides, rows of swings, monkey bars (it wasn’t uncommon to find native monkeys swinging from the bars), balance beams, climbing walls, and ziplines interrupted the swath of cleared jungle. Younglings overflowed the playground. Like ants to an anthill.

Kazi scanned the area for Neyti. A few youngling girls close to her age sat in a circle beneath a shade cover, braiding one another’s hair and giggling. Neyti wasn’t with them.

Frowning, she perused the climbing walls, then the slides, then the balance beams. Finally, her gaze landed on the swings.

Seated on a swing, alone, was Neyti.

Kazi winced and quickly made her way toward the swings. She had suspected Neyti would have difficulty making friends—the little girl’s refusal to speak probably isolated her from other students—but a part of her had hoped for a better outcome.

Originally, Kazi theorized Neyti didn’t speak because she didn’t understand Basic. She theorized Neyti learned the Ceaian tongue. A language only a couple hundred people spoke, and the first language she learned.

But the first time Kazi tried to speak to Neyti in the Ceaian tongue the little girl had merely blinked in bewilderment.

It wasn’t until Neyti’s biweekly therapy sessions with a grief and trauma counselor—therapy sessions Kazi attended to make sure Neyti didn’t accidentally mention Ceaia or other incriminating information—that she learned Neyti’s silence stemmed from the trauma of losing her mother.

According to the counselor, Neyti would speak when she felt safe enough to do so. And so far, she hadn’t. It was something that bothered Kazi late at night.

“Neyti.” Kazi stopped a meter away and waved.

Neyti lifted her face, gray eyes wide in shock. Dark brown eyebrows knitted together and she glanced behind Kazi, looking for something.

“Daria isn’t here,” Kazi said. She hadn’t considered the possibility that Neyti didn’t want her here. “I decided to pick you up. I… I hope that’s okay.”

Neyti scrunched her nose in deep thought and then shrugged.

Kazi’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Are you ready—”

“Ms. Lucien?”

Tensing at the familiar voice, Kazi schooled her features into professional politeness and turned around. “Teacher Jaci. Did you need something?”

Ivory skin offset by black hair styled in soft waves, Teacher Jaci wore the same ingenuine smile she had worn the first day Kazi met her. Her smile shifted, though, into a frown of insincere confusion. “I wanted to remind you about the kids’ field trip next month.”

Bewildered, Kazi slid her eyes to Neyti. The little girl was staring at her shoes, shoulders curled inwards, cheeks darkened.

“You haven’t signed up for it,” Teacher Jaci continued. “Can we mark you as an expected absentee?”

Expected absentee.

The words echoed in her head. A taunt growing louder and stronger.

Kazi fisted her hands behind her back. “What date is the field trip?”

“The fourth of Helona.” Teacher Jaci retrieved a flimsi sheet from her satchel and handed it to her. Lowering her voice so that Neyti couldn’t hear, she said, “If you are unable to make it, perhaps Neyti’s father can.”

Kazi gripped her wrist harder. “He’s not in the picture.”

“Aw.” The teacher smiled sadly at Neyti. “That does not surprise me.”

With that, Teacher Jaci strolled away.

For a quiet minute, Kazi stared at the flimsi sheet, the words blurred and incomprehensible. When she lifted her gaze to Neyti’s face, she found the youngling scrutinizing her. The moment their eyes met, Neyti looked at the ground, toeing a patch of grass, her tiny hands clinging to a sketch Kazi hadn’t noticed before.

“So,” Kazi said softly. “A field trip, huh?”

Unmoving and unspeaking, Neyti blinked her apprehension.

Kazi looked toward the sky—afternoon blue, wooly clouds adrift—and breathed in slowly. Neyti didn’t owe her. If she didn’t want her on the field trip, then she would respect Neyti’s wishes.

Releasing her breath, Kazi took a tentative step toward the neighboring swing. The seat squeaked beneath her. Wrapping her hands around the chains, she stared at the swarming playground.

“Why didn’t you tell me about the field trip?”

Silence met her question and Kazi lowered her gaze to her neighbor. Neyti gulped, eyes rounded in guilt.

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to go—” Neyti shook her head. Adamantly. Kazi frowned. “You want me to go with you?”

Mouth opening, Neyti hesitated. She searched Kazi’s face, desperate but guarded, and with the barest dip of her chin, she nodded.

Kazi bumped her knee against Neyti’s. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”

Abashed, Neyti cast her eyes downward and toed the ground again.

“Did you think I would say no?”

Another small, nearly imperceptible dip of Neyti’s chin.

Guilt thrummed beneath her skin and Kazi tapped her foot against the ground. “I want to go. If you’ll have me.”

Neyti nodded eagerly.

Smiling to herself, Kazi dropped her gaze to the sketch in Neyti’s hands, perusing the colors and shapes.

A dark blue ocean washed across the page. Tiny sailboats raced among white waves, their sails painted an assortment of bright colors. A single sun glistened in the sky. A face smiled on it. Gray clouds were reminiscent of—

“Is that…” Kazi leaned toward the sketch. “Did you draw Ceaia?”

Neyti ducked her cheek into her shoulder.

“I didn’t know you like to draw,” she remarked.

Shrugging, Neyti traced the arcs of the white waves.

Kazi leaned back in the swing, staring blankly at the small youngling beside her.

She should have known. A real parent would have known; a better caregiver would have known. Neyti had been in her care for three months—98 fucking days—and she didn’t know the little girl liked to draw.

It was a failure on her part. And she despised failure.

From a young age, Kazi worked hard to excel at everything. Difficult school courses demanded hours dedicated to studying the subject until she perfected it. Two points missed on a test earned her teasing remarks from her parents. She was expected to make top grades, and her parents were proud of her. She couldn’t disappoint them.

When she did fail, as was inevitable, it bothered her late at night. Like a terminal disease, unwilling to die and incapable of prevention.

Kazi clenched the swing’s chains until her palms grew numb and her fingers hurt.

“We can hang it on the fridge.” Her voice was lower, hoarser, and she mustered a smile when Neyti stared at her dubiously. “What do you think? Can we hang it up?”

A small, toothless smile. But a smile, nonetheless.

Disgruntled voices greeted Kazi and Neyti as they stepped into the house. Shoes shucked off and backpack haphazardly tossed onto the stairs, Neyti led the way into the kitchen.

The voices quieted. Kazi eyed the card game at the kitchen table. The three clone commanders were joined by two clones Kazi hadn’t met. They gave her skeptical looks, eyes narrowing at the sight of Neyti. Kazi let her gaze wander between the commanders—Cody to Fox to Wolffe. The latter was lounged back in his chair, gaze on her face.

A pan of cooling vegetables revealed Daria’s recent departure. She was most likely in her garden.

“How was school?” Commander Cody asked. The openness on his face, and the kindness in his tone, made Kazi grimace.

For some reason, the commander tried hard to engage Neyti and gain her trust. Unfortunately for him, Neyti was too proud. She refused to bend.

Case in point, Neyti halted before the fridge, a scowl marring her features. Her nose wrinkled. The look she shot Commander Cody was both indignant and unapologetic.

Deciding the commander was undeserving of Neyti’s disdain, Kazi intervened. “Neyti has a field trip in a few weeks.”

The little girl threw her a betrayed frown. Kazi gave her a pointed look and Neyti huffed her irritation.

Easing the sketch from Neyti’s hands, Kazi grabbed a handful of magnets from a broken drawer, and slid the picture onto the larger of the fridge’s door.

“Where’s the field trip?” Commander Cody asked conversationally.

“The Museum of Nature and Science.” Kazi looked to Neyti, and with the youngling’s nod of approval, she snapped the magnets in place. “I heard they have a new exhibit about Eluca’s role during the Clone War.”

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she glanced over her shoulder. Commander Wolffe had wandered into the kitchen. He stopped at the sink to fill a glass of water.

“I wasn’t aware Eluca played a role,” Commander Cody said.

“They didn’t.” Kazi stepped back from the picture. It was crooked and she made to correct it, but Neyti’s satisfied nod convinced her to leave it. She returned her attention to the commander. “Eluca wasn’t militaristically or politically strategic. Which is why the Empire won’t establish a significant Imperial presence here.”

“You don’t think the Empire will move in soon?”

The voice behind her startled enough she recoiled. Commander Wolffe gave her an unimpressed look, leaning against the opposite counter. The space between the two counters—the sink and the bar versus the fridge and oven—seemed more cramped with his imposing frame in it.

“I don’t.” She widened her stance, crossing her arms over her chest, prepared for whatever argument the commander was sure to initiate. “Eluca provides nothing of value. The Empire can rest happy knowing Eluca is technically conquered—”

A tap on her arm drew her attention and she found Neyti holding a bag of crisps. A question wrinkled her forehead and Kazi nodded. Neyti disappeared upstairs, the crinkle of her crisps masking her silent footfalls.

“Speaking of the Empire”—Kazi lowered her voice; the game commenced and quieter arguments broke out—“I had a meeting with the magistrate. He has intel on clones deserting from military bases in the Outer Rim.”

Commander Wolffe stilled, former apathy shifting into concern and then wariness. “The magistrate told you this?”

She nodded.

“Why would he tell you that?” The commander pushed off the counter, mirroring her stance. “I thought you were a low-level analyst—”

“Who said I was low level?”

Commander Wolffe rolled his eyes. “Why would a planetary magistrate meet with you?”

Barely concealed derision laced his words together and Kazi stiffened. It didn’t matter she had asked the same question hours ago—before she learned Magistrate Aro’s intent—but the suspicion in the commander’s gaze, his clear disdain for her, incited a sharp flare of anger.

“It’s no concern to you,” she said calmly. A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I only mentioned it to give you a warning.”

“You’re helping us now, is that it?”

“If you’re caught, you could rat us out.” He scoffed and she gritted her teeth. “I’ll do whatever is necessary to protect Neyti and my sister.”

“Why should I believe you?”

Kazi dug her fingernails into her arms. “I know you only care about yourself, Commander, but your carelessness can endanger my—”

He scoffed. “I’m not careless. Our missions are strategized to the most minute details and—”

“I don’t care about your missions. I care about my sister and Neyti.” Her voice tightened. “I’m giving you a warning and you’re dismissing it like it’s nothing—”

“Tell me why the magistrate informed you of this,” the commander demanded. “Does he suspect you?”

“No. He wants me—” Kazi cut herself off, considering the blatant mistrust in his face. If she revealed Magistrate Aro’s project, Commander Wolffe would assume the worst of her. And she wasn’t in the mood to be questioned or ridiculed.

“I don’t care if the Empire discovers me,” she said. “But I won’t endanger Neyti and Daria.”

Something—perhaps understanding—rippled across his features.

“Be more aware of your surroundings,” she concluded. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Tugging on one of her braids to dispel her jitters, Kazi made to leave.

“Why doesn’t your kid talk?”

The question was so unexpected she froze. Commander Wolffe was staring at the sketch on the fridge, arms still crossed over his chest, his brows drawn together.

Kazi didn’t immediately respond. The answer to his question was weighted in trauma and history she preferred the clones didn’t know, and it would provide too much insight. Not only to Neyti, but also insight to her.

Commander Wolffe’s annoyed curiosity by her presence—his too-personal questions in the morning—led her to believe he was searching for a weakness. A weakness she never wanted him to discover.

His gaze flitted in her direction. He arched a brow. The simple gesture made her spine straighten.

“The therapist she sees blames it on grief,” she said. A frown marred his features. “Losing a parent is hard. Much less watching them die.”

A blink was his only sign of surprise. “You’re not her mother.”

“Her mother asked me to watch over her.” She held his gaze, her stomach coiling with unbridled tension. “She didn’t make it. Because she was shot. By one of the Empire’s clone troopers.”

His reaction was immediate. Stiffening posture. Clenching jaw. Inscrutable emotions crossing his face before settling into a hard, stony mask.

Kazi looked at the sketch. Tiny figures manned the sailboats.

In Traditionalist Ceaian culture, learning to sail was a rite of passage. Navigating a storm and returning a boat safely to harbor proved a juvenile was prepared for the trials and challenges of adulthood. Everyone in the harbor celebrated the success.

Kazi wondered if Neyti had ever sailed.

Far from land. Wind in her hair. Salty breeze in her face.

She knew the little girl would love it.

But the opportunity would never arise. Neyti would never learn to sail. And she would never see her mother again.

Kazi turned away, murmuring to the expressionless male beside her, “Good evening, Commander.”

A/N: Next chapter release – January 25th

Star Wars Time Measurements:

1 day = 24 hours 1 week = 5 days 1 month = 35 days 1 year = 10 months

Masterlist | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4

#fanfic recommendation #commander wolffe x kazi ennari #commander wolffe x oc #i yearn and so i fear #alli 🥰

28 notes · View notes

glowingbadger · 4 years ago

Note

Okay, so I had a thought for our dear fox boy, Kurama.... Imagine, "trying" to tease him by going down on him only to suddenly switch it up and go down on you instead, especially when you least expect it as revenge. You're on the phone with your best friend and suddenly he's there between your legs, but you can't say anything or let your friend know.

Oh-hoo, a most excellent concept, friend- and actually plays into a couple things I've written about Kurama before too, so I guess I should have seen this coming xD

Also this all just reminded me that I HAVE to do some sketches of the YYH boys in late 90's fashion. Ugh, what absolute icons.

Kurama (YYH) x AFAB Reader

NSFW 18+ v

Kurama's hair splays out across the pillow, making him look for all the world like a lounging ingenue in a romantic painting. Still, those emerald eyes level on you with a sharp cunning that tells you clearly where you stand. He wears a subdued smile that someone who didn't know him might find pleasant, charming- but you know what the grin of a fox spirit really means.

"Feeling rather bold today, aren't you?" he says, his tone light and conversational, even as your hands run down his chest and the toned contours of his abdomen from atop his clothing.

"Well, it doesn't seem fair for you to call the shots all the time," you reply from your position straddling his hips. You like to think you sound the part of the confident seductress, but your heart leaps every time you meet Kurama's calculated gaze. You may be in the "dominant" position, but you know you haven't nearly tamed him. For now, you'll just have to try to push him a bit further.

You kiss a slow and deliberate path down the center of his torso, undoing the buttons of his shirt one-by-one, and revelling in the feeling of firm muscle shifting and flexing at your touch. Kurama lets out an openly pleasured sigh, and doesn't shy away in the slightest as your hands reach the front of his jeans. With a playful little hum, you run your hand up along the bulge of his stiffening cock beneath layers of fabric. Very subtly, his hips shift up towards your touch, and you bite at your lip as your eyes flicker up to his yet unreadable expression.

"You must be much more sensitive than you let on, Kurama," you tease, tracing his length with a single finger, "You're already this hard, after all."

Just as you'd started to feel sure of having the upper hand, he props himself up on an elbow to observe you between his thighs. One hand reaches down to caress your cheek, ending at your chin, where his thumb runs the curve of your lower lip.

"Of course I am," he replies bluntly, "It's only natural when I desire you so ardently. Besides," he goes on, his grin curling into a smirk, "If your aim is retribution for all that I've done to you, then I imagine I have quite a thrilling evening to look forward to."

So much for flustering him, or even just getting him to act a little bit shy. Your cheeks burn hot, and you mumble,

"Should have tied you up. And gagged you, while we're at it."

"Hm. Perhaps you should have," Kurama replies casually.

This bastard. Is it really this impossible to gain the slightest bit of ground on him?

Impatient for results, you undo the front of his jeans, and tug them down with his boxers, freeing his impressive member from its confines. Kurama continues to watch you comfortably as you take the base of his cock in hand and slowly drag your tongue up the underside of his shaft. You can feel it twitching and swelling in your hand, hardening to its full size before too long. Frankly, you've half a mind to climb onto his lap and ride him then and there. He does so love to tease you- the chance to have him now without the usual exercise of restraint is undeniably tempting. For the time being, you satisfy yourself with gently licking and kissing his twitching manhood, letting the warmth of your breath and fleeting touches gently stimulate him.

He is clearly enjoying himself; aside from the soft murmurs of pleasure he grants you as your tongue circles the crown of his cock, his direct gaze hasn't wavered for even a moment. Still propped up above you, he absently strokes your hair in one hand as half-lidded eyes watch your attempts to provoke him.

"You mean to tease me, I see..." he says softly, his tone only hinting at his amusement. Even better concealed is the heady arousal building at his core- his desire to break this arrogant facade you've put on, to see you crumble back into obedience at his hands.

And as if by divine providence, his opportunity arrives.

The phone at the bedside table rings, and you pause to glance up at Kurama. Only the glint in his eye hints at his plan at first- but then, as you watch in disbelief, he picks up the phone before it's finished its third ring. He sits upright as he greets your friend on the line, and your body feels hot and cold all at once.

"Hm? Oh, yes- right here, in fact. One moment."

Kurama meets your eyes with a smirk and offers the phone to you with his hand cupped over the receiver. Your face is burning red, and you grumble near inaudibly,

"No fair!"

He gives a short laugh, tucking away his still-hard cock and then fixing his clothing with his free hand as he says,

"I apologize if I have ever given you the impression that I am 'fair' by nature." All at once, he catches you around the waist and pulls you down onto your back on the bed. You resist crying out in surprise, if only because when you look up at him and see the smouldering heat in his eyes, your breath catches in your chest. Then, without a word, he hands the phone to you. Biting nervously at your lower lip, you take it from him, clear your throat, and say,

"He-hey! How's it going?"

Your friend immediately launches into an excited ramble about the finale of a show she's been following obsessively for the last year and a half. Honestly, you should have expected this call- stupid of you to think you'd have the evening free with the finale airing. As she goes on about how "so many of her predictions were dead-on," Kuramas hands run indulgently down the contours of your body. Your heart races, and you can't help tensing, arching up against him just a little. Then, he's working your pants down off your hips, and you give him a pleading look that he meets like a stone wall.

"-- I mean, can you believe it?! It's like, exactly what I said would happen!!"

"Yeah, that's, uh," you struggle to keep up, but your eyes are fixed on Kurama lowering himself between your bared legs, "that's pretty wild..."

With a placade grin on his face, he kisses a trail down the inside curve of your thigh, his touches delicate and yet unreserved. Your eyelids flutter half-shut, but you force yourself to- more or less -follow the thread of your friend's rant. That is, until you feel the sting of Kurama's teeth at the soft flesh far up the inner curve of your thigh. He sucks a dark love-bite to your skin- one that you know will remind you of his presence there for days to come. Still, you manage to camouflage your gasp of shock and pleasure into a sudden cough.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, totally! Sorry, don't mind me- go on!" you babble out your reply in a hurry, knowing you won't be able to trust your voice when Kurama continues this torment. He chuckles silently behind his hand, and you pout uselessly at him. Rather than acknowledge this, he refocuses on his task as the phone rant continues. You do your best to keep a consistent stream of "Oh, yeah?" and "Wow, crazy!", all while elegant fingers spread your lower lips and warm breath teases your over-sensitive body. Then, without warning, his tongue glides firm across your aching clit. Your thighs twitch in around his head and you arch up from the bed.

"Woa--! That's... incredible!" you translate the gasp you desperately want to let out into a perhaps overly-enthusiastic reply. Fortunately, your friend is too caught up in her finale recap to police her own excitement, let alone yours. Still wearing that cocky smirk, Kurama pushes his hair back behind his ears, then returns to tease your clit with the tip of his tongue.

He doesn't let up after this, and frankly, your impulses are torn. Part of you wants to be as subtle as possible, to silently endure the slow, luxurious movements of his lips and tongue pulsing against your cunt and stiffened clit. Another part of you- the part you're fighting to subdue -wants to grab onto that silky red hair and grind against him, to rush yourself to your climax and to spare yourself further torture. But you and Kurama both know you won't be able to keep quiet if you do. So you fuss anxiously with the phone's tangled cord, shifting and squirming on the bed beneath him and biting back pleasured gasps and whimpers.

Your legs are trembling around him and you're positively soaked with your arousal and his saliva. Leaning back on the pillow, you scrunch your eyes closed and take a deep breath.

"Oh- you remember that one voice actor I told you about?"

"Yeah, uh," you struggle to pull your thoughts together, but Kurama nudges the flat of his tongue rhythmically against your clit, and your body is begging for release, "This show... was his first big on-screen thing, right?" you manage to choke out. As though pleased by your performance, your lover gives a soft hum that sends his breath fluttering over your vulnerable skin, then presses more firmly into you. His skillful tongue teases your entrance for a moment, rubbing into you while your muscles tighten, instinctively longing for friction, for something inside, for something to cling to. You're panting silently, biting at your finger to keep quiet while your friend tells you all about her latest celebrity crush.

So close. You're so dangerously close to the rush of your climax. But you hold on, every inch of your body aching with need and restraint. Kurama can obviously sense the desperate state you're in, and you know that he's savoring it. And yet, when you glance down to watch the erotic movements of his mouth, the way his eyes devour you, the way his hands grip at your hips- you realize that you don't have it in you to care about your pride anymore.

"Anyway, they're airing an interview with the cast soon, so I gotta go so I don't miss it."

The words are a beacon of hope, and while your friend apologizes for cutting out so suddenly, you assure her again and again that you don't mind.

"Really, you should... go- uh, go enjoy the thing!"

Kurama's lips seal around your clit and the dearly sensitive surrounding flesh. His tongue flicks across the hard little bundle over and over, his hands firm at your hips, holding you strictly in place. He's not holding back anymore. Your eyes roll back and your body burns, but you keep yourself silent. Just a little longer. Don't let him make you cum- not yet. He feels too good- and you know he wouldn't care if you screamed his name for your friend or anyone else to hear.

"Oh, also, we should totally grab coffee or something soon!"

"Yeah- that sounds really good-!" your back arcs up from the sheets.

"Cool! I'll call again soon, byeeee!"

You hear the click of the receiver on the other end. Your arms go limp, dropping the phone to the floor. Kurama leans over you, pushing himself against you while his tongue works your clit and you gasp aloud for him.

"Kurama! Ohhh... Oh, God- I'm-!"

A tingling, sparkling wave of pleasure explodes from your core and rushes across the surface of your skin. You can't remember the last time you came this hard, and you imagine Kurama can feel what he's doing to you. Your taste coats his tongue, one shaky hand weaves your fingers through his hair as your hips buck towards him. With one last desperate cry of his name, you relax back onto the bed, your boneless limbs making you feel like a puddle of mindless bliss.

Panting, practically gasping for breath, your unfocused eyes gaze up at the ceiling as the last tremors of your climax pass through you.

"Haa... Mm, Kurama..." you whimper out as he places one last kiss to your now soaked folds.

He crawls up atop you, and a gentle hand turns your face to him. His smile is warm and openly affectionate, and he caresses your cheek like a groom at the altar. Looking at him now, it's hard to imagine he's the same man who just put you through that unique form of torture. You're still catching your breath, and when he kisses you with all the tenderness in the world, you can hardly even reciprocate.

"Well done, my love," he says at last, "Do you think you can continue to behave for me tonight?"

Some distant part of your mind realizes that you've been manipulated- that he's utterly dismantled your attempt at dominance. You should be frustrated. You should try to regain the upper hand and show him that he doesn't always gets to be in control. Instead, your half-lidded eyes meet him and you murmur,

"Yes... I'll be good..."

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