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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 3 days ago

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Polyjuice Potion | Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Part Two

← Read Part One

Back by popular demand! I was actually laughing while I wrote this so I hope y'all do too. This is so fucking silly bahahahah poor sebastian. except not really at all, it's so fun torturing him HAH

I will add as an aside, that since this is set in fifth year, I won't be doing a part three since I never write intimate scenes between characters unless they are 18+. Thanks for respecting this boundary!

Words: ~5,800

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, No Hogwarts House, Humor

Sebastian Sallow was going to die.

He was sure of it. Whether by expulsion, an arranged marriage, or sheer embarrassment, his demise was imminent.

The rest of the day had been a blur. He barely absorbed a word of his lectures, nearly set his robes on fire in Potions, and had been so lost in thought at lunch that he nearly took a bite out of his goblet instead of his sandwich.

He was spiraling.

He replayed the conversation with Black over and over, trying to decide which part had been the most damning. The secluded alcoves? The suggestion of a scandal? The casual mention of a baby?!

But the worst part—the part that made his stomach twist itself into impossible knots—was the marriage comment.

A proper arrangement. Ensuring the integrity of all involved parties.

Sebastian could barely breathe just thinking about it. Would Black actually force him into it? Could he? He still wasn’t sure what the school’s policies were when it came to these things.

And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that he couldn’t even properly deny Black’s accusations.

Because you had been sneaking off together. And it had been improper. Very improper.

Sebastian ran a hand down his face.

Merlin’s bloody beard.

What if Black had proof?

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited so violently at the thought that he nearly tripped over his own feet.

No. Absolutely not. He wasn’t ready to even think about that.

Sebastian needed to talk to you. Immediately.

You were the only other person involved in this mess—aside from the bloody headmaster—which meant you were his only hope of figuring out how deep this disaster went.

Did Black speak to you? Did he give you the same accusations? Did he mention marriage?!

Sebastian stormed through the halls, half-aware of students and portraits giving him odd looks as he passed. His usual easygoing confidence was nowhere to be found. He was on a mission.

When he finally spotted you sitting in the Great Hall, completely at ease, not a single ounce of concern on your face, he nearly collapsed with relief.

Then he narrowed his eyes.

Why were you so calm?

How were you not losing your mind over this?

Unless…

Oh, no.

Maybe Black hadn't spoken to you yet. And if you didn’t know yet...

Sebastian’s breath caught.

He was going to have to break this humiliating, horrible, life-ruining news.

And there was no dignified way to do it.

Taking a steadying breath, he strode up to you, his pulse hammering in his throat.

“Hey,” he greeted, voice as casual as he could make it.

You turned to him with an easy smile. “Hey.”

Sebastian stared at you, waiting—praying—for some sign of recognition. Some hint that you already knew what he was about to say.

But you just looked at him expectantly, utterly unaware of the existential crisis unfolding inside him.

His stomach sank.

Oh, fuck. You really don’t know.

Sebastian swallowed, suddenly unsure how to even begin.

“So,” he started, voice tight. “How was your day?”

You blinked at him. “Fine. Yours?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Could’ve been better.”

You hummed, tilting your head at him. “Oh? Something on your mind?”

Sebastian just stared.

Something on his mind? Something on his mind?!

Did you have any idea the kind of mental gymnastics he had been performing all day?

He dragged a hand through his hair, forcing his voice to stay even. “Did… Black speak to you today?”

You blinked, brow furrowing. “The Headmaster?”

“Yes.”

Your frown deepened. “Why would he?”

Sebastian’s pulse spiked.

Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck, oh, fuck—

“Well.” He exhaled sharply. “I don’t know. But he, uh, might’ve mentioned you.”

You tilted your head, expression unreadable. “Oh? And why would he do that?”

Sebastian felt sick.

“That’s… not important,” he muttered. “Did he seem… suspicious of you?”

You shrugged. “Not that I noticed.”

Sebastian’s stomach was in knots. “Right. Right. That’s good.”

You studied him, your expression flickering just slightly—too observant.

“Why?” you asked, ever so innocent. “Did something happen?”

Sebastian let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Happen? No, no, nothing happened, just that the bloody Headmaster of Hogwarts apparently thinks we’ve been—”

Your brows lifted, lips twitching in a way that made him deeply uneasy.

“Been…?”

Sebastian groaned, resisting the urge to physically collapse.

“Black thinks we’ve been sneaking off to do improper things,” he muttered, low and fast.

Your lips parted slightly. “What would give you that impression?”

Sebastian scowled. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said flatly. “Maybe the fact that he directly accused me of it. And then had the audacity to start talking about marriage.”

You made a strangled noise.

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. Had you just laughed?

No. No, surely not—

You cleared your throat. “And what did you say?”

Sebastian let out a sharp breath. “I—I denied it, obviously! But he just kept pushing, talking about consequences and reputation and—”

He was spiraling again. Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out:

“Look, I swear I would never ruin your future like that—unless you wanted me to, I mean—wait, no, that's not what I meant, just that—”

Sebastian froze. His entire life flashed before his eyes.

Your expression barely wavered. Barely.

But he saw it.

The flicker of amusement. The way your lips twitched. The way you were struggling— visibly struggling—to hold back laughter.

Sebastian’s stomach dropped. His entire body went rigid.

“What?” he demanded.

You shook your head too quickly. “Nothing.”

“No. No, not nothing.” He studied your face closely. “You’re enjoying this!"

You shrugged, playing innocent. “Enjoying what?”

Sebastian groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Merlin, I’m going to lose my mind.”

You just patted his shoulder. “Sebastian… we have been sneaking off to do improper things.”

Sebastian swallowed, hard. “Yes, well—” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat violently. “That’s— I mean— Not that I— We weren’t—”

You grinned. “Oh? What was that? We weren’t what?”

Sebastian’s brain short-circuited. His entire spine burned, every memory of exactly what the two of you had been up to flashing through his mind at lightspeed.

The Undercroft. The hidden corridors. The darkened corners of the library. The breathless, desperate whispers beneath the canopy of the Forbidden Forest.

And now Black was onto him.

Sebastian groaned, gripping his hair. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake—this isn’t funny!"

You beamed at him. “It’s a little funny.”

“It’s not.”

“It is.”

Sebastian dropped his hands, exhaling sharply. “I hate you.”

You giggled. Actually giggled. “No, you don’t.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw. He was so close to losing his mind. “I might.”

You patted his cheek. “Keep telling yourself that, darling.”

Sebastian froze. You had never called him that before. His entire body locked up. His thoughts derailed completely.

You, unbothered, turned on your heel and started toward the entrance of the Great Hall.

Sebastian stared after you, unmoving.

It took him a full five seconds to realize he was still standing there, completely useless, thoughts looping in an endless, embarrassing cycle.

And then, as if his day couldn’t get any worse—

A voice drawled behind him.

“Well. That was painful to listen to.”

Sebastian whipped around.

Ominis stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his usual neutral expression tinged with something suspiciously close to amusement.

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face as he stumbled toward the nearest bench and all but collapsed onto it. He slumped forward, resting his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the ground as if he could will himself out of existence.

Ominis, still wearing that annoyingly neutral expression, walked over at a much more measured pace and lowered himself onto the bench beside him.

Sebastian exhaled sharply, rubbing his temples. “I don’t get it.”

Ominis hummed, tilting his head slightly. “That’s hardly a surprise.”

Sebastian scowled at him. “I mean her.” He gestured vaguely toward the exit, where you had disappeared moments ago, completely unbothered by what should have been a catastrophic situation.

“She’s amused,” Sebastian muttered, half to himself. “She’s enjoying this. Why?”

Ominis considered for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. “Well,” he said, his voice slow, patient—annoyingly reasonable—“to be fair, you did a terrible job explaining why this is an actual problem.”

Sebastian blinked at him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis turned his head toward him, a single brow arching. “Think about it. You just ambushed her out of nowhere, looking like a deranged madman, started rambling about Black and improper behavior, and then, instead of clearly conveying the very real threat to your future, you panicked so hard that you practically proposed to her.”

Sebastian groaned again, louder this time. “That is not what happened.”

Ominis smirked slightly. “That is exactly what happened.”

Sebastian waved a hand, desperate to move past that particular humiliation. “Fine, whatever. But she should still be worried. Black is onto us. He’s already talking about arranged marriages—”

“Is he?” Ominis interrupted, ever-so-slightly skeptical.

Sebastian gawked at him. “You were there! You heard him!”

Ominis inclined his head slightly. “I was there, yes. But let’s be rational about this, Sebastian.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, great, here comes the ‘rational’ lecture.”

“You and her have been sneaking off together, and to the best of your knowledge, no one has caught you. And then, suddenly, Black of all people, corners you, accuses you, and starts spewing about ‘respectable arrangements’ without a shred of actual proof."

Sebastian frowned. “What's your point?"

Ominis tilted his head slightly, replaying the conversation in his mind. “I mean that Phineas Nigellus Black has never once given a single damn about student affairs. Not once in the years we’ve been here. He barely even tolerates his job as it is. And yet today he suddenly decides to take a keen interest in your extracurricular activities? And not just an interest, but one so pressing that he practically corners you in broad daylight and starts talking about marriage?”

Sebastian frowned deeper, his hands resting on his knees. He hated to admit it, but… Ominis had a point.

“That does seem… uncharacteristically involved of him,” Sebastian admitted, chewing his lip.

Ominis nodded once. “Exactly. It’s suspicious.”

Sebastian shook his head, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But maybe—maybe, I don't know, maybe Garreth ran his mouth in the vicinity of a Professor and it got back to Black?”

Ominis considered this for a moment, then shook his head. “If that were the case, it still wouldn’t explain his reaction. He’d have let that Professor handle it, or sent you a warning through a letter—he wouldn’t waste time personally terrorizing you.”

Sebastian exhaled sharply. “So what are you saying, then?”

Ominis’ brows furrowed slightly. “I’m saying something about this doesn’t make sense.

Sebastian frowned. “Maybe not, but he is an odd man. Who knows what goes on in his head.”

Ominis was silent for a long moment, then—slowly, so slowly—his lips curved into something dangerously close to amusement.

“Oh, this is good,” he murmured, tilting his head as though savoring the realization.

Sebastian snapped his head toward him. “Excuse me?”

Ominis let out a short breath—not quite a laugh, but something suspiciously close. “Oh, come now, Sebastian. Think about it. There’s no way it was actually Black. He knew far too much about the specific details of your late night rendezvous. The only logical conclusion is that someone must have impersonated Black. Someone who knows you. Obviously one of our friends went through the absolute ordeal of brewing a Polyjuice Potion just to terrorize you.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “He did know a lot about where precisely we’ve snuck off to… the library, hidden alcoves...”

“Exactly,” Ominis said, clearly entertained.

Sebastian growled in frustration, pushing off the bench to stand. His blood was boiling. Ominis was right.

The fucking audacity.

His mind raced, already running through the short list of people who were both deranged enough and competent enough to pull this off.

And one name immediately shot to the top of his list.

“Garreth.”

Ominis, still looking entirely too pleased, lifted a brow. “Hmm?”

“It’s got to be Garreth.”

Ominis exhaled, leaning back slightly against the bench. “And what, exactly, makes you so certain?”

Sebastian threw out a hand. “Are you kidding? He’s been up my arse all week, badgering me for details about—” He cut himself off.

Ominis smirked. “About?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “About… things.”

Ominis’ smirk deepened. “Oh, I’m well aware of your things, Sebastian.”

Sebastian groaned. “Shut up.”

Ominis hummed, utterly unbothered.

Sebastian paced in front of him, hands in his hair, his entire body tense with fury.

“I’ve been telling him way too much,” Sebastian muttered, seething. “I knew I shouldn’t have let my guard down. But he kept asking, and I figured, what’s the harm? It’s not like he’d—”

He stopped short, realization hitting him like a brick.

“…Wait.” Sebastian’s eyes widened. “That absolute MENACE.”

Ominis lifted a brow. “What?”

Sebastian turned back to him, looking truly unhinged now. “He’s been gloating about a new potion all week.”

Ominis’ smirk vanished.

Sebastian pointed at him, vicious with victory. “He said—and I quote—‘Oh, it’s a special project. I’ll tell you about it when the time is right.’”

Ominis actually winced. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Sebastian mimicked, mocking. “Oh? Yeah, Ominis, oh. The bastard’s been cooking up a Polyjuice Potion for weeks, and I didn’t even see it. I played right into his hands. Merlin’s beard.”

Ominis considered this for a moment. Then: “That’s… actually quite impressive.”

Sebastian nearly exploded.

“DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!”

Ominis snorted. “Oh, come on. You have to admit—it’s kind of brilliant.”

Sebastian whirled back around, pacing furiously. “I’m going to kill him.”

Ominis chuckled.

“No, I’m serious,” Sebastian hissed. “I am going to personally, violently, and enthusiastically end Garreth Weasley’s entire bloodline.”

Ominis shook his head, but he was clearly entertained.

Sebastian’s mind was already racing with vengeance. Garreth wanted to play games? Fine. Sebastian would play. And Garreth Weasley was about to regret every single life choice that had led him to this moment.

Headmaster Phineas Nigellus Black had many regrets in life.

Taking the position as Headmaster of this cursed institution was certainly among them.

There were only so many years a man could tolerate insufferable teenagers, incompetent professors, and Ministry interference before he began to wonder whether he had been cursed by some malevolent higher power.

And now—now—on top of it all, he had to deal with this.

He had been enduring—not enjoying, enduring—his evening tea in his office when Professor Sharp casually mentioned something that instantly ruined his entire day.

“So. About this marriage arrangement of yours.”

Black had, understandably, nearly choked to death on his own tea.

Sharp, ever unbothered, merely watched him struggle, raising a single brow in mild disinterest.

Black coughed violently, pounding a fist against his chest, before spluttering, “My WHAT?”

Sharp had the audacity to look unimpressed.

“I assumed it was a joke,” he said, calm as ever. “But it’s already making the rounds among the students, so I thought I’d ask before it reaches the parents.”

Black stared at him. It took an impressive amount of effort for him not to throw something.

“…Please explain,” he said through gritted teeth.

Sharp tilted his head. “There’s a rumor circulating that you threatened Sebastian Sallow with an arranged marriage.”

Black froze. The words did not compute.

“What.”

Sharp, utterly unconcerned, took a sip of his tea. “Something about improper behavior, a scandal, and the need for a ‘respectable arrangement.’”

Black’s eye twitched.

“Why,” he began, voice tight, “would I ever, in any universe, concern myself with the sordid affairs of adolescent imbeciles?”

Sharp exhaled, as if he, too, was burdened by the weight of other people’s idiocy.

“That,” he said, setting his tea down, “is an excellent question.”

Black rubbed his temples. He had much better things to do than play wedding officiant to a bunch of lovesick idiots. Which meant someone—some absolute fool—had used his name in vain.

And Black was going to find out who.

“Summon Weasley,” he snapped.

Sharp inclined his head. “Garreth or Matilda?”

Black paused. Then, slowly, a deep sense of dread filled him.

“…Both,” he muttered.

And thus, his investigation began.

Garreth Weasley was about to have a very bad day.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Currently, he was completely at ease, perched on the edge of a courtyard fountain, chatting animatedly with a group of Hufflepuffs. His hands were moving wildly, eyes bright with mischief, completely unaware that his life expectancy had just significantly shortened.

Because Sebastian Sallow was on the warpath.

With Ominis reluctantly trailing behind him, Sebastian marched across the courtyard, his eyes locked onto his target like a predator about to tear its prey to shreds.

“Garreth Weasley!”

The Hufflepuffs startled.

Garreth turned his head, blinking in surprise as Sebastian stormed toward him, seething with righteous fury.

“Ah, Sebastian,” Garreth greeted, flashing his usual easy grin. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Sebastian didn’t stop until he was right in front of him, glaring so hard it was a miracle Garreth’s hair didn’t catch fire on the spot.

“You know damn well why,” Sebastian growled.

Garreth blinked. “...I don’t, actually.”

Sebastian leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Drop the act, Weasley. We know.”

Garreth, to his credit, didn’t falter.

“Know what, exactly?” he asked, tilting his head.

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, don’t play dumb. You used a Polyjuice Potion to impersonate Black and humiliate me,” he snapped. “Admit it.”

Garreth’s brows lifted. “I did what?”

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. “Oh, don’t.”

“I’m serious,” Garreth said, now actually looking intrigued. “Someone turned into Black? That’s brilliant.”

Sebastian made a noise that was not human.

Ominis sighed. “Garreth, please. Just confess so Sebastian doesn’t do something regrettable.”

Garreth scoffed. “You think I’d waste a whole month on a potion just to mess with Sallow?”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“YES.”

Garreth paused. “…Okay, fair. But I didn’t.”

Sebastian stabbed a finger into his chest. “You’ve been asking questions, Weasley. About—about my, my nightly... routine. And— and gloating about a special potion.”

Garreth looked entirely too delighted. “Wait, someone impersonated Black and then they interrogated you about your sex life?”

Sebastian’s rage doubled. “I’m going to strangle you.”

Ominis rubbed his temples. “Sebastian, perhaps—”

“NO.” Sebastian cut him off, eyes still locked on Garreth. “I am not leaving until this idiot admits—”

“Mr. Sallow.”

A new voice. One that sent an icy chill down all their spines.

Sebastian turned slowly.

There, standing just a few feet away, expression unreadable, was Professor Sharp, and beside him, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line, was Professor Weasley.

Then, after a long pause, Sharp spoke.

“Well,” he said dryly, eyes flicking between them. “It seems you’ve come to the same conclusion as the Headmaster regarding who exactly impersonated him this morning.”

Sebastian froze.

Sharp’s gaze shifted.

To Garreth.

The Gryffindor, who had been watching the exchange with mild amusement, suddenly looked deeply alarmed.

“What?” he said, blinking rapidly. “No, no, no. I didn’t—”

Professor Weasley let out a heavy sigh. “Garreth.”

Garreth turned to her, eyes wide with betrayal. “Aunt Matilda, I swear, I did not—”

“We’ll discuss it in the Headmaster’s office,” she said firmly.

Garreth’s jaw dropped. “Are you serious?! I had nothing to do with this!”

Professor Weasley exhaled, rubbing her temples. “Garreth, it’s always you.”

Garreth threw out his arms. “That’s unfair!”

Sharp arched a brow. “Is it?”

Garreth opened his mouth, paused, then scowled.

“…A little,” he muttered.

Professor Weasley stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Garreth’s shoulder.

“Come along,” she said, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Garreth whirled on Sebastian. “I hope you’re happy, Sallow!”

Sebastian blinked. Was he happy? Garreth was being dragged away, right in front of him. He should have felt vindicated. Should have felt relief.

Instead—

There was a deep, sinking dread curling in his stomach.

Because Garreth’s arrest was not the problem. The problem was the real Headmaster now knew about all of this.

And Sebastian was still very, very screwed.

As Garreth was pulled away, still pleading his case, Sebastian stood there, motionless, watching his chance at containment disappear before his eyes.

Ominis let out a slow breath.

“Well,” he murmured. “That didn’t help at all, did it?”

Sebastian’s stomach churned.

“…No.”

No, it did not.

And little did Sebastian and Ominis know, you had been listening the entire time.

And it was glorious.

You had been casually passing through the courtyard—entirely innocent, of course—when you had spotted Sebastian storming toward Garreth like a vengeful wraith.

Naturally, you had done the only reasonable thing and tucked yourself behind a nearby pillar to observe.

And Merlin’s beard, was it worth it.

Sebastian, red-faced and seething, had all but shoved his accusations down Garreth’s throat.

Garreth had been just as bewildered as expected.

And Ominis? Ominis had just stood there, his entire existence radiating exasperation.

You’d had to bite your knuckles to keep from laughing.

Then came the real highlight—Professor Sharp and Weasley arriving just in time to drag Garreth away.

And Sebastian? He wasn’t relieved.

Oh, no.

If anything, he looked even more panicked, and you had to physically restrain yourself from cackling out loud.

As the crowd dispersed and Sebastian muttered something about heading to the Undercroft, your mind was already racing.

You had one last dose of Polyjuice Potion.

And you were going to use it well.

Sebastian and Ominis walked briskly through the halls, heading toward the passage that would take them to the Undercroft.

Sebastian was still fuming.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered under his breath. "What if the real Black actually agrees with Garreth’s idiotic ramblings and—"

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Sebastian, I highly doubt the Headmaster is actually considering an arranged marriage for you.”

Sebastian threw out his hands. “Are you sure? Because I’M NOT.”

Ominis pinched the bridge of his nose. “For the last time, Black does not care.”

“You don’t know that,” Sebastian shot back. “What if he decides to make an example of me? What if this turns into some grand moral statement about propriety?”

Ominis snorted. “Phineas Nigellus Black making a moral statement? That would imply he had morals to begin with.”

Sebastian hesitated. “…Okay, fair. But still—”

A voice cut through the corridor.

“Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian stopped dead.

Ominis visibly tensed.

Both of them turned.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, arms folded behind his back, expression severe, was Headmaster Black.

Or at least, who they assumed was Black.

Sebastian felt every last ounce of his blood drain from his face as the Headmaster took slow, deliberate steps toward them, gaze piercing.

“I have been informed,” he said, voice low and authoritative, “that you took justice into your own hands this afternoon.”

Sebastian’s stomach plummeted.

Ominis stood unnaturally still, as if movement might invite further scrutiny.

“That is—” Sebastian stammered, “I was just—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut up.

“As I was saying,” the Headmaster continued, voice measured, “It is not your place, Mr. Sallow, to interrogate your peers. Confronting Mr. Weasley? Threatening him in front of witnesses?”

Sebastian’s blood ran cold.

“That’s not—I didn’t threaten him, I just—”

Black tilted his chin downward.

Sebastian closed his mouth.

“Since you are so concerned with matters of conduct and discretion,” Black continued, “I think it only fitting that you learn about them properly.”

Sebastian blinked.

“Sir?”

“You will come with me to Professor Ronen’s office,” Black declared, “where you will complete a ten-foot essay on—”

Sebastian braced himself.

“—Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Sebastian stared.

Ominis made an awful noise, half-choking, half-suppressing a laugh.

Sebastian’s brain shut down.

“What.”

Black did not waver.

“You heard me, Mr. Sallow.”

Sebastian gawked at him. “You—you cannot be serious.”

“I am always serious.” Black’s voice brooked no argument.

Sebastian sputtered. “Sir, this is completely unnecessary—”

“Oh?” Black arched a brow. “Would you rather I speak with Professor Weasley about additional disciplinary measures?”

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good,” he said crisply. “Now, off we go.”

Sebastian gritted his teeth, threw one last murderous look over his shoulder at a still-chuckling Ominis, and stalked off after Professor Black, who continued his merciless monologue.

“…lack of discretion, lack of foresight, lack of even the most basic self-preservation instincts,” Black droned, his tone a perfect balance of condescension and boredom.

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “Yes, sir.”

Black didn’t even acknowledge the response. “One might assume, given your track record, that you would at least attempt to be subtle in your misdeeds.”

Sebastian barely resisted the urge to fling himself out of the nearest window.

“Yes, sir.”

Black sighed. “And yet, instead of exercising the tiniest sliver of caution, you took it upon yourself to corner a fellow student and create a spectacle of your impropriety.”

Sebastian’s eye twitched.

“Yes, sir.”

Black hummed, as though unimpressed. “Honestly, Sallow, I don’t know whether to be more appalled by your recklessness or by your utter incompetence in getting away with it.”

“Yes. Sir.”

By the time they reached Professor Ronen’s office, Sebastian was seething.

Black didn’t even bother knocking. He simply swept inside, looking entirely too pleased with himself, and gestured for Sebastian to enter.

Sebastian dragged his feet as he stepped inside, his mood absolutely foul.

Professor Abraham Ronen looked up from his desk, his ever-cheerful expression brightening further as he spotted them.

“Ah, Headmaster!” he greeted, standing swiftly. “And Mr. Sallow. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“I require your assistance, Professor Ronen,” Black said smoothly, stepping into the room with the air of a man who had never known shame in his life. “Mr. Sallow has demonstrated a profound inability to conduct himself with even the faintest whisper of discretion.”

Sebastian wanted to melt into the floor.

Ronen’s brows lifted slightly. “Discretion, sir?”

Black sighed dramatically, as if personally burdened by Sebastian’s existence.

“Yes,” he said. “You see, I have taken it upon myself to educate young Sallow in the ways of proper decorum.”

Sebastian scowled. “That is not what happened.”

Black lifted a hand. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

Sebastian’s fury burned hotter. “No, but—”

“Then don’t.”

Sebastian bit his tongue so hard he nearly drew blood.

Ronen tilted his head, clearly amused. “And what exactly does this… education entail, Headmaster?”

“I am assigning Mr. Sallow a ten-foot essay,” Black said blandly, as if discussing the weather, “on Why One Must Be Discreet in Matters of the Heart.”

Ronen blinked.

Sebastian wanted to die.

“I would like you to supervise, Professor,” Black continued smoothly, “to ensure that Mr. Sallow completes his work with the appropriate level of… humility.”

Sebastian felt himself short-circuit.

Ronen was trying very, very hard not to laugh. “Oh, I would be honored.”

Sebastian whirled on Black, aghast. “Sir, please—”

Black lifted a hand.

Sebastian shut his mouth.

Black smirked.

“Good. Now, I expect this to be completed by this evening. Professor Ronen will be responsible for ensuring its quality, and I will personally review it myself.”

Sebastian groaned audibly.

Black tilted his head. “Was that a complaint, Mr. Sallow?”

Sebastian gritted his teeth. “No, sir.”

“Excellent.”

Black turned on his heel, his robes sweeping dramatically behind him as he made his exit.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Ronen let out a deep, satisfied sigh.

“Well,” he said cheerfully. “This is easily the highlight of my week.”

Sebastian glared daggers at him.

Ronen just chuckled.

“Now, now, Mr. Sallow,” he said, far too pleased with himself. “Take a seat.”

Sebastian huffed angrily and collapsed into the chair, arms crossed like a petulant child.

Ronen leaned against his desk, grinning. “So,” he mused. “Matters of the heart, hmm?”

Sebastian had never felt more humiliated in his life.

Which was saying something, considering he’d spent the entire day careening from one public disaster to another.

Late that night, you sat cross-legged on one of the worn couches in the Undercroft, a book balanced on your lap, pretending to be deeply engrossed in whatever passage your eyes were lazily skimming. Across from you, Ominis sat in his usual chair, his own book in hand, posture relaxed.

The two of you had settled into companionable silence, save for the occasional turn of a page and the steady sound of the flickering torches along the stone walls.

He had, of course, informed you—thinking you had no idea—that Sebastian had been assigned detention.

Though he had spared the details, he had smirked slightly as he’d said, “I’m sure we’ll both get an earful about it later.”

And oh, how right he was.

Sebastian was going to be livid. And you were going to have to try very, very hard to look appropriately concerned.

The entrance finally creaked open.

A familiar set of footsteps echoed through the stone chamber.

You looked up and nearly lost it.

Sebastian stood in the archway, fuming. His hair was a mess. His robes were askew. And his hands—oh, his hands—

You had expected anger. You had not expected him to look like he had crawled out of an ink well after fighting for his life.

Ominis, still not looking up from his book, greeted him far too calmly. “Sebastian.”

“I,” he seethed, glaring at nothing in particular, “am going to kill Phineas Nigellus Black.”

Ominis exhaled heavily, not even looking up from his book. “That seems excessive.”

Sebastian ignored him. He threw himself onto the couch beside you, huffing furiously. You had never seen him so pissed off. It was glorious.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing.

Instead, you blinked at him, feigning concern.

“Rough night?”

Sebastian turned his scathing glare on you.

Oh, it took everything in you not to crack.

“I had to write,” he growled, slamming a fist onto the armrest, “a TEN-FOOT ESSAY.”

You blinked innocently. “Oh?”

Sebastian threw up his hands. Ink smudged across his face.

“It was absolute TORTURE,” he ranted, pacing now, gesturing wildly. “Ronen wouldn’t let me leave until he was satisfied with it—AND I HAD TO READ IT ALOUD.”

Ominis inhaled sharply. Your lips twitched.

Then.

Ominis broke. The laugh that tore out of him was far louder than you had expected, his usually composed demeanor utterly shattering.

And now, with Sebastian’s utter misery in front of you, with Ominis losing his composure entirely, you couldn’t stop the wheeze that escaped, followed by absolute uncontrolled laughter.

It burst out of you before you could stop it, filling the Undercroft, your entire body shaking with mirth.

Sebastian whipped around, eyes wild with betrayal.

“YOU’RE LAUGHING?!”

You tried—oh, you tried—to compose yourself. But every time you thought you had it under control, you caught sight of Sebastian’s ink-stained hands, his utterly ruined dignity, the absolute rage burning in his eyes—

And you lost it all over again.

Ominis, already a goner, was curled forward, clutching his stomach, his laughter echoing off the stone walls.

Sebastian scowled so hard it could have cracked the very foundation of Hogwarts.

“You think this is FUNNY?” he barked, crossing his arms.

You gasped for breath, wiping at your eyes. “No—no, of course not.”

Sebastian glared. “Liar.”

You bit your lip, still grinning. “It’s just… I’m so sorry, Sebastian,” you said, completely unconvincing.

He jabbed a finger at you. “No, you’re not.”

You shrugged, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face. “Maybe a little.”

Sebastian groaned, dragging both hands down his face.

"It's—it's just—imagining your reading it aloud," you inhaled sharply as if you were dying for oxygen, "Matters of the Heart—"

You dissolved into laughter again, but Sebastian froze.

Stared.

Blinked.

Looked at his hands.

Then looked at you.

Then back at his hands.

Realization dawned on you. The laughter immediately died in your throat.

Fuck.

"I didn't tell you what the essay was about," Sebastian said slowly,

Your brain short-circuited.

Lie. Lie, quickly.

“Oh—uh—” You scrambled for an excuse. “I mean, it was—it was obvious, wasn’t it? What else would Black make you write about?”

Sebastian’s eyes darkened.

Ominis exhaled sharply. “Oh,” he murmured, realization dawning.

You clenched your fists. Shit.

Sebastian leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something smooth, silky, utterly lethal.

“You knew.”

It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. A verdict. A sentence.

You forced out an awkward chuckle. “Sebastian, come on—”

“You knew,” he repeated, glaring. "How did you know?"

Ominis made a noise of delighted horror. “Oh, this is about to be so good.”

You swallowed hard.

Sebastian was too sharp. Too quick. He was already piecing it together—his expression shifting from betrayal to slow, creeping realization.

“How did you know?” he demanded.

You sunk back into the cushions, hands raised in a feeble attempt at innocence.

“Sebastian—”

His brow furrowed. His eyes narrowed. And then, softly, dangerously—

“…It was you.”

Your breath caught.

Sebastian stilled.

Ominis gasped.

And then—

“IT WAS YOU!”

He knew.

Oh. Oh, fuck.

Your body tensed, preparing to run.

Sebastian saw it.

"YOU LITTLE MENACE!"

You yelped, narrowly missing his outstretched hand as you flew over the sofa.

“SEBASTIAN—WAIT—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the couch in pursuit. “YOU’RE DEAD.”

You sprinted, dodging past Ominis's chair, laughing too hard to breathe.

“You absolute menace!” Sebastian shouted, nearly grabbing your wrist. “YOU MADE ME THINK I WAS GETTING MARRIED.”

You shrieked with laughter. “It was a joke—”

“A JOKE?!”

You ducked behind a column, barely missing Sebastian’s grasp.

“Sebastian, listen—”

“NO.” He vaulted over the sofa, closing the gap. “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU.”

“I CAN EXPLAIN—”

“OH, YOU’D BETTER.”

“IT WAS A PRANK—”

Ominis, now fully invested, wiped tears from his eyes. “I have never been happier.”

Sebastian rounded the pillar. You darted left. He anticipated it. He grabbed at your wrist—

And this time, he caught you.

Momentum dragged both of you down, and you landed hard on the floor, pinned beneath him.

Your chest heaved from laughing too hard.

Sebastian, equally breathless, stared down at you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

The Undercroft was too quiet now.

You felt the weight of him, the warmth of his hands wrapped around your wrists, pressing into the floor on either side of you.

“…You’re in so much trouble,” he muttered, but his voice had dropping lower, rougher.

Your breath hitched. You weren’t laughing anymore.

Ominis, who had been utterly entertained up until now, cleared his throat loudly.

“Right,” he said flatly, dragging his hand down his face before heading to the door. “This is officially no longer my business.”

Neither of you moved. Neither of you breathed.

Sebastian’s fingers tightened.

Oh.

Oh, you were so screwed.

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kashverse · 1 day ago

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if there is one child that must be appreciated, it is latte. a good latte deserves cute latte art, just as much as you deserve to witness the absolute chaos that will unfold when you put your boyfriend and a delicate artform in the same room. because, naturally, you—being the genius that you are—decide that these two gifts to humanity must be combined. your boyfriend, with all his charm, skill, or in some cases, sheer unrelenting ego, should absolutely try his hand at making tiny, adorable masterpieces in steamed milk. what could possibly go wrong? …a lot. a whole lot. but you’re in too deep now. the class is booked. the milk is frothing. and your boyfriend? oh, he is about to take this way too seriously.

now, if there’s one thing sukuna cannot stand, it’s being patronized. and somehow, standing there, all six-foot-something, surrounded by people who gasp use stencils for their latte art makes him feel violently disrespected. oh, you think he needs this? you think he can’t make art out of steamed milk? please. his hands were carving flesh into art long before this instructor was even a twinkle in their ancestor’s eye. but if you thought he’d refuse to participate, you don’t know sukuna well enough. no, he takes this as a personal challenge. he learns. he perfects. and when he finally presents his latte art, it’s a perfectly detailed demon face, sharp-toothed and menacing. “oh, uh… cute pitbull!” you say, nudging him before the instructor has a heart attack. sukuna nods sagely. yes. pitbull. definitely. but when it comes to adults he despises? oh, he’s petty. that one customer who dared to critique his “overly aggressive aesthetic”? congratulations, buddy, you just drank a latte cursed with an ancient sigil. sukuna watches them sip it with a smirk, arms crossed, utterly delighted with his petty vengeance. “how’s the flavor?” he asks, smug as hell. the customer just blinks, confused. they’ll probably have bad luck for a week. or diarrhea. who’s to say?

choso, on the other hand, has an existential awakening. at first, he’s simply fascinated. art… can exist in coffee? he stares at the swirling crema, eyes widening as he processes this revelation. the instructor barely explains the basics before choso stands up, dramatically setting his cup down. “this,” he announces, “is a reflection of the fleeting nature of life.” people murmur in agreement, assuming he’s some kind of deep, artistic genius. but oh, no. he’s spiraling now. “you create it, admire it, and then—destroy it with a single sip. isn’t that cruel? isn’t that… life itself?” you have to physically drag him out before he turns the workshop into a philosophical symposium on the ephemerality of human existence.

geto, meanwhile, is here for a completely different reason. does he need to learn latte art? no. does he want to? also no. but can he use it for his own agenda? absolutely. he skips right past the cute heart and bear designs and learns how to write with milk foam. the next thing you know, you glance at his cup and see “JOIN ME” written in elegant cursive atop a matcha latte. “are you serious?” you ask. he just smiles.

“art is meant to convey a message.”

“your message is cult recruitment.”

“my message is inclusion,” he corrects. you have to sit him down and give him a long lecture on why recruiting followers through artisanal coffee is not ethical. he nods solemnly but then winks at the barista like you didn’t just spend fifteen minutes trying to knock some morality into him.

toji, on the other hand, is struggling. “this ain’t for people like me,” he jokes at first, grinning. but five lattes later, he is no longer grinning. his first attempt at a heart? roadkill. the second attempt? roadkill that got run over twice. “babe,” you say gently, looking at the cup.

“don’t,” he warns.

“i just think—”

“DON’T.”

legend says he’s still in the kitchen at midnight, aggressively steaming milk and muttering “stupid fuckin’ foam” under his breath.

meanwhile, gojo…is fighting for his life in this class. he learned latte art off of tiktok one time and now thinks he’s god’s gift to coffee. he enters the workshop smug, flicking his hair and winking at the instructor like he’s about to change the game. and for a while? yeah. he’s decent. he gets the basics down pretty quickly and flexes at every given opportunity. but then. then. some sixteen-year-old prodigy casually creates a mona lisa on their latte. gojo short-circuits. his hair literally stands on end. “this is war,” he mutters. and now he’s hyper-fixated on beating this kid at latte art, muttering “i’m the strongest” while aggressively swirling his milk foam.

but then, there’s nanami, the epitome of poise, precision, and patience. he treats the class like it’s an artform—because to him, it is. he listens intently, follows instructions meticulously, and in just one session, his latte art is restaurant-tier. and it doesn’t stop there. every morning, without fail, he hands you a latte with an intricate, handcrafted design. a heart. a tulip. one time, even a self-portrait. your local café is begging for you to convince him to quit his job and work for them instead. he refuses, of course. but now? well. you kinda can’t start your day without a perfect latte from nanami’s personal, high-precision coffee service.

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ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes · 16 hours ago

Text

Y/N lay on Peter’s bed, her head on his chest, legs curled up as she absentmindedly twirled a strand of his hair between her fingers. Peter, ever the affectionate one, played with the ends of her own hair, watching how it curled slightly at the tips.

“You ever think about moths?” she asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Peter blinked. “Uh. Like… in general?”

Y/N hummed. “Mhm. They’re just… so determined, you know? Always flying toward the light, even if it kills them. It’s kind of tragic. And poetic.”

Peter glanced down at her, mouth slightly open as he tried to figure out where this conversation was going. “I mean… yeah. I guess?”

“I wonder if they know,” she continued. “If they understand that chasing the glow means dying. Or if they just feel like they have to do it anyway.” She turned her head to look up at him. “What do you think?”

Peter pressed his lips together, inhaled, then exhaled through his nose. “I think…” He nodded a little, like he was pretending to consider it seriously, but she could feel the way his fingers momentarily paused in her hair. “I think I don’t think about moths this much.”

Y/N smirked, unbothered. “You should.”

Peter let out a soft laugh, moving his hand to trace circles on her back. “Should I?”

“Moths and people aren’t that different,” she mused. “Both drawn to things we can’t have, both chasing after something we think will give us warmth, even if it burns.”

Peter squinted slightly, finally setting his hand on her back, solid and grounding. “…Are you talking about college applications, or like… existential doom?”

She shrugged. “Little bit of both.”

He let out a breath, shaking his head. “You’re so weird.”

“You love it.”

“I do,” Peter admitted, smiling as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Even if I have no idea what’s going on half the time.”

Y/N let out a small laugh, reaching up to flick his nose. “You’re learning.”

“Am I?”

“Mhm.” She curled into his warmth, closing her eyes. “Maybe one day, you’ll be the one bringing up moths.”

Peter highly doubted that. But he would listen to her talk about them forever if she wanted him to.

Peter Parker with a lowkey weird girlfriend, youre always talking about bugs and death and life and just really deep stuff and he's just like "Mhm." as he nods and plays with your hair because he's a little weirded out because he's just a boy! he doesn't think this deeply on things! but he still loves you and wants to hear you talk <3

#peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagines #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel imagines #ellora.writes

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esamastation · 2 days ago

Text

Gamer girl gets transmigrated into a farm boy Chapter 5 [<<Prologue | <Chapter 4 || Chapter 6>>] Ao3 link

The rest of the day goes by much the same way it did in the game. They make their way back to the farm, where Van helps Mr. Gylcross unload his purchases and carry some of them to the barn and the rest into the house. Janelle welcomes them with a warm meal and freshly made batch of apple juice, made from, "Apples I picked myself just this afternoon!" as she says. It's delicious.

"What did you buy in town?" Josel asks as they eat.

"Nothing much," Van answers, and ain't that the truth. "Mostly I just looked around, took in the sights."

Josel hums. "Yeah, you haven't been to the town a lot, have you?"

"I guess not," Van agrees, thinking back to the player character's messy background as a hand on the Gylcross farm, and how it might be revealed here - if it even was.

"How did you like it? Did you see anything interesting in town?" Janelle asks curiously.

"It was fine. It was all pretty interesting," Van admits and takes a bite of bread, wondering if she made it herself.

The System journal had updated while he'd been in town, and going by its writing, it was the most amazing thing ever to happen to Katie. Most of the journal entry was her detailing every event that happened, but there were some interesting titbits in between, which Van had noticed but not really thought about at the time.

… Oh my god, the town looks exactly like it did in the game! Only now I'm seeing it all in first person! It's so wild. There's so much more people here than there were in the game, too - probably since the limits of rendering capacity have been thrown out of the window. Real world isn't held back by RAM. Hah.

Also? Kids. There are children here - and not just one-age-fits-all like in some games, no, there's older teenagers and younger teenagers, and I also saw a toddler in the marketplace - and I think one woman had a baby in a sling? A baby! Definitely didn't have any of those in the base game - not a single kid to be had in all of Age of Tales, except in pre-rendered cutscenes. I wonder if it's just for humans, or will we get to see dwarf or elf babies - I've never seen a dwarf baby, ever, in anything I've ever seen or played. Probably not elf either, unless it was like a half-human-half-elf situation brought forth by an illicit cross-species love story.

I wonder if Van can have babies - like, conceive them? I mean, there's romance in Age of Tales, such as it is. There's sex scenes and stuff. Can those now have, like, consequences? Does this world have contraceptives? Is that something that I have to now think about?

Van with a baby would be pretty cute, though. I wonder if I can somehow get him to hold a baby…

And that's where Van had to stop reading in order to preserve the delicate equilibrium of his mental stability.

"There were a lot of people in town," he concludes with a cough to clear his throat, and takes another sip of the apple juice.

Janelle gives him a sympathetic look. "Yeah, it's a bit different from how it's around here, huh?" she says and pats him on the shoulder. "I'm glad you had fun."

"Yeah," Van agrees.

By now he's kind of starting to feel the limits of Katie's social meter, though. She'd never been a particularly extroverted person, and while it's different inside a videogame… this isn't a game, not really. It's been a whole day of interacting with people and trying to figure things out, and Van is feeling mentally kind of worn down.

Plus, he's got an existential crisis scheduled up, and it's starting to feel kind of urgent.

"You mind if I turn in for the day, sir?" Van asks once he's done eating, turning to Mr. Gylcross. "I'm kind of tired."

"Of course, my boy. Just get Bell settled in for the night and get the cart in the barn," Mr. Gylcross says.

Thankfully, Josel has apparently done all other farm-related duties off screen. All Van has left to do is get the cart inside and Bell brushed up, fed, and settled in a stall, all of which happens by automation. Josel, who's got a more permanent berth in a little hutch next to the farmhouse, bids Van good night, and with some relief Van heads up to the hayloft.

There he lays down in the hay, mentally preparing to Think About Things and Handle Them… only to find his mind full of static. He needs to deal with the Realisation and he needs to come up with a plan for tomorrow, because there's a lot coming his way tomorrow.

And yet, even though he lies there for a while, staring at the ceiling, not a single coherent plan comes to mind.

Finally, Van gets up again and goes back down to get a bucket of water. It's not quite as good as a real mirror, but in a pinch…

His reflection is very faint on the water's surface, but he can just about see himself and make out his features. The caramel ice-cream hair is really not looking its best. It's curly in the game, kind of fabulous in a way that doesn't fit Van's body type at all - here it sticks every which way, unkempt and not exactly flattering.

No permanent magical hairstyling in real life, huh.

Combing his fingers through his hair to push it away from his face, Van turns his head this way and that, taking in his features again. The jaw, the cheekbones, the forehead - he really looks like he was drawn by a comic book artist. Except made real.

He's really - Katie is really in Van's body. This is Van, made flesh and blood. Well, he doesn't actually know if the body can bleed, but it probably does. It gets hungry and thirsty. And, judging by the feel of things right now, it also needs to relieve itself. Which is… another thing he hadn't been thinking about.

Sitting on his knees for a moment, Van weighs the oncoming mental health crisis against probably mortifying body function weirdness and chooses the latter, standing up. Time for a true fantasy adventure - figuring out how men piss.

Delightful.

Though as a man he should be able to go wherever - so long as he wasn't flashing someone, anyway - seeing as this is the first time and Katie only sort of knows what she's doing… yeah, some privacy is called for. There's a wooden outhouse behind the farmhouse, which Van slinks his way to like he's doing something wrong and illicit. The outhouse is pretty small and forces him to bend over, and it's overall very awkward. It stinks. The seat is tiny and looks kind of uncomfortable to actually sit on.

Katie has a feeling she's going to miss Earth's modern day plumbing before long.

Right now she has other concerns, though.

Van takes a deep breath - and then regrets it, because of the outhouse smell - before looking down. The trousers are easy enough to figure out, they're basically normal trousers except fastened with a string instead of zipper. The underwear, not so much. While Katie has seen it before and actually spent quite a bit of time trying to figure it out, seeing it on Van now…

It's a kind of cloth wrap thing, like the whole thing is one long stretch of fabric wrapped around the waist and down. The final effect is not unlike briefs, and it's actually kind of comfortable and it definitely keeps everything contained… but if Van takes it off, he will definitely not be able to put it back on again.

Hm, maybe he can, sort of… move it aside…?

Touching it is a bit weird. Katie does a little gibbering flailing thing in the back of his mind while Van tugs at the fabric, feeling all the stuff beneath shift - feeling all the stuff feel the movement. It's weird - having sensations in bits Katie never had before.

Kind of cool though, too. In a sort of unreal way.

Van gets his fingers beneath to pull his penis out and then… there it is, sticking out past the cloth, with its two buddies still nestled in the wrapping.

It would probably be inappropriate to call it a tool. It kind of fits, though. It's very… proportional.

And Katie is suddenly very aware of her long stint as a single woman, because damn. Like, she's never been that into the look or size of a guy's dick - a penis is a penis, they're all kind of the same in the end - but damn. Van has one hell of a dick. Like, Katie probably wouldn't want to have sex with Van, because ouch… but damn.

"Okay, don't play with it, just do your business," Van mutters, thinking back to Katie's stint in the kindergarten and wincing at the memory of potty training. As extremely unsexy thought as there ever was, he thinks with a grimace and then attempts to… manoeuvre himself into position. "Just point and aim."

It's weird, and very… fleshy. But at least the rest of the operation is roughly the same for a man as it is for a woman - bladder is a bladder, apparently. It's still weird - as is not needing to wipe afterwards. It doesn't feel like it's enough, to just shake it. Not that there's anything to wipe with in the outhouse.

"Weird, weird, this is so weird," Van mutters, shaking himself and then quickly tucking the weapon away.

There's nowhere to wash his hands afterwards.

"Great," he mutters and then slinks back to the barn where he sleeps at night. His mirror water turns into hand washing water, and he still feels a bit dirty afterwards. He's hyperaware of what's going down below the belt, all of a sudden. Also, maybe getting a bit hard? Is it really that damn easy to get riled up as a man? Van's not even thinking of anything sexy, and apparently it's going up on its own. What the hell?

Climbing up to the hayloft, Van lies down and tries to not think about his dick. He's got an existential crisis on his hands. Woman stuck in a man's body here. This is no time for any kind of self-inflicted fun times. He needs to experience the horrors of being not in a body of his own. Her own. Whatever. Body dysmorphia, here we go!

Yeah, no, apparently not. His mind keeps slipping downwards along with the blood pooling there, as though the damn thing has a gravity of its own. He can feel his penis straining his underwear - taking it out, putting his hand around it, it would feel… probably pretty good right now. And it's not like Katie doesn't want to - like she hasn't been curious what it was like, how it would work. Porn and smut painted a pretty vivid image, of course, but nothing beats hands on experience.

Mmm, hands on…

Van stares at the ceiling for a long moment, biting his lip. There's no one in this end of the barn but him. The Gylcrosses are in their house, Josel is off in his little hutch… there's no one here. No one but him.

… Right, okay. Fine.

With a grunt Van gets up to find a rag or something.

It would clear his head too, probably, if all the post nut clarity memes are to be believed. He would have his existential crisis with a clear mind afterwards.

Katie wakes up the next morning to the cock crowing somewhere outside and has a moment of flailing confusion at the feel of all the hay around her and sight of the wooden ceiling and beams above her head… before everything comes back.

Right. She's still here. She's transmigrated into Van and to the very start of Age of Tales. And it's now day two.

"Shit," Van murmurs, running a hand down his face. His chin feels bristly - apparently that's a yes on the needing to shave going forward, if he wants to keep Van's chiselled chin in view. Which is probably not all that important, considering that, well…

Tonight, the plot would finally kick off in earnest.

Breathing in and out for a moment, Van lets his arm drop to his side. He hadn't even thought of what he would do, beyond the usual. Even with all the dramatic consequences, the Rift opening was still part of the tutorial, and so all the enemies were pretty low level. The character was meant to run, of course - at this point there was not much they were supposed to be able to do against them.

Emphasis on the supposed. This is, however, Age of Tales.

The whole tutorial section is a bit… Well, overall, Katie gets it - the whole point of the tutorial section is to paint the illusion of peaceful normalcy and introduce the player to the base mechanics and the NPC shops before the plot can kick off and burn the whole idyllic place to the ground for shock value. The first time Katie went through it, it was pretty epic, overall.

But giving the players the chance to shop before the fight was kind of dumb.

Because, while the game didn't get that popular, it had some players, and just about everyone who did play it went about the tutorial the same way. They gambled for cash and kitted themselves out as best they could as soon as they could… and in so doing, turned the whole Rift thing into a bit of a joke by actually standing up against the invasion, something they plot-wise weren't supposed to be able to do. And most of them didn't even realise it, breaking the game completely by accident.

And when you went about it perfectly intentionally, well… the Rift stopped being a threat at all and became the perfect spawn kill camp.

That was what Van had been planning to do - until reality nerfed Katie's money-making tricks.

"System, open inventory," Van calls.

[Inventory] [Simple Knife, lvl. 1] [Shepherd's Slingshot, lvl. 1] [14 x Basic Stone Ammunition ] [3 x Spearhead] [1 x Apple] [Empty Jug] [Dirty Rag]

Yeah, not exactly winning starter gear, especially considering that he still doesn't have a single shred of proper armour. He hasn't been this poorly prepared for the Rift since the very first playthrough - and even then he at least had some armour and a sword! Reality is really kicking his ass this time.

He can't figure out if it's frustrating or exciting. Probably the first one.

"Guess I'm making some spears," Van muses and then sits up with a grunt. Finger-combing the hay out of his hair, Van eyes the dirty rag and then winces. He would need to get rid of it, and maybe he could wash up somewhere before getting started. Unfortunately, he doesn't think there's a washroom or anything around here…

[Farm Chores, Lvl. 1.] [It's a new day on Gylcross farm, and it's time to get to work!]

[Farm Chores 1, Lvl. 1.] [Let the chickens out.] [Let the goats out.] [Let the cows out.] [Let Bell out.] [Quest reward: 10 exp, 3 Apples.] [Farm Chores 2, Lvl. 1.] [Muck the pens and stalls.] [Quest reward: 10 exp, 5 Fresh Eggs.] [Farm Chores 3, Lvl. 1.] [Take a look at the garden and weed Ms. Janelle's vegetable beds.] [Quest reward: 10 exp, 4 x Mixed Herbs] [Farm Chores 4, Lvl. 1.] [Milk the goats and the cows.] [Quest reward: 2 exp, 1 Bottle of Milk.] [Accept?] [Yes.] [No.]

Van winces a little at the sudden bombardment of pop-ups. Looks like he has some work to do. How much it all will matter when this time tomorrow the farm will be in ruins aside… exp is exp. And if he could squeeze in another level up before the Rift, it definitely wouldn't hurt.

Standing up - and bending over to duck below the ceiling beams - Van shuffles to the ladder to start the day with a quick rinse in a bucket of cold water.

By the time he heads out of the barn, Janelle has breakfast ready and set in front of the farmhouse. "Good morning, Van!" she calls, waving. "Come have some eggs and pancakes!"

Josel is already there and already stuffing his face with eggs. "Good morning," Van greets them both and then asks, interestedly, "Pancakes?"

"Yeah - Daddy bought flour and sugar yesterday!" Janelle says excitedly. "We've got some honey too - come here and try it."

Van does, sitting down beside Josel, accepting his share with a, "Thank you, miss." It looks great, and it smells even better.

"It's Janelle," the farmer's daughter says firmly and sits down across from him.

The breakfast is great, as are the pancakes. Mr. Gylcross doesn't make an appearance, but no one comments on it, and so Van doesn't either - maybe the man sleeps in when it's not a market day, or something. After they're done eating, Josel helps Janelle clear out the table, while Van considers his quests.

"Are you going to let the animals out?" Janelle asks, wiping her hands in her apron. "I'll come with you - I'll collect the eggs while I'm at it."

"Sure," Van agrees and offers Josel an apologetic nod before following Janelle towards the chicken coops.

It's a perfectly pleasant day, with only a few fluffy clouds in the sky and just the barest hint of a breeze in the air. The sort of day when nothing bad is supposed to happen, of course. Perfectly normal day.

"Daddy says you visited the tailor yesterday," Janelle comments. "That you ordered some kind of armour."

Van blinks and looks at her. "Uh, I didn't realise he knew about that," he says. The man hadn't mentioned it. How did he find out, anyway? "I did, yeah."

"Why?"

Well, there's going to be a battle in Westbrook the day after tomorrow, and then the place is going to be set on fire, and Valthor's most annoying minion is going to make a grand appearance. Van is really hoping to curbstomp that guy's smug little face to the ground, and armour would make that much, much easier. "Well," he says, because clearly he can't say any of that. "I don't know. Just felt like it, I guess?"

Janelle looks at him carefully, and asks, "Have you… remembered something?" she asks. "About your past?"

Van hesitates, because in the game the player character never remembers time before the farm - but he does learn about it from others. "No, not really," he says finally. "I just… have a feeling I'm going to need something. Actually," he adds and takes a spearhead out of the satchel. "I also got a few of these."

Janelle accepts the dull spearhead, tilting her head with confusion. "Is that a weapon?"

"Head of a spear - I'm going to find some pole to stick it on," Van says and shrugs. "And then I'll have a spear."

Janelle shakes her head, looking a little upset. "But what do you need a spear for?" she asks.

Van shrugs again. "I don't know. It just feels like something I should have."

Janelle hums unhappily, turning the spearhead in her hand. "So, I was right," she murmurs and looks at him sadly. "You are a soldier."

In the game you learn the main character's background in flashbacks and hints from the designated Mentor character at Ulgor's Camp, but it's a pretty cliché dealio overall. The player character has amnesia - of course - and was left at the Gylcross farm by a Mysterious Hooded Person - of course - while the Mysterious Hooded Person ran away all suspicious-like. Janelle Gylcross eventually found the player character hiding in the barn hayloft, all confused and out of it and bleeding from the head. Through some interrogation and arguing with her father, Janelle got him settled in as a new farm hand.

It's all shown to the player in this grainy sepia cut scene, a collage of moments as the player character learns how to swing a hoe and milk the cows and stuff. It's pretty wholesome. And the fact that it's shown to you only after the farm has been burned down and everyone there was killed, well… Katie has some issues with the arrangement of narrative there, but it was kind of a punch to the gut, the first time she played the game.

Also absolutely hilarious, watching this brick shithouse of a man do these cute farm chores, like carrying baby lambs around, delicately harvesting berries from the bushes and weeding garden beds.

"I'm not a soldier," Van says and accepts the spearhead back. "I just feel like it'll be better to be prepared than not."

"Right," Janelle says and hugs herself, looking uncomfortable. "Are you going to leave the farm? I know Daddy only contracted you until the harvest, but… I thought you liked it here."

"Well… it is nice," Van says. And it really is. He looks at the farmstead around them and hums thoughtfully. It's very peaceful and idyllic and wholesome. In the game it's often implied how much the player character wishes he could've stayed there, wishes none of the terrible things that followed wouldn't have happened, and the world could've stayed as it was.

More than another day of it and Katie would be climbing the walls, bored out of his mind.

"I guess we'll see," Van says and smiles at Janelle. "You never know what will happen."

[<<Prologue | <Chapter 4 || Chapter 6>>] Proofread by @nimadge, many thanks

I call this the Tool Inspection Chapter. And I hope it made at least one person laugh as much as it made me to write it.

#original fiction #isekai #transmigration

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hrrtshape · 1 day ago

Note

hi, I would like to ask about something delicate.

So I read this post: https://www.tumblr.com/hrrtshape/774647947 714510848/insane-dream-like-things-that-were-normal-in-my?source=share

And before going deeper, I would like to ask. Did poverty exist in your Better CR? Did racism, misogyny, xenophobia and bigotry overall exist on your reality?

It's obvious that elitism and classism existed though, unless I'm wrong? I'd like to understand how you see the privileges in the context of the larger picture-do you ever think about how they might affect other people? I mean why and how does these privileges exist?

If all of those things existed, and the only thing that you changed is your life (I'm assuming here, nothing is concrete), did you feel any guilt? I mean if you changed only your life, and everything else is similar to this reality, you must be aware that no one, even "old money" people, have fair clean and clear money. And you "hinted" about that too, so....

Let's say for example, if you're wearing a diamond necklace, did you think about the fact that diamonds are basically a scam (literally worthless carbon rocks) and a lot of precious stones come from child labour? Did you think about the fact that a lot of Dubai's architecture comes from basically slavery? Or the fact that a lot of cacau and other foods comes from also child labour? Did you think about western imperialism and the fact that some parts of South America, Africa, Asia and etc, are basically funding your "dirty" lifestyle? Did you thought about the fact that a lot of aristocratic wealth comes from economic inequality?

Where you socially, environmentally and economically aware of your planet? Was there climate change? What about rich people that profit off war, selling guns, etc?

Did you ever tried to change anything? Or was this just for your own entertainment and curiosity, you just wanted to KNOW exactly how the top 1% lived.

Did you ever thought about the fact that since everything is possible, you could create a reality with all that luxury, but no harm involved?

And why I am asking this? I’m speaking as someone who’s been directly affected by these systems of oppression. It’s kinda infuriating and quite weird to see. It represents a nightmare—one where wealth and power are built on the backs of the suffering and exploitation of others. So I'm curious.

Again I'm just assuming you say yes to my first question. If you say no, you're really cool and you can ignore everything else.

And other shifters with similar DRs, do you feel any guilt? Do you remove all the pain and suffering from the history of humanity on your DRs or just change your life?

Just curious. There's no right or wrong, just pure consciousness. And you can do anything with it. ANYTHING. How do feel about that? I sometimes feel like nothing matters anyways. It's all just pure awareness.

Sorry for any orthographic errors. Byeeeeeee

oh my god. okay. okay. pulling up my sleeves, opening a tab, cracking my knuckles like i’m about to go to war but it’s just a tuesday on the internet. let’s chat.

so, first of all, hi. i love you. i love your brain. you’ve got the existential gears turning, the consciousness unraveling, the pure distilled awareness pouring through your words like a spilled drink on an expensive rug. and that’s gorgeous. i wanna bottle it.

now, about my better cr. here’s the thing. i went in. i sculpted it with the obsessive precision of a renaissance painter losing his mind over a single brushstroke. i took the world and shook it like a snow globe until all the nasty, rotting, exploitative stuff just… wasn’t there anymore. no racism. no misogyny. no classism, no xenophobia, none of that ugly, ancient, sticky, systemic mess. it’s gone. poof. history course deleted. like an unsent text.

but luxury? beauty? the glittering, heart-stopping, how-is-this-even-real kind of life..... that’s there. but it’s not built on suffering. it’s not stitched together with cruelty. in my better cr, wealth isn’t some dragon hoard of stolen gold. it’s light, it’s fluid, it moves in a way that uplifts instead of crushes. diamonds are not mined by little hands. fashion is not a web of exploitation. everything is clean, clear, crystalline. like drinking water straight from a glacier.

and do i think about this? do i consider the weight of privilege, the architecture of power? constantly. because i think the world we know is proof that it doesn’t have to be like this. if i can craft a reality where the ivory towers aren’t built on bones, why wouldn’t i?

so no, there’s no guilt. not because i don’t care, but because there’s nothing to feel guilty about. no systems of oppression funding my morning espresso. no hidden horrors behind the curtains. just a life that is, simply, fully, truly, good.

and maybe that’s the point of all of this. to see what could be, not just what is. to play god, but the nice one. the one who builds, not burns.

hope that makes sense. hope you’re somewhere warm, drinking something sweet. xx

#asks #emmas better cr

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hellfiresky · 2 days ago

Text

Seeing Red: The thin line between entertainment and war

Contribution to @clonexocweek | Theme: Introduction

Ge’tal Solus x Rex is the first clone x oc fic that I have ever made. Their relationship is rough around the edges, and very, very complicated. Ge’tal (Tal/Red) is a reckless, anarchist, exiled Mandalorian, bounty hunter with a big mouth and bigger guns. Rex, of course, is a decorated clone captain who believes in duty but can’t ignore the cracks in the system he serves. They shouldn’t work, and yet - to their own confusion - they do.

This is the story of how they met. And since I’ve posted this a while ago (the work itself is still on progress, we’re at Chapter 30 now!).

NOTE: Seeing Red takes loose inspiration from Fleabag. Yes, Tal occasionally breaks the fourth wall, and yes, there are plenty of Fleabag references sprinkled throughout the early chapters. If you’ve noticed italicised sentences floating between paragraphs, that’s her looking straight at you. Letting you in on the joke, or the existential crisis.

The full fic can be found here.

Summary: Ge'tal Solus, an exiled Mandalorian anarchist, has carved out a life in the depths of Coruscant during the tumultuous Clone Wars. Navigating the galaxy as a bounty hunter and occasional spice runner, she does whatever it takes to survive in the underworld. Despite her disdain for the forces of the Republic, Ge'tal finds herself drawn into the conflict, ironically aiding the very clones she mistrusts. In a galaxy torn by war, can she reconcile her beliefs with her actions?

Pairing: Captain Rex x Ge’tal Solus (Exiled Mandalorian bounty hunter OC) Warnings (applied to the fic as a whole): Lots of swear words, very political, contains political commentaries that mirror real life issues, graphic depictions of violence, canon typical violence, some descriptive sexual content and discussions.

Excerpts of Chapter 8, where the pair met, below the cut!

Taglist: @orangez3st @msmeredithrose

Chapter 8 (middle to end)

They reached the door to the briefing room, and just before they entered, Fives suddenly stopped, turning to face her with a mock-serious expression. “Oh, and one more thing,” he chided.

She narrowed her eyes at him, sensing where this was going. “What now?”

“Don’t flirt with him,” Fives pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards the door. The smirk on his face made it clear he was only kidding, but the look in his eyes held a different intention.

Tal rolled her eyes. “I’m not gonna flirt with—”

But before she could finish her sentence, the door slid open, revealing the figure standing near the holo table, and the words died in her throat. Captain Rex.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered under her breath, eyes momentarily widening as she took in the sight of him.

He stood at the holo table, deep in conversation with Commander Fox and another clone clad in white and orangey-gold armor, clearly another high-ranking officer. His posture was all business - shoulders squared, spine straight, and every inch of him radiating authority. But it wasn’t just the way he carried himself that caught her off guard; it was his appearance. He had the same tanned skin as the rest of the clones, the same sharp features, but there was something about him that made him stand out. Maybe it was the neatly buzzed platinum blonde hair, contrasting against the deep brown of his eyes, which were currently focused intently on the holo display. His face was a study in concentration, and even in the serious atmosphere of the room, there was a calmness to him, a kind of quiet strength that seemed to anchor everyone around him. He was, in a word, striking.

The white armour, marked with the signature blue of the 501st, fit him perfectly - no visible scuffs or dents, like it was freshly polished for the occasion. Yet, it wasn’t pristine; it carried the subtle wear and tear of countless battles, a testament to the man who wore it. Rex had a presence that made you feel like everything was under control, even when the galaxy was falling apart around you.

(Her gaze flicks toward us, a silent “you seeing this?” look in her eyes)

Tal blinked, catching herself staring. This was the guy Fives was worried and seemed to always so excited about? She could see why.

Rex glanced up, his eyes meeting hers for a brief second before shifting to Fives. There was no immediate recognition on his face, just a subtle nod acknowledging their presence as they approached the table.

The room itself was a contrast to the underworld Tal was used to. It was sleek, clean, with walls lined with various displays and tactical readouts. The holo table in the centre projected a detailed map of the underworld, with multiple points of interest highlighted in red—likely the locations where they suspected CIS activity. The room buzzed with low conversations and the quiet hum of technology, the air thick with the weight of whatever mission was being planned.

She quickly noticed two other troopers in ARC armour stationed in the room. One of them was Jesse, who she remembered from that brief encounter at the deli with Fives. He cocked his chin when he saw her. Clearly, he hadn’t forgotten their last run-in.

The other trooper was a dead ringer for Fives—minus the goatee and tattoo that made the ARC stand out. It didn’t take long for her to put two and two together. This had to be his twin, Echo. His face betraying nothing as his gaze shifted between her and Rex.

Fives cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Captain Rex, Commander Fox, Commander Cody,” he greeted in what Tal thought was a noncharacteristic professional manner. “This is the operative I mentioned - the one I gathered intel on. Everything checked out with her.”

Fox looked at Tal with his usual stern expression. “We’ve met before,” he stated the obvious.

Yeah, no shit, she thought, biting back a snarky reply. The memory of their previous encounters flashed through her mind—especially that time he showed up at her apartment with the job offer. There was a familiarity in his tone, but it was always laced with the same underlying tension that always accompanied their meetings.

Cody gave a brief nod of acknowledgment. But it was Rex who stepped forward, extending a hand to her.

“Ge'tal,” Rex said simply, his voice carrying a calm authority that matched his appearance. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Tal shook his hand. “Call me Red. All good things, I hope,” she tried to sound more confident than she felt. The guy was unnervingly collected.

“Mostly,” Rex replied with a faint smile. “We appreciate you agreeing to help us with this operation.”

Tal shrugged, glancing awkwardly around the room at the holo display. “Credits are credits, right?”

Rex’s smile was quicly replaced by a scowl. “This is more than just credits, Red. The situation in the underworld is getting out of hand. We need someone who knows the terrain, the people, and the dangers better than anyone else. That’s why we’re involving you.”

“So, what’s the plan?”

Fox stepped in. “We’ll be conducting a series of covert operations across the lower levels. You’ll be working directly with Captain Rex here. He’ll brief you on the specifics.”

Did he just order Rex? So, commanders are higher than captains. Got it, Tal mentally noted. She had always thought it was the other way around. This base visit was full of new things, most of them revolving around military hierarchy. Fucking yikes. The whole concept made her skin crawl; she’d spent years running from anything resembling a chain of command, and now she was neck-deep in it.

She locked her attention back to Rex, who was already pulling up a more detailed map on the holo table. From the way he moved, and his little micro expressions - it was clear this wasn’t just another assignment for him; it was something he lived and breathed.

“Of course, he will,” she muttered under her breath, realising that this mission might be a lot more complicated and interesting than she had initially thought.

And here I was thinking I’d just shoot a few people and be done with it.

Before Rex could start the briefing, Fives stepped closer to the holo table, catching her eye. He gave her a slight smirk, then turned to his commanding officer with a professional demeanour that almost seemed at odds with the smirk that still lingered on his face.

“Sir, Jesse, Echo, and I are scheduled to depart in a few hours for Ossus,” Fives reported. Rex nodded before turning to Cody and Fox. “There are rumours of a hidden Separatist presence on Ossus. Intel suggests Count Dooku established a base there years ago, and we can’t risk the Separatists getting their hands on anything valuable. General Skywalker sent a contingent of ARC troopers to investigate the so-called ‘Ossus conspiracy,’” he paused, addressing the ARC troopers directly, “Recover what you can. Once you have proof, call in the airstrike.

Cody, standing just to the side, shook his head in frustration. “Seems like we’re always chasing ghosts with this kind of intel. Ossus might be another wild bantha chase.”

“Whether it’s ghosts or not, we can’t ignore it. The Jedi don’t take rumors about lost artifacts lightly.” Rex looked at Fives. “And neither should we.”

“Never do, sir.” Fives smirked.

Fox, who had been quietly observing the exchange, crossed his arms and spoke up. “Meanwhile, we’ve got our own mess to deal with on Coruscant. The underworld’s been heating up, and the Syndicates aren’t making it easy for the Guard to keep things under control. We’re stretched thin.”

“Which is why it’s crucial this one gets investigated before they can do more damage. I’m counting on you three - and the rest of the contingent—to get it done quickly and cleanly.” Rex sighed.

Echo straightened up. “Won’t let you down, sir.”

Tal scowled at Fives, the look on her face clearly saying, Why the fuck are you leaving me alone here with them? She wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of being stuck with a bunch of commanders whilst he went off on his mission.

“You’ll be fine,” Fives mouthed to her, flashing that damn cocky grin of his.

Tal rolled her eyes and mouthed back, “Asshole,” which only made Fives chuckle as he followed his brothers out of the room.

She turned her attention back to the holo table, where Rex was now explaining the details of the operation. His voice was calm, steady, but there was a familiar roughness to it - this was a man who’d seen his fair share of battles and wasn’t about to let anything slip through the cracks. “Here’s the situation,” Rex began, his eyes focused on the holo display. “We’ve identified several key locations in the lower levels where we suspect CIS agents are operating. These are places with no obvious syndicate ties, which makes them harder to trace and even harder to infiltrate.”

Tal leaned in to study the map. The areas he pointed out were familiar to her - places she’d either worked in or passed through on various jobs. “And you want me to do what exactly? Sniff them out like a gundark and report back?”

Rex’s eyes met hers. “I want you to use your connections, your knowledge of the underworld, to get us the intel we need. These agents are slippery, and they’re good at covering their tracks. We need someone who knows how to navigate that world, who can get close without raising suspicion.”

“Party,” Tal said dryly.

Cody joined in, his manner carrying a diplomatic edge that reminded Tal of those troopers in the GAR propaganda commercials. Oh wait, is he that dude? “This isn’t just about gathering intel. It’s about cutting off their resources, disrupting their operations, and if necessary, taking them out. We can’t afford to let them gain any more ground.”

“You’re really pulling out all the stops, huh? I’m surprised you’re trusting this to a small-time bounty hunter like me.” Tal let out a low whistle.

Rex’s gaze softened a fraction. “Your portfolio, based on Fives’ report, says otherwise. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t believe you could do this.”

She huffed, trying to mask the flicker of surprise at his words. “Really?” The word slipped out before she could stop herself, and for a moment, her tough exterior cracked. She wasn’t in this game to make a name for herself like so many others. Bounty hunting was just another job, a means to an end. Her ex-clan had trained her well, Reaper Unit had sharpened those skills, and she was good at what she did—but she didn’t see herself as exceptional. Hearing Fives’ findings was unexpected, almost unsettling.

But she quickly pushed that thought aside, “Well, I guess your standards must be slipping, Captain.” Rex didn’t rise to the bait. “Our standards are higher than you might think. We’ve reviewed Fives’ intel thoroughly, and your track record speaks for itself. And you’re exactly the help that we need right now.” Tal leaned back slightly, crossing her arms as she studied the map displayed in front of her. “So, what’s the catch? You know how things work down there. The hypothetical operations you’re asking me to target... They’re not gonna go down easy.”

“We’re aware of the risks, Red. We’re not sending you in blind. You’ll have the support you need, and we’ll be monitoring your progress closely.” Rex’s gaze didn’t waver. And to her surprise, Tal held his gaze for a moment longer than she intended. There was something about Rex that made her want to actually do this job right - maybe it was the way he looked at her like she was more than just another mercenary. “Anything else I need to know?”

“You’ll be reporting directly to Rex. He’ll be your point of contact for this operation.” Fox stepped forward, clearly having waited for the right moment to reassert himself.

So, just like what Fives said? But she couldn't help but bark at Fox, gosh, she could not stand that motherfucker. “Directly to Rex, huh? I thought I’d be dealing with one of your lackeys, Fox.”

Fox’s jaw tightened, but before he could spit out a retort, Rex cut in smoothly. “We need this operation to run as efficiently as possible, and that means direct communication. No middlemen. That’s why I’m your point of contact.”

Rex tapped a few buttons on the holo table, bringing up a more detailed map of the Coruscant underworld and its layers, its labyrinthine network of streets and districts illuminated in shades of blue and red. Tal’s eyes scanned the map, her mind already working to decipher the patterns and potential routes, noting the various areas marked as hotspots.

"Alright," Rex began. He pointed to several key locations on the map. "The mission is simple in concept but complex in execution. We’ve identified several areas in the underworld where CIS activity has been suspected. Your task is to infiltrate these locations, gather intel on any Separatist agents, and report back. The reporting system is straightforward; you’ll have a secure channel directly to me and Commander Fox will be carbon copied. You’re expected to check in at specific intervals, as outlined in your contract. Any deviation from the schedule, and we’ll assume something’s gone wrong."

"Assume?" Tal muttered under her breath, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. "So what, you gonna send a rescue squad if I’m late?"

"Let’s just say, we’ll have contingencies in place. But I’d prefer it if you stayed on schedule. The underworld is unpredictable enough without adding unnecessary risks."

"Yeah, I know the drill," Tal replied, her gaze still fixed on the map.

Cody glanced up from the map, sweeping the room with his brown eyes before settling on the group.

Included.

"I’ve got to brief my men for our mission to Felucia. We’re pushing to clear out the remaining droid presence in the fungal forests there. Should be a nasty fight, but nothing the 212th can’t handle." He eyed Rex. "You know how those damn spore patches can mess with our equipment. We’ll have to stay on our toes."

"Good luck out there, Cody," Rex said, "stay safe."

With that, Cody left the room, leaving Rex, Tal, and Fox alone. Rex continued, "As for my role, I’ll be coordinating the operation from the surface. I won’t be going down with you, but I’ll be monitoring everything closely. You’ll have a support team on standby if things get too hot. But remember, we’re relying on your expertise to navigate the underworld effectively."

Tal eyed Fox, who had been listening intently. The Commander of the Coruscant Guard stepped forward, his expression hardened as he began offering his input. "We’ve already set up surveillance in the key areas, mostly droids and undercover operatives. We’ve mapped out the territories controlled by the major crime syndicates, and we’ve got intel on the safe zones—places where you can lay low if things go south."

"Safe zones? Down there? Please. That area," she pointed to a section Fox had marked, "is a front for a trafficking ring. You think that’s safe? Unless you want to be sold to the highest bidder." Tal couldn’t help but snort at that.

Fox frowned. The marshal commander of the Coruscant Guard was definitely not pleased with the correction. "We’ve had our eyes on it, and nothing’s flagged it as dangerous."

"Then your eyes need checking," Tal shot back, arms crossed. "I’ve spent more time in the underworld than you’ve spent in that shiny armour. Trust me, some of these so-called safe zones are anything but."

Rex raised a hand to diffuse the tension. "That’s why you’re here, Red. We need your expertise to avoid pitfalls like that. We’re trusting you to call the shots when you’re down there. Just make sure you’re feeding the information back to us. This mission hinges on accurate intel."

"Fine," Tal muttered, feeling a bit more validated. "But if I’m calling the shots, you better be ready to deal with how I do things."

Fox seemed ready to argue again, but Rex cut him off with a sharp glance. "We understand. But we need results. Do things your way, but remember, we’re all on the same side here."

"Same side," Tal repeated sceptically. "Right."

Rex ignored her, pointing to another section of the map. "We suspect that some of these hotspots are linked directly to the Separatists. They’ve been funnelling funds into businesses and organisations that, on the surface, look clean. But dig a little deeper, and it’s a different story. Your job is to find those connections and trace them back to the source."

Tal studied the areas he highlighted, her mind already mapping out potential routes, contacts, and risks. It wasn’t going to be easy, but then again, nothing ever was in the underworld. "I can do that," she said finally.

Fox, still looking slightly irritated by Tal’s earlier correction, crossed his arms again. "We’ll be monitoring your progress. If you need backup, you’ll have it. But keep in mind, this isn’t just about hitting a target and moving on. We need to dismantle their network piece by piece."

"Deal," Tal shrugged. She was ready to dive into the underworld - her world - and do what she did best. But this time, with the Republic watching, things were going to get even more complicated.

Fox gave Tal a pointed look as he reminded her, “And make sure you write your reports and submit them to Rex, per contract. We’re expecting full accountability on this, Ge’tal Solus.”

Tal sighed, rolling her eyes at the mention of her actual name, nodding reluctantly. The concept of writing a formal report was about as appealing to her as following the law - both foreign and irritating. She didn’t even know where to start with something like that. Paperwork? Really?

As Fox turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back at her with that same stern expression. “And, Ge'tal, I’m serious. We’re trusting you with this. Don’t make us regret it.”

With that, he was gone, leaving an air of tension hanging in the room.

Rex turned and grabbed something from a cabinet behind him, walking over to where she stood. “Here,” he said, extending a GAR-issued datapad towards her. “This should make things easier for you. Don’t worry too much about the reports - they’re not expecting a tactical debrief from you. Just focus on gathering intel. You’re not a soldier, and we’re not asking you to be one.”

Tal took the datapad, flipping it over in her hands as if it might bite her. “An outline would be helpful. The hell do they want me to say? ‘Dear diary, today I shot some seppie-loving scumbags and didn’t get blown to bits. The end.’”

Rex couldn’t help but chuckle at that, shaking his head. “Not quite. Keep it simple. What you found, where you found it, and how it ties into the bigger picture. The more details, the better, but we’re not looking for a novel. Just enough to keep us in the loop.”

“Fox’s men have been poking around just fine a few months back. I saw them after my, apparently, infamous riot against the Corries at that dive. What changed? Did something go sideways?” Tal looked up at him.

Rex sighed, his gaze briefly shifting to the holo map before returning to her. “The situation’s escalated since then. The Separatists have tightened their grip, and the underworld’s become more unpredictable. Fox’s men can handle the topside, keep things in check up there, but down in the lower levels? It’s a different game. The Corries made their presence known, but that was a one-time show of force. Now, we need subtlety. The kind of work that can only be done by someone who knows the terrain, the people, and the way things operate down there. Make them talk.”

Tal nodded, half-listening, half-thinking. “What about the underworld cops? Wait... Are those even sentients? Or are they just droids?”

Rex raised an eyebrow at her question. He could tell her curiosity was genuine. “Mostly sentients, but there’s a mix. The underworld cops are a breed of their own - most are just as crooked as the criminals they’re supposed to be policing. The others? Overworked, underpaid, and trying to keep their heads above water in a place that’s drowning in corruption. And yeah, they’ve got some droid units, but those are mostly used for grunt work, patrols, simple enforcement. Nothing that requires real thinking or negotiation.” “Oh, if you only knew the brutality those sleemos are doing down there,” Tal muttered under her breath momentarily.

Rex’s expression tightened. “I’ve heard stories,” he said quietly.

Tal groaned. “Stories don’t cover the half of it, Rex. The lower you go, the more twisted it gets. Those so-called cops? They’re just as likely to break a bone as they are to take a bribe. Hell, some of them do both, depending on the day. They don’t ask questions, don’t hesitate - just follow orders, no matter how fucked up those orders are.” Tal raised her eyebrows. “Why even bother with them?”

“They have their uses,” Rex replied pragmatically. “They know the streets, and they can handle the low-level stuff that doesn’t warrant our attention. But when it comes to real threats—the kind that could tip the balance in this war—we can’t rely on them. Too many of them are bought and paid for by the syndicates or worse. And that’s where you come in.” “So, you’re the one who keeps the big picture in focus while I do the dirty work?”

“Something like that,” Rex nodded.

The First Battle Memorial loomed in the dusky evening, its warm, bronze glow casting an eerie light across the plaza. As Rex and Tal approached, the weight of its towering presence bore down on them both-but especially Tal, reminding her of how distant her world felt from the relentless brutality of the war up here. The sheer size of the monument, towering over the two, whispered stories of the first fallen clones, a haunting presence that lingered in the air like unspoken grief.

For once, she didn’t make a snarky comment. Instead, she fell silent, her gaze briefly lingering on the names - no, numbers - etched into the cold stone. The gravity of the war, which often felt like an abstract concept amidst the everyday survival of the lower levels, weighed heavily in the air. She’d seen death and violence in the underworld - brutal, personal, and often senseless - but this was different. It wasn’t just about survival or territory; it was a collective loss, a shared pain that resonated through the sterile halls of the base. These weren’t just casualties of war; they were brothers, identical faces with unique lives, wiped out in an endless, gruelling conflict.

For a moment, the reality of it all struck her harder than she’d expected. These clones, no, men, bred for battle, had their identities reduced to numbers - memorialised in the most impersonal way possible. Yet, the weight of their sacrifice was undeniable, something that even someone like Tal, who had long become numb to the daily grind of death in the underworld, couldn’t easily brush off.

Rex noticed her uncharacteristic silence but didn’t comment on it. Instead, he led her through the hall, making small talk as they walked. “So, how long have you been working in the underworld?” he asked.

“Too long,” Tal replied with a smirk, though her thoughts were still half-focused on the memorial they’d just passed. The smirk was her defence, a shield she threw up to keep the weight of that hall from sinking too deep. “But the deeper you go, the more clueless people are. Most of them have no idea there’s even a war happening, let alone that the Republic and Separatists are at each other’s throats. Hell, most of them have never even seen the sun.”

Rex frowned. “That’s hard to imagine. Up here, it feels like the war is everything - like it’s the only thing.”

“Yeah, well, it’s a different world down there,” Tal said, shrugging. “People are just trying to get by, to survive. They don’t have time to worry about politics or who’s winning what. It’s all about the next meal, the next score, the next way to keep themselves alive. The war? It’s just noise to them. Background noise that doesn’t affect their daily life.”

Rex nodded thoughtfully, clearly taking her words to heart. “It’s easy to forget how isolated parts of the galaxy can be. We get so caught up in the fight, in the day-to-day battles, that we forget there are people who don’t even know it’s happening.”

“Or don’t care,” Tal chuckled. “Down there, it’s all about survival. The war might as well be happening in another galaxy for all they care. They’ve got their own battles to fight - against hunger, against trafficking, against the gangs, against the damn planet itself sometimes.” she paused for a moment, gazing across the numbers in front of her.

“You should come play sometime. See for yourself,” she continued, but there was a clear intention of something deeper - maybe a challenge, maybe a dare.

Rex’s gaze flicked back to her, studying her expression for a moment. There was something in her voice that piqued his curiosity about the complex reality she lived in, one he could only glimpse from where he stood. He knew the underworld from reports, from briefings, from stories told by troopers who had ventured too far down. He went there several times, but he’d never truly experienced it - the raw, unfiltered chaos that was life on the lower levels. The way she said it, like it was all just a game, threw him off balance. He wasn’t used to thinking of the war in those terms - of survival being a twisted kind of play.

“Is that an invitation?” Rex asked.

“I wouldn’t call it an invitation, more like a warning. You might find it harder to leave once you’ve been down there. It’s not just the place—it’s the people, the way they live, the way they fight for every damn scrap. It’s addictive, in a way. You see it enough times, you start to wonder if there’s any point in trying to change it.”

Rex’s curiosity gave way to understanding. “I think I already know that feeling,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s spent too many years in the trenches of war. “Every battle, every campaign, it’s like we’re just pushing the boulder up the hill, only to watch it roll back down again. But we keep going, because... what else can we do?”

Tal glanced at him, seeing something familiar in his eyes - a kind of weariness, but also a determination that hadn’t been snuffed out yet. It was the look of someone who’d seen too much, but kept going because stopping wasn’t an option. She understood that look; she saw it in the mirror every day.

“Yeah, I get it,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “The underworld... it’s a different kind of war, but a war all the same. You survive or you don’t. And sometimes, surviving means playing the game, even when you don’t want to.”

They were both caught in their own cycles, she realised—his driven by duty, hers by the need to survive in a galaxy that seemed to care less and less about people like her.

As they neared the exit, Rex hesitated for a moment before speaking again, his tone more cautious this time. “Listen, Red, I wanted to ask you something—about you and Fives.”

“What about us?”

“I’ve heard… things,” Rex admitted, choosing his words carefully. “I just need to make sure that whatever’s going on between you two doesn’t interfere with the job.”

“You mean the part where we fuck like it’s a recreational sport? Don’t worry, Captain. I keep my work and play separate.” Tal chuckled.

Rex shook his head. “Just making sure. Fives is a good soldier. Don’t distract him too much.”

“I know where the line is.”

“Good. Stay safe out there, Red. We’re counting on you.” he said, looking down at her with those intense brown eyes.

“Always,” she replied, and this time, she meant it.